It would be like him to forget to close the door when he entered.

In the center of the hallway floor, she saw lying open the satchel she used for her hospital doc.u.ments, the papers that had been in it ripped and scattered.

A robbery! There had been enough of them in the area in the last year. She had started to back away from the house when the door to her husband's study swung open. A man stood there, with a revolver pointed at her chest. "I've been waiting some time for you, Mrs. Beason. Please come in and talk with me."

Winnie had never heard a voice so softly cold, so naturally lethal. If she had not been certain he would shoot her in the back, she would have bolted from the room. Instead, she used what courage she had to stare at him boldly, memorizing his features as she walked past him into her husband's study.

The intruder had done more damage here. Drawers had been pulled out, their contents scattered. The beautiful over-mantel mirror she had inherited from her grandmother had been pulled from its mountings, its beveled gla.s.s cracked so that, as she looked at it, she saw her fearful expression multiplied in a dozen small reflections.How dare she feel so helpless! How dare this man ravage her home! "What in the h.e.l.l do you want?" she demanded, amazed at the force in her voice.

"Come into your parlor, Mrs. Beason. I need to speak to you."

She did as he asked, sitting on the chair close to the fireplace, within comforting reach of the andirons. They were a defense, perhaps a futile one, but she felt better knowing they were close.

"Now, Mrs. Beason, tell me about the Romanian journal. First of all, where did you get it?"

"There is a used bookstore on Bow Street. I bought a box of cookbooks and discovered it among them. I was curious and so I arranged. . ."

"Where did you get it? The truth this time."

"Very well." Her stomach was churning, and she thought she would be sick. These feelings seemed so terribly feminine, but she reminded herself that almost any man would feel equally terrified when a stranger pointed a gun at his chest. She tried to relax, crossing her legs and resting her hands on the low arms of the chair. As she hoped, her gesture released some of the man's tension as well, and he lowered the pistol. Winnie found it suddenly easier to breathe.

"I found it on a trip east," Winnie said. "I did not purchase it; I discovered it in an old castle Mr. Beason and I were exploring."

"Better. And what town were you near?"

Winnie considered everything Mina had told her. She had never been very accurate with names, but she did recall one. "Bacau,"

she replied.

"Excellent!" Somehow the intruder's smile seemed even more predatory than his scowl had been. "Now, Mrs. Beason. Why did you take the book?"

"The castle had a strange history which made me curious. If you want to see it, I can't help you. I gave the book to someone to translate. It hasn't been returned."

"The translator does not have it."

Winnie frowned, "If it's being sent, I haven't received it yet. If I had, I would give it to you gladly just to get you to leave. It's of no real value save curiosity."

"Yet you paid handsomely to have it translated." He waved at the room around them. "You're not wealthy enough simply to indulge curiosity."

Now that she was calmer, Winnie hunted for clues to the man's ident.i.ty. He was not more than forty, with dark brown eyes and coal-black hair worn somewhat too long to be fashionable. His clothes were tailored but of a slightly dated style. His hands were clean and uncalloused. As she listened to his voice, she detected an accent in the way he p.r.o.nounced his vowels. Enough, she thought. Any more and her expression would reveal her knowledge.

"You'd be amazed to what lengths I would go to satisfy my curiosity," she commented dryly, and continued staring at him. "I suspect you would as well," she added.

He shook his head. "I know all I need to know. Now, tell me, did the creatures in that castle touch you?"

"Creatures! The place was quite deserted." She hoped she sounded sincere, for she had begun to understand this man's obsession.

He ignored her comment, demanding in a voice loud enough to be heard through the entire house, "Did you sleep there?"

"No!" she replied, but he went on.

"Did you dream of death and blood? Were there marks on your neck in the morning?"

"Were there what?" Good Lord! Winnie thought. The man was obsessed.

Without warning, he pulled her to her feet and dug the gun's barrel into her side. "Tell me what you saw. Confess!" he screamed.

Motion behind her attacker caught her attention, but she fixed her eyes directly on his, keeping them steady. Her mouth felt too dry for speech, and the room spun. For a moment, she thought she would do something perfectly silly, then she decided that fainting was the best move. Her eyelids fluttered and she slid slowly downward, supported only by his weight.

