The sun hung low in the sky, painting a blaze of red and gold across the horizon as it began to slowly dip behind the tops of the trees. Even the clouds seemed almost voluminous with light, Joanna thought to herself as she finished putting the last of the dishes away. It had been a perfect, beautiful day, like so many before it. The months had passed with a drowsy sort of slowness. Fall had turned to winter and winter had turned to spring and summer was at last upon them. Nearly a year had passed since Virgil had defeated Dracula and they’d made their escape from the castle. All their previous plans of leaving to journey across Europe had been put on hold. They had been too injured, to exhausted, too sick with grief. And so they’d gone back to her little cabin in the woods to rest and recover and start over again.
Even after all that time there was a part of her that was still afraid. Every day she woke up, she had to reassure herself that she was still in her own house, in her own bed, safe with Virgil beside her. Nightmares were frequent visitors to both of them, and it was a long time before either of them managed to sleep through the night with any real regularity. Things had been tense for a time. Difficult. Between the struggle of learning how to live with Virgil’s affliction and the loss of their child, Joanna had wondered if they’d ever learn to be truly happy again.
But slowly, things got easier. The nightmares lessened. They leaned on each other in moments of weakness. Life went on. The subject of going on the move was put back on the table, and together they decided that it would be best to embark next spring, once the snows thawed.
Even in all that time there had been no retaliation from Dracula’s minions. Sallos had vanished after they’d made their escape, and he hadn’t even waited for her to awaken. The nightmare ended, and only the scars and the broken pieces the experience had left on their lives remained, to slowly be put back together. Things were nearly normal, until close to a week ago…
The feeling of a pair of arms slipping around her waist drew her from her reverie. “And what has you looking so pensive?” Virgil whispered, his lips brushing against her ear and sending a shiver up her spine.
“Virgil…” she turned in his grasp, moving to face him. The sight of him with brows lofted in a look of gentle curiosity as he regarded her drew a smile from her lips. The burns on his face had responded well to the salves she’d made for him, and looked nearly whole save for a small patch near his jaw that remained stubbornly taut and pink. She’d had no way to heal his left eye of course, but he’d only laughed and told her that it meant he just had to look at her twice as long.
The flesh of his chest and belly hadn’t fared as well, she thought absently to herself as she glanced down at her husband, who’d stripped to the waist. Those burns had been far worse, and despite her best efforts the skin there was, and always would be, scarred and puckered.
“You see something you like?” he asked playfully, touching her chin and drawing her glance back upward to his face.
“You.” The word popped out of her lips reflexively, making him smile. It had been a long time before he’d been willing to believe that she still found him attractive, that she still wanted him.
Drawing her close, he kissed her as gently as a feather-stroke. When he pulled back to study her, his fingers brushed through her thick, dark hair. “Come on,” he said, drawing her across the room toward the spare room. His voice had never quite lost the rasping quality that it had gained in the castle. She liked that too. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
How could she possibly put it to words? That had been her dilemma for days.
Virgil just smiled as he took a seat in the single, study chair in the center of the room, sprawling out with his legs splayed, elbows resting idly on the chair’s arms. “Glaring at the floor isn’t going to help,” he teased, patting his lap with one hand. “Come here.”
“Virgil, I’m…” she began as she sat, taking comfort in the protective circle of his arms as they draped around her. “I’m late.”
“Late?” he asked, twisting around to glance out the window. “No, we’ve got plenty of time.”
“Not that kind of late. I’m… Virgil, I might be…” When she’d missed her cycle the past week, her blood had nearly turned to ice in her veins. All the fears from the castle had come back. What if something happened again? What if some other threat emerged—a vengeful servant or another vampire?
What if she lost this child, too?
Slow realization came over him, and his brows quirked in a look of furtive hope. “Really?” he asked.
“I don’t know for sure,” she said quickly, even though somewhere deep down within her she knew. She was certain. “I might just be late and it could be nothing—“
He whooped aloud, practically bouncing to his feet and scooping her up with his hands at her waist. Swinging her around the room and making her squeal in surprise and protest, he silenced her by planting an exuberant kiss on her lips. “Joanna, that’s wonderful! I—what’s wrong?” he asked, stilling as he realized his joy didn’t seem to be particularly infectious.
The question made her heart twist painfully in her chest. What was wrong? She should have been happy, filled with bliss at the idea of getting a second chance to raise a family with Virgil. And she also knew that the Belmont line had to continue. “It’s just…” Joanna swallowed hard as she felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. “I’m just really scared. What if something happens? I can’t—I can’t lose another one. I just can’t…”
His smile faded and he sat back down, pulling her to himself, crushing her against him. “Joanna… Oh, God, I’m—I’m sorry,” he whispered. Callused thumbs brushed the tears away from her eyes before they could spill down her cheeks. “Joanna, I know I failed you before, and I… nothing I say will change that. But please, please believe me when I say that I will never, ever let anything like that happen again. Never. Dracula is dead, and if any of his servants get it in their heads that they want revenge I will tear them apart.” His voice rose to a low growl.
“Virgil…”
“You’re mine,” he said fiercely, staring into her eyes. He got like this when the moon was turning. Possessive, territorial. It didn’t bother her. He never directed his emotions toward her in any kind of negative fashion. He just got worked up easily, and when he did took time to calm him down. "And I will protect you until my dying breath."
“I’m yours,” she agreed with a smile, pressing her forehead to his own, “and I know you’ll protect us.” Us. Her and the baby, both. And suddenly she wasn’t so afraid.
He hummed contently at that, a low sound that sent warmth shooting through her. “Mm. Come on,” he said, giving her a playful swat on the thigh and nudging her to her feet. “I’m ready.”
“We need to figure out what we’re going to do when we start traveling.” she said, circling behind the chair and tugging at the back for a moment, marking sure it was sturdy. The legs were bolted to the floor, and it didn’t have any give to it.
“There’ll be trees. Those would work,” Virgil said with a relaxed shrug, turning his head to watch her as she moved to stand beside him. When she guided his arm along the arm of the chair and began tightening the thick leather strap around his wrist, he drew in a hissing breath. He was wearing a look she couldn’t interpret. She paused, earning a piercing stare that she practically felt burning into her. “Tighter.” He whispered, voice husky. “I could have gotten free last time.”
Joanna nodded, tightening the strap and buckling it securely in place. Kneeling, she began working at the strap to bind his ankle to the chair’s sturdy leg. “I don’t know about the tree idea. It would work, but it wouldn’t be very comfortable for you, being chained up all night.”
“I’d be fine,” he murmured, his gaze following her as she shifted to his other leg. His free hand reached down to cup at her cheek.
“Have you given any thought to the idea I had?” she asked, stopping after buckling his leg in place to rest her chin on his knee, meeting his stare.
“What, about seeing if I could… control myself?” he asked quietly, warily.
She nodded. “Virgil, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“Not if I hurt you. Or worse.”
She sighed at that, a frown tugging at her lips. “But what if I tried it tonight? Kept you bound but checked on you during the night? I’ll—just stay right in the doorway, no closer. If you start trying to get loose, I’ll leave right away and lock the door, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“You’re impossible,” He grumbled, but his free hand stroked tenderly at her hair. “Very well. But if I so much as look at you funny, I want you to get out, right? If anything happened to you, I couldn’t forgive myself.”
“Deal,” she said quickly, before he could change his mind.
His fingers withdrew from her hair to settle back on the arm of the chair. “Come on,” he said. “The sun’s going down.”
Joanna nodded and quickly strapped his other leg into place, then rose to secure his arm. “Can I get you anything else?”
Virgil tested the straps, then nodded toward the one on his wrist. “This one’s still loose.”
“Virgil, you’re going to grow when you change. I don’t want them to hurt you.”
He grumbled. “And I don’t want to hurt you. Make it tighter.”
Joanna obediently tightened it, though not by much.
The look he gave her sent heat through her. “Tighter.” He whispered.
“God, you're enjoying this, aren't you? Knave.”
“And you love a knave.”
“With all my heart. Good night, Virgil.” She murmured, leaning down to press her lips to his own in a gentle kiss.
His lips were tender, his smile as sly as it had ever been. “See you in the morning.”
“So, my servant betrays me. I suppose it isn’t a surprise. Such twisted creatures are no better than humans. Weak. Deceitful. Pathetic.” Dracula’s voice seemed to penetrate down into her very soul, as if he could see the measure of her being. His eyes, red and burning with some inner, otherworldly light, bored into them.
“Get behind me.” Virgil said grimly to her, his free hand urging her backwards.
“Ah, and now the gallant hero is clamoring to save his beloved again. It seems to me that this is rather a paltry retelling of the same tired story you tried to create before. You were too weak to defeat me before, and now you’re half-dead. What can you possibly do?” Something about the vampire’s voice was a dull punch to the gut, as if giving voice to the futility of their situation was a tangible thing that could hurt them. “Humans are weak. All living things are weak. And they, like you, are destined to fail again and again. Can a pitiful, weak sack of mortal flesh truly hope to triumph against me?”
Vampire Killer was a blur, so fast she couldn’t even see it, cracking mightily as Virgil brought it down toward Dracula. The vampire took the lash full in the face, flaying the skin open in a line, but he didn’t as much as stumble from it. A hand, white as snow, lifted to gently touch the spot, and the skin slowly closed back up—only a trickle of blood suggesting it had ever been. A moment of terrible silence passed, and he finally uttered three words.
“I think not.”
Those words were laced with power. They had the same physical force as a slap to the face, sending the pair reeling backward. Joanna fell onto her rump, wincing, while Virgil managed to catch himself and take a knee for a moment as he tried to recover.
“Virgil…” she croaked, her mouth gone dry with fear.
He didn’t say anything, but his head turned. He couldn’t look away from Dracula, had keep his eye on the vampire, so it was his blinded side he turned toward her, skin a painful-looking red, blistered.
“I love you.” She had to say it. Had to get the words out, in case they were the last words she ever uttered.
The muscles in his cheek twitched, and she saw his clouded eye narrow. Turning away from her, he deliberately pushed himself to his feet.
“What’s this? Found some fight at last, Belmont? A terrible cliché, drawing your last reserves of strength from a declaration of love like that, but hopefully it will at least make things more interesting for a time, before you die.”
Virgil stepped toward the vampire. “The Belmont clan will not die—will never die—so long as your kind taints the world with its filth.”
“My kind? Is that not a bit hypocritical of you? Can you truly say that with confidence, knowing that in a moon’s turn you’ll be a mindless beast if I don’t just kill you outright now?” Fire bloomed at Dracula’s fingertips, grew and condensed until it was the size of a man’s fist. He launched it at Virgil, who dove aside and countered, striking at the vampire with his whip and getting a blow in across his chest.
This time Dracula recoil a pace, his fangs bared more in a look of annoyance than pain. “Ahh, or perhaps I could let you both live. Would you like that? You killed my old hound and I’ve need of a new one. I could just lock your beloved in a room with you until you turn and tear her apart.”
The pair circled one another. Joanna watched for a moment until Dracula shifted to turn his back to her in order to dodge one of Virgil’s attacks, and then she quietly slipped across the chamber to the fallen demon.
He wasn’t screaming any longer, wasn’t moving, but his eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. Blood was puddled beneath him. For a moment she thought he was already dead, but with difficulty he rolled his head to the side to look at her as she knelt beside him.
“Come to send me off, sweet lady?” he asked, his voice a whisper.
“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine,” Joanna lied. She was stunned to feel a lump in her throat, choking on the words. “People lose limbs all the time.”
“Yes, but it’s the bleeding that’s going to kill me. It’s strange. If I close my eyes I can still feel my fingers.” He said with a hoarse, bitter chuckle.
A shout from Virgil drew her attention away, and she turned her head to watch the man just barely twist to avoid another blast of fire. He was breathing hard, she could tell. She could see his chest rising and falling, lungs pumping like a bellows.
A sudden touch on her cheek drew her attention back to the demon, his bloodied hand touching her face. “The fight… not going well?”
“It’s—he’s getting tired. He’s already been through so much, and with him hurt like that…” she said, giving a hopeless shake of her head.
“You should run now, while you have the chance,” he whispered. “It’s what your Belmont would want. I don’t know if you could get out of the castle, but you should try.”
“No!” she hissed so fiercely that he looked startled. “I won’t leave him. Not again.”
His lips quirked into a weary smile at that. “So be it then. He’s a lucky man to have known you, madam. Will you—“ he stopped himself, breathing hard for a moment, eyelids fluttering.
“What is it?” she asked, her hand finding his own, giving it a little squeeze.
“Will you stay with me until the end? I won’t be long now, I shouldn’t think.”
Her eyes burned, brimming with tears until she couldn’t focus on him anymore. Making herself nod, she brought his hand up to her lips and planted a chaste kiss on his knuckles. “Thank you for getting me this far.”
“Are you frightened?”
“It probably sounds stupid but… not anymore. Whatever happens, at least I’ll be with him at the end.” She said, looking back at Virgil and drinking in the sight of him, his expression contorted in a look of grim concentration. Vampire Killer snaked outward with a terrible crack to the head and Dracula was actually sent reeling, staggering backward. The breath caught in her chest. Was there hope after all?
“Enough!” the vampire snarled. “You’ve a little more fight in you than I thought you would. But now you die!”
And with that, Dracula began to change.
His body bulged and twisted, the sound of cracking bones and popping joints filling the room as his body rearranged itself, reformed, shifting into something far more terrible than she could have ever imagined. Nine feet tall and scaled, Dracula laughed as a pair of great, tattered wings burst from his back and carried him aloft. There wasn’t anything even remotely human left in his face, his visage shifted into a bestial snout with vicious fangs and blood-red eyes. More eyes opened along bared his chest and torso, down his arms—dozens of eyes, unblinking, staring.
Shuddering, Joanna could only watch, helpless, as he leapt toward Virgil with hellfire dripping from his maw like liquid and claws extended. Virgil held his ground as best he could, but he was forced to give way, step by step. Vampire Killer struck at Dracula again and again, but the whip might have been giving the monstrosity flea bites for all he seemed to notice.
That tiny little spark of hope went out again. He was simply too strong.
Beside her, the demon gave a hushed sigh. When she looked down, his eyes were closed. His hand felt limp in her own. No breath stirred his chest.
Gently settling his hand on his chest, over his heart, Joanna brushed his hair away from his forehead. He was gone, just like that. He’d only wanted his freedom, and now he was dead. Freedom… Joanna cursed herself. She should have released him before he passed. It was a futile gesture now, too late to make any difference to him anymore, but…
Eyes lidding, she bowed her head and planted a single kiss on his forehead. “Sallos,” she whispered, “be free.”
Nothing changed, but when she pulled back she thought that his still form almost looked like it was smiling just the tiniest bit. Wishful thinking,she thought bitterly to herself. Rising, Joanna surveyed the ongoing fight between Virgil and Dracula, the embattled vampire hunter nearly backed into a corner in the face of the monster’s onslaught.
A look around the room confirmed that there wasn’t anything she could use as a weapon in sight. Her fingers curled and relaxed at her sides. Weapon or no, Joanna couldn’t let Virgil struggle through this battle alone. They would triumph together, or they would die together. She advanced on the two, breaking into a run.
Dracula’s back was to her, but Virgil caught sight of her. She could see the shock on his face, the way his lips parted as he wanted to warn her away—but Dracula must have noticed his expression as well.
Just as she reached the vampire, seizing one of his great, batlike wings in each of her hands, more pairs of red, malevolent eyes formed on his back and shoulders, staring at her. “And just what do you think you’re going to accompli-“
She cut him off as she twisted at his wings, feeling the slender, delicate bones beneath the membrane of skin snapping beneath her grip. Joanna tore at his wings with the desperate strength of a madwoman, trying to buy time, trying to do anything—any tiny thing—that would help Virgil defeat him.
Dracula snarled, viciously backhanding Virgil away with his left hand and sending the man flying until he hit a wall and slumped to the floor. The vampire’s head twisted around until it faced backwards, looking at her, and his right hand managed to snatch her around the neck, hauling her into the air. His head remained where it was, facing her, but with a sickening pop his body followed so he was directed fully toward her. “You are troublesome, aren’t you? But you are nothing. Too long have I suffered your distractions and your inconveniencing me.”
Joanna kicked and sputtered, but his hand tightened around her throat.
“I’d thought to kill Belmont first. But perhaps it would be amusing to watch him break as I crush the life out of you. Say goodbye.” His voice rose, booming in her ears.
She saw it all happening as if she was far, far away from there, outside her own body. She was going to die. Her arms and legs felt so heavy, and the room was growing dark around the edges of her vision. Virgil was struggling to get to his feet, his expression one of utter terror. His lips were moving and she knew he had to be screaming her name, but she couldn’t seem to hear him. She could only hear her own blood sluggishly pounding in her ears. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t struggle.
It was all over. Dracula would kill her and then kill Virgil too. The Belmont line would end, and Dracula would rule over all of the world unopposed, his darkness spreading until every human life had been blotted from existence and he brooded over a word filled with nothing but death.
A faint sound reached her at last, like a match being struck. And suddenly, a whirling column of darkness seemed to materialize out of thin air and barreled forward, colliding with the monstrosity that was Dracula. The vampire shouted in surprise and hurled her away like a ragdoll so he could combat this new danger, and the floor rushed up to meet her.
