Dracul

by Finley Aaron

  Constantine’s still grinning at me.

  It’s almost unnerving.

  “What?”

  His grin becomes, if possible, even bigger. “That is why you are the perfect partner.”

  In my head, I replay what I just said, trying to sort out what he’s referring to. “Because I’m gawkish?”

  His smile veers noticeably into smirk territory. “Because no one will suspect you. You have a natural cover—college girl hoping to win money to pay for a spring break trip, or grad school, or a new car. You pick. Maybe all three if it gives you something to chat about.”

  “That makes me the perfect partner?”

  “No, that is just the foundation. The real perfection is your face.”

  I raise a dubious eyebrow. No one has ever used the word perfection to describe my face before. I had some serious acne not so many years ago. If you look close enough, you can still see the scars.

  “Your face, I can read like an open book.”

  For a second, I’m tempted to grab the dessert menu and hide my face behind it, but thankfully the waiter returns with my burgers and Constantine’s black tie cheesecake, so I take a big bite of burger and chew slowly and keep the sandwich in front of my face, just in case Constantine really can read what I’m thinking.

  Because what I’m thinking right now is something he absolutely cannot be allowed to know.

  It’s kind of a long story, but here goes.

  We dragons can’t talk when we’re in dragon form. Not really. I can do a few grunts and clicks, maybe an emphatic yelp to get my point across, but not much more than that. Our dragon mouths are made for breathing fire and tearing meat, not talking.

  So, in order to make up for being unable to communicate verbally, we’re able to communicate facially.

  If you’re not a dragon, that probably sounds crazy weird, but for us, it’s just normal. Not only do we use our faces to get our points across when we’re in dragon form, but we use everything from the angle of our heads to the glint in our eyes to let each other know what we’re thinking when we’re in human form, too.

  The catch is, it’s just a dragon thing. It’s not like other people can read my face the way my fellow dragons can. Nor am I nearly so adept at deciphering what a human wants or thinks just by looking at them. And it’s not something you can generally do with other dragons until you’ve gotten to know them well. You have to learn their face, their mannerisms, the peculiarities that make them who they are.

  I’ve never met any humans who’ve said they could read my face like a book.

  But Constantine isn’t just a person, is he?

  He’s a vampire.

  And vampires are shape-shifting sorts of creatures, if I believe the whole turning-into-a-bat part of the mythology, which Constantine has implied is true.

  So maybe Constantine can read bat faces and vampire faces, and his past success with that makes him think he can read my face?

  Except I don’t think he can read my face, not really. I mean, I’m a dragon and he’s a vampire. He might think he can read me, but he stands to lose a lot of money if he mistakes my don’t-come-near-this-blackjack-table-unless-you-want-to-lose-everything look for a come-on-over-this-table’s-hot look.

  Not only might that kind of mistake cost him a bunch of money, but it might cost me my end of the deal. I can’t risk losing my primary source translation.

  So I can’t wait until we’re in Vegas to make him understand. I’ve got to get the point across now.

  I finish off my first burger and clear my throat with a long sip of water. “Okay then. If you’re so good at reading my face, let’s try it. Pretend this is the blackjack table. I’m going to give you a look, and you tell me what it means.”

  I pull in a deep breath and focus on clearing my face of residual thoughts. “Okay.” I tilt my chin and meet his eyes. “What am I thinking?”

  Constantine smirks. “You are thinking, Constantine is a crazy vampire who overestimates his skills and is going to lose all his money in Vegas.”

  “Well.” I scowl.

  “And now you are thinking, damn, he got it right.”

  “You could have guessed that from context.”

  “True.” His eyes bore into mine a little too deeply. “But now you’re thinking, hmm, maybe Constantine really is a vampire who can do all the things he says he can do. But you’re scared.” His voice drops low. “Why are you scared?”

  I shoot him a look.

  “True, I don’t seem trustworthy,” he confesses. “But I have promised not to hurt you.”

  I might be kind of glaring at him as I pick up my second burger and take a bite.

  Then he blows out a grunting breath and leans back as though he’s been stabbed. “You don’t trust that I will keep that promise? Truly, Rilla, in my life I have not always been honest or kind, and I have many times played a ruse when the situation called for it, but those were situations when I was dealing with my enemies.”

  I’m still chewing my burger, but I raise an eyebrow.

  “Touché,” he nods in deference to the point I just made with my eyebrow. “Not enemies—my peers whose journeys have crossed paths with my journey—those who crossed me by lying to me or cheating me. But your path does not cross mine. It just runs parallel to it for a bit. We can work together and both benefit. We can trust each other.”

  I stop chewing and close my eyes, as though that can keep him from reading what I’m thinking.

  No—not what I’m thinking. He can’t actually read my thoughts. He can only read my face. Can’t he?

  Just to be sure he can only read my face, and not my thoughts, I focus hard on a passage from my stolen poly sci textbook.

  Constantine scowls. “Now you have lost me. Something displeases you. What is it?”

