Eternal Night (II) Chapter 35: A Glimmer of Hope, a van helsing fanfic

Happy Monday, dear readers! We're in the final stretch of book 2, and this week's chapters in particular will predominately act as setup for chapter 37 (which I am really excited for us to get to).

But for now - it's time to spend some time with Dracula and Bernardini.

Would love to hear your thoughts when you finish reading!

Chapter 35
A Glimmer of Hope

It had been another sleepless day for Vladislaus, hours wasted tossing and turning alone in his bed, rest evading him. His mind had been saturated in nothing but Francesca, the smell of her in that elevator – roses and bergamot – having somehow seeped into his clothes and onto his skin. It tormented him. Just when he would get close to dozing, he'd get a whiff of her, which would then send him reaching across the mattress for her only to be met with cold, undisturbed sheets. And then his mind would start racing again.

He wasn't sure he could endure this separation much longer.

And given the way she had nearly succumbed to her demon in that elevator after little more than a touch from him, it was evident he wasn't the only one suffering from the withdraws.

She had felt so delicious, pressed against him and what he wouldn't have given to have that lift ride be just a little longer. What he wouldn't have done for just one kiss.

Although, he supposed, he was lucky he had been able to see so much of her at all this morning, and that Lyra hadn't ejected him sooner. He scowled at the thought of that infernal redhead. Carmen's meddling was at least in his favor. He only hoped Lyra would cool it with the protective best friend nonsense.

Having abandoned the idea of sleep, Vlad decided another visit to Bernardini's was in order, which was why he was now out and about in the day, walking the familiar path to the man's house. The afternoon was overcast – another tender mercy – and when he arrived on the Italian's doorstep, he soon realized that he hadn't been the only one to take advantage of the weather, nor the hour.

The moment he raised his hand to knock on the door, it opened, councilwoman Elina's face appearing from within the shadows.

She startled at the sight of him, eyes darting about quickly to make sure he was alone before she ducked behind the door, opening it a little wider so he could slip inside. When he was standing within the foyer, the exit sealed, she fell to her knees at his feet.

"Master," she breathed in supplication.

"Elina? What are you doing here?" he began, but before she could explain, Antón revealed himself.

"Vladislaus? This is an unexpected surprise," Bernardini called out.

"I couldn't sleep. What's going on? Why aren't you at the palace?" he asked, returning his attention to the woman still on her knees before him. Vlad offered his hand to her, encouraging her to rise and she obeyed with the kind of grace only an immortal being could possess. She squeezed his fingers.

"Did you give her my gift?" she asked instead, ignoring his previous question. Vladislaus only nodded, watching with increasing curiosity as relief softened her features, though a degree of anxiety remained hidden behind her eyes. "And will she use it?"

"She plans to formally declare war on Marcus as my queen consort before the week is out," he explained.

"Then you two have spoken?" Bernardini called out, joining them. "She's acknowledged who you are?"

"No," Dracula replied. "We haven't had the time, nor an opportunity. I was lucky to see as much of her as I did this morning, given how suspicious her brother has been."

"Why do you not reveal yourself?" Elina asked, struggling to understand. "Why do you insist on staying hidden?" and she motioned toward the concealment charm around his neck, hiding beneath his shirt.

He had forgotten he was even wearing it. He removed it immediately, slipping it into his pocket.

"Because I am of more use to my people as I am now than I would be as their king."

"That's absurd! If the people knew, they would rally to your side."

He shook his head, finally removing his hand from hers.

"No, they would not," he insisted. "You have not heard their whispers, Elina; you have not lived amongst them as I have. They think I have abandoned them. No… what they need only she can give them."

"Francesca Chase?" she clarified. "The one Marcus is after?"

He nodded.

"How is Miss Chase?" Bernardini asked, motioning for them to join him in his study.

"She is well, all things considered, though I can see the weight of the responsibility is already taking its toll on her."

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," Antón replied, quoting the old adage and he motioned for the two to sit.

"So why are you here?" Vlad repeated, looking to Elina. "Has Marcus learned of what you've done?"

"No, but he will… and soon."

"We should get you out of the city…" he began, but the woman shook her head with a rueful smile.

