Covenant With the Vampire (12 page)

I do not understand what is happening to me; I am no longer sure what is real.
I am so weak and confused; I think I am ill and dying. And I repeat: I do not
care. If this be death, then death is sheer joy! For the first time in my stunted,
miserable life, I am happy. I do not want God. I do not want forgiveness.

I want only for him to come again.

* * *

The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh

10 April.

Dear God, please let me be mad. Please let me be an hysterical pregnant woman
who is seeing things because her head has been filled with frightening stories…

The horror of it is, I know I am not. I know what I have seen - and yet it is
impossible!

It is now half-past one in the morning. I heard Arkady leave with Mister Jeffries
in the caleche a few moments ago; he will not be returning for at least twenty
minutes, longer if he stays a bit to converse with his guest, whose company
he seems to have so enjoyed this past night. I must write this down - I must do
some
thing - or lose my wits altogether. My hand is shaking so badly,
I can hardly read what I have already recorded.

I could not sleep, of course, after I finished the last entry in my journal,
although it was after midnight. I struggled, restless, with the sheets. Part
of my discomfort was due to indigestion and the inability to find a suitable
sleeping position due to my heavy belly, but most of it was mental: I was worried
about whether to tell Arkady about Vlad and Zsuzsanna tonight, after Mister
Jeffries had gone, or whether to wait until morning; and I was worried, too,
about what precisely I should say.

Nor could I master my curiosity about what might be happening on the other
side of that curtain. Surely, I decided, Zsuzsanna had taken note of my dark
hint about a wolf at her window, and would at the very least warn Vlad that
her bedroom was no longer a safe place to meet; I even dared hope that my oblique
words had been enough to convince her to break off the secret relationship altogether.

Still, I forced my eyelids shut. Perhaps I dozed - ? though memory swears I remained
quite conscious. Yet I fell into a strange waking dream, almost trancelike,
and found myself staring into a pair of large, heavy-lidded eyes, suspended
against the soft darkness.

They were set in snow-pale skin, and quite strikingly beautiful, like deep
green emeralds; the pupils were large, shining, black. I recognised them at
once, for they were Vlad“s eyes, and they seemed to cast the same hypnotic spell
I had experienced at the
pomana
- except that this time, being drowsy,
I yielded to them for a moment. Doing so made my discomfort vanish and induced
a very enjoyable languor which I was reluctant to disturb.

I lingered there but a moment; and then my natural stubbornness awoke and I
opened my eyes and gave my head a shake to clear it.

Yet I knew I had not been asleep. This alarming realisation - and perhaps the
unease provoked by the stories Mister Jeffries had told in the chapel - caused
my heart to begin beating faster. With a sense of inexplicable dread, I went
over to the window-seat in the alcove and timidly drew aside the curtain, just
enough so that I could see Zsuzsanna's window but could not myself be seen.

The full moon shone in a cloudless sky tonight, lighting up the countryside
like day. I could quite clearly see each blade of grass, each wildflower on
the stretch of earth between our window and Zsuzsanna’s, though the colours
had all been dimmed to subtly varying values of grey.

I knew Vlad was there - knew it, though even now I cannot say how this knowledge
came to me. Knew it, even before I saw that the shutters had once again been
flung wide, and the window opened. The lamp in her room was unlit, so that I
could not see clearly inside; but a few feet beyond the open shutters, I saw
shadows wrestling in the dimness, a flash of white against black, and knew with
the same impossible certainty that these were Zsuzsanna's pale skin against
Vlad's cloak.

How long I remained at the window I cannot exactly say; my perception indicates
hours, the clock indicates minutes. But I stood frozen, watching until the shadows
retreated from my sight further into the dark room - towards the bed.

And then the darker shadow, after a time, reappeared, and climbed swiftly over
the windowsill, dropping several feet down onto the grass with the easy agility
of a youth.

It was Vlad. I saw him clearly, unmistakably, his white hair and skin gleaming
in the bright moonlight. He looked over his shoulder, furtive as a thief making
his escape, then began to run.

