Connects with: Gift of the Dark, Upon the Heights of Alma, Sepia and Silver, Red Sky at Night, The Libelle Papers, Where Night is Blind & Tragic Silence
Angel of Death © January 2021 E. C. Hibbs
Buda-Pesth, Austria-Hungary
November 1875
I knew it was a norm to despise one’s family, but all the others who spoke such sentiment had no idea of how fortunate they truly were. They would know alcoholism, infidelity; the typical problems and arguments which might plague even the most earnest of humans. Sinful, it may be, but the equivalent of thrusting one’s hands into the bloodied Nile, perhaps.
And then there was my lot. I would have fallen on my knees in gratitude if only their hands were submerged. But they swam in the stinking water, revelled as it transformed, crowed with excitement as it grew redder and redder.
So often did I dream of such imagery. Over a hundred years’ worth of blood, and my family wallowing in it like pigs. And amidst all the horror, I stood alone, my head turned towards Heaven as fire licked at my ankles. I begged God to save me. But every morning, I awoke in the same caravan, further from grace than I had been the day before.
I sat up in my cot, brushed and braided my hair. Emil slumbered beside me, his mouth open, drool lacing his stubble like spider silk. There was no sign of Vater or Maman.
That made me close my eyes in despair. I had known it was almost time for them to go out again, but the thought of where they might have been, what they might have done…
I wrapped myself in a thick shawl and stepped outside, to a world feathered by frost. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was tinted pink in the east. We had camped in a meadow on the banks of the Danube, and when I looked into the distance, I could just see the spires and towers of Buda-Pesth. It was perhaps a day’s journey away, and it was to there we would be heading, to stock up on supplies and visit the library.
Or, rather, Vater and Emil would. Not me. I’d have nothing to do with their sin.
The horses looked at me, clouds of breath rising from their nostrils in the frigid air. Emil had tethered them by the water, so they could drink during the night. I patted their necks. Like me, they were the only ones unwilling to see all which they were forced to. But at least they were mere animals, with none of the knowledge I had accumulated. That was the heaviest of burdens, even more so than pulling our caravans across the continent.
I opened my Bible. As I did every morning, I read Leviticus 17:14:
For it is the life of all flesh; the blood of it is for the life thereof: therefore I said unto the children of Israel, Ye shall eat the blood of no manner of flesh: for the life of all flesh is the blood thereof: whosoever eateth it shall be cut off.
Ja. For the past year, all I had known was this, moving from place to place. Cut off, indeed.
I remembered Germany with such fondness. We had remained there until Emil finished his schooling. Now he was, like all Bernstein men, destined to be a Doktor. Then Vater had uprooted us and set us on this path to Hell, to discover all the different types of demonic vampire which plagued Europe.
Grandfather had already written of the German creatures: Blutsaugers, Alps, Aufhockers and Nachzehrers. Maman, being French, gave details of those from her homeland: the Aloubi. Since our travels began, we had documented Denmark, Italy and Greece, and now had entered Austria-Hungary. I expected to be here for a while. It was such a large area, with a unique combination of two countries. Both Austrian and Hungarian monsters would co-exist: perhaps the only place where such a thing might be observed.
Here, Vater and Emil would wallow deeper than ever, I knew it.
I heard wingbeats, and turned around to see Maman and Vater descending from the sky. Their eyes gleamed a terrible scarlet.
Vater tried to pull Maman towards the caravan, but she spotted me and shook her head.
“You go. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Don’t take long.”
Vater folded his wings and pushed them against his back until they disappeared. Maman waited until he had walked through the door before she approached me. Her wings towered above her: giant appendages such as those I had seen upon a bat. I made no secret of my distaste, and she promptly pulled them down.
I held my Bible so tightly, my knuckles turned white on the cover.
“Did you not sleep, Klara?” Maman asked.
“Not particularly,” I replied. “I need not ask if you two did.”
Maman touched her mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it: the red droplets around her lips, and the scar on her neck.
“You know we have no choice,” she whispered. Her voice tugged at my heart, but I refused to give it purchase.
“No choice?” I repeated coldly. “You made your choice.”
“Ma chérie… It is better to work as we do, little and often, than lose control and deal true damage. We only take four mouthfuls, that’s all. We are not demons. How many times must I try to tell you?”
She spoke in German, but whenever she wanted to endear herself, the occasional word of French would slip into the conversation. In terms of mere personality, she was the only redeeming feature of the family, and I attributed that to the fact that she had not a drop of Bernstein blood in her.
But she had something just as appalling. Like Vater, she was one of the creatures. And worst of all, both of them had given consent to be such things, just as she had consented – through some lunacy – to marry a brute such as him. Before Emil and I were born, before they had even wed, both had willingly cast themselves over the Pit. And their one feeble defence? They were harmless. They didn’t kill when they drank.
The mere thought of it turned my stomach to rot. The Bernstein family bore a terrible legacy: in order to better study vampirism, every generation entered medicine, and allowed his father to turn him. Emil and I were the first to be born to not one, but two vampiric parents. Emil himself had given consent just before we left Germany, and now had another six years to endure the transformation.
But not me. Every day, I was grateful to have been born a woman, unworthy of the blood-soaked Bernstein throne. It was awful enough to share the lineage. I would sooner be dead than one of them.
“What poor soul did you prey on tonight?” I asked. “An old man? A babe?”
“Nein! Klara, please. You know we do not traumatise them!”
“Don’t you?”
“I treat them with the utmost respect. I wish you could understand. It is a bodily need, nothing more. Your Vater has explained this: vampirism is a condition, just as much as asthma. It is not evil, not inherently.”
“Are you seriously insinuating that a breathing difficulty is the same as drinking blood? No. It is a sin against God! All of it!”
“If it is sinful, then why is it different between those who consent and those who do not? Why is it possible to reverse the transformation at the end? The whole thing is based around choice.”
“And temptations,” I added. “If the choice is there, why consent a second time, to allow yourself to remain like this? Why not avoid it altogether? There lies the wickedness, and you know it.”
“That’s not true.”
“You won’t convince me otherwise.”
Maman’s red eyes filled with tears. I ignored them. It stunned me to think this woman – this creature – had once been a nurse. Twenty-one years ago, she had saved lives in the battlefields of Crimea, and brought soldiers back from the brink of death. One Englishman, she had even made like her, under the falsehood of rescuing him.
How could I reckon with that? How could a person show such compassion and tenderness to others, when their own heart was sold to Hell? That was how the Devil tricked the weak-minded, I supposed. He showed them a beautiful mask of virtue atop an abyss of darkness.
Maman and Vater called themselves harmless in order to pretend they were different from the demons we sought. And yes, in some ways, they were different. They aged at a natural rate, could leave their country of origin, could walk in sunlight – though it left them with headaches and an unsightly rash on the skin. Maman claimed to have never killed anybody in order to slake the thirst. Yet they both also bore the unholy power to blend in with the shadows, to digest the blood, to sprout devilish bat wings and take flight. To make others like them.
I often wondered, what did Satan offer them in exchange for such powers? What evil had he whispered in their ears to make them surrender their immortal souls? The idea of glory? Of discovery in the uncharted fields of medicine? Vater and his sciences, trying to explain it and excuse it, as four generations had before him… Four generations of bloodsuckers…
I turned away in revulsion. I would say that I wanted to go home, but what was home, truly? If I were stronger, I would still travel as we did now. But instead of documenting the creatures, I would drive a stake through the breast of every one I found.
“Klara,” Maman said, so beseechingly, my heart ached to hear it. “Please look at me. Must I get on my knees and beg you?”
“It might benefit you to spend some time on your knees, Maman, but not before me.”
A horrible whimper escaped her lips. Oh, please, God, lend me strength!
She suddenly gasped. But it wasn’t a sound of sorrow or repentance. It was pain.
I spun around. She was clutching at her arm, then her chest. Her face crumpled in distress, and she fell.
Fear tightened about my throat.
“Vater!” I screamed at the caravans. “Vater! Come here! Come quickly!”
The door burst open and he sprinted towards us. When he saw Maman, he threw himself onto the grass.
“Emil, fetch my kit!” he shouted, then turned on me. “Get out of my light, you stupid girl!”
“What’s happening to her?” I asked shrilly.
Vater didn’t answer. He held a finger under Maman's nose to check her breath. I grimaced at the sight of the blisters on his hands.
“Bernadette, can you hear me?”
She wheezed in response, still holding her chest. Her breaths came short and sharp, as though her lungs had shrunk to half their normal size.
“Dominik, please…” she gasped. “Help me…”
Emil appeared with a leather bag. But, to my alarm, Vater didn’t open it. He just made sure it was within reach, then took hold of Maman’s wrist, fingertips placed to feel her pulse, and looked into her face with an icy certainty.
She stared at him in horror.
“Dominik!” she cried.
“What’s going on?” I asked again.
“Heart attack,” muttered Emil. “Vater…”
“Nein.”
“Can’t we… She’s our –”
“Nein! We talked about this.”
My brother licked his lips nervously, and stared into the distance with a flat expression. The sight of it made me feel sick. His eyes were like the dead glass ones which I had seen in taxidermy, removed from all emotion or pity – from any trace of life itself.
“Why aren’t you helping her?” I demanded.
“Why aren’t you praying for her, little nun?” Vater shot back.
Maman coughed, turned towards me, and reached out a hand. Her cheeks, already pale, were turning as white as the frost.
“Klara… Ma chérie, help me…” she begged.
I hesitated. She looked terrified. She was my mother, she was still one of God’s creatures, for all her wickedness… And yet, I couldn’t hold her. Not when I knew what she was…
My mind tore in opposite directions. What was I supposed to do?
Maman’s face became slack, and she stopped breathing.
I drew the cross over my chest. I knew I should weep, but the shock tore too deeply. Her expression stabbed through my heart like a knife.
I lowered myself down, but before I could touch her, Vater opened the bag and took out a handful of empty syringes. With inhuman precision, Emil stuck one into Maman’s neck, directly over her vampire scar.
I was so repulsed, I fell backwards.
“What are you doing?”
“We must act quickly, before coagulation begins,” muttered Vater, drawing another syringe from her elbow. Then he removed something else, and I shuffled away in disgust.
It was the book which had been in the family for generations, slowly filling up with knowledge of evil. I had viewed it only a handful of times, and the contents had stripped away my last semblance of innocence. So many people had suffered for the words in those papers. Abductions, tortures, murders… It may as well have been written in blood.
Die Gift, the Bernsteins called it. The Venom. Such a title could never be more fitting. It was poison to everything which came into contact with it, us most of all.
Vater turned to a new page and started scribbling with a pencil. Then the truth hit me and I cried out.
“This was why you didn’t try to save her? So you can study her?”
Vater sniffed. “Be quiet. I need to concentrate.”
“What are you going to do to her now?”
“What do you care?”
Emil filled a third syringe with Maman’s blood and set it aside, as though the entire procedure had been rehearsed. I grabbed it in horror.
“Put that down!” Vater snapped.
“What are you going to do?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you help her? Are you going to cut her up like some dog on a vivisection table?”
“I intend to continue our great work,” Vater growled. “And in order to do that, I need you to behave and know your place. Put that down!”
I glanced at the syringe, glinting red in the early light, then between him and Emil. My brother gave me a beseeching look. He shook his head, so softly, I thought I had imagined it.
“She’s the only harmless vampire we’ve come across who isn’t part of the direct Bernstein line,” said Vater. “We must discover the difference at the cellular level, as a control group. We may never have such an opportunity again. We would be fools not to take it!”
“Must we?” I repeated, and spat at his feet. “You are as much a demon as those you search for!”
Vater was on me in seconds. He wrenched the syringe away and brought his hand across my face, so violently, my teeth knocked together.
“Devil!” I screamed. “Damn you! He will never forgive you for this!”
“I don’t care what your God thinks of me, Klara! This is for the greater good!”
“It’s for no such thing! It is for your own greed to always know more, and more, and more! For what? Why?”
“You really want to talk to me with passion over that woman?” snapped Vater. “You hated her! You already believe our immortal souls are lost! So carry on your mutterings to the invisible man in the sky, and keep your nose out of what you cannot understand! Now, get inside! I’ll deal with you later!”
“Vater, allow me,” said Emil. He laid down the syringes and bundled me away. I tried to break free, but he was too strong.
“Nein!” I shouted. “Get off me! Let go!”
“Be quiet!” Emil hissed. “I don’t like it any more than you do. He forced me. He told me what he was planning, ages ago. He knew she would not live forever.”
“You knew?” I breathed. “How long have you two been intending to dissect her? Stand by and watch as she died? She realised what you were going to do, did you not see it in her eyes? You’re monsters! Both of you! All of you!”
Emil dragged me up the steps to the nearest caravan, where our beds lay, and spun me around. I beat at his chest as hard as I could, but it had as much effect as trying to fight off a gorilla. I was too weak, too appalled…
I saw the scar from his turning above his collar: a thin line, directly over the jugular. Vater had bitten him there twelve months ago, made him a juvenile vampire. When the transformation drew to its completion, there would be a chance to suck out the venom and restore his humanity – Vater’s grandfather Felix had discovered that.
But Emil would know no such salvation. He was the prince of the legacy. No matter that it was reversible, he was doomed.
“We are Bernsteins,” Emil said earnestly. “This is our mantle. Do you think I wish for this? You are the lucky one! There is no expectation for you to be a part of it! It’s not so for me. I must do this.”
“You gave permission!”
“That doesn’t mean I had a choice!”
His expression stunned me. It was still dead, but a flicker of passion erupted behind it: the glow of a distant flame. Was that regret? Humanity?
I glared at him. I had lain wrapped around him in the womb; we both came into the world together nineteen years ago. To think I was cut from the same cloth!
And Maman… for as much as she offended me, guilt settled over my heart like a cold rain. That fear, the comprehension, the betrayal…
I should have tried to comfort her in her final moments. Now her own sin was intertwined with mine. The Lord would endeavour me to carry her on my shoulders until the end.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…
Somehow, through everything, I had kept hold of my Bible.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I sank onto my cot and grasped the crucifix around my neck. Emil reached for me, but I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Klara…”
“I said, don’t touch me!”
Emil stood still for a long moment. Then he glanced through the open door. Vater was carrying Maman towards the second caravan, where all the scientific equipment was stored.
