Chapter 7

“McKinley is a meddler, mark my words. A meddler and an officious busybody. But he won’t meddle in this, never you fear!” Theodore Roosevelt ejaculated, mustache bristling and smoke puffing into the air as he waggled his cigar in the general direction of Van Helsing as the two of them stood together in the massive gantry that had once been set aside for holding cargo earmarked for ports and bustling towns along the European coast. But with most of Europe a smoldering ruin and millions of refugees spreading outwards from the center of world politics, the Americans (ever the mercantilists) had begun to shift themselves from selling to Europe to selling literally anywhere else – this had transformed the warehouse, momentarily, into a site full of cargoes bound for the burgeoning Japanese markets, or China, or South America.

Then, with an idle sweep of their power and might, the Martians had undertaken what the Americans were calling ‘Black Sunday.’ Their flying machines, operating in groups of three or four, had swept across the Atlantic, to the unsuspecting shores of America. There, they had begun to systemically destroy the ports and the ships of the American industrial cities. Their heat rays had melted steel, cracked concrete, set fire to wood, boiled water, and incinerated almost a thousand American civilians and more than two thousand American sailors. The only reason why the slaughter had not been worse had been that the American fleets had been at port – large portions of their crews had been ashore.

That hadn’t made the disaster any better.

Van Helsing coughed, softly, as the smoke that the American statesman was waving around reached his nose. He covered his mouth with his handkerchief, and said: “Who are you being, in this government, Mr. Roosevelt, again?”

Arriving by flying machine had not been the most ... gentle way for Dr. Van Helsing to introduce himself to the United States. The entire country had been on edge for the next sighting of the invaders from Mars, and had begun to contrive what they thought of as a reasonable defense in the form of cannons and guns aimed at the sky, with fused shells. Through sheer preponderance of firepower and some luck, they had managed to rattle Van Helsing’s flying machine with near misses and shrapnel. That hadn’t been enough to damage the vehicle, but it had made controlling the finnicky thing more difficult than Van Helsing had expected – ending with him crashing in the middle of downtown New York.

He had been surrounded by armed police and even some citizens and emerged with his hands up, coughing. There, he had been whisked off for interrogation, interrogation that had gone through several branches of the army, the government, President McKinley himself, and now, at last, he was back here, at the warehouse where the flying machine was being examined by a swarm of American technicians, directed by an fiftysomething, jowly man in a fine suit who kept obviously checking his pocket watch.

The technicians were at work taking the machine apart with as much gentleness as could be managed, revealing the internal workings of the wings and the cockpit. The ferocious complexity of the gears, the levers, the wires, and the other connective tissues within the vehicle was remarkable as seeing a human body on a dissection table, but Van Helsing was less interested in the machine than he was in this Roosevelt, who had reacted to Van Helsing’s question by swelling up like an inflatable balloon.

“I am Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, formerly of the Rough Riders, you may have heard of us over there in Germany?” Roosevelt said, and despite ending the sentence with a question mark, he still somehow managed to sound as if he was stating a fact of the world. Van Helsing coughed.

“I ... am afraid I do not pay the mind of too the wars in these parts of the world, who ... who were you at war with? The Canadians? You fought them before, yes?”

“The Spanish,” Roosevelt said, waggling his cigar at him. “The damned Spanish were pushing around our little brothers in Cuba – and McKinley sat on his hands for a full year. Well. An American doesn’t need orders to go helping out around the world. I founded the Rough Riders on my own recognizance. If it weren’t for the Maine exploding, I suppose we’d have fought in the war alone, but in the end, we were backed up by the Atlantic Squadron – the poor fellows...” He shook his head.

“Ah...” Van Helsing nodded. “You are a kind of ... mercenary?”

“A volunteer!” Roosevelt huffed. “And that is why I am here, today, with my associate, Dr. Edison.”

“That is the true Dr. Edison?” Van Helsing asked, turning to the catwalk’s railing, peering down with new interest at the overseer of the project going on in the warehouse. “Remarkable! An electrical genius, is he not?”

