Chapter 5: The Extent of Will and Denial

"We become what we love and who we love shapes what we become."

-Clare of Assisi

Țepeș' eyes opened to the enveloping darkness he slumbered in, cognizant of the fact he was no longer alone in the solitary chamber he retreated to during the daylight hours. He sensed movement and while he could easily navigate in the pitch black of the room, he wished to see what had been waiting for him, soft breath rising and falling close by.

Cold lights flickered on. He did not startle at the sight, as surprised as he was.

It was only a matter of time, he realized, before those who served him would seek him out, demanding his attention and favor again. And they would do so by latching on to his desires.

None other than Lisa stood waiting for him in the spartan chamber.

So clever, he thought, frowning. And daring.

He approached her and hooked a finger under her chin, raising it to better examine her.

It was an almost perfect replica of Lisa, down to the details: from the darning on her modest dress to the loose strands of golden hair poking out of her unkempt braid. He turned her face to and fro, ignoring the sly, uncharacteristic grin he was being offered. Her height was wrong—she was too tall—and that unnatural facsimile's eyes suggested a deviousness absent in the original; Lisa's eyes sparked with intelligence. With life. The apparition's skin was stony beneath his fingers, whereas Lisa's was warm and supple…

He released her, turning his back to her.

"Go away," he ordered dryly, reaching for his cloak.

"Vlad," she uttered softly, suggestively.

At the sound of his given name, so long in disuse, he faltered.

The voice, its timbre, had been mimicked perfectly. He turned to gaze upon her again. The unnerving apparition ran her hands provocatively down the front of her simple dress, undoing the buttons until she was able to tug it down over her breasts, past her hips, until it lay pooled around her feet.

He beheld the naked succubus with little more than curiosity. Her symmetry and nakedness had been carefully calculated to better entice and lure her prey. He finally averted his eyes when she loosened the braid, letting her hair cascade freely over her shoulders. That, he realized, had been the only believable gesture he could imagine Lisa engaging in.

Everything here is an expression of my will and desire. Do I blame these beings for yearning to serve their master well?

The succubus approached him sultrily and when her arms slipped around his shoulders and she pulled herself up against him, his hand slid across her back, holding her. When she sighed and tipped her head back, Țepeș' eyes darkened, the allure of the offering practically irresistible: her slender neck, its graceful curve. He crushed her against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his lips grazing her flesh.

Her cold flesh—no pulse, no yielding softness.

What he held in his arms was nothing more than a hollow projection of yearning.

He released the succubus, stepping away.

"I told you to go. And don't take her form again," he warned.

At his words the creature hissed, furious at being spurned. Another glance revealed eyes that glowed with demonic fire, an unnaturally wide mouth and mottled skin from the strain of holding a foreign shape.

Of course she would feel scorned—she was unaccustomed to his restraint. He stared icily, his displeasure at being challenged evident and menacing. The succubus cowered, crouching submissively at the withering glare, her demonic form now fully revealed, and backed away, slinking into the shadows.

The longer Lisa remains here, the more she becomes a part of this dark apparatus, of everything I have unleashed and set into motion, he thought.

Those who served him would not dare harm even a hair on her head. But they would start trailing her from the darkness; they were intrigued, perhaps even alarmed by the new inhabitant he had allowed to dwell among them. They knew, however, that their very existences hinged on complete surrender and unquestioning obeisance to him. He would know the instant a treacherous impulse was conceived in them—and they all feared fates worse than oblivion.

He had to be careful. Lisa had awakened a deep-rooted, essential longing he had believed dead inside him. It was akin to hunger.

And in her presence, he was growing ravenous.

Although the castle seemed eerily abandoned, its emptiness had begun to play tricks on Lisa's senses: the echoes of her footsteps, out of pace with her own, unnerved her, causing her to believe she was not alone. Yet, even as she whirled around to confront her would-be stalkers, she was met with silence. From the shadows, she was convinced at times that she had heard a soft rustle, the faint whisper of exhaling breath, or even a light groan.

Țepeș had observed her interestedly when she told him that night of the unsettling noises. Far from evincing concern, however, he was more intrigued by her response to it.

"Are you frightened, Lisa?" he asked, eyeing her shrewdly.

She didn't like the implication. Fear alluded to a certain ignorance…a weakness she refused to succumb to.

"It isn't fear as much as being unsettled and startled. You told me there is no one here other than you and I and your many mechanical devices. But I wonder: are you certain we dwell alone here? This castle is endless—I cannot make heads and tails of it still. Perhaps there are other people?"

"There aren't other…people," he stated curtly.

"Evidence," she stated, leaning forward, a twinkle in her eye, "indicates otherwise."

"This isn't a theory that requires experimentation to ascertain the truth. This castle is my domain and nothing occurs without my knowledge… or consent," he retorted edgily.

"But what if there was a situation where I needed aid? Where could I find… you?" It was a sincere question.

He'd closed his eyes at her words, listening intently.

"Know that I am never far," he told her in a low voice. "You needn't worry.

