I heard the words through the veil of a dream, but their content brought me to full alertness, just as an infant's shrill cry provokes an immediate response from the sleeping mother. I leapt to my feet at once and followed the horrified servants' gazes to the woman on the bed.

There lay my sweet Lucy, golden hair fanned behind her on the pillow, her skin and lips a dreadful ashen grey, her breath coming in gasps. The poor girl could barely speak. I rushed to her and took her hand, which was quite cool, then instructed one of the servants to bring a gla.s.s of port at once, but to say nothing to Mrs. Westenra should they encounter her en route. The other I sent off to the telegraph office, to send a message off to "Mr. Windham,"

asking him to return to Hillingham at once. Lucy herself I ordered to remain silent, in part because I could not bear to watch her struggle so.

The next thing I did was to glance surrept.i.tiously at the lintel over the window, as I completely expected that the small crucifix had somehow come loose from its place, fallen, and been swept up by one of the maids.

But no; I saw the glint of silver in the same place it had been the night before, and panicked.

How could this be? I had trusted Van Helsing's explanations utterly, but now one piece of the puzzle no longer fit. And if he was wrong about the security ensured by a talisman, might he be wrong about everything else?

There was nothing more to be done than sit by Lucy's side and await the port, and, when it came, to put the gla.s.s tenderly to her lips and help her drink-she looking up at me with an expression of such sweet apology that it p.r.i.c.ked my broken heart. She did her best with the port, which was not much; and then she sank wearily back upon the pillow, sighed, and slept.

The maid brought me a piece of stationery from Lucy's desk, and so I hastily penned a note to Art telling of his betrothed's setback, and had it sent out by mid-morning post.

The hours awaiting Van Helsing seemed to drag on forever, especially when night again fell and he had still not arrived. The worst of it was the fact that there simply was nothing more I could do for Lucy. In my desperation I considered attempting a very novel and experimental procedure, the blood transfusion-but since there was no one at Hillingham except myself, Mrs. Westenra, and three young housemaids, there seemed no one suitable to donate the blood except myself. Even if I had the equipment (which I did not), it would have been impossible to perform the procedure upon myself, as I might faint and thus lose both doctor and patient.

By early evening, we received a reply from "Mr. Windham" that he would be arriving on the early morning train. Even though my confidence regarding the crucifix talisman had been sorely shaken, I was nonetheless greatly relieved to hear the professor was well and was indeed on his way.

Thank G.o.d we pa.s.sed an unremarkable night; this time, I allowed myself not a second's sleep. The guilt I felt over failing my patient-the very one whom I most loved -negated all fatigue.

So it was that the professor at last arrived. He was in a somber mood-so somber that, in spite of Lucy's terrible situation, I suspected that he had even greater sorrows on his mind.

The first thing he whispered to me after Lucy's mother (who seemed grateful to be kept in the dark concerning her daughter's health) welcomed him into the house was: "The crucifix. Did one of the maids remove it?"

"No," I replied, as we began to ascend the stairs. "You will see. It is precisely as you left it."

"Then someone else must have invited him in," he said gravely. "Not Mrs. Westenra-"

"No," I seconded, surprising myself. "Not she..."

Despite the situation, Van Helsing gave a faint, grim smile. "You are quite the psychic talent, friend John. Most a.s.suredly you do not take after me; what paltry abilities I possess came only after the greatest effort." The smile faded at once into a thin-lipped expression of unhappy determination. "You are right about Mrs. Westenra. She has not been touched by those we fight; such things invariably show first in the aura, if only to the tiniest degree. But we must interview each one who slept in this house last night, even those who visited here after sunset. There we will find our answer to the mystery."

He fell silent as we two approached Lucy's room, and the little chambermaid opened the door with a slight curtsy. We requested privacy for our examination, which the girl grudgingly yielded; a good thing, for when Van Helsing stepped inside and saw Lucy sleeping, he whispered: "My G.o.d!"

For a time, neither of us spoke, and as we both stood studying Lucy in the early morning light, I saw that she looked even worse than she had the day before. Her cheeks had sunken so that her face appeared skeletal. She was that close to death, perhaps only minutes away-and the realisation struck so hard that I came close to weeping, and actually stumbled.