“Emil,” he called, “get Die Gift and join me.”
“Ja, Vater.”
But my brother did not leave. Instead, he dug under his own cot, withdrew a purse, and thrust it into my hands. I felt the hard shapes of coins.
“He’ll be in there for… a while,” said Emil. “Take the grey horse. Leave. Escape this.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Leave,” he repeated, and hurried out.
I sat, dumbfounded. Leave? Where to? And do what? Why was he encouraging me to go? Could I dare to hope that there might still be a shred of morality in that bloodstained heart?
My face stung where Vater had slapped it, and in a heartbeat, my decision was made. This was my only chance.
I grabbed a bag and put the money purse inside, along with my Bible. Then I crept out, checking to ensure Vater and Emil were gone. They were, and the second caravan was horribly silent. I imagined them poring over the accursed pages of Die Gift, emptying the syringes into containers – which they had probably set aside and labelled long ago…
Enough of them.
I muttered a prayer for strength, stole to the horses, and untied the grey mare. With a deep breath, and not a single look over my shoulder, I climbed onto its back and cantered in the direction of Buda-Pesth.
And then there was my lot. I would have fallen on my knees in gratitude if only their hands were submerged. But they swam in the stinking water, revelled as it transformed, crowed with excitement as it grew redder and redder.
So often did I dream of such imagery. Over a hundred years’ worth of blood, and my family wallowing in it like pigs. And amidst all the horror, I stood alone, my head turned towards Heaven as fire licked at my ankles. I begged God to save me. But every morning, I awoke in the same caravan, further from grace than I had been the day before.
I sat up in my cot, brushed and braided my hair. Emil slumbered beside me, his mouth open, drool lacing his stubble like spider silk. There was no sign of Vater or Maman.
That made me close my eyes in despair. I had known it was almost time for them to go out again, but the thought of where they might have been, what they might have done…
I wrapped myself in a thick shawl and stepped outside, to a world feathered by frost. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was tinted pink in the east. We had camped in a meadow on the banks of the Danube, and when I looked into the distance, I could just see the spires and towers of Buda-Pesth. It was perhaps a day’s journey away, and it was to there we would be heading, to stock up on supplies and visit the library.
Or, rather, Vater and Emil would. Not me. I’d have nothing to do with their sin.
The horses looked at me, clouds of breath rising from their nostrils in the frigid air. Emil had tethered them by the water, so they could drink during the night. I patted their necks. Like me, they were the only ones unwilling to see all which they were forced to. But at least they were mere animals, with none of the knowledge I had accumulated. That was the heaviest of burdens, even more so than pulling our caravans across the continent.
I opened my Bible. As I did every morning, I read Leviticus 17:14:
For it is the life of all flesh; the blood of it is for the life thereof: therefore I said unto the children of Israel, Ye shall eat the blood of no manner of flesh: for the life of all flesh is the blood thereof: whosoever eateth it shall be cut off.
Ja. For the past year, all I had known was this, moving from place to place. Cut off, indeed.
I remembered Germany with such fondness. We had remained there until Emil finished his schooling. Now he was, like all Bernstein men, destined to be a Doktor. Then Vater had uprooted us and set us on this path to Hell, to discover all the different types of demonic vampire which plagued Europe.
Grandfather had already written of the German creatures: Blutsaugers, Alps, Aufhockers and Nachzehrers. Maman, being French, gave details of those from her homeland: the Aloubi. Since our travels began, we had documented Denmark, Italy and Greece, and now had entered Austria-Hungary. I expected to be here for a while. It was such a large area, with a unique combination of two countries. Both Austrian and Hungarian monsters would co-exist: perhaps the only place where such a thing might be observed.
Here, Vater and Emil would wallow deeper than ever, I knew it.
I heard wingbeats, and turned around to see Maman and Vater descending from the sky. Their eyes gleamed a terrible scarlet.
Vater tried to pull Maman towards the caravan, but she spotted me and shook her head.
“You go. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Don’t take long.”
Vater folded his wings and pushed them against his back until they disappeared. Maman waited until he had walked through the door before she approached me. Her wings towered above her: giant appendages such as those I had seen upon a bat. I made no secret of my distaste, and she promptly pulled them down.
I held my Bible so tightly, my knuckles turned white on the cover.
“Did you not sleep, Klara?” Maman asked.
“Not particularly,” I replied. “I need not ask if you two did.”
Maman touched her mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it: the red droplets around her lips, and the scar on her neck.
“You know we have no choice,” she whispered. Her voice tugged at my heart, but I refused to give it purchase.
“No choice?” I repeated coldly. “You made your choice.”
“Ma chérie… It is better to work as we do, little and often, than lose control and deal true damage. We only take four mouthfuls, that’s all. We are not demons. How many times must I try to tell you?”
She spoke in German, but whenever she wanted to endear herself, the occasional word of French would slip into the conversation. In terms of mere personality, she was the only redeeming feature of the family, and I attributed that to the fact that she had not a drop of Bernstein blood in her.
But she had something just as appalling. Like Vater, she was one of the creatures. And worst of all, both of them had given consent to be such things, just as she had consented – through some lunacy – to marry a brute such as him. Before Emil and I were born, before they had even wed, both had willingly cast themselves over the Pit. And their one feeble defence? They were harmless. They didn’t kill when they drank.
The mere thought of it turned my stomach to rot. The Bernstein family bore a terrible legacy: in order to better study vampirism, every generation entered medicine, and allowed his father to turn him. Emil and I were the first to be born to not one, but two vampiric parents. Emil himself had given consent just before we left Germany, and now had another six years to endure the transformation.
But not me. Every day, I was grateful to have been born a woman, unworthy of the blood-soaked Bernstein throne. It was awful enough to share the lineage. I would sooner be dead than one of them.
“What poor soul did you prey on tonight?” I asked. “An old man? A babe?”
“Nein! Klara, please. You know we do not traumatise them!”
“Don’t you?”
“I treat them with the utmost respect. I wish you could understand. It is a bodily need, nothing more. Your Vater has explained this: vampirism is a condition, just as much as asthma. It is not evil, not inherently.”
“Are you seriously insinuating that a breathing difficulty is the same as drinking blood? No. It is a sin against God! All of it!”
“If it is sinful, then why is it different between those who consent and those who do not? Why is it possible to reverse the transformation at the end? The whole thing is based around choice.”
“And temptations,” I added. “If the choice is there, why consent a second time, to allow yourself to remain like this? Why not avoid it altogether? There lies the wickedness, and you know it.”
“That’s not true.”
“You won’t convince me otherwise.”
Maman’s red eyes filled with tears. I ignored them. It stunned me to think this woman – this creature – had once been a nurse. Twenty-one years ago, she had saved lives in the battlefields of Crimea, and brought soldiers back from the brink of death. One Englishman, she had even made like her, under the falsehood of rescuing him.
How could I reckon with that? How could a person show such compassion and tenderness to others, when their own heart was sold to Hell? That was how the Devil tricked the weak-minded, I supposed. He showed them a beautiful mask of virtue atop an abyss of darkness.
Maman and Vater called themselves harmless in order to pretend they were different from the demons we sought. And yes, in some ways, they were different. They aged at a natural rate, could leave their country of origin, could walk in sunlight – though it left them with headaches and an unsightly rash on the skin. Maman claimed to have never killed anybody in order to slake the thirst. Yet they both also bore the unholy power to blend in with the shadows, to digest the blood, to sprout devilish bat wings and take flight. To make others like them.
I often wondered, what did Satan offer them in exchange for such powers? What evil had he whispered in their ears to make them surrender their immortal souls? The idea of glory? Of discovery in the uncharted fields of medicine? Vater and his sciences, trying to explain it and excuse it, as four generations had before him… Four generations of bloodsuckers…
I turned away in revulsion. I would say that I wanted to go home, but what was home, truly? If I were stronger, I would still travel as we did now. But instead of documenting the creatures, I would drive a stake through the breast of every one I found.
“Klara,” Maman said, so beseechingly, my heart ached to hear it. “Please look at me. Must I get on my knees and beg you?”
“It might benefit you to spend some time on your knees, Maman, but not before me.”
A horrible whimper escaped her lips. Oh, please, God, lend me strength!
She suddenly gasped. But it wasn’t a sound of sorrow or repentance. It was pain.
I spun around. She was clutching at her arm, then her chest. Her face crumpled in distress, and she fell.
Fear tightened about my throat.
“Vater!” I screamed at the caravans. “Vater! Come here! Come quickly!”
The door burst open and he sprinted towards us. When he saw Maman, he threw himself onto the grass.
“Emil, fetch my kit!” he shouted, then turned on me. “Get out of my light, you stupid girl!”
“What’s happening to her?” I asked shrilly.
Vater didn’t answer. He held a finger under Maman's nose to check her breath. I grimaced at the sight of the blisters on his hands.
“Bernadette, can you hear me?”
She wheezed in response, still holding her chest. Her breaths came short and sharp, as though her lungs had shrunk to half their normal size.
“Dominik, please…” she gasped. “Help me…”
Emil appeared with a leather bag. But, to my alarm, Vater didn’t open it. He just made sure it was within reach, then took hold of Maman’s wrist, fingertips placed to feel her pulse, and looked into her face with an icy certainty.
She stared at him in horror.
“Dominik!” she cried.
“What’s going on?” I asked again.
“Heart attack,” muttered Emil. “Vater…”
“Nein.”
“Can’t we… She’s our –”
“Nein! We talked about this.”
My brother licked his lips nervously, and stared into the distance with a flat expression. The sight of it made me feel sick. His eyes were like the dead glass ones which I had seen in taxidermy, removed from all emotion or pity – from any trace of life itself.
“Why aren’t you helping her?” I demanded.
“Why aren’t you praying for her, little nun?” Vater shot back.
Maman coughed, turned towards me, and reached out a hand. Her cheeks, already pale, were turning as white as the frost.
“Klara… Ma chérie, help me…” she begged.
I hesitated. She looked terrified. She was my mother, she was still one of God’s creatures, for all her wickedness… And yet, I couldn’t hold her. Not when I knew what she was…
My mind tore in opposite directions. What was I supposed to do?
Maman’s face became slack, and she stopped breathing.
I drew the cross over my chest. I knew I should weep, but the shock tore too deeply. Her expression stabbed through my heart like a knife.
I lowered myself down, but before I could touch her, Vater opened the bag and took out a handful of empty syringes. With inhuman precision, Emil stuck one into Maman’s neck, directly over her vampire scar.
I was so repulsed, I fell backwards.
“What are you doing?”
“We must act quickly, before coagulation begins,” muttered Vater, drawing another syringe from her elbow. Then he removed something else, and I shuffled away in disgust.
It was the book which had been in the family for generations, slowly filling up with knowledge of evil. I had viewed it only a handful of times, and the contents had stripped away my last semblance of innocence. So many people had suffered for the words in those papers. Abductions, tortures, murders… It may as well have been written in blood.
Die Gift, the Bernsteins called it. The Venom. Such a title could never be more fitting. It was poison to everything which came into contact with it, us most of all.
Vater turned to a new page and started scribbling with a pencil. Then the truth hit me and I cried out.
“This was why you didn’t try to save her? So you can study her?”
Vater sniffed. “Be quiet. I need to concentrate.”
“What are you going to do to her now?”
“What do you care?”
Emil filled a third syringe with Maman’s blood and set it aside, as though the entire procedure had been rehearsed. I grabbed it in horror.
“Put that down!” Vater snapped.
“What are you going to do?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you help her? Are you going to cut her up like some dog on a vivisection table?”
“I intend to continue our great work,” Vater growled. “And in order to do that, I need you to behave and know your place. Put that down!”
I glanced at the syringe, glinting red in the early light, then between him and Emil. My brother gave me a beseeching look. He shook his head, so softly, I thought I had imagined it.
“She’s the only harmless vampire we’ve come across who isn’t part of the direct Bernstein line,” said Vater. “We must discover the difference at the cellular level, as a control group. We may never have such an opportunity again. We would be fools not to take it!”
“Must we?” I repeated, and spat at his feet. “You are as much a demon as those you search for!”
Vater was on me in seconds. He wrenched the syringe away and brought his hand across my face, so violently, my teeth knocked together.
“Devil!” I screamed. “Damn you! He will never forgive you for this!”
“I don’t care what your God thinks of me, Klara! This is for the greater good!”
“It’s for no such thing! It is for your own greed to always know more, and more, and more! For what? Why?”
“You really want to talk to me with passion over that woman?” snapped Vater. “You hated her! You already believe our immortal souls are lost! So carry on your mutterings to the invisible man in the sky, and keep your nose out of what you cannot understand! Now, get inside! I’ll deal with you later!”
“Vater, allow me,” said Emil. He laid down the syringes and bundled me away. I tried to break free, but he was too strong.
“Nein!” I shouted. “Get off me! Let go!”
“Be quiet!” Emil hissed. “I don’t like it any more than you do. He forced me. He told me what he was planning, ages ago. He knew she would not live forever.”
“You knew?” I breathed. “How long have you two been intending to dissect her? Stand by and watch as she died? She realised what you were going to do, did you not see it in her eyes? You’re monsters! Both of you! All of you!”
Emil dragged me up the steps to the nearest caravan, where our beds lay, and spun me around. I beat at his chest as hard as I could, but it had as much effect as trying to fight off a gorilla. I was too weak, too appalled…
I saw the scar from his turning above his collar: a thin line, directly over the jugular. Vater had bitten him there twelve months ago, made him a juvenile vampire. When the transformation drew to its completion, there would be a chance to suck out the venom and restore his humanity – Vater’s grandfather Felix had discovered that.
But Emil would know no such salvation. He was the prince of the legacy. No matter that it was reversible, he was doomed.
“We are Bernsteins,” Emil said earnestly. “This is our mantle. Do you think I wish for this? You are the lucky one! There is no expectation for you to be a part of it! It’s not so for me. I must do this.”
“You gave permission!”
“That doesn’t mean I had a choice!”
His expression stunned me. It was still dead, but a flicker of passion erupted behind it: the glow of a distant flame. Was that regret? Humanity?
I glared at him. I had lain wrapped around him in the womb; we both came into the world together nineteen years ago. To think I was cut from the same cloth!
