Eternal Night (I) Chapter 8: Jack Belinskaya, a van helsing fanfic

Happy Friday to all and many thanks to Riona Winters, Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, TenebrisSagittarius, and cneajna for reviewing this week. I'm thinking instead of Dracula-shaped cookies, we could do coupons for a free night with the Count? ;) LOL - as if I had that kind of power...

So, are you all ready to meet one of Dracula's adopted kiddos? I sincerely hope so. The Dracul Sânge are very near and dear to my heart, Jack in particular. He was such a joy (and challenge) to write.

Friendly heads up to any of my veteran readers out there, a lot of this and the next handful of chapters are virtually unchanged from their original versions from over a decade ago (although now that I think of it, the original iteration of this one was much longer). This particular installment is admittedly very dialogue heavy, owed largely to the fact that so much of it covers the interview between Jack and Frankie, so strap in!

Dracula will show up again on Monday, but for now... ENJOY!

Chapter 8
Jack Belinskaya

"Whatever you say, boss," the bouncer said and he moved aside, allowing Frankie to slip in.

The handsome stranger standing in the doorway silently offered to take her hand before wrapping her arm around his, leading her into the dimly lit corridor of the pulsating nightclub. Although she had studied Jack Belinskaya's picture for weeks now, she hadn't quite prepared herself for the man at her side – that picture did not do him justice.

"Why don't we go somewhere more private," he offered, motioning to a flight of stairs.

Desperately struggling to suppress the anxiety tightening in her chest, Frankie nodded her head once and permitted him to lead her up to the second floor, down a hall and into a room where two intimidating looking men stood guard outside. The moment the door was shut behind them, the chaotic madness from down below was nothing more than a barely discernible murmur. The room Jack had taken them to was poorly lit and relatively bare, consisting only of a table and two chairs on opposite ends, the single lamp overhead offering very little light. There were no windows and only one door, which the man promptly locked as soon as it shut behind them.

He must have sensed her apprehension because he laughed suddenly.

"You are perfectly safe," he assured her, meeting her across the room in three strides before extending his hand. "Perhaps you would feel better with a more proper introduction?"

Frankie glanced suspiciously at his hand for a moment or two.

She had no idea how he could detect her anxiety – she was the picture of utter calm and composure. Deciding that her nervousness was presently unwarranted, she took his offered hand with what confidence she could summon. With her hand now in his, she found that the physical touch had her feeling significantly more at ease... which was rather inexplicable. She even caught herself smiling a little without meaning to.

He then bowed over her hand, lips inches from her knuckles but never meeting them.

Very old fashioned…

His grip was firm, but gentle, long fingers all but swallowing her entire hand in their grasp. He was quite tall and handsomely built, roughly the size of Mr. Leinhart she noted absently, not sure why she made the comparison. She quickly brushed it aside as soon as the man opened his mouth.

"Allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Jonathan Belinskaya-Drăculea – but everyone calls me Jack. And you are Francesca Elisabeth de Chacier," and he exerted a playful breath. "That is quite a mouthful of a name, Francesca."

"Miss Chase will do just fine for the present, Mr. Belinskaya," she corrected, but that impish gleam in his eyes remained as he held up his finger in an "ah-ha" kind of fashion.

"You will call me Jack," he replied with resolution, motioning for her to take a seat. "And I will call you by your real name, since I do not yet own the privilege of calling you mother, unless you'd prefer if I called you by that title?"

She went notably rigid when he said that and her reaction made him chuckle softly to himself as he took his seat.

"But maybe it's a bit too soon for such familiarity," he noted. "My apologies if I've made you uncomfortable."

Frankie struggled to relax in the wooden chair as she set up her recorder on the table, along with his file, her notebook, and a pen.

"Delayed perception is better than none at all, I suppose," was all she offered in reply, her words coming out with a tad more bite than she had intended.

"Ah, and there's that razor wit I was warned about. He'll like that."

Assuming this cited he could only be Dracula, her instinctual defensiveness kicked in.

"I'm sure he will."

"And she's sarcastic too! Oh, I'm so glad you've got fire in you. Honestly, we are off to a marvelous start!" he declared with genuine enthusiasm. When she did not return his delight, the amusement in his face waned.

"Shall we get this over with?"

"Get his over with?" he echoed, deflating a little. "You do not wish to be here?"

"Not particularly, no," she confessed, thinking nothing of it as she had not yet taken notice of the change in his expression. She only looked up at him when he stood suddenly and began to head toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"I was told that this meeting would not take place unless it was what you wanted. Evidently, that is not the case."

Frankie began to panic. She was supposed to be making a good impression on this guy, establishing some semblance of rapport, and already he was running for the exit! She stood, desperate to fix what she had so carelessly sabotaged.

"Can you blame me?" she called, reaching her hand out as if she intended to stop him. He halted on his own, but did not look back at her right away. "If you understood the circumstances that have helped inform my current opinion, I'm certain that not even you could blame me for my reserve… could you, Jack?"

He turned at the sound of his name.

"But I do know your circumstances," he replied softly over his shoulder. "At least enough to form a proper picture. I'm not sure if you know this, but your brother took some serious convincing. I may not be privy to all of your secrets, but I do know some of the tribulations and heartache you have endured because of Mariella's prophecy."

"I think you mean Marie Laveau," she corrected with as much mildness as she could muster, not wishing to contribute to the tension that had settled between them on account of her earlier comments. "She was the one who made the prophecy. I don't know of any Mariella except for…" but then Frankie paused, a nameless something flicking across her face that came and went so quickly, Jack barely even had a moment to discern its presence.

"Mariella Bernardini," he explained, guessing her train of thought. "She assumed the identity of Madam Laveau for a short time when you were in New Orleans in 1830," he explained. "She had been looking for you, I understand, for a good many years, and needed to get close to you without disclosing her own connection to my father."

"I've always wondered why she had sought me out specifically. She and I had never met before that evening."

"She was looking for you because of the things she had seen years previously. She had hoped to uncover their meaning by making contact with you directly. No one could have guessed that such a meeting would turn out the way it did."

