TWENTY-SIX
The gang convened at noon in the downstairs library, where a first printing of Dracula still lay on the table beneath the lamp, with its garish yellow cover and scarlet lettering.
Uncle Art, Uncle Joe, Uncle Abraham, Mrs Harker, Quincey, Doctor Seward, Chessie and I.
The presence of That Book drew my thoughts to the ones who weren’t there. Quincey Morris, Quincey Harker’s namesake, who plunged a knife into Dracula’s heart at the cost of his own life. Lucy Westenra, dead, risen, and dead again. Jonathan Harker, who survived only to be blown up on the Front.
But this time, Clare was there, too. She insisted on it, and no wonder. In just a bit more than a day, she had learned about the things that go bump and been forced to confront the reality of one trying to murder her child
