Lord of the Vampires by Jeanne Kalogridis Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jeanne Kalogridis
Why was I required to remain behind like a prisoner of this castle, waiting for whatever small gift he chose to bring back, after he had supped to his content? For his custom was to bring me only an infant or a pale, anaemic childto keep me weaker than he, I realise now, so that he should always be the one in control.
Had I possessed any physical strength, I should have defied him; but the first time he offered to hunt for us all, I honestly thought it was out of kindness, and so I accepted gratefully. And when he returned with only a tiny newborn for me to share with Dunya, he was full of profuse apologies and excuses. So it was that the second time he went out, I foolishly believed he would bring us something grand: a strapping youth or strong peasant woman.
But no; he returned with a single sickly infant. And I drank from it out of pure necessity, as I was faint with hunger, and shared what I could bear with Dunya. Afterwards, I was as he had hopedfar too weak even to protest when he went to hunt again.
Just as I am weak tonight; after Vlad left, I lay down. Night used to bring such sweet exhilaration; now it only brings consciousness and misery. There have been times (like tonight) when exhaustion has made me refuse to rise from my coffinwhich used to lie beside his, but now is confined to Dunyas servants quarters because he grew annoyed at my proximity. I lie here and weep and consider that I should close my eyes and greet true death here, that this might indeed become my final resting place.
Poor Dunya! I look over at her, lying motionless in her coffin. I fear she will greet the Absolute before me, for she is the weakest of us all; she rarely emerges from her slumber, but lies with pale, pale lids drawn down over dark eyes. Years ago, when I was strong and beautiful, I took pity upon her, thinking, Why must she remain an anguished mortal, under our control, neither alive nor dead? And so I led her gently through death into the dark life. Vlad was furious, of courseHow shall we accomplish those things which can only be done during the light of day if we have no mortal servant? he roared, and for weeks would speak to neither of us.
I did not care; Dunya has been as sweet and constant a companion as she ever was. Her suffering was replaced by a marvellous delight, and we two have shared all joys as sisters might. It was Dunya who suggested I commission a portrait of myself, which I could use in place of the looking-glass, that I might not have to rely on her descriptions. So it was doneby a mortal artist whose trembling hands happily did not impede his skilland out of gratitude, I commissioned a separate, smaller portrait of Dunya.
Now my dear companion is only a pitiful, aged shadow of the beauty that hangs upon the wall (as I must be also). In her coffin she lies with arms crossed over her breast like a corpse, and looks for all the world like a dead crone, her face worn and withered and waxen, her thin lips drawn back tightly over sharp yellowed teeth. How I miss all those nights when we would hold hands and whisper our dreams into each others ear! I cannot bear to see her so
But the promise of Elisabeth has brought hope, and thus for the first time in many years I have risen and written in my journal. Can I truly reclaim my beauty and exuberance?
* * *
The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing
3 May 1893.
How strange life is. We make our plans and expect everything to go according to themand then, in a single instant, everything is changed.
It had been a long, tiring night. News had come from The Hague of strange nocturnal attacks on the citizens by a sharp-toothed predator, possibly a wolf. And so after investigating, I travelled there and spent the darkness waiting outside a grand mausoleum for the return of a wealthy, well-respected businessman who had died of apoplexy after a Hungarian holiday. More grisly work, but I am happy to state that he is now at peace.
I returned home as quickly as possible from the
Had I possessed any physical strength, I should have defied him; but the first time he offered to hunt for us all, I honestly thought it was out of kindness, and so I accepted gratefully. And when he returned with only a tiny newborn for me to share with Dunya, he was full of profuse apologies and excuses. So it was that the second time he went out, I foolishly believed he would bring us something grand: a strapping youth or strong peasant woman.
But no; he returned with a single sickly infant. And I drank from it out of pure necessity, as I was faint with hunger, and shared what I could bear with Dunya. Afterwards, I was as he had hopedfar too weak even to protest when he went to hunt again.
Just as I am weak tonight; after Vlad left, I lay down. Night used to bring such sweet exhilaration; now it only brings consciousness and misery. There have been times (like tonight) when exhaustion has made me refuse to rise from my coffinwhich used to lie beside his, but now is confined to Dunyas servants quarters because he grew annoyed at my proximity. I lie here and weep and consider that I should close my eyes and greet true death here, that this might indeed become my final resting place.
Poor Dunya! I look over at her, lying motionless in her coffin. I fear she will greet the Absolute before me, for she is the weakest of us all; she rarely emerges from her slumber, but lies with pale, pale lids drawn down over dark eyes. Years ago, when I was strong and beautiful, I took pity upon her, thinking, Why must she remain an anguished mortal, under our control, neither alive nor dead? And so I led her gently through death into the dark life. Vlad was furious, of courseHow shall we accomplish those things which can only be done during the light of day if we have no mortal servant? he roared, and for weeks would speak to neither of us.
I did not care; Dunya has been as sweet and constant a companion as she ever was. Her suffering was replaced by a marvellous delight, and we two have shared all joys as sisters might. It was Dunya who suggested I commission a portrait of myself, which I could use in place of the looking-glass, that I might not have to rely on her descriptions. So it was doneby a mortal artist whose trembling hands happily did not impede his skilland out of gratitude, I commissioned a separate, smaller portrait of Dunya.
Now my dear companion is only a pitiful, aged shadow of the beauty that hangs upon the wall (as I must be also). In her coffin she lies with arms crossed over her breast like a corpse, and looks for all the world like a dead crone, her face worn and withered and waxen, her thin lips drawn back tightly over sharp yellowed teeth. How I miss all those nights when we would hold hands and whisper our dreams into each others ear! I cannot bear to see her so
But the promise of Elisabeth has brought hope, and thus for the first time in many years I have risen and written in my journal. Can I truly reclaim my beauty and exuberance?
* * *
The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing
3 May 1893.
How strange life is. We make our plans and expect everything to go according to themand then, in a single instant, everything is changed.
It had been a long, tiring night. News had come from The Hague of strange nocturnal attacks on the citizens by a sharp-toothed predator, possibly a wolf. And so after investigating, I travelled there and spent the darkness waiting outside a grand mausoleum for the return of a wealthy, well-respected businessman who had died of apoplexy after a Hungarian holiday. More grisly work, but I am happy to state that he is now at peace.
I returned home as quickly as possible from the
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