PROLOGUE

Spring, although the biting wind tried to disprove it, was finally in the air. Small leaves and twigs sprouted out of awakening trees, colouring the bleak forest after what had seemed ages of death. Here and there some birds hesitantly began to sing, only to be silenced by the whistling of the wind. Maria refused to be silenced; she stubbornly chatted on, about the new buds, the birds, the soft, green grass and, of course, about Adrian.

The winter had been long without him, short as his presence had ever been. No more than one month of love and she missed him terribly now he wasn’t here. Well, not for much longer now, she was going to get him if he was ready or not; if she had to, she’d drag him out of that stupid coffin by the hair!

"You look as if you’re planning on waking him with an uppercut." Richter said, chuckling. She grinned back.

"I might, if he doesn’t come out fast enough. I only hope he’s all right after all that snow..."

"Of course he is. I told you before; he’ll be fine, if a little grumpy after all this sleeping. He’ll probably kiss you, then see me, flush to his eyelashes and come with us like a docile maiden. After that, you will take him shopping, which will probably lead to him running away screaming, after which—oww! Ladies are not supposed to hit the gallant men escorting them!"

"You’re not gallant, you’re Richter, and besides, I’m no lady. If you only want to be sniffed at, you’d better return to Ann. Now, which way do we have to go now?" Richter grumbled something under his breath. "What did you say?"

"Left. Or rather, east. There isn’t a path, really. You are sure this map is correct, aren’t you?"

"Yes, I am. There’s supposed to be some kind of trail. But it did look different without growth...over there is some sort of path." She patted her horse on the neck, dismounted and took a good look at the ground. No wagon trails whatsoever, but that did not mean they’d never been there. It had been a long time since they’d rode here, and the ground had been like stone with frost. She was glad for Richter’s company, no matter how they quarreled. Without him, she was sure she’d have lost her way long ago. There had been times she thought she would never find Adrian back, that he had made the map so vague on purpose, so that she wouldn’t be able to disturb his dreams again. Nonsense, of course. He loved her. At least, she thought he did. Now she wasn’t so sure.

"Maria? Look here." Her brother in law held up a thin red ribbon. "I finally begin to understand the scribbling at the bottom. It says ‘ribbon mark’, not ‘river bank’." He smiled broadly. "For one so old he really has some strange ideas about directions. What did he think he was doing, making a play trail for children?" Maria blushed. It had been her idea to tie little things to branches, and Adrian had laughed at her—without actually smiling, only with his eyes—in the same way. But it was him that had tied the bloody things, she’d been asleep most of the time.

"Let’s just follow them." she replied, and this time she did sniff. "Al least we know that we’re on the right track. And please hang that one back before we get lost on our way back."

"Yes ma’am." She swatted at him, but he jumped out of reach before she could hit him.

"O come on."

"Yes ma’am." Maria sighed as one terribly tired, but as she walked along the path her steps were light as if she were dancing.

*

There had been dreams and nightmares during his sleep; some worse than others. Endless dreams about Lisa and his father, dreams of Flame and Maria, hallucinations of Blessings and whips. He had cried, sometimes, although he only knew he had done so because of the cold draft on his wet cheeks. Once, when he woke up after a particularly bad dream he had tried to pry open the lid and run back to Maria, but at that moment the coffin had been covered with snow and no matter how strong he was, he had not succeeded in freeing himself. So he had slept some more, right through the thaw and the first stirring of floral and faunal life, until three days ago, when a finch sat itself on the lid’s edge and started singing.

Spring, he thought, staring at the blue patches that were visible between the tree branches of the oak under which he had placed the sarcophagus. How odd. I cannot remember any spring following Flame’s death. None after Lisa’s death either. We used to go walking, mother and me, and she would try to make me laugh while we picked apples in the yard. Yet I must have seen a thousand springs when I were young, even when I tried to flee from father’s castle. He followed a bird with his eyes and smiled. Glad that’s gone now. I hope I’ll never see it again.

Breathing in deeply he stretched, enjoying the tingle of strengthening muscles. It was cold, but he didn’t care; there was no pain, no tiredness or desperation and he felt like simply lying here until Maria would come and get him. She would come, it didn’t matter when. His hair, cut off when he’d gone to sleep a couple of months ago, had grown back for the greatest part; it hung to his waist in wheat-pale tangles. Knowing Maria, he was convinced she would be standing in front of him within a week. Lovely, green eyed Maria. He smiled again, humming. It was good to desire someone again. Desire led to love making, and love making to children. God, how he wanted to have children! Like you. A bastard like you. He stopped humming.

The Blessing, the blood, the whip. But I survived, I held the bloody whip, I overcame my weaknesses and I accepted my faith. I am what I am, and it’s not you. The glove stuck wetly to his skin as he plucked it off, baring his left hand. Molten snow, not blood. There still was a flash of pain, though nothing like it once had been. I am what I am, he thought again, softly tracing the scar with his right index finger, but I will choose my own life, thank you very much.

Maria once said they were continuously dancing around each other, well, he meant to come back now and stop dancing. The smile returned, grew to a grin. It was time to take matters into his own hands. He lay back, resting his head on his arm and idly stroking himself until he realised what he was doing. Stop it. You’re in a FOREST for God’s sake. Adrian Tepes began to giggle. He didn’t know where it came from, but now he had started he couldn’t stop anymore. The birds nearby ceased their chirping and flew away, two curious rabbits pricked up their ears and disappeared into the woods, and somehow that made him laugh harder. For quite some time he just lay there grinning foolishly, gazing at the hard blue sky, and he had never felt better.

*

Dusk already fell when Maria spotted the casket under a large tree. It was as if the dull black gleam shot from her eyes to her brain and then straight into her stomach; she could almost feel the air rushing out of her. The coffin was open.

Before Richter had even noticed the thing she was off Shalot, running towards Adrian’s bed. But as soon as she was there, she slowed down again and smiled.

"Is he there?" Richter whispered. She nodded. He walked up to her and looked down. If he’d ever doubted the man could smile he now knew better. He had never seen more joy, love, happiness and pure lust in any man’s face; if he’d stretch his lips any further the sides of his mouth would touch his ears. The grin wavered a bit when the Dhampire saw him, but it returned, this time without lust and love but with great delight, and took him in as well.

"I’ve never been anywhere else." He sat up, suddenly frowning.

"What’s wrong?" They saw him move his left hand, look at it. He shook his head, smiling again.

"Nothing. How long did I sleep?" Maria fished something out of her pocket; a neat braid of moonbeam hair. She held it against her own plaited hair. It fit almost exactly.

"Three months, eight days and," she squinted at the sky, "I would say about three hours.

You are coming back this time, aren’t you?"

"I promised, didn’t I?"

"But do you...want to?" Adrian shot Richter a look that told him it had been either very wise or very unwise he’d come with his sister in law; next the Dhampire shrugged and visibly dismissed him. He rose, took the woman in a tight embrace and kissed her full on the mouth.

"You’d better believe it." Richter laughed, partly because of the dismissal—if that kind of arrogance could be learned he really had to talk to the Count about lessons—and partly because of the man’s surprising vitality. Who would have thought him possible of a kiss like that some six years ago?

"I don’t want to be rude, but would you mind if I interrupted your sweet greetings? I’m sure you two would love to spend the night in that coffin of yours, but I for myself would like to be back home before tomorrow. I do not think your bed is big enough for three."

"No, I do not think so." Reluctantly, Adrian let Maria go. He looked incredibly young at the moment, as if sleeping had restored much more than simple strength. "And I doubt you would find it comfortable." He flashed his fangs, shook the hair out of his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Very well, if we must go now, we will. I long for a bit of exercise. No, Maria, not that kind of exercise, don’t look so shocked." Richter wondered if he’d smoked opium while lying in his casket; he’d never heard so many puns from anyone, let alone a moody guy like the Dhampire.

"It seems you are very much yourself again." He said, trying to keep his lips from twitching. Adrian shrugged, and when his eyes met the Belmont’s again they were as cool and clear as ever.

"Do you claim to know how I behave if I am ‘myself’?"

"Of course not. I was just...being polite."

"As always." There definitely was a mocking tone in his voice, and Richter clenched his teeth. He did not like to be made a fool.

"Are you finished then? Can we go?"

"But of course." Mockery indeed. "Whenever you are ready.

No, I do not need a horse, I prefer to walk. Thank you." Muttering softly, Richter hoisted himself into the saddle and watched the other man helping Maria. At least she was happy. Ach, I am happy too. I just wish he didn’t have to be so obvious about it!

During their nocturnal journey Maria repeatedly looked at the man trotting beside her. The man. As far as she knew he always ran as a wolf, not in this form. Not that he seemed troubled; in fact he was humming, a sure sign he was enjoying himself, but it was strange. She’d never before seen him running like this.

"Adrian?"

"Yes?"

"Are you completely...whole now?" He kept his eyes straight ahead, kept trotting.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Because you are still human." Silence. She felt Richter’s gaze on the back of her head, and knew he had been wondering about the same thing. "After the Blessing you said you could still feel the ability in your bones, but that it hurt to change. Can you change now?" She reined in Shalot and waited until he was standing beside her. He sighed.

"I tried as soon as I woke up. Yes, I can still change, but not as easily as before. It’s not painful anymore, but it is...different." he smirked. "And I would rather try it again after a meal, not now in the middle of the forest."

"Do you think it’s because of the Blessing? It shouldn’t have had any effect on your ability to change."

"I do not know. Perhaps, but it could have been the whip as well. It doesn’t matter. I do not have to be a wolf to run, as you can see, it’s only faster and I like to feel the wind in my fur...but since I will be living among people it might be just as well. I fear they will look very strange indeed if I change in the middle of some boring party because the food doesn’t appeal to me." Richter laughed, Maria did not.

"I am afraid they would do a lot more than just look strange," she said softly, remembering the thought she’d had when they arrived at the Belmont estate. Screaming people, pistols, holy water. The feeling of his burning skin under her hands. He looked at her, smiling ruefully, knowing what she was thinking.

"I know. I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be a very good idea to marry in a church either. Do you still wear the cross?" Maria reached inside her bodice, pulled and let the necklace hang over her cape.

"I never take it off. The first few nights it was highly uncomfortable, I almost strangled myself."
"I will buy you a real ring."

"There’s no need for that, the crucifix will do fine. Maybe Richter can marry us."

"I’d love to!" Adrian looked doubtful, especially when he saw the vampire hunter’s broad grin.

"We’ll see." Was all he said, but he started humming again, and the hint of a smile never left his face.

The shrill but powerful wail of a healthy infant pierced the silence like a needle could pierce a balloon. Maria sat up with a shock, heart pounding, still half asleep. She already began to ease herself down again when a second wail woke her up all the way, and with the recognition came the protest. I’ve been out of bed three times already, it’s his turn now.

She shook the sleeping body next to her, whispering: "Adrian. Wake up, your offspring needs your attention." He frowned in his sleep, and she gave him a push.

"Let him cry. Good for his lungs." As if to confirm his statement another shriek sounded through the hall. Maria winced.

"Don’t tell me you wake up because you sense someone a yard away but that you can sleep through this noise." Adrian sleepily opened one eye.

"Just ignore him, in the end he will cry himself to sleep."

"And since when are you a baby expert?" She moaned as the baby stopped his regular crying and began to howl in earnest. " They’ll hear him in the nearest village and think we’re torturing him. I don’t know what your plans are, but I refuse to wait until he’s tired himself out. Go on, take him out." He tried to resist her pushing hands, but she was a strong woman and finally he sighed: "You are an uncaring mother."

"I have done all the caring I am capable of for this night. And with you he’s quiet sooner. Go on, make him shut up. Go on."

Tsk-ing, he rolled out of bed, grabbed his pants and stumbled to the small room that currently housed a being that had thrown his life upside down from the moment it had been born. The sound deafened him the minute he opened the door and he laughed quietly; the boy had lungs like an opera singer.

"Now now now, my little Lysander," he hushed, "what’s the reason of all this violence?" Lysander Tepes hesitated an instant before opening his tiny mouth again for an even louder cry, but was stopped by the one thing that made him forget his misery; something on which he could suckle. A finger, in this case, and although it did not produce milk it was enough to silence him. Adrian lifted his son out of the crib and sat on the chair next to it, cradling him in his arms. "Is your mother such a cruel woman, letting you lie here all alone..." Something clicked in his throat, and for a while he just sat there stroking the little boy’s face.

Lysander had been born three weeks ago during the worst snow storm he’d ever seen. The house had been full with people he did not know, all running up and down the stairs and making an enormous fuss about Maria and expecting him to be pacing around like a caged animal. The fact that he wasn’t seemed to anger them almost as much as it astounded him.

She was in labor, for God’s sake, not dying! Naturally he did not like the idea she was in pain and that there was nothing he could do about it, but what good would it do if he’d chew his fingers to bits with nervousness?

On the other hand, the longer she was in confinement, the more restless he became. He was not allowed to come into the room to check on her, nor could he help her; once he asked one of the midwives—why three, why not only one?— if he could give her a hand carrying a basket with boiled towels upstairs and she’d given him a stare of the kind he normally reserved for people of Riff’s age. No, he had not liked that day a bit...until the child was finally born.

The first time he had held his son in his arms, all he could think of was that he was so small, so incredibly tiny. He had never seen a baby before, at least not since he had come to his grown-up length, and the thought this would once be a man seemed ridiculous. And the whole time he drank in the small red face, the flailing fists and perfect little feet he thought about the name they had chosen for him, Lysander, and how utterly absurd it was to call this shrimp like that.

Now he knew better; Lysander was more than worth his name. Everybody jumped to fulfill his every wish—they had to lest feel, or rather hear, the young man’s wrath. Lysander could not move mountains, but his commanding voice could make people hop.

"And hop we do, you spoiled little brat," Adrian whispered lovingly. Lysander made a gurgling sound, looking up with his unfocussed, blue eyes. He wondered what colour they would be when he was older, green or light brown. Somehow he thought they would be brown. "well, are you going to sleep now? No more screaming?"

Poor Maria, she looked so tired, and no wonder with this little monster keeping her awake. It was true, he did sleep right through it, used as he was to howling things in the night. Although that had never been children.

Lysander’s face screwed up as soon as his father made a move to put him in his crib again. Adrian sighed; the child would be a horrible spoiled brat. But he couldn’t make himself be stern, so he took the boy with him to the bedroom, tiptoed to the bed and slipped under the covers, careful not to wake his wife.

"Tyrant." He scolded. Lysander blubbered his agreement. "I am a lousy father." Yet he was sure Maria would understand.

CHILDREN 1

Annette Belmont carefully wiped her son’s sticky fingers with a moist cloth, looked at his equally sticky face and mopped it as well.

"What did Anna give you, Riff? Honestly, I’d swear it was pine sap."

"It’s honey. She’s baking an apple and honey cake."

"Is she now?" she rubbed at an exceptionally dirty spot. "There, you’re clean again. Could you keep it that way at least until Alice and Natalia have finished their tea?" Riff moved his jaws, rather like a small cow chewing grass.

"I’ll try." He said sincerely, and both Annette and Alice smiled. Natalia pressed her lips together, not amused at all. They knew he would be dirty within minutes again, he always was, no matter what he did. "But I can’t promise anything." That was a phrase he’d picked up from Richter; as far as he knew it meant that it wouldn’t be his fault if he couldn’t live up to his promise. A very useful thing to say, mainly because it always made grown-ups tend to forget they were angry with him. He tried to dodge the hug, but let himself be kissed patiently when he didn’t succeed in doing so. Riff was a ‘good boy’. Good boys were always rewarded. Bad boys were not. It was that simple. And yes, mommy put a piece of chocolate in his spotless hands, slapped him on his backside and sent him off, which meant she’d forgiven him for getting sticky. Sucking busily, he ran back to the kitchen for more honey.

"’Pon my word, the boy is like a piglet, only happy with a thick layer of mud on his skin." Alice grinned to take the sting out of her words. Annette smiled back over the rim of her teacup.

"Yes, he is terrible. And I can’t get Richter to talk some sense into him; I once told him to haul him out of the shed where he was trying to catch the cat, and when I went to look for them they were both lying on the ground, covered with dust and earth, mewing at the poor cat that had hidden itself under the floor. It took three days before it dared to come out."

Alice put her cup on the table.

"That reminds me of one of my favorite nephews, Adrian. He was always chasing creatures he’d better left alone..."

"My brother in law’s named Adrian too," Annette said. The smile thinned a bit; Adrian was not exactly her favorite. She shot Natalia a look, that woman had seen the man only once and had been mooning about him for hours. Why she did not understand, apart from being girlishly handsome he had nothing to be attractive.

Alice chatted on after an almost unnoticeable silence: "Adrian? What a coincidence. It’s not so common a name as it used to be. Your brother in law? He must be Maria’s spouse then. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m letting my tongue run away with my senses again.

Adrian—my Adrian—used to catch birds and put them in cages when he was a child. He thought that if he’d have exactly one hundred he would be able to let them carry him to the sun. Preposterous, but he truly believed it. Of course he never reached the hundred; when he had about seventy birds his father told him it was enough, and in the end he released them all."

"Children have strange ideas sometimes." Natalia agreed. "I recall Linda coming home with a pocketful of frogs one day. She thought they would turn into princes if she’d kiss them." They laughed, Annette a trifle faint. She could not imagine prim little Linda ever even looking at a frog, let alone touching it. That girl wasn’t a child, she was a small adult, and a squeamish one at that.

"I wonder what Lysander will be like when he is old enough to be a nuisance. He’ll probably be exactly like Riff: all big, innocent eyes and angelic smiles. I must say he is a beautiful baby."

"Lysander?"

"Yes, Maria’s child. Had I not told you about him?"

"You told me, yes, but Alice wasn’t here at the time. You really have to warn me when you’re inviting them, dear, I would love to see him."

"Lysander?" Alice said with an odd look on her face.

"Yes, it’s a strange name, isn’t it. It appears to be the name of a character in a foreign play. They will be here next week, Richter and Adrian have some business to attend to in town, so I asked Maria whether she would like to stay here for the time being. I’m sure we can fit in a small party..."

"Oh, yes, excellent motion. If you wouldn’t mind...I’ve been dying for a reason to give a ball. Joran is probably at home next week..." Poor man, Annette thought, he detests parties. No wonder he flees his own house if his wife insists on burying him under guests he doesn’t know. A quick glance, and she saw Alice was biting her lips to keep from smiling.

"I’m sure he would be delighted." Alice was a smart woman, a pity she wasn’t married. The other woman beamed at her, dark eyes sparkling.

"I do hope so. Of course you’re invited as well." Alice shook her head.

"I fear I won’t be able to make it. I leave for Bucharest the day after tomorrow. But I do hope I will be here the next time...?" Natalia nodded. Of course she would invite her friend for the next ball. She leaned back in her chair, already dreaming of the new dress she would order made tomorrow.

*

In a castle that once had been known as Poenari, but had lost that name many years ago, a tall man and a small, slender woman sat close to each other in front of a well lit hearth. She was a beauty; long dark hair framed a pale face with striking dark eyes, her features were delicate if a touch cold for one so youthful.

Of course, that youth was false, as was the life in her body, but the man would never complain about small things like that. After all his case was quite similar.

"You said the Belmont boy is still alive?"

"Yes, very much. He has a child now, a small boy called Christian. They call him Riff."
"They are nothing but original. A child. Well, well. A boy child even."

"Don’t tell me you plan on kidnapping the child."

"Do you have a better idea? I’d rather not have the father spoiling my plans again."

"Believe me, he won’t." She grinned. "I know his wife, and for a senseless twit she wears quite the armored glove. She doesn’t want him to go vampire hunting again."

"His wife...did he marry the same girl I abducted? What was her name again? Mary?"

"No, that’s her sister. Richter’s wife is called Annette." She paused for a moment. "Maria married Alucard about a year ago." The man’s eyes narrowed at the name. "Yes, he actually married her. Up to now I’ve managed to stay out of his sight, but he’s there, and apparently thriving well." She hesitated, licked her cosmetically reddened lips. Telling him more might prove a little too much right now, so she changed the subject a little.

"It might be better to leave the Belmonts alone for the time being." The man shook his head.

"Too dangerous. In the end he will come anyway, and...I hate that bloody whip of his. If I have his child he won’t dare to lay siege on me."

"But Alucard..."

"I will take care of Alucard, he is not that big a threat." She arched a thin dark eyebrow.

"Excuse me for asking, but he was the one responsible for your last defeat, wasn’t he?"

"I made him think he defeated me, yes." She shook her head.

"You were killed, Vlad, before I called your return." The man smiled sadly. At the moment his irises were dark, unreadable, but she knew there was pain behind those emotionless circles.

"There was no other way; the only other possibility was killing him."

"And you couldn’t do that. So you let yourself be slain. You still love him then?" He laughed without humour.

"He’s Lisa’s son! How could I destroy the last thing on earth that is more than a dead memory of her? He won’t be able to rise ever again, and I can’t...I once hurt him. Badly. I thought I had killed him. His eyes turn dark if he is in pain. I couldn’t possibly let him die, not with that expression on his face. Sometimes it’s better to die than to kill." The woman sniffed.

"At the time it would have been a mercy. Alucard seemed to take some obscene kind of pleasure in suffering his life instead of living it. That can’t be your family’s trait." He looked at her, features blank like a statue’s, and for a moment she thought she’d gone too far. Then an unpleasant but genuine smile parted his thin lips as he said: "I know. You could consider it a mild revenge. There are some penalties for killing one’s father. With a little luck the guilt has driven him so far he won’t need more than a little push to come back to me. He always was exceptionally sensitive to dreams; I am sure his memory has provided sufficient matter for me to work with..." he grimaced. "It ought to have. I do not particularly enjoy dying.

But tell me, my dear, what are your plans?"

"My plans?"

"Don’t pretend you called me back from the dead out of mercy." She shrugged, creamy shoulders heaving.

"Let’s say I felt lonely."

"Lonely?"

"Yes, lonely. I’ve been to Russia and Europe to see the capitals, I have slept for a long time, I’ve seen France and kissed its king," she smiled again, clicking her nails together. "but he was a fool, not worthy of my attention. Most men are fools, and the more power the more foolish they are. I missed the company of someone who’s my better."

"You are flattering me."

"Yet I am serious. And I, my prince, am not a fool. It’s true, I have my own plans, but they will not interfere with yours, and I need your power. You might call it a mutual agreement."

"As long as you don’t force me to sign another document..." Elizabeth crossed her legs and leaned her weight on her left arm. She was seductive, that woman, he thought.

"No documents. I only ask you to share your plans with you, and give me some power over your castle."

"In exchange for what?" Lazily she lifted her eyes to his, smoothing her dress over her thigh with her hand.

"That, my prince, is for you to decide."

*

"Do you hate shopping as much as I do?" Adrian nodded unhappily. "I can’t see why women always seem to need more dresses while we do perfectly with only three."

"Yes. And then to think I wore the same for ages when I slept. Nobody ever complained about it."

"And we’re not even allowed to come in and look at it, not to mention choose the cloth!" A small smirk crept over Adrian’s pale face; Richter was scared to death Annette would buy velvet-and-lace again, thus spending a small fortune on clothes. He wasn’t that rich. The Dhampire, naturally, was. For all he cared, Maria bought the whole shop, but he felt for Richter, and decided to distract him in the bookshop next to the seamstress’s.

"Come," he said, "see if you can find an old book about conjuring money spirits. No? Then help me find a book written by a man called ‘Shakespeare’."

They entered the small wooden building, both stooping to spare their heads a bump. Inside it smelled of old books, paper and bone-glue, a scent Richter associated with knowledge. One side of the room was covered with a huge bookcase, filled with printed novels. On the right the proprietor sat behind his desk and beside him a small chest housed several ancient, handwritten books.

Strange, I actually miss the library. Thousands of books from every country, any age...if there is anything I would want to go back for, it would be the library. Faintly he heard Richter ask for Shakespeare as he let his gaze glide along the rows of books. Latin works, Renaissance novels, Reformation. There even was a copy of a manuscript by Erasmus, of whom he had heard on the last party.

He clicked his tongue; one thing hadn’t changed, parties were just as dull as they’d been when he first began to hate them. Oh, he liked dancing with Maria, he enjoyed talking with all those intelligent and less intelligent men but there were times he couldn’t abide their presence. All the talking! How could they stand it, all those hours chitchatting and gossiping! On more than one occasion he’d simply walked away, the fake smile like clay on his face, screaming for action or at least something...useful inside.

Richter was different, he was quite smart for someone his age. How odd, that a former vampire hunter was the best friend of a former vampire. He stopped after reading one of the titles for the second time, read it again and took the book out of the case.

"’Romanian Princes’," he murmured, and whispered the first few words: "As the ages come and go, legends die and come to life. No holy warrior could be buried before an even greater man succeeded him. Among them, a figure of great sorrow takes his place..." Richter tapped him on the shoulder.

"I’ve got it. What’s that, another play? Are you all right, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost."

"I feel as if I have." Adrian said quietly. He turned to the proprietor. "I would like to have this one as well, if you please.

Do you think the women are ready by now?"

"I sure hope so. I’d love to try out my new horse."

"You’re mad if you think you can tame him now, he’ll break his legs in the snow.

Thank you." Richter followed him out of the shop with a pout.

"Not if I clean out the yard. The cold will make him slower..."

"It’s your horse, and your body. But I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one telling Annette her husband cannot go to the ball because he’s lying in bed with a concussion. Ah, I believe we are in luck, they are ready. And, tell me, what did you buy?"

"Wait and see." Maria teased. "You must be thrilled to go to another party." She glanced at her sister, but Annette was in an intimate conversation with her husband and could not hear what she said. "The moon will be only half full on Tuesday, so you’ll be fine. No wolf-pulling. You’ll see, it will be very animated." Adrian slowly nodded while he squeezed her arm, and she prayed silently he would be fine.

When they were married only a few months there had been a diner at some friend’s place, followed by dancing. A couple of minutes before eleven Maria found herself alone, and when she asked if someone knew where Adrian was her hostess told her he was outside, getting a bit of fresh air. It was a lovely mild evening so she happily went out to find him, but when she saw him she immediately knew it was bad; he leaned his back against the wall, eyes closed, face pale in the moonlight.

"Adrian?" He started, then relaxed a little as he saw it was her. "What are you doing here?"

"Just standing here. Watching the moon. Listening." She moved until she stood beside him and gazed up.

"It’s lovely."

"It’s horrible. It’s pulling at me." He rubbed his left hand where the scar gleamed pinkly on his palm.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I want to change. I want to run, God, I want to run away from this...puppet show!"

"You were a partial vampire, Adrian, not a werewolf."

"I know! Don’t tell me what I am! I know what I am!

‘Pregnant moon, dead nocturnal body, like a blind eye gazing down..." he swallowed, "on lovers pretending to be happy.’ I hate this moon! I hate it! It’s evil and merciless and God I want to RUN!" Maria nervously looked around, but nobody seemed to be hearing them.

"Do you think you can change tonight?" There had been times he could not. This time he nodded.

"Yes!" Almost violently.

"All right then, I know how you have missed it. Try to be back tomorrow, though."

"You’re letting me go?" Maria winced; he sounded as if she’d been keeping him locked up. But on the other hand, maybe that was how he saw it...

"Yes. I’ll find some excuse for you to leave." He interrupted her by kissing her wildly.

"Thank you. You don’t know...thank you. I’ll be back in the morning, I promise. Come, let’s get inside, make something up...or can I jump over the hedge here? Maria..."

Once he forgot to take a hold on himself, it was impossible for him to regain control. She could feel the twitching of his muscles as he impatiently pulled at her arm. Even in the dark she saw the mad gleam in his eyes.

"I think it’s better if you just jumped over the hedge. Come on, go, I’ll tell Olga you had business to attend to. Go!" And so he kissed her one last time and disappeared into the night.

As promised he returned the next morning, worn out and too hungry to talk before he ate something. The madness was gone completely, drowned in his exhaustion. He slept the rest of the whole day and a large part of the night as well, then slipped back into his role as a devoted husband with a temper. The only thing that remembered both of them of that night, was a ruined pair of pants and a torn shirt.

Apart from an inclination to go running when the moon was full, Adrian had little trouble with his shape-shifting powers. He mourned the loss of them, but he had Maria and Lysander now, and they made up for the freedom he missed. Mostly.

He still detested parties though.

CHILDREN 2

While Maria was changing, Adrian sat with his thankfully quiet son, his feet propped up on the table in front of him, leafing through the book he had bought this afternoon. Not the Shakespeare novel. He had tried to put the other book out of his mind and delve into yet another romantic play, but had found the words whirling in front of his eyes; incomprehensible. ‘The Romanian Princes’ pulled at him like the moon had done, that restless evening. Now he sat here, alone but for his sleeping son, staring at one of the prints of the hard-faced man whose sole existence—or nonexistence—haunted his memory. A memory that had died when the last live-painted portraits were burnt to feed a pyre of humans...

I had forgotten what he looked like. Adrian thought moodily. No wonder the villagers were so terrified of me, I look just like him. I was a fool, once again. Smashing mirrors doesn’t change someone’s features.

There had been a time, just after Flame’s death, that he couldn’t bear to see his own face. He had broken every mirror he saw and very nearly destroyed his hands for good. Not long afterwards he had met Trevor, and the Belmont’s interference had led to the Long Sleep in the mount. It also had saved what was left of his sanity.

"Ad-ian?" He looked up, dizzy with his thoughts, and forced himself to smile when Riff bounced into the room. "Is he sleeping?" the boy asked in a loud whisper fit to wake the dead. Adrian nodded. "Auntie send me to get you... oh, what’s that? A fairy tale?"

Adrian made a move to shut the book, but Riff’s pudgy fingers were already on the page with the picture, and slamming the book shut would smash them, so, with a sigh, he showed his nephew the page.

"Who is that man, Ad-ian? Is he family of you?" Adrian blinked.

"No Riff," he said quietly, "he’s no family of mine. Why do you ask?"

Riff frowned his minuscule eyebrows, suddenly strangely serious. He’s an intelligent child, just like his father hiding behind his boyish face, Adrian thought. There was an uncanny wisdom in the dark blue eyes, way too much for a five year old.

"He looks like you." the boy said calmly. Then, just as Adrian felt the blood drain from his face the eerie light disappeared and the boy asked: "Who is he? He looks like a king! Did he beat a dragon? I know about a knight who beat a dragon..."

"He used to be a prince." Riff glanced at his uncle, unnerved by the flat, husky voice. When he talked like that, there was something he feared in the man that usually only fascinated and mesmerized him.

"Was he your friend?" he inquired, imagining to understand the adult’s sadness. A bitter smile crept up Adrian’s thin lips.

"No Riff, he wasn’t. He died a long time ago." He swallowed audibly, caressing the frail paper with his long, pale fingers. "You wouldn’t understand." He gently shut the book, laid it on the chest beside Lysander’s crib and stood up.

"You said Maria called for me? Shall we go then?" Riff’s eyes darted longingly to the book, but Adrian took his hand firmly in his own and pulled him with him to his aunt and mother, who would make sure he would be in bed long before he felt tired.

*

"It’s a pity Alice couldn’t be here!" Natalia complained, fanning herself. The candles made the ballroom wonderfully cozy and light, but the smoke and the heat made everybody sweat. Outside it was still very cold with a touch of frost in the air; she wondered if she could open a window without losing all the heat.

Annette agreed, trying not to sigh. Natalia had been wearying her for more than half an hour with her tales of how she had managed to get so many candles in so short a time, so many guests in so short a time, so much food in so short a time. Alice would have been able to make her talk about something at least a little more interesting. Suddenly she smiled, thinking about the visit the woman would pay her in two days. Adrian would make meatloaf of her. He hated senselessness about as much as she hated his cold arrogance and Natalia’s devotion would make him crazy. She did not like him, but she had to confess he was sharp as a knife and witnessing him use that razor tongue on Natalia would be a treat she really didn’t want to miss.

