Happy Monday, dear readers! It's another obscenely hot and smoky morning here - the rising red sun looks like the Eye of Sauron and the sky in general looks post-apocalyptic, which is really killing my vibe. I hope everyone is doing well, though. I'm currently counting down days until summer is over because I am sick of the heat and the fires and my general state of sleeplessness... ugh. I swear, the only thing getting me through this year has been finishing this story and all the reading I've been doing/catching-up on since. I need the world and my life in general to calm the fuck down so I can actually enjoy it instead of this new normal of existing in survival mode.
But I digress.
A massive thank you to the lovely people who reviewed the last chapter - Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, inkmagpie, Guest, and MsIndulgence. There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights... and yes, I just quoted Dracula. Come for me, I dare you ;) Nah - but for real, your support means the absolute world to me, so thank you.
This chapter is a bit of a doozy. Brace yourself. Basilio is one of the nastiest characters I've ever written (which was both a challenge and a twisted kind of adventure), and we're only scratching the surface with him this chapter.
CW: PTSD, violence, sexual harassment, and assault
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 5
The Spider's Web
It was an awkward kind of silence that lingered between both Francesca and Vladislaus as they stepped onto the platform from the subway car, maneuvering through the small crowd of commuters without a single word passing between them. The pair eventually emerged out onto the streets, the tension between them only continuing to worsen.
Either unwilling to speak first, both had made feeble attempts to content themselves with distracted observations of their surroundings, one blatantly avoiding eye contact with the other, though resistance proved futile. Glances were regularly stolen and hands would accidentally brush on occasion, their bodies seeming to gravitate toward one another on instinct when not being actively and conscientiously kept at a safe distance.
By the time they had walked some blocks from the metro station, the lack of conversation had become near intolerable. It was Frankie who finally broke the silence first.
"So," the woman said at last in some weak attempt at dispelling the tension, "when was the last time you saw Signore Bernardini? How is he?"
Dracula, momentarily startled by the sound of her voice, was quick to collect himself.
"I saw him just the other day," he answered with careful civility. "He is well."
"I am glad to hear it," was all she could think to utter in response. "I haven't seen him in some months."
Vlad offered no reply, unsure of what to say or how to make their present tête-à-tête feel less stilted. But the strain between them was so agonizing and he was so afraid of mis-stepping again like he had the night before, it proved far easier to be silent.
Yet, the topic of his old friend brought to mind the advice the Italian had offered him when they last spoke – let her behavior be your guide. Although unsure if the woman had addressed him only to dispel the uncomfortable silence or if her query had been borne out of genuine curiosity, he decided to take a leap of faith and return her attempt at a casual exchange.
"He requested that I extend his compliments to you, now that you mention it," he managed. "He also asked me to tell you that the invitation to visit again for tea, or whatever refreshment you prefer, still stands at any time convenient."
"That is kind of him," Frankie answered, the strange shyness in her air capturing his attention. "Do you see him often?"
"I try to make it over there a couple of days a week if time permits – though we speak fairly regularly on the phone."
Frankie tried to picture Dracula holding friendly conversations on the phone. It made the corner of her lips tug upwards just a hair.
"And how have you been keeping yourself busy these last months?" she asked, though it was clear by the way she looked away from him that a part of her regretted even inquiring.
It did not take the two of them being blood-bound for him to know that she was uncomfortable and her evident distress pained him a little. Not only because it was he that made her thus, but because if Bernardini's suspicions were accurate, she had been just as miserable as he during their separation and her present discomfort was the last thing he wanted.
In the duration of his immortal life, Dracula rarely ever took pity on those who had once caused him pain – his pride had often forbidden such feelings of charity. But when it came to Francesca, instinct had his heart softening on her behalf. It was true that she had insisted they could never be together in the way he desired, but she was receptive to at the very least being his friend – something he had not anticipated when she had said as much the evening before.
In that moment, being her friend was far better than going back to not having her in his life at all.
"Mere trivialities to pass the time," was his answer after he exhaled a little heavily as if to alleviate his own anxiety. "I've been composing more regularly – something I haven't done in decades. And then there's of course the tasks your brother gave me during my absence, along with a couple of other leads I acquired in the meantime."
"Anything of interest?"
"Not yet. Just planting seeds, really, although it's allowed me to rekindle a relationship or two with a couple of old acquaintances."
This seemed to catch her attention as she turned to look at him.
"Anyone of note?" she asked as casually as possible.
"Actually yes – an old friend of mine from years past. You may know of her."
"Her?" Frankie couldn't help but say, the knots in her gut tightening almost instinctually at the thought of him with another woman.
"Madam Elina Markov… of the council."
Her carefully constructed mask of indifference slipped a little.
"What? Really?"
"Yes."
"How did you manage that? I thought she was an Augustine loyalist."
