The Blood is the Life Affair

by MLaw

A classic tale of terror for Halloween...think of it as a Bloody Mary with a twist of U.N.C.L.E. mild het, some language A pre-saga story For Laurose, who gave me the prompt way back in May Thank you!

*"Listen to them, the children of the night, what music they make?" ~Bram Stoker

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"The Blood is The Life Affair"

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Part 1: It was a dark and stormy night

The weather and landscape were something right out of a cheap B horror movie. With the jagged Carpathian Mountains as the backdrop, there were ominous clouds rolling across a full moon, as well as chilling winds gusting through bare boned trees. Wolves howling their eery songs in the distance... as one would call, then another would answer with a long chilling wail. The only thing missing from the scenario was a flash of lightning, accompanied by a loud clap of thunder.

Then as if on cue that addition to the picture appeared a few moments later as jagged bolts of lightning tore across the sky like skeletal hands, accompanied by the immediate boom of thunder. The storm was moving in on them quickly.

Napoleon Solo looked over at his partner sitting beside him in the black coach and four carriage as it swayed and rocked violently with every hole that the wooden wheels hit along the primitive road. The driver deftly flicked his whip, wildly driving the horses on as he tried to stay ahead of the quickly approaching weather system looming down upon them. Yet there seemed to be another sense of urgency that urged him to drive so recklessly in the disappearing moonlight.

As usual the Russian had his eyes closed, his resting head bobbling back and forth from the motion of the carriage.

"How is it you can manage to endure a ride like this without becoming seasick I'll never understand," Solo groaned as he caught himself while the coach lurched.

"That is because I get seasick on water; we are on dry land, so therefore on land I would suffer from motion sickness...which I have been experiencing for some time now by the way, due this ghastly carriage ride. Why you accepted this for our mode of transportation instead of renting car is beyond me." Illya groused softly, not opening his eyes. "If you had cared to warn me ahead of time like a good partner; I would have at least lain in a supply of ginger tablets...but nooooo you surprise me with this one. Did you think it would be more quaint being jostled about like sacks of potatoes?"

"Hey don't blame me? Our host sent it for us and I didn't think it wise to insult the man, he is after all nobility."

Illya finally opened one eye, staring coldly from beneath the brim of his hat for a moment before he closed it again.

"Nobility means nothing, it is just the trappings an antiquated and decayed existence and Count is but a meaningless bourgeois title."

"Are you done?"Napoleon asked.

"For the moment."

"Sorry, I didn't know you weren't feeling well. You're your usual pale self, and not the color of pea soup, so how was I supposed to know that you were sea...experiencing motion sickness?"

Napoleon was a bit surprised at his partner's snappish remark regarding the Count's title but given the Russian's Communist upbringing was not exactly pro-nobility, it made sense. Illya usually kept such remarks to himself and he wondered why the title of Count seemed to rub him the wrong way. And besides, the Russian was usually cranky when he wasn't feeling well.

The only response he received to his apology was a grunt as Illya folded his arms across his stomach, now confirming that it was bothering him.

The carriage finally slowed as it approached the aged home of the Tedescu family. More than a mansion, but not quite a castle; it was a hulking remnant of a bygone era, with its ancient red-brick walls, towers of varying sizes, arches and ramparts. It looked as though portions of it had been built piecemeal over the centuries. The bits that had been added mismatched with the rest of the architecture and the color of the facade making it look like faded blood and giving the illusion that the structure seem to ramble on forever, bleeding like a festering wound on an already troubled landscape.

The coach pulled to a stop with the horses being reined in tightly by the driver. The animals were feisty and nervous, acting as though they would bolt at any second if given the opportunity.

Illya finally stirred to life, flipping up the collar of black trench coat as he grabbed his small valise from the seat opposite them.

"Remember Napoleon the names are reversed here, last name first, first name last. So our host Tedescu Vladislav, would be addressed as Count Tedescu."

"I've got it, now are going to do the translating aren't you? My Hungarian is pretty much non-existent."

Illya glared at him, still feeling a little sick but then acknowledged the question with a quick nod of his head.

They made it to the grand entrance way just as the skies opened up in a torrential downpour. Napoleon reached for the heavy brass knocker but the door opened slowly with a loud and prolonged creak as if their exact moment of arrival had been anticipated. The face of an old man peaked around at them, a butler looking as though he were barely alive much less be able to pull the weight of the heavy oak door.

He was thin as a rail, with wisps of white hair hanging down from his head, and he shook as his bony hands took their coats and hats from them.

They left their cases on the floor beside the man while Napoleon rolled his eyes, giving his partner that oh boy look in dismay. Illya's face as usual remained expressionless.

The interior decor of the Tedescu residence was just as haphazard as the exterior. Dimly lit chandeliers made of elk horns cast eerie, jagged shadows on the tapestry covered walls. The carpet covering the floors must have been rich at one time, but now was faded and worn threadbare.

There were cobwebs and layers of dust on the odd mismatched period furniture that lined the walls. Scattered along the hall were myriads of carved statues of varying sizes, some of animals, others of trees and portrait but all looking quite old as the wood was split dry and ridden with worm holes.

The subject matter of the wall hangings was rather disturbing, scenes of battle, death, destruction and executions by impalement.

"Oh this is a real cheery place?" Napoleon whispered " wonder if this decor could be called early Dracula?"

"Napoleon may I remind you that we are within the borders of Transylvania."

"But Tedescu..."

"The Teduscu are Hungarian, but Transylvania though once Hungarian is now part of Romania. The Magyars are the largest minority population within the country."

"Magyars?"

"Hungarians."Illya whispered.

Solo just shook his head as the amount of trivial knowledge squeezed in that blond head never ceased to amaze him.

"Így urak_this way gentlemen." Another servant appeared to escort them, looking as old and decrepit as the one who had met them at the door."The master awaits you in the library."

They were brought into a rather large room with half-empty book shelves with the walls covered with portraits of varying sizes, displaying the Tedescu family through the centuries. There was a distinct commonality among them, both men and women all had hawk-like features, black hair with dark piercing eyes. And in each painting the subjects held an ornate but vicious looking gem-encrusted dagger in their hands.

