I woke slowly, to darkness and the familiar pattern of my bedroom ceiling. After some moments' disorientation, I caught sight of my bandaged left arm upon the coverlet, and memory came rushing back in a torrent, accompanied by a low groan.

"About time you woke up. I was starting to get bored."

I startled as the deep voice issued suddenly from across the room and awkwardly struggled to a sitting position against the pillows. He was there: seated calmly in the chair in the corner as though he had every right, his chin resting upon his interlaced fingers as he watched me from the shadows.

"How did—what—?" Words of alarm caught in my throat and choked in the face of his sheer audacity. I threw myself sideways and fumbled blindly for the pistol in the bedside table drawer. It wasn't there.

"That won't be necessary," his smooth murmur interposed on my awkward grasping. I looked up, and saw the pistol dangling as he held it up between finger and thumb. "I thought you might be… excitable when you woke, so I took the liberty of insuring against it." He sounded almost apologetic. Almost. He tossed the gun lightly to me so that it landed with a soft bounce on the bedsheets. "Shoot me if you like," he invited in a bored tone, "but really, if I were here to kill you, I could have done so much more easily while you slept."

I snatched up the gun in my good hand and checked to see that it was loaded; but I left the safety on, peering puzzled at him across the room. My glasses had not been removed from the bedside table, and I picked these up deliberately, setting them on my face so that I could see him clearly.

The change in his countenance was shocking. Where last I had remembered a staring corpse, I saw now the firm features of a man in his prime. Sleek raven hair framed the high-cheekboned face, expressive lips pursed in a slight smirk at my scrutiny. He was still clad in prison rags, though, and the eyes that gazed back at me were still the burning red eyes of the monster.

"Why are you here?" I grasped on one of the multitude of questions tumbling in my thoughts.

"If not to kill you?" he countered with a light chuckle.

I frowned. "Do not mock me; tell me!"

He seemed to suffer a moment's internal conflict at the order, his face twisting in moderate annoyance; then he finally let out a slight, exasperated sigh, and replied. "You really don't know what you've done, do you?" He considered a moment. "But then, no one has ever done it before, so I suppose ignorance is expected." I let out an irritated exhalation at his dawdling, and he abruptly got to the point.

"That bloody Seal," he growled. "When you—"

There was a soft creak as the door opened; and he was instantly gone. "When I what?" I exclaimed in frustration, much to the confusion of my visitor, who crossed quickly to the bed in alarm when he saw the gun in my hand.

"Good God, Abraham, what are you doing?" He wrested the pistol gently from my grip and urged me back against the pillows, feeling my face for fever with the back of his hand.

"You didn't see him, Jack?" I murmured in puzzlement, my eyes still on the chair across the room.

"See whom?"

My eyes moved sharply to his face. "The Count."

He regarded me just as sharply for a moment; then his expression faded to one of deep concern. "None of us has seen him since last night."

"Last night?" I frowned, trying to account for lost hours.

"Yes, it was Tuesday evening when… when we all arrived, and it is now late Wednesday night. Actually, it's nearly Thursday now. You didn't seem sick, just very weak; so we thought it best to let you sleep." His tone indicated that he was now having second thoughts about the wisdom in that.

I waved off his worry irritably. "I am not suffering hallucinations, Jack; he was here, in this room, not a moment before you arrived."

This, predictably, did nothing to assuage his concerns. "We'd best mount a guard then. I don't know what happened last night, but if he's still hanging about…"

Oddly, I found myself shaking my head. "I don't think he means to harm me. Or he can't harm me, one or the other."

Seward frowned solicitously. "You should have some food in you," he soothed. "I'll have Gabriel bring you a tray—"

"No," I decided, "I've lain abed quite long enough; I can come downstairs like a civilized man. Are the others all right?"

"We're all fine. God only knows how. Arthur sustained a scratch when the Count threw him; but it's hardly worse than the cut he gave himself."

"Good. Give me a moment to dress myself, please, Jack. I promise I'll be right down."

The good doctor frowned reluctantly but acquiesced with a nod, and removed himself to the hallway. I looked sharply into the corner as the door shut behind him, but no smirking countenance was immediately discernable. Warily, I threw the covers back with my good arm and slid out of bed, moving to the dressing table.

"Count?" I address the darkness tentatively as I drew on a pair of trousers.

I am here, I felt his bored reply.

"Show yourself."

He materialized quite suddenly by the dresser, leaning against it with arms folded, a peevish expression on his face. This was an unsettling contrast to the monster who had striven so violently to kill me the night before.

