"With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two."
~ Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
__________
Lucy's eyes fluttered open.
As her vision focused on a large chandelier above her, she attempted to orient herself. She was lying on something soft, and a cool compress was being held to her forehead.
"You came back."
Hearing Dr. Reed's voice, she blinked, turning her head to the side. She was lying on the sofa in the parlor. Dr. Reed knelt by her side. As he watched her, his expression changed from concern to relief.
She blinked again. "Where did I go?"
"You fainted," a feminine disembodied voice informed her.
Evelyne appeared in Lucy's line of vision, standing behind Dr. Reed with a silver tray laden with the settings for tea.
"I've never seen someone go down so fast, and I've witnessed my fair share of women on their backs," Evelyne continued. "But your doctor here is quite the white knight. Swiftest hands I've ever seen. He caught you before you hit the floor."
Dr. Reed smoothed his thumb across Lucy's cheek. "Are you alright?"
"I–" Lucy began. She bit her lip. "I'm not entirely sure."
"That's fair," Evelyne stated. "Were I you, I'd be royally pissed."
Evelyne set the tea tray down on the cocktail table off to the side of the room. She poured the steaming liquid into cups.
Dr. Reed helped Lucy into a sitting position, one hand gently cupping the back of her neck.
"Don't try to stand just yet," he soothed. "You may be quite dizzy."
Evelyne set a teacup upon a saucer and brought it to Lucy. "Here you are, pet. Bit of refreshment will help clear the twirls."
Virgil appeared by Evelyne's side. "One final touch," he said.
He punctured the pad of his index finger with the tip of his eye tooth, and squeezed two drops of his blood into Lucy's teacup.
"Dhampir blood increases awareness and comprehension," he explained. "And it does wonders for the skin."
"Do you know," Lucy said, staring down at the dark liquid in her cup, "that just one month ago, I would have found that beyond repulsive."
"And now?"
She picked up the teacup, raised it to her lip, and sipped.
"Delicious," she said.
Virgil teetered, pleased with himself.
"How did I get down here?" Lucy asked. "The last thing I remember is being in Sir Wilhern's suite, and hearing him say..."
Her stomach dropped as she recalled the last words he had spoken before all went dark. She swallowed, feeling suddenly ill.
"I carried you down here when he suggested a change of venue," Dr. Reed answered.
"Yes, well, my bedroom hardly seemed the appropriate place for a discussion of this magnitude," came Sir Wilhern's voice from the parlor doorway.
Lucy watched as Sir Wilhern walked into the room. His footfalls were slow but steady, and he took a seat in the large cushioned chair adjacent to the sofa. Dr. Rosencrantz followed in his wake, at the ready should he stumble.
"And it was high time I came downstairs," the master of the house continued. "I've been hibernating long enough. Lucy, my dear, you're awake. Thank heaven."
Anger and distrust emanated from Dr. Reed. When he spoke, Lucy could tell he was putting forth great effort to keep his voice steady. "Yes, she's awake. And deserving of some answers, don't you think?"
"Quite right," Sir Wilhern agreed. He nodded, grave. "Had I known about this Ceremony of Unity, I would have confessed everything long ago," he said, his sorrowful gaze focused on Lucy. "I thought we had heard the last of that creature. I thought I could somehow make up for my transgressions by giving you a safe place to acclimate to your new existence. But it's not enough. Nothing could ever be enough. I have wronged you in the most grievous of ways. And in doing so, I have robbed us both of my son. For that, there is no atonement."
Lucy stared at Sir Wilhern, an expression of sour disdain warping her dainty features. She'd known this man her entire life. He had been a second father to her, often more understanding and charismatic than her own rigid and strict patriarch. But now... Now she wasn't sure who he was.
"I simply want to know why," she said. "Why would you bring that monster here? For what purpose? Profit? Sensationalism? That does not seem like the Victor Wilhern I've known since childhood."
"It's not. I swear it's not," Sir Wilhern insisted. "And I promise you, Lucy, my intentions were nothing of the sort. No one was to ever know he was here. But the sarcophagus in which he traveled immediately caught Arthur's eye when I returned with the Egyptian cargo. I knew it was his favorite piece, so when I found his letter in my study regarding your midnight rendezvous, I knew–"
His voice broke. He pressed a hand to his mouth, and his shoulders shook with a series of silent sobs.
Lucy didn't press him. Every time she thought about Arthur's death, a prickle of tears and shortness of breath bombarded her. She knew it must be even worse for her fiancé's father.