And Maman… for as much as she offended me, guilt settled over my heart like a cold rain. That fear, the comprehension, the betrayal…
I should have tried to comfort her in her final moments. Now her own sin was intertwined with mine. The Lord would endeavour me to carry her on my shoulders until the end.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…
Somehow, through everything, I had kept hold of my Bible.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I sank onto my cot and grasped the crucifix around my neck. Emil reached for me, but I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Klara…”
“I said, don’t touch me!”
Emil stood still for a long moment. Then he glanced through the open door. Vater was carrying Maman towards the second caravan, where all the scientific equipment was stored.
“Emil,” he called, “get Die Gift and join me.”
“Ja, Vater.”
But my brother did not leave. Instead, he dug under his own cot, withdrew a purse, and thrust it into my hands. I felt the hard shapes of coins.
“He’ll be in there for… a while,” said Emil. “Take the grey horse. Leave. Escape this.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Leave,” he repeated, and hurried out.
I sat, dumbfounded. Leave? Where to? And do what? Why was he encouraging me to go? Could I dare to hope that there might still be a shred of morality in that bloodstained heart?
My face stung where Vater had slapped it, and in a heartbeat, my decision was made. This was my only chance.
I grabbed a bag and put the money purse inside, along with my Bible. Then I crept out, checking to ensure Vater and Emil were gone. They were, and the second caravan was horribly silent. I imagined them poring over the accursed pages of Die Gift, emptying the syringes into containers – which they had probably set aside and labelled long ago…
Enough of them.
I muttered a prayer for strength, stole to the horses, and untied the grey mare. With a deep breath, and not a single look over my shoulder, I climbed onto its back and cantered in the direction of Buda-Pesth.
*
I rode hard, following the river, until the meadows transformed to tidy verges and the dirt roads into cobbles. The city itself was still far away, but every mile I put between myself and my family lifted a weight from my heart.
What was I supposed to do now? I had never been so certain, and yet at the same time, so unsure. The Bernsteins were beasts with human faces, but they were also all I’d ever known. Who was I without them? I felt like Christ wandering the desert, but my wilderness was a frost-covered foreign country, equally unmapped, and with Satan at my heels.
As a full vampire, Vater’s hearing and smell were sharper than mine, or even Emil’s. How long would it be before he realised I had fled? Would he track me down? Would my brother mislead him and uphold my cover, or become a turncoat?
I trembled to think what awaited if Vater found me and forced my return. I already bore the scars of beatings across my back, from throughout my childhood, ever since the moment I realised the evil in which our bloodline partook. Maman had tried to protect me on more than one occasion, and received a strike herself. Emil saw, realised it would be the same for him should he protest, so he’d lowered his head like an obedient dog, and let Vater induct him into the science of vampirism.
I bent forward, over the mare’s mane, and let my tears fall. I might not know how I was supposed to continue, but I trusted that my Father in Heaven did. I would look to Him. In a life so tainted, that was the one constant which had not yet failed me.
I followed the road until I came upon a church. I drew to a halt, led the horse to a post and tied it. Then I headed inside.
As soon as my foot touched the stones, an intense sense of peace washed over me, like the warmth of the sea in summer. The sweet musty smell – the same in all Houses of God – filled my nose: Bibles, candle wax, lingering notes of incense from the previous Holy Communion. The invisible arms of angels wrapped around me, and I felt no longer afraid or alone.
I reached the altar, fell upon my knees, and clasped my hands. I prayed for myself, for Vater, Emil, the ancestors who had committed such unholy acts. I did not utter a word. I didn’t need to. I knew my inner voice carried through the firmament, as surely as though I had shouted it from the mountaintops. Sometimes, silence was the loudest volume of all.
And then, Maman…
Oh, God, my mother… Had the Lord seen fit to save her, or had Satan dragged her into Hell? A disgusting sinner she was, but she hadn’t deserved that end.
How much had she truly deserved? She had told me herself, on numerous occasions, she took no life; never had. Only drank four mouthfuls a month, and left the innocent asleep throughout the whole act. She had saved soldiers, sung to me and my brother as we lay in our little beds. She had only ever shown kindness.
I heard steps behind me, and looked around, terrified I would see Vater. But instead, I found myself looking into the eyes of a bearded man, dressed in robes. There was gentleness to his face, which made me think of the first semblance of heat after a long winter.
He said something in Hungarian.
I shook my head. “Sorry, Father. I know little. Deutsch?”
“Ja,” he smiled. “You appear distressed, my child.”
I dashed my tears away with the edge of my shawl.
“Very much so. Are you the priest of this church?”
“Alas, no. I am only a traveller. Much like yourself, it seems.” He held a hand over his heart. “I am Father Farkas.”
“A pleasure,” I said. “I am… Klara.”
“Just Klara?”
“Ja.”
Father Farkas smiled at me. It was the warmest gesture I had seen in many a month. It lifted my spirits; raised me from my despair as though I weighed no more than a feather. And yet, when I looked at him, I sensed that there was a darkness within him, as much as there was in me. Something terrible had touched him and left a shadow upon his soul.
He knelt at my side and drew the cross down from his forehead.
“You have been struck,” he said, gesturing to my face. “Who hurt you, Klara?”
“Nobody of any importance.”
“Someone you flee from? Will you tell me where you are heading?”
I lowered my eyes. “That enquiry is why I'm here.”
“And what does our Lord tell you to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“If there was no limitation to your options, what would you have?”
“To live in His light here upon Earth,” I answered at once. “To atone.”
Farther Farkas glanced at me. “For yourself?”
“And others,” I admitted. “For so long, I have carried a shroud on my shoulders. Even as those around me added their patterns to it, even as I wished to be rid of it, still I’ve clung to it. I do not wish for that any longer.”
“Then it seems God has given you your course of action,” said Father Farkas. “You must seek Him out, and put your past behind you. I will share with you now, that is also my endeavour. I’m from a small village far to the east of here, but I walk on a… pilgrimage of sorts.”
“Where are you going?” I asked. “To the Holy Lands?”
He shook his head, and a little of the shine disappeared from his eyes.
“Forgive me,” I muttered. “I forget my place.”
“Hardly, my child. I dare say, it’s pleasant to have such a wise one to speak to. You remind me of my own daughter, Zíta. She’s young still, only half your age, but you hold yourself in a similar manner.”
“Danke,” I said.
“In answer to your question, I journey to nowhere so great, but there is importance, nevertheless,” continued Father Farkas. “Klara… do you believe that demonic creatures walk amongst us, hidden by the night?”
My blood ran cold. I turned to look at him. His expression was deathly serious.
“I see that you do,” said Father Farkas. “You know of them too, don’t you?”
I swallowed nervously. “I do.”
“They are what you run from?”
“Them, and those who would embrace their wickedness.”
“And yet I run towards them. I shall tell you the truth. I feel you would understand where others may not. A little over a month ago, a dark one came to my house. It killed my dear wife, almost took my children. I left immediately afterwards, and I will not rest until every one of them is expelled from this land.”
I blinked. “You wish to drive them across the border?”
“Indeed,” Father Farkas said. “I travel to the westernmost edge of Austria-Hungary now, then I'll turn back towards my home. It may take years, but no matter. As I find a Lidérc, I will either stake it, or force it into a place where it cannot survive. Soon, all of them will be vanquished, and nobody else need know my pain.”
“A Lidérc?” I repeated.
I recognised that word. It was one of the first monsters we had encountered upon entering this country – the type which were made when consent was not given: demons. I recalled watching as Vater and Emil caught a Lidérc, then tied it down to study it. And, Christ… Those black nails like bird talons; the way it had reached out for the candles and sent the flames at us like whips…
The Hungarians called that thing the bringer of nightmares. I saw why.
I wrestled with my conscience. My family’s knowledge was infernal; confined to secrecy, as all great evils were. But this man was a servant of God. His soul might be soiled, yet it bore the same glow as my own, and he was on a mission to deliver his people.
Forget Vater, and all the poison I had trodden in my wake. Now was my opportunity to do the right thing. I would reveal it, as I might when I made confession, and let it lift a little more weight from my heart.
“Arm yourself with incense and birch wood,” I said. “It repels Lidércs. The birch will also harm them upon contact, like fire to a human man.”
Father Farkas stared at me. “Birch, you say? That will kill them?”
“Kill them, contain them. Lay it in a circle to keep them from entering,” I said. “And true names. Should you learn any, speak it aloud in full: that name which the creatures knew before they became one with darkness. It forces them to recall God’s light, and will pain them as terribly as the sun.”
Father Farkas's eyes grew wide. “True name? What do you mean? The dark ones were once human?”
I pursed my lips. Permission meant that Maman and Vater had both been harmless, not demons. But they were vampires, all the same.
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“You mean to tell me that they are not creatures which have escaped Hell?”
“No such thing. They begin life the same as you and I. Then it is thrown away. They may give consent, which allows them to live among their victims with little cause for identification, and die of natural causes. But if there is no consent, they become as your Lidércs. In Germany, we called them Blutsaugers and Aufhockers, and like here, they are confined within their own borders. Time stops on them, they gain unholy powers…”
“Such as restraining and moving things with the mind,” Father Farkas finished. “How is it you know all this, my child?”
I shook my head softly. “That is my own sin. I just wish for it to be used for another’s betterment.”
He held my eyes for a long moment, then drew in a deep breath and sighed with relief.
“Klara, I won’t press you for that which you have reason to withhold. But you have given me invaluable advice this day. I’ll write my children and the entire village, tell them what they must to do to protect themselves and prepare for purging this country. God bless you.”
“And may He bless you on your pursuit,” I replied. “I mean that truly, Father.”
He placed a hand upon my head. “I’m afraid I have little means to repay you. Is there anything I may do for you?”
I went to say no, but then a thought crossed my mind. I was in a strange city; this was the closest I had ever come to it – though I had been through enough places to know they were all the same. Should I walk further into the red Nile in order to distance myself from those who basked in its waters?
No, that wouldn’t do. I wished to escape it. All of it.
And it struck me, like dawn breaking the horizon. Hadn’t Vater inadvertently pointed me in the perfect direction, this very morning, as Maman lay dying? He had called me little nun.
“Are there any places nearby where I may devote myself to God?” I asked. “A convent or nunnery?”
Father Farkas smiled. “Ja, I passed one on my way here: a Benedictine order. It’s only a three-mile walk. The Abbess is a kind woman who granted me lodgings these past two nights. I can take you to her, and you may ask to be a postulant, if that is your wish.”
I clasped my hands with joy.
“Yes! Please! And you shall have my horse, Father, to carry you to the border.”
I thought he might cry with joy. He kissed my forehead, then the two of us finished our prayers and left the church.
The sun had long risen when we emerged. Buda-Pesth itself was still a fair distance, but the wind blew upriver and I caught the scent of industry; the ghostly chorus of voices in a soft wall of white noise. Never would I need to worry about such things again: all the inane shallowness and tempting masks of virtue. No… I would be free, because of this man before me. I thanked God for him, asked for blessings, and for the strength he would need to exorcise every last Lidérc.
After an hour, we reached the convent. It stood on the very bank of the Danube: a stone’s throw from the gates, the waters glittered like gold. Every building within was clean and magnificent, filled with pillars and gothic arches which guided the eye skyward to Heaven. Through my mediocre grasp of Hungarian – which suited me better written rather than spoken – I read the sign outside.
What was I supposed to do now? I had never been so certain, and yet at the same time, so unsure. The Bernsteins were beasts with human faces, but they were also all I’d ever known. Who was I without them? I felt like Christ wandering the desert, but my wilderness was a frost-covered foreign country, equally unmapped, and with Satan at my heels.
As a full vampire, Vater’s hearing and smell were sharper than mine, or even Emil’s. How long would it be before he realised I had fled? Would he track me down? Would my brother mislead him and uphold my cover, or become a turncoat?
I trembled to think what awaited if Vater found me and forced my return. I already bore the scars of beatings across my back, from throughout my childhood, ever since the moment I realised the evil in which our bloodline partook. Maman had tried to protect me on more than one occasion, and received a strike herself. Emil saw, realised it would be the same for him should he protest, so he’d lowered his head like an obedient dog, and let Vater induct him into the science of vampirism.
I bent forward, over the mare’s mane, and let my tears fall. I might not know how I was supposed to continue, but I trusted that my Father in Heaven did. I would look to Him. In a life so tainted, that was the one constant which had not yet failed me.
I followed the road until I came upon a church. I drew to a halt, led the horse to a post and tied it. Then I headed inside.
As soon as my foot touched the stones, an intense sense of peace washed over me, like the warmth of the sea in summer. The sweet musty smell – the same in all Houses of God – filled my nose: Bibles, candle wax, lingering notes of incense from the previous Holy Communion. The invisible arms of angels wrapped around me, and I felt no longer afraid or alone.
I reached the altar, fell upon my knees, and clasped my hands. I prayed for myself, for Vater, Emil, the ancestors who had committed such unholy acts. I did not utter a word. I didn’t need to. I knew my inner voice carried through the firmament, as surely as though I had shouted it from the mountaintops. Sometimes, silence was the loudest volume of all.
And then, Maman…
Oh, God, my mother… Had the Lord seen fit to save her, or had Satan dragged her into Hell? A disgusting sinner she was, but she hadn’t deserved that end.
How much had she truly deserved? She had told me herself, on numerous occasions, she took no life; never had. Only drank four mouthfuls a month, and left the innocent asleep throughout the whole act. She had saved soldiers, sung to me and my brother as we lay in our little beds. She had only ever shown kindness.
I heard steps behind me, and looked around, terrified I would see Vater. But instead, I found myself looking into the eyes of a bearded man, dressed in robes. There was gentleness to his face, which made me think of the first semblance of heat after a long winter.
He said something in Hungarian.
I shook my head. “Sorry, Father. I know little. Deutsch?”
“Ja,” he smiled. “You appear distressed, my child.”
I dashed my tears away with the edge of my shawl.
“Very much so. Are you the priest of this church?”
“Alas, no. I am only a traveller. Much like yourself, it seems.” He held a hand over his heart. “I am Father Farkas.”
“A pleasure,” I said. “I am… Klara.”
“Just Klara?”
“Ja.”
Father Farkas smiled at me. It was the warmest gesture I had seen in many a month. It lifted my spirits; raised me from my despair as though I weighed no more than a feather. And yet, when I looked at him, I sensed that there was a darkness within him, as much as there was in me. Something terrible had touched him and left a shadow upon his soul.