"In word only, and for the sake of her own safety. Elina has been a loyal servant and friend of Dracula's for well over two and a half centuries."
"But how do you know she can be trusted? Many of the king's old allies abandoned him when Augustine took over."
Dracula almost revealed the truth that he was Elina's sire and that such knowledge was therefore something he'd be privy to, but he quickly caught himself, mind frantically searching for a less personal excuse that would satisfy the woman at his side.
"I just know," he answered a little lamely. "Besides, she does not know of my involvement with the alliance, or of my friendship with your brother – so you're all safe, if that's what concerns you."
"So why did you rekindle the relationship then, as you put it?" she asked, trying not to sound as suspicious as she was suddenly feeling. Little did she know that her moment of jealousy offered him far more encouragement than she could have ever realized.
"I think the more appropriate question would be why ever not?" he replied, wearing the faintest of smirks. "Having eyes on the inside could prove most valuable to the cause, wouldn't you agree?"
"I suppose so – if she can be trusted, as you say."
"Do you have reason to believe her to be otherwise?"
"I just don't feel comfortable putting my faith someone who so easily defected to Augustine's side shortly after Dracula went into stasis. That's all. Seems to speak of a kind of inherent sense of self-preservation over the greater good. Bernardini and his wife, for instance, were willing to contest and question Augustine and his regime every step of the way. Why wouldn't she?"
"Because Antón told her to change sides early on."
Frankie made no attempt to hide her surprise that time, eyes widening in disbelief.
"But… why?"
"Let's just say that when it comes to political intrigue, the Signore is easily one of the best at the game. That – and there are few still alive who know Marcus Augustine as well as he does."
"So why would Bernardini have her betray her king… and the people?"
"Antón understood at the time that we'd need someone on the inside at some point. His and Mariella's allegiances to Dracula were irrefutable and well known. They would never betray their king – as Mariella's death proved," and he said this with a kind of solemnity that had Frankie moving a little closer to him, sympathy softening her features. "But Elina, though a great friend of his majesty, has remained in many ways the face and voice of his people for nearly an entire century – from the time our race 'stepped into the light', all the way down through the years of the final war. Elina's sole allegiance has always been to our kind – who better to convince them that the regime change is for the best than the champion of the populace?"
"So he had her change sides simply to keep her alive? Surely you see how such an action betrays the trust of those who look to her. For decades, the people have had confidence in her and because of their faith in her judgment it could be argued that she's partially to blame for Augustine taking power in the first place."
"Marcus would have taken the throne with or without her feigned allegiance. Her sacrifice smoothed a transition that otherwise could have been far more bloody."
"I suppose if you put it like that…" Frankie conceded, though a little unwillingly. "And Augustine has never once suspected her?"
"Oh he has plenty of times, I'm sure. He may not be the most competent ruler, but he's not a fool," Vlad explained, grateful for the sudden effortlessness in which their conversation was now being carried. "For all of Marcus' faults, even he understands the uniqueness of her position. To attack her would be an open declaration of war against the people and while his hatred for Dracula runs far deeper than even I could have imagined, he isn't rash enough to risk open war – not if it means getting his own hands dirty."
"But doesn't he want war? He hates our kind and would, I'd assume, want nothing more than to see us destroyed and lost to purgatory for all eternity."
"Yes, but given that he hasn't outright destroyed everyone – and believe me, he could if he wanted to – I'm starting to think that the man has come to appreciate that being king isn't nearly so fun when you have no one to rule," he answered with a sidelong glance. "No, Miss Chase – despite Marcus' deeply rooted disdain for all that our kind's existence stands for, he still wants what all of us want in some degree or another."
"And what is that?"
"To belong… and to feel in control. And if that means forcibly inserting himself where he wishes and silencing all those who dissent…" His voice trailed off, but he didn't need to finish the thought.
As much as Frankie hated to admit it, she could understand Augustine's motivations, could even empathize with it on some level.
"So Elina – how long have you known her?"
"Since before she was sired."
"Did Dracula turn her?"
Vlad hesitated for just a moment before responding.
"Yes."
"And have the two ever…" She paused, hoping he would catch her meaning and though he had, he remained silent, much to Frankie's chagrin. "You know?"
"Have they what?"
"Are they intimately acquainted or just…" Her voice trailed off, eyes cast down to the ground in what could only be construed as mild embarrassment.
Vlad had to suppress the satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
Ah, there it was – the manifestation of Francesca de Chacier's secret insecurity.
So the woman wasn't wholly impenetrable after all. It made him feel mischievous.
"Yes, they were lovers for a time, although he was never really her preferred taste."
"You mean she doesn't have a thing for dominant men notorious for their commitment issues?" she asked tartly, brow arched in a look of teasing.
Instead of being affronted by her query, the man laughed.
"No – she just has a preference for female companionship than to that of the male variety."
"Is that a general statement, or was there someone in particular?"
