8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

T he library of Castle Dracula was a vast, cavernous room. Its walls were lined with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, each laden with leather-bound tomes that spoke of centuries of accumulated knowledge. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment and wood smoke from the crackling fire that cast dancing shadows across the room.

Jonathan Harker sat at a large, ornately carved table, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. The young solicitor couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by his surroundings, a feeling that was only intensified by the looming presence of Count Dracula standing nearby.

The silence was broken by the soft padding of footsteps. Vigo, the Count’s servant, entered the room bearing a silver platter laden with an assortment of dishes. The servant’s movements were fluid and silent, almost ghostlike, as he set the platter on the table before Jonathan. Vigo retreated to the shadows without a word, leaving Jonathan alone with his enigmatic host.

Jonathan’s stomach growled at the sight of the food. It had been days since his last proper meal. Yet, as he looked up at the Count, he couldn’t help but wonder if his host would be joining him.

“This looks delicious,” Jonathan ventured, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the cavernous room. “Will you not sit and eat with me, Count Dracula?”

A small, enigmatic smile played across Dracula’s lips. “I’m afraid I’ve already dined this evening, Mr. Harker. Please enjoy. It’s all for you.”

Jonathan nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. He had hoped that sharing a meal might help break the ice between them, perhaps allowing him to get a better read on his mysterious client. With a mental shrug, he picked up his fork and knife, ready to tuck into the sumptuous feast before him.

As he began to cut into a piece of roasted meat, the knife slipped, nicking his finger. Jonathan let out a small gasp of surprise, dropping the silverware with a clatter.

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” he laughed nervously, reaching for a napkin. “I do apologize, Count. I seem to have made a mess of—“

The words died in his throat as he looked up at Dracula. The Count’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated to the point where they nearly swallowed the iris. But it was the color that truly frightened Jonathan – a deep, burning red that seemed to glow in the firelight. Dracula’s tongue darted out, running across his lips in an unmistakably predatory gesture.

Fear gripped Jonathan, his mind racing to understand what he was seeing. ‘This can’t be real,’ he thought frantically. ‘It must be a trick of the light, or perhaps I’m more exhausted from my journey than I realized.’

He grabbed a napkin, pressing it to the small cut on his finger. “It’s nothing, really,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “Just a small—“

Before he could finish the sentence, Dracula was upon him. The Count moved inhumanly, grasping Jonathan’s wrist in a grip of iron. Jonathan cried out in shock and pain as Dracula brought the bleeding finger to his face, burying his nose in it and inhaling deeply.

“Count Dracula!” Jonathan hollered, his voice tinged with panic. “You’re hurting me!”

As if snapped out of a trance, Dracula released him, taking a step back. For a brief moment, Jonathan saw something akin to shame flash across the Count’s features. Then, in the blink of an eye, Dracula was gone, leaving Jonathan alone and trembling in the vast library.

His mind whirled, trying to process what had just happened. He nursed his sore wrist, wincing at the bruises already forming where Dracula had gripped him. ‘What in God’s name was that?’ he thought, his heart still racing. ‘That look in his eyes... it was like a wild animal!’

The creak of the door startled Jonathan out of his reverie. Vigo entered again with a placid smile that did nothing to calm Jonathan’s frayed nerves.

“Sir,” Vigo said, his voice soft and oddly soothing, “you should come with me now. The Count has a... fear of blood. That’s why he departed from you so quickly.” The servant’s eyes flicked to Jonathan’s hand as a trickle of blood flowed and dripped to the floor. “You must be tired. Please allow me to show you to your rooms.”

Jonathan nodded numbly, rising from his seat. The feast lay untouched before him, his appetite having fled along with the Count. Jonathan realized with a start that the bloodied napkin was missing. He grabbed another one from the table, wrapping it around his finger almost as an afterthought.

As they walked through the castle’s winding corridors, Jonathan’s mind raced. ‘A fear of blood?’ he thought skeptically. ‘That didn’t seem like fear to me. It was more like... hunger.’ He was reminded of the warnings Lucy’s maid Bistra had given him – tales of Vampyrs who craved the blood of the living. Jonathan shook his head, trying to dispel such fanciful notions. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Harker,’ he chided himself. ‘There must be a rational explanation for all of this.’

