Two Weeks Later
As another evening began to wind down, Frankie remained situated in the far corner of Carmen's kitchen, sitting atop one of the counters with her legs stretched out in front of her, one over the other. She had her phone gently pressed against her ear, the conversation with her Uncle Armand having been going on now for well over an hour now. The pair had always been especially close, even more so since the death of her parents.
Even with the passing of his beloved wife and Frankie's ensuing guilt at feeling personally responsible, her uncle remained as kind and forgiving as he had always been. Though she could tell by the tone of his voice that Cece meeting true death still pained him more than words could ever articulate, he continued to insist that his dearest niece was not in the least to blame and he had never nor could ever harbor any ill will toward her.
"So what has my favorite nephew been up to these days?" Armand inquired in his native French.
"Oh, the usual," was his niece's reply, the words said with a bit of a sigh. "He's been positively obsessed with getting close to Aldrick Meino these days – remember, that club owner I had told you about?"
"Yes – the known associate of that unsavory Spider character. Basilio was his name, correct?"
"Yeah, Basilio runs even more of Budapest than he did five years ago and there have been reports that Augustine has been in contact with him. Most of the guys think he's being recruited and Rémy wants to get to him first if we can. Between the two of us, though, my gut is saying that we're wasting our time dealing with the Spider. Even if we do manage to get close to him, he has a history of turning on his own allies if it benefits him in some way."
"But if you are able to neutralize him, or at least have him turn a blind eye..."
"Then we can get one step closer to overthrowing Augustine. Yes, I know. But I don't particularly care for the risk involved. This plan has never sat well with me, but you know how Rémy gets when he believes in something."
"Yes. I'm well acquainted with the Petrovna tunnel-vision. Although, in your brother's defense, you aren't exactly any better. You both are so much like your mother in that respect"
Frankie chuckled.
"Excuse me, Uncle, but I am infinitely more level-headed than my brother and mother combined."
"That's a point of some debate."
"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?" she asked, laughter in her voice.
"Not at all, ma petite. I would never dare do such a thing!"
The woman laughed openly at this, unaware that her rare display of unrestrained amusement had been overheard by a certain gentleman lingering in the hallway just outside of the room.
Vladislaus, who had initially passed through the corridor in search of Carmen on Rémy's behalf, had become distracted by the sound of Frankie's conversation with her uncle, thus choosing to abandon his original mission so he could loiter and eavesdrop. It was the first time he had heard the woman laugh with such regular unreservedness and Dracula found that he enjoyed the sound far more than he probably should have.
Frankie's tone had a kind of lilt to it now as she continued to speak into the phone.
"You are insufferable; you know that, right?"
"But of course! Well, for the sake of the two of you, I sincerely hope this plan goes well. I'd feel better if your little band of rebels had better support within the city."
"I agree, but you know us – we can be resourceful if the occasion calls for it."
"And there's that de Chacier blood at work."
"How is Vivian doing, by the way? Have you heard from her at all?"
"Jacob keeps me regularly informed of her progress. The two have bonded in a bit over their experiences and she's finally starting to find her niche within the Geneva pack. She still isn't ready to discuss the details of her imprisonment, but she's a strong woman. Very resilient. It is clear she is eager to put all of that behind her."
"I'm happy to hear it."
"Jacob did mention that when they last conversed it was safe to assume that her experiences weren't nearly as bad as your own, so at least she was spared in that sense. It seems Augustine often lost interest in her and would only check in if something had gone awry upstairs, if you will."
"Her and my traumas should never even be compared, Uncle... but I am relieved that she had less associations with that monster."
"I understand that, and I'm not trying to make her suffering appear trivial by comparison; only trying to offer some consolation that things could have been far worse and we should be grateful that they were not."
"I can live with that, I suppose. How is Jacob?"
"Doing well. It was nice to spend a couple of days with him. We visited the family plot a day or two after his arrival and we had a good talk. He's doing much better now than before. I wish he and Rémy could have met before his departure, resolved their differences. Would have been good for the both of them."
"I know."
"Did you ever tell your brother that you had run into him?"
"I did and he was as expected."
"Still hasn't forgiven him, then?"
"No. Though he did say he was glad to hear that we all made it out okay, and one can only assume he meant Jacob as well, so that's a sign of improvement."
"And we'll take what we can get."
"Precisely."