Frankie scoffed a little.

"Yes, well, the consequences have been far reaching, I assure you. Not only for myself, but for those of whom I love. The irreparable damage she carelessly set into motion has been nothing short of breathtaking," she added with great bitterness. "That woman gave no thought to the consequences of her actions… not until it was too late."

Jack sensed that she was referring now to some other event in particular, but instead of pressing, he replied,

"She was only the messenger. What was done to you was not her fault – or yours for that matter."

"Perhaps, though that's a point of some debate," she relented. "Who she served…"

"So you blame my father as well?" Jack interrupted, though he delivered the query with an astonishing amount of patience.

"He and Augustine, if you must know. Isn't your father just the lesser of two evils?"

Jack sighed heavily.

"Your brother had warned our contact of your… predisposition for prejudice, but I did not know your dislike of him ran quite so deep."

Although he had merely pointed out the obvious, his disappointment at her bias against Dracula wounded her for some reason and she actually leaned back a little in surprise.

Why should she care what this stranger thought of her?

She had made it no secret – her open disdain for his majesty, his court and associates, and everything else connected to them. But to be called out on her unwarranted dislike of a man she only knew through reputation alone – it sent her into a stark and inconvenient moment of introspection.

Frankie shuddered a little as if the physical shaking of her person would allow her to disregard her conscience, her mind struggling to conjure up some sort of justification. Yet it was suddenly proving more difficult than in years past – she blamed that on being in Jack's presence.

"I have suffered much at the hands of those whom have claimed to act in his name," the woman said after a time. "If you truly grasped what I have endured, to its fullest extent, would you still believe that he is blameless?"

Jack had finally stepped away from the door, situating himself in front of her.

"Yes," he answered with quiet resolution. "I don't just believe Dracula is blameless – I know he is. But, of course, you have every right to your convictions – even if I find them to be wholly unfounded. If you must blame someone, Francesca, while Marcus is an excellent place to start – he is, after all, anything but innocent where any of us our concerned – you could always blame God. I'm sure He's accustomed to the sensation by this point."

He had spoken the words rather tartly, but that hint of humor in his expression helped to alleviate some of the tension.

"Blame God?" she repeated, returning his mirth. "Oh, I blame him already, but the Lord and I haven't been on speaking terms since I was mortal."

"Another similarity between yourself and my father." Frankie wanted to believe that he was only pointing these things out to purposefully get a rise out of her, but there was a sincerity in his expression that suggested otherwise. "Like you," Jack continued, "Father finds himself, on occasion, blaming the powers that be for his misfortunes, though he's gotten better over the years at doing less of that – but I suppose none of us are perfect, even with eternity at our disposal."

"I assure you, I have no illusions of Dracula being perfect," she replied at last. "Nor myself, or even you for that matter, if I may be so bold."

That infectious smile of his began to creep back into his eyes.

"You may, and in the spirit of that boldness," and he pulled Frankie's chair back, motioning for her to be seated. As she sat down, he leaned forward, his lips a hair's breath away from her ear, "Don't tell my father I said so when you finally meet him, but I must confess… you look positively fetching in that dress."

The compliment made her laugh.

If that wasn't a blatant change in subject, she didn't know what was!

"Why mustn't I tell him? Is he really as possessive as everyone says he is? Would your approval vex him?" she teased, allowing him to push in her chair before he took his own seat at the other end of the short table. He chuckled.

"Flattering you is one thing, but the thoughts that were running through my head when you first stepped in…" and he let out an exaggerated grunt of evident approval. "You are a striking creature, madam. A worthy opponent."

"For you or his majesty?"

But Jack only winked.

Frankie wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but thankfully, he provided her with very little chance to do so.

"But where are my manners? You appear to be rather piqued. Can I have any refreshment fetched for you? I can have one of my men bring back a dhampir if you'd like."

"That's very generous of you, but I'm quite alright," Frankie assured him. "I've been a bit under the weather these last few weeks – if such a thing is possible for our kind."

"I'm very sorry to hear that you've been unwell," he stated genuinely. "I hope it's not that dreadful virus that's been plaguing our kind on and off for the last few years?"

"Thankfully no. What ails me is not quite so life-threatening."

"I'm relieved. If there is anything I can do to help or to make you presently more comfortable, please don't hesitate to ask."

Frankie nodded in gratitude.

The tension from earlier continued to diminish gradually and with each passing moment, she found herself feeling just a little more comfortable in Jack's presence. Leaning forward, she turned on her recording device, placing it in the center of the table.

"So, how would you like to start this? Officially, that is, now that the recorder is on," Jack inquired.

"We can ease in if you'd like? Start with generalities – your name, where you were born, hobbies, pet peeves… little facts like that. Whatever you feel comfortable sharing."

He chuckled at that.

"Be careful what you wish for, Francesca – I'm known for having little to no filter." He then cleared his throat. "My name is Jack Belinskaya-Drăculea. I was born Ivan Belinskaya, but started going by the name of Jonathan – or Jack, technically – when I apprenticed for an immigrant book-keeper after my parents died. I am a native Russian, born in 1689. My biological parents were Annette and Ivan Belinskaya. I enjoy blackjack, Russian opera, pre-twentieth century literature, a nice single malt scotch… and I have a weakness for redheaded women."

Frankie smiled at the last bit and he seemed pleased with her reaction.

"Not that I'm partial," he added. "I love women in general. But there's something about a female who has been kissed by fire… they are my kryptonite."

"You know, my best friend is a ginger."

"Is she single?" and they both laughed. "I also love a woman who can cook… even if we have no use for human food. Doesn't mean I can't appreciate the skill involved, not to mention the complexities and nuances of flavor… While I will always love the taste of blood, I've found that the older I get, the more I crave variety."

"Do you have a favorite dish?"

"Not particularly. I love anything with cheese," he declared after some thought. "Or dark chocolate. Goes well with the scotch."

As their casual review of Jack's tastes and passions continued, Frankie's earlier anxiety became a distant memory.

