Frankie was seated on the railing that lined the edge of the Széchenyi chain bridge, one of the famous lions at her back. She leaned against the stout square slab of stone behind her, eyes absently scrutinizing the dark waters of the Danube down below, a black colored cigarette between her lips. Taking in the reflected lights of the city on the river with great indifference, her mind hummed with thoughts and memory.
Her brother had momentarily left her at her own insistence to take care of some alliance business and he was now fifteen minutes past his intended return. His continued absence had her wondering if the decision to set up boundaries at a time like this was entirely prudent. She was as much a part of the alliance as he, and yet here she was, willingly sitting out a critical meeting with a potential ally. And he was late.
Rémy was many things, but he had never been the sort to be tardy without providing some advanced warning first. She had half a mind to get up and go look for him, but walking these particular streets at this hour alone and in her weakened state would have been nothing short of stupid, and so she stayed put.
It was too risky to go hunting by herself – especially with Augustine's private law-enforcers roaming the streets. The last thing anyone needed was for that madman to find out that she was in the city... that she was even still alive in the first place.
No, she'd stay where she was and give him five more minutes to check in before she'd call for help. Besides, her current steady descent into debilitating depression was and would always be far more manageable than free-falling face first into the black that came with Marcus Augustine.
She shuddered as old memories started to lightly claw at the back of her brain, a dark chapter of her life that she had no desire, let alone strength to revisit. Frankie had spent the better half of a century trying to forget the horrors she had endured at the hand of Augustine. If she was being honest with herself, she was still – nearly two hundred years later – trying to forget what had happened in that old, Italian dungeon. The rest of the time in between had been, until recently, devoted to her journey toward healing, to learning who she was again, or at the very least to find some sense of normalcy in her new life.
But even now, she continued to struggle with the way in which her existence had been irreparably altered.
Her life, she figured, could easily be defined as a constant, never-ending uphill battle... one she had grown excessively weary of as of late. Fortunately, many of the usual side-effects of those cursed years hadn't come to plague her with the familiar nightmares – a small miracle, and one she was grateful for.
She wasn't sure she could deal with her present woes on top of reoccurring nightmares... Horrid dreams of ancient crypts beneath old Roma; vampires in ceremonial robes; their cruel, twisted faces; the tormented screams of their victims. The needles, the tubes, the blades, the pain... the inconsolable hunger and rage and fear.
Frankie shut her eyes and inhaled as deep as she could, feeling the sweet smoke of the cigarette burning her lungs and easing her passage back into reality.
She opened her eyes as she exhaled slowly, wrapping an arm around herself – in part to self-soothe, but mostly because she suddenly felt cold. Her gaze returned to the river, attention following its meandering path until her eyes fell upon the imperial palace, situated on the bank of the river some miles away. It was a beautiful building, opulent and perfectly situated on the bones of an old world long-since passed.
But even at this distance, with its glistening lights and grand towers and turrets, spires and balconies, it still felt much too close for comfort, even now. There had been nights in the past when she could have sworn Augustine was watching her, waiting for the right moment to strike and finish what he had started nearly two centuries ago – and right now was no exception.
She loved nearly everything about Budapest except for the fact that her greatest enemy now ruled its borders. Frankie often wondered why she hadn't left when the regime change had taken place, but deep down she knew.
As much as she hated the prophecy and Augustine and everything she had endured as consequence – every time she tried to leave, something had her coming back, kept her here. Another thing to add to the list of reasons why she so often felt like a stranger in her own skin. It didn't make sense. None of it did.
She was her own person, her own master.
Francesca Chase had never kowtowed to the whims of destiny and fate.
The woman had always prided herself on being as immovable as a mountain, as stubborn as a mule, and as fierce as a lion.
And yet...
Even she could not deny the unseen forces at work in her life, though she tried and she tried to ignore them. She couldn't help but wonder how much longer she could afford to do so.
Forcing herself to look away from the building, Frankie took another drag from her cigarette and then looked out onto the street to see if her brother was anywhere in sight. Checking her phone to see if she had any missed messages, she found one from the man – speak of the devil – sent only a few minutes ago:
Sorry I'm late. Meeting ran over. Be there in ten.
At least he was safe and on his way.
Desperate not to think anymore, she pulled a pair of wireless earbuds from her coat pocket and turned on some music in an effort to distract herself, a feeble attempt to sooth her shot nerves. A passionate and fiendishly complex violin solo appeared to do the trick, the pacifying cry of strings quickly drowning out the chaotic noise of the city. And if she closed her eyes and focused hard enough, she could almost imagine herself somewhere else.
In a warm and sunny music room, perhaps; facing a window overlooking a freshly manicured lawn, a breeze of wild mountain air bringing in the scent of roses and the light humidity of the gardens just below. It was summertime in this place, everything warm and bright and in full bloom...
