The man before her was emaciated and wore dirty clothing. Even in the moonlight, he was unnaturally pale and appeared more feral than human. There was something in the way he stood, like an ape with long, clawed hands.
'Leave…leave me alone!' Jane said, finding her voice. 'You will be sorry.'
The man growled. To make matters worse, the light from the moon reflected in his eyes, and she saw a red glimmer in each as if his skull were decorated with two hard, red rubies.
He is a demon.
Jane had never thought much of legends concerning ghosts and demons and creatures of the night, but there was no doubt now as to the nature of this thing. No earthly man could have eyes like that.
Acting without thought, she pivoted and ran—directly toward the hedgerow. The thick shrubs tore at her face, but she was through it in a flash, and then she was running across the vast open field.
The mist swam about her as she blindly bolted. There was the thud of running feet from behind, and she instinctively angled away in another direction. She fell and went sprawling across the frigid, wet ground, but immediately leapt to her feet again and ran.
Crouching shapes appeared before her.
Jane almost screamed, but then she focused on them. They were gravestones, and at that moment, Jane knew precisely where she was. In her desperate dash across the open fields, she had reached the grounds of Steventon church; her father had been the curator here her entire life. Knowing where she was, however, did not make her situation any better. It meant she was farther from home. The manor house of the Digweed family was nearby, but she still had to locate it in the dark.
A shuffling came from beyond the hunched row of crosses and stone monuments. The man emerged from the fog and let out a sound that was more of a sigh than a growl. Almost as if he sensed this pursuit had come to an end. Jane opened her mouth, ready to deliver a terror-filled rebuke when the man's bottom jaw hinged open—and continued to plummet. The whole underneath of his face disengaged to reveal four jagged canine teeth. Each was over an inch in length and sharpened to a point. It was more reminiscent of a lion than a person.
Jane shook her head. This is not a man. Somehow this thing had escaped through some sulphurous crack in the walls of Hell to visit itself upon the Earth. This creature had killed the woman in Overton—and now it intended to kill her too.
No, she thought. It can't end like this.
She thought of her family. They would all be settling in for the evening, her mother and Cassandra preparing dinner for the family. They were safe within the firmly locked doors of the rectory. She was glad for their protection, but knew for sure that the same could not be said for her. She was about to die.
The fiend advanced.
'Back!'
The voice that broke through the fog and the darkness did not belong to Jane. It was a woman's voice, but it had so throaty a rasp that it could have belonged to a man. A lantern broke through the gloom as its owner appeared from behind her, flicking the contents of a bottle over the demon.
The liquid struck the monster's pallid face, and it howled furiously and fell back, hissing. The liquid was burning its skin. Like an animal possessed, it now opened its cavernous mouth even wider, regained its composure, and readied itself to spring.
Bang!
The gunshot rang out. The weapon belonged to the newcomer. The woman fired once. Twice. Three times. Each time, the attacker was driven back, screeching with rage until it finally toppled backwards to the ground. Jane felt an immense flood of relief.
The creature is dead. Nothing can survive three bullets from a gun.
Yet—incredibly—the fiend slowly clambered to its feet, hissed with rage, and resolutely continued forward. The newcomer swung something through the fog. It could have almost been a beam of moonlight, except it flew straight as an arrow, intersecting with the neck of the demon.
The thing gave a single, gurgling sigh before its head slid off its shoulders and toppled to the ground, its body following a moment later, blood spurting in rhythmic jets from the stump. Jane's mind reeled as she stared in nauseated horror at the scene.
I will not faint, she thought. I will not.
Her pledge came to nothing, however, as darkness claimed her. When Jane next awoke, she gradually became aware of a voice. Someone was speaking to her.
'Here,' the voice said distantly. 'Inhale.'
She inhaled—and choked. She pushed at the hand before her, and she saw the interior of a barn. Before her stood a stout woman with a long nose, unruly black hair, and the bluest eyes Jane had ever seen. They were almost doll-like, as if they had been stuck on rather than inherited through birth. She wore a heavy dark green cloak with a hood, and beneath this, a man's white shirt and trousers.
Slightly behind her stood an older, shorter man, rough-shaven and built more like a boxer. He wore a garrick—a type of long cape—and a flat, stubby coachman's hat. He was smoking tobacco from a short clay pipe clutched in his left hand.
'Who…who are you?' Jane asked the pair.
'First things first,' the woman said. 'Have you been injured?'
Jane mentally examined herself. 'I am unhurt.'
