Reckoning (20 page)

“Only shaken,” I replied.

“If I ever doubted how much danger you were in, I believe it now,” he said. His gaze was deadly serious. Quincey’s assault had clearly shocked him.

I leaned my forehead wearily against his shoulder. He had saved me, and I found my heart swelling with gratitude. “Oh, Xavier, what would I have done if you’d not come to my aid?”

He stroked my hair. “I will always come to your aid, Mary,” he vowed.

The scent of him was warm and comforting, and I longed to stay there, resting against him, but he stood up and drew me to my feet.

I let him lead me down to the dining room, where a cosy fire crackled in the grate. Bathory seated me and rang the bell. Within moments, Johnson came.

“Johnson,” Bathory said as soon as the butler appeared, “please have Philips mend the window lock in Miss Seward’s bedroom at once. It must be mended securely.”

“Very good, my lord,” Johnson answered.

“And alert the guards that an intruder was spotted on the grounds. They are to do whatever is necessary to bring the man down should they encounter him.”

“Yes, my lord.” Johnson left us with a bow.

We ate in silence to begin with, recovering, each of us, from the shock of our encounter with Quincey.

At last, Bathory spoke. “Now that I’ve seen Harker for myself, I see why you fear him so,” he said. “There was such a look in his eye. As though destroying you was an obsession with him. Why does he hold such a grudge against you?”

“I wish I knew.” I sighed. “There was no love lost between us from the moment we met,” I admitted. “He knew that I did not approve of his courting Lily. Even before we discovered the terrible truth about him, the stories I’d read of his conduct in the trenches warned me that there was a dark side to him.”

I paused. “But then . . . for some reason . . . he allowed me to flee Castle Dracula. . . .”

Bathory looked at me in surprise on hearing this.

I shook my head resolutely. “Whatever his reason for that, Quincey has certainly shown me no mercy since. He has gone to great lengths to unravel my life and strip it of all that is precious to me. Maybe he released me simply for the sport of tormenting me now.”

Suddenly I felt a compulsion to tell Bathory the parts of the story I had omitted when I had first arrived here. It seemed like a betrayal to keep anything from him now. “Quincey has deceived me at every turn,” I confessed. “He told me, when he first found me in Purfleet, that he was trying to fight the
evil that tainted his soul. He begged me to help him.”

Bathory raised a quizzical eyebrow. “And did you?” he queried.

I bowed my head, ashamed as I remembered how close to my heart I’d allowed Quincey to come. “He tricked me into thinking I could not turn my back on him,” I mumbled.

Bathory listened, his eyes wide with disbelief, as I told him of the evenings I had spent at Quincey’s side, so certain that he sought salvation that I’d risked my life—even my soul—to help him. “I truly believed I saw a change in him,” I confessed. “But it was all lies to deceive me.”

In that moment, sitting in Bathory’s lavish dining room, I remembered Lily and the desolate look in her eyes when she learned the truth about her beloved.

“I truly believe Quincey takes pleasure in prolonging the suffering of others,” I concluded bitterly. “He plays games with his victims as a cat does with a mouse.”

“He shall play no more games with you,” Bathory pledged fiercely.

I stared into his grey gaze. Dear Bathory! He had forced himself to change—from a timid and bookish creature into a man ready to battle pitiless evil on my behalf. How could I not be touched by him?

“You are my knight in shining armour,” I murmured, reaching out to place my hand over his. “The sweetest man I have ever known. I am thankful that we met.”

Bathory flushed. “Protecting you is an honour, Mary,” he murmured.

I smiled, my heart swelling with affection for him.

Johnson knocked, disturbing the moment. “Sorry to intrude, sir,” he apologised. “But I thought you would like to know that Philips has finished his repairs.” He raised an eyebrow and added, “Is there anything I should inform the police about, my lord?”

“It might as well wait until morning,” Bathory told him. “The scoundrel who broke the window must be long gone or the dogs would be howling.”

“Very well, sir.” Johnson dipped his head and left.

The butler’s intrusion had broken the intimacy between Bathory and me. With a jolt, I realised how much I had opened my heart. “I—I really should go up to bed,” I stammered awkwardly, though inwardly I trembled at the thought of being alone in my room again. But I persuaded myself that I would be safe enough there until morning. The window in my room was newly secured and Bathory was on hand should I need him.

