Reckoning (22 page)

“It was I,” answered a deep voice. And then a cloaked figure stepped into the moonlight.

It was no servant who had spoken.

It was my former fiancé, John Shaw.

Journal of Mary Seward

5TH
D
ECEMBER 1918

He was more powerful and muscular than I remembered him. His face had grown hard and weathered. I hardly recognised the pale young soldier who had returned trembling from the trenches two years ago. How savage his gaze had become. And though I now knew his heritage, the blood in my veins turned to ice when he smiled to reveal his strong vampire fangs.

I grew numb with fear as John slowly approached us. I hardly felt the axe as it slipped from my grip and instinctively backed toward Quincey, pressing my body against his. If we were to die, then at least we would die together.

Rebecca watched John as a dog watches its master, nervous of his every move.

He nodded at her, his eyes betraying no warmth. “You’ve done well,” he congratulated her. “As did your brother—until
he underestimated Mary. I did warn you both she would not be easy prey.” His gaze fell on me, and a malicious smile touched his lips. “Mary, it has been a pleasure to torment you.”

“I should never have believed that such darkness lay within you,” I whispered.

“It has not all come from within,” John answered smoothly. “Some has been nurtured by circumstance and some by sheer hard work.” He smoothed his pale hair with his hand. “What do you think I’ve been doing these past two years?”

“I do not wish to know!” I turned my face from him.

“You do not care that I was left alone in that grim castle?” he asked acidly. “No, of course not. You ran from me. Left me there to live out my cursed fate. But you’ll be pleased to know I spent my time there wisely, learning all I could, gaining strength and knowledge. And, of course, hatching this little scheme to entrap you and Quincey. It was in Father’s papers that I discovered the close bonds of loyalty between the Bathory and the Tepes family. It seemed natural to exploit such a union.”

He glanced at Quincey for the first time. “It was most vindicating, how keen Rebecca was to help me punish you for your disloyalty, Quincey.”

Rebecca’s eyes searched Quincey’s. “No. That’s not true. We were only supposed to return you to the fold—”

John laughed, a harsh shout devoid of warmth. “Don’t be
absurd. Perhaps you have forgotten, my dear, what you called him. What was it? An ungrateful fool?”

His scorching gaze swept back to Quincey and then to me. “Now look at you both! My dear brother and my fiancée, huddling together like a pair of trembling lovers!”

“I am no longer your fiancée!” I cried.

“I am crushed,” he sneered sarcastically. “Although . . . how ironic that you should reject me because of what I have become—and yet now fawn over Quincey.”

“He is trying to turn his back on his dark nature,” I retorted. “You started with every advantage and yet when offered a chance for evil, you took it wholeheartedly!”

My words seemed to anger him, for the smile evaporated from his face and his eyes burned hotter. “I had every advantage?” he roared. “I had nothing. It was he who had every advantage—the loving family, the knowledge of who he was—and he rejected it all. Betrayed all who had loved and nurtured him.”

Why did Quincey not defend himself? I turned to look up into his handsome, troubled face. He was staring at John, his eyes unfathomable. But his body was still pressed against mine, drained to the point of collapse by the weakness that afflicted him.

John stepped forward toward Quincey. “I am the stronger now,” he gloated. “I’m sorry you have made it easy for me to destroy you by weakening yourself these past two years.
Nevertheless”—he rubbed his hands together slowly and plucked a medieval sword from the wall—“I think I shall still enjoy this.”

Quincey growled a warning, but I heard the weakness in him and so did John, for his eyes lighted with triumph. He swung back his sword and flexed his arm, preparing for the first strike.

Quincey lifted his hands to defend himself as John let out a terrifying roar and unleashed a powerful blow.

“No! Wait!” a voice cried out.