Despite her attempt to introduce some levity to the conversation, she could see she had breeched one of their unspoken boundaries. He quickly grew guarded when she questioned him about certain aspects of the castle and himself: the absence of servants, his unwillingness to eat in her presence, where he went for so many hours of the day. He became evasive and taciturn, withdrawing from her. Sometimes, if she had pushed him enough, he would carry a book to dinner: a clear sign that she had gone too far and there was to be no further casual conversation between them for the remainder of the night. As much as she wished to press him further, she understood that it also caused him distress. Besides, she hadn't gone that far to spend her time prying like a common gossip. She was an apprentice and he was her master. As a master, Țepeș was unparalleled. Not that she had ample experience to draw from to compare, but until meeting him, no other teacher had exhibited so much knowledge or put understanding into practice, resulting in so many creations and inventions. Until meeting him, her most trusted teachers had been books, their writers reaching across time to share their wisdom. It had been, she had to admit, a very one-sided exchange. With Țepeș she could question, challenge, argue, propose, and explain. And as gruff as he could be, that aspect of their rapport he nurtured and encouraged.

He was a moody man, she came to learn. On some nights they sat together analyzing and discussing various works and theories until dawn. On others, he taught her how to use different equipment and tools to make her tasks easier or more precise. Occasionally, he would emerge in the laboratory under what she could tell was one of his mercurial spells. He would not entertain questions, engage in conversation, or even respond to her attempts to prod him back into a more congenial mood. On those nights he gave her cumbersome tasks or readings. He would declare his expectations and then wander off into the laboratory, reacquainting himself with his own books and contraptions.

He never failed to appear, night after night, regardless of his mood, though. And while she chafed at his apparent indifference, she noticed he remained close. Sometimes she would raise her eyes from her task and catch his gaze across the room. It irked her that it was precisely when he was most withdrawn that she wished to seek him out the most. She didn't like that about herself. She didn't like the sweet ache that bloomed in her chest when she caught his stare, when their hands inadvertently touched, or when they walked beside each other each night when they returned to her room.

It is very inconvenient, she thought, scolding herself. And foolish.

How disappointed would he be in me if I proved myself to be flighty, sentimental, and fulfill every unflattering assumption about my sex? I cannot show him I am not worthy of his time and efforts.

She glanced down at the task Țepeș had asked her to conduct that evening. It was a complicated experiment and she wasn't sure how to achieve its outcome. Her spirits sank as he'd issued his directive and turned away from her with apparent indifference, leaving her to her own ingenuity. It had felt initially like a punishment.

But at the end of it all, who determined that particular scenario?

Don't see it as a punishment: see it as a test.

And since when had challenges ever deterred her?

The thought revived her, imbuing her with a new burst of resolve.

I came here to become a doctor—the most learned doctor in all of Transylvania, Wallachia, and Moldavia.

And I will.

Someday I will leave these halls and step back into the world again, she thought, resolutely. And perhaps, armed with knowledge and tools, I will finally be respected and allowed to perform my work without suspicion. And slowly, when confronted by such irrefutable proof, all the backwardness and superstition would recede. Then, others may come and wish to learn, too. And there would be less suffering, less grief.

She glanced up to find Țepeș at the furthest end of the apothecary's counter, hands clasped behind his back. She did not avert her gaze from the serious, handsome face that contemplated hers.

You should come with me. You cannot fight it once you experience it: the compassion among people who join in solidarity in a moment of sorrow. And when you succeed, when you have a precious triumph, when you are able to help—there is nothing like the joy, the hope. I may be the healer, but I often believe I am the one healed by those I meet, by their courage at their most vulnerable. Once you help usher a new life into the world, once you learn you can help restore the dignity and humanity of those who ail with kindness, by not recoiling from their deformities or illnesses, you can't avoid being touched by how profoundly we can ease each other's suffering; by how much we truly need each other in life. Perhaps I will help you see it yet, she thought hopefully, grinning.

"Why are you grinning like that?" he wondered, raising one of his eyebrows at her.

"You have given me a difficult task," she began, indicating the counter and the many small containers of reagents lined on top of it. "And negligible help—"

"I would argue I have given you more than enough help—" he interrupted tersely.

"—So, I initially thought you were disappointed in me. I thought it was a reprisal of sorts…But I suspect it is really a test. I think I understand." She crossed her arms with satisfaction.

"No: I do not think you do." He extended his hand, pointing at the containers. "Those aren't the required reagents for this experiment. Mix those with even a drop of water and you will set off an explosion. "

Brief panic flashed across her eyes, but she quickly recovered, examining the containers she had selected. Her brow furrowed in that way he found so endearing as she leaned over the book he had left open on the nearby lectern. After a few moments, as she mumbled under her breath, he watched her crouch before the shelves beneath the counter, perusing their contents and selecting new containers. He saw her head bob up and down while she lined them along the counter, considering her choices, and then swapping them out with some of the containers she had selected originally. When she finally sought him out, her expression hopeful, he couldn't help feeling a surge of affection begin to thaw his foul mood.

She stood expectantly, hands on her hips.

"I am determined—" she began.

"Determined to fail, perhaps…" he provoked. "Mix those together and you will be creating a frothing toxic mess."

Undaunted, she simply picked a few containers out of her lineup.