Joanna hit the floor hard, sprawled facedown. She was dizzy from the blood loss of her earlier injury, she hadn’t gotten her breath back… and everything hurt. There was agony within her body, so much it seemed that it would burst out of her skin from its inability to contain all that hurt. And her stomach… her stomach was the worst of it. Rolling onto her back offered no relief, and in an instant she knew something was deeply wrong. And yet there was nothing to do but watch the chaos as it passed her by.
Struggling to sit up, she could only watch as the shapeless column, black as a starless sky, seemed to solidify. A spindly arm formed, then a second, then a third—and then a dozen thin hands were clutching, grappling at the vampire. The beings rolled on the ground, fighting for the dominant position. Dracula was tearing at the shadow-stuff of the creature with claws like butcher knives. The shadow-figure, she saw with a sudden sickening realization, seemed to be trying to envelop the vampire, as if to consume him.
She knew instinctively what—who it was. “Sal-“ the name twisted on her lips, unable to be completed. A nebulous part of the being that might have been an approximation of a head snapped up. It was utterly featureless, and yet she had the impression that it was looking at her. Her tongue felt as if it had been paralyzed, like she couldn’t make it formulate the right movements to finish the name. As if satisfied that she wasn’t about to utter his name once again, the shadow-thing that was Sallos turned back on Dracula, and she felt her tongue relax—
But the distraction had been enough for Dracula to recover. With a roar that was like the screams of a thousand sailors drowning at sea, he burst free from the demon’s clutches and retreated a pace, his clawed feet leaving scratches even in the fine marble of the floor.
“You—how? How can you possibly be here in that form!?” he demanded.
“I am free.” The shadow-thing’s voice seemed to flicker like candlelight. It sounded almost as surprised as Dracula, though gratified at the thought.
“She unbound you, didn’t she? Empty-headed little fool. Well, you got your wish. Your freedom is your own. Begone. You’re in my way.” Dracula said shortly, taking a step toward Virgil and Joanna.
The figure slid over, smooth as silk, to block his approach. A shiver seemed to pass through it and it solidified. As if with difficulty, it formed itself into a man-shaped figure of darkness, but too broad in the shoulders and too narrow in the waist, overly-long arms dangling its sides.. “No.”
A dangerous edge crept into Dracula’s voice. “What are you still doing here? What do you want?”
“I want….” The lump that so vaguely suggested a head turned this way and that, as if questing about for something. Its neck lengthened fluidly and it turned its ‘head’ to peer back at the pair of humans it was protecting. “I want to uphold my end of the bargain.”
The vampire sneered at that. “I am stronger than you, worm. You know this. But suit yourself. Come. Die.” His maw dropped open, hellfire boiling deep within. He drew in a breath…
…And Vampire Killer lashed him hard across the face, making him snarl with fury. Virgil had gotten to his feet, exhaustion written into every line of his face, and yet he doggedly pushed forward. He and Sallos seemed to reach some unspoken agreement. They pressed the attack from both sides, slowly managing to drive Dracula back across the chamber.
She hurt. Her hands pressed to her belly, stroking, trying desperately, impotently, to soothe it.
It was then that she became aware of the figure beside her, heavily robed and cowled. He was squatted next to her, observing the battle with casual interest.
“Who…?” she could only get the single word out.
When the man turned his head and she saw the skull with its empty black pits where its eyes should have been, she knew.
“Hello, Joanna,” he said, as casually as if they were old friends.
“What do you want?” she asked through gritted teeth.
He considered this for a moment, looking back to the battle just in time to watch as Dracula caught Sallos with a blast of fire, immolating him only to be struck by a vicious flurry of blows from Virgil. “Well, I had originally come to help my Master, but it seems I arrived late.”
“Late? You could still…” She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to give him any ideas.
“I could, yes,” Death said thoughtfully. “But it seems to me that we have been outmaneuvered this time. I should have been here sooner, but it was a very clever trick your friend played on us. I was looking all over for you in the wrong place. The Master will not win this fight, I shouldn’t think, and even if I step in I won’t make a difference. He will have to be resurrected, and the process will be, hm, shall we say… smoother if I am able to oversee it.”
“I won’t let you.” Joanna attempted to push herself upright, only to gasp as a fresh wave of pain ran through her. Collapsing back to the floor, she stared helplessly at robed figure.
“You’re in no position to stop me.”
“I’ll tell Virgil. He… he’ll…”
“He’ll get you out of this castle, that’s what he’ll do. And you won’t remember this conversation.” His hand brushed over her forehead, cold digits of bone as gentle as a father checking his child’s temperature after a fever.
“Why? Why are you…” It was getting hard to form words. She was tired, so tired.
“Why am I letting you live? I admire your courage. And the Master will surely want to settle his score with the Belmonts. And I can’t fathom any great abundance of women who would actually want to take a disfigured werewolf to bed with them,” A wry hint of amusement touched his voice. He straightened, watching something out of her range of vision for a moment—the fight, she assumed. “I think it’s just about time for me to go. Don’t want them to see me.”
It was growing harder and harder to keep her eyes open. “Wait—“ she managed in a whisper, but he turned to go anyway. Still, as if remembering something, he returned and bowed his head nearer to her own.
“You have my condolences.” He whispered, and with that, he departed.
The sounds of battle escalated, and finally she heard a terrible scuffling, Sallos’s flickering voice give a call of “Now!” and the distinct sound of Vampire Killer whistling through the air. Dracula’s scream was inhuman but one of utter agony, and she felt a sudden blast of heat sweep through the chamber. Then everything was still. Numb with pain and exhaustion and heartache, Joanna surrendered to darkness.
Fire flickered pleasantly in the hearth and Joanna hummed to herself as she finished putting the last of the dishes away. Evenings were her favourite time, when Virgil would share some of his stories together about how he’d learned to hunt or the places he’d seen in his travels. Those stories had been good for him too. It had helped him to talk about his father. There were tears now and again, of course, but that was all part of grief. It was slow going, but each day seemed a little easier than the last.
“I should be going soon.” Virgil said from his usual post, staring out the window at the night sky. “I’ve stayed here, taken advantage of your hospitality too long.”
That topic again. It seemed there would be no stories that night. In the weeks since Alan had died, Joanna had grown accustomed to Virgil’s presence in her home. She’d known, logically, that of course he wouldn’t stay, that he had to go and resume his family’s crusade against the monsters that plagued the world. But there was a part of her that had grown to like him. There was a part of her that wanted him to stay just a little longer. The last time Virgil had mentioned leaving she’d convinced him to remain for a short time, but she knew she was out of excuses.
“I think you should stay a few more days,” She said quietly, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them. Quickly, to try and cover her tracks, she added, “Just because it’d be for the best. I heard it’s supposed to start pouring down rain.”
“Rain?” he asked doubtfully, turning to look at her with grey-blue eyes.
“And I could really use your help. That window keeps sticking and with summer coming I’ll need to be able to open it. And look, the legs on the table aren’t even.” Joanna grabbed the edge of the table and attempted to rock it. It didn’t as much as wiggle. She abandoned the effort sheepishly.
A slow change seemed to come over Virgil, and for the first time since before Alan had died, he gave her one of those sly smiles that used to make her blush. “Joanna,” he said quietly, his voice teasing as he approached her, “if you want me to stay, you should just say so.”
There was a low edge of something in his tone that sent heat burning its way up her neck. Backing up a pace, then another, Joanna felt her heart begin to hammer against her ribs. It was only because they’d spent so much time together, she’d told herself before. She was only experiencing some attraction to him because he was young and handsome and they’d been very much thrown together. She’d told herself time and again during the past weeks that the minute he left, she’d forget all about him and move on with her life.
Suddenly she realized how stupid all of those excuses she’d made to herself were.
She looked forward to talking to him each day. When she managed to coax a smile from him despite his grief it made her feel as if she was walking on air. The peaceful sounds of his breathing from the next room lulled her to slumber each night.
She didn’t want to give any of it up.
"I..." Joanna tried to make herself speak as she backed away from the man’s relentless, slow pursuit, and when her back hit the wall of the cabin she let out a wordless, nervous sound of protest.
A hand was planted on the wall at either side of her head, effectively trapping her. “Last week you asked me to help repair your bathtub. Three days ago you wanted me to help till the garden. You didn’t even plant anything in the new furrows.” He uttered softly, leaning over her.
This close, she could smell his scent, soap and lemon and mint. She couldn’t get away, and yet she didn’t dislike how he had captured her. The happiest prisoner to have ever lived, she thought inanely to herself. “Well—“ she began, not even sure what she was going to say to that.
“It’s not going to rain, Joanna. There’s not a cloud in the sky. And you know what?”
“What?” she squeaked the syllable out.
His smile was downright wicked. “I’ll bet I could love you on that table right this instant and it wouldn’t move an inch.”
“Virgil!” she sputtered indignantly, slapping at his chest.
He laughed at that, the sound as happy as she’d ever heard it. “What, don’t you want to test it?” he asked with feigned innocence.
“You’re a knave.”
Letting out an overdramatic sigh, Virgil slumped his shoulders, moving as if to pull away from her. “I am. And do you know what knaves do with beautiful women?” Not even giving her a chance to respond, he caught her by the waist, drawing her in against himself as he whispered. “They kiss them.”
All at once his lips were on hers, kissing her in a way that Joanna swore she could feel all the way down to her knees. “Virgil,” she managed to gasp his name out once more, though God knew she didn’t want to interrupt this moment she’d ached for so badly, “wait.”
He stopped immediately, pulling back and fixing her with a stare that wasn’t angry or accusatory. No, he looked almost nervous, embarrassed. “Joanna, I’m—I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? I thought you—“
“No!” she said quickly, her hands falling on his and stilling them before he could remove them from her waist. “No, I… Believe me, I do. More than anything.”
His cheeks flushed slightly at that and the smile he gave her was almost shy. “Me too. What’s wrong? Please, Joanna, talk to me.” He said, lifting a hand to cup at her cheek, tenderly tracing the line of her jaw.
It was a nebulous concept in her mind, something hazy and difficult to frame. In her mind’s eye, she could still see her father sitting by the fire at night after he’d put her to bed, a little box full of letters in his lap. Letters and longing and nothing more—that was all he’d been left with. “I don’t—“ she began unsteadily, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want to… I don’t want this to happen and then have you leave. Because I care about you, Virgil, and I… I don’t know if I could live with the hurt of watching you go and knowing I’d probably never see you again.”
Virgil looked surprised by that, his brows shooting straight up, then furrowing as if perplexed. “You’re joking, right?”
That stung, and she opened her mouth to really tear into him. Realizing his mistake and how he must have sounded, the man hastily raised his hands defensively before she could slap him. “No, no! I mean I want you to come with me!”
Her hand froze in midair. Now it was her turn to be flabbergasted. “You… do you mean that?”
“Yes! Joanna, why do you think I’ve been dragging my heels about leaving for the past month? Why do you think every time you gave me an excuse to stay I jumped on it? I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be without you.” He captured both of her hands with his own, holding onto them tightly. His stare was earnest as he looked down into her eyes. “Joanna, I love you. Come with me. Stay with me. We can see the world together. I’ll keep you safe, I promise. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
This time, she kissed him, practically melting against his frame until he finally abandoned holding her hands in order to scoop her up and all but crush her against himself.
Hours later, as Virgil finally slumbered, their legs hopelessly tangled together amidst the sheets, Joanna found herself studying the shape of his face, his straight proud nose and the way his lips barely parted as he drew in deep, even breaths.
“I’ll keep you safe too,” she whispered, tenderly brushing a straying strand of pale golden hair away from his forehead and planting a kiss on his shoulder. “Always.”
They’d been so naïve.
They were both failures. She’d thought she could save him from anything with her love alone. It had been a stupid, childish notion. What had her love done to protect him from Dracula’s minions? Had it shielded him from being attacked by the werewolf, or from Dracula immolating him?
No, of course not.
She’d gone into the castle an overgrown child with dreams of good triumphing over evil simply by being good, with the belief that they would make it through this together on love alone. This place had changed all that. Love wasn’t a weapon or a shield, she realized. It was fuel. It was kindling, the thing that kept her fires burning. It kept her doggedly climbing the winding stairs of the narrow tower to Dracula’s chambers, even as her muscles ached in protest. Love put a rage in her so white-hot and fierce that she nearly felt as if she could have burned the vampire away to cinders with the force of her fury alone. Love was what kept her pushing, filled her with grim determination to succeed in spite of all the torments, the betrayals, the anguish.
She’d end this, or die trying.
Joanna reached the top of the stairs at last and saw that the door was being guarded by a familiar figure.
The succubus looked at her with one eye and one empty socket, and her expression contorted into a look of delighted malevolence. “Well, well. If it isn’t the little bride…” the words slowly seemed to die on her lips as she took a second look at Joanna, drinking in the sight of her dress covered in half-dried blood, at her disheveled hair and the seething fury she had no doubt was written all over her face. And when her stare fell on the whip in her hand Joanna was gratified to see the succubus actually pale.
“I’m glad it’s you,” Joanna said, her voice grating even to her own ears. “We’re not finished yet.”
There was real, raw fear on the demon’s face, but she quickly contorted that look into one of spite. “I’m going to rip you apart piece by piece, bitch.” She hissed, crouching slightly. Her nails grew, shifting into black claws that glittered like razors in the torchlight.
The blood pounded in Joanna’s veins and her grip tensed around Vampire Killer’s handle. For all her hates that she’d lovingly boxed up and prepared for this moment, she wasn’t a combatant. She was no Belmont, trained in the ways of warfare from childhood. “Please help me,” she mouthed so softly it was inaudible.
“What are you saying? Praying to God for mercy? Speak up! I don’t think he heard you!” the Succubus laughed, lunging toward her with claws outstretched to rake across her face.
There was no God in this place. God didn’t hear.
But someone did.
Before Joanna could even register what was happening, her right arm flew upward seemingly of its own volition. Faster than she would have thought possible given her aching muscles, her elbow bent, wrist flicked—and Vampire Killer struck the succubus right on the arm, knocking the attack aside and making her cry out in pain as she recoiled.
Sara, she thought, the breath catching in her chest. Joanna wasn’t a Belmont, wasn’t truly meant for the weapon. But Sara Trantoul hadn’t been a Belmont either, and she had loved one years ago. If things had been different, she would have been a mother.
The succubus clutched her arm to her chest, teeth bared in a hiss as she touched gently at the flesh on her arm. The lash had struck true, leaving a red welt on her skin. But more than that—it almost seemed blistered, as if the holy weapon had burned her. Eyes narrowing, she snarled. “Lucky hit. You’re dead!”
When the succubus attacked again, leaping into the air with a flap of her powerful wings and diving for her, the whip shot out once more. This time the succubus was prepared for the attack, though, and her left hand snatched the whip mid-swing. She howled in pain as it burned at her flesh, but the demon kept hold of the weapon even as she bore down onto Joanna, knocking her flat onto her back and forcing the air from her lungs.
Joanna struggled, trying to yank the whip away even as she gulped uselessly for air, but the succubus pinned her. “Now, what shall I do to you first?” she cooed, triumphant despite the pain she was in, despite the slow sizzle of her skin as the whip burned at her. “Ah, I know! What was the saying? An eye for an eye?” Her free hand raised, viciously sharp nails poised over Joanna’s eye.
Joanna’s heart thumped in her chest painfully. The demon clearly meant to draw this out, to torment her before taking her eye… her eye! Joanna’s own left hand was free, pushing feebly at the succubus’s shoulder in an effort to dislodge her, but the demon took no more notice of it than she would a fly. She only had one chance.
The succubus’s claws descended. Joanna’s hand lifted. She squeezed her eyes shut and twisted, feeling her thumb colliding with something soft, yielding, jelly-like… and she pushed. The succubus screamed, and Joanna felt searing pain along her forehead, over her scalp—but as she cautiously opened her eyes, she realized that both were whole.
The succubus was shrieking, crying like a banshee as she staggered away from Joanna, clutching both hands to her face “Master! Master, help me!” she wailed, her voice bouncing around the stairwell, her screams so loud Joanna was sure half the castle must have heard them. And yet no one came to her aid. Not Dracula. No one.
Pushing herself to her feet, Joanna stared at the blinded succubus. It was pity, not hatred—though she had that in abundance—that made her raise Vampire Killer. The whip snaked down with a terrible crack, and the wailing stopped.
Joanna touched gingerly at her forehead, wincing as her hand came away sticky with blood. Half her face was covered in it. The succubus had caught her forehead and hairline, had torn into her scalp… but while it was bleeding heavily, she knew it could have been much worse. Passing by the blackened husk that had once been the succubus, Joanna drew in a deep breath and stepped toward the door to Dracula’s chambers. Her hand settled on the knob, turned, and pushed.
The door swung open and with movements that weren’t wholly her own, Joanna raised Vampire Killer, ready to strike.
“Joanna!”
That voice… it couldn’t be.
Joanna’s glance slipped around the room, passing almost unseeing over the plush furniture, the beautiful paintings, the heavy drapes that covered the windows—until she finally found him, manacled at the wrists, chained to the wall in turn.
