The Locket
By Vera Searles

t was midnight. Effra walked along the sidewalk near the river, her swirling black cloak sweeping aside the mist at her feet. In the closed shop windows she saw blurry reflections of the streetlights, but no image of herself appeared there. This night she had no heart for the hunt. She needed to feed, but the pain in her face was more demanding.

As she continued walking, each step jarred the ache in her face. The briny smell of the river was strong, and Effra heard the sharp slap of the water against the bank. Behind her, other footsteps sounded on the pavement, and ghostly shadows stirred among the drifting shrouds of fog. Effra slipped her fingers beneath her cloak to touch the protective locket that she wore round her neck. A legendary symbol of tiny batwings, outlined in emeralds, was embedded into the front of the locket, which had been passed down through the years to various members of the House of Dracul. Inside the hollow pendant were grains of earth from the sacred burial place of the Count. Effra was a distant cousin to the Master, and cherished the locket not only for its protective qualities, but also out of reverence for her ancestral heritage.

The footsteps drew closer. With her fingers on the locket, Effra turned and hissed into the fog. She heard the feet scamper away. They were other hunters of the night, like herself, but who always acquiesced to a member of the House of Dracul.

At the corner, she found the address she had been seeking. A small placard in the front window of the brick building announced: DR. HENRY QUILLAM, DENTAL SURGERY.

Effra’s raven sleek hair was misted with fine droplets as she touched her slim finger to the bell. The door opened almost at once, and in the dark wedge stood an elderly man with a froth of white hair. “Dr. Quillam?” Effra asked.

His eyes glittered like obsidian jewels. “Yes, my dear. Come in.”

As he held the door open wider, Effra stepped inside. “Thank you for seeing me without an appointment,” she said. “My name is Effra Lemieux.”

He nodded. “The message from your friends said you are in great pain.” He lifted her fingers to his thin, pale lips, and Effra felt a shiver go through her at his cold touch. “You are chilled, my dear,” he said. “Remove your damp cloak and come closer to the fire.”

He gestured toward the blazing fireplace, and Effra saw that his fingernails were filed to spiked points. As she removed her cloak she heard his sharp intake of breath. She disliked him immediately, not sure for which reason--his glittering eyes, his cold lips, or the way he was staring at the locket at her throat.

“You carry the sacred earth,” he whispered.

Effra covered the locket with her hand and lifted her chin haughtily. “I am of the House of Dracul.”

“Yes, of course, my dear,” he said with a slight bow. “It is my pleasure to serve you. Come, sit by the fire and warm yourself.”

Effra seated herself on the sofa while Dr. Quillam hung away her wrap. Then he prodded the logs in the fireplace with a poker.

Effra said, “Doctor, I am quite warm enough now. I wish you to treat my pain.”

He smiled, showing his long canines, and said, “Certainly, my dear.” His eyes never left her locket while he spoke. “It is said--according to the legend--that if earth from his sacred burial ground is sprinkled onto a fire, the Count himself will rise from the flames to renew his influence upon us and strengthen our powers.”

Effra stiffened her back. “Doctor, I did not come here to discuss legends. I came here for medical attention.”

“Yes, of course. I will begin at once. Excuse me while I prepare.” With one last furtive glance at the locket, he went into a nearby room and closed the door.

Effra looked about the room. It was sparsely furnished, with heavy window draperies pulled tightly against the night. The fire blazed, sending warmth through Effra’s bones, but the ache in her lower jaw persisted. From the other room she heard the sounds of the doctor bustling about - - water running, metal clinking, cabinet doors opened and closed. Effra listened carefully, for she didn’t trust him, even though her friends had assured her that he was the only dentist the hunters could depend on for complete secrecy.

After a few minutes he reappeared. “Come in, Miss Lemieux. Everything is ready.”

As she entered the office, Effra glanced around quickly. Everything seemed normal--the chair, the tray of sterile instruments, the bright overhead lights. When Dr, Quillam examined her mouth, a place that he touched sent her almost out of the chair with pain. “You are hurting me!” she cried.

He nodded. “The cavity has exposed the root and must be filled. You will need to be put under anesthesia.”

“No!” Effra protested. “I will stay awake.”