There was something about Jack that was effortless, uncomplicated. He was all friendliness and ease, traits Frankie never would have anticipated in one of the blood-bound children of Dracula. The reputed charm was there to be sure, but there was nothing devious or threatening about him. He was perfectly amiable and an excellent conversationalist; always sure to engage Frankie in participating rather than leaving her to dutifully sit there and listen.

"When did you meet Dracula?" she eventually asked, still glancing down at her notepad as she jotted a thought or two down. When she looked up again, she noticed a sudden shift in Jack's demeanor, as if the mere mention of his sire's name had sobered his previous joviality.

"We met in 1717. I was turned a year later."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-nine, I think?"

"How did the two of you meet?"

"He and I met…" but then he paused suddenly, brow furrowed as if he were deliberating with himself. "No… I think it would be best if I started from the beginning, before I met him."

"Start wherever you wish. I am here at your leisure."

He seemed to appreciate that.

"I was born and that goes without saying. I was the dreaded middle child – one of five. My biological father died when I was seven, leaving my mother to remarry less than a year later. She passed when I was ten years of age and since my step-father wanted nothing to do with us, we were all left to the mercy of our neighbors."

"Where did you end up?"

"I was hired on in the city as an apprentice to a bookkeeper. Not much was known regarding his history or where he was actually from. As far as anyone knew, he had no family to speak of. He had been an acquaintance of my father before his passing, so after my siblings and I had been left on our own, he was gracious enough to take me in. I spent the remainder of my youth under his tutorage, studying history, the law, geography, languages… For years, I begrudged him for putting so much emphasis on my education, but when he passed shortly after I turned eighteen, I had gained a new appreciation for the pains he had taken with me."

"Did he die of old age or…?" she prompted.

"He was taken by the same fever that took my mother," he explained with soberness. "After he passed, I learned that he had bequeathed to me his entire fortune – which turned out to be far greater than his state of living would have suggested."

"How did you handle the transition from poverty to overnight wealth?"

"I got conned by a couple of detectives that I had hired to help track down my brothers and sisters in the hopes that we could all be reunited. To this day, I have no idea what happened to any of them, save one of my sisters – and that was after I did my own digging."

"When did you find her?"

"The winter of 1715 – in a brothel of all places, and with child."

"How long had she been there?"

"I came to find out that the neighbor that had taken her in had abused her. When she ran, she had nowhere else to go but the streets. She had been working them ever since."

"What was her name?"

"Iolanta," Jack said with somberness. "By the time I found her, illness and despair had all but deteriorated her mind. She was severely malnourished and had sustained God knows what kind of cruelty in the time we had been apart. I was able to get her out of that situation, though, for at least a couple of months, but her health never really improved and she died giving birth to her baby. And to add insult to injury, the poor boy was stillborn."

It became evident that though it had been many years since these events had taken place, the old wounds still ached and Frankie found herself sympathizing with the man. She knew what it was like to lose loved ones and she would never wish that pain on anyone – friend or foe.

"My life sort of unraveled for a good two years after that," Jack continued. "Reuniting my family had been my primary motivation for survival, so with all of them gone, existence seemed rather futile. I slipped into a debilitating depression which could only be pacified through endless nights of frivolous diversion – lavish parties with ill-chosen friends, drinking, gambling, sex… the usual vices."

A heavy silence lingered between them as Jack briefly lost himself to his memories.

"I remember a time when in my naivety I used to believe that lives lived in triviality and debauchery were things to be envied," Frankie noted after a while, and in a tone that suggested she had experience in the matter. This caught Jack's attention. "What I came to understand as I grew older was that oftentimes those who reveled the greatest were secretly the most miserable people in the room."

"How true that is," he agreed with great feeling. "So many struggle to fill the empty voids in their lives with momentary pleasure, luxury, or the superficial, when in actuality none of it ever satisfies long-term. I've always found it more of a socially accepted form of self-destruction, wouldn't you agree?"

"I would."

"It was here, on my primrose path to hell that I met the Count."

"Seems an appropriate time for the devil to step in," she mused. "Where did the two of you meet?"

"At a party in Prague. I had recently moved there, in dire need of a change of scenery. Our paths crossed when we discovered we were pursuing the same woman."

"Was she a ginger?" Frankie teased and Jack laughed.

"No – a brunette actually. But we made it a silent contest to see who could win her affections. Naturally, given my gross inexperience by comparison, he won, but I had been close. I vexed him on a number of occasions," he seemed very proud of that, "and the following evening, I discovered him on my doorstep. He wanted to congratulate me on my near success the previous night, though I found his praise arrogant and derisive at first. But, as it turns out, he was being absolutely sincere. He explained that he hadn't had a proper rival in some time and he found the notion of having one diverting. I was then invited to a rematch."

Frankie looked anything but amused.

"You refused him, I hope?"

"Well, naturally! It was a bizarre proposal on its own, especially between strangers, but then he offered to compensate me for my time and I couldn't say no to that. If some bored, wealthy aristocrat of means and experience, who outranked me in pretty much everything, wanted to pay me to pass the evening in pursuit of female company, who was I to object? I had nothing better to do anyway, so I accepted his reissued challenge."

She rolled her eyes a little, but said nothing more.

"The night following, we started the evening with dinner – all at his expense of course," he continued, "and for several hours, we just talked. Or rather – I did most of the talking… and eating and drinking, now that I think of it. The only time he ever really spoke was to ask me a question – many of them incredibly intrusive, but I found I couldn't refuse him anything. I literally poured my soul out to the man over plăcintă cu brânză dulce și stafide and a bottle of Riesling, and it was cathartic to say the least. Of course, I came to learn several years later that he had manipulated my will in order to learn more about me."

"You mean he used compulsion? Were you angry when you found out?"

"Not really. I was a bit put off at first, but after thinking it over, I understood his reasoning and in the end I was glad he had done it."

"His reasoning? What legitimate reason could he have for…"

"I'm not finished with my story yet," he smiled, interrupting her.

Frankie huffed a little in her dissatisfaction, but she allowed him to continue.

