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anncanta · 3 years

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Horses of Carfax Abbey

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: None

My thanks to my reader Lanovh94 for making me think about this.

Read on AO3

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The clock in the living room chimed melodiously at noon.

Closing the glass door that protects the dial, Agatha took a step back and checked the chronometer on the chain she held in her hands.

That's right, she noted with satisfaction.

A large mahogany grandfather clock with an exquisite copper dial was delivered yesterday morning, but only now Agatha has the opportunity to set the correct time on it and check how fine-tuned the delicate internal mechanism is.

This Scottish antique clock by Joseph Taylor was chased by Agatha for probably two months. Maybe a little less. In any case, when, after a long search, she finally bought them at auction, intercepting at the last moment from the owner of a hosiery factory in the West End, the owners of all the antique shops in London (not to mention the sellers) knew her by sight.

Taking another step back, Agatha glanced at her acquisition. It was beautiful.

‘Agatha, return my pocket watch!’ a demanding voice from the hallway made her flinch and turn around sharply. Clicking on the silver cover, she hid the chronometer behind her back.

‘Why did you decide that I have them?’ she asked Dracula who appeared at the door in the most innocent tone possible.

‘By the method of exclusion,’ Dracula went up to her and, hugging Agatha with one hand around her waist, with the other pulled out the desired object from her palm. ‘The housekeeper does not understand anything about it, the coachman considers it a pointless trinket, and the maid is afraid of it.

‘I’m the only one left,’ Agatha admitted, following the watch with her eyes.

Dracula nodded silently.

‘Finally, perfect exactly?’ he asked, hiding the watch in his waistcoat pocket.

Agatha turned in the direction he was pointing.

‘I hope so,’ she drawled thoughtfully. ‘I thought yours was in a hurry,’ she added absently.

‘On the contrary, it is falling behind,’ Dracula laughed, pulling her towards him. ‘This is my peculiarity, I would say – my style.’

Agatha smiled, running her fingers over the velvet fabric of his vest.

It has been a little over a year since both of them set foot on the English coast, and they lived together for about the same time.

After Peter, Olgaren and the captain had left Demeter, which had lost half of the crew and all the passengers, Agatha sat in Dracula's cabin for a long time, until the sun began to sink into the horizon. She could not say what exactly delayed her – the desire to postpone the moment of the explosion, or simply the tiredness that had accumulated over the long days. It must be both.

In any case, she did not reach the hold.

Dracula intercepted her on the way, and before Agatha had time to recover from surprise at the fact that he survived, fear for the lives of people whom she tried to save from him at the cost of her own life, and an incomprehensible relief – all together – she found herself on deck in the midst of a hideous quarrel, screaming curses and crying.

Dracula later told her that he did not remember the last time he was so angry. ‘Suicide, seriously?’ he growled at her, as if, having conceived such a plan, she encroached on his personal self-esteem. ‘Double murder is better,’ Agatha hissed, looking at the flashes of fury in his dark eyes.

Somehow they managed not to sink the ship and get to the shore, after which Dracula, without saying a word, stopped the first cab that came across in the port, shoved Agatha into it, and sat down behind. They spent all the way to the count's London house in silence, and when they were in place, Dracula, having paid the cabman, dragged Agatha into the living room and, sitting in front of him on the sofa, said:

‘I'll be honest and won't hide anything from you. You saw who I am and you know me. I will always be like this, more or less. But I want you to stay with me. If for this I have to feed on... rats,’ without looking, he caught the animal running by (Agatha asked herself how long the house had not cleaned) and, after looking meticulously, let it go; the rat instantly disappeared in one of the dark corners, ‘then I ask you one thing: promise, that over time my menu will improve. I don't care how.’

He came close to her.

‘Promise.’

Agatha remembered that she was so amazed that for a couple of minutes she could only sit, looking at him and blinking silently. She didn't even really know what she finally answered. It probably meant agreement, otherwise, she wouldn't be here now.

A year and three months have passed since that day, and during this time Agatha managed to learn many things, some of which she never wanted to learn, the other, as it seemed to her at first, would haunt her in nightmares until the end of her life, and the third, although not become a discovery, still did not stop surprising her.

The danger posed by the sun and the cross, as it turned out almost immediately, was nothing more than a fiction – another legend about vampires, in which Dracula believed so long ago that he himself did not remember what for and why. It scattered like dust from old ceilings when they, examining the house, climbed into the attic, and the roof that had not been repaired for years collapsed on them. Agatha remembered how, lying on the floor, covered with debris, they looked up at the rays falling through the holes in the ceiling, gently caressing them, and how they whispered at the same time: ‘It should be the same with the cross.’

And so it turned out.

Much more effort was needed in order to solve the problem of vampire hunger. After sequentially going through several options and making sure that the blood of mammals close to humans in their physiology was the most suitable for Dracula, Agatha conducted a series of experiments and, discarding goats, sheep, pigs, and cows, settled on horses.

Dracula added a large stable to the west of the house and ordered ten thoroughbred riding horses from Yorkshire. And since Dracula needed food, although daily, but in small quantities, after a couple of months, in order to save noble animals from the blues and inactivity, Dracula began to put them on the races. As a result, his capital doubled in a short period of time, and after another three months, having looked through the settlement books, he called his attorney and acquired a stud farm in the suburbs of London.

Agatha looked at it all with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. At first, out of habit, it seemed to her that Dracula was having fun, striving, as he once told her, to learn to live among civilized people and study them properly, before tying a napkin and picking up a fork and knife. However, days, weeks and months passed, and nothing changed: Dracula was kind, led an active social life, went to libraries and theaters and rode horseback, in the evenings he went to the laboratory, which he equipped in the house at the request of Agatha, in order to give her a couple of ideas regarding the properties of horse blood and the similarity of its taste and the effect of influencing to him with human one and, in general, did nothing else.

Agatha tried to convince herself that the count lived for four hundred years, waiting for a convenient opportunity to enter the civilized world and that another two months meant nothing to him at all, but every day it became more and more difficult to believe it. And she had less and less desire to do it.

