Dating Dracula, Jr

by Minda Webber

  I shook my head sadly at his tale. Royal vampire houses could father human offspring and that offspring, when their human lives ended, would generally turn into the undead. But beheading the undead, whether it was in vampire form or human, ended the life-force once and for all.

  “I’m sorry.” I wanted to go over and hug him, but I was afraid he’d think I was too forward or something. But I knew he was hurting. His face was tight with grief.

  “My mom doesn’t even know I’m dead yet, I bet. She’s in Europe touring with my little sister. My grandfather, Dracula, wouldn’t have told her until he personally saw me awaken. No, he wouldn’t tell her until she could see me rise and know I was okay. She’s like this glass,” he said, as he held up the glass bird in his hand. “She’s very fragile now with my father’s and brother’s deaths. How’s she going to accept me dying so young and being killed by a wasp? Dagan shook his head and set the bird down on the dusty oak chest. “I mean, I’ve been raised by the biggest, baddest vampire clan in history and I got taken out in my mortal life by a wasp. It’s stupid and embarrassing.”

  His beautiful face held a combination of both grief and embarrassment. I forgot about myself and feeling shy. I quit thinking about me and walked over and hugged him like I would Hart, a hug of comfort. He hugged me back and it felt great. He was all muscle and his heart was slow and steady beating against my chest. He certainly didn’t feel like any dead boy I’d felt before. Not that I went around feeling dead boys or anything, but in pulling people out of the grave or working on reanimation you couldn’t help but touch them.

  “I’m sorry for your losses and I’m sorry you’re allergic to wasps. But at least you have a life to wake up to. That’s something to be happy about. I know your mother will be thrilled about it. Besides, you don’t have to tell people you died by a wasp sting.”

  “Don’t you think they’ll find out eventually? Famous monsters always have all their secrets told,” he replied, as he rested his chin on my head.

  I thought about that for a minute. He was right. The Paranormal Enquirer always had some interesting tidbit to announce. Unfortunately, Dagan was going to be known as the Dracula that got taken out by a wasp. “I guess you’re going to have to grow a tough skin about it. It’s not that bad. You might have been allergic to peanuts and got taken out by a nut or an elephant.” I could feel his chest shaking. I looked up. He was laughing.

  “You know something, V.J? You’re pretty terrific.”

  I smiled as his arms loosened from around me. He took a step back and leaned against the wall. So I walked a few steps to an old bar stool in the corner and sat down, my legs dangling down with my feet on the bar.

  “Shouldn’t you call your grandfather and let him know what’s going on? I mean, this is some pretty serious stuff coming down!”

  “I don’t want to right now because it could be a trap to lure him to his death. I need to know a whole lot more before I make the call. I can’t let anything happen to my grandfather. Without him the family would fall apart.”

  I nodded. “I can see that. It’s all strange and suspicious. Who is after who and why? And how did my friends and I end up smack dab in the middle? How many people knew you were being flown here? Who all knew you died?”

  “I was on my own in upstate New York, doing some thinking and some hiking. None of my friends were with me. Since I was by myself, I assume the coroner asked around and sent me to San Angelo since that is where I was headed before I so ignobly died. My grandfather was going to meet me in San Angelo next week. He’s out of the country and still must be, or he would have been here with me to help the change go smoothly from human to vampire.”

  “That’s sucks big time, Dagan. You didn’t have anybody with you when you died.”

  “I wanted to be alone.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes I just like to be by myself. Being a Dracula can be so demanding, because everybody expects you to be this certain way. They want to know you because you’re a Dracula, not because I’m just Dagan. You never know if they want to be your friend because of who you are or because of what your bloodlines are. It gets to the point where you think that everybody wants something from you and you start losing the ability to trust . You grow a shell of cynicism. And there’s always some kind of ceremonial thing to attend. My sister loves the ceremonies because she loves to dress up and wear Paris fashions. I like jeans.” He shrugged and I looked down at his jeans. His faded Levis fit him like a loose glove. He looked great in them, but then he had the perfect butt for jeans. He ought to do the paranormal Levi commercials.