Natalia, interpreting her smile for enthusiasm, rattled on for another moment about trivial things before she suddenly gasped, staring at the two people coming in. Without looking Annette knew it were her sister and brother-in-law. Nobody else, except perhaps she and Richter could make people hush and murmur like that. She turned around, noticed the fish-mouthed expressions of the men and women watching and experienced a rush of pride.

They were night and day, or maybe moon and sun. Adrian’s waxen complexion was even more emphasized by his gray and night-blue clothes; his eyes seemed larger and his face more angular because his shoulder-length hair was pulled out of his face with a black ribbon. His old clothes, along with his high boots and gothic appearance were gone, thrown away or hidden in the attic; right now he was, if still remarkable, not so much different from the other men as he had been before.

Maria was as lively and bright as he was mysterious. Her dress was made of many shades of yellow and soft orange that made her skin glow, and glittered with gold-thread. It was low-cut, leaving a large part of her slender shoulders and bosom exposed without being vulgar, though many men could not help wondering what hung at the necklace that ended in her cleavage. She carried herself with pride and elegance, perfectly keeping up with her husband’s catlike strides. Annette smiled at the heap of golden curls that flowed about her head like clouds when she remembered the agony of doing it like that.

"My, but they are a handsome couple..." Natalia whispered. She lay a warm hand on Annette’s arm. "You must be so proud! She is so lovely!"

"You should have heard her raging before she turned into this lovely creature." Richter bowed to his hostess and wife in greeting, immediately drawing every female eye in the neighborhood. "You would have thought her a sprite instead of a lady.

Mrs. Sotinsk, Annette, Miss Julia. Good evening to you all." The women smiled, shy and sharky depending on state of marriage. "Annette, I trust you are having an interesting conversation?" She almost kicked him for his derision, but he saw her desperation and decided it was time for the rescue. "Unfortunately, I heard Maria asking for you. Mrs. Sotinsk, Miss Julia, please excuse us..."

Before anyone could say something, he had led her away, chuckling softly.

"Don’t you dare laugh at me."

"I don’t." he laughed at her. "I’m just wondering how you can put up with a chit like that. I’ve never seen someone as brainless as she."

"Shhh!"

"O, don’t worry, she’s already gossiping with the mouse-like girl, probably about the size of my.. shoes or whether you have tightened your corset..."

"Richter!" Yet she laughed and hooked her arm through his.

It hadn’t been that long ago that their marriage was balancing on a thin edge due to the Blessing and everything that had followed. But I thank God, she had often thought after two months of icy silence and heated arguments, that we made it through it, and that I swallowed my pride. What we have is too precious to throw away because of a Tepes.

The Tepes in question stood close to his wife, glancing at the other guests with well hidden contempt and slightly less well hidden listlessness. Something was troubling him, that was clear, but it would probably take days to come to an outburst so Annette only smiled at him. If he did not want to talk he would not, pushing him was not an option. Richter had never understood that.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked the Dhampire. Adrian shrugged.

"Changing sounds better every minute, if only because something different than this stupid gawking might happen!" Richter grinned.

"Feeling a bit down today?" He ignored the dangerous gleam in the other man’s eyes and continued: "Trust me, you haven’t even started yet. Do you see that woman over there with the hungry expression on her face? That’s Natalia Sotinsk, your hostess. She thinks you’re..." he fluttered his eyelashes, "gorgeous." He snickered at Adrian’s horrified expression. "Have fun, I would say."

"You are joking I presume?" At that moment Natalia, deprived of masculine attention, made her way towards the two men like a tigress stalking a prey. Richter hurriedly turned to Maria to ask her for a dance.

She was a handsome woman rather than beautiful, with long, slightly gray-streaked black hair, big velvety brown eyes and a large, red mouth. Her husband fled into business as soon as he had married her, and if anyone wondered why, they found out as soon as he or she spoke with the woman longer than was necessary to be polite. Natalia could kill people with her own boredom. If she would have been born a man, she probably would have become a soldier, an admiral or a sailor, living a life of conflict and passion. Being a high born women she did not have a chance to get the action she craved for and tried to fill the emptiness inside her with parties, gossip and long walks in the open air.

The first time Richter had met her, he’d felt sorry for her, but as the woman leeched herself onto Annette his sympathy gradually disappeared. Natalia had a vicious way of manipulating people he could not stand; she pulled drama into her life by creating schemes for others and watch how they unraveled. It was a public secret she maintained several relationships she should not as a married woman, but she was high enough to keep it just that: a public secret. Joran Sotinsk, her husband, did well with running away, even if he was the laughing stock of the aristocrats. Natalia had been pushing him to go to France and take sides with Napoleon to gain wealth—and give her the possibility to scheme along at home—and, although nobody knew for sure, that was probably what he was doing. Now the rumours were going that he had married a woman in France, but the same rumours had started with Natalia, so nobody was sure.

And who cared? Adrian thought as he waited for the woman to reach him. She is pathetic. Senseless chaos, not even Evil, only stupid. I pity her and despise her, and no doubt would she too if she knew my thoughts.

What he did hate was the greed with which she looked at him, the full lips half opened as if she was preparing to taste him instead of only flirt. It reminded him of Elizabeth.

"Mister Tepes," she lisped huskily, pronouncing it as Tee-Pesssssh. He could almost see her tongue fork like a snake’s. "I am so glad you were able to come."

"You send us an invitation. It would be most rude to decline." he answered with a pleasant smile. Her eyes narrowed a tiny fraction before she smiled again, baring strong teeth any vampire would envy her. She was not an idiot, never mind what people thought of her.

"Indeed, it would. But I hope you did not come here just because it would be rude not to?" He leaned away from her to keep his chest from touching her breasts. She was tall, perhaps only a head smaller than he. He suddenly wondered how fast she was.

"Of course not," he interjected smoothly, stepping back, "I always enjoy parties immensely. Meeting different people, hearing the news..."

"Ah yes, you are not from this place. I hear it in your accent." She rustled the fan, thrusting out her bosom. Blunt, but effective. She was very nicely shaped. "Where are you from, mister Tepes? Germany? France? Have you seen the Bonaparte?" Adrian shook his head.

"I am from a small town in the north, Mrs. Sotinsk. I have nothing to do with France or Germany." She actually looked disappointed, and he felt a pang of guilt. All she wanted was excitement. He hid a smirk behind his second glass of wine; oh, the excitement he could cause....!

"You do look pale, mister Tepes. The winter has been very long this year."

"Previous winter was even longer..."

"I am looking forward to sunny weather." Adrian grimaced.

He never had any problems with the sun, different than other vampires, but after sitting a whole afternoon in the back yard during one of Annette’s silly tea parties his face had been burned a vivid red, the skin pulled so tight over the bridge of his nose it bled when he touched it. The next day it had receded to a hint of brown, and later that evening the colour was gone as if he had never been burned. He did not think back to it as a pleasant experience, though.

"My skin is a bit oversensitive to sunshine."

"Ah." The shark grin was back. "You are a creature of the night..."

"More like an albino, actually." He could not help grinding his teeth. He had to get away from this horrible woman before she got it in her mind he was a vampire and started a nice little rumour session for experienced gossips.

"An albino? But your eyes are such a lovely gray, my dear mister Tepes. Surely you cannot be serious?" She was touching him now, a graceful hand on his arm. "Albinos are to have red eyes. Alice de Banthe told me all about them."

"I do not think Alice de Banthe is an albino herself? And if you would excuse me now, my lady, I..." He thought wildly of an excuse, noticed his empty glass and asked if he could get her some wine. She declined. He smiled politely, fighting the urge to throttle her, said he would go and get himself a refill and return as soon as he had it. The winning smile she send him almost made him nauseous.

He searched until he found a familiar face, got himself another drink and succeeded in dragging the man with him to where Natalia was waiting. It took him ten more minutes to separate himself from her, and he felt for the man he had left in her claws, but there was only so much he could handle in one night and Natalia was more than that.

During the dances he was relatively safe from Natalia, but every time he moved he could see her from the corners of his eyes, watching him.

"Are you all right?"

"No!" he snapped, gripping Maria’s arms so tightly she winced. "The woman is driving me crazy. She looks at me as if I’m some tasty morsel of something and she a hungry dog! Don’t giggle!" He released her, passed another man and slid back to her. There was an advantage to these slow dances; one could talk while dancing.

"You are being paranoid. I know she’s bad, but not that bad."

"She thinks me a ‘creature of the night’." He whispered meaningfully. Maria frowned as she turned.

"What did you reply?"

"I told her I was an albino." She smiled faintly. "Do you know a certain Alice de Banthe?"

"No, I do not." They danced in silence for a while. After a while she inquired whether he would like to go home. The answer was an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"I’d love to, but it would be unacceptable. No, I’ll be fine as long as you can keep her away from me." He waited until the woman—blue dress, wide eyes, winning smile—had made her pirouette and bowed back to Maria. "I am afraid I will do something to her if she keeps suggesting such ‘preposterous’ things."

Maria looked in his eyes, suddenly afraid. They were dark in the candle light, as if a curtain had been let down in his head. She finally understood what he was thinking; if Natalia would start scheming it might very well end in a very different way than even she could imagine. Adrian WAS a creature of the night, as the burn on his palm proved. What if others would not see who he really was?

She shivered, clasping his hands in her own.

"Stay with me, then. If we look incredibly married, maybe she’ll leave you alone...."

*

They rode back with the Belmonts in a four-horsed carriage, the women talking cheerfully, the men silent; not because Richter had nothing to say, but because he got no answers. After five minutes of monologue he closed his mouth, glumly studying the man sitting in front of him. He had never seen such darkness in someone’s face before.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked at last. "Or are you still angry with me because I left you alone with Natalia."

"I did not like Natalia, I am not afraid of her." Richter waited for more, but the Dhampire fell silent and gazed out of the window. There was nothing he could think of to converse about; neither of them spoke another word until they reached the Belmont Estate.

*

Morning was not far away when Lysander, dreaming the vague dreams only infants dream, woke up with the sharp knock on the front door. He did not know what was the cause for his awakening, he only was aware of being able to see, to feel, to need. With the consciousness came the hunger, and although he normally woke because his mother caressed his cheek, her absence did nothing to ease him back to sleep. He was awake, and he wanted food. Lysander balled his tiny fists, opened his mouth and wailed.

"Did I ever mention I hate children?" Richter moaned, as he pulled his pillow over his head. "What time is it?"

"Four thirty. In the old days you would have been up and around half an hour ago."

"That must have been way before the time you took me to parties." Annette smiled. Then Lysander shrieked again, and she frowned. Maria had told her the boy never cried anymore. Pushing the covers back she got up and pulled her robe tightly around her. It still was cold at night; outside she heard rain tick on the roof.

When she left the room she almost ran into Maria. Her sister sighed.

"I’m sorry, he rarely does this. Maybe he heard something outside."

"It’s raining." She followed Maria into the child’s room and looked away when her sister pulled down her nightgown to feed Lysander. "Would you rather have me go?"

"Oh, no, stay if you like. But I don’t want to disturb your sleep..." They both looked up when a knock echoed into the hall. Maria smirked ruefully. "That must have been what he heard. Are you expecting someone, Ann?"

"I certainly do not."

Annette was a gentle, sensible woman. She was hard to anger and generally good-natured. Now she was angry; what idiot would knock at the door at this time of the night? She stalked out of the room, down the stairs, her skirt pulled up to her knees.

"For God’s sake, sir, do you realize what hour of the day it is!" she snapped at the baffled man standing on the porch, dripping water. He murmured an apology, but she snorted and said: "You should be. You just woke up a three month old baby with your knocking!"

"Annette..." Richter patted her on a tense shoulder. "Come now, my dear, there’s no reason to be so inhospitable." He pulled up his eyebrows as he took in the huddling figure on the doorstep. "I apologize for my wife’s tone of voice," he said pleasantly, "Please come in, this is no weather to be outside."

The man came in as far as to be out of the rain, then stopped and sighed.

"It is I who should apologize," he said. "I know this is an ungodly time to disturb someone, but I am trying to find the closest Inn and I lost my way in the dark and I was hoping..." Richter waved away his excuses.

"It doesn’t matter, my good man. We all live to help each other, right, even in the middle of the night." He smiled; one wouldn’t have thought he was cheerfully shredding the man’s skin in his mind. "If you continue on your way north for just one more mile, you should run into the Carpathian Inn. You can recognise its sign: a golden stag. Can’t miss it."

The man smiled gratefully, although only his chin and mouth could be seen in the shadow of his cowl.

"Thank you, Good sir. May you be blessed by mercy." He nodded appreciation to Richter, bowed to Annette, who had retreated into the room, and walked out the door. Richter stood for a while looking at his disappearing figure and clicked his tongue.

Blessed by mercy? He thought. Why not by God?

Then he shivered, realising he was probably catching his death, and closed the door.

CHILDREN 3

The clock on the wall had chimed ten times when Riff finally heard his father’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. Typically grown-up, to be late when he wanted to show him something. Fathers were great fun, but they seldom understood the importance of ‘being around’ when they were needed.

Richter hit his head against the door post and cursed under his breath; the thing was just a half inch too low for him, every few days he forgot to incline his head and hit it. Always on the same spot too. His son’s radiant ‘good morning!’ did little to lighten his mood, especially when he saw the boy had taken one of his books out of the case again.

"Morning Riff. What have you got there?"

"I FOUND it, daddy! I didn’t TAKE it from your bookcase." He wrinkled his nose and piped as grave as he could: "That is forbidding." Richter smiled.

"So where did you find it then?"

"Look." He flattened the pages so his father could see the picture uncle Ad-ian had been staring at yesterday. Richter abruptly fell silent. Riff suffered from no such thing. "Who is it daddy? Don’t you think he looks like Ad-ian?"

"He does." Richter agreed softly. ‘Romanian Princes’. He read the words under the picture: Vlad Tepes, onetyme fighter fore God against the Islaem, became horriblye insane after his wyfe’s suycide. "Suicide? I thought she was burnt..."

"Who was burnt? Who is he? Da-ad!" Richter shook himself, again studying the picture. The man did not look like the Count at all. The eyes were dark, he had a mustache and thick, black hair and yet...imagine him paler, more cruelty in those strong features, insanity in those eyes...

"He once was the greatest warrior prince of all," he said quietly.

"Once? Is he dead now?"

"That’s one way of looking at it." He forced himself to be cheerful, took the book and closed it. "Let’s put this back where you found it, shall we? If you’re so interested in books, I think I’ll learn you how to read. But we’d better start with slightly less heavy literature, don’t you think?"

*

"Don’t tell me," Adrian hissed with unhidden anger, "you have invited that horrible woman over here to chat with me!"

"As a matter of fact I did." Annette shot back, equally worked up. "This still is my own house, and I will invite who I want! I don’t see why you dislike her so much..."

"She is a worthless chit, a nosy bitch and too keen on gossip to suit my taste..."

"I do not care about your taste...!"

"And she is dangerous." The last was uncharacteristically softly uttered.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she might be a threat to me. To what I am. And through me, she might be a threat to you. Everything she said yesterday had to do with my appearance. It might be her way of...flirting, but it was too close."

"She called you pale? Well, you are. I don’t see..."

"She thought I was foreign, she called me a ‘creature of the night’; Annette, I might be overreacting, but with the likes of her you never know what will happen. I missed about 400 years of knowledge and history. She talked about Napoleon Bonaparte! Who on earth is Napoleon! I heard him mentioned at least eight times last night but I haven’t got a clue about who he is! I take it he is important though, and I’m trying to get up to date with everything but I don’t know everything I should know."

"She won’t notice. Trust me." Annette said bitterly. Adrian calmed down a bit. It wasn’t her fault.

"You don’t like her either, do you Annette. Then why don’t you just shrug her off?"

"It’s not that simple. She is high born, you cannot ignore her." She sighed. "It’s my problem. I see what you mean though; she’s dim but not nearly as stupid as she appears to be. I’ll try to keep her away from you, although I am afraid you won’t be able to shun her tomorrow evening without being intolerably rude."

"I think I can handle dinner." he said with a smirk. "The rest of the day I’ll be hunting. She won’t be able to follow me then, unless she’s even more of a man-hunter than I thought."

In Poenari, Elizabeth Bathory regarded her private abode with satisfaction. It was dark and slightly damp because of the large pool she had created, but the beauty of it all made up for that. She had made a tiny reservoir through which the Arges bubbled up into her pool and a drain to keep the water from overflowing. Water lilies and other plants sent their fragrance into the air, gleaming whitely in the moonlight. A large opening, running right through the castle, caused a part of her residence to be in the open air, if more than a hundred feet below the castle’s first floor.

This place was her own, somewhere she could rest and ponder her plans—but for the irritating little devils continuously flying down from above. She frowned when another bat-like creature sailed down to take a drink of water before it flew away again. Their shrieks disturbed her thinking. There had to be something she could do to stop them from coming down here. Maybe a spell, or something even simpler, a trap of some kind. She leaned back on her bed, absentmindedly braiding a loose lock of hair.

Vlad’s plan was to kidnap the Belmont boy and kill his father if he would come to look for him. The old plan. Again. The previous time he’d kidnapped a Belmont he had almost succeeded—would have, if he hadn’t let his son win. Unbelievable, how much he still let his heart be ruled by feelings. One would think he’d lost his emotions ages ago, but no, he still was the passionate man he’d always been, be it more cruel than before. Very passionate. She smiled. I like the way they hum, she thought, remembering. They look like purring cats when they do that. A pity he doesn’t do it more often.

"That is quite enough!" she screamed at the small red demon buzzing in front of her face. It grinned back at her, sticking out a long purple tongue. Elizabeth shot out a hand and crushed its body to pulp. "I really have to do something about this."

Rinsing the goo from her hands, she squinted at the steep wall above the pool. There had to be something she could do to keep the little monsters from entering...

*

The rain had changed the ground to mud that hadn’t dried a bit since the sun came up, Richter observed. No horse-training today, at least not without the risk of breaking some individual’s legs. Damn it. The stallion seemed to share his mood and kicked the wall with a strong hind leg. Its eyes were moody, and regarded its master with irritation.

"Yes, I know you want to kick me," Richter said, patting the soft nose. "Believe me, I don’t want anything else either! But as much as you despise me I don’t think you want to die fighting me, do you now?" The stallion snorted. Then it reared, flattened its ears and bared its teeth at the man entering the stable.

Adrian arched an eyebrow.

"My, my, that’s quite a vicious animal you have there." He stared coldly into the horse’s eyes and sneered at it. The stallion took a step back. "A very intelligent one too. I could win your cat but I don’t think I’ll ever come to terms with this thing."

"What do you want, Adrian?"

"Your skill, a sword and an hour of your time."

"Excuse me?" The Dhampire smiled thinly, suddenly grabbed Richter’s arm, spun him around and flung him to the ground. He landed with a painful thud. "What...?"

"You’re getting soft, Belmont!" Adrian flashed his fangs at his brother in law. "What would you have done if I’d been pointing a sword to your throat?"

"This!" He swung his leg, twisted and kicked the man neatly between his legs. Adrian went down with a grunt. Before he could defend himself 170 pounds of muscular man trashed down on him, trapping his more slender body to the ground. "And then what, o pale one?" Richter panted. He only had time to see a devilish gleam in the golden eyes when suddenly the whole world spun around, no he did, thrust into the air by Adrian’s incredibly powerful legs. He hit the wall so hard he saw stars, but ignored that and, with a raw battle cry, lunged at the rising figure. He caught him around his waist; again they went down in the dirty hay, rolling and clawing at each other like cats.

"O no, no changing my friend!" Richter growled, feeling the man’s bones shift beneath his hands. A well aimed punch in the face stunned the Dhampire sufficiently to stop that tactic, but the next moment he put his hand flat on the vampire hunter’s chest and shoved him back so forcefully that the younger man’s body broke open the stallion’s waist-high box door.

For a couple of seconds Richter just lay on his back gazing up into the astonished eyes of his wild mount. Then the animal snorted, stepped deftly over his master’s limbs and walked out of the stable.

"No!" Richter gasped, struggling to his feet. He only stopped to boot Adrian in the side, but the man had collapsed in a fit of hysterics, laughing so hard tears ran over his cheeks.

"Your face...!" he wheezed, "...priceless! Incredible! You would...you would say that horse has...more intelligence than you! Oh God!" He doubled over, clutching his side while Richter got madder and madder.

"It is NOT funny!"

"It...is!" Exasperated Richter reached out, hauled the man to his feat and pushed him to the door.

"Stop your stupid giggling, help me get the stallion back!" Still hiccuping with mirth Adrian ran after him, then past him, skid in the molten snow and followed the stallion. Pieces of straw and hay blew into Richter’s face while he tried to keep up, and, no matter how annoyed he was, the Belmont had to laugh as well. What a sight they must be! It would give Natalia Sotinsk enough matter to discuss for at least another winter.

*

It was after dark before the stallion stood in its box again, a satisfied expression on its intelligent snout. Richter was less pleased, having got thoroughly chilled and muddy during the chase, not to mention exhausted.

"Well, I hope you got enough exercise to sustain you for another month," he growled at his uncomfortably smug brother in law. Adrian grinned, picking straws from his hair.

"You cannot be serious. Didn’t you enjoy stretching your legs again?"

"I don’t call this ‘stretching my legs’, I call this straining. You might have forgotten, but unlike you I haven’t the stamina of a wolf, let alone an immortal body. I’m just a human, Adrian! You might have pushed me way beyond my limits with this little game of yours!" He realised he was shouting and shut his mouth with an audible clack of teeth. The Dhampire looked at him pale-faced, features carefully guarded. Richter never lost his temper. Not like this. Not unless there was a good reason.

He reeled as if someone had struck him.

"No..."

"What is it now?" He shook his head, pushed the man aside. Outside he gazed up; the moon was nothing more than a scythe, but he imagined it was dripping blood, drip, drip, blood dripping on his face. As he was watching, a dark cloud past over the silver body. It was too dark for a cloud, no cloud at all...He heard Richter utter a muffled oath.

"Bats!" And then: "Annette. O God... Come on!" Tiredness and cold forgotten, they ran back to the lit windows of the estate.

Maria had heard stories about moths being caught in the light, unable to fly away although they knew they would burn to a crisp in the same flames that hypnotised them. She knew about rabbits too frightened to run, deer frozen to the ground at the sight of a gun. She had felt that way herself, only once before, more than ten years ago, and then she’d been a little girl.

I am no longer a girl, she told herself, I am a woman, I am strong! I will not let him hurt me or Annette ever again!

But the screams Annette vocalised formed a choking lump in her own throat, and she was silent, not with courage but with terror; she knew she could not fight him. Him, the man standing so casually in the middle of the room with the wriggling child in his arms. All she could think was Don’t let him find Lysander please don’t let him begin to cry don’t let him find Lysander...

"You must be Maria." She shrank back at his soft, cold voice. Vlad’s silver eyes seemed to pierce her soul, and she made a soft whining noise in her throat. The man smiled, cradling the boy in his arms as if he had all the time in the world—which he had; the two men who could defeat him being somewhere outside, far away. "I can see why he married you; you are a very... appetizing woman." He chuckled at his own joke, then stared at Annette contemptuously. She was still screaming, a shrill wailing noise that hurt his sensitive ears.

"O be silent!" he snapped at her, causing her to stumble against the wall in panic, "Your precious husband invited me in himself! Yell at him, not me, I only..." he stopped. In the sudden silence a weak sound could be heard. Maria’s face drained of every colour; it was the sound of a baby crying.

"No." She moaned, even as Dracula held his head slanted to listen more carefully, even as he began to walk towards the stairs. "No! You can’t have him!" She jumped at him, but he shook off her attack as easily as he would a cat’s, knocking her to the floor. Unhindered the man walked upstairs.

The cat.

Defend him! she prayed, sending all her power to the hissing feline on the table, defend my son! But a single cat was not a hundred birds or an owl; her broken body fell to the ground with a horrible thump.

"YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM!" Maria shrieked, scrambling after the pitch-black cloak with a poker—the only weapon at hand, and not even hot—in her hands, "HE IS MINE!"

"Now there you are mistaken, my child," the Count said, leaning over the crib. To Maria, his voice sounded like stone grating on stone, but if she’d known him better she would have heard another tone, a strangely soft, gentle tone.

Knowing he could rely on the fear to paralyse the woman, Count Vlad Tepes looked down on the tiny boy in the crib, entranced by his beauty.

The woman, Maria, hovered in the doorway. Females always protected their young, no matter how big the threat. Her son—which meant he was related to him. A wonderful baby, born from beautiful parents, like Adrian when he was born. Adrian. A flash of intense pain went through his heart as he thought of him.

"Where is he?" he asked, looming threateningly over the child—as if he could ever hurt his grandchild! Yet the woman believed him.

"Who?"

"My SON!" Riff began to kick and squeal under his arm and he rapped the boy sound on the head. He became limp, but the woman gasped, thinking he had killed him.

"I don’t know!" she cried, bursting into tears, "But he will be here soon and we will defeat you for once and for all! How could you come back he killed you why don’t you just leave us alone...!" He smiled coldly, lifting Lysander from his bed. The woman trembled with horror, too scared to attack him, the poker useless in her hands.

"You could say someone called me. Missed me. Ah!" Again he cocked his head, listening to the door slam against the wall. "There you will have the brave lads, coming to their wives’ aid..."

Without even looking at her he brushed past her, his arms filled with the two children. Adrian, who was faster than Richter, was already halfway up the stairs before he saw his father and stopped. He was starch-white, became even whiter when he saw Lysander’s small blonde head in the Count’s arms, seemingly bodiless in the folds of the black cloak.

"No," he said in a low voice, "I won’t let you do that."

"So your wife says. I choose to think different."

"That is NOT an option."

"Let the children go, you servant of the Devil," Richter growled, stepping up beside the Dhampire, "Or I’ll swear you’ll regret it."

"O God, what dramatics!" Dracula sneered. "Even you, Belmont, should notice how petty you sound! Servant of the Devil! I fought the enemies of God and the Church ages before you were wetting your diapers, any of you!"

"You tortured and impaled thousands of innocent people." The Count shrugged, heaving Riff’s body. He snapped: "Their deaths was for the good of our kingdom."

"Killing innocents never brings good!" Richter shot back, quivering with rage, "You killed small children and had their own parents eat them! You call that ‘for the good of the kingdom’!?" Dracula narrowed his eyes.

"Listen to me, Belmont, and better listen good! Don’t you dare accuse me of hideous crimes while your precious church built her foundation on the bodies of countless people, innocent people, races they exterminated only because they did not believe in God. I was there, I saw how they put the fear of God in those human beings—by use of genocide! Don‘t you throw your sad accusations in my face while your sole knowledge consists only of rumours and blind guesses! My people loved and respected me, no matter what I did. Why should you come to their rescue?"

Adrian’s reply was so soft only his father heard it. "They respected you, and still do, as a warrior, Father," he whispered, "but for the torturing and murdering of the innocent they

hold no love. And neither, father, do I." For a moment their eyes locked, gold and silver, struggling for understanding. Then, without warning, Vlad shifted Lysander to the arm already carrying Riff, lashed out and smashed his fist into his son’s chest. The next moment he stood towering over him as the Dhampire lay gasping against the wall, blood bubbling from his mouth.

"I never asked for your opinion, Alucard. Neither do I care for it; you forfeited everything I was willing..." He ducked Richter’s kick, spun, grabbed the man by the neck and threw him to the other end of the room. He landed with a smack and did not get up again.

"NO!" Maria jumped in front of him, guarding the unconscious Vampire hunter with her slender body—and her crucifix, spinning in a bright bow over her head. He turned, only to see Adrian was similarly protecting Annette, although he could hardly stand. For a second, all he wanted to do was grab his son and take him with him, leave the plan the plan...but it wouldn’t work. There were other ways. Ways that would ensure his victory.

"Fine." he said. "You win. Now try to win your children back. I suppose you will not refrain from going after me...? No, I didn’t think so. Don’t even try, Alucard, I broke at least five ribs, you’ll only puncture your lungs if you try to follow me now." He glared at them disdainfully. Nobody moved but Maria, whirring the crucifix. It made a high, whining noise. Strangely enough Lysander was quiet.

"The best would be if you’d stay here," Dracula stated, "Keeping away until I release your children. I am prepared to swear I’ll send them back if you vow to stay out of my way..."

"Never!" He inclined his head.

"As you wish. Good night." And he was gone.

Adrian struggled to straighten up but could not. His father had been right; he could feel the broken edges of bone rasp against each other. He had killed his father. Vlad Tepes was dead! He was DEAD!

Vaguely he was aware of Maria’s arms around him as he began to sob in a combination of pain, fear and anguish.

"He was dead..."

"I know. It wasn’t your fault."

"I killed him! He couldn’t be..." Sobs changed into coughs as his lungs filled with blood. He desperately tried to breathe slowly, to heal, to calm down. Maria’s death grip did not help yet he couldn’t make himself push her away.

"If he wakes..." he whispered into her ear—blood on the delicate shell, growing darker as his vision dimmed—"..before me...tell him to wait...not go alone. He shouldn’t go..alone."

"I promise." Blindly he caressed the tears from her face.

"It’ll be...all right. That...I promise."

"We’ll find him back. I know we will." Maria leaned heavily against a chair as his body collapsed. Her tears dried, she stroked his hair softly. Annette kneeled down next to her, finally composed.

"How is he?"

"Unconscious. But he’ll heal. How’s Richter?"

"He’s got a hard head." She smiled weakly. "A nasty bump, nothing more. Your action saved him. I..." she faltered, then embraced her sister, careful not to disturb Adrian. "You were very brave. I’m sorry I couldn’t...I should have..."

"It’s all right. You wouldn’t have been able to stop him anyway, not without the whip or other artefacts. Please Ann, don’t cry, don’t cry, it will be all right. We’ll get them back."

Her green eyes were dark and depthless with determination.

"We WILL get them back!"

CHILDREN 4

Teleportation, in Dracula’s case, was nothing else but motion too swift for the human eye to follow. Nobody, living or undead, was able to keep up with him, on foot or on horse. The slight weight of the two children slowed him down considerably, but not enough to put him in danger. Besides, his heart was so light he thought he could run forever.

He had a grandson! Part of him wanted to dump the Belmont boy here under the trees and go home with...how had they called him? Lysander? Preposterous name!

"No name for you, child." He whispered into the tiny pink ear. Lysander gurgled in agreement. "You should have the name of a king, like ALEXander, not Lysander. I trust you have no objections about that?" He smiled, slowing down to be seen by his faithful accomplice. She should be somewhere around here...

In fact he did not care at the moment; he was far to busy taking in Lysander’s little figure. Vlad Tepes was a large man, tall and broad, and, in his castle, able to enhance his height by illusions. The baby in his arms made him feel so small he thought an ant could crush him. He had felt this way when he first held Adrian, now it felt the same, maybe even stronger than all those years ago. Babies did not betray you, neither did they curse and hate you or take sides with your enemies. Babies were a balm for his heart.

"I see you caught Lysander as well." A cool voice spoke behind his shoulder. He nodded.

"You never told me he had a son."

"You never asked. Be careful!" Elizabeth dived to catch Riff as Vlad indifferently threw the boy to her. "You don’t want him to be dead before you can use him, don’t you?"

"Whatever. If he’s dead I can always reanimate him..." He lovingly brushed his hair from the baby’s face. "Isn’t he wonderful?"

"Very. Shall we go?" He frowned.

"Why exactly didn’t you tell me Alucard had a son?"

"Because I feared you would abandon everything to get him and get yourself killed for good. I did not bring you back to see you dead so soon."

"So you do plan to see me dead within a reasonable time?" She bit her lip, braking the skin with her fangs. The threat was cloaked in jest, but it was there, lethal like steel. "Surely you haven’t forgotten my position, my dearest Elizabeth? That I let you screw me does not mean I will let you kill me..."

"I know! I’m sorry! Truly, you shouldn’t..."

"I don’t." He smirked as Lysander’s fist closed around his finger. "There is nothing to fear from you. Anyway, it’s good to know you have ambition. The most powerful people are those who are prepared to climb over bodies to reach the top. Yet..." He glanced briefly at her, "Do not make the mistake to climb over my body. It might be booby-trapped."