He passed very near my window, and I drew back, not daring to breathe, pulling
the curtains together so that only a tiny crack remained, to which I pressed
one eye. As I watched, he crouched forward, and began to lope on all fours,
like an animal, his dark cloak furling.

And beneath my very gaze -

It is impossible. Impossible. It is madness, yet I know I am quite sane.

It was like observing a child's growth, grossly accelerated so that the transformation
of years took place in seconds. Beneath my very gaze, his legs shortened, his
arms lengthened, his nose and jaw thrust forward, stretching until they formed
a long, lean muzzle full of sharp canine teeth. The fabric of his cloak and
trousers seemed to sink into his skin and change in colour and texture until
it was no longer black silk, but silvery grey fur.

Before my eyes, he changed into a large grey wolf.

I cried out in shock. I do not think the sound I made was loud; nevertheless,
Vlad - the wolf - paused and turned in the direction of my window, gazing up at
it with large, pale eyes.

And - perhaps this part is imagination - I watched those canine lips pull back
over pointed teeth, curving slightly in the same predatory grin that he had
directed at me when he lingered in Zsuzsanna“s embrace at the
pomana.

I had never been closer to fainting in my life. I let go the curtain and reeled,
staggering to the wall, and pressed against it, afraid if I let go I would not
be able to stand.

When at last I gathered myself, I hurried over to the desk to write it all
down, lest I convince myself by morning that it was nothing more than a nightmare.

I can hear in the distance the approach of Arkady in the caleche. I had been
so worried all evening about what to tell him about Zsuzsanna and Vlad.

What shall I say to him now?

What shall I say?

* * *

The Diary of Arkady Tsepesh

10 April. LATE EVENING.

Jeffries has vanished. I think they have killed him.

I returned with him to the castle quite late - about one or two in the morning.
I did not disturb Uncle, even though I suspected he would still be awake at
such a late hour, and Jeffries said that he would be sure to convey my apologies
for returning him so much later than my note to Uncle had indicated. I did not
feel I had the right to take Mister Jeffries’ company away from Uncle again
for dinner the next day, but I did invite him for afternoon tea.

This afternoon, I left early for the castle to fetch Jeffries for tea. As I
drove the caleche into the courtyard, Laszlo was just leaving in the coach with
a large bundle on the seat beside him. The sight of me seemed to alarm him;
he at once whipped the horses and hurried away.

I took his haste and his reluctance to speak to me as a sign of his dislike,
and thought little of it, or of the bundle beside him - until afterwards, when
I looked for Jeffries in the guest room. He had gone: his luggage and notepad
lay undisturbed in his chambers, as did the carefully folded note from Uncle,
but a search of the castle proved fruitless. He was not to be found anywhere,
and none of the servants admitted to seeing him. In desperation, I called them
one by one to my office and questioned them. None of them seemed to know anything
about the visitor's mysterious disappearance. (Sadly, Masika Ivanovna did not
report to the castle today, as her son has died. I shall learn more of this,
for I plan to attend the funeral.)

I spoke to Laszlo last, some hours later, when he had finally returned to the
castle. As I did, I noted that he had a gold watch fob and chain on his vest
which I had never seen before; with an inspiration born of horror, I demanded
he withdraw the watch and present it to me.

He did so, and I gasped as my eyes detected the large silver “J” on the watch's
engraved golden surface. Such brazenness! He even held it out for my inspection
with the same hand that now wore Jeffries’ gold ring!

I completely lost hold of my temper and shouted at him: “How dare you steal
from a guest of this house! You are dismissed at once! See to it that you never
set foot on this property again!”

He lifted his jowly chin, defiant, unrepentant. “Oh, I shan’t be leaving, sir.
The
voievodvrill.
see to that. Besides, you have no authority to dismiss
me.”

His arrogance enraged me; warmth flooded my face as I cried, “I doubt that!
We shall see what Vlad has to say when I tell him you are a thief!”

“I am no thief,” said he. “Dead men own no property.”

A horrid coldness seized my heart. I thought of the terror in Masika's eyes
when she realised Laszlo had overheard; and now her son had died. “What are
you saying, Laszlo? That Mister Jeffries is dead?”

