I retrieved Harker; he seemed subtly different, more wary, but he followed me into the dining room and ate the food all the same. He said absolutely nothing while he dined until he finished and said something I would never have thought I'd hear him say, ever-

"So, tell me more about Transylvanian history."

Ah! If nothing else, I was an expert in that. I gave him a play-by-play on the great races and the battles they fought in, the glory when they won, the misery they suffered when they lost. It was, to me, a subject of endless fascination, and at the time it seemed Harker thought so as well, but it turned out later to be something entirely different holding his attention.

"Is it a wonder that we were a conquering race, that we were proud, that when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our frontiers, we drove them back?" I had said much more than this, but it is not particularly important to the story at hand, and I will skip it.

"'We?'" Mr. Harker said, raising his eyebrows. "As in 'including myself?'"

. "As you know, I am a Boyar." He nodded. "In nobility, victory and tragedy is not for one, it is to be shared with the past and future aristocrats. I claim stake in their triumphs, as future generations will stake claim in mine." After I explained this, he made an affirmative noise and gesture, and I continued. My family history is one laced with - well, "soaked in" might be more accurate- bloodshed and death and destruction, but I would have it no other way.

"The warlike days are over," I finished pensively. "Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonorable peace, and the glories of the great races are as a tale that is told."

Mr. Harker was giving me the same odd look- leery, distrusting- he had after I explained that I was pleased Carfax wasn't bright and cheerful. He looked like he was weighing his options- possibly going out the window- when the sun began to rise anew through the castle window. He went wordlessly to his corner, and I to mine.

The next few days passed without incident. I was beginning to feel like Harker was watching me very closely; as a result I tried to seem "normal." With this ideal, I came up with the Four Commandments: thou shalt not turn into miscellaneous creatures of night, thou shalt not let thy guest see thy Brides, where thy guest might see, thou shalt not slip thy tongue, and especially thou shalt not panic at the sight of blood. Commandments One was of some difficulty when it came to leaving the castle and thus getting food. I figured I could ignore the hunger for long enough. I was old. I could wait.

What never occurred to me, however, was how the Brides handled being thirsty. (In case you were wondering, the answer would be "not well.") I had never kept them waiting too long for their dinner, but nevertheless I assumed they could handle it like I could.

Needless to say, this was not so. But I was unaware, and on May 11th, I moved onto what Kat called Phase Two.

First thing, I cornered Harker in the library. He was reorganizing his files, I assume, since huge stacks of crumpled paper had all but taken over the desk. How he'd fit them all into one briefcase was a mystery. Perhaps he had two.

"Mr. Harker," I said over the rustling of files. He looked up. "If possible, herr, I would like to ask you some questions about your business."

He waved me into the only other chair at the table like it was his office. The man had taken over my library and had the audacity to wave me into my seat. I sat down, fuming quietly. I couldn't find a place to put my hands, since I couldn't place them on the table for fear of inadvertently knocking over one of his heaping piles of forms, and had to settle for my lap.

Instead of letting my annoyance show, I asked him my questions: could I have more than one solicitor, assigning one to each task, whether I could contact and give each one instructions individually as opposed to sending directives through a network? The answer to these was both yes, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.

While I was in his mock office, he took the advantage to shove some more papers under my nose- although he didn't talk about them . . . that was nice- and after I signed them, I kept up with Phase Two.

"Have you written since your first letter to our friend Mr. Peter Hawkins, or to any other?"

"I am afraid not," said Harker, adding with a touch of resentment. "I have yet to find the time."

There was no way he couldn't have found the goddamned time, considering how much of it he spent alone, unless he was enjoying some bong hits while I was away. I twisted my face into what I hoped was a smile, but probably came off as a snarl. "Then write now, my young friend," I gritted out. Young friend was the last thing I wanted this incompetent fool to be to me. I reminded myself that when his purpose was served, I would have the satisfaction of watching the Brides kill him. "Write to our friend and to any other, and say, if it will please you, that you shall stay with me until a month from now."

