you will see it.”
“How can this be?” Henry asked.
“It exudes a very pale glow,” said Polidori. “But you must make sure there is no moonlight whatsoever. That is how you will find it.”
“How much must we gather?” Elizabeth asked sensibly.
Polidori passed her a glass vial padded in leather. “This should be ample.”
I looked at Elizabeth and Henry in turn. “Well, it seems simple enough,” I said jokingly. “We must navigate the Sturmwald in total darkness, find and climb the tallest tree, and then, at the summit, discover the lichen.”
“Have you seen the trees of the Sturmwald?” Henry said to me. “Many don’t even have branches until they are fifty feet high!”
“You will certainly need rope,” the apothecary said.
“How can one climb a tree in total darkness while holding a lantern?” Henry demanded. “Two free hands are needed!”
“Dr. Polidori has done it, and we can do it too,” said Elizabeth, her eyes flashing angrily at Henry.
“But your friend is right,” said Polidori. “Climbing a tree at night is a tricky business. A torch would set the tree alight, and a lantern is too cumbersome. I have something that may be of even greater use.”
He passed me a thick padded wallet.
“What is this?” I asked.
“The ingredients for a simple compound. I would mix it for you myself, but its potency is brief and the mixture must be used within twelve hours of being prepared. I have written instructions inside. And it will make your nighttime journey much easier.”
I saw Elizabeth and Henry look at me uneasily.
“Does this involve the devil’s works in any way?” Henry asked.
Polidori laughed. “Good sir, neither the devil nor the angels have any part in my work.”
“What exactly does the mixture do?” Elizabeth asked.
“It gives you,” Polidori said, “the vision of the wolf.”
When we returned home from the city, I was passing Dr. Murnau’s rooms and saw the door to his laboratory ajar.
I stuck my head in and could see no sign of the doctor. But on a long trestle table was a great array of apparatus, and among them an open box filled with metal needles, glinting in the light. There was a whole row of them, of varying lengths. As if drawn, I stepped closer. The needles were hollow, their points more wickedly tapered than a serpent’s fang.
My eyes traveled over the table to a long rack that held six slim stoppered vials of ruby red blood. In shallow round glass dishes still more red fluid rested. Konrad’s blood. It was everywhere.
I felt a chill. When I’d said to Elizabeth that the doctor was like a vampire, it had been half in jest, but now I was not so sure. Why would you collect someone’s blood?
“Would you like to look?” a voice said, and I jerked round with a start, to see Dr. Murnau emerging from his bedchamber, dressed for dinner.
“I am sorry for intruding, sir,” I said, but his gaunt face showed no signs of anger.
“You seem a curious lad,” he said. “Come here. Let me show you.”
Near the window was set up a very impressive microscope, the mirror angled to catch the light and illuminate the specimen.
On the tray was a glass slide, with a bright red smear in the center.
“This is Konrad’s blood,” I said.
“Please.” With his bony finger he gestured for me to look through the eyepiece.
I lowered my face and looked And was astounded. There was a living world before me. Rounded objects moved and collided. As I watched, some pinched in half and became two. Others clung to one another until one withered and died.
“This is all in his blood?” I said, terrified.
“Your blood wouldn’t look so dissimilar.”
“What are they all doing?”
“Ah.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll share my thoughts with all of you tonight.”
I said nothing, staring into the microscope. We were all hosts, it seemed, to countless millions of organisms, all with their own complicated intelligence.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” he said.
I nodded, still staring. The world was filled with mystery, and I wanted to discover all its secrets.
“Is his blood normal?” I asked.
“No.”
I looked up at him quickly. “Can you make it so?”
“That is a matter of further investigation,” he said. “And a matter for your father and me to discuss.”
“Of course,” I said, standing.
“In future, Victor, I’d rather you didn’t enter my laboratory unless I’m here. My equipment’s delicate. I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, and I realized I had been dismissed.
I returned to my room to dress.
“I believe that your son has a self-generated abnormality of the blood,” said Dr. Murnau.
It was after dinner. William and Ernest had been taken to the nursery by Justine, and the rest of the family had retired to the west sitting room. I glanced over at Elizabeth and Henry, then Mother and Father, and could tell they were all just as eager as I to hear what the strange doctor would say next.
“Blood is an incredible substance,” he explained as he accepted a glass of port from Father. “It’s no simple fluid. Think of it as a liquid metropolis! Thriving with activity!”
“What kind of activity?” Mother asked.
“The blood’s filled with what I call cells, Madame Frankenstein. Tiny, enclosed compartments-invisible to the naked eye-inside of which all sorts of important work is being done. The cells are like living machines, which go about their work completely without our knowledge or will.”
None of my tutors had ever been this excited about their subject. There was definitely something hypnotic about the way this bizarre, cadaverous doctor spoke-I was hanging on his every word, desperate to understand more about the microscopic world I’d glimpsed earlier in his laboratory.
“There are so many of these cells,” he continued, “that a man could spend a lifetime observing them, and still not understand them all. What I do know is this: Almost all of these cells do some vital work to keep the body healthy. Some carry nutrients. Some fight disease. Some send messages that spur other cells into action.” He paused to push his glasses back up his nose. “Sometimes, though, the body, through some freak of nature, produces cells designed to destroy itself.”
“Destroy itself?” murmured Elizabeth.
It was a frightening idea, to think that our own bodies could turn against us.
“In Konrad’s blood,” Dr. Murnau went on, “I’ve identified many rogue cells making mischief, and I believe these have been the cause of his wasting fever.”
Making mischief. He made it sound no more serious than a children’s game.
“Is there a cure?” Mother asked, her fingers tight around her goblet.
Dr. Murnau cleared his throat. “The disease is rare, but I’ve had some early success developing a treatment.”
I noticed he did not say “cure”-but I remained silent.
“With the samples I’ve taken,” the doctor said, “I’m hoping to produce a compound that will attack these rogue cells.”
“Have you any idea how long this will take?” Father asked.
“I’ll need two or three more days to prepare. As for the treatment itself, it will take place over a week, as I inject the medicine into his veins.”
“Into his veins?” I said, remembering all those needles with a shudder.
“It’s the most direct route,” said Dr. Murnau.
My parents looked at each other. Father took Mother’s hand and nodded.
