The servant carried his findings through the tenement and down into the dreaded wine. He tapped on the wall once, but before he could knock again, he could feel the burning eyes of his master falling upon him. Unseen eyes that were far closer to Renfield than he would have thought possible so soon.
"Renfield," a voice from the shadows almost purred like a tiger toying with a meal, "May I assume from your return to my presence that you have something to give me, or are you merely offering yourself as tonight's breakfast?"
"P-please master, I did everything I could..." Renfield stammered out before his own voice lingered away.
"You sound as if you've failed me," the voice continued as a wave of palpable malice washed over Renfield.
"I, I did what I could, b-but Professor Mrad has left Cairo, heading out into the desert. But, but I learned e-everything I could about where he was going. I've got maps, requisition forms, travel plans, university memos..." Renfield said, again unable to continue his stammering sentence.
"Very good Renfield," the master's voice continued, and Renfield could almost visualize the shark's grin his master was wearing at that moment, "Leave your findings on my desk and run off to polish my blade. I believe I'll need it before the night's over."
Renfield scampered off to his master's desk and then his armaments trunk, eagerly performing the requested chore.
Back in the wine cellar, Dracula's brides began to stir from their slumber. Aleera was the first, followed by Marishka, with Verona being the last to awaken. While Dracula frowned when he heard them waking, he refused to let his displeasure take a tangible form as he had done with Renfield. No, his brides were far too useful to him as they were; utterly enthralled by him and convinced that he loved them as no other. It was a lie of course, but it was a convenient lie for the undead prince.
"Lovelies," Dracula began as the last of his brides awakened, "Tonight is going to be one to remember."
"What do you mean, master?" Marishka asked still in a haze.
"Would you desire our aid tonight, master?" Verona added quickly, and to Dracula's practiced ear, she sounded as if she were trying to beat her sisters to being the first to turn into a sycophant."
"Indeed I do. I desire that the three of you cease your treacherous bickering, then feed yourselves and assemble on the roof and await me."
"Yes, master," the three demons said almost as one, and the sound of footsteps scrambling up out of the wine cellar could be heard.
Dracula merely sighed and felt his face, frowning when the sensation of wrinkles hadn't left. In the past, even terrible wounds suffered at the hands of other fiends had been healed after an orgy of bloodletting and feasting, combined with a day's rest. But this twisted magic that had contorted his once proud and refined features into the crumpled visage of an elderly human was more persistent than anything else the count had been afflicted with in his years as a nocturnal warlord, and while he had regained his former strength, he knew well that his form was still trapped in this mockery of his past beauty. All he could think of as his gnarled hands stroked his creased skin was his ever growing hatred for Rafik Mrad and his dark magic. That he would pursue this creature into the hellish deserts was a testament to his fury that surprised even him, but his intuition told him that this creature calling itself Rafik Mrad would lead him to the threat to his eternity.
Removing his hand from his face, Dracula pulled himself out of the abyss of self pity and the literal pit of the wine cellar, making his way over towards the documents Renfield had left him. He managed to avoid being seen by anyone, and locked the office door behind him so as to prevent his disfigurement from being known by those beneath him. He lit a handful of candles and reviewed the maps and travel plans, frowning deeply as he evaluated the strange actions of Rafik Mrad. It wasn't difficult for Dracula to discern where the professor would be heading in the desert, and he knew that he and his brides could easily fly the distance. The only question was whether four vampires could slay whatever was waiting for him out in that hellish, forsaken wasteland.
Suddenly, as Dracula lost himself in his probing of the documents, there was a knock at the door, and Renfield plead with his master to open the door so that he could return Dracula's sword. The vampire didn't heard anything save the general concept of his servant's pleas, and told Renfield to head to the roof, rather than face him any more than he had to with this mummified face. The reminder of his mutilation spurred Dracula to clench his fanged teeth together in frustration. Oh yes, this Professor Mrad would pay. With a terrible hiss, his sent his fist into the wall of his study, breaking the wall like it was but a mass of thin air. With this, he left the safety of his study, and walked to the roof to introduce his closest servants to what was seemingly his new visage.
He exited on to the roof with his head held high, a nobleman of the night even after being mutilated. His brides sneered wickedly as they presumed he was but a feeble old mortal and prepared to treat him as such, and Renfield. Dracula snarled at all of them, turning his anger into a tangible thing to remind his servants of who they were dealing with. Aleera whimpered and took a step back, while Marishka only widened her eyes. Verona cringed slightly, but only Renfield seemed concerned with his master's condition, for he too had recognized that this was unusual while the brides thought only of their own survival.
"Master," Verona choked out after an awkward silence, "Is that you, master?"
"Indeed it is," Dracula responded as he shifted into his demonic bat form, but even his monstrous grey skinned war form washed over his features, he still appeared to be more ancient than he should, "Now prepare to follow me into flight. I've got much to accomplish, and I may well have only one night to accomplish it in. If any of you three ruin this night's tasks, the three of you will pay for it with your existences. Are we clear on this matter, lovelies?"
Another chorus of instantaneous agreement punctuated the transformation of his brides. Their eagerness to please without thinking of anything save his satisfaction, while somewhat comforting, was vaguely unnerving to him. Dracula then turned to Renfield, his leering demonic visage staring into his servant's eyes, and from Renfield's perspective, into his soul.
"You've done very well Renfield," Dracula said with a razor fanged smirk, "Prepare for my return by restocking the wine cellar with casks, would you?"
"Yes, yes, master," Renfield said confidently.
Dracula then spread his grey wings and took to the skies above Cairo at a determined pace. His brides unquestioningly followed him into blackened sky, not knowing where they were going, but willing to follow him there none the less. As the count considered the blind faith and trust his servants had in him, doubt began to emerge in his mind. Although he had put up the bravest front he could, deep within his mind and what little remained of his soul, he wasn't so certain that he'd ever return to see the lights of Cairo, let alone the storm swept peaks of the Carpathians. But in all his centuries, he had never backed down and surrendered, not even when the massive armies of the Turks were sent against him. One more heathen Arab wasn't going to stop Vladislaus Dracula.