The mere thought of such a sanctuary quieted her troubled mind tremendously, a familiar sense of longing settling gently in her chest.
The music swelled and she could feel herself being drawn into a dream of home. She could almost feel the thin strings of a violin beneath her fingers, the cool maple neck resting in her palm.
Her moment of serenity was disrupted, however, when she felt the unexpected weight of a hand on her shoulder, someone shaking her lightly. Her eyes snapped open, instinct readying her for the defensive when she noticed Rémy had arrived, now standing at her side.
"Hey, sorry I'm late!" he immediately apologized.
"Its fine," she assured him, removing the buds from her ears and placing them back into her pocket. She took another drag as she did so.
"You really shouldn't smoke," her brother pointed out with a look of disgust as he waved some of the residual wisps from his face.
"Why? Because it won't kill me?" she answered cheekily, taking one last puff before sliding off the railing so she could put out her cigarette and fall into step beside him.
"No – because it's revolting."
"Well, I think your taste in women is questionable, but you don't hear me chastising you for it."
"Lily's different. Trust me. Just wait till you meet her."
"You say that about every woman you date, and yet they all end up rather the same," and she took his arm as they walked the streets of Budapest together. "At least in the last few decades."
"Are you accusing me of having lowered my standards?" he replied, not letting her teasing ruin his good humor.
"Never," was her sarcastic answer as they crossed the street. "So – how did your meeting go? Has Aldrick Meino agreed to see you yet?"
"No," Rémy said, not bothering to hide his disappointment – not that he could have concealed anything from his baby sister, even if he wanted to. "And the meeting could have gone better, honestly."
He then went on about the brief conference, telling her of the difficulties he had had obtaining any kind of cooperation from the organization that Aldrick represented. The mainly one-sided conversation went on for some time as the siblings walked, with Frankie being perfectly content to not say much. She offered a few responses when necessary, but nothing more than what was required.
Though her faith in the alliance had dwindled some in the last few years, she had always been Rémy's greatest supporter, his chosen partner in crime, no matter the endeavor, be it absurdly ambitious or just straight suicidal.
Eventually, they found their way into the slums of eastern Budapest. It was just as filthy, crowded, and shady as the rest of the city, only on a slightly grander scale. The apartments and buildings were crammed together, connected by seedy, narrow alleyways and make-shift skywalks. Unlike the other side of town, the streets here were often free of vehicles, the sidewalks of this particular avenue less crowded than the main thoroughfares.
Most humans tended to avoid venturing into this part of town, its reputation of being vile and borderline lawless enough to deter even the bravest of souls. But oddly enough, this block in particular felt the most like home to the pair still traveling arm in arm along the littered sidewalk. Soon enough, a familiar neon sign came into view, positioned over one of the establishments across the street – one of the few still open to the public.
The Harpy Tavern.
A home away from home.
For the first time in what felt like an age, Frankie could almost feel the invisible weight on her shoulders lifting as they neared the place and she moved in a little closer to her brother as their pace slowed.
"What is it?" Rémy asked. "You okay?"
"I have no idea why, but I feel nervous," she confessed and he squeezed her hand in reassurance.
"Don't be absurd. You have no reason to be."
"But I haven't seen anyone in five years, Rémy. What if everything's changed?"
"Trust me Frank. None of us have changed. The only one who has is you."
She went to retort when a young girl, somewhere between fourteen and fifteen years of age, suddenly appeared in the doorway of the tavern just across the street, her presence causing Frankie to halt mid-step. The recognition was immediate and the sense of deep, almost maternal affection overwhelming as it washed over the vampire in a single wave.
"Vesper Baquero, get back inside this instant!" a familiar voice shouted from within the establishment, the thinly veiled threats that followed spoken in fluent Castilian Spanish. A woman by the name of Carmen Guillermo emerged shortly thereafter – a female eternally in her mid-thirties and looking just as Frankie remembered her. When the Spaniard realized that it was Frankie's presence that had drawn the young Vesper outside, she covered her mouth with her hand, emotion etching lines of anguished joy in her brow and around the eyes.
Vesper squealed her delight and darted out of the tavern. She was racing across the street without even bothering to look both ways before leaping up into the air. In a flash, Frankie was hit by a wall of young teenager, the girl's arms and legs wrapped around her as Vesper hugged her tightly.
"It's you! It's you, it's you, it's you," the girl kept saying. Frankie had every intention of remaining composed, but nothing she did could keep that familiar lump of bottled emotion from tightening in her throat. She squeezed back.
"I missed you so much," she whispered into the girl's mass of unruly curls and as they reunited, Rémy moved off to the side as if to get a better look at the pair. His grin was unapologetic.
"Okay, so maybe Vesper is the only thing to have changed, but only in height."