  “Being a Dracula doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  “Don’t you get a bit of it being a Frankenstein?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Sometimes, but I pretty much can tell right off the bat if a vampire likes me or not, no pun intended.” I grinned. “Really, I seem to almost sense if someone likes me for me, or just wants to hang out with me because of who I am. But Frankensteins aren’t royalty, though some of my ancestors were barons. So I don’t have this whole movie-star type worship thing going on like with celebrities or royalty.”

  “What about your friends? They all have old distinguished names in the paranormal community.”

  “Debbs could care less if anybody likes her or not. She’s hard to get to know, maybe because of who she is and the job she does.”

  Dagan grimaced when I said that. “Sorry. Debbs is one of my best friends. And she doesn’t go after the good guys, only the bad vampires.”

  “Is that so?” he asked as he reached up and thumbed a lacy piece of spider web that was stretched from the top of the chest of drawers to an old cedar rocking chair. “She kind of bothers me, her being a Van Helsing and all. She could do me some harm or my grandfather.”

  “She won’t.”

  “You sound so certain.”

  “She’s one of my best friends.” She might be a bit vain at times, she might get annoyed with me about liking a Dracula, but she wouldn’t rat Dagan out because she said she wouldn’t and her word was her bond.

  “Hmm,” He mused for a moment. “Tell me more about her. Describe her, like if your friend Debbs was something like animal, vegetable or mineral, which one would she be and why?”

  I thought about his question. And I hoped his interest was more for protection than because he thought she was beautiful. Most guys did. “My dad asks me things like this some times. He does it to make me think. Your parents do the same thing to you?” Dagan smiled a crooked kind of grin. I loved it.

  “My grandfather. He likes to compare things and then discover the differences. He looks at every detail, no matter how small. He says it’s how countries are won and fortunes.” He quit thumbing the web. “So your friend, the Van Helsing, what is she?”

  I had an answer after a little thought. “Debbs would be a diamond. She can be hard, but she’s also beautiful and many- faceted. Most people see her as what she is, but I see the light reflected inside. Yeah, a diamond, a girl’s best friend.”

  Dagan laughed and I smiled, suddenly shy again. I had never met anyone like him or anyone that made me feel like a big fat marshmallow inside, all soft and mushy.

  “That’s a good analogy. I can see that. How about Hart? By the way, I like him. He’s shy, isn’t he?

  I nodded as I leaned my back against the wall, propping my feet behind the metal bars of the bar stool legs. “Hart’s pretty easy. Hart’s one of those huge sea turtles.”

  “Slow and steady and solid, right?”

  “Yeah. And the turtle is always called back to the sea; so is Hart to his friends. He’s loyal.”

  “And he likes Debbs,” Dagan added thoughtfully.

  “True, but Debbs is with Seth. He’s the Mummy’s son. You didn’t get to meet him because he’s grounded and at home for another week.”

  “How do you label him? This Seth?”

  I frowned. Seth was hard to describe, maybe because I hadn’t known him as long, but also because he was
a bit reserved, except with Debbs, who he showered with compliments and gifts. I looked over at the spider web and saw a small spider begin to dance across the lacy fingers of webbing. I pointed to it. “Seth is more like a spider web. Complicated, attractive, stuck to home base and solid. Yet at the same time able to break if the right pressure is applied.”

  “I see. Then you find him weak?”

  “I didn’t say he was weak, did I?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Maybe. No. I give, I don’t know Seth as well as I know the others. I might never know him that well. He has this reserve about him. But Debbs is crazy about him, so he’s all right.”

  Dagan traced a pattern in the dust on the old chest by the wall. “What about Jason Jekyll?” He wasn’t looking at me.

  “What about him?”

  “He doesn’t like me.” Dagan had been leaning against the wall. He now moved, rather he almost glided across the room and sat down on a trunk located next to the bar stool I was sitting upon.

  I couldn’t argue that point. “Jason’s never more happy than when he’s mad about something.”