Agatha perfectly remembered the evening when it disappeared completely.

She was sitting in the living room and writing something in her diary – a new experiment with horse blood was in full swing, there was a lot of data and a theoretical basis, but the formulas did not agree. Deciding to take a short break, she put aside her notes and began to clean the dull nib. Agatha did not know what was the reason – whether the knife was not sharp enough, or the hand lost its dexterity from fatigue, but even before she could understand what exactly was happening, the blade proportioned the skin of her right hand and got stuck at the base of her fingers.

Agatha spent a moment looking at the scarlet streak of blood that stood out in her palm before a long shadow covered the chair in which she was sitting.

Looking up, she saw Dracula standing in front of her.

For a second, nothing happened. As if spellbound, they watched the blood dripping from her hand. Agatha wiggled her fingers to test. Finally reaching consciousness, a raw pain swirled in her hand.

Without looking, pulling up the second chair standing to the side, Dracula sank into it and, taking Agatha with one hand by the forearm, pulled out a knife. Then he took out a handkerchief and, wiping off the fresh drops that had come through, tore a flap from the sleeve of her shirt, and quickly bandaged her palm.

He did all this in silence, without looking at Agatha, and only when finished he raised his head and leaned back. His pupils were bloodshot, but he himself was absolutely imperturbable. Letting go of Agatha's hand, he went to the fireplace and threw the dirty cloth into the fire. The fabric hissed, cringing in the flames.

‘Tomorrow, samples of the second negative will come,’ said Dracula, glancing into the opened diary of Agatha, thrown on the sofa, ‘you can check the calculations,’ and, turning around, left the room.

Agatha sat for several minutes, listening to his steps, and then got up, climbed the stairs, went to the door of his bedroom and knocked. And he opened.

… ‘There will be guests in the evening,’ said Dracula, distracting Agatha from her memories. ‘Two stud breeders from Australia and a professor from Cambridge.’

Agatha raised an eyebrow questioningly.

‘He has ideas on how to improve the breed,’ Dracula shrugged. ‘He is unsociable and usually does not go anywhere. I promised him dinner in a pleasant company and access to a reprinted version of On the Origin of Species. I had to somehow lure him. We met several times in Cambridge, but apparently too briefly. I invited him to participate in the experiment, even offered a small stake, but he refused. I hope today I will be able to persuade him.’

Agatha sighed. She knew well what it meant to ‘persuade’ in Dracula's language.

Dracula handled business with the same careless ease and a certain mocking touch that were inherent in him when dealing with people in general. Not that he disliked or disdained them: watching him day after day, Agatha came to the conclusion that it was just convenient for him – as if, not being able to eat them, he nibbled them with words and a look, held some time in his teeth and let go.

‘The hunting instinct is not going anywhere,’ Dracula smiled in response to her remarks after another visit to another salon or to a party, on which behind him, like on a battlefield covered with black velvet and silk dresses, there were glades of silent condemnation and bloody spots of flaming cheeks.

What a truly warm relationship he had, was the one with the horses. Which at first puzzled Agatha. ‘You drink their blood,’ she said hesitantly when Dracula asked her what exactly she thought was strange about it. He gave her a long look, and, muttering something like ‘who would speak of it’, took her hand and led her into the stable.

There Agatha witnessed one of the most incredible things in her entire life.

She knew that Dracula can communicate with animals, can control wolves and bats if desired, and is able to establish contact with most mammals.

But it was more than contact, communication, or control. Standing in the stable doorway, Agatha watched as he opened the corral and, clasping the head of Lissa, a young mare that Dracula was one of the first to acquire, stood for a long time, pressing his cheek to the smooth skin, smiling and whispering something before embracing becomes stronger, – and after five minutes he opens his hands and, gratefully patting the horse on the withers, leaves the corral.

Agatha never thought it could be so... beautiful. Then she did not dare to ask, but later could not resist.

‘Do you hypnotize them? Fool? What are you doing?

Dracula smiled as if he was waiting for this question.

‘Horses are stronger and tougher than humans. The portion of blood that will cost you a serious illness or put an adult young man to bed is almost imperceptible for a horse. I had never tried drinking their blood before and therefore did not know how sharply and deeply they react to contact. Amazing animals.’

‘But they can't like it!’

‘They like closeness,’ Dracula said thoughtfully, ‘and they are incredibly generous.’

Yes, and also sincere and discerning. Resistant to Dracula's charm, they seem to have loved him for no reason.

During the time that they lived together, Agatha managed to find out that Dracula had two types of charm. The first is the very vampire charm that was written about in books and legends warned about. It was powerful, bright, and beating on the spot. It reminded Agatha of the scent of flowers that appeared in early spring in Holland – hyacinths. Thick, heavy, enveloping odor. Among the peasants, there were stories that if you fall asleep in a tightly closed room, in which there is a bouquet of hyacinths, you may not wake up.

Dracula used his vampire charm mostly for entertainment, or when he wanted to quickly get what he needed. He lavished it generously at balls and appointments, signing contracts with business partners, on walks and social events such as theater premieres and horse races, while sparing no one.

Once they were at the performance of the famous opera diva who came to London on tour, either from France or from Germany, – Agatha did not remember, – and after the performance, Dracula invited Agatha to go into the diva`s dressing room, – ‘to express our admiration for the singer,’ as he said... Agatha agreed, not suspecting a catch. The performance was really beautiful, the diva sang magically, and there was nothing surprising in the desire to personally pay tribute to her talent.

So they did, and everything went well until Dracula – the very kindness and the embodiment of secular courtesy – asked the diva if she would be an encore. Diva replied that, alas, she would not, as she was tired and would like to go home as soon as possible.

And then it turned on. Vampire charm. In vain the unfortunate singer babbled something about how exhausted after the performance she was, – when dark eyes flashed and a soft smile lit up the cramped dressing room, the diva's fate was decided. Hearing the words spoken in an intimate tone about how much his companion loves opera and how happy she will be to hear such a delightful performance again, the singer turned around and silently wandered onto the stage.

