Chapter 38: Dumb Plans

Isaac entered the room where he'd killed the mad magician.

He'd set himself up in here quite nicely. Moving over to the bedroll and carpet he'd set out for himself, Isaac sat down. He poured himself some water and then sat down to read. He didn't, however, get very far. He'd barely gotten in a few pages before his distance mirror chimed and the box opened up. The mirror assembled.

Isaac looked up. 'Mirror. What is this?' Nothing happened. Isaac sighed in exasperation. 'Sir Mirror, what are you doing?'

The smug face of a vampire appeared in the mirror. He looked slimy and cocky.

'And who might you be?' Isaac asked.

The smirk fell off the vampire's face. 'Do you not remember me?'

'You do not look memorable,' Isaac remarked.

'Varney!' the vampire snapped. 'Varney of Dracula's original cohort.'

The name was familiar. Oh, yes. He'd been sent off fast because even Dracula had despised him. Actually, that was merely the common belief. Dracula had said to Issac that they needed to get rid of Varney first because that vampire was not Varney. He looked like him. He had his mannerisms and personality perfectly mimicked and played them out brilliantly, but something was off.

'I left for Targoviste early in the campaign,' "Varney" said.

'Why are you connecting to my mirror, Varney?' Isaac asked.

'I have spoken with people who marked your passage across the land,' "Varney" said. 'You've done great work, sir.'

Okay, so obviously, whatever this vampire was up to, he intended to enlist Isaac for it. 'My question is pending.'

'I'm working to bring about Dracula's return from the dead, Isaac Forgemaster.'

'How very interesting.' Isaac looked at his nails and thought about it. There were only a few ways to raise the dead. All of them had deeply unpleasant side effects. There was a reason Isaac had never considered this as a viable option. Even the mildest of these side effects, he wouldn't wish on his enemies. Why should he care to subject Dracula to them?

"Varney" laughed. 'It's more than that. I've been speaking with magicians and scholars across the land. Both vampire and human. Working together to collect ancient spells and lore, constructing a system with which to pluck Dracula from Hell and reinstall him in the world with power.'

And how many, I wonder, told you this was a horrid idea? 'To what end?' Perhaps Isaac could garner a clue or two on what "Varney" really wanted.

'He has unfinished business, sir,' "Varney" insisted. 'He owes us death; death in volumes unprecedented. His great work remains incomplete.'

Isaac would have to examine that and do some research before he left this city. 'So does mine, Varney.'

'Well, is yours as important as the extinction of the race that killed his wife?' "Varney" demanded.

Well…Isaac had begun rethinking Dracula's actions over the time he'd been raging for revenge. These last few weeks had given him many epiphanies. And he'd come to a conclusion: Dracula had wanted to die and join his wife. What he'd seen at the end had been a man looking for someone to kill him. Why, then, would they bring him back and reignite his rage? It was not something Dracula would want.

But "Varney" would not understand that. 'The race that you yourself hate?'

'It is to me,' Isaac said simply. 'Afterwards…we will see.'

"Varney" just about snarled. 'I expected better than that of Dracula's favoured Forgemaster.'

'Then, come daylight, you can wriggle around in your little coffin with disappointment. But do it quietly as I do not wish to hear your voice again until my own task is complete.' Isaac clapped once. 'Sir Mirror, do not allow this one to call me again, and go to sleep.'

'Fuck you!' "Varney" snapped as the mirror dropped back into the box.

Eastern Europe

Morana moaned in pain as she took her boots off. She sighed and leaned back. 'I changed my mind. Have soldiers carry me around the countryside on a bed.'

Striga smiled. 'I was making a joke.'

'I don't care. Do it.' She spun around to face her lover. 'Everything hurts.'

'Well, this isn't so bad,' Striga remarked.

'We've been out here for weeks,' Morana pointed out. 'I don't want to know how it can get worse.'

