Page 89 of Now Comes the Mist

At once, an immense pressure drags me toward him. I strain with all my might, my limbs quivering with the effort, but I quickly grow weak and tired. The pull is too much to bear, as is the smug smile on Vlad’s thin lips, and my feet slide right across the floor toward him.

“Good,” he says approvingly as though I had done it of my own will. “Now, kneel.”

“I will not,” I snap, but I am yanked onto my hands and knees before him at once by an invisible force. I glare at him, breathing hard, humiliated and furious enough to rip him apart with my bare hands … or die trying, which is surely what would happen.

“Now do you believe what I say?” he asks gently. “I hate that I must resort to such measures with you, Lucy. You reminded me just now of how much I enjoyed those nights with you in Whitby, but you constantly and unwisely push me to the limits of my anger.” He touches my cheek. “I do not hate you. And I could still show you that kindness and generosity of which you spoke if you would only accept the consequences of your own actions.”

I refuse to look at him. “You call it kindness and generosity to force me into submission and insult me? To show disgust and condescension?”

“I am only trying to teach you, little bride, to own your mistakes rather than foisting the blame onto others. You just told me that you cared for me, and so you must listen well.”

“I will never care for you again,” I whisper, turning away from him. “That is over and done. You may not hate me, but I will certainly hate you.”

Vlad sighs. “What shall we do with you, my petulant child? You could stay in your tomb, but I believe the doctor will come back to finish you off.” He thinks for a moment. “Best to ship you off to the Carpathians with the other brides. You would be out of the way and would not endanger my reputation here. Why, I have hardly had time to decorate my new house, Carfax!”

Fear crawls up my throat like bile. “No, please! Please don’t send me away.”

“Are you begging me?” he asks, smiling.

“I will not go,” I say, my chest tight at the thought of leaving Arthur and Mina, perhaps forever. “I want to stay here. Please.”

“But you told me so often of your wish to travel,” Vlad says coaxingly as though humoring a fussy child. “You wanted, quite desperately, to see the world.”

“This is not seeing the world. This is being locked up in some old castle far away from the people I love.” My voice trembles with panic. I could not even fight him when he had forced me to kneel. If he ordered me to cross the sea, I would not be able to resist, and we both know it. I push aside the tatters of my pride. “Please, Vlad, do not send me away from here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “A moment ago, you flew at me, hit me, and told me that you hated me. And now you humbly plead with me to let you stay?”

“Only for the length of Arthur and Mina’s lifetimes. It would be a blink of an eye to you, Vlad. You, who have lived so many ages. Let me have this short time with them, and I will be cautious and not risk your reputation. I cannot give them up.”

“But what if they wish to giveyouup?” he asks softly. “What if they cannot accept you as you are now and reject you despite what the noble Arthur said?”

I think of how Jack and Quincey and Dr. Van Helsing had pressed themselves against the wall like frightened animals upon seeing my fangs. Of how hard I’d had to fight against the temptation of Arthur’s blood. But I push the memories away. The men’s fear had come from the unexpected, and if I could just show myself to them and explain everything, perhaps they would understand. “They will still care,” I whisper, claspingmy hands to hide their trembling. “When I return, they will be glad and welcome me back.”

The pity on Vlad’s face is infinitely more difficult to bear than his cruelty and mockery. “Let us strike a bargain,” he says. “If your friends accept you, knowing what you are, then I will accede to your request, provided that you dispose of your food appropriately. You willneverexpose me. You willneverspeak of me to anyone.” His words are slow and deliberate, an incantation, and somehow, I can feel the command sinking into my skin and bones.

I swallow hard. “And if they do not accept me?”

“If your friends are disgusted by your new nature—as I believe they will be—then you will go to my castle in the mountains without further argument. Are we agreed?”

I shudder, but only from habit. My muscles still hold the memory of being human, and human Lucy would certainly have quaked at such an ultimatum.

“Well?” Vlad asks.

“I accept,” I say.

It is the only answer I can give.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

In the mausoleum, I cannot rest, though I know I ought to try. Instead, I pace all day, surrounded by dust and shadows as the world goes on outside the tomb. I burn to see Arthur again … but I am also gripped by terror and anxiety. I am haunted by Vlad’s certainty that Arthur will reject me, and that he—thatallof them, from Mina and Jack to Quincey and Dr. Van Helsing—will fear and hate what I have become.

I sink down beside my parents’ coffin, overwhelmed with despair, clinging to what Arthur had said on that final night: “Of course I want you. Youwillcome back, Lucy?”

The sunlight is interminable. I will the sky to darken, but it refuses to, and a beam of yellow light slips through the mausoleum doors, just to the left of me. Tentatively, I reach out a hand, remembering how Vlad had disappeared when the sun had emerged in Whitby, for fear of being burned. Indeed, he imprisoned himself in a box of earth every day to avoid the light. But when I touch the beam, I feel nothing on my fingers except a gentle warmth. I lean forward and let it fall upon my face, tense with anticipation. But there is still no pain.

“How is this possible?” I whisper.

I get up and peer through the doors of the tomb. The churchyard looks so different in the daylight, the sky bright blue above the gravestones. There is no one in sight, so I call up the mist and let it take me slowly,slowly, out into the sun. I shade my eyes, squinting, my heart delighting in the fresh air and the smell of leaves and the sound of carriages and people on the street. I hold up my hands and study them. I touch my face. But my skin is cool and smooth and unhurt.

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