Agatha did not speak to Dracula after that for three days. She hated violence in any form.

But there was also another charm, the one that Agatha remembered from Demeter, the same, probably, that made her believe in a cozy living room and soft conversation at chess – more than vampire illusions and drug intoxication.

Agatha called it ‘a charm for his own’, and if she quickly learned to resist the charm of a vampire, and soon completely lost the interest, then she was powerless against this one.

Dracula looked at ‘his’ people with a gentle warm look and smiled with a cheerful, almost boyish smile. It was physically impossible to deny him anything when he was like that, which he shamelessly used during quarrels.

He did not ask, did not demand, and did not scandal. Did not push and did not try to confuse. He just smiled and said: ‘As you say, dragostea*.’

‘Better vampire charm,’ Agatha moaned and vowed to buy a bell so that she could inform him in advance and without words that he had crossed the line.

...Agatha pulled away from Dracula and, smiling, went to the sofa.

‘The poor professor deserves a second chance,’ she said, leaning back.

‘I gave him everything possible,’ Dracula answered, ‘he missed them.’

‘So maybe we should just leave him alone?’

‘No, I need him.’

Agatha waved her hand. It was useless to argue. All she could do for the Cambridge pundit was to arrange for a good dinner and a relaxed, friendly atmosphere at this very dinner. All the rest was, alas, beyond her power.

The clock struck a quarter to one. Agatha thought idly that she should go to the kitchen and discuss the menu with the housekeeper. And let her cook the steaks with blood, she decided vengefully.

***

Professor Theodore Clifferson was a great scientist and no less an idiot. A combination that Agatha did not believe existed until today. But after spending three hours at the table with the aforementioned professor, she had to admit that sometimes intelligence and learning are depressingly different things.

When the door finally closed behind the venerable merchants and the Cambridge celebrity, and it became possible to remove the kind smile from her face and give vent to the irritation that had pursued her all evening, Agatha wandered into the living room and, groaning with relief, fell on the sofa.

‘Why didn't you warn me?’ she asked Dracula, who came in after her.

‘About what?’ he sank down beside her and pulled her to him.

‘How can you know so much and be such a cretin?’ Agatha continued without listening to him.

‘A common story,’ Dracula chuckled. ‘You look from the point of view of someone who, for the sake of knowledge, was forced to fight the circumstances and mine them like gold,’ he said. ‘And your inquiring mind cannot imagine someone who, from his youth, having access to the fruits of progress, does not realize their value. And worse – to whom they are not useful.’

Agatha covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

‘I want to forget this.’

Dracula buried his fingers in her hair and sat for several minutes, fingering the thick strands.

‘Forget this or what he said at the end?’ he asked quietly.

Agatha, leaning back in his arms, straightened.

‘What did he…’

‘Agatha.’

She knew that look too well. Freeing herself from his embrace, she sat up straight, as if in a theology lesson. Come on, she never visited them. Although it might have been worth it. At least, she would have learned – if not to quote freely from the holy book, than to look calm and confident, when she had not a penny neither the first nor the second.

Damn Clifferson.

‘Dracula, you shouldn't, really…’ Agatha began.

He sighed.

‘I thought so. Should I say it myself, or, as before, do you perfectly understand where you are?’

Agatha shivered at the reminder. But he was right – the situations in which it sounded were too similar. And something had to be done about it.

She tried to smile.

‘Of course, I know. But that hasn't... Look, he's just a stupid boy. Saw something and said tactlessness.’

Well, if you could call it that. Agatha briefly thought that the dinner was already as unpleasant as it could, so that...

‘Clifferson said that you and I are lucky,’ Dracula said slowly, ‘since our age is not too different. And that means,’ he added in the deep silence, ‘we are not threatened to live the rest of our lives in separation, without another who has left this mortal world.’

Well, Agatha thought. Well, he said it. It will no longer be possible to pretend that what the unlucky professor blurted out does not exist or none of them heard him.

Turning away from Dracula, she began to look at the copper dial of the clock, which she was winding in the morning.

Time. Over the past year, she and Dracula were absorbed in settling in the new world, taking care of the house, experimenting, in the end, each other, so much that they forgot about time.

Anyway, she forgot. She hadn't thought about it at all. Looking at Dracula again, Agatha suddenly realized that she would not believe for anything, that he hadn`t.

‘I'm forty-two,’ she said quietly. ‘And if I'm lucky, I'll live long enough to bore you terribly.’

He was silent.

‘And even when I... When you live with people, time does not drag on as long as when you spend it alone,’ Agatha felt how with every step the ground beneath her becomes less reliable. ‘When it is filled with events... and meetings…’

Dracula still didn't say a word.

‘In fifty years, I will be…’ she made another attempt, in an almost inaudible voice, knowing perfectly well that it made no sense.

In fifty years, a decrepit old woman will be with him, but he will remain as young, no older than the same forty-five or fifty.

Pulling herself together, she finally looked into his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said in response to the silent gaze that met her, and, quickly getting up from her seat, left.

When Dracula went up after her into the bedroom, he pretended to believe her awkward attempts to pretend to be asleep, and Agatha spent the time until dawn, staring into the darkness, trying to figure out how to be and what to do next.

‘How could I forget that you are a vampire?’ having entered the next morning without knocking into the parlor and resting her palms on the table at which Dracula was sitting, she asked.

Dracula looked up from the settlement book, in which he was writing something.

‘Yes, that's my omission,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

Agatha looked at him for a minute, then turned on her heels and left the parlor.

They did not see each other for the next two days. Early on Saturday morning, Dracula went out of town to choose a place for a new stud farm, warning her through the housekeeper that he would not return earlier than Monday evening, and Agatha, not knowing whether to enjoy the unexpected respite, or be angry with him, considered it best switch to something else, and completely immersed in experiments.

