Heart of Dracula Read online

  Alfonzo smiled. “Exactly. We will keep you far away from danger. You will never see a battle. We only need you to lead us to him.”

  “I expect this will be exceedingly dangerous, even with your assurances.” She ran her thumb over the ruby of the brooch. “I have not seen the things that howl in the darkness…but anything that has the magic to turn the moon to blood would make mincemeat of me in less than a heartbeat’s span of time.”

  “We can protect you,” Eddie insisted. “We promise.”

  She smiled sadly. “I believe you mean your words. I do not doubt your intentions. But I have seen enough tragedy and witnessed enough horror through the minds of others to know that intentions do not beget reality.”

  “I won’t mislead you, Miss Parker,” Alfonzo added grimly. “You are correct. We have come here to save this city, not to spare our own lives. We are prepared to pay the ultimate price to save the lives of the innocents who call this place home. You must be willing to do the same.”

  “Well.” She placed the brooch back on the table and took off the glove of her right hand. “Let me see this King of Terrors for myself, and perhaps that may convince me.”

  Picking up the brooch in her gloved hand, she paused. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself. She did not know what waited for her in the ruby’s dark depths, but she knew it was not going to be pleasant. She dropped it into her bare palm.

  It was a throne room.

  That was an assumption, to be fair, but she could think of little else for which a room such as this could possibly be used. The ceiling soared overhead easily a hundred feet, disappearing into the darkness of the dimly lit space, giving it the illusion that it could go on forever. Gothic archways with their austere finials rose from the corbels of columns and stabbed like jagged claws at the shadows.

  From the heads of large, carved gargoyles dangled burning cauldrons on thick iron chains. The monsters were grotesque, resembling the art of Hieronymus Bosch, and were equally disgusting in the way the chains were mounted—impaled through the lower jaw, upper, or both, or wrapped around the maw, or through the eye sockets of their skulls. They screamed in silent torture.

  And there, at the end of the corridor, was a throne. It sat up on a row of long stairs that were carpeted in deep crimson fabric that matched swaths of fabric that hung in the wings.

  The throne was equally as horrifying as the gargoyles. It was a twisted monument of monsters and their prey, creatures with claws and wings and horns writhing around bodies of humans caught in terror and death.

  Whoever had designed a place like this had one singular goal. They had one simple message.

  Fear me.

  And Maxine could not deny that it worked. This place carried a sense of death and danger. She knew the carpet was stained red from more than dye. This was a place of suffering.

  But it was only a dream.

  It was a memory, caught in the jeweled broach she held. It could not hurt her. This was merely imprinted on the stone. But the one thing she knew—simply knew without question—was that this room belonged to the man who had owned the gem. Even without the hunters having told her it had belonged to a king, the nature of the two were one and the same.

  Red satin and black velvet. Fang and claw. Death and blood mingled with the scent of roses. She walked up the carpet toward the throne, gaping at its magnitude. The flickering shadows of the firelight made the figures seem to dance and come to life. There was a strange, artful beauty to it. They had been carved with remarkable craftsmanship by a master, even if their subject matter left much to be desired.

  Death had never frightened Maxine. She had always accepted that it would come for her. She had seen more suffering through the eyes of others and in the memories of the objects she touched than one person should ever know. It gave her an interesting perspective on the matter.

  But this was not the acceptance of death—this was revelry within it.

  Death may not concern her…but dying like the ways that were depicted very much did. Simply because she did not fear the journey did not mean she was not troubled by the idea of being eaten alive. And being eaten alive might be the least disturbing of the ways the throne depicted.

  When she finally reached it, she let her fingers trace over the armrests. More flashes of the creature to whom it belonged rushed over her. There was a deep disdain for all around him. Hatred. Violence. Wrath. All the world was small to him. But beneath it all…she found loneliness like that of a mountain peak looking at the valley below. All the rest of what she felt was a bridge of cards stacked over a chasm of emptiness and sorrow. Grief and loss ran through it like a raging river.