At last Sir Wilhern cleared his throat and continued. "You asked me why. The reason, in its simplest form, is medicine. The crews on my ships sail all over the world, contracting a formidable host of exotic diseases - many for which, we do not have a cure or proper treatment here in England. My own late wife died of cholera after a trip we took to India."
"I remember," Lucy murmured, her eyes downcast. "I was young, but I remember how she...deteriorated. Arthur suffered so very much."
"He did," Sir Wilhern agreed, his face pinched with grief. "And so did I. It was shortly thereafter, through bumbling and grievous research, that I discovered the miraculous healing properties of vampire blood. I felt the discovery could be no coincidence or accident. I was meant to find it. And I had it in my head that we could create a universal remedy for all ailments. Cure the world of disease. Become heroes without ever brandishing a weapon."
He sniffed a resentful laugh.
Running a hand over his face, Sir Wilhern went on, "Yes, heroes. A grandiose pipe dream the lofty ambitions of which could only be eclipsed by its monumental failure. I was a fool. Diseases, as destructive as they are, must exist, and human immunity must develop of its own accord to combat against them. If this necessary process is omitted or passed over, it will cause great pains for future generations. I know it is of no consequence, but I have abandoned that dream. It was foolhardy and pretentious, regardless of my motives."
"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," Virgil quoted.
Sir Wilhern considered Virgil's words with narrowed eyes. "Indeed," he stated in agreement. "And monstrous desires make monsters of us all. I will no longer pursue that venture. It's done with."
"Done with, perhaps," Dr. Reed said, "but not without cost. For you, and for Lucy."
"A more shameful truth has never been spoken." Sir Wilhern sighed and turned to Lucy, his brow knit with remorse. "Your cost has been far steeper than mine. I am under no illusion otherwise. I will not insult you by beseeching your forgiveness. I am not worthy of it. I know you must hate me."
Lucy took in his face, so bedraggled with misery, and her heart seized. He and Arthur had the same blue eyes.
"No. I don't hate you," Lucy told him. "I pity you."
Virgil was beside himself. "Lucy! He lied! The Nosferatu is here, and you have been claimed as a bride because of him! He deserves your fury, not your compassion!"
"Do not mistake this for compassion," Lucy said to Virgil. "Even Shakespeare said, 'tis a vulgar proof that very oft we pity enemies'."
Her gaze migrated back to her guardian. His recent confession had spurred a thought in her mind. "It is not the fog that is making you sick, is it, Sir Wilhern?" she asked. "It is your guilt. Your guilt over what has happened to me. And even more so, the fate that befell Arthur."
"Yes," Sir Wilhern said, his face stricken. "You're right, of course. Looking at you, everyday... Knowing what I'd taken from you, inadvertent or not. It has been eating me alive."
"And you think that makes any of this better?" Dr. Reed demanded.
For the first time since entering the room, Dr. Rosencrantz spoke up, intercepting the conversation before Sir Wilhern could voice a response. "Please, ease your venom!" he cried. "What Victor has been too protective and altruistic to mention is that any commonplace vampire's blood would have been potent enough for his ambitions of a universal remedy. It is for my experiment that he shipped the Nosferatu."
"Experiment?" Dr. Reed repeated, his voice sharp. "What experiment?"
Dr. Rosencrantz sighed, scathing his well-groomed hair with his fingers until it stood on end. He looked to Sir Wilhern, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.
Sir Wilhern inclined his head in a subtle nod.
Dr. Rosencrantz closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath, his skeletal shoulders and chest rising and falling within the loose fabric of his morticianesque suit jacket. His actions seemed odd to Lucy - like he was preparing himself for a great mental battle.
When at last Dr. Rosencrantz opened his pale eyes, he did not look at any of them, opting instead to focus his gaze on the far wall.
"The trouble with being a man of science," he began, "is that one small idea leads to a larger one, then a larger one, and so forth, and so on, until what was once doable and ethical has been twisted and mutated into something altogether else. Yes, Victor did formulate the idea of the universal remedy derived from vampire blood. But the more we discussed it, the more I realized that this idea of utilizing vampiric ichor to cure diseases and heal injuries could be pushed one step further."
His voice sounded far away, as if this speech had been spoken aloud many times before. Perhaps as he stared at his own reflection in the mirror each night. Lucy didn't know. She was caught in an indecisive web of disgust, surprise, and intrigue.