“Yes, I lured him out of his Florida home to New York by threatening him with Tesla,” Roosevelt said. “Because I’m the only American who can see that these squiddy fellows you Germans are having such troubles with, they’re going to be the big row, the thing that America can use to really take her place in the sun.” He stubbed out the cigar against the side of the railing, twisting it with a harrumph. “We’ve sat on our hands for too long, Dr. Van Helsing, and the world needs us to show her what we can do.”

“This is most excellent news you are telling me,” Dr. Van Helsing said, nodding eagerly. “You think you can get your President to take these Martians seriously?”

“Oh, McKinley is taking them seriously. Largest increase in the War Department’s budget since the War between States,” Roosevelt said. “Funds for fortresses! Funds for cannons! Funds for fire fighting levies and for mines in the harbors and funds for trenches. But not a single fund for attack! No funds for bringing the fight to Europe, where the war will be won!” He shook his head. “Absurd. You don’t win a war by sitting back and letting enemies beat themselves against your fortifications. You win, as the French say, with elan. With the attack!”

Van Helsing nodded, slowly. His lips pursed. “And thus ... you...”

“I have managed to call upon the great people of this glorious nation and once again, I am creating a volunteer regiment. But this flying machine you have here shows that it is a new kind of world, a new kind of war. So, it will be a new kind of regiment. With the electrical genius there...” He nodded to Edison. “And funding from every automobile manufacturing, train running, oil-fracking Rockefeller and Carnegie in the country, we’ll be able to figure these contraptions out, make our own, and show these red men from Mars what’s what.” His eyes positively glowed as he looked down at the machine being deconstructed, his hands gripping onto the railing of the catwalk.

Van Helsing beamed. “Fantastic! Most excellentness! Now, about the vampires?”

Roosevelt slowly turned to him.

“ ... the what?”

“Thank god for Jonathan Harker,” Dracula said, shaking her head as she stood on the hill that overlooked the winding convoy that was cutting north across Romania. She had taken a feminine form purely for her own whims as far as Mina could tell – but to hear that husky, seductive voice say those words, in that order, in that tone of voice actually caused her to stumble and fell forward a bit, her arms flailing. Mina herself was dressed in a simple shift, having abandoned all of her more fashionable and human-centric clothing back at the castle, to be burned by the Martian heat rays. She was bare foot like an urchin ... and yet, she didn’t feel anything but the pleasant energy of a long, enjoyable walk, despite the speed and the harsh pace required for the evacuation.

“I ... what?” she asked.

Dracula laughed – her eyes traveling from the convoy to the landscape of lonely, abandoned farms that they were moving through, to Mina. She took Mina’s arm, helping her fully upright. “We have, in total, twelve vampires, each requiring their own coffins, collections of Earth from our native lands, blood, and the blood must be refreshed, with mortals needing to get their dosages of album vitae, which must be made. Your ... fiance...” She grinned. “Has compiled this.” She reached into her vest, then tugged out a small portfolio, which she allowed to open onto her palm, revealing the papers and documents within.

Mina took the portfolio, her brow furrowing as her eyes skimmed along the neat, even handwriting of her fiance, pausing only momentarily to marvel at how easy it was to read, despite the entire convoy traveling by moonless, cloudy night. The papers listed vampires, mortals who had been given the album vitae, the times the drinks had been taken, the amount of tasks and duties taken by the vampires (marked with tiny check marks to indicate how many times, say, Lucy had transformed into a wolf or enhanced her strength.) There were also documents listing precisely the amount of Earth that was being transported, and ... as she flipped to the last few pages, she saw that there were lists of ammunition, clothing, food, medicine, and other supplies required for the human refugees.

These lists were the most hazy – simply because the convoy had been gathering refugees in drips and drabs, the people coming to them from the forests and the ruins, simply because they were organized and had food. When they discovered the vampires, they normally were too shocked to do much more than meekly accept their protection ... and after a few days, when they realized that they were not going to be consumed or abused, they relaxed. Even here, though, Jonathan’s diligence was present. He had listed, beside each name, the shorthand of their languages spoken, their skills and their age.

Mina closed the portfolio with a shy smile. “He still can’t even turn into a wolf, you know?”