He’d been stripped to the waist, revealing the terrible severity of his hurts. All along his chest and abdomen the skin was a ruin of burnt red flesh, and even his face which hadn’t been burned quite so badly was still blistered and raw. His wrists were bleeding where he’d been tearing and struggling against the heavy manacles, and while blood only oozed from where the werewolf had bitten him, the flesh was mangled and torn. He was staring at her like he’d seen a ghost, like he couldn’t believe she was there, that she was alive. His breathing was ragged and there was a wild look in his good eye. “Joanna!” he exclaimed again, his voice rasping and thick with unshed tears.
She ran to him, nearly tripping over herself in her haste. He lunged forward in the same instant, as far as the chain binding him to the wall would allow, and they collided. He cursed from the pain of contact with his burnt flesh, but he clutched her to himself even as she tried to pull back. “No,”he growled fiercely, his callused hands touching her all over, her waist, her belly, her shoulders, her face—as if reassuring himself she was real. “It’s fine.”
“But you’re hurt—“ she protested, voice breaking.
“I don’t give a damn about that.” He said, covering her lips with his own to smother her half-voiced concerns. The kiss was sticky with her blood and salty with their tears, but nothing had ever felt so good. As they finally pulled back to catch their breath, they clung to each other like the sole survivors of a shipwreck, stranded together. They remained like that for a long time.
Joanna was the one who gathered herself first. “Virgil,” she said, willing her voice to be steady, “where’s Dracula?”
“I—I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “A demon came in here and told him something awhile ago, and they both left in a hurry. I don’t know where they went.”
“A demon! What did he look like?!” she demanded.
“Tall, with dark hair. Feathered wings. Why?”
The thought struck her, left her confused. Had the demon been sincere with her? Had he somehow lured Dracula away? Or was this only one more layer of deception, another trap they were about to blunder into? She shoved the tangle of thoughts away. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly. There was no time to think it over. Dracula wasn’t around, making this perhaps their last, best chance at escaping the castle. “How do I get you out of these chains? Where’s the key? I found Vampire Killer. Once I unlock you, we can fight our way out of here!”
But Virgil didn’t seem to share her sense of urgency. In fact, his expression grew somber. “Joanna…”
There was something in the way he said her name that set her on edge. Whatever he was going to say, she knew she wouldn’t like it. She knew she didn’t want to hear it. Hurriedly, she pulled away from him, crossing the room in search of a key. “Have you seen it? Maybe it’s over here somewhere?”
“Joanna.”
“Dracula may have it with him but in that case I’ll just have to find something to break the chain with…”
“Joanna!” his voice was sharp, making her flinch. Slowly, she turned to look at him, dreading what she was about to hear. His voice was softer when he spoke again, his expression bitter. “Joanna, I can’t… I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t!?” she wheeled on him fully, crossing the room to him once again. They’d been through hell for one another, and now he was saying… what? What was he saying?
His hands moved up to gently cup at her face. “Joanna, that werewolf bit me.” He said, so quietly she could barely hear him.
Realization hit her like a wave of nausea. “No.”
“Joanna—“
“No!” she shouted, her hysteria threatening to bubble over anew. She hadn’t thought of it. In the midst of everything else that had happened to them, she’d never even stopped to consider the repercussions of the bite.
“Joanna,” he said, voice harsh, his expression contorted miserably, “you have to kill me.”
The idea was so repugnant that she felt sick. “Virgil—Virgil, that’s insane. I can’t. I won’t!”
“There’s no cure, Joanna!” he finally exploded, his own voice raised to a shout. Seizing her shoulders, he shook her hard. “It’s not something that I’d just magically get better from! For the rest of my life, I’m going to lose control and turn into a monster!”
“You’re hurting me!” she gasped, twisting in his grasp.
He ceased shaking her immediately, looking guilty, but his fingers continued to dig painfully into her flesh. “I’d do more than that, Joanna. The first time I turned there’d be no telling what I would do. I’d lose my mind. What if I hurt you then? What if I killed you!? I can’t live with that.”
“And you want me to live with killing you?” she demanded furiously.
“It’s for the best! You have to live, Joanna. You and the baby. The Belmont name can’t die, and I’m… I’m not fit to carry it on anymore.” He said with a shuddering sigh. His grip loosened on her.
“That’s stupid,” She said so flatly it made him look up. “You’re being stupid. What, you—so you’re going to have the urge to run around and piss in the woods once a moon and that means you suddenly don’t deserve to hunt vampires? And besides, how do you expect me to get out of here by myself?”
Shaming him made him hesitate. She’d hated to do it, hated herself for it, but she’d had to startle him out of the mess he’d been emotionally stewing himself for probably as long as she’d been locked up. She knew what she had to do. It was just like it had been all those months ago. She barreled on, softening her tone. “Virgil, I’m not a warrior. Vampire Killer belongs in your hand. I got here so we could get out together. I can’t… I can’t do this alone. Please don’t ask me to.”
He looked taken aback by that, then ashamed. “I’m… I’m sorry, I—you’re right, of course. We can… anything else can wait until after we get out of here.”
“Good,” she breathed a sigh of relief. At least for the moment, that dark possibility was diverted. He’d bring it up again, she had no doubt, but maybe she could keep putting it off… “Now where’s the key?”
“Right here in my hot little hand.” Said a voice from the doorway.
Virgil immediately moved to nudge her behind himself, his manacled hands clumsily tugging the whip from her grasp. Joanna, however, recognized that acerbic voice. “You!” she gasped, staring at the incubus, feeling a momentary surge of relief at seeing him unharmed—and with a key in his hand—before remembering that she was furious with him, that he’d betrayed her.
“You know him?” Virgil asked doubtfully, having to turn his head so he could look at her with his good eye.
“He—“ she paused, unsure of where to go with her explanation. He’d helped her? Maybe. Lied to her? Almost certainly. “…We had a deal. He said he’d help us get out of here.”
“And here I am, happy to help. You don’t look so happy to see me though, madam. What’s wrong?” the demon asked, drawing a pace nearer.
“You lied,” she said, venturing the guess.
“Lied? No. Omitted certain truths… well, that’d be a fair assessment. But I meant it when I said I wanted to help you.” As if to prove his sincerity, he tossed the key into the air, arcing it toward her.
Joanna shuffle-stepped forward to catch it, then quickly set to work freeing Virgil from his bonds. “And what truths did you omit?”
“From you? Well, that I was going to tell the Master that I’d snared you,” he explained as if this was the most reasonable thing in the world. The manacles fell to the floor with a loud clatter and Virgil snarled, advancing on the demon, who quickly raised his hands. “Look, I’m sorry! I had to! He never would have believed me otherwise and I never would have gotten him away from here! I told him that I had you believing he was keeping Belmont in the garden, under Medusa’s watch, and that that would be the best place to capture you! Please, call him off!” he directed the last bit to Joanna more plaintively as he backed away from Virgil.
She settled a hand on Virgil’s arm, making him pause. The look he gave her was uncertain and almost pained somehow. “Joanna, don’t tell me you’re seriously going to trust him after he just admitted to keeping secrets from you.”
“Do we have a choice? And you... you can drop the act. I know you’re more powerful than you’re letting on.” She shot back at the demon.
He smiled ruefully. “Figured that out all by yourself, huh? I’d hoped that you wouldn’t notice with everything else going on, but it looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”
“So it is.” The deep voice cut through the air like a knife.
The demon’s eyes bulged as his right arm was simply torn away from his body as if by a great, unseen hand, blood spurting from the hole that had been his shoulder. Collapsing to the floor, writhing and thrashing helplessly, he screamed in utter agony, a shriek of pain and terror that went on and on until it seemed it would never end.
The severed arm fell to the floor with a dull thump, fingers curled grotesquely, and Joanna’s blood turned to ice Dracula materialized out of thin air, stepping over the body of his fallen servant.
“It is pretty smelly, isn’t it?” Joseph laughed as he carefully tipped the little stone bowl toward her so she could inspect the contents, a mixture of crushed herbs and powders. He’d ground them all together until they’d formed a thick, dark green paste that was so pungent it made Joanna’s twelve-year-old eyes sting.
“What’s it for?” she asked, hesitantly extending a hand and, when he didn’t stop her, probing a finger into the mixture.
“This is for Adelaide. Her baby is growing so fast that it’s making the skin on her belly hurt. This will help soothe that.” He explained patiently, smiling as she carefully wiped her finger off on the edge of the bowl.
Joanna watched him as he began transferring the thick salve to a small tin, not wasting a bit of it. “Are you going to help her when it’s time for her to have it?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t expect they’d need me to. The midwife will do that.”
“But what if something happens?”
Her father’s warm brown eyes flickered down to her and his hands stilled. Finally, sighing, he put the lid onto the tin and wiped his hands clean on a towel. Scooping her up with ease despite the fact that she was growing like a gangly weed, he carried her easily across the room and sat down, settling her on his knee. “Listen to me. The odds of anything being out of the ordinary are very slim. I’ve checked on her often. It’s… it’s a very different circumstance than your mother’s was. Adelaide is in very good health, and she has a family taking care of her.”
“Was my mother sick?”
He watched her for a moment, brows furrowed in uncertainty. “I’d wanted to wait until you were older, Joanna. To talk about this, I mean. I don’t want to make you sad.”
“I want to know.” She said stubbornly.
Joseph sighed again, looking older than his years. He gently tousled his fingers through her unruly mop of hair. “She was sick,” he explained softly, “and she didn’t… She didn’t have someone to take care of her.”
She digested that in silence for a moment. He’d told her before, briefly, that her birth father had left her mother, and she’d been trying to puzzle out the rest of the story. “Her parents?”
“When they found out that she was pregnant, they disowned her. Turned her out of their house.” He said quietly, in the low, soothing voice he used when delivering bad news to his patients.
“That’s so…” she trailed off, unable to find the right word.
“Cruel. It’s cruel, what they did,” he said quietly. “And all because the Church convinced them it was better to send their own child away in her time of need, rather than stay with her and take care of her. The Church called her a sinner, but the only sin there was how everyone close to her turned her away. If I had heard about it in time about it I would have let her stay here.”
“Where did she go?” she asked quietly.
The barrel-chested man sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “From my understanding, she drifted, mostly. Wandered from town to town begging. Trying to find work, food, a place to stay. She would have done anything to give you a good life, Joanna. Anything. I suppose that she must have been desperate when she came back here, about to have you. Maybe she thought her parents would realize their mistake and help her.”
The way he said it told her everything. “But they didn’t.”
“They turned her away again. Some good Samaritans took her in, but they hadn’t arranged for a midwife. There was no time. And she was so weak from all the travel and not having enough to eat and no shelter… They finally got word to me, but by the time I got there she was already in a bad way. I did what I could, but…”
“It’s okay,” she said quickly, seeing the pain in his expression. Her own eyes burned, and she quickly looped her arms around him in a hug. “I love you, papa.”
His arms, thick with muscle, encircled her protectively and he planted a little kiss on the top of her head. “I love you too. Come on, do you want to help get a basket ready so we can take that salve to Adelaide?” And not waiting for a reply, he scooped her up once more, making her squeal with glee as he swung her through the cabin and back toward the table where he worked on his poultices and remedies. He banished sadness in an instant, just as he banished sickness and pain from people who were suffering.
He’d been such a gifted healer.
And what was she?
Joanna stared almost uncomprehendingly at the body sprawled beneath her on the floor. The man’s back was a ruin, a pulpy mess of blood and meat and bone. Her right hand hurt, fingers cramped painfully. Slowly, they began to relax, and the heavy cleaver fell to the floor with a clatter. She was red from neck to knee, she realized, her wedding gown having soaked up the blood like a greedy sponge.
A murderer. That’s what she was.
Getting her feet under her and stumbling away from the servant’s unmoving body, Joanna retched, choked, and retched again. Clutching at the scullery wall for support with one hand, she felt a great wave of nausea roll through her, making her lurch forward as she was sick.
She’d killed him. A human being. She’d felt no pity or remorse when she’d attacked the succubus, but that had been different. She’d been a demon, and a malicious one at that. This man… he was no one. A servant, defenseless, unarmed…
But he’d been shouting, screaming for the guards. And despite how desperately she’d begged for him to be quiet, he only howled all the louder. His loyalty to Dracula wouldn’t let him be silent. She’d had to do it, she told herself as she gave another heave and the tears started.
A gentle hand rubbed circles at her back, and when she looked up she realized the demon was beside her, his expression sympathetic. “It’s alright,” he murmured, “but we need to get going.”
She knew that. There was no way of knowing if more guards had heard the screams, the fighting—the fighting! Glancing around, wild-eyed, her gaze felt on a pile of rubble, twisted stone limbs and a grotesque face… but no otherworldly life seemed to animate the gargoyle any longer.
“Here, come on…” As gently as if he was guiding a child, he tried to move her toward the hallway. Her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, and even as she tried to make herself follow him she felt disjointed. Still, he was patient with her, getting her all the way through the twisting maze of hallways to the narrow back stairwell before letting her slump down to sit on the steps. He hurried away, back the way they’d come from.
Joanna stared down at her trembling hands. They were bloody, and that brought on a fresh wave of nausea that threatened to make her sick all over again. She retched again but nothing came up. Her hands were so filthy. She couldn’t even wipe them on her dress. It was the same. Choking on a sob, she tried to get control of her breathing before she could start hyperventilating.
The incubus reappeared, bearing a few coarse kitchen towels. He’d wetted one of them with water. Sitting down beside her, he began washing at her face, washing away her tears, cleaning the bile from her lips, wiping at her cheeks where she was sure more blood had splattered. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “If there had been any other way, I would have dealt with him myself, but it was all I could do to keep the gargoyle under control.”
“I—I killed him.” Her voice was a rasp, hoarse and unpleasant. She still couldn’t wrap her brain around it. A defenseless human. This place was turning her into a monster… wasn’t it? Or maybe she’d always been capable of such things. Driving a knife into a woman’s eye and justifying it. Murdering a man by hacking him to death. It couldn’t have been quick. The spine and ribs would have protected him. It had been brutal and messy and painful… and she was responsible.
The demon paused in wiping at her arm to cup a hand against her jaw, giving her a little shake. When she met his gaze, his stare was earnest. “You had to! You hear me, you had to. He didn’t give you any choice.”
She wanted to believe him. She didn’t, but she wanted to because it would be so sweet to be able to absolve herself. “But—“
“He was calling for more guards. If he’d gotten away, they would have caught us already. You’re not just doing this for yourself, are you? You’ve got Belmont to think about… and more than that, the baby. If they catch you, they aren’t going to spare the child. You know that.”
Shuddering, Joanna slumped against him, letting him resume washing the blood from her skin as best he could. “I know. I know. I can’t—I won’t let them…”
Her father had told her that her own mother would have done anything to give her a good life. Would she have done the same? Would killing a man have been too much, the price too high? What would Joseph say if he could see her now? Was he watching her? Maybe he was watching her from heaven—him and Alan both. She couldn’t imagine her father approving of her measures. He’d been a gentle man, and he’d never harmed a soul. Thinking of Alan made her feel a little better. He would have done whatever he had to. And Virgil... Virgil had fought his way through a veritable hell for this.
Making herself sit up, Joanna took a deep breath, then another. This wasn’t the time to go falling apart. She couldn’t stop fighting. There would be plenty of time for guilt after they got out of the castle. For the moment, though, she had to be strong.
The demon finished mopping at her with the towels, then tossed them aside. They burst into a little puff of flame as they hit the floor, and the fire consumed them. In moment, nothing but a few ashes remained.
“That’s one way to hide the evidence. But won’t they know anyway? The—the bodies…”
“I took steps to mislead them. Tracked some blood toward a different chamber, one that leads elsewhere. Hopefully it’ll help. Can you walk?” he asked, grasping her elbows and guiding her to her feet.
She still didn’t feel particularly well, and glancing down at herself brought on another bout of nausea as she looked at her thoroughly-bloodied dress. It clung stickily to her body, and she hurriedly clamped her eyes shut as she forced the words out. “I’m fine.”
“We’re almost to the vault. You’re doing great.” Setting off down the stairs as they circled their way deeper and deeper, the demon paused now and again to make sure she was keeping up. Joanna found herself staring at his back, studying the great feathered wings sprouting from his shoulderblades. Studying him. He was nothing at all like what she’d expected, really. He had teased her, to be sure, but never unkindly. When it came down to it he’d never been anything less than respectful toward her. She was a means to an end for him, she knew. He needed her to free him from the magic that bound him to the castle and to Dracula. But surely he didn’t have to go the extra mile in taking care of her until then—cleaning her up, fussing over her as if they were old friends, practically babying her—so why?
Something tugged at her thoughts unpleasantly, and it took a few moments of turning the abstract ideas and memories this way and that until she realized what it was. The gargoyle he’d slain… no, not just slain. He had destroyed it somehow, blasted it apart and torn out whatever bit of twisted little soul had been been riding the stone hulk. The incubus was powerful in ways she didn’t understand and couldn’t fathom.
What would happen if she released him? How much more powerful would he become?
Freeing him would be dangerous. She’d known that at the start. But what if it was worse than she’d anticipated? Still, did she even have a choice? And what if he really was trying to be kind? Maybe his nature couldn’t be determined simply by looking at the being he’d been fated to be created as. Then again, it was entirely possible that he was simply attempting to manipulate her into trusting him.
Worrying about it made her head hurt. She didn’t know anything. She couldn’t know anything, not at this point where everything she had to draw conclusions from was purely speculative. Maybe she could talk to Virgil when they found him… reach some kind of decision together.
