Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

I was going to make this a simple "Author's note" as one often sees at the beginning of fanfics, but I realized before I even wrote it that it would be much more than a few sentences. So I'm calling it what it is: an introduction.

The idea for this story, like the ideas for all of my stories, came from a number of places, seeds of ideas sown from many different inspirations at many different times, taking root in my mind until they were grown and strong enough to be integrated together to form a full-fledged story. The main seed of this story was planted when I saw the movie for the first time and the ideas grew over the months, continuing to change and mutate all the way until…well actually, they're still mutating. In fact I'll probably be revising this as I post it, adding new themes as I go. However, the very first seed was planted long before I even knew who Van Helsing (or Richard Roxburgh, for that matter) was…but that's another, long story. It involved my main character who was inspired by one of my favorite movie characters of all time (and no, I'm not telling you who it is because that would infringe on your imagination's creative right to see my characters how you want to see them), and since then she has been hanging out in my head just waiting for a story to inhabit.

Well, here it is.

The story begins while Vladislaw Dracula is still living…though not for long…and spans about sixteen years. So the time period is approximately 1462 to 1478, which made things very difficult for me. I had a tremendous amount of trouble keeping myself restricted to the time period of the 15th century (i.e. I couldn't give Van Helsing a Colt 45), and I'm sure I've slipped up in a few places. So I am apologizing in advance for all of the anachronisms that I'm certain you all will find. However, please don't bother to point out any historical inaccuracies. As much as I love history, I didn't bother to do any research for this story, and instead made it up as I went along. This is a fanfiction, not a historical novel, so please don't get uptight about any historical facts I might have screwed up.

The setting is Bucharest, Romania. The story opens with Dracula and his army having just taken the city and Dracula having declared himself Count and ruler of all Romania.

I have taken some liberties with the legends of Dracula and Van Helsing, the most notable being the presence of Igor in the story. Yes, I know that in most legends Igor is attached to Dr. Frankenstein, but I needed someone in Dracula's castle, on his side, who is not a vampire. Besides, it gave me the opportunity to use Igor for some comic relief.

I do not know a whole lot about the history of the real "Vlad the Impaler," so I made that up as I went along. I also returned to Bram Stoker his Abraham Van Helsing, though he's not quite the same character created by Mr. Stoker.

The story has no title because I am terrible at thinking of titles. Perhaps you who read it can give me suggestions. Because I am handicapped in this area, I also do not title my chapters. Instead I'm trying something that I've been wanting to do for a while (and, in fact I'm doing it in an original story as well). Instead of a heading, each chapter begins with a verse from a poem or song that I think sums up or somehow compliments the events of the chapter. I have come up with tons of ideas for later chapters (too many, in fact), but I couldn't seem to think of anything powerful enough to start the story. What, or who could artistically prepare us to meet Vladislaw Dracula at the height of his political power? Then, while I was driving the other night, listening to the radio (because my stupid CD player is broken), I heard my boy, Marshall Mathers Jr. and I heard the perfect words to get things going…

But before that I need to give the standard disclaimers: Dracula, Van Helsing and Igor have been used by many authors over the years, so I guess they don't technically belong to anyone. However, the versions of those characters which I am using, as well as the circumstances in which they exist were created by Stephen Sommers. No copyright infringement is intended. I am not making any money off of this and I don't intend to publish it anywhere but on this website so that fellow fans may enjoy it.

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Most of the bodies on the field were motionless, lifeless. A few twitched. Here and there soldiers rolled over and moaned, but most were still. Two young men walked among the bodies, dragging between them an older man who was alive, but badly injured. He looked from one to the other of them, speaking softly, pleading, but they ignored him.

They dragged him to the edge of the field, then let go of him. He fell onto his knees and looked up.

"Oh dear God," he breathed, "Please…"

A spear point appeared above the man's chest where a brightly colored sash indicated his high rank. He looked at the spear, then up at the man standing before him.

"Please…" he whispered.

The spear rose slightly then came down through the soldier's stomach and into the ground beneath him, pinning him in a kneeling position. He gasped, raised his hands and made a feeble attempt to grasp the shaft of the spear, then dropped his arms.

Count Vladislaw Dracula gazed down at his enemy, then out at the field. Finally he turned to the two young men, his sons, who were waiting patiently.

"Come," he said shortly, then turned towards the castle behind him.

Inside the three were greeted by a steward, a small, dark man who approached them bent over in a submissive bow.

"Count?" he said, "Your wife is here."

Dracula didn't even look at the man, but he stopped and turned to his sons.

"Volodya, Kostia, go and see your mother. I'll be there shortly."

Both young soldiers grinned and raced off down a long corridor.

Gabriel Van Helsing stood at the window of an upper room of a small Transylvanian inn. Behind him several men sat at a table eating, drinking and talking loudly. One of them, a grey haired, clear eyed man, stood. Smiling in response to his mates who begged him to remain at the table to tell one more story, he walked to Gabriel and placed a hand on his shoulder. The two men stood silently looking out the window until the loud conversation resumed behind them, signaling that their companions had returned their interest to their drink and each other.

"Bucharest tomorrow," Abraham Van Helsing said softly to his son. "Dracula's victory over the other tribes was quick…and bloody."

"He should die by the same spear he uses to impale his enemies," the younger Van Helsing murmured.

"He'll die by whatever means the Lord provides," his father answered. "We are the Left Hand of God," he lightly touched the small iron cross that hung from his son's neck, "And whatever the Lord places in that hand is what we will use."

After consulting with his generals, Count Dracula sent a servant to the kitchen to get the kitchen staff to begin preparing a meal.

"Serve the men in the Great Hall," he instructed, "Plenty of meat and vodka. They've earned it."

"Yes, my lord," the servant smiled.

"And have soup, bread and meat sent to my chambers; enough for my wife and myself."

The servant nodded, then turned to carry out his orders.

Up in the Count's chambers, his two sons had dropped the grave countenances which they wore on the battlefield, and instead were talking and laughing like children as they sat at their mother's feet. In turn she placed a hand under each of their chins to gaze into their faces and search for a hint of the young boys they had once been. Only in their laughter could she still see a glimpse of those children. Her boys were soldiers now, warriors. She hated that they had been taken from her so young, but she knew, when she married Vladislaw Valerius that he was a warrior, and he would expect his sons to follow him onto the battlefield as early as possible.