The professor put an amazingly strong hand on my arm and steadied me. "She can be saved, John, but we must act swiftly; there is one thing I can do, but there is no time for explanation-"

"Yes, yes," I answered, eager to focus on something other than my own grief. "I thought the same! A transfusion-"

He sighed and shook his head. "No; such is too risky. I have seen the operation perform miracles-but I have more often seen it bring death. I do not know how to explain what it is I propose, except to say that it is a transfusion... of sorts. But it is not on a physical level."

I was far too overwhelmed with emotion and confused by his words to reply. I merely blinked at him, waiting.

"I must have complete privacy; tell Mrs. Westenra and the servants-no one is to come near. Tell them-tell them that we are performing a transfusion of blood, and that the delicacy of the surgery is such that any interruption would endanger Miss Lucy's life." He paused, apparently struggling to make a decision as I turned towards the door; his hesitation made me linger. "John... I hesitate to ask such a favour, but the 'operation' I wish to perform does, in fact, require a donor."

"Then I am he," I answered at once.

"You should be aware, then, that this will drain some of the aura's strength, and thus your ability to protect yourself, for some hours."

"Doctor, I care not whether the cost is my own soul."

He nodded, clearly relieved. "It is not impossible for me to use myself-but it will likely be far less effective for our patient. Very well; I will go into the other room to prepare myself.

Could you also fetch my medical bag from downstairs? It will enhance the illusion that we are indeed performing the act we claim."

I nodded, and we moved away from each other-I towards the hallway and stairs, he towards Lucy's sitting-room. But sounds coming from downstairs-the sound of knocking, and the maid's high-pitched reply-caught our attention. The professor shot me a look, and said, "I suspect Miss Lucy has a visitor."

So it was he followed me quickly down the stairs, and just as we arrived in the hall, we saw Art Holmwood stepping in. At the sight of me, Art rushed up and took my hand, professing that anxiety over my letter had brought him here. "Is not that gentleman Dr. Van Helsing?"

he asked politely, for the professor stood by my side, rather guardedly studying this young intruder. "I am so thankful to you, Doctor, for coming."

I knew that Van Helsing had no reason to trust Art, and was examining him on a psychic level to see if he posed a threat to us or Lucy. But I was confident my friend would pa.s.s inspection, and so he did. I saw a flicker of relief on Van Helsing's face, followed quickly by an honest look of admiration and satisfied approval. At once he took Arthur's hand and, to my surprise, told him that we needed a donor for a blood transfusion-to which Art of course quickly volunteered.

Van Helsing sternly informed the servants then of our requirement for privacy, and found his black bag (which was larger and heavier than the typical physician's bag; I cannot imagine what was hidden in it).

We three proceeded up to Lucy's room. Art was, of course, stricken to see her so ghastly weak, and out of kindness, the professor permitted him a kiss before the "operation." I was rather curious how he intended to pull it off with an outsider present, and Lucy now awake (though too exhausted even to speak).

He went into the other room, telling them both that he must prepare for the operation. He was gone no more than a handful of minutes, and when he returned, he bore in his hand a gla.s.s. This he said was a sleeping-draught for Lucy, and slipped an arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her up that she might drink it.

Perhaps it was indeed what he claimed, but I saw his gaze catch hers for an instant-and swear now that a distinctly bluish glow surged forth from his eyes into hers. At the conclusion of this, she promptly fell asleep. He then moved over to Arthur (who sat beside the bed in the same chair where I had so often sat vigil), and, bringing forth a long bit of tubing from his bag, pretended to affix it to his patient's arm. First, though, he stared into Holmwood's eyes with the same intensity he had used with Lucy, and within a matter of seconds, Art, too, was soundly unconscious.

I watched in fascination, scarcely breathing, as abruptly an egg-shaped glow enveloped the entire body of each patient-Lucy's a feeble pale green, Arthur's a strong, virile orange. Van Helsing moved first to Holmwood, whose head had lolled back against the high-backed chair. I was still so amazed by the brightness of the patients' auras that I did not realise, until the professor approached Art and reached a hand out towards the deep tiger-lily glow, that Van Helsing himself was surrounded by a larger and even more intense, brilliant blue shimmer.

