Hillary Kanter - Dead Men Are Easy To Love (11 page)

Dalv has a sexy face that looks a lot like George Clooney’s, so naturally I was a bit flirty. He asked what I’d seen of the area so far, and mentioned he would be happy to show me around. He was disappointed when I told him I had already been to Dracula’s castle.

My tiredness got the best of me then. He noticed my drooping eyes and suggested he let me get some rest. I thanked him for his kindness and dinner. Promising we would meet again, he kissed me goodnight—the European way, on both cheeks. It seemed intimate.

***

Dalv Lucard’s Journal—

Oct. 31

I met an American woman today, in the strangest of ways. A bat from a gathering swarm attacked her in the German Cemetery, and when I saw this disturbing incident, I vowed to investigate. I went to her aid, as she was upset. She is an American. From New York City.

After escorting Ariel to her hotel, to find treatment for the small cut on her forehead, I invited her to dinner. When I asked why she was alone here in Bistritz, she said she would explain later. I have to confess, I am deeply attracted to the woman.

I have not allowed myself to indulge in such feelings for so long that there is danger in doing so. Tomorrow I am taking her sightseeing, and will see how this develops. She looks lovely, and perhaps a little lonely.

***

Ariel’s Journal—

Nov.1

The weirdest dream woke me in the middle of the night. I was shaking so badly that I had to write it down. Here is what I saw:

A fog swirled around me. I was traveling—though I can’t remember where to or from—on a jumbo jet larger than any that exists in this world. I flew alone, as I do most of the time in my waking life. I was tired, traipsing up and down endless aisles, trying to find a free section of seats so that I could stretch out and sleep. I kept searching, searching.

Do dreams shadow one’s life, or does life shadow one’s dreams? How is one to know? All I know is that my lifelong sense of incompletion vanished for a moment in time, then returned again with a vengeance. I felt utterly vulnerable. And utterly alone.

Finally I spotted an empty row on the plane, the last one in the back. I smiled, thinking now I could lie down and rest. Through the semi-darkness, I saw a man at the end of this otherwise empty row, his face turned toward the window.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “Do you mind if I stretch out on these seats?”

He turned, and I recognized him as my new Romanian friend, Dalv. But this time his handsome visage was contorted and ugly, with pointed ears, sharp fangs, and a mouth that dripped with blood.

“Say hello to Vlad,” he said.

I cried out, then woke in a cold sweat.

There was no going back to sleep. A terrible thunderstorm howled at my window, and I opened the curtains to peer outside. Trees bent beneath the strain of the wind, and lightning lit the sky. Standing beneath my window, a man was smoking a cigarette.

I blinked, waiting for another burst of lightning so I could get a sharper look, but when the sky lit up again he was gone.

That was around 3:00 a.m. After tossing and turning for half an hour, I decided a warm bath might help. I put the stopper in the tub, and turned on the faucet. Nothing came out. I tried the handles both directions, producing squeaks and groans from the pipes, until water appeared with a brownish, rusty tint. It flowed darker and darker, till it poured the color of blood.

I fled the bathroom, ready to dial the front desk for help—and this time I
really
woke up.

It had been a nightmare within a nightmare.

What an ordeal. I am exhausted.

Dalv will be here soon, and judging by the pink tinge of sunrise, it looks to be a beautiful day.

***

Ariel’s journal—

Nov. 2

Dalv and I roamed the Transylvanian countryside today, hiking into the Carpathian Mountains with a bottle of wine and a picnic. Dalv knows so much about this region’s history, and I enjoyed hearing about it.

I am also learning more about my friend. He’s forty-four years old—my guess was pretty close—and he’s never been married, which is a surprise. Then again, there are plenty of bachelors in New York City who are in their forties. And you know the warning about
that
.

Dalv is old-fashioned and proper, much different from the men back home. He hasn’t even tried kissing me yet—except on the cheek. He is sensitive and seems to know what I want without my asking, almost as though he can read my mind. He asked about my life in New York City, what it is like living there. How can one explain it? He says he dreams of going there someday, but his research at the hospital is so important that he can’t leave—even for a few weeks.

When I asked more about his family, he told me his mother and father died in a car crash five years ago. His one brother, a twin named Rion, lives in Brasov, a town we visited briefly this afternoon. With its quaint cobbled streets, it is much like Sighisoara, lined with houses in faded colors of pink, green, and ocher.

Dalv held my hand as we walked through Brasov. I feel drawn to him more and more. Oh—and I told him of last night’s nightmare.

He cast if off with a laugh. “I imagine the trauma you suffered in the graveyard and visiting Dracula’s castle could give anyone some strange dreams.”

We shared dinner again. He took my hand across the table and asked how long before I went back to New York. I told him I was not sure.

***

Dalv Lucard’s Journal—

Nov. 2

It’s Sunday, and the fascinating American girl and I shared another enjoyable day together. What a fiercely independent woman she is. She looks younger than her age by a decade, and has a quirky sense of humor. It especially comes out when she talks of the bizarre men she has dated back home. She appeals to me, being so different from the serious Romanian girls.

I sense that she likes me, by the look in her eyes. I only wonder how much about myself I should reveal. I have a deep desire to tell her things I have never told anyone, but I mustn’t move too fast. Her length of stay here is uncertain, and for now the operative word is “caution.” She asks many questions about my past, and I have given her whatever information I can, without saying too much.

***

THE TRANSYLVANIAN TIMES

Blood Missing from Local Hospital

Nov. 2, Bistritz—The mystery continues regarding vials missing from the blood bank at St. Agnes Hospital. This supply had been tested for infectious diseases, and awaited delivery to needy recipients. Yesterday, a health official reported a second batch of missing blood. Authorities remain puzzled, as no fingerprints were found at the scene.