  I don’t answer, but I feel a small measure of relief. Okay, maybe my thoughts are safe—as long as I don’t project them on my face. Still, I don’t feel it’s wise for me to trust Constantine. I can travel with him, and make this deal, and I can certainly take advantage of his access to my necessary primary source, but I. Can’t. Trust. Him.

  Nor should he trust me.

  For the sake of my family—indeed, my species—I can’t let him know who I truly am.

  More than that, though, I can’t give any hint about what I know of the recipe for gold. I especially can’t let on that my brother has made gold. The vampires are clearly willing to do anything to uncover any and every part of that recipe. If they knew, they’d track down my brother the same way they’ve been tracking me.

  I’ve read plenty of stories in my research, of the horrible acts Vlad Dracula is rumored to have committed against those who crossed him—impaling, hard forced labor, boiling alive. If these vampires, whoever they are, think we’re trying to hide secrets from them, who knows what kinds of torture they might subject us to in an effort to learn secrets we may or may not even know?

  We’re not even in Vegas yet, and I already feel like I’m involved in extremely high-stakes gambling.

  Can I hold on to the secrets of my people...while I try to win the secrets of Constantine’s kind?

  If I don’t play my hands right, I could lose everything.

  But what other choice do I have? My search for the book has already put me on the vampire radar.

  I’m already deep in the game.

  “Rilla?” Constantine prompts. “Have I convinced you that I can read your face?”

  I open my eyes and give him a look.

  “Oooh, so much exasperation.” This time, his smile is not so much a smirk, but honestly pleased.

  Too cute for his own good, is what he is.

  His face goes pale and he sits up straight. “I am a vampire,” he reminds me, leaning close and speaking in a whisper. “You know there can never be anything between us. Not,” he clears his throat, “anything.”

  I can feel my eyes go wide as I fight back a blush and hurry to finish my burger so we can go.

>   Constantine smooths the concern off his face with one swipe of his hand. “Right. I know you know. I do not mean to suggest you were thinking anything. I just saw on your face—”

  I roll my eyes and pop the last of my second burger into my mouth.

  “Ah, I see.” He grins. “I’m not that cute.”

  Again I close my eyes.

  Working with Constantine is going to be dangerous on way too many levels.

  After Constantine pays for dinner, he walks me home. “I’m sorry about your backpack. I will get some more blackjack books for you—if you are willing to accept my terms.”

  It’s a big obligation to commit to. I want to be sure I’m making the right choice, so I let Constantine suffer through my silence as I weigh the pros and cons inside my head.

  I’ve put a lot of thought into it, and while I know there will be some risks involved, I need that translation. I don’t just need it for the paper, but to appease the burning curiosity that drove me to research Dracula in the first place. For the first time, I actually have some hope of learning who Vlad Dracula really was and why they called him the son of a dragon.

  More than just the Order of the Dragon explanation.

  The reason behind that explanation.

  Were there real dragons in the Order of the Dragon?

  And was Vlad Dracul one of them?

  Of all the sources I’ve encountered, Constantine seems the most likely to be able to answer that question. I’d come right out and ask him point-blank, but then he’d want to know why I believe dragons are real, and I’m not nearly prepared to answer that question, certainly not under the circumstances.

  Besides, studying aside, my weekends have been boring and lonely of late. Hitting Vegas is as good a way as any to keep myself from wallowing in the fact that my entire family has moved on without me.

  It will be good for me.

  I just need to make sure the terms are favorable. “You will translate the entire book for me?”

  “The entire book,” Constantine vows.

  “And in a timely manner so I can write my paper on time?”

  “I will translate according to your schedule. And if you have questions beyond the text, I will do my best to answer them.”

  Bonus. I try not to let my excitement show on my face, because even though it’s dark and we’re walking back to my place side-by-side, not looking at one another, I’ve no doubt Constantine could read my happiness if he so much as glanced at me.

  “Then I agree. I will learn blackjack and do my best to help you win whatever you can win.”

  “That is all I ask. Do your best—I won’t require any dollar amount. Even when we count cards, we’re still gambling.”

  That much decided, I pull my house key from the zipper pouch of my wallet where I keep it (yet another reason I’m glad Constantine found my wallet, or at least returned it to me—or the vampires would have the key to my place and I’d be locked out). As I unlock the door, I ask, “Am I going to be safe here? They keep attacking me.”

  As Constantine makes a face, apparently weighing my question, I consider my options. Under any other circumstances, I’d ask one of my family members to come stay with me. But who can I ask? Two of my siblings have babies at home, a third is recently married and hoping to lay an egg before long. My parents are busy supporting the new parents and ruling their kingdom. Even my grandfather is a new father again.

  That leaves only one person—my youngest brother, Felix.

  But Felix has made gold. If these vampires are so desperate for information on how that’s done—no, I can’t. I can’t ask Felix to come. To do so would endanger him far more than the others. He’s the last person I’d want to come here.

  I’ve no sooner made that resolution than Constantine sets his jaw in an expression that says he’s made his mind up, as well.

  “You are not their target,” he assures me solemnly. “They’re after information. As long as they think they can steal the information from you, they won’t hurt you, not on purpose. What would that accomplish? They need you. I don’t think they will hurt you.”