  “He likes you and not as just a friend,” Dagan said as he studied me, his lips not quite smiling.

  “We used to date, but we’ve been over for ten months now.” I wondered if he was jealous and felt a thrilling tingle shoot through me. Imagine, having Dracula’s grandson jealous of an old boyfriend.

  He put his forefinger against his chin and studied me some more. “You don’t care for him anymore?”

  “Not that way anymore. Maybe never that way. Our relationship was rocky to say the least,” I answered honestly. “And if Jason were animal, vegetable or mineral, he would be a knife. Shiny, sharp and very helpful, until your hand gets sliced open with its sharpness.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Or your heart.”

  “My heart got lucky.” I laughed.

  “Do you trust him then? He won’t speak of tonight?”

  “No. If he broke his word to us over something this important, we wouldn’t hang out with him. Even Hart would have a hard time trying to forgive him for breaking his word. Besides, I do trust Jason about a lot of things, but he’s super critical. That’s one big reason we didn’t make it as a couple. I don’t like being reminded of my faults constantly.”

  “You have faults? Why, I find that hard to believe.”

  I could tell by the way his eyes lit up with humor that he was teasing me. I laughed. “Yeah, I have a few faults. Enough that I don’t want them broadcasted every time I fight with my boyfriend.”

  “I can’t imagine one.”

  “I’m not telling,” I teased back and felt wonderful. Being around Dagan was like Christmas morning when I was little. Full of excitement and happiness. “So, what’s your grandfather like?” I had been dying to ask the question, but I didn’t want to appear rude or vampire-star-struck. Still, he was kin to the Dracula.

  He thought a moment. “He’s a crusty old Nosferatu. He doesn’t like stupid people, vampire or human. He dislikes modern music, and when I say modern, he thinks anything not done by Beethoven is radical.”

  I laughed. “What else?”

  “Well, he likes dogs; in fact he owns four of them, all Irish wolfhounds. Of course he has an affinity with real wolves and owns two of them as pets.”

  “Not werewolves?” In the movies, Dracula usually had control over the Wolfman. I had given up my seat on the bar stool because it had grown uncomfortable and had sat down next to Dagan on the trunk, totally focused on him and what he was saying.

  “Not really. Separate species with their own rules. He loves Halloween and playing chess. And he likes to fly.”

  “Sweet. I always thought it would be great to be able to fly yourself anywhere you wanted without benefit of wings.” That’s one of the things I had always envied about vampires. When I was little I used to dream that I flew across the night skies, feeling the cooling winds in my face as I sailed high above the tiny lights below. I had always ended up waking abruptly on my bedroom floor.

  Dagan laughed. “No, my grandfather flies a plane. He’s got a pilot’s license.”

  “He flies? He’s a pilot?” I was amazed. “But in the movies, he’s always turning into mist or flying off someplace or scaling a wall.”

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you see in the movies.” He tweaked me on the nose as he smiled down at me. “Most vampires can’t fly and none of them can turn into mist. My grandfather used to fly when he was younger, but it takes so much energy that he hasn’t flown without a plane in almost fifty years. Close your mouth,” he teased.

  “It’s just hard to imagine, the Prince of Darkness flying off into the night on a plane. It’s hard to imagine him as having human emotions-what with all the movies and books and stuff.”

  “But he does have deep feelings other than attacking innocent victims and draining them dry. He can be quite charming and fair.”

  I must have registered disbelief on my face because Dagan quickly added more to his description. “Imagine this, when I was five, my parents took me to the International Vampire Convention which meets every five years. Anyway, my grandfather was hosting it. While everybody was busy doing adult stuff my cousins and I went around to all the coffins and stole the dirt inside. We then mixed it all together, added water and made mud castles. What do you think he did to me for that?”

  “Killed you,? Sentenced you to life in a prison with Chinese Water Torture as your play toy?” I couldn’t help but laugh. The picture he painted with his words was funny. I could just see Dagan as a small boy climbing inside the coffin and stealing strange vampire’s native soil.