“Not everyone needs to become a wolf, you know?” Dracula said, chuckling as she slid her finger underneath Mina’s chin. “Unless you want him to become a wolf for ... other reasons?”

Mina’s cheeks heated. “What on Earth might you be talking about, Vlade?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, then looked away. “We should be reaching one of the big cities soon – I think either Cluj-Napoca or Tismisora ... they’re quite a ways apart, but we didn’t precisely have time to get exact directions.” She rubbed her chin. “Either way, we shall need to bury ourselves before dawn comes.”

Mina nodded. “What is our plan once we get to these places?”

“Fort up and study,” Dracua said, then paused. “And ... do any other services that may be required.”

Mina felt a sudden urge to ask her something – but the words died on her tongue. She choked back the first abortive sentence, then stammered: “W-Well, I’d best get back to my post.”

Dracula took her hand, drew it to her lips, then kissed her knuckles. “Very good, Mina.”

Mina slid away, her bare feet padding along rocks and hard earth, careless of what would have slashed her open when she had been mortal. Instead, she hurried to the convoy itself – and was momentarily stunned at the surreality of it all. Dracula’s servants were now a small core of disaffected, casual acceptance surround by shell shocked refugees from places the Martians had destroyed or depopulated in their aerial campaign. All of them were loaded upon wagons that they had constructed in a feverish hurry after the realization that the Martians were about to fall upon Dracula’s castle.

The wagons were broad and wide, with enough room for supplies and people both. They would have required whole teams of horses to drag normally, but rather than rustling up some of the dumb brutes, they instead relied upon their own strength. The first wagon was dragged by George Wells and his sister in law, Claire. Both of them had transformed into wolves of equestrian proportion and size, to more easily hitch themselves to the wagons, and they plodded forward while engaging in low conversation with one another. The second wagon was dragged by the Elphinstones, while the third was handled by Miss Elphinstone and Lucy. That was also where Jonathan was perched, his eyes closed, his face a focused mask of pure concentration.

Mina sprang from the side of the road and landed beside him on the wagon, her feet barely making a noise as her fiance’s face grew more and more tight with focus. He trembled – and Lucy chuckled, turning her massive, silvery wolf head over her shoulder to think at Mina. He’s been trying for almost an hour now. If you touch him, he may explode.

Mina smiled, then touched her fiance on the shoulder.

Jonathan yelped, his eyes popping open as he jerked back, stumbling and almost falling over the side of the wagon. The women who were sitting near the front of the wagon chuckled, whispering to one another, and Mina laughed herself, grabbing onto Jonathan’s arm, hauling him back before he fell off. “I’m about to switch places with Lucy,” she said, her voice soft. “ ... still having trouble with shifting?”

“I will get it soon, don’t you worry, fear, I mean, I...” Jonathan stammered.

Mina smiled at him.

Jonathan closed his mouth. “It’s just ... I ... don’t want to be a wolf...”

“Why not?” Lucy asked, looking back over her head.

“I don’t particularly want to be a wolf either,” Miss Elphinstone said, huffing slightly as she continued to pad forward – her paws leaving deep imprints on the dirt track that they were heading along. “However, needs must, Mr. Harker. We have to rise to the occasion we find ourselves in, no matter how strange.”

Mina shrugged her shoulders, then pushed herself closer to Jonathan, her rump sliding until she was almost perched on his thigh. She looped an arm around his shoulder, then leaned herself against him. “Maybe, if it is the fact you don’t want to be a wolf that is causing you trouble, you just need better motivation?”

“What motivation could be better than not being killed by Martians?” he asked, then laughed, his hand sliding along Mina’s back. Gently.

Mina blinked – and realized, with a start, that she was happy?

Oh, she was on the run through Eastern Europe, and a vampire, and the whole world was being burned down. But she was back with Jonathan, and it felt as if the two of them were beginning to find something of the easy camaraderie that they had had ... but...