At last, the incubus came to a half, standing before a great iron and brass door with no handle and a thousand eyes carved into its surface, each studded with a gemstone. Sapphires and emeralds drank in the torchlight while rubies winked and flashed. Diamond, topaz… eyes of all colours, wide and staring as if judging the pair. A shiver crawled unpleasantly up Joanna’s spine. She felt naked before all those eyes.
Glancing at her, the demon frowned seriously. “This is it. Usually there are guards posted here, but it seems that with the uproar of everyone looking for you, it’s all hands on deck elsewhere. That’s lucky for us, but…”
“But?” she prompted.
“There’s no telling what will happen when I open the door. It’s entirely possible the place is warded, or that some kind of alarm will go off. We need to get in and get out quickly, alright?” he asked, pacing before her like a caged tiger.
Joanna nodded. “In and out. We find the book, get your name, and run for it.”
He seemed only partially appeased by that, nodding. “Good. But more than that. It’s imperative that you know where you’re going and how to get there the second we get out.”
“Wait, what about you?” the thought of having to fight her way through the castle by herself was a dreadful one. She’d never make it alone.
“No one knows we’re working together. I’ll take a more direct route back into the main part of the castle and say I spotted you somewhere else. I’ll lead them all on a wild goose chase while you take the back way to where they’re holding Belmont. Then after I’ve thrown the bulk of them off the trail, I’ll sneak away and meet back up with you.”
Her trepidation must have been written all over her face, because he placed a hand at her jaw once again, cupping at it. His eyes were intense, so dark they seemed black, and they reflected the torchlight. “I’m not going to abandon you,” he said quietly. “Do you trust me?”
Did she have any choice? He’d gone out of his way to help her and protect her. And she could see the logical sense in his plan. “Yes.” She managed to get the single syllable out.
“Good. Now, when you leave the vault, you’ll have to go back up these stairs. When you reach the hallway, instead of going right back toward the kitchens, you’ll take the first left you can. After that, follow the hallway and count the number of doors you pass. Take the fourth door on the left. That’s the kennel. You’ll have to go the length of the kennel to the door on the other side. Walk, don’t run, whatever you do. Just pretend like you belong there and you won’t spook any of the creatures in the Master’s menagerie. If you run you could set the whole bunch of them off. And whatever you see in there, don’t stop. Just keep walking until you get to the end.” His voice grew harsh and he gave her a little shake as if to try and impress upon her the seriousness of his words, that his repeated warnings were not arbitrary.
“Alright,” she replied quickly. “Up the stairs, take a left, then take the fourth door on the left. Walk through the kennel.”
“Walk,” he confirmed. “After you leave the kennel, follow the hall and take the first door on the right. You’ll be back in the chamber with the grand staircase and the marble statues. That’s where things will get dangerous, because you’ll be in plain view for a time, but I will have gone ahead and I’ll get the place emptied out. Run. Just run from the door and up the stairs. Don’t stop for anyone. At the top of the stairs, take a left. Go straight down the hall until you reach more stairs. Then you just keep going up. It’ll be a long trip, but don’t stop. Keep going until you reach the top of the tower. That’s where the Master will be keeping your Belmont.”
“Will he—Dracula, I mean—be there too?”
The flicker of hope that had started to bloom within her heart at the thought of finally reuniting with Virgil went out when the demon frowned. “For a certainty. It’s the outer chamber of his own suites.”
Joanna let out a shuddering sigh and nodded, resigned. Hopefully the incubus would have caught up to her by then. Lifting her head and squaring her jaw, she met his stare. “Alright. Let’s do this, then.” She said, willing herself to sound braver than she felt.
The demon turned away and pressed his hand to the largest eye in the door, a great ruby for its pupil. A shudder worked its way through his body as the air around them seemed to grow thicker, somehow. The door swung open without a sound, and Joanna’s breath caught in her chest.
The vault was massive, far large than she would have ever anticipated, and piled high with all manner of things, from treasures to weapons to art objects to random odd little bits of what looked like personal mementos. A tarnished hand mirror. An old chest-of-drawers. A portrait of a beautiful, sad-looking woman.
“There’s the book.” He said, directing her attention to a pedestal on which a heavy tome rested, its cover as black as a starless sky.
“How will I know which name is yours?” she asked in a whisper. Something about this place made her inclined to want to keep her voice down.
He crossed the room to the pedestal in long strides, raising his right index finger to his lips. Joanna was startled as he bit down into the pad of his finger, drawing blood, and even more startled when he ran it down the front of the book’s cover, smearing the pristine, featureless cover with his blood. Turning away, he glanced to her as he started heading for the door. “I’m going to go now. Don’t forget the directions.” He said tersely.
He was actually nervous, she realized, though he tried to hide that fact for her sake. He was almost out the door when she found her voice. “Hey…”
He turned, looking at her curiously.
“Be careful, okay? Take care of yourself—my friend.” Was he her friend? He was certainly the closest thing she had to a friend here. And with a sudden pang, Joanna understood that she was worried about him, just like she worried about Virgil and the baby and herself.
He looked taken aback by her words, brows lofting in a look of uncertainty. A slow smile finally bloomed on his lips and, nodding, he turned and jogged out the door.
Joanna was left alone in the vault, suddenly feeling very small amidst all the things crowded into the huge room. Resolved not to waste time, though, she made her way to the book, staring at the bloodied surface for a moment. The cover seemed to drink in the stuff, and in moments it was as neat and unmarred as it had been before, no sign of the liquid that had stained it. When she hesitantly reached for the cover it snapped open and the pages began to flutter by, loud in the stillness. Page by page flew past as if swept aside by a hurried, unseen hand, until finally, near the back of the tome, it fell still.
The page was yellowed with age, so fragile-looking it seemed as if it might fall to dust at the lightest touch. It was blank, but for a single word, a name, written in spindly writing. Joanna stared at the name for a moment, absorbing it in silence, then gently closed the book.
That was what she’d needed. It was time to leave the vault.
And yet, even as she made her way toward the door, she lingered. Something was strange. It was a sensation she couldn’t quite wrap her brain around, but it was as if someone was calling to her, but from far away, so far their voice only barely registered at all. Turning to stare around the room, her gaze slid over a rack of magnificent armor, an ancient spear that looked as if its head was still stained with blood, a woman’s handkerchief, a whip—
A whip!
Joanna broke into a run, her feet carrying her to the glass case the whip resided in, coiled into neat loops.
“Vampire Killer,” she breathed, her hands settling upon the lid of the case. It was locked, but that wasn’t about to stop her. If she could put the weapon back in Virgil’s hand…
Tearing a length of fabric from her already ripped skirt, Joanna wound it around her right hand and smashed her fist against the glass as hard as she could. It shattered, sending sharp fragments spilling into the interior of the case and onto the whip. She swept the shards aside as best she could and tossed the strip of cloth aside, then reached in for the weapon.
When her fingers curled around the handle, a feeling of warmth bloomed under her fingertips. A pins-and-needles sensation shot up her arm, but it wasn’t unpleasant. And it was something more than that, too. It was as if the weapon knew her. Recognized her. There was comfort in it. Strength.
Virgil had told her the story of the whip and how the Belmont clan had come to be hunters of the night. He’d told her about Leon Belmont, the first of the vampire slayers, how his own betrothed had been kidnapped and used as bait to draw him into another vampire’s twisted game…
…how that same vampire had given his “gift” to the woman, and how she’d sacrificed her life and her very soul to give his weapon—this weapon—the power to destroy the children of the night.
“Sara?” she whispered as the name floated back to her amidst the recollections. There was no answer, of course, but all the same she started back toward the door with the whip in hand. It didn’t feel quite right in her grip, as if it was made for someone else and it knew it, but there was almost a sense of… something she didn’t quite have the words for. Tolerance? Acceptance?
She’d lingered too long, she knew, but the weapon would be invaluable in getting them out of here. In Virgil’s hands, Vampire Killer could strike down any enemy, even Dracula himself.
The door to the vault swung shut as she stepped back out into the narrow hall and ran to the winding staircase. Glittered, jeweled eyes watched her, making her skin prickle uncomfortably as she hurried away, clutching the prized weapon to herself. She was tired, so very tired, but adrenaline kept her going, spurred her onwards and upwards. Even so, she was breathing hard by the time she reached the top of the stairs and she wanted nothing more than to stop and rest. That was out of the question, though. She’d lost time down there in the vault. She couldn’t keep up a run, but she could make herself jog. And so, alternating jogging with walking when her lungs began to burn too fiercely, Joanna took the first left turn she could and followed the length of the hall.
“Fourth door on the left,” she reminded herself breathlessly. “Fourth door on the left…” One door passed. Two… three… four! Coming to a stop in front of it and catching her breath for a moment, Joanna settled her hand on the knob and turned it, then stepped inside.
The kennels were dimly lit and smelled vile. Unwashed flesh, rotten meat… the scent made her stomach roil in protest, and Joanna had to grit her teeth. She wanted to hurry her way to the door at the other end of the long, narrow room, but she remembered the demon’s instructions and forced herself to walk.
Cage after cage lined the walls of the kennel, and as much as Joanna tried to keep her eyes glued to the door that was her goal, she couldn’t help but glance nervously from side to side. The monsters she’d seen in the great hall had been terrible. The creatures kept here were something else entirely. Things that might have once been men stared at her with dull eyes, bodies hunched and twisted nearly beyond recognition as if by a sculptor squeezing at clay. A dog with no skin skulked in listless circles in its pen. A huge, shapeless lump of flesh and pustules quivered in the center of another cage, trembling like it was afflicted with nightmares. Each one was worse than the last. A grinning little man clutched at the bars of his cage and watched her with eyes like ink, his dirty fingernails clicking against the metal. Something like a cross between a rat and a worm raised its snout to snuffle at the air as she passed.
And yet the incubus had been right. Even the monsters that turned their attention to her didn’t raise any kind of cry. She was shaking like a leaf by the time she got to the end of the kennel, but she was unharmed and there were no guards running to stop her. As she reached for the doorknob, though, something caught her eye, a glimmer of pale gold like sunlight. Joanna turned her head.
He was stripped naked, his body covered in marks of cruelty—bruises, lashes, abrasions, and the burns that had caught his chest and marred half of the face she loved so much. Laying in the hay in the last cell like a broken thing, his golden hair all matted.
“—Virgil?” her voice caught, choked.
Slowly, he raised his head, and she knew in an instant that it wasn’t him. It wasn’t him at all. Something in the way he—no, it—looked at her was all wrong. The body was the same, but the stare, the obscene way it licked its lips despite the wash of blood that ran down its face as it stared at her… “Joanna,” it croaked with a voice like sandpaper rasping on stone, “Come here. Come here, Joanna. Let me out. Let me touch you. I can’t do anything to you with these bars in the way, Joanna.”
A trick! A monster, some sick game on Dracula’s part…
The thought drew her up short, even as she fumbled almost blindly for the door and threw it open, hurrying through even as the thing in the cage began to hoot more loudly, calling her name. He’d known! Somehow he had known she would come that way, that she would be there to see that… that thing. He had done it on purpose, to torment her, to hurt her, to break her. And as she slumped to the floor, biting back sobs, she was afraid it had worked.
Clutching Vampire Killer to her chest, feeling the warmth of the whip just over her heart, she shuddered. The image of Virgil’s body, mutilated, was burned into her. Closing her eyes didn’t banish it. Trying to focus on the tapestry on the wall in front of her couldn’t help. It was back there, banging against the metal bars of its cage and screaming her name over and over again.
“Joanna! JOANNA! Joannajoannajoanna!”
Her hands raised to cover her ears as she lurched to her feet, but they couldn’t block out that terrible voice. She forced herself into motion, stumbling down the hall and trying to force herself to think.
How had Dracula known? How could he possibly have known which way she would go, unless…
Unless…
The incubus.
He’d told him. He’d run back to his master and told him that the stupid human believed in him, would follow him right back into Dracula’s very chambers. The thought shouldn’t have hurt, considering she’d known from the start what the demon was, but it was like a dull stab in her chest anyway. What could she do? What could she possibly do? Dracula knew where she was and where she was going. Would he send his guards to capture her after all? Perhaps he would simply content himself with tormenting her with more monsters like the one in the kennels, its voice growing ragged and distant as she opened the door to the hall with the massive staircase and the marble statues flanking either side of it.
The hall was, as the demon had promised, empty. Still, that was likely only a trick, another layer to the deception. They’d be waiting for her somewhere. As she crossed the hall and put her foot on the first step, she paused. How could she know that Virgil was actually in Dracula’s chambers? What if they’d put him somewhere else entirely, knowing she was on her way to him?
Joanna glanced down at the whip in her hand. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, half to herself and half to the weapon. “Dracula is waiting.” Dracula. He’d probably be waiting for her in the chamber, pale as snow with eyes like ice. Virgil wouldn’t be there, she thought, steeling herself. Only Dracula would be.
It was all such a neatly-laid plan. The demon had told her to walk through the kennels so she’d get a good long look at all the freaks, so she would be sure to find the horrible little present Dracula had left there for her. He’d told her to run through this hall and up the stairs… why? To tire her out? So she’d have no strength to put up a fight by the time she made it to the tower? And he’d told her not to linger in the vault…
He hadn’t wanted her to find Vampire Killer.
That sudden thought took her by surprise. Perhaps the key to salvation was in her hand.
Joanna glanced around, realizing that she’d come to the top of the grand staircase. She didn’t even remember climbing it. She wouldn’t be able to get out of the castle, even if she could find her way down to the first floor of the great hall. And she couldn’t… wouldn’t leave without Virgil. And there was only one man who would know for sure where Virgil was. Her empty hand settled over her belly for a moment, stroking gently at the subtle swell. “I’m sorry, little one,” she said. “There’s only one way to go.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Joanna turned left and ventured down the hall, toward the stairs leading to the tower.
Here’s the chapter for day 3 of Castlevania week! Please let me know how y’all are liking the story because I’m gonna feel real ding dong diddly dickish if people are like “this is terrible doc.”
The moment her foot hit the floor of the hallway, Joanna knew instinctively that something was different. The same place that had been still and almost peaceful as the succubus had led her down it only a short time ago had a menacing air she couldn’t place. Still, she couldn’t stop and she certainly couldn’t go back. Back meant returning to the balcony, returning to the chaos of the grand hall, returning to Dracula, returning to Virgil—
No, no, no no no no no, her mind raged at her. Don’t think about that. That’s for later. Think about surviving. Her gaze flew around the eerily silent hall as she rushed down its length, her footsteps and her shuddering breaths seeming unnaturally loud in the stillness. The suits of armor lining the walls seemed to stare at her as she passed from the shadows of their visors. There was one she’d seen earlier that she was looking for, though…
Sword and shield, flail, maul. Each suit had a weapon. Greatsword, spear, axe—spear! Skidding to a stop, Joanna rushed back to the empty suit of armor with its gauntlet locked around the spear. She could almost hear Virgil’s gentle voice in her ear as she began trying to wrest the weapon away.
“The spear is a good weapon for those without much training. It’s a simple weapon, and what most farmers use when they’re called to war. You need a great deal of training to master swordplay. The spear isn’t as refined but it doesn’t have to be. It’s brutally effective in its simplicity,” He’d told her as they had squared off in the woods with a pair of long sticks to use as practice weapons. “In battle, the easiest way to protect yourself is to keep your body away from your enemy. The spear is good because it allows you to kill your foe from farther away.”
“That seems pretty basic.” She’d replied with a laugh.
“It is, but for now you’re just learning the basics. If you’re going to travel with me, you need to know how to defend yourself in case there’s ever a time when I can’t protect you.”
She had smiled at those words. “Very well. Teach me.”
The weapon came free at last. It was heavy in her hands, heavier than she’d anticipated, but as she backed away and curled her fingers about the haft, all the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. As one, every helmet turned as if to stare at her. She backed away a pace toward the center of the hall. The suits of armor stepped forward and began to advance, a weapon in every hand save for the armor she’d stolen the spear from. It was closest, and raised its hands as if to wrap its fingers around her throat.
Joanna bolted. All the remembrance of her training had boiled down to a single point in that moment of fear. Keep your body away from your enemy. How could she kill something that wasn’t alive? The spear wasn’t magical, it wasn’t a holy weapon like Vampire Killer. It was a stick with a blade on the end. No, there was nothing to do but run, and run she did. She was nearly to the end of the hall, fortunately, but two suits of enchanted armor stood between her and the door.
One of the armors blocking her way swung at her with a heavy axe, and Joanna yelped in fear as she stumbled back, jabbing at its breastplate ineffectually with her spear. While it didn’t do any damage, it did rock the attacker backward slightly, and Joanna began to try to circle her way around it. When it tried to get in close enough to swing again, she stabbed at it again, forcing it back. Sudden elation burned within her. It couldn’t reach her as long as she kept her guard up. If she kept the long spear between herself and the attacker, it couldn’t touch her. Virgil had been right.
Finally circling past the axe-wielding armor, she took off down the hall once more, toward the door where the final armor stood as a silent sentry, blocking her path. It was waiting for her, spiked mace in hand. With a hysterical strength born of desperation, Joanna swung back and thrust forward, the spear battering the suit square in the torso and sending it sprawling backward. A laugh, half-giddy and half-sobbing, bubbled up from within her as she darted around the armor as it flailed like a turtle on its back, struggling to rise.