The professor reached forth into the sparkling orange and withdrew a large globe-shaped portion of it from over Holmwood's heart. I could see the dark vacancy it left, and how the psychic wound immediately rushed to close itself and fill the void with shimmering orange; but the effect was that the entire aura paled and dimmed, as if diluted.

This orange "globe" the professor held between his hands for a moment. It did not mingle with Van Helsing's bright blue, but instead seemed to grow ever stronger, ever deeper in hue, as he gazed calmly down upon it. And then, when he judged the moment to be right, he stepped over to where Lucy lay, and tenderly placed it upon her heart.

The reaction was fascinating to see: her feeble green aura at once surged forth like a hungry amoeba and "consumed" the orange glow, enveloping it until its distinctive colour disappeared completely. The union of the two did not yield a third hue; to the contrary, the pale green brightened to bold emerald, and its borders noticeably enlarged.

"We are done now," Van Helsing said, and I looked up at him to see the blue aura quite gone. A quick glance back at the sleeping patients showed no trace of orange or green-only Art's now wan-looking complexion, and Lucy's cheeks kissed with a subtle trace of pink. It was as if I had been abruptly wakened from a strange dream, indeed.

When Art revived, we sent him home with instructions to sleep and eat as much as possible (though how he could with such worries about his ailing father and his fiancee, I cannot fathom). Lucy wakened vastly improved, which relieved me almost to public tears, for if she had died, her blood would have been on my head.

The professor then took me aside, and we two agreed that the best course of action would be for me to sit with Lucy the next few nights. Van Helsing himself will during the day keep to his cell at the asylum, and continue the "research," as he calls it, that he began during his stay in the country cottage. By night, he will come in invisible guise to Hillingham, and remain here to see if he can unravel the mystery of how the vampire entered despite the protective talisman. He will also take steps to increase the "security" here, sealing off all windows and doors, and ordering blossoms of fresh garlic, which he says are more powerful repellents than the heads.

10 SEPTEMBER.

A terrible, terrible day. I had spent the entire night of 8 September keeping watch over Lucy; when morning came, I was quite done in. But there was work to be accomplished at the asylum, and a new patient to be admitted. By the time I had attended to it all, dusk was approaching, and once again, I hastened to Hillingham for another all-night vigil.

Happily, Lucy was up when I arrived, and in fine spirits. Her mother reported proudly that she had dressed for an early supper, come downstairs, and eaten heartily. This was the best news I had had in some several months, yet my cheerfulness could not entirely mask my exhaustion. Lucy noticed it, and insisted that I rest upon the couch in the room adjacent to hers, within earshot. In case of any trouble, she promised to call for me.

Such was my fatigue that I agreed, telling myself that my sweet charge's improvement was due to the added measures the professor had taken against the vampire, and that we were now completely safe. And at any rate, the professor himself would also be silently and invisibly patrolling the rest of the house.

So I crawled upon the couch, fell fast asleep, and did not wake until a palm pressed against the crown of my head. I sat up with a start, and saw Van Helsing staring down at me with a faint smile.

"You are well-rested, I trust," said he indulgently, then lifted a hand for silence as I began to make apology; I had certainly not intended to sleep through the night. "No, John, explanation is not needed. You were tired and had earned the right. At any rate, I remained on watch around the servants' quarters and Mrs. Westenra's room. No disturbance there last night, nor on the main floor below. Shall we go see how our patient is faring?"

I a.s.sented eagerly, and together we stole into Lucy's room.

I (and the professor, I am sure) was confident that this would be a cheerful visit, that we would find Lucy ever more restored and blooming with health. The room was quite dark, so I moved to the window and opened the blind, letting the morning sunlight stream into the room.

"G.o.d in Heaven," Van Helsing whispered. At the abject horror in his tone, a thrill of unutterable fear shot through me. I closed my eyes and remained facing the window, for I knew what I would see the instant I turned.

Alas, I could not remain so forever. So I faced at last the heartrending sight upon the bed: Lucy unconscious, grey as Hillingham's stone walls and just as lifeless. For a sickening instant, I honestly thought her dead.

And then, blessedly, her chest rose as she struggled for breath. Van Helsing addressed me at once. "Friend John, now is the time to make your sacrifice. Lock the door, then sit; I shall go into the other room but a moment, and then when I return, I will do it swiftly."