‘Why is your face black?’ were the first words that returned Dracula greeted her with. He stood at the door of the laboratory and surveyed the surroundings with curiosity. To tell the truth, a lot has changed here since he visited it three days ago: then there were many more whole flasks and jars and less broken glass on the floor.

‘When heated to the boiling point, horse blood explodes,’ Agatha said calmly and carefully placed the test tube she was holding in a tripod.

Dracula nodded and, looking out the door, took out a scoop and a broom and began sweeping soot, stone dust, and debris that covered the floor in the middle of the room.

Armed with a rag and a jug of water, Agatha joined him in cleaning the table and chairs from the burning.

‘I'm not angry about your silence,’ she said after about half an hour, distracted from polishing the gas burner. ‘I understand that the problem is not that this question has no answer.’

Dracula looked up. They both knew very well that the problem was that the answer was too obvious.

‘You know it can't be my decision,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Agatha nodded. ‘Give me time,’ she added after a short pause and began scrubbing the alembic.

***

‘Sir, I swear I would never…’

‘Remove your pockets.’

Agatha glanced into the living room.

Dracula stood by the fireplace with his back to her, in front of him was a terrified coachman, drawn to the line.

‘It's a mistake, sir. I beg you…’

‘It was a mistake to keep the silver cigarette case in the dresser. However, so was hiring you,’ Dracula's voice was cold and indifferent. ‘By returning it voluntarily, you will save time for all of us.’

‘I…’

Dracula tilted his head.

‘It's in your right pocket. Next to old tissue paper, dirty silk ribbon, and flakes of tobacco.’

The coachman hiccupped and recoiled.

‘How…’

Dracula held out his hand.

‘It rustles deafeningly,’ he said, taking the cigarette case from the coachman's shaking hand. ‘If you are attracted by the career of a pickpocket, then first learn not to stomp like an elephant when you take someone else's, and not to rattle with loot. You will come in the evening for the calculation,’ he finished, gesturing to let go of the unfortunate man.

Dropping his shoulders, the coachman nodded and went to the door.

‘Vampire hearing,’ Agatha said, letting the unlucky thief pass and entering the room. ‘Strongly interferes with maintaining faith in people.’

‘Those who had the one,’ Dracula smiled. He put the cigarette case on the mantelpiece and turned to Agatha. ‘Looking for the benefits of being a vampire?’ he asked innocently.

‘I'm conducting surveillance,’ Agatha said.

She went to the fireplace and looked at the cigarette case.

‘You knew he stole it because you heard it rub against the lining of his pocket.’

Dracula rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘He dragged around with it for a week. He had been looking for someone to sell it for so long that I could hardly resist not offering myself as a buyer, just to get rid of this annoying sound.’

Agatha walked around one of the armchairs by the fireplace and stood in front of Dracula.

‘Have you been waiting for his nerves to break down and he confesses, or for the right occasion when you can show me once again the benefits of being a vampire?’

‘How can you,’ Dracula was sincerely offended.

Agatha grinned and sank into a chair.

‘Okay, what else?’ Decently folded her hands on her knees, she asked.

Dracula shrugged.

‘You know all this. After all, you've been watching me for a year. I'm sure you wrote it down and sorted it into categories in those notebooks of yours.’ He nodded at Agatha’s diary on the table. ‘It is unlikely that I can add something else.’

‘Okay, then let's go over the main points,’ Agatha nodded, without changing her pose.

Dracula smiled.

‘You are strong and enduring, you have an increased ability to heal wounds, you can stay awake for weeks and understand some animals.’ She paused. ‘You can control some of them. You can climb walls and send fog.’ Noticing his approving nod, Agatha continued: ‘Let's add to this the ability to keenly smell and hypersensitive hearing…’

‘...tirelessness in bed...’

‘Um, did you notice that I fall asleep in the middle?..’ Agatha got up and walked over to him.

Dracula smiled again.

‘I'm working on it,’ he said, hugging her.

Agatha was silent for a moment and turned away.

‘Is it normal? I mean, how... how right is that?’ absentmindedly running her hand over his shoulder, she said.

‘What exactly?’ Dracula asked.

Agatha frowned and rubbed her forehead thoughtfully.

‘The world works the way it works, for a reason,’ she said slowly. ‘All living beings die, replacing each other. How natural is it to be immortal?’

She lifted her head and looked at Dracula.

‘Vampires are mortal,’ he said. ‘Agatha, the time when I offered you eternal life is over,’ he added after a short pause. ‘But it’s obvious that I would rather live long before I’m ready to face death. I do not know how much this is against nature, but I still have not heard of heavenly thunder punishing parrots, sequoias, and turtles.’

‘Oh my God,’ Agatha laughed. ‘Of the above, I know only sequoias. And then according to the pictures.’

‘And the parrots?’

‘Are they centenarians?’

Dracula shook his head.

‘The oldest ones are four hundred years old. Turtles can live twice as long. Ask Clifferson about sequoias, but as far as I remember, their exact age cannot be determined.’

Agatha grimaced, demonstrating her attitude to the need to learn something from Clifferson.

‘I will not become immortal,’ she said, summing up, ‘but I will lose the ability to eat human food, sleep at night, and breathe.’

‘A matter of habit,’ Dracula shrugged.

‘But I will learn to understand bats.’

‘What scope for your work on small rodents and nocturnal insects!’

Agatha sighed.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Yes, I am.’

She nodded.

Everything is the same as before.

‘Decide yourself.’

***

‘Please, try to be more restrained in the future,’ Agatha said with a sad smile, holding out an envelope to the boy standing in front of her. The young man nodded, drooping guiltily, cautiously, as if afraid that his touch would burn her, took the envelope from her hands, and, saying goodbye, left the room.

For a minute Agatha looked at the door that closed behind him, and then she also left the parlor and went into the living room.

She managed to persuade Dracula to give the coachman decent recommendations, and a couple of weeks after the unpleasant incident, Agatha found a good place for the guy. Dracula watched all this with restrained skepticism, but remained silent and did not interfere. Agatha suspected that he had threatened the poor coachman with some terrible punishment – the boy was in too much haste to leave their house. But in the end, even she was forced to admit that he got off easy.

