Covenant With the Vampire (5 page)

My husband nodded as he said, in a voice still hushed by grief, "I remember.
He brought our cousins with him."

"Six daughters," Zsuzsanna said, with a tremulous smile. Her large dark eyes
glittered with candlelight and unshed tears. Apparently the
pomana
is supposed to be a happy event, the remembrance of what was good about the
deceased's life, but she seemed teetering on the edge of an emotional precipice,
uncertain whether to laugh or weep. "All of them so gay, so precocious! We sat
with them at the little table there" - she pointed - "and they began to sing to
the grown-ups. Do you remember?" And she sang a phrase of what sounded to my
ears like a Transylvanian nursery song; her voice was clear and lovely. "And
Papa led the grown-ups in singing the refrain back to them." She sang again,
a single tear spilling down her cheek as she did so; at the end of it, her uncertain
smile broadened. With the same emotional generosity that makes me love her brother,
she turned to me and exclaimed: "I am so happy you have come! I have been sad
that our family is so far-flung; but now we will have laughing children in these
rooms again!"

Touched, I reached for her thin hand and clasped it. Before I could reply,
Arkady turned in his chair and Zsuzsanna glanced swiftly at the entryway. I
knew at once the prince had arrived, and I followed their gaze, eager to see
at last the benefactor who has lavished so much kindness upon me and upon his
family.

At the sight of him, I barely managed to restrain a startled gasp. His appearance
was quite ghoulish. He stood in the doorway? a tall, stately figure who looked
every inch the prince. But he seemed emaciated, half-starved, and so horridly
white-skinned as to seem bloodless. By contrast, pale, worn Zsuzsanna appeared
a blooming rose. My first impression was that he suffered from anaemia or some
dreadful wasting disease. His complexion almost perfectly matched his silvery
white hair, and in the wavering candlelight, his skin took on a strange phosphorescence.
I fancied if we had blown out all the candles and sat in the dark, he might
have glowed like a firefly. Yet despite his pallour, his lips were deep, dark
red, and when they parted in a smile at the sight of us, beneath flashed overlong,
sharp ivory teeth.

Amazingly, neither Arkady nor his sister seemed troubled by their uncle's strange
appearance, or by his frighteningly magnetic eyes. Those eyes swept over me
with such predatory keenness that I shivered, chilled as though a sudden draft
had entered the room, and in my mind rose an unbidden thought:
He is hungry,
terribly hungry.

He said nothing, but stood still as a statue in the entryway until at last
Zsuzsanna cried: "Uncle! Uncle!" with such excitement and jubilation one might
have thought her father had just returned from the dead. She struggled to push
back her heavy chair, as though she intended to run to him like a child. "Please,
come in!"

At her invitation he crossed the threshold into the room. Both Arkady and Zsuzsanna
rose and exchanged kisses with him, one on each cheek. He lingered over Zsuzsanna,
encircling her waist with his arms, and -

May God forgive me for evil thoughts if he be innocent, but I am not one given
to fantasy or gossip. I know what I saw. She gazed up at him, her eyes ashine
with adoration, and he looked down at her with clear, unmistakable hunger. I
sensed an uncertain moment where he seemed barely able to control himself; and
then he glanced up, saw my critical gaze, and his lips curved upward.

Under the scrutiny of those dark green eyes, I felt a sudden confusion, as
if my mind's grasp upon reality flickered for an instant like the candles. A
fresh thought supplanted the old, but it seemed a stranger’s, not mine:
Surely
you are utterly mistaken. See, he merely loves her like a daughter . .
.

Those eyes tugged at me like the tide. I felt strangely drawn, strangely repulsed.
My heartbeat quickened - whether in excitement or dread, I am still undecided,
and the child within me stirred. Instinctively, I put my hand upon my swollen
stomach. At this, he moved over to me, took my other hand, and bent to kiss
it.

His touch was so like ice that I fought not to shudder, and failed altogether
when I felt his lips part and his tongue sweep lightly over the back of my hand,
as if he were tasting my skin the way an animal might. He straightened, and
again I saw a flicker of appetite in those snake charmer's eyes.