"Speaking of your brother – how is that friend of his; this Vlad Leinhart I keep hearing so much about?" Armand then asked, and Frankie's posture straightened a little, eyes momentarily flashing toward the kitchen door. "Last I heard, you two were still squabbling like an old married couple."
"Is that what Rémy told you? Mon dieu! He has no idea..."
"No idea about what, my dear?"
"Uncle, I don't understand this man at all."
"Vlad or your brother?"
"Both, though in this instance, I mean Leinhart," Frankie answered, and Vlad perked up at the sound of his alias, better attuning his ears to the conversation. "I still don't quite know what to make of him."
"So you haven't uncovered all of his secrets yet? You're losing your touch, ma petite. What would Satanas say?"
Although the words had been spoken in jest, Frankie's expression narrowed in disapproval.
"He'd tell me to seduce what I want out of him, though I sincerely doubt that'd be good advice at this point."
"Why do you say that? By all accounts, he seems an excellent man – better than some of your other conquests."
"Vlad Leinhart is not a conquest," Frankie insisted rather passionately. "He's not my boyfriend, a suitor, a lover... he is nothing to me."
"Right."
"Don't roll your eyes at me – I'm completely serious!" she exclaimed and Armand laughed heartily on the other end of the line.
"Honestly, Francesca..."
"I can't shake the feeling that he isn't who he says he is, Armand. I can't prove it, but I can sense it in him."
"Does he make you feel unsafe?"
"No, of course not. It's not that..."
"I fear I'm going to need more information then, if I'm going to help you make sense of your feelings."
"I feel nothing."
"Stop fibbing, child, and just tell me what happened."
"Okay, so two weeks ago after we saved Vivian, I happened upon the strangest thing..." she began, but before she could even start to recount the tale of all she had seen that night between Leinhart and Morene in Carmen's cellar, the man himself suddenly opened the kitchen door, revealing his presence.
Frankie's mouth snapped shut almost instantly, eyes widening in surprise at his sudden presence before she quickly recovered.
"I'll have to save that conversation for another time, Uncle. The man of the hour has just graced us with his presence."
"As if on cue! How very impressive. Speak of the devil..."
"... and he shall appear. Yes. The man is infuriatingly ubiquitous. I'm starting to wonder if he's Betelgeuse or something. You remember that American film from the late 1980s? – say his name three times and he magically appears."
Frankie had assumed her brother's friend would be unable to understand the meaning of her native tongue, yet to her surprise, and slight chagrin, he understood her perfectly. Dracula was all charm and sly grins as he quietly shut the door behind him before replying in perfect French,
"I resent that comparison. For one, I certainly look better as one of the undead, and I'm not nearly as vulgar... unless asked very nicely to be."
"Uncle, I'm going to have to call you back," Frankie said in English this time and after saying her goodbyes, she hung up the phone, attention remaining ever fixed on the man before her. "How long have you been spying on me?"
"Long enough to know that you still don't trust me; which is a rather disappointing revelation. I thought we had moved passed all of this," Vlad proclaimed a little dramatically, leaning against the counter on which she sat.
"I thought we had, too," she admitted, placing the phone down at her side before leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest a little defensively. The man rolled his eyes a bit.
"Alright – what have I done to fall from your good graces this time?" he asked.
"I haven't seen Morene around at all in days... weeks even," she said without missing a beat.
"What does that have to do with me? I'm not her keeper. She's a free woman. She can do as she pleases."
"Can she?" was her pointed reply, eyes narrowed in blatant suspicion. "That's news to me. I mean... after that impressive performance two weeks ago, I assumed she'd be fixed to your side – or rather, to something else given the state you left her in."
"Well, what can I say," he answered suavely. "She was never really my type, and after our tryst, as enjoyable as that was, we both agreed it would just never work."
"Your tryst?" she laughed. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"It was little more than a casual interlude; although half-hearted sex, I suppose, has never really been in my repertoire. All in or not at all, I always say."
"Oh, so sitting in a chair while watching your partner writhe about on the floor as if she were being ravished to death is all in to you," she mocked. "Truly, the fact that you even take credit for that I'd find hilarious if it wasn't just sad. You probably don't even know what true intimacy feels like, do you? Is it because you don't know how to please a woman? ...You know what? Don't bother to explain yourself. I already know the answer," and she leaned forward a little so her gaze would be more level with his own.
