Something woke me from uneasy dreams. I lay still for some moments as my eyes adjusted to the dim shadows that shrouded the room. From the particular greyness of the light, I could guess that it was already late evening, and I wondered why I'd been left to sleep so long.

Ah well, I supposed as I stretched and sat up in bed: such luxury was uncommon, but best enjoyed when permitted. And last night had been quite a long one. Still, no need to press my fortune now that I was awake. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and hurried to the armoire in the corner, quickly donning a simple black suit and white shirt and checking the fit by touch. Mirrors were a nonentity at Carfax.

I ran a brush through my hair, and then, satisfied that I was presentable, hurried from my room and through the back hallways toward the kitchen. Perhaps I had not yet been summoned; but I knew from the previous night's preparations that Master was expecting guests tonight, and I did not wish to be caught unready when he did call. He could be… frightening, when annoyed.

I nodded a general greeting as I entered the kitchen; but the other staff were occupied for the most part in preparing the roast for the evening meal. My duty was otherwise: knowing that I would be called upon to serve Master himself, I briskly set about assembling his tray. Not that he ate; but when he was entertaining guests he liked to keep up appearances.

I went to the cold room and selected a bottle from the shelves, checking the date on the label to be sure it was fresh. Blood might pass for wine to the casual eye, but it certainly didn't age as gracefully. I set out a wine glass to go with the bottle, and added some bread and a wedge of cheese for show. My timing was excellent; for just as I finished the tray I heard the Count's familiar summons in the back of my mind.

I made haste to the dining room with my burden, and found him seated alone in his high-backed chair at the end of the table. He was turned away from me, looking out over the estate, but he sensed my quiet arrival as easily as if I'd rung the bell. "Our guests have not yet arrived, Servant," he observed without looking from the window. His deep voice seemed to fill the room, pressing against the inside of my skull like a physical presence, though he had spoken but softly. "Come. I wish to speak with you."

I set the tray on the table and approached him cautiously with lowered eyes, until my gaze fell on his hand upon the armrest of his chair. I knew better than to speak first, so I waited, the silence stretching until all I could hear was the beating of my own heart.

"How long has it been," he asked then, and I heard the faint rustle of silk as he turned to look at me, "that you have served me?"

"About… ten years, Master." The title still left a foul taste in my mouth; but I knew better than to address him otherwise. I had had, after all, a decade in which to learn. We had been such fools, then, to think we could thwart him. I remembered as clearly as yesterday his mocking laughter as he'd risen from the coffin, tugging the knife out of his chest and tossing it aside with utter disregard in the snow. How he had proceeded to tear apart our pathetic band with hands and teeth alone… but for some reason, he had let me live. I, alone, had been brought back to London with him, as a trophy of his victory.

"Ten years," he mused, his voice turning away again as he looked back to the window. "Nothing to we immortals; but rather longer, I imagine, for you."

"I suppose so, Master." My reply was automatic, but my thoughts momentarily lingered elsewhere, on that distant night in Transylvania. He had bested… how many? Myself, and four good men, without batting an eye. I shivered slightly.

"You have been a good servant, Professor," he was proceeding, in an almost companionable tone. "Apart from a few… minor incidents, early on, of course. I must say I find it quite convenient to have you around."

I frowned slightly and kept my eyes downcast. Such praise was bitter, but rare. I supposed I should be grateful. "Thank you, Master."

I felt him smile, though I could not see his face. I could hear it in his voice. "I should like," he announced slowly, "to offer you a gift, in exchange for your years of loyalty." At this I could not resist a quick glance up at him, looking quickly away again when I inadvertently met his eyes; but they were amused, not angry. "Look at me Servant," he commanded, softly.

I looked. Those impossibly knowing eyes captured mine and held me fast. I heard his voice dimly, as through a great fog. "So few humans," he was murmuring, "…so few, with such minds and fortitude as yours. So few worthy of such a gift. Tell me, Professor, would you like to live forever?"