"And sass," Carmen added as she finished crossing the street. She and Rémy watched Frankie spin Vesper about, holding onto the girl as if for dear life. A large, unseen burden had been lifted from the woman's shoulders in that instant and anyone with eyes could see it. "Alright you greedy thing, get off of her. Don't make a spectacle of yourself," the dark-haired woman laughed, the tips of her fangs glistening in the lamplight.
Frankie extended an arm to Carmen, reaching for her and the two then embraced, though the latter's deceivingly thin arms felt like a python's death grip in comparison to the teen's relentless hold.
"I'm so glad you're back," the Spaniard whispered and the pair then watched as Vesper quickly tackled Rémy this time, wrapping her arms around him.
"Oh Rémy, thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"She's gotten so tall!" Frankie mentioned to Carmen through her silent tears and the girl, overhearing the comment, turned to face the two women, grinning ear to ear.
"I know! Isn't it exciting?"
"You don't have to lie to her, Frank. She's only like five-foot-one at most," but Rémy stopped his teasing when Carmen playfully smacked his arm in warning.
"I can't believe how much you've grown in the last five years. You're not the gangly nine-year-old I last saw. You're practically a woman."
Vesper was clearly pleased with this report, even if it was a little exaggerated, but the compliment had her straightening her posture a bit more.
"Don't encourage her. She's vain enough," Carmen said with a laugh, but Frankie continued.
"Have you started growing fangs yet?"
"Not yet. But Carmen says most dhampirs don't really start the full transition until the end of puberty. Although my eyes started changing last month! I can see better in the dark and it's totally wicked! And my hearing is like a zillion times better!" Vesper shouted.
"It's true – she's quite the spy now. Constantly eavesdropping," Rémy added with a hint of pride in his eyes.
"Yes, well, let's not go announcing to the world what you are," Carmen interjected – always the voice of reason. "We should probably head back inside anyway," and she sent Rémy a look.
"She's right. That could get dangerous if the wrong people found out," he agreed, quickly scanning the area to make sure no one was loitering nearby, but the teenager ignored them as she grabbed Frankie's hand, leading her toward the tavern entrance.
"I have so much to tell you!" she exclaimed with growing excitement. "Danny's been teaching me to fight..."
"When he can," Carmen interjected.
"And Rémy has been helping me with this side-project that I started working on last year, trying to create a vaccine for that vampire virus still floating around."
"Technically, she's my lab assistant, so she's the one helping me," Rémy corrected, following behind them, though he stopped when they reached the door to talk to Carmen out of earshot.
"But I'm the one that noticed the mutations first!"
"Have you made much headway in that department?" Frankie asked.
Even though her brother shook his head no, Vesper continued to carry on about all the work they had been doing, as well as giving a report on her lessons over the last few years, reviewing what she had learned and the subjects she was still studying. The longer she went on, the faster she seemed to talk, as if she hadn't spoken to a single creature in the last five years and with Frankie's return, she could finally unburden herself.
Frankie remained attentive as she took a seat at the end of the bar near the wall, not having the heart to interrupt.
"Vesper, what did I say about sitting on my counter?" Carmen interjected at one point, lightly swatting the teenager's leg with a rag as she took her place behind the bar. Vesper bounced off the counter with a squeal before stopping suddenly with a dramatic gasp.
"Oh! I completely forgot! I wanted to show you the outlines for a book I started writing! I'll be right back," and she raced off through the tavern and toward a doorway that led to the small apartments upstairs, leaving the three adults alone at the bar.
"I honestly can't remember the last time I saw that imp so excited," Rémy confessed.
"Don't tell me you still call her that!"
"What? I say it with great affection."
"Yeah, and she smacks you every time," Carmen countered.
"Both of you are always assaulting me. Honestly Frankie, I'm glad you're back. It's been nothing but physical abuse from those two since you went away."
"My dear brother, if you're being beaten by two of the most harmless women in Budapest, then clearly you're doing something to provoke them."
"Yeah, well.... Ah! Danny! Just in time! Look who's back?"
Turning around in her seat, Frankie noticed three men had joined them. The most familiar of the trio was one she immediately recognized as Danny. He seemed to recognize her too, for he visibly lit up at the sight of her, his stride increasing in length as he made a beeline across the room toward her.
Daniel Polovsty had always been an attractive man – roughly the same height as Rémy with a similar affinity for scruffy facial hair, though Danny tended to keep his whiskers especially short. He and Rémy had been close friends since the earlier part of the twentieth century and his presence had been a constant in Frankie's life ever since. In many ways, he was like a younger brother to her.
He had Frankie in his arms not ten seconds later as he hugged her tightly.
"Damn, it's good to see you!" he exclaimed, releasing her for a moment so he could turn to his comrades. "Gentlemen, come and let me introduce you to Rémy's sister. Frankie, not sure if you remember Damon – I think you two met briefly before you went under," and he motioned to the one on the left with the noble face and kind eyes. "And this is Lorenzo," he added, motioning to the other – a handsome, dark-skinned man who had the look of a well-seasoned soldier about him. "My friends, this is Francesca Elisabeth Chase, the most extraordinary woman you will ever meet."