All amusement had drained from Vlad's face, but when he opened his mouth to retort, she interrupted him.
"There's no point in defending yourself. Not when every word that slithers from that tongue of yours is little more than a lie. Do me a favor and just... spare me," and she slid off the counter so she could leave. But the temptation to take one last stab at his pride was too great, so she turned around to face him, not ready to leave this conversation just yet. "I don't know what disgusts me more – how easily deception comes to you, or the way you treated Morene that evening, dismissing her as if she were some common whore, ordering her about, making her beg you..."
"Excuse me?" he interjected, finally finding his voice. "What made you such an authority on the subject? There was no one in that room with us that night."
"No one that you saw," Frankie corrected, gratified by his look of just barely veiled horror. She could have left him there just then, alone with what she assumed was his humiliation, but for whatever reason, she continued, explaining herself. "Tristan stopped by briefly that evening and after we talked and I sent him on his way, I had gone into the cellar to grab something to drink. But before I could leave, you had hauled Morene into the room."
The wheels in his head were visibly turning, as if an unspoken question had just been answered. The tension in his body relaxed, but only a little.
"So you watched us?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake – enough of this pretense!" she exclaimed. "I saw the entire thing – not that there was much of anything to see. There was no disrobing, no foreplay, and certainly no sex – coitus, oral, or otherwise. You didn't even touch her! I don't know how you did it, let alone why, but what I do know is that after witnessing whatever that was, it is evident that you are either some twisted sexual deviant or woefully dysfunctional."
To twist the blade, so to speak, she then glanced down at the space between his hipbones before looking back up at him with an arched brow.
"Probably the latter."
With no small degree of satisfaction in her mien, she moved to walk past him, fully prepared to make a grand exit with her victory this round seemingly assured. But before she could reach the door, he had grabbed her by the upper arm, holding her in place. When she went to demand that he release her, she paused, realizing that the humiliation she had assumed was there was actually absent upon closer inspection. Rather, he looked cross; perhaps even a little concerned.
"Does anyone know of what you saw?" he asked her in hushed tones.
When Frankie tried to free herself from his grip, he held her tighter, a light yank of his wrist bringing her closer to him as he kept her gaze, repeating his question. The manhandling and sudden proximity shouldn't have made her breathless, but it did.
"No, I haven't told anyone," she said at last.
"Don't lie to me."
The command in his tone, in his gaze... she hated and loved it in equal measure, and that inner conflict only served to make her agitated. She tugged to free her arm once more, but his grip was an adamantine vice.
"I swear – I haven't told a soul – living or otherwise; though believe me, I've been tempted on more than one occasion. Now unhand me..."
His hold never slackened.
"I'm not finished with you yet," he announced, his patience wavering as he took hold of both her arms now, forcing her to face him fully. "Why do you insist on fighting me?"
"I don't..." she began, but they both knew better.
"And who is lying now?" That sour expression on her face was answer enough for him and he grinned a bit smugly, the narrowing of his expression bordering on cruel. "From the very beginning, you've been determined to think the absolute worst of me. I've borne your unwarranted suspicions and ensuing rudeness with as much equanimity as I can muster, but I feel I should warn you, my tolerance is growing mighty thin."
"Are you actually threatening me? After everything?"
"Not at all, dragă... only granting you fair warning."
There was something vaguely sexual in that warning, of course, and it wasn't lost to her in the slightest.
"I'm fairly certain that with you, that's the same thing," she snapped, finally freeing herself from his hold before quickly swatting his hands away. "I'm doubtful of you, Mr. Leinhart, because as you proved two weeks ago, you are still false."
"So you would have preferred, then, if I laid with a woman I have never felt anything for? Not even the remotest hint of interest?"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Frankie said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "For starters, contrary to what you might think, I genuinely don't care who you sleep with. It's none of my goddamned business anyway. Besides, this isn't about your baffling decision to be abstinent."
"Is it so shocking that I have standards? That I too can decline unwanted offers and advances just as you do?"
"Don't make this about me..."
"For the record – and just to make this abundantly clear – I am anything but sexually dysfunctional," although is inner demon had a good laugh at that one, "and I may have a taste for certain deviancies, but nothing considered too out of the ordinary," and he said that with a suggestive husk in his tone.
"I didn't ask and, again, I don't care," the woman insisted, growing uncomfortable with this turn of conversation – and the fact that he had somehow managed to pin her between himself and the small bit of wall closest to the door.
