Covenant With the Vampire (28 page)

He released a bitter sob, and said, “You can’t leave, Zsuzsa. I’m so lonely,
now, with Stefan and Father gone. Don’t you go, too.”

Her smile widened, showing a flash of long teeth as she whispered, “But I’m
not leaving you, Kasha. You’ll see me again. We’ll all go to England together.”

I stiffened and repressed a shudder at this, but sweet Arkady's face contorted
in a spasm of grief, which he quickly stifled and replaced with a mask of courage.
“Yes, of course,” he said, in a placating tone. “You must get better, so we
can all go to England together. You, me, Mary, Uncle, and the baby…”

“Yes, the baby,” Zsuzsanna hissed dreamily, and fixed on me a gaze full of
such hunger and longing that I thought I should faint. “We will all be so happy
when the baby comes. We will love him so much…”

Arkady bowed his head in grief.

She fell silent a time, and nothing could be heard in that sad, sunlit room
except her laboured breathing. I looked away, unable to bear more of the heartrending
tableau until I heard her gasp, “Arkady… Kiss me. Kiss me one last time…”

I glanced up to see her looking at her brother with those huge, sensual eyes,
eyes as compelling, as alluring as the dark green ones that haunted me on the
verge of sleep. At once I put an arm on my husband's shoulder, to restrain him - and
Dunya, alerted, had stepped over towards him, swooping like a mother hen protecting
her brood.

Yet we were too late; Arkady bent to kiss her. She parted her lips, ready to
meet his, but at the last instant, he turned his face and gave her a chaste,
brotherly kiss on the cheek. She raised a feeble hand to his jaw as though to
direct him into the embrace she desired, but she was too weak, and as my husband
raised his head, I saw the keen disappointment in her eyes.

Lucidity deserted her then, and she lapsed into begging for Vlad, who I knew
would not come, for the sun was still high in the sky. She alternated between
restlessness and sleep, and in the late afternoon, the doctor arrived, but could
do nothing except leave behind a foul-tasting medicine which she refused to
drink.

As sunset approached, she woke and became extremely restive, crying pitifully
for Vlad by name - no longer did she refer to him as “Uncle.” By then she was
terribly weak. We were all amazed that she was still alive when darkness finally
came.

Vlad arrived shortly thereafter. I dreaded setting eyes on him again; but when
he entered the room, I felt no thrill of fear or hate, for his demeanour was
not at all what I expected.

Oh,
yes,
he was a man twenty, thirty years younger than the one I
had met at the
pomana
- as handsome as my own husband, with the same
striking, heavy black brows, and now black hair streaked with silver.

I expected a trace of the wolfish, gloating grin on his lips, a glint of mocking
triumph in his eyes. But no - there was only sincere, somber concern reflected
in his posture, his step, his expression. He ignored us all and went straight
to Zsuzsanna, who still lay in her brother's arms, and took her hand with a
grip so strong cords stood out on his pale wrist. Arkady's grief-dazed eyes
flickered with fear, which soon was washed away by tears.

“Zsuzsa,” Vlad said, and I marveled to hear emerge from that monster's lips
a voice undeniably gentle, full of love and compassionate sorrow; marveled to
know that Devil Himself still possessed the remnants of a human heart. He spoke
to her in Roumanian, and I did not comprehend every word; but I understood perfectly
from his tone what he said to her. I know he told her he loved her, and not
to be frightened; I know he told her he would never leave her side.

His voice was so charming, so compelling that, hearing it, I believed he meant
every word with all of his wretched soul.

And he bent low and kissed her on the lips.

Arkady was sobbing by then, and had covered his eyes with one hand, leaving
the other around his sister's shoulder. But I watched, and saw, with the same
fascinated revulsion with which I had read Zsuzsanna's diary, the deep sensuality,
the barely contained passion, hidden in that brief embrace.

Vlad reluctantly lifted his mouth from Zsuzsanna’s, and I saw the sudden blaze
in his eyes, and the utter worshipful devotion in hers. She seemed at that instant
to bloom; the barest flush of colour entered her cheeks, and her eyes shone
with a joy so intense it verged on lunacy.