"Laying it on kind of thick there, aren't we?" Carmen noted with an arched brow.
"It's just Frankie," Francesca interrupted gracefully, shaking their extended hands. "Hardly anyone refers to me as Francesca anymore."
After the pleasantries were exchanged, Rémy motioned in the direction of a room in the back. "I hate to break this up, but you'll have to catch up with each other later, Danny."
"That's right! How did that meeting go? Has Aldrick agreed to meet with you?"
"Let's just say we have our work cut out for us. Carmen, can you send the usual to the back when you have a moment?"
"Sure thing, boss!"
"And make sure Frankie doesn't try to duck out early without saying goodbye!" Danny called out. When the men were gone, the Hispanic woman muttered something under her breath in her native tongue.
"That poor man. Still carrying the torch for you, it seems."
"He knows that's never going to happen," Frankie assured her friend with a sigh, returning to her stool. "Especially after everything."
"Can I get you anything to drink? When was the last time you fed? You look like you haven't had a drop of blood in ages!"
"No hemo for me. But I'll take anything laced with werewolf venom. Do you have any Eesti Piiritus left?"
"Frank, that shit is poison."
"Fine – a whiskey then. I'll take my usual scotch if you've got some lying around?"
"Sure do! Although... are you sure you want booze right now? You look like you could use something with a bit more nourishment to it."
"I'm still having trouble keeping blood down. Would hate to retch up my insides all over your bar."
"Yes, your brother had mentioned the shape you were in when he brought you out of stasis earlier this week."
"Still telling you everything, I see?"
"Sweetie, I'm a bartender. Getting people to divulge their secrets is my superpower," and she winked, placing a glass on the counter between them before filling it about half an inch.
"So how has business been?" Frankie inquired after Carmen returned from delivering the drinks for the men in the back room. It was a lame question to ask one's best friend after not seeing her for five years, but it was the only thing that really came to mind.
"Not too shabby, all things considered. Still a bit slow during the week, as you can see. But it picks up on the weekends, especially when key members of the alliance get together."
"They still haven't found a proper place to meet then?"
"No – but I wouldn't have it any other way. This arrangement allows me to stay part of the important discussions while keeping my business afloat and looking after Vesper – although I tend to have her stay back in the kitchen when we've got a bit of a crowd. Dhampirs have been disappearing left and right these days and I'd never forgive myself if something ever happened to her."
"Any idea where they're disappearing to?"
"Your brother thinks it might be Spider related."
Frankie shuddered a little at the name, but hid her disdain well enough.
"Ah, Basilio. He hasn't..."
"No. That secret is still safe."
"Good. Although that doesn't explain his connection to the dhampir disappearances... Doesn't he have enough blood-whores to fill his feeding houses?"
"That's what I said," Carmen replied, lowering her voice a bit, "but Danny received intel a couple weeks ago that suggests it could be otherwise. Apparently, these aren't the normal disappearances where a human or vampire gets nabbed and then they show up two months later either totally out of it or with a bad case of PTSD. The folks that go missing never reappear again and they're specifically dhampirs. And you know those old blood factories Augustine put up shortly after Dracula went under?"
"The ones we managed to get shut down? Still proud of that victory," and Carmen nodded in agreement as they tapped glasses.
"One of your finest hours, if I may say so – but unfortunately the victory was short-lived. There's been rumors floating around that one of the factories is being used again."
"Has anyone been able to provide proof?"
"Not yet, no. We haven't been able to get anyone over there – we're spread too thin enough as it is and the last thing we want is to send some poor soul down there to check it out only to have it be a trap."
"Is the alliance really doing that bad in numbers?"
"Not when it comes to general support, but with the actual field work – definitely. Seems no one wants to get their hands dirty these days – all talk online, but no action. Things took a turn for the worst after you went under," Carmen explained with as much tact as she could muster. "Rémy's heart is the in the right place, and he's really good about recruiting, bringing people together – but you were always kind of the brains behind everything. As much as I love your brother, he's no strategist," and she paused in her buffing of the counter, studying the expression of the woman seated across from her. "A champion for the people, but never very good at playing the game quite like you are."
"A woman's province," Frankie answered with a sly grin. "Men do battle. Women wage wars."
"Amen to that, sister."
As Carmen poured her another helping of alcohol, a pair of females entered the bar and Frankie watched with mild fascination as her friend's jaw tightened in disapproval, attempting to wear a convincing smile while clearly gritting her teeth.
"Ah! Lily! You're early."
"Danny mentioned he and the guys were meeting Rémy here tonight. Are they in?"
"In the back," Carmen relented with a level of disappointment that only Frankie could pick up.
"Perf! Hey, who's the newbie?"
Frankie mouthed the word "newbie" to Carmen in bewilderment, her back still facing the two women so they couldn't see her look of "what the hell?"