***

Dalv Lucard’s Journal—

Nov. 6

Yesterday I met with my brother. I told him about Ariel, and of course he already knew of her—just as I figured. It was
he
who flew into her head that night in the German Cemetery. He is a troublemaker and likes to show off his powers by doing stupid things for sport. There was no reason for this, and I told him so.

Yes, he and I are different, with unique gifts. But this does not mean we should use them in inappropriate manners.

Rion was less than enthusiastic about my having met Ariel. He has always been jealous of anyone who gets close to me, and change of any kind upsets him. He got so angry during our talk that he once again took the form of a bat and darted out the window.

I am developing strong feelings for Ariel. I never planned on this. She is strong, yet so fragile—a combination I find intoxicating. I sent her a dozen white lilies today. I know she likes them, the same as I know psychically how she feels about other things. What can I say? It’s another of the special gifts attributed to those in my family. Those we care for we can read far better than a mortal man could.

People have no understanding of our ways these days. Very few of us are left. In Transylvania, only two in my family—Rion and I—remain. We have evolved over time, and it is easier to be who we are than it was for our ancestors. For instance, the beliefs that we can only go out after dark and can only drink blood to survive are just not true. Yes, blood is necessary every few days to maintain energy, but we can eat other things as well. And drink other things.

As far as only going out at night? More rubbish. We also go out by day, but we feel best if we rest several nights per month in the soil of our birth.

If one of us were to marry a mortal, he would lose his powers and become mortal himself. He could have children, with one catch: any of those offspring, upon death, would reawaken as a vampire.

Since the epidemic of AIDS, it has been unwise to indulge in the blood of any untested persons. This makes for great difficulty, and explains why I work in a hospital. I saw the recent headlines about the missing blood, and realize I need to be more careful. I have fed off rats many times to avoid suspicion—and will do so again, if necessary. Rion seems to prefer raiding morgues, drinking from the very young or very old to meet his needs. I, myself, find that diabolic.

***

Rion Lucard’s Diary—

Nov. 6, Brasov

My twin brother has met a woman from New York City. Technically, I was the one who met her first—a fact of which I reminded him.

Dalv is still mad that I used my powers at the graveyard. I was simply going in for a closer look at her, and my bumping into her head was accidental. So sue me, okay? Sonar and sight don’t exactly work the same. As far as I’m concerned, if someone has the power to turn into something else at will, why not use it?

Dalv is far too uptight and provincial. What a waste of good talent. He is too soft, and way too involved with this woman. He says he’ll bring her to my house party this Friday night. Goody-goody. Can’t wait.

I promise to be good.

***

Ariel’s Journal—

Nov. 6, Bistriz

Got lovely lilies from Dalv. He is so romantic! I am surprised that he knew they were my favorite, as I did not tell him that. He seems to read my mind about everything.

But there’s something about Dalv I can’t quite put my finger on. I’ve watched for the important things—the good things—and also for the red flags. You can’t be a single woman for as long as I have, without looking for them. He is responsible, caring, and honest, yet there is still something … different about him.

I care for him more each time I see him, and I’ve been seeing him every day. The only negative is that I’m sleeping poorly and still having bad dreams.

And last night, a doubly strange thing happened. Half asleep, I felt a whirring above my head. At first, I thought a bird had gotten into the room. I flipped on the light, only to see that it was not a bird at all but a bat!

My window was open, although I do not remember opening it. I struggled to know what to do. Suddenly, the bat flew out the way it had come in. I closed the window and bolted it.

This morning I told the gentleman at the front desk, and he said housekeeping
never
leaves the windows open, so the wind must have blown it open. He says they will check the catch later today.

I have to wonder: what’s up with all the bats in this city? This is my second encounter with them since my arrival. I told Dalv about it over lunch, and asked if he did not think it was quite a coincidence. He looked disturbed, and for a moment a dark cloud seemed to pass across his face.

***

Dalv Lucard’s Journal—

Nov. 7, Bistriz

I cannot believe Rion. Ariel told me about the bat in her room last night, and of course he denied any involvement. I know he did it, though—the vampirian scoundrel!

It is just too coincidental. I am so angry that I could explode. I told my brother to stay away from her. I also told him we would not be attending his party on Friday if he tries one more thing, and advised him he’d better be on his best behavior when we get there.

I have a special evening of my own planned for Ariel tomorrow.

It is time.

***

Rion Lucard’s Diary—

Nov. 7, Brasov

I visited the American girl the other night. Ariel is indeed lovely. I flew through the window and blew the covers from her bed as she was sleeping. I was tempted to touch her dark hair, and I got so close I could feel her breathing.

Although that stupid brother of mine will never admit it, he has changed lately. He is too deeply involved with her, and I just hope he doesn’t take it into that fool head of his to do something crazy … like marry the woman! Why he would trade immortality for marriage I will never know. Once he does it, it can’t be undone. If this happens, he will go to America, and I will be left here alone.

I
must
not let that happen. I alone know what is best for him.

***

Ariel’s Journal—

Nov. 7, Bistritz

I have never experienced a night as fantastic as this one. Pure magic. And also surprising. Dalv is the most romantic man I’ve ever known. It is not just to impress me; it is in his nature.

For starters, this Transylvanian gentleman surprised me with dinner at an old restaurant on the other side of town. Sterling silver platters sparkled beneath crystal chandeliers. Candles warmed the tables and alcoves, and fresh roses perfumed the air. He had arranged for a private room in the back, with a sitting area that included a fireplace and a blue-velvet chaise.