Bathory stood as I got up to leave and kissed my hand. “Sleep soundly, my dear,” he told me. “The dogs and guards are roaming the grounds, and I shall reload my pistol. I will remain awake through the night, keeping watch for any disturbance.”

I pray that these precautions will be enough, though I cannot believe it.

The repairs on the window look sound, but still . . . I have put on every light so that all shadows have been banished.

My journal now written, I shall read in bed—for, like Bathory, I doubt that I shall dare close my eyes before dawn.

Journal of Mary Seward

3RD
D
ECEMBER 1918 (CONTINUED)

The next thing I was aware of was a hand pressing over my mouth, stifling the scream that immediately rose in my throat. I must have dozed off after all. The smothering fingers were Quincey’s. Terror screeched within me. I struggled, but his other arm encircled me and pinned my hands to my side. My feet grew tangled in my bedclothes as I kicked wildly to free myself.

“Do not struggle, Mary!” he hissed in my ear, his breath hot on my neck.

I kicked again and fought wildly, but he was too strong and held me captive where I lay. Black, desperate terror unfurled in my mind.

“The servant did a good job mending the window,” Quincey whispered. “He seemed surprised to see me at first,
but I won him over—enough for him to invite me in,” he added with a wry smile.

Quincey had mesmerised the handyman. He had been in my room all along, waiting only for me to go to sleep!

Horrified, I struggled to keep my senses. I realised that I must avoid his gaze. I would not be mesmerised into submission as well. He would have to fight me to the bitter end.

“Mary, why do you struggle?” His icy calm seemed to evaporate, and desperation crept into his tone. “How could you lose faith in me so easily, after all we have shared?”

How could I lose faith in him? I wanted to scream at him, rage vying with horror in my breast.
You lied! You lied!
But no words could escape the cruel grip he had on me.

“I’m sorry if I’m hurting you, but I cannot risk your raising the alarm again until I have had a chance to speak with you. To explain,” he told me. “Bathory is dangerous—he will surely harm you if he has not done so already!”

I shook my head angrily. Bathory, dangerous? What nonsense did he expect me to believe now?

“I am not certain how you came to know him, but you must get away from him,” Quincey went on. “You must follow me. Now.”

Dear God, when would he stop his sadistic game? I flinched in his grip, and he pressed me tighter to him. He sighed, and I felt him press his face into my tangled hair.
“I have lost one love.” He whispered the words, so softly. “I cannot bear to lose another.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart twisting in confusion as I breathed in the warm smell of him, drawing it deep into my lungs.

His affection—it seemed so real. But how? How could it be?

“Mary, look at me!” he said pleadingly. “See that I am telling you the truth!”

This time, I heard the anguish in his tone. I could feel faint tremors rippling through his body and his laboured breath in my hair. I felt his heaving heartbeat as he pressed me to him, and my soul seemed to sigh. How could I help but look?

I opened my eyes and turned my face to his.

Quincey’s tormented gaze showed no glimmer of fire, and yet it seemed to burn into me like flame. I found myself absorbed by its depths.

“All I told you was true, Mary,” he told me. “I do not understand what drove you from me.”

He let me drag his hand from my mouth, his eyes pleading for some answer.

I sobbed quietly. “You killed my father.”

Quincey shook his head. “Mary . . . how could I have when I was unable to cross his threshold?”

I looked at him dumbly.

“A vampire cannot enter a place unless invited in!” Quincey explained, exasperation now edging his voice.

Deep within, my heart sighed. I remembered that terrible night when I had overslept and found Quincey at my window. He had not come in until I told him to. Was that the reason?

Tears welled in my eyes as he kissed my forehead, my cheek, my chin. Each place he touched with his lips flushed with warmth.

“I swear to you. I am not the one you need to fear,” he whispered, his mouth now at my ear. “Come away with me, Mary. There is little time.”

The sensation thrilled me, and a soft moan of pleasure escaped my lips. I felt Quincey’s breath upon the nape of my neck.

He bent to kiss my throat, leaving a trail that felt like fire upon my skin and set my body trembling with desire.

Would he bite me now? I wondered. Would all of this finally be over?

Outside, I heard the dogs begin to howl.

Their cries grew louder, closer, as though they crowded outside my window. I trembled in anticipation of his bite, my body flooded with the clawing desperation of passion almost fulfilled.