A middle-aged man dressed in a blood-red smoking jacket stood in front of a massive fireplace, sipping a crimson liquid from his glass. His features were identical to those of the people in the portraits.

"Ah, uraim üdvözöljük az otthonom, én gráf Count Tedescu Vladislav_welcome to my home, I am Count Vladislav Tedescu."

Én Kuryakin Illya és ez a tarsam Solo Napoleon." Illya answered.

"A magyar nagyon jó Kuryakin Illya_ your Hungarian is good Illya Kuryakin, that is a Russian name is it not?"

"Lgen en vagyok,uram_yes I am Russian," Illya answered, choosing not to repeat the man's title.

"But where are my manners," the Count said in heavily accented English, "it is obvious that Mr. Solo does not speak my language, so we will converse in English. I am rather surprised that a Soviet is working for U.N.C.L.E."

Illya simply shrugged his shoulders. "Life holds may surprises does it not? Ours is and independent international organization owing no political allegiance to anyone. We have members from many foreign nations who have signed charters with us."

"Count Tedescu, what may I ask is the reason that you've requested U.N.C.L.E. to come here?" Napoleon interrupted.

"My family owes a great service to Alexander Waverly from the time of the great war. The Nazis used our home as a regional headquarters and Alexander helped my father and mother escape into the countryside."

"To this day I am still recovering the belongings of my family, the portraits you see around you are but a few of the items that have been returned to us thanks to Alexander Waverly's intervention."

"In our search over the years we have discovered shall we say certain German documents. They had at one point set up a laboratory in this house and we have in our possession a formula for some sort of debilitating neurotoxin that does not kill the subject but has rather unusual side effects.

"Neurotoxins are no longer of any significance, many are in existence already and are easily treated with a counter-agent." Illya said coldly, "so it would be of no interest other than the fact that it was developed by Nazi scientists."

"Ah Mr. Kuryakin, it is not just a neurotoxin. It causes certain physiological changes in the subject, making them extremely hyper-sensitive to light, their appetite changes and seem to crave raw and bloody meats."

Napoleon smiled, "Sounds like you're describing a vampire?"

"Precisely Mr. Solo.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise."So you're telling me that the Nazis were creating vampires?"

"Not vampires as we are familiar with from the stories of the Nosferatú, or the legend of Vlad Dracul... ah, but Mr. Solo forgive me you might know him as Dracula I believe. Vlad's father's name was Dracul, so Dracula means son of Dracul ...but I digress."

"The victims of these experiments once injected with the drug developed vampire-like qualities. In their journals, the Nazis noted that their test subjects demonstrated more violent tendencies, extreme strength and a voracious sexual appetite, along with a compulsion for ingesting blood."

"Yes that does sound a little more complicated than your everyday run of the mill neurotoxin." Illya said. "It sounds as if they were trying to create an army of monsters. Hitler was drawn to occultism, but this sort of experimentation goes far beyond that. May I see these documents Count Tedescu?" Illya asked.

"Ah but of course, my brother Moríc has them in his possession as he is the one who found them. He has always fancied himself a bit of a scientist and has been studying them. He will be down shortly."

"Good then we can get going with them. I'd like to be on the road as soon as possible,"Napoleon said.

"No no that is not wise. Please, I insist you stay the night as my guests. This storm is already becoming very dangerous and such weather makes journeying too risky. It will be safer to travel during the day once the storm has passed."

"Do you own an automobile?" Illya asked.

"I do, but unfortunately it is not running at the moment. I am afraid good mechanics are difficult to find here, especially ones who would be willing to travel to this part of the country."

"Perhaps I could have a look at it for you?"Illya offered.

"And why would people be unwilling to travel here?" Napoleon interupted as he studied several of the portraits on the wall, getting the feeling that the eyes were following him.

"Mr. Solo we are in Transylvania...our people are a very superstitious lot and it does not help that the ruins of castle Dracula are not far from here. The story of Vlad the Implaler is as pervasive as the air we breathe. People fear the stories of the vampire to this day and therefore fear travelling here. But as I said," the Count smiled," there are no such things as vampires."

"Well, given what the Nazis were working on here, it was the perfect environment to keep prying eyes from any of their work, using your legends as a cover," Napoleon said, but then he added a quote from Stoker's Dracula...Ah it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all; and if it explains not, then it says there is nothing to explain. So a little reverse psychology apparently paid off on their part."

"Fortunately the war ended before the were able to proceed further with their experimentation." Illya added.

"Quite so Mr. Kuryakin and yes, feel free to look at my car if you feel so inclined, köszönöm_ thank you," the Count said as he stepped from the room for a moment.

"Looks like we are stuck here" Illya said quietly to his partner. "so much for a simple courier mission."

"It would appear so," Napoleon answered out of the side of his mouth." You do realize what date it is, right?"

"It it the last day of October, is there some significance to this?"

"Halloween Illya."

"Napoleon, they do not celebrate that ridiculous nonsense here, you will find no children traipsing across the Carpathian Mountains dressed as Mickey Mouse and Superman."

"I'm not talking about that, I'm referring to the original day that Halloween was based upon." Solo quipped, thinking he finally had one on his sometimes know-it-all partner.

"Oh you are referring to All Hallows Eve', yes in Celtic culture it was the time when the veil between the world of the living and the dead was at it's thinnest, permitting the spirits of the dead to walk the earth again. With a few of them deciding to stay. It was followed by the Christian holy day of All Saints Day on November 1st and was an attempt by the Catholic church at the time to incorporate pagan holidays with the church holy days in order to make conversion to the Christian faith more palatable to the indigenous people.

"Oh, so you know about that already." Napoleon was disheartened, his moment of triumph having been pulled out from under him like the proverbial rug.

"Yes, once you tried getting me to give treats to children in our building, and have me dress up for a Halloween party as the Empress Josephine accompanying you attired as Emperor Bonaparte, I decided to do some research on that rather incongruous holiday. " Illya answered with his usual seriousness. "I have concluded that Halloween as it exists now is nothing more than a conspiracy on the part of candy and costume makers to fill their coffers."

"Hey we would have won the grand prize that night. You know, sometimes you're just no fun."

"I am sorry Napoleon, I prefer not sacrificing my dignity on the off chance of winning a basket of cheer."