"A woman by the name of Lana Fiore. They were together for decades…"
"Wait – I know that name. Is that the same Lana Fiore that was assassinated during a vampire rights demonstration in the states almost a century ago? It was during a US Presidential election, wasn't it?"
"Whose death led to the Great War shortly after? The very same."
"I had no idea they were ever a thing."
"Both women were extremely private, and after Lana's murder, Elina never took another companion. That night, she declared herself married to the people, and she's been celibate ever since."
Frankie found herself feeling rather foolish for her previous bought of jealousy after hearing the man's tale, and she pondered over his words for a moment or two in silence, starting to recall where she had been in her life the year Elina's lost love had died. She, her brother, Danny, Jacob, her cousin Alayna, and Lyra had all been in the US during that tumultuous time in that nation's history. She had almost forgotten how dark those days had been.
But before she could divulge that information, she realized that they had arrived at their destination, the building of interest situated at the far end of the block.
For a flesh and feeding house, on the surface, the establishment appeared nothing out of the ordinary. But there was something tangibly malevolent about the air surrounding and as the pair slipped quietly into the shadows of a neighboring alley a safe distance away, Frankie became aware of a nauseating anxiety that had begun to curl in her gut.
"So what is the plan?" Vlad asked, lowering his voice. "The street seems unusually empty."
"Camilla should be inside waiting for me. I just need to find her, distract the Spider so she can get what we need, and then get out. Should be fairly straightforward."
"Miss Chase?"
"What?"
"You're trembling."
Frankie looked down at her hands to find that he was indeed correct. She was shaking ever so slightly, and though she stilled the moment he identified her nervousness, the trepidation in her chest was persistent.
"I'm fine," she lied, but that was more for her own benefit than his.
Thankfully, he was not so easily placated.
"Might I speak candidly?"
"You may."
"I have great respect for your brother, but I've come to better understand the extent of Basilio's reputation over the last few months, and for the record, I have to agree with Lyra Kennedy. I think sending you in there alone is utter carelessness on his part – not that I doubt your ability to take care of yourself. I just..."
His voice trailed off with his thought, the faint hint of concern in his eyes saying more than any words could have. Frankie, moved by his apprehension on her behalf, smiled a little as she straightened, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.
"If it's any consolation, Mr. Leinhart – I don't feel wholly comfortable with it either."
"Would you like me to accompany you?"
"No – that would be quite impossible," she stated, trying her best to sound brave, but memories of her last visit to the Spider's lair began to creep into the forefront of her mind, try as she might to suppress them. "I have to do this alone."
"So I am to stay here and wait for your return while you enter hell?" he asked, taking no pains to conceal how much he despised this arrangement.
Frankie would never say as much, but she was eternally grateful that her thoughtless, single-minded brother had insisted she take Vlad with her.
Yes, the strain of their present relationship and the harsh truths that accompanied it remained painful, but in that moment it was better to have him present for moral support than not at all. There was something quite comforting about his presence at her side… even if she was convinced that the man was still upset with her.
"If I'm not back in thirty minutes," she said, "I give you permission to go in after me." Her eyes met his after the words were uttered and a world of unspoken feelings suddenly passed between them. "Though I pray it will not come to that."
"Please be careful," he urged her, reaching for her hand instinctually and squeezing it in an effort to convey his earnestness.
The action, though unplanned on his part, surprised her at first, as the sign of affection did not match the cold indifference she had received just the evening prior. But Frankie chose not to question it, and she squeezed his hand in return before silently releasing him so she could switch on the tiny microphone disguised as an onyx jewel at the end of her necklace. After activating the cleverly concealed device with her phone, and shortly thereafter receiving a text from her brother saying the connection was working, she turned to step back out onto the sidewalk when Dracula called out to her unexpectedly before she could put any real distance between them.
"Miss Chase?" She turned in his direction at the sound of her name, her heart getting caught in her throat for just a moment. "When Rémy said you had history with the Spider, what did he mean?"
Despite the fact that they now had an unseen audience on the other side of town, the man persisted, as if some part of him hoped her answer would guilt Rémy into calling the whole thing off. What he hadn't anticipated, however, was the thinly veiled fear in her expression and he suddenly felt sick.
"This isn't the first time I've stolen something from him."
"Does he know?"
"Given our last encounter six years ago, he suspects, but he has no proof."
"Won't your being here raise suspicion?"
"We're about to find out," she answered bravely and then she turned and walked away before she could lose her nerve.
Dracula's eyes never left her person as she made her way down the street and into the building, and when she was no longer in sight, he reached for his mobile in his pocket, a single tap on the screen putting him in touch with the woman's brother.
"Rémy, I don't like this," he said immediately, his fingers slipping behind the collar of his shirt to nervously rub the lion-shaped brand on his chest.
"I know."
"No you don't… there's something she's not telling us."