She hit the door and fumbled with the knob before finally throwing it open, all but spilling out into the next room. There were the statues she’d remembered, and the staircase leading up… but did she really want to go back that wayp? There were other doors on this level. And where was she going? She wouldn’t be able to escape by the main entrance, even if she could find the stairs down and make it to the great hall. It would surely be guarded too heavily for her to escape. And she couldn’t leave Virgil, not while there was a chance he was alive. He hadn’t abandoned her. She could never abandon him. Perhaps Dracula hadn’t killed him.
But what if he had?
She couldn’t stay here, that much was certain. Maybe she could find a smaller room to hide out in and figure out her plan, but this space was far too open. She heard voices behind a door at the opposite end of the room and darted away from it, circling behind one of the tall statues and backing away toward another door. She was forced to freeze in place behind one of the sculptures—a woman bearing a vase—as she realized she wouldn’t make it to her ideal hiding space in time. All she could do was pray she was out of sight.
The door banged open.
“—don’t know why the Master hasn’t killed him yet.” A man’s deep, smooth voice intoned.
“Because,” a woman’s voice, clear and cool, but with a faint hiss replied, “he’s got some kind of plan. It’s not for us to question. His orders were clear, however. Subdue her and bring her to his chambers immediately.”
Joanna risked a peek from behind the statue’s base where she was hiding. The Medusa, still veiled, was talking to a winged demon who looked rather like he could have been a brother to the succubus, his body strong and gracefully-sculpted, his skin smooth and clear. Night-black hair curled against his head.
His glance passed over the sculptures in boredom, and she quickly ducked back out of sight. “Yes, of course,” he yawned. “Still, you have to admire her. She has a certain… spirit.”
“I don’t have to do anything, least of all admire some annoying human,” she replied in exasperation. “This entire incident has been nothing but trouble. Belmont killed many including the Master’s hound before being subdued. Losses and losses tonight, and for what? Giving the rest of us a bit of a show? I’ll judge whether or not this was all worth it after their heads roll.”
“He’ll get a new dog soon enough. And do you really care that much? I was under the impression that as long as you got to maintain your precious garden, you were happy. It’s not as if you do anything else around here,” he countered with a laugh.
“You dare speak to me like that?! Perhaps I ought to turn you to stone and mount you on a pedestal for the crows to shit on, since you’re so eager to mock!”
“Please, I’m a man of many tastes but waste isn’t one of them,” Still chuckling, the incubus’s footfalls drifted toward the stairs. “I do feel sorry for that girl if she blunders into your garden tonight, with the mood you’re in.”
The Medusa hissed. After a moment, Joanna heard the heavy slither of scales on stone, the opening of a door, and then the loud crash of it being slammed shut.
Joanna let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and peeked out from behind the statue once more. The room was empty once more. It had been a close call, too close. Cautiously she edged out toward the door she’d been sneaking for. Opening it just a crack, she peeked inside. The room was dark, too dark to see into, but she didn’t hear anything and no one gave an alarm.
Pushing the door open a little wider, Joanna caught a glimpse of a long table lined with silverware and dishes before she hurriedly ducked inside and shut the door after herself, immersing herself in the darkness. As her eyes slowly began to adjust to the inkiness of the dining room, Joanna began to cautiously fumble her way forward, spear in hand. Her empty hand found the back of a chair just after she stubbed her toe and she began following the curves of the chair backs as she crept slowly down the line.
Virgil was still alive. That was the most important thing, and it helped her to at least form her plan of what she meant to do. She couldn’t leave him, and now that she knew he was still alive she had to save him. Maybe she could find wherever they were keeping him and free him. They could escape together, she was sure, even despite his injuries. Somehow they could make it out. She just had to find him… and not get herself captured or killed in the process.
The knob turned.
Smothering an intake of breath, Joanna quickly ducked down to hide behind the table, praying that whatever was about to enter the room couldn’t see in the dark. She clutched at her spear tightly. Maybe she could surprise it, kill it quickly.
The door opened and closed a moment later. Whatever was in the room with her, it clearly didn’t seem to have any difficulties in seeing, though it did—fortunately for her—travel the length of the other side of the table so the furniture was between her and it. Fire suddenly blazed in the hearth, throwing flickering illumination around the room.
“Don’t be afraid,” the voice said, and in an instant Joanna realized it was the incubus. She sprang to her feet, spear in hand, but the sight of him with his hands drawn up in a gesture of defenselessness caught her by surprise. “Please, I just want to talk.”
Joanna frowned at that. She didn’t want to lower her weapon, but she could at least hear him out. He wasn’t attacking her, after all. “Talk, then.”
Breathing out in a sigh of what seemed to be relief, he lowered his hands to his sides. She noted rather gratefully that while his female counterpart seemed to have shunned clothes, he at least was wearing a pair of tight-fitting trousers, though he hadn’t bothered with a shirt. “I want to help you.”
“Help me?” she snorted. “Do you think I was born last Wednesday? I know what your orders are.”
“Then you should also know I don’t have to follow them. I’m free-willed, madam. Besides, I’ve already tried to help you—I told you about Medusa and the garden she keeps. I could have told her where you were hiding at any time but I didn’t.” He said with a nervous chuckle, lifting his shoulder in a shrug.
He had mentioned it, though with a casual framing… so as not to arouse the Medusa’s suspicions? And he had indirectly warned her away from following the woman, though she wouldn’t have done that in any case. Slowly, she lowered her spear. “Alright. Why?”
“Does it matter?” he asked with the faintest hint of a wry smile. “I know where they’re keeping Belmont and I know my way around this castle. I can help you get him and get out. Are you really in the position to shop around for friends right now?”
“No, it doesn’t matter,” she agreed, her voice grating to her own ears, “but tell me anyway.”
He placed a hand to his chest, over his heart. “I am a prisoner to your wishes, madam. Very well. I want to help you because I think it will be interesting.”
“Interesting.” She repeated incredulously.
“Interesting,” he confirmed with a sly smile. “I didn’t want to tell you because I know it sounds ridiculous, but here we are. You see, believe it or not it’s actually quite dull here most of the time! We sit around in our castle, wrapped in unending night. The Master makes his plans and devours the souls of those unfortunate enough to be slain by your dear Belmont’s family. Sometimes a fool blunders into the woods outside the castle and someone manages to have a bit of fun tormenting them, but it’s really all very boring. The most interesting thing that happens is when some vampire hunter shows up and we get to have a good time trying to kill one another. Those are the only breaks in monotony and they only happen every few years, madam. Now the Master wants to kill the last member of the best bunch of vampire hunters—and as such, the best source of amusement we can ever hope for—so… what? So we can enjoy an eternity of no resistance and no proper fun? That’s no good.”
Joanna stared at the incubus, utterly befuddled. Was he serious? Was this all a game to him? “Dracula would destroy you if he caught you.”
“Oh yes,” the demon agreed. “That just ups the ante and makes it more exciting.”
God in Heaven, she thought to herself, he means it. She’d written him off at a glance as being the same as the succubus she’d dealt with earlier—blindly following, practically worshipping the vampire. “You don’t serve Dracula?”
“I do, when it suits me. Ah,” he said as if realizing something. With a chuckle, he pushed his hand through his tousled curls, “you think I’m like my dear ‘sister.’”
Those words sent a chill through her. “Can you read minds?” she asked warily.
He laughed again, softly. “No, madam. It was just obvious. I know how she’s tormented you. Truthfully, we’re as different as the sun and moon, she and I. She was a human once. I am as I have always been. I have counted more years than there are stars in the sky, sweet lady, and each has been as monotonous and tiresome as the last. Things have so little luster in my eyes now. Imagine eternity if you can. Imagine even the things you used to love becoming so dull and tedious that you grow to resent them. Sex bores me. Tempting and corrupting mortals bores me. Talking to the same bunch of tiresome freaks in this castle every night bores me.”
It did sound terrible when he put it like that. It was an idea she’d never thought about, as mortality was something she’d never questioned. Why consider an alternative when the cycle of life and death was something she’d simply grown up accepting? She was at a crossroads with this demon, and she didn’t know what to do. He certainly could help her, but she couldn’t trust him blindly. “What do you want in return for your help?” she asked slowly. Better to try and get some indication of what he expected as a reward.
“Release,” he whispered, lips parted in a sensual purr. When he saw her expression contort, however, he burst out laughing. “Not like that, naughty girl. I’ve had pregnant women, you know. The sex was fine and the taboo was a bit thrilling for a time, but lonely, neglected wives are all the same. No, I mean I want to be freed from this place. I am bound here, which is why I haven’t simply taken off to try and find something to shine up my dull existence already.”
She reddened in embarrassment, scowling at him. “And how do I free you from your bindings?”
“There is a book—a book with my name, my true name in it. The Master used that name to bind me, and only that name will free me. We will find that book, you will say my name and release me, and I’ll be free to go where I please.”
“Why can’t you just tell me your name now?” she asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
He sighed, giving a helpless shrug. “He took it from me. When he bound me, I forgot it. My name, my identity, everything. My entire sense of self, robbed in an instant. I’ve racked my brain trying to remember it, but it’s… it’s hard to describe. It’s in there. I know it. But I can’t reach it.”
Joanna didn’t like the sound of that. Freeing a demon? It seemed like it was working against everything that the Belmonts fought for, even if his did strike her as a sad existence. And yet, what choice did she have? Perhaps she could trick him if he proved duplicitous. “Alright. We’ll find Virgil, then find the book.”
“Book first,” he countered firmly, shaking his head. “Your lover will be under far heavier guard than the book will. It’ll be a fight the second we try to get him, and we’d never make it to the book and then to freedom.”
“Fine,” she agreed peevishly, seeing the sense in that. “We find the book and then find Virgil. But I’m not freeing you until you get us safely out of the castle. Fair?”
He smiled at that. “That seems quite fair. Don’t worry, sweet lady. We’ll all be free soon enough.” And with that, the demon stuck out his hand as if to shake on it, the table still between them.
It was too late to look back now. This was her only choice, her only hope in saving Virgil and getting them all out alive. Drawing in a deep breath, Joanna thrust her own hand out and took his, shaking. There was no fire, no ominous rumbling, no crazed laughter from the demon. His grip was firm, confident, but he was gentle with her, and no less than respectful when he withdrew his hand to let it fall back to his side.
“Excellent. Let’s go then, hm? The castle’s a big place and we’ve a lot of ground to cover.” Turning his back to her, the incubus set off toward the door.
Joanna followed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you know where the book is? And—what should I call you in the meantime?”
“The book will be in the vault along with any number of other items the Master considered valuable enough to lock up. As for your second question, call me whatever you like. It means very little to me.” He uttered quietly, then fell silent to listen at the door leading back out into the hall. Head cocked intently, he finally breathed out in a sigh. “No good. I hear guards outside.”
Joanna strained to hear beyond the door as well. She thought that she could hear something on the other side—the sound of bone grinding against bone, ruined joints. She retreated a pace, and the demon glanced at her. “So what do we do?” she asked in a whisper.
He paused, a little furrow forming on his brow. “We’ll… we’ll take the dumbwaiter.” As he spoke, his expression brightened.
“What’s that?” she asked, frowning.
“Here! I’ll show you.” Eagerly, he took her by the hand and led her down the length of the dining room once again, to a little wooden door set into the wall. She was so startled by how abruptly he’d touched her that she nearly flinched, but she caught herself. She had to trust him. He didn’t seem to notice her trepidation and opened the panel. There was a box inside, large enough that a person could fit inside if they curled up. She could hear the quiet clinking of chains.
“What—what is this for?”
Still smiling, pleased that he’d thought of the idea, he let go of her to gesture toward the floor. “It goes down to the kitchens. It’s for transporting food and dishes back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room. We’ll take it down, go through the kitchens and scullery, then take the back hall. From there it’s down the stairs to the vault. It’s not as direct, but the kitchens won’t be heavily guarded. There are only servants there, too weak to harm you.”
“But what if they call for help?” she asked anxiously, casting a glance back toward the door. She could hear voices on the other side.
He frowned. “That is a good point. Alright, I’ll go first and deal with them. I’ll distract them or send them off. I’ll send the dumbwaiter back up to you when it’s all clear, and you join me then.”
It wasn’t much of a plan, but if the alternative was trying to fight through a group of armed guards… “What if they start checking rooms while I’m still waiting? What do I do if they come in here?” she hissed.
“Hide,” He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clambering into the narrow box, he fidgeted and twisted around until he’d managed to get his wings tucked inside. Looking out at her, the demon glanced to her spear. “You’ll have to leave that, I’m afraid. It’ll never fit in here. Hide it if you can. Don’t leave a trail for them to follow.”
Joanna saw the sense in that and nodded, even if she was loathe to part with the weapon and the modicum of comfort it offered. “Please hurry, alright?”
“I will.” Sticking his hand out of the dumbwaiter for a moment, he felt around on the side of the panel outside it. Finding a small button she hadn’t noticed before, he pushed it, then quickly snatched his hand back inside as the box gave a terrible shudder and creaked into motion. The sound of chains and the loud clunking of gears fitting together drowned out whatever it was that he called softly up to her as he vanished into the darkness.
Joanna looked at the spear, then around the room. It wasn’t as if there was an abundance of places to hide things—particularly a six-foot weapon. Making her way to the table, Joanna ducked down to carefully ease the spear under it. Rather than settling it on the floor, she tucked it to rest along the seats of the chairs scooted under the table, where it would hopefully be out of sight. As for a suitable hiding place for herself… well, there really wasn’t any, not with the fire still burning in the hearth. She’d be plainly visible under the table with all that illumination spilling right onto her, and there weren’t really any other pieces of furniture in the room to duck behind.
She was in the middle of staring at the door and praying that no one entered the room when a creaking from the dumbwaiter shaft told her that it was on its way back up. Joanna hurriedly climbed inside, catching her skirt on something for a moment and tearing it. Cursing under her breath, she tried to gather the fabric up and out of the way. Satisfied, she found the button and pressed it. The narrow box swayed in a way that made her feel unpleasantly paranoid about falling to her death as it began to move. The dining room and the light therein vanished, and Joanna felt her breathing quicken as she plunged into darkness.
It was a claustrophobic, tight space and she couldn’t see anything. The only sensation she was aware of was the slow downward movement as the dumbwaiter descended. Her heart fluttered against her ribs, and she could feel the air in the shaft quickly grow stuffy. This was never designed to transport a living, breathing person.
Her neck was cramped from ducking down by the time she reached the bottom. Logically, she knew that it was only a short ride, but it had felt like an eternity. It came to a halt, but the oppressive darkness still smothered her. Cautiously, she felt forward with her hands until they came into contact with the wooden surface of the door. She pushed on it, but it wouldn’t budge.
A sudden thought took her, making her chest feel tight with fear. Had the demon abandoned her? Tricked her? Lured her down here to suffocate? Joanna pushed harder at the door to no avail. Already the air in the shaft felt hot, stale. Throwing her weight against the door did nothing but award her with a sore shoulder for her trouble.
All at once, the door’s latch released and it swung open, making her breathe a sigh of relief. The demon offered a hand to help her out of the dumbwaiter. “Sorry about that. We’re clear now.”
Accepting the offered hand and clambering rather gracelessly out of the narrow box, she let out a shaky laugh. “I was starting to get worried.”
He smiled at that, the expression by turns contrite and impish. “I had to shut the door so the workers wouldn’t get suspicious. Nobody noticed me come in that way so I acted like I’d been there for awhile and sent them all away.”
“Oh,” she said, glancing around. The kitchen wasn’t quite as pleasant smelling as kitchens usually were. There was the smell of baking bread and the rich scent of roasting onions and broths, true, but there was something else to it as well—a subtle undercurrent of blood and meat, as if perhaps they did their butchering in the same spot. “Can we get out of here then?”
“Not hungry?” he teased, gesturing for her to follow him as he set off through the low-ceilinged room.
The heat from the ovens was almost oppressive, and Joanna quickly found herself perspiring, forehead damp with sweat. Food sat out unattended on the counters and tables, as if the servants there had been in the process of preparing them and abandoned the task in a hurry. Spying a heavy cleaver still stuck in a block, she pulled it free. “Not really,” she replied, wrinkling her nose. Still, it made her feel better to have the cleaver in hand, even if it wasn’t a proper weapon.
“Again with the knives? You did enough damage with that little cheese knife, you know.”
“I don’t suppose I was lucky enough to have killed her.” She said sourly, thinking of the succubus and how she’d taken such delight in seeing Virgil in pain.
He laughed. “I’m afraid not, but she’s certainly not going to be pretty anymore. You’ve been bad for her looks. The scratches you gave her, the whipping she got, now the whole… eye thing… She’s going to have a hard time seducing anyone with that face anymore.”
As pleased as she was that she’d at least harmed the succubus (even if she hadn’t been able to kill the hateful creature) it made Joanna’s skin crawl that he seemed so amused by it all. “You don’t seem to like her much.”
“What’s there to like?” he asked incredulously. “She was an insipid girl who ran away from home to chase a man with no interest in her. She sold her soul for power and beauty in an effort to make herself more appealing to a man who didn’t, and never will, want her. She’s a fool.”