If only she had been able to have a daughter; just one child who could stay by her side and be a companion when her husband and sons were at war. But perhaps it was best that she had only boys. After raising three sons, she wasn't sure she would know how to raise a girl. Irina, herself, had hardly behaved like a lady when she was young. With a fiery ambition, she had picked up a sword and fought alongside her younger brothers when they were drilled by the weapons master. In mock battles, she usually won. Her father had often lamented the fact that she wasn't a boy as, in spite of her gender, her skills far surpassed her brothers'. When she begged to be allowed to put her training to use, he reminded her that women did not fight in war. However, he did give in a bit, teaching her to use a bow so that she could at least join her father and brothers in hunting.

All of this was before she had even reached the age of thirteen, which was when she first met her second cousin, Vladislaw Valerius. He was ten years her senior and a veteran warrior, already eclipsing his father and older brothers on the battlefield. His enemies called him "The Dragon of Romania." Because of this, his fellow soldiers had begun calling him "Dracula."

Despite her youth, Irina knew immediately that this was the man she wanted to marry, and so she pursued him with the same persistence with which she pursued learning to use a sword. He would later say that she had hunted him as if he was one of the many deer she had taken down with her bow, and it was true. They were married within months, and Vladislaw the Younger had been born a year after that. Pyotr and Konstantin had followed quickly. As much as she had wanted a daughter, Irina had decided that three children were plenty, especially since all three were strong and healthy. So, using an ancient gypsy mixture of herbs, she had seen to it that there had been no more children.

When Pyotr, her dear, darling Petya, had been killed in his second battle, she had stopped using the herbs, hoping that God might send her another son, or perhaps even the daughter she had once longed for, but there had been no child. And now that Vladislaw was forty years old and Irina thirty, she knew there would be no more.

So now she treasured her two remaining sons, Volodya and Kotstia, and she longed to see them married now that Volodya was sixteen. She had seen the glances exchanged between her elder son and her handmaid, Natalya. Tally was a servant, but she was also a Valerius, which made her eligible to marry the Count's son in spite of her social position. That would be a good match, Irina thought, and Tally was thirteen, ready to be married.

The door opened and the Count entered. He said nothing, but simply stood gazing at his wife, smiling slightly. His sons broke off their conversation, and, with a quick, knowing glance at each other, stood and asked leave of their mother. She stood as well, kissed them both and asked that they return for dinner.

The boys left, closing the door behind them. Irina returned her husband's smile, her eyes hungry. She went to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him close for a kiss. In turn, he guided her towards the bed.

"My lord!" a harsh whisper brought Dracula out of a light sleep. Seeing a figure at the side of his bed, his hand shot out and clamped down on the hapless steward's neck.

"My lord," the whisper came again, only this time it was more of a rasp under the pressure of Dracula's palm.

"Krustov?" Dracula queried softly.

"Yes, my lord."

Dracula let go and the young steward nearly fell backwards, coughing and gasping for breath while his master leisurely sat up.

"Stop that noise!" he hissed, "You will wake my wife!"

"Too late," Irina had already raised herself to a sitting position.

"Sorry, my lord," the steward squeaked.

"Don't worry, boy," Irina smiled at him as she lit a lamp and light illuminated the bed. "He won't hurt you. He'll just make sure you're on the front line in the next battle."

"I-My lord…" the steward looked from husband to wife, his eyes wide.

"She's kidding, you idiot," Dracula said, laughing as he stood and wrapped his robe around himself. "What time is it?"

"Nearly sunrise, and there has been word of troops marching this way from the north."

"The north?" Dracula frowned.

"Transylvania?" Irina asked.

Dracula glanced at her. "We'll know soon. Go back to sleep, my love. I'll let you know what is happening as soon as I know." He bent over and kissed her. She wove her fingers into his long black hair, holding his lips to hers for several seconds before releasing him.

"Return to me soon," she whispered, her green eyes like smoke. Dracula licked his lips in a lascivious smile, then turned and followed the steward out of the room.

"Stay here and keep watch over the Countess," he said to the two guards standing outside of the bedroom door. "See that she is kept safe."

"Yes, my lord," they answered in unison, drawing their swords as a sign of their readiness and vigilance.

"Count?" the steward ventured.

"What is it?" Dracula snapped as he strode down the hallway to his dressing chamber.

"You might want to have the Countess taken out of the palace."

Dracula stopped, glanced down the hall at the motionless sentries outside his wife's door, then returned his attention to Krustov.

"And why would you say that?" he asked, his tone menacing.

"Because…" Krustov's voice cracked and he tried again, "Because our spies saw the standard of the approaching enemy."

"And what standard was it?" Dracula crossed his arms, containing his impatience.

"The wolf's head, my lord."

At this, the Count again looked from Krustov to the two sentries.

"Van Helsing." he whispered.

Natalya Sergevna Valerius sat in the rumbling carriage, heaps of furs piled on top of her and her mistress, the Countess Dracula, to keep them warm as they traveled down the south road which led out of town.

"Are you cold, or frightened?" Irina asked her young handmaid when the sound of her chattering teeth became quite audible.

"I apologize, mistress," Tally murmured.

Irina placed an arm around the young girl and pulled her close.

"Tally," she said, "You know that I feel for you as if you were the daughter I've always wanted. There is no need for ceremony or court etiquette when we are alone. Tell me, child, are you afraid?"

"Very," Tally admitted, "We only have four guards, and I know we're disguised, but if Abraham Van Helsing's army should come upon us, he'll know who we are."

"The spies made no mention of Abraham," Irina said, "Only his son, Gabriel."

"All the worse," Tally moaned, "The son will have even less mercy than the father."

"Shhh," Irina stroked the child's dark hair, "We are on the south road and the army is coming from the north. It is unlikely that we will encounter anything more than a few young guards posted to monitor traffic in and out of the city."

"But what about Volodya and Kostia?" Tally asked, "And don't you fear for the Count?"

"My husband has faced Van Helsing and his son many times and has lived. My sons…." Her voice drifted into silence. Tally looked up at her just as the coach lurched to a stop.

"What is it?" Tally sat up and reached for the curtain that concealed them.

Irina pulled her back. "Stay still, child," she whispered, "Quiet."

"What are they doing on the south road?" Tally asked.

"Hush," Irina soothed, "They have probably circled around to take the castle from behind. It is easier that way."

They gradually became aware of the sounds around them: the tap dancing hooves of restless horses, men's' voices, a single horse walking on the hardened mud towards the back of the coach.