"This is Rémy's sister, Frankie. And that's Lily, and you remember Morene."
Frankie turned around, curious to get a good look at the female her brother had dedicated the last two years of his life to.
Lily Maran was a stunning specimen – fit and perfectly proportioned with the kind of blonde hair typically reserved for angels. Morene Khiliani was equally blessed when it came to her looks, though the brunette seemed far less interested in Rémy's sister than Lily was. Morene had once been a council supporter, a recruit from one of the feeding houses. She had been no one of note five years ago, more of a fangirl than anything else. It was curious to see someone like that move up in the ranks as she apparently had and Frankie couldn't help but wonder how someone like Morene had managed to pull that off. Perhaps there was more to the woman than she had initially given her credit for?
"Frankie? Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you," Lily exclaimed. "Your brother has nothing but the highest praise for you!"
"Likewise," was all Frankie could think to say.
"I'd love to stay and chat, but we're expected. We'll catch up laters?" and then she and Morene disappeared into the back room. When they were gone, the two remaining women sent each other identical looks.
"Laters?" Frankie repeated. "Is that even a word?"
"Don't even get me started..."
"I mean, I'm sure she has other qualities outside of her..." and she waved her hand about, not even sure how to articulate what she was thinking. Thankfully, Carmen understood perfectly.
"I've spent the last two years trying to find these qualities you speak of and with little success. I think her biggest accomplishment is her ability to flirt. Maybe she has a magical snatch?"
Frankie choked back a laugh.
"I'm sure you're wrong. My brother may have admittedly questionable taste on occasion, but he's yet to commit himself to a complete dunce."
"I still maintain that Lily is the exception to that rule."
"Oh please! You only hate her because you're still madly in love with my brother."
"Am not. I've totally moved on."
"And still a terrible liar, I see. Rémy was right. Truly nothing has changed in my time away."
"I was going to tell him how I felt, but things kept getting in the way."
"That's an excuse, and you know it."
"Is not. I'm just taking my time, you know? Building a foundation... laying the groundwork for..."
"A nun's habit?"
"Oh, shut up," Carmen replied with an embarrassed smile. "Besides, can you blame me for not saying anything? I mean, suppose I did tell him and he didn't return my feelings. Can you even begin to imagine how awkward that would make things around here?"
"You mean more awkward than it already is?"
"At least back then I used to have Derek around as a buffer. I swear, that man was the only one to take pity on me. You and Lyra were always so relentless with your teasing and your..." but when Carmen looked up from her work, she paused when she noticed the blanched look on Frankie's face. "Oh God, Frankie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
Frankie held up her hand, the signal effectively silencing the woman who looked on with sympathy and a degree of guilt as the former downed what was left of her drink as though it were a shot.
"Sweetheart," Carmen said with care and she reached out across the counter to squeeze her friend's hand, "what happened was an accident. I know you miss him – we all do – but what happened was not your fault."
"Yes, it was."
"No, it was not," she insisted fervently. "He knew better than to intervene when you were in that state, but he did it anyway because he cared about you. That wasn't you who killed him, it was..."
"I appreciate your attempts to assuage my guilt, Carmen, but it doesn't change what happened... what I did," Frankie interrupted solemnly. "I take full responsibility for what took place that night. I should not have allowed myself to lose control like that – not when all of you were there. I put everyone in danger and he.... he was just trying to help, and I..."
"Frankie, look at me. It's been five years since that happened. What happened to Derek and to your aunt was a tragedy. But it was also an accident. No one blames you – not a single soul. You need to stop carrying this burden around with you, my friend. It is going to suffocate you."
"If it's not my fault, then why do I still feel so guilty?"
"Because you care – and that only proves that you are not a monster."
"But I knew what I was doing," Frankie whispered, the tears starting to prickle in her eyes as a wound she so desperately wanted to forget began to ache anew. "Blood-rage may feel like some kind of demonic possession, but I'm still conscious of what is happening. Honestly, it would be better if I couldn't remember any of it."
"You once told me that it's like being a prisoner inside your own body – where instincts and nature take over and you have little to no control."
"Yes, but..."
"No buts, Frankie Chase. If you have no control, then that sounds like legitimate possession to me. You did not want to kill Derek – the hunger did, and if you must blame someone for instilling that in you, blame Marcus Augustine."
Frankie knew Carmen was right, but she was too tired to argue the point further, so they mutually agreed to drop the subject just as Vesper returned from upstairs, arms full of notebooks and papers as she sat down beside Frankie. For the remainder of the evening, the young girl provided ample enough distraction from the grave tension between the two women long enough for it to eventually dissipate.
At long last, the dawn began to approach.
Vesper had long since been sent to bed and Carmen had started preparing to close. After saying their goodbyes and promising to visit again soon, Rémy and Frankie left the tavern, heading in the direction of the metro that would take them home in the west-end. They talked idly for a few moments about the evening's occurrences, but the pleasantries ended when he brought up her assignment with the Dracul Sânge.