“I say nothing.”

“I shall speak to Uncle at once about this,” I threatened - to which he simply
chuckled, turned his back to me without so much as asking my leave, and walked
towards the door.

And as he did -

As he did, I saw upon the back of his white sleeve a large red stain the size
of an apple. A horrible chill descended over me; I know not how to explain it,
but at that moment, I knew in my heart Jeffries was dead, and that I gazed upon
his murderer.

“Laszlo,” I said.

He paused, and swiveled his head over his shoulder to cast at me his insolent
stare.

“What is this? Have you hurt yourself?” I strode over to him and between thumb
and forefinger caught a bit of unstained sleeve between my fingers and held
it so that I might better study the stain.

It was blood, no doubt of it - beginning to darken, but still bright enough to
suggest that it had been shed only hours before. Laszlo glanced down at it and
pulled his arm away at once, but his insolence faded a bit. “Not at all. I killed
a hen this morning for the cook.”

And he hurried out of the room.

It seemed a reasonable explanation; yet I could not shake the sense of dread
that overtook me. It was then I remembered the bundle I had seen on the seat
beside him in the carriage.

I followed him out and ran down the stairs, thinking to confront him about
the contents of the bundle, but he had already vanished. And so I went down
to the kitchen, where I learned through roundabout questioning that the cook
was stewing a lamb and had no knowledge of Laszlo's hen.

How could any murderer be so bold, so brazen, so contumelious as to proudly
sport the stolen effects of his victim, then hint at the crime?

Only one who is insane.

These revelations were simply too unnerving to keep to myself. When V. rose,
I called on him in his drawing-room. Ana had lit the fire and tapers so that
the room emanated a cosy warmth. Hands upon the armrests, straight and regal
as a king upon his throne, Uncle sat in one of the two large camel-back chairs
facing the hearth. Between them on the end-table sat a small silver tray, upon
which rested a crystal snifter and a decanter of slivovitz, an indulgence no
doubt provided for the possibly ill-fated Mister Jeffries.

The instant I closed the door behind me, V. pushed himself from his chair with
exceptional alacrity and whirled to face me, his eyes wide and full of fire.
Before I could utter a word, he thundered:

“You are never to remove a guest from this castle without my express permission!
Never! Do you understand?”

I was so taken aback that for a few seconds my voice failed. These were not
my father's voice, my father's eyes - they were the voice of an imperious prince,
the eyes of the cold-blooded Impaler in the portrait.

His face, far from possessing its usual pallour, was flushed with rage, so
that his white eyebrows stood out alarmingly against his pink forehead, and
an even rosier hue stole across his cheeks and the high, narrow bridge of his
nose. His crimson lips were twisted, the lower one pulled down to reveal a row
of jagged, glistening white teeth. He had moved so quickly and with such energy
that I thought I stared at a different man. Indeed, a streak of iron grey had
appeared at each of his temples.

He had grown younger. I blinked, but the hallucination did not fade. The change
was slight but unmistakable - and quite impossible, as impossible as Stefan's
appearance. I winced and raised a hand to my temple at the now-familiar sensation
of pressure there, and heard, quite clearly, as though I whispered them into
my own ear, the words:

You must be going mad.

“I am sorry,” I stammered. “I shall never do it again. It was just that Mister
Jeffries was such good company - ”

“Swear it! Swear that you will never repeat such a mistake. Now!”

“I swear it,” I whispered, truly frightened - not by V.“s temperamental outburst,
but by my own impossible perceptions. ”I will never do it again.“

At once his anger dimmed; he straightened, and his powerful body relaxed. “Good.
Good.” He nodded in grim satisfaction. “I will accept the word of a Tsepesh.”
His tone lightened abruptly; he gestured at the chair beside his own. “Now,
Nephew, sit, and tell me how I might help you.”

I crossed the room and sat sideways on the edge of the chair, facing him with
my hands lightly on the armrest and fixing on him my uncertain gaze, trying
not to gape at his slight but obvious rejuvenation. I felt so entirely nonplussed
that I was reluctant to begin; but V. smiled at me, and said: