Chapter 13 – Balance

Three days later

"Where do you want it?"

Maeve bit her lip, considering carefully. "Over there – no – there. Perfect. I like it."

Felim snorted. "Finally!" He pushed the dresser against the wall where Maeve had indicated. "Honestly, Maeve, you're my friend, but you are positively horrible at making decisions."

Maeve put her hands on her hips and mock scowled. "I am not!"

Felim rolled his eyes and stretched. "Oh aye, you are. It takes you forever to make up your mind and when you finally do, you change it. Again."

"I want to be certain. I like being certain of things." Maeve shrugged and hoisted herself up on her dresser, sitting just above her friend.

"You've always been like that," Felim replied, smiling. "If you don't know something, you find out about it. But what should I expect from a schoolteacher?"

"Homework," Maeve said dryly. She missed her young students. She would have brooded over it longer if she hadn't remembered that the count had employed her to teach her everything about her culture, myths and facts. But really, they all seem to be facts now, don't they? She'd stumbled into a whole other world and as a result, needed to find her place in it. To help her accomplish that new image she had decided to change her bedroom furniture around to suit her taste, and not the count's.

Maeve's way of thinking was that a new room would mean a new Maeve, making her ready to face whatever magical trials thrown her way. She'd escaped the Bridge Monster by luck and instinct. That would not save her a second time, and the beast still lived… Maeve mentally berated herself. Never mind that. Her previous worries were banished – at least for now, and thanks to the count's generous offer. And his unexpected favor. As for redecorating her room, she'd foolishly taken on the task herself. Come sunset, Felim had discovered the disaster area and a cursing Maeve with a sore back.

"You know, you could have asked the Dwergi for help," Felim suggested. Maeve cringed.

"No. I do not speak their strange little language. Besides, they are creepy little things." She shuddered again.

"And so rather than ask for help, you choose to make a bloody mess of your room." Felim continued to grin impishly. "Typical."

"It's not like I set out to make a mess," Maeve replied with a light-hearted smile. "I just wanted to redecorate the room by myself. Didn't I do a bang up job?"

Felim snorted. "Aye. You were going for battlefield?" Maeve gasped in mock anger and hurled her hairbrush at him. With the speed only a vampire could accomplish, he plucked it from the air inches from his face. Maeve's lips parted in awe.

"How is it?" she asked. "Being one of them, I mean."

Felim slowly set her brush down. "Powerful. There is no feeling quite like it." Maeve went to ask another question but Felim cut her off.

"How are your lessons going?" Felim asked, finished rearranging all the heavy furniture. Maeve flushed.

"They are going well, I think. I enjoy talking to, well, a foreigner, about our country. There's something incredibly satisfying about it." Maeve's smile widened. "Do you remember the tales of the Four Treasures? Dagda's cauldron, and the like? Well, fancy this. The Count was most keen to hear about them, much like we were as children!"

Without warning, the other part of Dracula's deal entered her mind, to put aside their rough meeting and start a clean slate. Maeve unconsciously brushed against where her grandfather's dagger lay hidden under her dress. It would be no easy task but a fresh start was just what she needed. "As soon as we are done here, I'm to meet him in the library."

A visit to the village the previous morning had secured Maeve the means of wielding her knife properly. Felim wouldn't teach her. She crinkled her nose agitatedly. She was a girl. Her friend was honorable, but so stuffy at the worst of times.

"And he is interested?"

"Oh, he is very interested," Maeve replied naively. "I have never seen a man listen to me talk so intently." He always seemed…hungry when he looked at her. She blinked, suddenly uncomfortable. Felim was looking at her strangely amused. "Not like – that! Besides, we only talk about Ireland and the Good People!" Though something else had been implied, but Maeve feared its confrontation.

"I was implying nothing else," Felim said slyly. "Though I hope you are happy here, all things considered."

Maeve frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

Felim leaned forward. "Oh nothing. I have never been happier. I do not regret choosing to be the count's servant." Maeve lifted an eyebrow.

"I only wish for your life to be happy, as well. You were so miserable before and the count can provide such delightful freedoms. You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course I trust you, Felim but I was not…miserable."

"Ha! You jest, friend. You hated everything about your life in Dublin save for two things: your job and your grandfather."

"I... I would not say hate." Maeve slid off the dresser to her feet and wrung her hands.

"Then what precisely, would you call it?" Felim crossed his arms over his chest and eyes Maeve expectantly.

"We have not gone riding in ages. Let's go to the stables." Maeve smiled in what she thought was alluring and fluttered her eyes coyly. "Please?"

Felim burst into laughter. "Oh, for the love of Mary and Jesus, if that is what you did with your suitors no wonder you aren't married!"

Maeve immediately froze, the shade of her face making the reddest apple look pale.

"Honestly, I always thought it was because you isolated yourself and went runnin' to your grandfather for everything. No man wants a wife that depends on any other man but 'im, among other things. But that – " Felim indicated Maeve's face. " – if that is what ye did in the hopes of ropin' a suitor, no wonder you're in a bind." Felim hooted and slapped his knee. Maeve grit her teeth, furious beyond relief.

"It's what Meredith always does and look at her success!"

Felim snorted. "Oh aye, but your hussy of a sister knows what she's doing. That works for her." Of all the horrible things, Maeve felt shameful tears forming. That would not do.

"Just… Get out! Get out of my room, now. Please." She pointed at her door.

Felim put his hands up in surrender, but he still grinned like an arrogant schoolboy. "Oh don't be mad at me, Maeve, I was just jokin' with ye – "

"You don't know what you're talking about. Good night!" Maeve thundered.

Felim shook his head. "It 'twas a joke. But as I've struck a nerve, I think it may be the truth as well."

"Out!"

"Maybe you should take the time to find out what works for you," he said curtly, "instead of obsessing over others, namely your sister. You'd be happier." Felim shut the door behind him.

Subconsciously fussing with her hair in her bedside mirror, she gazed at her reflection. Her scratches were nearly healed. She didn't have lovely, perfect twisted curls in her hair that were so highly regarded, but she had green eyes like a cat, and her red hair was long. Freckles scattered across her slightly upturned nose like fairy dust. She had been told since she was fourteen that she was a pretty woman. Why, of course she'd find a husband! And yet, nothing she had ever gained for herself had been a result of her physical beauty. Her post as a schoolteacher had not come from that. She had lost her temper too quickly. Felim was right, of course.

Maeve weaved her fingers through her hair and began combing it into a braid. Perhaps, her looks really did not matter. Just look at her now. She was a schoolteacher, not a debutante. She made a promise to herself: she would stop comparing herself to her sister from now on. The fact that Meredith had been proposed to first was not her fault. This situation was not her fault, and perhaps it was not her mother's fault either. From now on, Maeve would faithfully concern herself with inner beauty. That was she had been taught, what she had taught her students, and what really mattered.

"We are close, Master."

"I should hope so. If I was summoned for nothing – "

Antonio shook his head. "I am certain, Master. The Dwergi have been digging for hours. And I sense magic, fairy magic."

Dracula stared down at the dig site. "For all our sakes, I hope you are correct." He glanced at his servant. "Best beg the devil that the enchantments are easily broken, as well."

"Of course, Master."

There was suddenly a loud explosion and dozens of Dwergi went flying while handfuls more caught fire. The lucky ones died instantly. Dracula smiled. This was turning out to be a very productive week.

"Ah, we are indeed, very close."

And not ten minutes later, the Dwergi hauled the fairy treasure forward, dropping the prize at the feet of their master: Dagda's cauldron.

Maeve was speed walking down the halls of the manor. How could she have done this? She knew that she was due to meet with Count Dracula in the library but what had she done? Why, distract herself with her hair and then the task of closet organization, of course. Now she was late. Resisting the urge to run, she rounded a corner. Almost there! Oh, why are there so many bloody rooms in this house? It's too big! There were so many reasons why tardiness was unacceptable. Oh, she just had to multi-task, didn't she? She prayed fervently that the count had been detained in some meeting or whatever it was he did when they were not having discussions. Just one more hall to go, Maeve thought with renewed hope.

Once she came upon the library's grand doors, she rushed into them, bursting them open with a loud bang! Ignoring what had sounded like a gunshot, she looked wildly around. The count was nowhere in sight. "Yes!" she cried happily. Spying her favored chair, she leapt into it triumphant.

Unfortunately, the wooden floor had been polished earlier that day.

Upon impact, her chair went slipping wildly to the side, taking Maeve with it. She slammed into a bookshelf with a loud gasp. Countless books shook violently and threatened to fall to the floor. Maeve was up in an instant, shoving her hands up to steady the bookcase. "No, no, no, no!" Forcing all her weight onto the bookcase, she backed it up until it stood straight and ceased shaking.

Maeve sighed with relief and sank to the floor, her skirt pooling around her legs. "Praise be to G – " A thick, hardcover copy of The Mabinogion fell on top of her head with an ironic clunk. Rubbing her head with one hand, she put the book carefully back in its place and sank back to the floor. She would have taken this time to thank her lucky stars no one had seen this, but of course she was not alone.

Slow, purposeful applause met Maeve's ears. "Oh no," she groaned and immediately stood up and dusted herself off.

"Well, I must say that I have seen many grand entrances in my day, Miss Reilly, but none quite like that, and from a lady."

Maeve placed a hand over her eyes and held her head. He sounded amused. Very, very amused.

"Do not laugh."

Closing his book, Dracula emerged from his corner, striding towards Maeve, watching her with twinkling eyes. "Why would I decline the offer of laughter, Miss Reilly? I collect so few of them. Besides, it is very rare for someone to behave so foolishly in my presence."

Maeve removed her hand and stared at his hooded figure. "My pride can't take much more bruising for my errors tonight." At this Dracula did chuckle.

"But perhaps, you need not fear your pride's survival if you were on time," Dracula replied smoothly.

"I did my best, Count," said Maeve irritably. "I am sorry. It won't happen again. That is the best I can offer you."

The count said nothing, so she continued talking.

"I am sure you have never done something daft to injure your pride and even if you did, I am sure you have never looked as ridiculous as I just did." She smiled slightly.

"But please, don't laugh. I – I know I have trouble being dignified like a woman should be. I'm too informal. Often I speak when I shouldn't and remain silent when I should speak up, but all that ruckus aside… That isn't why you gave me this job."

Maeve took a deep breath. "I just w-want to do the job you have asked me to do. I know I can do that well." Her fists clenched tightly at her sides and looked up to make eye contact with him. Why hadn't she just stopped talking? What was the matter with her? "Though… perhaps we should continue this another time? I'm quite frazzled now. I think it would be best if I just returned to my room." And slammed my head against the wall all night.

Dracula stared at her, surprised at her sudden honestly, but chose not to question it. He would use it to his advantage. He walked over to her chair and swiftly placed it beside his own.

"Madam," he offered. Maeve paused, but then slowly smiled.

"Really? You still want to even after I made a complete fool of myself?"

"As you said, that is not why I asked for your assistance. I would very much like to continue our inspiring conversation from last night. Unless of course, you are about to lose your temper and throw an enraged fit?"

Maeve's hand went to her mouth as she laughed. "No, no I'm all right now, Count. Just embarrassed. But all I can do is learn from it and keep moving forward."

"Indeed." Dracula nodded in agreement and captured her hand and kissed her palm as she stepped towards her seat. Even though she quickly removed her hand without comment, her sharp intake of breath told Dracula he had been successful.

"By the way," Maeve said. "I will write my letter to my family as you suggested. As far as they are concerned, I am happily married."

"Splendid," said Dracula, leaning forward slightly. "And now you are free to have everything you have ever dreamed of. You're in a win-win scenario, my dear." Dracula smirked at his second victory for the night. She wanted freedom and happiness, and he had the means for it. He would not deny a pretty young woman her desires. After all, he had always been successful in that arena. He would make certain Maeve Reilly had her every whim fulfilled until the day she died. Her freedom in exchange for his was a fair trade.

His charm had not failed him yet. How did the mortals say it? Ah yes, a piece of cake. Although, he quietly admitted, after three nights of their discussions, a Scheherazade parallel crept unbidden into his mind. In a way, he could see the similarities. However he, unlike the Persian king, possessed self-control, nor was he so dully barbaric. And of course, the Irish schoolteacher and the Persian queen would have very different endings to their stories. What a pity.

"Well," Maeve began. "Where were we last night?"

"You were telling me of the fairies' beginnings," Dracula replied. "As well as the nature of their treasures."

"Ah yes. Well, they have been in the world for so long, it is difficult to say for certain. There are many versions of the tale with many variables," she explained. "Some say their fairy rings lead to an alternate world, the Otherworld, a world from which they crossed over at the dawn of time. But many others say that they were cast down from Heaven."

Dracula made an amused, slightly irritated noise at the back of his throat. "Did Michael hurl them down?" he asked sarcastically, reaching for his wine glass.

Unaffected by his cynicism, Maeve shook her head. "No, but you have entered the right story." She smiled again, but it was with a knowing sparkle in her eye.

"When the devil revolted against God and was cast out along with his traitorous angels, it is said that a third group of angels did not choose a side. They only watched the battle and would not involve themselves in any way. Some say they fled Heaven to avoid being forced to take part in the conflict."

"So your Fair Folk are cowards, are they? I am not surprised," Dracula said with a dark smile. Maeve's eyes flashed but she shushed him without comment.

"In any case, after the battle was over, God shut the gates of Heaven. Now the angels in Heaven remained in paradise, the betrayers became demons in hell, and the last group, became known as the fairies. They were sent down to Earth for their inability to choose a side."

"But is that not a choice in itself?" Maeve looked at Dracula strangely at his question.

"But they did not choose. They did not know who would win so did not involve themselves out of fear."

"Yes, but your God is the grand Free Will Lobbyist is He not? Choice must extend even to those who misuse it." Dracula sat back in his chair, swishing the liquid in his glass around.

"Yes," Maeve agreed slowly after taking a moment to think it over. "But the point was that they remained on the sidelines rather than help in the most important war in history!"

Dracula chuckled. "Oh, that is debatable. I could teach you a thing or two about important battles."

"I am certain you could," Maeve replied. "But there is no battle that exceeds the importance of the Battle of Heaven. It is the battle, the original battle of Good and Evil. Without that battle, nothing would be as it is now," Maeve went on. "You and I would not exist. The world would not exist. Why, there would be… nothing. Just paradise."

"You are certain of that?"

"Yes," Maeve replied indignantly. "If you think about it that makes sense."

"I am bored already."

"Well," Maeve backtracked with an eye roll. "Don't fret, Count, the battle did happen, so you won't be bored. Congratulations are in order."

Dracula smirked. "But what of the gray areas?"

"Hmm?"

"The gray areas," he repeated. "Neither good nor evil."

"That would be the fairies," Maeve replied with a shrug. "They were not good enough… but not evil either so they were not damned to hell, but sent here. I suppose that is why their only weaknesses are related to the mortal world."

The count cocked a brow. "Such as?" he prompted.

"Oh, iron, binding them with words, trapping them in their own trickery, even the ring of church bells, supposedly, brings them pain."

"Really? They certainly don't like to spread that around," Dracula muttered.

"And even though fairies and vampires are not the same, I still place you in the same category."

"And what category is that?"

"I do not mean a fairy classification – the Good People have many of those. I mean that I think you are in the gray area," she explained purposefully. "A dark gray area. You may show me kindness now, Count Dracula, but I do not entirely trust you."

"In time," Dracula replied nonchalantly. "But you wound me, Miss Reilly! What incriminates me so?"

"Your eyes," she said solemnly, gazing at him thoughtfully. "They are all I can see of you – all I need to, really, for they are the windows to the soul."

"And what do you see?" he asked, his voice lowering to an ominous level.

"A mask," she replied calmly. "I cannot see you truly, because a wall made of mischief and plotting cloaks them. I judge you no further than that because we have made a deal to start anew. But that is what I see. Cloudiness."

"You have a good pair of eyes," Dracula replied softly. "I think your own family underestimates you." He stood up and leaned in close to Maeve. "But I won't. No – I will not underestimate you in every – single – way."

Maeve swallowed and fought the urge to turn away from his blazing eyes. "I'll hold you to that," she whispered.

Dracula's lips curved a little. "Hmm. We shall see what I can teach you, Miss Reilly. I'm sure you'll need practice because," he leaned in closer. "The first lesson begins now." His hand reached over and engulfed Maeve's own petite hand on the table.

"I thought it was my job to give homework?" Maeve said shakily, afraid to move.

"Let us switch positions for a moment," he suggested. He slowly became closer and closer. "There is something dire that I simply must address. I think the real problem is – "

"The Dwergi are catching on fire again, Master!" Antonio shouted as he strode into the room. Maeve immediately scooted her chair out from under Dracula's large form and breathed heavily with relief. Dracula, in contrast, faced Antonio, and placing his arms behind his back in a single, fluid moment, stepped closer to his flustered servant. He ignored Antonio's immediate apologies.

"It is not my fault they are inflammable. They have grumbled to me about fire hazards for years. Don't be so incompetent, Antonio."

"Yes, but Master, this is a particular fire hazard," Antonio insisted. "Much like the one earlier this evening." Dracula's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"I see. Well then I must deal with this at once." He turned to Maeve who was now standing up. "I offer you my most sincere apologies. We will resume our discussion tomorrow night."

"Oh, of course," Maeve stammered. "I'll just visit the – " Dracula and Antonio had already abandoned the library. The only evidence that the two vampires had ever been in the room was Dracula's empty wine glass and the swing of the wooden doors.

" – gardens…" Maeve pursed her lips irritably. "It must be important… And very dangerous…" Without another word Maeve dashed out the door and down the hall, following the sound of Dracula's furious voice and curious explosions. She ignored the little voice in the back of her head, pleading with her to cease her impulsiveness. It appeared she was heading towards the cellar. But the source of the sounds was coming from a room just before one would descend to the cellar. By the time she reached the room that housed the livid vampire king, she arrived just in time to hear him bellow, "Who set the security spells off?"

The remaining Dwergi each pointed at the Dwerger next to him, all grunting and bickering at once. A bright gold light lit up the room and hallway, causing everyone to shield their eyes from the sudden illumination.

Maeve cautiously peered into the room, and what she saw made her eyes widen and her jaw went slack.

"I don't believe it!"

AN:
Hehehe, Barbecued Dwergi. It amuses me so. So much, that I'm sorely tempted to make it a running gag. Anyways, hurray! I've updated in under a month since last time! Okay, by four days. But it's an improvement.

Trivia: The book, The Mabinogion, that fell on Maeve's head is a collection of medieval Welsh fairy tales. Also, the story about the fairies being locked out of Heaven for "not being good enough…but not evil either" is one of the many, many versions of their Genesis. I didn't pull that out of Van Helsing's hat for plot purposes.

Furthermore, I was doing more research on other fairy tales that are similar to Cupid and Psyche's situation, like East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and The Three Daughters of King O'Hara, and I read that the transformation of a beast to a man, or just the fact that the heroine cannot see the man's true form, can symbolize the heroine's own fear and possible revulsion at sexual activity. Interesting.

I hope you all enjoyed this installment!