3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

One Week Later

T he late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Jonathan Harker’s office as he sat at his mahogany desk, absently rubbing the fading bruise around his eye. The past week had been a blur of mundane legal work and fitful nights, his dreams haunted by shadowy alleys and mocking laughter. He longed for a distraction, something to pull him out of the suffocating routine that seemed to be closing in around him like a shroud.

A peculiar letter arrived on his desk as if to answer his unspoken wish. The envelope was thick and made of high-quality parchment that spoke of old-world wealth. However, the wax seal caught Jonathan’s eye - a beautifully rendered dragon in deep crimson, its wings spread as if ready to take flight from the paper itself.

With trembling fingers, Jonathan broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The handwriting within was elegant, almost calligraphic, yet something was unsettling about the way the ink seemed to glisten wetly in the fading light.

“ My dear Mr. Harker, “ the letter began, “I write to you with a most unusual request. I find myself in need of legal assistance to finalize certain estate affairs here in my homeland of Transylvania. Your reputation precedes you, and I would be most grateful if you would consent to travel here and lend your expertise to my cause. I assure you, the compensation will be more than worth your while. Yours most sincerely, Count Dracula.”

Jonathan’s heart raced as he reread the letter. A count! He had never met nobility before, let alone been specifically requested by one. The prospect was as thrilling as it was daunting.

‘Perhaps this is just the escape I need,’ he thought, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘A chance to leave behind the suffocating confines of London, if only for a little while.’

Later that evening, Jonathan found himself in the opulent drawing room of the Westenra estate, sharing the news with Lucy over tea. The room was a hallmark of Victorian excess, with its heavy velvet drapes, ornate gilded mirrors, and plush furniture upholstered in rich, jewel-toned fabrics.

Lucy, resplendent in a gown of deep emerald that set off her flaming red hair to perfection, listened to Jonathan’s excited recounting of the letter with an uncharacteristic frown marring her porcelain features.

Lucy leaned forward, her emerald eyes wide with concern. “Transylvania?” she repeated, her usually cavalier tone replaced by a hint of worry. “Oh, Jonathan, are you quite sure about this? Bistra, my servant - you know, the one from that region - she’s told me the most frightful stories about the place.”

She shuddered delicately, her pale hand clutching the pearls at her throat. “Why, just the other night, she was regaling me with tales that gave me such a fright I could scarcely sleep! Superstitions and folklore, to be sure, but there was something in the way she spoke... as if she truly believed every word. She says that the place you’re going is a realm where evil lingers, you know. Where the veil between our world and something else is frighteningly thin.”

Lucy’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Bistra swears that in the deepest, darkest parts of the Carpathian forests, there are creatures that defy explanation. Things that prey on unwary travelers and drain the very life from their victims. Oh, Jonathan, promise me you’ll be careful!”

Jonathan chuckled, stirring another lump of sugar into his tea. “Come now, Lucy. Surely you don’t believe in such fanciful tales? It’s the modern world, after all. I’m sure Transylvania is no more dangerous than our own dear London.”

Lucy’s frown deepened. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but I would feel better if you took some precautions.” She rose gracefully, moving to a nearby cabinet and extracting a small wooden box. From within, she produced a silver crucifix on a delicate chain.

“Lucy, really,” Jonathan protested as she approached. “I appreciate your concern, but I hardly think-”

“Humor me,” Lucy insisted, draping the crucifix around his neck. “Consider it a good luck charm, if nothing else.” Her emerald eyes sparkled with a mixture of concern and mischief. “But wait, you simply must hear Bistra’s stories firsthand. Bistra!” she called out, her voice ringing through the opulent drawing room.

As if conjured by Lucy’s summons, the door opened to reveal Bistra, Lucy’s servant. She was a small, wiry woman with dark eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom within their depths. Her weathered face spoke of a hard life, yet her bearing had quiet dignity as she entered the room.

“Yes, my lady?” Bistra inquired, her accented English soft but clear.

Lucy gestured excitedly towards Jonathan. “Bistra, dear, Mr. Harker here is traveling to Transylvania. You must tell him about your homeland, about the stories you’ve shared with me.”

Jonathan’s curiosity was piqued by the grave solemnity that immediately fell over Bistra’s features at the mention of Transylvania. The old woman’s eyes darted nervously around the room as if checking for unseen listeners before she spoke.

“Transylvania, sir?” Bistra’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It is a land of great beauty, yes, but also of great danger. In my homeland, we fear the vampyr - unholy beings who survive by draining the lifeblood of the living.”

Jonathan couldn’t help but lean forward, drawn in by the intensity of Bistra’s words and the apparent fear in her eyes.

“Count Dracula,” Bistra continued, her voice trembling slightly, “his castle grounds are forbidden. The locals whisper of it only in the darkest hours of the night, and even then, they fear to speak too loudly. Many who enter those grounds never return, sir.”

Lucy clasped her hands together, her eyes wide. “You see, Jonathan? It’s just as I told you. Oh, do be careful!”

Jonathan found himself torn between rational skepticism and a growing sense of unease. The fear in Bistra’s eyes seemed too real to be mere superstition, yet surely, in this modern age...

“Come on, Bistra? You can't really believe—” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

The old woman’s gaze met his, unwavering and intense. “I have seen things, Mr. Harker, that would shake the foundations of your modern world. Take care in Transylvania. The old ways, the old evils... they have not forgotten themselves, even if we have forgotten them.”

A chill ran down Jonathan’s spine, and he found himself clutching the crucifix Lucy had given him a little tighter.

Lucy laid a comforting hand on Jonathan’s arm. “Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to take a few more talismans with you, just in case? Bistra, I’m certain you would know better.”

Jonathan found himself nodding, a gnawing sense of dread taking root in the pit of his stomach. He tried to shake it off, reminding himself of the substantial fee the Count had offered. ‘Besides,’ he thought, ‘he requested me specifically. Surely that’s a good sign?’

Jonathan’s mind wandered. He should have been focused on the potential dangers hinted at by Lucy and Bistra’s ominous words, but instead, he found himself dwelling on the mysterious Count. What would he be like? Would he be as imposing and aristocratic as Jonathan imagined?

‘Stop it,’ he chided himself. ‘This is a business transaction, nothing more. Don’t let your imagination run wild.’