She relaxed utterly then, and gave up all struggle as she lay in her brother's
arms while Vlad sat beside them, clasping her small, frail hand between his
two large ones. She died with her eyes open wide, staring raptly into her killer’s;
and it was only after Dunya remarked that Zsuzsanna had not drawn a breath in
some time that we realised she had gone.

Arkady broke down, overwhelmed by grief, hugging Zsuzsanna's body tightly and
crying out in Roumanian. Vlad wept - wept, actual tears! - with him, then put a
hand on his shoulder and tried to comfort him, but there was nothing that could
be done to ease Arkady's pain; he pushed his uncle's hand away, angrily, and
then turned to me and ordered: “Leave! Leave me alone with her!”

Heartbroken, I obeyed, and went with the others into the hall. Dunya excused
herself, saying that she had to prepare for the body to be washed - and she shot
me a glance warning me to be careful of Vlad.

She left, and I was alone in the corridor with the vampire.

His grief and distress in Zsuzsanna's bedroom had been so genuine that I had
actually felt sympathy towards him; but now, it vanished, for as he turned to
watch Dunya leave, I caught sight of his expression, and the gleam of victory
in his eye. And more: an intelligence so utterly cold, so utterly calculating,
that I felt no fear, only such hatred that for a moment I could not speak.

Despite his display of devotion towards Zsuzsanna he was no less a monster,
no less her murderer.

As he faced me, his expression once more became that of the concerned relative,
and he said to me in German: “Your husband has been through too much. You must
try to comfort him now.”

In response, I slipped a finger beneath the collar of my dress, caught the
gold chain there… and drew out the cross, so that he might see it.

His eyes gleamed red, like an animal's catching the lamplight at night. He
took a step back from me, but I caught the fleeting expression of fury that
crossed his features. Most inappropriately at this time of great sorrow, his
lips resolved themselves into a slight, bitter smile that revealed teeth.

“So,” he said. “You are becoming superstitious, like the peasants?”

“Only because I have read her diary,” I replied, my own lips twisted with loathing.
“Only because I know what - who - killed her. Only because I know you have broken
the covenant.”

As I spoke, his smile faded, but the deadly teeth were still revealed. For
a moment, he regarded me with such infinite rage that I felt a wave of dizzying
terror. “You have learned more than Zsuzsanna's pages could have revealed,”
he said slowly, fixing his magnetic gaze upon me. “Who has spoken to you?
Who?”

Suddenly fearful for Dunya's sake, I replied with silence.

He spoke again, with the lethal languor of a serpent coiling for the strike.
“Only the ignorant,” he said, his gaze still on me, “believe they know everything.
You are not capable of understanding. How dare you speak to me of the covenant,
of something I revere, something you know nothing of? I
love
Zsuzsanna…
!”

Conscious of Arkady weeping beyond the open door, I dropped my voice to an
impassioned whisper. “That is not love. That is vileness. Pride. Monstrous evil…”

He lowered his own voice to a hiss that sounded like an angry viper. “It is
not yours to judge, to understand!” Suddenly his fury cooled, and his eyes took
on that compelling loveliness, and he smiled - sweetly, as sweetly as Zsuzsanna
had when she had begged me to kiss her.

“In the past, I would have decreed only one sort of fate for such a woman who
dared insult me,” he said softly, studying me from head to toe with that intent,
sweeping gaze. “But you are a beautiful woman. Such eyes - like sapphires set
in gold. Perhaps someday you
can
be made to understand. I have been
alone, I have denied myself companionship too long. Too long…”

And he reached for me - gently, with the back of his curled fingers, as if to
touch tenderly my cheek, but the cross at my throat held him back. Instinctively,
I recoiled, and moved away until my back was pressed against the wall. He followed,
until his hand hovered two inches from my face, and caressed the air above my
skin. I trembled as he lowered it lovingly, lingeringly, as if stroking my cheek,
the curve of my jaw, the sweep of my neck.

For a horrible instant, I found myself staring into his eyes, all grief, all
disgust forgotten, thinking of nothing but their exquisite deep green beauty,
of the titillation - God forgive me - I had felt while reading Zsuzsanna's diary,
of the intense pleasure she had experienced, of how I might experience that
pleasure, and more, should I simply tear the cross from my neck and pull him
to me in that dark hallway, and feel his teeth sink deep into my flesh…

I raised my hand to my throat and closed it over the cross.

