Dracula Lives (27 page)

“The Dracula Virus.”

“Yes. What is now just a Garden of Evil would become a Forbidden Planet of Evil.”

That image sent an icy chill skittering across Quinn’s back. Confirmation that her father had been preying on humans for decades, in a demented quest for vampiric immortality, made it all the more imperative that he must be stopped. “That takes things far beyond anything I could have imagined, Johnny.” He glanced out over the mass of coffins to make a quick estimate of the number. “There’s at least a hundred of them, and only two of us. Plus whatever crawls out of Markov’s id. Maybe it’s time to call the police. And anybody else we can think of.”

“
No
.” She said it with a vehemence that left no room for debate. “I cannot watch any more innocent people die. You’ve seen the monsters he has at his disposal. Outsiders couldn’t begin to cope with the things he would throw at them. It would only bring confusion and death.” She shook her head. “No. This is a fight that only I can finish.” Her ferocity lessened a hair. “With you by my side.”

Quinn was reluctant to abandon the idea of calling in help, but there was logic in her reasoning, and when she put it like that….

He reined in his runaway imagination to stay focused on their immediate priority. Even though Markov couldn’t see them, he’d made it clear that the Garden was always his biggest area of concern. Whatever extra time Johnny had gotten them, it still couldn’t be much longer before he’d come down to see what was wrong.

“We’re in this together, Johnny.” Instead of the tender look he expected, Quinn saw concern. “What’s wrong?”

“He made a point of telling me to tell you that you’re on your own. He wants me to keep making rounds, to make sure nothing interrupts the shoot. If we walk into the Chamber together, he’ll be suspicious.”

“Even if he is,” Quinn said, “he wouldn’t instantly launch an attack. He’d observe us first, to see if his suspicions were correct. We only need a minute or so to get on either side of him, give each other the nod, and take him down.”

She shook her head. “I know him too well. I think he already suspects us of joining forces against him, and is trying to keep us apart. With everything that’s at stake, he’s going to be fully alert to the possibility of sabotage.”

“Then two things have to happen,” Quinn said. “We have to give the acting performance of our lives when we walk in there—give him no clue that we’ve turned against him. And we need to pounce immediately, before he senses that something’s up.”

“I’ve spent my whole life acting. Piece of cake. And I am so ready to pounce.”

“Good. There’s just one more thing we need to deal with before we leave here.” He pointed to where the lid on Lady Elinore’s tomb had shifted. “When you walked up, I had just noticed that her coffin has been tampered with.”

“Not tampered. Even though the love we had has turned to hate, I move the lid to tend to her needs.”

“She’s
alive
?”

“Yes.”

“How does she breathe?”

Johnny pointed to ornamental rosettes sculpted along the sides of the tomb. “Those aren’t just for decoration. In the middle of each one is an air hole.” She paused long enough for Quinn to process that bit of information, then went on. “You said you needed to know what was down here to fully understand what you are up against. Nothing will show you better than letting you see what the Lord of the Manor has turned his beloved wife into.” She nodded at the tomb. “My adopted mother. Above she was the Lady of the Manor. Down here she’s the Queen of the Undead.”

Johnny stepped toward Lady Elinore’s tomb. “Help me with the lid.”

Quinn marveled at her strength as they each grabbed an end and maneuvered the heavy concrete slab. They tilted it carefully over the edge and propped it against the tomb. Quinn’s attention instantly became riveted on what lay within.

Although the body was wrapped in a bandage that appeared fresh, the head was completely exposed.

Lady Elinore lay on her back, eyes open and fixed straight ahead, apparently doomed to spend eternity staring up at the lid of her coffin, imprisoned alive in her final resting place that gave her no rest.

Her cheeks were ruddy and there were no signs of decomposition. Her bandaged hands, crossed over her heart, held a large ornate crucifix. A rosary hung around her neck. Despite these talismans to ward off evil, there was a demonic glow in her eyes.

The fiery glow burned hotter, until the eyes fixed their burning gaze on Johnny. In the few seconds that mother and daughter stared into each other’s soul, Quinn saw the vaguest hint of a loving pity on Johnny’s face. Only hatred glowed on Lady Elinore’s. He wondered why it was there, and guessed that at least part of the reason was bitter envy: Johnny was still among the living, while she had been sentenced this obscene mockery of life.

