Right! That's it! She thought, slamming the phone back into its cradle. This couldn't go on any longer; it was getting to be ridiculous…

She sprinted up the stairs-there really was no time to lose. She needed him to approve the candidates for the teaching positions. She'd already put it off far too long, already-all because she didn't want to have to face him after that bloody kiss!

It wasn't even a proper kiss anyway!-what was she; a woman or a mouse? She'd never been this unsettled before in her life-but this was far important than any personal flimflam that happened to be going on.

Finally, she made it to his office door. She rapped sharply before opening the door with a searching: "Mr Count?" He wasn't in and she was glad of it; her voice didn't sound nearly as authoritative as it had to when she was dealing with him. The only thing was, it looked as if he hadn't been anywhere near his office for weeks; books and files were randomly piled and strewn across his desk. She already knew that he didn't really give a damn about the school, but this was just…

The word: 'ridiculous' came to mind, but she needed to find a synonym or she'd be sounding like a broken record whenever her employer did or said anything.

Daintily, she rifled through the papers and files and God-knows-what-else that was haphazardly flung across his desk. "Oh, he's only had them for three weeks!" She muttered to herself, eventually finding the files that she was searching for-buried under everything else as if they weren't at all important. "The man's impossible!"

She'd known this at her interview. Why she expected anything else from him at this stage of the game was a complete mystery. Well, maybe not a complete mystery…

…

Meanwhile, the Count was pacing in the throne room, anxiously biting his nails.

The world hated him. It did. And he didn't care, most of the time. But, now, it seemed to hate him even more than usual-in a way that set him entirely on edge.

Vlad wasn't opening 'The Book'. Said 'Book' was lighting up like one of those breather things…Christmas trees! It was calling to the clan leaders, telling them precisely where the Draculas were hiding. Could it possibly get any worse?

Oh, yes! They were getting impatient. He'd already had several death threats which he'd replied to with a very succinct 'Fuck off'-Renfield had polished it a bit, but the sentiment was unchanged. Now, they'd be paying Garside Grange a visit for sure.

"Master?" The slime bag that was Renfield pushed through the door, heaving a couple of boxes in his arms. The Count halted his pacing, waiting to verbally pounce on the blithering idiot.

"Miss McCauley would like a word."

Normally, those words would be sweet music to his ears, but right at this particular moment, Count Dracula had far more pressing things to worry about. He was getting a migraine from all the worrying he was doing. There were times-though they were few and far between-when he wished that Vlad could have just been the annoyingly chipper breather-lover that he had been just a few short years ago. What did he have to go and turn out to be 'The Chosen One' for?

"How about 'massacre'? Or 'annihilation', or 'slaughter', or 'bloodbath'?" Oh that was all he needed-the image of Him and Her in a literal bloodbath. It was a nice thought, but frustrating and distracting when he couldn't afford to be distracted.

"Isn't 'bloodbath' two words?" Renfield enquired. The Count felt his eyes roll at the servant's blatant stupidity. "She says it's urgent." Renfield added none-too-helpfully.

"Urgent! Some people just don't know the meaning of the word." The Count cried, making his way to that blasted woman's office, knowing that if it were anyone but her, he wouldn't give them the time of day.

"All this came in the post for you-" Renfield informed him, referring to the boxes that he had just dumped on the table. "You deal with it!" The Count snarled, slamming the door behind him.

He shoved his way through the breather brats that were clogging the stairs-he might even have pushed one of them over the banisters…never mind. It didn't take him long to find her office door. As usual, he didn't bother knocking, but he didn't have time to play games; turning into smoke and gliding under her door etc, so he just opened it and poked his head around, hoping that she would ask him a question to which he could give a monosyllabic answer.

His hopes were immediately dashed the moment she stood up, irritation flaring in her jewel blue eyes. "I found these in your office. I take it you've not read them, yet."

He wanted the sun to burn him and put him out of his misery. It would be the kindest thing. He had a whole drama going on upstairs about clan leaders coming to annihilate the Dracula clan and here he was, being harangued by the woman he might-sort-of-love about bloody admin-

With a grimace, he hit his head to the door. Maybe if he hit it hard enough, a stake could fashion itself and ram itself into his heart.

