Chapter Text
Vampires were real; those gathered in the graveyard knew this fact with an unshakable certainty.
The supernatural had been thoroughly proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to the men gathered on this night. This was not trickery; this was no fantastical illusion.
Lucy Westenra was resurrected; Professor Van Helsing had revealed this to her former suitors by showing them, for none could have believed the words alone. They had to see for themselves. He had proven to her former suitors and fiance that the young woman had died, and been possessed and corrupted; she had been reborn as a vampire. They believed her mortal trappings and emotional attachments had to have fallen away, and would merely be used against them.
The bitten child, now discarded and still, was merely asleep due to a trance. Arthur had been saved from the chance of being bitten himself, and would agree to any theory put forth to end this; he thoroughly rejected this woman’s new state of being.
They expected her to flee to the safety of her crypt when Van Helsing removed the Host from the crevices and cracks. They knew that method was no longer barred, and she could easily be confined.
They were wrong. Had Lucy truly been alone, perhaps she would have retreated. Perhaps she would have hidden. Had Lucy been alone, perhaps she would have even returned to the protection of her coffin. She would have been vulnerable the next day when Arthur and the rest returned and sent her abruptly into peace with the finality of a wooden stake piercing her heart.
Perhaps in another world this could have happened.
Lucy wasn’t alone. There came a hiss through the night, and then a rasp, of one word. One name. ‘Lucy.’ There was grinning vengeance upon Lucy’s face as she dashed to her Master’s side.
Instead of having a stake driven through her chest the next afternoon, Lucy saw the one man who could prevent them from harming her. With a vengeful, bloodstained grin on her lips as she glared at them over one shoulder, she darted across the cemetery with unnatural speed. She went straight to where he was waiting beneath a copse of trees, which were gently swaying in the night’s wind.
Count Dracula was waiting for his child; Lucy kissed his face and cheeks and lips, until he pulled her away. There was no further need for that in this life beyond mortality. The Count took Lucy’s hand, and, smirking, brought it to his lips. The mortals would never see his face, for he was summoning a grand fog to cover both themselves, as well as mute a portion of what conversation may emerge.
They turned together, and watched the hunters.
The men could not see his face beneath the shadows, even before the fog rolled in; they could only see his red eyes gleaming. He was shaping the shadows, the elements of the air to the best of his ability. Each man in the group feared they would be slaughtered and buried tonight. Could this have the bearings of a massacre?
Instead, fog rolled in thicker than the worst pea-souper that the heart of London had ever beheld. And it was all concentrated in this meeting place, between presumed hunter and prey. Moments later, Van Helsing heard sporadic and thanklessly muffled words, and knew this was melodramatically conjured around them all both for privacy, as well as a potential cover so that none could see what approached them before they were cut down where they were standing. “Do all have their protection?” Van Helsing wondered.
There was silence at first before sounds reached him. Van Helsing sighed in disgust as he made to step forward. Shaking his head, he chose to stay in one spot for his own safety. “Do not move, for we may come to harm!” He shouted. It felt like he was alone, but he knew the others were certainly near. “One or more might trip and come to harm among the dead.”
Van Helsing could hear muffled words, and knew it was vital that he listen. There came the name Mina from what was once Miss Lucy’s dear mouth, and a laugh from the vampire who had changed her. Something else, unspoken, passed between them, before they spoke aloud any further.
How close were they to him? How close was he to either friend or foe on this black and mysterious night? By the voices almost blocked, he learned to his relief that friends were closer. “Move none of you too far or too quick,” Van Helsing urged. His fingers had brushed marble, moldy and ill cared for. “Headstones bring a terrible end when the neck goes snap and the head is cracked open. I feel one or two or three in this location.”
They all looked around, though, for they could hear voices ringing out clearer. They were stuck, unable to do anything but listen as frequently voices drifted to them, before being covered. They only heard partial words, and plots for future deeds. Perhaps, the Professor mused, there was also thought transference involved with these creatures to make it doubly irritating.
Lucy was pulled back into the mental conversation. ‘You know of his offices in Devonshire, I presume?’ Dracula asked, almost haughtily. He knew, due to the exchange of correspondence with Mr. Hawkins. He would ignore the humans bound by his will and his fog for this instant. They could do nothing.