Dr. Quillam shrugged. “Very well, I will deaden only the area.” Effra felt the sharp sting of a needle. Dr. Quillam said, “It will take a little while to become numb. I will make you more comfortable.”

He pushed a lever and the chair tilted back, leaving Effra in a reclining position, looking up at the ceiling. When she shielded her eyes from the bright lights overhead, the doctor turned them down and away from her face. Her jaw began to tingle, and she asked, “How much longer must I wait?”

“Not long,” he replied. “Just relax. You might begin to feel sleepy.” His shimmering eyes roamed over her body, coming to rest on the locket. She covered it with her hand.

She didn’t want to sleep. That was for daytime. Night was for the hunt and she wanted to get about her business as quickly as possible. But her eyelids felt very heavy. She let them close, but it would be only for a brief moment, as her hand slid back into her lap…

Effra felt herself lifted, carried, enclosed by protective wings, and then dropped gently into the mist. She was on a wharf, for she heard the river splashing against the wooden pilings. In the distance a foghorn bellowed mournfully, while overhead, long diaphanous wings scraped the night sky as a large brown bat flew away. Effra tasted blood, but it was her own. She didn’t remember anything the doctor had done, but no matter--the pain in her face was gone. She was ready to hunt.

A cloudy figure loomed up before her. “Come, Effra, hurry,” the voice urged. “The ship is leaving to take us to my castle.”

From the thick fog the phantom stepped forward, and Effra gasped, recognizing him at once. “My lord and master,” she murmured.

He stood tall and straight, wearing the clothing of his era, the wooden stake that was embedded in his chest half hidden beneath his flowing black cloak. The Count took her arm. “My dearest cousin,” he said, steering her toward the waiting ship.

“How did you come here?” she asked.

He smiled, his long canines glistening in the fog. “Your locket held the sacred earth that brought me to life,” he replied. “When it was sprinkled upon the flames, I flew out in my guise of a bat to resume my voyage home to my castle. With you was a villain who wished to steal my powers, but I commanded him to cure your pain quickly, in exchange for his freedom. Come now, we must hurry to reach my home ground before my transformation fades.”

Effra felt for her locket. It was there, but it was open. She knew now that Quillam had stolen the earth during that brief moment when she slept.

The Count hurried her up the boarding ramp of the steamship, while longshoremen stacked boxes and hump-backed trunks on the deck. The smell of spices and tobacco was strong. Effra realized she was in another time, another place, transported back to the Count’s century by his mental abilities. She trembled with fear of any unknown place, always afraid that she would not be able to hunt there.

“Do not fear,” the Count whispered, reading her mind. “By the power of the blood we are united, and all will be well.”

They had no sooner boarded than the ship sailed, its powerful engines belching steam and pounding out rhythmic thumps below deck. As she stood at the rail, Effra watched the seas swell and roll apart before the ship, while she tasted the salt of the air and felt the damp seep into her clothing. The Count stood by her side, elegant and translucent in the curling mist. Several times he faded, then returned, a transient evanescence. Effra feared he would disappear completely, leaving her alone in a strange time and place. But she brushed aside her fears, for he seemed substantial at the moment.

Dawn edged the horizon in the distance. The Count kissed her fingertips. “Take cover, my dear cousin,” he said. “I will order the crew to make haste to bring me home before the day appears.”

Effra saw a nearby cabin door had been left open, and went inside before daylight could touch her.

When Effra awoke, all was quiet, and darkness hung about her like gauze netting. The ship’s engines were still, terrifying her that she might be alone. But then she heard the soft ping of wings against the porthole glass, and when she opened it, a beautiful large bat flew into the cabin and clung to her shoulder. The Count said, “Change quickly, my dear cousin Effra, for the ship’s crew has fallen back into the limbo of the past. My power to hold them was not as strong as the pull of time. We must now fly!” He touched his wingtip to her breast, and Effra felt her heartbeat speed to that of a bat. Her arms silkened into sleek, gossamer wings, and she flew into the night behind the Count.

During their flight, the Count sometimes faded slightly, while at other times he vanished completely, only to return to substance little by little. She feared that he would not return, and leave her on her own. She asked, “Can you withstand the gulf of time?”