  Enormity. That was what she felt. He was a bridge, a river, a mountain—the metaphors ran rampant in her mind. He was not a man. He was an element of nature.

  Perhaps there was more to this story the hunters told.

  She let her fingers trail over the armrest again. “Who are you?”

  A hand fisted in her hair and yanked her head back. A voice, little more than an angry hiss near her ear, accompanied it. “I could ask you the very same.”

  She screamed and dropped the brooch.

  Maxine came back to reality lying on the floor of her kitchen, locked in a cold sweat. She was panting. Someone was crouched next to her, their hands on her arms, gently trying to help her up. She shoved away from them violently. “Don’t touch me!”

  They lifted their hands from her obediently and moved back, showing her their palms in a display of harmlessness. “Sorry.”

  It was Alfonzo. She must have fallen from her chair. She saw the brooch lying on the ground near her. She was shivering and she shook her head dumbly, trying to form words. Trying to think of an explanation for what had happened.

  Impossible. That was impossible. But it happened, so therefore it clearly was not. “I’m sorry.” She sat up and tried to pull herself back together. “It is not your fault.” She slipped on her other glove and reached out to pick up the brooch now that she was protected from it. “You cannot touch me, for your sake and mine. I react poorly when I am startled, that is all.”

  “What happened? What did you see that scared you?” Bella asked eagerly. She was fetching a glass of water from the sink.

  Standing on shaky legs, Maxine returned to her chair and placed the brooch on the lace tablecloth. “It was not what I saw that was the problem. I saw a throne room fit for the devil himself, but that was not why I screamed.” She was still trying to process it and to piece together the bits into a cohesive explanation. When Bella handed her the glass, she thanked her and gratefully sipped the water. “It should not have been possible…”

  “What happened?”

  “When I touch something, I see a memory. A reflection of a time long past. It isn’t changeable. It is like experiencing a moving painting or a zoetrope that might animate around you. I’m an outside observer.”

  “Paintings on the wall,” Eddie muttered as he put it together. “That’s what you meant.”

  She nodded.

  “And?” Bella sat back down as well, her bright blue eyes shining with curiosity.

  “This painting reached out and touched me.” After finishing the water, she poured a shot of rum into the empty glass. The water was nice, but the rum was necessary. She looked over to Alfonzo. “Tell me all you can of this Dracula.”

  3

  “Master? Are you well?” Walter pressed his hand to the elder vampire’s shoulder. Dracula had collapsed against the wall as though he had suddenly grown weak.

  Dracula chuckled. “Fascinating…” He straightened, tugging on the bottom of his vest to smooth the lines. “I am fine, Walter. Indeed, I am more than fine.” He looked down into his pale palm and flexed fingers accentuated with sharp, deadly nails, as though he were remembering holding something. He tightened his hand into a fist and walked down the hall toward the dining room that also served as the war room. “Come.”

  Walter followed silently, curious a
s to what had overcome his Lord. Curious and concerned. But he knew to stay silent and keep his worries unvoiced. He would be told all soon enough. He took his position standing by the table as Dracula sat in his chair, the movement smooth and graceful despite his height and stature. Such things were to be expected from a creature such as he.

  It left him feeling like the whelpling that he was, despite his own centuries of age. Walter was nothing to scoff at, since he served as the right hand to the King of Vampires. But next to the one who had sired him, he often felt like little more than a mortal toddler. A brash, clumsy, noisy thing.

  Dracula steepled his hands in front of his face and gazed thoughtfully at the table. Walter suspected he was both seeing the notes and maps left upon its lacquered surface and yet taking in none of it all at once. His voice, a low rumble, carried easily. “What have you discovered about Miss Parker?”