I pulled a clean shirt gingerly over the bandage on my arm. "I want an explanation."

He emitted an annoyed hiss through his teeth. "Congratulations," he uttered bitterly, "you have bested me. Can't you be satisfied with that and let the matter go?"

"If my understanding is correct," I began to fasten the buttons of my shirt, "then it was your taking of my blood, finally, that bound you to the Seal." I glanced up at him shortly when no response was forthcoming. "Tell me," I insisted firmly.

"Your understanding is better than that of some undead I've met." His gaze lingered for a moment on my left arm. "It is always blood that binds us. Without it we cannot survive; without spilling it history cannot march onward." His eyes glittered. "But I hadn't expected you to make the final sacrifice." His expression turned almost maudlin.

"Then we are both of us bound," I mused thoughtfully as I straightened my collar. I could almost feel it, like an invisible, tenuous leash stretched between us; but his sour scowl would have given all me the answer I needed anyway. I frowned, trying to recall the last few moments before the blackness took me. "You called me… Master?"

He suddenly seemed to take an intent interest in an undefined spot over my shoulder. "Did I? I don't recall."

I pursed my lips grimly. "Very well, Count. You may leave me for now – but not the grounds. And you are not permitted to harm anyone, or allow yourself to be seen, for the time being. You will return when I summon you. Is that understood?"

He gave a little sarcastic bow. "Intimately," he snarled, and melted into the shadows.

I exited the room and made my way downstairs slowly, too lost in my own thoughts to protest Seward's steadying hand on my arm. My companions rose, almost as one as we entered the parlour, all eyes fastened anxiously upon me: but one pair more so than the rest.

"Gabriel," I said quietly.

The boy – no, the young man – hastened to my side, replacing Seward's hand upon my right arm as the good doctor graciously stepped aside. I grasped vainly for the appropriate words to explain; but as his gaze fell first upon my bandaged wound, and then met my eyes, I knew that he knew. My blood was his blood. My actions, ultimately, would be his responsibility.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

His grip tightened briefly on my arm. "Don't apologize. You did what had to be done, Father. I'm not sure I could have." A shadow seemed to fall across his face as he considered the alternative. "I just thank God you're all right."

"And I'll second that, Doctor," Jonathan spoke up, to a chorus of agreeing murmurs. "But I think we'd all feel a lot better if you could explain to us exactly what did happen in there." He waved a hand in the vague direction of the chapel.

Jack smiled wryly. "We've been picking poor Gabe's brain so thoroughly I'm surprised he has any wits left. But he's the only one who seems to have any real clue; and not much of one at that."

I had to admit that I, too, was somewhat unclear on the results of our actions. "We have succeeded in binding the beast, of that much we can rest assured. But the method by which this was accomplished… this will require more study. Much more study." Suddenly wearied, I sank into one of the armchairs and massaged my temples.

Gabriel offered quickly, "Let me get you something to eat, Father. We sent the staff away earlier: no reason they shouldn't have the day off when all of us can as easily take care of ourselves…" he caught himself rambling and set off abruptly for the kitchen.

"So," Arthur sat down at the edge of his chair, leaning forward as he looked to me anxiously for news. "What's happened, then? If the Enemy's been bound as you say, then where is he? He's certainly not still tied up in the chapel."

"What has happened is that I have been a great fool; but that may yet turn out for the best. As to where he is: he is nearby, but he is no longer a threat. In taking my blood he bound himself irrevocably to our Seal; and to me."

This was met with a moment of stunned silence. Then Jonathan gave voice to the question hanging in the air: "To you?"

"Yes. I spoke with him before I came downstairs." This revelation brought another chorus of concerned murmurs. I held up my hand for peace. "If he had been able to kill me, I think that he would have done so. He certainly seems no more fond of me tonight than ever. But it seems he is compelled to obey my will."

Arthur frowned. "For how long?"

"Until my death, I should imagine."

"And then?"

I threw a glance at the door through which Gabriel had exited. "Then it will fall to my son to keep him leashed."

"A living Seal," Dr. Seward mused. "One which he cannot outgrow; for it would grow with him."

Godalming continued to frown, but finally relented. "You must be right, Doctor; but I don't envy you the task. Or your son."

Harker appeared ill at ease. "It seems like keeping a poisonous viper as a pet, to me."

"A viper, yes," I replied, "but he has had his fangs removed."

I felt the distant whisper of droll laughter in response to my choice of words, and repressed a shudder.