19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

A s Jonathan stirred from his slumber, soft morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains. His mind was foggy, struggling to piece together what happened last night. He remembered everything, from the violent attack and Dracula’s savage defense to the intimate exchange of blood that followed. The Count didn’t alter his mind, and Jonathan was grateful for it.

Jonathan’s hand instinctively went to his abdomen, where he remembered being wounded. To his surprise, he found the area expertly bandaged, with only a dull ache remaining where there should have been searing pain. He was healed, mostly healed, but his body was still sore and bruised, and he could barely move. However, his vision was as sharp as ever. He could smell roasted meat as if it was already in the room with him, but it wasn’t. He also smelled something like cooking grass with garlic, but he couldn’t tell what that was, and yeast, yes, he smelled that too.

A gentle knock at the door preceded Vigo’s entrance. The old man carried a tray laden with a hearty breakfast—fragrant bread, rich cheeses, and what appeared to be a dark, savory stew. ‘Ah, was that the grassy smell?’ Jonathan wondered. ‘Is this the magic of the Count’s blood?’

“Good morning, Master Harker,” Vigo said. His gravelly voice was also very warm. He reminded Jonathan of a kindly old grandfather. At least what he imagined a grandfather to be like. “I trust you slept well?”

Jonathan struggled to sit up, wincing slightly at the movement. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “Though I confess, I’m having trouble reconciling... everything that’s happened.”

Vigo nodded sagely as he set the tray on a nearby table. “That is understandable. You have been thrust into a world few mortals ever glimpse, let alone comprehend. Perhaps I can provide some clarity while you eat?”

Jonathan nodded, suddenly aware of the gnawing hunger in his belly. Vigo settled into a nearby chair as he began to eat. He first tasted the stew; its rich flavors seemed more vibrant than any stew he ever had.

“My master is not a monster. Though he himself would disagree. Vigo continued, his voice taking on a solemn tone. “My master was once known as Vlad the Impaler, a valiant warrior who fought against the Ottoman Empire. He was a mortal man then, a prince of Wallachia.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened in shock. “The historical figure? But that was centuries ago!”

Vigo nodded gravely. “Indeed. The Count traded his mortal soul for victory against the Ottomans. However, the bargain was cruel. He won a few battles but ultimately lost the war... and his beloved Béla in the conflict.”

Jonathan listened intently, his mind reeling with this new information. “So the Count was once human? And this Béla...”

“For centuries, he searched for Béla’s reincarnation,” Vigo explained. “But as each potential match proved false, he grew bitter and despondent. The years weighed heavily upon him.”

Vigo paused, his gaze intense as he looked at Jonathan. “You, Master Harker, are that reincarnated lover.”

Jonathan shook his head in disbelief. “That’s... that’s impossible. How could I be?”

Vigo stood, moving the food tray aside. “Come, let me show you something.”

Confused but curious, Jonathan allowed Vigo to help him out of bed. As they made their way downstairs, Jonathan glanced around, expecting to see Dracula.

“The Count is resting,” Vigo explained. “Giving his blood weakened him. He will sleep for some time.”

They approached a locked door, which Vigo opened to reveal a sitting room. Jonathan’s gaze was immediately drawn to a large painting on the wall. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the familiar face – his own face, yet not quite.

“This is Béla,” Vigo said softly. “The demon who changed Dracula prophesied Béla’s return. And so you have.”

Jonathan’s mind whirled with confusion and realization. The name that had been on his mind for as long as he could remember, the inexplicable choice to name his dog Béla, the undeniable draw he felt towards the Count – it all suddenly made a strange sort of sense.

“I... I don’t know what to think,” Jonathan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vigo placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. But perhaps it explains the connection you’ve felt since arriving here. The past and present are intertwined in ways we cannot always comprehend.”

“I don’t know if I like this idea,” he said, his voice strained. “These feelings I’m developing for the Count... are they even mine? Or are they some echo of this Béla’s emotions?”

He turned to Vigo, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I want to believe that what I feel is genuine, that it’s coming from me. But how can I be sure? I don’t even know if I love the Count or if it’s just... some remnant of a past life pushing me towards him.”

Vigo listened patiently, his weathered face full of compassion. When Jonathan finally fell silent, the old servant spoke gently. “I understand your concerns,” he said. “Reincarnation or not, you are your own man with your own experiences. Your feelings are valid, regardless of any past life connections.”

Jonathan’s shoulders sagged with relief at Vigo’s words. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I needed to hear that. It’s all so overwhelming, and I’m struggling to make sense of it all.”

“What do you feel about the Count?” Vigo asked, his eyes kind but probing.

Jonathan hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought. “I... I don’t know. In London, I’ve been repressed for so long. I was never given the chance to explore feelings like this.”

“Then perhaps it’s time to stop thinking through the lens of Victorian society,” Vigo suggested. “Here, you have the freedom to explore these feelings without judgment.”

Jonathan’s face reddened as he spoke. “The Count is... fascinating. Handsome and noble. I find I can talk to him for hours without tiring of his company.” His voice lowered as he added, “And the intimacy we shared... it was unlike anything I’ve experienced.”

