Chapter 1
September 8th, 1972. A fair-skinned young blonde woman with deep blue eyes and her hair in a stylish side ponytail was sitting at her desk, poring over a stack of documents. Her rounded cheeks were scrunched and her thin, dark eyebrows furrowed. She was having a difficult time masking her stress as long strands of golden hair trapped themselves on her orange turtleneck tee and white jacket.
The massacre at Munich had made things at the CIA a real mess over the past few days. Nobody felt safe, and everyone was on edge. It didn't help matters that the work they were doing felt more like damage control than any actual kind of solution. Of course, Cass had been working there long enough to know that often, fixing the problem had little priority compared to making the public feel like it was fixed. The fact that none of the casualties were American competitors was a small blessing for them, though calling anything about this situation a "blessing" felt disgustingly wrong, and there was no doubt that Nixon was really lighting a fire under their collective ass to do something about this.
Distracted by her work, she failed to notice an older field agent leering at her from across the room. "Hey, mama, why the long face?" he inquired. "You oughta let your hair down a little! You know, loosen up; smile! You gotta think about the future, baby. Ain't no one gonna want to marry a wrinkled old bag."
Cass snapped her pencil in her hand. Great. No matter the crisis, there's always one of these guys, she thought. "Well, gee golly gosh, mister, that sure is some swell advice!" she said, faking a bright, toothy smile. "I don't know how I ever made it to GS-12 - despite the glaring sexism inherent in the system - without your shining example to follow. You must be, what, a senior? Chief?"
Dumbstruck, the agent reluctantly spat out his answer. "J-... Junior..."
"Junior, really? Wow, I never would have guessed, because clearly, you know how to handle my life better than I, your superior, do. Please, do tell me again how much more I'll be worth to a man if I present myself in a particular way."
A portly, mustachioed man emerged from behind an office door. "Morris!" he yelled, "Quit dressing down the new blood and get your ass in here!" Letting out a long sigh, Cass stretched herself out and left her files behind, entering her chief's office.
"Sir, if this is about the slip-up in Morocco, with all due respect, Hassan's still alive, so I think we can chalk that one up as a win."
"Calm your cans, Morris. This is about your next assignment. The General Secretary of Romania's got a problem in his own backyard, and he's requested assistance from us. Your assistance, specifically," the chief grumbled.
"Ceaușescu?" Cass asked. "We can't possibly still be supporting that crackpot after his radical policy changes, can we?"
"We can because we have no choice. After all, he's the one who gave us an in with China, and he's still one of the most valuable allies we have in the Eastern Bloc."
Cass was fuming, trying to keep her temper under control. "So, I just fly over there, give him a little 'Yes, sir, of course, sir,' and turn a blind eye to every basic human rights violation I come across. Is that about right?"
"That's exactly right. I dunno why he was so insistent about it being you, but we can't afford to be turning any more friends into foes, especially not after we've seen the second terrorist massacre in two months. We don't know what our enemies are willing to do anymore."
He has a point, Cass thought. She had been so preoccupied dealing with the Munich incident that she had nearly forgotten about Argentina. It somehow seemed as though the world was unraveling around her. "Still, how much are we willing to let slide before this guy becomes the next Stalin?"
"Did you forget? We shared a cozy little bed with Stalin for a good long time. Politics ain't never been about what's right or wrong. It's what's convenient."
Cass hesitated. She had spent her life trying to join the CIA because she thought it would help her protect people and end injustice, but more often than not, she seemed to find herself aiding warlords and criminals. She asked herself if she had been born into the wrong time, or if perhaps things had always been like this and all the good versus evil stories were just that: stories.
"...I'll do it... but I have to make a stop in Texas first," she said pensively.
"Texas?! ...Fine, make it quick," the chief bitterly growled out...
September 9th. Cass took a white rental car from the Houston International Airport to her family's estate in the city. The roads were strangely vacant for a Saturday. Perhaps people really were reluctant to leave their homes. As she approached a pristine white manor, she was greeted at the door by a middle-aged woman with lightly graying chestnut hair and a blue and white dress.
"Cassandra Bethany Morris, I haven't seen you in ages! When was the last time you called or even sent a letter?" the woman chided.
"I'm so sorry, Mother. Langley just keeps me on my toes, you know," Cass replied, surrendering. "But I know that's no excuse. After all, the great Charlotte Morris had to deal with way more than that in her day."
"Oh, you know just how to flatter your dear mother. But it doesn't seem as though you're here simply for a visit," Charlotte teased.
Cass explained the situation to her, being as thorough as she could, but occasionally throwing in some of her personal apprehensions and speculations.