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Part 2: To sleep perchance to dream

"Please gentlemen, you will join me for dinner?" The Count said as he returned, picking up a small brass bell from the table giving it a little shake; summoning one of the servants who appeared behind them without a sound.

"Te osztály, uram_you rang my lord?"

Napoleon found the man's silent appearance unnerving; anytime he didn't hear someone come up behind him made him feel uneasy and it would take a few minutes for him to settle from it. This incident served as reminder to Solo to remain more aware of his surroundings, even though the place was already giving him the creeps.

"Kolos, holnap készen állsz két lemez vacsorára a vendégek, és látom, hogy a szobók készítet számukra_Kolos, you will ready two more plates for dinner, and prepare rooms for our guests."

The old man nodded to the Count then left, closing the doors behind him.

The two agents walked behind the Count following him towards the dining room, again eyeing the bizarre statuary that lined the hallway.

"Count Tedescu, I must say that you have a rather eclectic collection of artwork." Napoleon commented.

"Ah yes, the carvings I am sure have caught your eye. They were done by local artisans, part of our family tradition was to pay the woodcarvers for the works deemed to be the most unique. The carvers considered it a great honor to have their pieces owned by the Tedescu family, but alas that tradition is no more."

"Too many of them, mostly Rom gypsies were killed during the war, and the craftsmanship ceased to be passed down from father to son. Those that survived, fear our home now, as it was considered a house of pain because the many people that died here at the hands of the Nazis. It is said,"the Count laughed ominously, " that the gypsies placed a curse on our family." Suddenly there was a loud crash of thunder and the lights flickered for a moment.

Illya looked at Napoleon with an uncomfortable gaze; it was rare that the Russian would let his emotions show in any way, but it seemed when the the subject of the Nazis was broached, his control sometimes faltered.

He knew little of Illya's background as he was very closed-mouthed about his past, but given that he was from Kiev, Napoleon knew there had been terrible atrocities committed in the city under the German occupation, so there were surely things Illya had to have seen as a child. He tried asking questions, but his partner would avoid the subject like the plague, so Napoleon just let it lay. Illya had his back and he could trust him and that was all he really needed to know about the man.

Illya dismissed the comment about the curse, addressing the more scientific aspects of the discussion. "Are there any survivors of these experiments?" he asked.

"Only rumors, people fear the unknown and it is said that these Nazi-made vampires roam the forests at night preying on unsuspecting travelers. It is also the explanation given when animals are found dead...cattle, sheep, dogs; although there have been recent instances of exsanguination." Tedescu smiled, "There are however, no such things as vampires."

He lead the agents down a long tapestry-covered hall way, to a large dining , several other people seated at an over sized table, awaited their arrival.

"Gentlemen may I introduce my family to you?" The Count approached a dark-haired woman with green eyes; she was clothed in a dark burgundy dress accessorized with rather large red cabochon cut opaque stones called pigeon blood rubies, set in silver as a pendant and earrings.

"Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin this is my wife Magdala."

Illya gave a slight nod, while Napoleon being ever flirtatious kissed her hand.

"Charmed Madam," he smiled at her.

The next to be greeted was a man who looked like a younger version of the Count.

"My brother, Moríc."

He was dressed in a black suit and white shirt but sported a bright red ascot around his throat.

"And lastly my young sister Terézia."

She brought an even bigger smile to Napoleon's face as he turned on his charm to high. She was a stunning beauty with waist-length hair, large brown eyes, full pouting lips and and hour-glass figure dressed in a form fitting cherry-red dress that left little to the imagination.

The two U.N.C.L.E. agents were seated to the left of the Count who was seated at the head of the table, while Magadala sat at the other end.

"Tonight we dine on fish soup, goulash along töltött káposzta and one of our national desserts. I hope you will enjoy our ethnic foods?" Tedescu said.

Napoleon cringed at the thought that it was some sort of red meat, as the preponderance of the color red was beginning to make him a bit uncomfortable, especially after the discussion regarding the vampire-like test subject's cravings.

But he couldn't resist asking as the entire family was wearing some article of clothing in that gory color and in every family portrait the ruby encrusted dagger appeared, continuing in a way the theme of red.

Illya caught it out of the corner of his eye that the sister Terézia could not stop staring at Napoleon, though that was not surprising as it was rare that a woman wasn't attracted to his handsome partner.

"Count Tedescu, I can't help but notice that the color red seems to be of some importance to your family...may I ask why?"Napoleon asked.

"Ah the color is a reminder of our family motto," he said pointing upward towards the family crest mounted above yet another large fireplace mantle.

"A vér az élat."Illya read, "The blood is the life... an interesting maxim. It is also a quote from the Bram Stoker's novel, Dracula. One wonders if the Tedescu family may have played a part of the inspiration for his story besides that of Vlad the Impaler."

"Really," Magdala said with mild surprise, " but then again I have never read that dreadful novel. It has truly besmirched the good name of Transylvania."

"The good name?" Illya tried not to laugh as he countered the remark, "I hardly think that it was the doing of a mere novel, but it was more so the ghastly acts of one of your Princes, Vlad Tepes, the stories about whom Stoker based his novel. So which is worse the reality or the fiction?"

"I understand that your family is descended from the countess Elesébet Báthory of Hungary, is it not?" Illya then asked, not being able to resist getting in another little jab at these supposed aristocrats.

"That is a little known fact Mr. Kuryakin, and one that we prefer to keep out of the light, given our families' difficulties,"Magdala said.

"And that is Illya?" Napoleon asked, now curious as to what his partner had not taken the trouble to mention to him.

Magdala chose to answer for Illya."Elisabeth Báthory also called The Blood Countess, was a 17th century noblewoman who was my husband's ancestor. She lived in Castle Trescén in Hungary, and was accused of torturing and killing hundreds of young girls...all virgins, nearly six hundred fifty of them. Legend has it that she bathed in the blood of the blood of her victims in order to retain her you and her misdeeds were subsequently compared to that of Prince Vlad Tepes."

Napoleon raised his eyebrows at that, not expecting another another blood-curdling and gruesome story, and no less vampire related. He wondered if the Countess was the source of the blood is the life family motto. He suddenly shook with a chill.

The Count intervened in the discussion changing back to the topic of the family motto. Both agents sensed a touch of anxiety in his voice.