  “She purports to be a spiritualist—an empath. She claims to be able to divine great secrets from objects and to see all the hidden truths within a human soul. If the hunters have gone to her seeking assistance, I think we shall have little trouble in dispatching them. She is a charlatan, nothing more, and if they can be gulled into—”

  “She is no fraud.” Vlad chuckled darkly, a sadistic and amused smile spreading across his features. “No, my dear friend. She is far more interesting than that.”

  Walter furrowed his brow. What had happened in the hallway was connected to Miss Parker; he was now sure of it. But how, he hadn’t the foggiest idea. “What would you have me do?”

  “I would meet her in person.” He paused, shutting his eyes. “Find some aristocrat in this city who fancies becoming as we are. Send Zadok to seduce him and convince him to host a gala. We shall ensure our dear hunters have reason to attend by creating the suspicion that we may also be present. If we are lucky…they shall invite her to join. We may be able to destroy them and collect her in one night.”

  “Collect her?” Walter carefully kept the dread out of his tone. Whenever his Master found himself in the mood to play with mortals, it never ended well. For anyone. He wanted this business with Boston to be concluded and finished as quickly and cleanly as possible, especially after the debacle they had just suffered in London. Walter had hoped he might be spared his Master’s fascination with baubles and toys a few more years than he clearly was to be allotted. Not again. Please, not again.

  It would be enough that the whole of the American army would be on their doorstep in a few months’ time. They did not need to feed danger within their walls.

  Let this be a passing fancy. Think wisely, Master. For once, I beg you, do not be entranced by the promise of—

  “I have reason to suspect she may be…unique, Walter. Truly unique. And I wish to see for myself what it is that I have found. Opportunities such as these come along so rarely, after all.”

  Walter felt his hopes crumble, and he let out a low breath. “As you wish.”

  “You do not approve.”

  “No, my Lord. We will have a war on our hands, and we cannot have you distracted by a mortal…bauble.”

  “That is a fair criticism.” Vlad leaned back in his chair and smiled thinly. “But wars are so very common in the end. This shall not be my first, nor shall it be my last.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Your concerns are likely of no import. What I witnessed shall prove to be a fluke, she shall be utterly uninteresting, and you shall have my full attention dedicated upon the battlefront as you so wish.”

  “I do not wish for a war, Master, I have made that quite clear.” Walter shook his head. “But I serve you. Ergo, I follow you where you lead. I am honored enough that you let me speak my mind.”

  “True loyalty is more valuable than gold, my dear friend. For even that immortal metal will tarnish before a heart like yours might wander.” He sighed, crimson eyes slipping shut. “I am more grateful than you can fathom. Never hesitate to speak your opinions. They are wise. That is why I turned you—and that is why I keep you at my side.”

  Walter smiled faintly and bowed his head. He might be a servant, but he took great pride in the friendship that accompanied that service. “Then allow me to say I think this entire endeavor will end in disaster.”

  Dracula chuckled again, his amusement seemingly genuine. “Noted. Now, please, go. Find us a suitable home to stage our masquerade ball. Take Zadok. He needs a chance to stretch his…predilections. Allow me my dalliance and curiosity. I have not felt such excitement in many, many years.”

  And so, their fate was sealed. As was the fate of Miss Parker. “Yes, my Lord.” Walter folded an arm across his waist as he bowed low. This was a mistake. This whole ordeal would end in nothing but tragedy and setbacks to their cause. But he was grateful that anything at all amused his Master. It had been rare in the past few hundred years.

  The alternative to this coming mayhem was far worse. His Master might slip into the coldness of apathy, never to return. That was a far worse fate indeed. He only hoped the hunters were fools enough to die quickly.

  It would be a nice change of pace.

  Walter knew he was never that lucky.

  Maxine and the hunters had moved into the parlor to talk. The conversation had already stretched on for an hour, and they had only just begun. It was hard to focus on the words they were saying, yet she knew it was all crucial information, and she tried to retain it all. Yet she couldn’t stop her mind from dwelling on what had happened when she had grasped the brooch.

  That creature is to blame for what occurred. It is not because of anything I did. If he is strong enough to reach through the connection of a bauble such as this… Who is this monster that has come to lay siege to Boston?