"Just trust her, Vlad. My sister knows what she's doing."
Dracula disconnected the line shortly thereafter, activating the app on his phone that would permit him to hear whatever was happening around the woman who was now beyond his reach. Although it was better than being completely blind, his eyes remained fixed on the building ahead as he pressed the edge of the phone absently to his lips.
"Come back to me, Francesca," he whispered to the night air, his voice barely audible. "Please..."
Frankie's expression of indifference belied any anxiety she truly felt. She moved through the poorly lit lobby of the establishment with a convincingly confident air as she approached the matron on duty, casually taking into account the security personnel positioned about the room.
"Welcome to the Web – where your vice is our pleasure. Do you have an appointment?" the matron called out, the words clearly rehearsed and spoken with a false kind of enthusiasm that did nothing to conceal the deadness of her eyes.
"Yes, I'm here to see Camilla Baquero," Frankie answered in turn.
"Is this your first time visiting us?"
"Certainly not," she replied with a flirtatious smile. "May I…?" and she motioned toward one of the doors. "I know my own way."
"Of course, though I must remind you that all payments are due in advance. Tips can be delivered directly to any of our staff at the conclusion of your session. I see I have you down for a thirty-minute private feeding. Would you like a free upgrade? We have some tasty new dhampirs on staff this evening."
"Not tonight, thank you."
Frankie handed the woman a small wad of cash and after the money was counted, she was handed a keycard and then granted entry.
After ascending two sets of stairs, she found herself in a crimson hall, dimly lit and lined with doors. The stale air reeked of sex and blood, and the muted sounds of sin – both pleasure and torment –haunted the corridor. It was a strange kind of music that normally aroused its lecherous patrons but only seemed to worsen the tightening knots in the woman's gut.
It didn't take long for her to find the door she had been searching for, and with a swipe of her keycard she entered a small room where a willowy figure of a woman stood, waiting for her.
Camilla Baquero was the natural mother of Vesper – a human of thirty-six years that appeared significantly older than she was, given the lines of age that creased the skin of her brow and eyes. Life had not been kind to Camilla. She had been in the business since the tender age of nine, knowing no different. Yet, despite the unfair hand she had been dealt, she was astonishingly unbroken, though the fresh bruises on her arms and chest may have suggested otherwise.
"Frankie. Heaven bless me, you are a sight for sore eyes," she called out as soon as the door was shut and the two women embraced briefly in greeting. "When Kara told me that Danny said you were coming to visit, I almost didn't believe it."
"I'm glad to see you're alright – although a little worse for wear. Who did that to you?" she asked, motioning toward the ugly black and blue marks below her collar.
"Oh, that? Got in a bit of a tiff with one of the regulars – told him if he wanted to hit me for free, he'd get hit back. Didn't believe me."
"Jesus, Camilla… "
"Don't worry about it," the woman insisted with a smile. "I've taken far worse beatings. You know me. Takes a lot more than a brute with a temper to get me down."
"I wish you'd let me take you out of here."
"It's fine – really. Besides, I'd have nowhere else to go."
"You know you could stay with us."
"I don't believe in charity, so there's no need for that. Besides, my daughter deserves a better mother. I don't need her seeing me like this. How is my baby, anyway?"
"A total smartass," Frankie replied, chuckling slightly. "Not to mention as brave and resilient as her mother."
"So she's doing all right, then? God, you have no idea how happy that makes me. You're so good to my girl. I can't thank you and Carmen enough for getting her out of here when you did."
"I still wish you had come with us. It's never too late for that, you know."
"This is where I belong," Camilla insisted with a rueful smile. "Besides – if I wasn't here, who else would spy for you?"
Though Frankie's heart fell a little at that, the woman's words served as a reminder of her true purpose in being here tonight.
"Did Kara tell you what I'm going to need you to do?"
"Break into the boss' office when he's not looking and get something for you, right?"
"Yes," and Frankie reached into the pocket of her jeans to retrieve a tiny micro SD card, which she then handed to Camilla. "I'll lure him out and all you have to do is plug that into his computer, type in a short string of code in the box that pops up on the screen, wait for the auto-download to finish and we're home free."
"Sounds basic enough! I heard Basilio pass down the hall about ten minutes ago, making the rounds. He hasn't gone back to his office yet, so if we hurry, we can get what you need without him even knowing you're here," and she began to make her way over to the door, but Frankie stopped her, grabbing her by the arm.
"Camilla – are you sure you want to do this?"
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because if Basilio catches you – if he catches either of us…"
"Don't you fret about me. You raising my baby girl and keeping her out of that monster's reach is the only assurance I need. I'm not afraid of him."
Frankie remained unsure and recognizing this, Camilla sighed as she released the handle of the door for a moment so she could turn to face the woman before her.
"Just promise me one thing?"
"Anything."