"Yes the line of our family, the blood shall we say is the path to eternity. The maintenance of the blood-line is of the utmost importance to the Teduscu family...our life's blood is our legacy. So the blood is indeed life."

"Do any of you have children?" Illya asked.

Both agents made note as they observed the wife and brother look sharply at the Count.

"No, unfortunately none of us has been blessed with progeny," he answered, giving no acknowledgement to the looks from his family.

The dinner was served by the shaking hands of Kolos; first a spicy fish soup called halászle, and was one of the few foods that Napoleon had ever seen his partner refuse to eat with a wave of his hand.

Kolos returned immediately with a bowl of vadgombaleves in its place, a wild mushroom soup. This was an acceptable substitute to the Russian as he began to eat with his usual enthusiasm. Illya had once passed a comment regarding his habit of eating quickly. "Back in the Soviet Union if you did not eat fast, then you did not get to eat." That was one of the few personal comments that Illya had ever made about his mysterious past.

Kolos continued to serve, the main courses being a steaming venison goulash heavily spiced with paprika and then stuffed cabbage.

They were offered a full-bodied red wine called Egri Bikavéri, uncomfortably translated as bull's blood, and somehow Napoleon felt it was in keeping with the bizarre theme of the color red and of course blood. Both he and Illya passed on the beverage. Dessert was gesztenyepüré, a pudding composed of grated chestnuts with sugar and whipped cream, spiced with a bit of rum along with it, a white wine called Tokaji.

Illya noticed that the sister Terézia was not touching her food, and only drinking her red wine; the stemmed glass of the bulls blood held with a graceful hand. Something odd though, on her extended pinky finger was a solid gold fingernail. But then it seemed to him that her libation was a different color red from what the others were drinking. Illya shrugged it off assuming that it was simply a different vintage.

After dinner they were each given a glass of Unicum, a Hungarian herbal liqueur served as an apéritif, it being made from forty different herbs aged in oak casks.

The Count noted Napoleon's surprise at the strong flavor of the drink and remarked, "It was served to Kaiser Josef II of Austria who said upon tasting it...Das is ein Unikum!"

"That is unique," Napoleon translated. "Gan sicher, is dieser köstlich_most definitely, this is delicious." he agreed in German.

The Count nodded to his guests. "And with that gentlemen I bid you a good night. Kolos will see you to your rooms when you are ready to retire." He stood, escorting his wife and sister from the room, leaving his brother with the two agents.

"Moríc could I impose upon you to show me the documents?" Illya asked.

"Of course, perhaps I could give you a tour of my little laboratory gentlemen?"

"I'll take a pass on that," Napoleon said, "but Illya is the scientist in the family so I'm sure he'd enjoy it. I'm feeling a bit sleepy after such a delicious meal and think I'll turn in early if you don't mind?"

"But of course Mr. Solo. Kolos, show our guest to his room?"

Illya disappeared with Moríc, Solo headed behind the manservant as he shuffled along in front of him. Kolos moved so slowly that it was like following the walking dead. Another lovely image that Napoleon felt the need to now shake off.

His bedroom was a bit on the ostentatious side with tapestries showing scenes that one would consider quite bawdy and of course the color red was everywhere.

He spotted his travel case on the bed, and opened it, pulling out a pair of grey silk pajamas, and stripped down, slipping on the bottoms then using a pitcher and wash basin, he rinsed his hands and face, then lastly he put on the silk top.

Solo walked to the window, peering out from behind the heavy burgundy velvet drapes, seeing that it was still pouring outside and joped if the storm would be gone by morning. The sooner they left this place, the happier he'd be.

He climbed beneath the thick quilt, it's red fabric matching the canopy and curtains that hung around the bed, then slipped his Walther beneath the pillow before laying his head down with a sigh.

The light was left on, as he feeling just a tad uncomfortable being alone; normally he and his partner were sharing the same bed for economic reasons and though always complaining to each other, wishing for separate accommodations, at this moment he wished Illya was there with him.

Napoleon fell asleep quickly, being more tired than he had thought and he began to dream almost immediately.

He was standing nude there in the bedroom in front of the erotic tapestries, then watched as the women in the heavily woven arrases stepped out from them, coming to life. They were all over him...touching, kissing and caressing. Then he was in bed with the three women, making love to them. He felt ecstasy as well pain and confusion.

When he woke in the morning, he was fully clothed in his pajamas. Napoleon rubbed his eyes not feeling quite refreshed from his sleep as he stared at the tapestries again thinking about the intensity of his dream.

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"Part 3: Blood, sweat and tears

"Damn, that was some dream?" Napoleon muttered, still feeling tired as he rose from the bed.

He washed and shaved, then noticed a bruise on his left wrist and upon closer examination, he found a cut that looked like small slice. He couldn't quite recall when he received the minor injury...perhaps from the carriage ride as they had been jostled quite a bit.

He dressed into a more casual change of clothing, a polo shirt with a cardigan and a pair of slacks. Both he and Illya didn't pack much as they thought they would be returning to New York almost immediately. He peered out his doorway finding Kolos was seated in the hallway as if waiting for him.

"Your companion's room is there," he said, pointing across the hall with a boney finger.

Napoleon yawned, "Excuse me...umm thank you." He rapped their standard code against Illya's door then hearing his partners voice call to him, he slipped inside.

"Good morning tovarisch." He tried mustering a smile.

Illya was seated at a desk reading through a pile of notes that Moríc had given him.

"That is debatable, as it is still storming heavily." Illya grumbled. He finally looked up at his partner. "Napoleon, you look terrible are you ill?"

"No, just feeling really tired...I had the most bizarre dream last night." He looked around at Illya's accommodations, finding them much more sedate and definitely lacking in the fiery color that seemed to be almost everywhere else. The sceneries of the wall hangings were much more placid and pastoral and the room was rather cozy as Illya had a fire burning in the fireplace.

"You have to go take a look at my room, the tapestries are a bordering on the pornographic side if you ask me." Napoleon said.

"Well they gave you the right room then did they not?"

"Very funny."

Illya stood, walking over to him. "May I?"he asked, reaching his hand to his partner's face.

Solo nodded his approval, then Illya touched his forehead and then his cheek.