Next to Lucy, Dr. Reed looked conflicted. She knew this conversation must be scratching at the old, unhealed wounds Stoker had once created.
"One step further?" Dr. Reed asked. "What 'step,' exactly?"
Dr. Rosencrantz did not hesitate to reply: "Bringing the dead back to life."
A silence of abhorrent disbelief descended upon the room. The occupants eyed each other, at a complete loss for words.
At last, Dr. Reed spoke. "So, it's true. The rumor regarding necromancy. It's true."
Dr. Rosencrantz shifted awkwardly, as though he couldn't decide whether he should be ashamed or flattered.
"I've made attempts," he admitted. "Many, in fact."
Dr. Reed's eyes widened. "And you've been successful?"
"Yes," Dr. Rosencrantz said. "No. That is...I haven't been entirely unsuccessful."
"What the hell does that mean?" Virgil cut in, exasperated.
Dr. Rosencrantz' hand passed through his hair again. "Through a long series of trial-and-error, I have deduced that injecting vampire blood into the heart organ of a corpse that is no more than a week old, does produce some form of reanimation," he explained. "However, not one of my attempts has led to a person regaining their faculties, memories, personality, communication skills, or really anything more than a carnivorous appetite."
"Appetite?" Dr. Reed parroted. He blinked.
"Appetite, yes. An appetite for living flesh," Dr. Rosencrantz said. "These attempts are not human beings. They are not people. They are mindless masses of flesh and bone that have been reinstated with the most basics of instincts: the need to feed. They remain in a lethargic, sluggish state of being, unless they smell blood. Then they spring into action, as if they know the scent will lead them to fresh meat. They are lower than animals; aberrations. I dubbed them 'freaks' for the very definition of the word: 'a person or animal with an unusual physical or behavioral abnormality'."
The room remained silent, not one member of Dr. Rosencrantz' audience having an appropriate response to this confession of grotesqueries.
The scientist either did not notice or did not care, for he continued, "I was frustrated. Yet I believed I was on the cusp of an unprecedented breakthrough. The problem, I concluded, was the quality of the blood I was using. Those savage creatures that can be found on the streets of London have no semblance of humanity left, and are — in the grand scheme of the vampiric world — weak fledglings. Their blood is liquid refuse. I believed I needed a vampire of considerably more power and esteem. The older the better. I voiced these thoughts to Victor before he left for Egypt, offhand, as I never thought we would actually acquire such a being. Ergo, when he found the Nosferatu in the sarcophagus, it was me and my experiments that came to his mind. He may have shipped the creature here, but it wasn't for him. It was for me."
He took a breath. "A discovery of scientific perfection is just beyond my fingertips," he concluded. "However controversial, I believe the end justifies the means."
The parlor was silent as a tomb as Dr. Rosencrantz' disclosure was taken in.
Lucy was astonished. Dr. Reed and Virgil wore expressions that mirrored her incredulity. Sir Wilhern shook his head in remorseful acknowledgment, as he had already known.
Evelyne, clearly, had not.
Seething, she stalked up to Dr. Rosencrantz, teeth bared in a sneer.
"You..." she hissed.
Evelyne's hand flew through the air, making contact with his cheek in a deafening slap. The sound echoed throughout every corner of the spacious parlor.
"You son of a bitch!" she shouted.
Dr. Rosencrantz cowered in disbelief, a hand pressed to his cheek. "Evelyne! Control yourself!"
"Oh, do shut up," Evelyne snapped. She tossed the folds of her long skirt aside with impatient fists and began pacing. "The binding incantation you asked me about — that's what it was for, wasn't it? You were going to have me restrain that creature while you performed your sick goddamn vivisection! But you didn't even have the fucking backbone to tell me that I was involved with your loathsome extortion! Am I right?"
"Evelyne–" Dr. Rosencrantz began.
"Am. I. Right?" she demanded, cutting him off.
"Yes," he admitted. "Yes, you're right. But that's no reason for language."
"It absolutely is a reason for language, you cowardly, lying little twat!" Evelyne retorted. "And you can consider yourself very fortunate that I stopped at a slap and a few curse words. What I'd really like to do to you involves a hunting knife and a large pair of forceps. What the bloody hell were you thinking?! My moral compass rarely points due north, but what you have done is a perversion of nature! And look at you! Not even enough common decency to be ashamed."
She shook her head in disgust, turning away from him and toward Lucy. "Lucy, darling, I knew nothing of this. Please, you must believe me."
