Doomed! If his side had not felt as if it were on fire, he would have laughed. He lay silent, contemplating the future until he fell into a fitful sleep in which he dreamed, as he often did in times of pain, of his father.

The previous Lord Gance had lain in bed for months before he finally succ.u.mbed to what his family privately termed debauchery.

Though the man had been no more than fifty, his mind had failed him. Too young to understand what was happening, Gance watched in terror as his father's temper grew less predictable each day. The man demanded drink, foods he should not eat. The servants were forbidden to cater to him.

Gance, who loved him, had.

And when his father finally died-raving in his last hours for his dead wife, and for the mistress who was not permitted to enter his house--Gance had known who killed him.

When Gance was younger, he'd dreamed that his father's ghost had come to punish him. Now, he dreamed that he was in that bed, screaming for Mina, and for all the others he had used, to come and comfort him. He struggled as the darkness closed around him, fighting to wake before he died.

He was roused, some hours later, by the announcement that Jonathan Harker had arrived.

With the horror of the attack and his dreams to strengthen his resolve, Gance replied, "Show him in." Gance did not ask to be made presentable, or to be propped up higher in the bed. His very helplessness would disarm this enemy, and he needed Harker impotent during the words he was about to say.

Gance had observed a number of Harker's moods in the past, but he had never sensed him dangerous until now. With his arms rigid at his side, his face red with fury, Harker refused a chair, standing instead at the foot of the huge Galle bed like some crazed specter from Gance's feverish dreams. "What have you done with my wife!" he demanded.

"I wooed her shamelessly. On the dance floor the night I first met her. At your dinner party. I kissed her in the yard of St. James Church. I think that even then she thought I was someone else."

Gance waited to see some flash of understanding. He was not disappointed. Jonathan sank into a chair. "Someone else," he echoed. The words were not spoken as a question.

"Even that hardly surprised me except that Mrs. Harker seemed to be such a practical, intelligent woman. Later, I discovered that her practicality was all a facade. Nothing else can explain what she did to me:" He paused, giving Harker a chance to comment.

When he didn't, Gance went on. "Come here, Mr. Harker. Let me show you."

Jonathan moved toward him, all anger dissipated, a terrible expression of fatality on his face.

Gance slowly raised his arm, moaning from the pain the motion caused, and pulled down the collar of his nightshirt. The mark Mina had made on his neck was darker now, a bruise in the shape of a pair of lips, the cut a red streak at its center. Gance heard the quick intake of breath, and Jonathan bent over to look at it. Pressing his case, Gance held out his cut palm. "I told the doctor that the man who attacked us did this, but she cut me here as well just last night.

"She is quite mad, you know, though I admit there is something wildly arousing in her insanity. I have never seen such a pa.s.sionate woman. I could not believe that she would drink from me with such . . ."

Jonathan's face grew white, but, Gance noted clearly, the confession still did not confuse him. "Why are you telling all this to me?"

Jonathan asked.

"Because Mina said that she will. There's some honor in being first and sparing her the words, especially when the lady is so apparently ill. I would not want you to think that her talk of what we did was ... well, another delusion."

"If you weren't in your sickbed, I'd . . ."

"You'd what? Throttle me? Call me out? Jonathan Harker, I a.s.sure you that I would kill you. Then where would your darling Mina be? It's my nature to win even if the outcome is a sentence to the gaol."

"What happened to her?"

How calm Harker seemed, yet how concerned. So he loved his wife still, would most likely forgive her what he would see as a foolish display of pa.s.sion. Poor Mina, Gance thought. She deserved better.

"Today?" Gance asked. "You've heard part of the story already. An old man, most likely a thief, was in the garden. Mina saw him and became quite agitated. As she had with me, I believe she thought him someone else. I told her I would send the man away personally. I ordered her to stay in the house, but she picked up a knife we had been using to cut fruit and followed me outside.

"I don't think the man would have harmed either of us, but when he saw her so distraught, it must have aroused the insanity in him as well. He raised his gun and shot me. As I fell, Mina attacked him. I never saw such fury.

"I'm thankful to her for saving my life, but I don't think that's why she did it. She called out a name as she lunged for him. Dracula, I think it was. Then another foreign word, nosferatu.

"Afterwards, she dropped to her knees beside me. She eyed my wound so intently I thought she meant to place her lips against it as she had against the cut on my hand. When the servants rushed around us, I said that it was me who had stabbed the old man. I shielded her because I did not think she was capable of answering any questions and because . . ."

