I asked the cabman to let me out a quarter-mile from the estate, claiming the pleasant evening and a need to stretch my legs as good enough excuses. The vaulted rooftops and tower rooms of the old Carfax manor were just visible over the treetops in the deep gloaming. I hefted the small case I'd brought with me – the rest of my effects would be delivered to the house on the morning – and tipped the driver, who seemed more than happy enough to wheel his horse around and be away from the place with all speed.

I watched him until the cab disappeared over a slight rise in the road, allowing a sigh of resignation pass my lips. That the place I had called home for some ten years was still widely considered by the locals to be haunted was only half the problem: I myself seemed to be regarded as something of a local quack by the common man. The perils of being widely considered the top of one's field; that is at least, when one's field had somehow expanded from the study of diseases of the blood to the investigation of anything the Queen's constabulary deemed to be beyond their understanding; or to use their personal vernacular: "right queer."

This particular jaunt had been nothing so exciting: merely a convention of old colleagues, although the keynote speaker had had some interesting points to say on the subject of medical forensics. I shrugged at the now-vacant street, adjusted my grip on the case and set off along the roadside toward the manor, whistling softly.

"Old men shouldn't be out on the road alone at night. Who knows what might jump out at them?"

I had been expecting this; but nonetheless it took a conscious effort of will not to startle as the darkness coalesced into the voice that whispered mockingly into my ear. I turned around with a noise of exasperation to find myself face-to-face with the Count, who had materialized not a foot's breadth behind me, smirking.

He was still clad in one of the dark suits we had procured for him. Having him wandering around in prison rags had caused some… consternation with the staff. The white silk gloves served the similar purpose of concealing the brands upon his palms, though for some perverse reason he had elected to scribe a reproduction of the Seal on their backs. The overcoat, however, was new. I was almost afraid to wonder where he'd acquired it. Blood red and of a more ostentatious cut than I would have allowed myself to be caught dead in, I had to admit that in his own reprobate way it fit him well. Unfortunately the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was suspended upside down from the bough of a tree, and the garment was brushing the gravel at my feet.

"Even old men," I replied calmly, "need hardly worry about brigands when their faithful guard dogs patrol the perimeter so diligently."

This garnered a sneer; and he floated downward to land on his feet with an unnatural acrobatic twist, as if he were moving through water rather than air. "I notice you sent the driver scurrying away with haste this time."

"Naturally," I turned and resumed my walk, "I could hardly want a repetition of last time, could I?"

"You only said I couldn't harm him. I wasn't going to harm him. I just wanted a taste. I'm not some animal to feed contentedly on livestock as you do."

"You know that I provide you with human blood when such is possible. Otherwise you'll just have to make do."

"You could allow me to hunt," he drew beside me in a single stride, bending so that his leering visage bobbed in my peripheral vision. "Just a little one. A cripple, a prostitute – no one would even notice. A guard dog is safer to handle when he's well-fed," he added, with an exasperated snarl of self-loathing.

I almost felt sorry for him, begging for such poor fare. "You may have an opportunity for some excitement soon, Count," I made a token attempt at placation, as I reached inside my vest for the folded telegram I'd placed there earlier.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his brows lift in interest; but he quickly hid this and turned his face away, looking into the overhanging shadows of the trees. "I do wish you wouldn't call me that," he announced, unexpectedly.

I paused, hand half-out of my inner pocket with the note. "Oh?"

He glanced back at me, peevishly. "That title has no meaning here, or in our current… situation, as you well know."

I hummed absently to myself as I unfolded the telegram. "A reasonable request, I suppose – but I can't very well call you Dracula after the stir that bloody book generated, can I?"

A faint smile graced his lips, and amusement tinged his deep voice. "No, I suppose not. Your reputation is poor enough."

"Thank you for noticing. Vlad, then?" I queried.

He continued to smile vaguely. "I have not been Vlad for four centuries. I think, however, that Alucard would do nicely."

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow at him; though mine was dubious. "Clever," I commented dryly.

"Oh come, Professor, you must allow me at least this little amusement."