"Do you wish me to stay so long?" Harker squeaked. Emotions flitted across his face: surprise, paranoia (although that last was not too unreasonable), and undiluted terror. Terror, hmm? I thought I'd been subtler than that, but apparently not.

Mr. Harker swallowed visibly and bowed a little- oh, the things one picks up in Transylvania! I smirked a little and began pulling out envelopes and stationary, which I set in front of my guest. He did not touch them, just sat and stared, looking faintly seasick. I continued, "I pray you, my good young friend, that you will not discourse of things other than business in your letters. It will doubtless please your friends to know that you are well, and that you look forward to getting home to them. Is it not so?"

Harker looked at the letter-writing paper and then at me, and something in his mind clicked into place. Without further hesitation he began writing; I did likewise to some contacts in England and Transylvania. I only wrote half the letters needed because I suspected Harker was peeking.

By the time my letters and his had been sealed and stamped and ensconced comfortably in my pocket, I was a little sick of his company. "I trust you will forgive me, but I have much work to do in private this evening." Well, by now it was morning, technically. "You will, I hope, find all things as you wish." I started through the doorway but paused halfway through. "Let me advise you, my dear young friend- nay, let me warn you, with all seriousness, that should you leave these rooms you will not by any chance go to sleep in any other part of the castle. It is old, and has many memories, and there are bad dreams for those who sleep unwisely. Be warned! Should sleep now or ever overcome you, or be like to do, then haste to your own chamber or to these rooms, for your rest will then be safe. But if you be not careful in this respect, then . . ." I left the rest to his imagination, however gruesome that might be. It was evidently very much so; Harker looked like a rabbit in the eyes of a wolf.

I went to an empty room and finished my letters. It was nothing particularly interesting, just a few notes going to London, Whitby (the town where Carfax was located), Varna, and Buda Pest. After, I sealed them and carefully hid them in a drawer. By now, though, it was nearly dawn. I was tired, and the quickest way to the basement and thus my coffins was down the wall.

I climbed out the window and crawled face-first down my castle's exterior. It was more comfortable from centuries of habit, not to mention faster. It took me twenty minutes going downstairs the "conventional" way, as opposed to five minutes going down a wall.

I climbed in through a window and jumped ten feet to the floor. It was quiet down here as well. The Brides, I assumed, had gone to sleep. I was about to follow their example when something tapped my shoulder.

I started and turned around. I thought for certain it was Katherina come to bitch- er, complain- about something, but there was no way the girl with the black hair in a bun and scarlet eyes could be mistaken for Kat.

"Ava? What can I do for you?"

Ava's white dress was incredibly bright in the gloom; she stood out like a beacon or as an angel would in Hell. She still didn't say anything and she didn't look at me, instead choosing to watch the ceiling. She appeared to be deliberating.

I waited.

When she did eventually speak, it was slowly and with precision, choosing her words with great care. This never failed to make me uneasy; when the Brides did something troublesome, they generally forced Ava to come and tell me what had undegone. This exact thing had happened when Katherina "accidentally" killed someone and brought a young vampire hunter to our door- a Mr. Van Halen or Van Helping or Van H-something, at least, a good forty-odd years ago- or when Elizabeth's brother was throwing things at the castle- when she was newly created, 200 years ago.

"Master . . . I don't mean to . . . interrupt your work, but I've been appointed to speak with you . . . on behalf of my sisters. We feel we need to . . . that you should be aware of . . . something."

This was not going to end well, I could say that much now. "And what do I need to be aware of?"

"Our hunger!" Ava said, louder (much louder) than she needed to, and bit her lip and clasped her hands together. Again, she chose her words with care. "Master, we haven't eaten in a while and we're so hungry . . ." She looked at me with pleading eyes, childlike in their size and texture.

I nodded, but the sun was already rising; Ava watched it with a resigned expression. "I will, but I cannot tonight. This evening, I promise."

She smiled. "Thank you, Master."