She’d never have been on his lap like this. And she’d never be wearing something this sheer. And her hand would never have fallen between his thighs, to cup him through his pants, as she whispered in his ear. “I’m thinking something a bit more ... enjoyable than fear, Jonathan.” His eyes – God, does he know how beautiful his eyes are now that they’re red? she thought - widened and he gulped as his nose flared. He remained perfectly still while Mina leaned down close. Her lips pressed to his charcoal gray throat and she felt his lack of pulse, his utter stillness. She grazed her fangs against his skin, feeling giddy excitement at how intently he was watching her.

Mina kissed up his jaw, to his pointed ear. There, she murmured. “You think you don’t want to be a wolf? So, you don’t ... want to be feral?” Her finger slid up to the hem of his pants. She pushed against his belt, then wriggled two fingers, three fingers, all four of her fingers into his pants, gliding them along the smoothness of his pelvis. She paused at the thin, silky wisps of his pubic hair as she nibbled on the edge of his ear. “You don’t want to be powerful?”

“M-Mina...” he squirmed ever so slightly. “A-Anyone might-”

She bit down on his ear, teasing the edge of him with her teeth, and Jonathan’s voice died in his throat. His eyes half closed and she crooned. “You don’t want to have a thick red dick and a nice, heavy knot? You don’t want to mount me like an animal and pin me down and slide that wolfcock into my eager pussy-”

Mina! His voice echoed in her mind, full of purest shock. Mina herself was shocked – but she slid down the slope of depravity, enjoying the momentum as she kissed his ear, her tongue flicking up to the tip as her hand pushed down and she gripped the base of his cock ... and felt the heavy, ready knot that was throbbing there. She felt the tickle of fur against her nose as she spoke in his mind.

You don’t want to fuck my brains out and knot me and howl your pleasure as you fill me with cum?

Jonathan shuddered as his cold cock swelled in her palm and she felt the furred sheath at his base, his pants slipping away into a fog as his body flowed underneath her, like water. It was not as sickening as she might have thought, even as she bore him down, pinned him onto his back as he made a confused yelp noise. Her hand slid free at the last second and she pressed herself against him as he lay, splayed on his back, his tail drumming against the wagon, his wolfcock caught between her belly and her shift, hooked on her. She grinned down at his long snout and Jonathan blinked at her.

“Oh my god...” She whispered.

He’d become ... a dog.

Not a wolf.

He’d become a large, rather perplexed looking whippet, with a long nose, a gray-brown coat that was spotted, and a small drumming tail.

I did it! He gasped.

“I ... after a fashion, honey, yes,” Mina said, trying to cover her giggling – and as she leaned backwards, Jonathan wriggled and squirmed. He didn’t so much get his paws under him as did he manage to roll over the side of the wagon and landed in the mud beyond with a splash.

Ack!

Lucy let out a wolfish laugh, while the humans in the wagon started to laugh as well. Mina leaped off the wagon, landing down beside her fiance, who had managed to get his legs under him. One thing that landing in mud had done was ... ah ... relax him. His cock was now half out of his sheath, having retracted as he scampered in circles, sniffing at himself, at the air, at the ground. This is amazing! He thought. I can see and smell and ... I’m a wolf!

“ ... yes, honey, yes...” Mina put her hand over her mouth, then reached down, petting his head.

I ... hey! Jonathan pawed at her hand, then paused, looking back at himself ... ah.

“You are quite a handsome fellow,” Mina said. “You’d win all the prize shows.”

Jonathan barked at her, trying to sound fearsome. Trying, being the operative word.

Mina scooped him up, then leaped up into the air. She sailed up, then landed without a sound on the head of the wagon. She snapped her fingers at Lucy – and Lucy turned to mist and fog, then flowed past Mina. For a moment, Mina swore that she felt Lucy’s fingers caressing her breasts, her neck, her cheek, her ears, her thighs, her sex, all of them touching her with a spectral, ghostly pressure ... and then Lucy formed into her red dress and broad brimmed hat behind Jonathan, holding him on her lap and petting him with a playful grin. As she settled, Mina turned to fog, flowed forward, then grew herself into a powerful wolf. The harness tightened around herself and she started to walk without missing a pace, feeling the pressure of the harness against her shoulder as she put her strength to work with Miss Elphinstone.