The curtain was flicked aside and Gabriel Van Helsing found himself gazing into fiery, defiant green eyes. He knew those eyes well. He didn't recognize the young girl whom Irina Dracula held in her arms, but he assumed she was a servant. The Countess was dressed simply and was covered by furs. It was a feeble attempt at a disguise, but then Dracula had disguised them not to fool Van Helsing, but to fool his soldiers, making it easier for Van Helsing to…

"Let them pass!!" he called.

"Let them pass!"

"Let them pass!"

"Let them pass!" The call echoed down the line of soldiers strung out before them on the south road.

As the calls continued far down the road, Irina began to feel the immensity of the army that marched with Van Helsing. The fire left her eyes and she turned to Van Helsing.

"Gabriel," she whispered, her tone unabashedly pleading, "My sons."

Van Helsing looked away from her quickly and let the curtain drop. They heard his horse move away as the carriage began to move in the opposite direction.

"My sons," Irina murmured again, her hand unconsciously moving to her belly.

"My lady?" Tally asked.

Irina looked down at her hand. "Perhaps the Lord God will not leave me totally bereft of children.

"My lady!" Tally exclaimed in surprise, "How could it be possible? After only one night….no woman could know…"

A slight smile softened Irina's features. "But what a night it was," she said softly.

Dracula stood on the icy field behind the castle, watching Van Helsing's army through the iron of his helmet. There were many. He was certainly outnumbered, but the Wolf of Rome would need more than a large army to uproot the Count and his army of gypsies. The gypsies had two talents, music and fighting, which made for fierce battles and riotous victory parties.

Dracula's two sons stood on either side of him, and Volodya couldn't help but gaze at the sword his father held: a wide heavy blade with a black hilt, the pommel of which was in the shape of a dragon's head with diamond eyes and a ruby tongue. One day, that sword, and his father's empire, would be his.

A man extracted himself from the army massed at the treeline. He walked across the field, his sword undrawn, and removed his helmet as he came closer to Dracula. The Count was surprised to see that it was not Abraham but his son, Gabriel.

"The old wolf has given way to the young pup!" Dracula called to the approaching man.

"My father knows when it is time to leave warfare to younger men," Van Helsing returned as he came to a stop a few feet in front of the Count.

Dracula did not bother to remove his helmet or sheath his sword. He simply waited to see what the boy would do. When it became obvious that Dracula was not going to respond to his jibe, Van Helsing spoke again.

"We can settle this without soaking this ground with blood," he offered in a quiet voice. "Rome only asks that you allow Prince Vasily to resume his command of the government and military, and that you leave Bucharest and return to Transylvania."

Dracula cleared his throat noisily, then spit on Van Helsing's boot.

"That is my only answer," he said, raising his sword threateningly.

"Why have you turned against your own people?" Van Helsing asked.

"My people?" Dracula laughed, "Surely you don't mean these stupid, peasant Slavs! My only people are those who can claim the name Valerius!"

"Your own father fought for Rome and Christ!" Van Helsing found himself shouting in return, "He is a Valerius and he wants no part of you!"

"That is because he is an old man softened by religion. He and my brothers may be content with Transylvania, but I have higher aspirations."

"The Bible teaches that selfish ambition will only lead to sin and despair," Van Helsing argued.

"Obviously you are softened by the church as well," Dracula retorted. "Your father would have never negotiated for peace with such an impressive army at his back. Besides," he added, "Look at all the despair my selfish ambition has brought me." He held up an arm to indicate the Capital city now under his command.

"Is that your answer?" Van Helsing asked, though he knew what Dracula's response would be.

"What do you think?" the Count hissed.

Van Helsing did not respond, but turned and walked back to his army.

The battle lasted almost until sunset. Dracula's assessment of his soldiers was not an overestimation. Though outnumbered, they decimated at least half of Van Helsing's army before Dracula found himself, once again, face to face with his young enemy.

"Your men fight bravely," Van Helsing yelled over the sound of battle around them.

Dracula answered with a sword strike, which Van Helsing parried barely in time. The two men then fought in silence, the turmoil raging around them, yet never touching them, as if an invisible wall separated the two commanders from their men. The sun had disappeared behind the hills, the red light casting long shadows on the frosted grass as Van Helsing's sword moved with constantly renewed energy. He landed several brutal blows on Dracula's shield, then, as the Count began to grow tired, the sword began to glance off his armor.

Finally the blade hit soft flesh at the vulnerable area between the Count's chain mail and his helmet. The first blow was light, but enough to cause Dracula to stumble, nearly dropping his sword. He fell to his knees and brought his weapon up above his head in time to block Van Helsing's next strike.

"This is not over, Gabriel," he said, his voice strained as blood seeped out from under his armor.

"Yes, it is," Van Helsing replied as he raised his sword and brought it down hard, knocking through the Count's defenses and once again making contact with his shoulder. This time the blade went in deeper and Dracula fell onto his back, his blood now pouring from his wound.

Van Helsing was watching the dying Count so intently that it was several seconds before he noticed that he was surrounded by almost complete silence. He looked up to see men standing around him, staring at either him or Dracula, who was now dead. Very few of Dracula's soldiers still lived, but those who did looked on in shock, their sword tips resting on the ground.

Van Helsing reached down and wrenched the helmet from Dracula's head. He held it up by its crest of black horse hair.

"The Dragon of Romania is dead!" he shouted. "Go home to your families! You no longer need to risk your lives for this tyrant!"

As if a spell had been broken, Dracula's soldiers sheathed their swords and began tending to their dead and wounded.

Later that night, as Van Helsing and his men feasted in the castle with the elderly prince of Bucharest, whom they had reinstated, a small figure crept out onto the dark field. It moved about in a crouch, searching for something, though the dead and wounded of both armies had long since been removed. Finally the figure came to a stop and knelt on the ground. In front of it, barely visible in the moonlight, was Dracula's standard: a flag bearing a white dragon on a black background, though both were now covered in the red and brown of blood and mud. The little man didn't care.

Igor Krustov picked up the filthy rag and clutched it to his chest as he gazed up at the full moon.