He knelt at my side and drew the cross down from his forehead.
“You have been struck,” he said, gesturing to my face. “Who hurt you, Klara?”
“Nobody of any importance.”
“Someone you flee from? Will you tell me where you are heading?”
I lowered my eyes. “That enquiry is why I'm here.”
“And what does our Lord tell you to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“If there was no limitation to your options, what would you have?”
“To live in His light here upon Earth,” I answered at once. “To atone.”
Farther Farkas glanced at me. “For yourself?”
“And others,” I admitted. “For so long, I have carried a shroud on my shoulders. Even as those around me added their patterns to it, even as I wished to be rid of it, still I’ve clung to it. I do not wish for that any longer.”
“Then it seems God has given you your course of action,” said Father Farkas. “You must seek Him out, and put your past behind you. I will share with you now, that is also my endeavour. I’m from a small village far to the east of here, but I walk on a… pilgrimage of sorts.”
“Where are you going?” I asked. “To the Holy Lands?”
He shook his head, and a little of the shine disappeared from his eyes.
“Forgive me,” I muttered. “I forget my place.”
“Hardly, my child. I dare say, it’s pleasant to have such a wise one to speak to. You remind me of my own daughter, Zíta. She’s young still, only half your age, but you hold yourself in a similar manner.”
“Danke,” I said.
“In answer to your question, I journey to nowhere so great, but there is importance, nevertheless,” continued Father Farkas. “Klara… do you believe that demonic creatures walk amongst us, hidden by the night?”
My blood ran cold. I turned to look at him. His expression was deathly serious.
“I see that you do,” said Father Farkas. “You know of them too, don’t you?”
I swallowed nervously. “I do.”
“They are what you run from?”
“Them, and those who would embrace their wickedness.”
“And yet I run towards them. I shall tell you the truth. I feel you would understand where others may not. A little over a month ago, a dark one came to my house. It killed my dear wife, almost took my children. I left immediately afterwards, and I will not rest until every one of them is expelled from this land.”
I blinked. “You wish to drive them across the border?”
“Indeed,” Father Farkas said. “I travel to the westernmost edge of Austria-Hungary now, then I'll turn back towards my home. It may take years, but no matter. As I find a Lidérc, I will either stake it, or force it into a place where it cannot survive. Soon, all of them will be vanquished, and nobody else need know my pain.”
“A Lidérc?” I repeated.
I recognised that word. It was one of the first monsters we had encountered upon entering this country – the type which were made when consent was not given: demons. I recalled watching as Vater and Emil caught a Lidérc, then tied it down to study it. And, Christ… Those black nails like bird talons; the way it had reached out for the candles and sent the flames at us like whips…
The Hungarians called that thing the bringer of nightmares. I saw why.
I wrestled with my conscience. My family’s knowledge was infernal; confined to secrecy, as all great evils were. But this man was a servant of God. His soul might be soiled, yet it bore the same glow as my own, and he was on a mission to deliver his people.
Forget Vater, and all the poison I had trodden in my wake. Now was my opportunity to do the right thing. I would reveal it, as I might when I made confession, and let it lift a little more weight from my heart.
“Arm yourself with incense and birch wood,” I said. “It repels Lidércs. The birch will also harm them upon contact, like fire to a human man.”
Father Farkas stared at me. “Birch, you say? That will kill them?”
“Kill them, contain them. Lay it in a circle to keep them from entering,” I said. “And true names. Should you learn any, speak it aloud in full: that name which the creatures knew before they became one with darkness. It forces them to recall God’s light, and will pain them as terribly as the sun.”
Father Farkas's eyes grew wide. “True name? What do you mean? The dark ones were once human?”
I pursed my lips. Permission meant that Maman and Vater had both been harmless, not demons. But they were vampires, all the same.
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“You mean to tell me that they are not creatures which have escaped Hell?”
“No such thing. They begin life the same as you and I. Then it is thrown away. They may give consent, which allows them to live among their victims with little cause for identification, and die of natural causes. But if there is no consent, they become as your Lidércs. In Germany, we called them Blutsaugers and Aufhockers, and like here, they are confined within their own borders. Time stops on them, they gain unholy powers…”
“Such as restraining and moving things with the mind,” Father Farkas finished. “How is it you know all this, my child?”
I shook my head softly. “That is my own sin. I just wish for it to be used for another’s betterment.”
He held my eyes for a long moment, then drew in a deep breath and sighed with relief.
“Klara, I won’t press you for that which you have reason to withhold. But you have given me invaluable advice this day. I’ll write my children and the entire village, tell them what they must to do to protect themselves and prepare for purging this country. God bless you.”
“And may He bless you on your pursuit,” I replied. “I mean that truly, Father.”
He placed a hand upon my head. “I’m afraid I have little means to repay you. Is there anything I may do for you?”
I went to say no, but then a thought crossed my mind. I was in a strange city; this was the closest I had ever come to it – though I had been through enough places to know they were all the same. Should I walk further into the red Nile in order to distance myself from those who basked in its waters?
No, that wouldn’t do. I wished to escape it. All of it.
And it struck me, like dawn breaking the horizon. Hadn’t Vater inadvertently pointed me in the perfect direction, this very morning, as Maman lay dying? He had called me little nun.
“Are there any places nearby where I may devote myself to God?” I asked. “A convent or nunnery?”
Father Farkas smiled. “Ja, I passed one on my way here: a Benedictine order. It’s only a three-mile walk. The Abbess is a kind woman who granted me lodgings these past two nights. I can take you to her, and you may ask to be a postulant, if that is your wish.”
I clasped my hands with joy.
“Yes! Please! And you shall have my horse, Father, to carry you to the border.”
I thought he might cry with joy. He kissed my forehead, then the two of us finished our prayers and left the church.
The sun had long risen when we emerged. Buda-Pesth itself was still a fair distance, but the wind blew upriver and I caught the scent of industry; the ghostly chorus of voices in a soft wall of white noise. Never would I need to worry about such things again: all the inane shallowness and tempting masks of virtue. No… I would be free, because of this man before me. I thanked God for him, asked for blessings, and for the strength he would need to exorcise every last Lidérc.
After an hour, we reached the convent. It stood on the very bank of the Danube: a stone’s throw from the gates, the waters glittered like gold. Every building within was clean and magnificent, filled with pillars and gothic arches which guided the eye skyward to Heaven. Through my mediocre grasp of Hungarian – which suited me better written rather than spoken – I read the sign outside.
CONVENT OF SAINT ELIZABETH OF THE MAGYARS
Father Farkas rang the bell. In due course, a nun approached, clad from head to toe in the black habit of Saint Benedict. She greeted him with an air of surprise, and the two conversed in their native tongue for a moment, then Father Farkas asked if they may speak German for my benefit. I was relieved when I heard my language. I endeavoured to learn Hungarian too; that could only be a good mark for my postulancy, but for now, I could still communicate, and I knew Latin, too, of course…
I told all this to the Mother Superior when I was brought before her. I showed her how my knees were calloused, from praying for so long on hard floors. Then I offered up all the money Emil had given me, and begged her to let me stay. Father Farkas spoke to her in an undertone, and with every word, her face appeared to soften a little more.
After what felt like an eternity, she gave a single nod.
I covered my mouth in relief. My awful family would never find me now. I may be walking away from the world by entering this place, but I had no need nor want for the world. Only for salvation, and penance… and, if it was seen fit to be granted, forgiveness for Maman.
As Emil had given his consent for the life of darkness, I gave mine for the light.
I told all this to the Mother Superior when I was brought before her. I showed her how my knees were calloused, from praying for so long on hard floors. Then I offered up all the money Emil had given me, and begged her to let me stay. Father Farkas spoke to her in an undertone, and with every word, her face appeared to soften a little more.
After what felt like an eternity, she gave a single nod.
I covered my mouth in relief. My awful family would never find me now. I may be walking away from the world by entering this place, but I had no need nor want for the world. Only for salvation, and penance… and, if it was seen fit to be granted, forgiveness for Maman.
As Emil had given his consent for the life of darkness, I gave mine for the light.
*
I was placed in a small room at the edge of the convent, overlooking the river. As I expected, I was not yet a nun; I needed to undergo a period as a postulant before I could take my vows. I understood the necessity of such a process – after all, not every woman who entered would be fit for the ways of such a pious life. But never had I known so truly that I was on the right path.
I was no longer Klara Bernstein, human daughter of monsters. I was simply Sister Klara, spending my hours in the way I most enjoyed. I attended every service, sang as I had never sung before, read from my Bible as though it was a substitute for the oxygen I breathed. Even through my grief for Maman, my entire being glowed from within. This was contentment in its purest form.
November transformed into December. The snow lay thin at first, then heavier as Advent began. Soon, icicles as thick as my finger hung from the windowsills, and we huddled close during prayers so that we might share a little body heat. There wasn’t a single mirror in the convent – we had no need for such baubles of vanity – but I knew the bruise on my cheek had healed. Vater’s final mark upon me was gone.
At every chance, I practiced my Hungarian. If I was to stay here for the rest of my Earthly life, I was determined to converse in the language of my hosts. It was so starkly different to German, and there were occasions when I had to ask my Sisters to speak my mother tongue, but I could tell from their expressions that they appreciated my efforts. Soon, I told myself. I was only nineteen years old, after all. I would master it in time.
Nevertheless, I was grateful that of all the places where I may have sought refuge, it was here, in a place where German was spoken. In its way, it was one small impression of my old life which I was happy to hold.
My old life…
I thought about it as I began the day's housekeeping. Had Emil truly been sincere in his gesture? Had Vater come looking for me, or had he not thought twice about me fleeing? It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d taken more offence at the theft of the horse than the notion that I was gone.
And Maman… She was the hardest to reckon with. How much of her had truly been the mask offered up by the Devil?
Mea maxima culpa…
I touched the rosary which hung around my neck, then I headed outside, to clear the snow off the steps to the church. It was a bitter morning, and the sun was rising later each day. It clung to the horizon like a white eye amid a bleak grey haze. The icy air sliced my lungs. There was more bad weather on the way.
Then I heard the crunch of footsteps. No, not footsteps… It sounded like somebody staggering.
I turned around, and jumped in alarm as a figure slumped against the gate.
I hurried over, shouting for aid. The figure was a young man, as pale as the ground he lay upon. He was dressed well, in a rich gentleman’s suit, but it had seen better days: ripped about the collar and sleeves. The jacket was something poorer, as though he had found it, simply as protection from the cold.
“Segítsen, kérem,” he whispered. “Please… Sanctuary…”
A couple of my Sisters appeared – Rózsa and Greta. At once, they unlocked the gate.
“Carry him inside!” Greta cried.
I slid my hands around the man’s chest, while they took his ankles. I placed each foot carefully, to avoid slipping as we moved up the steps. Rózsa and Greta went first, and as they raised his legs, his head fell back against my shoulder.
I gasped. Beneath thick tresses of raven hair were the most delicate and beautiful features. Despite the situation, and the vows I was to live by, my heart fluttered a little. How could any man – any human – look so perfect? It was as though I held an angel in my arms.
We carried him to a spare room and laid him upon the bed. I ran to fetch blankets. If we didn't act quickly, he would succumb to the cold.
Sister Greta met me in the corridor.
“I shall inform the Reverend Mother,” she said breathlessly. “Stay with him. Do your best to get him warm.”
“I will,” I said. “Do you think he’ll die?”
“I cannot say. Now, go, quickly!”
I returned to the room, just as Sister Rózsa left. The man was lying on his side, curled up like an infant. He looked about my age, a few years older, perhaps.
I wrapped the blankets around him. I wasn’t sure how conscious he was, but he must have felt them, because he snatched a corner and drew the fabric closer.
I paused when I saw his hands. They were crossed with red patches. Faint, but there nonetheless. My heart rose into the back of my throat, and before I could think it a bad idea, I pulled his shirt collar aside.
I bit my lip to stop myself from screaming. On the left side of his neck was a wound, a few inches long, over the jugular vein. It was in exactly the same place as Maman’s, Vater’s, Emil’s… But it was not scarred yet. It was a scab – ten to fourteen days old, at most.
I recoiled, drew the cross over my chest. Oh, Christ, no… No, no, no!
I staggered into the wall, barely able to stand for my horror. This couldn’t be happening… He could not stay here; we had to get him out, should never have let him past the gate…
A mask of beauty to disguise a devil…
I turned to the door, ready to run to the Mother Superior. But I stopped still. Across that ethereal face, I suddenly saw my mother’s, staring in desperation, begging for help.
It was light outside. That meant he wasn't a demon – not in the scientific sense which the Bernsteins used, in any case. Was he like Maman? No, the wound would not be so fresh, if he were. That meant only one thing: he was newly turned, still undergoing the transformation. A juvenile, like my brother.
Sudden clarity descended upon me. I looked up at the stone ceiling, imagined my gaze piercing the brick and mortar, until I was straight in the sight of God.
Of course. This was a test. I had begged Him for absolution, and now He had sent it to me. How was I to treat this poor soul? The same way I had done Maman? Or could I show mercy and kindness; try to help, as our Saviour did when he healed the lepers? Could I endeavour to find a way to reverse the malady, as I knew was possible?
My Sisters returned, along with the Mother Superior. Rózsa held a cup of hot tea to the man's lips. I eyed the contents. How easy it was to imagine that liquid not brown, but red.
The man spluttered, but managed to swallow most of the tea, then fell back against the pillow.
“Thank you,” he gasped in Hungarian. “Thank you…”
“What is your name, sir?” asked the Mother Superior.
He groaned. “K… Kálvin. János Kálvin.”
“What happened to you, Mr Kálvin?”
“Took my wallet… I was in the river…”
“He requested sanctuary, Reverend Mother,” whispered Sister Greta. “He’s very weak. May we allow him to stay until he is recovered?”
I glanced at the Mother Superior. Faint lines creased her brow as she regarded Mr Kálvin. Then she nodded.
“Very well. But he is to keep to this room for now.”
“I will care for him,” I volunteered. “My own room is the closest. I will be on hand, should he need assistance. And… I came from a medical family. I am knowledgeable.”
The Mother Superior turned to me.
“That is a very kind gesture, Sister Klara. You would not be alone in it, of course, but if you possess expertise, it is welcomed.”
