29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

J onathan’s eyes fluttered open, his vision blurry as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Flickering candles dimly lit the room, casting dancing shadows on the rough stone walls. Shelves lined every available surface, crammed with dusty tomes and jars filled with mysterious substances. A large copper cauldron bubbled ominously in one corner, emitting a faint green vapor. Strange symbols were etched into the wooden floorboards, forming intricate patterns that seemed to shift and move in the wavering light. The air was thick with the pungent aroma of herbs and incense, creating an intoxicating and unsettling atmosphere. Jonathan groaned, attempting to sit up, only to be met with a searing pain that shot through his back.

“Where am I?” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Dracula?”

Slowly, carefully, Jonathan managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed. His wound was bandaged tightly, but he could feel the dull throb beneath the wrappings. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before attempting to stand.

As he made his way to the door, his mind raced with questions. Where’s Dracula? Is he alright? Did he make it out of the castle? Oh God, what if he’s hurt? What if Van Helsing caught him?

Jonathan was confused about where he was as he pushed open the door, revealing a small, cluttered living area. His eyes immediately fell on a young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen by the looks of her, grinding herbs in a mortar. She had a delicate face framed by unruly auburn curls that cascaded past her shoulders. Her emerald eyes, wise beyond her years, looked up at him with curiosity. She wore a simple, worn linen dress cinched at the waist with a frayed rope belt, and her bare feet peeked out from beneath the hem. Despite her youth, she carried herself with a quiet confidence, her movements deliberate and practiced as she worked with the herbs.

“Excuse me, child,” Jonathan said, his voice tentative. “Could you tell me where I am?”

The girl’s head snapped up, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Oh, you’re awake. Wonderful,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I’m not a child, you fool. I’m four hundred years old, so you’d do well to show some respect.”

Jonathan blinked, taken aback. “I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. Are you... a vampyre?”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Hell no! I’m a witch! And don’t bother thanking me. The Count and his spawn owe me a favor now, which is far more valuable than gold.” She set down her mortar with a thud. “Now, as much as I’d love to play host, I prefer my privacy. And I particularly dislike vampyres and their... associates.”

Jonathan’s mind was reeling. Witches are a real thing?! And Dracula owes her a favor? But where is he? Why isn’t he here?

“You healed me?”

“Who else? But I couldn’t close you up completely, as that would have taken more mana than I could give. Your wound can still reopen if you move around too much,” the witch continued. “But that’s not my problem anymore. Andor is waiting outside to take you away from here.”

“Andor?” Jonathan’s heart sank. Not Dracula. Why not Dracula? “But where’s-”

“Out,” the witch said firmly, pointing towards the door. “Now.”

Jonathan nodded, moving slowly towards the exit. Each step sent a jolt of pain through his body, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. As he stepped outside, he saw Andor leaning against a tree, his face unreadable.

“Where’s Dracula?” Jonathan blurted out, unable to contain himself any longer. “Is he alright? Was he hurt? Why isn’t he here?”

Andor raised an eyebrow. “My father is... well enough. Though more of a miserable wreck than usual, if that’s possible. It would seem you’ve had quite an effect on him.”

Jonathan’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He’s alive—thank God—but why isn’t he here? Doesn’t he care? Did I do something wrong?

“I’m honoring my father’s wishes,” Andor continued, his voice cool. “You’re to return to London.”

“What?” Jonathan’s voice cracked. “No, I can’t- I need to see him. I need to talk to him.”

Andor shook his head. “I will not incur my father’s wrath….Well, not tonight. His word is final.”

Jonathan felt as if the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. He’s rejecting me. After everything we’ve been through, he’s sending me away….

“Perhaps,” Andor said softly, “returning to London is for the best.”

Jonathan nodded numbly, unable to form words. His heart felt like it was being torn in two. Part of him wanted to scream, to fight, to demand answers. But another part, the part that had always doubted, that had always feared this was too good to be true, whispered that this was inevitable.

The journey to the train station passed in a blur. Jonathan moved as if in a trance, his body on autopilot while his mind spiraled. Andor escorted him onto the train, his presence a constant reminder of Dracula’s absence.

Jonathan’s eyes fell on a familiar figure among the crowd onboard as the train began to pull away from the station. It was the man who had been watching him in London and Paris, the one who looked partly like a beast. But this time, Jonathan felt no fear. He was beyond fear now.

A part of me still wants to stay , Jonathan thought, watching the landscape of Transylvania slip away. But what would that even mean? To stay with someone who doesn’t want me? To live in a world of darkness and secrets? He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. I can’t make sense of my own feelings anymore. Maybe... maybe it is better to leave.