Elizabeth buried her face in Riff’s neck, hiding her flaming cheeks. She was so humiliated she could cry. I’ll get you! she swore silently, I’ll get you and then you’ll see how eager I am to climb! But as he called she took a better hold of the boy and ran after him as fast as she could.

*

When she left her house to visit Annette Belmont and her highly interesting brother in law, Natalia Sotinsk could never have thought she would find such a frenzy.

Annette moved around as if she could faint any moment, Richter was pale and seemed to have difficulty walking straight, Maria—without her son clinging to her breast—sat in misery on a couch and refused to speak to her. As for Adrian, he was lying full length on the table, eyes closed, arms protectively folded over his chest.

Natalia, sensing trouble, raised an eyebrow.

She asked the servant who’d let her in what was wrong, and the stout woman whispered some strange story in her ear about tall men and missing children. Maybe the lady could come back another time?

Natalia shook her head; there was no way she would run away from a family drama. Besides, she might be of help. Not in the least affected by Annette’s short, rigid answers she asked what had happened and, as a lifelong scheme, she found out quite easily. Someone had kidnapped the children. Someone STRONG. Adrian had been out for most of the last night and they had laid him on the table because they a. couldn’t carry him upstairs and b. were afraid they would hurt him if they moved him around too much.

"Aha." Natalia said, ignoring the dismissive glances they shot her. "And who might this man have been?"

"That," Adrian hissed without opening his eyes, "is none of your business. Weren’t you just leaving?" She walked up to him. There was something odd in the way he lay, almost as if he was used to lying like this.

"I could help, you know."

"No, you cannot."

"Why not?" She put her hand on his arm, suddenly serious. "I am not afraid..."

"You should be." he answered. The bitterness in his voice surprised her. "He is more dangerous than anything you ever made up."

"You know who he is."

"Yes."

"And where."

"Yes."

"So you will follow him?"

"You’ve got it. Now..."

"It’s a revolutionary, isn’t it?" Adrian almost laughed, stopped only by the pain in his chest.

"No Natalia, it is not a revolutionary. This has nothing to do with revolution. It is a question of revenge and power, but on a completely different level than you think."

She regarded him a moment, her eyes dark and deep and surprisingly wise.

"Again you underestimate me." she said slowly. "O yes, you do. Rumours are not always to be ignored, Mr. Tepes, nor are they old wives’ tales. I did some research before I paid any attention to you..."

"Oh?" She had the grace to blush.

"Yes. An old name, Tepes. Bound to a particular part of Romania." She bowed over him to whisper: "Transylvania!"

"I know where I have been born, Mrs. Sotinsk." Adrian remarked dryly. Careful not to strain his ribs he sat up, watching her with clear, cold eyes. "Transylvania is not exactly a politically active country..."

"Do not take me for a fool! I can read, Mr. Tepes, and I know the legends. I saw how you started when I called you a creature of the night! There is only one being—a famous one—who also carries the name of Tepes, and we both know who that is!"

"Which makes me what, exactly?" he snapped back, getting angry. "His accomplice? His follower? What has my name to do with what happened? You know NOTHING, and if you hold your life dear you’d better get out NOW!"

He damped his voice when a soft rustling told him somebody entered the dining room, held out his arm when he saw it was Maria. She stood in the crook of his elbow, not leaning against him. Natalia eyed her defiantly.

"You should tell your husband he should not shout at women." she said. "It shows his fangs."

Maria felt her husband’s arm begin to tremble with rage.

"Go home, Natalia. Please, there is nothing you can do at the moment and we really need some time to discuss our plans." She sighed, and spoke the magic word: "We will call on you if we need your help, I promise. And I fear we will need it."

Natalia’s face split with an eager grin which made her add hastily: "Of course you will have to keep everything silent..."

"Naturally!" The excitement disappeared, replaced by sincerity. "Thank you. I will not let you down. If there’s anything you need, anything I can do..."

"We will ask you." Adrian lay back down as his wife led the woman out. Unbelievable. She’s even more stupid than I thought. She really sees this as a game! Insane woman. I should take her into Castlevania if only to cure her from that horrible disease called curiosity!

Later that day they deliberated the possibilities.

"He said he would swear not to hurt the children if we stayed out of his way..."

"Lies! As always. In the end he will kill them anyway. Besides, do you want to give him freedom to build another dark kingdom?"

"I agree, we have to go and get them back." Richter sighed. "That means the castle again."

"Yes. But you knew that the moment he stood there." They all glanced at the empty living room, shuddering. Annette hugged herself.

"Are you sure there is no other way?"

"Yes. It’s always the same; he has the power, you are a threat, he tries to destroy you, even as he risks death by doing so."

"I’ve asked myself why...if he’d left us alone, we wouldn’t even have known he was back."

"That is not his point." Adrian gingerly rested his back against the back of his chair, grimaced and sat straight again. "His point is that you stand on the side of God and that you wield holy power. He is in war with God, and that’s why he is in war with you. Flaming hell, Richter, is there anything at all you DO know about my father?!"

"I’ve read everything I found about him, we have a library full of diaries and enchanted novels but I wasn’t there at the time! He wasn’t exactly a figure who held a scribe, Adrian, and the first live painting of him I saw in that book of yours, so NO! I guess I don’t know anything about him!" He gripped his aching head between his hands. "I cannot help I’m mortal." Adrian’s face softened.

"I’m sorry. It’s not your fault." He sighed, frowned in pain and put his elbows on the table. "As a matter of fact I wasn’t there when he started his...vampirism either. That was years before my birth.

He was a warrior of God, perhaps the greatest of the country. His father had been murdered by the Ottomans a year before he could escape himself—I trust you know about his imprisonment? He returned to Wallachia, assumed his father’s throne and began his rule. He was only a boy then, and, fearing for his life, he vacated the throne and fled for Transylvania." A small sad smile parted his thin lips. "Hard to hate him, isn’t it. Especially if you’re not there...But he came back at 24, avenged his father—Vlad Dracul, thank God he didn’t call me Vlad as well! 20.000 Turks...impaled at various heights according to rank." Annette and Maria shared worried looks as he laughed softly. "Inventive, don’t you think? Danube river...I once read they called it the river of blood after he was finished. Can you imagine the stories I grew up with? Can you truly imagine what it is like to be a child and get the truth stamped into you? ‘Your father is a dangerous madman—oh, and by the way he’s a vampire too’!"

"But how did he become what he is now then?" Adrian shrugged.

"His first wife committed suicide by jumping in the Arges. After all he’d been through that was the final straw; he denounced God, maybe even made a pact with the Devil, I’m not sure."

"I am." Richter said.

"Probably. He never told me what he did after she died. I figured it must be a demonic power since he could no longer enter a church but for the chapel in the castle. In my case the same. But whether he sold his soul or not, he has the power, and my mother’s death took away the last bit of sanity."

"He was mad before her death."

"Yes." He felt his throat constrict painfully. Stop being sentimental! He is NOT your father anymore, you even killed him to stop him! "Stark raving mad. Like his castle. Chaotic. Dangerous. No place for women."

"No place for men either! Don’t you tell me not to enter that castle..." Maria lifted her pointed chin haughtily in the air. "I was running through the halls before you even knew he had awoken!" Annette said nothing, just smoothed her skirt time after time. Richter took her hand in his own.

"We need you and Ann somewhere safe. No, I know you can take care of yourself my dear, but you have to admit Adrian and I have a better chance to rescue the children than you."

"And we cannot leave Annette all by herself." Maria sniffed, fighting tears. The sniff came out as a sob.

"Natalia..." she began. Adrian shook his head.

"You know it wouldn’t work. Not with the three of us, maybe not even with two..."

"I WILL be going with you!" Richter stated forcefully. The other man nodded.

"All right. In that case I would urge you to get your whips and weapons and prepare for the journey."

Maria knocked on the table.

"Hello? What about us? I won’t stay here worrying my head off while you get yourself killed in Castlevania."

"Yes," Annette argued, "Staying here is unthinkable. You’ll have to take us with you, if not into the castle, then to Wallachia, or Warakiya, where you rested. O please don’t shake your head, you know we cannot stay here! What if one of you gets hurt and..." She fell silent, wringing her fingers. Adrian nodded again.

"Fine. Come with us and be around. There still are safe places—if you stay near my tomb you will be relatively safe. I must warn you it is not made for living people, but.."

"It will do."

"When will we leave?" Richter rose, a tad unsteadily. He hoped he wasn’t suffering from a concussion after all.

"Tomorrow, first dawn light. You might want to leave a message with that scheming chit before we do, though. She might come in handy. Just don’t tell her our exact destination or what the consequences are if we fail."

"I am not that stupid!" Annette spat, but her sister patter her shoulder to calm her and she sat quiet, resuming her brooding. O Riff, darling, where are you? Are you all right? Are you still...alive?

*

"You do realise you will have to feed those kids if you want them to stay alive, do you?" Elizabeth said, pointing at the Belmont boy’s limp body. "Unlike you and me they are human, and humans need to be fed, children in particular. BABIES in particular!"

"So give them milk." Exasperated she flung her hands in the air.

"Where do I get milk?"

"Buy it. Steal it. Take it by force or threat, I don’t care."

"I am NOT a baby-sit!"

"You should have thought about that before you chose to cooperate with me." the Count said pleasantly. He tried to play catch-the-finger with Lysander, but the child was too small to keep the game up. Elizabeth foresaw the most horrid complications if he would go on ‘caring’ for him. With a swift grab she lifted the baby from his hands, cradled it to her breast.

"Such a sweet boy," she cooed. "Alucard will give you hell for kidnapping him."

"He gave me hell before, literary." He stuck out his hand to take the baby back, but Elizabeth quickly sat down and lay Lysander in her lap, far away from his grandfather. She smiled innocently. "But this time I have some surprises for him too. Things that make the Succubus look like a harmless marionette."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Only a small gift...a statue." He grinned evilly, showing gleaming canines. "Can I have him back, please?" She hastily put the child back in his arms. It was too early to die.

CHILDREN 5

There is something about castles that intimidates, even when they are new and beautiful. The sheer size of the building, the form, the quiet magnitude that radiates from the stones inspires awe.

Castlevania had the same effect, but then in the negative way.

Richter felt his stomach clench while he marveled at the haunting beauty of the castle. Without looking at his companion, he knew Adrian felt the same. There had been a time the man lived in that castle. It had been on this plane long enough for him to grow up there. He did not know how long that was; to ordinary eyes Adrian seemed not much older than 25, maybe Richter’s age. Only few really saw the age in his mind.

"Why are you looking at me?" the Dhampire inquired sharply. "Afraid I will rejoin my father?"

"You know that was not I was thinking."

"I know. I’m sorry. I guess I feel more... agitated than I thought."

"Well you’re certainly not the only one." He took a deep breath. "We’d better get going."

The journey to Wallachia had taken ten days by coach, of which they had slept most of the time to heal properly. For Adrian this was not a problem at all; he was used to sleeping while his soul was in turmoil. For Richter it was a different case altogether. Annette had been agonizing to miss when she’d been abducted, Riff’s absence ripped his reason apart. The boy was so small! What if the Count forgot how frail his bones were; he might kill him without even wanting to!

He lay against his wife’s warm body in misery, fighting fear and nausea for sleep, envying Adrian, who lay in a similar position and seemed to rest peacefully.

Of course he was wrong about that, peace, but it was a fact the Dhampire knew better how to handle loss than he did. He also knew better how to hide his feelings than anyone else; inside he was terrified of the idea of fighting his father for the second time. Adrian never thought about himself as a hero; indeed, if he were anything it would sooner be a coward than a hero. Heroes did not feel remorse for killing a being so incredibly twisted it was better off dead. But then, heroes did not kill their fathers...

Maria and Annette decided to stay in an Inn near Adrian’s tomb, as near as they could get without having to sleep under ground themselves. As it was, they could reach it in ten minutes, if necessary.

Good-bye was short; no tears, one tender embrace, a large packet with food and a wave before they left. Maria tried once more to come along, but Annette gripped her hand and held it stiffly.

"Don’t go." she begged. "Don’t leave me too."

Adrian smiled. With all her weakness Annette was better at fighting Maria’s wild spirit than he was. They left, staring back until the two small figures had disappeared in the gray mass of the village.

Adrian started as the vampire hunter nudged him into his—healed—ribs.

"It’s no use hesitating any longer. We have to go in."

"Not by the main gate." Richter looked at him questioningly.

"How then, pray tell?"

"There is another way, down there." He pointed at the river flowing to and underneath the castle.

"I don’t see..."

"Of course you don’t see it, it’s hidden! Christ!" Richter only looked. Coldly. A vivid flush spread over Adrian’s face; one moment he wanted to destroy something... "Okay, fine! You don’t like it if I curse. Get used to it. Save your holy water for the creatures inside and stop glaring at me!"

"Take it easy, I’m not glaring at you."

"Good." The flush returned, this time of shame. He was behaving like a child. "Just follow me, I know the way."

Their footsteps made soft chiming sounds as they walked down a path near the Arges, knives and swords bumping against each other while they moved. The dark castle loomed over them; Adrian felt chaos pull at him like a draft.

Home. No, not home, it hasn’t been home for I don’t know how long...The feeling would not subside however, a part of him rejoiced in returning—a part he thought the Blessing had killed two years ago. At the same time he felt nearly sick with fear.

The skin on his back grew painfully hot and he knew Richter had taken the whip from its detainment. Still dark, my flesh, he thought glumly. Maria had changed more than he thought possible, but this would never change. Never. At least I can still change my body. With difficulty, but I can. He removed his sword from its scabbard, used it to cut thorn weed out of his way.

"Watch that stuff, it’s poisonous."

"I know." Richter replied. They went further down the river.

The path, started out as a rocky road, rapidly grew worse. Mud made them slip, their boots got caught behind stones and vines. The air smelled of river; a rank, somehow dead scent. It reminded Richter of still pools, the kind that’s covered with an oily film. But this was a running river, not a pool, then why did it smell like this?

"Death." Adrian replied when he voiced his thoughts. "Chaos and death corrupt the natural ways of earthly things." He winced as a hoarse crow preceded a large black bird. "Come one, we must hurry, otherwise we lose the element of surprise."

Not long after the first raven landed on the rocks behind them, the two men came to a straight, overgrown wall. At least, it looked like a wall, but as the Dhampire began to cut away the vines a passage came clear.

It was shaped like a huge mouth, fangs and all, with slanted eyes hacked out of the stone above it. Not the face of Dracula, something older, wiser and ineffably more evil. Richter muttered something under his breath, resisting and then giving in to the urge to cross himself. He did not hesitate, however, when Adrian went in and followed him immediately.

Unlike the other parts of the castle this tunnel was unlit; as they went on the sunlight faded away with the darkness—and the Evilness lurking in this place. How can he walk as if it doesn’t coat his throat with its malignance, as if...

But then he blinked, and what he saw forced him to swallow. Adrian did not ignore the blackness, he drew it to him. The dark air swirled around his blonde head like the opposite of an aureole, feeding on him, or maybe feeding to him. He did not know. Neither, he suspected, did the Dhampire.

When the last rays of light disappeared, Adrian lifted his hand. He wore his gloves again; only the faint glimmer of shining leather betrayed the movement. For a few seconds he stood motionless, head bowed, concentrating. Then a faint glow surrounded his fingers, grew to a blue light-ball and slowly rose above his head. Adrian turned his face to Richter, a finger on his lips.

He shouldn’t have done it; the vampire hunter was as silent as was possible with his knives and the uneven floor. But he licked his dry lips nervously after a glance at the man’s eyes; they were even darker than the passage.

He nodded, and did his best not to see the corrupt environment as they proceeded.

*

It had not been as difficult as Elizabeth had thought it would be, taking care of the children. Not far from the castle she had found a woman who had just borne a child; now she fed two without complaint; the Count had promised her she and the baby would live if she shared her milk with Lysander, and until now he had lived up to that promise. Thank God, the child’s cries for food and maternal attention almost drove her insane!

As for Riff, he finally woke, the second day after they arrived at the castle. He was scared, naturally, but too young to understand the full horror of his situation. And besides, ‘Alice’ was here to take care of him. It was kind of cute, Elizabeth figured, to have a child so adore you. The only problem was that the boy was absolutely terrified of Vlad and ran away screaming whenever the Count showed his face. He was surprisingly fast for such a small boy, Elizabeth thought while she ran after him, and quite smart too. He knew very well how to employ every opportunity to hide himself. It made her angry.

Riff did not like her when she was angry; it made her look like a wild wolf. Never mind she was someone he knew, when people were frightening he did not come near them. Daddy had been very clear about that: don’t go with strange people, don’t pat growling dogs, don’t pick up things from the ground. When she was angry, Riff thought it would be just as safe to consider Alice a growling dog too.

The tall, pale man who looked so much like uncle Ad-ian but was as dangerous as the other man was friendly, was the only thing he really did not like of his stay here. He missed his mother, but Alice hugged him when he felt lonely and she fed him sweets and cookies; the rooms he was allowed to enter were all more than capable of interesting him time and again...but that man chilled him to the marrow of his bones. What exactly was so terrible about him, he did not know, but he knew it, like he knew the paintings in this place were more than paintings alone.

Evillity, he said to himself while he cowered in the corner near Lysander’s bed, daddy would have seen it too. But he’d know what to do about it, he’d know how to protect Sander.

For Lysander was his responsibility; Riff was the elder, he had to take care of his cousin. The baby was too small to defend himself. When he had the time, Riff sat beside his charge, telling the baby stories to stop his crying. Unfortunately those stories made him cry himself too, most of the time, for they reminded him of mommy and daddy, and no matter how he tried to be brave, he missed them so his stomach cramped when he thought about them.

The woman—Else—sang for her child while feeding, sometimes for him as well. She was a wretched creature: thin and scared, but to Riff she was an ADULT, and adults might be slapping your backside or sending you to bed early but they also took care of you and made the bad things go away. To Else he clung even more than to Alice. Thanks to her he held on to sanity.

Like all children Christian Simon Belmont hated to say his prayers; they slowed him down in whatever he was doing, kept him from eating and the only thing he liked about them was that they bought him time when he had to go to bed. Now those same prayers—the Hail Mary, the Our Father—became an anchor, something steady. He still didn’t understand them, he only knew he felt safer when he repeated after Else, her hands folded over his. It somehow gave him strength. Strangely enough Alice always shook her head if he asked her to pray, her nose wrinkled as if he was proposing something detestable.

"Well, maybe she’s like Ad-ian. He doesn’t like praying either." The boy said aloud. He sighed. Alice had locked the door again. "I wish I was as strong as dad," he told Lysander. The baby blew raspberries; he wasn’t much of a chat. "Daddy would have smashed the door with one fist. He’s VERY strong." His lower lip began to quiver. "I wish he was here..."

*

The first thing to greet the two men as Adrian shoved the rug that separated the passage from the ground floor hall aside, was a raven.

"Kill it." Before the words left his mouth the bird dropped to the ground in a cloud of feathers.

"So far the element of surprise." The Dhampire shrugged.

"I do not think he betrayed us yet. He did not have the chance to fly away." He closed his eyes, leaned against the cool stone wall. Thank God that was over, he did not think he would be able to go through that tunnel again, not with the...things...gnawing at his soul, trying to pull it out. As far as he knew not even his father had ever dared to use that entrance.

I certainly made a point, though. Only the most determined of heart can go through it. And we ARE here now. Wearily he opened his eyes again, only to catch Richter staring at him.

"Do you want to know through what we just traveled?"

"Do I?"

"I look that bad?" A flash of a smile. Good, the man hadn’t lost his nerve. Of course not, you idiot, he’s a vampire hunter! "It’s called the Passage of Souls. When Poenari changed into Castlevania, it apparently severed all ties with Earth as its...what shall I call it... mother. What you’ve just seen is the life cord of the castle. Look at the tapestry." It had fallen back in position right after he’d released it, covering the opening completely. Richter noted it showed a female being, obviously pregnant, with her hands placed so on her bulging belly that the space between her thumbs and forefingers formed a heart around her navel, which could be seen as a small circle. The figure was faded with age, but two things still made the Belmont gasp. One was the face of the woman, that was so wild and malicious it was inhuman, the second was the fact that the circle was redder than blood.

"Somehow I do not think that separation went easily."

"It didn’t." He opened his mouth as if to speak further, but fell silent. His skin was so white it seemed translucent.

"Do you need to rest?"

"Not yet. I do want to eat something. Keep my strength up." He began to walk. "At least we won’t have to fight his brides this way."

"Brides?" Richter searched his memory, "You mean he makes three EVERY time?"

"O yes, he is nothing if not consistent. As long as I can remember, there were three women living somewhere in the lower parts of the castle." A bit of colour crept up his face. "Lisa forbid me to go there—they were there even when she lived here—but of course I did not listen..." Richter laughed out loud, the sound echoed in the halls.

"And you got laid better than you ever imagined was possible." Adrian turned a satisfying beet-red. "Admit it." It was good to laugh again after all those bleak days. Sick imagination, but at least it took his mind off the situation.

"O, I admit I never had better sex in my life," Adrian said slowly, radiating heat, "but I must warn you, Richter Belmont, even your twisted mind cannot not make up what they do to please themselves. Unless you are a necrophile, that is. Did you know the undead take extreme pleasure in..."

"Spare me the details." Richter said hastily. "Believe me, I can imagine." Adrian went back to munching his bread, his thin lips spread in the tiniest smile.

They managed to walk for three more hours—if it were hours, not days; watches tended

to become unreliable in the castle—before they failed to kill one of the creatures that roamed the halls. After that, matters changed drastically.

"He knows we’re here." Richter whispered as he felt the surroundings awaken around him. Adrian nodded. He looked down.

"I advise you to take a firm grip of my shoulders—NOW, Belmont! Look at the floor, yes, that is exactly what it looks like, and they change into whatever they represent if you step on them..." Richter didn’t even hear him. He just stared, thinking: this was not here when I was here the first time...

In this hall the planking was covered with a carpet on which creatures danced amidst powers of nature, worlds turned and seas swirled, inhabited by strange monsters. Now, under his widening eyes, the creatures came alive. His boots sank in the blue of an ocean...

"Take a hold of me!" Even as he grabbed hold of Adrian’s shoulders his mind refused to believe what he saw. It’s impossible! It’s impossible! Paintings and statues yes, but CARPET? It’s NOT possible!

Under his crushing grip bones and muscles shifted. Suddenly he half lay, half sat on the back of an enormous wolf. He readjusted his grasp, knowing he was choking the Dhampire, but then all he could do was hold on for dear life as the wolf charged forward. O God he is FAST I never knew he was so horribly FAST!

He jumped from element to element, dodged the wicked jaws of some animal, snapped at another, crushed something’s backbone between his teeth. Richter lashed out with his whip twice, but the movement threatened to loosen his grip so he ceased it, trying to make himself as light as possible. The hall seemed to go on forever.

I can make it. I have to. Damn it, why am I not coming closer...Adrian’s paws buckled under the vampire hunter’s weight. His hind legs kicked in the water of the Indian Ocean while his front paws clawed in the hot sand of an unnamed continent. A yell of pain started him, then the weight was gone and he could crawl on the sand. And nothing more either. Vaguely, he was aware of his body changing back, but he was so tired all of a sudden he did not care anymore.

"Get up!" Richter shouted, blue eyes sparkling, an insane grin on his face. "Get up, you stupid bastard!" at the moment he did not know whether he was talking to Adrian or the beast he just hit—and who cared! "Get UP!"

Yes, sensible idea. Get up. If only my limbs would cooperate. Come on, get up. He was forced to grab Richter’s arm to steady himself, but finally he staggered to his feet, panting.

"We have to get out of here!"

"No kidding!" He swung his absurd weapon in a lethal arch, splitting one of the creatures in two. "Can you run? It’s a couple of yards more to the first door."

"I’ll manage."

"You’d better." He took a firm hold of the other man’s upper arm. "Ready? Go!"

In three paces they had crossed a tropical forest, four more and Richter coughed to get desert sand out of his mouth. The Dhampire pulled him up when he stumbled; he, in turn, destroyed another woven thing as it leapt at the both of them. Then there was another sea that they hopped over, followed by a picture of hell Richter did not think he would ever forget...and at last his fingers closed around a doorknob.

The door was locked.

"Stand aside." A waste of holy water, but since he saw no key it was the only thing he could come up with. The handle sizzled under the power, the keyhole melted; Adrian’s hands shoved him against the wood and then he fell inside the room, waving his arms to regain his balance. He grabbed the wall for support, glanced back to see if the Dhampire was all right.

"If you feel...like praying...Belmont...I suggest you do it...now." He slumped against the door, gasping for air. "We really need some time to...rest."

"I agree." Richter took a deep breath, pulled up his right sleeve and gently touched a long, shallow cut on his arm. No arteries hit; nevertheless, the cloth was soaked with blood and

he was NOT intending to wander around in here with his blood cheerfully dripping on the ground.

"Need any help with that?"

"No, I’ll just bandage it. It’s no big deal; the blood’s cleansed any possible poison away... say, you’re not going to faint, are you?"

"Hell no," Adrian mumbled, taking another piece of bread from his supplies and wolfing it down, "that’s my usual colour. I’m just tired." He searched for more bread, did not find it and took a bite of dried meat. "Changing’s pretty wearing me out. It doesn’t matter, we can take it easy for a while, this is the reading room. The only thing you find here is dust."

"I don’t understand, every time I come here—I confess that was only twice, but anyway—the layout changes. How do you know where things are now?" Adrian smiled.

"I’m Dracula’s son, remember? When he became a vampire he gave up Order and embraced Chaos, and apparently a bit of chaos found its way into me too.

You see," he explained when Richter looked about as understanding as a goldfish, "he made a pact with Chaos. You call it the Devil." A waving gesture. "It does not matter.

As far as I understand it, there are two forces, Order and Chaos, and they harbor all the powers of this world and every other. In Order, there is church, faith, life, death, etc. Everything you find on earth. Chaos, however, covers corruption, love, magic, spirit, insanity, despair. Together they form the perfect balance." He knocked his knuckles on the floor. "Castlevania has no balance at all. It’s pure chaos, that’s why we, its creatures, can reshape our forms and use magic while you can only use your faith to strengthen yourself."

"Is that how you change? By manipulating Chaos?"

"Actually, I don’t know. I think so. The Librarian had some nice theories about the Count’s way of conjuring things...but I never listened if he began to ramble like that." The vampire hunter smiled briefly, tying the ends of his bandage in a knot.

"Do try, if only to pass the time."

"All right.

He called it the ‘possibilities theory’ and he thought it worked as follows: on earth, Order dominates life, so supernatural things rarely happen. Here in the castle Chaos dominates, so we can choose in which reality we want to live. According to the Librarian, in Chaos form does not matter and one can change reality. Let’s say...well, I can just as well take my wolf form. There is the possibility I am human, right?"

"Yes..."

"And there is the possibility that I’m a wolf. So, basically, what I do is choose to be a wolf over a human, and so I am a wolf."

"But...but...then you should be able to do magic while you are a wolf too, and you cannot do that, can you?"

"No. That’s why I did not listen much to the old man’s tales, I always found some kind of flaw in it. Maybe he explained once, but if he did I can’t remember."

"Dracula can change in whatever forms he likes."

"And I cannot. Yes. But of course I’m partly human, so it figures I can’t manipulate possibilities as good as he." Richter studied him for a moment. Then he said: "You said changing took a lot of energy before the Blessing, and that it was almost impossible after it. Does that mean you aren’t part of Chaos anymore?"

"No. It means it’s harder because...O, I don’t know why! I’m not a psychologist or a prophet, I just try to survive. Changing is difficult and exhausting but it’s damn convenient, so I’ll take the side effects.

We have to move on. Are you finished?" Richter nodded. "Good. Let’s go."

*

"Is it finished?"

"N-no sir, n-not completely, but..."

"I told you it had to be ready today."

"It is! Almost..."

"Is she still alive, as she should be?"

"Y-yes sir."

"Good. Listen...what’s your name again?"

"Vladim-mir, sir." The Count’s thin mustache quivered slightly.

"Vladimir. I will give you two more hours, then it will have to be ready. If you make it, I will reward you royally. If not..."

"I understand, sir! It will be done sir. Please trust me..."

"I do, Vladimir. I trust you on your life.

I’ll return in two hours. Be. Ready." The sculptor shrank back from the swaying black cloak as the Count left. Then, gathering courage, he wiped his sweating hands on his pants and returned to his gruesome masterpiece.

CHILDREN 6

Riff did not know how long he had been in this horrid place when Else’s baby was taken away. He suspected it to be no more than four days, but it could also be a week, or two. He did not have any grip on time; the room he was locked up in had no windows, so he couldn’t see the sky and the torches burned hour after hour without needing tending. One day or night the woman just burst in, crying, screaming the name of her child before falling into a sobbing heap. He tried to console her, but of course he couldn’t, being only a small boy.

Later that day the tall man returned. Riff hid under a chair, and listened to Else’s high voice raised in hysterics. The tall man spoke softly and with a cold detachment. He couldn’t follow everything, but the main thing seemed to be a promise the man had made...and had not lived up to.

"I took care of him!" Else said. "You swore you would spare her if I took care of him!"

"But I have, my dear. Your child is in excellent health."

"Then where is she?" The man’s bat-like shadow moved, indicating some sort of shrug.

"You will get her back when she’s served her purpose."

"WHERE IS SHE?" Lysander, roughly awakened by her loud voice, began to cry. A note of irritation crept into the man’s voice.

"Don’t you yell at me, woman, or I’ll have her little body for dinner!" For some time only Else’s sobs broke the silence. Riff pressed both his fists against his mouth to keep quiet, yet a soft whimper rose in his throat and he couldn’t suppress it. If he heard it, the tall man showed no notice.

"You’ll get her back."

"I want her back now!" Again the movement.

"I’ll need her just a moment longer..."

"NOW, or help me God..." suddenly she threw herself onto Lysander’s crib and grabbed the wailing infant around his waist, "I’ll kill him!"

"NO!" Riff shrieked. This was something he fully understood. He wriggled out from under the chair in the hope of stopping her, but the tall man was faster. Without more than pointing a finger he sent a ball of fire into her body, narrowly missing Lysander. Else howled in agony, dropping the baby—neatly into the Count’s outstretched hands. In front of his icy eyes the woman burned to death, a smoking bundle of bones, skin and cloth. Only when she had stopped twitching altogether he looked at the child pressed against the wall on the other side of the room. The Belmont boy was shaking, crying so hard he almost choked in it.

"You k-killed h-her!" he wept. "You j-j-just killed her..."

"I’ll find another woman to care for Alexander and you." Riff saw Else’s staring broken eyes and cried even louder.

"I don’t...I don’t want you to g-get someone else. I want her back. I want m-my mommy..."

"Life’s hard." The tall man replied, "You can’t get everything you want. You want her back? I can arrange that." He carefully lay Lysander back, ignoring the child’s convulsive wails, and lifted Else’s body to his chest. His clothes became smeared with blood, but he didn’t seem to care. Riff whimpered again, knowing something terrible was going to happen but unable to stop it.

The tall man cupped the corpse’s chin in his hand, raised her face to his. His kiss was deep and strangely tender, as if her death had made it possible for him to love her. Sickened, frightened to death, Riff watched him breathe into her mouth like some twisted parody of the old bible stories he’d heard. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the terror he felt when she moved. Her fingers twitched. The pale eyelids fluttered, and she moaned. The sound gurgled in her destroyed breast, and Riff could not bear it anymore.

With a terrified shriek he launched himself from the wall, past the bloody scorch-mark on the floor, past Else and the tall man, even away from Lysander who was screaming his heart out—he fled, not caring where to or how, just away, far away from the horror in this room.

