Chapter III: Demons
Ilinca wailed. She wailed, long and loud, as only a Harpy can wail. And Daciana cried – the cry of the Banshee. Ilinca wailed, and Daciana cried, and the castle walls echoed their combined despair and misery.
No one could mourn as Sirens mourn. The depths of their misery were unthinkable for mere mortals. Even Dodrescu, a vampire and hardly a mere mortal, had never experienced its like. His frustration at not getting any actual information on what had prompted their misery was evident.
Renfield, who actually was a mere mortal, knew better than to interfere. Renfield watched from a balcony above, glancing tensely back and forth at the players in the drama. He trapped a spider against the curtain and nervously popped it into his mouth.
"Enough!" the Count cried out as the Sirens paused to breathe between screams. He well realized that they had once mourned for fifty years. Twenty minutes was all he was willing to put up with. "Where is Mirela? Perhaps she can make sense of this hysteria!"
Ilinca held back a scream and told him, "Master, she is dead! Dead, dead, she is dead!"
"Dead? This is not possible!" shouted Dodrescu in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"
"She burned!" cried Daciana. "She burned, she burned, she burned!" Daciana began to scream, but Dodrescu caught her by the throat.
"I... do... not... believe you!" he yelled into her face. Dodrescu then threw the Harpy across the great hall. Daciana slowed herself by spreading her wings, but still hit the stones of the far wall with considerable force. She slid to the floor.
"It is true," Daciana told him weakly as she raised herself to her knees. They knew this would be dangerous, and now she could not leave her sister to deal with Dodrescu alone. "We watched her die."
"She died!" cried Ilinca. "Burning in the night, we watched as she died!"
"Treachery!" shouted Dodrescu as he grabbed Ilinca's throat and squeezed. "You say you watched her die, and yet did nothing to save her?" Ilinca choked, unable to answer, unable to breathe.
"We tried!" screamed Daciana. Dodrescu released his grip on her sister as he turned. Ilinca slumped to the floor, massaging her bruised throat. "We tried, again and again but we could not save her!"
"How did this happen?" shouted Dodrescu as he advanced on the older sister. The Sirens were strange, and he had not dealt with them often, even over three centuries. He wanted simple answers to simple questions, and yet they frustrated him with their evasiveness and vague statements.
"The power lines!" shouted Daciana, shielding herself with her arms as Dodrescu advanced, preparing for his wrath.
Dodrescu stopped a moment and considered her words. Could power lines kill a vampire? He didn't know enough about them to be certain. He did know that Mirela hated the power lines, though. He lifted Daciana from her knees and confronted her.
"Mirela would never go near the power lines!" he yelled into her face.
Ilinca jumped on his back, wrapping her arms around his neck, matching her pitiful strength against his. Holding Daciana aloft, however, he was temporarily out of arms with which to deal with a second Harpy.
"Leave her alone!" shouted Ilinca.
Dodrescu tried to shake her loose, finally getting a hand on both sisters and tossing them into a pitiful heap against the wall. When he advanced again Daciana spoke.
"She wanted to see them up close!" she said quickly. This was the lie they had decided upon. She did not know if Dodrescu would believe her, or if he would kill them anyway. All she knew was that this was the time. "She wanted to see if they could be destroyed!" Daciana cowered, expecting another blow.
Dodrescu advanced another step, but stopped to consider. Was it possible? This did sound like Mirela, to foolishly try to destroy the steel towers with nothing but her bare hands. His speculation was interrupted as Ilinca cried out again.
"She burned!" Ilinca cried. Dodrescu silenced her with a glare, then looked again at Daciana.
"Tell me now the truth!" he demanded.
Daciana nodded, and licked her dry lips. "The towers were much bigger than we imagined. We flew around them, and Mirela knew she could not destroy them. Then she grabbed a wire, hoping to wrest it loose from the tower, and she screamed!"
"She screamed!" cried Ilinca, but was quickly silenced by glares from both the Count and Daciana.
Dodrescu looked back at Daciana. "You did nothing to help her!" he accused.
"Not true!" she said as she raised her hands again to fend off a blow which did not come. "We tried to reach her but could not! Whenever we got close we were knocked back, sent falling to the ground like stones! Look at our injuries if you do not believe us!"
"And then she burned!" screamed Ilinca. "She screamed, and burned like the sun in the sky! She screamed forever, and burned with the flames of Hell!"
"She burned, high on the tower, until there was nothing left but ash to blow away on the wind," said Daciana desolately.
Dodrescu slumped to the floor, all the fight gone from him. "So it is true?" he said miserably. "Mirela is gone, nothing left but scattered ashes?"
"We found this," said Ilinca, fishing a handkerchief from her sleeve and handing it cautiously to the Count. "We thought you would like it."
Dodrescu accepted the tiny bundle and slowly unwrapped it. Inside was a small piece of jawbone, blackened from fire and smoke. The Count stared at it for a long while, then sniffed it, drawing its scent deep within him. This was his final proof.
"It is true!" he wailed. "Mirela is truly dead!" Dodrescu sat back on his heels and kissed the jawbone while Ilinca and Daciana looked on.
