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  Alexandru. Alexandru Solin. My hallucination.

  Who, just possibly, was not a hallucination.

  “Anushka,” he said as he came around me. “Noosh,” he murmured as he sat down. My first thought was to ignore him or even tell him to go away. I had a thankfully brief moment where I almost started crying. I’d wanted him to come back so terribly much, and then I’d given up. Now it was almost too much—and too little and too late. But I took a breath and got myself under control. It was stupid to pretend he wasn’t there, and it was childish to be this angry at someone I hardly knew. Obviously, there wasn’t anything between us. He was just someone I’d flirted with once.

  Shit. I’m doing it again. Talk to the man, you fool.

  Either he was good at reading my face or I was utterly transparent, but I could tell he’d followed my pathetic internal conflict. He’d looked serious when he sat down, happy to see me, but not pretending all was fine and dandy. Now he looked downright solemn.

  “I do not have the right even to speak to you, draga mea, but I beg you to let me apologize.” He looked like he wanted to take my hand, but I was still holding the newsletter. Would I have stopped him if he tried? I like to think so.

  “Here I am, well past the time I said I should return, is it not? You would be within your rights not to speak to me again. I am a man of my word, and I broke the promise I made to you. If you will accept them, I owe you an apology and an explanation both.”

  Well, it was a fair start, I thought. I do enjoy a bit of groveling, particularly when it’s due to me. I might as well let him continue. I nodded, attempting to look regal.

  “Anushka Rossetti, sincer îmi cer scuze—I humbly and sincerely apologize. You did not deserve to be treated in such a manner. I have never wanted anything but to treat you in far better ways, I wanted only to share with you the happiness you have brought me.”

  Possibly a bit overboard, but in the right theme.

  “As much as I wanted…as much as I longed to return to you, Noosh, I could not. There were good reasons for this, but to explain requires also some explanation which I think you will not find easy to hear even if you believe me.”

  He looked intensely into my eyes. Since he looked intense even when he wasn’t trying to with those magnetizing gold-shot green eyes, this look made my world stop for as long as the contact lasted. He positively exuded sincerity at me.

  “Ohh-kay,” I said, with possibly a “weak-in-the-knees” quaver. He had melted my resistance with a few sappy words and one long look. I was pathetic. But all at once, life was back to being thrilling, as it had not been for more than four dreary months. It did not bear thinking about, how ready I was to jump back into the inexplicable whirlwind that was him.

  I took a deep breath and said as nonchalantly as possible, “OK. Hit me.”

  “I am what you would call a ‘vampire.’” His voice was soft, almost as calming as a classic therapist’s voice. Hypnotizing, even. “Actually, I am the vampire, as you living humans see it. I am Wladislaus Drăculea, also known as Vlad Ţepeş.”

  He waited for a response. I first had to hear the words, then make sure I’d heard them, then check them again. Process the information, and then think of something to say that wouldn’t sound idiotic.

  “So. I’m sitting alone in a garden at night with Vlad the Impaler?” was what I came up with. I think I sounded reasonably cool since I could have responded in any number of ways, ranging from laughing in his face to saying, “What? There really are vampires? Cool! Are you going to seduce me?”

  He chuckled, which was as perfect a sound as any romance novel would have it: a dark vibration that caused all the blood in my body to start draining down to my lady-parts. But wait! Why did I believe this?

  “That was many years, many lifetimes ago. It was a different world, and I a different man. I was a,” he paused, “living human at that point, not a vampire. But, yes, I am,” and here he hesitated, then said with dramatic humor, “Drahkcoolhyah...” letting the last syllable linger exotically and fade out.

  I don’t know if it was because he was, like, mesmerizing me, or because he was utterly matter-of-fact about it, but I could see no reason not to go along with it, at least for the time being. Of course, maybe reading too many vampire novels had made me all too eager to find myself in one.

  “So, why are you telling me? Is this, like, you know, Louis telling the reporter in Interview with the Vampire?”

  “There are many reasons, dragă Anushka, and the first is that I feel I must explain my breaking of the promise. But most importantly, I wish you to know me so that I can share more. With you.”

  For me, this was like finding gold at the end of a rainbow. We’ve all heard the myth, but no one expects it to come true. Probably not many people would stay to listen to any more of his nonsense.