Caught off guard, the man let her go. As he straightened, Margaret brought a coal shovel down on the back of his head. He fell hard above Winnie. Fearful of hitting her mistress, the girl waited too long to strike again. He twisted and shot her as the shovel was coming down for the second time.

Winnie attacked. One hand, unusually strong after so much hard work in the hospital, grabbed the gun's handle. Had the man not been dazed, he might have beaten her easily. Instead, she managed to wrench the gun from his hand, point it toward him and fire.

She'd wanted only to wound him, nothing more. Instead, the bullet went high, hitting him in the chest. He exhaled blood that seeped from his mouth and across the dark parquet floor. Winnie had seen death enough to know he was beyond any help.

She ran into the street and, raising the gun in the air, fired two shots. The recoil made her lose her footing, but the shots alerted her neighbors. Men rushed from their houses, one carrying a gun of his own. "Send for the police!" Winnie cried. "And for a doctor.

There's been a robbery and shooting." With that, she ran back inside to do what she could to stop Margaret's bleeding.

Mina arrived at the same time as the doctor. When she saw Winnie's hands covered with blood, the body and Margaret on the floor, she fought down the rush of emotions and took a step toward Winnie, intending to pull her away. The doctor was here.

Winnie's skills were no longer needed. As Mina stepped forward, Margaret turned her face toward her. The wound on the girl's shoulder opened, and the blood began to flow once more. Mina backed away and leaned against the hall table for support.

"Margaret will be fine," Winnie said, then put an arm around her so they could help each other up the stairs.

"I'm so sorry," Mina told her when they were alone. "If Margaret dies, I'll be to blame."

"The man I shot is to blame for everything, Mina dear. Now, are you all right?"

"Yes. Here, let me help you." Mina unb.u.t.toned the back of Winnie's soiled blouse so that Winnie could slip out of it. She watched silently while Winnie washed and changed, then she followed her to the top of the stairs and remained there while Winnie went down to explain what she could to the police.

She had surprised a robber, she said. In the struggle that followed, Margaret had been wounded and she had wrestled the gun from the robber and killed him. She spoke calmly, almost coldly. She had always sensed that she possessed such firm control, but she had never expected to have to reveal it to so many strangers. The men who listened to her seemed to be waiting for some terrible breakdown as she described the killing, and to be disappointed when she did not oblige them.

"What do you make of this?" the officer asked, holding up a pair of short wooden stakes and a mallet.

She understood exactly why the man had come for her, the death and mutilation she had so narrowly avoided. "I haven't the slightest idea," she replied evenly, aware as she spoke of Mina standing at the top of the stairs, her face white with shock.

As soon as the police had gone, taking the body of the intruder with them, Winnie told Mina exactly what had happened. "They say that the man had no identification on him. Though I can't be certain, I think the intruder was James Sebescue."

"I a.s.sumed it might be after I read the letter I'd received." She handed Winnie the note Gance had sent.

Dear Mrs. Harker, Winnie read. I had a chance meeting with William Graves yesterday. He asked how your translation was progressing, then told me that one James Sebescue had come inquiring about the journal. His manner and questions disturbed Mr. Graves enough that he has taken to carrying a revolver. Pa.s.s this message on to Mrs. Beason, then come to London. Contact me and I will a.s.sist you. Gance.

"Perhaps you should write a note to Mr. Ujvari and warn him. There might be others ... Oh, dear!" Winnie's hand covered her mouth. For the first time since Mina's arrival, she appeared shocked. "Sebescue said that the translator did not have the book."

"He could have been lying."

Winnie shook her head. "He was certain. But I don't think the book was his real reason for coming here. I think he just wanted to find and destroy me."

"What did he say to you, Winnie?"

"He said I would change into a vampire. No, he did not say it so directly, but he implied it. I think he believed that no one could enter Dracula's castle and leave without sharing his curse. He would have killed me, Mina, but only after making certain I understood why it must be done."

"And I thought Van Helsing obsessed," Mina commented with incredible calm. "I should have listened to his warning. Now there may be more like Sebescue looking for us."