"So, after having that long discussion, he declared that we needed to decide on a prey for the evening and thus proceeded to crash a ball. I was skeptical of his enthusiasm at first, but the moment he introduced me to the game, I became addicted. There were rules, of course. When it came to sexual conquests in particular, he was adamant that in order for a seduction to be marked as a success, there had to be complete and utter willingness on the woman's side. Verbal consent was the hallmark of a true victory, and begging to be taken was even better. Eventually, we graduated into other kinds of manipulations – getting out of paying a bill, turning people against each other, exacting revenge without being caught..."

"All deplorable things that I do not condone, by the way," she interjected and he laughed.

"Like you've never done such things yourself."

Frankie smirked a little sheepishly, but denied nothing, however.

"So he was teaching you how to be a cad?"

"That's certainly one way to look at it, but I choose to take the survivalist perspective on things. Those skills have certainly come in handy over the centuries, and I'm certain that not even you can deny their virtues. His questionable methods of teaching aside, I actually learned a great deal from him regarding confidence, self-sufficiency, dominance… even more so regarding how to associate with the fairer sex."

"Given your present manners, I'm astonished you learned anything of worth from a man with the reputation of being an unapologetic philanderer."

Jack rolled his eyes, but his smile never wavered.

"You're letting your pre-conceived notions of him obscure you from the truth, Francesca." There was an exchange of pointed looks, and then he continued. "Anyway, for months after our first meeting, I spent many an evening under his tutorage. In little time at all, he had become my best friend and confidant. He had my trust, my deepest respect and admiration… The next thing I knew, a year had passed and it was as though my life before had never even existed. Over time, our friendship graduated into something far more profound and meaningful than I think either of us had intended it to be. He became less of a fun elder-brother and more like a kind of father-figure. I turned to him for everything – from relationship advice to business. But more than that, I found myself wanting to make him proud of me which led me to eventually establishing myself as a man of industry and prominence.

"Admittedly, our evenings of sport would not be considered very paternal of him, but as I came to know him – truly know him – my opinion of him transformed. There were a number of occasions in society when I saw that not only was he the worldly, pleasure-seeking rogue I had first met, but he was also a reputed and respected gentleman – fearless, brilliant, self-assured, and dangerous when crossed. Every inch the predator and monarch. You see, Dracula is so much more than what the negative aspects of his reputation suggests. Those are only a fraction of the larger picture that makes up his character. I'm not saying he is a man without fault or vice, because he's not. But at his core, I am of the belief that he is the very greatest of men. But I can see by your face that you are less inclined to agree."

He had read her expression correctly.

She didn't believe him.

For most of her immortal life, she had been convinced of Dracula's arrogance and reputed chauvinism. This was the first time when someone of credibility had dared to contradict her world-view.

"Will you allow me to try and paint a clearer picture of him?" Jack inquired and she quietly nodded her permission. "I will admit that the part of his reputation that you are no doubt acquainted with does hold some validity to it, but he's not entirely what he appears to be."

"If that's the case, then why would a man like him lean into the alleged failings of his character? Does he prefer to have people fear him?"

"I can't answer for him – I only know what I know of him from my own experience. Perhaps it has less to do with preference and more to do with what is easy and familiar? He's not the same man he was a century or even seven centuries ago. He has his demons, certainly, and he's done some fairly monstrous things in his day – but aren't all villains the heroes of their own story? Doesn't it all come back to perspective?"

"Would you be willing to make that same argument for your uncle?"

"For Marcus? Not as readily, because the main difference between Dracula and Augustine comes down to motivation. That's not to excuse the sins of either man, but Augustine's reasons for doing anything have always been entirely self-serving. My uncle – even with his pitiable and sordid history – is an egotist through and through. He cares for nothing but himself. Dracula has moments of selfishness like any fallible man, but he's no narcissist. They both have their demons, but at least my father has a conscience."

"But the issue is not a question of whose demons are worse," she countered. "It's not a competition – and besides, I've always found blaming one's actions on personal demons to show a lack of maturity and accountability."

"So you don't believe in personal demons?" he asked with a knowing look in his eye. "You mean to tell me that you – a woman who has experienced true horror – you would deny the existence and weight of your own very real demons?"

Frankie shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"We are nosferatu, Francesca," he said. "We all have our own dark passengers – and some are more dangerous and powerful than others. It comes with the hunger… but I think it is safe to say that your brand of personal demon is a force to be reckoned with, more than you evidently give it credit for. That's rather irresponsible of you, is it not?"

She opened her mouth to retaliate when she stopped herself, lips coming back together slowly as her jaw relaxed.

"I know the demons my father has faced, that he still faces. That's not to say I will sit here and justify their influence or his actions, but at the very least, I can empathize. Marcus on the other hand… he has no excuse. I'd think you of all people could at least admit to that."

Frankie had been sitting in this room for only God knew how long and he was speaking to her, looking at her as if he knew her by heart, as if he understood her without the need for detail – it was as though he had grasped the extent of her character, her flaws, her fears, her history – everything.

It was awkward, disconcerting, and even a little frightening.

She started to wonder if he possessed some sort of supernatural gift of discernment.

The thought had her eyes falling away from his gaze for a moment as she struggled to collect herself.

"How did he… how did Dracula go about turning you?" she asked after some deliberation and Jack, keenly aware that she was trying to shift the subject away from her and of the nerve he had undoubtedly touched with his previous comments, stood. Grabbing hold of the back of his chair, he slid it across the wood floor so he could sit at her side and face her properly.

He then took her hand in his and squeezed it, a silent message of reassurance.

When he could feel her relax a little, he proceeded to answer her question.

He told her everything of the events that had followed, sparing no detail – from the evening Dracula offered him immortality, to the moving explanation attached to his application.

Jack described the scene, the conversation that had been shared, almost word for word.

He recollected that fateful day, his last day as a mortal. Frankie was quickly lost in the details of it all to the point where she wasn't exactly listening anymore, but imagining it in her mind's eye. She could almost feel the phantom sensation of fangs piercing the flesh of her throat, tearing through skin and muscle, all the way down until the incisors tore the jugular vein. His description of the sucking sensation caused something borderline indecent to curl in her womb and the account of the strong hands, the wet lips – it was all deeply sensual and she hung on to every single word he uttered.