But you are mistaken…

"Dear Mary," he said, in thickly accented English, in a voice so lilting, so
musical, so utterly charming that I melted at once, and felt a wave of enormous
guilt that I could ever have thought such terrible things about a truly kind
and generous old man. He looked at my belly, then, with the same craving -

Or was it rapturous love?

"Dear Mary, how good to meet you!" He still clasped my hand between his two
huge cold ones. I wanted nothing better than to pull free, and wipe the back
of my hand on my skirts, but I remained politely motionless as his gaze swept
intently over me. "Arkady was right that you are so beautiful; eyes like sapphires,
hair like gold. A jewel of a woman!"

I blushed and stammered awkward thanks. His words struck me as openly flirtatious,
but Zsuzsanna and Arkady looked on with approving smiles, as if their great-uncle's
behaviour were not that of a voluptuary, but perfectly appropriate. I decided
that perhaps Transylvanian and British standards of conduct were quite different.

Having reached the end of his fluency in English - apparently his poetic compliment
had been carefully rehearsed - Vlad switched to Roumanian, and Arkady translated:
"How good to meet you at last, and thank you in person for the fresh joy you
have brought our family. How are you feeling after your long journey?"

"Quite well, sir," I replied, and listened to the strange, sibilant sounds
Arkady then used to relay my response to Vlad. I have studied some French and
Latin, and could guess at some of the meanings. In fact, I did not feel altogether
well, but was suddenly dizzy and wanted nothing better than to sit down.

"This is good!" Vlad remarked heartily. "We must take very good care of you
and see that you are always well, for you are the mother of the Tsepesh heir."

For the rest of the evening, Vlad spoke mostly in Roumanian, and Arkady translated,
though from time to time we dared communicate directly with each other in uncertain
German. For convenience" sake, I shall record our conversation as if it had
taken place entirely in English.

I thanked him for his kind letters, and we exchanged more gracious remarks,
then took our places at the dinner table. The dog, Brutus, who had lain curled
at Zsuzsanna's feet, growled most uncharitably at Vlad, then slunk out of the
room and did not reappear for the rest of the evening.

Yet Vlad proved as charming as he was fear-inspiring. He made a small speech
about his deceased nephew, so touching and clearly heartfelt that all four of
us were moved to tears. Dinner was then served, during which each person relayed
fond stories about Petru, and many toasts were made. I took only token sips
of my wine, as drink does not agree with me generally, and even less so since
I became with child - and it caught my attention that, during the toasts, Vlad
raised his glass to his lips, but only pretended to drink. Nor did he eat, though
he lifted his fork on several occasions. At the evening's end, both his wine
and meal were entirely untouched. Even more amazingly, neither the servants
nor the family seemed to notice. I felt certain the family simply tolerated
this as just one more of the prince's eccentricities, but when I later timidly
remarked about this to Arkady, he seemed to think I was joking: Of
course
Uncle had eaten dinner - he had seen him eat and drink with his own eyes!

This struck me as incredibly odd, but I said nothing more to him about it,
lest he think me deranged or fanciful due to the pregnancy.

Is it the beginning of madness to think myself the only one sane?

At one point during the dinner, Vlad drew out a letter for Arkady and seemed
most anxious for him to translate it, as it was in English. Apparently it was
from a British gentleman who had been planning, before Petru's death, to visit
the estate. I thought the timing inappropriate, considering the solemn circumstance,
but Arkady willingly translated it for him, then promised to help him later
with a reply. Vlad turned smiling to me and said:

"You must both help me learn English!"

Flattered, I said, "And you must help me learn Roumanian."

No, said Vlad, that would not be necessary, for it was his intent, now that
Petru was gone, to travel to England. Petru had felt tied to the land, he said,
but as for himself, he was restless. Transylvania was a superstitious, backward
country, and small, and the village was becoming an altogether lonely place
now that so many of the peasants were leaving for the cities. He felt he could
no longer rely on the occasional entertainment provided by visitors - who all
told him stories of how the world beyond the forest was changing quickly, very
quickly. "Better to keep up with those changes," said he cheerfully, "than languish
in isolation here. Survival is for those who adapt to the demands of the times!"
The move, he hastened to add, would take place in a year or so, after the child
was born and old enough to travel. And by then he should be quite fluent in
English.