"I understood why you did not want to worry your husband, but, Mina, I think you must speak to him."

"And tell him what? That everything we did in the east might have been in vain. That I may rise after death? That it may happen to him as well simply because those women touched him? Then I can add that I am not certain. I know exactly what he'd do."

Winnie waited, saying nothing."He'd tell me I was wrong. That the shock of all those weeks of fear has made me delusional and that it makes no difference if others are delusional as well. Jonathan is a logical man, and I have no proof, Winnie, save the book from the castle and the few pages of its translation. I must go to London immediately."

"Telegrams travel faster, Mina dear."

"I'll send one before I get on the train."

"Where will you stay?"

Mina took a deep breath and answered honestly, "With Gance. Give me the translation, Winnie. I want to share it with him."

Winnie was about to give her friend a warning, but then she considered the flush on Mina's face and the casual way she'd used Gance's name, as if she spoke it often. Winnie wasn't angry, but she didn't try to hide her disappointment either. Instead she shrugged and said nothing. The day had been terrible enough already.

As soon as they were calm enough to travel, the two went to Mina's. Winnie stayed with her friend while Mina packed a bag and wrote a brief note for Jonathan, which she left in a sealed envelope on his desk.

They were just slipping out the front door when Millicent came up from the kitchen. "You are going somewhere?" she asked, eyeing Mina's bag.

"I am going to London. I've left a note for Jonathan telling him that I'll be home tomorrow," Mina said. "I wouldn't leave so suddenly if it weren't an emergency."

"What sort of emergency? You must wait for Jonathan and talk to him," she demanded.

Mina would not link this affair to the hospital again. Winnie, however, cut in, "A legal emergency concerning the hospital, Miss Harker. With Mina's training, it's imperative that she handle it. I'll see her to the station."

Millicent saw through the lie. Her face reddened with rage and her shoulders stiffened. Mina suspected that only Winnie's presence stopped the woman from slapping her.

She and Winnie said nothing on the drive. But as Mina prepared to leave the cab, Winnie gripped her hand and squeezed it.

"Take care, dear," she said. "Wire me tomorrow, please! And if ... well, if things don't go as you hope, there will be a place for you in our house for as long as you need it."

As Mina stood on the platform waiting for the last train, the chilly evening air pressed down on her. Though she was warm enough in her fur-trimmed coat, she shivered.

She had packed her little journal along with more clothes than were necessary for one night in London. It seemed at that time as if she would never return to her house, or to Jonathan. Perhaps that was a twisted sort of wishful thinking for, when she did return, she would bring back the book and whatever else was finished. She would lay it all in front of her husband and tell him everything.

NINETEEN

Gance was waiting for Mina at the London Station when the train pulled in a little after midnight. Though he was prepared to confess his interest in the translation, and hope that the confession would make him a confidant, she did not question him. Instead, as they walked to his carriage, she told him what he already knew about Ujvari's work on the old journal, then handed him Ujvari's address. "We must go and warn him," she said.

"We'll go in the morning. Tonight we have to talk," he said.

"We go there first, or we do not talk at all," she retorted.

"Very well." He sighed, handed the address to his driver and opened the door.

The wolfhound lay sprawled across the front seat. He raised his head and eyed his master. "h.e.l.lo, Byron," Mina said and let him lick her hand. Then, unconcerned about the worries of the humans around it, it rested its head on the open window and watched the world move slowly by.

In the hours that Gance had waited for Mina to come, he had decided that he could explain his interest in her journal easily enough. The bite on his neck was only one part of it, her drinking of his blood far more crucial. And since she was obviously as infatuated with him as he was with her, his charm would make his curiosity all the more natural. He rested a hand on her knee and squeezed lightly, feeling the taffeta of her underskirt rub sensuously against her silk stockings. She covered his hand with her own.

He raised it to his lips and kissed it, then moved away from her, watching her, the play of gaslight and shadows over her face as they drove on. The deep sorrow he often glimpsed in her was more obvious tonight, adding to her loveliness, her incredible attraction.