In the living room, on the sofa with a book, sat Dracula. When she appeared, he moved, making a place next to him.

Approaching, Agatha climbed onto the sofa with her legs and leaned back, resting her head on his lap. Several minutes passed in silence, broken only by the measured ticking of the grandfather clock.

‘Will it be like with Harker?’ Agatha asked. ‘Will you break my neck and sit down to wait for me to wake up?’

‘God, Agatha, no, of course,’ Dracula put down the book. He looked shocked. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘The first thing that comes to mind. I mean,’ she said, looking sideways at him, ‘the most obvious and simplest.’

‘Didn't you say that you would beat the barbarism out of me?’

She looked up at him.

‘Is that when you burned a five hundred pound electric kettle? I was on edge.’

‘I noticed.’

He brushed a lock of hair from her face.

‘How could you think that I…’

Agatha shrugged.

‘It must somehow... I mean, if in order to turn a person you need…’

‘No damage. This is out of the question,’ Dracula said in an unchallengeable tone.

Agatha looked at him thoughtfully.

‘There are other ways,’ she said, scratching her nose. ‘Strangulation, various poisons. Drowning…’

Dracula bent down and, choking with laughter, buried in her shoulder.

‘Agatha,’ he moaned, ‘your imagination is really scary.’

‘I'm trying to solve the problem,’ Agatha said. ‘That's what the smart do,’ she teased.

‘The smart ones like to complicate things,’ said Dracula, straightening up and looking at her. ‘The most obvious is not always the simplest. Why, of all imaginable and inconceivable ways, did not the most humane one come to your mind?’ He rolled his eyes at her puzzled gaze. ‘Which one of us is the prince of darkness and the lord of shadows?’

‘No one encroaches on your laurels,’ Agatha grinned. ‘Wait. You want to say…’

Dracula bent down again and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

‘My love, you forgot that a vampire's kiss can be very long.’

***

The fabric was red and the earth was red. Heavy woolen floors flowed like a scarlet stream over the horse's white rump, crumpled from above, and ended in a silver fox collar. The rider's long hair was messed and matted with blood, and crimson dawn caked in his wide-open eyes.

Bending down and grabbing the horse by the neck, the rider rushed forward, as if not making out the road, through the black and red forest, in a straight line, to the ancient castle, frozen on the rock.

Bursting into the courtyard, the rider stood up sharply, pulled on the reins. Dismounting, he threw them to the frightened horseman who ran up, unfastened an oblong large sack from the saddle. He walked with a quick step through the gate, dragging his load along the ground. In the great hall, he stopped and threw the sack on the floor in front of him. He raised his head and brushed the dirty, wet strands from his forehead.

‘I said he would be here before sunrise,’ he turned to someone sitting in a dark corner.

‘Is it really him?’ asked from the darkness.

Pulling a knife from his belt, the rider bent down to the sack and cut the thick cloth, soaked and hardened in the frost.

A pale human face appeared in the narrow gap.

‘I said I’ll deliver him,’ the rider said again, put the knife back in his belt and left, not looking neither at the one he was talking to nor at the dead man lying on the floor.

...

Two thick long candles were barely enough to light the middle of the room. Hands were aching from the cold, and he felt as if Transylvanian soil was poured into his eyes. The younger heir to the old Count Dracul raised up, turned several times, on one side, on the other, and finally lay on his back, his meaningless gaze resting on the carved canopy above him.

There are no younger heirs. Neither for princes and kings from distant lands, nor for Wallachian rulers. From ancient times the eldest sons inherit the ruler who has died in peace or fallen on the battlefield. But what if both the ruler himself and his firstborn left God's world in one day? From the elder brother, if he has no male descendants, the younger takes power. The one that survived.

The heir moved his head and gritted his teeth. God knows he did not seek this power, he did not want to. In vain the courtiers grinned in disbelief, clinked their tongues, suspecting treason, the squad whispered in vain when they brought them, father and brother, on a narrow sleigh – without a drop of blood on expensive clothes and without a single paint on their faces. In vain the brother's widow sobbed loudly, rushing in the yard like a thin hungry bird, in vain screaming and howling – you did not keep him safe, you did not rescue him. In vain she threatened to curse.

He did not wish death to either his father or his brother. Never wanted to become a ruler. Perhaps that is why he was not touched by the piercing words of the courtiers, or the cries of his daughter-in-law, or the sidelong glances of the squad. Standing motionless next to the sleigh, he silently looked at the gathered soldiers and household, did not say anything, only wrapped himself in a warm cloak. And only when the wrong old steps were tapping on the stone slabs of the yard, did he turn around.

Old Count Dracul, a patriarch of eighty-seven years of age, dressed in a light marching cape over a simple linen shirt, slowly walked over to the sleigh and sat down beside it. With long fingers, white and hard as a January crust, he stroked the dead faces. Raised his head to the gray sky. Said, addressing the younger:

‘Bring me the murderer.’

The younger nodded.

He did it all, he did it, – the young Count Dracula got up and ran his hand over his face damp with sweat. It took five hours to search, three of which the heir spent on horseback, racing to the border, hurrying to catch up the defector who had surrendered the lord and his son to Turkish spies, and who was about to join the foreign troops. Almost drove father's stallion. Intercepted, managed.

The light from the candle flickered, swept as if alarmed by a sharp gust of wind. Dracula looked around and lay back on the pillows. What a strange night. It feels like there is something, moving in the corner... As if sitting in silence and looking, waiting for the moment when...

‘What's wrong, young heir, not sleeping? Do ya not satisfied with the blood of the enemy?’ a voice, deaf and raspy, rang out very close to him.

Dracula jumped up and backed away.

‘What scared you, noble master? Why don't you meet a guest?’ squeaked mockingly from the shadows. ‘Or are you afraid to look?’