Striga blinked for a moment. 'Well, it—'

Morana lifted a hand and cut her off. 'I said I don't want to know. I don't want to hear any more of your stories about saddle boils and eating rats.'

'All right, all right, but did I tell you about the time I saw 18 squirrels murder a dog?'

Morana barked out a laugh. 'Stop. In the name of God, stop.'

Striga chuckled. She pulled her feet off of the table and stood up. She poured them both drinks and handed one tankard to Morana. 'Here. Dull the pain.'

Morana took a big drink. 'This is all wrong.'

Striga lowered her own tankard and looked at her. 'I love you but, really, I'm ready to put you on a wagon home.'

'No.' Morana closed her eyes and dropped her head. She looked back up at her. 'This. We've been touring – not even the entire territory Carmilla marked out, just a piece of it – for weeks. And this is all wrong.'

Striga sat back down. She waited

Morana slid over and put her arching feet up in Striga's lap.

'All right. Explain yourself, woman.' Striga began rubbing her feet.

Morana sighed. 'I have no particular love for humans. There's a food chain, and we're on top. Humans are pigs with shoes, and they don't cry when they want bacon. I am not sad when I turn humans into food. Understood?'

'Spit it out, Morana,' Striga said. 'Directly say what you're thinking or you'll tie yourself up in knots.'

Morana sighed again. 'God. I have lived with you for too long. Okay, is there a swift and merciful way for us to take control of all the designated territory between the castle and the sea?'

Striga stopped rubbing her feet and lifted her arms to rest on the table between them. 'You mean, snap my fingers and it's all done?' She clicked. 'No, of course not.'

'Of course not,' Morana said. 'It will be hard-fought, mile-by-mile, right?'

'Well, let's not make it sound desperate.'

'But it won't be simple.'

'No.'

Morana looked down into her drink. 'There will be suffering.'

'It's war, Morana,' Striga said. 'There's always suffering.'

'It's not war.' Morana corrected her. 'There are no two sides to this. It's a rolling invasion and entrapment of hundreds of thousands of humans.' She took a deep breath. 'Humans who are, sadly, cleverer than pigs, who will fight and suffer and fear and run.'

Striga leaned in. 'Then I choose a different word. It's "battle".'

'I came out here with you because I wanted to see for myself the logistical challenges to the plan,' Morana said.

'And I told you,' Striga pointed out, 'you didn't have to. I'd survey the theatre of combat and let you know what I needed. Also,' she took Morana's hands, 'you're the one who asked me if I wanted to command an empire.'

'Yes,' Morana breathed out, defeated, 'I know. It made a lot more sense back home.'

'Focus, Morana,' Striga coached her.

Morana pulled her hands away. 'Don't talk down to me because I am not a soldier. This is going to be a horrifying mess that we will be dealing with until the end of our days, and it will cause more suffering than history has yet seen!'

Striga leaned back in her chair. 'Don't condescend to me because I am a soldier. I win wars. Are you suddenly doubting me, after all this time, because your legs are sore from living my life?'

'Are you ready to fight the same war over and over again for the rest of your life?' Morana returned.

Striga took a deep breath. 'You want to know what I think?'

'Always,' Morana said.

'I think that whatever we achieve, we achieve it together,' Striga told her. 'You and me. Carmilla throws a crazy plan at us, and it's us who make it work.'

Morana frowned. 'Or, put another way, we make it work despite Carmilla.'

Striga was stunned at the suggestion.

Morana went on. 'And Lenore's never any bloody help. She's off with the fairies most of the time.' She waved her fingers to illustrate her point. 'It's us! And the crazy plan makes sense back home because…I don't know…Carmilla has this magic reality distortion spell and we pride ourselves on making things work. But we've been out here for weeks…'

Striga's fists tightened on the table.

Morana reached up and cupped her lover's cheeks. '…away from her madness, and I'm telling you—'

An arrow was suddenly shot through the roof of their tent, letting sunlight in.