"Napoleon, you are ice cold and very pale. I think you are coming down with something. Maybe from the carriage ride, a cold perhaps?"

"Just feeling very tired...speaking of the carriage ride, do you have any bumps or bruises after our little trip?"

No, why?"

"Well I woke up with this rather painful bruise and I don't recall when it could have happened, I'm guessing during the carriage ride since it was so rough." He held out his wrist, showing the mark to the Russian.

Illya put on his eyeglasses, taking a closer look at the bruise. "Mmmm?"

"What?"

"Nothing..."

"Alright then be that way," Napoleon said.

"I am hungry,"Illya said, "perhaps we should go see if we can get some breakfast. A good meal might help your energy level?"

At that moment there was a knock at the door, "Adja meg kérem_ enter please,"Illya called.

Kolos appeared with a large serving tray of food for them; fresh toasted bread with cheese spread, véres hules a black pudding-like sauage, an assortment of kolbész, deviled eggs, caviar, foie gras, crepes, fruit compote and yogurts and well as champagne and pastries.

"Now that's what I call perfect timing?" Napoleon said.

Illya eyed the amount of food with anticipation as Kolos placed the tray on the table.

"I will return shortly with tea," the old man said then left without another word.

"Wow, this is a serious amount of calories," Napoleon said.

Illya was aleady filling his plate, ready to dig in.

"Food's never wasted on you is it tovarisch?"

"I have learned to take advantage of a meal at any opportunity as eating through a good portion of my life was often a matter of luck, then a given thing."

"Really?"

"You have never known true starvation Napoleon, and I hope you never do. Now let us leave it at that and enjoy the feast that has been given to us?"

Napoleon wasn't quite sure what his partner was alluding to, and thought it best not to question him as usual. At the moment, he didn't have the energy for any sort of lively discussion.

Illya's appetite was hearty as always, eyeing the keta's caviar as a rare treat, but Napoleon wasn't really hungry and just picked at a few things.

He found the tea brought by Kolos a welcome sight as he was starting to feel very chilly.

"Napoleon are you sure you are alright?" Illya asked after swallowing his last morsel of food.

"Just really tired. I think I'm going to wander around for a bit, then take a nap."

"Now I know you are ill, you never take naps. I would have thought you'd be eager seek out the company of the lovely Terézia."

"There's the rub, I think I was dreaming about her last night, it was the weirdest dream. The women in the tapestries came to life and we ugh..."

"No need to finish, I get the picture. I think I want to see this room decor yours now as you have me curious. Obviously if the tapestries were erotic, that planted the seed in your subconscious mind and ergo your dreams were...well you know what happened. I do have to repeat, you do not look well."

"Knock it off, I'll be fine. So what mischief are you planning to get into...going to hang out in Moríc's lab. He's a bit of an odd one don't you think?"

"No more so than the rest of the family. At the moment I plan to continue to read over these notes, then I would like to have a look at the Count's car to see what I can do, as I really do not relish another carriage ride when we finally get out of here."

Illya turned away, putting on his reading glasses again and buryied his nose in the documents, thus ending his discussion with his partner.

Napoleon wandered out into the hall, heading downstairs to the library where he overheard voices. He hesitated, waiting outside, attempting to listen in on the conversation.

It was Magdala and Moríc and they did not sound very happy, but unfortunately they were speaking in Hungarian. Napoleon knew very few words, though the ones he did understand gave him cause for concern.

"Lányok_girls, megszökött_escaped. What girls could they be referring to? They said there were no children...could they be holding someone prisoner here?" His thoughts went to Moríc, for some reason wondering if the man had been up to something nepharious.

"Hello Mr. Solo," a female voice spoke from behind him. It was Terézia, dressed more casually but still in red, wearing a tight cashmere sweater and skirt. "If I did not know better I would think you were eavesdropping?"

Her seductive image drove all thoughts of having not heard her approach out of his head. "Me eavesdrop? No actually I didn't want to interrupt their conversation and was waiting for a break before I walked in...as you recall I don't speak Hungarian?" he smiled at her.

"Or so you say?" She smiled coyly back at him. "Come with me." Terézia said, her voice soft and alluring as she took hold of his arm.

.

Illya walked out, crossing the hall to take a look at the tapestries Napoleon had said hung in his room. He opened the door, and saw the red bed and curtains as his partner had described, but when he looked at the wall hangings, he saw nothing that came even close to titillating. The tapestries illustrated the same such pastoral scenery has the ones on the walls in his own room. He thought that quite odd.

"Perhaps Napoleon was really ill after all, as it seemed as though he were not only having bizarre dreams but hallucinatins as well?" Illya thought as he walked back out into the hallway.

He was met by the manservant Kolos who had just reached the the landing, having made his way slowly up the long staircase.

"Megkérderzhetem, ahol gróf Tedescu autója található_may I ask where Count Teduscu's car is located?"

"It is out in the barn just down along the eastern wall of the house. But you cannot go out sir as it is still raining heavily and it is not safe. There are many rocks and one could slip and fall, very precarious in this weather. And the forest surrounding us is dangerous as well, there are things that walk in the shadows..."

"I will take my chances,"Illya said trying not to chuckle at the man's dramatic warning as he headed towards the stairs, thinking these people were country bumpkins subject to the power of mere suggestion. He had one of the servants fetch his trench coat then headed out into the storm.

The wind was blowing the rain horizontally while the Russian held on to his hat with one hand, pulling his collar tight about his face with the other as he walked along the outside walls of the house, following a narrow path carefully as he headed around the corner. Farther back away from the rambling ediface he spotted the muddy road that lead to the barn.

He continued onwards, leaning into the gusts of wind until he reached the large wooden door, pulling it open enough for him just to slip inside.

He could make out he shape of the car, covered with a tarpaulin. Beside the door was an oil lantern, taking a book of matches from his coat pocket he lit it, shedding enough light for him to see the car.

Pulling the tarp away, and sending a could of dust up into the air, he smiled when he saw the model. It was a ARO M59, a Romanian built off-road vehicle, very similar to an American jeep. It made sense, given the rough countryside that Tedescu would have this sort of vehicle rather than some sort of sedan. It was a 1959 model, so not that old, he shrugged.