I nodded. If only they knew the depth of my expertise on this subject.
I was no longer Klara Bernstein, human daughter of monsters. I was simply Sister Klara, spending my hours in the way I most enjoyed. I attended every service, sang as I had never sung before, read from my Bible as though it was a substitute for the oxygen I breathed. Even through my grief for Maman, my entire being glowed from within. This was contentment in its purest form.
November transformed into December. The snow lay thin at first, then heavier as Advent began. Soon, icicles as thick as my finger hung from the windowsills, and we huddled close during prayers so that we might share a little body heat. There wasn’t a single mirror in the convent – we had no need for such baubles of vanity – but I knew the bruise on my cheek had healed. Vater’s final mark upon me was gone.
At every chance, I practiced my Hungarian. If I was to stay here for the rest of my Earthly life, I was determined to converse in the language of my hosts. It was so starkly different to German, and there were occasions when I had to ask my Sisters to speak my mother tongue, but I could tell from their expressions that they appreciated my efforts. Soon, I told myself. I was only nineteen years old, after all. I would master it in time.
Nevertheless, I was grateful that of all the places where I may have sought refuge, it was here, in a place where German was spoken. In its way, it was one small impression of my old life which I was happy to hold.
My old life…
I thought about it as I began the day's housekeeping. Had Emil truly been sincere in his gesture? Had Vater come looking for me, or had he not thought twice about me fleeing? It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d taken more offence at the theft of the horse than the notion that I was gone.
And Maman… She was the hardest to reckon with. How much of her had truly been the mask offered up by the Devil?
Mea maxima culpa…
I touched the rosary which hung around my neck, then I headed outside, to clear the snow off the steps to the church. It was a bitter morning, and the sun was rising later each day. It clung to the horizon like a white eye amid a bleak grey haze. The icy air sliced my lungs. There was more bad weather on the way.
Then I heard the crunch of footsteps. No, not footsteps… It sounded like somebody staggering.
I turned around, and jumped in alarm as a figure slumped against the gate.
I hurried over, shouting for aid. The figure was a young man, as pale as the ground he lay upon. He was dressed well, in a rich gentleman’s suit, but it had seen better days: ripped about the collar and sleeves. The jacket was something poorer, as though he had found it, simply as protection from the cold.
“Segítsen, kérem,” he whispered. “Please… Sanctuary…”
A couple of my Sisters appeared – Rózsa and Greta. At once, they unlocked the gate.
“Carry him inside!” Greta cried.
I slid my hands around the man’s chest, while they took his ankles. I placed each foot carefully, to avoid slipping as we moved up the steps. Rózsa and Greta went first, and as they raised his legs, his head fell back against my shoulder.
I gasped. Beneath thick tresses of raven hair were the most delicate and beautiful features. Despite the situation, and the vows I was to live by, my heart fluttered a little. How could any man – any human – look so perfect? It was as though I held an angel in my arms.
We carried him to a spare room and laid him upon the bed. I ran to fetch blankets. If we didn't act quickly, he would succumb to the cold.
Sister Greta met me in the corridor.
“I shall inform the Reverend Mother,” she said breathlessly. “Stay with him. Do your best to get him warm.”
“I will,” I said. “Do you think he’ll die?”
“I cannot say. Now, go, quickly!”
I returned to the room, just as Sister Rózsa left. The man was lying on his side, curled up like an infant. He looked about my age, a few years older, perhaps.
I wrapped the blankets around him. I wasn’t sure how conscious he was, but he must have felt them, because he snatched a corner and drew the fabric closer.
I paused when I saw his hands. They were crossed with red patches. Faint, but there nonetheless. My heart rose into the back of my throat, and before I could think it a bad idea, I pulled his shirt collar aside.
I bit my lip to stop myself from screaming. On the left side of his neck was a wound, a few inches long, over the jugular vein. It was in exactly the same place as Maman’s, Vater’s, Emil’s… But it was not scarred yet. It was a scab – ten to fourteen days old, at most.
I recoiled, drew the cross over my chest. Oh, Christ, no… No, no, no!
I staggered into the wall, barely able to stand for my horror. This couldn’t be happening… He could not stay here; we had to get him out, should never have let him past the gate…
A mask of beauty to disguise a devil…
I turned to the door, ready to run to the Mother Superior. But I stopped still. Across that ethereal face, I suddenly saw my mother’s, staring in desperation, begging for help.
It was light outside. That meant he wasn't a demon – not in the scientific sense which the Bernsteins used, in any case. Was he like Maman? No, the wound would not be so fresh, if he were. That meant only one thing: he was newly turned, still undergoing the transformation. A juvenile, like my brother.
Sudden clarity descended upon me. I looked up at the stone ceiling, imagined my gaze piercing the brick and mortar, until I was straight in the sight of God.
Of course. This was a test. I had begged Him for absolution, and now He had sent it to me. How was I to treat this poor soul? The same way I had done Maman? Or could I show mercy and kindness; try to help, as our Saviour did when he healed the lepers? Could I endeavour to find a way to reverse the malady, as I knew was possible?
My Sisters returned, along with the Mother Superior. Rózsa held a cup of hot tea to the man's lips. I eyed the contents. How easy it was to imagine that liquid not brown, but red.
The man spluttered, but managed to swallow most of the tea, then fell back against the pillow.
“Thank you,” he gasped in Hungarian. “Thank you…”
“What is your name, sir?” asked the Mother Superior.
He groaned. “K… Kálvin. János Kálvin.”
“What happened to you, Mr Kálvin?”
“Took my wallet… I was in the river…”
“He requested sanctuary, Reverend Mother,” whispered Sister Greta. “He’s very weak. May we allow him to stay until he is recovered?”
I glanced at the Mother Superior. Faint lines creased her brow as she regarded Mr Kálvin. Then she nodded.
“Very well. But he is to keep to this room for now.”
“I will care for him,” I volunteered. “My own room is the closest. I will be on hand, should he need assistance. And… I came from a medical family. I am knowledgeable.”
The Mother Superior turned to me.
“That is a very kind gesture, Sister Klara. You would not be alone in it, of course, but if you possess expertise, it is welcomed.”
I nodded. If only they knew the depth of my expertise on this subject.
*
I left Mr Kálvin only to attend to my duties, services and meals. After supper at six o’clock, I took some soup and water to the room, and was surprised to find him awake, sitting up in bed. He had changed into the nightclothes we had left for him – they were threadbare: an old donation which was being saved for sewing projects – but they fitted well.
I looked at his neck, then his eyes, and almost stumbled. It was like gazing into two blue millponds.
“Jó estét,” I greeted, as composed as I could.
His brows lowered as he caught my accent. “Deutsch?”
I nodded, and switched to German. “You speak it?”
“Ja. It is imperative in my line of work to be able to speak both languages of the country.”
I smiled, and passed him the soup. But Mr Kálvin didn’t begin eating straightaway. Instead, he drank the entire glass of water, then raised a hand to his neck and scratched at the wound.
“I would advise against that,” I said. “Would you like me to bandage it, so you will not be tempted to worry it?”
“Nein, it will be best to keep it open to the air.”
He spoke assuredly, as though he knew what he was talking about.
“May I have some writing materials?” he asked. “I must tell my wife that I am safe.”
I went into the corridor, found some paper, a dip pen and ink, and brought them to him.
“Danke,” he said. “I beg your pardon, but why is your veil a different colour to the other nuns?”
“I am a postulant. I only joined the Sisters a month ago. I must undertake a period of testing the life before I am sworn in.”
“I see.”
“What is your line of work?” I asked.
A smile traced his lips. “I am a doctor. A surgeon, actually, newly-qualified.”
I could have laughed at the irony of it all! A vampire, and a doctor, too? Now I knew for certain that this was a test from God.
Mr Kálvin lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth. I sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room and folded my hands across my lap, but, hidden from view, I dug a nail into my palm. I had never seen anyone so beautiful. I mustn’t forget, it was deceptive; a mask… Or was it?
My heart pounded. Had he killed anyone yet? Was he aware of what he had become?
I would have to tread carefully. I knew from experience that many people either did not believe, or refused to believe. It was why Vater had insisted the family dealings remain secret. But there was no disguising the fact that soon, Mr Kálvin would need more than just soup and water.
What was I supposed to do then? Try to pray his thirst away? That hadn’t worked all the previous times I had attempted it. But if this was a test, might the Lord grant me a little more leniency?
“You were the one who came to me at the gate,” Mr Kálvin observed. “I recognised your voice. I am most grateful. What is your name?”
I swallowed nervously. “Sister Klara.”
He nodded once. “A pleasure. Thank you so much for all you are doing for me; you and your Sisterhood.”
He ate the rest of the soup in silence. Already, he looked so much better. If I hadn’t spotted the mark on his neck, or the trace of a rash where the sun had burned him, I might have believed him as human as myself.
Mr Kálvin put the bowl aside and reached up to his collar. For the first time, I noticed a golden chain there, with a ring hanging on it.
“How far am I from the city?” he asked.
“Several miles,” I replied. “Perhaps half a day’s journey.”
He groaned and rested his head back against the wall.
“I was going in the wrong direction all this time?”
I shuffled in the chair. “Can you recall what happened to you?”
He stared at the ceiling and squinted, as though trying to discern his answer from the pattern of the mortar.
“Vaguely,” he said in the end. “I was walking home, and… a strange man attacked me and stole my wallet. I tried to get away, but he sliced my neck, and I fell into the river. I must have fainted. I woke up on the bank – I did not recognise the area. I gathered I had drifted downstream a fair distance. I was wandering for a few days before I came upon this place.”
I nodded to myself. No consent. He was destined to be a demon, not a harmless, unless the process was reversed. And how long would it take, to get to the point when it could? The Bernsteins all took seven years before the venom resurfaced enough to be drawn out.
“Do you… recall anything about your attacker?” I asked.
Mr Kálvin went still.
“Nothing of value. I must have been hallucinating. Cold can do that to a person.”
I went to speak again, but I was distracted by the way he returned to the ring, running it back and forth along the chain. It must be his wedding band.
“I think it best that you stay here awhile,” I said. “I want to help you. I… feel I can help you, sir.”
“That is kind, but I would rather return to my family as soon as I can,” Mr Kálvin replied. “It seems you managed to help me before I could succumb to hypothermia. A week’s rest, and I should be able to go.”
“I… would not advise leaving with such haste,” I continued. “Please, believe me. May we just deal with each day as it comes, and act accordingly? Wouldn’t that be the sensible thing to do?”
“Of course, but why the urgency? You appear distressed.”
He leaned forward. The distance was closed only by a few inches, but I fought the urge to press myself back into the chair.
“I wish to speak to you, regarding certain subjects,” I said slowly, “but the time is not now. As you mentioned, you must rest. I will care for you. Should you need me, then you only have to call. I’m in the next room to you.”
“You are too kind,” Mr Kálvin smiled. Then he cocked his head a little to the side. “You say you have only been here a month? Is that why you are not confident in your Hungarian?”
I nodded. “A kind priest brought me here. There are things in my past which may only be vanquished by living in God’s light.”
“Where are you from originally? Not from this area, I can tell by your accent. Your German is not the way the Austrians speak it.”
“I am not Austrian. I lived most of my life in Berlin.”
His brows rose. “You came a great distance seeking God’s light, then.”
“Ja, I did,” I admitted softly. “But even so, I am only half-German. My mother… She was French.”
Mr Kálvin chuckled under his breath. “As I am half-Hungarian. Only it was my father who was the foreigner. He came from England, to fight in Crimea. But I never knew him. He made no attempt to reach out after the War ended.”
My mouth fell open. “My mother was in Crimea, too!”
“Really?”
“Ja. She was a nurse in the French forces.”
Mr Kálvin shook his head in disbelief. “Well, the world is certainly a small place! Could it be that both our parents may have walked the same roads at one point?”
I was too stunned to respond. Such an idea was certainly possible. The British and French had convened closely, especially at the beginning of the conflict before the Siege of Sebastopol. Maman had told me that herself.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“I… You must excuse me, sir. It will be time for night prayers shortly.”
With that, I got to my feet, crossed the floor and picked up the empty bowl. As I came close, I noticed Mr Kálvin draw in a deep breath through his nose, and my blood turned to ice in my veins. Could he smell it?
He reached out and caught my wrist. It took all my self-control not to pull away.
“Danke schön, Sister Klara,” he smiled.
I swallowed. “Bitte.”
I took my leave, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it. My hand was shaking.
I looked at his neck, then his eyes, and almost stumbled. It was like gazing into two blue millponds.
“Jó estét,” I greeted, as composed as I could.
His brows lowered as he caught my accent. “Deutsch?”
I nodded, and switched to German. “You speak it?”
“Ja. It is imperative in my line of work to be able to speak both languages of the country.”
I smiled, and passed him the soup. But Mr Kálvin didn’t begin eating straightaway. Instead, he drank the entire glass of water, then raised a hand to his neck and scratched at the wound.
“I would advise against that,” I said. “Would you like me to bandage it, so you will not be tempted to worry it?”
“Nein, it will be best to keep it open to the air.”
He spoke assuredly, as though he knew what he was talking about.
“May I have some writing materials?” he asked. “I must tell my wife that I am safe.”
I went into the corridor, found some paper, a dip pen and ink, and brought them to him.
“Danke,” he said. “I beg your pardon, but why is your veil a different colour to the other nuns?”
“I am a postulant. I only joined the Sisters a month ago. I must undertake a period of testing the life before I am sworn in.”
“I see.”
“What is your line of work?” I asked.
A smile traced his lips. “I am a doctor. A surgeon, actually, newly-qualified.”
I could have laughed at the irony of it all! A vampire, and a doctor, too? Now I knew for certain that this was a test from God.
Mr Kálvin lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth. I sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room and folded my hands across my lap, but, hidden from view, I dug a nail into my palm. I had never seen anyone so beautiful. I mustn’t forget, it was deceptive; a mask… Or was it?
My heart pounded. Had he killed anyone yet? Was he aware of what he had become?
I would have to tread carefully. I knew from experience that many people either did not believe, or refused to believe. It was why Vater had insisted the family dealings remain secret. But there was no disguising the fact that soon, Mr Kálvin would need more than just soup and water.
What was I supposed to do then? Try to pray his thirst away? That hadn’t worked all the previous times I had attempted it. But if this was a test, might the Lord grant me a little more leniency?