“Yes!” he cried. “There! The castle lies on that mound of land straight ahead.”

As the two bats flew over the forest that surrounded the castle, Effra saw how the moonlight dangled through the trees to form skeleton shadows on the ground to welcome home the master.

When they landed on the railing of the highest tower, Effra saw thirteen boxes of earth within the room. The Count said, “Go now to feed, Effra. You will find a tempting scullery maid in the kitchen.”

“Will you not feed?”

“I am of the past and have no need to feed any more, for my protoplasm is unreal.” Then he changed, becoming again the tall, handsome man in black cape and silk high hat. “I will await you in my sacred ground.” He smiled as he uncovered one of the boxes, and lay down.

Effra changed from the bat shape, being a lot more comfortable in her woman’s body. A lit candle floated before her, and she followed to make her way down the darkened stairs. She walked through rooms filled with Victorian furniture and many portraits on the walls, and through a library filled with old, rare books. The hallways echoed with the sound of her heels clicking on the stone floors.

Finally she reached the kitchen, where a scullery maid worked at the sink. Effra attacked quickly, sating herself but only dazing the maid and not depleting her, for it was not Effra’ s practice to drain her victims. Licking the salty blood from her lips she started back to the tower room.

In the hallway, she realized something had changed. The odor of rot and age assailed her. The stone floor was littered with rubble and debris, and the walls were encrusted with dirt and dead roaches. When she walked past the rooms, she saw the furniture had turned moldy, and the portraits were draped in an interlay of quivering cobwebs. The books in the library had become mummified. The stairs groaned and creaked. As her candle guttered out, alone in the dark, Effra screamed, “Count! Cousin! Where are you?” There was no answer, only the chittering of rats behind the walls.

Her heart thumped wildly. Effra felt her way along the stair railing back to the tower room. Splotches of moonlight slanted through the grime-scabbed windowpanes, and Effra saw that there were no longer thirteen boxes of dirt. There were now only two. Each had the cover removed, and in one, the skeleton of the Count lay grinning up at her. The wooden stake that pierced his chest crawled with woodworms.

“No!” Effra cried, sinking down to her knees. Time had returned to the present. Her beloved cousin was dead for over a century. But what of the extra box of earth? “Oh, no!” Effra gasped. It was for her. Some quirk, some anomaly in the reconstruction of the present time, had assumed that she was part of his era, part of the undead…

She must think, and, shivering, she wished for a fire to warm her thoughts. In the corner fireplace, some very old kindling and decayed logs would easily burn. Effra looked for matches and found them on the mantel. As she lit the fire, she recalled the legend. Soon after the flames blazed high, she threw bits of the sacred earth from the Count’s coffin onto the fire. Time shifted backward again, and the Count stepped out while the skeleton in the coffin faded to dust.

Elegant and handsome, the Count said, “My dear Effra. Did you feed well?”

“I wish to return home,” she said.

“Home?” He seemed puzzled.

“Yes. To the United States. To my city there, in the twenty-first century, where I have friends, a home, and places to hunt each night.”

“I see.” The Count cupped his chin with his palm and stared into the fire for a long moment. Then he turned to put his arm around Effra. “My dear cousin, if I transport you there by the powers of my mind, you will arrive at the same place from which I took you away--the office of the evil doctor. Are you prepared to deal with that villain?”

Effra nodded. “Yes. But first, let me fill my locket again.” She pinched sacred earth into her pendant and closed it tightly. “I’m ready,” she said.

The Count sighed. “Very well. It will be immediate. I shall miss you, dear cousin Effra. Safe journey, and always hunt well.” He stared into her eyes and vanished.

Cold fingers of fog pulled her through a drafty corridor of night into the sitting room of Dr. Quillam, where the fire blazed brightly. The dentist’s eyes glittered wide. “Miss Lemieux! A moment ago I was ordered by the Count to treat your pain, in payment for stealing the earth from your locket. Then he became a large bat and snatched you up to carry you away. Did you--are you--free of pain?”

With her hand covering her locket, Effra nodded.

“Oh yes, Dr. Quillam, I am, and I’m ready to feed.” With renewed strength she walked toward him and smiled, her canines gleaming in the firelight.

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