10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

T he morning sun cast long shadows through the castle’s winding corridors as Jonathan set out to explore his temporary home. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls, the sound seeming to amplify the vastness of the ancient structure. Eventually, he found himself again at the entrance to Dracula’s library.

Pushing open the heavy oak door, Jonathan stepped inside. Now, he would see this room during the day. The library was even more impressive than he remembered. Towering shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, laden with books of every size and color. The air was heavy with the scent of aged leather and parchment, a scholar’s exciting perfume.

As he wandered through the stacks, his fingers trailed reverently over the spines of volumes that looked to be hundreds of years old. In one corner, he discovered a collection of scrolls that appeared to be from ancient Rome. Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat when he realized how much history was tucked away in this remote castle.

“Incredible,” he murmured, carefully unrolling one of the scrolls. “Some museums would give their entire collections for just one of these.”

The hairs on the back of his neck raised as he bent to examine the faded Latin text. Jonathan straightened abruptly, spinning around with the distinct feeling of being watched. But the library was empty, the only movement coming from dust motes dancing in shafts of sunlight.

Shaking off the unsettling sensation, Jonathan returned to his quarters. He settled into the room he had designated as his office, pulling out his briefcase to review some paperwork. However, he found it impossible to concentrate, his mind continually wandering back to the castle’s mysteries and its enigmatic owner.

With a sigh, Jonathan set aside the legal documents and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. He began to pen a letter to Lucy, wanting to assure her of his safe arrival:

My dearest Lucy,

I hope this letter finds you well. I arrived safely at Castle Dracula, though I must confess the journey was more arduous than anticipated. The castle itself is a marvel of ancient architecture, perched high in the Carpathian Mountains like something out of one of your Gothic novels.

Count Dracula has proven to be a most... unusual host. His hospitality is almost overwhelming, yet I find something about him deeply unsettling. Perhaps it is merely the isolation of this place playing tricks on my mind.

I find myself thinking of London often, and of you. Give my love to Béla - I trust you’re taking good care of the little fellow. I hope to conclude my business here swiftly and return home soon.

Yours always,

Jonathan

As he sealed the envelope, Jonathan couldn’t help but feel he had left out more than he had included. How could he possibly convey the castle’s strange atmosphere, the servants’ odd behavior, or the effect that Count Dracula had on him? Some things, he decided, were better left unsaid.

Count Dracula stirred from his daytime slumber as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the Transylvanian landscape in deepening shades of purple and crimson. Before his eyes opened, he could sense Jonathan’s presence in the castle - the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calling to him like a siren’s song.

Vigo materialized at his master’s side, attentive as always. “Will you hunt tonight, my lord?” the servant inquired softly. “It might not be wise to be in Mr. Harker’s presence without having fed.”

Dracula nodded, his dark eyes glittering with barely contained hunger. “You are right, of course. I will find a quick meal before our meeting.” He turned to Vigo, his voice taking on a commanding tone. “Summon Jonathan to the dining hall. I shall join him shortly.”

With a graceful and inhuman gesture, Dracula moved to the window. In the blink of an eye, his form shimmered and changed, transforming into a great bat that launched into the gathering darkness.

Jonathan fidgeted nervously as he waited in the dining hall. Once again, the table was laden with an extravagant array of dishes - far more than any one person could hope to consume. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, he selected a few of his favorites: a hearty beef stew rich with root vegetables, a crusty loaf of bread still warm from the oven, and a wedge of sharp, tangy cheese.

As he was about to take his first bite, the doors swung open, and Count Dracula strode into the room. Jonathan jumped, nearly dropping his fork, feeling inexplicably guilty as if he’d been caught doing something improper.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt,” Dracula said, his voice a low, melodious purr. “I’m pleased to see you enjoying my hospitality.”

Jonathan swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “Yes, thank you. It’s all quite... overwhelming, really. There’s no need for such elaborate meals just for me.”

A small smile played at the corners of the Count’s mouth. “I’ll make a note of that. Perhaps you can inform my head servant of your favorite dishes, and we’ll keep to those from now on.”

As Dracula sat at the head of the table, Jonathan couldn’t help but stare. The Count’s beauty was otherworldly - pale skin that seemed to glow in the candlelight, eyes dark and fathomless as the night sky, features that could have been chiseled by a master sculptor. Jonathan quickly averted his gaze when Dracula looked his way, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Now then,” Dracula said, his tone shifting to one of business. “Shall we discuss the matter of my property holdings?”

Jonathan nodded, grateful for the distraction. He pulled out a sheaf of papers, spreading them on the table between bites of his meal. As they delved into the intricacies of Dracula’s vast estate, Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being meticulously studied. The Count’s gaze was reptilian, evaluating, like a snake sizing up its next meal.

Throughout the discussion, Jonathan wrestled with deeply buried urges he had long suppressed. Dracula’s dark, sensual presence awakened stirrings of desire that both thrilled and horrified him. ‘Get ahold of yourself,’ Jonathan chastised internally. ‘You’re not some godless sodomite, no matter what perverse proclivities lurk in the shadows of your psyche.’

Unbeknownst to Jonathan, Dracula was equally consumed by a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. As he watched the young solicitor, he caught flashes of recognition - echoes of Béla’s soul peeking through Jonathan’s mannerisms and expressions. The way he furrowed his brow when concentrating, the nervous habit of running his fingers through his hair - all of it achingly familiar.

But over the centuries, he had learned a brutal lesson. The all-consuming love he had borne for his fallen soldier could be more of a punishment than a blessing.

‘Why do I persist in this folly?’ Dracula wondered, his outward expression betraying none of his inner turmoil. ‘Even if this is truly Béla reborn, what right have I to curse him again? To drag him back into the shadows that have become my realm?’

Part of Dracula suspected that his relentless pursuit of Béla’s reincarnation was driven by some dark magic - an obsession that defied reason. Was it the demon who planted this obsession to further torment him? Perhaps it was the natural human desire for companionship that was corrupted and twisted, or a desperate attempt to stave off the crushing loneliness of immortality. Could a monster like him love as a mortal man loves?

As Jonathan prattled on about property lines and legal minutiae, Dracula found himself torn. Was this young man truly his reincarnated beloved, blessed with Béla’s very essence? Or was it just a cruel coincidence of face and form, a fleeting shadow that would fade like mist upon the dawn?

Dracula had endured centuries of torment clinging to false hopes before. No matter how his wandering heart yearned, he dared not repeat those mistakes. The demon’s promise that had led him down this dark path had proven Faustian in nature - you never truly get what you want, not entirely.