Even with the warmth of the heavy towel wrapped around me, an icy shudder pulsated through me as I headed for the bath. Was there nothing in this place that did not depict evil?
My exhausted body welcomed the warm water. My pores opened, absorbing the heat. The tub was almost large enough to swim in. I lowered my head under the bubbles. Maybe I should just end it all here. Probably that would be a better fate than what the count had in mind for me. Teresa had mentioned that he was furious, and I had already witnessed a sample of his wrath on her and Max. Then again, maybe the reality here was that he and Teresa were some sort of sadistic serial killers who enjoyed toying with their victims before finishing them off! God alone knew what they had in store for me! Or did He?
I came up from under the water and gasped for air. As long as there was a minute hope of escape, I should not even think of ending my life. Besides, it was against my faith to commit suicide. I definitely did not want to end up in hell! I crossed myself, whispered a small prayer, and finished my bath. I pushed thoughts of death from my mind. At the moment, I just needed to reconsider my options and maintain my strength—mind and body.
~
Tea and biscuits were waiting on the small table for me when we returned to my room. Of course, I knew they were meant for me. As of yet I had not seen Teresa sup on anything other than thick red liquids and uncooked steak.
I felt quite refreshed after the bath. The posy-red gown and the undergarments that Teresa had given me fit perfectly, almost as though they had been tailor-made for me. Of course, my figure was quite similar to hers, give or take an inch or two here and there. Before handing my soiled clothes to Teresa, I retrieved my cross and slipped it into one of the gown’s pockets, keeping it safe for another time. Teresa set my clothes by the door.
“Shall we?” Teresa motioned to the tray of goodies. “I’ll pour your tea if you like,” and without waiting for my reply, she proceeded. I noticed beside the teapot a small covered bowl on the tray in front Teresa’s chair. She set it aside while she poured my tea. I presumed that whatever was in the bowl was meant to be her sustenance. She handed me the steaming cup.
I decided to attempt a conversation other than my usual begging to be allowed to go home. “Max told me,” I stated mysteriously and then took a sip of my tea.
“Told you what?” Teresa asked.
“That you are his daughter.”
“He told you that, did he?” Teresa’s lip curled into its mysterious smile as she turned and gazed toward the moonlit window. “What else did Max tell you?”
“Nothing much, except that he could never help me to escape because it would not be pleasant for either one of you, especially for you. He stated he could never place my welfare over yours.”
Teresa turned back to me. “You really have no comprehension yet of exactly what you have gotten yourself into, do you, Virginia?” Her head tilted to the side as she asked me this question.
“I have a vague idea,” I declared boldly. “But tell me, why did you and the count locate here, in such a small city as Brantford?”
“It’s a long story.” Teresa’s eyes took on a melancholy expression.
“That’s okay,” I encouraged her to continue. I was not so presumptuous as to think I would not have time for a long story. “Judging by my recent ill fortune, I don’t believe I will be going anywhere in a big hurry,” I added.
To my utmost surprise, Teresa began to reminisce. I had not dreamed she actually would reply to my query. Was there a glimmer of hope that we could become friends and that she eventually would be willing to help me escape?
“Some years ago, in the old country, my father was the personal servant of the count. One day, when my father was running an errand for the count in town, he met a beautiful woman and fell instantly in love with her.”
Some years ago, I thought to myself. I wondered just how many years she was talking about. The count appeared to be fairly youthful. But how old would Max be? I was sure he was elderly, but just how old was the big question.
Teresa continued with her story. “My father was an exceptionally handsome man back then. He had raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes, I was told. Anyway, he hurried back to the castle and begged the count to allow him to marry the beautiful maiden, or at least give him leave to initiate a courtship to try to win her heart. The count was not pleased with this turn of events. It had been extremely difficult for him to procure quality help, despite his wealth. People tended to steer clear of him. He feared he would lose the services of my father if Max’s endeavours succeeded and he ended up actually marrying the girl.” Teresa took a sip from her drink.
“My father was totally crushed.” She went on, “He felt he had served the count well and that he was not asking for too great a favour. He knew many of the count’s secrets, and he felt the count owed him, although he never directly told him that! Finally, after much cajoling, he convinced the count to allow him to pursue the maiden, on the condition that, if things worked out, he and his bride would live at the castle, and my father would continue in his service to the count.”
“Why could your father not just leave the count and marry the maiden?” I interrupted.
“No one just leaves the count, my dear—no one that he does not want to leave, anyway. And, to my knowledge, anyone who ever did make an attempt did not live to tell the story. People did not dare to cross him; he was a powerful man in his own country. And, as you have witnessed already, my dear Virginia, he still is a considerably powerful man!”
“You keep calling him count; does he have an actual name?” I inquired.
“His full name is Count Basarab Musat of Transylvania. His father is a first cousin to Count Vlad Dracula, possibly better known to you as Dracula. That makes Count Basarab a second cousin to Dracula; however, he refers to him as uncle.”