"I quite understand." Though the words seemed to gag him, Harker added, "And I appreciate your candor. It will be of great help in treating her."

"You may stay here tonight if you wish." Jonathan shook his head.

"Then use my carriage and driver to get to the station. I think that would be more secure than a public cab." Jonathan stood and started for the door.

"Wait one moment," Gance said. "I want you to understand something. I pursued your wife because she is beautiful and intelligent and independent. I want you to know that had I any indication that Mrs. Harker was at all disturbed, I would not have gone near her. I have never been indiscreet when it mattered, and I find this situation most unfortunate for all of us.

"I intend to leave for Paris as soon as I am well enough to travel. I think it best under the circ.u.mstances that I go away for a while. There'll be talk of the killing, and we need to let the rumors die. Mina was not present when the police were summoned, and you can trust my staff not to mention that she was here." Gance didn't touch on their business dealings. Neither did Harker, he noted.

"And, if you would, ask the doctor to come in when you leave," Gance went on. "He has an injection he has been trying to give me since the first wore off this afternoon."

It had gone well, Gance decided after Harker and his wife had left. His driver would know if Harker had taken his wife to Seward's asylum or, hopefully for the woman, home.

If Mina had told her strange tale to him when he first met her, Gance might have wondered at her sanity. Once he knew her, he was certain something had happened. Now he was utterly convinced that Mina had told him the truth, for the steady, sensible Jonathan Harker had stared at the wound on his neck as if he had seen many like it before. No, they weren't all sharing the same delusion. They had all seen something they believed to be immortal and utterly deadly.

Well, one thing Gance had told Jonathan was true. It would be wise for him to leave England when he was well enough to travel.

There were so many parts of the world he had not seen. He tried to recall where Mina had said the Borgo Pa.s.s was located. Near Odessa? Galati? No matter he'd made certain that when he left, Mina would be coming with him. She'd show him the way.

III

Early in the morning, Jonathan conferred with Seward on what should be done for Mina. He began by telling of he affair, concluding bitterly, "I thought her obsession with Dracula was over when we returned from Transylvania. I was wrong."

"Memories survive, Jonathan, and they can be more damaging than the events that created them."

"What can be done?"

"Mina must be taught to control the past, to bury it if need be. It's difficult work, even for a man, and men are less emotional."

Jonathan thought of Arthur, his desperate search to end his loneliness by whatever means he could.

"Leave her with me for a while," Seward said.

"Here? In this house? After all that happened here?" The suggestion seemed impossible.

"I would go to Exeter if I could, believe me. Understand that she'll be safe here, far safer than if she had to explain the cause of her hysteria to another doctor."

"Could there be some grounds for Mina's belief? Have you heard from Van Helsing?"

"A brief note. He said that he had learned nothing new."

"May I see it?"

"I believe I threw it away."

"Van Helsing wrote Mina that all was well. Poor Mina. I wish I could remain here."

"It wouldn't be wise, Jonathan. She must have no audience for her delusions. Go home and let me treat her. In a week or two she'll be calmer and ready to see you again."

Jonathan went to Mina's room. He found her asleep, still in her clothes, with her face turned toward the open window. In the early dawn light, the ruins of Carfax darkened the sky, as much a blemish on the landscape as it was on their souls.

Seward had told him not to let Mina speak of her delusion. What could they say to each other besides good-bye? He placed on the desk the blank journal and pen he had purchased for her, and wrote a note on the opening page. With one last loving glance at his wife, he left the room as quickly as he was able.

PART FOUR: KARINA

TWENTY-TWO

I

On the long ride to Purfleet, I lay quietly in Jonathan's arms, thankful that he was content to hold me and ask no questions. By the time we reached the asylum, much of Jack's injection had worn off. Even so, I went pa.s.sively to the room they offered me, not caring that it was the same room where I had first faced Dracula. I found myself looking at the bed, with its new, overly bright, green coverlet, and at the window through which he had come.

The memory of what he did held no terror for me now, but rather instilled in me a strange peaceful fatality. I am utterly different from the innocent Mina who slept here before, a shy bride with an ill bridegroom. Yet I suppose I have not changed so much from my ordeal. After all, I was innocent enough to believe that I could actually return from the Con- tinent and have everything go back to the way it had been before the vampire altered our lives.

As if memories could die so easily. As if I would have wanted that innocence restored. I looked out at the distant ruins of Carfax, then to Jonathan, who stood so uneasily in the doorway. "It's all right," I .said. "The place holds no terror for me now."

