Transylvania, 1521
It was cold. And it was snowing.
"Snow," Gabriel Van Helsing grumbled, shaking his head, watching the snowflakes melt on his leather gauntlet. "Why is it always snow whenever we go through one of those?"
He stepped forward, and found it was snowing a lot. A lot more than it had been before he stepped through, meaning they were not in the same place. He shook a boot free of snow, and then took a look around. It was the same area, though, which could only mean...
"Oh, Gods," breathed Carl from behind. Van Helsing turned to face him, momentarily startled. He hadn't realised the young friar had followed. It was plain, judging by the look on his face, that Carl understood the situation, too.
"Van Helsing, do you know what this means?" he said, his voice betraying his feeling of panic. "We're in another time!"
He looked around at the winter scene, and shivered. "And it's dark."
Van Helsing's hand went to his crossbow and he took a step, hearing the snow crunch beneath his feet. "Do you suppose we're in the future?" he asked, looking around the forest for any dark, moving shapes that might indicate trouble.
"I would," said Carl, his voice growing smaller, "if it weren't for that!"
Van Helsing followed his gaze, then his mind took in what he saw.
"Damn it," he growled. In the sky was a dark blot, and beside it were one, two, three white shapes, much to big to be snowdrifts. He notised with a frown another figure underneath it, black like the Count, yet slender like his brides. He did not have time to ponder that thought, though- the group was headed towards the village of Vaseria!
"Come on, Carl!" he said, and started to run. The snow slowed him down and made the run a sluggish crawl, and he glared at it as though it would vanish if he glared hard enough.
"No!" Carl yelled after him, his voice sounding distant in the wintry wind. "You can't kill them! It would ruin the future!"
"I can't let innocent people die!" shouted Van Helsing, frustrated.
"You don't have any choice!" Carl begged.
Van Helsing stopped and slung his crossbow over his shoulder in defeat, grudgingly. "Okay," he said finally. "But we're heading to that village anyway. We need to know what's going on."
Carl nodded meekly, and fought against the snow to join him. Van Helsing watched him for a while with a growing smile on his face before he grabbed the friar by the shoulder and dragged him along.
The sound of the villagers screaming and the brides cackling was more than enough to make Carl want to turn back, but Van Helsing trudged on. All the friar could do was follow.
Van Helsing insisted on going as near to the vampires as he possibly could, but at a certain point, his companion refused to budge. Van Helsing rolled his eyes and moved closer. He was a professional, and he realised that it was a very bad idea, what he was doing. For some reason, however, he was just dying of curiosity to find out who that fifth vampire had been, why Dracula had gone out to feed with his brides, and he half-hoped he would be spotted. He still wanted to know about the alleged 'past' he and the Count shared.
It haunted him at nights even more than his original dreams had. He still dreamed of those battles, the echoes of the dying and the screams of the living, the crying, the groaning, and his bloodied hands while everywhere, the scent of blood reigned. He still dreamed of the dark moon covered in shadows, sneaking out like a young gypsy girl going to have her fortune read. And was that tall figure in the dark, was he, was Dracula the fortune teller or the fortune being told? Sometimes, to Gabriel, it seemed like both.
He saw a glint of silver in his eyes, a hint of deviousness, something that whispered to Gabriel that something was not right...
That was when the dreams changed. That was when they became the accumulation of the things he did know and wished he hadn't, for then Dracula would open his mouth and say his name, over and over and over again: Gabriel. Gabriel, Gabriel...
Van Helsing shook himself, and peered out from behind a fallen wagon at the group. Swooping madly, screaming in laughter, was Marishka, the first bride he had killed. Her Turkish garb fluttered in the breeze and he fathomed how it was that she was not cold. She did a somersault in the air, then landed on a rooftop; she ran off and leaped from it, transforming in time to save herself from a fall. She passed Aleera in the air; the red haired bride, the one who Carl assured him had been killed by Anna, before Anna was killed by...
He shook himself again and focused on Aleera, whose mouth and chin were stained crimson before her tongue licked it off and she grinned viciously at the running villagers. She landed on the ground and her wings folded and fell, as though she were moulting, by her side limply, where they hung like clothes until they pinkened and became her long rose dress, the corset making her voluptuous. She hissed at passersby and chased a few for fun, then Van Helsing lost interest and his watchful expression became fixed on Verona. She had long, black hair, although it would have seemed dark brown up close, he assumed. She was composed, but her eyes held a wild light. Her pale green dress was something she wore like royalty, and she ran and jumped into the air, then changed and soared, roaring with pleasure, into the sky, flying a distance away. A scream was heard, and Van Helsing crossed himself and muttered another Latin phrase for the poor soul she had found.
He ceased to look at the brides, and instead his eyes found the face of Dracula, who stood in the middle of the street in human form, watching the chaos with the vague interest of one who has just seen his plan executed and it has all gone accordingly. He seemed to be there merely to supervise, for he ate nothing. He called to Aleera something that was seemingly vampiric humour, as she giggled and traced a figure eight in the air and flew around Marishka. Dracula watched them, pleased, then turned to the shadows.