"Whatever happens to me – either tonight or nights from now – swear to me that when you kill that asshole, you'll burn this place to the ground. Burn them all down."
"I'd do it right now if I knew I could get away with it."
"I know. So swear that you'll do it the moment he's dead."
"I swear it."
Camilla's smile returned as she placed the micro SD card under her tongue.
"Then we're good. Now hurry… he'll be heading back this way soon."
The two females slipped out into the crimson corridor as soon as the coast was clear, Frankie following the human's lead as they made their way to the end of the hall and beyond a door that led to another flight of stairs. The gallery at the top was much shorter than the previous one had been, the color scheme dark and masculine, the air unnervingly cool and still.
The door to the room at the end of the hall – Basilio's office – was open just slightly, not a soul in sight, save a single security camera which, thanks to a Rémy-approved device in Frankie's pocket, shorted the connection and temporarily disabled the camera. When they were certain they could proceed undisturbed, Camilla disappeared into the empty office while Frankie stood guard outside, absently examining the unsettling artwork that adorned the walls.
The paintings were all erotic in nature, nude bodies strewn and contorted about in what could only be described as uncomfortable positions, some of the pieces depicting scenes of a more violent nature – rapes, sadomasochism, torture.
Frankie shuddered involuntarily as memories of the last time she had been in this hallway continued to struggle in their emergence, try as she might to suppress them.
She didn't want to remember that night six years ago – a fateful evening when, in a moment of desperation after the death of Derek and her aunt, she had foolishly presumed she could take on a predator like Basilio.
In her years as a newborn fledgling, her maker and mentor, Eduardo de Meirás, had warned her that not all men could be easily bent to her will. Not all predators could be manipulated, dominated, or controlled. Some mountains, he had often said, are best left unclimbed, and some monsters should remain unchallenged. She had known this, yet had foolishly ignored his counsel when she should have heeded it most.
It had been an act of conceit and pure naivety on her part, an effort to prove herself superior and in control of her then unraveling existence by attempting to tame a demon whilst gratifying her own. But it had been she who had been conquered. A night of shame and violation she so desperately wished to forget.
Frankie was so lost in those memories of old that she remained ignorant of someone's approach from the stair until his voice broke the silence, causing her to jump, startled.
"Now yours is a face I never thought I'd see again," Basilio called out from the far end of the hall.
She was slow to turn to face the figure cloaked in shadow as every hair on the back of her neck stood on end. That coiling knot in her stomach sent a wave of nausea through her. Frankie could proudly proclaim that she feared no man – save two: Marcus Augustine and the monster in front of her. While her expression never once betrayed her true feelings, he must have sensed her discomfort, for the surprised smile on his face turned into a sneer as he stepped into the light.
"Madame Nemo," he announced, her occupational alias left to linger in the air like some kind of damning falsehood.
She should not have come here. Such were the thoughts that immediately skidded across her brain as images from their last encounter flashed before her mind's eye as if they were happening right in front of her.
Her despair at losing her aunt.
The guilt that came with Derek's death.
Their confrontation as she demanded blood and his submission to her whims.
And then the sex – the violent, uncharacteristic burst of insanity that had her looking for some semblance of comfort and control in the worst place imaginable, leading to a vicious game of cat and mouse as they struggled for dominance, one over the other.
She had had him in the palm of her hand, but had crowed too loud in her moment of triumph and his retribution in the face of her arrogance had been an unpleasant lesson in humility.
In a foolhardy effort to reclaim some semblance of dominion over her disintegrating life, she had resurrected the persona of la siréne, and the consequences of her actions had left her with little more than self-loathing and shame.
By the time it was finished, her emotions raw and body aching, Frankie had lost her temper at the end of their interlude and had thought to use her blood to end him where he stood – the ultimate act of supremacy, claiming control over his undead life – but he had survived her attack and his promise of vengeance had sobered her in the most effective way imaginable.
Frankie had sworn to herself that night as she had stumbled about the darker alleys of Budapest that she would never cross blades with that man again; and yet, here she was… willfully stepping into his arena. The heavy bass of his voice mingled with the thick Spanish accent had once sent conflicting shivers of trepidation and lust down her spine.
Now the sound had her shuddering internally in something she was not accustomed to feeling – genuine horror.
In that moment, he seemed more demonic or serpentine than arachnid.
But it was his slow stalking forward that sent her stomach churning in sickening knots and they only continued to tighten.
"Basilio," she said at last in acknowledgment, the sound of her own vocal response fortifying her a little. "Just the man I wanted to see."
"Really?" he replied, thick brows rising in an exaggerated astonishment over soulless eyes. "I was given the distinct impression when our paths last crossed that we were never to see each other again – a mutual understanding, I recall."
"Oh believe me, I'm not here because I want to be."
"You journalists… always so eager to risk life and limb for a story. What's the headline to be this time? Novice Writer Makes a Sad Second Attempt at Subduing Budapest's True King?"