"I'd really prefer not to talk about that right now. I'm dealing with enough already as it is," was Frankie's sedate reply, but Rémy knew his sister's display of dignified calm had a tendency to be misleading. Underneath her cool exterior was a raging and passionate inferno and truth be told, he'd take a furious Francesca Chase over the self-loathing, apathetic one presently at his side.
"I'm just trying to make conversation," he defended. "Besides, while you insist on hiding it, I know you're upset with me."
"And why would I be upset with you?" she asked, tone unchanged, though she rolled her eyes as they continued to walk.
"Well, I did just kind of set you up to interview the blood children of your betrothed – although now that I think about it, that would technically make them your future children."
He knew the words were below the belt, but that had been the intention. He had hoped she'd take the bait, allow herself to get angry, but her countenance remained cold, detached.
"Uncle Armand would never stand for this if he knew."
"Fun fact: I actually wasn't going to let the Dracul Sânge have you, but he was the one who said it was a good idea. Insisted that you needed something like this."
"Yes, because I totally need quality time with a bunch of brain-washed cultists who will probably spend the whole time talking about how great Dracula is, how he saved the race, how he's such a great king and dad of the year, and blah blah blah, even though that man has the reputation of a notoriously self-important, bad-tempered...."
Her frostiness developed a poignant bite to it as she continued and while her brother was relieved to see some other emotion in her face outside of the usual apathy or anxiety, he actually had to brace himself for the storm he had foolishly lured out.
"Here we go..."
"You know, next time you should just set me up with the man himself – save us some time. You can buy me a white dress and act as officiator for the blood rite when I'm bound to him... before my blood kills him, anyway."
He had forgotten how unforgiving that tongue of hers could be. He sent her a sidelong glance.
"I'd never whore you out like that, especially to him. That's not fair."
"What, and this is?" she shot, stopping suddenly.
Frankie grabbed the collar of her blouse and pulled it down, displaying the area above her left breast. Using her thumb, she wiped the flesh colored concealer off her skin, revealing a small mark just below her collarbone. It was a very discernable scar in the shape of a dragon, its wings extended, tail curled like a serpent – the insignia of Dracula.
"You think this is fair?" she continued, her eyes daring him to contradict her.
"Of course I don't, Frankie, but come on! Clearly there's a reason why every relationship you've ever been in hasn't worked out," Rémy snapped. It was an unfair proclamation, and he knew it, but in that moment he didn't care. "Did you ever stop to think why every male vampire you have slept with, nearly every man who has gotten close to you in the last two centuries has ended up dead – either through fate or by your own hands?"
"The issue has to do with my blood, not me!"
"Or maybe it's both! Maybe someone or something is trying to send you a message. But perhaps you're too stubborn and too prejudiced to accept what it is that you are destined for. You've got to stop settling for less than what you deserve, stop running away from who you are, what you are meant to be! You need to embrace it!" and he grabbed hold of her shoulders as if to drive his point home. "You have the opportunity of a lifetime! You know the prophecy as well as I do. It's you, Frankie. You will be the one to change the world. You will overthrow the council, you will restore balance, you will save all of us! Stop being so selfish and cowardly. It's only going to cause more death."
The scowl Frankie was sending him spoke volumes. Her irises had started to glow a violet-red as she clenched and unclenched her fists, taking a deep breath or two in order to calm herself. In a way that only an older brother could, he had managed to successfully strike more than one nerve.
She was absolutely livid.
"How dare you," she answered, voice trembling, each word enunciated for proper effect and she smacked his hands away from her. "You are not Father, Reynaud – you have no right to tell me how to live my life. I may have agreed to meet with the Dracul Sânge to appease you, but I will never, ever be that man's undying bride," and she spat the prophetic words with so much venom, he could almost taste the acidity in his own mouth. "Just a few hours ago, you assured me you would still try to help me find a way around the prophecy, but now you're speaking to me like I'm some sort of bargaining chip for you to negotiate with for political advantage."
"You know that I would never do that to you."
"Why not? Father did! And you are exactly like him!"
"Frankie, that was over four-hundred years ago! Dracula is not Alphonse!"
"You don't know that and the situation is practically identical! I'm being bought and sold against my will like chattel all over again!"
"Jesus, woman, when are you going to get it through your thick skull? This is different from before! You've been marked!"
"Try branded," she barked. His eyes darkened.
"Whether you like it or not, you are destined for Dracula, to join and work alongside him until the prophecy is fulfilled. I know it sucks. I know it's not what either of us want, but there is nothing we can do about it!"
"So was your sympathy from earlier a ruse to placate my feelings?"
