Eternal Night

(II) Chapter 15: A Madness So Discrete

Dracula silently did the math in his head to a Baroque violin concerto in the front passenger seat of a nondescript black sedan. They had left Budapest around nine in the evening, and according to Carmen before their departure, it was an eleven-hour drive; or less if Francesca's speeding went unnoticed by any on-duty highway patrol.

The journey out of Budapest had been the most eventful, with Rémy still struggling against not only the aftereffects of the Spider's poison, but also the temporary bond Carmen's blood had created. Vlad had found himself grateful for the distraction of trying to soothe his friend with the help of young Vesper, leaving Miss Chase to navigate the claustrophobic underground tunnels of the south side before they emerged into the open air several miles outside of the city borders. Had he been forced to witness the way in which she had weaved through those winding passageways in blinding darkness, and all without scraping the side of their car against the walls, his anxiety would have shot through the roof.

But when they were free of Budapest and all of the troubles it held, things naturally began to calm down and within no time, Rémy had surrendered to exhaustion, falling unconscious in the back of the car.

That left Vesper to carry the bulk of the conversation for the next several hours. The girl talked unceasingly, scarcely pausing for breath. He had been grateful when Francesca had opted to turn on some music to break up the sound of the dhampir's chatter, and even more appreciative when she did most of the responding whenever the teenager required an answer.

Even with the stresses of the start of the evening still fresh in his mind, there was a strange kind of solace to be found in the front seat of that car with Frankie at the wheel. He had listened to the females' conversation for a time before his attention wandered to the darkened views outside his window. He silently reviewed the details of the last few hours over and over again in his head; in particular, the emergence of Francesca's inner demon and all that it implied.

Despite the brief moment of intimacy they had shared in Bernardini's guest shower, Dracula found it impossible to banish what he had seen in the woman's mind when he had pulled her out of her blood-rage. Outside of the exchange she had once had with his elder brother, the rest had only been flashes of memory, mainly darkness and strong bursts of horror and an insatiable anger. What she had endured in the name of Mariella's prophecy left Vlad's stomach to turn, but the true extent of her trauma is what haunted him most.

He was inclined to recall the earlier parts of their acquaintance, how different she had been at the start – her unsociable demeanor and general detachment and disassociation, the exhaustion in her features, the invisible weight she had carried on her shoulders. Initially, he had assumed that much of her earlier state had had to do with her malnutrition and the lingering depression that accompanied the series of consecutive losses she had borne.

While those events may have been the most immediate cause of her previous distress, the man couldn't seem to shake the suspicion that the impact of those incidents had only been exacerbated due to their connection with the invisible wounds she continued to sustain from her time as Augustine's prisoner. It was the only thing that made sense in his mind.

The poison in her veins, the blood-rage, her broken relationship with the lycan prince – a man she clearly had loved a great deal – and then her general refusal to entertain even the suggestion of a romantic rapport with one of her own kind... all roads led back to Marcus Augustine.

A quiet fury boiled beneath the surface as Vladislaus stared absently out the window.

The darkness of the early morning, the quiet serenity of the beautiful mountain vistas of northern Italy – it offered him very little reprieve.