That irritating woman and her meddling! If she had continued her wanderings just a short while longer, I could have finished what I started. And if Renfield had not gotten himself incarcerated in that hospital, there would have been someone to waylay the nosy brunette. What a nuisance.
He really ought to do something about replacing the old lunatic.
At home, he had never required a full-time manservant to take care of everyday tasks. Anything that could not be done at night, the gypsies would do. For a modest fee, of course.
But here in England, it was different. So many people. So many annoyances. He really needed someone to prevent all the unnecessary interruptions. He simply detested having to eat and fly. It was bad for the digestion.
He shrugged and stared at the figure slumped on the window-sill until she stirred, moaning. After a few seconds, she rose and stumbled toward her bed. Soon, my dear, he thought to her, soon it will be all over. He ran his tongue over the points of his teeth, thinking how nice it would be when the time arrived.
A moment later, another woman appeared beside the first.
His eyes on the two women, he took a step forward—and fell the last ten feet. Hellfire! After all these years, he should have learned to land on the ground instead of the lower branches. He glanced around to see if anyone noticed. No? Good.
He wiped the dirt from his trousers and cloak, then spit out the dead leaves that had found their way into his mouth. After satisfying himself that nothing was torn or broken, he peered through the gloom at the two figures in the window.
The dark-haired woman, the one called Mina, put her arm around her sleeping-walking friend. The vampire listened intently, straining to pick out Mina’s whispered words at that distance.
“Come, dear Lucy, we must get you back to bed. You’ll catch your death in this damp, chill air!”
Dracula laughed to himself. Somehow, I do not think the damp, chilly air will have anything to do with it.
Mina gently helped her friend to her bed, still murmuring words of encouragement. As they left the window, Mina threw one furtive glance toward the trees, and Dracula quickly faded into the darkness.
He sighed. This Mina might prove an interesting diversion in the future. At the moment, her untimely return had proven—inconvenient. Miss Westenra would have to wait. There were other matters of importance to attend to.
His errand took him to the docks, past the row of darkened warehouses. The air smelled too much of salt and fish and waterlogged wood, but the gloom of the docks suited his mood as he stalked down the aisles between the crates. He was still seething about Mina’s sudden return. Damned inconsiderate woman! He had been so close, and yet…
At last he found what he sought. Ethan Soarsby. His kind had been called many things over the centuries, but Dracula thought “wharf rat” suited him best. The little man might be just the distraction he needed. Dracula had been studying him for several days. He had potential.
Soarsby stood by one of the packing crates, pry bar in hand as he plied his trade. A moth-eaten wool jacket lay atop the crate, muffling the sound of splintering wood. A matching wool cap covered his head, leaving visible a fringe of mousy brown hair. On the ground beside him lay a pile of sacks.
A sudden crash at the end of a row of crates sent Dracula into the shadows to investigate. The last thing he needed was a witness. But the culprit turned out to be a cat hunting among the boxes, nothing more.
Satisfied his actions would go unnoticed, he returned to the now-open crate, but Soarsby had gone. Not far, though. Empty sacks still littered the ground and Dracula could feel the man’s presence. The little thief was near. Very near.
What was the best way to catch a predator? The vampire knew that answer from years of experience. Pretend to be prey.
He grinned and stood quietly, letting Soarsby step in behind him, a lion playing with a mouse.
The thief stepped silently into position. Silently to normal ears, at any rate. Dracula waited for him to make his move.
A hand snaked around his neck and a knife-edge pressed against his flesh above the collarbone. The thief’s skin was clammy and his breath reeked of onions and fish.
He noticed Soarsby had also had garlic for dinner and almost laughed out loud at the thought of that old wives’ tale. How many times had he met with some would-be adversary who thought it was the bulb of the plant that would vanquish a vampire? So few people realized it was the flowers he found revolting. He really preferred roses. But, back to the business at hand…
Centuries before, a knife at his throat might have caused Vlad Tsepes a moment’s nervousness. But many battles and many lifetimes had passed since then. As it was, he found the situation— entertaining.
Seconds ticked by while he waited for the thief to make the first comment. Finally, Soarsby thought of something to say.
“Don’t move a muskle, or ya won’t be able ta move a’tol.” Soarsby emphasized his threat by pressing the knife deeper into the flesh of Dracula’s neck. Considering their height difference, the action was as much of a stretch as the threat itself.
“Really? How amusing.” He deliberately kept his tone light. “I have a better plan.”
The Count took the thief’s wrist and gently forced it down as he turned to face the little man. Soarsby’s features contorted from the effort as he tried to keep his knife raised. He failed.
Several emotions played across the thief’s face. Surprise. Anger. Hatred. Fear. The fear won. His eyes widened as he began to understand the kind of force he was fighting.
Dracula continued amicably, “I have a proposition for you, my friend…” He swept his cloak over Soarsby’s shoulders and led him back toward the warehouses.
“It will be back by dawn. See that everything is in order.”
“Yes… Master.” Soarsby rolled the word around on his tongue, as if tasting it for the first time. In fact, he was. That vintage of it, at least.
Dracula left through the ironbound door, wincing as its rusted hinges screamed protest. It had been two days since his last visit to Lucy Westenra, and he looked forward to it. She was so— giving. He smiled at the thought.
He returned just before dawn, in much better spirits than on previous mornings. His visit with Lucy had gone well. Her friend Mina had not even noticed him. Having Lucy sit beside the window had proven to be a very good tactic. As long as she never left her bed chamber, her friend felt she was safe.
He landed just inside the wall surrounding the abbey. He was in such a wonderful mood, he felt like walking. A few wispy clouds trailed across the moon and a light fog had developed, lending Carfax an ethereal quality.
He took a deep breath, enjoying the salt/flower scent of the ancient apothecary roses that hugged the crumbling walls of the chapel. He was so engrossed in the smells, sounds, and flavors of the night that he completely missed the pile of rubbish some cretin had left by the corner.
Metal and wood scattered noisily as he stumbled through the pile of discarded building materials. A broken timber smashed into a pane of glass with a loud crash.
“What the—?” Considering the manner in which the things had been arranged, it almost looked intentional. But who would have done such a thing?
He limped toward the chapel, cursing in four different languages. Some of the words had not been heard in over three centuries.
As he approached the entrance, he paused, steeling himself for the whine of the hinges. But there was no sound.