“Reluctantly, we returned to the archive through the back door and found Helen holding her handkerchief to Mr. Aksoy’s cheekbone. The gun was nowhere in sight, and the manuscripts were neatly stacked on the shelf again. She looked up when we came in. ‘He fainted for a minute,’ she said softly, ‘but he is all right now.’
“Turgut knelt by his friend. ‘My dear Selim, what a bump you have.’
“Selim Aksoy smiled wanly. ‘I am in good care,’ he said.
“‘I can see that,’ Turgut agreed. ‘Madam, I congratulate you for trying. But it is useless to attempt to kill a dead man.’
“‘How did you know?’ I gasped.
“‘Oh, I know,’ he said grimly. ‘I know the look of that face. It is the expression of the undead. There is no other face like that. I have seen it before.’
“‘It was a silver bullet, of course.’ Helen held the handkerchief more firmly on Mr. Aksoy’s cheek and eased his head back against her shoulder. ‘But, as you saw, he moved, and I missed his heart. I know I took a great risk’-she looked deeply at me for a moment, but I couldn’t read her thoughts-‘but you could see for yourselves that I was right in my calculation. A mortal man would have been seriously wounded by such shots.’ She sighed and adjusted the handkerchief.
“I looked from one to the other in bewilderment. ‘Have you been carrying around that gun all the time?’ I asked Helen.
“‘Oh, yes.’ She pulled Aksoy’s arm over her shoulder. ‘Here, help me get him up.’ Together we lifted him-he was light as a child-and steadied him on his feet. He smiled and nodded, shrugging off our assistance. ‘Yes, I always carry my pistol when I feel any sort of-uneasiness. And it is not so difficult to acquire a silver bullet or two.’
“‘That is true.’ Turgut nodded.
“‘But where did you learn to shoot like that?’ I was still stunned by that moment when Helen had drawn and aimed so quickly.
“Helen laughed. ‘In my country, our education is deep as well as narrow,’ she said. ‘I received an award for my shooting in our youth brigade when I was sixteen. I am glad to find I have not forgotten how.’
“Suddenly Turgut gave a cry and struck his forehead. ‘My friend!’ We all stared. ‘My friend-Erozan! I am forgetting him.’
“It took us only a second to grasp his meaning. Selim Aksoy, who seemed recovered now, was the first to hurry into the stacks where he’d received his injury, and the rest of us scattered quickly around the long room, searching under tables and behind chairs. For a few minutes the hunt was fruitless. Then we heard Selim calling us, and we all rushed to his side. He was kneeling in the stacks, at the foot of a high shelf laden with all kinds of boxes, bags, and rolled-up scrolls. The box that housed the papers of the Order of the Dragon lay on the floor beside him, its ornate lid open and some of its contents scattered nearby.
“Among these relics, Mr. Erozan was stretched out on his back, white and still, his head lolling to one side. Turgut knelt and put his ear to the man’s chest. ‘Thank God,’ he said after a moment. ‘He is breathing.’ Then, examining him more closely, he pointed to his friend’s neck. Deep in the loose, pale flesh just above the shirt collar, there was a ragged wound. Helen knelt beside Turgut. We were all silent for a moment. Even after Rossi’s description of the bureaucrat who had confronted him many years before, even after Helen’s injury in the library at home, I found it hard to believe what I was seeing. The man’s face was terribly pale, almost gray, and his breathing came in shallow, short gasps, barely audible until you listened carefully.
“‘He has been polluted,’ Helen said quietly. ‘And I think he has lost quite a bit of blood.’
“‘A curse on this day!’ Turgut’s face was anguished, and he pressed his friend’s hand in his two big ones.
“Helen was the first to rally. ‘Let us think sensibly. This is perhaps only the first time he has been attacked.’ She turned to Turgut. ‘You didn’t see any sign of this in him when we were here yesterday?’
“He shook his head. ‘He was quite normal.’
“‘Well, then.’ She reached into her jacket pocket, and I recoiled for an instant, thinking she was about to pull out the pistol again. Instead she drew forth a head of garlic and placed it on the librarian’s chest. Turgut smiled in spite of the grimness of the whole scene and drew a head of garlic from his own pocket, placing it with hers. I couldn’t imagine where she’d gotten it-perhaps on our stroll through the souk, when I’d been absorbed in other sights? ‘I see great minds think the same,’ Helen told him. Then she took out a paper packet and unwrapped it, revealing a tiny silver crucifix. I recognized it as the one she’d purchased at the Catholic church near our university, the one she had used to intimidate the evil librarian when he’d attacked her in the history section of the library stacks.
“This time Turgut stopped her with a gentle hand. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘We have our own superstitions here.’ From somewhere inside his jacket he took a string of wooden beads, such as I’d seen in the hands of men on the streets of Istanbul. This one ended in a carved medallion with Arabic lettering on its face. He touched the medallion gently to Mr. Erozan’s lips, and the librarian’s face gave a grimace, as of involuntary disgust, twitching and curling. It was an awful sight, but a momentary one, and then the man’s eyes opened and he frowned. Turgut bent over him, speaking softly in Turkish and touching his forehead, then giving the wounded man a sip of something from a little flask he conjured out of his jacket.
“After a minute, Mr. Erozan sat up and looked around, groping at his neck as if it hurt. When his fingers found the little wound with its trickle of drying blood, he buried his face in his hands, sobbing, a heartrending sound.
“Turgut put an arm around his shoulders, and Helen placed a hand on the librarian’s arm. I found myself reflecting that this was the second time in an hour that I had seen her tending with gentle touch to an afflicted being. Turgut began to question the man in Turkish, and after a few minutes he sat back on his heels and looked at the rest of us. ‘Mr. Erozan says the stranger came to his apartment very early this morning, while it was still dark, and threatened to kill him unless he opened the library for him. The vampire was with him when I called him this morning, but he dared not tell me about his presence. When the strange man heard who had called, he said they must go at once to the archive. Mr. Erozan was afraid to disobey, and when they arrived here the man made him open the box. As soon as it sprang open, the devil leaped on him, held him on the ground-my friend says he was incredibly strong-and put his teeth in Mr. Erozan’s neck. That is all he remembers.’ Turgut shook his head sadly. Mr. Erozan suddenly grasped Turgut’s arm and seemed to be imploring something of him in a flood of Turkish.
“For a moment Turgut was silent, and then he took his friend’s hands in his, pressed the prayer beads into them, and gave him a quiet answer. ‘He told me that he understands he can be bitten only twice more by this devil before becoming one himself. He asks me if this thing should come to pass to kill him with my own hands.’ Turgut turned away, and I thought I saw a glistening of tears in his eyes.
“‘It will not come to that.’ Helen’s face was hard. ‘We are going to find the source of this plague.’ I didn’t know whether she meant the evil librarian or Dracula himself, but when I saw the set of her jaw I could almost believe in our eventual success in vanquishing both. I had noted that look on her face once before, and the sight of it took me back to the table of the diner at home, where we’d first talked about her parentage. Then she had been vowing to find her disloyal father and unmask him to the academic world. Was I imagining it, I wondered, or had her mission shifted at some moment that she herself hadn’t noticed?