…

"I really need your input on the staffing levels." Miss McCauley stalked swiftly around her desk as she saw that her employer was just about to slide out of the door.

"Look, I have no idea about what a staffing level is-" He muttered hurriedly before almost dashing out of the door, refusing to look her in the eye. It was as if he wanted nothing to do with her.

That thought stung, but it didn't matter as much as the fact that he didn't seem to give a damn about this school, which he set up. That made her angry. But she could control it. She could…

"Staffing levels refer to the number of teachers we employ." She informed him smartly.

"Very good! Carry on without me-"

"It can't wait." She bit out, determinedly holding the door open; if he was going to run away, she'd just have to chase him. "Time is now critical."

She blinked when Mr Count listened to her with a pleading look on his face. It was adorable, she had to admit, but it didn't suit him. She wanted to put him out of this misery, but this had to be done.

"I have to hire new permanent staff and I need you to approve the candidates."

…

"Alright-alright-alright!" He muttered under his breath as he moved to a seat, just in order to placate the woman who had moved with him to read over his shoulder, making sure that he endured this torturous task properly.

But he couldn't! He just couldn't concentrate. He flipped through the pages of the damned files and saw the same thing: walking blood bags with teaching qualifications. At last, he cried: "Look, I really don't have time for these minutiae."

"The devil's in the details, Mr Count." Miss McCauley said primly, wandering over to the printer in the corner of the room just as Renfield rushed through the door.

"He's in a lot more than that." The Count retorted, vainly scanning through the files again. He was in his body. Not that she was to know that, but he really wanted her to. Right now, he wanted her to be as terrified of him as Renfield was, just so that she would stop putting him through all this.

He'd made the mistake of smelling her, and now he couldn't get the scent of her out of his head. She was distracting on so many levels that he hurt all over-mostly from the waist down.

"We've had a delivery!" Renfield gasped, "A special delivery! You have to sign for it."

"Can nobody do anything in this place without me?" The Count cried, feeling his anxiety level s shoot up to yet another notch, "If it needs a signature, I'm sure your scrawl will suffice-"

"Someone's here!" Renfield willed his master to understand, "You know the…reurgh-thing!" the unkempt manservant waved his arms up in the hopes that the Count would work out that there was a scary-vampire-clan-leader-thingy-person who was demanding to see him.

"Huh?" the Count frowned, before realising what Renfield was babbling on about. "Right, we've got to go," he told Miss McCauley, darting out of his seat, "Urgent business to attend." He set down the files that he'd been flicking through and followed Renfield.

…

"But I really need your approval on these candidates!" she exclaimed, at a loss as to how to make her employer stay in that bloody chair. Perhaps she should put manacles and chains on the arms and legs.

"We'll do this later!" he assured her before flying out of the door with a flick of his long, dark hair, leaving her to pinch the bridge of her nose and run through her list of synonyms for the word: 'ridiculous'.

Impossible. Look the word up in a dictionary and, sure enough, Mr Count would be there.

…

"Yes or no?" Ramanga demanded with a hiss.

"Well it's a working progress." The Count defended.

"No." Ingrid interrupted, "He can't open 'The Book'."

Nobody paid any attention to Bertrand walking through the door.

"Is this true?" Ramanga snarled menacingly,

"Well, he's been working very hard-"

"You were supposed to be training him-"

"But we have-Bertrand is an excellent-"

"You've failed!" The dark-skinned vampire hulked-admittedly quite impressively-over the Count's lithe form, "We demand to know why."

"Well, I wouldn't say failed exactly-" the Count started,

"Where is 'The Chosen One'?" Ramanga growled impatiently, "Still he keeps me waiting."

"He said he'd just be a moment." Bertrand murmured respectfully.

It was at this insanely inopportune moment that Renfield chose to barrel through the door and step over to his Master. "Miss McCauley's here to see you!" He whispered loudly,

"Not now, Renfield; get rid of her!" the Count hissed plaintively, before addressing the other vampire: "I'm sure he'll be here, soon."