I tried to look away; tried to gather my thoughts; but his eyes would not let me go. "You wish… an eternal servant?" I managed to gasp out one of the many questions that leapt to my mind.

He chuckled. "No… in fact, in accepting this gift you would be freed of me." He evidently heard the quickening of my pulse at those words, for his laughter grew sardonically louder.

"Why?" he responded to the question I was unable to voice. "Why… so many reasons. Because eternity is a very long time. Because I so rarely meet another with whom I truly enjoy conversing; and when I do, they inevitably grow old and die. Because… you have served me well, Van Helsing, and I would invite you to join me in the night. What use is such power as mine, really, if all who can truly appreciate it must die and be forgotten?"

I swallowed hard. His eyes continued to bore into mine, dominating; I felt as if my very soul were laid bare before him. Until he had defeated me, I had dedicated my life to the extermination of his kind. But that had all changed… hadn't it? Wouldn't it be almost appropriate? The ultimate irony?

Yes, he agreed in my mind, lifting his left hand to his face and calmly slashing his wrist with his fangs. He extended his arm to me, so close that the dark blood dripped on my collar. I could smell it keenly: that familiar, cloying scent of decay; but now he opened his mind to me and I felt too, for the first time, his hunger.

It twisted my insides in an agonized frenzy. My mouth watered and my lower jaw stiffened as my stomach heaved with a nauseous, aching starvation. He held his bleeding wrist out calmly, his long, pale fingers hovering beside my right temple.

"Drink," he spoke simply, "and be free."

I felt I should resist him, but I could not at that moment think clearly why. I could see nothing but his eyes, smell nothing but his blood, hear nothing but his voice. A decade of servitude; and now I could be free with such a simple act. I would not have to die… and be forgotten.

Something wasn't right. I clenched my teeth and tried to force my thoughts into coherence. Forgotten. Ten years ago… he'd killed everyone. Everyone but me.

But that wasn't possible.

"Mina," I gasped hoarsely.

His presence became cold. "What?"

I drew a ragged breath with difficulty, trying to ignore the sickly scent of blood. "You couldn't have killed her," I realized, and clarity seemed to return at the revelation. His gaze grew less overwhelming; I could see his face now, and the room beyond. "You couldn't have killed her, so where is she?" My voice gained strength with conviction. "You won, Count; so where is she?"

His expression twisted in fury as his bleeding hand closed suddenly over my throat. "That is none of your concern, Servant! Drink!"

To my own surprise, I heard myself laugh; even as the room seemed to fade and blur with the sudden shortage of oxygen. I forced my chin down, looking at my hands, and saw that I was holding a revolver. The same revolver I had entrusted to Jonathan Harker on a similar night some months ago. Jonathan Harker… who was not dead. I had had it in my hand all along. I lifted it, my arm trembling with the effort.

"This isn't real," I smiled, grimly, and squeezed the trigger.

The world exploded in blood and darkness, and black stars flooded my field of vision; replaced, slowly, by the image of Gabriel's concerned features hovering over me. One of his hands gripped my shoulder; the other was lightly but firmly slapping my face. Gradually, his voice penetrated the dim haze.

"Father? Are you all right? Can you hear me – Doctor Van Helsing, can you hear me?"

I blinked my eyes once, assuring him that I was aware of his presence, and moved my tongue thickly in my mouth. "What happened?" I tried to ask, but it came out as nothing more than an unintelligible mumble. He leaned for a moment out of my range of vision, then returned with a glass of water, which he placed to my lips with the admonition that I sip slowly.

Grateful, if somewhat peeved at his solicitous manner, I did as I was told and found my voice. "What – happened?" I asked again, as I pushed myself up to a sitting position. My recollection of events was already swirling away in a colorless vortex, like a half-remembered dream. I pressed the flat of my hand against my forehead and grimaced.

He patiently pressed the glass into my opposite hand and insisted that I drink. For some reason this triggered a wave of nausea, and I froze for some moments, eyes squeezed shut, swallowing vigorously until the sensation passed. Then I sipped, obediently, and he finally answered me.