“You were the one who came to me at the gate,” Mr Kálvin observed. “I recognised your voice. I am most grateful. What is your name?”
I swallowed nervously. “Sister Klara.”
He nodded once. “A pleasure. Thank you so much for all you are doing for me; you and your Sisterhood.”
He ate the rest of the soup in silence. Already, he looked so much better. If I hadn’t spotted the mark on his neck, or the trace of a rash where the sun had burned him, I might have believed him as human as myself.
Mr Kálvin put the bowl aside and reached up to his collar. For the first time, I noticed a golden chain there, with a ring hanging on it.
“How far am I from the city?” he asked.
“Several miles,” I replied. “Perhaps half a day’s journey.”
He groaned and rested his head back against the wall.
“I was going in the wrong direction all this time?”
I shuffled in the chair. “Can you recall what happened to you?”
He stared at the ceiling and squinted, as though trying to discern his answer from the pattern of the mortar.
“Vaguely,” he said in the end. “I was walking home, and… a strange man attacked me and stole my wallet. I tried to get away, but he sliced my neck, and I fell into the river. I must have fainted. I woke up on the bank – I did not recognise the area. I gathered I had drifted downstream a fair distance. I was wandering for a few days before I came upon this place.”
I nodded to myself. No consent. He was destined to be a demon, not a harmless, unless the process was reversed. And how long would it take, to get to the point when it could? The Bernsteins all took seven years before the venom resurfaced enough to be drawn out.
“Do you… recall anything about your attacker?” I asked.
Mr Kálvin went still.
“Nothing of value. I must have been hallucinating. Cold can do that to a person.”
I went to speak again, but I was distracted by the way he returned to the ring, running it back and forth along the chain. It must be his wedding band.
“I think it best that you stay here awhile,” I said. “I want to help you. I… feel I can help you, sir.”
“That is kind, but I would rather return to my family as soon as I can,” Mr Kálvin replied. “It seems you managed to help me before I could succumb to hypothermia. A week’s rest, and I should be able to go.”
“I… would not advise leaving with such haste,” I continued. “Please, believe me. May we just deal with each day as it comes, and act accordingly? Wouldn’t that be the sensible thing to do?”
“Of course, but why the urgency? You appear distressed.”
He leaned forward. The distance was closed only by a few inches, but I fought the urge to press myself back into the chair.
“I wish to speak to you, regarding certain subjects,” I said slowly, “but the time is not now. As you mentioned, you must rest. I will care for you. Should you need me, then you only have to call. I’m in the next room to you.”
“You are too kind,” Mr Kálvin smiled. Then he cocked his head a little to the side. “You say you have only been here a month? Is that why you are not confident in your Hungarian?”
I nodded. “A kind priest brought me here. There are things in my past which may only be vanquished by living in God’s light.”
“Where are you from originally? Not from this area, I can tell by your accent. Your German is not the way the Austrians speak it.”
“I am not Austrian. I lived most of my life in Berlin.”
His brows rose. “You came a great distance seeking God’s light, then.”
“Ja, I did,” I admitted softly. “But even so, I am only half-German. My mother… She was French.”
Mr Kálvin chuckled under his breath. “As I am half-Hungarian. Only it was my father who was the foreigner. He came from England, to fight in Crimea. But I never knew him. He made no attempt to reach out after the War ended.”
My mouth fell open. “My mother was in Crimea, too!”
“Really?”
“Ja. She was a nurse in the French forces.”
Mr Kálvin shook his head in disbelief. “Well, the world is certainly a small place! Could it be that both our parents may have walked the same roads at one point?”
I was too stunned to respond. Such an idea was certainly possible. The British and French had convened closely, especially at the beginning of the conflict before the Siege of Sebastopol. Maman had told me that herself.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“I… You must excuse me, sir. It will be time for night prayers shortly.”
With that, I got to my feet, crossed the floor and picked up the empty bowl. As I came close, I noticed Mr Kálvin draw in a deep breath through his nose, and my blood turned to ice in my veins. Could he smell it?
He reached out and caught my wrist. It took all my self-control not to pull away.
“Danke schön, Sister Klara,” he smiled.
I swallowed. “Bitte.”
I took my leave, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it. My hand was shaking.
*
The next few days passed without incident, though I was constantly waiting for one. I felt awful for doing so – the whole point of this was so I could help Mr Kálvin, But I couldn’t forget the knowledge I was drawing upon in order to provide the help. Was it wicked to use evil in an attempt to do good? Was I only perpetuating evil by allowing myself to believe good might rise from it?
For as free as I had become since coming to the convent, I was now more torn than ever. Nevertheless, I took my concerns – as veiled as I could keep them – to the Mother Superior.
“He is more ill than he would like to admit,” I said. “I don’t think it wise for him to leave yet.”
“Then when do you suggest he does?” she asked. “How long might his recovery take?”
“I cannot be certain.”
“You wish for him to stay in perpetuity?”
“Nem, Reverend Mother. But I mean to say that putting a time limit on the stay wouldn’t help matters. I believe he is an honest man. He is a married man.”
A trace of softness came into her features. I knew why. Father Farkas, as a fellow of God, had been the exception of allowing the opposite sex within the compound. The idea of a young man – especially one of such attractiveness – was a different matter. The fact that he was married, however, and appeared so earnestly true to his wife, could only benefit him in this place.
“Very well,” she said. “How are you managing, Sister Klara? Is caring for him interfering with your studies?”
“Absolutely not,” I replied. “I dare say that I have been spending even more time speaking with God than before.”
It was the truth. Between meals, housekeeping, and talking to Mr Kálvin, I spent my every waking moment in prayer.
The Mother Superior regarded me with a warm expression. She touched her crucifix with one hand, and my chin with the other.
“I don’t usually say this so early in a postulancy, but I feel you're one of the most suitable candidates I have ever seen. Few are as pious as you so soon, so young. Our Father and the Blessed Virgin smile on you.”
My heart swelled, not with pride, but with humility. And yet, I felt a shadow closing about my throat like fingers.
I thanked her, then headed out to the courtyard. It was night, and thick snowflakes fell from the sky. They made me think of angel feathers… or angel tears perhaps.
I stepped into the church. It was empty. This was recreational time, and I knew my Sisters would be elsewhere. I ran to the altar, and flung myself before it, so passionately, I worried I might have broken my knees on the floor. Then I closed my eyes, praying as hard as I could. Every breath held the edge of a sob.
What was I supposed to do? How long could this continue? Was I to be a martyr to the cause I had turned away from? I was the only one who knew the truth about Mr Kálvin. The only one who might be able to save him. But how?
Vater had said vampirism in the juvenile stage was reversible, but I had refused to listen to a single word further. I had been too disgusted. And now, if there was one thing which I wished I had paid attention to, it was that! My abhorrent father might have given me the answer, and now I would never know.
Nein. I would discover it. My family had done it with Satan’s help, but I would manage it with the Lord’s.
“Please hear me, Almighty Father,” I whispered. “Please. Help me. Give me guidance…”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t dare relax my hands to wipe them away. They were a sign of my penance: my own sin pouring out of me. Oh, such sin I carried… Even if I were to submerge myself in the waters of Jordan, I would never be cleansed of it.
Then I felt heat. Not of fire, but of a mellow autumnal night. I sensed the light of a full moon. Somewhere in the distance, I fancied I heard singing. Not the beautiful choral hymns of the nuns, but more raw; desperate. I tried to understand it, and quickly gave up. It was all in Hungarian.
There was a strange smell upon the air, like burning wood. And something else: metallic, meaty. I knew that scent. I would recognise it anywhere.
I saw a silhouette, wings spread, and I whimpered with joy. Had God sent an angel? Was this a guardian to walk at my side?
I tried to move closer, but couldn't. The longer I looked at the angel, the more its features swam into view. I saw a white shirt, pale skin, black hair.
It wasn’t an angel. It was Mr Kálvin. And there were wings at his back, but not Heavenly feathered ones. They were dark, skeletal, akin to those of a huge bat. Maman and Vater had wings just like that. When Emil's transformation was complete, so would he. The wings of Satan.
And that was not all. Mr Kálvin was covered in blood. It coated his hands, flowed down his chin, stained the ring around his neck. It even seemed to be running from his eyes.
He turned his face skyward and let out a cry: the sound of a man completely broken. There was a figure lying limp in his arms.
“Sister Klara!”
I looked around in fright. I was on my side, in the church, Sister Greta kneeling over me.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
I trembled, and gazed at the crucifix atop the altar.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, as slurred as a drunkard. “I’m fine…”
“Are you sure?” asked Sister Greta. “Do you feel ill?”
“No. I… Tired, I think.”
I couldn’t lie to her. To do so was shameful. But I couldn’t speak truth, either. Dread clawed at my heart as I recalled the image, the scent. There had been so much blood…
I allowed Sister Greta to lead me from the church. To my relief, she excused me from night prayers, set me upon my bed, and told me to rest until morning. I gave her the strongest smile I could manage, and listened to her footsteps fading away down the corridor.
As I lay there, I regarded the envelope on my table: the letter for Mr Kálvin's wife. He had passed it to me and asked if I could post it, but the mail wasn't due for another day.
I picked it up. He had written the name of the convent upon the back, and the front was addressed to Mirriam. Even his penmanship was beautiful.
The vision played before me once more. I knew, with utmost certainty, that it was what would come to pass, should I fail this test. Destruction, death; the entire Nile raining its blood down upon that ethereal face.
God would not have come to me if He meant anything else. Our Lord worked in mysterious ways. By showing me what would happen, He had given me permission to do whatever I needed to prevent it.
Now, more than ever, I had to believe that Maman’s insistence was true. Unlike her – or, perhaps, because of her – here was someone deserving, with a chance to not become lost. I would have to tell Mr Kálvin the truth, whether he wanted to hear it or not. The whole and entire truth.
I replaced the envelope, hurried out of the door, and knocked on the neighbouring one.
“Come in.”
I sucked in a breath and stepped across the threshold.
Mr Kálvin was sitting in a chair beside a single candle, holding a cold compress to his forehead. The shadow of stubble traced his jaw. I could tell he had tried to shave with the razor I found for him, but without a mirror, it was undoubtedly difficult.
“Sister Klara, are you alright?” he asked. “You are pale.”
“I will be well again soon,” I replied. His voice was crackling; it sounded like he had swallowed sand. Maman and Vater had sounded exactly like that, when they were due to drink.
Mr Kálvin touched his eyes, as though trying to remove a mote of dust. I gripped the sides of my robe in horror. The crystal blue of his irises melted away, leaving a stark ruby red.
He got to his feet, and, on instinct, I shied back.
“Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I am a little out of sorts with a headache. I meant no offence.”
“I take none,” I whispered.
Had he even realised what had just happened to his eyes? I felt sick to look at them, sitting amid those perfect angelic features.
“Mr Kálvin, I need to speak with you,” I said. “What I’m about to tell you must go no further than this room. And I’m sorry about your headache, but we must talk now.”
He blinked in surprise. The redness didn’t disappear.
“Perhaps you had better sit, sir,” I insisted. “And please… I know what I say will sound ludicrous, even impossible, but it's the truth.”
For good measure, I laid my hand atop the Bible on his nightstand, and repeated the statement.
Mr Kálvin frowned, but nodded, and offered me the chair while he himself sat on the mattress. As I lowered myself down, I noticed his nose twitching again.
Oh, God. He was smelling my blood. If he lost control, I would be dead in seconds.
“Is something cooking?” he asked uncertainly. “There’s the strangest odour. Like meat, almost.”
“Please try to be still,” I said. I wanted to sound brave, but instead it came out like the whimper of a terrified little girl.
Mr Kálvin expression changed, from confusion into shock.
“Are you… afraid? Why? I mean you no harm.”
The sincerity in his voice almost made me cry.
“I know,” I said carefully. “I am not afraid of who you are, but of what all this means.”
“What are you talking about?”
I took out my rosary and ran its beads through my fingers for comfort.
“Lord, help me,” I muttered, then cleared my throat. “Have you no recollection of the man who attacked you? You saw nothing, heard nothing?”
“Nein. I told you that,” Mr Kálvin said. “I was only hallucinating. I just felt the blade.”
“Sir, what if I were to tell you that I know exactly what happened to you? And that it was no blade which cut your neck?”
“How could you? You were not there.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I said. “But I have seen it before. Oh, God, if only you knew what I have seen; to what I have borne witness! Mr Kálvin, have you heard of the term vampire?”
He stared at me, but quickly pulled it under control. It was such a perfect composure that it stunned me at first. Then I remembered he would have had to master the art of good bedside manner. No decent doctor allowed anything but neutrality in tense situations.
“I have,” he replied at length, “but I do not believe in such creatures.”
“You should,” I said darkly.
“Are you suggesting that I have been bitten by a bedtime story?”
“They are not stories.”
“With all due respect, Sister Klara, such a thing is impossible.”
“Don’t be blinded by your science. It only tells you half the truth,” I said. “My family were medical men, like you. They knew it was real. I can prove it to you.”
Mr Kálvin rolled his eyes. That made my blood grow hot. Vater had given me a similar look throughout my entire life, because I was a girl, and devout, and unwilling to pander to his cruelty. It was the look of abiding one’s immature company and wishes, in order to hasten the silence which would follow.
“Tell me if this sounds familiar,” I said, firmer. “That headache lies like a band behind your eyes and around your entire scalp. It’s worse during the day and you turn from the light. The sun feels physical when it touches your skin, and leaves a burning sensation. A red rash and blisters appear after a while. Every sense is sharper than before. Your teeth are sharper, too. Your throat is dry. You suffer constant thirst, which has only grown day by day, no matter how much water you drink. And that wound on your neck still flares with pain.”
Mr Kálvin blinked in surprise, and I knew I had been correct on all accounts. But he still shook his head.
“I do not deny your expertise, hailing from a medical family, but these symptoms are hardly evidence of a vampire, Sister Klara.”
“Then take that candle and look at your reflection in the window.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly not having expected such a response. But he picked up the candle and did as I said.
I watched him like a hawk. The glass was hardly as detailed as a mirror, but it did well enough. He leaned closer; pulled the skin of his eye down a little.