'Good. Then we will introduce ourselves. I am Doctor Wilhelmina Porter.' She turned to the man. 'And this is my coachman and assistant, Mister Eddy Lorton.'
'Eddy will suffice,' the man said.
Jane stared at them. 'I am Jane Austen—and it seems I owe you my thanks.'
'And your life,' Doctor Porter added, though not unkindly. 'That vampire intended to drink your blood and leave you dry as a nun's notch.'
This was all too much for Jane to take in at once. 'Vampire?' She had never heard the word before. 'I thought it a kind of demon—'
'It was a vampire, although they are known by many names. In Europe, they are known as nosferatu, lamia or bloodsuckers. They are undead creatures who drink the blood of the innocent to satisfy their needs.'
Jane remembered the woman who had been killed in Overton. She mentioned this to Porter.
'One of its victims, no doubt,' the doctor confirmed. 'There are monsters in this world. Vampires, in particular, are like a plague. They have existed for centuries, and for all that time, people have hunted them.'
Jane's mind reeled in confusion. 'Monsters? Vampires? How is this possible?'
'The world of the supernatural is not advertised. Institutions of power—the government and the church—would not want the public to know that such demons exist.'
'And why not?' Jane demanded. It seemed foolish to keep such a thing secret. 'Surely we should know so we can guard against them?'
'I largely agree with you,' the doctor said. 'But it has long been believed that such knowledge would cause so enormous a panic that society could not function. What sort of lives would people lead if they knew that their friends and family could be turned at any time?'
'Turned?' Jane said. 'What do you mean, turned?'
Eddy spoke up. 'There are different sorts of vampires,' he said. 'The kind that Doctor Porter consigned to Hell was what we think of as blitzers.'
The doctor continued. 'Blitzer comes from an ancient German word blitzkrieg,' she explained. 'The fiends launch animalistic attacks with everything they've got. Their goal is to drink the blood of their victims, resulting in their deaths.' The doctor stroked her chin. 'But there is another kind of vampire, a far more insidious kind. We call these regals. They drink the blood of others and turn them into creatures like themselves. In doing so, they assemble a tribe that they use as their mates.'
Jane stared at her. This night had delivered many unbelievable surprises, but this ranked among the greatest. 'Mates?' she said. 'More than one partner? You mean…bigamy?'
The doctor raised an eyebrow. 'Something like that,' she said, 'but with more blood and less homemaking.'
This was all too much for Jane, and now a great tiredness overcame her. She rubbed her face.
'The girl's had a big night,' Eddy said.
'Of course,' Porter said. 'Besides, she has a safe bed that awaits her, and we must take her there.'
Jane was grateful for their company as they left the barn. She realised now that it belonged to one of her neighbours. Using an oil lantern to light the way, Eddy led them to a waiting coach. It appeared to be a worn, but larger vehicle capable of seating up to six people. As well as the driver's box at the front, it also had a sizable boot at the rear. Rails on the top allowed for the storage of people or luggage.
'This is my coach, the Fruitful Vine,' Porter said, as they climbed aboard. 'A gift from a grateful client, she takes me on all my adventures.'
Unsure as to what adventures the doctor was referring to, Jane simply nodded. She was tired and craved to be home. Eddy sat on the weathered driver's box as she and Doctor Porter climbed inside. They followed the quiet road to Jane's home. The fog had lifted now, and early evening had settled. The moon cast the rolling countryside in silver light. Peering through the side window, Jane saw her home nestled among the chestnuts and firs. Much to her surprise, however, a great deal of light was spilling from the casement windows.
'My goodness,' she said. 'The whole house seems astir.'
'So it seems,' Porter said, frowning at the brightly lit home.
The coach swept up the carriage drive, and they climbed out. The front door was wide open, and her father, the Reverend George Austen, was in the hallway. Jane could hear her mother weeping beyond.
'Jane!' her father cried as they entered. 'Thank heavens, you're safe!' He gazed past her. 'And who are these people?'
Doctor Porter quickly introduced herself and Eddy. It was clear to Jane from the expressions on her father's face that he was also confused by the doctor's appearance. Still, a more significant issue was at hand. They entered the front parlour where her mother was seated, and introductions were made once more.
'I apologise for my lateness,' Jane said. 'I was visiting—'
'Have you seen your sister?' her mother interrupted.
'Cassandra is not here?'
'No! She was taken by that man!'
Jane stared at her parents in confusion. 'What man?'
'He was a European count,' Reverend Austen said. 'A man named Dracula.'