Chapter 26: A Promise Kept

When D reached the castle gate it opened for him before he'd given it a single thought. The two horses were right where he and Hesselius had left them on the terrazzo at the base of the broad stone steps. They looked at D intently as he stalked past them through the still-pouring rain.

The massive door at the top of the stairs also threw itself open for him, and once he stepped inside, it closed itself quietly rather than slamming shut as it always had. The candles along the walls of great hall were already lit, requiring no signal from D. There was no sign of the three female vampires or the human man who had sworn to deal with them.

Suddenly D became aware of a strange sensation, the like of which he'd never felt before. His clothes, which were thoroughly soaked, were drying at an unnatural rate. Almost as soon as he realized it, the process was complete- his clothes were dry. He looked at the sleeve of his coat just in time to see a rip in the heavy fabric finish stitching itself shut- and the slightly frayed cuff was magically repairing itself until it looked brand new. D narrowed his eyes. This was unusual. Even the mud from his boots had somehow been removed, simply by him stepping through the door.

"Vivaldi?" asked a gentle, feminine voice.

D turned his head in surprise and recognized the cold, shadowy presence that spoke to him. It was one of the ghostly inhabitants of the castle-- as a child he had often heard them whispering, but had never understood their speech clearly.

"Ah… Mussorgsky, perhaps?" the shadowy voice suggested, when D didn't answer.

"...No," D said, suddenly remembering the nights when he had overheard his father come through the door and imperiously shout out the name of some random composer. D had never heard the music generated by those commands. But something told him that he might be able to hear it now.

The ghostly shadow wavered in front of him, and D sensed a sort of deference from it as it vanished. D knew better than anyone just how haunted and enchanted the castle was, so he didn't think much of the strange encounter, and instead hurried onwards in search of Hesselius. Accompanied by a heavy sense of dread, D got the feeling that a good place to look would be his sisters' chambers… the lavishly decorated rooms that contained the perfumed caskets they slept in daily. On his way up the stairs, however, something stopped him in his tracks.

On the first landing, there had always been a large canvas in a gilded frame; an unnervingly lifelike portrait of his father. D had never paid it much attention. The inscription at the bottom of the frame unnecessarily identified the imposing figure in the painting as Master of the Castle. Critically, D looked it over. The moon-pale face was somber, the eyes half-closed in contemplation. D realized immediately what it was that bothered him. The eyes in the painting weren't the luminous, jewel-like scarlet color that they were supposed to be.

It was hard to tell exactly what color they were instead… but in the dim candlelight, they might have been sea-grey.

"Côtes du Rhône?" It was a different voice than before. D whirled to face another shadow, that was somehow holding aloft a glass of fragrant red wine.

Almost angrily, D knocked the offered glass out of the specter's invisible hand. It shattered on the stairs, and slowly both the wine and the shards of glass disappeared, as if being absorbed by the castle itself. The ghostly presence wavered, preparing to depart- "Wait," D commanded, and it froze in place. "What's going on?"

"You are weary, my lord," the shadow answered softly. "A sip of refreshment…"

D shook his head slightly, feeling impatient. "This painting…" he began, glancing up at it mistrustfully.

"Does it displease you?" the specter asked solemnly.

D hesitated. The shadow hovered silently in front of him, and D found that by looking through it, he could almost bring its features into focus. There was certainly more to the creature's appearance than a shadow, but D's human blood prevented him from seeing it. "…Do you know who I am?" D asked uncomfortably.

"Of course," the shadow replied gravely. "You are our master."

D felt chilled. "And my father?"

"Left us in your care," said the shadow reverently.

D shook his head again, turning away from the specter. "I'll sort this out later," he muttered, and hurried up the stairs.

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He found what he was looking for in the corridor outside his sisters' rooms. That entire wing of the castle boasted Victorian décor, and consequently the corridor was lit by elegant glass-vase gas lamps. Hesselius was slumped against the wall, reeking of blood… one hand was in his pocket, the other was pressed futilely to his perforated neck and there was blood smeared messily over his chin and the front of his shirt. He didn't look up as D approached.

"What took you so long?" the man asked hoarsely, but his tone was as amicable as ever. "You missed all the excitement!" D noticed that a considerable quantity of the man's blood had soaked into the carpet around him, and from the smell of things, even more of it had been left behind in the bedrooms beyond the closed doors… "Well? Come along, man, it's bad form to keep the dying in suspense. Tell me what happened! Did you fight him? Did you kill him?"

"We fought," D said quietly, finding his voice. "But he escaped."

"Saints in heaven, that's a pity," Hess muttered. "But by God, you'll see to his end one of these days, I'll wager."

"Yes," D said.

Hesselius grinned weakly. "That blonde one was easy to kill. Your sisters put up a decent fight, but I got them too. Not before they got me, unfortunately. I suppose I won't be waking up, now that you're here. It's just as well. I doubt I could tolerate the disgrace of being one of the very things I was born to hunt, or having my own Mum put a bounty on my head…"

"You're certain?" D asked softly.

"Of course I'm certain! They both drank my blood, D, and I drank both of theirs. Hmm. Yes, I'm quite sure I'm doomed to wake up with fangs. Just… just hurry it up and kill me! Do your goddamned job, man! Heavens above, of all the hunters in the world, I wind up facing the one who has to ask me if I'm 'certain'…"

Hesselius's theatrical bravery did a commendable job masking the tremble of fear in his voice, but D heard it there all the same. It was the end for this man, this human who had devoted his life to hunting vampires. D would have to kill him. The sword in D's hand felt suddenly heavy.

Hess finally looked up at the one who would deliver him. "Hey," he said soberly after a quiet moment. "That's just how it is. The life… of a hunter. That's… how it is." There was genuine compassion in his voice as it trailed to a whisper. "All right?"

