Page 52 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“How is that possible?”
“I have no idea!” she said excitedly. “But think of it like this: your body is a coach and four. When the plague comes upon you, it is as if the driver falls asleep at the reins. The horses continue to pull the carriage along without the driver steering, with often disastrous results.”
I nodded grimly. “But the need for blood as sustenance?”
“I believe it is a property of the plague. Somehow, in order to reproduce itself, which must surely be the drive of everything on earth, a regular human diet is insufficient. It requires more blood to keep the body going. Isn’t that amazing?”
I turned a skeptical face on her. “I wouldn’t call it amazing. Apocalyptic, perhaps. Sinister, definitely. Hopeless, as well.”
“Oh, but you’re so wrong, Lieutenant—er, I mean, Antoine. I find it is anything but hopeless,” she said earnestly.
“Are you suggesting that the vampires of the world may recover and become human again?”
She considered my question. “Truthfully, I do not know. Perhaps not. But after all, is it so bad for the infected to remain vampires?”
“Doctor, that’s blasphemous! You really think it’s permissible for people to live by feeding solely from another? Such a parasitic existence is frankly damnable.”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “My friend,” she chuckled. “I wonder if you only feel that way because it is the poor feeding off of each other, as opposed to the aristocracy feeding off of them?”
I opened my mouth to argue but reconsidered. She was right, of course, and the irony of it made me feel sick.
“I never thought of it that way,” I said. “But still, think of what it means for humans overall. What happens when there is no blood left?”
“Ah, thatisthe question I hoped you would arrive at. What, indeed? What would happen if a vampire fed on another vampire? Or on another species, for example? These are all questions that must be answered. How can we understand the true nature of a malady if we do not understand all the variables?”
“You’re speaking of Charlotte,” I observed. “What do you know of her condition?”
She was quiet for a moment, peering down the road ahead of us. The afternoon had waned into a beautiful rose-colored dusk. As lovely as it was, I could not ignore the premonition of unease I felt at seeing the gathering night.
“As I said earlier, I have seen something similar before, but it was many years ago. It wasn’t exactly the same circumstances, but the symptoms were very much alike.”
I leaned forward in my saddle, trained on her every word. Her eyes flicked to me, as though she was nervous of how I would respond.
“You care for her, do you not?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “We lead different lives. It would be best if we stayed away from each other.”
The words sounded false even to my own ears. Van Helsing quirked a smile at me and nodded knowingly.
“So you say. Well, then you should know of her fate. I believe Charlotte has become something entirely different. Perhaps she is unique—I cannot say for certain. She has a form of the plague, but it is not vampirism. She does not thirst for blood. I believe that when she was infected with the beast’s claws and vampire’s bite that night in the woods, somehow, the plague took on a new form. The supernatural essences in her body merged and shifted. We might call her a werewolf because that’s a familiar mythology to us, but the reality is much different. She has mutated. She has become something altogether different from what we know. If we continue with my runaway coach metaphor, it would be like saying her coachman fell asleep and her carriage careened out of control, but then was suddenly hijacked by bloodthirsty highwaymen.”
“That’s a horrible prognosis,” I said grimly, suddenly reconsidering my decision to leave her. Guilt and regret warred with my resolve.I should turn around and get back to her—help her figure this out.“What can be done for her? How do we regain control of her carriage?”
“I’m afraid that is up to her. She must learn. I do not think anyone else can do much for her, except to help and support her.” She eyed me meaningfully. “And to love her.”
“What you say sounds absurd,” I argued, ignoring the tail of her comment. “And blasphemous—against God and science. Surely someone can help her—surelyyoucan help her. There must be a treatment, or a ritual, or…or…something, dammit! How can you be so sure about these things? How do you know all this?”
The news settled on me with the heavy weight of despair and Tartuffe tensed. He nickered softly, and Van Helsing’s mare responded, nudging closer.
“Shh, easy, Lucy,” the doctor crooned. “Antoine, you’re worrying the horses. Calm yourself.”
The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rose, and without thinking, I reached for my pistols.
“Tartuffe is a warhorse, Doctor,” I said softly. “He does not care a whit about my anxiety. We are being watched. Do you have any weapons on you?”
Van Helsing’s eyes widened in alarm. “Watched? Weapons? Certainly not! I’m a doctor; my entire purpose is tosavelives, not to end them. Weapons, pah! Although, I suppose if you consider the surgical instruments that I keep in my medical bag, but they are…”
Before she could finish her sentence, we heard movement in the woods to the left of us. As if on cue, four of thebêtesmaterialized from the bushes and closed in on us. I did not see their leader, Hugo, and I wondered if the beast had made short work of him after Charlotte and I had made our escape. As they’d caught up with me again and Charlotte had been gravely wounded in the process, I ruminated that our escape had been for naught.