Illya lifted the bonnet, examining the condition of the engine. He was at least familiar with this sort of vehicle and was confident that given a little tinkering, he could get it running, then they could get out of this place.

It was surprising to him that he was looking forward to getting back to New York, and he smiled thinking that a certain Irish red-head that had been transferred from London recently had something to do with that.

He looked around, finding a small tool box; looking through it he satisfied himself there was enough for him to work with.

Illya removed his hat and coat, hanging them up on a nail protruding a wooden support column that was behind him, then buried his nose in the engine, checking all the connections.

He had been working for a while, when came upon a fitting that seemed to be frozen and grabbed a wrench trying to loosen it. His hand slipped, cutting in on a piece of metal. His instinct was to put the bloody finger in his mouth, but stopped himself as his hands were dirty. He grabbed a handkerchief in his pants pocket, using it to apply pressure until the bleeding subsided then he continued with his work.

About an hour later he was damp with perspiration he wiped his hands, cleaning away some of the grease with a nearby rag, and satisfied that he had done everything possible to get the machine in working order then attempted to start the car.

At first there was nothing, then it clicked. The second try it tried to turn over then after the third try the engine roared to a start, bringing a smile to his face. But at quickly as his moment of satisfaction arrived it ended, as the car sputtered then stalled.

He tried to start it again but the M59 wouldn't to turn over, this time being completely uncooperative.

Then he wondered if there was fuel in the tank, remembering to check the gauge. It was on empty.

"Chyort!" he grumbled. It would figure after all that work, there was no petrol. He looked at his watch, deeming he'd wasted enough time for the day. Though he was wearing a turtleneck, he was finding himself chilly from the damp weather and perspiring from the work.

"Perhaps a hot cup of tea would be good right now?"he thought.

Illya turned to where he had hung his coat and hat, but found them gone. He looked around on the floor of the barn, seeing if they had fallen but his clothing was no where to be found.

"Chtoebat'_what the fuck?" he cursed out loud, drawing his Walther immediately, checking his surroundings for an intruder. There was a rustling above him as he raised his weapon towards it. Then he ducked as a small colony of bats dove down, sweeping past his head, then headed out the barn door. "Chyort poberi_dammit!" He hated bats.

He turned in place quickly scanning the area, but saw nothing else. There was no choice but to head out into the pouring rain and head back to the house, but this time he did it with his weapon drawn.

"Der'mo_shit." he mumbled as he stepped out into downpour. "Such a rain was falling," his babushka used to tell him was "because the angels were crying." Then the thought, "In a place such as this, anyone could be brought to tears."

Illya followed the driveway to the path, slipping a few times on the wet rocks he had been warned about, then finally made it to the door soaked to the skin, his hands and knees covered in mud. He hadn't noticed before that the door knocker was in the image of what looked like a screaming face as he reached for it, but just as it happened when they first arrived, the door opened before he put his hand up to knock. This place was really starting to make him uncomfortable.

Illya stepped inside, apologizing to Kolos as he was dripping a sizable a puddle on the floor.

"Please sir, wait here and I will fetch something so you do not drip throughout the house."

Illya shot a look at him. "Like it would really matter in this shit hole of a house?" he thought, but kept that to himself as he stayed put as he had been asked.

Though the title of Count bothered Illya for personal reasons, the condition of the Tedescu home did little to give the impression that the family was any sort of nobility; there was something about these people that did not sit right with him.

Under Communist rule most of the aristocracy had been disposed of, including Illya's grandfather, Count Alexander Kuryakin, though that fact he shared with no one for safety reasons. In Russia, it was best that no one knew he was a descended of dvoryanin_nobility as it would have only caused him problems.

In New York no one cared about such things, but he still felt it safer to keep his little secret to himself, one of many that he guarded fiercly.

He was technically a Count being the last living member of the Kuryakin line, but as he told his partner that title meant nothing. Little did Napoleon know that Illya was making the remark was in reference to himself. There was much of his past that was shared with no one, even his best friend Napoleon.

The less people know about you, the longer you live. That was the code that he lived by, his own motto, just as the Tedescu had The Blood is the Life. Both referenced survival, but in different ways.

Kolos reappeared with several throw blankets, helping Illya to wrap one around his waist, then draped the other over his shoulders.

"You should change quickly sir before you catch a chill. The house is quite damp and it would not be good for you to become ill."

"Yes thank you Kolos." Then Illya sneezed loudly. Being prone to colds, he would take Kolos' advise.

"May I help you upstairs sir or do anything else for you? Perhaps some chicken soup?"

"No thank you...ugh actually yes to the chicken soup. Kolos there is something else that you could do for me. When I was working on the car I had hung up my coat and hat, then when I went to leave, they were gone. Could you find out who might have been out there and taken them? Oh yes and one more thing, is there any petrol to be had for the car?"

"I will ask sir, and there are several canisters of petrol in the rear of the barn where the automobile is housed."

Illya held the blankets around him, feeling his shoes squish and squeak as he walked upstairs to his room. He looked at Napoleon's door as he walked past, then decided to change as Kolos had advised before he did catch a chill. He would look in on Napoleon after he'd dressed into some dry clothes and eaten his soup.

.

Chapter 4: Ashes Ashes, we all fall down

He couldn't help himself sometimes, and having someone as irresistible as Terézia leading him to her bedroom didn't help either. She offered herself up to him pressing her body against him as soon as the door to her room was closed behind them. "Of course he couldn't refuse such an enticing woman" he thought as he pulled her soft sweater over her head.

He removed her brassiere, gazing at her full breasts that called an invitation to his lips and Terézia moaned loudly as he caressed them. He maneuvered her towards the bed, suddenly finding himself lacking the energy to lift her into his arms and carry her there.

They lay together, entwined naked in each other's arms after letting her be the aggressive one, as his lack of energy overpowered his enthusiasm and though every bit of her most familiar sensual body called out to him; he decided against a second go around with her.

Napoleon slipped from the bed, leaving Terézi asleep, finging himself barely having the energy to dress himself as he felt completely exhausted. He staggered as he returned to his room, then dropped into his bed and like his Russian friend did so often, fell asleep instantly.

Illya looked in on Napoleon, seeing his partner out cold and he decided not to wake him up as discussing the incident in the barn could wait. It was better to let him sleep as long as he needed if he were indeed becoming ill.