Vigo’s voice broke through Jonathan’s troubled thoughts. “You are fortunate, Mr. Harker. The Count has taken quite a liking to you already. He’s granted you access to the Consort quarters – a series of warm and comfortable rooms not far from his own quarters.”

Jonathan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Consort quarters? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Vigo smiled, a knowing look that made Jonathan distinctly uncomfortable. “The castle is very old, sir. It was built hundreds of years ago, during a different time.”

As they climbed a grand staircase, its steps worn smooth by centuries of use, Vigo continued to speak, his voice taking on an almost smug tone. “I took the liberty of cleaning the Consort quarters ahead of time. I just knew the Count would take a liking to you. Dracula was almost certain we would not need them, but I knew better.”

Jonathan’s unease grew with each step. There was something in Vigo’s manner, a hint of anticipation that set his nerves on edge. When they finally reached their destination, Jonathan gasped despite himself.

The Consort quarters were a marvel of ancient luxury. The sitting room they entered was spacious and richly appointed, with thick carpets underfoot and heavy tapestries adorning the walls. A large fireplace dominated one wall while comfortable-looking chairs and sofas were arranged invitingly around it.

Jonathan could see a grand bedroom through an open doorway beyond the sitting room. The centerpiece was an enormous four-poster bed, its dark wood gleaming in the soft light. Another fireplace stood ready to ward off the chill of the mountain nights.

A third room caught Jonathan’s eye – a study with a large desk and well-stocked bookshelves. ‘At least I’ll have a place to work,’ Jonathan thought, trying to focus on the practical aspects of his situation.

“Are all of these rooms truly for me?” Jonathan asked, unable to contain his awe.

Vigo nodded, a satisfied smile playing across his lips. “Indeed they are, sir. Your luggage will be brought up shortly.” He paused, his gaze lingering on Jonathan in a way that made the young solicitor distinctly uncomfortable. “Is there anything else you require?”

Jonathan shook his head, suddenly eager to be alone. “No, thank you. I’m quite tired from my journey.” He reached into his pocket, intending to offer Vigo a tip for his assistance, but the servant waved him off with a chuckle.

“There is no need for that, sir,” Vigo said, his eyes twinkling with an emotion Jonathan couldn’t quite place. I am here to serve… Forever.”

The choice of words struck Jonathan as odd, but he was too exhausted to dwell on it. Vigo bowed deeply and retreated, closing the door behind him. Just before it shut, Jonathan caught a glimpse of a smile creeping across the servant’s face, sending a shiver down his spine.

Alone at last, Jonathan sank onto the edge of the bed, his mind reeling from the events of the evening. The soft mattress seemed to embrace him, tempting him to surrender to exhaustion. But even as his body craved rest, his mind raced with unanswered questions.

A chill ran through him, and Jonathan suddenly became aware of how cold the room had grown. ‘I should have known the nights would be colder here than in London,’ he thought, rubbing his arms to generate warmth.

As if in response to his discomfort, the fireplace suddenly roared to life, flames leaping up from the previously cold grate. Jonathan started, his heart racing. ‘How on earth...?’ he wondered, staring at the fire in disbelief.

The warmth from the fire began to seep into the room, and with it came a wave of drowsiness that he found increasingly difficult to fight. His eyelids grew heavy, his limbs feeling loose and unresponsive.

‘It must be the adrenaline wearing off,’ Jonathan thought hazily, struggling to keep his eyes open. ‘Just a few moments of rest, then I’ll...’

His thoughts trailed off as he sank back onto the bed, the fire’s warmth enveloping him like a cocoon. As consciousness slipped away, Jonathan’s last coherent thought was a vague sense of unease.

Count Dracula emerged from the shadows in the corridor outside, unseen by the now-slumbering Jonathan. He placed a hand on the door to the Consort quarters, a look of longing and hunger warring on his face. The taste of the solicitor’s blood tingled his tongue as he gripped the bloodied napkin.