A long, low whistle escaped from my lips. Shivers raced up and down my spine. A second cousin to Count Vlad Dracula! I knew he was a real historical person, but to have him actually linked to vampirism outside of the fictional story written by Bram Stoker—well, that was just bizarre! I had not realized vampires actually belonged to a particular family or that they might have extended families. Of course, I had never before become acquainted with an authentic vampire, either.
“How in the world did your father ever get mixed up with the count to begin with?” I managed to whisper.
“He felt totally indebted to the count. You see, my father was born the son of a Gypsy. When he was about seven years old, he took ill. Weakness was not tolerated in the Gypsy camps—it couldn’t be. They were forced to move around so much, and most times on short notice, so there was little time for attending to those who fell ill.
“At the time, my father’s clan was passing through Transylvania and had camped just outside the count’s town for a few weeks. The townspeople soon tired of them and chased them from the area; this was the usual scenario wherever they went. Gypsy people loved to dance and party, and to drink and cavort freely. The villagers feared for their children, many of whom had disappeared on earlier occasions when the Gypsy nomads passed through the area. They never thought to consider the times when their children disappeared most often—when there were no Gypsies around!
“My father was so ill he was unable to travel. He was left behind for—how shall I put it delicately?—for nature’s elements to purge. There was not much else that his family could do, for in those days, the code of the Gypsy world was the survival of the fittest. A weak man just did not make it.”
I wondered for a moment about Teresa’s reference to “those days.” She had to be going back a long, long time. I would have been truly shocked had I known just how far back that was!
Teresa continued, “The count found my father half-dead in the woods, carried him home, and then nursed him back to health.” Teresa hesitated again and stared directly into my eyes. “So you see, Virginia, my father actually owes the count his very existence, and I suppose, in a roundabo
ut way, so do I.”
“What happened next?” I asked. “How did the count get Max to stay on in his service?”
“That was easy enough. The count had saved my father’s life, and he was not beneath reminding my father of that fact. So my father became an extremely loyal servant. In fact, he was even willing to lay down his own life for the man who had saved his. Many were the times he staunchly defended the count when the townspeople were threatening to do something about certain mysterious events that were taking place in the area. Eventually, it did become apparent to the people that some of these incidents could not be attributed to the count because many of them happened when he was away from his castle.
“The situation over my mother was the first time my father had ever dared to cross paths with the count. He pursued his maiden and finally won her heart. After the marriage, he took his bride to live in the castle as they had previously agreed. However, a short time into their marriage, my father dared once again to overstep his position by requesting that he and his bride be allowed to live in the little cottage not far from the castle gates. He was becoming disturbed by the strange influence the count appeared to wield over his wife. The count denied my father’s request.
“Life went on, though. I was conceived and born within the first year of their marriage, but after my birth my mother showed absolutely no interest in my well-being. It was my father who attended to my needs—fed me, bathed me, clothed me, and rocked me to sleep at night. In actuality, the count had played a part in this. He had ordered my mother to work alongside my father while she was with child. She had learned most of his duties. Once she was no longer burdened with me in her belly, my mother assumed more and more of my father’s regular duties. Thus, he saw less and less of her as the days passed.
“Then came the day when she ceased coming to him at all, even during the night hours, when most dutiful wives would be warming their husbands’ beds. The count had consumed her, body and soul. My father’s heart was broken, and he soon shrivelled into the old man whom you see today.
“He began to stoop when he walked, and his eyes took on an empty, faraway look. The only moments there was ever a gleam in those vacant wells were when he gazed upon me. I became the sole reason for his existence; my mother appeared to be totally lost to him.”
“So why didn’t Max just take you and run away?” I asked.
“My father told me that he tried once, with me clutched in his arms. He was going to see me to safety somewhere and then return for my mother. He was sure that if he could have a few minutes alone with her that he could convince her to leave with him. However, the count quickly sought him out, and we were dragged back to the castle. The count ordered my father never to attempt such a thing again. If he did, my mother would meet with an unfortunate accident.”
Teresa let out a small, sarcastic laugh. “And can you believe this, Virginia? Even with her detestable treatment of him, my father still loved my mother so much that he would not even dream of another escape attempt. Count Basarab Musat is an excessively sinister and self-centred creature!” For the first time, I saw in Teresa’s black eyes a spark of hatred as she spoke of the commanding man who appeared to be her husband. “Something no one, no matter who they might be, should forget,” she added.
I had another question I needed an answer to. By now I had assumed the count, and Teresa were vampires, but what was Max? “Teresa,” I asked, “how is it that Max still lives?”
She tilted her head and then smiled. “I am not privy to exactly how the count keeps my father alive, but I believe it might have something to do with only being partially ‘crossed over.’ The count still needs someone who can look after certain affairs during the daytime.”
