Dracula in London

waited for his master to acknowledge him.

Dracula just chuckled and turned another page.

“M-master?” The laughter apparently confused the ex-thief. As if evil, bloodsucking monsters were not allowed to have fun once in a while.

Dracula looked up from his papers. “May I help you?” he prompted when Soarsby seemed reluctant to proceed.

“There be someone beatin’ on the door, askin’ fer ya. Tha back door.”

Now who would… oh. Renfield. The Count reluctantly left his desk and that delicious libretto, and headed for the entrance to the chapel. Soarsby followed a few steps behind.

Renfield stood in the entry, fidgeting, clad in only his nightshirt. When Dracula started to widen the opening, Renfield protested.

“No, no! Leave it, Master! Leave it closed. They’re after me.”

Dracula pushed the door to and opened the small window set into it. He peered down at the old man pressed against the wood. “They are?”

“Yes, and they’ll find me, soon enough. That they will. But tell me, who—who was he, the man who first answered my knock?”

Dracula paused, considering carefully his response. “He is Mr. Soarsby, my—assistant.”

“Assistant? A replacement? Oh, no, Master! I am your faithful servant, still. You need not find others.”

“Renfield…”

His cries became more fervent, even hysterical. “You shall not have another! Not while I draw breath.”

“Renfield…”

“No, no! I shall…”

“Renfield!” If only the old man would let him speak…

Nearby, they heard a loud crash, followed by men cursing loudly. The refuse Dracula had tripped on the previous morning had been Soarsby’s idea of a warning device. It worked very well, as the Count knew from personal experience. Now someone else knew, too.

Renfield listened to the sound for a moment, then continued, his voice soft, but still tinged with hysteria.

“I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your slave…”

Oh, no! Not that “I deserve everything because I have given everything” speech again. This could take a while.

Dracula leaned against a handy wall, arms crossed, stifling a yawn. He thought of interrupting Renfield’s diatribe, but the ranting seemed to keep the old man happy.

“… await your commands…”

He nodded off a couple of times, then shook himself awake. Dawn was fast approaching.

“… in Your distribution of good things?” Renfield finally wound down and his voice trailed off into a whine.

More crashes and cursing brought Dracula out of his doze. Renfield swung around to face the cause of the noise as a group of men appeared around the corner. The Count recognized the leader as the doctor from the asylum next door. Doctor Seward.

With a loud cry, Renfield rushed them. He fought like a tiger, flailing wildly and without thought for the consequences. The men with Doctor Seward had a rough time bringing the old man down.

Renfield smacked one of the attendants with a piece of wood. Another tripped and thudded to the ground gasping, with Renfield’s hands clutched around his throat. Blood trickled down the old man’s cheek from a cut on his forehead. It was a circus, but it kept their attention away from Dracula and the chapel.

The fight seemed to go on forever, but finally they forced Renfield to the ground and wrapped him in a straight waistcoat. As they carried him away, he risked one last look in Dracula’s direction while his lips twitched into a knowing smile.

The Count watched them retreat toward the asylum. After a while, Soarsby broke the silence.

“Who were that, Master?”

“A mistake, Mr. Soarsby. One I should, perhaps, rectify in the very near future.”

“Rec-ti-fy?” He stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

“Fix.”

“Oh, ya mean yer gonna kill ‘im.”

Dracula glared at Soarsby. Then he relaxed and nodded. “Possibly, Mr. Soarsby, possibly.”

The whole situation was quite unfortunate. Renfield would have been a perfect assistant, if he could have found two coherent moments to rub together. And he did not seem very pleased at being made redundant. If those fools at the asylum could not contain him, it might become necessary for the count to take care of the problem himself.

He arose the next evening thinking about the events of that morning. He was still wondering how to solve the trouble with Renfield as he neared the Crescent. He also needed to decide what to do about Mina. It seemed a waste of Soarsby’s talents to use him to prevent the woman from interfering with his visits with Lucy.

Dracula reached the edge of the wood near the house where the Westenras had rooms and stopped where he could see Lucy’s window. He leaned against a large tree to watch for company.

The rough bark of the ancient oak dug into his back, as though to remind him that it deserved more respect at its age. Hah! Dracula himself had been alive almost two hundred years when the tree was a mere sapling. Still, it was good to know some things could last more than a few short decades.

Leaves rustled high in the branches, sending forth their earthy summer scent to mingle with the decay of their forbears already moldering on the ground. Shadows fluttered around him, caressing his face reverently, like sycophantic demons. He ignored them all. Life was fleeting illusion; shadows he was accustomed to; demons he would confront at another time.

He took a deep breath and leaped into the sky, changing shape as he did so. As he landed softly on the sill outside Lucy’s room, he looked around. The window was open. Surprised, he cautiously stepped down from the ledge—and fell again.

Damn! I must be worried about something. That is the second time in less than a week I have done that. The windowsill was a little too tall for a bat. He transformed quickly and entered the room.

Lucy lay on her bed, the covers strewn wildly across its surface. She eyed him hungrily, her eyes burning. And she was alone.

“Please, come to me!” She beckoned to him as she reclined against the pillows, trailing one delicately manicured finger between her breasts. Her gown slid open, drawing Dracula’s attention to her naked body beneath the silky material. The soft scent of lavender rose from her warm flesh.

This is different. He approached her slowly, a little suspicious.

She bit her lip in anticipation while an odd, almost predatory expression played across her face. “I am ready, my love.” She leaned forward, head tilted, mouth open slightly.

Wrong move. Some latent, lingering shred of teenage rebellion asserted itself and he hastily revised his plans. He did not like being rushed. Especially by the victim.

He sat on the edge of her bed. Leaning forward, he caressed her cheek and whispered, “Not this time, I think.” Always leave them wanting more. “Tell me, where is your friend Mina?”

“She received a message that her fiance Jonathan Harker is in Buda-Pesth. He is in a monastery or some such, and very ill. She left to join him there.” Her hands clutched at the edge of Dracula’s cloak. He pulled away while he considered the implications of Lucy’s news. Lucy pouted.

So—Jonathan Harker survived his final night in Castle Dracula. Bad news. He might serve as witness to the Count’s true nature. He certainly must have some idea what the vampire planned for his new homeland.

And Mina had left to be with him. That was good. She would be out of the picture for some while.

On the other hand, they were certain to return to England as soon as Harker recovered from his illness. The two lovers would have to be taken care of when the time came.

To top it off, the girls were probably upset that their dinner ran away. If they ever managed to track Harker down, they would certainly find the Count as well. And he would be in almost as much trouble as his solicitor for