  “No,” Dagan said grinning. “My grandfather sat down beside my cousins and myself and began scooping the dirt up, pouring it into large baking pans. Then he told us to go the kitchen and help the chef bake the soil. We spent the next four hours drying and separating dirt. Then we had to go and apologize to the owners of the coffins and hand them this altered dirt, which unfortunately, had a mixture of everybody’s dirt. Surprisingly, most vampires took it pretty good. After that my grandfather took each of our favorite toys, broke them with a hammer and put the different pieces into one large pile. He then glued them together. My favorite toy was a toy pistol. He glued the stock of the gun to my cousin’s doll’s arm.” Dagan laughed. “We were heartbroken. And my grandfather explained that was how the vampires had felt when we had mixed their native soil.”

  I was giggling and shaking my head. “Your grandfather is a wily old vamp, isn’t he? That was totally clever and not really cruel. I bet it made a point you never forgot.” I stopped laughing as I thought about what he told me, while I traced a random pattern on his shirt without really thinking about it. I felt so comfortable with Dagan. Never once did I fear for my life or my virtue.

  “You can say that again. I did love my little toy pistol. And a doll arm…” Dagan shuddered, frowning as I giggled.

  “So, animal, vegetable or mineral, what would your grandfather be?”

  “He’s a complex vampire.” He thought for a few moments, finger to chin, then smiled. “The big, bad wolf, of course. He’s wild, crafty and loyal. His bite is worse than his growl. He loves family and would do anything to keep us safe. I know the world sees him in a different light. He can be utterly ruthless and cruel at times, but I love him in spite of his faults.”

  “Of course you do, you’re related to him. I love all my wacky relatives as well. On my father’s side we’re related to the Frankensteins, while on my mother’s side we’re related to Jessie James.”

  Dagan laughed. “A monster maker and a bank robber. No wonder you come by robbing graves naturally.”

  We both laughed. “I guess I do.”

  Suddenly the laughter faded and the mood changed. It was getting late. And the two of us were all alone in a dusty attic. We were sitting side by side, as a draft of cold air played with the rafters right above us, a sort of quiet music to match the beat
ing of our hearts. Wasn’t it romantic, a vampire, a girl and an attic?

  Dagan reached out and touched my face as our bodies made moving shadows against the wall. “Do you know you have the most beautiful eyes? They’re such a dark gray and they have a tiny circle of light blue around the edges. I’ve never seen anything like them before.” I leaned in towards him, like a moth to a flame.

  “My mom has the same eye color as me.” I knew my eyes were one of my best features along with my thick red hair. Still, I loved Dagan telling me he thought they were beautiful. He wasn’t the first boy to tell me so, but he would be the one I would remember.

  Staring down at me, his tone grew serious. “I should just go tomorrow and leave you out of this whole mess. This is dangerous stuff. I don’t want you hurt, V.J.”

  It was sweet, it was sappy and I was happy that he cared. “I’m a Frankenstein.” Danger isn’t my middle name, but it should be. I thrived on it. “We’re already in. Someone specifically wanted me or one of my gang to be attacked by ghouls. So the bad guys already know. We’d be in more danger if we didn’t know what was going on. And who’s to say that those vamps at the funeral home weren’t out for our necks instead of yours?”

  “I do. It makes more sense for them to be after me.”

  “How vain.” I was teasing. I hope he realized that.

  He did, because he grinned and then leaned in closer and whispered to me. “Do you know I’ve always loved red hair?” The laughter in his eyes fled and something else entered. “You’re so pretty, beautiful.”

  I knew I was cute, but beautiful was stretching it, I thought. Yet when Dagan looked at me like he was looking at me, I felt like I could be America’s Next Top Model. “Yeah?”

  “Oh yes,” he said, as he leaned down and kissed me. At first the touch of his lips was so soft it was merely a whisper. Then he pressed his mouth more firmly against my own. His lips surprisingly were warm. Then his kiss grew harder and I felt his tongue enter my mouth just a tiny bit. I opened my mouth a bit more and he kissed me harder.