by Ana Calin
I can feel those wolfish eyes stalking me as I get up to my feet, take a deep breath to keep from fainting, and walk slowly to the liquor cabinet. I pour myself more scotch and toss it down my throat.
“I must say, Lady Ruxandra, for a delicate flower you drink like a bar brawler.”
“It’s not every day that you find out you’re a murderer,” I manage. I turn to him, leaning with one hand on the table, glass with liquor in the other one. My breathing slows a little, but I’m drunk, so I could still fall off my feet any minute.
“I’m not sure you understand,” I stutter. “But I lived my life as a tranquil, nice, book-loving child. I can’t imagine hurting a fly, let alone—” I try to picture what he just said, me sending spikes of wood spearing undead women called Bloody Maries, impaling them from a distance, using only the power of my mind. “Kill.”
“Well, you did that and more. When your parents found you, they helped you creep out of a tomb where you’d been buried alive. I would prefer not to get into the things that had your aunts put you there, keeping your powers under control by using mercury.”
“Mercury. Is that what can bind the darkness?”
“Mercury is known to keep evil powers at a minimum. On low supply, so to speak.”
“Do you think it could work to rid me of my curse?”
“It might. But we’d have to track down the source. You cannot bind evil if you can’t name or at least identify it otherwise. You have to know what you’re fighting.”
He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, assessing me from higher ground, since he’s so tall. I think his eyes linger a little on the swell of my breasts, but then they snap quickly back to my face. He takes my black gaze better than any other man before, which gives me a strange sense of trust, of safety. But then again, he’s not a simple man. He’s fucking Dracula. My heart skips another beat. I wonder how many other answers he might have for me.
“If my mum and dad knew all this, and they adopted me in order to free me of this darkness, then why did they leave me in the end?” My voice breaks over the words, and my chin trembles.
His eyes soften. I think even the yellow in his irises becomes a more liquid honey, and his features seem to relax a bit. He pushes himself off the mantelpiece and walks closer.
“When I last saw Radek,” he says softly, softer than I thought him capable of, “he and I got into a fight. On any other occasion he would not have stopped until one of us was too battered to even get off the floor, but that night something was different—you were there, in the basement, with your mother and the witch Magda. He preferred to take you all under his wing and run away. He’d never turned his back on a fight before.”
He stops very close to me, so close that I can strongly smell his scent of leather and metal. He reaches under my chin and lifts my face to look into his. My eyes are drawn to his beautiful lips as he says the next words.
“Your parents loved you before they adopted you. They were willing to risk their lives for you. So I can think of only one plausible reason why they decided to leave your life, and not let you see them again.”
“Please, tell me.”
“Radek and Juliet are both supernatural beings. They don’t grow old, and that would have started to raise questions. Your parents are immortal, Lady Ruxandra. Something they had to keep hidden even from you.”
Tears play in my eyes as I stare up at him, drinking in his words and his face. This man, or creature, or whatever he is, is the first person that can truly understand me, my past, my curse—or at least that’s what I feel. I wipe the tears from my cheeks, nodding, making a decision.
“Thank you, Lord Dracula. I think now it’s my turn to give you the story of what happened after the events at Magda’s house.”
He motions back to the armchairs, where we both take our seats. I focus on the fire, sinking in recollection.
“My first memories are of our manor in England. I felt very much at home there, even though somehow I always knew I was adopted; they must have told me at a certain point, but I don’t remember the exact moment. It was pretty obvious, though.” I motion to my hair and eyes. “Black, black. Mum is a white blonde, and my dad, well you know him. But I felt very loved between the three of them—mum, dad, and grandma Magda.” I glance at him. “I imagine you have been through your own challenges during your long existence, Lord Dracula. Maybe you can relate to what it means to a child, to be loved; especially after it’s been hated and treated like a sick dog better left to die in a ditch. Though I wasn’t aware of my past, I felt it somewhere behind me like a lurking shadow.