“Why the rosary and crucifix?” he said.

“Because she’s evil. The elixir has kept her alive, but the vampire blood keeps getting stronger—which has made her stronger. Before I put the rosary and crucifix in there, she had tried to escape. The Weeping Angel was not always as you see her now.”

“What are you saying?”

“When we first put Elinore in her tomb, the Weeping Angel was the classic one I’m sure you’ve seen: sitting by the tomb, keeping a sad vigil over the soul of the dear departed. But several months ago, when I came down to give Elinore her nightly dose of the elixir, the angel had thrown herself across the tomb, and the lid had been moved.” She closed her eyes and rubbed them, as though trying to erase the nightmare vision. “On Walpurgis Night.”

The rational part of Quinn’s brain wanted to protest the absurd notion that a stone sculpture could come to life, but the things he had seen and heard since coming here had begun to make him believe anything was possible. And Johnny was not delusional or making things up.

“April 30th,” he said. “The night legend says that a portal opens between the natural and supernatural worlds, and witches and demons gather for a night of unbridled debauchery. The night when evil rules, according to some interpretations. It’s the highest holy night in the modern Satanic calendar.” He pointed to the angel. “One thing is undeniable: That’s not the face of a loving protector.”

“It was, originally. But for at least a year the vampiric emanations from Elinore have become so powerful, they’ve apparently begun seeping into the angel. Powerful enough so that on Walpurgis Night the angel tried to set her free.”

“Free? In her condition? Free to do what?”

“To join Markov for his Grand Finale. They were deeply in love once. Kindred spirits, joined by their love of Dracula. He has been strengthening the dosage of the elixir, hoping to make her strong enough to be by his side at the end. The Mummy for his monster rally.”

Quinn felt a chill as Lady Elinore’s gaze slowly shifted to him and hardened. Her parched lips twitched, struggling to open. Johnny pulled a small water bottle from her pocket. She held it to the mouth, pulling the lips far enough apart for some of the liquid to dribble in. A low scraping moan began, as though air had begun to flow though frozen pipes. Johnny forced a little more water into the mouth, then moistened the lips.

She put the bottle away and pulled out a small vial. Moving her head so Elinore couldn’t see, she made a face for Quinn, meant to convey that she had to do this in case Markov was watching. Turning back to Elinore she said, “Time for your medicine.”

The liquid inside was red. She removed the cap and emptied the contents into the greedy mouth. An obscenely healthy pink tongue emerged from the wizened face to sensuously lick the lips.

The mummified remains stared at Quinn with distrust. Finally she emitted a hoarse whisper from the hollow depths of the grave.

“Who … is he?”

“His name is Adam. He is a guest.”

“Then we must make him feel at home.” Lady Elinore licked her lips again.

Johnny winced. “Ah. Yes. There’s no place like home.”

Their eyes locked onto each other in an unwavering stare. In that brief moment, Quinn saw Johnny’s metamorphosis from cringing servant to independent woman reach completion. The loving pity he’d noticed when she’d first looked at Lady Elinore was gone. In its place was a blazing fierceness that left no doubt about the thought that fueled it: The grinning obscenity in the coffin was no longer the woman she had once called mother. It was a loathsome subhuman thing that needed to be destroyed. Quinn stood transfixed as he watched the hate streaming from Johnny’s eyes burn away the last vestiges of the Johnny persona.

Johnny was dead.

She looked at Quinn and made a covert beckoning movement of her head. “Excuse us for a moment,” she said to Elinore.

Quinn followed her to the end of the bier. “We need finish here and take care of Markov,” she said, “before he gets suspicious and comes down. Once we eliminate him, we can come back here and turn this into a funeral pyre. Purge it of its evil.”

“What about Elinore?”

“She is part of that evil. It is time for both of their unnatural lives to end.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“No. If Markov comes down here before we get to him, she could warn him. We have to maintain the element of surprise. Let’s just say our good-bye and finish this.”