Despite myself, and the company I was keeping, I found myself laughing softly. "Very well. Alucard – have a look at this." I lifted the telegram in my right hand.

He took it, bemusedly, in gloved fingers and read it quickly before throwing a sharp sideways glance at me. His expression had become suddenly cunning; predatory. And then it was gone, disguised behind that carefully contrived mask of bland boredom he had worn so often throughout his imprisonment. "Interesting," was his only comment, as he handed it back.

We had reached the courtyard of the manor. "Where is Gabriel?" I asked, replacing the paper in my pocket as I crossed the cobbled space and mounted the front steps.

The vampire put on a disdainful expression at such a menial task; but after a moment's idle concentration, he replied grudgingly, "In the upstairs study."

"Thank you." He seemed slightly surprised, or perhaps just sardonically amused, by the sentiment. "I expect I shall retire early tonight; but we will speak more of this," I tapped my pocket, "tomorrow. Good night… Alucard."

He smiled darkly. "Good night… Master."

I let myself into the house and climbed the stairs, leaving my bag on the steps as I turned off at the second floor landing and strolled down the hall to the study. I knocked softly on the open door before stepping inside; nonetheless startling my son out of an intent study of some maps on the desk as my shadow fell into his light.

"Father!" he blurted, knocking a pencil and a few tacks to the floor as he jumped up from his seat and hurried around the desk to greet me. "I'd asked Alucard to keep an eye out for you; but I guess," he added with a roll of his eyes, "I should have been more specific that I actually wanted him to inform me when you arrived."

I felt my face assume a puzzled expression as I released my son's arms from my grip. How had he known of the name we'd only minutes before decided?

He evidently misread my confusion. "Oh, Alucard – the Count, that is. He came up with that one not long after you left. You know, spell it backwards… clever of him, eh?" he chuckled, as one will sometimes do for a small child who has made some prodigal discovery.

That sly devil. I supposed, as I closed my eyes and shook my head bemusedly, that he had to take what small victories he could. Asking my permission, indeed. "Yes… quite," I agreed. "But I'm more interested in where he got that awful coat."

"You like it, do you?" The young man grinned at me and began picking up the spilled tacks. "Wait till you see the hat."

"Gabriel—"

He held up a hand, chuckling. "Relax, Father. He hasn't been preying on the locals and taking their clothes. All is still well in England. I got it for him in town the other day."

I grimaced in exasperation. "He is not your playmate, Gabriel."

A bit piqued now, my son looked up at me as he scooped up the last tack. "I'm aware of that, Father. But it's going to look rather odd of him with the cold months coming on if he's seen out and about without proper outer clothing, isn't it? He took a liking to that ridiculous thing, so I bought it."

I relented, sighing, and took a seat on the sofa against the wall. "Yes, yes, you're right – I'm just tired from the journey, that's all." I rubbed a hand over my face. "…Wait a minute. You took him to town with you?"

Gabriel smiled wryly. "I couldn't exactly leave him behind, could I? You gave him pretty specific orders to guard me, you know. He wouldn't let me go alone. And besides, he behaved himself perfectly well."

I held up my hands, "Very well, I concede defeat," then slapped my palms down upon my thighs. "What is that you're working on?"

"Ah – livestock mutilations. Captain Hobbes thought it might be another ghoul, after that nastiness last year, but it looks more like a case of wild dogs this time." He shrugged. "How was your trip?"

"Refreshing, for the most part. It was good to see Paris again. No rest for the wicked, however," I added wryly, withdrawing the telegram once more. "I received this just after we came into port."

"What is it?"

I held it up, explaining as he came forth to take it, "A summons from the prison authority. It seems something has been… preying on the inmates at Eastwick Penitentiary. The warden has requested my input on the matter. I am thinking," I looked at him seriously over the rims of my spectacles, "that this may be a good opportunity to field test our new… arrangements."

Gabriel glanced out the window, at the moon riding high over shadowed London in the distance, then back to me. "Do you think he'll cooperate?"

"We'll find out soon enough."