“I do remember I was very skinny, only skin and bones, and doctors came and went. I was given vitamins, and the doctors explained that life in the orphanage had weakened me. Now I understand why they chose to tell me I came from an orphanage—because I still retained some flashbacks of rusty crib bars and needles, even a ghastly chamber with rusty shower heads above us.” I tilt my head to the side, staring at the flames, focusing on those memories. “Now I understand they weren’t my own memories. But my great-great-grandmother’s. Adara.” My eyes turn to slits as I narrow in on that particular memory that just resurfaced.
“That’s it,” Dracula says softly, his voice deep but rippling with dark sweetness. It works like a lube that allows me to slide deeper down the memories of my bloodline.
“Yes. Adara was her name. I think she was about three or four when she became aware of herself. Young nurses—merely older children themselves—chased her around with needles. By God, she was terrified. At a certain point she knew she wouldn’t survive that horror house unless she activated something really dark and powerful that had coursed through the veins of generations before her. It was dormant, but when she found herself in mortal danger, it awakened.”
My eyes widen as I start seeing images from the past, flaring before me like the flames I’m locked on.
“That’s when her eyes blackened,” I whisper. “The demon. It was a very old and dark energy that swelled from deep in her DNA and opened up her irises, and filled her blood cells.”
“What was the demon’s name? What did Adara call him?” he pushes softly. He’s leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, bringing his face closer to me. I know that even though I’m not looking at him. By some strange power, I’m aware of everything that happens around me, I can sense even the laughing and dancing crowd downstairs, still enjoying the first night of the medieval festival. My consciousness surrounds the very castle, telling me very clearly where we are inside it—one of the towers.
Squinting at the flames, I’m searching hard for the name, but it slips over and over.
“The demon is too ancient. I do know it has a name, Adara knew as well, but they didn’t communicate with words. They communicated through feelings and states of mind.” I grow annoyed with the effort of spotting this dark energy that slips out of my grasp like soap under water. The annoyance lessens my power. My consciousness retreats back to this room, and I can no longer sense my surroundings, the party downstairs or even the position Lord Dracula has taken in his seat until I turn my head to look at him.
He’s still leaning with elbows on his knees, his now bare hands clasped together, his wolfish eyes fixed on me. The leather tunic hangs a little from his chest, allowing me a view of the contour of his large pectorals. Fuck, the monster is sexy. I lick my lips and shake my head.
“I’ll need to research more. I’ll go through Magda’s books, maybe something in there will unlock my memory.”
“I agree,” he says in that manly but soft voice that helped me slip down memories of my own bloodline. It hits me.
“Wait a minute? What just happened?” I straighten up in my seat. “I never remembered this kind of things before. Did you—” I remember what the books I read about him said—Dracula has the gift of Mesmer. “Did you hypnotize me?”
His sensual lips paint a smile on his strong-boned, thuggish face. “It’s one of my talents. But I’m
afraid we opened up a kind of Pandora’s box.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your parents blocked your access to these memories long ago, and they had a reason to do so—this flow of energy was killing you. Now we cracked the door again. I don’t think it was enough to put you in danger, but still. The darkness might start pulling at you. If it does, I want you to think of me immediately, and I’ll come to you.”
The look in his eyes is hard, grave, serious. Like he actually cares. I snort.
“Thank you for caring about what happens to me, Lord Dracula.” I stand and walk to the liquor cabinet again. What had started as pleasant inebriation earlier went to hell with this ‘regression’, and now all I have is a headache that hangs heavy behind my eyeballs. I need coffee or more liquor.
I pour myself scotch and turn around, leaning back on the table and looking down at him still sitting in the armchair, the firelight playing on that sexy warrior face. It’s annoying that I can’t stop thinking about my uncle, Dracula, as sexy. I start laughing, realizing how crazy this whole thing is.
