Chapter 3 – Nosferatu

I sat up quickly, cautious of getting blood all over the bed sheets. I looked around for something I could use to clean my wound, but the room seemed abruptly empty. I sighed and moved myself slowly from the bed over to a closet that was next to the fireplace. I opened it and found a huge selection of gowns, riding outfits, and various other pieces of clothing. I searched through the closet until I withdrew a white scarf. My hands shaking, I carefully began to wipe the blood away from the back of my head. It had stopped bleeding, but my hair was a mess and as I continued to clean, I could feel the liquid the scarf was soaking up. When I was convinced I had done the best job possible, I threw the scarf underneath my bed. My eyes closed and I tried to imagine what my father's face looked like, but to my horror, nothing came to me. I felt extremely guilty for running away from him and I knew it had been childish and immature. If only I could go back how many days it had been since I left. But I couldn't, so I decided I would appease the count by attending dinner, but I had no real intention of staying. Once I found Tynan, I would leave this place, wherever I was.

The gowns winked at me, encouraging me to try one of them on. I blinked a couple of times and rummaged through them till I found a simple but beautiful green dress. I proceeded to try it on, but I felt very uncomfortable, like hundreds of eyes were watching me. I ignored the feeling, slipped off my old, battered white gown, and got into the new one. It matched my body conformation perfectly and I felt like some fairy-tale princess, lost in a dream. I smiled, got some matching shoes out of the closet, and surveyed the room for a mirror. There wasn't one. The count doesn't have a mirror? He has a huge closet of gorgeous clothing but no mirror? What's the purpose in that? I thought. Shrugging, I let my hair down and ran my fingers through it. That would have to do. I glanced around my room one more time to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything, and then left.

I was in a very long corridor. On each side of me were dozens of doors, and I couldn't even mark the end of the hallway. I debated whether to go left or right, and then I picked left because usually that way was lucky for me. Pictures hung on either sides of the walls, and on every other column were two huge torches, lighting my way. I started to get the premonition that the torches were lit for me and only me. I continued walking, observing the paintings and their genuine quality. My gaze was usually directed at my feet, but every so often I looked up to see if I was reaching the end of the corridor. To me, it seemed like the end of the hallway was never going to come, and I was not getting any closer. I told my legs to move faster, but I was tired, and almost all of my strength was gone. I wondered when was the last time I had eaten. Then, unexpectedly, before I even had a chance to glance up, the corridor ended. To my left was a staircase, and to my right was another door. Not wishing to travel down any more never-ending hallways, I took the stairs.

The stairs led me down into a spacious library. If I had not been so anxious to meet another living soul to assure me I was alive, I would have stopped and browsed among the books. As the circumstanced were, I passed the library without even batting an eye. Next to the library was a parlor room, but it did not have the same sleek appearance. The tables were dusty and an innumerable amount of cobwebs hung from the ceiling. I glanced out a foggy window and saw that it was snowing. The moon was high in the sky. I hurried along, burst through a door on my right, and smiled with relief upon realization that I had arrived at my destination. And the count was waiting for me.

"Sit," he commanded, drawing a chair out for me with only the slightest movement of his hand. I sat, careful not to look directly into his gaze. I had reached the conclusion that he was dreadfully manipulative and the only way to escape that was to not look him in the eye.

"I presume you had an easy time finding me?" He asked, his dark eyes glittering. I wasn't looking for you, I thought as I gritted my teeth. I was looking for the damn dining hall. But I nodded anyway.

"Good." He did not sit down, as I expected him to do, but instead, he waved his hand, and a huge plateful of food appeared before me. I grabbed a fork and stuck it into a piece of ham. The fork was halfway to my mouth when I thought: What if he has poisoned the food? I paused with a nonchalant look on my face. He chuckled and picked up a glass full of red wine.

"Isabelle, I have done nothing to the food. You must eat. I don't want you dead, anyway. I need you for something important." He took a sip of the wine.