Then he described – at least in part – the taste of Dracula's blood.

According to Jack, the touch of the first drop was like ice, but when it slid down one's throat, an indescribable heat spread – pure, liquid power.

The taste, while certainly blood-like, had a spiced richness to it – like someone had poured cinnamon and a generous pinch of cayenne into to melted dark chocolate. He further explained, and with much deliberation, the strength that had run through his veins with each swallow; the familiar, all-consuming hunger; the heightening of his senses; the awakening of every nerve ending in his body… followed by the horrid pain of the transition itself.

Frankie was quick to remember her own transition. It had been easily one of the most physically excruciating experiences she had ever endured: the body dying and then transforming, becoming perfected. Though the end results were miraculous, the agony involved had been breathtaking and never to be forgotten or equaled. The desire for death had never been so intense and the way Jack described it awakened the long-forgotten memories of her own experience.

For the next several hours, he continued in his narrative, recounting his first few years as a vampire, his first victim and the initial struggle he had with taking life. He described his initial training when Dracula expressed a desire for him to join his elite group of warriors, which in time became the Dracul Sânge. He continued with the first time he met each of his "siblings," the feeling of finally belonging to a family, of having a family and purpose and direction.

They were into the wee hours of the early morning when their conversation was finally drawing to a close, a half-empty bottle of Scotch between them, Jack's elbow resting on the edge of the table as Frankie leaned back in her chair after placing her empty glass down.

"So what have you been doing for the last several decades?" she asked him.

"We've all been in hiding."

"You know… what I can't seem to understand is why you all even entertained the demands of that madman in the first place" she wondered aloud. "You are the Dracul Sânge! You are beholden to no one, save the king."

He didn't deny it, but instead of acknowledging her statement, Jack replied with a question.

"How much do you actually know about Uncle Augustine?"

"You mean like his history? Not much – except that he can't be killed. And I've always gotten the impression that he's cripplingly insecure – most bullies are."

"An astute observation. Allow me to fill in some of the blanks for you. Perhaps knowing more about him while taking into account your own personal experiences will add further enlightenment. Marcus Augustine was the bastard son of Octavian, who later became known throughout history as Augustus. You know, the adopted son of Julius Caesar?"

"Ancient Rome Julius Caesar?"

"Yes, that one. Augustus died in 14 AD when Uncle Marcus was only five years old. He was, through blood, technically next in line to rule, but instead of becoming the child emperor of Ancient Rome, his adopted brother, Tiberius obtained the throne. Not surprisingly, Augustine attempted on several occasions to assassinate his brother, and as punishment was banished from Rome and erased from history. It is said that one evening, while wandering through the wilderness, starved and near death, though still profoundly bitter, he prayed to…"

"No wait – let me guess. The devil?"

"Yes – and his prayer was answered. What isn't commonly known is that Dracula actually wasn't the first vampire. Augustine was. Vampire myths go back thousands of years and occur in almost every culture around the world, and their variety is practically endless. Most assume the 'myth' of our kind originated in Eastern European legend, and there is some validity to that, since the very first vampire – Augustine – originated in Europe, but he wasn't the first of the devil's creations."

"I had no idea."

"It's fascinating stuff, isn't it? Anyways, Father once told me that Lilith…"

"Lilith?"

"The queen of hell – bride of the devil. Real bitch from what I've heard. You don't want to cross her. Anyway, through Lucifer's instruction and Augustine's submission, Lilith attempted to transform Marcus into a vampire, but she was only partially successful in her endeavors."

"Which would explain why no other proper vampires showed up until Dracula."

"Exactly," he affirmed, pleased she was following him so well. "Now the Slavs were the first to take note of him. Christianization began almost as soon as they arrived in their new homelands post their 8th century migration northward. It was through the 9th and 10th centuries that the Eastern Orthodox Church and the western Roman Catholic Church were struggling with each other for supremacy. As you probably know, they formally broke sometime around 1054 AD, with the Bulgarians, Russians, and Serbians staying Orthodox, while the Poles, Czechs, and Croatians went Roman. The split caused a large difference in the development of vampire lore – Rome believed incorrupt bodies were saints, while the Orthodox believed they were vampires."

"And the Orthodox Church got it right."

"Pretty much. Augustine was traveling through much of that area at the time and some of the earlier stories are due to his presence there, along with Lilith's failed attempts to produce a proper vampire as we know them today, since Augustine was unable to create more of his kind. Unfortunately for Lilith, it took her centuries to get it right, and while she had spared Augustine as he was the first, she offered no such mercy to the others."

"I suppose that would explain the variety of lore," Frankie replied, the picture starting to become clearer. "But why the obsession with the undead?"

"Something to do with souls and Hell's war with Heaven which has been going on since time immemorial."

"So that whole son of the devil thing wasn't just a nickname for Dracula… it was legitimate."

"In his early years, yes, to some degree. But you're getting ahead of me. So, in 1462, when Dracula is excommunicated from Christendom, leaving him to call upon Lucifer for immortality…"

"He proved the perfect candidate," she finished. "An ex-believer that had dedicated his life and his work to the will of a God that had abandoned him… Who better than a vengeful warrior prince without a conscience?"

"Oh, but he did have a conscience, Francesca. He just had an unnatural talent for disassociation," he explained with a wry grin. "No doubt you've heard the infamous tales of Vlad Țepeș?"

"I admit, I did my fair share of research after the prophecy was made."

"As is to be expected," he said with a chuckle. "But back to Augustine. Now, you'll recall at the time of Dracula, the Turks were invading that part of Europe. In a final effort to save his country after the murder of his family, Dracula sold his soul to the devil – flesh and spirit – all in exchange for immortality and dominion over his enemies. You see, Augustine, although he was the first vampire, was not what Lucifer had envisioned for his creation. For all intents and purposes, Augustine was defective. And for all of Marcus' faults, in his defense he was forced to live for eternity with the full knowledge of his deficiency. So when Dracula came along and underwent the same transformation only to successfully emerge reborn as vampire perfected…"

"It makes his situation a bit more pitiable, yes… but that's still no excuse."