“Dracula doesn’t have any interest in her?”
He scoffed. “Of course not. He’s only ever wanted one woman. Elisabetha. His wife.”
“I didn’t know there was a lady of the castle.” She said quietly.
“There isn’t. She died long ago—shh.” He hushed her abruptly, pushing her back against the wall of the darkened scullery.
“—told us to leave, can you imagine? All the work undone. As if he was the boss of us. Well, we went, of course, but I couldn’t fathom why he ordered us out in the first place, and the more I thought about it the more I didn’t like it.” A man’s voice, thin and reedy, reached their ears, rapidly growing louder as he approached.
“We shall see.” The reply was curt, deep, and grating—like stone grinding on stone. It was a rumbling voice, one that seemed to reverberate through her being and left her skin prickling with gooseflesh.
“This is your work too, remember that.” The demon whispered to her and stepped forward, just as a nervous, twitching little twig of a man rounded the corner with a huge shape, a monstrosity of rock. Its visage was grotesque, as if sculpted to look human by someone with only the vaguest understanding of what a human face should look like. Warped and twisted, its mouth impossibly wide and eyes sunken deep into its face, it radiated malevolence as it stared down at the demon.
“Why did you tell the servants to leave?” The gargoyle asked, slowly shifting to settle on its stone haunches, bringing it down closer to eye level with her newfound ally.
The incubus put on an exasperated look, rolling his eyes. “Why does anyone do anything here? Orders.” He drawled as if bored.
“Whose orders?” The stone gargantuan asked, implacable.
“Do you have rocks for brains, too? The Master’s.”
“Why?”
“Do you think he actually tells me why he wants things done? Or do you just think I’m stupid enough to ask him? At a guess, I’d have to assume it’s because there’s some stab-happy human running around the castle and he doesn’t want his servants being killed.” He said with a lazy shrug.
“Don’t know anything about that,” the twitchy little man said, rubbing at his nose. “But we were on orders, we were. Lots to do.”
The gargoyle seemed to reach some conclusion, for he simply began to try and shove past the demon. “Get out of the way.”
Joanna’s breath caught in her chest. It was too late. There was nowhere to go. The gargoyle’s stare fell on her, and she shrank back against the wall.
“Liar!” it roared, swinging to look back at the demon and stretching out a great stone hand to try and grab him. “You traitorous—“
In an instant, the gargoyle was send hurtling away from the demon, flung by some force she couldn’t see. It crashed against a wall and hit the floor. The servant turned to run for it.
“This is your work too, remember that.” The demon’s previous words to her came back in a rush, and she knew what she had to do. Joanna flew into motion, running after the man.
“Help! The prisoner is—“ He only got four words out before Joanna caught him, burying her cleaver in his back. Then his yelling turned to a shriek. He pitched forward onto the stone floor.
“Shut him up!” the demon hissed.
It was ghastly, how much bright red blood spurted up out of the man as she wrenched the cleaver back. So much blood… Joanna glanced upward, back toward the demon as if to seek his help, but he wasn’t paying attention to her anymore, instead looking back at the gargoyle as it struggled upright. She couldn’t breathe. It was terrible, all that blood—and the man was screaming, howling… The room seemed to spin crazily.
Horrible, horrible…
She was gibbering, she knew, pleading with the man to be quiet, trying to apologize in the same breath, sobbing, but none of the words seemed to come out right. Or maybe she just couldn’t even understand herself. It was all too much.
Here’s chapter 2 for my Castlevania story, Castlevania: Fugue of Melancholy. I had a blast writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy it as much as I liked writing it!
For an AO3 formatted chapter, please go here. Looking for chapter one? It’s here. Please let me know what you think!
The door banged open and footsteps thudded loudly on the floor. “Joanna!”
She was awake in an instant, sitting up in her bed and hurriedly reaching for her robe. Drawing the thin fabric around herself to layer over her nightgown, she hurried toward the bedroom door, emerging into the dim light of the cabin’s main room. “Virgil, what is it? What—“ The words died on her lips. There, barely given light by the embers in the fireplace, stood Virgil, stooped and trying to support his father’s weight. The older man’s eyes were closed, his expression a grimace of pain. The younger man’s eyes were bright and anxious. The smell of blood clung to them both.
Joanna could feel herself shaking as she ran to the door, shutting and locking it after them. “What happened?” she finally asked, helping to get Alan moved back to the bedroom and into her recently-vacated bed. She pulled the blankets out of the way as Virgil removed the older vampire hunter’s boots.
“There was a vampire at the mill,” Virgil said, his voice shaking. Numbly, as if looking for something to do, he walked to the bedroom’s smaller fireplace and threw a fresh log on, stirring the flames back into life. “He was strong, brazen. Didn’t even try to hide himself. It was as if he knew we were coming. Father fought with him, killed him, but…”
“Help me.” With trembling hands and Virgil’s assistance, Joanna gently eased Alan’s heavy coat off. It had been dark blue but now it was almost black from the blood that had soaked into it. His armor, a mixture of leather and chain, had been rent across the belly as if by terrible claws, and even the well-crafted chain mesh hadn’t been enough to withstand the attack. Carefully, she peeled away those ruined layers as well, exposing his torn shirt and the body beneath that.
Alan groaned softly as she cut away the shirt. His belly, taut with muscle despite his age, had been torn open from near his navel all the way along his side—four great, rending gashes that wept blood freely. It was a miracle that he’d lived even that long. The abandoned mill was several miles away, and it must have taken all of Virgil’s strength to get his father to her before he bled out.
It’s too late already, her practiced eye told her. He’s lost too much blood. But she had to try. She could stitch up his wounds. Maybe he could make it…
“Bring me fresh towels and a basin of clean water.” She said quickly, turning away to begin gathering up her herbs and her sewing kit.
Virgil nodded and rushed from the room. “Is he going to live?” he called, voice tense and afraid.
“Just hurry up,” she replied as a means of dodging the question. “What did this? The vampire?”
“No,” he said hoarsely as he returned, balancing a heavy bowl filled with water atop several of her clean towels. “It was some kind of beast, a werewolf, I think… But it was bigger than any werewolf I’d ever seen before. It got Father and then dropped to all fours and ran off. I could have chased it, but I never would have caught it in time… not before…”
He was staring down at his father, at Alan’s almost unmoving chest. Joanna reached out and took the basin and towels away before gently squeezing his hands drawing his glance to her. “You did the right thing. I’m going to do everything I can. But I need you to stay close, alright? He needs you.”
Numbly, he went to the chair beside the bed and sat. “Please do whatever you can for him.” He whispered after a long, silent moment, his eyes wet. As if ashamed of himself at crying in front of her, he blinked hard and looked away.
Joanna worked throughout the night, meticulously stitching up Alan’s wounds. She ground herbs, covering the scent of blood with the pungent, fresh smells of plants. She bound the wound with a poultice and a spell in a clean sheet she’d torn into strips. She breathed life into him at one point when she lost his heartbeat, and brought him back from the cusp of death. She prayed, holding one of Alan’s hands while Virgil held the other, and eventually their two empty hands found each other, clutching tightly, taking and offering support in equal measure.
But near sunrise, Alan Belmont’s eyes slowly flickered open. “Virgil,” he whispered, his voice thin. One look at the man told Joanna everything she needed to know. It had all been for naught. He’d lost too much blood. He was dying. It was a miracle he’d awakened at all. “Listen to me…”
Gently, Joanna disengaged her fingers from Alan’s and scooped up the basin and some of the bloodied cloths, ducking out of the room in silence on the pretense of cleaning up. Neither Belmont even seemed to notice. That was for the best. Really, she just wanted to let them be alone before… before….
Death was something she’d experienced before. She was a healer, as her father had been before her. They’d lived well outside of their village, but the people had all loved her father for his skills and they knew and respected her too. For as long as she could remember, she’d treated people with all kinds of ailments. And sometimes, they simply couldn’t be saved. She’d seen people die of sickness, of infections, of injuries obtained in accidents.
She’d huddled on the front step of the little cabin, sobbing helplessly after her own father died.
She was no stranger to death, and even so this loss hurt. She hadn’t known Alan Belmont, but her father had. Hell, he’d raised her on the tales of the last time Alan had passed through the area, putting down the damned. Father had helped Alan, as she had tried to—supplying the vampire hunter with food, remedies, a place to sleep—and he’d told her with pride that Alan had called him every bit as much a hero as he was.
But unlike her father, she was a failure. She wasn’t a miracle worker. Alan was dying because she wasn’t able to save him.
Joanna was cleaning her hands as best she could, scrubbing hard as she tried to wash the memory of the blood from her skin, when Virgil emerged from the bedroom. “Is he…?” she asked softly, glancing up.
He stared at the floor for a moment, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Not—not yet. He asked to speak to you.”
Quickly, she slipped past him and into the room. The scent of blood and crushed herbs hit her hard, and as she crossed the room to the bed Alan’s eyes fluttered open.
“Joanna,” he said with difficulty, the muscles in his neck and jaw working hard. He struggled for a moment, weak as a kitten, to sit up before slumping back down onto the pillows. Instead, he held out a hand to her. She took it, feeling the cold digits squeezing at her own. “Tell me… how did Joseph die?”
The question pained her, but she summoned up her strength to speak. “My father, he… it was close to two years ago, now. He was up on the roof trying to fix a hole, and he… he lost his footing, I suppose. I heard a shout and then… I was in the garden but I came running, and when I got around to the front of the house where he was, he was already… he’d broken his neck.”
Alan was silent for a long time, save for his quiet, rattling breaths. He stared unseeing up at the ceiling, then let out a bitter sigh. “He asked to come with me, all those years ago. I denied him. I told him that he wasn’t prepared for what he was asking for, that… that where I was going, the things I did… no place to bring a baby. Stupid of me. You both would have been fine but… I was arrogant… young. Thought I knew everything.” Breathing hard, Alan had to stop to rest, his eyelids fluttering.
“You surely did travel to dangerous places though,” she said quietly, trying to soothe him, to ease what she quickly realized was a sense of guilt.
He let out a quiet sound, something between a laugh and a thin huff of air. “Would’ve been fine. I started bringing Virgil with me early. Taught him how to hold a knife before he even knew how to walk…” His lips trembled with a smile at the memory, and his gaze flickered toward her. “Take care of him. Help him.”
“Help him? I don’t—“
His hand tightened around hers, harder than she would have thought possible given his flagging strength. The man clung to life as ferociously as he held onto her, as if nothing would close his eyes until he’d satisfied himself with his arrangements. Even so, his voice was soft, weakened from pain and exhaustion. “I taught him everything I knew, but he’s still young. You are too, I know, but… you know loss. Please…”
“I’ll do everything I can for him, Alan. My home is his, until he’s ready to travel again,” she said in a voice steadier than she felt. “I promise.”
That made him relax slightly, and he breathed a sigh of relief, chest fluting as delicately as a baby bird’s. “The Belmont name… Our family’s legacy… He will need time but he will grow into it. The Belmont mantle is a heavy one and none of us have been truly ready to shoulder it when it has been passed to us, but we are strong. He is strong.”
“He is strong,” she agreed, pausing to gently tip a cup of water to his lips and allow him to drink. “He is… he’s a fine man.”
He watched her for a long, silent moment before smiling at something and looking away, back up toward the ceiling. “Will you bury me beside Joseph?”
“Yes of course, if that’s what you wish. I’m… I’m sure that would make him happy.” She whispered, feeling her eyes burning. When she closed them she could see her father, plain as day, sitting in front of the fire and reading Alan’s letters. He’d saved every one of them.
“It would make me happy, too. I’m ready to go see him again… I just need to say goodbye to my son, first. And Vampire Killer must pass to him.” A trembling hand gently ran along the whip where it remained coiled at his belt, as tenderly as a lover.
“I’ll send him back in.” she murmured, rising.
Alan held her hand, not yet releasing her. His callused thumb rasped gently over her knuckles. “You’re a good woman. Thank you for everything. Goodbye, Joanna.”
Her tears blurred his form, the bed, the walls. “Goodbye, Alan.”
When he released her, she went back out of the bedroom and touched Virgil gently on the shoulder. “He’s ready.”
The look of anguish written in every inch of Virgil’s face almost broke her heart, and he pulled away from her to vanish into the darkened bedroom once again…
She woke to the scent of roses.
“Your eyes open at last,” a man’s deep baritone reached her ears, and Joanna sat up with a start. “I was starting to wonder if I would have to wake you with a kiss so you didn’t just sleep through your betrothed coming to rescue you.”
She was in a bed, a luxurious bed the likes of which she’d never seen, the kind which she’d assumed only royalty slumbered on. A canopied bed, the mahogany posters carved with stunningly detailed likenesses of angels and paradise. The floor was marble, the walls stone and covered with lush tapestries and immaculately-detailed paintings.
He was seated on a chair in the corner, pale as if he’d been sculpted of snow… and beautiful, a man in his prime but with eyes so old that they chilled her. Lifting a hand to gently brush his fingers along his neatly-trimmed goatee, he studied her without expression. His hair was an artful, dark tumble going to grey that spilled onto his shoulders and he wore beautifully-tailored robe and a medallion as gold as the sun, save for the great red stone set in its center like a great unblinking eye. “What is your name?”
The question, even disinterested as it sounded, was like a thought crawling intrusively into her. He wasn’t just asking her name—It was as if he’d asked everything about who she was without words, like he could peer into her and see her very soul. “Joanna Albrecht.” The words felt as if they’d been squeezed out of her lungs, and one of her hands crept downward to touch at her belly whilst the other eased upward to feel at her neck.
“Never fear,” he said quietly. “You have not been harmed. Aside from the manner with which my servant handled you in attempting to bring you here, which I assure you she is being punished for.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked warily, drawing her knees up to her chest and starting to scoot toward the edge of the bed.
“Don’t bother trying to run. You wouldn’t last a minute in this castle… though I do admire how direct you are. Skipping the mincing, skipping the pleading, trying to get right to the heart of the situation. I find it refreshing, and I shall be blunt as well. I don’t want anything from you. You are simply a means to an end, a useful tool for ensuring that the young Belmont will come here. His family has been a thorn in my side, an inconvenience for this past century, and while they have unwittingly aided me all this time, their usefulness has reached its limit.”
“I don’t understand,” Joanna said blankly. She knew him from the tales Virgil had told her, from the moment he’d opened his mouth. “His family has been hunting and killing your kind for years. How has that helped you?”
The lord of the castle regarded her with shrewd eyes. “Each time one of your betrothed’s ancestors would kill one of the children of the night, I would grow stronger. The souls of the slain would flow into me, granting me power beyond your comprehension. And now he is the last Belmont left—save for the whelp in your belly, of course. This is a convenient time to rid myself of the family’s interference. He will come here to save you because I’ve no doubt he is as tiresome and predictable as his great grandfather was.”
“And then?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“I just told you I appreciated your direct nature. There is no need to ask questions you already know the answer to,” Rising, Mathias Cronqvist swept toward the door. “I will have one of my servants escort you to the great hall when your beloved arrives. There are refreshments on the table and you may wash if you wish.” Not waiting for an answer, he departed, shutting the door behind him.
Her heart pounding, Joanna remained still until she’d counted off a minute in her head. In an instant, she bolted to the door and tried the knob. It didn’t so much as budge, despite the fact that there wasn’t even a keyhole to use to lock the door. Cursing, she wheeled around to try the large, elegant window on the opposite wall. There was no way to open it, and the panes were far too small—even if she shattered one, she’d never be able to squeeze through.
“Alright… alright, focus…” she whispered to herself, trying to remain calm despite the fact that her heart felt as if it was a bird fluttering against her ribcage in a panic. To soothe her frayed nerves, she went to the washbasin and picked up the small, elegant hand mirror on the table beside it, using it to check her neck. It wasn’t until she visually reassured herself that she hadn’t been bitten that a hushed sob of relief escaped her and she sank to the floor. A bruise was flowering on her cheek where the succubus had struck her, but that didn’t matter. For the moment, she was safe, untainted. The flowing skirts of her wedding dress puddling around her, she knelt and held a hand to her belly, trying not to weep, until she managed to calm herself.
Her hysteria bottled up, she prowled the room in search of something that she could use to help herself. An inspection of the spread of food that had been set out for her revealed bread, pears, apples, a small wheel of cheese, and wine. She didn’t trust Mathias, of course, but she also figured that if and when he meant to kill her, he would be direct. Poisoning didn’t seem like his style. And she was hungry. Seating herself at the table, Joanna set into the meal while brooding over her options.
She couldn’t get out of the room she was trapped in. Mathias had seen to that much. If she meant to stage an escape, it would have to be after they took her out of her little cell. That was riskier, and meant that she’d be under escort. Perhaps she could wait until her captors’ attentions were elsewhere? Mathias had said that she’d be removed from the room when Virgil made it to the castle, so if there was a fight going on, perhaps...
Joanna peered down at the cheese knife in her hand, its tip hovering over the cheese wheel as she was about to cut into it. Instead, she brought the little knife closer to eye level, inspecting it. It was ornate with an ivory handle, but as she ran her thumb along the edge of the blade and drew a fat drop of blood, she realized it was sharp enough. Not exactly a lethal weapon as the blade was woefully short, but it would do in a pinch. Maybe.