"Oh, but you should," he whispered, purposefully crowding her and he watched in private glee as the object of his desire grew uncharacteristically flustered, evidently torn between her lust and her pride, the latter of which was demanding she push him away.
"Well, I don't, so if you'll excuse me," and she placed her hands on his chest to shove him, but he took hold of her wrists.
"But I can't let you go just yet, iubito, without explaining myself. The truth of it is – Morene has never really been my type."
Frankie forced out a hollow laugh in response.
"I didn't know you had a type."
"Didn't you, though?"
She swallowed hard at the implication, rapidly losing herself in the stunning blue of his eyes. She could feel him drawing her in in the same way he had ensnared Morene's will, but Frankie had always been thoroughly stubborn and when she resisted, he seemed oddly pleased by it.
"Do you remember my promise to you, Francesca?" he asked her then, the words rolling off his tongue like honey, slick and decadent.
It took her a moment, but soon Frankie did remember – oh did she!
The time he had kissed her hand, the wordless and highly presumptuous promise that she, admittedly, had fantasized about on a couple of occasions. The mere suggestion of his tongue between her legs sent a quiver through her sex even now.
He sensed the barely imperceptible shift in her and smiled darkly, continuing.
"But of course you do." That arrogance! "It would give me an inordinate degree of pleasure to prove to you once and for all that I am a man of my word."
"As tempting as that offer is... I fear I must decline," she managed, growing a bit breathless when he rested her palms against his broad chest, forcing her to touch him. There was such power in his body - power and strength and virility that made the female in her want to swoon and sigh. But she would not be drawn in by him. She had resisted for so long in this struggle for dominance between them. To surrender now would be unconscionable, inexcusable...
"Don't play the coward now... I know what lurks in your lusting heart," he purred.
"I won't be beguiled by you..."
Vlad leaned in a bit closer, the tip of his nose brushing against hers, their lips dangerously close – just a slight lean forward from either party would have taken this sexual tension that he was now nurturing into the territory of fulfillment.
But if they were going to go down that path, Dracula wanted her to initiate... needed her to.
After witnessing her lock lips with that werewolf two weeks ago, his majesty had become determined to not only have her as his own, but he wanted her to be the one to come to him. The news that she had sent the dog packing that night gave him more reason to hope than he had scarce allowed himself to hope before, but this thing between them would only work if she wanted it to, and so in his mind, the decision had to be hers.
Yet, even with the temptation he offered her, Frankie stayed ever rooted to the floor, back pressed against the wall despite the way she absently licked her lips as if in subconscious anticipation.
"Then if you won't let me show you.... I could always have you watch."
That seemed to snap her out of her lust-induced state of delirium.
Her expression became more alert and even a little severe as she regarded him with unveiled skepticism.
"What?"
"You heard me," he announced. "I'd prefer this to stay between just the two of us, but if inviting a third party into this ménage is what it will take to convince you..."
Frankie shoved him away from her roughly, the moment of violence causing him to laugh openly at her shock.
"I am not going to watch you have sex with another woman!" she exclaimed.
"What's the matter? Has old age made la sirène a prude? How disappointing..." he teased, watching in open delight as she went from disgust to outrage in a single instant.
"You presumptuous son of a..."
"Now, now... leave my mother out of this."
"I'm not going to help fulfill some absurd voyeuristic fantasy of yours, Leinhart!"
"Why not? You were more than happy to oblige two weeks ago. Is it my knowledge of your presence that is acting as a deterrent then?"
He was mocking her of course, and deep down she knew that, but the audaciousness of his proposal and his flagrant disregard made her want to simultaneously slap him across the face and openly laugh at his absurdity.
"You are the most impossible, infuriating man I have ever met!"
"Oh, you have no idea..."
Frankie did laugh that time, though it was more of a nervous chuckle as she put a bit more space between them.
"Let me try again," he said with surprising sincerity that time, and he reached into his pocket. She watched as he removed a single key from his key ring and he handed it out to her in offering. "Come to my place tomorrow evening, seven o'clock sharp... alone. This is the spare to my flat," and he waited for her to take it, but when she didn't move, he placed it down on the island counter beside him, not at all discouraged. "Help yourself inside, stay as long as you'd like, leave whenever you prefer; but," and he held up his finger as if to make a point, "be on time."