Where does it come from? This drive. This fire within her. I was a prince, a man, one unaccustomed to having my will opposed, he thought. When confronted with obstacles, I sought to conquer them, destroy them. But she?

She wishes to find harmony in the face of dissonance.

"If science has taught me anything, Țepeș, it is that failure lies not in erring, but in giving up." She arranged the containers again on the counter and searched his face for signs of a verdict.

It was wrong, he realized with a pang of sympathy. Again.

He shook his head. She pressed her lips tightly before diving below the counter again, noisily searching through the shelves.

"It is a noble sentiment, Lisa, but the truth is you don't know what you are doing and failure can have consequences." Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter and her head emerged from behind it, her blue eyes sheepishly peering back at him.

She stood up, brushing her hands over her skirt and trying to tame some of the wayward wisps of hair that refused to lie flat. His gaze wandered over her downcast, long-lashed eyes, delicate features, slender— but thankfully, no longer emaciated— figure. Her beauty was guileless.

"I may not know what I am doing to achieve the intended outcome…But! In the process I have learned how I could potentially create an explosion and unleash…How did you put it?" She cracked a winsome grin. "A frothing toxic mess…How can that count as failure?"

He couldn't help but return her grin. How strange to see the world through your eyes, he thought, giving in and approaching the assortment of containers. I wish I had met you a long time ago.

"Here—learn these well. This is what you need—" he pointed at a container filled with what looked like small shredded bits of something fibrous. "It is derived from the barks of willows and is at the foundation of recipes for treating pain and inflammation. Use too much, however, and it will have the opposite effect, causing bleeding and irritation."

She nodded, falling silent and reaching for the charcoal pencil she used to jot down her notes. A sooty smudge smeared her cheek and he just barely stopped himself from brushing his thumb over it. He could sense how he affected her; he could read the shifts within her—her heartbeat, her scent, even her warmth— when he stepped closer, when they touched, and it was dangerous: he wasn't in the habit of denying himself. He felt everything intensely. He allowed his emotions to consume him, believing that the more he unleashed them, the more powerful he grew. He had wrought plenty of devastation and destruction in their grasp, he acknowledged. He was feared and even revered for it.

But looking at Lisa right then, he realized that it wasn't only rage that could take such a powerful hold within him. When she had knocked on his door that fateful evening, she had not come seeking the monster. She hadn't come to extract revenge, she hadn't come to flatter him in exchange for favors like the devil was purported to do. She had come looking for the man. At the core of everything he had become since those long-gone days was still a man: one who had been transformed—some would argue even desecrated— in myriad ways, whose soul and flesh had withstood the abuses and mortifications of all his pursuits and ambitions. He'd believed all traces of that other life, that other existence gone until she crossed his doorway and entered his world.

At one point of his explanation, she put down her charcoal pencil. She had stood beside him, watching him as he measured different powders into medicine. He became conscious of her stare and did his best to act aloof.

"I hope you are taking note of everything I am explaining. There is a fine line between a good apothecary… and a good poisoner."

"I did!" she assured him, revealing her notes, taken in small, sprawling writing. "But I was wondering…"

"About?" He wiped his hands on a linen towel.

As she didn't answer, he finally turned to glance at her.

"You call it a failed attempt, but I call it one of many ways of how not to do this recipe," she explained, staring at the containers on the counter. "I would still be very interested in seeing how one could achieve that explosion you mentioned earlier…"

He wanted it all: the warmth, their complicity, her trust.

"What do you say, Țepeș?" she prodded, trying to downplay her eagerness. "Could you show me?"

"Vlad," he corrected her gently. "Call me by my given name." The name he went by long ago and allowed only a chosen few to call him.

"Very well," she acknowledged. "Vlad," she uttered, her face flushing, her scent growing headier, sweeter to him, almost irresistible.

"Were you this impossible back at the convent?" he scolded her affectionately, aroused by the sound of his name upon her lips.

"Oh, I assure you I was not!" she told him, splaying a hand over her chest. "But, I most certainly would have been, had you been there."

He grunted dismissively but she had caught him grinning.

"So, you would blow up my castle," he sighed, his heart aching at her closeness, at how easily he could simply bend her to his will if he so desired, but, ironically, how that would completely destroy what made her so beloved and alluring to him.

"Oh! Perhaps just a tiny bit—just a small tower? This castle is so vast, I suspect no one would notice," she teased, affectedly rolling her eyes before erupting into laughter once he confronted her with an indignant look.

He had tried very hard to put some distance between them for her own sake, sought to disengage from that effortless closeness they had fallen into, to impose a more formal rapport between them…But he could not resist her. He would never deny her free will, agency…but he was not in the habit of suppressing his, either.

He wanted her like he had craved few things in his long life.

And, he thought, his gaze growing inscrutable, he always got what he wanted.

I don't know that I will be able to let you go when the time comes, Lisa, he realized warily. No, the real danger to you isn't this castle or even the darkness that serves me.

It is I.

A/N: Lisa's statement that she hadn't failed, but had discovered, instead, how not to do the recipe is inspired by Thomas Edison's quote: "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work." I like that approach and attitude (even though I like Tesla more...).