"This is most disrespectful!"

"She's at the door! She says it's very urgent." Renfield hissed, not knowing whether to be more scared of Miss McCauley or more scared of his Master. He made his choice when the Count whirled around and grabbed his lapels, "Tell her I'm in-" he shot a quick, harried smile at Ramanga before turning back to Renfield, "Tell her I'm indisposed."

"Indisposed." Renfield repeated the long word just to make sure that he wouldn't forget it. He then shuffled hurriedly over to the door to pass on his Master's message.

The next thing the vampires heard was Renfield's mournful cry: "You're not allowed in here! These are Mr Count's quarters!" All heads turned to see Miss McCauley shoving past the manservant to address her employer in soft, though clipped tones: "Mr Count. A word."

No! Not here! Not now!The Count thought, panic seizing him. She won't stand a chance against Ramanga!

"Ah!" Ramanga cried in thirsty delight, realising one of the Count's worst fears; that he might not be able to protect what was his, "A breather. Good. I am thirsty after my long journey." He made to move toward the woman who was already hypnotised-already at his mercy.

But Count Dracula, the Prince of Darkness, was having none of it. He grabbed the front of Ramanga's coat and pushed him back. "You can't have this one. She's mine." He warned, prepared to wreak violence upon Alexandra McCauley's would-be attacker, before backing off with a: "I'll be one moment. Renfield, a drink for our guest."

He saw Alex McCauley's vacant expression and clicked his fingers, not daring to look back at Ramanga's considering expression for fear that he'd do or say something stupid. Immediately, she blinked and said: "I urgently need your approval for the candidates so that I can start hiring."

"And, as you can see, I have a visitor." He gestured to the dark, unwelcome presence in the room that was Ramanga and willed her to leave before she got herself killed. Ramanga wasn't like him. He didn't want her, he just wanted her blood. And he was notoriously brutal about getting it. "So, I must insist we do this later." He opened the door and gestured for her to get out to safety.

"Then I'll wait here until you're finished." She said softly, her eyes drawn to Ramanga's. With an agitated grimace in the offending vampire's direction, he clicked his fingers again to bring her out of her trance. He knew that he was going to have to get her business over and done with and then get her out of here; she was too bone stubborn to leave without getting it done.

"Alright, alright. Just…lets do it quickly, here. Show me the candidates."

"The papers are in my office." She said softly, falling under Ramanga's spell, yet again, though this time, pulling herself out of it. "Oh," the Count banged his head against the door, wanting to cry. This wasn't fair on so many levels.

"This has to be done today." She persisted.

"Alright, give me two minutes-I'll be right there." he promised, before ushering her out of the door with a soft: "Go!"

As she left, he pushed the door, feeling completely impotent, shut. She was almost as bad as Ramanga. Almost; he didn't want to kiss every square inch of Ramanga.

…

"I approve." He said shortly, before whirling around and making to leave the office.

"You have to take this seriously." She pressed, "I need you to focus on the needs of the school, for once. Nothing's more important than the future of the school."

He turned back and murmured: "Quite right."

His eyes darted up to the clock on the wall as he continued: "I'm sorry. I'll read them properly." The look he gave her as he walked over and sat down, was so guilty and so wanting to please that she couldn't help the strangely mellow, grateful feeling that poured through her veins.

When she opened her office door, later on, she felt that, given the right circumstances-and no funny stuff-she and Mr Count could make an excellent team. "Thank you for being so understanding. I think we've chosen two excellent teachers." She smiled, thankful that he'd finally seen sense and done what he was supposed to do three weeks ago.

…

"Indeed." The Count murmured with a smile before turning round and heading back to his quarters. "The one with the short neck's a problem, but I do enjoy a challenge." He mused sinisterly.

Yes. And Miss McCauley would discover soon enough that Count Dracula didn't give a bat's nose hair about this school.

Author's Note: I can't wait for tomorrow's episode. Can you? }-)