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The tiny inn was hardly the appropriate place for a Countess to give birth, yet Irina insisted on traveling to the tiny, northern village of Transylvania to have her child, and the only place at which they could find lodging was a single inn situated in the town square. The Countess's servants had protested the move, but she had insisted. After Van Helsing had murdered her husband and sons, she had fled Bucharest, going to Antioch. For several months, the church had given her protection, but in the seventh month of her pregnancy, something had changed. The priests and nuns had begun to neglect her, leaving her to be cared for by the few servants who had accompanied her. Then, late one evening, the Abbess had come to her, and the two women had conversed in private until the sun had risen. None of the servants knew of what the two women spoke, but when the Abbess left, Irina called her servants to her and announced that they would be returning to Romania. Even more surprising: they would be going not to the capital but to a tiny, isolated village in the northern part of the country.

The elder women who attended the Countess tried to dissuade her from moving so late in her pregnancy, but Irina was adamant, saying that the city had become dangerous, but refusing to explain why. When the servants tried to convince her to return to Bucharest, she simply replied that that city was even more dangerous.

And so Tally stood in the corner of a tiny room watching the two older servants tending to Irina as she gave birth. If she could have stepped out of the room, she would have. She had never witnessed childbirth before and the unexpected violence of it made her nauseous. Unfortunately, Tally was one of only four servants who had remained with the Countess after leaving Antioch. One of them was a man, Anatoly, and the older, women servants refused to allow him to do anything but bring them clean sheets, hot water, tea and herbs, all of which were left outside the door after a short knock.

The two older women, Stana and Olya, tended to the Countess, coaching, examining her progress, holding her hand and doing their best to keep the environment as clean and comfortable as possible. Tally, however, felt useless, standing by the window, watching the three women working so hard, yet Stana had warned her that she had better not stray. She was needed to bring in the supplies left at the door by Anatoly, and, more importantly, she was the only one young enough to run quickly for a doctor if anything should go wrong.

"I see his head, Mistress!" Stana said encouragingly, "We're almost there!" She reached between the Countess's legs to guide the infant's head as it emerged. Tally groaned softly and looked away, her stomach convulsing.

"He!" Irina grunted, her voice rasping from the physical stress she was enduring, "That bastard dies and leaves me widowed, childless and hunted by the church! The least he could do is finally give me a daughter!"

Stana and Olya glanced at each other and smiled, knowing that Irina's anger was more a product of pain and fatigue then of her true feelings towards her deceased husband.

"Shoulders!" Stana announced.

"Pull…it…out!" Irina gasped.

"Easy, my Lady," Olya murmured.

"Here he comes!" Stana wrapped a clean blanket around her hands and prepared to receive the infant.

Irina flopped back against the pillow after a final push which allowed Stana to take hold of the baby and wrap it in the blanket. Olya wiped Irina's face with a damp cloth. Stana brought the child to the head of the bed and placed it in the Countess's arms. Irina looked at her servant questioningly. Stana lifted the blanket for a second and Irina looked down, then threw back her head and laughed.

Tally turned sharply at the sound, startled. It was the first time any of them had seen the Countess laugh since her husband's death.

"Oh, my girl," Irina said, still laughing, "My sweet girl!" She lowered her head and kissed her daughter's brow.

"Come in. Hurry!" Stana pulled Tally into the room, "You're letting the warmth out."

Tally stood at the foot of the bed and gazed at Irina as she fed the baby.

"Sit, sit," Stana urged leading the girl to the window seat.

Tally sat down, and now, as she was closer to Irina, she could see the pallor of Countess's skin and the dark circles around her eyes.

"Are you feeling well, Mistress?" she asked.

Irina looked up and smiled weakly.

"No, my dear Natalya, I'm not feeling well at all."

"That is why we have brought you in here," Stana said, "There are things you need to know, things that will be difficult for you to hear, and there is something that we will ask of you…something even more difficult."

"Now, Stana," Irina said, "There's no need to frighten the child. Let's take things slowly."

"Yes, my Lady," Stana bowed her head, "Perhaps it would be best if you told the child what she must do."

"She mustn't do anything," Irina said, "Tally, you need to understand that. What I am going to ask of you I am asking, not commanding. It will be very dangerous, and I want you to make your own decision.

"My lady," Tally answered quickly, "Whatever it is, I'll do it for you!"

"Don't answer so quickly," Irina said as she sat up and handed the infant, now six months old, to Olya. Tally watched, shocked, as the older woman began feeding the child with a mixture of wheat and cream.

Irina noticed Tally's expression.

"You are surprised that I have weaned Maria so young," she said.

"Well, it's not unheard of…" Tally said, recovering.

"But still rare, yes," Irina finished her thought. "I did nurse all three of my sons until they were walking, but, unfortunately, I no longer have the strength to continue nursing Maria."

"My lady?" Tally was bewildered.

"I'm dying," Irina stated bluntly.

There was a momentary silence as Tally waited for Olya or Stana to contradict the Countess and say that she was exaggerating. But the two women remained quiet.

"Dying?" Tally asked.

"Yes," the Countess confirmed, "And my daughter needs a mother."

"Mistress?"

"Tally, have you heard the rumours about my husband?"

"I…uh…" Tally was baffled by the sudden change of topic.

"Have you?" the Countess pressed.

"I have heard some things," Tally replied, "But surely they aren't true."

"What have you heard?" Irina asked as she took the baby from Stana.

"That the Count is still alive-"

Olya crossed herself and murmured a prayer.

"And?" Irina said.

"That Prince Vasily and his court have disappeared, and Count Dracula is ruling Bucharest again, but these are ridiculous rumours, aren't they?"

"Are they?" Irina lifted the child so that she sat upright on her mother's lap.

"They must be," Tally said softly, her conviction shaken by the lack of contradiction from the older women. "If he were alive and ruling, would he not come for you?"

"If he were alive, yes," Irina answered, her tone so nonchalant that Tally exhaled in relief, believing that logic and reason had finally entered the conversation. "But surely you have heard the other rumours."

Tally's breath caught and her chest again tightened.

"That can't be possible," she whispered.

Irina gazed at her, "Natalya, you must be strong,"

Tally's lungs constricted further. Those were not the words she expected to hear, the words that would have preceded the discrediting of the myths that had begun to spread about Dracula.

"My husband was a very ambitious man," Irina continued, "Ambitious and vengeful. He hated his father and brothers for disowning him when he turned his back on the church, and he hated Abraham Van Helsing and his son even more, for they were the ones who wielded the sword for the church, the sword that liberated the tribes to the north after my husband conquered them and the sword that liberated Bucharest by killing him."

"But no amount of hate can bring a man back from death!" Tally exclaimed.

"Can't it?" Irina asked.

Tally could not think of a way to answer that soft, calm voice.

