Page 81 of Now Comes the Mist
Jack Seward, who had once sent blood-red roses as a token of his desire for me.
And Arthur, my own dear Arthur, who had loved me since childhood, who had watched and longed for me, who had asked me to marry him beneath a moonlit sky.
None of them are looking at me with love or admiration. Not anymore. They press together against the opposite wall, the whites of their eyes bright with terror. Dr. Van Helsing is clutching the bulb of garlic, and Quincey holds up the silver cross of his necklace, his lips moving fervently in a prayer, and they are all staring at me as though I am monstrous.
A creature that hell spat out.
The white sheet covering my full-length mirror has been pulled aside by Arthur falling backward, and I see the truth of what I have become in its shining surface: a young woman bled of her beauty by the pallor of death, her black hair wild and two wicked slivers of bone shining between her dry, cracked lips. And all over her skin, the frenetic movement of those pulsing, swirling droplets of blood, clumping into large splotches against her throat and her collarbone and her arms. I cry out and touch my own face, feeling the bumps of the fangs under my lip.
“It’s a curse.” I hear Vlad’s laughter, low and cruel and full of the hatred with which these men who had once loved me now look at me. “I told you, I told you, I told you …”
“What have I done?” I moan. “Oh, what have I done?”
“It is not your fault,” Dr. Van Helsing says.
“Do not blame yourself,” Jack adds, and his pity is even harder to bear than his disgust.
None of them sees me.Me, as I truly am. I am still here and always have been, but the mirror may as well not show my reflection at all.
“None of you will listen to me!” I scream. Suddenly, I am standing on the bed with my fists clenched, towering above them. “Is it so impossible that I made a choice of my own, and embarked on a path of my own, without any of you to guide me?”
Quincey holds up his cross with one hand, and with the other, finds the gun at his side.
“You made a choice? Lucy, what are you saying?” Arthur asks, his voice breaking.
I have been a fool, utterly and completely—so entranced with the gift I imagined, the prize Vlad’s words had painted for me, that I did not see the grave yawning before my feet.
“I love you, Arthur,” I say, sick with despair, collapsing onto the mattress in a swoon. “I wanted so much to be with you and make you happy.” My arms are trembling so much that I cannot lift myself back onto my pillows. I gasp for air, my breathing rough and labored. My gums pinch as the fangs retract, hiding themselves once more in the tissues of my mouth.
Cautiously, Dr. Van Helsing approaches me. Keeping one hand on the garlic, he feels the weakening pulse in my wrist with the other. The heat seems to be rising in the room, and where I was freezing minutes ago, I am now baking in the light of the lamps.
“Window,” I choke out. “Please. I need air.”
The doctor shakes his head. “No, Lucy.”
“Surely it can’t hurt to open one,” Arthur says, hurrying to the window.
“I said no!” Dr. Van Helsing roars. “I will not risk that monster coming in again! Not when this child deserves to die with dignity. Yes, my poor boy, she will die,” he adds in a gentler voice as Arthur lets out a heartbreaking sob. “Her pulse is weak, she has very little blood left, and her heart and lungs are struggling. It will not be long now. Come and say goodbye to her, all of you. It is safe. But for heaven’s sake, the windows must remain closed.” And as if to prove his point, he moves to stand guard in front of my bedroom windows.
No one moves for a long moment. Arthur weeps into his hands, and Quincey, who has put his pistol away but still grips his cross, is praying again with his eyes squeezed shut. At last, Jack comes over to me. He glances at Dr. Van Helsing, who gives an imperceptible nod, before leaning down to press his lips against my forehead. “Goodbye, Lucy,” he whispers.
Quincey wipes his face with a rough hand as he comes over to me. “I told you before that you’ve got grit, and you still do,” he says gruffly. “Thank you, Lucy, for teaching me a thing or two about bravery. I will miss your spirit.” He kisses the top of my head and moves away.
My eyes meet Arthur’s through a haze of tears. There is no need to speak. Everything we want to say is in the way we look at each other, and in the way he falls to his knees beside my bed. I hold his hand over my heart and whisper, “This will always and forever be yours.” I look pleadingly at the doctor. “May we have a moment alone?”
Dr. Van Helsing hesitates, but he must deem it safe, for he leads Jack and Quincey into the hall. “I am afraid I will have to leave your door open,” he says. “It is the best I can do.”
I nod as they retreat, and even that simple movement saps precious energy from me. I wonder how on earth I would be able tokillsomeone by sunrise if I can scarcely breathe. But when I turn back to Arthur, weeping beside my bed, I know that I have no choice. I have come too far. To die as a woman would be to lose him forever. To exist as a vampire would also mean losing him—that is something I know now that I did notunderstand before. But at least I would be able to see him again and hover at the fringes of his life.
I must finish this.
“You have a house full of people to choose from,” Vlad had taunted me. I would expect no less from someone without the ability to love. Even in the most intense throes of my unbearable new hunger, I had been able to push Arthur away, to save him from me.
Arthur rests his head upon my chest, and I wrap my feeble arms around him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I want to say more, but the words snag in my dry throat. I cough and gasp, my lungs straining. I am burning hot and every inch of me feels rubbed with sandpaper. My skin hurts all over and my eyes sting, and I am desperate for just one breath of fresh air.
I think longingly of the mist, soft and cool. Vlad controlled it with just a movement of his fingers, and in his distraction, it had melted away into nothingness. I yearn for its chill to come back, to caress my feverish face and aching lungs. And when I look over Arthur’s head, I see fog curling outside my windows as though summoned there by my need.
“Arthur,” I whisper. “Will you open the window, please? I want air so badly.”