"Agreed – but you can at least understand where that insecurity you noted comes from."

"I suppose. So Augustine was left to linger in Dracula's shadow, and Dracula himself was free to build his empire of the undead?"

"Pretty much! And there's the severely watered-down history of our species," Jack finished, pouring what remained of the Scotch into his glass. "You know, it's been ages since I've talked about all of this with anyone… I forgot how fascinating it is – where we come from, what our origins are. My brother, Niklaus, and I have always had a love for the history surrounding the nosferatu, the gypsy folklore especially. During his first decade as a vampire, we hiked through the Carpathians just so we could gather stories."

"That sounds rather nice, actually."

"What? The hiking or the history?"

"Both – although the hiking mostly. The lack of fresh mountain air is one of the many things I despise about living in the city."

"What are city lights to rocks and mountains, hmm?" Jack teased before knocking back his drink. "You know, if you want to know more about our history, Niklaus is your man. I don't know how he fits so much information into his brain, but it's the most impressive thing."

"I'll have to remember that for when I meet him. Any myths or topics in particular I should take note of?"

"The stories of the Szgany gypsies are my personal favorite. Actually, if you ever agree to sit down with Father himself, he'd be the best person to talk to about that, since they arrived in Romania a short time after he was born. I think he was about nine years old? They were the ones that served under him in his earlier days as a vampire. And – fun fact – did you know that our kind was actually well-hid from the mortals until the eighteenth century vampire controversy?"

"I was a new vampire around that time, so yes… I am intimately acquainted with that part of history."

"It was hell to live through, wasn't it? It did make for some great stories, though. But I'm getting way off topic now. What were we originally discussing?"

"Augustine."

"Ah yes, Uncle Marcus. Now then, being the proud man he is, Augustine didn't like the idea of being second to a younger adopted brother once again, but considering that Lucifer gave him no choice in the matter, Augustine chose to nurture a bond of sorts with Dracula. The two were relatively amicable, yet indifferent toward one another for years, but I always got the impression that Augustine never really enjoyed the truce – though now that I think of it, he wasn't that bad until Mariella's prophecy. We all tried for decades to convince our father that Augustine couldn't be trusted, and just when we had enough evidence to bring to the table, something set Uncle Marcus off and he lashed out when we all least expected it."

"What exactly did he do that caused the lot of you to disappear overnight?"

"We can get into the details at another time, but suffice it to say he flew all the way over to our home in the mountains behind Father's back just after the final war of Budapest and – quite literally – forced us to surrender. Trust me when I say we didn't have a choice in the matter…"

"But none of you thought to send word to Dracula somehow? To reach out to him to let him know you were in danger or something?!"

"You have to understand, Francesca, even if we had been able to get in touch with our father – which was impossible by that point – Augustine had acquired quite the rapport with him at that time. He had been instrumental in the organization of Budapest as we know it today, as well as the initial defending of the city and the surrounding area sanctioned as ours by the UN all those decades ago. They had their disagreements to be sure, but Father never seemed to be able to entertain the idea that Augustine was genuinely out to ruin him."

"So when Augustine arrived with the news that you had all been killed – he was believed."

"Yes – though I understand Father went through a period of denial. But our situation was such that we were literally incapable of answering his calls, and he called out to all of us for weeks, months even, trying to locate us or at least see if we were still alive."

"But how was Augustine able to sever your bond? I thought after the blood rite is performed, the bonding is permanent? Not to mention the inherent connection between a sire and a fledgling… it's supposed to be indestructible."

"He never severed it – but he was able to cloak it. We were branded with some kind of sigil that keeps us hidden from Dracula, virtually undetectable. There's only two ways to reestablish the blood-bond between us. The first would be to break the spell placed on us by the sigil, and the other would be to drink of his blood. But since we have no way to undo the hex, and because getting close enough to feed from him is out of the question…"

"What if the blood was brought to you?"

"It has to be from the vein and given freely and consciously. Trust me, Mariella tried everything in her power, but nothing took. Fortunately, since Augustine's been too preoccupied trying to run Budapest, my siblings and I have been making our return one at a time. Unfortunately, however, residing permanently in the city isn't an option. But we're able to sneak in on occasion – visit old friends and the like."

"How have you all handled the separation?" Frankie inquired, though it didn't take much to guess his answer.

"It's been a trial for all of us – my sisters especially, but we endure it as best we can, always hoping that Augustine will one day be overthrown and we can be reunited with our father."

Frankie stole a quick glance at her mobile phone to check the hour and she sighed when she realized how much time had gone by. The sun would be rising soon and the music downstairs in the club had all but died away.

"What time is it?" he asked her.

"Late. We should probably wrap this up. I have a stop to make before I head home."

"A pity. I've enjoyed chatting with you. If only we had started this at an earlier hour, we could have had more time," Jack said as he stood from his seat, stretching.

"We'll have to do it again."

"Perhaps after you've interviewed all of us we could all sit down together for dinner or something, like one big family…"

Frankie's expression was that of genuine horror. Jack just laughed, holding up his hands in defense.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I have a terrible habit of moving too fast! This whole 'belonging to Dracula' thing still bothers you, doesn't it? We'll have to do our best to change that. I like you, Francesca."

She smiled.

"And I you. I have to admit I was worried about this meeting, but for the most part, I think it went rather well."

"As do I. I'm willing to forget our bumpy beginning if you are."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Then we are of an accord?" and he held out his hand. She took it and shook his firmly.

"Yes, we are, Mr. Belinskaya."

"You're really going to have to learn how to call me Jack, Francesca."

"And I really wish you wouldn't call me that. Everyone calls me Frankie."

"Yes, but we are the Dracul Sânge. We are not everyone. Although, come to think of it, you aren't even a Dracul yet; though I guess you will be sooner or later, whether you like it or not."

She sent him a censorious look.

"And now you're just saying that to vex me."

He sent her a mischievous smile, but that was all.

