Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 19: Make Thy Tempered Grief Less Wild

Will steps out into the courtyard, pulling his jacket more tightly around himself. The moisture in the misty air makes his curls delightfully erratic; with no barber except the one in the village, his hair has grown out, feathering over the tops of his ears and spilling down the back of his neck. He looks more like Iliya every day, or what my beloved husband would have looked like at this age if he hadn't been taken from me.

I watch him from the kitchen window, waiting to make an opportune exit to run into him. We haven't spoken since that wild night in the library where he fell asleep while I was reading only to wake up from a nightmare desperate to tell me his truth; he is a former inspector for Scotland Yard, and he solves crimes by empathizing with criminals. Specifically, murderers. His final case was to catch a man called Jack the Ripper who murdered sex workers in Whitechapel. Will had enlisted the help of an actress to use as an informant and, eventually, as bait. She'd been killed and Will blamed himself, even though he put an end to the murders by unloading his firearm into the Ripper himself.

I don't know what prompted him to tell me all of this. Needless to say, it was welcome news, knowing that we murderers are all in good company now.

The only thing that worries me is his health. His mental agitation, the sleepwalking, the nightmares and visions and fevers – I know now that part of why he smells so delicious to me is because there is something amiss with the chemicals in his body. The darkness in him has reawakened, and as much as I would love to nurture that darkness, feed it, watch it grow under my careful hand, I will not let it consume him if it means he will lose himself entirely.

Or die.

I am stalling. I know what Bedelia and Antony want, what I promised them, and I know that I cannot leave him now. He cannot travel like this, with or without me.

A solution must present itself. I have not come so far to lose him now. Will has not come so far to lose me.

So, I bide my time, and I focus on other matters. The boy, for one. His name is Nikolai. I found him skulking in the woods outside the castle, spying on Avigeya as she hung out the washing. I thought, perhaps, he was a typical brigand, lying in wait to rob or rape. But there was something in his eyes that caught my attention, and I did not rip his throat out immediately.

I was curious, so I mesmerized him. He told me his sister was murdered by the Shrike, and he has followed Avigeya all the way from Russia, all across these mountains and lands, and found her at last. He wants answers. Her father is dead, but he is determined to find the Daughter of the Shrike, a girl who looks so much like his sister, who tricked her off of a train at a deserted stop so that Avigeya's father could murder her. They honored every part of her, from meat to hair to bone, consuming her entirely.

One has to admire his persistence, though he is still working up the courage to confront Avigeya.

I let him go, erasing his memory of me and leaving encouragement in my wake. I nurtured the righteous seed in him, whispering to it as it slumbered in the rich, fertile earth of his heart, helping it blossom. I think Avigeya has more than a chance to face him herself, and it would be best for her to do so, instead of relying on me to make this problem disappear. After all, I may be going to London soon, and she must learn to care for herself. There may be more vengeful relatives on their way. I want to do right by her; spreading her wings must be encouraged.

I increase her chances by mesmerizing her as well, so that she will always carry a knife. I'm interested to see how things go. It's important to give children some responsibility as a path toward independence. I remember doing similar things for Mischa. Granted, they didn't involve murder, but the spirit is the same.