"I'm glad of that." His eyes were scanning the room. Wondering what he was looking for, I turned my face back to the window. On the edge of my vision, I saw him grab a letter opener and scissors from the desk and put them in his pocket.

"I'm not suicidal, if that's what worries you," I said.

"Lord Gance told me about both of you. Is it true?" he asked.

l nodded but said nothing. There was, after all, nothing to say.

"He showed me his neck, and his hand. Mina, my love, why?"

He asked, and I had vowed not to lie any longer. "The blood, Dracula's blood, is still in me. It lives."

"Dracula is dead, Mina. Van Helsing says that once he dies. . . "

Van Helsing! They were always speaking of Van Helsing as if he were the final judge of everything unknown. I hid my anger but not the thought behind it. "Van Helsing didn't know everything," I said. "He even admitted as much when he decided to remain behind. Yes, Jonathan, there is no scar on my face any longer, but it means nothing. Dracula is still alive, I tell you. I have felt him in me since that first night he came to me in this very room. Gance . . ."

"Don't say it," Jonathan whispered, and the anguish in his voice seemed to pierce my heart.

If my future and my sanity had not depended on my honesty now, I would have run to him, hugged him and begged forgiveness. Instead I stood with my hands clasped tightly and forced myself to go on. "I must, and you must listen. Gance aroused the creature I almost became. But it was my choice to let it loose. Now the vampire is alive, Jonathan, he is inside of me with all his needs and power. ""Mina, how can you believe such a terrible thing?"

I laughed. Though I knew he wouldn't understand, I could not help myself. I had been foolish enough to think that words alone could make him understand. I should have waited and shown him. "It doesn't have to be terrible, Jonathan." I saw his reaction, the horror in his eyes. Nonetheless, I continued, looking evenly at him, refusing to be ashamed. "It isn't," I added, certain that this was the bravest act I had ever committed.

Jonathan moved away from me and walked toward the door. I had a premonition that if d let him leave, I would never see him again. It was a foolish feeling, but so real that I did beg him, "Stay with me, darling. Stay with me tonight. "

"After him, after this?" The softness of Jonathan's voice revealed not a hint of his fury.

"Jonathan, have you ever felt real pa.s.sion? Dracula showed that to me. And pa.s.sion free of fear? Gance taught me that. "

I saw no change in his expression. He would have faced Gance this way, and Gance would have thought his incredible self-control nothing more than weakness and pliancy. f wish I could have said that Gance and I were nothing to one another, but for my part at least, it was not true. I could not apologize for my deeds, either, nor lie and recant them. I had made a decision. I would not lie any longer. "The dreams are still with me, but I no longer fear them. I can control his blood, Jonathan. I'm strong enough now. "

"This isn't you, Mina," he said.

"I saw your drawings of the vampire women," I replied. "You've changed as well as I. Don't fight what you feel, Jonathan. Please!"

For the first time, I glimpsed the grief he hid so well. "Someone else is speaking through you, Mina. Someone I could never love." He turned to leave. I gripped his arm, forcing him to wait.

"I have to talk to you," I said. "So much has happened, you must know of it."

"I am aware," he said, his frigid tone hiding the hurt he must feel. "Perhaps tomorrow."

"Jonathan, your life may depend on it."

"Tomorrow," he repeated firmly and left.

It amazed me that he could go without listening to what I had to tell him. We were allies once, he and Jack and all the others. Now, when there was so much he should know, I heard the click of the lock. I opened the window and saw the bars that covered it. This was not a guest room any longer, but a private cell for a privileged inmate. I pressed my face against the bars and listened to the silence. From somewhere deep in the house a woman began to sob, her cries rising and falling in the night. When I slept, I did not dream. I think my life has become the nightmare, and there is no need for any other.

This morning, I found a journal and pen on the desk along with a note from Jonathan. He tells me that he loves me. He asks me to record my thoughts to help Seward treat me.

Seward is to read them. I have written in longhand to save him the trouble of arranging a transcription. I want him to know how I feel. Perhaps through him the others can be warned.

II

Mina's closing words were a lie. When she was not recording the details of last night's conversation, she had been privately considering her situation. It did not occur to her that a lesser woman might remain hysterical, or that the display of weakness she had shown the night before was natural. Instead, she simply resolved to be strong with the same determination she'd had when she resolved to confess everything to Jonathan. He hadn't given her a chance. Now she would have to hide whatever she believed in order to make her visit here as short as possible.

She refused to contemplate where she would go once she left Seward's.

Seward came to see her in mid-morning. He found her dressed, her bonnet on her head, her cloak laid across the foot of the bed.