"Three weeks ago," Irina continued, "The palace of my father-in-law was raided by soldiers wearing my husband's crest on their uniforms. All members of the household who bore the name Valerius were either killed or taken by force to Bucharest. These things I know only because Stana and Olya have been able to move about in the village without anyone discovering whom they serve. If anyone, whether they were loyal to my husband, his father, or the church knew that I was here, I would be dead."

"Are the Count's soldiers taking revenge in his name?" Tally asked.

"

Possible," Irina said, "But why take them to Bucharest? Why not just kill them all if revenge is what they want?"

"But why would they be made to go to the capital?"

Irina didn't answer right away. She fussed with the baby's gown for a moment, then readjusted the child in her arms.

"Perhaps," she finally replied, her words coming slowly, "There is someone who wants all of the Valerius tribe in one place."

"Even if he were alive, why would he take revenge simply by forcing them to all live in the same city? What would-"

"Child," Olya's soft voice quieted Tally who looked at her questioningly.

"Tally," Irina spoke, regaining the girl's attention, "Shortly after Maria was born, I had a visitor about whom I did not tell you. Nor did I tell Olya and Stana until very recently, when it was apparent that I would not be living much longer. I told them because, as difficult as it was to believe and understand, it was something they needed to know in order to keep themselves and my daughter alive."

"Mistress, what is it?" Tally asked, trying to conceal the anxiety growing inside her. "Please tell me how I can help you."

Irina exchanged glances with the two older women, then turned back to Tally.

"My husband's father, Alexander, came to see me," she said, "And he told me something that was very difficult to believe. He told me that my husband had made a pact with the devil to be brought back to life."

"The devil!" Tally cried, "Surely not!"

"I thought the same," Irina said, "But Alexander is an old man, a warrior. He is not given to delusions or fanciful ideas. In fact he has the least imagination of any man I have ever known. He convinced me that my husband had indeed returned from the dead at a very high price, that he was indeed ruling Bucharest through fear and violence, and that he was hunting the members of his family."

"Does the Count know about you?"

"I don't know. He does not know about the child, and I wish to keep it that way. He has lost three children and heirs; I don't know what he might do if he knew that he had a fourth, living child. He might take her and bring her into this life of evil to which he has given himself.

"When Alexander learned of what had become of Vladislaw, he went to Rome to enlist the aid of the Holy Order. They gave him the means of imprisoning Vladislaw, but apparently the devil has found a way around that, and my husband returned to Bucharest. The Order then gave Alexander the means to kill his son, but he could not. No matter how evil Vladislaw had become, no matter how much he hated his father in life, Alexander just could not kill his own child.

"And so he made a vow before God that he would pass on his knowledge of Vladislaw's weaknesses to his descendants, and that none of his family would enter Heaven until one of his descendants put an irrevocable end to Vladislaw's life."

"And the Count knows about this," Tally said.

"Yes."

"That's why he's gathering all of his tribe, isn't it? So that he can control them."

"Yes," Irina confirmed.

"But why not just kill them all?"

"There are very many of them," Irina surmised, "Maybe too many for him to kill without attracting attention from other rulers in neighboring countries. It would seem that my husband is living an unorthodox life. He only comes out after the sunsets and he eats only the blood of others."

"No!" Tally was horrified, "That's not possible!"

"I'm afraid that it is," Irina said, her voice soft, saddened. "I would guess that he wants to keep his freedom without attracting unwanted attention from outside the borders of Romania."

"But the Order knows about him," Tally pointed out.

"Yes, as does Antioch and the Patriarch, but because of Alexander's vow, the matter is now in the hands of the Valerius tribe. If the Order were to intervene, they would be breaking a sacred vow."

"Can't they at least help?"

"Possibly, but for now we must do what we can to keep you and Maria safe."

"Me?" Tally was shocked back to the reality of the issue by the mention of her own safety.

"Yes, child," Irina said, "My husband may not have lived in peace with his family, but he kept track of them while he was alive. Anyone who is a Valerius by blood or by name is a threat to him…and you are both. We have been talking," the Countess glanced at Olya and Stana, "And we have decided that the safest place for you is the capital."

"The capital?! But that's where he is!"

"I know, but those of our tribe who are in the capital are alive. However, Alexander told me that one of his grandsons tried to take his wife and children out of the country. Two days later they were found laying outside of the gate of Alexander's estate, their necks ripped open."

Tally looked down at the wooden floor and swallowed the nausea that clawed at her stomach.

"And I need you to take Maria," Irina added quietly.

Tally looked up. "The baby? But, why? I thought you wanted her away from him."

"Sometimes the best hiding place is right in front of your enemy," Irina replied. "Remember, Tally, this is your decision. I do not want to tell you to do something that you don't want to do, but I know my husband, and I know that your life would be more in danger outside of Bucharest."

"But what do I say?" Tally asked, "As soon as he hears that he has another child, he'll come for her."

"That's why you will tell the family that she is your child."

"Mine?"

"Yes. We have been away long enough for such a thing to have occurred. But you must be sure to tell them that the father was not a Valerius. Vladislaw will have no interest in a bastard fathered by a stranger. Perhaps you might even say a young man forced himself on you. However, if Vladislaw were led to believe that your child was fathered by a man of our tribe, then you will find yourself the object of his attention. You do not want that."

"No," Tally agreed, "I'll say that it was a man in a tavern, drunk. He mistook me for a prostitute."

"Then you agree to go to the capital?" Irina asked.

"I will go," Tally confirmed reluctantly.

"Thank you," Irina whispered as she looked down at the child in her arms. "My little Maria," she murmured, "My heart will break when you leave. She must be baptized," the Countess said suddenly, turning back to Tally. "She must take the name of Patriarch Alexei. That will be expected, since you will tell them that you don't know her father's name."

"Yes," Tally nodded, her mind in turmoil as she tried to process all of what she had just been told.

Irina looked back at the baby. "You will always be Maria Vladislovna," she said softly. "Maria Vladislovna…"

"Maria Alexeevna!" Father Mitya proclaimed as he gently immersed the infant in the cool water of the river. He then performed the sign of the cross over her one last time as she began to cry loudly. Mitya smiled indulgently at the child, then handed her to Tally who wrapped her in a thick, wool blanket.

Tally was surprised at the number of Valerius relatives who had come to the baptism: surprised and relieved. A few members of the tribe knew of the child's parentage. It had been necessary to trust a handful of the older men and women with that knowledge in order to gain their aid in protecting the child. The others thought her a bastard and Tally had feared that they might shun her, but instead they stood smiling proudly as they would at the baptism of any other child in the clan. Now they began to come forward, in a line, to greet the newest member of God's church.