  “You don’t think—”

  Constantine cuts off my words. “If I believed you were in real danger, I would not let you out of my sight.” His eyes lock on mine as we share the front stoop.

  His face might not be so familiar to me, but right now, his eyes are screaming with something I can almost read. What is that? Zeal? Determination? Something like that, but it’s almost more like…no, that can’t be.

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” We make plans to meet tomorrow after my last class, assuming it snows as predicted, so he’s not out in the sunshine. Then I duck inside, closing the door behind me before leaning my back against it, pinching my eyes shut, and reviewing what I saw in Constantine’s dark brown eyes.

  He’s the one who’s been so emphatic about there not being anything between us, though I never suggested otherwise. He’s the one who insists we’re two different species who can, at best, only be friends.

  So why would he look at me with longing in his eyes?

  Chapter Nine

  My sleep is restless. Every whistle of the wind, every tree branch creaking in the night sends my uneasy dreams scrambling into nightmares of bats and blood and thirsty vampires.

  At four in the morning, I’m shocked awake by a clattering noise that goes silent as my eyes snap open.

  What was that?

  Cautiously, I switch on a light, slip out of bed, and clutch my phone, ready to call Constantine at any sign of danger, but a quick tour of the house shows nothing out of place.

  Not that I checked the attic.

  What am I supposed to do? I have too much adrenaline in my system to fall asleep now. I don’t want to call Constantine—not again. We’ve been spending an awful lot of time together all of a sudden, and I don’t really trust him.

  Besides, I don’t know what to think of the way he looked at me. Probably I was overtired or…something. I just don’t know.

  But I do know it would be foolish of me to try to stick this out alone. I don’t dare go running home to Azerbaijan. Not only would I quite possibly lead the vampires back to my family, but I’m so close to graduating. So close.

  I can’t leave now.

  That leaves one option. It’s not a good option. I’m not proud of what I’m going to do, but every other option seems much worse.

  “Hello? Rilla?” Dad answers his phone on the third ring. It may be the wee hours of the morning here, but it’s midafternoon in Azerbaijan. Of course, Dad’s well aware it’s not a common hour for me to call. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not sure.” I’ve already thought through what I dare tell him over the phone. We’ve always been extra careful not to give away too much about who we are, for fear someone might be listening in.

  We’ve always had enemies.

  Just never these enemies.

  So I give him the explanation I’ve prepared. “Someone stole my backpack—twice. I got it back the first time, but now it’s gone, and I fought them for it, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  “Who are they? What do they want?”

  “I have theories, but I’d prefer to tell you about them in person. Can you come stay with me for awhile? I don’t feel safe.” My breath catches in my throat. I don’t feel like a dragon when I’m asking for help. I feel like a coward. But better a live coward than a dead dragon.

  “Oh, Rilla. I’ve been worried about you, over there all alone.” Dad’s voice sounds heavy with concern. Sure, he may be the dragon king and come off all brave and powerful most of the time, but even that’s mostly because he cares so deeply for his people and his family.

  Especially his family.

  “It will be a couple days before I can reach you.”

  “I know.” It doesn’t matter whether we fly commercial airlines, or with our own wings. The earth is a big ball to fly arou
nd, either way. It takes time. Always. “I’ll be careful until then.”

  “Do that. Please. I’ll do my best to reach you as soon as possible.” He swallows back what are probably a thousand questions, but we both know there’s no sense in him asking for more details. If someone can steal my backpack, they can listen in on my phone conversation. There’s nothing I need to tell my father that’s worth that risk. “Now I’ll let you go so I can make plans. Stay safe.”

  “I’ll try.”

  I turn out my light and keep the phone under my pillow. It’s the only way I can fall asleep.

  *

  I’m tired the next day, but I gulp enough coffee to keep me awake through my classes. As promised, Constantine is waiting for me in the freezing wind and pelting snow as I exit the building after my last class. He has a soft-sided cooler slung by a strap over his shoulder.

  “What’s in the cooler?” I ask, wondering why he thinks he needs an insulated container to keep something cold when the temperature is already well below freezing.

  “It’s a surprise. But I will give you a hint—it is one of the greatest inventions of the last century.”

  My curiosity is definitely piqued. We walk at a brisk pace back to my place. The blasting wind makes conversation difficult, and Constantine doesn’t strike me as the type to give away a secret before the appointed time, so I don’t bother to beg him for hints.

  “Okay!” I stomp the snow from my boots before hurrying inside my house and dumping my bag (my spare backpack, obviously) on one of the dining room chairs. “What’s in the cooler?”

  Constantine unzips the lid and starts pulling out plastic containers with a flourish. “I brought you food.” He stacks four whole roasted chickens on the table.

  Pleased as I am by the prospect of food, I’m confused. “Chicken is not an invention of the last century.”

  “Rotisserie chicken, made by electric roaster with uniform results,” Constantine corrects me as I head to the kitchen for ice water. “Do you know how difficult it is to roast a bird without making it too dry, or worse yet, undercooked in the middle? Everyone takes these chickens for granted. If you had lived as long as I have lived, you would understand. This is like a miracle.”