Page 9 of The Doctor and the Devil
“We cannot endure,” she whispered through soft sobs. “Pierre has too little work, and even with me taking in more mending and laundry, it is not enough to put food on the table.”
I allowed her some time to cry, awkwardly clutching her hand. When she sniffled a bit and seemed to recover some, I fetched her a glass of water and one of the meat pies Charlotte had brought. Jacqueline’s eyes widened at the sight of the food.
“No, Doctor, I cannot—it’s too much!”
I tutted and shoved the warm pastry into her hands. “I’ll send you with some more for Pierre, as well. You must try to eat something but do so slowly. Small bites, or you will retch. You mustn’t overtax your body.”
Tentatively, she nibbled a corner of the pie and closed her eyes in bliss. Her tears continued to fall, and I contemplated my next words.
“Pierre told me you were considering infecting yourself with the blood plague,” I continued. “And he wished for me to talk you out of it because he fears for your immortal soul.”
She turned watery eyes on me. “We cannot live on the charity of our neighborhood doctor forever. Blood is plentiful. Bread and money are not.”
I’d heard the same story from nearly every poor commoner who’d come through my door over the last few years. The people of France were desperate, and relief was far from their horizons. Some—too many, truly—had made the impossible decision to protect their souls and the possibility of Heaven’s mercy rather than agree to turn themselves into vampires. At the beginning of the epidemic, scores had died much faster than the plague could travel. Then, thousands began to face starvation, crippling poverty, and despair and refused to turn the other cheek. They found relatives, friends—even vampires for hire—to infect themselves with the blood plague. I did what I could to stem the tide of confusion, hunger, and misery sweeping across France by educating with as much as I knew, which was paltry.Insufficient.For every person I helped, ten more were beyond my help. Too often I felt like Sisyphus, forever rolling the same stone up the same mountain, unable to make any real progress. Or perhaps I was Pandora…doomed to live in a Hell of my own making for succumbing to the sin of curiosity.
For welcoming the devil into my bed…the same devil who would unleash this plague upon the world.
“I am not a priest, Jacqueline,” I said with more bitterness than I intended. “I cannot speculate about what happens to our souls when we are infected with the blood plague. I cannot say if it is a punishment from God or a temptation sent to test our faith. What I can say with certainty is that every answer you believe the blood plague offers is equal to yet one more hardship. It is not the flawless solution you wish it to be. You will give up the sunlight. You must subsist on blood, but murder is still a crime, and it takes years of practice to learn how to control yourself when you feed. And what happens if you cannot find someone to feed on? Blood whores are expensive—as is their right—and there are still too few farm animals to subsist on, thanks to the poor crop yields. This is all to say nothing of the fact that King Louis is reluctant to offer any legal or economic protections for vampire-kind, despite the efforts of the vampire emissary and the Order. From a lawful, legal stance, you would be considered less than human and unprotected. Vulnerable.”
Defeat leeched into Jacqueline’s expression as she took another bite of the meat pie.
“If it is your decision, however, I will not stop you. I am only here to ensure that people make the decisions that they believe are best. I would encourage you to find a supportive maker—one who has at least been a vampire for a few years and can help guide your journey. Someone you trust,” I said.
She finished the meat pie and licked the crumbs from her fingers. After taking a large drink of water, she stared hard at the ground between her feet.
“What about…” she paused, embarrassed. “Doctor, can vampires have children?”
Pain—hot and sharp—erupted in my chest. I swallowed the emotions trying to claw their way up my throat. Anxiously, I removed my spectacles and examined them for phantom smudges in a clumsy effort to avoid looking into Jacqueline’s expectant eyes.
“Vampires and humans cannot reproduce,” I replied, my voice wavering. “But two vampires may have children. It is extremely difficult but not impossible.”
Jacqueline sniffed and wiped the lingering tears from her cheeks.
“Pierre would never agree to the change,” she said forlornly. “And I desperately want a babe of my own.”
“It is worth considering that vampire babes are exceedingly rare and grow up much differently than humans,” I admitted.
“Have you met any?” she asked.
I winced seeing the hope on her face. A wave of despair washed over me, threatening to drown me in melancholy.
“Yes,” I answered. “I have.”
* * *
I counseled Jacqueline as best I could for the next half hour but couldn’t be sure what she would decide. I hoped Pierre would support her regardless of her decision. After stuffing bread, cheese, and more meat pies into her arms and sending her on her way, I returned to my ever-waiting research in my back room. I’d been trying to understand the plague itself—why it behaved the way that it did, how it existed inside the human body, and if it could be cured. I knew other physicians working for the Order were performing some of the same work, but I had insight that they did not.
I knew where it came from and how it all began.
Memories surfaced, unbidden and unwanted. I was sixteen, traveling southeast from Amsterdam through Vienna and onward with my father, the first Dr. Van Helsing—eminent surgeon, anatomist, physician, and scientist. To this day, I didn’t know how I was able to convince him to take me along on his travels, lecturing and meeting with royalty and the intellectual elite. Mother had wanted me to stay at home and practice the domestic arts to find a good marriage, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being sold off like some prize pig at a market of old, dull, ugly men. After months of begging, my father had relented. Looking back, I think he hadn’t wanted me to marry any of the fools my mother favored. He’d convinced her that he might find a suitable match in the wealthy houses he’d frequent upon his travels.
If only they’d known then. If onlyIhad known then.
I’d had an affinity for languages and for science, and becoming an impromptu apprentice to my father’s work had been the most wonderful dream. That was what I’d wanted out of life—not to become an idle broodmare spreading my legs at the whims of my future husband’s desires.
Things had been ideal until we’d entered the Hungarian city of Buda. After one of Papa’s lectures, we’d been approached by a young man working for the illustrious House of Dracul, a royal house from the nearby province of Wallachia. I remembered the invitation all too well.
“Will you come to dine at my master’s townhouse here in Buda? He and his family would dearly love to make your acquaintance, Doctor.”
