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Arthur was fairly certain his heart was still beating.
As he saw the blood ooze from Quincey’s side, though, he didn’t feel like it.
Dracula was gone, dissolved into dust. The peasants had fled.
But Arthur couldn’t feel anything but a harsh, choking, panicked grief. No, no, not another...
He stood still as everyone else ran to Quincey. He wanted to, but found himself unable.
“I am only too happy to have been of service,” he heard Quincey gasping out.
“Be quiet,” Jack said. “You’re not dying.”
Dr. Van Helsing took off his jacket, folded it up, and started applying pressure to Quincey’s wound, drawing a pained gasp.
Arthur felt a tiny flicker of hope in his chest.
It broke through his paralysis, and he ran to join the others by Quincey’s side.
Immediately, Dr. Van Helsing was issuing orders. “Friend John, we must stop the bleeding. Build a fire.”
“Oh, this is not gonna be fun,” muttered Quincey.
“Stop talking,” said Jack, turning away to look for kindling.
“...knife didn’t hit my lung...”
“And you’re lucky it didn’t. Save your breath.”
“Your bedside manner... ah!... could use some work.”
“Be that as it may, John is correct, so perhaps save your criticism of his bedside manner for when you are well?” suggested Dr. Van Helsing.
Quincey looked at Arthur and rolled his eyes.
“He says he doesn’t need to criticize Jack’s bedside manner when he’s well. Is that right?” Arthur translated.
Quincey nodded.
“Professor,” Mina interjected, “could he use holy fire? We don’t know what was on that knife.” She shuddered.
“A fine idea,” Dr. Van Helsing said. “Friend John, take some of the Host from my bag and crumble it over the fire when you have it built.” He turned to the others. “We will have to restrain him. Friend Jonathan, take our friend’s feet. Sit on them if you must. Arthur, restrain his right arm. Madam Mina, his left. Hold it out so that John and I have room to work.”
Everyone took their places.
“Here,” said Arthur to Mina. “Put one hand on his shoulder, like this—”
Mina copied him.
“Okay, Quincey, I’m going to give you your belt to bite on, which means I’m going to take it off now.” Arthur smoothly removed Quincey’s belt and moved it toward Quincey’s face.
Quincey opened his mouth, and Arthur put the belt in.
Mina blinked. “How many times have you done this?”
“‘Oo-mn-y,” mumbled Quincey around the belt.
“Quincey says, too many,” said Arthur. “They usually haven’t involved cauterization, though.”
“It’s generally not medically advisable,” Jack piped up from where he was starting to build the fire. “But in this case, we don’t have the tools for stitches, and we need to stop the bleeding fast.”
“Jack, Quincey was right about your bedside manner,” Arthur called. Falling back into their familiar banter felt comfortable. Felt safe.
Felt like Quincey was going to be okay.
Even though his face was ashy, and Van Helsing’s hands were stained red with blood.
Quincey locked eyes with Arthur, and he could see the fear there. Quincey was as brave as a man could be, but blood loss and pain were weakening his defenses, and he knew full well what was coming. This might be a rare occurrence, but, sadly, it wasn’t the first time.
“The waiting’s the worst part, isn’t it,” said Arthur sympathetically.
Maybe distraction will help.
He turned to Mina, situated across from him. “Did Quincey ever get the chance to tell you the story of the time he tried to ride his neighbor’s horse when he was a boy?”
“I don’t believe so,” said Mina.
Right away, Arthur knew he’d done something right. Quincey smiled faintly around the belt, and some of the tension eased out of his face. I hope that’s not just him getting weaker.
Arthur decided to put that thought out of his mind and carried on. “All right, Quincey, I know you tell it better than anyone, but if I tell it wrong this time, just let me. Don’t try to interject.”
After a moment, Quincey nodded.
Arthur turned back to Mina. “All right. So, Quincey was eight years old, living in Texas, and the owner of the property next to the one his family owned had just gotten a beautiful new horse, a palomino—sort of a light beige-gold—and Quincey, being the little troublemaker he was, made up his mind that he was going to ride that horse.”
“Oh my,” said Mina with a smile.