*

Adrian Tepes found that flying was even more difficult than running as a wolf. He cursed the castle with its lethal traps and irritating things, his father for setting them loose on them, Richter for not being able to jump over large crevices, his own need to scout ahead and most of all the food he no longer had to provide him with energy for these tasks. He hung upside down Richter’s collar, wheezing like an asthmatic canary while his heart pounded in his temples. Hanging upside down did not help for the building headache, but if he changed back now he would have to rest at least an hour to catch his breath; this way they kept moving.

Richter might be a lot slower than he, for a human he was pretty fast, and he still had a good condition. It would have been perfect, Adrian mused sleepily, if it was Maria carrying him instead of her brother in law. A woman’s scent was so nice to have around you when you slept, much nicer than a man’s. He dozed off, covered warmly by the vampire hunter’s hair.

"Wake up. Adrian, wake up, I don’t know where I have to go now and there’re those dragon-head things in the other room." He looked helplessly at the small, cool bat in his hand, wondering if it would wake if he put his hand over its body. Didn’t bats hibernate?

"Come on, I need you. Come on Adrian!"

The bat fluttered its wings, yawned and stretched. Richter smiled, he would sleep, of course, no matter where he was. He laid him on the floor where he hopped around in various attempts to change back, then shimmered and was human again.

"Had a nice sleep?"

"Yes, thank you." Adrian stretched again, put a hand against his stomach. "Do you have any more bread?"

"No. What we do have, is a pair of fire spitting dragon heads."

"Oh."

"What oh, those things are dangerous."

"Of course they’re dangerous, I was the one that designed them."

"You WHAT?"

"Hey!" he flung his hands in the air, "I lived here for 24 years. You can’t do that without giving the place a touch of your own.

They’re not even live skulls, as you seem to think. It’s an ingenious mechanism I invented myself..." he grinned at the look Richter shot him. "Sorry. The only thing you have to do to break them is cut the line to the gas tank. That’s all."

"And where is this link?"

"Behind the eyes. If you’re close enough you can see it through the eye sockets."

"Close enough, huh? All right, close enough it will be. What makes them fire anyway, if they’re not alive?"

"Movement." He checked around the corner, gnawing on his finger. His belly felt so empty it hurt, and that after only a few times changing! I should have brought more food. But how could I’ve known it would take so much more than the previous time?

"On three." Richter said, taking his mind off his stomach.

"On three. One."

"Two. Three." They jumped into the hallway.

"Duck!" The first three fireballs flew over their inclined heads without doing any harm. "Now jump! Forwards!"

"I’m not a complete imbecile." Richter muttered, yet he jumped as the Dhampire told him to, dodged another round and slashed at the lowest skull with his dagger. Adrian was right, if you looked close enough you could see the wires...he screamed as fire licked his side and he staggered back, hitting at the flames running up his coat.

"Jump! Jump, you bastard, jump!" He jumped desperately, managed to avoid another ball, then Adrian pushed him aside and ran his sword through the left eye of the highest head, jumped, attacked the lower one and cut the wire. The skulls sagged as if accepting their fate.

"Are you—damn it!"

"It’s...not so bad. It’s just my side...ow! Don’t...do that!"

"Have you got any more bandages?" Richter grinned weakly.

"Of course; I brought seventy yards. Always well prepared when...ah! please don’t... don’t..."

"I have to...there, it’s loose. You’re right, it’s not so bad."

"Thanks." Richter hissed through gritted teeth. He made an attempt to look at his wound, but all he saw was blackened cloth. The stench of burned flesh—his burned flesh was there though, and he felt queasy with the thought it was him smelling like that.

"Any ointment?"

"Only aloe salve. It helps..."

"For burns. Yes I know." Adrian smiled. "Maria put it on my hand, remember? I can put it on your wound; I could also spit on it."

"Spit?" He closed his eyes; now the shock wore off he began to feel the pain, and it was bad.

"Yes. Vampire saliva heals—it must, otherwise the teeth marks wouldn’t heal and they would be discovered before..."

"Just...do it. Both."

"Good." He did as he had promised. He’d been right, as Richter noticed before long, even if it didn’t heal, the saliva eased the burning. God, that’s handy, always carrying your private medics aid. No wonder the man’s never ill, his whole body must be some sort of giant vitamin pill.

Some salving and padding later he felt good enough to pull up his shirt and go on. As he said himself, it was not a good idea to take his medical leave period now.

"Are there any more creatures or thingies you designed that I don’t know of?"

"No."

"But you sure mad a hell of a lot of those dragon heads." Adrian grumbled something unintelligible. "What?"

"I said you should be glad I didn’t use whole bone dragons."

"I am! Believe me, I am!" A small indefinite organism was whipped into oblivion. "But if you made them, why do they—watch it!" there was a splutting sound. Without batting an eye the Dhampire shook the goo from his sword.

"They hit me too because, like I told you, they fire on movement. Normally nobody uses this side of the castle, only fools and heroes do." Richter halted in his footsteps.

"Do you mean there is another, much safer way? Then why on earth..."

"Because," Adrian interrupted, leaning wearily against the wall, "that way is blocked by a very simple, impossible to beat mechanism called a gate. You can’t open it if it’s locked. Period. Can we go now?"

The vampire hunter, for once silent, fell into pace beside him.

The castle began to unnerve him; all those hallways, ballrooms, clocks and libraries, not to mention the things living in them! The Dhampire and he did make a good team to beat them though; apart from his wounded side and the scratch on his arm all they had was minor injuries. That was if he didn’t count Adrian’s steadily thinning out. Normally, the Dhampire’s diet wasn’t enough to nourish a ten year old, but since he came into the castle he’d devoured three breads and almost everything that went with it without showing a thing; on the contrary, the vague hollows under his cheekbones only grew deeper and deeper. He did not like it one bit.

Then there was Riff to worry about. Poor, helpless Riff. I should have been there when he came in. I SHOULD have been! It’ll be my fault if he dies, and what will I tell Annette then—if I survive this myself! But then even Adrian couldn’t stop him, and he is more than five times stronger than I am. Yet if we hadn’t fought...if, if. There is nothing I can change now. All we can do is try. And why shouldn’t we make it? I could do it once, and so could he, so together we can manage it for the third time, can’t we? He was pulled out of his reverie when Adrian stumbled, waving his arms wildly to regain his normally impeccable balance.

"Are you all right?" he asked, suddenly worried. The other man shrugged.

"I am...hungry. No, that’s an understatement, I’m starving."

"How can you think of food in this place!"

"I need food to change, Belmont! You don’t need to change all the time and I know you tend to forget I saved your life about...oh...three times today by doing it, but if I don’t get something to eat very soon I..."

"Easy! I wasn’t attacking you." Pondering he observed the man’s profile. "Is there any place where you can find nourishment?"

"O yes." He laughed, a bitter bark of a laugh. "The only problem is that food has strange effects on you here, especially if the owner of the castle doesn’t want you here."

"But you’re Vlad’s son; you still are a part of chaos."

"You Blessed me. Besides that, I’m here to kill him and I’m quite sure he doesn’t want to see me. He’s not that mad. Look out, there’s a..."

"Got it." A dozen bats fell to the ground, screeching. Adrian finished the survivors with the sword. Only when the floor was literally covered with furry bodies Richter had a chance to look around.

"Hey, I know this place. This is the chapel, isn’t it?"

"Apparently." He did not sound as if he was glad to be here.

"It seems Dracula did quite some redecorating..." He trailed off, attention snared by a lonely statue standing in the far end of the room. Forgetting the rest he walked closer, careful not to step on strange looking stones. And he gasped.

At first the thought it was a Christ figure, but it was not. Not at all. The sculpture had the shape of a woman in the throes of some dark ecstasy, arms spread as if crucified, head thrown back, eyes rolled up behind half lowered eye lids. She was naked but for a cloth with a winged wolf’s head on it around her waist. A parody of Christ. Yet even as he felt revolted by the insult he could not help marveling the incredible detail; the marble looked so smooth it had the appearance of real flesh, every vein and muscle showed, even her nipples—swollen and round in rapture—were perfectly detailed. And while her whole appearance was white, her stony locks were crudely painted red; the paint was still fresh, like blood. She was as beautiful as she was horrible...and then he noticed the puncture marks in the arched neck.

Adrian made a strangled sound, and when Richter turned around he saw he had gone dead white.

"She..." he choked. "no, it can’t be." Richter understood. At least, he thought so.

"Lisa?"

"No....Sylvia." Livid pallor made place for crimson rage. He took his sword with both hands and growled: "I’ll make him pay for this! This time he’s gone too far...I won’t let you DO THIS TO HER!!! Do you HEAR me!!!!" The only reply he got was the mocking echo of his own words: Hear me...hear me...

"Stand aside."

"What are you...?" He had to jump out of sword’s distance in order to avoid getting chopped through the middle when Adrian slashed at the statue with all his might. It broke; but the faint crack was drowned in the terrible scream that followed.

Adrian panicked. He bumped into his horrified friend in his attempt to recoil, grabbed his arms and tried to pull him away. Then he looked back, a moan escaping his lips.

The statue was bleeding. The sword had cut her almost in two, and blood gushed out of the wound.

"God have mercy..." Richter whispered. Bile rose in his throat; his whole body was covered with goose bumps. "There’s someone inside of it. O my God, he’s locked someone into the stone!" He felt Adrian’s hands shaking; he was quivering so badly his teeth rattled. The man clearly was in some kind of shock; gently Richter pulled away.

"Don’t touch it." His voice was no more than a rasp.

"But I have to know..."

"Don’t touch it! I killed it, and if I didn’t I will now."

A soft noise shut him up, only to make him moan again when he realised what it was.

The statue was weeping.

Richter turned around and was ill on one of the pews near him.

It took them a while to chisel the marble away from her face, and when they’d finally done so Richter regretted doing so. He should have listened to Adrian, let him kill the poor thing off immediately, but he’d wanted to save her. It was no use; she was better off dead.

How it was done he didn’t know, but as far as he could tell this...girl had been partly changed, drugged out of her mind and somehow enclosed in the stone. She had been dreaming all this time, too far gone to notice anything of the world around her. Only when the Dhampire drove his blade into her intestines did she scream, but now she was unconscious again, dying, quiet apart from an occasional sob.

"This is torture," he said subdued. "We’d better end her suffering." The other man nodded. He looked like a skull.

"You’re a priest, right? Give her some kind of...of absolution if you can. I’m sure she was Orthodox. Don’t look at me so strangely; I might not be religious but I do know how it can help people." He sighed. "Although I fear nothing can help her anymore."

"If we...kill her. Will she truly be dead?"

"Yes. She hasn’t grown fangs yet, nor is she rotting in any way. No vampire, no zombie. Go ahead, bless her. I’ll end it."

So Richter said the final words, sprayed some of his precious holy water over her forehead and closed her dreamy eyes. He’d seen many horrible things in his life, but somehow this girl’s fate beat it all. The ‘rest in peace’ part almost seemed blasphemy considered what they were going to do to her, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

"Amen. Do what you have to do."

He turned away as Adrian placed the sword in the hollow of her throat, but he couldn’t not hear the wet sound when he sliced her neck. Miserably he covered his ears until he felt Adrian’s hand on his shoulder.

"It’s over." The man’s husky voice said, and he nodded.

"Let’s go then." Slowly they walked out of the chapel, leaving the white corpse in a pool of the brightest red.

CHILDREN 7

Fretting was bad for ones health.

Crying was bad for ones beauty.

Biting ones nails absolutely ruined ones hands and waiting brought it all. Annette was very good at fretting, crying and nail biting, but after six hours non-stop misery she’d finally decided she should spare her sister and do something useful. There was no way she could help either Riff or her husband in this way, yet since there was no way at all she could help, she bought herself a set of knitting pens, wool and designs and set to knitting. Hundreds of thousands of children were dying of cold, well, at least she could help them!

Now, three days later, Maria softly took the quills out of her hands. The table was covered in socks, shawls, wool threads and half-finished shirts and Annette was sleeping in the middle of them with her head on her arms.

"It’s time to go to bed, Ann." she whispered. "You’re exhausted."

"No. I must finish this pattern..." But she let herself be guided to her bed, lay her head on her baby-sister’s lap and tried very hard not to start crying again. It was all so...useless. What was she supposed to do if Richter did not return? How long did they have to stay here, wondering whether they were still alive? What if they were both dead already?

"It’s all right," Maria shushed, stroking the gold blonde strands out of her face, "I’m sure they will succeed."

"But what if they don’t? What then?"

"Then we call forth Natalia, take up the sword and go and get them." Annette let out a long, quivering sigh.

"You know we can’t do that."

"Why not? I’ve done it ten years ago and then I was a child! I can do it again, and I will too, if I have to!"

"I cannot do that." She looked up, her green eyes red-rimmed with tears and tiredness. "You know I can’t do that. I’m not brave like you, or adventurous like Natalia. All I ever wanted was a husband, some children and a cozy home. You..."

"I fell in love with Adrian, I didn’t choose to be a Dhampire’s wife." She rested her head against the wall. "It hasn’t been easy, you know. It took ages before we knew how we could live together without quarreling every day." She smiled. "I thanked God when we were finally done shouting and we could make it up again. He was very good at making up. Very sweet and soft.

Sometimes I think I misunderstood him much more often than I thought I did at the time. After all he’s from a totally different age...But we did have fun buying clothes, and it almost killed me when he told the barber his lack of facial hair must be a family trade because his mother didn’t have it either..." Annette did not reply. As she looked at her sister, Maria saw she was fast asleep, her fine, haggard features finally relaxed. Running her fingers through the silky curls and removing any pin she could find Maria hummed a song she always sang to Lysander if he was crying.

"I have faith in the both of them—no, the four of them. They will survive, the Good side always does." But then she remembered the ease with which Dracula had broken Adrian’s ribs, and she began to doubt again. He’d been holding back then. What would he be like to face in his full power?

*

After the incident in the chapel the castle hit back with full force. There was no more time for talking, it was all they could do to conquer all the waves of enemies they encountered.

God, Richter thought, how many of these things can this bloody place spawn? And how long have we been here? I have no idea...it feels like years!

A roar of heat past him from behind; Adrian stood with both arms raised, fire balls shot out from under his cloak. One of the knight-like figures he had been fighting collapsed in a rattle of armor, the other gave a metallic scream and fell back, but not before he slashed the man over the thighs. Richter lanced a kick to the helmet as Adrian went down with a cry, finished the job with the whip. Two more closed in on him.

"Can you get up?" He grit his teeth against the pain of salt sweat in scorched flesh and threw himself aside when another pair of flaming spheres shot from the Dhampire’s fists. Kicking these things was not a good idea; they were hard. Besides, the whip worked much better.

"CAN you get up?"

"In a...minute." the last of the armor crashed to the ground.

"Take your time, I finished the last one." He went to stand in front of the other man, ready to give him a hand. He was on his knees, clutching his thighs. Blood seeped from between his fingers. "Damn it all to hell...is that bone?"

"I am not...particularly...interested." Hurry! Adrian prayed to his healing factor, please hurry up! Hurry up, hurry UP! Black spots floated in his vision. "Can you...get me up...heal faster if my muscles...relax." Richter complied. For a moment he thought he would die right there when his tissue stretched to the point of tearing...then his healing system kicked in and the spots of white disappeared in raw flesh.

"I’m fine." he mumbled against the solid mass of warmth that was the vampire hunter. And in a way, he was; better in any case than any other human being after such an injury. If he only had the time to rest...

Sorry, my body. No time to rest. Heal, damn it! Heal! Hell, I’m loosing weight by the moment, not to mention blood; if this goes on for much longer there’ll be nothing left of me! Richter was shaking him. More foes. Great. At least his legs could carry him without buckling.

Later they sat next to each other in a dining room, simply catching their breath.

If this was supposed to be a dining room, Richter thought, it was one in the worst taste he’d ever seen. If anyone could have an appetite with all the glaring paintings and horrible landscapes on the wall it must be a raving maniac.

A few faces looked vaguely familiar; the first Vlad, number two: Vlad Dracul and of course Dracula himself. I’ve been here the last time...but I can’t remember anything of that time. I must have been here though.

In the corner, right behind a fireplace, hung a small portrait of a young man with huge golden eyes and an almost effeminate face. The same face, only younger, as that of the man hanging in the chair next to him.

"Yes, that’s me," Adrian said, following his gaze, "in my Blood years. I don’t know why it’s still hanging there. Probably to remind him who killed him the last time. And there, that woman over there with the red hair..."

"The statue!" Richter exclaimed. Adrian nodded, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, that’s Sylvia. Of this painting I AM sure he put it here to taunt me."

"Sylvia...was that the woman...when you were ill, you told Annette you’d killed a woman once..."

"Yes, that was Sylvia. Flame." He cautiously touched his blood-stained legs, winced and lay back.

"She was a birthday present. Yes, she really was. Don’t look so shocked, in my time that kind of things happened all the time. She...she was supposed to be someone I could practice with." He waited for the inevitable question, but for once the vampire hunter was silent and he continued tonelessly: "But instead of playing with her I fell in love with her, much to the contempt of my father. And the more I loved her, the more I began to hate drinking the blood of beings like her. How could I go back to my bed all warm with the blood I had fed upon and make love to her with death on my soul? I could not do that anymore, so I stopped drinking blood." He hugged himself. "And it made me very cold. And very ill as well. But I succeeded in doing so in the end—Tepes stubbornness I suppose. You could say I broke with my...with Dracula when I left Castlevania to live with her, and it came to a big fight after I killed her."

"So you did kill her? I thought that was all a fever dream." Adrian laughed mirthlessly.

"O Belmont, I wish it was a fever dream! It is not though, I killed her...can you imagine waking up with your mouth full of blood, finally warm after months of chill only to find out you’ve just murdered the woman you love?" Richter bit his lip, lively features serious. When he answered Adrian seemed surprised he did.

"I can’t say I can imagine such a thing, but I think I understand. Tell me one thing though...are you still cold inside as you say you were when you were still partly vampire?"

"Belmont," Adrian said softly while he twisted the ring Maria’d given him when they married, "I love Maria with all my heart and the day I hurt her I will kill myself, but only a pyre like the one my mother was burned upon will provide enough heat to melt the ice in my soul."

They slept in turns, getting little rest but enough to go on. Time played tricks here, as did space and distance; Chaos did not care about linear order. Adrian changed into a bat again, partly to avoid walking, partly because he hoped to find some insects. He was dizzy with hunger now, and even if his legs would have healed faster he wouldn’t have been able to use them without stumbling. As a bat, at least his body was smaller. Unfortunately it also had a faster metabolism than his human form and flying tired him so he had to stop every few minutes to recuperate. In the end he just hung in Richter’s long hair trying to save his strength. Only when he had to fight he flew, beating his opponents mercilessly with razor-sharp wings before returning to his ‘nest’.

Right now he did not care anymore what the food would do to him—it could change him permanently into a purple-spotted lizard for all he cared, as long as he could eat it. Even Richter’s neck began to look horribly appetizing... No. No blood anymore. But he wouldn’t even notice...NO! stop it. No blood. No matter that it would drive out the cold, no matter that it would make me stronger, I vowed not to drink blood again...but it sure is difficult!

He gave a squeak as the vampire hunter suddenly halted; he almost fell out.

"Sorry." Richter apologised absently, holding out his hand so the bat could climb on his palm. "What on earth did the Count do in this place?"

He was standing on the edge of an abyss in the middle of the room. It was simply a crack in the floor running from one side of the wall to the other, splitting the room in two with a gaping chasm of approximately 20 feet wide in between. No way to jump it. He looked down, almost lost his balance and lay down on the floor—hissing when his side hit the floor—to gauge the distance. It was dark, but he thought he could see the room on the lower floor.

"If we had a rope..." There was no rope, and the whip was not long enough to use as one. He scrambled to his feet again and went to have a look at the wall, where the gap continued. If he was not mistaken it was possible to climb over the lower piece, into the other room. The fluttering of wings made him look up. "You might be right, if you can have a look at the other room..." Damn inconvenient the bat could not talk; it was unpleasant to talk to an animal like that, even when the animal in question was probably more intelligent that yourself. He followed the small black figure as it circled around, lower and lower and waited for it to come up again.

Adrian did not know whether it was his own exhaustion, the lack of food or some sort of trap, but suddenly something hit him in the head, he lost his shape, changed back and fell, already half unconscious, into the blackness below.

All Richter saw was a flash of blonde hair and a larger figure than that of the bat; the next moment he was gone. He thought he heard a faint splash some seconds later, but he could not be sure.

"Adrian?"

No answer. Not even a squeak or a scream.

"Adrian!"

Silence. Adrian Tepes had completely disappeared.

*

"Riff, my dear, I’m sure it was a trick of your mind. People cannot shoot fire from their hands, nor can they revive the dead." Tenderly she stroked the soft brown hair back from a red-cried face. Inward she was fuming; how did the man get it into his bloody head to do such things in front of the child! He could have spoiled everything! She had found Riff dangerously close to her own room, if he hadn’t been looking for her he might just as well have walked out of the whole bloody castle!

"Now, I’m sure it will be perfectly all right..."

"I want to go home..."

"I know sweetling, but you’ll have to wait for a while. Just stay here with Lysander."

"What if h-he comes back? Can’t you stay here too?" Elizabeth shook her head.

"I’m sorry Riff, but there’s still so much I have to do. But I promise I’ll come when I’m finished, then we can read a bit together?"

Riff sniffled unhappily, but he nodded. Bawling never worked with adults. He sat on the big bed in a blue room, legs dangling above the ground. Lysander was mewling softly on the pillow; probably hungry. He did not sound healthy, this crying was not like his usual strong demanding shriek. Maybe he was ill, God, he hoped he wasn’t ill!

As ‘Alice’ left the room he hastily stood up and locked the door; this way nobody could come in. Going back to the bed, he took one of the biscuits he’d gotten from his plate, pulled Lysander on his lap and held the cookie to his mouth.

"Come on, eat it. You have to eat, mommy says it makes you strong." The baby turned away, crying miserably. His tears were a stimulant for his cousin’s own, and soon both boys sat in a curled up ball of sobbing misery. Finally though, they were too tired to keep it up any longer and fell asleep, foreheads touching, small arms and fingers wrapped tight around each other.

Elizabeth grumbled under her breath while she walked back to her abode. Vlad was insane, a total log-head, and bad with children too. No wonder his own son had run off, the man was walking disaster. Burning the kid’s nurse! Where was she supposed to get another woman soon? The wretched child needed milk, was too young to eat porridge or other things than apple juice and stuff, but she couldn’t see the Count happily squashing apples to feed his grandson. Neither could she see herself do such a thing for that matter, so a new nurse had to be found. So what should I do, put an ad in the newspaper? Wanted: a nanny to suckle a three month old baby in nice Gothic surroundings, wages: life? Preposterous! Stupid man! No wonder he gets killed every time if he makes mistakes like that all the time.

<SPLOOSH!>

"That," she murmured satisfied, "was a big one." The bloody little devils were too clumsy to see her ingenious trap and too stupid to learn; the pond was filled with their corpses. It was such a simple device, a couple of threads, a falling stone and hop! they fell down like overripe tomatoes. Now she only had to find a way to remove the bodies without dirtying her hands...

Who could imagine her surprise when, instead of a furry red animal, she found a tall man floating face-down in the pool. He already began to sink when she saw him, dragged down by his heavy garments, so she ran to the edge and made a grab for him.

"Alucard." She got hold of one of the limp arms. "How nice of you to drop by. Christ, man, what the hell have you been doing!" Elizabeth, vampiric power or not, was panting by the time she heaved him over the edge; he was a big man and soaked, probably half full of water too. Turning him around she searched for a heart-beat. Nothing.

"Damn it, what have you been doing?" How long had it taken her to get here since she’d heard the splash? One minute? Two? He couldn’t have drowned, could he? Again she pressed her fingers in his neck—yes. There was a pulse. Good. But he still looked worse than his father, and Vlad was an undead.

"You, sweet cousin, are NOT an undead. So wake up." What was one supposed to do with half-drowned people? Elizabeth had never had the need to revive someone who wasn’t dead, certainly not someone full of water. Gingerly she pressed on his stomach, hoping to get some water out of him. He did gasp, then curled up around his belly and began to cough. She put her arm around his waist, jerked, and had the doubtful satisfaction of getting him to retch up bucketsful of liquid.

"That’s it. Go on, spit it out—good Lord, how much did you swallow anyway?"

It took him several minutes to stop coughing, and when he finally did he did not wake up as she thought he would but just lay there shivering, breathing irregularly. Why he woke not she had no idea. Yes, he had a nasty bump on his head, but that was not enough to knock him unconscious.

Something’s wrong with him, but what? He does look horribly pale, even for him. Maybe he’s ill...yet he smells healthy. Well, at least I’ve got him now, which means I can see on which side he is. Hm. If I don’t watch out he’ll get pneumonia and die on me. That would be a laugh, all my plans to hell because of a disease! Better get him out of his wet clothes and into my bed. She smiled, remembering an evening many years ago that included a flirtatious woman, a hot-blooded Dhampire and a very young yet mature Elizabeth...and a room with a big oak table.

"Let’s see if your body looks the same, shall we? Oh come on, can you not be a little more cooperative?"

Before long she had undressed him and lain him on the bed. Finding out what ailed him did not take long after that; besides the fact that both thighs had a cut to the bone his ribs were sticking out like branches. She’d seen it before, that strange slimness of starvation, when he tried to give up the Blood to join that farmer’s girl, that little whore of his...From the stories she knew he’d partly made it; she hadn’t been there at the time. Their stormy relationship had ended long before that and she’d left Romania shortly after her Change. An inturnable Change since she’d changed alive. No pacts with Chaos, only a little help from Vlad and the lives of many young virgins. Quite a good bargain.

"You?? Elizabeth?"

The man’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

"You are very observant, Alucard." He blinked his eyes, still a bit dazed.

"What are you doing here? What am I doing here?" Recognition dawned in his eyes and he sat up briskly.

"Where’s Lysander?" Elizabeth sniffed.

"Yes, Alucard, I am fine, thank you. Did it occur to you I just saved your life by fishing you out of the pond?"

"What do you..."

"I must say you look healthy. Thin, but healthy. Maria must be an agreeable wife to you."

"Where is Lysander!" She smiled innocently.

"Lysander?" Fair skin turned red with anger.

"Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know what’s happened!"

"Tell me." He lunged at her, but his body’s reserves had been drained too far to complete that action; he slid sideways and would have fallen if she had not caught him.

"You’re too weak to play the hero, my friend. I guess you need food even more desperately than information. What about blood?"

"Go to hell." She smiled, a crooked smile.

"Probably. Therefore I’ll try to live a very long time yet. But seriously, you need to eat. I happen to have some bread and stew left from yesterday...I could get it, if you want."

Adrian studied the sheets under which he lay. The last change had left a gaping hole in his stomach; the thought of food alone made him feel dizzy. If he was to do anything, even get up, he needed the energy. So he nodded.

"Good. I trust you won’t go anywhere while I’m gone? No, I didn’t think so. I’ll be back soon."

Five drops had to be enough. What a coincidence he’d fallen straight into her lap! What luck he was so weak at the moment! How absolutely great she had the opportunity to talk to him before he killed his father again. Singing softly she walked back, carrying a tray of stew in her hands with the ease of a bar-maid. Whatever he would do, it would only work positive for her.

She said nothing as she put the plate on his knees, but she laughed when he sniffed suspiciously. So he hadn’t lost his keen smell over the years.

"What’s in it?"

"Nothing that will kill you." He sighed, shaking his head.

"You’re a bitch, Lizzy."

"It was you who called me ‘Lady Misery’; I’m just living up to the name. Look, you haven’t got a choice and I swear it won’t hurt you. I’m not that stupid, your father would kill me."

"Yessss." With a shrug he stuck the spoon in the stew. "Fine." Elizabeth watched him wolf the stuff down with a happy expression on her face.

"Good boy." she purred, smoothening her dress over her crossed legs. "Feel free to eat it all. There’s more if you want it."

*

"Get off me." Adrian muttered. Elizabeth smiled.

"Why, I’m comfortable this way." Actually that wasn’t true; he was so thin his hipbones pressed into her buttocks, but she was prepared to take that discomfort in favor of the moment. Already his pupils were dilated and hazy with the poison.

"W-what do you wwant, Elizabeth?"

"Oh nothing, just a little proposal..."

"Get lost."

"Now, now, that’s no way to talk to a lady!"

"Lady?" he giggled, caught himself and stopped it. "What th-the hell did you put in that sstuff?"

"Your father called it ‘compulsion’. It won’t kill you." She grew serious again. "Listen Alucard, I really have a proposal to make, and you’d better take notice now, because you won’t remember anything when you sober up."

"I’m lllistening." She swallowed a smile; he sounded as if he were completely sloshed. He also looked that way, now she thought about it. But there were important matters to tend to.

"Good. I’ll make it plain, I want you to beat your father and let me kill him."

"Huh?"

"Christ, you can’t be gone so far! What I mean is that you should defeat him but give me the last stroke. I want to kill him, not you." She literary saw him fight to think. At last he understood, and he shook his head.

"No way."

"Alucard..."

"No! You want to ssuccess him, don’t you? I knew it."

"Why not? I’m prepared to let you have..."

"No, Elizabeth!" He struggled weakly, body heavy and clumsy with poison. Elizabeth easily pushed him down. "I won’t llet you become the new llleader. Over my dead body!"

"Why not? If you don’t use your leadership you can give it to me; at least someone will control the poor creatures."

"I chose for my human ssside a long time ago."

"Yes, so you did, to the horror of your father."

"DON’T call him my father!"

"Then what, Alucard? Enemy? The Great Villain? He IS your father, much good it did him!"

"He tried to kill me..."

"Bloody hell, Alucard, you betrayed him! Here, don’t you agree Castlevania needs a new master? Your whole family is crazy, including you. Vlad is insane, your mother was a blubbering weakling and you are a depressed masochist who committed patricide—if any psychiatrist would ever have a look at your soul he would either die laughing or melt in tears! I’ve never seen such a sorry family!"

"So that’s wwhy you let us call you cousin," Adrian spat around his swollen tongue, "you wanted to be part of our nnice lllittle madhouse. If you called him back, why dddidn’t you kill him yourself?"

Elizabeth sat back, wincing as the man’s hipbones dug in her thighs. If only he wasn’t so beautiful...! she regarded him from under half lowered lids.

"I am not a fool. Neither are you. Dracula is much stronger than I am and you know it. Even when I called him back he was stronger. I want to have his power and his armies of darkness, not his sword in my throat."

"Sssso you’ll let me do the dirty wwork. No thank you."

"That is a denial of my proposal?"

"You’ve got that damned right. Now get OFF of me!"

"I think not. What will you do if you beat him in the end? I mean, do you honestly think he’ll let you live this time? He loves you, why I don’t get, but love can only last so long..."

"He llloves me?" He gaped at her, totally flabbergasted. "Wwhat do you mmean he lloves me? Wwhy on earth should he llove me?" Elizabeth shook her head.

"You really don’t understand do you? Why do you think you won, so many years ago, because you were stronger than him? Don’t be ridiculous! You haven’t even got a holy weapon! Did you think you could beat him with that puny sword of yours—that HE had ordered made by the way? You only found it! That stupid little crucifix? You’re such a FOOL, Alucard!"

"I beat him..."

"No, you did not! He let you win. Yes, that’s right, he let you win. God damn it, you really thought...That’s what I can’t stand about you, that damned...arrogance! You used to be so different, when I first met you..."

"I wwas a mmurdderer then." Adrian slurred.

"No! You weren’t! You were marvelous. I remember the time we were friends, lovers, whatever, when we danced in the ball room amidst all those stupid powerful people, before I Changed. You were dining on those people, and you did it in such a way they didn’t even care. Don’t you remember that blue-eyed girl—she screamed while you took her, but she was so drunk you became intoxicated by her blood, and you laughed at her all the time..."

"Shut up!"

"Then you were honest!" Elizabeth hissed. "And then you found that bloody red-haired bitch, and suddenly you felt too good for us. You became a whining..."

"Yyou wern’t there!" he cried back, stumbling over the words, "He made a hellof my llife."