‘I bit him there first, just outside his office in the gloom,’ Lucy mentally hissed. ‘And again in Exeter on his doorstep that very same night, when I managed to make him think he’d left his briefcase behind. I called on him again, just before dawn that night…but I didn’t take as much, before I flew away.’ In a strangely adoring tone, she accidentally slipped and spoke the rest aloud. “She interrupted us with a broom when he was at the window.”
‘Fool! You might have killed him too soon, or left naught but a husk behind and revealed us,’ he growled. ‘How many of the children did you require after you glutted yourself on him?’ In his rage, thought transference was going to be discarded if he continued, lest he destroy her mind.
Lucy and Dracula were locked together emotionally as well as physically as they briefly grappled. She moved to strike him; he held her arms down. They were bound by blood. Internal dialogue only became vocal when they slipped and spoke in the heat of the moment.
They slipped now, for Lucy had grown impassioned and wild. She shook his arm as she continued to speak.
“No,” a voice the men knew was Lucy hissed loud enough for all to hear. “They were dessert after Exeter; they haven’t enough in those tiny bodies to fill me!” A musical laugh was followed by something they couldn’t understand. Was there an argument brewing? No, surely not. “I’ve bitten him often enough. I will have my Mina through Jonathan. I’ll pull him to me. He will protect me in the day, or we change him and them.”
She slid back into that peculiar manner of speech, then. ‘Mina will always follow him; be generous and allow me to go to her,’ she begged. ‘Her mind will be a boon to you! I can keep them together, and take care of them!’
Dracula shook his head, thinking that sounded not unlike keeping them around as pets. Or it would have, were it not for the look in her eyes. She was young; she was still making errors in judgment. A vicious smile grew across his lips as his words turned soft, though no less cruel. “No, my Lucy. They will be shared. They will be…ours. He is mine halfway, or was before you began to take all of his blood and endanger him. She will be yours, as you so desire. If what I see of your memories is apt, it has always been thus.”
He didn’t care for her blushes if her body could have produced them. He cared little for the tattered vestiges of unneeded and discarded purity when she was like him. He nodded to himself. Yes, if the way to either was through the other, then so mote it be.
“Jonathan was mine once, and shall be again,” the Count continued in a sinister tone. “You have tormented those little ones enough to satisfy. We are resolved in our chosen prey, are we not? Then, so shall it be.” A burst of wind shot through the cemetery, then, dispersing much—if not all—of the fog as the trees bent with the force of it. It subsided as quickly as its arrival, though a ring of the mist was still evident in the small area surrounding the men.
His words held amusement as he continued. “They will be ours. He is mine halfway, and all the safer under my wing than wandering about in the dark. Come!”
‘He is all the safer in mine own protection,’ he noted mentally, quieter, with a slow smile as he drew Lucy close. The rage had dissolved. ‘Those nights were yours. However…when tomorrow night comes, and every night thereafter, for as long as it takes once you have lured him into our clutches? Those nights are mine. Come!’
“Be on your guard,” Quincey warned. He was already alerted to the wrongness of the residual circle as it shifted and squirmed like a living thing.
More words reached their ears, this time from the man whose name they still had not heard. “How long?” The Count mused, as if in answer to an unspoken declaration.
“Four nights, save the time in which he was prevented; she thinks I was prevented twice,” Lucy gleefully replied. She would gloat for her success. “No blood of mine has been yet offered.”
They could make out the Count’s silhouette as the fog thinned. Then, both profiles were gone, as though they never were, even as Van Helsing clutched his cross just in case.
Then, the sounds changed and Van Helsing could hear the buffeting as of the great wings of some nocturnal creature. An owl, or a bat could be the source, but it was not natural. The mist parted, and revealed it to be a bat for an instant. A large one. Arthur cried out as another smaller one swooped downwards, only to be lost again.
Arthur gave another cry as the larger of the two bats swooped low and almost bit him. The first, smaller bat flapped closer once again, and all drew forth crosses and crucifixes to defend their friend. The attack ended as abruptly as it began. Arthur caught his breath as he lifted a lantern and looked himself over. “I am…unharmed,” he assured them, though he was terrified. He glanced over to Van Helsing. “Professor, what do we do?”