Dracula turned in the direction from which the voice was heard.

A thin, tall man with an unhealthy blush on his sunken cheeks emerged from the thick darkness that began two spans from the bed.

‘Why are you silent, master?’ he asked Dracula, who stared at him in horror. ‘Why don’t you offer a glass, why don’t you invite me to the table?’

Without waiting for an answer, the man stepped forward and stopped at the very edge of the bed.

‘It can't be. I killed you,’ said Dracula.

‘That's right, you did,’ the man bared his teeth and opened the tattered, worn-out sheepskin coat he was wearing. A scarlet slit crossed the shirt underneath from throat to groin. The man lowered his head and, touching the cut, plunged a knotted finger into it. ‘It hurts,’ with a barely audible smack, removing his finger from the wound, he said thoughtfully, ‘it hurts, but you can live.’

Dracula felt sick.

‘How did you manage...’ He straightened up in bed and reached for his belt for a knife.

‘Take your time,’ the man rushed forward, grabbing Dracula's raised hand. His fingers were inhumanly strong and cold as ice. ‘We`ll have all night.’

‘What are you?’ Dracula, recoiling, whispered with his lips, already knowing the answer.

‘I am Grigor Vostritsa, Grigor-The-Traitor, Grigor, whom your gullible dad warmed on his chest, and the crazy grandpa ordered to catch and feed the mad dogs,’ the man replied, grinning. ‘Grigor, who missed the spoil, and came for it. And what a feast it will be...’

Long, sharp teeth gleamed in the candlelight.

Dracula screamed.

...

‘Dracula! Wake up! Dracula! Come on, wake up, it's just a dream!’

Agatha struggled to shake Dracula, who was rushing about in unconsciousness. Not needing to sleep in the usual sense of the word, at night he plunged into a semblance of numbness, which helped him not so much to restore physical strength as to give rest to his mind. This state was in every way similar to a human dream, with the exception that it was more difficult to end it.

Agatha moved closer to Dracula. He looked even paler than usual, shivering and whispering something in Romanian.

Sitting on the bed, Agatha took a deep breath. The sounds made by Dracula were not loud enough to wake her up. But after what happened on Demeter, already here, in London, Agatha sometimes began to sink into his dreams.

Most often they were just scraps of images and vague impressions – reminiscent of flat shadows on a gray stone wall. They were short and blurry, and after them, in the morning Agatha got up with a headache, a feeling of loneliness, and dull melancholy.

Today, for the first time, the dream was so real and clear.

‘Dracula! Wake up, Dracula!’ Agatha tried again.

Dracula groaned and reached for her without opening his eyes.

Agatha bent down and ran a hand over his sweaty chest. Gently stroked, sliding from shoulder to stomach and back, lingering to the left, where the heart was silent, softly touched his cheek. As if alarmed even more by this short caress, Dracula got up and sat up in bed.

For a while, he simply sat without moving, in the light of the moon falling from the window.

Agatha was silent, not daring to turn to him again.

Dracula winced and took a deep breath, and then suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her.

There was such pain in his eyes that it stabbed inside her.

Without a word, she stirred and, sitting down on his lap, hugged him tightly.

‘Everything is fine, everything will pass,’ she whispered, ‘everything will pass, it's just a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream, you killed him,’ she said, kissing his hot forehead and cheeks, ‘you won, he's gone.’

She was saying something else, snuggling up to him and feeling how the nightgown was getting wet from the heat, putting herself under the hands and lips that were taking possession of her – for the first time so strongly, furiously – and so unexpectedly good.

When the splash of pleasure dies down and she opens her eyes, the moon seems higher – the light floods the room, leaving no corner untouched. Agatha looks at Dracula, who is holding her with both hands, and just sits for a couple of seconds, admiring his tired, peaceful face.

The rest is seen as natural as spontaneous. Slightly pulling back, Agatha pushes aside the collar of her shirt, throwing her hair back and exposing her shoulder.

‘Come on. I'm not afraid,’ she says, moving closer to him again and screwing up.

For several long minutes, nothing happens at all.

Opening her eyes, Agatha stares blankly at Dracula. He sits motionless and looks at her, smiling openly and tenderly.

‘No, Agatha,’ he says. ‘Not today. Not this way.’

***

‘You're avoiding me?’

Agatha met Dracula at the entrance to the living room and stopped, blocking his path.

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it's all because we haven't seen each other since last week.’ Agatha shrugged.

‘I have a lot to do,’ Dracula tried to walk past her into the room, but Agatha did not budge.

‘You leave home in the morning when I’m still asleep, and you come back after midnight,’ she said. ‘If you come at all. On Tuesday and Wednesday, you were not here, although the carriage did not leave the gate and all the horses remained in the stable.’

Dracula took a deep breath.

‘If I wanted to lead a secret life, I should have chosen someone not so observant,’ he said with a short smile.

‘At least,’ stepping aside, Agatha nevertheless cleared the passage.

After following Dracula into the living room and sitting next to him on the sofa, she was silent for a while.

‘I don’t believe it’s because of what happened that night,’ she said quietly at last. Lowering her eyes, she absentmindedly smoothed the folds of the dress. ‘You and I knew worse times, and I saw you in a much more unsightly light. If now...’

‘Agatha.’ She raised her eyes and met his gaze. ‘You know that's not true,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘And I also know that you never lied to me or hid anything from me. Even on the Demeter.’ She waved off when she saw the protesting expression on his face. ‘You didn’t deceive me – all I needed to know about what was happening was in front of my eyes. I just didn't get it right away. Which, of course, doesn't make your behavior acceptable,’ she said immediately. And added: ‘You drank my blood and made me a favorite dessert, but you did not lie to me.’

Dracula was silent.

‘You were honest, although you fed on me, and took me to the ship against my will,’ Agatha continued. ‘That is why your behavior seems all the more strange to me... now when I said ‘yes’.’