In a flash of green, I saw Rebecca fling herself in front of Quincey. She gave a piercing scream of agony as John’s vicious blade sliced through her body. John stared in surprise at her as she crashed onto the hard marble floor. In that instant, I saw my chance. I uncorked the vial still clasped in my hand. Leaping forward, I flung the entire contents into John’s face.

The holy water splashed his right eye, and smoke steamed as the flesh burnt and bubbled beneath it. John screamed in agony and tore at the smoldering flesh as the water soaked deeper in, burning through to bone. He tore from the entrance hall, his cries echoing in the empty house.

I turned back to see Quincey kneeling beside Rebecca’s broken body and hurried over to them.

“I did not know he planned to kill you . . .” Rebecca gasped as Quincey gently raised her head. “I thought he
meant only to bring you back to your bloodline.” Her eyes flickered with red and then softened into tenderness. A black stain spread across her gown where she had been sliced through.

Rebecca clutched Quincey’s hand. “I’ve loved you, Quincey, ever since I was sent to seduce you,” she confessed. “Will there never again be a place for me in your heart?”

Quincey hesitated. “You were my first love, Rebecca, and for that you will always hold a place in my heart.”

Rebecca drew in a shuddering breath and nodded.

“He will kill you as soon as he is able,” Quincey said.

Rebecca closed her eyes and nodded. “I know, and it is right. Leave me now to await my fate.”

Quincey laid her head softly on the floor, and I could not tell if there was regret in his dark gaze as he gave Rebecca one final look.

He said nothing more to her as he straightened and drew me to my feet. “We must escape while John is wounded,” he said.

Pulling my hand, he led me to the door, and together we ran out onto the wide driveway. The cold night air froze me to the bone. Quincey quickly slipped off his greatcoat and put it around me. As he buttoned it hurriedly, I heard an almighty roar. My heart lurched in terror, and I looked back up at the house. Silhouetted in the doorway stood John. I could see the burnt-out hole where his eye had been.

I stifled a horrified sob. How could we escape? Nothing surrounded us but the empty moor. We were trapped in this dreadful place.

“I think I can carry us away from here,” Quincey rasped. He took my hands, and squeezing them between his, he stared into my eyes. “Do not be afraid,” he urged. “I will fly us to Father Michael. He may give us sanctuary. Even if he turns me away, he will take you in.”

I trembled at his words. What did he mean to do? He let go of my hands and stepped away. “Close your eyes, Mary,” he commanded. “And don’t open them again until I tell you to.”

I did as he bid and heard him utter a groan, deep and guttural. A few moments later, I felt the night air stir around me and heard the eerie swishing noise of huge wings.

Keeping my eyes tightly closed, I felt long, hard talons curve around my shoulders and my waist. And then I felt the ground fall away beneath my feet. I clung to Quincey as he transported us across the night sky.

Sometime later, though my eyes were still closed, I sensed a glimmer of light on the horizon. Dawn was coming. I felt Quincey dip—and feared that the first rays of sun had injured him. I almost opened my eyes in panic but then felt a sudden
whump
and realised that Quincey had landed. He laid me gently on the ground and moved away from me. I could feel the pricking of heather upon my face.

Feeling a little dizzy with relief, I slowly struggled to my feet and dared to open my eyes. I saw the outskirts of a city before us—Exeter was just ahead.

“I could not make it,” Quincey gasped.

I turned in time to see him shimmer back into human form. “We are far enough away to be safe,” I reassured him.

He nodded but then began to stagger. I hurried over to him, grasping his arms to steady him. He felt heavy against me. “The sunlight is fatal to me,” he breathed.

On the horizon, the pale blue glow of morning threatened to burst into golden rays. I scanned the empty edge of heath where we had landed, looking desperately for shelter.

“We are near the catacombs,” he gasped.

“Which way?” I demanded.

He pointed to a rocky outcrop a hundred yards away. “An entrance is there,” he murmured.