"No...not exactly..." he started, but his voice wavered a little, rendering his assertion unconvincing. "I mean – come on, Frankie, you know how hard I have tried to find a way out for you but you know as well as I do that there is no way around this! I didn't want to say it before, but honestly, the more I've thought about it the last five years the more I'm convinced that you really need to just accept the fact that things are the way they are. Because of that mark," and he motioned to the scar on her chest, "you are his, and he is technically, by rights, yours. I get that this entire situation is god-awful and I know it's not what you want, but fighting it clearly has yielded nothing positive for anyone. Can't you just... try to make the most of it for all our sakes?"
"I belong to no man!" she hissed, so offended by the words coming from her brother's lips, her fury burned like fire. "What I am, what I am destined to be has led to nothing but pain. I never asked for any of this. I never asked to belong to that... that demon who calls himself our king! Because Dracul exists, because of this insipid prophecy which you are all stupid enough to give credence to, our parents are dead and the souls of our family and friends are lost forever with no hope of judgment or reprieve when we finally meet true death."
"God, you sound like Gigi..." he moaned, though mostly to himself as his sister's tirade continued.
"I have endured torture, mutilation, poisoning, humiliation and debasement of the bitterest kind, not to mention all the bloody, debilitating trauma that it has left me with... all because of what some infernal, meddlesome witch declared three centuries ago – because she couldn't leave well enough alone! I have lost what was dearest to me because of that man! I have endured my sentence with as much equanimity as I can muster, but I will not be subjugated further. You know what I swore after Alphonse – never again. My fate and destiny are my own. I choose. Not God, not the devil, not some insipid witch. No one."
"Frankie..." he whispered, pity in his eyes.
"No!" she finally shouted at him, ready to hit him, but she quickly recoiled, struggling to regain her composure, the process leaving her visibly trembling. "No," she repeated again firmly. "I refuse to believe in it. I will not give it power over me and I will not belong to the man responsible for all of my suffering. I. Will. Not."
Silence passed between the two of them for what felt like days. They just stared at one another, brother and sister, a silent conversation of looks passing between them, until at last Rémy spoke.
"Maybe this will be good for you," he offered softly, a hint of hope in his tone. Frankie sent him a scathing look and she turned to continue walking, feeling utterly betrayed.
"Or maybe it'll be good for you," she said behind gritted teeth.
She turned her back to him, determined to keep walking, when she abruptly ran into someone. Frankie looked up to sneer at the man she had bumped into, but when her eyes met his, the stranger's gaze had the most peculiar effect on her. Inside, she was a raging storm, but within an instant, she was suddenly calm, his icy blue stare cooling her temper with a single look.
The connection lingered for perhaps three seconds at most, but as if on instinct, Frankie suddenly bowed her head slightly in submission.
"Excuse me, sir," she apologized. The man said nothing; he just continued to look at her, no discernable emotion on his beautifully chiseled face. "I didn't mean to bump into you. I wasn't paying attention. I apologize," and then she continued to walk, forcing herself to turn away and not look back.
Though for the strangest reason, and for perhaps a moment, she found she would have given anything to linger under that gaze for just a little longer...
---
Dracula folded the single-sheeted letter in his hand solemnly as he leaned back against the wall of Baysia's apartment building. He had gone to check on her – make sure she was alright, or at the very least out of Augustine's grasp. But he had been too late, having discovered her flat ransacked, days-old blood everywhere, her body missing. He even tried reaching out for her with his mind, but she was nowhere to be found, which could only mean one thing.
She had met true death.
Fortunately, he had discovered a hidden letter addressed to him amongst her things in a place Augustine's lackeys hadn't thought to look. The penmanship had been poor due to the haste she must have written it in. It had been a panicked note, explaining that Ildar, one of the more noted council members and by no means a Dracula-sympathizer, had gotten to Levi and was now coming for her. Her words had been brief, overflowing with regret. He only hoped that poor Baysia's suffering had been brief and that amidst the undoubted torture she endured at Augustine's hand, she had remained loyal.
The thought of Marcus' treachery infuriated him.
Things had always been tense between the two of them for as long as Dracula could remember, but this... this was a new low.
He crumpled up the piece of paper in his hand before discarding it in one of the public waste bins as he started to walk away, hands in his pockets, brow furrowed as his mind raced.
What was he going to do?
Fortunately, he had been able to make contact with Bernardini the other evening, the man presently overseeing what would be his living situation come the end of the night. Before departing the company of his old friend to check on Baysia, Bernardini had given Vladislaus a charmed pendant which he could wear around his neck beneath his shirt. The sigil had been a final parting gift from Mariella, its magic causing those within Dracula's company to not recognize who he truly was so he would be able to move freely about the city virtually undetected. Gratitude swelled in his chest in the face of his newfound sense of anonymity.
The rest of his life may have gone to hell, but at least he could suffer with the same degree of invisibility as everyone else.
Privacy was a gift not to be taken for granted.