"And don’t you love to suffer. Oh come on, Alucard, you enjoyed being a martyr. The more pain the better. I’ve seen you feasting on innocent people, just like your father, but nooo, actually you didn’t like that at all, you were forced to do that by your evil father; you’re not a vampire, you’re a bloody saint!" She leaned into his face so close that their noses almost touched. "At least your father doesn’t pretend to be any different than he really is, and neither do I. That’s why he tolerates me, although he knows I’ll stab him in the back as soon as I’ve got the opportunity. Do you know, a couple of years after you turned your back on him I returned to the castle and he was a wreck! A man so dragged down by loss and pain and madness it’s a miracle he ever was able to do anything at all after that. Thank God one of those Belmonts killed him so he could get some rest and then take his revenge..."

"Iffyou lloveim somuch," the Dhampire mumbled, "why don’tyoumarryim and be ddone withit?"

Elizabeth snorted.

"I already have his body, I want his power, and if you don’t want to help me there rests me only one thing to do." Without further warning she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "You see," she whispered, "I cannot kill you without risking my life, but I can use your power." With a slender hand she pushed his head to one side and moved her lips to his neck. "He won’t spare you this time, cousin. Not with your son in his possession. Can you imagine his joy; finally a new child with his blood, someone who won’t be spoiled by a whimpering mother or a village whore. But a child dies easily, and there is always the Belmont boy to take my chances with..."

She bit him, right through the skin into the large vein in his neck. His body heaved and he tried to kick her away, but she held his wrist pinned to the bed and in his drugged condition he was no match for her. He couldn’t even scream as she sucked the blood out of him; he only moaned, softly, and went down in the darkness.

CHILDREN 8

*

After waiting ten minutes, Richter slowly pushed himself to his feet. The Dhampire was gone. He was not going to come back.

A small, furry demon flew past his face, he batted it away without a thought. So, what should he do? The only thing he could do, was move on; staying here would help neither Riff nor Lysander. I only hope he didn’t fall to his death...

With a sigh—and a flinch as his wounds protested—he hoisted his backpack in a better position and looked at the wall. There was no other way around the abyss than via the other room, no matter what lived in it, so he walked to the edge, leaned over and began to climb.

While he climbed, swarms of the bat-like creatures flew around him. They were more irritating than harmful, but they halted him in his movements and once he even stepped on one, which almost caused him to lose his grip. He reached the first room safely though, and a well-aimed holy water-spray got rid of them. This room was completely done in red; dark vermilion tapestries decorated the walls, the rug on the floor was scarlet, the chairs were crimson and even the glossy table in the middle of the room shone reddish in the fire light. The remaining demons landed on the floor in front of him as if they were statues belonging in this place.

"O get lost!" he muttered, then walked around them to the next broken wall.

It took four rooms plus a bone dragon before he could finally find a place where the crack in the ground wall was narrow enough for him to pass. The bone dragon was now a dust dragon, and Richter had only one bottle of holy water left. He decided not to use it until he found the lord of the castle himself, not before. No matter how horrifying the creatures that were to come, he needed some of the stuff to defeat the Count.

Although he had run through this place alone before, he now missed Adrian terribly. Even though he wasn’t the most cheerful companion, he DID know the way, and no matter how hungry, he still was a lot stronger than Richter. He was very much afraid he was facing a long long time of intensive fighting on his own.

Never mind, as long as I find the children back! Taking the whip firmly into his hands, he quickened his pace to a trot, boots thumping on the tiles.

*

Lysander, Riff thought with a hard lump in his belly, was definitely sick. Even after some strange figure had come and changed him he wouldn’t lay still, and he felt hot to the touch. His crying had become a hoarse keening, and sometimes, when the baby was silent for a long while, he had to go and look if he was still breathing.

His cousin’s condition had a depressing effect on Riff. He sat near the little boy’s bed, knees drawn up, tears coursing down his chubby cheeks. He didn’t like this place anymore. He wanted to go home, back to mommy and dad, back to the safeness of his own room and the cat. There were no comforting animals here to stroke their heads against his chin, or purr when they were happy.

Ad-ian purrs when he is happy too, auntie said so. Oh, I really wish he were here! I wish you were here, Sander needs you. I need you. Can’t you come? Please come to me. Please, take me away from this place...

The door opened, hit the wall with a bang. To Riff’s alarm the tall man strode into the room, in a bee-line for Lysander. Riff jumped in front of his cousin, thin arms protectively spread.

"You can’t see him, he’s sick." The man arched an eyebrow. The corners of his mouth twitched with amusement—very much like Ad-ian’s, Riff suddenly saw. This was the first time he really looked at him, and now he did he noticed much more than that small resemblance. This man was a taller, harder, colder version of his beloved uncle, even their stance was the same. The Count saw his eyes widen, and thin lips stretched into a smile.

"Who are you?"

"Your natural born enemy, Christian Belmont." Riff shook his head.

"No. You are...are you Ad-ian’s...family?" The silver eyes narrowed, again so like his uncle that the child had to swallow.

"What is it to you? What if I were?"

"Then I would be...then you would be my family too..." At that the tall man blanched, then threw back his head and began to roar with laughter. Lysander made a protesting sound, but slept on soundly.

"Your family! I know the Belmonts are idiots, but I never thought you could be so stupid! Family! I refuse to see you in any way as my family!" Riff took a step back, frightened by the malignance in the man’s eyes. Again he thought about Else...

The Count pushed him aside and lifted Lysander from his bed. His hands were chalky white against the baby’s rosy skin. Riff whined softly.

"Please, you’ll hurt him..."

"Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t hurt him in any way."

"You told Else the same." Suddenly he gasped, pinned to his place by the tall man’s deep, whirling pupils. They weren’t just black spots but holes, deep, deep dark voids in which fire and ice spun in an everlasting dance. Chaos.

"Do you dare to defy me, child?" he asked slowly, shifting Lysander to his other arm like a bread. Riff’s back pressed against the head board; he could retreat no further. "Do you really think you have the power to do that?" To the boy’s horror, one of the clenched fists began to glow and eerie light.

"You can’t hurt me." he rattled, "daddy will kill you if you do."

"Ha!"

"He will, and Ad-ian too..." The Count shot out an arm, but he ducked and ran to the other side of the room. The door slammed into the lock before he could reach it though, and when he turned around he saw the pale shadow advancing on him with the lethal grace of a cat.

"Adrrrrrian...."

"Yes, Ad-ian too, he’s much stronger than you are anyway, and he’s, he’s...." with a small cry he dodged a second punch and sprang away, half taunting, half terrified. "And daddy told me I was safe as long as I prayed to God, and I did, so I...aaaaah!" Five iron fingers closed around his neck, lifted him into the air.

"God!" the Count spat. "God cannot help you here, Belmont! In this place I am God! You, your father, Adrian, all of them! are nothing more than a nuisance to me! I lost the last time, but this time I am the one with victory in my grasp." He lifted Riff to his face, scentless breath cold on the boy’s wet cheeks. "I will have him back this time, your uncle Adrian. He ran away once, but this time he won’t succeed; he’ll be mine once more, and this time I mean to keep him!

As for you, Christian Belmont," the name was like a curse, "you will prove quite useful to me, whether you like it or not, and I will use you as I please." With that, he released the child’s neck, causing him to fall to the floor, gasping for breath. From where he lay, he could see Lysander’s big innocent eyes stare at him, he thought plaintive.

"Please..." Riff panted desperately, "Please...Sander..."

"If you want to pray, child," the man answered with a sneer, "better pray your father never finds you, for he will pay for your freedom with his life. Like his precious Christ did!"

And he slid out of the out of itself opening door, taking Lysander with him.

*

After the abyss came an inside garden inhabited by strange flora and insects that, when they stung, inflicted swellings upon the intruder that first itched terribly, then burned and soon after that burst to give birth to dozens of tiny larvae. Richter only had to experience that once to be filled with revulsion, and he beat them all to hell to keep from being stung again. The ‘garden’ was followed by another armor-warriors-ridden passage, then a relatively tranquil room and finally a long hallway filled with statues. The sound of running water resonated from the marble, its source somewhere deeper in the hall.

As with the image in the chapel, Richter could do no different than admire the beautiful work, although he knew these sculptures were the ‘life works’ of the artists in more than one aspect. The sculptor’s desperation could be read from the cold beauty of the marble faces.

Since he was tired and the images did not come to life to attack him, he rested a while, studying them. The first statue was only a bust, a woman’s head, neck and shoulders, done in the smooth lines of Renaissance fashion. She must have been a pretty woman, although her nose was a bit small to his taste, her mouth too big to be just generous. Chiseled into the pillar on which she was situated was a name: Cneajna, a date of death: 1462 and a place name: Wallachia, Tirgoviste.

"His first wife." Richter understood. "Then she must be his second wife." Sure enough, the next bust was titled Lisa, again with a date and the place name. In her he recognised Adrian, not so much in the features as in the shape of her face, the eyes, the delicacy of her whole being. When he moved on he was startled to find yet another image of Adrian, a very strange one this time. It was located in a niche; the figure of a kneeling young man with his arms crossed over his chest, face down, half obscured by his hair. The only things that were actually in relief were the head, the shoulders, arms and knees, the rest was hidden by shadows or painted black, so that he seemed to be clothed in darkness. Straight under his head was a bowl, and water dripped into this from his chin. Out of his eyes.

It was a fountain; a crying fountain.

"Man, you really are sick." Richter muttered under his breath. The next statue was complete: torso, legs, arms, head, everything. Another man, this one shaped like no other art movement he knew. All that could be seen of the body were vague shapes under an all concealing cloak held closed by the man’s fingers; yet the figure’s features were so real Richter took a step away from him. The face was white marble again, like the fingers that peaked out of the cloak, but the cloak itself was made of ebony, or some other obsidian wood. Dracula. Draculea, as it said on the foot. No dates of birth or death, no place or other inscription than that name. Draculea. It was as Richter looked up at the cold proud countenance that he heard a baby cry.

"Lysander."

He forgot the statues and began to run.

Rows and rows of sculptures became a blur as he ran past them; faces of men and women, fauns, satyrs, angels and devils, some as real as life, others too bizarre to think about. The corridor seemed to stretch like the carpet-hall, it was as if it wasn’t him that was moving but the surroundings. Chaos. In the shadows red eyes watched him, creatures lurked in the niches. Richter paid them no notice.

The shrill cries grew louder as he reached the end of the hall, and suddenly he was convinced he had found the throne room. His heart leaped up his throat, and he halted. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be so easy.

He closed his eyes, wiping the sweat off his brow. There was no other way; he had to go in. Taking a deep breath, the vampire hunter clenched his jaws together and entered the next room.

*

"MARIA!"

The world responded by exploding in his head, and Adrian fell back into the pillows with a strangled moan. A dream, he told himself, nothing more than a dream.

He pressed his palms against sweat-slicked temples, struggling to wake up completely. God, his head hurt. He felt sick with the pounding, dizzying ache, and his throat was so dry swallowing was pure agony.

Gingerly, he opened his eyes to take in the surroundings. He was still lying in Elizabeth’s bed down here on the bottom of the chasm. The water murmured soothingly in the background, reflected torch-fire and a pale sphere of silver moon. How did it look when we came here? It was a sickle then. How long have I been asleep? And where is Richter?

He pushed himself up on quivering arms, cursing his weakness. At least Elizabeth had been compassionate enough to leave a carafe with water beside the bed; as he was now, he would die of thirst before he could reach the pond.

Well, he thought while gulping down water, what are my odds. I’ve lost an incredible amount of time, my strength with my blood, I don’t think I can stand up without loosing consciousness and I have a splitting headache to boot. But I’m still here, and alive, so she spoke the truth about the stuff.

The only thing I can do is rest until I have some of my strength back and return to my quest. If I’m right, my blood will be regenerated quite soon...oohh, this blasted pain! I can’t think! He lay down again, squeezed his eyes shut. Hangover. Never trust cousins that aren’t in-laws. Compulsion...What on earth HAPPENED to me? He suddenly realized he couldn’t remember anything of what had taken place however long ago it was. It was all hazy. There’d been an argument...She gave me food, and there was something in it. I know that. She admitted so much. But what followed? An argument...a proposal...I can’t think. I just can’t think.

Adrian Tepes placed one wrist on his eyes to shut out the light, curled himself up and sank once more into oblivion.

*

Elizabeth looked up from her bathing liquid at the hiss of one of the paintings on the wall.

"What is it?"

"How much in a hurry are we?"

The portrait smiled slightly, paint shifting on canvas. Every time he did that she felt a thrill of excitement. It was spooky.

"You know I won’t." Sighing softly she rose, secretly enjoying the portrait’s widening eyes. Voyeur! Absently she licked a small trickle of blood from her arm. Alucard had tasted better—my, what a power that man held in his blood! A pity he was such a weakling...but on the other hand, he was pretty enough to keep for his looks alone.

With a cheerful slap Elizabeth threw her bloody towel in a corner.

"Phase two." she grinned, and, slipping her dress over her head, swiftly tiptoed out of the bathroom.

CHILDREN 9

(Indiana Belmont)

Richter Belmont stepped cautiously into the room, prepared to fight whatever monster lived here. There was nothing. Apart from the child’s wailing the castle was absolutely silent. I don’t like this, not at all. He looked around and moaned. The chamber was one big trap, with the baby as a bait.

It was simple yet effective: a pressure stone shaped like an altar on which the baby lay, surrounded by knocked arrows that were in connection—somehow—with other pressure stones on the floor. As he looked up he saw countless spikes sprouting from the ceiling, shifting slightly with Lysander’s movements. The Count was nothing if not consistent: impalement was his favorite punishments, well, impaled he would be if he saved the child.

"You BASTARD!" Richter hissed, clenching his fist in helpless fury. He couldn’t let the poor kid die here, could he? At least he was still alive; every second a little foot or fist showed above the rim of the altar.

"So you want me to get him? Fine. You’ll get your way. You’ll beg for mercy when I come to you!" Trying to ignore the child’s screaming he carefully went to his knees and looked at the various hidden weapons. The mechanism was just like the room; incredibly simple yet devilishly shrewd. The pressure stones stood in a raster, and every stone stood in connection with another, thus forming one big field. If one tried to outrun the arrows, one would trigger only more shots, yet if one stood still the shafts would pierce him. Very clever.

Apart from the pikes in the ceiling, nothing could harm the baby. And that is the most important, right? Once more he studied the holes in the wall, gauging their distance and strength. Four rows, enough to shoot tall and small people alike; impossible to crawl and outrun them. even if he made a roll for it, the middle missiles would hit him.

Hmmm. There was no way to avoid the stones, they were everywhere; one would have to be an acrobat to miss them. But the baby is safe. And there is a hallway I can hide in...

The decision was quickly made. He went back to the statues, found a small one—how ironic, it was in the form of a Cherub—and, with a perfect aim, threw it neatly on one of the closest pressure stones. He heard a ‘twang!’, rolled back behind the wall and covered his head with his arms as two projectiles hit the floor only a foot away from him. There were ten or nine more clicks and ‘stang!’s, followed by the sharp ticks of arrows hitting stone, then only cry-filled quiet. The infant was almost choking in his cries now, and the ceiling quivered with his movements.

"O blasted, Lysander, please lie still!" Richter grimaced in pain while he repositioned himself on the floor right before the room; his muscles ached and the fire wounds burned with his sudden movements. The little sculpture lay just in front of him, the head had broken off. He carefully lifted it, but there was no back-trap. Nothing happened, even when he pressed with his hand.

"Good. Let’s do the next one." He repeated his earlier actions with the second stone and found to his astonishment that there were no bolts left. Apparently every one had fired when he threw a weight on the first one.

The third stone resulted in another rain of arrows, of which only one came close enough to the hall to hit him, but since he had dived behind the wall again, he was unharmed. He wondered whether the child was hurt; Riff had never shrieked like this.

It took him more than an hour to disarm all the stones, but finally the only one that remained was the one on which Lysander lay. At least, he had thought it was Lysander. When he crept to the altar and looked down on the baby, he felt a deep despair take hold of his spirit.

It was a baby, blonde, blue eyes, but it wasn’t Lysander. This child was a girl, maybe even younger than his nephew, and the reason she was crying like this was the fact that she lay on the chilly shrine naked, goosebumps from head to toe and small lips bluish with cold. She also looked as if she hadn’t fed in a long time.

"O God, little one," Richter mumbled. He felt like crying himself. The child stopped howling when she heard his voice and went on to sobbing softly, curling her shrimpy fingers around his thumb. She was so cold! Richter looked up at the ceiling once more, then at the door at the other end of the room. "Wait here, sweetling, no, I’ll be back...the bastard. The BASTARD!"

The door opened easily...and the ceiling dropped.

"NOOOO!!" He never knew how he did it, whether he used his own skill, the whip’s magic or something else, but he ran back to the shrine, cracked the whip and caught the girl as she flew through the air, flung himself to the ground and succeeded in working himself through the door without getting squashed. One of the spears grazed his left boot, tearing the leather, but he made it unharmed. He lay stunned for a moment, catching his breath. Then he frowned at the silence and realized the girl wasn’t crying anymore.

"O please no, don’t be dead. Don’t be dead..." She was a strangely heavy weight in his arms and he saw the soft skin of her nonexistent waist was broken and bruised by the whip. "Please don’t be dead." She was so small his hands covered her almost completely as he tried to warm her—so small, much too small to be in a place like this. He did feel a heartbeat, weak and rapid under his fingers, and was surprised to find tears in his eyes.

I might only have saved you to die, but at least you ARE alive, he thought, tenderly wrapping her in what was left of his coat. And I intend to keep it that way. Hell, I won last time, why not this time?

He stood up, tying the baby to his back with some bandages so she would not halt him too much in his movement. The presence of Evil made his weapon glow.

"It is time to kick ass." Richter told the baby sincerely, and a dangerous smile destroyed the gentle appearance of his face.

*

When Adrian awoke for the second time, the sun shone down on his face. It confused him for a moment—where was he, why did he feel so heavy, why was he sleeping?—but soon his memory returned, and he balled a fist to test his strength.

Balance, he discovered, was not what it had been; it took him four tries to get up without falling back down again, which did not exactly improve his mood. Bloody bitch, I hope you choke on it! Pants, shirt, vest, boots. He fell once while he tried to pull on his boot while standing on the other leg, making him so angry he send a fire ball flying into the mattress. Don’t be a fool, you shouldn’t waste your strength like that! But he felt a lot better after he had set fire to Elizabeth’s bed.

Good, now what? If I follow this path I should come out somewhere near the tower, if I remember it correctly. Hmm. I don’t really have a choice; I can’t change now, and there is no other way than this way or up. He sighed, kneeled on the edge of the pond and drank a handful of water. It tasted of sulfur, probably because of all the dead devils in it. He did not care; he could drink swamp-water without getting ill. A lot of good that does me now! He thought irritably, cursing his unsteady knees. A good thing his thighs had mended while he slept, blood loss or not. Vampirism did have its advantages.

"Good," he said aloud to the smoking remands of the bed, "let’s find my son. Let’s find him quick!" And he ran on tottering legs into the well-known labyrinth of his youth.

*

Richter sneaked into yet another assembly room, knowing this was the place where he would fight his final battle. On a dais rising up in the middle of the room stood an elaborate throne—Draculas throne. But where he expected the Count, a small woman sat in the large chair, looking at him. Her skin was rosy, her features cold but beautiful and he knew her, vaguely, remembered those big dark eyes and that mahogany-framed face. With a shock he realized she was one of Annette’s friends.

"You!"

"Is that all men can say when they see a woman they know?" she said annoyed, "You!?"

Before he could think of something to say, she pulled back a scarf on her lap, revealing a limp, small form.

Riff. He seemed to be sleeping.

"What have you done to him?!" The woman regarded him with cool, hard eyes.

"I would say that is pretty obvious. No no no, if I were you I wouldn’t come any closer. Don’t even think about using your whip; you might destroy me, but I will take him with me." Richter stood still, desperately trying to find a way to distract her. He was very much aware of the sleeping baby on his back.

"Who are you?" he asked finally.

"Alice for you. That’s all you need to know." She leaned one shapely elbow on the carved arm, stroking Riff’s soft brown curls with her other hand. It made Richter crazy.

"Why?" Why everything, why was she here, why was she on the Count’s side? She smiled lazily.

"I have my reasons." Why didn’t Riff wake up? "I liked you, Belmont. It’s a shame you had to be my enemy."

Her eyes flickered to something, and before he had the chance to defend himself, something hit him with amazing force in the back. He smacked into the wall and lay motionless. As blood began to pool under his head, the soft keen of the infant rose from his jacket.

Dracula rubbed his fist, a broad grin on his face.

"Is he dead?" He walked over, bent over the vampire hunter and listened intently.

"No." He dipped one finger in the puddle. Licked it. "But I am afraid I broke his skull."

"You won’t kill him then? Shall I do it?" The man shook his head.

"I might use him again, alive. Don’t bother with the whip, Elizabeth, he won’t use it and it will wound you if you touch it." Absolutely delighted he twisted the tips of his mustache between his fingers, becoming, to anyone who could see him, once again the intelligent, enthusiastic young man he had once been. Even Elizabeth forgot about her ambitious plans and embraced him warmly. Vlad Tepes had the most amazing smile.

"We did it! We beat the Belmont without even one whiplash!" But the Count had already found another subject: Else’s daughter. Careful not to touch the whip, he lifted the baby from its confinement with surprisingly gentle hands.

"You more than did your distracting work, my child," he crooned, patting the little back. "Come now, there is no reason to scream this way...How is the boy?" Elizabeth checked.

"Still out. I dare not drink more from him lest he die, but if you want to Change him..."

"No. I had one disaster with one Belmont, I don’t need another one. No." He absently bit in his index finger and pushed it against the girl’s mouth. She immediately began to suck. "You know where my...where Alucard is?"

"I should think somewhere near the tower."

"You did not..."

"No, Vlad." She smiled. "I did not harm him seriously. He will be weak, but very healthy, I assure you. We were lucky to have him fall thus into my lap." The Count nodded thoughtfully.

"Did you screw him too?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Did you?"

"No. He wasn’t exactly in the condition to ‘screw’, as you so politely say it." She imagined she saw a flash of relief in his eyes. Adrian, the mammoth chip on Draculas shoulder, she thought with a grin. "Don’t worry, everything will go as planned, you will get him back and the whole game will be won. Relax, my Prince.

Shall I put the boy on the destined spot?"

"Yes." He looked at the child that was still sucking his finger. "You do that. I will take care of the Belmont.

And Elizabeth?"

"Yes?" As she looked back, she was painfully aware of the aura of strength that surrounded him.

"Don’t let anything go wrong." She swallowed, getting the deeper meaning. Damn, I hope the compulsion really made Alucard forget what I told him or I’ll be dead before sundown. We’re too far now for him to abide any form of betrayal.

"Yes, my lord." she murmured obediently, and left the room.

*

Natalia arrived on a beautiful afternoon and bounced excitedly out of her coach. The signs she’d seen on the way! At night, the moon had a faint red tinge, strange looking clouds ripped the air and thunder struck from a clear sky. Bad vibes, she thought. And they have something to do with it.

She strode into the inn with all her skirts billowing about her, pushed back her hat and directed a big, sharky smile at the inn keeper.

"My name is Natalia Sotinsk. I am here to see Annette Belmont." O, she enjoyed being looked at like that, the lingering glances on her décolleté, the admiring glitter in the man’s eyes. He gave her the room number and insisted on accompanying her, much to her pleasure. It was so nice to be appreciated! More than worth the golden coins that would ensure the continuation of his gallant manner.

Not a second after her knock on the door, Maria opened it and almost dragged her inside.

"Thank you." Was all she managed to say to the inn keeper; the next moment she was being embraced by a very thin, very distressed Annette.

"O Natalia, you don’t know how glad I am to see you!"

"I get the idea." Natalia replied, taking her in with an experienced eye. The woman looked dreadful—that is, she looked spectacular as always, more beautiful than any other woman, but haggard and wan, and her eyes were red rimmed, as if she’d either been crying or sleeping too little. Maybe both. Maria looked better, but even her usual calm demeanor was cracked now, and her braided hair was no longer impeccable; it looked as if she’d slept with it!

The sisters shared a serious expression, and Maria began: "First know, Natalia, that this is not one of your little ‘adventures’. This is serious. If we fail, we both will lose what is most precious to us: for you, your life, for me..." she blinked. "For me, my husband and my child.

Adrian told me you said you did some research about the Tepes family?" Natalia nodded. Something inside her told her she had better sit down.

"You know the legend of Dracula?"

"Yes."

"You know his real name was Vlad Tepes."

"Yes."

"Adrian is his son. I see you are not surprised."

"Of course not!" Natalia exclaimed, blushing in anger. "I am not a fool, whatever you may think! Neither am I blind. I’ve never seen a man with more darkness on his soul than your husband, and neither did I fail to place the name. After Vlad Draculas murder, all his living offspring was closely observed and their whereabouts recorded, everybody was scared to death it would happen again. One of them was never found; a male child called Adrian F. Tepes. I studied him! I fantasized for hours about what could have happened to him when I was younger.

You seem to underestimate the power of legends and boredom, Maria." Suddenly she looked sad. "You have seen danger in your life. I have only seen intrigues. You have lived your life. I only observed it."

"Now you are done feeling sorry for yourself, would you please care to listen?" Maria snapped. "Why do you think I called you to here and not a great knight in shining armour? You’ve got guts, nobody will suspect you and you are prepared to help me for the sake of the adventure alone. Fine, I’m happy. I hope you will not shut like a clam once we’re inside of the castle, but even if you do...you know how to use weapons?" Natalia sniffed.

"Naturally."

"What kind of weapons?"

"Rapier, gun and pistol." Maria smiled briefly.

"Do you know your bible?" The woman pouted.

"Don’t talk of the bible. My teacher once made me copy John’s Gospel when I swore at him. But of course I know the bible. Yet I am not a priest..."

"Neither am I. But I have another idea for that. In any case, we have to go to the castle. Soon."

"Have you heard anything from your spouse?" Maria shook her head. She sighed heavily.

"Nothing. Not a word in all these days. I know Chaos twists time, but...it is too long. The Evil of the place is spreading, not rapidly, but surely. Once he ruled alive, for a long time, later he ruled while he was dead, and both was awful. Yet the worst of all is that he will have followers nevertheless. Some people will see good in what he does. Or power." She smiled ruefully. "Power can be a major persuasive element."

"When are you planning on leaving?"

"Tomorrow," Maria answered softly, and she looked so serious even Natalia felt a tightness in her chest.

*

Adrian skimmed through the deserted castle with no more sound than a ghost. He felt the gaze of blind eyes on his back while he past, but, like Richter had done the statues, paid them no attention. No creatures here, this was the path his father and the other inhabitants of the castle took, the path only accessible through the gate.

And of course through Elizabeth’s bedroom. I wonder why she let me go. I wonder what we did, for that matter. He still had a nagging pain in his temples, although it had eased a little after he drank more water. A combination of blood loss and a hangover, or whatever one had after consuming that kind of poison. What he did not have, was a clue about what had happened between them. Great. Here I am in the place I least want to be, feeling like hell and almost without protection, undoubtedly walking into some sort of trap I cannot avoid. Where is Richter—where is Lysander? If he has hurt him...! Does he know I am here? Probably. Then why doesn’t he come here and fight me? Does he prefer the tower over a room? Damn him! Damn him to hell!

"If your God really is out there, somewhere..." he said aloud, "better tell him to help me, Belmont! Or he might very well lose his Chosen ones."

And then he saw the boy.

A small figure in tattered clothes, brown-haired; a young boy with round cheeks and a freckled snub nose.

"Riff." He kneeled down beside him, wary of trickery. The child was unnaturally pale. At first Adrian thought he was drugged or sleeping, but as he gently turned the small head to look at his neck, the eyes opened and he whimpered something.

"Mommy?" They were there alright, two red marks on top of the blue vein in the slender white neck, deliberately unhealed. Mocking me.

"Mommy isn’t here, Riff." He whispered softly.

"Ad-ian!" two thin arms reached out for him. "I’m so cold..."

"I know." He lifted the frail body and held it against him, under the cloak. Even compared to his own tepid body temperature Riff felt icy. The child snuggled as close as possible, thin shoulders heaving as he began to sob.

"I wan’ to go home."

"We’ll go home soon." He swallowed. "Riff, I have to know this...who did this to you? Who...bit you? Was it a man?"

"No. Alice."

"Alice?" That was not at all what he had expected. "Who is Alice?"

"Mommy’s friend. She tol’ me everything would be fine. But..." He began to cry in earnest and Adrian hugged him tightly.

"Shh, it’s all right. Did she give you anything to drink afterwards?" A nod. His heart beat painfully, pounding in his temples. "What did she give you, Riff? Did you drink from...her? Her wrist?" Riff looked disgusted.

"No, she gave me milk and water, but I’m thirsty again..." Of course. Not knowing whether to be relieved or even more worried, Adrian offered the boy his refilled water bag, hoping he wouldn’t get typhus or another disease of it. Riff wasn’t Changed, but he’d lost so much blood it was a miracle he was still alive. Chaos. Getting him out of the castle would likely kill him. First things first, though.

"Riff? We have to find your dad and Lysander before we can leave." The boy’s fine eye- brows drew together at Lysander’s name, but he was too sick to give more reaction. Maybe Richter had found Lysander in the meantime. God, he hoped so. He was prepared to swear he would never cross sides with his father again if he could only take his son home and live in peace for a while...yet that wasn’t to be. Arranging Riff’s limp weight so that he could still handle his sword he stood up, and, taking a sip of water himself, prepared himself to ascend the tower.

CHILDREN 10

The first thing Adrian saw when he entered the tower room, was the still figure of Richter Belmont, lying on the floor.

He gasped, and would have hurried to the man’s side if he hadn’t seen the shadows move in the far end of the room. He gripped Riff even tighter and at the same time unsheathed his sword. The familiar combination of fear and defiance made his blood burn, as it always did when he was near his father.

"Come out, I know you are there."

"You do?" a voice at his shoulder asked him, and he whirled around, stricken, to see his father standing behind him, a sarcastic leer on the face that was so much like his own. As he looked back, a smirking Elizabeth stepped out of the shadow. "I would not say you did."

"Where is Lysander?"

"O please! Don’t start with that. And don’t try to threaten me, I am prepared to make you an offer." Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up, while Adrian regarded the Count with an unreadable expression. What are you playing at?

"What?" he asked calmly.

"The life of the Belmont and his son in return for your return to my domain—and Alexander’s, of course."

"Lysander!" Adrian corrected before he could stop himself. "Where is he?" On a gesture of the Count, Elizabeth pulled away a curtain, revealing a couch, on which Lysander was sleeping. A warm, almost stifling feeling spread in the Dhampire’s chest, but when he put his hand to his son’s cheek he frowned. Releasing Riff, he kneeled down next to his son, studying him with a growing sense of anxiety.

"He’s ill." he said. At the same time he knew his father was not responsible for this; there wasn’t a trace of bite marks or other injury, this was purely an ailment of infants that were too small to be away from their mothers so long. Dracula actually looked uneasy. Good. He might bluff himself out of this. "You know he will not survive staying here...since you clearly don’t want him to be harmed, you have no other choice than letting him g—"

"Don’t talk nonsense!" the Count snarled. "You are not in the position to make demands, Alucard!"

"DON’T call me Alucard!" He clenched his teeth, desperately trying to recompose himself. Why did he feel so incredibly helpless! His father’s cold words hardly sunk into his raging mind.

"I shall offer you this chance this one time alone, my son. I advise you to take it. This time, I will not let you win, this time I have someone to replace you if you do not accept my terms."

"What do you mean?" Adrian inquired hoarsely, glancing at Richter. The man didn’t move at all, what could be seen of his skin was grayish and even the hand that lay on the whip was slack. He looked dead.

"I mean, to repeat my earlier words, that I will spare the Belmont and his child if you will return to me. I am also prepared to give up Alexander if you come back—that is, until he is strong enough to survive Chaos."

"And what if I refuse?" Dracula shot him a toothy grin.