"I will not run from what lies ahead of me, Vladislaus," she said softly, looking to Antón with a knowing expression that Vlad did not understand. "I have one final role to play in all of this. But before I do, I wanted to deliver one final gift." She motioned toward Bernardini's desk. It was covered in Mariella's old journals, but there was something in particular that had not been there previously and it caught his attention.

It was a stack of papers, neatly tied together in gold ribbon. And attached to the ribbon was Dracula's old insignia ring, the one with the dragon seal.

Antón had already moved to fetch them, returning to his chair after handing the pages to Dracula. Vladislaus immediately freed the piece of jewelry, smiling fondly at it before tucking it away into his pocket, returning his attention to the papers in his lap.

"What is all of this?"

"A list of those of your original court who have remained loyal to you," she said. "I've been collecting their names over the years – a task Mariella had started. She asked me to carry on the work before she was murdered."

Murdered. Not executed.

A powerful distinction not at all lost to him.

"They are the ones who have helped me gather the evidence I compiled for your queen. It is my hope that when all of this is done, you will recognize them for their service. They sacrificed much, some even risking true death to leak what information they could to Rob Damrau – before he was discovered."

"Do we know who betrayed him?"

"We still don't know. Marcus was at him for hours. I've never seen a body so mangled. One of my assets was able to slip into the dungeons, in between sessions, to end his suffering. Marcus was furious, naturally, but if he suspected anything, he hasn't let on."

"Thank you for this, Elina… and for the sacrifice you've made. I know it hasn't been easy."

"Perhaps not, but for our people, for you, it is worth the risk," she answered.

The serenity of her countenance, the way she looked at him without a trace of fear or apprehension in her eyes just then – it made Vladislaus nervous. She had something planned, one last act of heroism to accomplish. He dare not imagine what it might be.

"Budapest is my home," she continued. "I will continue to defend it until all fight in me has gone – and it is not gone yet."

She then rose to her feet.

"I must go before I am missed."

Dracula remained seated, but reached for her hand, searching her face for answers, but he found none. Only a peaceful resignation. It sent a shudder of horror through him.

"We can get you out of the city, Elina," he said. "Whatever you're planning, you don't have to do this. I am not asking it of you."

The woman smiled, falling to her knees once more at his feet as she pressed her lips gently to his knuckles in reverence, sealing the kiss with her thumbs.

"You have given me so much, my king. You were there for me when I lost my Lana… my heart, by blood-bound mate. You gave me purpose and direction when my grief threatened to swallow me whole." She paused, studying his hand in hers. "I know what I must do to rally the people, to awaken them to the awful state which Marcus has placed them in. It is one last sacrifice I am honored to make."

Dracula's undead heart plummeted into his stomach as he began to understand her intent. Before he could say anything, she then rose to her feet and exited from the room, Antón following her out so he could escort her to the door.

Vladislaus stared blankly ahead, his gut knotted.

He knew what she planned to do was exactly what would rouse the people to rebellion. Elina's sacrifice and Frankie's declaration would be the perfect one-two punch to pull the rug out from under Marcus' feet. It was brilliant really – brilliant and breathtaking… and utterly devastating.

Vlad felt his age in that moment, the centuries weighing on his shoulders like stones that threatened to crush him. How could he expect Francesca to carry such a similar burden? How could he even dream of letting her?

He didn't want her to suffer under the responsibility of leading and protecting an entire species – not when she had suffered enough as it was.

And yet he knew, deep down, that he couldn't shield her from this.

She was already on the path, barreling toward the inevitable with eyes open and arms stretched wide, vulnerable and willing.

"You look how I feel," Antón said, having joined him again, the man situating himself in his usual chair by the fire. Vladislaus didn't look at him. He only continued to stare blankly ahead, elbow propped up on the armrest, the side of his middle finger resting over the seam of his lips as he held his head up with his hand.

"How long have you known?" Dracula asked after several long moments of silence. "About Elina… about what she has planned?"

"I knew that she and Mariella had discussed the possibility, but I didn't think it would come to this so soon."

"He's going to kill her, Antón," he said, finally looking his friend in the eye. "Marcus is going to kill her and she's going to let him."

"Elina understands the power symbols hold," Bernardini explained gravely. "She recognizes that she has always been a symbol of the people, their voice and collective will – just as Francesca is a symbol. She knows that in order for your queen to rise, to rally your subjects to her, the old emblem needs to die – thus sealing her memory, her sacrifice, and her devotion with her blood. Just as your queen is to bind herself to the people by a sacrifice of her own."

