Jane's mind was still reeling.
'Future?' she said.
'Yes, Jane,' Dracula said, settling onto a box opposite her. 'Our future. What man wants to rule an empire alone? What man would want to? We can rule this harmonious world forever. Can you imagine what it will be like? There are already stirrings of a great industrial revolution. You've seen some of it yourself: the spinning jenny, the water frame, and others. The power of steam has even been harnessed to pump water from mines. One day, it will be used to move people across vast continents.
'You and I can grow this world of wonders together. Like watchful parents over our children, we'll build the perfect society.'
Jane clenched her fists. 'This is because of this woman, Mara?' she said. 'This woman you supposedly loved?'
'I did love her,' Dracula said, staring at Jane. 'I still do.'
'That was a long time ago, and I'm not her.'
'You are her.' Dracula vaulted to his feet and began pacing. 'You can't know the multitude of faces I've seen across the ages. But if you live long enough, as I have, you see the same faces again. It is reincarnation. Those ancient Egyptians, my ancient forebears, were right. We are reborn again and again.' He riveted his gaze on Jane. 'You are Mara. You don't know it, but I do. Our minds are wiped clean each time we're reborn. But I know you.'
Jane shook her head.
Dracula dropped to his knees before her. 'Are you afraid of my motivations?'
'You've murdered and maimed throughout history,' Jane said. 'Your life is built on death.'
'Then rule with me! Think of the influence you can have on my actions. If I am too bloodthirsty or overzealous, you can provide the stopper to my passions. You can influence my actions so that the bloodshed is kept to a minimum.'
Jane stared out of the hut into the gloomy tunnel. Could there be truth in Dracula's words? Was this invasion of Britain just the first step in a whole new way of life? There had always been rulers. There had always been those who were ruled. Her own station in life was one of servitude. She could not take on the duties of a man. The doors of a thousand professions were slammed shut in her face.
If she ruled at his side, perhaps she could temper Dracula's passions. She could keep the bloodshed and destruction to a minimum. It might take a few years for the old ways to fall away, but then order would be restored.
She thought of Max. Dear beautiful Max. She loved him with all her heart, but she would sacrifice her love to save him. She would sacrifice anything to keep him safe.
'What about Doctor Porter and Max and Eddy?' Jane asked.
'They will be protected. I swear it.'
'And my parents and family?'
'Harm will never befall them.'
They will become vampires, Jane thought. I will be a vampire, and so will they. We will live together for centuries in perfect harmony.
As Dracula had said: peace in our time.
There would be no more sunrises. No more blue skies. No more birds singing in the mornings. No more laughter from children.
To never see another dawn, Jane thought. What a sacrifice to make.
But perhaps it was worth it for peace. Even now, men were fighting and dying in distant places. They would never see their families again. And who had sent them to those distant battlefields? Their leaders. Those who ruled sent the innocent to be slaughtered while they languished in palaces and played games with people's lives.
What about art? Would art endure? And what would it look like?
And what of my writing?
'Dracula,' she said. 'Who will read my books?'
'Everyone,' he enthused. 'Everyone will admire and love you. You will be adored for all time. Everything you write will be published. You will become the greatest writer the world has ever seen.'
'And what about those who don't like my books?'
'Everyone will love them.'
'But those who dislike them?'
'They will not exist.'
Jane peered into the vampire's face—and smiled. The smile turned into a chuckle, then into a boisterous roar of laughter. She laughed so hard she could not stop herself. The tears finally ran down her face, and she had to brush them away. Peering up into Dracula's face, she saw it had become more stonelike than ever.
'You almost had me,' she said. 'You almost convinced me.'
'Then let me hear your objections.'
'They will love my books,' Jane mused to herself. 'All those millions of readers will love my books—all of them. But art is born in disagreement. It's made in the fires of discontent. The worst of it never challenges that which has gone before. The best teeters at the edge of creation. It fights. It wages battle upon the status quo.
'And sometimes it fails.' Jane Austen shook her head. 'No, it fails often, and mightily, and grandly. But there is courage in that failure. It's the courage of an artist putting themselves before the masses and proudly declaring: here I am. Here is the work I have created. Their work forges further than anything before. Their reach takes us with it. An artist gambles everything—poverty, mockery, humiliation—and in doing so, takes all of us to places new and unseen.
'Count Dracula,' Jane said. 'I do want people to love my books, but I want people to hate them too. I want them to debate my words, argue their meaning, and apply whatever meaning they derive from them to their own lives. Art isn't born in a stagnant pond. It's born in a raging river of discontent. And the greatest of art is born in the cataclysmic upheaval of thoughts and worlds and lives.'
The vampire exhaled a weary, ancient breath. 'And the people who are sacrificed along the way? The victims of war?'
'Then we are to blame because we do not choose better leaders. We must hold our leaders, and ourselves, to account.'
'Mara,' Dracula said, his face furious. 'You are a fool!'
'Perhaps I am,' Jane said. 'But that's my decision—and what a glorious thing it is to make that choice.'
Snarling, he seized Jane's lapel and dragged her close, so their gazes locked. 'I should use my powers to control you!' he roared. 'I should bend you to my will!'
'And you promised you would not do such a thing,' Jane said, smugly. 'I see the value of your promises.'
He seemed on the verge of losing control. Tightening his grip on Jane's cloak, he seemed ready to kill her when the sound of a gunshot reverberated about the mine's interior.