Crossing the room to the bed, Joanna whisked a pillowcase off of one of the pillows and cut into the fabric with her knife, then began tearing strips. Pushing her loose left sleeve up to the elbow, she carefully wound the strips around her arm and tied them snugly in place. Easing the little knife between the inside of her wrist and the cloth to hide it securely, Joanna quickly smoothed her sleeve down once again. As long as no one looked too closely, it would serve.
She tucked the now naked pillow under the others and swept the tattered pillowcase under the bed to hide the evidence, then returned to her chair to wait, breathing in the scent of roses from the beautiful red blossoms in their vase on the table. Without a clock it was impossible to say what time it was, though a glance out the window told her it was the dead of night. She felt oddly calm even as she heard footsteps advancing toward her door.
When the door swung open, she’d been expecting to see Mathias again. Instead, the succubus stood in the doorway, watching her with a sneer of distaste written all over her lovely face. “The Master says it’s time.”
Standing, Joanna moved toward the door. “You’re going to die with Mathias and all the rest of his monsters when Virgil gets here,” she replied quietly, her tone cool.
“Keep telling yourself that. I can’t wait to see what the Master does to you when he slaughters your little sweetheart.” The succubus turned and stepped out into the hall, grabbing hold of Joanna’s right upper arm and steering her along.
The hall was as richly-decorated as her room had been, with plush red rugs on the floor and ornate tapestries hanging on the walls. Torches sputtered brightly every few feet, and their sconces were backed with burnished mirrors to help reflect and throw the light around even more. But what caught her attention even more than all those lovely decorations were the ugly red welts she’d seen on the succubus’s back when she’d turned. Her whole back had been flayed open, and her long moon-bright hair couldn’t hide all of it.
“That looks painful,” she observed quietly, shifting tactics. Perhaps this creature could be won over with some compassion. “I’m a healer, you know. If I had the right herbs I could make you a salve for your back.”
The succubus sneered in a look that was almost unattractive, her teeth clenched. “Save your pity. It’s your fault that I had to be punished in the first place. If you’d just stayed quiet and drank your tea and gone to sleep that way, I wouldn’t have had to hit you. Keep walking.”
“Wouldn’t you have fought too if you were in my position?”
“I would have. But I would have won. You’re weak. All you humans are weak. It’s disgusting. Your men are weak-willed, easily controlled, and you women are all reliant on your men. You were going to call out to him when you realized you were in trouble, weren’t you? And even now, here you are. Helpless. All you can do is wait for him to try to save you.” She scoffed derisively, leading Joanna toward a grand staircase and heading down it.
Dropping that line of attack for the moment since it clearly wasn’t getting her anywhere, Joanna tried a change in topics. “So, was putting me in a wedding dress your idea?”
“Yes,” she said silkily, looking inordinately pleased with herself. “I thought it would make for a much more poignant image. Your betrothed rushing into the castle to save you, seeing you all draped in white and crying out to him. It’ll be even better when he dies and you run to his side to wait to die with him.”
“Was the story you told me about the dress true?”
“Oh, yes. That was all true.” The succubus led her through a gallery lined with statues, down another hall where suits of armor acted as silent sentries.
“It was your dress.” Joanna ventured a guess.
The succubus’s voice was soft. “A long, long time ago.”
“What was your name?”
All at once, she seemed to close herself up like a fan, and she gave Joanna a rough shove forward. “Enough talk out of you, or I’ll beg the Master for permission to rip out your tongue.”
A pair of large, heavy doors loomed at the end of the hall, and Joanna could hear noises coming from the other side. Hoots and hisses, laughter, jeering. Apprehension began to prickle at her as she was led to the doors and they swung soundlessly open.
The hall was enormous, an immensity of a room. She and the succubus stood on an upper level, a sort of wraparound balcony that circled three walls of the room and gave a clear view of the grand floor below. The floor of the room was marble once more, with thick pillars that supported the upper section. Tall windows decorated with rich drapes lined the walls, and a huge, roaring fire burned in the large hearth at the opposite end of the room from what she realized must have been the main door to the castle.
The main floor of the hall was teeming with watchers. Skeletons, armored as if to go on military parade, lined the walls in silence. Demons conversed with one another in soft voices. A group of small, misshapen men with overlarge heads and hunchbacks hooted and howled to one another in a language she didn’t understand. A woman nearly twelve feet tall with the lower body of a great serpent and a veil hiding her face lingered by the fire, her hair stirring beneath the shroud as if it was alive. Bats fluttered here and there throughout the hall, roosting now and again among the rafters or on the many grand chandeliers dangling from the ceiling on heavy chains. A few dogs with bloodied muzzles skulked here and there. And there were more monstrosities than she even had the words to begin to describe. It was a carnival of darkness, a collection of vile and terrible aberrations that made Joanna’s skin crawl.
And there on the upper level, lording over it all, was the master of the castle. Mathias Cronqvist sat in a high-backed, elegant chair—a throne, really- carved of ebony and padded with rich crimson cushions. His eyes, red and glittering like stars, fell upon her and her jailer, and he beckoned them over with a lift of his fingers. “How do you like my castle?” he asked by way of greeting, though his tone suggested he didn’t really care what her answer was. His glance fell away back toward the door and he exhaled in a sigh, fingers curling against the arms of his throne.
“You have quite the menagerie down there.” She observed quietly, her voice almost lost amidst the din.
“Don’t I? Each and every one of them is so eager to be the one to bring me Belmont’s head. Would you care to place a bet on who it will be? A wise guess might be Medusa, but if I was a betting man I would put my money on the one who disposed of the last Belmont.” He said lazily, gesturing.
A hulking figure emerged from the shadows on the other side of the tall throne, a man-beast standing on its hind legs, covered in fur with the head of a great, yellow-eyed wolf. Its teeth were vicious, bared in a low growl, and its claws were like great curved knives.
Suddenly, Joanna felt a stab of real, raw fear for Virgil. He had only just taken up his family’s weapon and legacy. How could he succeed where his father, a seasoned warrior, had failed?
From outside the castle came the sounds of battle, the pounding of feet, scuffling, struggling, the sudden, loud crack of a whip. Then, silence.
The watchers in the hall fell silent too.
Then, as the massive doors slowly creaked open, the hissing began. Hissing, jeering, snarls—all aimed at the lone figure who stormed into the hall, whip in hand.
Virgil Belmont had always struck her with his gentleness. His smiles had always been roguish and teasing, but never unkind. When he’d wept after his father had died, he had shown a vulnerability to her that left her heart aching for him. The man below was a stranger to her, his expression contorted into seething fury.
“Mathias!” he roared, and his voice boomed through the hall. “You die tonight, once and for all!”
The lord of the castle rose, sweeping toward the edge of the balcony and resting his hands lightly on the railing. “Is that it?” he asked softly. “No asking me what I’ve done with your beloved, no vague, unoriginal threats about what you’ll do if I’ve harmed her?”
“I have eyes,” Virgil practically spat. “I can see you’ve hurt her.”
Laughter rang upward from the back of the hall, but Mathias silenced it with a lift of his fingers. “Not my doing, specifically—the work of an… overzealous servant. But still, it happened under my responsibility. I assure you, I’ve chastised my servant. But I will tell you this much: I have not yet given her my gift.”
“And you never will. Come down here and die, Mathias!”
“He does have a good voice for heroics, doesn’t he?” he asked her with a wry sort of amusement before raising his voice. “I’ve taken a new name, Belmont. I will thank you to use it. Mathias Cronqvist died long ago. I am Dracula.”
Dracula. A name to put fear in the heart of every man who heard it. Dragon. Devil. The voices from the gallery howled in triumph, shrieking, exulting, hurling curses and insults toward Virgil as he stepped forward with eyes like flint.
The skeletons lining the walls lurched into motion, lumbering toward him to the tune of clanking armor and the grinding of bones. When the first swung at Virgil with a heavy sword, he ducked away. The whip snaked outward, cracking loudly. The first strike took the skeleton square in the breastplate, so viciously it knocked it off balance, and the second cracked it right in the grinning skull. Joanna had always wondered how a whip was used as a weapon. Surely a sword or a spear would have been better, she thought, a deadlier weapon to use to fight the creatures of the night. But now, as she saw the whip strike true and watched hellfire seem to boil out of the skeleton’s form before it turned to ash, she understood.
Magic. Something strange, something she didn’t understand, a magic far beyond the comprehension that she knew of spells for good fortune or healing illnesses or delivering children… but something deadly to Mathias’s—no, Dracula’s—children.
Three of the skeletons hurled themselves at Virgil, and he rolled nimbly aside. The whip arced outward in three great lashes, and the skeletons fell to dust.
As one, the pack of foul little hunchbacks leapt into the air, springing toward Virgil, shrieking with murderous glee. Vampire Killer was too fast to even follow, a great black serpent that cut the air and knocked several of the vile monsters right out of their jumps only to send them sprawling to the floor, shrieking in pain. Virgil didn’t stop moving, even for an instant. He stepped out of the way almost contemptuously as one of the little men tried to come at him with a vicious, serrated blade. The whip curled around the hunchback’s neck and with a quick jerk he was brought facedown onto the marble floor, shattering half his teeth.
And Virgil was advancing, she realized with a sudden hope blooming inside her. Despite the monsters throwing themselves at the vampire hunter, he hadn’t been as much as scratched, and his expression was terrible, a grim, determined mask of hatred. Joanna drifted closer to the edge of the balcony, clutching at the railing. “Come on,” she whispered, her encouragement lost amidst the sea of insults and threats. “You can do this. You’re strong.”
The succubus seemed not to even notice, her attention directed toward the fight as Virgil cracked one of the little men in the face with his gauntlet. Dracula, however, looked at her and she felt a chill creeping down her spine. “He’s done well for himself so far, but he is only one man, and human flesh is weak. He will tire, and one or another of my servants will end him.”
A loud, collective breath went up from the watchers as a huge shape leapt from the balcony and landed before Virgil, fur bristling. The werewolf. Even in Virgil’s fury, she saw the spark of recognition, the glimmer of instinctive fear behind his eyes. Still, he didn’t back down, and Joanna felt as if her heart might break with love for him.
The werewolf advanced, eyes blazing like pale yellow fires, slaver dripping from its maw. The whip shot out, left, right, high, high, low—a dizzying flurry. And yet the same strikes that had felled all the enemies before with ease seemed like a mere annoyance to the great, hulking beast. It leapt forward, surging toward Virgil with claws extended, and Virgil was forced to dive away, landing badly and scrabbling to his feet in a hurry. It wheeled about and lunged after him with the inevitability of an avalanche, snarling.
Virgil swung the whip back to aim a strike at the beast, and in an instant it was on him, leaping atop him. There was a flurry of motion, scuffling, and then a scream that turned all the blood in her veins to ice. A great cheer went up from the crowd as the werewolf bit into the tender, vulnerable bit of skin between Virgil’s neck and shoulder. It had been trying to go for the throat, she realized with a sick feeling, but he’d twisted aside just in time. Bright red blood gushed from the wound, and Joanna clutched at the railing.
“Virgil!” she screamed, and it was as if her voice spurred him into action. In one moment, the vampire hunter was pinned, howling in agony as those awful teeth tore into his skin. In the next moment, the werewolf let out a yelp that was something between the sound of a dog being kicked and a man crying out. It backed off of Virgil, growling with a bloodied maw and Virgil’s dagger shoved to the hilt into its side, between the ribs. Expression one of agony, Virgil got to his feet and the two combatants faced off once more.
“Look at the pain on that pretty face,” the succubus sighed, draping herself over the balcony and cooing. “Exquisite.”
The werewolf moved first this time, either scenting blood and wanting to make an end of it or simply growing impatient. This time, however, Virgil was ready. He ducked to the side, under the sweeping arc of those vicious claws, and broke into a run. Boots crashing against the floor, he ran to one of the pillars and used it to leap off from, springing into the air. The whip shot out, not at the werewolf but at one of the massive chandeliers, curling round the great outer band. Hauling himself up, teeth gritted in pain, Virgil exhaled sharply and looked down from his vantage point as he bought himself a moment’s respite. How gaze found her own and Joanna felt her eyes stinging with tears at the sight of the smile he tried to give her, attempting to reassure her despite his own pain.
Beneath him, the werewolf howled in fury that its prey had escaped. It prowled beneath the chandelier for a moment before hunching down. Joanna could see the muscles rippling beneath its fur, and Virgil cursed as he hurriedly clambered from the chandelier proper up the chain that it hung from.
With one mighty leap, the werewolf sprang all the way into the air, clawed hands curling around the heavy outer band of the chandelier where Virgil had been only seconds before. The chandelier jerked at the sudden addition of all that extra weight, listing crazily to the side and sending several candles falling to the floor. His face nearly bloodless in fear, Virgil clung to the chain, looking from the beast that was trying to clamber up after him to the rest of the room in search of some means of escape. The monster’s back legs kicked furiously, but it was unable to find purchase to rest its paws on and it struggled wildly to try and haul itself upward. The chain creaked and groaned in protest, and Joanna could see the iron fittings that mounted and anchored it to the ceiling beginning to pull free from the wooden beams that supported it.
She sought his glance and when he chanced to look her way, she jerked her chin upward. Virgil followed her glance upward and she could see the change come over him in an instant. There was fear there, true, but it was contained. He was calculating; she could see it his furrowed brows and the stubborn set of his jaw. Hurling his body against the chain, Virgil began to rock at the chandelier. The werewolf’s far more substantial bulk and frenzied struggling did the rest.
With a terrible crack as the iron tore free from the wood, the whole thing went down.
The whip lashed out, caught the railing of the balcony, and Virgil held on tight as he began making his way up.
The werewolf wasn’t so fortunate. The beast tried to let go and get away but it was too late, and it let out a howl of agony as it hit the floor with the chandelier crashing atop it. Joanna reflexively flinched away from looking, but when she did she saw that the body on the floor was a man’s, naked and broken.
Virgil had made it up onto the balcony, and he had murder in his eyes as he advanced. “No more games. Give me Joanna and—“
She wasn’t even aware of Dracula moving, but she felt a sudden whisper of air as it rushed to vacate the space he’d just occupied beside her. In the next instant he was behind Virgil.
“No--!” she cried as she saw fire reflected in the vampire’s red eyes.
Virgil turned, but it was too late. The blast of flame took him full in the chest and he screamed like nothing human, falling to the ground and rolling in a desperate attempt to buffet the fire out. The smell of burning cloth and flesh assaulted Joanna’s senses and she covered her mouth with a hand as she tried not to gag.
With a wave of Dracula’s hand, the fire went out. Virgil lay on the floor barely moving, moaning in agony. The fire had ruined his chest and neck, leaving his skin blistered and burnt, his armor and coat practically melted to his skin in places where it simply hadn’t burned away. When he lifted his face to seek her, she saw that the flames had even licked at his jaw and cheek. One blue-grey eye, hazy with pain, found her. The other eye was milky, cloudy white and didn’t see anything.
“Run,” he whispered, his voice a rasp from the smoke and from his screams. His fingers caught at the hem of Dracula’s dark robes, and he hung on with grim determination in an effort to keep the vampire from pursuing her.
If it had just been for her, she wouldn’t have. She would have sat down beside him and held him and waited to die. But it wasn’t just for her. A child, their child, needed her. Choking down a sob, she turned to run.
The succubus flitted before her to block her way, her smile by turns sweet and malevolent. “Where are you going? What happened to all that tough talk? I thought you said—“
The knife drew from its hiding place with superlative ease, and even in that moment of despair Joanna was gratified to see the shock on the demon’s face right before the blade plunged into her left eye. She didn’t stop, not even as the demon fell to the ground screaming like a banshee and clutching at her face. Bolting through the door, she ran from everything—from the screams and curses that echoed in her ears, from the smell of charred meat, from the sound of Dracula’s chuckling.
Castlevania: Fugue of Melancholy Chapter 1: Beginnings
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS HERE WE ARE I am SO excited to share this at last! Anyone who knows me outside of tungle has been having to put up with my nonstop fussing about this, my big dumb (hopefully beautiful) brainchild for the last month. I wrote this little mini-story for @castlevaniaweek2016 because I love Castlevania and I wanted to try my hand at making some content to celebrate it. 30 YEARS OF CASTLEVANIA, MY DUDES. So yeah, here it is.
This story follows some OCs that I’ve made and fit into the timeline, but it also contains a few series mainstays. As far as timing goes, there’s a period of time (basically two centuries!) between Castlevania: Lament of Innocence and Castlevania III: Dracula’s Curse. So this little tale is a sort of “what if” of what happened to the Belmont line during that time. I hope you all enjoy it! A link to the first chapter can be found on AO3 if you’d prefer to read it there, but I’m posting it here as well. STORY UNDER THE BREAK!
“You look beautiful.”
The sound of that voice made her turn, made her heart feel as if it was swollen with pride. Virgil was watching her from the doorway, long-limbed and languid as he lounged against the heavy oak. She looked beautiful? Not for the first time she wondered if he’d bothered to look in the mirror lately before saying that. Even so, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she chuckled. “What are you doing, Virgil?”
“Nothing, yet.” His smile was impish, teasing, making him look more like a mischievous boy than a grown man and a slayer of the damned. The look in his cool grey-blue eyes was enough to send heat creeping up her neck.
“It’s bad luck to see a bride in her gown before the wedding, you know.” She teased.