He wasn't feeling that well himself, and was convinced he was catching a cold from being overheated, then soaked in the rain. But he wasn't so ill to make him forgo a good meal. Even though he had just eaten a bowl of soup, he was ready for a full dinner and headed down to the dining room.

The Count questioned where Napoleon was, and Illya indicated he was feeling a bit under the weather, noticing that Terézia was absent as well, but said nothing.

"Kolos, küldünk levest vascora után_ we will send some soup up to Mr. Solo after dinner. So I understand you looked at my car today Mr. Kuryakin, in what condition did you find it?"

"It needed some minor adjustments and was actually in fair condition, once I get some petrol into it I suspect it will be running fine."

"Why thank you," Tedescu smiled, " I did not realize that U.N.C.L.E. had such varied training for their agents?"

"Not part of our training, but just a thing or two I have picked up over the years... I was wondering if my hat and coat had been located yet as they had mysteriously disappeared while I was in the barn."

"Yes so I was told, I am so sorry for the inconvenience Mr. Kuryakin. Kolos will be sure to find you replacements."

Illya found it strange that the Count seemed unconcerned that there had been a possible theft from one of his guests, even if it was just an old trench coat and hat... very strange indeed.

.

Napoleon slept fitfully, he was dreaming again as the three young women covered him with their delectable bodies. They all reminded him of Terézia, but this time he felt compelled to resist their touch, yet it became a losing battle as he finally made love to them again, this time resulting in an explosive but painful orgasm.

Illya watched as Napoleon woke with a gasp when he entered the bedroom carrying a tray with bowel of chicken soup, but set it down hastily as he saw how badly his friend looked.

He was soaked with sweat, and seemed drained of all color and now there were dark circles under his eyes. Illya put his hand to Napoleon's forehead again, finding his skin it alarmingly cold to the touch.

"Napoleon you are very ill."

"Nooo," he moaned, "I'm just tired, will you go away and let me sleep."

"Nyet, you are going to sit up and eat this chicken soup. I think it will do you good. And you need to listen to me, something strange is going on here. You imagining those bizarre tapestries, your dreams, my coat and hat disappearing while I was working on the car...perhaps you are truly ill, but not due to a cold," he said, looking suspiciously at his friend's wrist.

Napoleon glanced at the walls, seeing the tapestries had changed, the erotic ones were gone. "Noooo I saw them, they were there," he pointed, "and I think my dreams weren't dreams at all, I think they were real. Earlier today I overheard a conversation between Magdala and Moríc, I understood two words, daughters and escape."

"Napoleon, you are thinking that they might be these mysterious women who seduced you in your dreams?"

"Not dreams, real."

Solo looked down at other his wrist as he brought a spoonful of hot soup to his mouth, seeing another similar bruise and cut as he had on his other one. Surely this couldn't have happened when he was in bed with Terézia?

"What the fu.." Before he could finish the sentence he passed out.

Kuryakin caught his partner before he fell face first into the bowl of soup in front of him. Hefting him up, Illya carried him back to the bed, examining the wounds on the wrists then covering Napoleon with the blankets, and heavy red quilt.

This was not good, the paleness, weakened condition and the strange slices on his bruised wrists, the heightened erotic dreams...these were all symptoms errily related to the victims of those creatures created by the Nazi experiments as he had read in Moríc's notes. Now Illya wondered if Solo had been attacked by some of these vampire-like creatures that had been spoken about. Escaped daughters, when Tedescu denied any issue...it all made sense. Perhaps they had been infected with the neurotoxin, leading him to believe that Moríc had been up to more than he was letting on. It was time to talk to him and ascertain the truth.

Illya went down to the cavernous rooms beneath the house to Moríc's laboratory, but when he arrived the found the door ajar.

"Moríc? Ott vagy_ are you there?" He called out. The walked into the room, finding it a wreck. There were shattered beakers, glass and papers scattered everywhere.

"Moríc," he called as he walked beside one of the desks, spotting a pair of legs on the floor protruding from behind it.

Illya quickly drew his weapon from its holster, taking a defensive stance as he checked the area, but found no one else there.

He knelt beside the body, rolling it over and seeing that it was indeed Moríc. The man was dead and his skin was ghastly white, whiter than he'd seen any recently dead corpse. He realized that his blood was gone, due to complete exsanguination.

Illya suddenly had a gut feeling and checked Moríc's wrists, finding the same cuts and bruising that Napoleon bore. He left the lab, heading back upstairs at a run, going directly to the library seeking out Tedescu. There he found the Count and his wife arguing with each other.

He walked into the room without hesitation.

"Moríc is dead, in his lab," he announced coldly. "He has been drained of all his blood. And now I insist that you tell me what is going on here, whose daughters have escaped and why were they being held?"

Tedescu cursed, looking angrily at his wife.

"Es a te híbad te bolond_this is your fault you fool!" He yelled, striking Magdala in the face.

IIlya pulled back his fist, striking the Count in the the jaw, sending him flying to the floor.

"I do not care about who is at fault! I want answers now?" Illya drew his Walther from beneath his shirt, aiming it directly at Tedescu.

"Stop stop! I will tell you, "the Count said, pulling himself up, dusting off his pants.

"There are daughters, three of them that I fathered with my mistress. You have met one of them...Terézia. The others as well as she were injected with the neurotoxin by my idiot brother Moríc upon the insistence of my useless wife, who could not give me children, as vengeance against me."

"Te vzívtelen rohadék_you heartless bastard!" Magdala spat at him." You abandoned me, because I could not bear you children."

"I had to Magadala, the Tedescu family must live on!" The Count shouted at her.

"Elég_enough!" Illya barked."Finish now Tedescu."

"Two of my daughters manifested the symptoms immediately, and I was forced to have them locked up in a cell beneath the house. Terézia did not react to the formula as extremely as her sisters and the condition has been manageable, shall we say?"

"So that was blood that she was drinking at dinner last night?" Illya asked, feeling disgusted.

"Unfortunately yes. I am afraid now that we are all in danger with the girls being on the loose. That is why I contacted U.N.C.L.E. as I was hoping your organization would find a counter agent to cure my daughters."

