The Count's Rage

Kelantha's Diary

The rapid transformation from vapid elegance and sensuous host to enraged madman stunned me, for never had I seen the Count so altered. There were times in his laboratory when an experiment would go wrongly, leaving me to dismay and him to volatile anger. I�d soon learned his was a rapid reaction indeed, but his wrath rarely lasted more than an instant, overcome by the demure tact of his nature. In these moments, he would be provoked but never fully ill tempered. Only once had I observed this fiendish nature of impulse and that had been upon his seizing of my hand when I arrived in the castle, and careful examination of my bloodstained fingers with an possessive greediness. In the many weeks spent at his castle, I�d come to know vague glimpses of the man, peculiar as he may have been, and this was utterly unlike him.

Rather than relent to the fear it sparked within my breast, where my heart beat rapidly and my cheeks cooled lest I prompt him further, I determined to meet him on equal footing. Long did I gaze on the shattered pieces of the vase and its spilled occupants on the mountainside, the scattered petals like blood on the rocks. It arose in me a morbid sensation as much as a beautiful one, for I was intrigued beyond measure. His demand of whether I had entrenched his home in such wild beauty appealed in a darkly demented way to my sense of humor�for who else would it have been? The gypsies that wantonly traversed the mountains never crossed the threshold, and from the day of my first occupation I�d not seen even a congenial glimpse of a servant.

�I had no idea roses were so repulsive to you, Count,� I coined smoothly after a long interval. �You should have warned me about your abnormal dislike for them.� He very nearly caught up my arm at the window where we stood, his elegant fingers hovering just to the side of my slender frame. He knew I did not like to be touched and even in his sudden explosive temper, maintained an appropriate distance. I stepped away from him and returned to my book, allowing him to regain his dignity. For a lengthy amount of time only silence dwelled between us, not of the comfortable kind old friends are prone to indulge in but of a suspicious, disconcerting air. I allowed it to lapse, knowing he was as ruffled as I was.

There was no meaning to his madness other than the roses must have cost him pain. My memory cast back to the painting of the woman in the far chamber, the one I presumed to be his mother, and wondered if it had not some tie to her. I turned the page of my book thoughtfully and he came forward, resting his hand on the back of my chair. �You must forgive me, Miss Cabrera,� said he in the normal tranquil tone, utterly deep and enthralling. He never spoke rapidly nor with undo presence, but was soothing and calm. Though I�d been brought up in religious institutions from childhood, I knew the utterly secular effect that voice would have had on any number of my companions. I was not entirely above its dreamy existence, but resisted with willpower rapidly yielding to his immense influence.

Only in his presence could I find true happiness, for in those late hours in the laboratory we schemed together, debated together, spoke at length together. His was an immense knowledge gleaned of experience while mine was learned only through study and contemplation. The notions he implanted within me about sovereignty, about life after death and the possibilities of science bloomed in my soul like seeds cast into fertile land. Starvation and drought had come with my education, the repression inflicted upon me by biased professors and parents willing to mold me into a model of demure womanhood. Dracula released the rains on the parched desert and allowed it to burst forth into green country where wildflowers grew.

He offered no explanation and I required none; I felt that we understood one another, that he knew I did not reproach him for his actions at the window. In my own way I understood the mystery behind his actions, had begun to sense over the passing weeks that all was not at ease within the house bereft of servants. Rather than acceptance, I offered forgiveness in a motion never before granted. I lay aside my book and lifted one somber white hand in friendship. The expression in his wonderful eyes was unreadable as he accepted it, his fingers curling over mine in the candlelight. It was then I asked him. I�d long been desiring to make such a request but until now had not the courage; the taking of my hand enabled me, for it reminded me that he was still my dear friend and companion, not a tyrannical fiend who would scorn me for inquiry.

�My dear Count,� said I in graceful tone, �long have I desired this one request. I know that you go out in the evenings and at night, no doubt to walk this wonderful land. I should like to come with you one night, if I may.�

I could see that my prompting confused him, for darkness suddenly invaded the remarkable brow, and then a kind of demonic gleam came into his eyes, of pleasure and satisfaction. �Yes,� said he with anticipation, �you shall come with me, Miss Cabrera! When the moon wanes and the flowers of the night are in bloom. A week hence, I will reveal to you the wonders of Transylvania by the nightly hours. She yields many pleasures but dangers also. I must have your word you will not wander before then, for while I know the paths and animals, you do not, nor are the gypsies to be trusted. It would be dangerous for you to go out alone.�

He was stroking my hand thoughtfully, like that of a child.

�Very dangerous,� he agreed privately. Then becoming aware of his motions, he unfolded his hand and released mine. I drew it back without haste, allowing him to sense my approval. All came to normality then and we talked far into the morning, when the wax had dwindled and the candles burned low. Only then did my nocturnal host awaken and depart into the house. Putting out my light and standing at the window, I saw him leave by the normal route not long afterward. But when he reached the ground, rather than vanishing among the trees as he normally did, his face tilted toward my window with a lingering glance. I drew back instinctively, but knew he had seen me. The memory of his pale face in the moonlight influenced my dreams, and I awakened in the early afternoon to a mild sense of unease. I wondered what kept him throughout the day, where he dwindled away the golden hours of glorious sunlight and warmth of the afternoon. He was an odd creature to dwell in darkness, for while I understood its lure, I would have missed the security of sunny mornings and peaceful afternoons.

I took to wandering the house in idleness and came to his door. None of the doors in the castle were locked to me, and I�d explored many of the rooms beyond, even unto the kitchens where my host prepared all the meals I was served. He was meticulous in this task, with each plate and goblet set in place and well polished. I�d never attempted to find his chamber before and only by symmetrical knowledge of the placement of his window managed it. His room lay behind wooden double doors engraved in an obscure pattern. There was a creature lording over the entrance from above, a bat-shaped gargoyle like those I�d seen on the ancient churches of Rome. It stared at me as I lay my hand against the massive golden knocker and pushed. It would not open even when I put the full force of my weight against it.

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