Miles away, Dracula stood amidst the ruins of his once-great castle. Blackened stone walls crumbled around him, still radiating heat from the intense blaze. Acrid smoke hung in the air, stinging his nostrils with the scent of burnt wood and melted metal. The East Wing, where he had kept the Béla look-alikes, was completely destroyed. Only skeletal remains of the structure stood, jagged beams reaching toward the sky like accusing fingers. Ash drifted on the breeze, coating everything in a fine gray powder. The eerie silence was broken only by the occasional crack of weakened timbers giving way. Dracula stared at the charred remains, a mix of emotions swirling within him as he surveyed the devastation of his lair.

“It’s fitting,” he murmured to himself. “I should have killed them long ago. But I held onto them, tormenting myself. Reminding myself to keep loving Béla.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes distant. “I thought my waning love for Béla meant I was growing colder, becoming more of a monster. So I sought to love his image harder than ever before.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I told myself I would always remember that love, over and over again. And now... now it’s all ash.”

“Good,” a voice said from the shadows, a voice Dracula hadn’t heard in centuries but would know by instinct.

Dracula whirled around, his eyes widening as he saw the demon saunter from the darkness. Its form shifted constantly as if struggling to maintain cohesion in the mortal realm just as it was long ago. Then it took on a more human visage, hauntingly beautiful like before, with long white hair and glowing amber eyes.

Rage boiled up within Dracula. “Now you decide to show yourself?” he snarled, lunging at the demon. “After all these years!”

But the demon easily dodged every attack, laughing as Dracula’s fists met nothing but air. “Still as impulsive as ever, I see,” it taunted.

Dracula stopped, his chest heaving. “You lied to me,” he spat.

The demon’s laughter died away, replaced by a look of mild curiosity. “I have no reason to lie to you, Vlad Tepes. Your soul already belonged to the eternal paradise when we struck our second bargain.”

Dracula grumbled at the name Tepes. The demon had obviously called him that to insult him, and he didn’t like it. His enemies had given him this moniker to focus on the act of punishing rather than what the so-called victims were getting punished for.

The murderous intent coming from the Counts was immeasurable. “Oh, did I insult you? I’m so so sorry Vladislaus Drakulya.”

“I gave up my son, my legacy , for the promise of Béla’s return,“ Dracula said, his voice raw with emotion. “And for what? Nothing but pain and disappointment.”

The demon’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Oh, but I did make good on that promise. Béla’s soul did return, and you did a fine job of caring for it.”

Dracula froze, his mind struggling to process the demon’s words. “What do you mean? Jonathan-”

“Was hurt more than once because of you?” the demon finished, its tone light. “No, not him.”

Shock rippled through Dracula. “Then... who?”

The demon’s eyes glittered with amusement. “Remember that cat? The one you doted on, almost turned into one of your creatures of the night? Oh, how you loved it so.”

“That was... Béla?” Dracula whispered, disbelief coloring his voice. The curious cat he had met while picking the bat flower. He felt compelled to bring the animal home, and it had been a source of comfort until one night, it curled into his lap as he sat by the fire in his library on a cold winter night and died peacefully in its sleep.

The demon nodded, its smile widening. “See? Your Béla returned, he found you, you loved him, and he died a peaceful old mortal death. Promise fulfilled.”

Dracula’s mind was reeling. “But Jonathan... the things we experienced together, like how Béla and I used to make love in the tower...”

“Ah, that was Béla’s spirit,” the demon explained casually. “But only interfering enough to stir you toward the boy.”

“Is Béla’s spirit still here?” Dracula asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The demon shrugged. “Spirits linger in places that were once important to them or around loved ones who can’t let them go. So he lingered until you let him go.”

Dracula let out a long, slow breath. “Then Jonathan was just a man,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and regret. “A man I was developing feelings for, who allowed me to finally begin to truly let Béla go.” He laughed, the sound hollow and mocking. “I chased after physical appearances for centuries, never knowing that I had already held Béla in my arms.”

The demon watched Dracula with detached interest. “I must say, watching your castle burn was the highlight of my night,” it said, its tone conversational. “Seriously, this entire place was depressing.” It stretched, its form shimmering slightly. “Anyway, see you in another few centuries.”

As the demon faded away, Dracula was left alone amidst the ruins of his past. Centuries of obsession, misplaced love, and misguided actions settled heavily on his shoulders.

He thought of Jonathan, of the connection they had shared, of the way the young man had stirred feelings in him he thought long dead. And he had sent him away, back to London, back to a world that could never truly understand him.

Dracula closed his eyes, feeling the cool night air on his face. For the first time in centuries, he felt truly lost. The past he had clung to so desperately was gone, turned to ash and rubble. And the future... the future he had allowed himself to glimpse with Jonathan, even as fleeting as it was... had he thrown that away too?