He then bowed once and exited unceremoniously from the room.
Frankie was rather frozen in place for a time after he departed, her eyes gradually coming to the key he had left for her on the island counter. The glistening brass seemed to call to her, as if silently beckoning for the tender caress of her fingers. She eventually picked it up with hesitation, contradicting thoughts buzzing about angrily in her head as she feebly attempted to get a grip on herself.
There was no way he had meant what he said... or had he been in earnest?
She hardly knew, and before she had a moment to come to a conclusion on the matter, her phone began to ring on the corner counter where she had been sitting earlier. It was an unknown number, but she picked it up anyway, pleasantly surprised and even a little relieved to find Jack Belinskaya on the other line.
"I was hoping you'd call," she began. "I haven't heard from you since the night of Louise's interview."
"I know. I had wanted to tell you in person that we made it out alright, but the conditions haven't exactly been ideal. You got my note, I assume?"
"The one saying you both managed to get out unharmed? Yes. I found it in my mailbox the following morning."
"Good. I was worried he wouldn't be able to find your flat."
"Who?"
"Bernardini. I understand that the two of you have met?"
"Yes, albeit briefly," Frankie answered, taking Leinhart's key and slipping it into her trouser pocket before pulling on her jacket and exiting from the kitchen. "We ran into each other a couple of weeks back. I was hoping to reach out to him but realized a little late that I had forgotten to ask for his information."
"Don't worry, I can send that to you. Actually, he had asked me to relay a message."
"Of course!" and Frankie waved a silent goodbye to Carmen before she exited from the bar.
"He says he'd still like to have tea if you're up for it – with or without a certain Vlad Leinhart. That's up to you. Although I didn't realize you were seeing anyone, Francesca," Jack added casually.
"I'm not seeing anyone," she quickly assured him. "Leinhart is just a friend of my brother's – that's all."
"Well, that's a pity."
Frankie's brows furrowed. She paused for just a moment to look quizzically at her phone before continuing.
"It is?" she asked.
"Well, yes," Jack replied, sounding a little flustered all of a sudden. "I mean, you technically don't hold any obligation towards my father, or even to my siblings and I... I don't see why you shouldn't be able to live your life in the meantime."
"Says the man who has called me mother how many times now? And don't try to tell me it was a Freudian slip. I sometimes think you've been shipping me with your father longer than you and I have been acquainted."
The man laughed on the other end.
"Am I that obvious?"
"Well, you're not exactly subtle," she admitted, glancing both ways before crossing the otherwise empty street. "As much as I appreciate your support in me pursuing other men, Jack, coming from you it's nothing but suspicious. Did Bernardini put you up to this?"
"Would you be upset if he did?"
"Upset, no... though admittedly surprised," and she idly reached into her pocket, fingering the cold brass key hidden within. "Tell me, Jack – do you know anything about Vlad Leinhart? I mean... have you met the man at all? He says he used to work for your father but he never really talks about it."
"I've seen him on one or two occasions," Jack said nonchalantly, "but I've never been introduced to him. My father has always had innumerable men and women under his employ - many that even we never knew about. He's always very discreet when it comes to his personal affairs."
"Well in that I suppose we have something in common," she answered, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk so she could examine the key in her hand, considering. "Anyway, if you can send me the Signore's information, I'd be most obliged. And when next you speak to him, tell him most kindly to stop meddling on behalf of his unfortunate choice of friends. Leinhart is a grown man and so is Dracula. I have no doubt that either of them can certainly take care of themselves."
"Yes, mother," the man said with a noted degree of cheek that was anything but lost to her. "Oh, and before I let you go, the purpose of my call – I wanted to let you know that because of what happened with Louise's interview with those mercenaries, we won't be able to set up your last interview with Tempest for a while... not at least until everything has settled down a bit. The present state of things with Augustine and our security are rather tenuous at present – especially with a certain prison break two weeks ago."
"I completely understand. How is Louise, by the way?"
"Excellent deflection," he murmured with an audible smile before replying, "And she's rather docile at the moment, but I've learned not to bank on it lasting for long."
"Well, for your sake, I hope it does."
"You are too generous, Francesca Chase," he said with a laugh.
"Yes, I know," she replied, a bemused grin tugging at the corner of her lips as she slipped the key back into her pocket. "It's a terrible habit of mine."