"I have Alexander..." Finally the words’ meaning became clear, and Adrian had to check himself to keep his jaw from dropping. Thoughts whirled in his mind, possibilities, ideas, memories, chances, beliefs...

"Why?" The Count shrugged his shoulders.

"You’re mine. When you ran away, you took something that belonged to me; now I want it back. Why, Alucard? Because you are the last thing of Lisa I have." He smiled, a sad smile. "And you see I am prepared to give up the chosen one to get you."

"After you killed him!"

"You know he is not dead." But there was a slightly nervous tone in his voice. Adrian carefully kept his face blank, while his heart rate sped up with a sudden, wild hope.

"He looks dead to me." Don’t look at him, just let me...don’t think about my pulse, I’m just afraid, that’s why it’s so fast...He took a step towards the vampire hunter. Nobody stopped him. With his teeth he pulled off one glove, then felt in the man’s neck. Vaguely he was aware of the fluttering heartbeat, but that was not even what he was searching for.

"You see he is alive?"

"Yes." Adrian said. He smiled. "I see it."

His left hand closed over the grip of the whip, and before his body could feel the pain he jumped, over the man, in front of the two vampires, shielding his family. Elizabeth clawed at his face, but he sent a fireball into her shoulder and evaded a similar missile of his father, then a crack sounded through the tower as he swung the whip and he struck the man around the throat. And he screamed!

Richter, when he Blessed him, had told him that there was a power feedback when the weapon came in touch with a negative force. He hadn’t felt any of it when he held the thing himself, and it had burned him permanently. This time, he used it on what the weapon considered pure evil—it were as if he were struck by lightning.

Both he and his father slumped down, the Count gasping, the Dhampire clutching his shattered arm. The whip dropped from his nerveless fingers. He did not even notice it. Everything was drowned in the shredding agony that washed through his body and rendered him powerless. Chaos had never left his flesh. He was beaten by the device that should have brought him victory—but even that was unimportant, the only thing he knew was pain, the only thing he desired the absence of that pain. It was a dark world, small, red, centered on his arm and the burning, searing torment that ignored all his attempt to lose consciousness.

And then he heard a voice. Something pushed up his chin, dark, mirror-like eyes sucked away his soul.

"You lost, my son." Dracula wheezed through a destroyed throat. "I won." His son’s black eyes stared back without recognition. Then, "No..."

"Yes." He rose, letting go of Adrian’s chin. His head fell back against the wall, but the eyes still stared, filled with tears.

"You gambled...you lost." Already his vampiric powers healed the deep gash the whip had caused. "Now it is too late for proposals. I have you, you still live...and I don’t need you to agree with my terms anymore. Farewell, Belmont..."

"No!" Adrian shrieked. He pushed Elizabeth, who had recovered and tried to restrain him, aside. "No! Don’t kill him! I agree, I’ll swear fealty to you...I’ll swear it, I will...just don’t kill them...don’t kill them!" The Count sneered.

"What do you have to offer I don’t already have?" Yet he did not proceed with his actions. The silence was unbearable, even more because it should have been broken by the cries of frightened children.

Adrian pushed himself to his feet, but he couldn’t hold himself up, went down again, hunched over on his knees as if his head was too heavy to lift.

"I will..." he began haltingly, "swear obedience...to you. Blood Oath...if you want. Complete...surrender. That is...what you want, isn’t...it?" Because his face was cast to the floor, he missed the triumphant gleam in his father’s eyes.

"And what if I forced you to take that oath without sparing their lives? What have you got that makes the deal interesting?" Adrian was silent for a long time, cradling his arm to his chest. The moment and his kneeling position alone were enough to make up for the pain of the wounds he had inflicted. I have you, Adrian. There is no way out anymore. You’re mine once more!

"My...soul." he answered at last, so softly it was no more than a breath.

Prince Draculea looked down on his proud, humiliated, defeated son, and smiled.

*

A Blood Oath between vampires was the strongest pledge possible. It was, in fact, an old custom that had lived a long time before Vlad Tepes became Vlad the Impaler. Breaking a Blood Oath was challenging demise as sure as was jumping from the tower.

Adrian’s face was like a death mask while he took the oath; he was so worn out by pain and despair there simply was no feeling left.

Enough feeling to drag everything out of this agreement that can be dragged out, the Count mused sourly. Yet, he shouldn’t complain. No matter how much he would ask, no matter how much he would consent, the man was his, and with this begging for life he only bowed his stiff neck further. It was hard on him, groveling, but he did it nevertheless. Intelligent enough to swallow your pride and arrogant enough to hate it, isn’t it, Alucard?

Sitting in a corner of the room and rubbing her shoulder, was Elizabeth. Nobody took any notice of her, but if anyone had, they would have seen her baleful glances at the two men at the table. Elizabeth was NOT pleased. It had NOT been her intention to see Adrian defeated and even less to have him swear fealty! She listened to her ‘cousin’s’ huskily uttered promise, her nails digging in her hands at every word.

"I swear on the...Blood, on the name, my life and my...honour, to live up...to this pledge. I will obey...your every...order, I...I..." He tried to curl himself up around his arm—at which both his father and his cousin for the first time had the opportunity of looking. His flesh was burnt black and red like lava stone.

Vlad took him by the shoulders. Something that might be compassion or ridicule twisted his mouth.

"Just say ‘yes’, then give me your blood." he said. Adrian nodded miserably. The Count continued: "You will stay with me in Castlevania for as long as I live, protect me from any kind of treason, be loyal and obedient as a son should be to his father..." He felt the twitch in his hands, and pulled up his lip. "...in exchange for the lives of Richter and Riff Belmont and your son."

"And Maria, Annette and any other children of that house."

"You ask quite a lot, my son. Do you value yourself that high? You want me to spare the whole Holy family?"

"Only this generation. What is twenty years to you, my Lord," there was a hint of contempt—we will have to beat that out of him—in the pronunciation of the word ‘Lord’, "You, who can walk the earth forever? What are five or six lives to you if you get my soul in return?" He gestured at the unconscious vampire hunter, still lying on the floor; tended now, but as ghostly pale as he had been before. "He won’t hunt you...again. Riff...will only survive if you return his blood to him, thus make him a vampire, and even if he ever gets other children there will...be nobody to teach them how to use the whip—which will stay here anyway, so from them you have nothing to fear. Humour me. Grant me a favor, as you have all the power to do so." During his speech a little of his strength had returned, and the last sentence was so filled with bitterness even Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt. Dracula observed him coolly.

"Fine." he concluded. "And Maria, Annette and any other children of that house. This generation. Do you swear on that?"

"I do."

"So do I, on my honour." He raised his right hand, placed it against his son’s, palm to palm. Another trait they shared, their hands. Both graceful with long fingers; hands designed to play the piano or the violin. Cold, white hands, like those of a marble statue. No need for a knife; he clasped Adrian’s fingers in his own, then took his wrist in a firm grip and bit in the fleshy part of the other man’s palm. Adrian did the same. He swallowed the blood with hopeless eyes, knowing he would be forced to do this more often. After that, they pressed the wounds against each other, mingling the blood until they healed.

The Oath was sworn. It settled like a second skin on both of them, tight in the beginning, but loosening immediately. Yet it would never disappear...

Elizabeth was prepared to give Riff some of the blood back, but she refused to make him a vampire. Neither Dracula nor Elizabeth wanted to so much as touch Richter.

"He’s treated," Vlad said, "I spared his life. Don’t ask me to care for him!" All Adrian could do to help his friend was spread a blanket over his still form and hope he would survive. Praying was something he did not think he would ever do again.

He got his father’s permission to accompany Richter, Riff and Lysander on their way out and, after swallowing even more pride, take them back to Maria. The permission was granted because Vlad knew Adrian would never allow his servants to carry the baby. He understood that; he wouldn’t have allowed it himself—"But," he said, "you are to return as soon as you brought them back. Explain what has happened, tell them to keep quiet and come back immediately. You got that?" Adrian nodded. "You know where they are?"

"Yes."

"Close by, I presume?"

"Yes." The Count beheld him stoically. The boy looked like hell, as if he would keel over any minute. Not unlike about three hundred years ago, when he’d tried to forswear the Blood for that red-haired bitch. The lines in his face softened.

"You should take care of your hand first."

"I don’t need to." the Dhampire replied tonelessly. "It’s dead anyway." And he lifted his infant son with his right arm, clicked his tongue at the nameless creatures which carried Richter and Riff and turned on his heel. Ten minutes later a pitch black carriage left the castle.

*

Natalia looked stunning in breeches. Odd, the way men’s clothes made her look more feminine, but then she was as feminine as there was, and the way the fabric stretched over her hips almost made her look naked.

Maria only arched an eyebrow, Annette was shocked.

"You cannot be serious!" she exclaimed, hugging a half finished sock to her bosom. "You cannot possibly walk around in this garb, Natalia!"

"And why not? I think..."

"It’s indecent! You can see all of your legs!"

"And what is wrong with my legs?"

"Ooo, stop it you two!" Maria cried. "You can see my legs too, and I frankly don’t give a damn about who sees them. I can’t go running around tripping over skirts, so you can consider this purely as safety matters. Now, shall we go? We still have a long way to go."

Annette bowed her head, tears threatening. I will not cry. Not again. I will be strong. I will not cry. But when Maria’s arms closed around her shoulders the tears came anyway, however much she fought them.

"Come back safely, do you hear me?" she blubbered. "I don’t want to lose you too."

"Of course we’ll come back. We’ve always won, haven’t we? This time will be no different. I will see you in about...oooh...three days? Maybe a week." She smiled encouragingly, or would have if her lips had not quivered so badly. "You’ll see, everything will be all right. Let us do the job, just stay here and finish that lovely shawl for me." Annette laughed through her tears. "That’s it. Nothing to worry about.

Good bye, sis."

"Bye Annette!"

"Good bye, and God be with you." She watched them leave, smiling, shredding the sock between her fingers, invisible for the other two women. "Good luck." she added in a whisper as they were gone. "Good luck."

Natalia, Maria had to admit, was an excellent rider. She sat on her chestnut bay as if she’d been born on it, long black hair bouncing on her back. For all her thirty-odd years she behaved like a teenager on her first day out.

"You do realise the grim nature of this ride, Natalia?" The woman shook her head in an irritated gesture.

"Why do you keep asking that? What do you want me to do, cower in a corner and pray to God? I do realise we are on a dangerous mission, but that doesn’t mean I have to be afraid!" Maria barked a laugh, suddenly, and looked at the woman with a certain awe.

"You know, you are right. You have a point there. A very good point."

Far in the distance, she imagined she saw the ragged towers of Castlevania—but that couldn’t be, of course. They would reach Wallachia in no less than six hours. It was impossible to see the castle from here...

"Is that a horse, over there?"

"What? Where?" Maria pointed to the slope of a hill.

"There. You see it, a small black dot...no, not a rider, it’s too large to be a horse." Alarmed, she looked at the surroundings. Three hours away from Warakiya, the road was deserted apart from a lonely passerby. The reappearance of the castle had left this path bare after the refugees’ footsteps were blown away with the dust. No help, no shelter.

"Get your pistols out, Natalia," she commanded. "We may have to fight it."

"Aren’t you overreacting? It doesn’t exactly look threatening..."

"Was what Lisa said, looking at a fire in the hearth. Just DO it!" She felt the admiring gaze while she took three small daggers out of her belt. Regretting the death of her owl forcibly now she stood here, Maria planted her feet firmly on the ground and waited.

It was, as she had thought already, not a horse. It moved way too fast for that. For that matter it also moved way too fast for any ordinary travelling device.

"It’s a coach." Natalia marked with sudden revelation. "A black coach! Lord, how fast it goes!"

"Unnaturally fast."

"Yes...do you want me to take a shot at it?"

"No. Wait for a moment." She shaded her eyes with her hand. "It’s pulling up the road!"

"It’s slowing down. Shouldn’t we get out of the way?" Finally a note of uncertainty crept into Natalia’s voice.

She had never seen a thing that was so black, it was as if the carriage was a hole in the world, a complete void moving towards her, and it unnerved her. For the first time she understood what Maria was so serious about.

Closer and closer the vehicle came, but the nearer it came, the slower it went. First it was close enough for them to see the empty black cloak that sat on the front, leading horses that made no sound. Then it was so close they saw tiny red spheres glow within the hood, spectral hands holding the reins. At last the thing stopped altogether, not seventy feet away. The door opened. Maria gripped her daggers with one hand, simultaneously enclosing her crucifix with the other, Natalia aimed her pistol...

"Adrian!?"

"Maria, wait!" But she had thrown the knives on the ground and made a dash for the tall, fair-haired person getting out of the coach.

"Adriaaan!!!!"

She ignored the specter, the horses, everything and threw herself on her husband—who slammed against the board and went down with a soft cry.

"Adrian!" She fell on her knees beside him, helped him up, wrapped her arms around him, kissing his face. "O God you’re back, where have you been all this time...you’re so cold... your hand, Adrian what did they do to your hand!"

"I..."

"Where is Lysander—did you find him? Please tell me...you did! Thank God, you did! Where is he? Where is Richter?"

"Maria." He caressed her cheek, gently pulling his wounded hand out of her grasp. There was no colour on his face; even his lips were white. Maria’s eyes widened, then filled with tears.

"No...is he dead?"

"No." He put a finger on her lips, stopping her. "Listen. They live. All of them. But..." his voice cracked, and she saw to her horror that he was perspiring; his face was covered with sweat.

"What is it?" He’s dying. O my God he’s dying and I’ll lose him forever now...

"Maria, listen to me. I cannot go back with you—no listen! I lost! He won, I failed. This is my...good bye, his concession. Listen to me! You too!" Natalia started, frozen to the spot by his outburst. "I got him so far as to spare Richter, and Riff, and Lysander. Richter is unconscious, I don’t know how badly he is wounded. Riff needs immediate aid, and Lysander...he’s ill, but I don’t think it’s serious. A fever. But you can have him back!"

"And what," Maria said quietly, "about you?" He shook his head.

"I can’t."

"What are you say—"

"I CAN’T!" He curled around his arm and began to rock to and fro, like another time, not so long ago, when the snow had covered the trees. "I gave him my word...I swore fealty to him...in exchange...your lives...his life...Sander...He was dying there! How could I do that to him?"

"No."

"Please, Maria, you have to understand! You’re safe now—your whole generation is safe!"

"NO!" She shrieked the words into his face. "I will NOT lose you again! I simply won’t. I will go with you..."

"You can’t!!"

"I WILL! To HELL with your father, I refuse to accept it. Do you hear me Adrian, I’m NOT letting you go. I can’t let you go..." The Dhampire scrambled away from her. His left arm hung useless to his side.

"Why don’t you understand?" he moaned. "That is what I wanted to prevent. Look, here is Lysander, take him. Take him, please! For me, it’s not so bad. He won’t harm me...but the living..."

"You are not dead! And even so...make me one of them, if only the dead can survive."

"Maria..." Natalia was shaken. "You can’t be serious!"

Her friend said nothing, only held her baby in her arms, numb with shock. Adrian put his arms around her, his forehead touching hers.

"I love you," he said softly. "Don’t you understand that? I love you more than life itself."

Maria began to cry silently. "Now, by giving up myself, I won the lives of your whole generation, all the Belmonts Annette will bear, all the children you will bear. He swore he would not harm them. Don’t you see, Maria? He swore he wouldn’t harm them. The whip is still in the castle, one day one of these children will be able to go into the castle and end it for once and all."

"But not before he destroyed you." He actually smiled, a haunted smile that scared her even more than the prospect of fighting Dracula.

"I will sooner destroy myself." She reached up and stroked his hair from his clammy brow. His eyes were dark, bright with pain but peaceful.

"Promise me you will stay here and raise our son to a man."

"Promise me you will stay alive."

"I can’t."

"Neither can I. I will come to get you out."

"Then you will have to make sure I do not know you are coming." He turned away from her. "For I have sworn to protect my father from any harm. Unless you want to kill me first, you cannot break the Oath I have taken. And I will not kill you." Maria only hugged Lysander closer to her breast, stunned.

"Natalia," she heard him say through the roaring in her ears, "take care of her. Make sure she doesn’t follow me back—knock her senseless, if you have to.

I will take one of the horses back with me to ride back upon. Richter and Lysander are inside, you should take them to a...monastery, or a church...or just home, where they can be tended properly. Riff...make sure he sees a priest...they shouldn’t kill him, even if prayers hurt him. It’s not his fault...and only once, not thrice."

"What do you mean?" Adrian closed his eyes, but opened them as soon as he sensed her move. "Stay away from me." he mumbled tiredly. Natalia halted, frustration plain on her handsome face.

"What do you mean, Adrian?"

"I mean he is Changed—for a part. It doesn’t matter. Take them home."

"What about the carriage?"

"It will disappear when the Belmonts are out of it."

Poor man, he looked so horribly exhausted and pale, yet the air of authority was still there.

"What will happen to you?" she asked, moving to Maria’s side to lend a comforting hand; the woman was shaking, not at all like the sparkling figure she knew. Adrian shrugged.

"I don’t know." He started as the specter appeared in front of his face with the horse beside it. "I guess I will have to find out."

For a moment he hesitated, looking at Maria. She stared back, tears spilled. Her face was as blank and horrible as his own, although Natalia thought to see a crack in the mask, quickly hidden sorrow too deep to voice. Then he hoisted himself on his mount and rode away, to the castle. Without looking back.

CHILDREN 11

As the Dhampire had said, the carriage disappeared when the two injured were taken out. It simply ceased to be; one moment it was there, the next moment it was gone. Nobody dared to speak about it.

Natalia and Maria had taken the carriage with them after making sure it was truly Riff and his father in there, not some evil power, but it was Riff and Richter, both asleep. Maria had stayed with them on the way back to the village, much to Natalia’s admiration. She wouldn’t have gone into that thing for a million!

Yet Maria was familiar with both the wounded and dark magic; besides, it was her brother-in-law and her nephew lying eerily quiet and pale on those banks, her baby’s hot body in her arms. Her first hysterics calmed, she was herself again, and that self was practical and intelligent. What had to be done had to be done, and right now that was taking care of her family.

At least Lysander didn’t need any encouragement to feed; as soon as she had bared her breasts he searched for the nipple and began to suck. He would be all right. As for Richter, she feared the worst. She sent Natalia to warn Annette while she took the man to the hospital and had another shock when the nurses took him to be examined.

Somebody—maybe Adrian—had applied a clumsy dressing that had stopped the bleeding; when it was taken away the severity of the injury made her gasp. Something had hit him, or maybe he had hit it on the right side of his forehead, splitting the skin and smashing his skull. Blood seeped from between splinters of bone, down his gray face, into the flat pillow. The doctor, an older man with sad, blue eyes, shook his head.

"There is nothing I can do but try to take the splinters out, my Lady, but I doubt it will have any effect. It’s a miracle he’s still alive."

"You will do all you can," Maria whispered, "and take care of him until he...dies."

She was sickened. This could not be happening! They should have won! Good was supposed to beat Evil! Now Richter was dying and Riff was...gone. He was awake, eyes open, but there was no recognition in them, no life. Adrian had ordered him to be taken into a church, and Annette did so, but all that did was making him cry so brokenly she took him back before he choked on his tears. The only one recovering quickly was Lysander.

And that, Natalia thought, was probably going to be the demise of his mother. If he were still sick, Maria might have heeded her husband’s warning and stayed here to nurse him back to health, like Annette with Richter and her son. Now she was only more resolved to get Adrian back.

"I lost him twice," she said calmly. "I am not losing him another time."

"But he told you he would be forced to protect his father by slaying those who tried to harm him..."

"I DON’T care! I don’t want to harm his rotting old father! I want him back!"

"You are not listening to me!" Natalia shouted. She took the woman by the shoulders and tried to shake some sense in her. "He told you that he had to go back. That means that he CANNOT leave, Maria! The only way to get him out of there is to either kill him or his father, and if you try to kill the Count he will kill himself because he will not kill you! Don’t you see it! There is NO way to rescue him. No way at all!"

Maria set her jaw.

"We’ll see about that," she said stubbornly.

*

In Poenari Adrian collapsed in a chair, shivering over his whole body.

I don’t want to die, he kept repeating to himself, I do not want to die. But he did. He craved for oblivion, darkness, the absence of consciousness and pain. His arm was agony, but what was physical pain compared to the pain of his soul? It was as if some dark monster had ripped a large piece out of his heart, and now he was slowly bleeding to death—but not the death he wanted, no, this death would be the complete opposite of what he wanted: eternal life...

Suddenly he was aware of his father standing in front of him, and he drew himself up to some sort of dignity.

"You brought them back and delivered the message?"

"I did."

"Good. Now, go to Elizabeth and let her bandage your hand." He did not offer to let his blood heal him. Adrian did not ask. It was a mutual punishment, and act of defiance on one side and a show of power on the other. Both knew Adrian preferred the pain to the weakness of begging for help. They accepted it that way. "I will give you the remainder of this day and one night to accommodate to the rest of your life and you may kick and scream and do whatever you like, then I expect you to behave and be what I want you to be." Adrian inclined his head. "What do you say?"

"Yes, my Lord." Vlad smiled satisfied, ignoring the hate with which the words were growled.

"Good boy." His son’s eyes could have incinerated him. "Go to your cousin."

The Dhampire stood up and stamped out of the room.

*

"Now you’ve done it," Elizabeth snarled while she wrapped his hand unceremoniously in gauze that was brown and dusty with age, "now you’ll never be able to kill him, let alone me! I should have known you’d screw up, you always do. Get that sickly grin of your face, you log-head! You’re in his hands now, and you’d better believe it won’t be pleasant."

"So you’ll go away, save your life?"

"Well, you sure as hell made it impossible for me to take his place!" Adrian felt rage building up slowly in the pit of his stomach.

"You only did this all—awaking him, letting him loose on the world—to take his place?" he lisped unbelievingly. "All that suffering, all the blood and lives...only because you wanted to rule the dead?"

"And what do you know about ruling?" the woman spat, "All you ever did was run away from your responsibilities. Do you know how many of the undead still roamed the land when you killed your father? No, you didn’t even care, did you? You cannot forswear your heritage but that’s exactly what you..."

"DON’T give me that CRAP about responsibilities! All you care about is power..."

"And all you care about is yourself!" The heat began to rise from his stomach to his face, colouring him a burning red.

"MYSELF? I sacrificed EVERYTHING to repair what you..."

"AND DON’T YOU LOVE GIVING UP EVERYTHING TO SAVE THE LIVING!!"

And that was the end of his self-control. His brain flooded with blood, he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air; kick as she might, this way she was completely helpless.

"Give me one good reason not to break your pretty neck." he hissed, shaking her like a dog might shake a rat. All she could do was make some choking sounds. "I was finally living my life like I should, finally having a child, finally feeling HUMAN and there you come with your petty lust for power and you destroy everything! And you DARE accuse me of being a martyr and enjoying it?!" His fingers dug into her white neck; one moment he thought of crushing it...then, with a cry of rage, he swung her into the wall like his father had swung Richter. Elizabeth hit the wall with a thud, slid to the ground and stayed there, nose broken and left cheekbone puncturing her flesh.

As with a will of its own her hand strayed to her face, taking in the damage. One eye was caked close with blood and swelling already, but with the other she saw two boots standing in front of her, leading into long legs and finally into the rest of her ‘cousin’.

"Stay out of my way." Adrian said icily. "If I ever see you again I will show you what it is like to loose a part of your body—and with you I won’t take your heart." She made an attempt to get up but he shoved her back and she cried out as her head hit stone again. Through the roaring in her ears she could still hear him speak with that flat voice of his: "You are pathetic, Elizabeth. You’re not even worth the trouble. Let me tell you this; if you ever try to harm any of my friends or family—hell, if I ever think of enough reason!—you’re dead. Painfully. So get you gone and please have the decency to die on your own."

With that he left her, exiting as he had with his father. Yet when he reached his room—the room that had been his from the time he was old enough to have a place of his own—he sank down on his bed and curled up into a tight ball. Energy spilt. Helpless. Hopeless.

A history of kidnapping events had taught Maria the necessary things to take a chance at one herself.

Of course she tried it the polite way first; going to the monastery and asking, no begging the friars for help. They all shook their tonsured heads and promised to pray for her. Then she went to the village priest, a grumpy old man whose head was balding, not tonsured, and tried to find aid there. The man told her he had other things to do—which he indeed had: preaching, absolving, restoring faith to the people who had stayed here, so close to the castle. He was a brave man under his black and white robes, and a sensible one too, as he showed.

"My sweet girl," he croaked, peering at her fair face from behind thick glasses, "what do you want me to do? Enter the castle? Fight the devil?" He shook his head. "I am a man of prayer, not of action. Twenty years ago, yes, but now, no. I am too old for such things."

"But your presence alone would be sufficient to send all those creatures to hell, and..."

"The poor man...your brother? He was a priest as well, wasn’t he?" Maria’s shoulders slumped. He patted her with a clumsy gnarled paw. "Ach, missy, you understand, don’t you? It would not work."

So she went home, but in her mind an idea began to take hold, and no matter what people said, it grew and perfected, and it would not let her go.

Richter developed a fever; his life literally slipped away from him. The priest performed the last rites on him, Annette sat by his side, cold and composed, and everybody seemed to wait until he died. Everybody but Richter himself.

Although he was dead to the world and oblivious to everything they did to him, he kept fighting to live. His fists were clamped even while the rest of his body was limp and he held all the fluid they fed him inside. The fever ate his flesh away, but he never gave up.

And neither, Maria thought as she sat beside him with her hand on his, will I. Father Miceadu will have to be persuaded to enter the castle with me...and persuade him I will, if it has to be with a sword to his throat!

Night. The silver, red-tinged moonlight shone on the restlessly turning figure in the large, elaborated bed. The Count stood beside his sleeping son, watching.

Adrian was sweating, his face deathly pale. He moaned in his dreams, pushing away the sheets until they lay in a tangle around his legs.

"Nightmares again, Adrian?" Dracula whispered. "Or is it the agony of the wounds you inflicted on yourself? Do you still refuse to believe there is a God, even now, when it is so obvious he played a trick on you?" He pulled a chair to him, sat down. Strange, no matter what he had done, the boy’s return filled him with a blazing joy no other being could give him. No. Not a boy. Every time again he forgot his son was an adult now, not the frail child with the big golden eyes who adored him whatever he did. Yet, sleeping...

He tenderly reached out to stroke a lock of hair from the clammy forehead. No fever; naturally, like his father Adrian could not become physically ill. Mentally however...

We are all insane, Vlad thought. Elizabeth was right, I MUST be mad to do what I am doing. A war with God...but this time I did defeat him! And Alucard...I know I should hate him, but I can’t. How could I explain how proud I was when he finally resisted me, even when it hurt me so? How could I explain the peace I felt when I let him kill me?

He grimaced in the dark.

"Such a beautiful face you have when you sleep. No hate, no misery, not that stupid look of spiritual pain." His gloved finger was like a shaft of shadow against the sallow skin. Adrian turned away from the touch with a whimper, curling up around his bandaged hand.

The Count sneered.

"Now you know how that feels too, the searing pain of holy weapons. Too bad you’re not human enough to be immune, nor vampire enough to heal faster. How does it feel, Alucard? Does it make you want to give up and die?" His words got stuck in his throat as two large, dark eyes fastened on his face. They were so full of hatred he for one moment thought he’d made a mistake keeping the man here. He never wavered though, not even when Adrian sat up and leveled him with a stare that could freeze an entire sea.

"Remember your oath, boy," he only said. The Dhampire hissed at him.

"I cannot remember anything in that oath giving you the right to sit next to me and talk such...nonsense to me! Yes, it hurts! It will heal! Leave me alone and let me sleep, God damn it!" Vlad shot him a jeering smile.

"A curled lip, just like a little dog. You’re MY dog now, Alucard. I can do with you what I want as long as I don’t break my word—watching you is one of those things I can do.

Are those tears, my son? Don’t tell me you’ve also begun to cry like a woman!"

"Get. Out." Adrian balled the fist that still worked. "Get out now or I will make you!" He was dangerously close to tears, and the last he wanted was his father to see him cry. "Get out! NOW!"

The Count rose, disdain plain on his face.

"You are pathetic." he said coldly. "Go on, hug your pillow, pretend it’s your wife and cry out on her shoulder. Blubbering fool; even your infant son had more guts than you." In three steps he reached the door; looking back he continued: "I expect to see you tomorrow. No excuses. You’ve had your chances and you blew it, now it’s my turn. So, till tomorrow, Alucard." And he slammed the door behind his back.

She waited another three more days before she took actions. Strange how easy it was to leave Lysander again, after all those days of wanting nothing more than having him back. Annette couldn’t have done this, leaving. She sat with Riff on her lap, cradling him in her arms and singing to him; happy to have him back however ill and unable to make it better.

Not for me! Maria rebelled. I refuse to take less than everything. I want my husband back, and I will get him, Oath or not! What value has my life if I cannot live it with him?

It had not been hard to win Natalia over; Mrs. Sotinsk was still unsatisfied in the matter of an adventure, and although her courage had been shaken by the specter and the Riff and Richter’s condition she was eager enough to try again. That was how they came to lurk in the bushes near the cottage near the church, completely packed and ready for action, waiting for the father to return from his last parochial duties.

"There he comes." Natalia hissed excitedly, elbowing her neighbor in the ribs. Maria nodded. She felt like a bandit, hiding in here. But we are! We could be locked up for abducting a priest! She did not care. Adrian was more important.

They waited until the man had fished out his keys, then jumped and shoved him inside when his door opened. He stumbled, and would have fallen if Natalia hadn’t grabbed his robes to keep him steady.

"Easy father. Don’t want you to break your glasses!" Father Miceadu was not amused.

"Who are you! What do you want!" He ripped his sleeve in his attempts to break free, but Natalia was a strong woman and she held him effortlessly until Maria gave her the sign to release him. The poor man almost flung himself to the floor when she let go of him so suddenly.

"I tell you I have nothing you...Mrs. Tepes!?" Maria could not suppress a smile. She’d known her short skirt would draw attention.

"Yes father, it is me. I am here to take you with me to the castle."

"But I told you I..."

"Whether you like it or not." Father Miceadu fell silent. She sat herself down on a chair, displaying her long legs. He could not help but marvel at them, flustered as he was. "Father," she continued, "I told you my husband is in that castle. No matter what stories go around here, you know he is a good man. If we let him stay there, he may be forced to become what his...what Dracula is."

"I know he is Vlad Tepes’s son." Miceadu said softly. "I was here at the time you helped defeat his father about ten years ago and there is nothing I would rather do than help you rescue him now...but it is impossible."

"It is not."

"My dear girl..."

"Regardless you opinion, father," Maria raised her voice, "I mean to go into that castle and try to get him out! And you will go with me. If I have to I will force you!" Her expression was so fierce the priest believed her without hesitation. "Good. So what I want you to do is get your things—bible, cross, holy water, host, everything, and mount the horse I brought with me. Whatever you like, do you understand? We will need at least nine hours to reach the castle, so I advise you to hurry."

Father Miceadu blinked at her through his glasses. She had never seen one so incapable of fighting in her life. But she said noting, and waited for him to go and fetch his things.

Half an hour later they were on their way.

The priest had found, somewhere in an old chest, a remarkably sharp short sword. It now hung from a withered scabbard on his hip and seemed to poke into his belly with every move. Natalia had tried to point out how one should wear a sword—she knew, having dressed up like a knight when she was a young girl, in one of her ancestor’s costumes—but the man refused any help.

"Let him be uncomfortable," she said in the end, shrugging. "If he wants to arrive all black and blue it’s on his own head. I did what I could."

"Priests like to be muley," Maria retorted with a smile. "Richter could be so stubborn you wanted to hit him, and he wouldn’t budge anyway. He would just square that already square jaw of his, dig in his feet and do it his own way." And then she had to stop to swallow the lump in her throat, thinking about his current situation. "If only he could have squared it now..." It was just too horrible to think about, that sunny enthusiastic man lying so still. Even Riff, who did little more than leaning against his mother with his thumb in his mouth had more energy and life in his body than Richter.