At once, Quincey wrenched himself from my embrace. “I must go now! Someone approaches, but I’ll be back for you, Mary.”

“Quincey!” I called in alarm. My heart lurched as he
rushed out onto the balcony and jumped over the edge.

My door flew open and Bathory rushed in. He was panting, alarm lighting his face.

“Someone locked the dogs inside their pound and quieted them with fresh meat! I freed them, and they smelled him out at once. Harker is still on the grounds!”

At the sight of Bathory, my wits returned, though passion still lingered in my body.

“He came back!” I cried.

I shook my head to clear it. What had I done? I’d almost given myself to Quincey—again!

“Did he hurt you?” Bathory demanded. His normally gentle face burned with rage.

“No.” I shook my head once more. Common sense was crowding back—my mind once more overruling my heart. If Quincey had managed to mesmerise Philips into letting him into my room, I realised that he could have done the same to Father! What an unthinking fool Quincey Harker was making of me. “He is still playing games with me—he tried to persuade me that you were dangerous!” I told Bathory.

“I? Dangerous?” Bathory looked outraged. He stared at the smashed window. “You will sleep in the room next to mine tonight,” he decided. He took my hand, and as he did so, reason chased away the last of the fevered desire that had consumed my body when Quincey had held me in his arms. In its place, cold regret washed over me. What had I done—
allowing that demon into my heart again? Offering myself to him! I blushed at the thought, silenced by shame.

“I will not let him harm you,” Bathory vowed heatedly.

“I believe you,” I replied. “Your nearness drives the darkness away.”

So here I am, writing in a different bed, in a different room. It is more modest, but I prefer it, being closer to Bathory.

What hold does Quincey have over me? Why am I so unable to resist him? Even when he spares me his supernatural powers of seduction, he overcomes me and awakes in me an unholy desire. Thank God, I have Bathory to keep my senses well grounded, to make me feel safe.

4TH
D
ECEMBER 1918

Lord Bathory shook me gently awake before dawn.

Having not long been asleep, I struggled into consciousness. “What is it?” I asked drowsily.

“I am sorry to wake you,” he apologised, leaning over me. “But there is something you should see.”

Confused, I sat up and smoothed my hair. “What is it?” I asked.

“It is something that will let you rest easy from this day on,” Bathory told me seriously.

I pulled my dressing gown from where it lay at the foot of my bed. “Do tell me what it is,” I begged, wrapping the robe around me and rising.

“You shall see soon enough,” Bathory promised.

He led me down to the kitchens and past a huge wooden table stacked with dishes and pans.

“Where are we going?” I asked him breathlessly.

“To the cellars,” he told me. He led me by the hand down more stairs, our footsteps echoing eerily—and then on again, down a narrow twisting staircase that descended into a dim basement. The air smelled dank, and its coldness pierced my robe. I shivered.

“Please, Xavier—tell me what we are going to see,” I begged. My voice echoed from the walls, and even I heard the anxiety in it.

“Not long to wait now, Mary!” Bathory said. “We are nearly there. I don’t want to spoil the surprise. . . .”

A small corridor lay at the base of the stairs. Shelves ran the length of it, each one packed tight with jars and tins and bottles. I glanced around in bewilderment. What sort of prize could lie in such a place? Then I saw a door ahead, wooden except for a small round window in its centre.

“The cold room,” Bathory announced, drawing me toward it. “It is where we store our meat.”

“Your meat?” I asked uncertainly. Had he awoken me to show me what we would have at dinner that evening?

Bathory flicked a switch to the side of the door. A weak electric bulb lit the room with a gloomy yellowish glow. “Look through the window.” He smiled.

I peered anxiously through, my heart pounding with unease. I had never before known Bathory to behave so capriciously. He had never shown the slightest penchant for mystery. “I see nothing but meat, hanging,” I murmured. And then a movement on the floor caught my eye. It was a figure, struggling to sit up. Through the blood and bruises that marked it, I recognised Quincey’s face.

Shock and pain skewered my heart, and I stepped hastily backward. “You caught him!” I breathed.

I struggled against the compassion that cried within me. Quincey looked so defeated, so battered. What had Bathory done to him?

“Do not worry, he is safely locked in!” Bathory pointed to a heavy bolt near the base of the door. “You are safe now from his evil scheming.”

So. Quincey is trapped at last. I should be pleased, shouldn’t I? So why does my heart feel as bruised as his poor face?