"So Elina is to be a martyr and I'm just supposed to sit here and let that happen?"

"It's not your decision to make, Vladislaus. You and I have little say in how the proceeding events will unfold."

"I understand why this must be," he admitted. "And while I'm grateful, the weight of it all…"

"You won't have to bear the weight alone for much longer," Bernardini assured him, reaching for a pair of twin journals that had been resting on the end table beside his chair.

The words piqued Vlad's interest and he straightened.

"What have you learned?"

Antón smiled a little ruefully.

"I've learned that my wife is and was a remarkably clever and thorough woman that I took for granted," he answered honestly, opening one of the journals. "The prophecy as we've known it, has been incomplete," he explained. "I believe Mariella suspected Marcus' treachery long before we ever saw signs of it, and because of this, she hid fragments of the prophecy throughout all of her journals. Pieces of a puzzle that is clearer now that we have this," and he held up one of the books.

"What is it?"

"This," and he patted the book in his lap, "is her diary from 1830 – the year the prophecy was originally made, the year Francesca was marked. And this," and he waved the second book in his hand up in front of him, "is her diary from the year 1920 – the year the second half of the prophecy was revealed."

"The second half? You mean there's more?"

"Not so much more, as there's some important clarifications." He paused to thumb through the pages. "I won't bore you with Mariella's prose – you know how the woman loved her riddles – but I can confirm with confidence that not only is Francesca lamian strigoi, destined to become queen of the undying, but that Lilith's role in all of this may be far greater than she ever let on."

"Explain."

"There's still much we don't know, but what I have uncovered is that evidently Lilith was present that fateful night in 1830 when Miss Chase was marked for you. According to Mariella, she made another prophecy regarding our favorite queen of hell. I haven't been able to untangle some of this, but the first part is clear – that Lilith would conceive and deliver a child – a daughter of fire and shadow – a weapon to be wielded by Miss Chase when it came time to destroy Marcus."

Bernardini paused, flipping through a few more pages.

"What about the other part?" Vlad asked.

"Again, I'm still working on that, but it would appear that Lilith spent the next ninety years trying to find a way to circumnavigate the prophecy, and with no luck, as we well know. On the night she was destined to conceive, she took Marcus to bed, thinking that because he had been incapable of reproducing any offspring in the last eighteen or so centuries since he had been turned, she could bypass Mariella's prediction. But when she realized she was with child a month later…"

"You mean the redheaded demon in her journals, Lilith's daughter… is Augustine's?"

Bernardini nodded.

"She's called a Lilitu – a literal daughter of Lilith and a bit like a succubus, but instead of needing to feed on sexual energy in order to survive, the Lilitu uses couplings as a way of siphoning off her power so it doesn't completely consume her. Evidently she has trouble controlling the hellfire in her, which is why she needs a lamian strigoi to be tethered to, someone to anchor her."

Vlad's eyes widened in disbelief.

Lyra Kennedy.

That meddling, redheaded she-devil was the Lilitu.

Of course, now that his earlier suspicions were confirmed, it all made sense – how she and Francesca had initially met, how close they had been since, along with Frankie's explanation from earlier this morning regarding Lyra's gifts and her relationship with Jacob…

"What happened after she was born?"

"There's no way to know for certain. Mariella had visions of the child being hidden in a convent off the coast of Italy, but some years later, in a completely separate diary, the child was taken by darkness – though I have no idea what that means. I've tried summoning Lilith to shed some light on the subject, but she's been refusing my invitations for months now."

Vladislaus remained silent on the subject, keeping his suspicions to himself for now.

"What else have you learned? Anything about what can be done with Francesca's blood-rage? Or her blood?"

"Yes, I did find something of interest, but it's only a theory," Antón replied, standing to retrieve another book.

This particular tome was especially large, it's binding old, the leather cover worn. The title Physiology of the Vampyre was embossed in gold lettering along the weathered spine.

"I was thinking about that mark Mariella gave you, and the one on Francesca. At first, I just assumed that she put them there to help you two find each other, but I have reason to believe that it might be something more than that."

He started to peruse the large volume in his lap, and when he found the page he was looking for, he retrieved the 1830 diary he had placed on the floor, thumbing through it as he spoke.