I strode toward it, dragging Quincey with me. He staggered at my side, and I struggled under the weight of him. But I would not let him fall. All the while the horizon lightened, and panic began to grip me. I could not let the sun destroy him after all we had been through. Ignoring my hammering heart, I half dragged, half carried him toward the shadowy entrance that loomed now before us.

At last we collapsed within its quiet shadows and I lay panting on the floor beside him. Such silence and stillness. I could hear water dripping farther back in the cave and
wondered how far it led into the depths of the earth.

I rolled onto my side and leaned toward Quincey. His breathing was shallow and strained. Alarm twisted my heart. “Quincey!” I put my hand on his ice-cold cheek.

He opened his eyes, and the early morning light that seeped now into the cave made them shine like onyx as he turned his head and gazed at me lying beside him. “Dear Mary,” he breathed weakly. “How I wish I could have defeated the vampire part of my nature and lived on.”

“You speak as though you are going to die!” My voice was sharp as anger flared in me. I could not lose him now!

“You are all I shall miss,” he went on. “My heart beats only for you. But you must go. Seek sanctuary. You have defeated us twice, and I am glad of it.”

“No!” I cried. “Take some of my blood. Please. If that is what you need to survive, you may have it.” Before he could argue, I dragged my wrist over the sharp stones of the cave floor, tearing the flesh until blood flowed. There was less pain in my arm than howled in my heart. I held my wrist above his lips and let the blood drip from my wounds into his mouth. His eyes flared as the liquid bathed his tongue, and he groaned. He lifted his hands and pressed my wrist harder to his face.

I felt the sharp points of his fangs. How I longed for him to sink them in! But he only ran his tongue over my skin and licked clean the blood before releasing me.

“Please go,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“I cannot leave you.” Tears choked my voice, and I held back a sob.

“Go!” he commanded.

I stumbled to my feet, a pain in my chest crueler than any I had known before.

The entrance of the cave was lit by a rosy dawn and I walked toward it, my feet unsteady on the rocky ground. I did not glance back to see him lying there. I did not want my last memory of him to be of one defeated. Instead I walked out into the light and felt its meagre warmth upon my face.

Journal of Mary Seward

31ST
D
ECEMBER 1918

Purfleet seemed no different when I arrived back here almost four weeks ago. Dust had hardly gathered on the furniture at home. But I felt utterly changed. No more would the world be ruled for me by the rigorous routine of day and night; instead it would always seem a dappled place where darkness and light played together as shadows beneath a tree.

When I pushed open the front door, the top letter among the others on the mat was from Dr. McLeod. It told me simply that my name had been cleared at the sanatorium and asked me to visit him.

I went, of course. What else was there for me to do? I hoped I might obtain my former employment there. A hollowness had opened in my chest since leaving Quincey, a
space I knew I must fill with some distraction if I were not to slip into despair.

And so I put on my coat this afternoon, walked the familiar route to the hospital, and asked at the reception desk for Dr. McLeod. As Flora plugged her telephone into the switchboard and called his office, she looked at me curiously.

“A man was looking for you before Christmas,” she told me. “Dark, handsome fellow, he was.”

Quincey?

Flora held up a hand and spoke into her mouthpiece. “Mary Seward is here for Dr. McLeod,” she said. There was a moment of silence during which she nodded. “Very well,” she finished. “Goodbye.”

She unplugged her headset and turned back to me. “You’re to go right up, and quickly. Dr. McLeod is scheduled to operate in half an hour.”

“Thank you.” I hurried away from her desk and climbed the stairs that I knew led to his office. I knocked upon the frosted glass of his door and heard his familiar voice from within.

“Come in.”

I entered the room and took the chair he offered me. As I smoothed my skirt over my knees, he sat down behind his cluttered desk and folded his hands beneath his chin.

“It seems I owe you an apology, Miss Seward,” he began. His eyes had a dark and worried look.

“What else could you have presumed when you caught me?” I conceded. I kept my voice steady, though my heart remembered with a jolt that grisly dusk when I had staked Sergeant Hopkins.