There was something in his voice that made me trust him against my will. I eyed the ham and then came to the conclusion that if I didn't eat, I would die a much more painful death than if he poisoned me. I took a bite gingerly and rested the fork on my plate. "See?" he said, to try to convince me that he was telling the truth. "Nothing to be concerned about." I waited a minute, and when I didn't fall over convulsing, I dug in. The food was excellent; my father had never been much of a cook, so usually it was my expertise that we relied on. More often than not, I burnt the food.

When I finished, the count set down his glass and came over to me. I kept my eyes trained on my plate, but when he bent down next to my chair, I was torn away, and my gaze settled on his face. He looked even MORE handsome in the gentle flickering of candles than in my room with the luminous fireplace. I swallowed hard and attempted to keep my mind busy by rememorizing the conjugation of Latin verbs.

"Isabelle... tell me why you were running away from Gabriel," he said gently, like he was talking to an injured child. "What did he do?"

"Ladies first, count. My first question is this: Why did you rescue me?" I sad sweetly, determined to figure the count out by playing his little mind game.

He blinked. "I didn't rescue you."

I laughed and shook my head. "Then who did?" Clearly he did not have an answer for this, for he just shrugged and tucked a stray lock of black hair behind his ear.

"Interesting. OK... second question: Since the wolves were about to kill me, why didn't you just let them do the job for you?"

The count sighed and rocked back on his heels. "I just told you, Isabelle, that I need you for something that is very significant. You would have been no use to me dead."

"So that was you who rescued me?" I said, hiding the smile that was forming at the corners of my mouth. He was caught in his own trap.

"Yes," he snapped impatiently. "But that is irrelevant. What IS relevant is that my revenge on your father is soon to be carried out. Do you want to know what your job is?" He asked, but I knew my opinion didn't matter in the slightest to him.

"No," I answered defiantly. The count continued like he hadn't heard me. "You just stay here and look pretty. By any means you try to escape, I will have Tynan killed. Do you understand?" His eyes dared me to answer otherwise.

"Yes," I said sadly. So I was stuck in the castle. The devil's castle. In the middle of nowhere. "Um... count? Where exactly am I?" I inquired, accidentally letting fear slip into my voice. He grinned and strode over to a map of Europe that was hanging on the north wall. He pointed to a small dot in the middle of Romania.

"Bucharest," he replied, and then, with a long finger, he traced a path from Bucharest to Budapest, where my father was. "If your father comes looking for you, which I am almost certain he will, it will take him at least a week by horse. It has been five days since you left your father, Isabelle. He must be deathly worried." The count cackled at his own joke. His canines flashed in the weak candlelight, and I scooted backward, realizing suddenly why his canines where so sharp, why he had rescued me in the form of a bat, why he had told me his death date: twice. I would have liked to believe it was just an illusion, or my imagination getting the better of me. But it wasn't. My heart beat increased and I could feel it thumping in my chest.

"Nosferatu," I whispered. The count directed his gaze at me. I knew he had heard what I said. "What was that, Isabelle?" he asked indifferently. "I didn't quite catch it." I took a deep breath.

"You're... you're a vampire," I squeaked, pushing my body deeper into the chair I was sitting in. "You're one of the undead."

He grinned and was by side in one instant. I yelped in surprise. "I'm not just any vampire. I'm the son of the devil. Archenemy to the Left Hand of God, your father." He lowered his face so it was just inches away from mine. I tried not to flinch under his penetrating gaze. "And you know what else?" he asked softly. I shook my head to convey my genuine confusion. Vladislaus chuckled and got up, releasing me from his eyes. I slumped in my chair.

"Well, Isabelle, you will know soon enough. In the meantime, feel free to explore the castle, but avoid going outside... or else I will be forced to punish you." He made to exit.

I found my voice. "When can I see Tynan?" I asked politely, careful to not anger him. He didn't even glance back at me when he answered. "All in good time." The count then left, his black cloak billowing out behind him.