When she looked at Jonathan, his gaze flicking away, it became clear that each man in this room knew the real cause of Lucy’s illness. The moment in the coach, weeks earlier, returned to her: Jonathan looking in his Polyglot dictionary for a word spoken by the villagers. Strigoi.
“Miss Murray, I’m sure the travel took much out of you,” Dr. Seward said, his voice gentle. “Why don’t you get some rest, and we can reconvene in the morning?”
Anger boiled within her as she looked at the group of men before her. She had spent much of her life shaped by the will of others, never wanting to cause distress or discomfort—but she saw where that had led her. She had nearly lost her life, nearly spent the remainder of her days confined to that dungeon. And now, she refused to leave such things in the hands of men.
“No,” she said simply.
Dr. Seward blinked, as though startled to get such a response.
Van Helsing sighed wearily.
“I am not a maiden in need of rest. I am a grown woman.” She stood taller then, pushing against the old parts of her, theones that whispered in her mind not to upset, not to be unreasonable. “Dr. Seward, I have the utmost respect for you, but I will be made aware of every aspect of Lucy’s case.” She looked at Van Helsing then, her eyes firm as she said, “All of it.”
Dr. Seward gave her a weak smile then, as if unsure whether revealing everything to her would truly be poignant. “What is it you wish to know?”
“What is the nature of her ailment?” Mina asked. “Let us start there.”
Dr. Seward flicked a glance at Van Helsing. The two held each other’s gaze for a moment before Van Helsing gave a slow nod.
“Well,” Dr. Seward began, “she has all the symptoms of anemia—fatigue, shortness of breath, a pale complexion, an irregular pulse.”
“And yet you do not believe this is merely anemia,” she said.
The man took a deep breath. “I believe the anemia is a symptom of something greater. She has lost a great amount of blood and has continued to do so even when there is no logical explanation of how.”
“A vampire,” she said. Dr. Seward gave a slow nod as if he too did not want to speak the word aloud. “And how do you intend to treat it?”
“Well, we already have,” Dr. Seward said. “It started with tonics, but when her condition worsened, we performed a blood transfusion.”
“That didn’t help?”
“It did at first,” he said. “But one morning, it was as though she had never received the transfusion at all. Her symptoms returned hastily and she was on the brink of death. It was as though—” The doctor paused, looking at Jonathan, then Van Helsing. “As though she was nearly drained dry.”
Mina’s chest tightened at the thought of poor Lucy. “If Lucy has been here, under your care, how could that even be possible?”
“That’s what we are trying to uncover,” the doctor said. “We have had someone with Lucy round the clock. She has not been alone for even a moment. And yet, her condition will worsen with haste, and she has no recollection of what could have occurred.”
Van Helsing gave a low grunt of acknowledgment, as though hearing this for the first time. “It seems as though we need more security around Lucy, then,” he said.
“I’m in agreement,” Dr. Seward said, “but unfortunately, I’ve been here more than I’ve been in attendance with my other patients. I simply do not have more time to give. Why, just a few nights ago, a patient escaped the asylum.”
“Good God,” Jonathan said. “That hardly sounds safe.”
“Don’t fret, Mr. Harker, he was found the following morning,” Dr. Seward said. “He’d made his way to a nearby abbey and was muttering to himself there with his . . . collection.”
“Wait, Carfax Abbey?” Jonathan asked, his voice one of grave alarm now. Dr. Seward nodded. “That’s the property the Count purchased some weeks ago.”
“This patient,” Van Helsing said, “how has his health been since the escape? Is it possible he had an encounter with the Count?”
Dr. Seward frowned. “He seems perfectly fine. Well, I should say, he seems his usual self. He came back with no injuries or ailments that we could see.”
Mina swallowed, her mind returning to that strange dream she’d had a few days prior. The dream which felt so unnatural, as though she were seeing through the eyes of someone else entirely.
Nausea churned through her gut.
“Dr. Seward,” she said, “might I meet this patient? The one who escaped.”
Van Helsing looked at her then, as though suspicious. She still hadn’t told him of the dream, had tried to forget about it entirely. It wasn’t unfounded to imagine she might have nightmares after all she’d endured—but to imagine it could somehow be connected to the Count had seemed unlikely. Yet, now, hearing about this patient, the abbey . . .