"You are afraid now?" Illya shook his head." The truth would have been better from the beginning as fair warning would have been prudent. Your daughters have attacked Napoleon, and now he lies ill in his bed. If he dies Tedescu, you will pay with your life...all of you will pay, I swear it." He threatened in a low, menacing voice as he stared at them with his icy cold blue eyes.

He turned leaving them in disgust as he headed back up to Napoleon.

Kolos called from behind him in the foyer.

"Sir, it is true...vámpírok roam these halls? I overheard," he apologized, "I did not mean to eavesdrop."

"Of a kind Kolos, it might be wise lock your door tonight."

"I do not think so sir, I have been loyal to the Tedescu all my life as was my father and his father before me...but this I draw the line at. Good bye sir." Kolos raised the collar of his coat, pulling it tightly about him.

"But it is still storming Kolos?" Illya said.

"I would risk the storm rather than stay in this house one more minute; I will take my cousins with me and go to my brother's house, where we will be safe. I suggest you leave too sir." At that the man opened the heavy door, disappearing out into the dark, stormy night.

Illya wished he had that option, but with Napoleon in the condition he was in, he felt it not wise to risk traveling in the storm. He hurried back to his partner's room, entering and locking the door immediately.

Napoleon was still wrapped in his blankets, but was shivering as Illya checked him. He lit a fire then turned on all the lights in the room, and lit several oil lamp, placing them on the table. Then he pulled a chair up beside the bed, preparing to sit vigil not only on his partner, but in watch for these Vampiry he called them in Russian, in case they returned.

Hours passed, and the room grew very warm making Illya become drowsy; he tried shaking off the the feeling, but then his eyelids drooped and he dozed off.

He awoke with a start, sensing a presence in the room and that's when a woman dressed in a long red gown threw herself upon him, hissing wildly. It was Terézia.

"Nincs megállás_ no stop!" he cried out as she held him down with incredible strength

She ignored his plea, slicing into his neck with her golden nail, then plunging her lips to the wound, sucking the blood from his throat, at the same time she reached down grabbing at his genitals.

Illya moaned, unable to fight her, finding the experience bizarrely erotic as he became aroused.

Suddenly Terézia released him, and fell to the floor. That's when he saw Napoleon standing behind her with a silver candlestick in his hand.

Illya staggered from the chair, recovering from the hypnotic effects of the woman's blood-letting. "We need to get out of here now." He gasped.

Another woman ran at them, suddenly appearing from an apparent secret door behind the tapestries.

Illya grabbed his weapon instinctively from it's holster, firing a live round, killing the creature instantly. He body went flying, knocking over the table and the oil lamp on it, setting the carpet on fire instantly. The flames spread quickly as the two agents grabbed each other for support, retreating out into the hallway.

"I think I have the car up and running, we just need to put petrol in it...come," Illya said, holding a napkin to his throat while he pulled Napoleon along as the hall filled with dark acrid smoke.

They staggered down the stairs finding the bodies of Tesescu and Magada laying dead near the front door.

Then there was a blood curdling scream as the third sister charged at them from the library. She was stopped as the bullet from Kuryakin's gun hit her right in the middle of her forehead, her eyes still wide as if looking at them as she collapsed down to the floor.

The flames were dancing like living creatures down the railing an carpet on the stairs as the two agents opened the door, heading out into the driving rain.

Illya lead Napoleon around to where the car was was kept, putting him in the passenger seat while he went in search of the fuel. He found the canisters in the back behind the vehicle and quickly emptied them into the fuel tank. The last bit of petrol he dumped on the floor and walls of the car port, thinking that it all should be destroyed...as the place in deed was accursed, letting superstition overtake his usually logical mind.

Illya climbed into the drivers seat, pumping the gas pedal a few times, then held his breath as he turned the key.

There was only a griding sound as it tried to kick over. "Chyort_ shit!" he cursed, as he flung open the door, then opened the bonnet of the car.

I quickly tinkered with a few of the connections, calling to Napoleon to try turning the key again. This time the engine roared to life. Illya closed the hood quickly then dove again into the drivers seat. He floored the gas pedal, sending dirt and debris flying into the air as it took off out into the rain.

He steered it wildly over the rocky terrain as they drove past the Tedescu home, then pulled to a stop after they were about a mile away.

The house was fully engulfed in flame, and Illya was sure that would be the end of the vampire stories, as least as far as the Tedescu were concerned. But who knew what other legends might grow out of their demise. He had least had the Nazi formula memorized so a counter agent could be developed...not that it would really be needed since the original formula along with the family had been destroyed. There would be no worry of Thrush getting their hands on this chemical concoction.

Napoleon smiled at him weakly. "So how do you want to report his one to the Old Man?"

Illya shrugged, pulling the bloody napkin from his shirt collar. "As it happened, but I think it best that we do not use the word, vampire. They might think we have lost our senses at headquarters?"

"Agreed...now home James."

"Who?"

"Never mind." Napoleon smiled, " Hey thanks tovarisch for coming to the rescue?"

"It was you who rescued me my friend, oh and the sex part, I think we should leave out of the report as well, no need to regale Mr. Waverly about tales of erotic tapestries that came to life, and your menage et quatre with those...vampires?" Illya half-smiled at that one.

"Oh yeah, you've got that right and don't rub it in, please?"

"I have always said that your liaisons with women were going to be the death of you."

"Almost was." Napoleon said, becoming rather pensive.

"Lesson learned?"

"Not by a long shot" Solo smiled.

Illya just shook his head then put the car into gear as the windshield wipers fought against the driving rain.

.

A lone figure stood hidden by a large tree a few hundred yards away from the house as the crackling flames burned and hissed in the rain, watching as the vehicle sped away. Feelings of a terrible loss filled her, not for her family, but for the loss of her lover. He was perfect, and now he was speeding away from her. He could have been her mate, as his appetites suited her needs. He would have made a fine Count to her Countess.

Terézia Tedescu wrapped herself tightly in her long red cape, clutching the ruby-encrusted dagger in her hand, the last remaining relic of her family. On its blade were inscribed the words The Blood is the Life. She smiled thinking of that, her family motto and decided to walk to the village...

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Végén ~ Finis...fuista.*

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*an homage to "Dracula, Dead and Loving it"