He paused, his expression growing troubled. “But I’m also afraid of him. The way he tore those men apart... it was terrifying. Yet he did it to protect me. I feel as though I’m losing pieces of myself on this journey. I wonder if I’ll like what I see in the end.”

Vigo nodded sagely. “Hiding one’s true self can be a terrible burden. Not knowing oneself is even worse. I urge you to remain, to see this through and discover who you truly are.”

“But the Count wishes for me to return to London,” Jonathan protested weakly.

A knowing smile crossed Vigo’s face. “My Master will give in if you insist on staying. However, you should know that he has already marked you. You cannot truly leave now.”

Jonathan’s hand flew to his neck, searching for bite marks. Finding none, he looked at Vigo in confusion. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, marked?”

Vigo’s expression grew serious. “The blood exchange you shared with the Count has forged a connection between you. It’s not a physical mark, but a mystical one. You are now tied to him in ways that transcend the physical realm.” Vigo leaned forward, his eyes intense. “By aligning yourself with the Count, even unwittingly, you have now been irrevocably marked. Van Helsing and his fanatics will stop at nothing to purge anyone or anything associated with what they call the ‘vampyre scourge.’”

“But I didn’t—“ Jonathan exclaimed, a note of panic in his voice.

“Perhaps not consciously,” Vigo replied gently. “But that Hunter sniffed you out immediately; he is not the only hunter in the world, and my master is not the only vampyre.”

“Are you saying I’m in danger?”

“I believe my master believes that sending you away will be enough to keep you safe. Perhaps he is correct. But trust me when I say that once you have touched the preternatural world, it will always draw you in. Whether you wish for it or not.”

“What... what am I to do now?” Jonathan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vigo’s expression softened. “That, my dear boy, is entirely up to you. You stand at a crossroads. You can attempt to retreat back into your former life, though I warn you, it will be a hollow existence now that you’ve glimpsed the truth. Or...”

“Or?” Jonathan prompted, leaning forward.

“Or you can embrace this new world that has opened up to you. Plunge headlong into the mysteries the Count embodies. It will not be an easy path, mind you. There will be dangers, both physical and spiritual. But it offers the chance for a kind of transcendence few mortals ever experience.”

Jonathan fell silent, contemplating Vigo’s words. The enormity of the choice before him was staggering. After a long moment, he spoke again. “Are you a…Vampyre?”

Vigo laughed. “No, I wish. I am a mere immortal servant, a creature that was once a mortal man who had fallen in love with a vampyre and abandoned to live out my mortal life. I searched for him, and my search led here to Castle Dracula. Like a fool, I begged to be turned, and when he refused, I behaved like a fool. His punishment was to make me his servant by feeding me his blood.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry. It is not the same intimacy as what you share. In the early days, I had to lick it off the floor; now I drink from my own goblet.”

“Am I immortal?”

“No. Your blood has been replaced by his twice now. A third time, you may be changed into one of his Vampiric children. For me, I merely drink his blood to stave off aging. I’ve served for nearly two hundred years now, but I do age, and I can be killed like a mortal man, though it will take a lot for that to happen. I have the strength of ten men and can move as fast as a jaguar.”

“Why did he turn others? Did he…love them?”

“I can’t begin to understand his reasons entirely. Some have been quite fascinating and useful to him, and others were given the gift after striking a bargain. None have been the men he believed could be his lost love.”

Jonathan’s mind raced. He thought of London, of Lucy, of the life he had left behind. It all seemed so small now, so constrained.

“I... I can’t go back,” he said finally, his voice firm. “Not to London, not to that life. It would be a kind of death to deny everything I’ve learned and felt.”

Vigo’s face broke into a rare smile. “I believe you’ve made a wise choice, Master Harker. Though the path ahead will not be easy, I think you’ll find it infinitely more rewarding than the life you left behind.”

Jonathan nodded, a sense of resolve settling over him. “I should write to Lucy, at least. Let her know I’m safe, even if I can’t explain everything.”

“A prudent decision,” Vigo agreed. “Though I would advise caution in what you reveal. The less she knows of the supernatural elements at play, the safer she will be.”

“Of course,” Jonathan said. He paused, then asked, “Vigo... what happens now? With the Count, I mean. After last night...”

Vigo’s expression turned serious once more. “That is between you and the Count. I won’t be able to get away with nearly the same as you. Convince him to let you stay. It won’t be that difficult. He has fed you his blood and, therefore, will be intensely focused on you.”

Jonathan felt a flutter in his stomach at Vigo’s words. “And... is that dangerous?”

“Not inherently,” Vigo replied. “But it will be intense. The Count’s emotions and desires are not like those of mortals. They burn with a ferocity that can be overwhelming. You must be prepared for that.”

Jonathan nodded, a mix of anticipation and apprehension coursing through him. “I understand. Or... I’ll try to, at least.”

As Vigo turned to leave, Jonathan called out, “Vigo? Thank you. For... for everything.”

The old servant paused, a knowing smile on his weathered face. “You’re welcome, Master Harker. And may I say... it will be a pleasure to continue to serve you.”