“We are still not sure what happened,” Dr. McLeod admitted. “But we are certain you were not the cause. Though you clearly knew more than you would admit.”

I leaned forward in my chair, feeling for the first time unintimidated by the doctor’s status and bearing. In this field, I was the expert and he the student. “And what should I have told you? That some unnatural fiend was loose in the hospital?”

Dr. McLeod looked at me uncertainly, sweat breaking out on his brow. “It has certainly been a strange affair,” he admitted. “And I could not have believed it if it had not been witnessed by Sister herself.”

“What happened to convince you of my innocence?” I asked him. The thought had often crossed my mind since I’d received his letter.

“Another nurse was caught red-handed stealing blood from one of the patients,” Dr. McLeod stated. He was trying to appear detached, but he tapped his pen anxiously on his notepad as he spoke.

“Stealing?” I queried.

“Drinking,” he admitted. His face paled at the thought. “Lieutenant Moreau. The night sister caught her in the act.”

“And which nurse was it?” I knew the answer but still wanted to hear Dr. McLeod’s confirmation.

“Becky Morrow,” he muttered.

“What did she do when she was caught?” I asked. I knew now what “modest” Becky was capable of.

“She just laughed.” Dr. McLeod drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “And then she twisted Lieutenant Moreau’s neck until it snapped.”

He closed his eyes momentarily as though grappling anew with the shock.

“Was the night sister all right?” I demanded.

“Well, she was shocked, of course, and called for help, but when the other nurses came and saw Nurse Morrow, her face smeared with blood, they just stood and stared in shock. Morrow simply walked past them all and out of the hospital. By the time we had alerted the police, she had disappeared.”

Dr. McLeod put away his handkerchief and leaned upon his desk. “Miss Seward. Mary . . .” he began falteringly. “I believe we were most cruelly duped by this fiend, and we owe you an apology for ever laying the blame at your door. I hope you can forgive and return to us.”

I stared at him, hope springing like a bird in my chest. “You would really take me?” I asked.

“There are still wounded soldiers to be cared for, though not so many now that hostilities are over,” Dr. McLeod
replied gravely. “We would welcome your experience to finish things up here. . . .”

“You are most kind,” I thanked him. “Yes. I would like to return to my duties at the hospital.”

The doctor’s face broke into a relieved smile

“But,” I went on. There was one proviso I would need to add. “I will still only work during daylight hours.”

Dr. McLeod nodded.

We agreed that I would start as soon as the new year began—and then I left.

Since then, I have hardly left the house. I had hidden away over Christmas, my heart absorbed in its own grief. But today, I visited the Edwardses. I’d felt a strong need to see Grace.

Jane answered the door. I saw that the hall behind her was still festooned with green garlands and scarlet bows. Her face broke into a smile upon her seeing me. “There were rumours you had returned!” She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “I knew you would call as soon as you felt able.”

She drew me into the house and relieved me of my coat and bonnet. “Grace is with Andrew in the parlour,” she said, beckoning me toward the parlour door.

I gazed at her gratefully. She’d made no comment about my departure or my pale and lacklustre appearance, and I knew it was kindness rather than lack of consideration that moved her.

“We’ve had a most delightful Christmas,” she told me as she showed me in. “Grace’s face simply glows with happiness every time we light the candles on the tree.” She pressed a buzzer in the wall. “I’ll ring for the maid. We can all have some tea.”

Andrew stood to greet me, laughing as Grace rushed over to me, clapping her chubby hands. “Nice to see you again, Mary,” he said. “We missed you over Christmas. Where on earth were you?”

“I’m sure Mary will tell us all about her adventures when she’s ready.” Jane flashed Andrew a warning glance.

“Oh, there’s little to tell.” I swung Grace up into my arms and held her close. “Grief over Father has made me reclusive.”