They returned to the coffin and stood looking down at Lady Elinore. She must have sensed that whatever they’d needed to discuss privately could not bode well for her, because her defiant gaze of a moment ago was now one of fearful apprehension. Her eyes scanned their faces, apparently searching for clues to whatever conclusion they had reached. Finally her gaze regained some of its defiance and settled on Johnny. Lady Elinore spoke in that sepulchral voice.

“I know Markov’s
destiny
is at hand. He has said as much during his midnight visitations, that it must happen tonight on the Blood Moon. Our mortal lives will end and our immortality shall begin.”

In the brief moment that they stared deeply into each other’s eyes, Quinn sensed that mother and daughter were searching for some last remaining spark of the love they’d once shared. If so they searched in vain. Only a cold indifference showed in their eyes now.

“Good-bye, Elinore,” Johnny finally said. “I shall leave you to whatever fate Markov has decided for you.”

“I think he was hoping I could make a cameo appearance in his monster rally climax.”

“He’s the director,” Johnny said. “I’ll leave that to him. Whatever happens, may we all rest in peace. Good-bye.”

Without waiting for a response she motioned for Quinn to help her replace the lid. Just before they had it all the way closed, they heard a hollow whisper from within.

“This isn’t over….”

Johnny walked away without showing any reaction. Quinn caught up with her in the aisle that would take them to the passage from the Garden to her apartment. Never slowing, they continued to walk briskly past the coffins lining the aisle. Johnny spoke loud enough to be heard over the sporadic moaning.

“I know we said to hell with Markov, but I still think you should give me a couple minutes head start when we get outside, in case he’s watching. If he sees us together it won’t help our cause.”

“I’ll wait. Then we’ll have to take our chances.”

“The second we finish with Markov, I’m coming back down here to light that fire, and the undead can finally sink into the earth.” A flicker of emotion surfaced in her eyes, but her fierce determination quickly burned it away. “My father and I often read to each other over the years. Poe’s
The Fall of the House of Usher
was his favorite. I just realized that the last line will make a fitting epitaph:

‘The deep dank tarn … closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the House of Markov.’”

“Poe gets the last word,” Quinn said. “Perfect.”

Markov stood on a ledge and watched them through a window high on the castle wall. Even from that considerable distance, as Dracula his supernatural night vision enabled him to see them having a private conversation at Lady Elinore’s tomb. He saw them clearly enough to know that he was being betrayed by his own daughter. He couldn’t let her throw some last-minute twist into his ending.

She can no longer be trusted. She is his now. And she can go to hell with him.

Whatever monsters got loose could go after them both. It would make the monster rally that much more exciting. The aura of red moonlight around Markov burned brighter, as he began envisioning possibilities for the best way to stage their comeuppance scene.

It wouldn’t be easy. Johnny knew him well enough to anticipate his every move, and Quinn was obviously on her side. Two against one. He needed to monitor their movements and come up with a reason to keep them separated so he could deal with them one at a time.

First he needed to finish in the Garden.

Exerting all his will, he turned to fog and seeped through the cracks along the window’s edges. Once inside, he resumed his human form and scampered lizardlike down the castle wall. He quickly made his way through the dozens of coffins, gathering up all the wolfbane. By piling it into a mound at the bottom of the staircase that led to Johnny’s apartment, he accomplished the dual purpose of allowing the undead to regain their strength, while keeping them from coming up the stairs and causing unforeseen problems. When he was done he walked through the coffins, looking for signs of returning vigor.

He was not surprised when he saw very few signs of it. The half-dead, purposely weakened for so long, would need some time to regain enough strength to move about. Some, he saw, might be too far gone to ever rejoin the living. Whether they did or not was of no concern to Markov. His only concern was the six newer, younger, stronger specimens he had brought into the fold—three men and three women he had hand-picked to start his new race. He had grouped them together to make them easy to check on, and he headed for that section now to observe their progress. He stopped short when he noticed something extremely disturbing.

Four of the nearby coffins were empty.

Had the missing bodies somehow gotten strong enough to escape? Or was this Johnny’s doing? Had she revived them enough to wreak havoc on his movie?