I replied not a word, but moved directly to the door and locked it fast whilst the professor went into the adjacent room. Then I sat and tried to breathe slowly, evenly, in hopes of slowing my furiously racing heart. A miserable sense of failure washed over me, along with the irrational conviction that if Lucy died, I alone was to blame.

Directly Van Helsing came out, encompa.s.sed once again by the egg-shaped brilliant blue shield of his powerful aura. I glanced beside me to see that Lucy herself was radiating the pitifully dim emerald glow; as for myself, I spread my hand before me, curious to see what colour I might find there-but found nothing. (Van Helsing later reported to me that I have a "very healthy" blue aura with areas of gold.) Beyond that, I remember virtually nothing of the exchange, except that it seemed over almost instantly, and the professor was directing me to the couch in the next room. I slept a time, then had a hearty breakfast; even so, the experience left me noticeably weakened.

As for poor Lucy, she was improved, though not as much as she had been by the "operation" with Arthur. When I returned to the professor, who was himself resting in the sitting-room, he confessed that he had not taken so much "life-force," or prana, from me.

"After all," he said, "Mr. Holmwood is not attempting to fight the vampire, and you are."

Then he sighed, and stared disconsolately into the cold fireplace which faced the sofa; in his blue eyes was a deep anguish that was painful to see. "I am wrong, I think, to involve you in this any further, John. I thought I knew the danger we faced-but now I realise I know nothing at all. Until now, Vlad has been limited in how and where he can work his evil; yet in Miss Lucy's case, the talismans which once repelled him now slow him not at all. And if he can come and go as he pleases, then Miss Lucy-and all else whom he wishes-have no hope. Nor you and I, John. You, the one person on earth whom I had wanted to protect from him..."

An abrupt spasm of grief crossed his features; he carelessly tore off his spectacles and tossed them aside, then put his great square face into his hands and wept hoa.r.s.ely.

The sight of his despair pulled at my heart as much as the sight of Lucy had, as did his profession of concern for my sake (though I wondered why he should feel more protective of me than of his own wife). I set a comforting hand upon his thick shoulder. "Professor," I said gently. "You are yourself exhausted, and the whole situation seems to you quite hopeless. But you have again saved Lucy today. Remember that, then sleep and eat well yourself, for neither one of us is any use if we do not tend ourselves."

At that, he looked up and said haggardly, "I will rest and eat today, John. And this evening I will come and sit with Miss Lucy myself during the night while you go home." When I began to protest, he raised a hand. "No- no objections. Remember, you have been weakened in a most dangerous manner; by tomorrow, though, you will be fit again for duty, and then I will rest."

"Very well," I agreed, and rose to go. But before I could take a step towards the door, he added softly: "In the country and at the asylum, I have sent out urgent call after urgent call for help-this even before I knew how desperate was our case. Now I know that all the knowledge, all the power, I have acquired over the past quarter-century has been in vain. If that help does not come soon, my son, then you and I both are lost."

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing 18 SEPTEMBER.

Miss Lucy will soon leave us. This I know from looking down at her sweet face, still pale and drawn after the "emergency transfusion" Jack and I performed with an American, Mr.

Quincey Morris, as donor. It is not so much the physical signs of anaemia-her bloodless complexion, the terrible blue-grey of her lips and gums, her weak, rapid breath-that convince me of her impending death. These alone are painful enough to see, but far worse are the signs of an imminent, insidious transformation: the elongated canines, the look of sinister voluptuousness which comes over her in sleep, and the subtle gleam of indigo I see behind her green gaze.

After last night's events, I am shaken to the core. I, who arrogantly believed myself powerful enough to take on the Impaler-I have learned that I am nothing, of no use to anyone. I, the vampire "expert," could not even save dear Miss Lucy after weeks of effort!

What advice shall I offer them all now, except to flee their native land and live the rest of their lives in dread of discovery?

Here is the sad story: The garlic blossoms arrived on the eleventh, after which Miss Lucy seemed to rally. I dared to hope that, although my talismans had failed, the delicate white blossoms themselves possessed a natural and therefore stronger magic which would repel the Impaler. At any rate, our patient declared that they permitted her to sleep peacefully.