“There, Andrew,” Jane said warmly. “Just as I thought.” She touched my arm. “We’re glad to have you back with us in time for New Year’s. Indeed, we have planned a party for tonight—just a small gathering. Would you like to come?”

Unease pricked in my palms. The memory of meeting Lord Bathory at Jane’s last soiree was still fresh. And as long as John was still alive and bent on revenge, it would be unwise to be out at night. Who knew what he would plan next? “I am a little tired,” I told her. “Perhaps another time.”

“Very well,” Jane agreed easily. “Do sit down.”

I took a chair beside the hearth and Grace settled on my knee. I kissed her fondly on the nose. As I did so, she laughed the pure, spontaneous laugh of a young child. In that perfect moment, peace swept through me. Even though horror had
returned to haunt me, Father’s words echoed in my heart.

“Knowing there is darkness should not stop us from revelling in the light.”

I played with Grace until the maid brought the tea and then sipped it quickly so I might leave before dusk began to fall.

The sun was setting by the time I reached home. I locked the door securely behind me and ran my fingers over the crucifix in the hall. How Rebecca must have hated passing it each day.

I drew the curtains to keep out the dark and hold in the warmth. As I pulled the drapes together, feeling the heavy fabric brush against my skin, I heard a noise, the tap of nails upon the glass.

My heart leapt, torn between hope and horror. Was it John? Quincey? Either way, I had to look.

I peered around the curtain and saw eyes, familiar, glowing through the glass.

Quincey!

I raced to the front door and threw it open. “Come in . . .” I breathed.

He stepped across the threshold, and I saw at once that he had recovered his old strength. And beauty. He towered above me, his head held high, his cheeks no longer gaunt, his hair slicked back and shining in the hall light.

I embraced him at once. “Oh, Quincey, how I have missed you!” I sighed. I felt his arms slide round me. His heart beat fiercely beneath my cheek.

“And I you,” he murmured. His breath ruffled my hair, and that gentle sensation was enough to set my body tingling with desire.

But I knew why he had come—why he looked so reinvigourated. He was here to confess, and I did not want to hear it. I did not want to know that once more, he was following his vampire nature and feeding on human blood.

“Mary . . .” he began.

Desperately I pressed my fingers over his lips. “Do not say it,” I begged, gazing into the dark depths of his eyes.

He gently drew my hand aside. “You know I cannot allow myself to be weak any longer,” he insisted. “John will come again. I must be ready for it, for if he harmed you, I could not bear it.” He looked at me, his loving gaze tinged with anxiety.

Resigned, I dropped my gaze and rested my cheek against his powerful chest once more. “I know.” I sighed again. “I wish it were not so, but I understand.”

I do not know which hurt me more—that Quincey had let the dark side of his soul return to dominance to protect me—or that in his doing so, I was not able to be with him.

How I hated John for forcing this upon us. “I pray he comes soon,” I whispered bitterly. “Then we can deal with him once and for all!”

Quincey lifted my chin and gazed at me, his eyes brimming with sorrow. He leaned down and brushed my lips with the gentlest of kisses. I understood why he did not risk
more, for I knew well the passion that flared so easily between us and where it might lead.

“I will never be far,” he told me. Then he took his leave.

Even now as I write, I feel a strange awareness of him. His presence will touch me so long as he is on this earth. The yearning in my heart will never cease. He has captured my heart and my soul, and I am his until I die.

Sleep well, dear Quincey, wherever you are, and dream of me as I shall dream of you.

Journal of Quincey Harker

31ST
D
ECEMBER 1918

I am safe in the shadows now. It is cold here, but it will always be cold wherever Mary is not.

To have been so close to her tonight was almost more than I could bear, knowing I would leave her with only one chaste kiss. But if I am to safeguard her, it must be this way.

I will love her and love her and love her from afar. And from this place, I shall watch over her and do all in my power to protect her.

No matter what evil may plague us next.