He stepped forward a pace, brushing past one of the dress forms that was modeling a luxurious white gown heavy with ropes of pearls sewn into the bodice and sleeves that nearly brushed the floor. “Is this going to be the dress, then?” he asked more softly, hands reaching out to capture her own. Spinning her deftly, he twirled her until she was looking at herself in the tall, tarnished mirror in the corner.
The dress was lighter, more reserved than some of the other more opulent garments she’d tried on that morning. Creamy-pale, the bodice hugged at her bust and then spilled downward freely, obscuring the shape of her waist and stomach, falling in a cascade to the floor. The long, billowing sleeves whispered as she lifted her hands to brush her tousled mop of dark brown hair away from her eyes. When she met his gaze in the mirror, she saw that he was frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you like it?” he asked, brows lifting in a look of gentle concern, lips quirking into that sly little smile that suggested he already knew what her answer would be.
“It’s not bad,” she said with a shrug. Truth be told, she didn’t love it. She’d selected it out of a sense of modesty and guilt, out of the fear that she had to hide herself. It certainly wasn’t what she would have made her first choice. “Why?”
“I don’t like it either,” he said bluntly, his gloved hands settling at her waistline, easing tenderly downward to press the fabric against her skin until the subtle swell of her belly was visible. When he spoke again his voice was hushed, affectionate. “This is better.”
“Virgil, people will talk… We’re already having to rush the wedding, everyone will know, and—“
He laughed at that, expression softening. “So what does it matter if they all know anyway? Let them talk. It’s not like we’ve anything to hide.”
“But I don’t want anyone to think less of you—“
He hushed her with a murmur, hand caressing at her slightly-rounded stomach, at the evidence of the life beginning to grow within her. “I’m already a disreputable knave, remember? You don’t have to try to protect my reputation because there’s nothing to protect. My family’s spent nearly a hundred years hunting the children of the night. The only reason why I haven’t been chased out of here by a mob is because the people here know my father saved them from that vampire in the mill a year ago.”
“Your father saved them. Saved us. He was a hero.”
“Yes, but still… that goodwill won’t last forever, Joanna. I’m… I’m not quite sure what to do.” Doubt crept into his voice, and his brows furrowed with uncertainty.
She turned in his grasp in order to look at him properly, cupping at his jawline. “Talk to me, please.”
He sighed and looked away, unable or unwilling to meet her gaze. “I just don’t know what would be best. We’ll need to move soon, because there’s so much land to cover. We’ve already lingered too long here, but with Father’s… well—I need to get moving again. It’s my duty to my clan. And the villagers want me gone, Joanna. I can’t stay. We can’t stay. But I don’t know anything about children. Would it be easier for you to travel before you have our child, or afterward? If it would be best to wait, I’m sure I could go talk to the elder and get his leave to remain a few months longer, just until the baby is born…”
Our child. The thought made her giddy, as it always did. Still, she collected herself, trying to look at the situation as objectively as possible. “I’m fit to travel now, Virgil. It’s not that far along. We could leave right after the wedding if you wanted. It would probably be better for the baby if we could find somewhere to stay after the birth.”
He squeezed at her waist, bowing his head to press their foreheads together. She watched the tension seem to ebb out of him, and his lips sought hers in a kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ll make the arrangements and we’ll be able to leave by the beginning of the week.”
She kissed him, and again, and a third time, all but melting into his touch. His kisses intoxicated her, left her breathless and aching for more. Still, regretfully she pulled away, brushing his pale golden-blonde hair away from his eyes. It wouldn’t do to get caught up in the moment like that in a dressmaker’s shop. He was beautiful in the late morning light as it streamed in through the window, the sunlight catching in his eyes and making them appear almost luminous. He was in the process of growing a beard, but even with the stubble covering his jaw and chin, he still looked young—like a man forced to grow up too quickly. He was lightly armored and wore a heavy coat. He bore a dagger on his right hip with easygoing familiarity, but on the left a new weight rested that he didn't quite seem comfortable with.
The whip was coiled neatly into loops and hung from his belt innocently enough, and yet it seemed as if it wasn’t quite a part of him. She’d met Virgil’s father several times, and even as he’d rested on his deathbed the whip seemed a part of him, a natural extension of his arm. Virgil didn’t quite seem to know what to do with it, or where to put his hand near it. Sometimes he curled his fingers around the handle as if to firmly declare himself the weapon’s new master. Sometimes he held his hand well away from it, out at his side or with a thumb hooked into his belt, as if to touch it would be caustic.
“He will need time,” Virgil’s father had whispered to her hoarsely in a darkened room that smelled of death, “but he will grow into it. The Belmont mantle is a heavy one and none of us have been truly ready to shoulder it when it has been passed to us, but we are strong. He is strong.”
He is strong, she thought to herself as she admired him. Grief over his father’s death had left him pale and haunted, but he stood straight-backed and proud, with a stubborn set to his jaw that told her wordlessly that he would take care of them and fulfill his family’s legacy, and never shirk either. “I love you.” The words popped unbidden from her lips.
“And I love you,” he murmured in return, his gloved thumb brushing over her bottom lip, his smile gentle. Slowly, he drew away and headed for the door. “I’ll send the seamstress back in. Promise me you’ll try on something that you actually like?”
“I promise,” she agreed, and out he went. Joanna ran a hand over her belly, stroking at the subtle swell. Most men would have been embarrassed, ashamed of getting a woman with child outside of wedlock. It went against the Church’s teachings and against all common rules of propriety. Worse, only a few generations back in the Belmont line was a sense of chivalry, nobility. The great Leon Belmont had been a knight, for God’s sake. One only had to look to see how far the Belmonts had fallen. A strange family with strange customs and stranger powers… and in Virgil’s case no sense of discretion about his intimate activities. But it wasn’t just his reputation that was in tatters. Her honor as a woman was tainted, and the other villagers whispered behind her back that she was a harlot, a sinner.
But none of that mattered.
“I suppose he’s right… if they all know anyway, what’s the harm in letting them talk?” she pondered. It wasn’t as if she was likely to see any of them ever again anyway. Virgil’s travels would take him all across the continent, and she would go with him.
A tap at the door made her look up from her reverie. The seamstress, smiling, drifted into the room and shut the door. “Did he like the gown?” she asked, bustling over to help Joanna remove the garment.
“I think we’d like something a little more fitted through the waist, if you’ve anything that you think will work…”
The seamstress chuckled, sweeping away with the rejected gown slung over an arm. “As it happens, I think I have something that you’ll like. Just a moment, my dear. Sit, sit.” She called as she swept out of the room.
Joanna could hear the other woman fussing about, the rustle of fabrics, an exasperated huff of breath. Drawing a loose, thin robe over herself to cover up while she waited, she obediently took a seat in the window and watched the sun slowly creep upward. There were thick, heavy clouds to the west, fat with the promise of rain. “There’s a storm coming.” She called, craning her neck to watch the clouds gather.
“A storm? No matter, we’ll get you fitted and get you home well in time.” The woman swept back into the room, holding out a dress for Joanna’s inspection like it was a prize—and truly, it was. Even before she put the garment on, Joanna found herself wishing it would fit, wishing it would be perfect. She’d never seen its like before, an airy, graceful gown in white, and embroidered with lace. A slit in the skirt revealed an inner layer of soft, shy pink and scallop upon scallop of dainty needlework. With a bit of fussing, the seamstress helped her into it.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, knowing instinctively that Virgil would love it. Demure with a graceful neckline but fitted elegantly through the bust and waist, it showed off a hint of a more daring sensibility in the skirt, but not garishly so. The high slit in the skirt, its apex centered over the front of the right thigh, was softened by the ruffles and the colour of the underskirt. “How much is this one…?”
“Don’t worry about the cost, my dear,” came the reply as the seamstress smoothed out the skirt. “We’ll work out a fair payment. This dress has gone unworn for years, you see. The woman who had ordered it ended up running away before the marriage.”
“She jilted her lover?” Joanna asked anxiously, fussing with her heavy fall of dark hair, lazy ringlets spilling onto her shoulders and down her back. She tried not to be superstitious, but that was quite the history for such a dress.
“Sad, hm? Ran off and no one knows where. That must have been… oh, I’m not sure. Fifty, sixty years ago?”
“You’re not selling me a cursed dress, are you?” she couldn’t help but tease with a wry smile. The garment fit well enough across the stomach, but it was a bit large in the bust.
The seamstress glanced up, looking at her in their reflections in the tarnished mirror. “Cursed?” she asked, deftly pinning the dress under the arms and taking up her needle and thread. “Cursed, no. I like to imagine it as more of a promise. You see, the story goes that the girl ran off to be with her true love, instead of resigning herself to her fate with the man her parents had arranged for her to wed. This is a beautiful dress, but it wasn’t meant for her to wear for her true love. So I’d like to imagine she left it behind for someone else, for a woman who would be wedding her soulmate.”
A sudden boom of thunder drew her attention toward the window, and she was startled to see how dark it had grown outside. Thick, iron-grey clouds hulked overhead, and as she watched the first few droplets of rain struck noisily at the windowpanes. “That’s unfortunate. It would seem I’ll have a wet walk home.”
“Nonsense,” the seamstress cooed soothingly, deftly stitching at her dress’s bodice, “we shan’t turn you out in that. Once we finish up with the alteration you’re welcome to join me for tea.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Joanna said gratefully, obligingly holding her arm up and out of the way in order to let the woman work.
“Did you always know you loved him?” the question was so sudden that it made her look a second time at the woman. She was older, with thinning hair that was starting to go grey at the temples and the beginnings of crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes. Too old, by Joanna’s estimation, to be asking such a childish question.
“No,” she began slowly. Likely the woman was just an unfortunate spinster. “No, I’m ashamed to say that the first time I saw him I thought he meant to rob me. I told him as much.” The memory came fluttering back as she turned to let the woman begin stitching at the other side of the gown.
She’d been in her garden, dirt under her nails, hair clinging to her neck from sweat as she pulled weeds from the earth and worked at harvesting what herbs were ready, when a young man strolled up to the fence. He’d been lean and long-limbed and so beautiful she’d immediately distrusted him. His garb was too fine to belong to any peasant, and yet he hadn’t looked quite like nobility either.
“It’s too fine a day for such a pretty girl to be digging in the dirt,” he called, grinning. “You ought to be dressed in silk and reclining on cushions while servants tend to your every whim.”
Rising, wary, she wiped her hands on her apron and scooped up her basket, drawing a few paces nearer to the fence and watching him—though she stayed well out of arm’s reach. She saw the dagger at his belt, and she didn’t know if this strange man had friends. “I’ll be sure to tell the people in the next town as much. They’ll have a good laugh at that one.”
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the wooden fence. “Is your father in?”
“No.” she said flatly. Whoever this man was, he was certainly a stranger to have asked such a question.
“Do you know when he’ll be back? We need to see him immediately.” The man’s smile dimmed and flickered away, like a candle being blown out. He looked somehow crestfallen at her abrupt response.
“And who’s ‘we?’ I only see one of you. You have a friend nearby?” she asked, reaching into her basket for the knife she kept in it for trimming plants and praying it was sharper than it looked, smudged and filthy from gardening as it was. “If you think you’re going to rob me, you might as well just walk away now. I’ve carved up worse than you.” That was only half a lie. She had stabbed Jesse Abrams when he’d staggered into her house reeking drunk one evening and fancying he could woo her into a round between the sheets, but she’d only gotten his arm and she’d stitched him up before turning him out.
“Rob you?” the young man asked indignantly, bristling. “What kind of man do you take me for? Just tell me where your father is, and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“Virgil,” a man barked as he emerged from around the side of her little cabin, “That’s no way to speak to a lady.” Joanna’s gaze flew to him like an arrow, guarded and unsure. He was far older than his young companion, pushing fifty at a guess. The likeness shared between their faces told her immediately that the older man was this Virgil’s father. His hair was a dustier, dirtier blonde starting to silver here and there, and a few early furrows were beginning to settle on his brow. He was dressed just as strangely as his son, in warlike raiment—armor and a heavy coat, but no device or insignia. He carried a dagger, a bandolier with several vials dangling from it…. And a whip. It was that last detail that stirred something in her, an inkling of a memory from when she was a child sitting on her father’s knee.
“You’re… Bel—Belmont?” she asked, brows lifting. She was relieved to see the man’s expression soften into a smile.
“I am, and I’m flattered you’d know me. Last time I passed through these parts you had only just been born. I am Alan Belmont. This is my son, Virgil. I am sorry he startled you, Miss Joanna.” He said, drawing a few paces nearer to the fence as she put her knife back down in the basket.
She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “That’s alright. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. Everyone around here knows my father died a few years ago so I thought…”
“Joseph, dead?” All the colour seemed to drain out of Alan’s face, and he sagged on the fence for a moment as if trying to gather himself. “I… I see. That’s a terrible shame. Your father was a good friend to me.”
“I’m very sorry. I—Please, won’t you both come inside? I’ll unlock the door.” Her gaze flickered from Alan to Virgil, and something in the younger Belmont’s smiling, sly glance nearly took her breath away…
“There we are. All done. Is that comfortable?” the seamstress asked, straightening.
Joanna turned and stretched her arms up and over her head before letting them fall back to her sides. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
The older woman smiled, gently patting her hand. “Now, how about that tea, hm?”
“Oh, that would be nice… here, let me just change out of this so I don’t spill anything on it.” Joanna said, but the seamstress clucked at her and quickly just guided her out of the fitting room and into the sitting room.
“Don’t you worry about that, dearest. Enjoy the dress! If you do happen to spill anything, I’ll clean it right out. You’re a vision in that gown. Luminously happy. It would be a shame to only wear it once.” The little old lady bustled her way to the small kitchen and began fussing with the kettle and a tea service.
Something that Joanna couldn’t quite put her finger on made her uncomfortable. She found herself fidgeting on the couch, wringing her hands and glancing around the room as if in search of somewhere to rest her gaze. The seamstress seemed nice, but that was just it. She was too nice, so sweet she was saccharine. Joanna had always trusted her instincts, and this was no different. She rose, swallowing the sudden stab of nervousness she felt. “I’m very sorry to trouble you, but I’m a little tired. I think I might just head home. A little rain won’t hurt me. I’ll just change and—“
“No!” the woman cried, flying around the corner and hurrying to block her way to the dressing room faster than Joanna would have believed the older lady was capable of. “Dear, the tea is almost finished. Stay a little longer. It would be bad for the baby if you went out in the rain.” There was an edge beneath that kindly tone that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She was smiling still, but it was like honey poured over venom.
To hell with the rain, to hell with getting her dress wet, to hell with everything—something wasn’t right, and she wasn’t going to stand around and find out what. Joanna turned and bolted for the front door.
Her hand was nearly on the knob when she felt something catch at her thick mop of hair, twisting at the long curls and dragging her off her feet so painfully that she cried out, clutching at her scalp. Swept backward til she hit the floor with a thump, she found herself looking up into the face of the old woman, but it was fluid somehow, not fixed, melting, running like candle wax.
“You should have just stayed for the tea and let me put you to sleep like a good girl,” she was saying, her voice shifting, no longer the thin, reedy tone she’d used before. Her voice was like a dying mule, inhuman, screaming. “Now we have to do it the hard way!”
Joanna screamed too, then, reaching up to claw at the woman’s face in an effort to hurt her, to drive her away. Her fingers seemed to pass through an outer layer of flesh like wet, soggy putty and the seamstress didn’t even seem to feel it. When she clawed harder at the monster’s cheek, though, she hissed and pulled back, slapping Johanna across the face so hard she saw spots for a moment.
Blinking hard to clear her vision, she watched as the old skin and plain dress seem to slough off of the monster’s body. What she saw was more terrible than the ruin of melting flesh from moments before.
She was terrible, and beautiful, and terrible. Sweet-faced but for the scratches in her cheek where Johanna had come a half-inch from tearing her eye out and smiling, but not kindly. Leathery black wings furled at her back but stirred as if touched by some otherworldly wind that Joanna didn’t feel. Her hair, silver-bright as if it had been spun from starlight, served to obscure her bust, but she was naked.
Succubus, she thought, and Virgil. Opening her mouth to cry out in the vain hope that somehow, Virgil might hear her, Joanna was quickly silenced as the succubus stuffed a tattered scrap of cloth from the dress she’d been wearing, into her mouth.
“Now,” she hissed contemptuously in a voice as soft as silk, clawed fingers twisting painfully into Joanna’s hair, “you sleep.”
The words were redolent with power, and Joanna felt drowsiness hit her despite her fear and her nerves. She struggled, trying to sit up, to push herself into wakefulness.
The succubus struck her again, leaving her head ringing. How such a delicate-looking creature could be so strong was beyond her. “Don’t try anything stupid! The Master wants you to visit him so badly, and it’ll be easier if you just rest until you get there. Sleep.”
Joanna groaned in protest, voice muffled by the cloth stuffed into her mouth, but it was no good. She could feel herself surrendering consciousness, her eyelids growing heavy…
The room grew dim as the succubus rose, sneering as she gently touched at her scratched cheek. “Little bitch. I hope I get to play with your precious lover before the Master kills him.”
I’ll kill you if you put a hand on him, the thought came sluggishly but she couldn’t even make the effort to put it to voice. In the next moment, everything went dark.