Out stepped another figure, a young woman with her dark, lightly curled hair partly in an elaborate design around her head, partly cascading down her back. She wore a regal dress, with huge bell sleeves and a large farthingale. The outfit was entirely black, but it had a soft gold sheen, and it looked to be all of velvet. Her delicate golden jewelry caught the light in her deep eyes, and her olive skin reminded him of a portrait he'd once seen of an Egyptian princess. She walked over to Dracula and gazed at him imploringly, and she held onto his arm and whispered something into his ear. He looked delighted by the fact and motioned in the direction she'd come from.
Van Helsing was immediately furious with himself for vowing to pay no more attention to Verona, who pulled out a kicking and genuinely terrified Carl.
"Damn it!" Van Helsing growled for the second time that night. It was sure to not be the last.
"Well, well, my little friend," Dracula addressed the friar formally, a smile on his lips. He acted like a conductor whose song has been performed beautifully. "You're not from around here. What brings you to Transylvania?"
Van Helsing thought quickly, and stepped out from his hiding place. "I brought him here," he said to the vampire evenly.
Dracula turned to him. By the look on his face, Van Helsing suspected that the Count had been expecting another holy man, and was pleasantly surprised by the fact. But his face contorted in confusion. "Gabriel!" he shouted, and strode over to him. "It can't be you!"
"It can," Van Helsing replied, wishing he sounded like he had during that period of time, although he knew nothing about himself during that period of time, and so could not pass verdict.
"You have returned so quickly?" Dracula murmured, stroking his upper lip in perplexion. Marishka and Aleera landed behind him, and glanced over in confusion, unsure of what to do. The townspeople quieted, although restless in their homes. Verona gathered the two brides and consulted with them furtively, not knowing what to do or how to assist them. Only the golden bride- if she was a bride- remained alone and unmoved, although she looked at him with a deep curiosity that he sensed he could not quench.
"Why would you do such a thing? I see no reason- unless.." he looked back at the brides, his eyes lingering on the fourth.
When he looked back at Van Helsing, his eyes were alight with a sort of rage that Van Helsing had seldom seen there.
"She is mine," he said, glaring. "They all are! They knew what was to become of them when I offered them!"
Van Helsing, who did not have a faint clue about his reaction (and very much wanted to know, but wanted to wait until he had the upper hand to reveal his ignorance and amnesia), said calmly, "That is fine with me. Just return to me Carl- the friar- and I think I'll leave."
Dracula narrowed his eyes. "I think not. You never settle for less than all of what you want."
Van Helsing shrugged. "Nothing is worth the life of my friend."
Dracula considered and quickly snapped his fingers to Verona. "Verona," he called, a smile back in place, "Return to Gabriel his little friar."
Verona nodded, a smirk on her own plump crimson lips, and half-carried Carl, who was whimpering, to Van Helsing, where he stood and scrambled behind the taller man as soon as he realised he was no longer held by the Bride.
"I suppose I'll see you again soon," Dracula said with an imperious smile as Verona, Marishka and Aleera changed and took to flight. "After all, my Winter Masquerade Ball-"
"Figures," muttered Carl.
"-is coming up in Budapest this next Friday, and you have never been able to resist dancing." He did a curious thing then, and lowered his voice so that only Carl, Van Helsing and he could hear what he added: "At least, you cannot resist dancing when Russa is around." He looked back at the golden Bride. "She is my Countess this time, however," he adjoined, and that fact pleased him greatly.
Then he took a few steps away, smiled charmingly at Van Helsing, and changed into his black bat form, albeit a bat with a fifteen foot wingspan.
"Come, Russa!" he called to the remaining Bride, who looked at Van Helsing with a single penetrating gaze, and then transformed, her eyes growing pale and her dress becoming a brown-black second skin like that of a bat. Her ears lengthened and met with her braided hair, forming long ears like a bat's. Out from her arms, where so much heavy velvet material was gathered, ripped wings, and she flew into the sky, her hair flying behind her.
"Come on, Carl," Van Helsing said suddenly. "We're going to Budapest."
"Why doesn't that surprise me," Carl grumbled, brushing off snow.
The Fifth Vampire, not to be confused with The Fifth Element, is naturally referring to Russa, as Van Helsing sees her when he finally does. I don't mean to favour Marishka over the other two, or like Verona any less than her or Aleera. I just haven't had them in my chapters often, anyway, so you'll understand that it's hard to get equal bride time. I love all three. They rock! How could one choose a favourite?
I'd like to thank my reviewers once more(and look at their names! They all start with 'Lady', and there are three, like the brides or something!):
Lady Count: Glad you could relate. Are you a fanfiction writer here, with a pen name? That's the only thing that I am bothered by in anonymous reviews, I just don't understand that aspect.
Lady Vladislaus: You are too kind. I can't wait, thank you so much for telling me about that stuff in the review. I get to brag how I know a little bit more than the other readers of 'Cursed' now!
LadyValerious: You really don't have to read my other things, they're all pretty bad. I'm happy that you like this story! I was hoping you would, since I liked yours so much!