Richter, the man I once loved, before Adrian. Part of that old infatuation had never disappeared. Part of her would always love him, and part of her was dying with her. One piece of me with Richter, the rest with Adrian. What can I do if I lose them both? Hastily she blinked away the tears, thankful for the darkness. Only the moon to witness my weakness. What did Adrian say, that night at the party? ‘Pregnant moon, dead nocturnal body, like a blind eye gazing down on lovers who pretend to be happy.’ He was right. There is nothing beautiful to this moon.

*

After all the trouble with his offspring, the Count finally had some time to build another army. Before now the Belmont and Alucard had taken his full attention, now the real war could begin.

He started by creating and directing his minions, reliving in his mind the war between the Turks and him, reliving his despair when Cneajna threw herself into the river, reliving his contract with Chaos. Unlike the stories in the bible he did not see Chaos as an anthropomorphic figure like most of his living adversaries or allies, but merely as a power, the absolute opposite of Order. God, he knew, had a mind that had a lethal sense of humour, he had experienced that himself. Chaos had no sense at all. It simply knew he had forsworn God and made him an offer to keep living and take revenge. How, he couldn’t even remember, but it had been done, and with Chaos his powers had come. The power to live. The power to create. The power to kill. The power to be killed and return. They had come with the price of his sanity, but because he only sparingly was aware of that, the price was not high. He had even gotten the power to reproduce—although you can call that a curse as easily as a blessing, he sighed, looking at his son. If anyone has the power to drive a man to suicide it is my beloved child.

The beloved child in question was busy draining his fourth glass of wine and began to look rather tipsy. Nothing like him, drinking to forget. It must be something else.

"How is your injury?" the Count inquired. Adrian shrugged. His face looked like a skull, with those dark smudges under his eyes.

"When have you last eaten?"

"I do not know." He took another swig.

"You know you will have a hangover for the rest of tomorrow if you go on like this?"

"I do not intend to stop long enough to become sick, thank you."

"Alucard!" In a flash the man was on his feet, in front of his father, pressing his sword to his throat.

"Do NOT call me that!" Dracula swatted the point away with a disdainful gesture.

"You’re behaving like a spoiled child. You cannot hurt me. I can call you whatever I like."

He grabbed a handful of hair as Adrian turned, "O no, you’re not walking out on me again."

"Let go of me."

"Not before we have made our point. How much of me is still in you, Adrian? I sense very little Chaos in you...a lot of wine, but very little Chaos. Are you able at all to drink blood once more?" He smiled at the horrified expression on his son’s face. "O come, you did not think you could return to me without giving up your humanity? That was what the Oath was all about, your return to ME! as my SON!"

"I can’t! I cannot drink blood anymore..."

"Cannot or will not, Adrian? Even ordinary humans can drink blood, some even enjoy it. Do you? Did you like the taste of my blood? You did, didn’t you. Oh, you don’t want to, but you do revel in it, the rush, the power, the warmth...Is that what pulled you to the Renard woman? Her heat? Did you like to bury yourself in her warm, living flesh and let it drive away the chill of your own? Was it like with that flame-haired woman, what was her name...Sylvia?"

<SLAP!>

He caught Adrian’s hand before the open palm could ball into a fist and do more damage than a red print on his cheek, and punched him casually in the face. The man became a heavy weight in his arms. Sometimes he underestimated his strength.

Well, it might be just as well too, this way he can’t struggle too much. He lifted the tall man in his arms—but the boy consisted only of limbs!—and hurried to the room where he had a nice little surprise for him. A surprise he would accept, whether he wanted it or not.

The Dhampire was coming to already. Good. It probably was more a faint of intoxication than due to the punch.

He looked around dazedly, then sat up so suddenly he hit his head against one of the corners of the large table he lay under.

"I hope you like the setting?" Dracula asked with a smirk. "I believe this was the room where you and Elizabeth got to...know each other?" Adrian flushed crimson. "O come, you did know the paintings have eyes, didn’t you? You must have been very frustrated after that pretty blonde left you just like that. You were lucky to have her around. By the way, do you have any idea where Elizabeth is now? I haven’t seen her since yesterday."

"She had to leave." Adrian mumbled, rubbing his head. The wine had hit his empty stomach like acid; he was afraid he might be sick if he moved too much. "Urgent business elsewhere." The Count made a waving gesture.

"It doesn’t matter. We don’t need her. I found you another woman..."

"What!?"

"I hope she is to your taste, as far as I remember you always fell for fair woman—apart form Elizabeth then, that is."

"I do not want..."

"Of course you do. Don’t be ridiculous. In fact, I insist on you taking her."

"You’re insane!" Adrian cried. "I’m not going to sleep with another woman...and you can’t force me, it wasn’t in the..." he bowed his head. Vlad smiled like a cat.

"Obedience, my son? Does that ring a bell?

Anyway, I don’t ask you to have sex with her. With that arm of yours I can understand you don’t feel like coupling. No, my son, all I ask of you is to take her blood." He reached out and pulled Adrian to his legs. The first thing he saw was a naked woman lying on the table. She was a blonde, hair the colour of corn, and could be no more than seventeen. Her face was pretty and sweet, with freckles on her nose. The eyes watching him with drugged dreaminess were the brightest green.

"I will kill you." Adrian said tonelessly. Vlad laughed.

"I don’t think so. Come on, boy, what are you waiting for? Take her. She wants you, don’t you, my dear?" The girl smiled. She even kept smiling when Dracula summoned a specter. The creature looked at her with a sickening hunger.

"What shall it be, Alucard?" the Count asked pleasantly. "Are you going to take her, or do you want me to give her to him?" Adrian clenched his teeth.

"I will take her," he snarled, "and you will burn in HELL for it!" But Vlad only laughed, and he knew that the threats were as empty as his father’s heart.

CHILDREN 12

It was impossible to return to the way of the Blood, Adrian found to his heart-felt relief. He had killed the girl swiftly, painlessly, and although the blood had filled him it did not bring him anywhere near the ecstasy it would have before the Blessing. Drinking blood was not as horrible to him as it would have been for others, him having lived on it for at least five years when he was young. It tasted a bit like tomato juice: slightly salt and metallic. Not an unpleasant taste at all. The killing…well, he knew she would have died anyway, and it was better to have her die mercifully at his hands than at those of the specter or his father. On the other hand, they would feed themselves…

He was sitting in Elizabeth’s room, gazing up at the sky. Sun and moon followed each other like wild horses, sometimes so fast they were a blur, sometimes so slow they did not seem to move at all. Chaos manipulated time, like it manipulated his ability to conjure things. But it cannot manipulate my mind, he thought, this time looking down in the pond. His hand made the water circle as he moved it back and forth. It softened the pain, if only a little. Sometimes he almost went to his father to make him heal it…but every time he pulled himself back together. Now, he did not know how many days after his Oath, he did not think it could be healed anymore. It was bone-deep, maybe even soul-deep now. Up to the elbow, his arm was unusable.

He sighed. He was so tired of fighting and holding his head high. Most of the time Vlad and he spent together they were growling at each other, trying to hurt each other as much as possible without actually killing someone. The day he killed the girl had ended with a spectacular row that had had Vlad nursing a thoroughly crushed nose and Adrian throwing up for what seemed hours to get both the blood and the wine out of his stomach. It began to become tiring.

On the other hand there were evenings that almost felt like old times, hours they spent in companionable silence in the library or the music room. He had been reading a book on licantrophy, wondering whether he would ever be able to change into a wolf again, when he suddenly noticed the dark figure of his father in the corner.

"Don’t move." the Count commanded, but without his usual harshness and Adrian stayed where he was, focussing on the candle flame in front of him. Therefore it came as a bit of a shock when pale fingers softly stroked his hair.

"What are you doing?" Vlad ignored his question.

"Do you remember the day you turned fourteen?" he asked himself. Adrian shook his head, puzzled. The Count smiled dreamily. "You were such a lanky boy, all arms and legs and hardly any meat on your bones. Do you remember what you asked for your birthday?" Adrian hesitated, then a small smile touched his lips.

"The ability to change into a wolf."

"Precisely!" He laughed aloud. "You do remember!"

"Of course I would remember, it was one of the greatest days in my life!" He sat back, eyes alight with memories. "You took me into the throne room and practiced it…o, I don’t know how many times with me. It took me ages to see the possibilities, even after you showed me, much longer than when you taught me how to form fire." He grinned. "and it hurt like hell the first time…"

"You almost past out," Vlad took over, "and your mother had my hide that evening for exhausting you so."

"But I did it."

"You did it, nobody can deny that. But you were a sorry excuse for a wolf, as scrawny and bony as the boy. You couldn’t have scared a rabbit."

"I ate rabbit that night, and I’d caught it myself!" Adrian replied hotly. "And I was faster than you…"

"Because I reined myself in."

"You did not!"

"Of course I did. Compared to me you were a turtle."

"I am not!"

"O yes you are!"

"Wanna bet?" Adrian dared with a broad grin. His father guffawed.

"You really want to race me?"

"Yes!"

"You’re on, then!" He pulled his son to his feet, and together they walked to a particularly long hall that was perfectly suited for racing—as they had discovered when they used to hold power displays and contests like this one. A long time ago, but now all those years disappeared and they were like…friends again.

"You know the drill," Vlad reminded him, "all the way to the clock, and no cheating! Only wolf form."

"And no extra abilities either, you know I haven’t got as many forms as you do." The Count grinned.

"Deal. Start when the fireball hits the far end wall." Upon the nod of his son he sent an orb into the hall, and when it flew apart in a rain of sparks he let himself fall to all fours, changed, and began to ran—when he noted Adrian did not follow him.

He sat on the floor, cradling his left arm in his right, white to his lips.

"I don’t…think I can…do it anymore." he whispered. Vlad kneeled in front of him, gently taking the boy’s—no, man’s, but he looked so much like a boy right now—wrist in his hands. He had removed the bandage, but although most of his flesh was healed it still looked horribly painful. And, unless Dhampires always bit their lips till it bled when frustrated, it did hurt an awful lot.

"Stupid, proud, stubborn fool," he said empathetically, "why didn’t you let me heal it? Why do you insist on torturing yourself all the time?"

"I don’t know." He swallowed with a click. "I truly don’t know…"

And then Vlad had tried to heal him with his blood, but since the wound was of a holy weapon and inflicted a long time ago it didn’t do much good, and in the end they were shouting again until Adrian simply walked away while he chewed his lower lip to bits. It did not work out between the two of them, no matter how they tried.

At night he thought of Maria—and Lysander, but mostly of Maria. He missed her very much, for more reasons than love alone. She, he realised, was the one that kept his bleak depressive soul from wandering off; she was the one that made him human. Here in the castle, his humanity slipped away from him the longer he lived in Chaos. It was all so senseless! Why had his father taken so much pains to get him back if they couldn’t even talk like adults, but swore and railed at one another like children!

All we do is hurt each other. I was mistaken, that evening. The old companionship is gone forever, smashed to pieces by the sword and splintered by the whip. He let himself fall back, gazing at the moon, no, the sun, standing still above him. The rays swiftly burned his pale skin, but he did not care; he hoped they could burn the despair from his mind.

Vlad Tepes knew about his son’s unease, and nurtured it like a young sapling. The more rebellious the boy was, the farther he would bend when he finally admitted defeat. Though he was more sensitive to friendliness than harsh words and pain, strangely enough.

That certainly is one of his mother’s traits. He flinched; Lisa still hurt. The fact that Alucard resembled her like two drops of water did not make it easier. But where she gave me love he provokes me, her eyes were like the sun, his like smouldering coals. Nothing of her soft sweetness in that creature, only hate and a lot of pain. Disgusting! Yet…it would be so nice to make that pain go away and become loyalty again, like it was…like it should be!

They were standing on the castle wall looking down on the many dark shapes streaming out of the castle and into the night. Another few nights and God’s blood will be soaking the earth, Dracula thought, rubbing his hands. Pray, preachers, pray! Christ’s adversary is about to make his spectacular come-back!

"Don’t you think it looks wonderful?"

"I think it looks nauseating." Adrian retorted tonelessly. "It’s like maggots in a healthy body, an impossible disease that should be cut out immediately." He pulled up his lip in a contemptuous snarl at his father’s cold rage. "You know how I think about this, so don’t ask me if you know the answer.

And don’t you DARE to BEAT ME AGAIN!" Several crows started and flew away at his shout, beating the air with their wings. Adrian’s right hand began to glow as he went on, voice quivering with barely controlled fury, "I don’t know what you want with me, I don’t CARE, I only want you to STOP with what you’re doing now! Why, if you want me with you so badly, do you keep insisting on HUMILIATING me…"

"You killed me."

"Then kill ME! Take your revenge and be done with it!" The Count sneered, an expression that was responsible for the three most pronounced lines in his face.

"You would like to know why I do not do that, isn’t it, Alucard?" he said, enjoying the look of impotent anger in his son’s eyes. "Well, it isn’t that hard to explain; in fact, I told you before. You are MINE. At my mercy. I want you to feel what it is like to be betrayed, to be hurt and disappointed. I WANT you to feel humiliated. Don’t you like those emotions?"

"I knew them long before I killed you." There was another tone in his voice now. The despair was gone. Broken. "I knew them when mother died, got reacquainted when Flame died, and now I found them again, when I thought I would never see them again." He put his hands on the crenels and looked down with the most curious, sad smile. A stone gargoyle stuck out its tongue at him and he pulled it out without batting an eye.

"What I want, Alucard, is that you yield to me."

"I have already yielded."

"Not completely. I mean to go on until you’re mine with both heart and soul."

"And I mean to stop you."

"How? You swore the Blood Oath."

"And I will not break it." He flashed the Count a wild grin. Finally Vlad understood what he meant to do—too late. With a catlike movement Adrian jumped over the crenels.

"NO!"

The castle reacted to the will of its master with all the power Chaos could give it. But even Chaos cannot form hands out of stone, not in a split second. A beam shot out of the wall in an attempt to break the man’s fall and it did…but it also broke the man’s body.

The moment Vlad took hold of his son’s collar with bat-claws, made a roll in the air and landed neatly on his feet with his child in his arms, the life was already receding from the wide, pain-filled eyes. Yet he was smiling. Taunting.

"Thus…kept…word…" he brought out through the blood bubbling on his lips.

"No! I forbid you to die! I forbid it!" but he knew it was no use. Adrian had broken his back on the beam, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I will not let you get away that easily, my son." he said calmly. "I told you I would have you, and have you I WILL!" He lifted the man’s upper body to his face, electing a groan of agony. "Do not be afraid, Adrian. The pain will not last…"

He bowed his head over the placid neck where the life-beat stuttered in the veins. He tasted it on his tongue, rich and sweet and stronger than human blood.

"I will not let you die. Not like this." They sank to the ground, two distinct figures. But as the blood flowed into the one…and then flowed back again…and went…and returned… they became identical.

When Adrian opened his eyes, late that afternoon, they were bright and vivid like molten gold, their humanity burned away by the Blood. And he realised he had made a horrendous mistake.

"Do you know I’ll be glad when we can finally get inside?" Natalia grumbled, shaking her head so that raindrops flew all ways. "I’ve never been in such horrible weather before."

"This isn’t horrible weather!" Father Miceadu argued, "This is a healthy summer rain!"

"Summer rain my foot! It looks more like the flood!" Maria snickered. The old man blew water from his upper lip with a snorting sound, rather like a grumpy horse. His glasses were misted, he looked more than ever like an owl with ruffled feathers.

"Well, I should think ten more minutes and we’ll all be dry," she said, pointing at the looming castle gate. Natalia fell silent; the castle never failed to inspire awe. She imagined she could see shapes oozing from its stones, and the hoarse shriek of some kind of bird startled her so she almost fell off her horse.

"So this is it, huh?" she murmured. "Castlevania. The domain of the famous Dracula. He could have made it a lot cosier, if you ask me. All that black! Why do people like him always have such an awful choice in decoration!"

"Must be their black soul. Inside it’s even worse; endless halls, big, elaborate rooms and undead vermin everywhere…if I were him I would get myself a good housekeep and do a good cleaning!" Natalia laughed.

"Yes, and then new curtains and wallpaper, and of course tap water and pictures of cherubim and smiling family members…"

"And glass, naturally. The place must be draughty as hell in the winter. And yes, paintings, and then those of the kind that do NOT look at you while you’re changing."

"There are paintings that LOOK in this castle?"

"O yes, and statues that come to life and hack you to pieces…" Maria grew serious again. Shalot’s steps echoed on the gate: clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, filling the passage with noise. It made the horses skittish.

"We’d better dismount," she said, "and let them go. That way they can defend themselves if something would try to get them, and we will find them back if we come back. When we come back." The priest swallowed audibly. "O come, father, it will be a piece of cake, you’ll see." The man shot her a nervous smile. The short sword had crept up his hips and was now situated around his stomach. He was a sorry sight.

Natalia wouldn’t be the problem; she walked into the castle without hesitation, taking in every detail with hungry eyes. And however strange Miceadu looked in his priest’s collar and the sword, she could almost swear his shoulders had straightened a bit. Of course we will!

In the beginning there were surprisingly little attacks, almost as if some sort of housekeep had indeed cleaned the place up. The few creatures they did see were either shot by Natalia or knived by Maria, and once even the priest—to great hilarity of the two women—succeeded in smashing one being between the pages of his bible.

"You’re lucky they’re not substantial," Maria said with a look at the poor book, "the stuff will dissolve within minutes." She grinned broadly. "You were magnificent, father! Very good!"

Natalia added her own congratulations, and Miceadu blushed happily. It was as if the years fell from his figure…until his glasses were hit from his nose by a small red demon. He fell to his knees to search them, thus avoiding being struck by one of their breath-flames, and scrambled up unharmed after Maria had killed the beastie with a well-aimed kick.

"God watches over you, father." She said shakily. The man smiled.

"Always." He replied, and placed his glasses back on his nose.

God, I hate this place. It’s so…dead, even with all those stupid things running around here. Hmm, another dragon head that doesn’t work. Would that be Richter’s work? Seems like good old Vlad hasn’t repaired stuff after the final attack. Or maybe Adrian kept him from it. A flash of pain in her heart made her flinch. Please be all right, love. Please don’t let him defeat you. You are much stronger than him…if you can push aside your guilt.

"Look out!"

"What on earth is that?"

"An armour." She grabbed Natalia by the arm. "No, don’t shoot at it! Father, do you have any holy water?" Miceadu feverishly groped around in his bags, finally came out with a handful of vials and threw one of them at the armour. It hit with a sizzling sound, and the knight fell to the ground in a heap of empty metal. The priest arched his eyebrows.

"It’s that easy? Just a drop of holy water and they disappear?"

"Yes." Maria wiped sweat-soaked hair out of her face. "The only problem is that you once run out of water, and the castle does not run out of knights. I pray we find Adrian before this place finishes us off."

Natalia took a step closer to the helmet, studied it intently.

"Do you think it will harm me if I try it on?"

"I wouldn’t recommend it, but if you want to…we HAVE all the holy spirits there are." In fact she was just as curious. It had never occurred to her that the weapons found here might be usable. "Go ahead." The woman picked up the helmet, weighing it in her arms.

"It’s quite heavy. Very old. Hmm…" she opened the visor and peeked inside, "Nothing in it. Now, let’s see…" Moving as cautiously as she could, she fitted the thing over her head. No screaming. No horrible vapours or flames. She looked ridiculous, but that was all.

"And?" she asked, her voice coming hollow and tinny from the opening.

"Well, you look pretty dumb, but apart from that, I guess it’s fine. Any positive effects?"

"No, I only see very little. I think the stupid thing is too big." She removed it, smoothing her hair. "But I’d like to take it with me."

"I’d say go ahead." Miceadu took her arm. "Can we go now? I would like to be out of this place as soon as possible." Maria nodded.

"Yes. Let us go."

CHILDREN 13

It was not bad to be a vampire.

On the whole, a vampire is much faster, stronger and suppler than a Dhampire or human body, not to mention more attractive. When thoroughly suffused with blood, a vampire looks a little like an angel: the skin is a healthy pink, gleaming slightly in the light like expensive stone. The features, no matter what they looked like when alive, become sharp and delicate after the Change, rendering the undead almost genderless in appearance. The eyes are like prisms, reflecting the light with every possible colour; whatever the owner wishes at that moment. And not only outwardly is there a change, when a human looks at a flower, he sees just that, the flower: petals, heart, stem and leaves. To the vampire the flower is a living thing, breathing, growing or dying, more than three-dimensional. The whole world is much more beautiful.

Adrian Tepes only felt the emptiness. He had fed that night, couldn’t even remember on whom for the Hunger. He had been starving, and there was no way to control a starving vampire. It HURT, he had experienced; he finally began to understand why creatures like his father always killed so many. After being full and warmed by the blood it was near impossible to keep away from it. Opium was dull compared to the rush of the blood. Hell, his period of the Blood when he was young was dull compared to this. And yet…

As his flesh, his feelings seemed to have grown colder. When he was full, yes, then it was a hundred times better than being human. But as soon as the warmth waned, the life receded and it was like he was hollow, heartbeat echoing in an empty space. It was worse than a hangover or his wounds because it could not be softened once it started, it did not go away, it only grew and grew until he was so miserable he would do anything to stop it…including draining someone to the core.

Maybe the worst was that his father finally seemed to have forgiven him. Vlad still pushed him down, but the cruelty toward his son was gone.

"You bent," he used to say, affectionately touching the pearly cheek, "you broke. You’re mine again. Now I can share everything with you like I could never before! Everything!"

He never knew how much he’d missed a father before he finally had one, and for a few days—or hours, or weeks, whatever time was—paternal love, however twisted, could overcome his longing for Maria and Lysander. Yet he was grown, and the Count seemed to forget that you cannot treat independent people with a mind of their own like children. He knew what it was like to lose a wife, but he could not replace her without admitting defeat.

"Visit the brides." he once said. "They will fulfil you every wish and take care of that need of yours." Adrian shook his head.

"I do not want them to take care of it."

"Oh? You enjoy being frustrated?" The fairer the skin, the redder it becomes when flushed. Adrian turned a lovely tomato red, hissed, "I’d sooner take care of it myself than have them screwing…" he rolled his eyes at the wrong choice of words, "playing…" no, that wasn’t the right word either, "putting their hands on my body." and fled from his father’s bellowing laugh. He was not frustrated, he was…he could only call it pining. To know she was alive and well without being able to see her sometimes drove him nearly insane. When he was full it was almost painful, desire and longing making his whole body throb with every heartbeat, aching in his damaged hand. Better to let the emptiness swallow the pain, exchange it for another kind.

He killed, sometimes. In the beginning he continuously bit his own lip because of the longer fangs; they made him lisp a bit. Sunlight was taboo. Vlad might be immune to it, but all the creatures he made had to wear amour to bear it, and when he went out on the crennels to look at the sunset, he turned a fiery red within minutes and would have gotten blisters if he’d stayed any longer. No more sunshine.

One day his father or one of his minions caught a man and let him run through the castle, observing his actions while he fought the horrors. Adrian watched it for some time, then shook his head and ended it by taking the man’s life.

"This is an immature sport," he said accusingly, placing the corpse on the floor in front of his father’s feet.

"A sport I enjoy."

"It’s senseless and infantile."

"Says the man who cries like a child for all the pain and suffering in the world."

"At least I do not cause it!"

"Still trying to make me a better person, Alucard?" He leaned forward, smiling thinly. "I am not the first, you know. Neither am I the worst, nor will I be the last. What would happen to this world if all the people would stay alive? We would drown in the shear numbers!"

"Another ten centuries and…"

"And then what? Then we would be ‘full’? you know that’s rubbish. Nature will find another way to decrease the number of humankind; an earthquake here, an epidemic there, a little war in the south, a flood wave in the north. Those victims have even less use than mine, the ones I take die for a reason."

"The reason to please you." Adrian spat. The Count nodded, suddenly very serious.

"And unlike you, my son, I do appreciate their deaths. I enjoy it. You don’t even care about the pleasure the blood brings. You throw away their lives as if it were nothing more than dead leaves. In that, you are even more vicious than I."

Which set him thinking, despairing more than ever.

So he gave up feeding for a while, until the Oath pulled him out of the death sleep and made him take care of himself. It was almost a relief when someone finally entered the castle and he could defend his father.

*

The hall was followed by a large dining room filled with nameless creatures that were not particularly hard to defeat, but succeeded in making a wicked slash along Natalia’s arm. The positive thing was that they all carried small bomb-like balls, which Maria identified as aguenas. Most animals died before they could throw them, and the spoils of battle were about seven aguenas lying gleaming in the dust of their deceased owners.

"Take them with you," she ordered, "we might use them."

"Will they work against the spawn of this place?"

"Yes, they will. I recall using them when I was here before."

"You were here before?" Behind the glasses, Miceadu’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. She nodded.

"A long time ago…but you said you were here when I went into the castle?" He waved his arms.

"I knew you helped Richter Belmont and Alucard Tepes. I did not know you actually went into it!"

"O yes. And I had a great time too." She rubbed an aching shoulder. "This place…it’s NOTHING compared to Dracula himself. It’s like the whole castle intensified and pushed into one male being; he’s beautiful on first sight, very tall and graceful, with white skin and eyes that change colour every few seconds, and when he speaks you see everything he’s talking about. But at the same time he is horrible, the cruelty and hunger beams of that face, out of those mocking eyes, and the darkness inside of him makes you want to run and run…everything to come away from him…" She stopped, took a deep breath. The man out off her nightmares, his white hands on Lysander’s rosy cheeks. When Natalia touched her she shivered.

"I do not want to give Adrian up to him. Surely you understand that."

"We do," she answered soothingly, "You know we do." She shifted the helmet under her arm, trying to put it in a more comfortable position. "Say, this is a nice corridor. The wallpaper is…strange." They all stopped a moment to admire the wall. Natalia was right, it was most extraordinary; on first sight it was white, but when one looked a little more closely faces and weird landscapes could be detected, and when one fixed one’s attention on a particular object it even seemed to come alive, although it never really moved.

"This is odd," father Miceadu murmured, stroking the paper. "I can see a woman’s face in the wall, but when I touch her she has no depth, though I clearly see the relief when I look."

"What else can you expect in this crazy castle." Natalia studied a form that ran from just above her head all the way to the floor. It was hard to focus, but gradually she began to make out the figure of a man, the head, the shoulders, trunk, arms and legs…and as she tried to see the face in relief, the eyes suddenly opened and fastened on her face.

She gave a shriek of fright, immediately alarming the others—but her shriek grew to a full blown scream of horror when the wall rippled, bulged out and ripped as the figure grew three-dimensional and stepped out.

"Get back!" Maria screamed, and the creature’s eyes sprang from Natalia to her, giving the former the chance to use her pistols. She hit him once, and the white fell off of him at the same time as Maria’s next yell told her to stop.

"Hold it! Get back!" she pushed the woman out of her way, stared unbelievingly at the man who had just walked out of the wall. He stared back, chalky cheeks flushed, amber eyes wide, then darkening with anger.

"I told you to STAY AWAY FROM ME!" he snarled, showing too long canines in a too white face.

"Holy God, Adrian, what did he…"

"Can’t you LISTEN?" He put his hands on her shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled. "Are you DEAF?"

"Leave her alone!" With a careless wipe of his arm the vampire threw the old man away. He bounced to the floor and lay there gasping.

"Father!" Natalia raised her fire weapon.

"You bastard! You’ll…"

"SHUT UP!" There was nothing left, absolutely nothing that reminded her of Maria’s sophisticated spouse. He didn’t even look like a man anymore—he didn’t even look human! Gleaming white skin, eyes burning flames, hair like frozen fire…his face was like a mask of egg-shell, hard, beautiful in a frigid way, but lethal and horribly chaotic.

"What did he do to you?" He eased his grip on Maria, releasing her in the end.

"You must go. Now."

"What did he DO!?"

"He refused to let me die. DON’T touch me! I haven’t fed yet, and I don’t want to hurt you." Natalia snorted, unsuccessfully trying to help the priest to his feet. The poor man was panting like hell, more from the grip of his sword that had smashed into his belly than anything else, but it made her furious. One did not beat old men, even when one could abduct them.

"Well you should have thought about that before you beat…"

"Shut. Up.

What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone. You cannot get me out of here, not alive, and as you can see getting me out now wouldn’t even make a difference. I’m dead already." Maria closed her eyes, hoping he could not read her mind in this state. As long as he thought they only came here for him, not to kill his father, the Oath should not harm him or force him to kill her. She had a plan, of course. A plan she had explained to her fellow travelers during their trip here. But whether they could make it work was another question altogether…if it did not kill him at once. As she looked at him now, she was afraid it would.

"I…" she started, "I only wanted to…talk to you. We never had the chance to say good-bye…" Something inside of him broke, drawing a curtain behind his eyes, making them dark and dim. He shook his head.

"I never wanted to say good-bye. I thought…but it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. You have to leave, Maria."

"But I need to talk to you! Listen, I need to know how we can help Riff, as he still doesn’t get better…and Richter, you cannot have sacrificed yourself for nothing! He’s dying, Adrian! He won’t survive this, and than what have we gained? My life, Lysander’s life? I need your help!" Her nervousness brought heat to her cheeks, and she grabbed him by his arms, hoping the others would get the necessary artefacts out.

"Lysander…how is he?"

"Fine."

"You left him alone?"

"No, no, I left him with Annette in the hospital." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Natalia talking vehemently to the priest. He was groping around in his pockets, throwing a palm-large bible on the floor, a cross, and empty vial. Damn him forever if he lost it! She spoke on feverishly, "He misses you, cries a lot. Annette isn’t much better off. You should see Richter, he’s so…still."

"I saw him." He hugged himself, unconsciously protecting his weak arm. Maria, for one moment, forgot about her companions.

"Your arm," she said softly. "It did not heal?"

"No…"

"I brought some aloe with me…" His jaw twitched.

"This is not something that can be healed." He reached out as if to cup her chin, hesitated and pulled back. There was something in his face that frightened her. Something wild and lecherous and hungry. In the background there were soft whispers:

"Father send your Holy Spirit upon these gifts to make them holy so that they may

become for us the Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son."

He shouldn’t hear them! Maria swallowed her fear and spoke over the whispers, "But we could try…"

"It’s too late, Maria. I changed sides. As for Riff, if ordinary prayers don’t help, Bless him. Or, if you don’t want him to suffer while he’s still so small, see if he can drink blood. He might become something like I used to be…"

"So you really are something different now. You said he wouldn’t let you die. He, your father?" He nodded, still absorbed in her voice. She noted with a shiver that he did not breathe, or if he did it was so slowly she could not see it. "Was he the one that brought you to the brink of death…?" Please say yes. Don’t tell me you gave up, please don’t tell me…But he shook his head again and her heart sank.

"It seemed the best solution at the moment." He put his hands on her shoulders once more, smiling a creepy little smile. "I do not expect you to understand. You can’t. I don’t blame you." His fingers were icy, even through her dress, and she winced. Her flesh was already bruised after his first grip. Miceadu’s voice piped up, "Let us proclaim the mystery of our Faith." and she knew Adrian had heard him. His eyes widened, he flung her from him, raised his right arm. Fire surrounded his fingers and he threw…but at the same time Natalia shouted the final words into his face and lifted her own hands to him. In them, was very little. Only a piece of bread, and a few drops of red wine.

"When we eat this bread and drink this cup we proclaim your death Lord Jesus until you come in glory. AMEN!"

Adrian gave a panicked shriek as out of the woman’s palms flashed a light so harsh it threatened to burn him to a cinder; the fire bled out of his arms as he put them in front of his face to protect it against the light…

"Take his hands! Bind him!"

And there was something in it, a figure, a humanoid figure...

"Stop struggling Adrian! We only want to help you!"

The light filled his brain, but he let his arms drop to his side and peered into the light, searching for the edges of the shape...

Who are you? he wondered, not speaking the words aloud, and he was startled to get an answer.