“Subconjunctival haemorrhage,” he muttered. “There is no pain, though it usually affects the whites, not the irises…”
“Vampirism, sir,” I said.
Mr Kálvin turned back to me. I could tell he was shaken. The colour had drained from his face, and he was sniffing again.
I held my nerve, begging the Lord to be at my side, and walked over. I could have reached out and touched him. I hadn’t been this close since I had seen his scar.
As soon as I came within distance, his pupils dilated. I heard a faint hiss at the edge of each exhale.
“You smell it,” I said. “That is my blood. That is why you are thirsty.”
“No. There must be a logical explanation.”
“There is. I have just given it to you. Do you doubt me? I swore on the holy book that I speak truth.”
“It cannot be!”
“Then allow me one final revelation,” I said. “Your hallucinations? Did they concern a man with bat wings, leaping upon you as though taken form from the shadows themselves? And from the wound in your neck, did you see a black substance running under your skin, like ink?”
It had the effect I knew it would. Mr Kálvin exclaimed in horror and fell back against the wall. He stared at his hands, his eyes so wide, I could see the entire circle of red.
“Nem…” he whispered in Hungarian. “Ó Istenem… Nem!”
He sank down the bricks, shaking like a leaf. He felt his teeth with one finger, and the incisors sliced straight through the flesh. He stared at me in panic, tears spilling over his cheeks.
“This cannot be!” he cried. “Oh, God… Mirriam!”
Pity quashed my nerves before I could think. I knelt before him and grasped his hands in my own. He held me as though I were a raft on a tempest-tossed sea.
The intensity of his eyes astounded me. Even though I was given to God, even though he was a husband and father, a tiny part of me whispered: lean in, kiss him…
“This is the reason I volunteered to help you,” I said. “God came to me. It's no coincidence that you and I have crossed paths, János Kálvin.”
“This is madness!”
“This is truth. Please, believe me. I come to you as a friend and ally. I don’t believe you are lost.”
“How so? I am… changed!”
“Not permanently,” I said. “My family, loathsome as they may be, learned that much. The process may be reversed at this early stage – you’re only a juvenile, not a full vampire yet. I will tell you everything. Every single piece of knowledge I bear, if you will listen.”
“I will,” Mr Kálvin said at once. “Just… Oh, God, please, Sister Klara! My family cannot see me like this! They cannot know!”
“Nein, they cannot,” I agreed. “And you must not leave. I will speak to the Reverend Mother. She may require you to work for your keep, but remain an honest man, and I’m sure she’ll have no qualms. But keep this between us. None of the others will understand. I shouldn’t even be doing this – it’s exactly what I endeavoured to escape – but God has given me His blessing.”
“I will do whatever is asked of me,” Mr Kálvin said. “You can turn me back? Say you will!”
“I… I will try. But it may take time.”
“How long?”
“It’s impossible to say. But you shall have me, sir. I will help in any way I can.”
Mr Kálvin swallowed, and winced as he did so. I knew what he needed.
I muttered a prayer, then took the razor from the table. I pulled back my sleeve, and drew the blade across the inside of my arm.
“What are you doing?” Mr Kálvin cried.
“Better it be me than have you lose control.” I replied. “Little and often. No more than four mouthfuls. That way, there is less damage. It can last for longer.”
“I cannot do that!” he insisted, and tried to push me away. I wanted to let him. This was wrong, so terribly wrong.
Leviticus…
No. God had sanctioned it. I had to stand my ground.
“If you don’t, you will become as an animal,” I said. “You will tear through this place, and be so desperate, you’ll drink an entire person dry. Your body will make you take it, whether you wish for it or not. So do this, now, and I will protect you.”
Mr Kálvin shook his head softly, barely holding back a sob.
“I have taken the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm.”
“Then let the harm be mine,” I said. “I shoulder it gladly. It will be my penance. I give consent in the manner you could not.”
Before he could protest any further, I crawled closer. As soon as I did, his nostrils flared. He glanced between my face and the wound I had inflicted; the red blood welling up from my flesh.
His shoulders sank in defeat. He leaned in and placed his lips around the cut. I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see, but still I felt it: the slow, uncertain draw. He grasped my wrist to hold me in place. The urge had him now, and he took a larger mouthful. My head spun from it. I gasped for air. My fingers tingled…
For the life of all flesh is the blood thereof: whosoever eateth it shall be cut off…
I counted four, then placed my hand on his head and pushed him away. The change in him was incredible. At once, he breathed easier, and the blue returned to his eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I nodded. Even his voice was different. The crackling edge had disappeared.
Mr Kálvin cleaned my arm with the damp cloth. Then he tore the end of a sleeve from his shirt, and tied it firmly around me, with the same precision I had seen Vater use. Yes, this man was a doctor. Even in the few days I’d known him, I could tell he was better than any of my line had been, or ever would be.
“God, I am so sorry,” he whispered.
“I told you. I consent,” I replied.
“You must tell me if it becomes infected…”
“It won’t. And I will allow you to take the same whenever it is needed.”
Morals ground themselves against my mind. It was so wrong. But then, I reasoned, did I not consume the body and blood of Christ every day during the Eucharist? This was the path I had been set upon to achieve my salvation. Who was I to question it, when it had been shown so clearly to me?
Mr Kálvin licked his lips. A tiny smear of blood tinted them, before he lowered his eyes and began to weep.
I held his hands. I was no longer afraid of him, not even a little. I just hoped that I could find the strength to somehow save him.
I decided against telling him what my family had written in Die Gift: that only a full vampire could reverse the turning. Such information would only compound his stress.
I would find a way. God, I hoped I could find a way.
For as free as I had become since coming to the convent, I was now more torn than ever. Nevertheless, I took my concerns – as veiled as I could keep them – to the Mother Superior.
“He is more ill than he would like to admit,” I said. “I don’t think it wise for him to leave yet.”
“Then when do you suggest he does?” she asked. “How long might his recovery take?”
“I cannot be certain.”
“You wish for him to stay in perpetuity?”
“Nem, Reverend Mother. But I mean to say that putting a time limit on the stay wouldn’t help matters. I believe he is an honest man. He is a married man.”
A trace of softness came into her features. I knew why. Father Farkas, as a fellow of God, had been the exception of allowing the opposite sex within the compound. The idea of a young man – especially one of such attractiveness – was a different matter. The fact that he was married, however, and appeared so earnestly true to his wife, could only benefit him in this place.
“Very well,” she said. “How are you managing, Sister Klara? Is caring for him interfering with your studies?”
“Absolutely not,” I replied. “I dare say that I have been spending even more time speaking with God than before.”
It was the truth. Between meals, housekeeping, and talking to Mr Kálvin, I spent my every waking moment in prayer.
The Mother Superior regarded me with a warm expression. She touched her crucifix with one hand, and my chin with the other.
“I don’t usually say this so early in a postulancy, but I feel you're one of the most suitable candidates I have ever seen. Few are as pious as you so soon, so young. Our Father and the Blessed Virgin smile on you.”
My heart swelled, not with pride, but with humility. And yet, I felt a shadow closing about my throat like fingers.
I thanked her, then headed out to the courtyard. It was night, and thick snowflakes fell from the sky. They made me think of angel feathers… or angel tears perhaps.
I stepped into the church. It was empty. This was recreational time, and I knew my Sisters would be elsewhere. I ran to the altar, and flung myself before it, so passionately, I worried I might have broken my knees on the floor. Then I closed my eyes, praying as hard as I could. Every breath held the edge of a sob.
What was I supposed to do? How long could this continue? Was I to be a martyr to the cause I had turned away from? I was the only one who knew the truth about Mr Kálvin. The only one who might be able to save him. But how?
Vater had said vampirism in the juvenile stage was reversible, but I had refused to listen to a single word further. I had been too disgusted. And now, if there was one thing which I wished I had paid attention to, it was that! My abhorrent father might have given me the answer, and now I would never know.
Nein. I would discover it. My family had done it with Satan’s help, but I would manage it with the Lord’s.
“Please hear me, Almighty Father,” I whispered. “Please. Help me. Give me guidance…”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t dare relax my hands to wipe them away. They were a sign of my penance: my own sin pouring out of me. Oh, such sin I carried… Even if I were to submerge myself in the waters of Jordan, I would never be cleansed of it.
Then I felt heat. Not of fire, but of a mellow autumnal night. I sensed the light of a full moon. Somewhere in the distance, I fancied I heard singing. Not the beautiful choral hymns of the nuns, but more raw; desperate. I tried to understand it, and quickly gave up. It was all in Hungarian.
There was a strange smell upon the air, like burning wood. And something else: metallic, meaty. I knew that scent. I would recognise it anywhere.
I saw a silhouette, wings spread, and I whimpered with joy. Had God sent an angel? Was this a guardian to walk at my side?
I tried to move closer, but couldn't. The longer I looked at the angel, the more its features swam into view. I saw a white shirt, pale skin, black hair.
It wasn’t an angel. It was Mr Kálvin. And there were wings at his back, but not Heavenly feathered ones. They were dark, skeletal, akin to those of a huge bat. Maman and Vater had wings just like that. When Emil's transformation was complete, so would he. The wings of Satan.
And that was not all. Mr Kálvin was covered in blood. It coated his hands, flowed down his chin, stained the ring around his neck. It even seemed to be running from his eyes.
He turned his face skyward and let out a cry: the sound of a man completely broken. There was a figure lying limp in his arms.
“Sister Klara!”
I looked around in fright. I was on my side, in the church, Sister Greta kneeling over me.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
I trembled, and gazed at the crucifix atop the altar.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, as slurred as a drunkard. “I’m fine…”
“Are you sure?” asked Sister Greta. “Do you feel ill?”
“No. I… Tired, I think.”
I couldn’t lie to her. To do so was shameful. But I couldn’t speak truth, either. Dread clawed at my heart as I recalled the image, the scent. There had been so much blood…
I allowed Sister Greta to lead me from the church. To my relief, she excused me from night prayers, set me upon my bed, and told me to rest until morning. I gave her the strongest smile I could manage, and listened to her footsteps fading away down the corridor.
As I lay there, I regarded the envelope on my table: the letter for Mr Kálvin's wife. He had passed it to me and asked if I could post it, but the mail wasn't due for another day.
I picked it up. He had written the name of the convent upon the back, and the front was addressed to Mirriam. Even his penmanship was beautiful.
The vision played before me once more. I knew, with utmost certainty, that it was what would come to pass, should I fail this test. Destruction, death; the entire Nile raining its blood down upon that ethereal face.
God would not have come to me if He meant anything else. Our Lord worked in mysterious ways. By showing me what would happen, He had given me permission to do whatever I needed to prevent it.
Now, more than ever, I had to believe that Maman’s insistence was true. Unlike her – or, perhaps, because of her – here was someone deserving, with a chance to not become lost. I would have to tell Mr Kálvin the truth, whether he wanted to hear it or not. The whole and entire truth.
I replaced the envelope, hurried out of the door, and knocked on the neighbouring one.
“Come in.”
I sucked in a breath and stepped across the threshold.
Mr Kálvin was sitting in a chair beside a single candle, holding a cold compress to his forehead. The shadow of stubble traced his jaw. I could tell he had tried to shave with the razor I found for him, but without a mirror, it was undoubtedly difficult.
“Sister Klara, are you alright?” he asked. “You are pale.”
“I will be well again soon,” I replied. His voice was crackling; it sounded like he had swallowed sand. Maman and Vater had sounded exactly like that, when they were due to drink.
Mr Kálvin touched his eyes, as though trying to remove a mote of dust. I gripped the sides of my robe in horror. The crystal blue of his irises melted away, leaving a stark ruby red.
He got to his feet, and, on instinct, I shied back.
“Forgive me,” he said quickly. “I am a little out of sorts with a headache. I meant no offence.”
“I take none,” I whispered.
Had he even realised what had just happened to his eyes? I felt sick to look at them, sitting amid those perfect angelic features.
“Mr Kálvin, I need to speak with you,” I said. “What I’m about to tell you must go no further than this room. And I’m sorry about your headache, but we must talk now.”
He blinked in surprise. The redness didn’t disappear.
“Perhaps you had better sit, sir,” I insisted. “And please… I know what I say will sound ludicrous, even impossible, but it's the truth.”
For good measure, I laid my hand atop the Bible on his nightstand, and repeated the statement.
Mr Kálvin frowned, but nodded, and offered me the chair while he himself sat on the mattress. As I lowered myself down, I noticed his nose twitching again.
Oh, God. He was smelling my blood. If he lost control, I would be dead in seconds.
“Is something cooking?” he asked uncertainly. “There’s the strangest odour. Like meat, almost.”
“Please try to be still,” I said. I wanted to sound brave, but instead it came out like the whimper of a terrified little girl.
Mr Kálvin expression changed, from confusion into shock.
“Are you… afraid? Why? I mean you no harm.”
The sincerity in his voice almost made me cry.
“I know,” I said carefully. “I am not afraid of who you are, but of what all this means.”
“What are you talking about?”
I took out my rosary and ran its beads through my fingers for comfort.
“Lord, help me,” I muttered, then cleared my throat. “Have you no recollection of the man who attacked you? You saw nothing, heard nothing?”
“Nein. I told you that,” Mr Kálvin said. “I was only hallucinating. I just felt the blade.”
“Sir, what if I were to tell you that I know exactly what happened to you? And that it was no blade which cut your neck?”
“How could you? You were not there.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I said. “But I have seen it before. Oh, God, if only you knew what I have seen; to what I have borne witness! Mr Kálvin, have you heard of the term vampire?”
He stared at me, but quickly pulled it under control. It was such a perfect composure that it stunned me at first. Then I remembered he would have had to master the art of good bedside manner. No decent doctor allowed anything but neutrality in tense situations.
“I have,” he replied at length, “but I do not believe in such creatures.”
“You should,” I said darkly.
“Are you suggesting that I have been bitten by a bedtime story?”
“They are not stories.”
“With all due respect, Sister Klara, such a thing is impossible.”
“Don’t be blinded by your science. It only tells you half the truth,” I said. “My family were medical men, like you. They knew it was real. I can prove it to you.”
Mr Kálvin rolled his eyes. That made my blood grow hot. Vater had given me a similar look throughout my entire life, because I was a girl, and devout, and unwilling to pander to his cruelty. It was the look of abiding one’s immature company and wishes, in order to hasten the silence which would follow.