"Hush, Miska," Tally murmured to the still crying baby, "You don't want your aunts and uncles to think you don't have manners, do you?"

"Don't hush the child," a gentle voice spoke.

Tally looked up to see Zinaida, one of the eldest women of the tribe gazing down at the infant, "They say," Zinaida continued, reaching out a hand to stroke the child's soft, fine hair, "That it is good for little ones to cry at their baptisms. It means the devil is coming out of them." Discreetly, the old woman glanced towards the palace which sat high above them.

"She belongs to the Lord Christ, now," Zinaida smiled, "And no one else. The Risen Lord will protect her."

Zinaida moved on and others took her place wishing Tally well and offering blessings and prayers for the child, but Zinaida's words haunted Tally. She knew that the old woman had been speaking of Christ, but the words she used…"the risen lord"…had given Tally a chill.

---

"Need any help?" a voice asked.

Tally looked up from wiping Miska's mouth to see Pyotr Valerius standing beside her.

"I think I can manage," she smiled as she lifted the toddler into her arms.

"Bedtime, is it?" Pyotr grinned at the child.

"Be'ti," Miska repeated, looking at him over Tally's shoulder as he followed the two of them up the stairs of the inn.

There were many taverns in Bucharest, but there was only one which belonged to the Valerians. It was owned by Pasha Chessinsky and his wife Sophia, members of the tribe, and it was here that many gypsies of several clans spent their evenings eating, drinking and, most importantly, dancing. The sound of music from fiddles and balalaikas drifted up from the public section of the tavern. Pyotr turned and closed the door to Tally's bedroom, quieting the music only somewhat.

"Thank you," Tally said as she sat the child on the bed and began to dress her for sleep.

"What a beautiful night," Pyotr commented, opening the door which led to a small balcony overlooking the countryside which surrounded the city.

"It is," Tally agreed, joining him outside, Miska in her arms. "Look at the moon."

"Indeed," Pyotr said, lighting one of the lamps with his flint, then lighting a cigar. "Would you like me to hold her?" he asked.

Tally looked suspiciously at the cigar in his hand.

"Oh, I can put this out," he offered.

"That's all right," she replied, "She's light. Too light," she added.

"What do you mean?" Pyotr asked, blowing cigar smoke from his nose.

"Does she seem small to you?" Tally asked. "You have so many nieces and nephews. Were they this small when they reached three years?"

Pyotr gave the sleepy child an appraising look, "I honestly don't remember," he said. "I'm sure she's fine."

"It's just that Irina and Dracula's sons were all big for their age. It seems strange that she should be so small. I wonder that she wasn't taken from her mother's breast too soon."

"No," Pyotr smiled reassuringly, "Many children are weaned before their first year. She'll grow up just fine if she keeps eating Sophia's cooking."

"We'll all grow large on Sophia's cooking," Tally laughed.

"Such strange eyes," Pyotr commented, gazing at Miska who was looking curiously at his cigar. "I'll never forget Irina's beautiful green eyes, but what color eyes did the Count have?"

"Blue," Tally answered, "I don't know where this gray came from."

"More silver," Pyotr suggested, "Almost like glass, shards of glass."

"Broken mirrors," Tally said, "That's how Zinaida described them.

"That sounds like Zinaida," Pyotr nodded, "That's why she's the tribe's storyteller. This hair though," he reached out and ruffled the child's red-gold hair which shone like burnished copper in the lamplight. "It's as if the last bit of sunlight left in him was poured into her."

"Now who's the poet?" Tally said with a smile.

"Birdies," Miska said, turning her head to look towards the hills.

"Birdies?" Tally murmured, "Where do you see birdies, sweetheart?"

"Natalya," Pyotr grasped her shoulder, his voice tight and strained.

Tally turned to look in the direction Miska and Pyotr were facing. Three, huge winged shapes were silhouetted against the moonlit sky.

"We need to go," Pyotr opened the door and took Tally by the hand.

"Three?" Tally said in disbelief, "He has another bride?"

"Come on, now!" Pyotr pulled her inside.

"Bye, birdies," Miska waved at the figures as she and Tally were hurried inside.

Felix, have you seen Miska?" Tally asked after having grabbed her cousin by the shoulder.

"Oh!" he turned around quickly, "You startled me!"

"Miska is missing," Tally repeated urgently.

Felix looked around the crowded carnival. "I don't see her, but she's probably off with the other children. She's old enough."

"No she's not!" Tally was near tears, "I left her with Andrei and Xenia. I told them not to go out of my sight!"

"You left her with my children?" Felix asked, "That was your first mistake!"

"This isn't funny!"

"All right," Felix placed a hand on her shoulder, "First take a breath and remind yourself that it is daytime and the sun is shining."

"That's not the point!" Tally snapped.

"No? Well, then, let's find my wife. She'll know where the children are."

A block away they found Felix's wife, Mathilde, looking at colored cloth at a vendor's stall.

"Andrei is a big boy," she said, "I'm sure he wouldn't take Xenia and Miska anywhere they shouldn't go. They must be around here somewhere."

"Where did they just come from?" Tally asked, pointing to four other children who had just come from the woods at the end of the lane.

"I'll bet that's where they are," Felix said, "Probably bought some zakuskis and have gone to have a picnic in the clearing at the top of the hill."

They climbed through the trees towards the clearing, but stopped suddenly when they saw all three children standing a few yards ahead of them, Andrei and Xenia each holding one of Miska's hands.

Tally knew at once that something was wrong. Three children didn't normally stand utterly still, holding hands, staring into a thick forest. She was about to say something to Felix when her cousin's gruff voice startled her.

"Andrei Felixovich!" he barked at his son, "What are you-"

He was cut off abruptly by Andrei's choked voice.

"Father!"

The boy turned to look at them, his eyes wide and his face white. Quickly Tally and Felix scanned the woods, then saw what held the children enspelled.

Wolves were not uncommon in the wilder areas around Bucharest, and their cries were often heard in the distance at night. In the past few years, though, they had been coming close enough to the city to attack some of the residents. However, no one ever questioned the fact that the teeth and claw marks left on the victims' bodies were always much too large to be those of an average wolf.

Tally and Felix now understood why.