"I do," Lucy assured her. "It never would have occurred to me that you knew."
Evelyne surveyed Dr. Rosencrantz and Sir Wilhern with revolt. "Shivering cats," she cursed. "Of the three of us, no one would have guessed that I'd be the one with the soundest conscience."
She perched on the arm of the sofa, arms crossed.
Dr. Reed was studying Dr. Rosencrantz the way he might a dangerous insect in a jar. Lucy could almost hear his inner dilemma: should he smash the vermin, therefore expunging the threat? Or keep it under observation, in case its foul activity eventually yielded something of use?
Apparently choosing the latter of the options, Dr. Reed posed a question: "These...'freaks,' as you call them. Have you kept them somewhere?"
Dr. Rosencrantz nodded. "The most promising specimens are locked in the cargo hold of one of Victor's vacant ships. The Prometheus."
"It's one of my oldest; in need of repairs before it can sail any great distance," Sir Wilhern explained.
"As for the others...," Dr. Rosencrantz said. "I gave them a swift and painless end."
Virgil stood, waving a hand in dismissal. "With all due respect to science and intrigue, Dr. Frankenstein–"
"My surname is Rosencrantz."
"Are you certain about that?" Virgil's voice was laced with sarcasm, and he fixed the wayward scientist with a pointed stare. When no argument came, he continued, "The critical task at hand is getting Lucy to safety. If Thomas can keep her in flight, hiding her when necessary, she should be safe until I am able to kill the Nosferatu. But at present, this is a precarious situation."
"No, Virgil," Lucy said in gentle refusal. "I'm sorry, but no."
"No?" Virgil asked. "'No' regarding what?"
"No. I will not run or hide." Lucy shook her head, her voice vehement. "As long as I do, I am allowing him to use my fear and apprehension to control me, and those are strings I wish to cut. I am no one's puppet."
Her gaze traveled the room as she addressed her audience. "The way in which we are approaching this...problem...is entirely erroneous," she went on. "He thinks, because he is older and stronger, that he has the upper hand in this little skirmish. But he's wrong. I know he will come for me, therefore he has forfeited the element of surprise. He will go wherever I go, which means, rather than a helpless pawn, I am the perfect bait."
Dr. Reed startled in alarm. "Bait? Lucy, what do you mean?"
"He believes nothing can stop him, Thomas," Lucy said. "He will come and collect me, and that will be the end of it. But what if, while he believes he is walking into unopposed victory, instead, he is actually walking into a trap?"
Virgil's face broke into a conspiring grin. "You clever little minx. What is cooking inside that pretty head of yours, Lucy?"
Lucy smiled back at him, then looked at each of her motley band in turn. "A plan is forming in my mind," she told them, "but I will need all of your help if it is to succeed."
Dr. Reed took her hand. "You have mine."
"And you have mine," Virgil pledged.
"I am indebted to you in ways for which I can never make recompense," Dr. Rosencrantz said. "You have my aid."
Evelyne reached out and squeezed Lucy's shoulder. "That ancient prick will get his hands on you over my dead, rotting corpse. Anything you need, pet, I am with you."
"I won't be much use physically," Sir Wilhern said with regret, "but my ships, my assets, my warehouse, my funds, all that I have, is at your disposal."
"Thank you," Lucy said. "All of you. Now, let's start with location..."
~ ~ ~
Two hours and three pots of tea later, the plan was set.
Sir Wilhern insisted that Lucy, Dr. Reed, and Virgil remain at the manor for the day, Evelyne's wards protecting them while they slept.
Virgil was only too happy to be spirited away to Evelyne's room for a good day's "rest." After the pair of them promised to wake everyone an hour before sunset, they disappeared behind her bedroom door.
Sir Wilhern extended to Dr. Reed the guest room next to Lucy's, but the offer was declined.
"While improper by polite society's standards," Dr. Reed told the proprietor, "I wouldn't get a wink of sleep if I couldn't see, with my own eyes, that Lucy was safe. I will stay with her."
Sir Wilhern said nothing to this, but wore a knowing smile as he retired to his own room.
After changing out of her soiled gown, Lucy lay down on her canopy bed, and curled up against Dr. Reed's chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and clothing. She felt his arms encircle her, and she allowed her heavy eyelids to fall closed.
She felt his lips brush her forehead.
"Rest well, Lucy," he whispered, his beard tickling the shell of her ear.
And there, in his arms, she did.
~ * ~