“Tell me if this sounds familiar,” I said, firmer. “That headache lies like a band behind your eyes and around your entire scalp. It’s worse during the day and you turn from the light. The sun feels physical when it touches your skin, and leaves a burning sensation. A red rash and blisters appear after a while. Every sense is sharper than before. Your teeth are sharper, too. Your throat is dry. You suffer constant thirst, which has only grown day by day, no matter how much water you drink. And that wound on your neck still flares with pain.”
Mr Kálvin blinked in surprise, and I knew I had been correct on all accounts. But he still shook his head.
“I do not deny your expertise, hailing from a medical family, but these symptoms are hardly evidence of a vampire, Sister Klara.”
“Then take that candle and look at your reflection in the window.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly not having expected such a response. But he picked up the candle and did as I said.
I watched him like a hawk. The glass was hardly as detailed as a mirror, but it did well enough. He leaned closer; pulled the skin of his eye down a little.
“Subconjunctival haemorrhage,” he muttered. “There is no pain, though it usually affects the whites, not the irises…”
“Vampirism, sir,” I said.
Mr Kálvin turned back to me. I could tell he was shaken. The colour had drained from his face, and he was sniffing again.
I held my nerve, begging the Lord to be at my side, and walked over. I could have reached out and touched him. I hadn’t been this close since I had seen his scar.
As soon as I came within distance, his pupils dilated. I heard a faint hiss at the edge of each exhale.
“You smell it,” I said. “That is my blood. That is why you are thirsty.”
“No. There must be a logical explanation.”
“There is. I have just given it to you. Do you doubt me? I swore on the holy book that I speak truth.”
“It cannot be!”
“Then allow me one final revelation,” I said. “Your hallucinations? Did they concern a man with bat wings, leaping upon you as though taken form from the shadows themselves? And from the wound in your neck, did you see a black substance running under your skin, like ink?”
It had the effect I knew it would. Mr Kálvin exclaimed in horror and fell back against the wall. He stared at his hands, his eyes so wide, I could see the entire circle of red.
“Nem…” he whispered in Hungarian. “Ó Istenem… Nem!”
He sank down the bricks, shaking like a leaf. He felt his teeth with one finger, and the incisors sliced straight through the flesh. He stared at me in panic, tears spilling over his cheeks.
“This cannot be!” he cried. “Oh, God… Mirriam!”
Pity quashed my nerves before I could think. I knelt before him and grasped his hands in my own. He held me as though I were a raft on a tempest-tossed sea.
The intensity of his eyes astounded me. Even though I was given to God, even though he was a husband and father, a tiny part of me whispered: lean in, kiss him…
“This is the reason I volunteered to help you,” I said. “God came to me. It's no coincidence that you and I have crossed paths, János Kálvin.”
“This is madness!”
“This is truth. Please, believe me. I come to you as a friend and ally. I don’t believe you are lost.”
“How so? I am… changed!”
“Not permanently,” I said. “My family, loathsome as they may be, learned that much. The process may be reversed at this early stage – you’re only a juvenile, not a full vampire yet. I will tell you everything. Every single piece of knowledge I bear, if you will listen.”
“I will,” Mr Kálvin said at once. “Just… Oh, God, please, Sister Klara! My family cannot see me like this! They cannot know!”
“Nein, they cannot,” I agreed. “And you must not leave. I will speak to the Reverend Mother. She may require you to work for your keep, but remain an honest man, and I’m sure she’ll have no qualms. But keep this between us. None of the others will understand. I shouldn’t even be doing this – it’s exactly what I endeavoured to escape – but God has given me His blessing.”
“I will do whatever is asked of me,” Mr Kálvin said. “You can turn me back? Say you will!”
“I… I will try. But it may take time.”
“How long?”
“It’s impossible to say. But you shall have me, sir. I will help in any way I can.”
Mr Kálvin swallowed, and winced as he did so. I knew what he needed.
I muttered a prayer, then took the razor from the table. I pulled back my sleeve, and drew the blade across the inside of my arm.
“What are you doing?” Mr Kálvin cried.
“Better it be me than have you lose control.” I replied. “Little and often. No more than four mouthfuls. That way, there is less damage. It can last for longer.”
“I cannot do that!” he insisted, and tried to push me away. I wanted to let him. This was wrong, so terribly wrong.
Leviticus…
No. God had sanctioned it. I had to stand my ground.
“If you don’t, you will become as an animal,” I said. “You will tear through this place, and be so desperate, you’ll drink an entire person dry. Your body will make you take it, whether you wish for it or not. So do this, now, and I will protect you.”
Mr Kálvin shook his head softly, barely holding back a sob.
“I have taken the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm.”
“Then let the harm be mine,” I said. “I shoulder it gladly. It will be my penance. I give consent in the manner you could not.”
Before he could protest any further, I crawled closer. As soon as I did, his nostrils flared. He glanced between my face and the wound I had inflicted; the red blood welling up from my flesh.
His shoulders sank in defeat. He leaned in and placed his lips around the cut. I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see, but still I felt it: the slow, uncertain draw. He grasped my wrist to hold me in place. The urge had him now, and he took a larger mouthful. My head spun from it. I gasped for air. My fingers tingled…
For the life of all flesh is the blood thereof: whosoever eateth it shall be cut off…
I counted four, then placed my hand on his head and pushed him away. The change in him was incredible. At once, he breathed easier, and the blue returned to his eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I nodded. Even his voice was different. The crackling edge had disappeared.
Mr Kálvin cleaned my arm with the damp cloth. Then he tore the end of a sleeve from his shirt, and tied it firmly around me, with the same precision I had seen Vater use. Yes, this man was a doctor. Even in the few days I’d known him, I could tell he was better than any of my line had been, or ever would be.
“God, I am so sorry,” he whispered.
“I told you. I consent,” I replied.
“You must tell me if it becomes infected…”
“It won’t. And I will allow you to take the same whenever it is needed.”
Morals ground themselves against my mind. It was so wrong. But then, I reasoned, did I not consume the body and blood of Christ every day during the Eucharist? This was the path I had been set upon to achieve my salvation. Who was I to question it, when it had been shown so clearly to me?
Mr Kálvin licked his lips. A tiny smear of blood tinted them, before he lowered his eyes and began to weep.
I held his hands. I was no longer afraid of him, not even a little. I just hoped that I could find the strength to somehow save him.
I decided against telling him what my family had written in Die Gift: that only a full vampire could reverse the turning. Such information would only compound his stress.
I would find a way. God, I hoped I could find a way.
*
I woke early, as was customary, and dressed in my robes and veil by candlelight. When I was decent, I stepped into the corridor, my arms wrapped around myself to shield against the cold. Then I crept to the next door, and pressed my ear to the wood. There was no noise from within. Mr Kálvin was likely still asleep.
I didn’t disturb him. Instead, I took myself to morning prayers. For the next three hours, I bent my head and offered my heart up to God. My mind raced with faces and images, so swift that I had to consciously slow them. My family; Mr Kálvin; the sign I had received before the church altar…
It was not my destiny to ever be free of the dark ones. I could only try to bring them into the light.
“You seem better this morning,” Sister Greta remarked over breakfast. “Did you sleep well?”
I nodded. “Thank you for caring for me last night.”
“And how is our guest? Did you see him before prayers?”
“Nem, but I’ll check on him shortly. I need to speak to the Reverend Mother about him. He wishes to extend his sanctuary.”
Sister Greta raised her eyebrows. “Oh? For how long?”
“I cannot say,” I replied.
Nothing more was mentioned on the matter, as we had finished eating, and it was my turn to wash the dishes. But I kept some porridge back, so I could take it to Mr Kálvin before I began my other duties.
When I returned to the corridor, it was as quiet as before, so I assumed he still slumbered. I brought the meal to my own room. I would hand it over after I was done clearing the courtyard. It had snowed again during the night, and a thick white coat turned the world into something from a dream.
I rested my elbows on the windowsill. It would be Christmas soon. Were Vater and Emil still in the area? If they were, they hadn’t come looking. I liked to think that they had abandoned hope of finding me again, and moved on. I didn’t want to wonder about what Vater had done with Maman.
Had he ever loved her at all? Or had that been another mask, so he could get an heir for the legacy, and then a new experiment at the end?
Many of the Sisters wrote letters to their families on a regular basis: our main contact with the outside world. But I had nobody to write to. A part of me regretted not asking Father Farkas how I could reach him, but I supposed he would be too busy to keep up a correspondence. He had probably reached the western border by now, and begun his own great work – much greater than anything the Bernsteins had ever done. He was living the life I’d fancied not too long ago: traversing the land, staking every monster in his tracks. It was an extraordinary endeavour; it would take years to complete. But such was the love for his family. The love I would never know.
On that thought, I picked up the envelope which Mr Kálvin had addressed to his wife. The post was due today.
But as I held the paper – heavy in my hand, as though it contained an entire novel – the shadow of certainty closed its fingers around my chest. This place was separate from the cruelties of the world. Could I bear to inflict cruelty on those outside, when all my focus must be applied to the highest efforts of righteousness? Mr Kálvin himself had said that his family could not know the truth.
Conviction solidified itself in my soul. They already believed him missing, likely dead. If I succeeded in my quest, then all the more wonderful, and nobody need be wise of the dark details. If not, the sentiment was the same. It was the kindest thing I might do for this poor woman and her daughter now.
I struck a match, lit my candle, and held the envelope over it. I watched the flames creep across the paper, swallowing the name Mirriam Kálvin. Then, when it was truly burning, I tossed it into the grate to burn through.
I walked next door and knocked again. Mr Kálvin emerged, dressed and shaven, a scrap of material bound around his finger. He toyed with his ring.
“Jó reggelt,” I greeted in Hungarian, and hurried back to my room to fetch the bowl. “I’m afraid it’s cooled, but you can heat it if you would prefer.”
He gave me an uncertain smile: grateful, yet still shaken, saturated with the utmost trust which he had placed in me. His eyes were their normal blue again, and a silent knowledge passed between us. A secret, it would remain.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “Thank you for everything.”
I swallowed, nodded, then left to collect a shovel. Crisp winter air swept up my nose as I began clearing the courtyard. Sister Rózsa stood by the gate, and handed over the mail to a waiting postman.
What would my beautiful charge say if he knew what I had done with his letter?
I kept my eyes downcast. My mother was dead, my brother doomed to my father’s mechanisms. And no matter the cost, the pain, the destruction which may be caused by those ashes in my grate. As the Bernsteins had so terribly, yet rightly, maintained for a hundred years, it was for the greater good.
I didn’t disturb him. Instead, I took myself to morning prayers. For the next three hours, I bent my head and offered my heart up to God. My mind raced with faces and images, so swift that I had to consciously slow them. My family; Mr Kálvin; the sign I had received before the church altar…
It was not my destiny to ever be free of the dark ones. I could only try to bring them into the light.
“You seem better this morning,” Sister Greta remarked over breakfast. “Did you sleep well?”
I nodded. “Thank you for caring for me last night.”
“And how is our guest? Did you see him before prayers?”
“Nem, but I’ll check on him shortly. I need to speak to the Reverend Mother about him. He wishes to extend his sanctuary.”
Sister Greta raised her eyebrows. “Oh? For how long?”
“I cannot say,” I replied.
Nothing more was mentioned on the matter, as we had finished eating, and it was my turn to wash the dishes. But I kept some porridge back, so I could take it to Mr Kálvin before I began my other duties.
When I returned to the corridor, it was as quiet as before, so I assumed he still slumbered. I brought the meal to my own room. I would hand it over after I was done clearing the courtyard. It had snowed again during the night, and a thick white coat turned the world into something from a dream.
I rested my elbows on the windowsill. It would be Christmas soon. Were Vater and Emil still in the area? If they were, they hadn’t come looking. I liked to think that they had abandoned hope of finding me again, and moved on. I didn’t want to wonder about what Vater had done with Maman.
Had he ever loved her at all? Or had that been another mask, so he could get an heir for the legacy, and then a new experiment at the end?
Many of the Sisters wrote letters to their families on a regular basis: our main contact with the outside world. But I had nobody to write to. A part of me regretted not asking Father Farkas how I could reach him, but I supposed he would be too busy to keep up a correspondence. He had probably reached the western border by now, and begun his own great work – much greater than anything the Bernsteins had ever done. He was living the life I’d fancied not too long ago: traversing the land, staking every monster in his tracks. It was an extraordinary endeavour; it would take years to complete. But such was the love for his family. The love I would never know.
On that thought, I picked up the envelope which Mr Kálvin had addressed to his wife. The post was due today.
But as I held the paper – heavy in my hand, as though it contained an entire novel – the shadow of certainty closed its fingers around my chest. This place was separate from the cruelties of the world. Could I bear to inflict cruelty on those outside, when all my focus must be applied to the highest efforts of righteousness? Mr Kálvin himself had said that his family could not know the truth.
Conviction solidified itself in my soul. They already believed him missing, likely dead. If I succeeded in my quest, then all the more wonderful, and nobody need be wise of the dark details. If not, the sentiment was the same. It was the kindest thing I might do for this poor woman and her daughter now.
I struck a match, lit my candle, and held the envelope over it. I watched the flames creep across the paper, swallowing the name Mirriam Kálvin. Then, when it was truly burning, I tossed it into the grate to burn through.
I walked next door and knocked again. Mr Kálvin emerged, dressed and shaven, a scrap of material bound around his finger. He toyed with his ring.
“Jó reggelt,” I greeted in Hungarian, and hurried back to my room to fetch the bowl. “I’m afraid it’s cooled, but you can heat it if you would prefer.”
He gave me an uncertain smile: grateful, yet still shaken, saturated with the utmost trust which he had placed in me. His eyes were their normal blue again, and a silent knowledge passed between us. A secret, it would remain.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “Thank you for everything.”
I swallowed, nodded, then left to collect a shovel. Crisp winter air swept up my nose as I began clearing the courtyard. Sister Rózsa stood by the gate, and handed over the mail to a waiting postman.
What would my beautiful charge say if he knew what I had done with his letter?
I kept my eyes downcast. My mother was dead, my brother doomed to my father’s mechanisms. And no matter the cost, the pain, the destruction which may be caused by those ashes in my grate. As the Bernsteins had so terribly, yet rightly, maintained for a hundred years, it was for the greater good.