It looked like a wolf, with thick, dark fur, dark eyes, a long snout and four paws. However, it stood on two legs and was taller than any man. There was a spark of sentience in its eyes as it appraised the three children.

"It's one of his creatures, isn't it!" Felix hissed.

The sound caught the attention of the animal, and it turned towards Tally and her cousin.

"Papa?" Xenia whimpered.

Tally could feel the helpless anger emanating from Felix as the two of them stood motionless, unsure of what to do.

Miska was the only one of the three children who had yet to show any reaction, other than curiosity, to the animal. If Tally had been thinking clearly enough to notice this, she probably would have assumed that the child was too young to understand the danger. She was only five.

However, Miska did turn her head and meet Tally's eyes.

Then she smiled.

She let go of her cousins' hands and walked towards the beast.

"Miska!" Tally gasped.

Andrei reached to grab his young cousin, but missed. He was too afraid to move any farther.

Miska approached the animal and held out her hand. The wolf looked down at her, then dropped down on all fours. Miska put her hand on top of its head and scratched its ears.

"Go home, doggy," she said.

The wolf licked her hand, then turned and bounded away through the trees.

Andrei and Xenia ran to their father and he squeezed them in a tight embrace. Tally went to Miska and picked her up. When she turned around, she saw Felix and his two children staring at her.

"Felix?" Tally asked.

"I won't say a word," Felix whispered, then turned, a bit too quickly, and began leading his children back to the carnival.

Dracula stood alone in the library, the flicker of the torches throwing shadows across the stone walls and the portraits that hung from them. He gazed up at a painting of a family: his family. Irina sat in a throne-like chair made especially for the occasion. Konstantin, still a child when the picture was painted, sat at her feet. Vladislaw the younger stood at her right side, his hand on her shoulder. Pyotr…dear, beautiful Pyotr, who would only live for one more year after his sweet face had been immortalized in this portrait...knelt on one knee on his mother's left, his hand resting on hers on the arm of the chair. Dracula himself stood behind her, one hand on her other shoulder.

Even now, even in the imperfect creation of a human artist, her eyes mesmerized him, flickering like green fire in the torch light.

"My lord?" a voice came from behind him.

"Yes, Verona?" the Count answered with a sigh, the spell broken.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently, touching his arm.

"No," he admitted softly, "If my heart no longer beats, then how is it possible their faces still pain me?"

"I'm sorry, my lord," Verona's hand moved up his arm, then touched his face, his skin like wax.

"Van Helsing stole the only things I treasured, and I have yet to get revenge. What am I waiting for?!" his voice rose suddenly, almost to shout.

"My darling, your time will come," Verona assured him, putting her arms around him.

He took comfort in the feel of her soft body against his. Of his three wives, she was the only one who was not easily frightened. Any show of anger would cause Deanna and Helena to cower away from him. Verona would calm him, soothing him with her melodic voice and gentle hands, knowing his rage for what it truly was: grief.

"Lately I can't even find peace in my sleep," the Count said, turning from the portrait to gaze out of a large window from which he could see the dim but numerous lights of the city. "I am plagued by nightmares, and I don't know what they mean."

"What sort of dreams?" Verona asked, rubbing his shoulders.

"I see a yellow haired child looking at me with my father's eyes. I see Van Helsing standing over me wearing my ring. I see my soldiers in battle, being commanded by a child's voice. I don't know what any of it means."

"I don't understand it either, my love."

"Do you dream?" Dracula asked her suddenly.

"I? No. If I do, I don't remember them."

"Well, then," Dracula said, "What can I do to keep my mind quiet, even for a few hours as I sleep?"

"If only I could help, my sweet," Verona commiserated. "I can give you a full belly, though. Helena, Deanna and I are hunting tonight. Will you join us?"

"No," the Count said, "But bring me back a man, a large man. I am, indeed, quite hungry."

"Of course," Verona promised, "One of your family, perhaps?"

"No, you know my edict about my family."

"But wouldn't it be the perfect revenge on your father, to make your family your slaves?"

"How can one take revenge on a dead man? He is probably aggravated enough, standing at the gates of Heaven, unable to enter as long as I live. Yet anyone who shares my blood is dangerous to me, whether they are my slave or not. As long as their minds and bodies function, even if they are under my command, there is always the danger they may somehow kill me. No," He turned to Verona, "You may feed on them, but you must leave them so that their families are forced to drive stakes through their hearts. The only safe relative is one who is dead, cold and covered by several feet of earth."

Felix kept his word and never told of the incident. However, as Dracula grew stronger and constantly tested his powers, he created more were-wolves to roam the forests, keeping his family imprisoned in the city. This inevitably led to accidental encounters with the animals as the Valerians and the other citizens of the capital ventured into the woods, not to leave, but simply to hunt, to walk, or to enjoy the quiet of nature for an afternoon. Most of these encounters did not end well, and soon the people of Bucharest were losing loved ones not only to Dracula's brides and slaves, but also to the ever growing pack of were-wolves which roamed the forests.

Tally tried to keep Miska from the forest, but over the years, the scene which Felix and his children witnessed was replayed several times. There was no need for Felix to keep his silence as soon the whole family knew of Miska's uncanny ability to tame the wolves.

Tally feared this would lead the family to guess Miska's parentage and thus turn them against her. And indeed it wasn't long before most of the family knew who Miska was. After about the fifth time the child scratched a were-wolf behind the ears, Tally decided the family needed to know the truth and decide for themselves whether or not they would continue to give their protection to Tally and her young ward.

The family was stunned at first (those who didn't already know), but to Tally's surprise and relief, they refused to turn away from their own blood.

"We would be like Dracula himself," Pasha spat, "Turning against our own family. She may have once been his, but he lost any claim when he died. She's ours now, and Valerians take care of Valerians!"

This commentary sealed the family's resolve to not only continue to harbor Miska, but to take on the task of making sure Dracula never found her. Part of this decision was out of spite, Tally knew, because the family felt such hatred towards the Count for imprisoning them, then killing them one by one.

Part of it was also because they knew they had a potential weapon in their hands.

Dracula's three sons had been powerful warriors by the time they reached their teens. It was possible that Miska, even though she was female, might also possess the same skills that had made her father and brothers so formidable on the battlefield. When the time came to send a warrior to kill Dracula, who better than his own child?