Still silently, Dracula leaned back on the sofa. His lips were tightly compressed, and his eyebrows were furrowed, as if for a long time he had been trying to solve a problem that turned out to be too difficult, and could not bring himself to stop thinking about it.

Agatha regarded him thoughtfully.

‘Maybe…’ she began slowly, ‘maybe this is the whole point? That I agreed?’

Dracula turned his head and looked at her amazedly.

‘Count Dracula, the Wallachian ruler,’ said Agatha, ‘cannot choose the daughter of a merchant from a distant province as a life partner. Which has neither a title, nor a suitable name, nor a sufficiently well-born family.’ She looked straight at Dracula. ‘The laws of blood are harsh and unbreakable.’

‘Agatha,’ it was clear from his look that her suggestion took him by surprise, ‘Agatha, I have been living with you for over a year.’

‘It's one thing to live together, sharing leisure and bed, and even going out by the arm, and quite another,’ she smiled, ‘to enter into a relationship under the hand of the clan and under the coat of arms of the dragon. You could reject me when I become a vampire,’ Agatha said, not allowing him to object, ‘reject, as soon as I would bore you – but it was not accidentally that you called those you turned brides. Obligated to you with a new life – no matter how terrible and gloomy it might be – they have become part of your family. As I would. And even you wouldn't be able to change that. Wherever I went and wherever I lived my indefinitely long centuries, I would forever remain Dracula's companion, recognized and accepted by him.’

The silence that followed her words was long, but contrary to her expectations, it did not seem depressing. For a couple of minutes, Dracula just sat, still frowning and unconsciously rubbing the ring on his ring finger.

‘Four hundred years ago I was baptized in Orthodoxy,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘What?’ Agatha did not understand. She leaned back slightly and eyed him suspiciously.

‘I presume, you are a Catholic,’ Dracula continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘It is unlikely that we will be married under this condition, so, apparently, I will have to convert to Catholicism.’

Agatha looked at him in amazement.

‘Why not me – to Orthodoxy?’ she asked blankly.

‘Because considering what you just told me, it would be offensive to me.’

They looked at each other for several seconds until Agatha turned away, covering her face with her hands.

‘Am I making up nonsense?’ muttered, feeling him hug her.

‘You're too smart,’ Dracula smiled, kissing the top of her head. ‘I should have taken this into account when I suggested to you... I should have talked about it with you right away. Everything you said’ he pulled away and looked at her ‘is absolutely reasonable and absolutely real. Except that has nothing to do with you and me.’ He brushed the hair from her cheek and added: ‘I have not been a Wallachian ruler for a long time, Agatha. Not in the sense in which you described it. And even if I were still a sovereign medieval seigneur, I would be free to choose a wife to my liking. I would have offered you my hand and heart a year ago,’ he said when he saw Agatha trying to protest, ‘if I thought it meant anything to you.’

Agatha averted her eyes.

‘I thought... I thought after I agreed...’

‘I suddenly realized with all clarity how you would humiliate my good name,’ Dracula laughed. ‘This is perhaps the best thing that I have heard about myself in four hundred years.’

‘But still...’ Agatha did not stop.

‘You were right,’ Dracula interrupted. ‘That night I realized for the first time that it was serious. And I wondered if I really want this for you?’

‘You told me...’

‘Agatha,’ he said, burying his fingers in her hair, ‘it's a long life, Agatha. A life in which values, people, traditions, and customs change. The future and the present, as before, become the past. Only now you don't go with them. Others leave – relatives and acquaintances, faithful servants, and old friends. Not all of them you can take with you. And sometimes you just have to look after them. It hurts, Agatha.’

He fell silent again. Raising her hand, Agatha ran her fingers over his cheek. ‘You will be with me,’ she wanted to tell, but she held back. They both knew perfectly well what a world closed for two could turn into over the years.

Unexpectedly to herself, she laughed.

‘Changing faith can be easier than coming to terms with yourself,’ she said in response to his questioning look. ‘But if trees and birds can,’ Agatha added, remembering their conversation with Dracula about longevity, ‘then I can too.’

He looked at her uneasily and incredulously, and it was like their first evening in this house.

‘And you know what else?’ Agatha said. She hesitated. ‘I want to ask you: do not create any illusions by doing this. I want to know what's going on. I go for it with open eyes, and I want it to apply to everything.’

Dracula smiled and covered her fingers over his face.

‘As you wish,’ he replied.

***

November 15, 1898, Times

‘We are pleased to announce that on November 15 of this year in London, at Carfax Abbey, the wedding of Count Vlad Dracula and Miss Agatha Van Helsing took place.’

Agatha put the newspaper down on the dressing table and cast a thoughtful look at the ring on her hand. A thin strip of gold glittering in the twilight of the room seemed like a spark on the surface of the calm sea. Agatha chuckled shortly. A sea that she never intended to enter. It was not only about her past as a nun – her stay in the convent was short and rather forced than chosen at the call of her heart. Marriage as it was just never seemed attractive to her – or useful from any side.

She was distracted from the contemplation of the wedding ring and, straightening, began to remove the hairpins from her hair. Agatha hated complicated hairstyles, but for a sophisticated lady, especially in her current status, a wedding hairstyle was a must. Agatha sighed. It was already good that they managed to avoid a magnificent celebration, limiting themselves to a modest wedding in a local chapel.

The door to the room creaked softly as it opened and closed again.

Freed from bobby pins and hairpins, the hair fell to the shoulders in a heavy wave. Agatha looked in the mirror.

‘I look like a witch from old fairy tales,’ she said, turning in her chair, lifting her head and looking at Dracula standing in front of her. ‘Who appeared without an invitation to the royal palace.’

Dracula smiled.

‘Witches usually have a much more interesting past than the daughters of foresters and crown princesses.’

‘Maybe,’ Agatha agreed. ‘Did you let the servants go?’ she asked, getting up.

‘Gave them leave until next Wednesday.’

‘So long?’ Agatha, approached the bed and began to unfasten the hooks on the dress, anxiously turned around.

