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time. They asked me to bring the schedule to them.
Though I closed the doors behind me, their wood was thin enough that I could overhear
Van Helsing. As I suspected, he knew that Dracula had read my mind. He told the
others to keep the knowledge from me, as if knowing it would somehow undo me.
I'm stronger than that, stronger than any of them suspect. Haven't I proven
that so many times in the last few weeks?
    Some time later, with the train
schedule in my hand, I returned to them. Then, quite directly, I told them that
I believed Dracula had read my mind and that they must not put me in contact
with him again. My honesty had the effect I hoped it would. I am now in their
confidence once more, and we shall continue our pursuit. I am certain that it
will end as Dracula wishes it to end, at his terrible mountain aerie.
    On his own land, they will be no match for him. I tried to warn
Jonathan in private, but he will not be turned from the chase and the others
are equally committed. I find myself contemplating the outcome as if life and
death no longer hold any meaning for me, save the thrill of using my power.
While I listened to the men planning the final strategy of the chase, I fed on
their affection for me the way the vampire feeds on blood.
    Is that so
loathsome? More and more I wonder if Dracula has freed me rather than made me
his slave.
    And when the
chase is over, however it ends, can I go back to being Mina Murray Harker, the
same prim Englishwoman I was
    only months ago?
    That future
holds more terror for me than eternity at Dracula's side. And yet the words I
write in my more public journal are true.
    I love my husband. I only hope that when this is over and we go
home to our civilized world, our social confinement, he can still love me.

THREE
    November 4. It has been
days since I have been able to write. I do not know where to begin save at the
moment that we arrived
    by rail in Galati only to discover that Dracula had eluded us once
more. Through inquiries, we learned that he had departed by riverboat toward
the center of his domain before we were able to search the ship that brought
him back to his homeland.
    As the fox
retreats to his den, so the hunters quicken their pace. The men have their
reason, and they make certain that I know it.
    Jonathan and
the others often comment on my strange emotionalism, the dull lack of energy
with which I move through the
    daylight hours, as well as my difficulty sleeping at night. Van
Helsing notes that my pulse is weaker and slower. Their observations are
likely true, but the changes do not trouble me. I remind them often that the
journey has been a hard and tiring one, and the tears and laughter I often
display natural in a woman on the edge of exhaustion. Perhaps that is all it
is, but they will not allow our quest to go unfinished. I suppose I should be
grateful. If we broke off now, I would be under a cloud of suspicion for the
rest of my days.
    And when I
die, they would treat my body as they did Lucy's. I tell myself that I would be
past caring and that my fear for the
    shell that once held my soul
is illogical. Still, the thought terrifies me.
    Though I have no reason to trust
Dracula, I take comfort in his promise to spare those I love. I reminded myself
of it often while I wrote down my thoughts on what the men should do in order
to continue the chase. After I showed them the map of the area and explained
that the count had most likely arranged to be taken by boat as close to the
Borgo Pass as possible, I saw them take heart once more. "All is not yet
lost!" Quincey exclaimed. Van Helsing embraced me as if I were a daughter.
Even Jonathan, who had been the most despondent of any of them at this new
setback, seemed infused with new energy for the chase. I was prepared to insist
that I be allowed to accompany them, but before I could, Van Helsing made a
suggestion that I accompany him by coach while the men follow Dracula upriver
on a launch.

 
    "I
cannot allow it,"