"So," Jack announced, clapping his hands together expectedly, "I understand you have this thing you do after an interview. Care to explain it to me?"

"Sure," she replied, shifting her weight a little to dispel the twinge of awkwardness that had started to settle over her some. "I have this gift that I acquired after the prophecy was made. I've never been able to understand why I have it, let alone how it's even possible, but ever since that night it's just something I've been able to do. Fortunately, I can control when and to whom I do it to… well, most of the time. Sometimes it just happens. But I like to conduct formal interviews with people the old fashioned way so I can establish a rapport. I also like to have your own words for when I finally get to writing."

"Which I'm a huge fan of, by the way."

"Thanks. Well, after the formal interview, I sort of… absorb the interviewee's life memories."

"You mean you're going to suck my memories out of me?"

"Heavens, no!" she clarified immediately. "It is not like that at all. You'll still have them, I just… I absorb them, liking copying a file. They become a part of me."

"Sounds like that could get overwhelming, having countless memories from other people swimming about in your head. Why do you do it at all if you can control it?"

"Well, for one, it makes the writing much easier. But it also helps me to better understand the person I interviewed. It's like I come to know them on a deeper level. The details become clearer, as do emotions. There have been a number of individuals who at the start of an interview I wholly disliked, but once I took on the recollections of their life, I was able to understand why they were the way they were, how their experiences have affected and shaped them. It makes me more empathetic, I suppose – and that empathy improves not only the writing process, but the actual work itself. And there's been proven benefits for the recipients as well."

"Does it hurt? The absorbing of my memories, as you put it?"

"Not for you, it doesn't. Actually, I've been told it's rather pleasurable, like a huge weight being lifted off your shoulders."

"Does that weight get placed on you?"

"It does, but I've been doing this for years so I've learned how to manage it."

"Must be strange carrying the lives of so many people – the good and the bad."

"Oh believe me, I don't do it for just anyone."

"Well, then I'm honored!" Jack said with a laugh, but then his smile fell a little as he continued to study Frankie's face. "But I'm getting the impression that a part of you is hesitant," he pointed out.

She didn't answer and Jack seemed to understand immediately.

"I do not blame you for your uncertainty, Francesca. You probably feel like if you did this, it would be like accepting your destiny, giving validity to the prophecy – that we, my siblings and I, would become a part of you, just as we are a part of Dracula."

"I've been meaning to ask all evening – but have you been reading my mind this whole time?"

"No," he assured her. "I suppose it's just intuition… perceptiveness. Whatever it is, it drives my sisters crazy."

There was another moment's silence as Jack continued to look into her eyes.

"If you do not wish to do this thing, I will understand."

"No, it's alright," she assured him, visible shaking off her nerves. "It'll be fine. Although, before we precede, I have to ask you one more question."

"Shoot."

"Why did Dracula choose you? Did he ever give you a reason?"

He paused for a moment, not because he didn't know the answer, but because he wanted to make sure he worded what he was about to say in the best way he could think of.

"We have all have wondered the same thing at some point in time," he confessed. "My siblings and I came to the conclusion that he chose us because he saw something in each of us. You'll learn soon enough that we all come from broken backgrounds. I don't know – maybe it's because he can relate to us all on a certain level? Or perhaps he sees himself in us? I'm not quite sure... he's never actually volunteered that information."

"Well if he's half as charming as you are, there may be hope for him yet," she announced with a bit of mirth and Jack laughed. "I heard once that each of your brothers and sisters have certain gifts unusual for one of our kind – a result of becoming bound to Dracula. Given our conversation this evening, I'm inclined to think that you adopted either your father's charm or his reputed ability to read people with ease."

"I take complete credit for my own charming disposition, thank you," he replied, earning a chuckle from Frankie. "But I do have a knack for discerning a person's character and feelings with very little effort and that certainly comes from him."

Frankie, unsure of how to respond, merely nodded once and offered a faint smile but said nothing as she reached for the recorder and switched it off before placing it and her notebook in her bag. When her things were ready, she looked up to find Jack watching her expectantly.

"So… how do we do this exactly?" he asked, appearing anxious.

"Well, first I need you to stand in front of me and give me your hand."

Jack did as he was told and he watched as the nail of her thumb grew long and sharp before his eyes.

"Do you need my blood?"

"Just a little. Like I said before, I'm extremely rusty, so the scent of your blood will help me focus. Is that alright?"

He nodded his consent and watched with a strange sort of fascination as she punctured a small place on his wrist with her nail, the dark blood slowly oozing from the wound. She did not taste the blood – merely inhaled deep so she could catch the scent and then she closed her eyes, concentrating. After a few moments of silence and undisturbed focus, she started to sense what she had been looking for – something almost tangible emanating from Jack, pulsating around him slowly like a beacon of power, a shaft of light in a dark mist. She reached out for it with her mind.

When the unseen contact of minds was made, an indescribable tingling sensation washed over her and she opened her eyes slowly. Her gaze pierced the very depths of his soul and in an instant, Jack's memories hit her like a powerful wave, visibly pushing her back and she gasped, eyes widening as she became aware of a familiar, invisible pressure resting on her shoulders.

She could see everything, feel everything, taste everything that Jack had experienced in his four hundred and forty-eight years of life. The faces, the words, the recollections – all of them vivid in her mind. Wave after wave hit her and she could feel her strength draining from her body as if it were water in a tub. Her naturally pale skin turned a sickly white, her irises glowing a violent purple and the longer she looked into his eyes, the more it began to hurt.

Frankie could smell the dark crimson blood that was now slowly oozing from her ears and nostrils. She had done this a hundred times in the past with very little effect to herself; why was now so different? Had she really grown so weak?

Jack's memories continued to weigh upon her, the heavy boulders of his life being added one at a time until she could feel the pressure slowly crushing her. Frankie could barely keep herself standing. His life flashed before her eyes and although every face was clearer than crystal, one face in his past remained blurred. She could only assume the man was Dracula, because Jack would call him master and father much of the time. But as the decades turned into centuries, the memories became harder to bear.