"…All right," D agreed, his voice calmingly soft. He nodded once, and raised his sword with both hands.

Hesselius returned the nod and closed his eyes. He took his hand away from his bruised and feebly-bleeding neck and proudly raised his chin, resting his head back against the wall, presenting an unambiguous target.

The sword flashed in the glow of the gas lamps.

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"So you're really the master of the castle?" D's left hand asked at last, sounding amused.

"For now," D admitted.

It was nearly sunrise. D had spent the small hours of the morning wandering through the castle, searching through his father's offices for some clue as to where Dracula might have retreated. The ghostly 'servants' could tell him nothing more than what he already knew: his father was gone though not destroyed-- and until he returned, the castle belonged to D.

"Wait, wait, wait: Does that make YOU the King of the Vampires?" the demon asked teasingly.

"I don't think so."

The demon laughed. "Master of the Castle! Well. This might not be such a bad thing, you know? You could really get used to this! Live a life of luxury for a couple centuries… go look for your dad again…"

D sighed. He was standing on the balcony where his father had been standing the previous evening, when D had first ridden over the mountain pass. The rain had finally ceased, and the imminent dawn seemed to be pressing away the remaining clouds.

"You're pretty worn out," the gruff voice observed. "You really ought to think about getting some sleep. Care to try that coffin on for size?"

D looked over his shoulder at his father's open coffin, and then narrowed his eyes as he flipped his palm over to gaze at the madly grinning face. "Sometimes, you aren't funny," D remarked evenly.

"Aw, come on! Looks like it's got red velvet pillows, heh heh— that's not tacky at all. But of course if you'd rather have black, I'm sure you can redecoraaaaaa!" the hand's teasing commentary became a scream as the dhampir attached to it took the shortcut down to the terrazzo by leaping off the balcony.

"…ok, now THAT was unnecessary," the demon gasped as D landed lightly on his feet and headed for the gate. "What were trying to do, fly? It's not like there was anything wrong with the stairs, you know. If you must pull stunts like that, can't you at least wait until there are some ladies around to impress? ...Hey! Where are you going? Are you seriously leaving?"

D was making his way through the woods.

"Not yet," D said.

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The distance seemed a lot shorter now than it had when he was little. Fleetingly he remembered all the times he had eagerly traveled this route… through the woods… to the Belus's cottage and the human companionship he'd found there. Before long the humble building came into view. It was completely and unnaturally overgrown with wild roses, but looked protected rather than smothered, wrapped in its flowery blanket. And in a clearing beside the house was a beautiful white marble tomb. The roses grew there, too, though not as plentifully, as if the plants themselves were reluctant to cover the beauty of the sculpted stone.

D knew it would be here, this beautiful tomb. It was the monument that his father built for the woman he killed at the event marking the start of his 'plan' for the future. The end of her life had propelled D into the human world, where eventually he found not an answer but a course to follow. He had been directed to his mission by a human, and taught how to accomplish it by a vampire- but he had chosen it for himself. He knew what he was and what he would always be, and he was committed to whatever existence he would have to endure as a penalty for his choice.

The fresh light of morning breached the horizon as D approached the hallowed place. His faint shadow, like that of a thin cloth, appeared on the side of the tomb. D was captivated by the beauty of the monument. There were images and figures carved into every inch of the marble surface: graceful deer with delicate ears held up as if aware of their visitor, stone flowers so intricate and realistic that they seemed destined to wilt, angels that gazed out kindly with old Mrs. Belus's warm smile replicated perfectly on their stone faces.

But there was one feature in particular, a carving of two children, that captured D's attention. It was a scene of a boy and a girl, sitting cross-legged next to each other under flowering trees, a large book open between them. The little boy had pointed ears.

D reached out and touched the marble, remembering. His thoughts drifted quietly over the events and experiences that had brought him from that moment of his childhood to the place he now stood. Tasia's awful death. Samantha. Aldrich and his conclusions about vampires. Hesselius. Tasia's grandchildren in the photograph, that D would never meet. D had seen how humans could be so quick to forget as a society, and yet so determined to hold on as individuals. Their lives were fragile and all too often tragic. D would hunt vampires for their sake, and someday… he would finally kill his father. D had accepted the burden of that destiny, and was at peace with his identity.

Slowly, he walked around to the other side of the tomb, the side that would remain untouched by the sun until midday. D admired the intricate carvings there too. Then, carefully, he sat down with his back against the tomb. "Your mother asked me to visit," he said softly, and looked up at the brightening sky. Birds sang, undisturbed by his presence. "I'm sorry it took me so long. Now…I think I need to rest for a bit," he confessed, seeming not at all uncomfortable speaking aloud in the tranquil setting. "And I'd be grateful… for the shade."

The white stone granted its silent consent, and there in the shadow of his past, D closed his eyes.

The End

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Author's notes: waaah! It's over! It's really over! I can't believe it! In case you were wondering, D's age at the end here is approximately 180 years old (182, to be exact), and in my mind that correlates to same 'age' as an 18-yr-old human. And now… I've finished the portrait. He's all grown up! sob… It's finally over… And Lefty didn't even come up with a smartass remark for the last line! Sniffle. I loved writing this. That line up there, about D being at peace with his identity? I nearly replaced that with "and sunbune is at peace with his history", because that's really what this is about. I NEEDED to know where D came from, and what his past was like, and so I made up this story. I still want to know the real story, but for now, I am satisfied, and maybe some of you feel that way too. Thank you so much, everyone who reviewed. I love you all! There will be one more chapter with 'special features' including deleted scenes, if anybody wants to see them… let me know. And thanks again!