“All it took was one day for my entire life to change completely. Everything I thought I knew, I might as well toss it in the bin.” I hold up a finger. “In one day I found out my parents are immortal, the legendary Dracula is practically my uncle, and I’m a murderer that doesn’t recall her kills.” I take a few steps toward him.
“Tell me, Dark Lord. Your late wife, was she a murderer, too?”
The muscles in his jaw lock. He doesn’t like the subject, I can tell.
“She did some nasty things in her lifetime,” he says. “Her life wasn’t very long, though. She died in her early twenties.”
“Killed herself, I hear.”
He shoots up to his feet and stalks to me, boots clamoring, jaw tightening, wolfish eyes burning. I back up, and he stops advancing when I do.
“This demon that you carry,” he says. “It’s a devious bastard. Ruxandra pledged her soul to him, allegedly so the demon would aid me in my battles. But that was a mere pretext. She didn’t do it for me, she did it for herself.”
“You defeated the Ottomans even though you didn’t really stand a chance,” I say quietly. “You can’t be such a jackass as not to acknowledge her hand in your success.”
He grins, baring his shiny fangs. “Oh, so it would seem indeed. But you see, I didn’t need any help. I wasn’t a normal man, and my army wasn’t entirely made of humans.”
The blood drains from my head. “What are you saying? That you were already a vampire? I thought you turned into one when she died, that, driven by excruciating pain when she jumped to her death—”
He laughs, his broad chest vibrating with the sound, but it’s the angry laughter of a hurt man. I abandon the glass of scotch on the table, and grip to its edges, pushing myself against it. His laughter gives me the chills.
“Radek and I were turned into monsters many years before that, while we were still kids. I don’t even remember myself before I was this—” He motions to himself, contempt distorting his face. “This creature. Ruxandra, she wanted me to turn her into a vampire, too. I refused. Yes, don’t look at me like that. I—” He walks to the window, looking out, remembering. His voice comes out scraping as he says the words, as if he hasn’t used them in centuries. “I loved her. I wouldn’t have wanted this kind of existence for her. The men and women I turned into vampires, they were wounded warriors, with no other chance of survival other than this.” His face snaps to me again, full of anger and betrayal, his long dark hair shimmering in the firelight. “I refused to change Ruxandra even though her blood would have been very nutritious for me. It would have helped me become....” He bites his lower lip, and I wonder how come blood doesn’t squirt out of it.
“She summoned the demon in order to obtain the kind of power I refused to give her,” he continues. “The demon took over her, his darkness filling her eyes. When she came back from the monastery where she performed the ritual, I knew she wasn’t herself anymore.” He looks down and pauses for long moments, the fire rustling in the room.
I make no attempt to fill the silence, but just scan him up and down, marveling openly at his... shall I call it beauty? Is that what Dracula is? Beautiful? Or is he just an impressive beast? I become very much aware of one thing—I want him to like me. I want him to be impressed by me. I take a few steps toward him, kneading my hands shyly.
“Do I really look like her?” I whisper when I’m close enough.
“You are very similar to her.” His eyes slide down my cheeks, to my chest, to my breasts, where they rest for a moment, then they come back up. “The ivory skin, the shape of your cheeks. Your hair. But you’re also very different. Usually siblings born one year apart from each other bear the same similarity that you and my late wife do.”
He turns around to look out the window, giving me his broad back with the mane of dark hair.
“I can help you find this demon you’re battling with,” he states. “And I will help you banish it from your life.”
Further moments of silence, with nothing but the rustling fire to fill it. When I realize he won’t say more, I take a few steps closer, stopping really close to his back. So close that I can put out my hand and touch those wild waves of dark hair, the hair of one of history’s most dangerous creatures—Vlad Dracula.
“Thank you, Vlad,” I whisper. His back stiffens, I can see the leather tightening. I guess not many people address him by his first name. “But if I may ask—what do you want in return? Because I imagine you’re not doing this for free.”
He snorts. “Yes, I know that’s how your world works—nobody does anything for free.”