"I was thinking something more along the lines of Fat Cat of the East Side Almost out of Lives."
"Fat cat?" he repeated dramatically before opening his suit jacket so he could pretend to self-consciously examine his waist. "More like lean, mean, and feral if you ask me."
"Pity for you, I didn't."
"Why are you really here?"
"I recently received a tip that a certain someone is back in the blood harvesting business."
"Wasn't blood harvesting outlawed seven years or so ago, thanks to the public outrage caused by one of your little exposés?"
"It most certainly was."
"So what makes you think I would be foolish enough to participate in illegal activity, or that I would even know anything about it if it was indeed happening in the first place?"
"Isn't it your job to know these things? You being Budapest's self-proclaimed True King and all?"
Although Basilio laughed, there was no humor in his dark brown eyes.
"Tell me," she continued, deciding to walk toward him now so she could keep him a safe distance from his office door, giving Camilla the time she still needed, "how has business been for you lately with alliance sympathizers continuing to protest that new establishment of yours by the river?"
"They've been obnoxious, but I've seen no real impact to our profits. The self-righteous will always crow loudly, but even they have their secret vices."
"Would you be willing to go on the record for that?" Frankie asked, removing a slip of paper from her jacket before boldly snatching the pen from his front coat pocket with a perfectly flirtatious smile as she began to write his words down. The action perturbed him some, but he remained composed.
"If you think it would be of value."
"Another question – there are rumors of complaints raised as to the working conditions in some of your less prestigious institutions. Are you aware of your employees concerns?" He opened his mouth to respond, but she interrupted him before he could even get two words out. "There have also been a number of alarming reports of violence, money laundering, illegal drug trade and human trafficking, abductions and abusing of minors, and, quite frankly, a laundry list of other felonies, infractions, and human rights violations, but we'll just stick with the major items, shall we? Makes for more salacious reading."
Basilio's eyes narrowed in her direction as she continued.
"I also have a source that claims to have footage of a pair of your known associates breaking and entering into the home of a registered carrier of the anti-vampire virus where she was then seized against her will and transported to one of the old blood factories on the edge of town. Is there any validity to these claims?" she asked, pen at the ready, expression daring him to react. "If such irrefutable evidence were to surface, tell me, you disgusting, amoral arachnid, is there a statement you have prepared in advance that you'd like to just pass on now or were you planning on sucking Augustine off while hiding beneath his robes as he cleans up another one of your PR messes?"
Before the echo of her words could finish their damning resonation in the air, the man, in a flash of unbridled rage, slammed his fist against the wall at his side. The burst of violence startled her and she knew she had crossed a line, but the more reckless part of her brain didn't care. Her own sense of self-preservation rapidly vanished as she stood toe to toe with this man, despite the nauseating feeling continuing to linger in the pit of her stomach.
Still put off by her previous audaciousness, Basilio chose to rein in his anger, a chilling calm washing over him as he straightened his coat sharply before snatching his pen out of her hand.
"Miss Nemo, or whatever the hell your name actually is – and believe me, it wouldn't take much for me to find out – why don't you skip the theatrics and tell me what you're really doing here. We both know that if you wanted to write an exposé on my enterprise, you would turn to your other sources for whatever truths suited your narrative," and he returned his pen to its home in his front pocket.
"Is it so unbelievable that I would prefer to go directly to the source?"
"Where you are concerned – yes. I find it wholly unbelievable."
"And why is that?"
"Because the last time you tried to get the upper hand on me," he said in low, suggestive tones, leaning in so he could invade her space, "I made it clear that I was not a man to be crossed twice." He ran a single finger over her collarbone thoughtfully before slowly moving down towards the valley between her breasts where the inconspicuous microphone resided. "Have you grown complacent since our last encounter, little bird?" he crooned.
Before he could touch the pendant of her necklace, she abruptly slapped his hand away, momentarily finding her voice.
"Don't touch me."
But her outburst gave him the reason he had been looking for to snap back in retaliation.
The Spider snatched her throat with lightning reflexes and slammed her back into the wall where the imprint of his fist resided.
"You don't get to tell me what to do," he hissed in her face, and his grip around her neck tightened as he crowded her. "Or have you already forgotten that lesson I gave you the last time you were here?"
"Get off!"
"I remember it," he continued as if she hadn't even spoken. "I think about it sometimes, that night when you came waltzing into my office unannounced, determined to force me into submission. So full of threats and righteous commands; so eager to flirt with danger, but too afraid to look it in the face. I knew it was folly, yet still I gave you what you came for and like the ungrateful bitch you are, you tried to kill me with your poisoned blood after!"
Frankie continued in her attempts to pry his large hand from her neck, but to no avail.
"I told you what would happen if you ever came back here looking for danger again. Well, here it is, little bird! Here is your danger staring you in the face. Would you like to dance with it again? Shall I throw you over my desk once more or will this wall be sufficient for you?"