So the family set about honing and guarding this weapon. Miska found herself being taught to use a sword and bow alongside her male cousins. Even some travelers, spending a week or two at the inn, added to the child's training. A man from far to the east came in one night with a strange, slim sword at his hip. He was skeptical when Pasha told him about Miska's growing talent with the sword, but the next day, as he sparred with her, what started as a game soon turned into a heated match, the easterner finding himself struggling to keep up with the young girl. He was so impressed that, during his stay, he taught her how to fight without weapons, how to move without making sound, and how to disappear quickly. A week long stay turned into two months as the foreigner witnessed the carnage Dracula's brides wrought on the city, and felt compelled to teach Miska all he could to contribute to her chances of one day defeating the vampires.

Other visitors-the tavern had many as the hospitality of the Valerius family became legendary-added to the family's arsenal either with knowledge of fighting techniques and of history, or with useful and sometimes exotic weapons that were often traded for liquor, expensive cloth, or even a few nights' stay at the inn.

Over the years, Miska herself changed. Her reddish hair lightened to a pale yellow, a sharp contrast to her darker cousins who were inheriting the blood of the gypsies who married into the family more and more frequently.

Miska's childlike, almost impish personality changed as well; a fact that pained Tally greatly as she watched the child become more and more withdrawn as the anxiety created by her family's intense protection of her whenever the vampires attacked etched deep scars of fear and even paranoia in her young mind. It seemed the only time she showed much life was when she was practicing with her swords or when she was dancing, another of her talents.

On one warm summer evening, Tally danced with Pyotr while the rest of the gypsies watched and clapped in time to the music Lev Valerius, Pyotr's brother, played on the balalaika. Usually the large, polished wooden floor was filled with gypsies dancing, but on rare occasions, they were treated to the pleasure of watching Tally dance with whatever young man dared to try to keep up with her. Pyotr was doing well. He grabbed Tally's hand, spun her close to him, then leaned her down in a deep dip. Bouncing back up, she placed her hands on his shoulders and the two moved their feet quickly and lightly in time to the music.

"Miska!" Pyotr called over his shoulder.

Ten year old Miska, who sat at a table at the far end of the dance floor, looked up, her clear eyes burning with anticipation. She watched as Tally moved off to the side and Pyotr turned his back to her and spread his legs apart just a bit more than shoulder-width. Miska stood, took a few quick steps, then was down on her knees, sliding across the smooth, polished floor. As she slid closer to Pyotr, she leaned her upper body back and let her arms trail behind her. She slid under Pyotr, between his legs, and as she came out from under him, he reached down, gracefully caught her hands and pulled her to her feet. The two then danced with quick and complicated steps. The dance was one taught to children, and though it lacked the fiery romance of Pyotr and Tally's dance, it was still a pleasure to watch. When the music ended, the gypsies called for more, but Pyotr, exhausted, waved his hand at them and stepped up to the bar where Pasha handed him a glass of ale.

"Can't keep up with the Valerius women, can you?" Tally teased, standing behind him.

Pyotr handed her another mug of ale which Pasha had just poured.

"I guess I can't yet," he admitted, grinning, "I forsee little Miska being your equal on the dance floor one day."

"One day?" Tally said, "She already is. She can do moves from which my aging body would never recover."

"Your aging body," Pyotr scoffed, "You're barely into your twenties, still a woman in your prime."

Tally blushed at the compliment. She was about to answer when two young men rushed through the door.

"Vampires!" one of them gasped, "Coming down from the palace!"

Tally froze, but Pyotr turned to the noisy crowd, and, in a voice that somehow carried over the conversation and music, he called "Vampires!"

Immediately every gypsy in the tavern began to move. Five men grabbed bows which hung from the wall. One man grabbed an extra bow and handed it to Pyotr. Tally hurried to Miska, took her by the arm and the two of them joined the group of six armed men, each of whom now held two wooden arrows tipped with silver. As the other gypsies moved about, some disappearing down the hall which led to the rest of the inn, some moving to tables so that they could join with a larger group, Pyotr shoved aside part of the bar, then reached down and pulled open a nearly invisible hatch in the floor. Two of the men leaped down into the cellar, Tally and Miska then climbed down, followed by Pyotr and the other three men. Over them the hatch was closed and there was a scraping sound as the movable section of the bar was pushed back into place.

There was no light in the cellar, but Tally, Miska and the men did not need it. They had done this many times before and knew exactly where to position themselves. The six men formed a circle, facing outwards, arrows nocked and bows drawn. Tally and Miska stood inside the circle.

Then there was a moment of silence.

"Would these really work against Dracula?" whispered Sandro, a younger man who had only recently become a member of Miska and Tally's guard.

"No," Pyotr answered softly, "But Dracula almost never comes himself. It's the brides we need to worry about and wooden arrows through the heart will work just fine for them."

Just as he finished speaking, there was a crash from upstairs. Then the nightmarish mixture of screaming and laughter began as the vampires attacked the gypsies who had remained upstairs.

Inside the circle, Miska hardly breathed as she stared up towards the ceiling, her eyes wide with terror at the sounds coming from above them.

Again and again, over the next five years, Miska found herself inside the ring of archers in the dark basement of the Chessinskys' tavern. There had been changes in her "guard" over the years: Pyotr had been killed by one of Dracula's brides two years before, as had another man, and two had been killed by the giant wolves. However, the most noticeable change was in Miska herself. Though older, she did not look much different, except for her eyes which often held expressions far more mature than her fifteen years. Yet instead of the terrified girl that she had been years ago, she stood inside the circle with an air of impatience verging on rage. Her eyes still followed the signs of movement above her, and she shifted position restlessly.

After several minutes, there was quiet. There was the sound of the bar being moved. At this, all six men raised their bows and aimed at the hatch which was now being opened. They lowered their bows slightly when they saw the face of Vanya, Pasha's son, at the opening.

"All clear," he said, his voice dull and lifeless as it always was after an attack.

Felix, now the eldest of the guard, trotted up the stairs first, his arrow still nocked and his bow ready to be drawn. After a few seconds, he looked down into the cellar and nodded.

Miska was the first to reach the top of the narrow stairway and step into the tavern. The scene was grisly, but familiar. Four gypsies lay dead, and, after speaking with Vanya, Tally learned that two had been dragged outside…a young, newly married couple. The men dragged the dead out into an alley and lay them next to each other.

Felix looked to his brother, Sandro who held six wooden boards, each with a carved, sharp, pointed end. Sandro handed three to Felix, then the other men, along with Tally and Miska, crossed themselves and murmured prayers as Felix and Sandro drove the wood through each of their dead family member's hearts.

To be continued ...

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