Teresa glanced out the window and then up at the moon. “It is time to dine, Virginia. We must hurry. The count will be furious if we are tardy.” Teresa headed for the door. Suddenly she turned, and this time I thought I detected a look of concern emanating from her eyes. “Virginia, please remember this piece of advice that I am about to give you: Do not fight him. The more you do, the harder things will go for you. Believe me, I know.” A distinct sense of sadness had crept into her words, and a tear escaped from the corner of her eye. I had no idea, at the time, these creatures were prone to that kind of emotion, or should I say, semblance of emotion? I also wondered just how genuine Teresa was.
“Thank you for your advice, Teresa. I will hold it dear,” I murmured. I noticed that Teresa had not quite answered my question yet of how she and the count had come to live in Brantford. Oh well, another time.
Teresa turned and strolled out of the room. I trailed after her, humbled by the story I had just heard. My heart was feeling Teresa’s obvious pain, but my mind was still trying to figure my way out of this mess. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cross and refastened it around my neck. It cradled itself beneath the material of my gown. Its warmth against my heart was only slightly comforting.
Night to Remember
Chapter Six
How can life grow from one who has cold breath?
How can life sprout from one who has experienced death?
Yet, inside my body, a tiny seed doth sprout;
It is HIS seed, of that there is no doubt.
“A h, Teresa darling, and Virginia, my little bird; it is so pleasant to see you at last. I was beginning to wonder what might be detaining you. I am impatient to get on with our meal so that I may attend to my outside business tonight.” I felt his cold eyes glaring at me. “Without any more unnecessary delays, I hope,” he added.
Teresa sat in her usual chair on the count’s left. The count waved his hand toward her and said, “No, Teresa darling, you will not be dining with me tonight. I would prefer you to sup in the kitchen with Max. I have—ah, how shall I say it now—yes, some business to discuss with Virginia.”
Teresa blushed crimson at the count’s dismissal. I was not sure whether it was from embarrassment or from anger. She pushed her chair back from the table, stood up, whirled around, and stalked from the room. The count motioned for me to sit in the vacated spot.
A heavy silence filled the room as Max served our meals. I say meals, for I was confident that mine would be quite different from the count’s serving. Max set the count’s dish in front of him, along with a goblet of red liquid. He served me broiled chicken, smothered in a creamy white sauce. The chicken was garnished with baby carrots and small, round potatoes, which had been crisped to a golden brown. A glass of white wine was set at the tip of my silver knife. I guessed that was Max’s way of assuring me I was not being served the same drink as the count.
The flickering candles transmitted an eerie ambiance throughout the room. This was it, I thought. The count was going to tell me how sorry he was for all the inconveniences he had inflicted on me and then inform me I was free to leave. But I would have been dreaming if I believed that was even a remote possibility. I had an even greater gut feeling that the count would never allow me to leave. If he were going to, he would have already done so.
I knew deep down I would have to fight him with every ounce of my wits, plus change my strategy in order to find out what it was he wanted from me. I would have to play his game, whatever that might be, and lead him to believe I was mere putty in his hands, soft and pliable, moulding myself in response to his every whim.
However, that thought was terrifying. I remembered those brief moments when I had been under his spell, and I shuddered. It seemed I had no control over my feelings when he projected his certain look upon me. It would be considerably easier to play the game if I did not have to look the count directly in the eyes!
“Virginia darling.” There he went with his darling again, I thought to myself as the count paused momentarily. “We must reach an alliance. I do not wish to fight with you, Virginia. I want to love you, make love to you—with you. I want to protect you. I am able to bestow eternal life on you. Did you know that, my dear?” The count’s steely eyes pierced deep into m
e.
I searched those eyes for the love he spoke of, but I saw none there. There was no concern, no promise of protection. Those eyes were colder than the ice at the base of a glacier. In fact, they were so cold that I found myself shivering beneath their gaze.
“Why do you suggest this, Count, when you know I do not wish to stay here? My greatest desire is to be allowed to go home. Is that too difficult a request for such a powerful man as you to grant?” I felt a little flattery here would not hurt my chances for a possible release.
“I give my solemn oath not to tell anyone about you if that is what you are worried about. However, what it is that you are afraid I would tell is beyond me. I know nothing of who you are or what you do. I do not understand why you are holding me here against my will. I would be willing to erase this experience from my memory if you just would let me go now.
“What about your wife, Teresa? Does she not have something to say about this matter? I have no inclination to interfere between a man and his wife. Your proposal to make love to me sounds more like what we, in this Christian country, call adultery. Of course, maybe fooling around with the neighbour is not considered so wrong where you come from!” I added snappily. My statement was a bit too bold even for my liking, but it was out, and now all I could do was wait for his response.
The count’s lip curled upward. A deep, throaty chuckle burst forth. “Tell someone about me? Do you believe I fear you could harm me with your little stories? What is it you wish to tell, little bird? That I have fangs? That I drink blood? Maybe even that I turn into a bat on occasion?” His eyebrows were raised in sarcasm. I had the impression my game had not gotten off to a very strong start.
Night's Gift: Book One of the Night's Vampire Trilogy Page 6