“Don’t play that game with me, please,” I say as softly and warmly as the fire crackling in the background. “The Old Priest told me my dad took something from you a long time ago, and that you’d either want to know his location, or you’d ask me to return that certain something. Well, allow me to tell you I have no idea what he was talking about or where such object could be. As for my parents’ whereabouts—” I snort. “I already told you I’d love to know where they are as much as you do.” I pause, allowing him to weigh my words, then I continue. “Is there anything else I can do for you as payment for your help?”
“As a matter of fact,” he says quietly, “there is.”
Rux
I’M CROUCHING DOWN in Magda’s old bookstore, a dozen books open in front of me, all of them including not only Dracula stories, but also gypsy lore. From what I’ve read so far, Lady Ruxandra had more to do with the gypsies than her noble family cared to admit. I imagine she must have come upon the demon and its power thanks to her connection to them, or at least that’s what my blood screams.
“Whatever you do, just don’t trust Dracula,” a familiar voice says behind me.
I spin around on my heels, still crouched, and fall on my butt, looking up at Sedan, who’s leaning against the doorframe. The old entrance to the bookstore is sealed with heavy wooden and metal locks, and the windows are barred, so he must have let himself into the house when no one answered the door. Dalton spends his entire time down in the basement, inspecting mountains of other books, so I’m sure he didn’t hear Sedan knocking either.
“You know I actually saw him?” I whisper.
He snorts. “I knew it before you did, remember?” He walks closer with hands deep in his baggy gypsy trousers’ pockets, the floral shirt hanging loosely on his body, his dark-skinned face young but wise. “I’ve been living all my life in these parts. I trade in Dracula merchandise, and make a living off his legend. Let me remind you that I had to persuade you to take a piece of silver to the castle.”
I get up on my feet, brushing off my jeans and my fitted black blouse. He eyes me up and down, making me feel like I owe him an apology.
“Sorry, I didn’t get to thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m glad you returned safe and sound. Did my hairpin help, or you just used your charms on him?”
He smirks.
“The hairpin helped. It’s up in my room, I can bring it to you.”
“No, keep it. I’d even suggest that you keep wearing it—you never know when you might need it.”
I nod, rubbing my hips with my hands, feeling a bit awkward. What I’d really like is for him to leave, so that I can go on with my research. But he looks around at the books I’d been immersed in, and picks one.
“Medieval Boyars and Gypsy Magic,” he quotes the title. “Anything special you’re looking for after the meeting with the great vampire prince last night?”
I might as well tell him. After all, he is a gypsy, an erudite one, he might actually be able to help.
“Lady Ruxandra Basarab.” I pick up another book. “I had a talk about her with—” No, I can’t say Dracula so often without feeling like an idiot. “With Lord Vlad. Apparently, the reason behind what’s happening to me lies very far down my bloodline, in something that happened during her lifetime, and it’s related to the gypsies.”
“I might be able to help if you tell me exactly what has been happening to you.”
I realize he and I didn’t get to talk about that in depth. He already proved that I can be as open with him as I’ve been with Vlad, so I tell him all about the curse that has been following me ever since I was old enough to date.
He nods as I speak like he understands perfectly, showing no more surprise than Vlad did.
“There are stories among us, the gypsies,” he says, crouching down with me and sorting through the books. “Tales our elders only tell around the fire on special nights. Tales about noble young ladies searching for dark knowledge and power. There is a particular one about Lady Ruxandra. They don’t call her by her name, though. They call her the Lady of the Dark Veil, which is why it’s so hard to identify who the tale is about, and to connect it with the historical character of Lady Ruxandra Basarab.”
I frown. “Why Lady of the Dark Veil?”
He looks at me with gravity in his face. “Because she lifted the veil between the world of man, and the world of shadow. She opened the door that separates the realm of flesh and the realm of spirit. And she let in something old, powerful, and very dangerous.”