"I said get off!" she shouted at him, kicking the man in the shins in some vain hope that it would get him to release her, but he only held her tighter.
"Yes… tell me to stop. Beg, scream… sing your litanies until your voice goes hoarse. You know how I love them."
But before he could proceed in his rampage, a sudden darkness swept through the corridor, a silence that swallowed up all sound as the air began to pulsate with a kind of inexplicable power.
The occurrence was enough to momentarily distract Basilio so Frankie could free herself, putting a safe amount of distance between her person and the predator before her who was now staring up at the ceiling in curiosity.
Every creature in that building could feel the change in the air – an almost tangible blackness that threatened to deafen and swallow the entire block whole.
Frankie recognized the presence immediately, having sampled only a taste of such power many years ago at a masque in Venice.
Dracula.
She had forgotten that he and the others had been listening in on this entire exchange; that the man himself was in fact just outside… was this his way of keeping her safe without actually interfering? But why take the risk of revealing himself? If the Spider was truly working with Augustine… if word got back to him…
Frankie couldn't even finish the thought.
"Dracul…" Basilio murmured with evident wonder and even a little disbelief. "So the Prince of Darkness is still in Budapest after all. But why?" and his eyes found their way back to a visibly shaken Frankie.
She said nothing in response to his query, but her silence only made the wheels in his head visibly turn. He studied the knowing look that she didn't realize she was wearing and his interest deepened.
But before he could ask the obvious questions, they were interrupted by the sound of a creaking floorboard somewhere behind them and both vampires turned to find that Camilla had attempted to use their moment of distraction to sneak out of the office undetected.
A pity her efforts had proven unsuccessful.
Basilio was at the human's side before Frankie could even blink and he grabbed the woman by the hair.
"What were you doing in there?" he demanded, the menace in his words unable to be softened by the silkiness of his tone.
"Let her go!" Frankie insisted, but as anticipated, he ignored her.
The Spider had long-since grown immune to the cries of women.
"Answer me, whore!" and in a movement that was more blur than anything else, the back of his hand collided with Camilla's face.
Frankie stepped in to intervene, but the man turned on her in an instant. With the release of Camilla, he attempted to take a swipe at the female in front of him, fangs out, eyes ablaze as his nails turned into razor-like talons. Frankie only managed to dodge his attack by leaning back at the last second.
"You have two seconds to tell me what you're doing here, or I'll…"
"I'm only here for the story," Frankie insisted. "She has nothing to do with this."
"Do you still take me for a fool?" he shouted at her.
"It's true," Camilla insisted between tears. "She wanted to speak with you and I came up here to look for you but…"
"STOP LYING!" he roared and with an unforgiving hand, he grabbed the mortal by the arm, forcing her to stand in front of him.
"Leave her alone," Frankie pleaded once again, attempting to save the poor human from any further abuse, but before she could act, the man, with a single vicious tug, tore the upper half of the simple dress from Camilla's figure, forcing the human to stand naked and vulnerable for Frankie to see.
The mortal's flesh had already endured a gross amount of abuse, her pale skin littered with blotches of purple, black, and a few spots of dark brown. The sight left Francesca ill with guilt. God only knew what further injuries this woman would sustain before this night was over.
Frankie's control slipped away as she looked into the eyes of Vesper's biological mother and for a brief instant, she thought she saw the teenage dhampir standing in front of her, silently weeping and afraid, but trying so hard to stay brave.
It nearly broke her heart.
"Do you want to fuck her, little bird?" Basilio hissed.
"No," Frankie answered submissively, voice hushed, body frozen.
"Do you want to feed on her?"
"No," she whispered, now fighting back the tears that prickled in her eyes.
"Then get out of my sight… and if I ever see your face in one of my establishments again, I will personally see to it that you become a permanent fixture. Do you understand?"
Frankie knew he meant every word of that threat, and unwilling to tempt fate any further, she turned, prepared to leave empty-handed, but Camilla spoke up, voice cracking with emotion.
"She paid."
"What?" the prostitute's handler snapped angrily, but his outrage only seemed to give her more of a voice.
"She paid to feed on me," Camilla stated with resolution.
"You heard the bitch. She's not hungry."
"But she's still a patron, master… and paying customers always get…"
"… what they pay for," he finished impatiently. "Don't quote the rules to me," and he released her roughly from his unforgiving grip, shoving her forward a little in Frankie's direction.
"I fear I don't have much of an appetite," the female vampire insisted, but Camilla moved her hair away from the side of her neck in offering as she knelt submissively before the woman.
"You should feed, miss," the human insisted. "Besides… you look rather piqued."
Frankie hesitated.
It was true – despite the appalling circumstances, blood was blood and if there was one thing she knew she'd never be rid of, it was that incessant hunger.