Though most of his thoughts were on the night's more serious work, he could not help but think of the bordello chair that he had recently purchased, after hearing it was a duplicate of one designed by the Prince of Wales himself. Once it had exhausted its conversation value in his London bedroom, he would have it moved to the little house in Exeter. Tonight, if all went well, it would see its first use.

Mina had expected Ujvari to live in a flat or apartment. Instead the address he'd given her was for one of a handful of river cottages on a dirt road paralleling a low embankment along the Thames. The night chill was greater here, the river fog thick in the bushes along the road, so that many of the houses were known to pa.s.sing riders only by the crude numbered posts beside their walks. When they reached Ujvari's cottage, the driver pulled the horse and buggy to the side. Gance lit the carriage lamp and lifted it high, but it only seemed to illuminate the fog. He whistled for the dog to join them. Then, holding the light close to the ground and with a firm grip on her arm, he led Mina toward the house.

The path was lined with overgrown bushes and weeds, its stones loose and often missing, leaving muddy holes. The cottage itself was so small that it could not have had more than two rooms. Though the night was chilly, there was no scent of smoke in the air, nor any indication that someone inside had seen their light.

Mina moved in front of Gance and knocked on Ujvari's door. No one replied. She knocked harder, and the door, shook from its latch, swung slowly inward. The dog growled and hung back while Mina stepped inside the dark room, alternately calling Ujvari's name and identifying herself. Gance stopped to examine the lock. The door had been broken in, the latch hurriedly remounted to hold the door shut.

He pulled a pistol from his belt and followed Mina across the threshold. In the dim lamplight, he saw her hands, white and trembling beneath the deep blue wool of her coat. "Can you smell it?" she whispered. "Blood. Death."

He inhaled, but the damp air was all around him, flowing into the room. He stepped farther inside, but whatever troubled her still eluded him. "Hand me the lamp," Mina whispered.

Instead, he held it high and followed as she moved from the main room, with its bare wood table and two chairs, to a smaller bedroom. He smelled something then, a scent that brought back memories of his year in India, the sickness and the carnage. Mina's face was blank, her lips pressed together as she swallowed convulsively, trying to keep from being ill. Gance followed her gaze from the bed, smeared with blood and vomit, to the floor, where the hound was sniffing at a dark stain. Someone had been killed here, that much seemed certain, but the body was gone.

"My G.o.d, who did this!" Mina finally exclaimed and covered her face with her hands.

Gance moved in front of her and pulled open the door of the large armoire. There were clothes inside, nothing more. He took Mina into the outer room. There, he noticed something he had missed on the first pa.s.s through the room. The window at the back of the house was open, and there were bits of fabric stuck in the loose splinters of the rotted sill. "I'm taking you back to the carriage," he said. "Byron and I will look for the body."

"No! I'm going with you," she replied. Her courage astonished him. From the way she trembled, he wondered where she found the strength to stand.

The air steadied them, and after a short walk, they scrambled up the muddy embankment. Here, the fog was even thicker, the riverbank invisible below them. Gance rested the lamp on a rock and helped Mina down to where the water swirled, dark and muddy, close to their feet.

The dog padded down the bank, sniffing and rooting in the mud, stopping at a pile of driftwood tangled in the willow roots just downriver.

"Stay here," Gance whispered to Mina, and was not surprised when she didn't listen.

As Gance expected, the body was wedged there, the pale and bloated flesh almost indistinguishable from the white tangle of rotting branches. Mina forced herself to look at the face, to be certain that it was indeed Ujvari.

She had steeled herself for the sight of a body but not the rest-the bruises and cuts on his face, the rough wooden stake through his chest. She backed away slowly, unaware that she moved toward the river until Gance reached for her. As he touched her, she flinched then fell against him, silent, trembling. "There's nothing we can do. Let's go," he whispered.

"We can't. We have to tell someone."

"We will, but anonymously. Do you want to have to explain how you knew the man?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he ordered the dog to the top of the bank, then, using the leash for support, he helped Mina to climb over it. "Now, I want you to listen to me this time, all right? I'm going to take you to the carriage. I want you to wait there with the driver while I go inside the house and make certain that there is nothing to connect you with this crime."