‘I think it will take less time,’ Dracula came over and freed a lock of red hair stuck in one of the fasteners. ‘Still, it’ll be better if you and I will be alone in the next week and we don’t have to look back at the door.’

Agatha nodded. Her fingers returned to the hooks and laces. Having straightened with them, she shrugged her shoulders, and the dress slid to her feet.

She did not see Dracula, but she knew for sure that he was watching her. Stepping over the dress, she straightened the lace shirt on her chest and, walking slowly to the bed, climbed onto it.

Slightly closing her eyes, she watches as Dracula locks the bedroom door, extinguishes the lamps one by one, leaving only the candle at the head of the bed to burn, and, going up to the bed, reaches for a silk scarf tied with an elegant knot around his neck.

Once next to her, he sits down behind and, holding Agatha to him, runs his palms over her hands. His fingers stop at the shoulders, freeze as if in thought, grasp the shock of hair that has been scattered down her back, and lift it up.

A slow, long kiss on the back of her head makes her arch and bite her lip. For a few seconds, Dracula does not move, and then he kisses her again and sinks lower, his hands slide forward, to the buttons of the shirt, lower the thin fabric from her shoulders.

Closing her eyes, Agatha completely surrenders to her feelings. From fleeting touches, the body burns and melts, filling from the inside with a silent ringing, opening and dissolving, almost disappearing, until it gathers again at one point to the left, where the neck passes into the shoulder.

...Soft darkness surrounded her from all sides. There was absolutely nothing frightening about it: Agatha stirred and tried to turn her head rather out of curiosity.

‘Don't resist,’ Dracula's voice rang through her head. And a second later – a chuckle. ‘You'll like it.’

***

The awakening was... sharp. And in a completely literal sense. Smells, sounds, colors were sharp. From the world hanging over Agatha, details seemed to appear and emerge at once.

Dust particles on the dark red velvet curtain of the bed. A scent of fresh varnish rising from a parquet floor painted three weeks ago. Spiky sheets that scratch the body with the skin of an ancient beast. Electric discharges from the back of the head and lost in the thick of long hair.

Agatha closed her eyes. The raging sea of spots of color disappeared and was replaced by a thin squeak.

‘When will the convulsions begin?’ Agatha asked into space without opening her eyes. Her own voice sounded low and hoarse, heavy in her ears.

‘So you want to try?’

Agatha opened her eyes. Dracula's pale face bent over her. A mosquito hovered carefree beside his right cheek.

‘Not that I wanted,’ Agatha said slowly, shifting her gaze from the mosquito to Dracula. ‘I just thought it was part of the process.’

‘Apparently, not always,’ Dracula held out his hand and helped her to rise and sit, leaning on the pillows. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Loud,’ Agatha muttered, wincing.

‘It's okay,’ Dracula leaned away and reached out to the side. ‘You are hungry?’ asked. Agatha lowered her eyes to the crystal glass that appeared in his hand. The dark scarlet liquid in it looked unusually tempting.

‘I don’t know,’ Agatha said barely audibly and looked at Dracula in dismay. ‘I can't,’ she blurted out and closed her eyes, once again dazed by the sound of her voice.

‘Agatha, this is not human blood,’ Dracula reminded her gently. ‘And if you're not ready, we can still wait. It's just that the sooner you satisfy your first hunger, the less strong and uncontrollable it will be later.’

Agatha nodded silently.

Swallowing shortly, she stretched out her hand to the glass – and immediately leaned back, groaning exhaustedly.

‘Agatha?’ Dracula asked worriedly.

‘So many... so many things,’ she said, shaking her head and licking her lips.

Dracula put his hand on her forehead. The rough skin of the palm felt like a touch of stiff paper, but it was cool and soothing.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Dracula said quietly. ‘In the beginning, it is always like that.’

Agatha could not resist a skeptical smile.

‘It has advantages,’ Dracula whispered conspiratorially, bending over slightly. ‘And a lot.’

‘I remember,’ Agatha snorted. ‘The ability to hear rats scratching under the floor, to catch negligent coachmen...’ Hot lips, catching her earlobe, silenced her. ‘Give me a little time,’ she said with an effort, ‘maybe I can find more.’

He laughed.

Agatha turned and looked again at the glass on the nightstand.

‘Lissa?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Dracula shook his head.

‘Are you afraid that I will find out your secrets with her?’ Agatha teased him. She climbed higher on the pillows and made herself comfortable. The first shock receded, and the deafening world gradually became just unusually bright and clear.

‘Too much information confuses newbies,’ smiled Dracula. ‘Besides, Lissa is active and willful. Her blood may excite you unnecessarily. This is Richard, a stallion from Angola, who arrived four weeks ago. Gentle and meek like a sleeping child.’

Agatha reached for the glass. She held it in her hand for a moment, staring at the dark liquid inside. Then she raised it to her lips and took a quick sip.

Nothing happened, and the curtain of the bed did not collapse on her head. It felt as if she had taken a sip of old thick wine. The metallic flavor confused her at first, but the further she drank, the more acutely she became aware of her hunger and the satisfaction of being able to satisfy it. A piercing blue sky, humid winds, and a light rustle of hot sand were felt in the shades of taste.

Having drained the glass to the end, Agatha put it back on the nightstand and licked her lips thoughtfully. Neither the taste, nor the sight, nor the smell of blood made her lose her mind, which she most feared. Perhaps, she mused, the insanity of many newly turned vampires was not caused by the craving for blood as such, but rather a consequence of the ‘return’ and the wave of impressions and feelings that attacked them.

Suddenly the silence of the room was broken by a sharp, persistent rustle. Like someone... Agatha turned quickly towards the sound and saw a large rat crawling across the floor.

Agatha squinted at Dracula. He gazed at her in silence, without a shadow of a smile, but his nostrils fluttered in a very familiar way.

‘You will not get it,’ she said.

* Dragostea (Romanian) – love.

#dracula 2020 #bbc dracula #count dracula #agatha van helsing #dragatha #geth #drama #romance

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