  Sadly, it seemed they knew surprisingly little about their quarry. Vlad Tepes Dracula had been a mortal warlord and was now an ancient vampire. He hailed, unsurprisingly, from Europe originally, although no one seemed to know quite where. He had masqueraded as several mortal men through the course of a few hundred years.

  And from time to time, he would raze a city and declare it his own domain, such as he was apparently attempting to do now with her home.

  Maxine was sitting by the window, looking down at the city below and the figures that walked past from time to time. “What is his goal here?”

  “To build a kingdom for his immortal monsters.” Alfonzo shrugged.

  “Yes, but why?” She placed the remainder of her food on her plate and put it aside for the moment. She had made them sandwiches and apologized for having nothing else to serve them. She had not been expecting guests and employed no servants to help her.

  “What do you mean?” Alfonzo asked.

  “I assume they spend the rest of their time scattered amongst the populace, yes? They gather around him for strength in numbers or because he somehow commands them. But how is this preferable? Why is he staking his claim here, knowing he will attract not only the likes of you, but soon the full public force?”

  “Because he wishes to bring death and mayhem to this world.”

  “That is the response of a zealot, not a man who knows the answer.” She smirked over at Alfonzo. “It’s quite fine to say you don’t know. I would rather you not fill in the blanks with suppositions. It will only make my job harder.”

  Eddie snickered. Bella smacked his arm with the back of her hand.

  Alfonzo’s jaw ticked. It was clear he wasn’t accustomed to being scolded like a schoolboy. “The vampire means this city harm. Simple as that.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt. But I do not yet understand his motive. It may help me to understand him.”

  Bella looked at her quizzically. “And why would you wish to understand him? He is a monster, nothing more. We are here to stop him.”

  Maxine paused as she looked out the window again thoughtfully. “It is in my nature to try to seek out the ‘why’ behind a person’s actions. It is my gift to divine the threads that make up a soul and see their whole. In my experience, cruel actions are rarely d
one without context. And understanding such things, to read the fabric of a man, might help us prevent this from ever coming to pass again.”

  “He is not a man,” Alfonzo argued.

  Bella ignored Alfonzo. “How so? Do you seek to reason with him? To negotiate? It cannot be done. Many have tried in the past.”

  “Perhaps. But there is little else I can do. I carry no guns. I wield no weapons. I can play your bloodhound and hunt the wolf that stalks the streets at night. There is no other benefit I can serve, save that I might learn more about who he is and why.”

  “Knowledge is always valuable,” Alfonzo admitted. “And we will record anything you learn of the vampire—of his past, of his motives, of his powers. If it does not aid us, it may aid those to come.”

  She smiled over at the older soldier. “Then I will seek to learn as much as I can.” She looked down at the brooch. She had continued to turn it over in her hand, feeling the strange sensation still pouring from it. It had ceased to give her the chills. Like stepping into a cold bath, she was adjusting to its presence. “You call him ‘the’ vampire. As if he is the only one.”

  “He is the only one that matters. Others can be killed, where he cannot. Maxine…I hate to ask this of you. But if what you can glean from him might lead us to a way to stop him permanently, I cannot pass up on this opportunity.”

  “I never said such a thing was possible, but I do not know that it isn’t.” She ran her gloved thumb over the face of the ruby. “Something tells me he will subvert many of my expectations.”

  “Will you agree to help us, then? It will put you in great danger.”

  “I suspect the deed is already done. My life ended when you knocked upon my door, Alfonzo Van Helsing. You wish to bring hope with your fight, but you leave death in your wake. He was in my vision. It is too late.”

  Alfonzo looked off, the lines of his face creasing deeper. “I did not mean to bring him to your door. I did not know what would happen. But you are right. If he was there—if he sensed you—he knows you are a player on the board. You could flee the city, and I would not blame you for doing so. Yet I ask you, will you help us?”