"I'm not sure. You said you were going to try lifting the Seal to level one, and then you both just… froze up, for several minutes."

My gaze traveled upward until it fell on the now-familiar mass of red leather sprawled in a chair across the room. Alucard was watching me silently, intently; but his usual smirk was absent. Rather he seemed almost… awestruck. As if he'd suddenly come to the conclusion that two plus two equaled five and had no idea how to retrace his steps.

"I thought I felt… something," Gabriel was saying, "but I'm not as attuned to it as you are, Father." He frowned at me, interrupting my view of the vampire as he looked into my eyes for sign of concussion. "And then you suddenly keeled over. I tried to catch you—"

I held up a hand placatingly against his concern. "I think that now I understand." I handed him the water glass back and rose to my feet, wincing at a lance of pain through my temples. My eyes were set sternly on the monster across the room. "You had to try," I observed.

He returned my gaze frankly, unapologetic but seeming mystified, still, that his attempt had failed. "Of course."

"Had to try what?" Gabriel demanded.

"To test the strength of my chain," Alucard replied, a hint of the usual dryness returning to his voice. "The power of the Seal was in flux. I took advantage of it at its lowest ebb."

I could only recall pieces of the vision now; but that was enough. "He showed me another reality. Wherein he was the master." My brow furrowed thoughtfully. "And if I had taken your… offer, what then? I thought that only a virgin could successfully be turned into one of your kind."

He shrugged diffidently. "True, but that wasn't the point, was it Professor? Had you taken my blood," he spoke the word I had been loathe to voice, plainly, and smiled when he saw my cheek twitch, "it would have been a symbolic recognition of myself as the master. The Seal, I think, would have been broken." His smile drooped abruptly and an annoyed tone crept into his speech. "But you saw through the illusion."

"So I did," I agreed quietly. Our eyes locked for some moments; but it was he who looked away. More clearly then than ever before I could feel the emotions battling for dominance under his calm façade. Anger, frustration, yes; but under that, frank confusion… and the small seeds of respect.

"I think," I spoke with difficulty, withdrawing to my own self, "that we are done here for the night. You will be confined to restriction level five until specific further notice by Gabriel or myself."

"Understood," he grated, his eyes averted and refusing to meet mine.

"Gabriel," I continued in a subdued tone, "if you'll excuse me for a short time… I'll be upstairs momentarily."

My son looked apprehensively between the vampire and myself; but he took the hint of my words and bobbed his head in assent. He let himself out of the room, and I moved to the supply cupboard and sorted through one of the drawers. As the door shut behind him with a definitive click, I withdrew the desired instrument and approached Alucard.

He looked up at me warily as I stood over him, rolling back my left sleeve. "What are you doing?"

"What must be done," I replied impassively; and taking the scalpel in my right hand I opened a clean, precise incision in my left wrist. He did not breath; but I felt him tense all the same as if breath had caught in his throat, as my blood welled swiftly in the wound and began to drip to the floor. He had fed well already tonight – was it really still tonight? It seemed like ages past – but his lips peeled back, and into his eyes came a reluctant, desperate gleam as he stared enraptured at the crimson stream.

"By blood are we bound," I murmured; and no further coaxing was necessary. He slid from his chair and knelt beside me. I felt the pressure of his fangs against my wrist as his mouth closed over the incision; but he made no attempt to further break the skin. He was almost… gentle, his eyes closed in peaceful rapture as he suckled the wound. I felt the invisible Seal pulse between us, replenished by the renewal of the pact. I allowed him to remain there for some minutes, the servant with head bowed before the master; but then I drew my arm back.

"That's enough."

He let go reluctantly, but obediently, his eyelids rising to half mast, still fixed on my wrist as I moved back to the cabinet for a bandage to bind it. He touched the corner of his mouth with the back of one hand, slowly, as if in a daze, and wiped away a few stray drops.

"You may go," I spoke briskly, busy winding gauze around my arm. He did not respond immediately, and I turned to repeat the missive; but he had gone.