But with a subtle wink from Camilla and the slight raising of her tongue, Frankie noticed the micro SD card hidden in the human's mouth.
She had done it.
Camilla had gotten the plans and security details of the blood factory!
With a rush of conflicting guilt and relief, Frankie gently helped the human to her feet before kissing her on the mouth so Camilla could strategically transfer the SD card to her without detection with her tongue. The moment it was handed over, the vampire then moved her lips to the mortal's throat and bit down, solidifying the believability of their ruse.
Frankie hated feeding with an audience, even more so with Basilio watching, his gaze openly lecherous. But what had begun as a simple intent to partake for the sake of the pair's clever deception soon graduated into something less deliberate. With every swallow of Camilla's bittersweet blood came wave upon wave of an unbearable sadness from the human, which soon inspired Frankie to feed more feverishly in some vain hope that she could bleed the mortal dry for her own sake.
But Basilio saw through her intentions and was quick to put an end to the plan before she could get too far.
"That's enough," he insisted, grabbing Camilla by the shoulder and pulling her out of Frankie's reach. He eyed his unwelcomed guest with lingering suspicion, despite the evident arousal in his eyes… and in his trousers. "You've had your fill. Now get out."
Frankie, beaten though not entirely broken, turned to leave when the Spider materialized in front of her unexpectedly, snatching the necklace from around her throat so he could use it like a leash, pulling her close before studying the fake jewel idly.
"And remember – if I ever catch you sneaking around here again…" and he crushed the pendant with his bare hand just to drive his point home, "there will be consequences."
Frankie nodded once, struggling to maintain a look of stoic indifference as he wiped a bit of Camilla's blood from the corner of her mouth before licking it off his thumb, eyes full of wolfish suggestion.
"Good girl. Now then…" and he waved her off dismissively with a hand before making his way around her. He slapped her ass once for good measure, the sting a reminder of his power over her before he returned to the ashen mortal who had fainted from the blood loss in the center of the hallway.
Frankie couldn't bring herself to look back, let alone react to the degradation as she made her exit.
In fact, the world surrounding seemed a blur of color and indistinguishable figures as she proceeded through the ominous labyrinth of halls. When at last she emerged outside and into the night air, she gasped as if something had been previously suffocating her. Unfortunately, when she had fed from Camilla, she had accidentally swallowed the micro SD card, but that didn't concern her.
The nausea she had experienced earlier was quick to return in full force, and she could feel the blood and bile in her stomach starting to rise. She dashed down the street at a sprint, passing the alley in which Vlad was still waiting for her and into another, desiring to be as far from the brothel at her back as she could get. When she was safe in the shadows and surely out of sight, she reached for the nearest wall for support before doubling over and retching violently onto the pavement beneath her feet.
Camilla's blood painted the asphalt in a ghastly red, thick and coagulating.
Her legs gave out beneath her as she fell to her knees, bringing her closer to the ground and the stench of her own sick which had her heaving once again. She noticed the micro SD card had managed to eject itself from her gut, but her body continued to vehemently reject what lingered inside of her. She became so distracted that she never realized that Vladislaus had followed after her, quietly holding her hair back until she had finished.
When Frankie's stomach had calmed and the nausea dispelled at last, she reached for the soaked SD card on the ground with a trembling hand before absently wiping it off on her jeans as she inhaled deep, feeling strangely cleansed.
Assuming she was all right now, Dracula released her hair, though he made sure to keep it situated behind her shoulders before offering her a handkerchief from the pocket inside his jacket. As she wiped the crimson from her mouth, they both realized his phone had been vibrating and he was quick to answer it.
"Yes?... Yes – she made it out alright," was his tight response, undoubtedly speaking to her brother. "No, she doesn't have the necklace on her… that's probably why the audio was cut."
"Is that Rémy?" she asked, turning to look up at him. She had tears still streaking down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away as she pushed herself to her feet. Vlad only nodded, his expression a clear illustration of a quiet rage he was evidently trying to keep under control. Unlike Basilio's fury, however, she found herself appreciating his majesty's. If anything, it seemed to offer her a strange kind of comfort. "Tell him Camilla was able to get the files."
Dracula relayed the message and then held his phone out for her to take.
"He'd like to speak with you."
Frankie, still quivering a little, took the offered phone. But instead of talking to her brother, she hung up on him and then gave the device back to its owner.
The wordless message was clear enough and Vlad said nothing as he switched his mobile to silent before placing it back into his pocket.
I love Rémy, I truly do. He means well... but the boy is just so oblivious. Which in a way works in Dracula's favor, but still... poor Frankie, no? Nothing like conflict to bring two people together, though... and if you thought Basilio was just going to let Frankie off the hook that easily, well... prepare to be wrong.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter! Please review!
I'll see y'all in the next update on Friday! Hope everyone has a safe and relatively easy week ahead!