Jack had had a wife once – a mortal – and their union had resulted in a dhampir child. More blood streamed down from her ears and nose as she dug deeper into his mind. The wife had died during childbirth and the infant… Frankie wanted to scream. She saw Augustine in her mind, his menacing laughter, his horrid threats, and the corpse of an infant in Jack's arms. She saw countless wars, the monstrosities of the council – she saw all of this, all the way up to her interview with him, and then she blacked out.

Jack watched as Frankie fell back with a terrible thud, hitting the floor as if some invisible force had shoved her down and pinned her there, her head hitting the corner of the table before slamming into the ground.

He had to shake off the pleasant feeling she had described earlier to him in order to regain his senses so he could come to her aid. When reality finally set in, he knelt down beside her and shook her gently.

She didn't look good.

The woman was horridly pale and she was bleeding. When he bent down to touch her, her eyes snapped open as she gasped for breath, catching him off guard and snatching his hand with lightning reflexes, halting his progress. He swore.

"Are you okay?" Jack called out, his concern only deepening as he helped her up off the floor. If it hadn't been for Jack holding her up, she probably would have sunk back down, her limbs felt so heavy.

"I-I think so," she lied.

"We better call your brother. Where's your phone?"

"No, that won't be necessary, just… give me a minute." The flood of Jack's memories was hard to control, but at last, Frankie succeeded in suppressing them, at least for the present. Though the color did not return to her face, she managed a smile. "You see? I'm alright."

"Bullshit. You look terrible," and he handed her a handkerchief so she could wipe the blood from her nose and ears.

"It will pass, I promise. This is completely normal," she fibbed. Although by no means convinced, Frankie never had the chance to persuade him further for there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Jack called.

Frankie gripped the edge of the table in order to hold herself up as one of the men from the hall appeared in the doorway.

"Boss, the sun will be rising in a little over an hour. We need to get going."

"Yes, I'll be there in a moment. Francesca, are you sure you'll be alright?"

Frankie nodded eagerly.

"Yes, yes. I'm completely fine. I'll just stay up here, shake it off for a minute or two and then I'll head downstairs."

"Do you need a ride?"

"No, I have one waiting for me. Thank you for the offer, though."

He smiled and tenderly touched her cheek with the back of his fingers as he visibly struggled between respecting her wishes and risking his own safety.

"Please take care of yourself. Normally I'd insist of accompanying you home, but as I'm pressed for time and this city is unfortunately not a very safe place for me at present…"

"No, no.. I understand. Go on ahead. I promise… I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"If you insist. I'll send you the date and location of your next interview as soon as I am able. I have to go talk to my brothers and sisters now, see which one would like to enjoy the pleasure of your company next."

"I'm looking forward to it. When can I expect to hear from you?"

"Hopefully next week, if that is acceptable?"

"Of course it is. I'm at your disposal. Do you need my address?"

"No," and he smiled charmingly. "I already have it. The invitation will be in code though and since you now possess all of my memories up to this point you should be able to figure it out."

Frankie returned his warm smile, despite the nauseating light-headedness she was still trying to ignore.

"You better get going."

He took her hand and gently kissed her knuckles before bowing to her as he had before, a charming smirk curving his lips.

"Until we meet again, Francesca."

Jack then exited from the room and Frankie was left to herself.

When he was gone, her charade of normalcy was immediately discarded as she swore under her breath, still gripping the edge of the table, trembling slightly.

It took her a few minutes to gather what strength she could muster to collect her things before she could make her way outside to the car where, thankfully, Lorenzo was still waiting. She climbed into the back seat without a word and was utterly silent as her brother's friend turned the car around and drove off into the direction of Carmen's. Frankie rested her cheek against the cool glass of the car window, her eyes closing as the soft hum of the vehicle's engine sang in her ears.

She felt exhausted – emotionally, physically, and mentally drained.

It was normal for her to feel tired after an interview, but the side-effects had never been even remotely this bad before. It took her a few minutes to realize her ears were still slowly oozing blood and when she studied her reflection in the mirror so she could better clean herself up, she realized how deathly pale she looked. The nausea only worsened as the drive continued and when they were barely a handful of blocks away from Carmen's, she nearly surrendered to the queasiness and weakly begged to be let out of the car.

Frankie felt like she was suffocating.

She needed fresh air, badly.

In a mumbled voice, she told Lorenzo to drop her things off at her apartment, insisting that she could walk the rest of the way. Ignoring his protests about how he had instructions, she climbed out of the car, stumbling into the darkened street amidst a handful of passing vehicles.

Her head was spinning.

She grabbed her neck with one of her hands, scratching the skin as if it would help her to breathe more easily, but it was no use. She could feel her dark passenger awakening, a treacherous hunger and rage that swirled and blackened in her brain, her thoughts and feelings blending with Jack's tumultuous memories. It wasn't long before she began to feel trapped in her body, suddenly claustrophobic, deafened by all the noise of the city surrounding her.

Her head was pounding like a taiko drum and the rhythm was increasing at an alarming rate as her inner demon started to claw at the center of her chest from within. The woman could barely stay on her own two feet. Every muscle and tendon in her body felt hard and tense to the point where it was becoming difficult to walk.

Jack's uncontrollable memories were like a violent whirlpool in a stormy sea – all noise and chaos, the extensive range of sensation and emotion deafening and even a little frightening… as if she could feel herself sinking into the black.

Frankie Chase was losing herself and try as she might, she was too weak to get control.

She was drowning, unable to breathe and no longer capable of movement as she stood in the middle of the street, a blinding light headed straight toward her.

Turning her head with some deliberation, she realized the lights were coming from a fast moving car, which was mere seconds from flattening her on the asphalt beneath her feet, and yet she lacked the strength to move. Her legs started to give out beneath her as the sound of Rémy screaming for her to get out of the street reached her ears, though his voice was lost in the roar of her mind. Her world turned for a moment and then she fell as the light devoured her. She expected to feel her body hitting the pavement before the angry machine could run her over, but the pain never came.

There was only a sudden loss of gravity as she was lifted and tucked in close by a pair of strong, unfamiliar arms, and then she blacked out completely.