Everything else remained so uncertain, though. He had a million questions and no real idea of where to begin searching for answers. Bernardini had suggested he spend his efforts becoming acquainted with this so-called alliance. It was an obvious place to start, but a place to start nonetheless.
Dracula removed the burner phone from his pocket to check the address of a tavern that his friend had sent him. Supposedly it was a popular meeting place for alliance members.
The Harpy Tavern.
A strange and borderline ironic name for such an establishment, he thought idly to himself as he hopped onto the metro that would take him to the east-side.
As the train raced through the dark tunnels beneath the city, Dracula remained standing near the door, staring at his reflection in the filthy glass.
Search for the queen of the people. Only with her help can you ever hope of returning to your proper glory and restoring balance by defeating Augustine.
That is what Lilith had told him, but who was this queen of the people? He was no closer to answering that question than he had been a couple of days ago. The mere suggestion that he would require any help at all remained completely absurd to him, foreign even. He was Dracula! Son of the Devil, King of the Vampires, Ruler of the Undead! The last thing he needed was the help of some nobody who fancied herself queen.
The notion was wholly irritating – not because he didn't want or desire help, but because depending on strangers had never been one of his strong suits. People, he had learned early on in his unnaturally prolonged life, were unreliable. But he could at least concede – to some extent anyway, and it was as generous a concession as he could muster in the moment – that everyone, himself included, were fallible to varying degrees. Even with the curse of bloodlust and eternal life, vampires were still mostly human after all. Frailty of character was in their nature. And it was for this reason that he had made it one of his personal rules not to become dependent on another.
Experience had taught that failed expectations were always an inevitability.
Bernardini called it a lack of trust.
Dracula simply referred to it as self-preservation.
Stepping off the train as soon as it stopped, he emerged from the underground with haste in his step. Digging his hands into the pockets of his long coat once again, the jacket flapped behind him like a cloak as he moved briskly in the direction of the tavern.
Turning a corner, he was forced to stop abruptly as a woman ran right into him. Already on edge, his instinct was to be curt in response to her carelessness, but he stopped himself when he beheld the color of her eyes: a fresh and brilliant shade of blue with a noted hints of violet sparking around the pupil.
The woman immediately collected herself.
"Excuse me, sir," she apologized, bowing her head to him.
Sir? he thought silently to himself. Did she just call me sir? He searched her eyes to see if he could find some kind of insincerity in her apology, but he discovered no such thing. Even if he had, he wasn't so sure he had it in him to confront her. There was something about her gaze that felt familiar to him, though he couldn't place why.
"I didn't mean to bump into you. I wasn't paying attention. I apologize," she added.
The anonymous female then turned from him and continued to walk away, a young man following after her. Puzzled by what had just transpired, but not intrigued enough to pursue, he dismissed his curiosity before it could take root and continued on his way until he had reached his destination.
Despite the lateness of the hour, the establishment was still open and he entered through the front door, the dinging of the bell catching the barista's attention. She was a lovely looking woman, Hispanic origin if he was not mistaken, her thick black hair pulled up into a careless top bun.
"We close in twenty minutes," she informed him as she continued to clean up from behind the counter, watching him closely.
"I won't be long," he assured her, and he took a seat at the bar.
"What's your poison?"
"Anything laced with werewolf venom," he admitted, removing some money from his back pocket and placing it in front of him. "A whiskey would be nice. Perhaps a scotch?"
The bartender's eyes widened momentarily and she looked him over with thinly veiled suspicion.
"If that's alright?" he added, not carrying for her scrutiny.
His words seemed to snap her out of whatever stupor she had been in and she gave him his drink, still watching him carefully as she counted the money.
"You're new around here," the woman pointed out.
Dracula smiled somewhat as he brought the glass to his lips.
"And you're very perceptive."
Her eyes narrowed in the face of his sarcasm.
"I make it a habit to know each of my patrons, at least on a first name basis, last name if I can help it."
"Kind of invasive, don't you think?"
"Knowledge is more important to me than comfort."
He arched a brow but said nothing.
The tension was thick, and she hadn't stopped her scrutiny so after taking another sip, he said,
"So are you going to ask me for my name then?"
She paused, considering.
"No, I'm not," she replied with a smirk, her response taking him somewhat by surprise. "I am, however, going to give you my name and hope that you will offer me the same courtesy." The woman extended her slender hand to him. "Carmen Guillermo: owner of the Harpy for the past seventy-five years." Dracula knocked back what was left of his drink and he placed the glass down before taking Carmen's hand and giving it a firm shake.
"Leinhart," he lied. "Vlad Leinhart: your newest regular as of this moment. That is the best scotch I have had in nearly three decades."
"Secret highland recipe from an old friend," she answered with pride.
"I'm impressed."
"And I'm flattered, Vlad..."
"Leinhart is fine," he corrected.
Her eyes sparkled with laughter at his insistence.
"Leinhart then. Well, since you're such a fan, the next one is on the house."