Are you...God? He had the distinct feeling that the Being laughed, a rich, warm tingling inside of him.

You see Me/Us/Him, don’t you? There was no mockery in the voice, and Adrian frowned lightly. It was like trying to follow the figures in the flames; they appeared and disappeared but were uncatchable, both to the eye and the hand.

Then why do you let this exist! Adrian cried. Why do you let HIM exist...or ME, for that matter? The Entity touched him with soothing light.

He chose to follow this path, it murmured, to sell his soul and kill the innocent. He did his share of what people regard as Good in his time, and he chose to forsake Me/Us/Him instead of follow the standard way of humans. Chaos provided his power, and I/We/He provided a champion to fight him. The balance is not disturbed, all will right itself in its time.

Does that mean you don’t even care? The vampire asked incredulously. He had the idea the shape shrugged, but he could be mistaken.

Hell. Adrian swallowed. I killed my own father.

Yet I am like him too, Adrian whispered, holding out his mangled left hand. I tried to defeat him, but your weapon struck me down even as I struck HIM down... He blinked as the lightest touch brushed his hand. Immediately the pain vanished.

It was not an accusation. The Being appeared to smile. The light played over Adrian’s palm, gently, tenderly, and everywhere it touched his skin his flesh returned to a pure, creamy white. After a while, all that marred his hand was the old pink scar of the first time when he held the whip in the chapel. To remind you what and who you are, the light let him know.

But what about my blood? He had the impression the shine turned cold.

You chose to die in Chaos, now you live in Chaos. Even you have your crosses to bear, vampire. Fleeing your responsibilities is never the right option. Yet, friendly once more, you are balanced now. Do not fear, for on earth Order will rule. And in you, Order has always ruled, however chaotic you are.

With that cryptic answer he fell out of the vision, back into the now of grabbing hands and the pain of holy sacraments.

"Stop struggling Adrian, we only want to help you!"

"There will be balance," he breathed, electing a puzzled look from Natalia. She tied his hands firmly behind his back—hands he could swear he had been stretching out to the light. But the light was gone. He blinked. The Oath had ceased its crushing grip on him, as if the Entity had loosened it.

"Damn it, I hope it didn’t hurt him.

Adrian, darling, it will be alright now. Come on, give me some response. Adrian!" Cold fingers that were warm on his face. He tried to look at her, but his vision blurred and swirled and was filled with black dots as if he had looked in the sun for too long.

"Are you hurt? Adrian, answer me, are you hurt in any way?" He shook his head.

"Do you think we should take him with us?"

"No! I don’t want him anywhere near his father.

I am sorry, but we will have to leave you here...but I will come back for you. I swear, I will come back for you..." She lifted her face to his to kiss him, but he recoiled from her with a jerk. Through his confusion, the hunger for blood seeped as seawater through snow. Maria sighed, and stroked his cheek instead. "Alright. I won’t taunt you. I wish I could..."

"Go." His voice was no more than an exhalation. He saw the surprise in her eyes—those lovely, leaf-green eyes, more lovely even with his purely vampiric vision. "End it."

"What?"

The Oath hung around him like a shed skin, loose, still there but as confused and stunned as he was himself.

"End it," he repeated. "Quickly. Go."

"I think he won’t harm us for a while," Miceadu said with a certain amount of satisfaction. It felt good to see the thing that had stamped the bird on the grip of his sword into his belly look about as dangerous as a carrot. If the Holy Sacrament had so great an impact Dracula WOULD be a piece of cake indeed. "And if I understand that Oath correctly he will not be harmed either. We simply bested him…"

"GO!" Adrian barked. The old man jumped. It was a little unnerving to be looked in the eye by someone who appeared to have fires burning in his head.

Maria secured him to the wall, continually muttering she was sorry, squatted in front of him and fished a necklace out of her bodice.

"Will this hurt you?"

"My crucifix." The symbol of Faith, love, loyalty.

"Yes. You might need it more than I do." He squinted at it, a sad, sad expression on his face.

"No," he whispered, bowing his head, "you keep it. Now go, Maria. Please. Kill him. Send him into oblivion…" And when they went, Maria thought she had never heard so much compassion in such a harsh request.

CHILDREN 14

Riff, after being little more than awake for some days, now finally began to take some new interest in life again. He was still very quiet, hanging against his mother with his thumb in his mouth most of the time, but Annette could swear he looked around sometimes, and when she asked him something he actually answered. The first question he voiced himself, was, to her surprise, not a ‘what happened’ question, but where Lysander was.

"In my room," she replied, lovingly caressing his pale cheek, "sleeping. Do you want to see him?" Riff nodded. She rose to take him, but he remained seated, staring up at her with huge blue eyes. "Shall we go then, Christian?" He suckled his thumb. "Or do you want me to carry you?" He seemed to think about that. At last he shook his head.

"No. I’ll walk."

"Are you sure?" The child let himself glide to his feet without taking his finger out of his mouth. "All right, come on then." She did a few steps, secretly glancing back. Riff followed her, still sucking. She held out her hand and he took it, small fingers curling around hers in the same old familiar way. Annette smiled, feeling tears burn at the same time. Yet these tears did not hurt; this crying felt good. She squeezed her son’s hand in her own and led him all the way to her room.

"Quiet, sweetling. Don’t wake him."

"Won’t." he released her hand, then looked back at it and grabbed it fast, pulling her along. Annette was only too happy to oblige. While Riff looked down on his cousin, she studied his face and saw it return to be the face she knew, a boy’s face, not a wraith’s. A strangely protective smile parted his lips, dimpling his cheeks. A pudgy hand with a wet thumb reached down to touch Lysander’s fluffy hair.

"Safe." he said. His mother ruffled his curls.

"Yes, he is safe. And so are you."

"And daddy?" Her face fell.

"Daddy’s sleeping. Sleeping very deep."

"Like Ad-ian?" She had to think to understand, and then she forced herself to smile.

"Yes, like Adrian. I didn’t know you remembered that."

"Can’t we wake him up? Or need we Ad-ian for that?" Annette shook her head. No, there was nobody they needed for that. That, only Richter himself could do. At that moment Lysander opened his eyes, saw Riff and smiled. Maybe it was a sign, maybe it was just a coincidence, but when she looked a little closer she saw that the blue colour was shot with light brown.

"Rrrrrrr." Lysander gurgled, raising his hands to Riff. If she hadn’t been so sure he was too young for that, she would have sworn he was commanding him to take him out of the crib. Looks in everything like his father. He’ll have us fulfilling every wish in no time. She sighed softly. Who could have thought I’d ever wanted to have that man back here again?

Meanwhile, Miceadu, Natalia and Maria hurried through the castle, holding the Eucharist high above their heads. "We should have done this a loooong time ago!" Natalia shouted.

"We could have walked in peace from the bridge to his tower and then calmly burn him to ash without a single hit."

"And we would have waited and waited," Maria answered, "him having left ages ago when he felt us preparing the thing. Besides, it doesn’t last forever in this place. Can’t you see, already the shine is dimming—o, not because it is losing its power, but simply because Chaos eats the substance away."

"We can do it again."

"Of course. And as long as it lasts it works very well, don’t you think?" She kicked at a heap of dead dog-like things that were gradually dissipating into air. Miceadu grinned.

"It sure does. But what would have happened if we HAD prepared it at the gate?"

"I’m not sure." She threw a crumb of bread at one particularly persistent bat. It exploded in a rain of fur and entrails, which everybody cheerily evaded. "I guess we would not have found him. You know, he is Chaos, and if we came running in with holy artifacts he would probably just go poof and disappear for a while…until we gave up and got out, or until we’re out of bread and wine and he can finish us." There was a nervous silence.

"But…will he be here now?"

"I hope so." She looked at the small crust in her hand. It was becoming smaller every minute. "Actually, I’m quite sure. I am very glad we have you with us, father."

Miceadu patted the lump in his front-most pocket.

"I am very glad I brought an entire loaf with me. And more than a liter of Chardonnay. I just hope we’ll be able to change that poor husband of yours back."

Yes, Maria thought, I hope so too. If not, everything would be for nothing. Well, not for nothing, but it would be…horrible. Would I kill myself? No! I would not. I would take Lysander with me and move far away from this country. Then, when I am old, I will return and see if he is still a vampire…or would I live with him anyway? A year ago I would. Exactly one year ago…I will never forget him, the way he looked when I saw him that spring morning. No, I will not give him up. Never. However he is, whatever he does, I will not let him go. Lysander WILL have a father. Do you hear that, Adrian? I will get you back. I promise!

Adrian Tepes, chained effectively to the wall, wondered if his hands would fall off if he twisted the ropes much longer. He was strong, sure, but to a mixture of iron, leather and silk was more than even he could break. The Oath was back, slowly squeezing the life out of him. It thrummed in his veins through the remnants of Eucharist-inflicted confusion, slowly building a fever behind his eyes.

Yet another voice whispered through the pounding, a voice of calm reason.

He pressed his face against the cold wall, trying to slow his aching heartbeat.

It took them a long time to reach the tower. Later, none of them would talk about all those hours of nightmare horrors crossing their path, the dead eyes watching them, the lost souls they heard screaming. It caused Miceadu to learn to fight many times quicker than was possible. When she looked in a mirror Natalia would discover the small gray wings in her hair had grown out to patches and that a ragged scar would disfigure her arm for the rest of her life. Maria…she simply did not think about it. Everything she saw in the castle disappeared into the dreams she sometimes had from the time she was a child, becoming harmless fears of the night.

They performed the holy sacrifice once more, before they entered the tower. Yet when they did, a soft keening sound made them stand still, frozen to the ground. It was a baby crying.

O God not again please do not let this be another monster I cannot kill a child… And deep inside she knew it was Lysander, that it was all for nothing, Lysander was gone again and he was here, HE was holding him in his gloved hands, smiling…

"It comes from upstairs." Miceadu said softly, gripping the sword tightly. His eyes, behind his glasses, looked like a hare’s, all large and surrounded with white. She nodded, biting her lip. It was all for nothing.

"Then let’s go up." Natalia said. In her hands she had three aguenas, the pistols on her hips gave her a ferocious look. She, Maria realised, was a much better vampire hunter than Maria would ever be. She was not afraid of shadows, she could set her mind to dangers in the flesh instead of in the mind.

"Yes," she murmured with quivering lips, "let’s go. Do you have it in your pocket, father?"

"Yes."

They swallowed. The child was still crying.

"Come." Slowly, weapons ready, the two women and the old man set foot on the stairs.

The stairs coiled around each other, round and round, and with every coil the sound grew a little louder. A few flying creatures scratched the skin of Maria’s face, one almost dragged her down when its paws got tangled in her hair. Only Miceadu’s quick move saved her from tumbling into her friends and all the way down, and even with his hands in her back she almost fell.

"Blasted bastards!" she muttered, electing a shocked look from the priest. Her fingers came away wet as she felt her cheek. That’ll be a scar for life. Great. IF I survive this, I’ll be marred for good.

Natalia noticed that the old man began to pant, and she pressed one hand in the small of his back. Not that she could blame him, of course, everybody would get winded after two hundred steep steps, but he was someone they needed desperately.

"Come on, father, keep moving. It can’t be much further."

"O yes it can," Maria spoiled her words. Her voice echoed round and round, startling several harmless bats that had been hanging from the ceiling. "Do you want to rest for a minute?"

The priest hesitated. He was tired, sweat rolled down his nose and caused his spectacles to slip. Yet he did not want to stay here any longer than strictly necessary; if Adrian Tepes, a man he had never really known but greatly admired some time ago, had changed so swiftly, he did not want to be here even a minute longer. Although he had been righteously angry when the women just short of kidnapped him, he also felt the duty to fight Evil with them. What worth was his bond to the church if he did not do anything to help? He could pray, but this was too big to defeat with true faith. I only hope, he thought, nervously feeling for the bread in his pocket, that I will not be turned into an undead father. Greater spirits have perished under this man’s power, chosen ones. I hope the Chaos of this place will give way for Order…

Count Vlad Tepes was waiting for them.

He sat in a chair placed dramatically in the middle of the round tower room, one leg carelessly dangling over one arm, his chin leaning on the palm of his on the other arm leaning hand. Half hidden in the folds of his cloak, an infant lay whimpering for attention.

The first thing Natalia could think was rather unusual—though very characteristic for her, My God, what a hunk! He makes Adrian look like a…kitten! Admiringly she took in his tall, muscled figure, the cold, beautiful features and the eyes that, for a moment, flickered amusedly as they fastened on her. He did remind her of a feline; the same lazy lethalness—the same hidden cruelty. Suddenly she realised she was gawking at him though, and she hurriedly cast her eyes down. It would not do to have him vamping her even before he took the trouble.

"Maria. It is Maria, isn’t it?" She started at his voice; Maria did the same. The woman was very pale—and who wouldn’t be, in the sight of that magnificent creature.

Yet the Count’s magnificence was not what bothered Maria. It was what would always haunt her, no matter how much both she and her husband argued against it; his resemblance to Adrian. Coincidentally, she, like Natalia, thought of him as a tiger; where Adrian always made her think of a cat. Deadly.

"Yes," she answered, "I am Maria."

"And you have come to kill me." A statement, not a question.

"If I can." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"I guess you wouldn’t care to take this child with you on your way out?" She blinked.

"You surrender?"

"Surrender? To you? You must be joking! No, I just wanted to give you an excuse to get the hell out of here. Go on, take it, take the girl with you and go back to your pots and pans. I’m sure your…friends would be most grateful. Wouldn’t you, father?"

Miceadu jumped. But he drew himself up to his full height and growled, "I am here to defeat you, and I will…"

"O, shut up." He sat straight, tucking the baby under his arm. The familiar sneer twisted his mouth. "How touching. A brave coward, an old spinster and a lovesick heroine…"

"OLD SPINSTER!" Natalia screeched, "Now listen, you pompous fool, I am NOT old, and NOT a spinster! I am married, and that is more than I can say of YOU!" He actually seemed to be taken aback. Then a real smile lit up his face, transforming him into the splitting image of his son.

"You’ve got guts." he said, laughing. "Please accept my apologies. I wouldn’t dare insult you." Both Natalia and Miceadu were puzzled; was this Dracula, drinker of blood? He seemed pleasant enough. Maria was not fooled.

"You would not, would you." she hissed. "You would kill us, but not insult us. But I have a surprise for you, my friend. You cannot kill me. You took an Oath. I am here to do away with you and there isn’t a thing you can do about it."

"No?" He took the child in one hand, stroked the soft fuzz on her head. Natalia gasped.

"And what if I promised you this child would live if you’d just sod off?" Maria barked a laugh.

"What do I care about that child? You’ve killed thousands, and she will die anyway."

"Maria!"

"She will! He’s trying to bait us, can’t you see?"

"Why should I?" Dracula asked innocently. The baby shrieked in pain as he grazed one white little arm with his nails, and Natalia winced. Three thin streams of blood ran down the child’s arm. "You’re no threat to me."

"No?"

"No. For I know you would not sacrifice Alucard…" He made a theatrical swipe with one arm. Unfortunately the desired effect did not happen. Absolutely nothing happened, for that matter. Vlad frowned. Natalia smiled, a nasty light in her eyes.

"If you mean Adrian, we took care of him. He cannot come—but he sends his regards.

Release that girl." He arched an eyebrow, still in command. The woman shot him square in the chest. "NOW!"

And that was the end of the charade. Vlad leaped up from his chair, throwing the baby to his side like a heap of dirty clothes. She hit the stones with a sickening crunch and lay motionless.

"No!" Natalia screamed, and ran to were she lay. Maria threw one of her knives at the man looming over her; he dodged it and struck her. She went down, but rolled to her feet in a supple motion, uninjured. He could not harm her. Another explosion resonated in the room as the second bullet pierced the air, then pierced smooth, white flesh. The Count roared, and turned to face Natalia.

"You will not live to boast about this, you…" Agile as a deer Maria jumped at him, buried her next two daggers into his back. At the same time an aguena blew up in his face.

"NOW!" Maria screamed, "Now, Miceadu, NOOOOW!" Her hair curled in the heat of a fireball soaring past her, but she did not budge. The priest dug in his pockets and came out with his hands full: the wheat body and heady blood of Christ.

He spoke the first and only one-liner he would ever speak: "Want some?", and, breaking off a large piece, approached the man in front of him.

Dracula snarled, the grimace made him look more than ever like a tiger. And then he was a tiger, growling at the old priest with all the horror of manslaughter in his eyes. But behind the threat, Miceadu saw, was quite another emotion. Fear.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name." He held out the bread. An enormous paw made a swipe at it…but did not touch it. A new attack forced the Count to change once more, this time in a wolf, his favorite form. His jaws snapped shut only inches from Natalia’s arm.

"Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven." Miceadu chanted, almost falling over the words in his eagerness. His eyes were alight with excitement, although teary with the smoke from the pistols. Vaguely he knew the women were protecting him, Natalia reloading her weapons, Maria using more knives. Miraculously, neither of them was hurt, not even Natalia. The Oath protected them as much as the Eucharist.

"Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who

trespass against us and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen!" The last few words he screamed triumphantly into the wolf’s face. It cowered away from him.

"You lost." Maria said. "Admit it." The wolf shot her a wicked grin.

No, I haven’t. He changed again. A bat. Already his wings fluttered, his small body left the ground, aiming for the high ceiling…

<clunk!>

"My," Natalia said, "am I glad I took that helmet with me." The bat, trapped under the bucket-like thing, banged against the metal, hissing with rage.

"Quit babbling. Father, deliver us from evil." Miceadu looked from one nervously grinning face to the other, shrugged and poured the blood into the visor. There was another hissing noise, interrupted by a howl of pain and fury. Suddenly there was a man lying under the helmet; he could no longer hold this form.

"Adriaaan!" he roared, frantically trying to scramble away. Maria bared her teeth.

"Adrian is MINE! Lysander is MINE! You’ll never have them. It’s over." She pressed his arms flat to the ground and he was helpless, his Oath forbidding him to beat her away. "Miceadu," she said, "please give the Count his daily bread." The Priest was only too happy to oblige.

*

The castle screamed. As Dracula exploded into little pieces, hundreds of his creations simply ceased to be, becoming dust and blowing away with the wind. A deep rumble caused the very ground to shiver; Castlevania went down with the same theatrics as the being who had lived in her.

Adrian felt the Count’s death-echoes vibrate in his flesh. He sank to his knees, stunned. The Blood was swirling in his veins, beating against his bones.

What is happening! Yet he knew what was happening. Around him, the castle started to crumble; cracks ran up the walls and ornaments fell down before disappearing into chaos. The piece of stone Natalia had tied him to cracked, releasing him. He fell back against the wall, worming his legs through the rope so that he could at least lean on his arms.

The whole base was shaking, and in the middle of it all sat Adrian Tepes, staring into space while his blood changed back to normal. The ghostly chill left his body together with the strange gleam his flesh had taken after his Change, his eyes regained their old, light brown colour. As he looked down on his hands, he saw the structure of his skin shift; saw tiny pores widen and a soft pink return to the fingers. The barely controlled bloodlust he had felt disappeared completely, he actually felt wonderful, so warm and full and ALIVE as he never had dared to hope for.

He closed his eyes, simply enjoying the feeling of his limbs tingling back to life and the pounding of the blood.

"Get up! Come on you fool, get up!" Somebody tugged at his arms.

"Can you cut him loose?"

"Christ God, can you move ON!" The sweet, corn-haired girl pulled him along, another pushed him forwards. He shook his head, trying to get his senses back. The flood of blood into his brains made him giddy, almost as if he’d been drugged. The woman in front of him wore a scandalously short skirt, showing a lot of leg—which reminded him almost painfully of the hotness of the blood in his limbs. Vaguely he was aware he was humming and he bit his tongue to stop himself. Shrinking fangs made two nice little holes in his flesh; the pain brought him back to the now.

The four of them ran down the trembling halls, through the clock-room, through the library, all the way down to the draw-bridge and out of the castle.

"O my God!" Natalia cried. "Look at the tower! It’s collapsing!"

"We have to get out of here." Maria shook her head, grinning wildly.

"No, I want to see it fall." She glanced at her husband, who was still looking rather dazed and leaned against a piece of debris. At least he was safe—at least she hoped he was. Slightly worried she left the castle the castle and went to stand in front of him.

"Are you in order, Adrian?" He blinked owlishly, slanting his head to squint at her.

"I…think so."

Pound, pound, pound went the blood. God, she was lovely. Her face was so familiar…

Not Lisa. No. Neither is she Elizabeth. Sylvia? No. Sonia? Yet she fought his father… The woman began to giggle.

"God, Adrian, I never knew you could look so stupid." And then suddenly everything streamed back into his head, even as it caused his blood to flow elsewhere. Nobody ever spoke to him that way, nobody but Maria.

"Maria?" he repeated dumbly, "Maria?" She laughed.

"Yeah, you could say that again."

His whole being began to smile; mouth, eyes, arms, chest, everything. He reached out and wrapped her in his arms, buried his face in her neck.

"O God, Maria. I thought...I thought..."

"I’m safe. The Count..." but then her words were cut short by lips on her mouth, a tongue in her mouth and two large hands pushing up her skirt. Somehow she guessed he was not interested in her story right now. No, if she interpreted the pressure against her stomach correctly he had other things on his mind. She wished she could go along with it, but...

"Adrian." She had to put her hands under his chin to free her mouth, and even then all the space she had was about one inch. "There are other people watching."

"Huh?" If she hadn’t known that extreme sexual arousal tended to slow his wits a bit she would have thought he had brain damage. She fought for a little more room, looked around and saw to her embarrassment that both the priest and Natalia were looking at them, the priest with bulging eyes—the poor man probably hadn’t seen a lady’s bare bottom in fifty years—the woman with a great grin. Thankfully, she gave Maria an encouraging nod, took the priest by one arm and pulled him with her down the road. Her words drifted over to where they were standing: "...better to leave them alone for a while. I’m sure they have a lot of things to talk about..."

Adrian chuckled.

"I think I may come to like her if I don’t watch out."

"She isn’t so bad, no." She leaned against him, sighing happily. "How’s your hand?"

"What hand?" This dress, he noticed with pleasure, was much easier to remove than her ordinary dress with its corset. Very thoughtful of her to leave the underwear at home. Now, how could he open his pants without letting go of her...

"O, never mind." Maria said, and undid the buttons for him.

CHILDREN 15

A long, pale hand sneaked over bare flesh, rested a moment on silk, moved further, two fingers walking like small legs, then stroked a waterfall of golden curls.

"No." Maria said. The hand stopped.

"No?" There was as much sleepiness as disappointment in the man’s voice. She laughed.

"No. If we do it another time I cannot ride a horse anymore. Besides, Natalia and Miceadu must be waiting."

"I don’t care."

"Also, the whole town will probably be here when they’re sure the castle is gone, and I do not think you want to perform in public?"

"Huh."

"And my back’s getting stiff." She waited for another grunt, but apparently Adrian had fallen asleep, for both the hand and the comments had stopped. Well, she had to redress anyway. Thank God the Warakiyans hadn’t come up to gawk at the ruins; they would have ended up gawking at quite different things.

Stretching, she stood up, pulling her dress up. She tsk-ed; they never even had undressed completely, the thing still hung around her waist.

Is you marriage boring? Are you and your husband shunning each other? Try Count Dracula’s vamping cure and your sex-life will ameliorate in three days! She giggled, relief making her light-headed. The Count was dead, Lysander was safe and Adrian was back, not even much the worse for wear. With a fond smile she kneeled down next to him, doing up buttons and trying to make him a little more respectable.

Only a very little, she sighed.

"Adrian, wake up. We have to go. Wake up!"

"You are a cruel woman. Can’t you see I’m exhausted?"

"You can be exhausted in your bed in Wallachia. Come on, I’ll help you."

He wondered for a second if she would struggle if he’d pull her down, then decided he’d better not. The fun was over, she was ready to become serious again. Too bad. He sighed, and let himself be pulled to his feet.

They were only halfway down the hill when they met a lone rider. She waved enthusiasti-cally.

"Good day to you!" Natalia called. "Did you have a good time? I was just coming up to pick you up, but I didn’t know whether you were…um…ready to see me. Are you alright now, Mr. Tepes? You seemed a little distracted in the beginning." He could feel his cheeks burn, but refused to look away.

"I am fine now, thank you." the woman laughed.

"That’s great." The mocking grin softened to a warm smile. "You both look tired. The father was ready to collapse, poor man, and I must say I’m ready for bed too. There’s a carriage waiting at the foot of the hill; if you’re ready…" Maria nodded. She ignored Adrian’s sudden silence, knowing he was always shy when people caught him off guard, and put her hand on the horse’s neck while they walked.

"What about the baby?" Natalia shrugged.

"Miraculously she’s still alive, but she has many injuries." She heaved a deep sigh. "She probably won’t see the next dawn." Maria patted her thigh.

"I’m sorry." Again a shrug.

"Not your fault. I did the best I could, and if she dies anyway it’s not my fault either." Yet her shoulders slumped, and she was quiet all the way down to the carriage.

They found father Miceadu fast asleep, sunken in the soft pillows of the interior. A large number of people stood around the coach, waiting for them. The little baby-girl was gone, probably taken away to be treated. Somehow it reminded her of a death watch.

Behind her, Adrian hunched his shoulders. She put a calming hand on his arm.

"Is he dead?"

"Yes."

"You said so ten years ago."

"She said he was dead." Adrian growled. "Do you dare call her a liar?" At least twenty pairs of eyes fastened on his face. Those who knew him by sight stared critically, coldly. The others only stared. Accusing. You are one of HIS. You’re no better. You’re a filthy blood sucker, just like HIM. Adrian sneered at them, not making things better. Murder smoldered in the depth of his eyes.

"He is dead." Maria repeated firmly, and pushed him into the confinement of the carriage. "If you don’t believe me, have a look yourself." She entered, and Natalia followed. The driver clicked his tongue at the horses, and they left. When she looked back, she saw the people still standing there, waiting, watching.

"Carrion birds." Adrian hissed. "Damned hypocrites. I should have killed them all."

"Be glad you did not." He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the back of the bench. Natalia had the oddest impression he could burst into tears any moment.

"I am. O, I am." But how would I have enjoyed to see them burn, all of them…let them feel the agony of the fire and the sun, the feeling of betrayal…the pain of death!

Then he looked down on Maria’s face as she lay dozing at his side, and all the hate flowed out of his head. It was time to forget everything and start anew—again. This time he wouldn’t let anybody interfere!

*

The first day in the Inn both Maria and Adrian did little else than sleep; they were too tired to do anything else. The second day Adrian sat for hours on the couch, long legs propped up on the arm, with Lysander on his lap. He said nothing, just sat there watching his son sleep. He thought of another father watching his son and looked at his left hand. There was nothing wrong with it apart from that scar, and that did not hurt him anymore.

What if Lysander would betray me once, would I still love him? Hard to say, with him no bigger than a puppy. He smiled, caressed the little boy’s cheek. The answer made him feel better, however hard it was to say now. Of course I would.

He put the child back into bed, took a deep breath and went to see Richter.

Maria had told him about the vampire hunter’s condition. She had also told him he’d been running a fever since she had left, and that everybody had given up hope—except Richter himself.

"He’s too stubborn to give up." She had said ruefully. Adrian agreed with that. And if the Belmont would have no strength left, he was prepared to give him a hand.

It had taken a few hours of preparation, mostly gathering courage before he was ready, but now he was standing in front of the church-hospital, bracing himself. He did not know whether it would work. It might very well not. Yet…he could always try. Decision taken, he opened the door and walked in. The faith of the place throbbed in his temples, but not so badly as he had expected. Maybe the figure in the light had given him some sort of charm. Maybe I finally believe in something. Myself. This has to succeed.

"Richter Belmont." He asked, and was taken to a small room in the back, the dying having the privilege to suffer alone. Or maybe it was his fame that gave him the right of privacy. A young woman sat beside the man’s bed; Annette was sleeping now, but somebody was to sit with him every hour of the day lest he die unnoticed. How morbid. How…fatalistic, the Dhampire thought. He ordered the woman to leave, saying he would call her if anything went wrong. She did not argue, probably glad she could leave the eerie calm of death, and he stood in the quiet room for a while, simply watching.

Richter lay motionless, even his breathing so shallow his chest hardly rose with the movement. A blanket was all that covered his body, he recognised it, it was something Annette had made during the winter he’d been asleep. The bright reds, greens and yellows were the only colours in the whole depressing room, and Adrian scowled.

"This is not like you," he said, taking in the still figure—so silent, no ready smile, no frown, eyes closed in a face so pale... "It is my way to lie like this, sleeping, spirit far away. You are too much alive to look so dead now, my friend." He closed the door behind him, thought for a while and locked it. In four paces he was near Richter’s bed.

The fever was gone now; unfortunately most of his strength too. The doctor said he would not recover, not after being in a coma for so long.

"And that, my friend, is the biggest nonsense of all. I do not plan on letting you die." He began to unfasten his left sleeve. "I told you once about the healing power of vampire saliva, well, the power of the blood is even stronger. Not for me, not anymore, but for you...

You probably wouldn’t agree with what I want to do; perhaps purely out of moral or religious standards, but since you are in no position to refuse or consent, I choose to make the decision for you." Carefully he removed the pin that held the bandage close, unwrapped the lolling head. No response at all, even Richter’s thick brown hair was limp and lifeless. He looked so impossibly...harmless!

The wound was clean but deep, the white of his skull showed through open flesh.

"You won’t even notice the change, I think." Adrian murmured. He brought his left hand to his mouth, hesitated a second, closed his eyes and bit firmly into the ball of his thumb. His fangs pierced the skin like sharp knives; blood immediately welled up, ran down his index finger and fell on Richter’s injury. There was no instantaneous healing like Adrian’s own body when the Count Changed him, but there was recovery. Under the Dhampire’s gaze the flesh began to stretch, grow back, heal. Richter felt it too. Maybe not consciously so, but his body noticed the pain and protested by twitching and turning.

"Easy now," Adrian whispered, "easy. The pain will pass."

Or maybe it won’t. There is more damage on the inside. He sighed. But he’d started already, now he had to finish it. With one finger he pulled down his friend’s lower lip, then, discovering the gash in his palm had already disappeared, he made another one and held it above the vampire hunter’s mouth. Red drops fell on dry lips and were licked away in a reflex. Adrian felt his own mouth broaden in a long-absent grin. "That’s it, Belmont. Drink. Not too much, easy...but drink it! It will bring you living life instead of death." He squeezed his wrist too let the blood flow faster, not caring about stains on the pillow.

Richter whimpered. His hands came up to his head to protect it, but Adrian stopped him. He laid one hand flat on the other man’s chest, pushing him down. With the other he caught his arms.

"Just let it happen, Richter. I know it hurts, but you can take it."

"No!" It was no more than a moan, but it was an answer. Adrian smiled happily.

"Of course you can."

"No..."

"Now don’t be stubborn. You’re talking to me already." Abruptly Richter’s dark blue eyes opened. They closed right after that with another whimper, but this time there had been recognition in their depths.

"Adrian?" he whispered. "W-what are you doing here? Where are we? What happened?"

The Dhampire licked the last of the blood off his fingers, sat back and crossed his legs.

"That,’ he said, putting his hands on his knee, "is a long story. But you are weak and I don’t feel like talking, so I suggest you go back to sleep and get better." He made a move to stand up, but Richter grasped his arm. The subtle movement made his face twist in pain, but his fingers were demanding.

"Is everything…all right now? I mean..." Adrian nodded.

"Yes. Dracula is dead, the children are fine and both our wives are more dangerous than I’d ever imagined." He grinned again, then rolled to his feet for real. "Sleep, Belmont. Grow well again. I will tell Annette you’ve regained consciousness."

As Richter closed his eyes, intending to rest, he thought he heard a faint chuckle.

"The biggest miracle of all." But before he could inquire what the Dhampire meant with that, he had fallen asleep, the sound of the man’s footsteps familiar and reassuring on the wooden floorboards.

He dreamed about home.

THE END