"...and it's even stranger just on the tails of Munich, where the autopsy reports mentioned that the victims' blood had been completely siphoned from their bodies."
Charlotte held her hands in front of her mouth, sighing. "If all of that is true, it could definitely mean someone is trying to bring Dracula back to the world of the living... especially if they requested a Morris... If your father were still with us, he might know for certain, but..."
Cass looked over at the chest that laid across from them in their large, lavish living room. "That's it, isn't it...?"
Reluctantly, Charlotte nodded. "The Vampire Killer... The sacred weapon of the Belmont Clan... and the weapon that cut your father's life short and your grandfather's even shorter. If you take it... you could slay any ordinary monsters without reducing your lifespan, but you would be rendered completely helpless against the Count himself..."
Cass gulped. "And... what would it take to... unlock its real power...?"
"How can you even think about that?!" Charlotte snapped. "Your father, only two years ago... H-he never even reached forty-five!"
"It won't matter if Dracula comes to power, will it? If I let that happen, I won't make it to thirty, let alone forty-five. Neither will anyone else."
Charlotte bit her lip, shaking. Every time she remembered the pain Jonathan endured after using that whip, it gave her chills. Still, seeing Cassandra now, she saw the same determination that had been in his eyes when they had fought against Brauner, Death, and Dracula all those years ago.
"The ritual... needs to be performed by a member of the Lecarde bloodline..."
"Well, then, we just need to phone Aunt Stella or Aunt Loretta, don't we?" Cass asked.
"It's not that simple. I want to send them with you so they can perform the ritual before your final confrontation then and only then, but... we haven't heard from Loretta in years, and Stella is in no condition to travel overseas. She does have a daughter, but-"
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Cass got up from her seat, saying, "I'll get it, Mother." She walked to the front door and opened it. Leaning against the railing leading up the stairs was a petite young woman with long and curly purple hair and disinterested icy blue eyes. She was loudly and obnoxiously chewing gum.
"Hello, this is the Morris Estate. Can we... help you?" Cass inquired, quirking a brow.
"Yeah, the name's Blanche Lecarde. Mom sent me here 'cuz of one of her premonitions. So I guess I'm supposed to, like, help you kill a vampire or whatever?" the young lady postulated in a nasally voice.
Cass was unamused. She closed the door without saying a word.
Charlotte immediately rose up from her seat and stormed towards the door. "Cassandra Morris, don't you dare be rude to our guest!"
"I'm rude? Did you see her?"
"Blanche has her... quirks, to be sure... but she's the only one who can help you," Charlotte insisted as she reopened the door.
"Hey, Auntie Charlotte. Your maid's kind of a bitch. You oughta fire her," Blanche suggested.
"I'm terribly sorry. You see, this isn't my maid. This is my daughter, Cassandra, whom I know for a fact was taught manners by her father and I, but for reasons beyond my reckoning, it didn't seem to take."
"Yeah, hi," Cass said with sarcastic courtesy.
Blanche carelessly let herself into the house, shoulders slumping. "So, like, where's the whip?"
Charlotte pointed to the chest. "Right in there, but it isn't ready for the ritual yet. You're to perform it before Cassie's final confrontation and not a moment before, meaning I'll need you to travel to Transylvania with her."
Cass grumbled in her head, This is an international incident waiting to happen. And I swear I've asked you a million times not to call me Cassie, Mom.
"So basically, pop on over to Romania, beat down a buncha creepy creeps, and then soup up the whip. Gotcha, sounds like a snap. Like a whip snap! Do ya get it?! Huh?!" She loudly cackled at her own pun.
Cass groaned, hiding her face in her hands. You know, Dracula, if you want me dead that bad, now's the perfect time...
Cass and Blanche were sitting next to each other on the plane outbound for Romania, despite Cass' repeated insistence on separate seating. She ground her teeth as Blanche smacked her gum in her mouth.
"Look, this ain't exactly a picnic for me either, princess," Blanche assured her. "I had to cancel five dates for this crap."
"Five? We're only supposed to be there for about three days tops," Cass said, confused.
"Yeah, I know. I like to play the field. Just 'cuz I'm a Lecarde doesn't make me a damn nun, ya know."
Cass shook her head, sighing. She could hardly believe she was thinking it, but between her irritating partner, the Vampire Killer uncomfortably holstered over her gun, the backpack full of ancient relics she was holding on her lap, and the body armor chafing her in her seat, she could hardly wait to arrive in Romania and get off the plane.
It was then that a baby started to cry behind her. Great.
Blanche held the packet of gum out to her. "Want a stick?"
Sighing, Cass begrudgingly took one and popped it in her mouth. "...Thanks."