For the past week, I had again closeted myself in my asylum cell during the day to repeat the Abramelin ritual -praying for a response from my mentor or indeed any quarter. As always, no reply. Hopeless as it all seems now, I would sell my soul to the vampire's "Dark Lord" Himself if I could be guaranteed no deceit and a certain outcome of Vlad and Zsuzsanna destroyed and all mortals protected. And, of course, no transformation of myself into a vampire... Most evenings I went to Hillingham and sat watch over our patient; some nights, John would relieve me after midnight. Again, I do not know what we expected to accomplish, as Vlad had already entered Lucy's room without detection; but it is a difficult thing to give up all hope and surrender to inaction.

Last night's plan was for John to sit vigil; I would remain the entire day and night in my cell, trying both to elicit help and further charge a special Solomon's Seal, which talisman represented our last hope. As I would be indisposed, John had told the Westenra ladies the day before that I had returned to Amsterdam and would be back in approximately twenty- four hours.

But that afternoon, John suffered a rather serious cut on his wrist, courtesy of Mr. Renfield, who had escaped his cell. Vlad at work again! Clearly, the vampire was planning something nefarious at Hillingham that night and did not wish Seward's interference; the safest thing was for John to remain at the asylum. This deduction I kept to myself, and merely told John that he was too weak to sit vigil at all, that he should go to his bed and sleep the night. I would keep watch all night at Hillingham. He had lost quite a bit of blood from the cut, and so readily agreed.

Thus yesterday I went to the Westenra estate alone and invisible, and knocked upon the door some ten minutes before sunset. The downstairs maid (a timid brown mouse of a girl, with large, gentle eyes) opened the door a crack-then wider, wider, until she stood upon the porch hands on hips, frowning, looking all about for the prankster who had summoned her then fled. I slipped past her easily, made my examination of the windows to be sure all the little crosses were in place (instinct was at work here, not logic), and finally went upstairs to Miss Lucy's room.

Even before I entered, the pungent smell in the corridor told me that the blossoms were still in place. The door to the patient's room was half-ajar. I slipped through easily -though tentatively, as I did not wish to compromise her modesty; as luck had it, she was in her night-dress, sitting in bed frowning down at Plutarch's Lives, with a tray of half-eaten food upon the night-stand. She was still wan, but much improved after her most recent setback; there was a hint of colour in her cheeks and lips.

I sat in the cushioned chair beside Lucy's bed, and a terrible sense of familiarity overcame me, what the French call deja vu. I was stricken with the same hopeless sadness I felt in the rocking-chair beside Mama's deathbed; and even to the same degree, for though a month ago this charming young woman was a stranger to me, I had grown paternally fond of her.

Now I could not shake the sense that she was as doomed as poor Mama-even more so, because her ultimate fate would be far more hideous than the sweet repose of death.

With such grim thoughts circling my tired brain, I sat, righting to maintain keen alertness for all those signs of Vlad's approach that, the last time, I had completely missed. And I took out the Solomon's Seal from my vest pocket and held it in my hand, contemplating its shining silver surface and the geometric designs and Hebrew letters inscribed thereon. The sight of it gave comfort and a faint hope that perhaps it and the fresh garlic blossoms, shipped daily from Haarlem, would be sufficient to repel Vlad.

Hours pa.s.sed. Lucy reached for a pear from the supper tray, took a half-hearted bite, and tossed it back; then she closed the book and set it, too, aside. I was hopeful sleep would come soon for her, but she gave another restless sigh and rummaged through the night- stand drawer for a little diary and pen. With these in hand she sat back, opened the diary, and raised the pen, poised to write.

That inspiration, too, failed her, and with a small noise of disgust, she replaced them, extinguished the lamp, and fell back into the bed.At last the shift in her breathing that signalled sleep came. I rose and went to the window ledge, and there gently placed the Seal, the most powerful of magical protections I could offer up on her behalf.