Ilinca glanced over at her sister. She gave her a look which asked, "Did we get away with it?" Daciana replied with a shrug of her shoulders. The two sisters moved over to where the Count sat on the floor, one on either side to comfort him in his time of agony. Daciana waited an appropriate length of time, then spoke.
"Count Dodrescu, you are our Master, and our Mistress is dead. It is only appropriate now that you choose."
"Choose?" said the Count, shaken from his internal thoughts. "What is it you would have me choose?"
"One of us," explained Daciana. "Mirela was your First, but now she is dead. So now you must choose another. Who will it be? Ilinca, or me?"
Dodrescu looked at the two Harpies and considered the option with horror. He was their Master, yes, but only because Mirela had wanted them. They were both beautiful, and he was pleased to have them. But the Harpies were too strange in their thinking. The idea that one of them should be his First was appalling. Neither of them could ever replace Mirela.
"I will not choose!" shouted Dodrescu as he stood.
"You must!" cried out Daciana as the sisters rose to face their Master. If Dodrescu did not choose then killing Mirela was meaningless. She did not care who was Mistress, she or Ilinca, but it had to be one of them. She would not be servant to anyone else, ever again.
"We are both beautiful," added Ilinca.
'Beautiful yes, but raving mad,' thought Dodrescu. Aloud he told them, "I will make no choice. It is too soon! Now leave me alone."
"You must choose!" said Ilinca. "We must know! It is not right, there must be a First, and a Mistress!"
"And what if I choose another?" shouted back the Count. "What if I do not wish either of you, and bring another to this castle?"
Daciana laughed – she could not help herself. "So who is it you would choose over either of us?" she challenged him. "The old cow who runs the inn? The pig farmer's wife? There is not a young maiden remaining and you know this!"
Dodrescu considered her words, realizing their truth. But then he was struck by inspiration.
"Then I choose," he told the sisters. He held the jawbone up where they could see and continued, "I choose Mirela!"
"That is just a bit of bone and a few teeth," said Daciana in disgust at his evasiveness.
"All I need is a single tooth," declared Dodrescu. He gripped the jaw and ripped a tooth from it, tossing the rest of the bone into a corner of the room. "There is a ritual. I will have Mirela back, and this is all I will need to do it!"
Daciana stared in horror. To bring Mirela back would be a death sentence for both she and her sister. But still...
"I know this ritual," she told him. "It is very ancient, and dangerous. But even if you decide to bring Mirela's demon soul back from Hell, you will need more than a tooth. You need a vessel with fresh blood!"
"Then I shall find a vessel!" declared Dodrescu. "A young maiden, to supply the fresh blood and to accept my beloved Mirela's demon soul."
"But there is... no... maiden!" shouted Daciana. "There is none who could be First, and there is none for the ritual. The village is dying of old age. The young people have all gone to the cities, years ago!"
"Then we must prepare to travel," said the Count. "We will go to a city and find a maiden, one who is worthy of my beloved Mirela."
"There is no time!" said Daciana. "The ritual must be performed within three days of death. There is no time to arrange for a journey. We must travel by night – you would need your coffin and soil from your resting place to be transported with you! We cannot possibly arrange this within three days."
"You must choose now," declared Ilinca.
The Count was on the verge of exploding. "I have three days, and you shall wait three days!" he shouted.
"There is a girl," said a voice from the balcony.
The Count's eyes snapped upward to locate the voice. "Renfield? What are you saying? Come down here."
Renfield couldn't believe he had actually spoken. He usually only responded when commanded by the Count, and never voluntarily entered a conversation with him, especially when he was angry. He loved his Master, and hoped one day to join him in immortality, but he was justifiably scared for his life every time they were close.
Renfield cautiously crept down the grand staircase from the balcony above. "I saw her, last night," he said. "She arrived at the inn very late. I saw her, and followed her, Master."
"You would believe this fool?" said Daciana. "Even if there is a girl, Mirela is not likely to be happy with just any body."
"Yes," agreed Ilinca. She told the Count, "If she is not young and very beautiful Mirela will never forgive you!"
Dodrescu turned to Renfield. "Well Renfield? Tell us about this girl."
"Master, she is young, and very beautiful," Renfield told him. Then he considered his brief encounter, feeling he should say more. Finally he added, "I think she might be American."
"American?" said Dodrescu without disguising his disgust. "Are you sure? If so, Mirela must never know."
"You sound as if you are contemplating the suggestions of this madman!" said Daciana vehemently. "You would take the word of an insect-eating servant on the beauty of this girl who may not even exist? You must be as mad as he is."
"Enough!" shouted Dodrescu, quieting the Harpy. "I shall decide for myself if she is a fitting vessel for Mirela. Renfield, you will return to the village and invite the maiden to dine this evening at the castle. And you two, you will be there as well. If there is a choice to be made it will be made then."
"Yes, Master," said all three to Dodrescu's back as he stormed off through the castle. The sisters turned their sights on Renfield, who slowly backed out of the room.
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A/N: There you have it! Count Dodrescu, more evil than I ever imagined he would be!
If you would like to see a very different side of Dodrescu, please read my short story "Interview with the Vampire". Only a couple of pages, but I guarantee you'll love it!