"Well," said I, thinking that Arkady's progressive attitude was clearly hereditary,
"certainly I should be most glad and privileged to serve as your instructor
and travel guide. But as we shall be returning afterwards to Transylvania, it
would benefit me to learn the language - "

"Ah," he replied, "but this is not my intent. I intend to relocate, perhaps
permanently, in England - though, of course, I shall return from time to time
for nostalgic visits to the family estate - "

To tell the truth, my heart was already glad at the thought of returning home.
But at this, Zsuzsanna leapt up from her chair in a fit of temper that startled
us all. "I forbid it!" she cried, in a strange mixture of English and Roumanian,
as if she could not decide whether she wanted Vlad or me to understand. (I write
here what I gathered to be the gist.) "You cannot go! You know I am too weak
to travel with you, and if you leave me, I shall die!"

He turned his head towards her swiftly. The candlelight caught his eyes so
that they gleamed red, like an animal’s, and for an instant fury contorted his
sharp features so that I thought I gazed upon the face of nothing less than
a monster. But he collected himself at once, and his tone was calm as he spoke
soothingly. When later I asked Arkady about this, he said that Vlad reassured
her that we would never leave unless Zsuzsa was strong enough to come with us,
and that if she continued to feel weak, he would hire a doctor and make her
well.

She burst into tears, and her voice shook as she said, "How can you think of
leaving? Father is here. Stefan is here. All our memories are here."

He continued to speak comfortingly to her, and finally she calmed and retook
her seat. The dinner concluded cordially and without further incident. But I
was most disturbed.

I have seen how he looks at her, and she at him. She is desperately in love
with him, and I fear Vlad is not above taking advantage of it. My innocent husband
has no idea, and I do not know how to tell him.

* * *

The Diary of Arkady Tsepesh

7 April.

Damn the peasants! Damn them! Damn them and their superstition and stupidity
all to hell!

I can scarcely bring myself to write about what has happened - it is too monstrous,
too painful, too grotesque. Yet I must; someone must bear witness to the evil
wrought by ignorance.

We buried Father yesterday beside Stefan and Mother in the family tomb, situated
on the knoll between the manor and the great castle. I did not want Mary to
attend, as she seemed wan and tired, and it was a cold, windy spring day. But
she held firm, saying it was the least she could do for the father-in-law she
had never met. The tomb impressed her deeply, and she paused to read the list
of names on the outside wall of each person buried therein. Despite my gloom,
I felt some distant pride at the lordly tomb and the fact that all, even the
oldest entries - dating from the early seventeen hundreds - were legible, as they
had been lovingly carved into the white marble, along with the dates, so that
the name of the forebear would never be forgotten and lost to the ages. (Someday
soon I shall show her the chapel, and the crypts dating back to the fifteenth
century.)

It was a small ceremony at noon. We laid Father in a little alcove alongside
Stefan and the mother I never knew. In accordance with his wishes, there was
no priest, no reading of scripture or the burial service. The great door to
the tomb was unlocked, and servants carried the coffin inside and set it to
rest on a catafalque surrounded by lighted candles and decorated with fragrant
white flowers. We followed and said our final farewells, then I spoke briefly,
once again feeling the scrutiny and palpable presence of my dead ancestors;
I half-expected to see little Stefan in the small gathering of mourners. Vlad
did not come, which did not particularly surprise anyone, though he paid for
an exquisitely engraved gold coffin-plate (that read: "PETRU TSEPESH, Beloved
Father, Husband, and Nephew"), another pair of
Bocete
singers, and
a beautiful cascade of red roses which adorned the casket and which we left
in the tomb with Father.

The day passed quietly, and the next. Since my previous journal entry, Mary
and I have several times discussed the conversation with Vlad and my remaining
to take Father's place, and she has nearly succeeded in assuaging my guilt over
asking my city-bred wife to spend the rest of her life in the wild Carpathian
forest. Bistritz is the nearest post town, and hardly a replacement for London;
to send or receive mail or to shop at the modest facilities there requires an
eight-hour carriage ride (not to mention the return trip!) over winding mountain
roads. During winter storms, we shall be effectively isolated.