Page 59 of Now Comes the Mist

Dr. Van Helsing sits back, his face thoughtful. “Your mamma tells me you have eaten nothing for days. And I learned from Miss Murray that you were extremely thirsty until your fever broke. Your body is not overly warm, aside from the area of injury. Can you sit up?”

“Every time I try, I feel so faint.” I look at Arthur standing beside him, his face drawn and sorrowful, and feel a pang of fear. “Do you think I am dying, Doctor?”

“You? A young lady of nineteen in the peak of health?” Dr. Van Helsing waves away my question, but I see in his eyes that there is a great deal of thought happening. “Your heart is strong. I felt that at once in your pulse. The dizziness, the light-headedness, the pallor … these are signs of significant blood loss. But you are staying awake longer, which I find encouraging. Your appetite will return soon, but until then, eat something even if you are not hungry. Your body needs fuel. A small bowl of broth, perhaps, which Mr. Holmwood can fetch for you?”

“Right away.” Arthur leaves immediately, glad for something to do.

The doctor’s eyes find mine, grave and focused. “Now that we are alone, Miss Lucy, allow me to be frank. I have treated many ailments in my career and have seen patients with animal bites before. But this, I’m afraid, is no animal bite. At least, not that of a dog. I don’t wish to distress you with too much information, but—”

“Please, Doctor, you may speak plainly,” I say, my curiosity rising at what he might guess.

Dr. Van Helsing nods. “Very well. An agitated dog will bite with both jaws. But let us play … what is the English phrase? Devil’s advocate. Evenif the dog bit with only the top jaw, there would be punctures from the other teeth due to the shape of the mouth. And here I see the marks of two teeth. Two teeth only.” He cocks his head. “What did the dog look like? Can you describe it for me?”

I think again of that evening. As the servants brought me inside, I had glanced at the dark street outside the window to find Vlad gone and a dog in his place, huge and hulking, watching me from the mist. Both Vlad and the dog had been on theDemeter, yet I had not remembered to ask him about it. Was it a denizen of his, perhaps? A scrap of his soul torn from his body?

“It was like a wolf in shape and size,” I say, and Dr. Van Helsing leans forward and closes his eyes to listen more carefully. “I do not remember the color. It was too dark to see, perhaps. The dog had pointed ears, I think. It was large and shaggy, and … and very thin.”

I have stopped speaking, but the doctor remains in the same position, eyes shut and brow furrowed with thought. The existence of vampires would strain any physician’s credulity, and yet I wonder what would happen if he discovered the truth—if he found Vlad. How could this slender, soft-spoken man hope to stop an all-powerful being untouched by death, with eyes like voids ringed with blood? I shudder at the memory of Vlad tearing into my flesh, a creature of wrath and vengeance, and Dr. Van Helsing opens his eyes in time to see it.

“I’m tiring you with so much talk,” he says apologetically. “I beg pardon. But I hear Mr. Holmwood’s foot on the stair, and before he returns, I wish to say one more thing. Know that you can tell me anything, Lucy, and I will treat it with the utmost discretion. I will not share a word of it with anyone, not even your mamma, if you charge me with secrecy.”

“Why do you think I need secrecy?” I ask, touched by his consideration.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “But I have a hunch that there is more you could tell me. And if you’ll forgive my arrogance, my hunches are always correct. Then there is the fact that I have no daughters and little experience with young ladies like yourself, but I believe secret-keeping is a common characteristic, no?” He pulls a funny face.

I smile. “You speak as though young ladies are creatures to be studied.”

“Perhaps you are.” He grows serious again when his eyes find the wounds on my throat.

The door opens and Arthur enters bearing a tray with a steaming bowl, an empty glass, and a pitcher of cold water. Dr. Van Helsing gets up and begins riffling through his medical bag, and Arthur takes his vacated chair to feed me hot, salty broth.

“Now, Lucy, I ask you to please finish that entire bowl,” the doctor says as he scatters tubes, vials, and bandages on my dressing table. “You will need strength for this operation.”

Arthur and I exchange looks of alarm. “Operation?” we repeat.

“Not to fear. I will not be chopping anyone up today,” Dr. Van Helsing says cheerfully, and Arthur gives a good-natured groan at the man’s levity. “But the truth of the matter is that Lucy has lost a great deal of blood to whatever bit her.”

“You mean the dog,” Arthur says, feeding me. “It was a dog.”

“The symptoms I mentioned of faintness, dizziness, and so on,” the doctor continues as though Arthur has not spoken, “are characteristic of anemia, but they can also occur when someone loses a significant amount of blood volume. Thus, that blood will need to be replaced. I specialize in a technique called transfusion, which I have done with great success.”

“Replace the blood with what?” I ask, confused.

“With the blood from another person,” Dr. Van Helsing explains. “As I said, you are young and healthy, and your body will make more of its own blood. But in the meantime, you need help, so I will give you some of mine. The transfusion involves a very small needle in your arm—you will feel only a pinch—connected to a tube, connected to a needle inmyarm.”

Arthur looks horrified. “Is this necessary, sir? With Lucy already so weak?”

“This will strengthen and revitalize her,” the older man reassures him. “It is I who will be weak afterward, but none the worse for wear after food and rest myself, which the excellent Mrs. Westenra has already promised me.” His manner is charming and jovial, and I feel a little more at ease, despite the disturbing mention of tubes and needles.

“But why does it need to be you?” Arthur persists. “I will gladly give Lucy my blood. Forgive me, but I am younger and stronger than you, and you are also fatigued from travel.”

The doctor’s dark brown eyes are twinkling. “There is no forgiveness necessary when what you say is true. Very well, Mr. Holmwood, we will do what you propose. Lucy, as brave as you are, I will give you something to sleep so that the operation does not distress you.”

I lift my head from the pillow, ignoring the dizziness and frantic with sudden worry. “But, Doctor, won’t this infection pass from me to him?” I ask, clutching Arthur’s hand. “I have been stained by it. I have been dirtied. It is in my very blood, and I could not imagine—”

“There is no danger of that,” the doctor says, so confidently that I nod my consent to be put to sleep. As Arthur feeds me the last spoonful of soup, Dr. Van Helsing pours me a glass of water and stirs a powder into it. I drink ravenously, but the water only seems to increase my thirst. “Do not worry. When you awaken, I promise you will feel well.”

I smile up at the doctor, grateful for his genuine kindness and no-nonsense manner. My fear of death has all but disappeared after a short time in his company. “Thank you, sir.”

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