Then I returned to my familiar post and sat in the chair watching her sleep. After a time, a soft flapping came at the window; I did not rise to peer out, for there was nothing to see-no aura, no animal disguise. But the hairs that rose, p.r.i.c.kling, on my nape and arms told me that the vampire had indeed arrived. The flapping grew louder until it woke Lucy. Even in the dark, I could see her fearful expression, and wished that I had created a new lie saying that my Amsterdam "trip" had been cancelled, so that I might speak to her now and take her hand, and offer what paltry comfort I could. For some minutes, she clearly struggled to remain awake; at last, her anxiety grew so that she rose and opened the bedroom door, calling out: "Is there anybody there?"

The hall remained dark and silent, and so she closed the door again. By this time, the sound of nearby howling accompanied the flapping, which sent her to the window. She lifted the edge of the blind and peeked out; I caught a glimpse of a black bat's wing in the instant before she screamed softly, then ran back to the bed.

There she huddled pitifully, eyes wide and terror-struck. My desire to comfort her grew so overwhelming that I decided to exit the room, become visible, then knock softly at her door, saying that I had returned early from Amsterdam and was overwhelmed by the sense that she needed my help.

Indeed, I rose to do just that-but at that instant, a knock came at the door, and Mrs.

Westenra appeared in her dressing-gown; apparently she had been overwhelmed by maternal instinct for her child. I was grateful, for she climbed into bed with her daughter, and the two lay in each other's arms, and found a moment of peace.

Yet again, the flapping sound came again at the window, alarming Mrs. Westenra; she struggled to sit, crying: "What is that?" Now it was the daughter's turn to offer rea.s.surance with pats and soft words. Soon the mother sighed and settled back against the pillow, and, for an all-too-fleeting moment, found rest.

A howl-this one nearer, as if the animal responsible now stood directly below the window.

If confrontation were to come, it would be soon; I calmed my mind and focussed on the Solomon's Seal at the window, and its radiant golden "wall" of power which only G.o.d or devil could penetrate.

The next instant: the sweet, high crescendo of breaking gla.s.s, the screams of the ladies Westenra, a shower of razor-sharp diamonds spraying forth from Solomon's wall of gold, borne upon a gust so powerful that the blind snapped up, spinning. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and felt the sting of tiny shards against my face and hands. Invisible or no, protected or no, I was slammed at once against the far wall.

Abruptly, the maelstrom ceased; I opened my eyes. An inky mist a hundred, a thousand, times blacker than the night streamed slowly over the remaining jagged panes, unaffected by the Solomon's Seal, whose golden gleam had been abruptly extinguished. I knew not then what horror Mrs. Westenra saw; she flailed in an hysterical effort to sit, pulling the wreath of blooming garlic from Lucy's neck in the process, then pointed in stark terror at the window.

And with a strangled gurgle, fell over dead.

Her head struck Lucy's full force; I struggled to rise, to help my patient, to place myself between the girl and the vampire, to offer myself up in her stead. But I could not move-could do nothing, in fact, save stare in helpless horror and fury at what transpired.

And as I watched, the mist completed its entry and formed a tall column just inside the broken window; a blink, and the column had transformed itself into Vlad. Vlad as I had never seen him: dressed like a virile and dapper young n.o.bleman in a tailoured black silk suit, white skin and white teeth gleaming like pearl, onyx hair aglisten with sparks of indigo.

So much life seemed to emanate from him that he no longer seemed undead- only gloriously, magnificently powerful.

Smiling, he stepped gracefully over to the night-stand, entirely ignoring the two women (one dead, one swooning), and bent down to pick up an object from the floor: the Solomon's Seal, now dull and lifeless. This he tossed at me, sneering: "I believe this is yours, Dr. Van Helsing?"

I could say nothing; the facility of speech had left me, and my legs and back seemed quite pinned to the gla.s.s-strewn carpet. But my hands and arms were now functional, so I caught the talisman and held it reverently. My greatest fear at that moment was not death, nor even his bite, but that I could no longer stop him from performing the blood ritual-the ritual by which he had linked my ancestors to him, the ritual by which he renewed his immortality, that he might not perish. If he performed it upon me now, he would know my every thought... and I would be his mortal slave, to accomplish the evil that he could not.

He must have seen my thoughts in my face, for his mocking grin widened. "How you flatter yourself, sir, to think that I might need you. I need no one anymore, do you understand?

The world belongs to me, not to you silly mortals. I can go wherever, do whatever, I list!"