FORTY-FOUR
It made perfect sense, actually. Dracula, himself, had written a seal into his own bloodline. Geordie had said the Impaler couldn’t truly die for as long as any of his descendants lived, something that had to have been accomplished with sorcery. Uncle Abraham had known about that. Why shouldn’t he have taken steps to combat it? For instance, with a seal of his own, written into the blood of those who had driven Dracula from England?
It didn’t take much imagining to think of what such a seal might do. In his place, if I knew anything at all about thaumaturgy—He wouldn’t have resorted to sorcery, would he?—I would first try to break the seal preserving Dracula’s un-life, and then, failing that, I’d condemn him to a disembodied existence as a wraith.
Of course, not actually bein