As I did so, the child within me stirred. I came to myself and felt a wave
of revulsion greater than any I have ever known, and cried, “I would never allow
it! I would rather die!”

He smiled evilly, and opened his mouth to speak, but I would not permit him.
I trembled as I spoke - but with rage, not fear. Hatred and love gave me the courage
to speak the truth.

“I will not stay,” I said, lowering my shaking voice, once again mindful of
my grieving husband in the nearby bedroom. “Nor will I permit Arkady to remain
and be abused. You have mesmerised him somehow to make him stay here, to make
him love you, but you have no power over me!”

“Do not be so sure, my beautiful Mary,” he said - but this was entirely my imagination,
for his lips never moved. He lowered his hand, but rather than step back, he
leaned forward, threateningly, until those green eyes loomed large in my field
of vision as he whispered, with the same hideous leer I had first seen at the
pomana.

“Then for your own sake, and your child’s, I would advise you to be mindful
of wolves.”

He left. I could say nothing, do nothing, but sag trembling against the wall
in the corridor and listen to Arkady's tortured weeping.

My husband refuses to leave his sister's body. Tonight he is safe, Dunya says;
Zsuzsanna will not rise until after she is buried. And so I instructed the servants
to leave him, as he requests.

Dunya and I are sleeping tonight in the little nursery, and have garlanded
the windows with garlic wreaths. I cannot bear to be alone, or to spend the
night in my bedroom, thinking of the shattered pane hidden behind the curtain.
I hold the faint hope that perhaps he would not
be able to find me here, and so I have brought my pillow and blanket, journal
and pen. Dunya's presence is a sincere comfort.

As terrified as I am, there is a very strange relief in no longer doubting
the peasants’ tale of the covenant and the
strigoi.
The truth may be
horrible, but at least I know for certain the Evil that I fight; and I know
it cannot be stronger than the love I bear for my husband and child.

Zsuzsanna's death is but a temporary triumph for him. He will not win. He
will not.

The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh

19 April.

Arkady has gone mad. He refuses food or sleep and will not leave his sister's
side, despite the fact that we buried her this noon.

The night Zsuzsanna died, he remained with her body. I did not try to dissuade
him, as Dunya assured me he was in no danger, and I believed he was doing so
out of Transylvanian custom; after all, he had sat vigil with his father's body
the night we arrived at the manor.

But yesterday morning, he was still with her. Dunya came to the nursery to
report that Arkady refused to leave Zsuzsanna alone with the servants, even
when the women came to wash her; and when the men laid her in the coffin and
carried her to the main drawing-room, he never left her side. This worried Dunya,
for she has told me that it has been arranged for Zsuzsanna to be freed from
the
strigoi’s
curse once she is buried and everyone has left the tomb.

After speaking with Dunya, I went to the drawing-room, but the door was locked
and bolted, and Arkady appeared not to recognise my voice. He would not so much
as come to the door - only shouted threats that he would use the pistol were he
not left alone. Disheartened, I returned to the nursery - and though I was not
raised a Catholic, found myself praying at the little shrine to Saint George
Dunya has erected there. Grief and misery left me unusually exhausted, and so
at last I fell into an unpleasant sleep.

In late afternoon, I was wakened by the distant sounds of a commotion. Later
I learned from Dunya that my husband had brandished the pistol at two women
hired by Vlad to sing the customary songs of mourning to Zsuzsanna's corpse,
and had chased them from the room. The child began to kick so forcefully that
afternoon, that I could not return to sleep, could find no rest.

By the time the sun set yesterday, Arkady still had not emerged from his vigil.
The onset of evening reawakened my fears and my sense of urgency; I could not
bear to think of my husband alone beside his undead sister in the darkness.
And so, with a final silent plea to Saint George, I went to try to persuade
Arkady to return with me to the safe haven of the nursery.

Chin lifted, shoulders squared with determination, I knocked on the door of
the drawing-room. In reply, I received a harsh shout: Go away!