Quincey raised his arm to fire off a shot, but realized the error of that idea even as Seward reached over and grabbed his arm. As best as they could, they shared a look and a nod. Neither needed to speak. Thankfully, the fog was dispersing.
Van Helsing sighed. He scarcely knew, either. “We return to my hotel room, if none of us have further appointments. There we wait until morning, and we see if she has returned to her resting place. We widen our searches.”
He turned to Quincey, with a half smile. “Ordinary bullets do not stop the extraordinary bats. There, see? With their departure, our vision clears.” He looked around at the thin mist. “No bites? None? We continue and place the child where others will find it, and it comes to no further harm.”
Quincey held up a hand for pause. “Who’d she bite?”
Good, Van Helsing thought. He had heard that, too. “Miss Lucy knew a Miss Mina, from her short-lived diary. I have yet to read the letters between the women in full, having just uncovered them, and begun reading from the most recent date to the oldest,” Van Helsing began. He regretted not finding the time, for he might know her location even now. “This Mina went to collect her so ill Jonathan. It could be that he and they, wherever they dwell, they are in danger. Before it is time for solemn duty great, I try to learn,” he swore.
Until he knew the contents of those letters, and more of this Mina’s life and heart, Van Helsing would say nothing further with his assumptions. “Do we all swear to bring Miss Lucy a true peace, and end this blight?”
He was methodical. He would have facts before he set foot in their home. He would stake the dear Miss Lucy and bring her peace before that, though.
They all shook hands; they were resolved to see this through to the end, and bring Lucy peace.
--
If Lucy had already laid claim to this Jonathan, along with her creator, then Van Helsing knew that this Miss Mina was potentially unknowingly living with a dangerous contamination already. Perhaps the man had moments left before he fully changed.
They were already too late for most things in this dreadful saga.
“I must read those letters, John,” he quickly said as they returned to his hotel to regroup. “You three need to be fed to be kept strong, as well. No disturbances from you, save for miracles or destruction or fire,” he distractedly continued as he moved to close a small bedroom door.
“I trust you will notice if this establishment should burn down around you,” Seward called to him. There was no reply. Then again, Seward mused—knowing the Professor’s potential for becoming lost in his studies or just in the maze of a favored subject, perhaps he would be the last to know of such a situation.
With a gesture, he let Arthur and Quincey know it would be best to sit down and wait. They could rest if they needed to do so.
After an hour and a half, Van Helsing at last extricated himself from his reading. He was already attired in his travel cloak, and clung to his satchel. Seward rose to meet him, only for Van Helsing to shake his head. “No, John. I must see they are warned; should I return three hours hence, and you grow not restless, we four go together to do our grim work upon Lucy’s body.”
Seward glanced to Arthur, asleep in a chair. He didn’t need to hear this. Quincey nodded his own assent after he realized the desire for quiet. “Then decided it is,” Van Helsing murmured. Without further comment, he left for his hopeful errand of mercy.
Quincey leaned forward. “If he don’t return, we’re stranded without that carriage that brought us,” he noted.
The thought brought a smile to Seward’s face, for the first time in what felt like a long time. It was such an absurd thought, for he was right. “I can hire another, should he lose my first.”
A half hour later, though, Van Helsing was back. “My journey will be long, and the train schedule later, for a breakage of something vital down the line. They require an engine serviced. I could never be back in time, therefore I wait with you.”
“Where do they live?” Seward asked. “I need the carriage and can take part of the journey with you before we switch to another. I could wire ahead before the transfer,” he offered. “One could meet us before we part ways. We can do this, after—after Lucy, as you say.”
“Exeter,” Van Helsing reminded him. They had all heard the words in the graveyard, though perhaps they had not drifted fully to certain ears. Or he had too much on his mind. “They are in Exeter. Many thanks, friend John,” he finished succinctly. He gestured for the men to follow him, as he left for a second time.
The time had come to finish their work. Lucy would be granted peace. The sun was high enough, and therefore that hellspawn which had replaced her would not enthrall them. He took up his satchel and placed two wooden stakes within it. He was ready. Were his friends?
When they returned to the Westenra crypt, however, they were prevented from their appointed task. They knew Lucy’s body must surely rest in her coffin by day, but for one very important matter.
The coffin itself was missing from the Westenra tomb.