“Yes, indeed. The neighbors had a guard dog, so Quincey started saving part of his dinner, then going over to the neighbors’ every night and feeding it. Eventually he could pass by and the dog wouldn’t make a peep.”
Mina looked at Quincey. “Don’t answer me, but that was clever.”
Quincey nodded slightly in acknowledgement.
“So one day, when no one was around, he snuck into the horse’s paddock and tried to get on its back. Nervous, half-broken horse, overexcited eight-year-old... it went about as well as you would imagine.”
“What happened?” asked Mina, leaning forward.
“Quincey almost got trampled to death is what happened. As is, he got away with a broken arm. It still doesn’t fully straighten—do not show her, save your strength.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re still here,” said Mina to Quincey.
“As am I,” said Arthur. “And you are staying here. This year doesn’t need any more corpses to its name.”
Just then, Arthur saw Jack making his way toward them, holding a glowing knife.
Quincey started to follow Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur put a hand on his face to block his view. “Look at me, man. Look at me.” Distraction, distraction... “Mina, when you get home, what will you do?”
“You mean besides buying crosses and putting them up in all the windows?” Mina gave a short, humorless laugh. “I... Jonathan told me we could read Jane Eyre again. It’s my favorite book.”
Van Helsing moved out of the way, keeping pressure on the wound but preparing to remove the bandage at a moment’s notice.
“Quincey, keep your eyes closed, but did I ever tell you how Jonathan and I met?” Mina’s smile was obviously forced, but she was still smiling.
Quincey shook his head faintly. Beads of sweat were appearing on his tight, tensed face, and he was biting down on the belt. He was breathing fast, tremors running through his body.
“Well, I was thirteen years old, working in a library, and there was a boy who kept coming in for—”
The bandage came off; the knife went down.
Quincey’s body arched. He whined, a high, drawn-out sound of misery that sent a sharp pain through Arthur’s heart. Arthur was never so glad not to be a doctor as in these moments; awful as it was to be present for, he couldn’t fathom being the one causing the pain. A glance at Jack’s face told him Jack was deep in Doctor Mode, that detached state he sometimes went into where the whole world was alike to him, friend or no, and he could do whatever needed to be done to anyone, even those he most cared for. Even then, he knew this would hit later.
Mina, bless her, kept talking.
“—couldn’t for the life of me figure out why, I knew he was busy with his apprenticeship, and he wasn’t only coming in for work.”
The knife came up, and Van Helsing took some cloth from his bag and bandaged the wound.
Quincey groaned.
Mina was still talking. “It took me an embarrassingly long time to put together that he wanted to see me. Even then, I thought he would never say anything. You know, Mr. Hawkins finally had to tell him he ought to be courting me.”
“It’s true,” said Jonathan weakly, as Quincey lay still, breathing hard. “Don’t know if I ever would’ve gotten up the courage otherwise. I would just... make excuses to see her. I kept asking for book recommendations. I told her I liked adventure books, which I do... did... adventures are overrated.”
“Agreed,” said Mina.
“Don’t judge all adventures by this one,” Quincey whispered. “This one... was terrible. Good company, though.”
“What did I tell you about talking?” asked Jack, then quickly added “that was a rhetorical question.”
“‘M’not bleeding ‘nymore.”
“That doesn’t mean the danger is over. We still need to get you out of here. And I’m not sure how we’re going to—”
Mina pointed to the cart that had conveyed Dracula, which the peasants had abandoned. “I’m sorry to say it, but...”
Dr. Van Helsing nodded. “I was going to suggest that myself. We must lift him together.”
A few painful minutes later—Arthur could only imagine how painful they must have been for Quincey—Quincey was situated.
As Mina went to sit next to him (as she was weak from her recent ordeal and everyone agreed it was best that someone ride with Quincey to monitor his condition), Quincey seemed to notice something.
“Look!” he said, pointing at Mina. “Her forehead... it’s gone. The curse... has passed away.”
Mina smiled. “Thank you.” She seemed to mean it from the very depths of her soul.
Quincey didn’t reply, but he smiled back, and that was enough.