"What caught my interest was when Mariella mentioned that Lilith had also been marked and it is my theory that these marks or brands play a vital role in the prophecy's progression. It is my belief that Lilith was able to conceive, even with Augustine's dead seed, because of the mark. And it's come to my attention that after Francesca was marked, she developed an extraordinary ability to absorb the memories of other vampires, though the reasoning behind such a gift remains unknown. I suspect that the mark is also what has made her impervious to true death, which is why Marcus was unable to kill her."

"So what about my mark?" Vlad asked, not even realizing that he had been absently rubbing the damn thing until he had spoken aloud.

"I can't say for certain, but I deduce that because you were only marked recently, that maybe – just maybe – it may protect you from the poison that is Francesca's blood."

Dracula froze, unwilling to believe.

"You mean…"

"That there's a very good chance you two could be blood-bound, thus fulfilling the prophecy. Yes, that is precisely what I mean."

Vlad fought the temptation to give way to hope, though as their conversation continued, the task grew profoundly difficult.

"Let's say your theory proves true," he answered with noted caution in his voice. "What's to say that once we're blood-bound, her blood won't affect me after the fact? We know that Augustine hasn't been able to produce any form of offspring since his tumble with Lilith, and she hasn't been able to create anything new either – not in centuries. And if Francesca and I were to be blood-bound, that would put her on the path for fully awakening the lamian strigoi in her, but it doesn't solve the riddle of her blood rage. She hasn't been able to heal that rift in her. What if she transitions and her demon has her ruling hell instead of defeating Marcus? You remember what I told you? About what I saw when I entered her mind back in France…"

"Yes. The two paths. It's a fair question, Vladislaus, and while I don't have the answer, listen to this," and he lifted the large volume of Physiology of the Vampyre and began to summarize what was on the page before him. "There's this section on blood-binding that states that those vampires that undergo the blood-rite that binds one nosferatu to another – the vampires involved undergo a literal biological change, that the shared blood between them physically alters their DNA, their physiology. It's very possible that if Francesca were to become blood bound to you, that your blood could cure not only her own, but that it could heal her blood-rage as well – or at least enough to where it isn't so much of a problem anymore. You are the Adam of our kind, the first – vampire perfected. There's a very good chance that your blood is the answer she's been searching for – not only to unlock the lamian strigoi part of her as we discussed a few months ago, but..."

"It could heal her," Dracula finished, his voice barely even a whisper.

The man then fell mute as he took all of this in, blinking only when Antón closed the large book in his lap, propping it up against the bottom of his chair on the ground. His gaze was penetrating.

"Vladislaus," the Italian called out, bringing the man out of his stupor, "it's only a theory, but my instincts tell me that all of this – about the marks and the blood-binding – all of it ties back to that line in Mariella's prophecy: that with blind faith on a moonless night, the dragon shall claim what is his. You need to claim her, and not just in word. You need to bite her, mark her."

"But what if you're wrong?" Dracula found himself saying, that reasonable doubt needling lightly in the back of his brain. "What if all of this – as fantastical as it sounds – is wrong?"

"As far as any of us are concerned, Marcus has already won. If you claim Francesca and her blood kills you, it destroys the rest of us with you, giving Augustine what he's wanted all along. But if you don't try, if you refuse to take that leap of faith, Francesca will never have the chance to realize her full potential. And without her, there is no one to wield the child of Lilith, no one to destroy your brother once and for all. Nothing will change. The alliance may gain some footing in the oncoming war, but there will be no hope of true victory – and Elina's sacrifice, all of it, will be for naught."

That weight from earlier returned, settling uncomfortably on Vladislaus' shoulders. He leaned back in his chair, pondering all he had heard.

The risk was overwhelming, and yet… in spite of all his doubt, hope continued to swell within his breast, spreading like an infection through his veins, threatening to take hold. In truth, it frightened him, that hope that things could change, that there was a chance in hell this could work. But could he risk the very existence of his people on a fool's hope?

"What do you want, Vladislaus?" Bernardini asked after they lingered for some time in contemplative silence.

Dracula did not answer right away, though he knew the answer the moment the question was asked. It had never been more clear, the path before him. Everything in his miserable existence had led him in one direction, to one person and one person only.

"I want Francesca," he said, voice low and words steady, confident. His face was filled with purpose. "To whatever end."

Antón only nodded.

"Then God help us all."