  But I filed the moment away to warm my future lonely nights. As much as I wished I could believe, I knew this was just a lovely dream bubble that would be popped by cruel reality all too soon. He was still sitting there, though, waiting for my response. “That’s...lovely of you to say, Alexandru…or do I call you Vlad now?”

  He laughed, and it was so infectious I felt myself smiling even though I couldn’t see the joke. “Nu, draga mea, I’m afraid that name has been, ei bine, over-exposed. Too many people would have inconvenient questions. I am Alexandru in this time and place.” He paused again, and I’m pretty sure he read my thoughts because he added, “And never was I the ‘Count Dracula’ of the novel.”

  This was slightly disconcerting. “So, um, you didn’t inspire Bram Stoker or anything?”

  “I never met him. I was elsewhere during that time.” He considered for a moment. “Hmmm, the Victorian era in England, da. At least Mr. Stoker did some research since he got parts of my history right. There have been far worse recountings of me on either side of the grave.”

  I didn’t say anything, because too many questions were jumbled up on the back of my tongue.

  He cocked his head to the side and added, “Before you ask, I did not spend a summer with Romantic poets. I did not give vampiric secrets to a Mr. Richard Matheson—or a fictional Daniel Molloy. I also have not met your Anne Rice. I do not think she would like me. I do not think she would care to share the term ‘Christian’ with such as me.”

  “Oh, uh, she renounced Christianity a while back on her, um, her Facebook page.”

  “Her Facebook page. I shall have to look it up. You look surprised. You were perfectly willing to see me as part of the modern world before you found out who I am.”

  I tried to wipe the surprise and subsequent dismay off my face. Things were moving a bit too fast for me emotionally and conversationally. I was still trying to wrap my mind around a number of ideas, such as: I was sitting with Dracula, Dracula existed, and also vampires existed. If those things were not true, then I was sitting with someone who thought he was Dracula. That would be less world-reordering, but to be fair, it was an unexpected twist.

  I tried to answer as if I believed him. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that finding out you’re from the...” I tried to remember what I knew about Vlad the Impaler. “Fifteenth century? It does make me see you living around the time of the invention of the…of the printing press. And since my father was never able to use a computer as anything more than a glorified typewriter—which could get broken in ways typewriters never could, he said—and none of my grandparents even got on a computer, you can see it might give me a moment of, um, incorrect assumption.”

  He smiled at me. “One must keep with the times. I had a printed Bible in the 1400s, and I have a mobile phone and a computer now. I also keep up with the lingo of the times. It is easy; you simply follow what the young are saying and wait for it to become the common parlance. And I learn languages, although, over time, I must keep relearning them as they change. Perhaps I should say ‘change and grow,’ but people call it ‘decay.’ And then it is a couple hundred years later, and it has
become almost a different language.”

  “A Gutenberg Bible?” I asked, getting to the most important part of what he’d just said. “Do you still have it? Is it a B42?”

  “Ha! Leave it to the librarian! This is what attracts me to you—your mind. Although it is housed in a most diverting body.”

  This whole time, we’d been talking quietly in the back corner of Beowulf’s patio. It had been about sundown when he arrived, but now it was full night. I’d not noticed because he was looking deeply into my eyes as he talked, and I could not help but return his gaze. Abruptly uncomfortable with the intimacy of the look and his words, I glanced away.

  “Nu, dragă Noosh, nu, you must not get frightened now. I am not here to harm you. Come to my house, and I will show you some of my book collection. Most of it, including that Bible, is not in this country. It is on vellum if that helps you identify what it is. I will take you to see it someday if you like. You may read it cover to cover. It is in good condition, I think.”

  “It must be worth at least...thirty-five million, then!” I shook my head to wake myself up. Why was I such a geek? Dracula was here seducing me—or trying to—with sweet words and hot looks, and I was appraising books sight unseen and existence unproven in my head.

  And, heh…Dracula, or someone who thinks he is Dracula, at any rate. But I still am a geek, even if he is a nutter.

  He was laughing softly at me. “My Noosh is scared of nothing, not even being alone with vampires in the dark, so long as there are books to be cataloged. Come to my home and see some of them. We have a beautiful long night stretching out ahead of us.”

  When did I become his Noosh? I wondered. That’s a bit much. No, scratch that. It would be stupid for me to pretend I wasn’t going to let Dracula seduce me if he wanted to. I’d read Bram Stoker’s hack work when I was twelve. I’d read Interview when I was fourteen. I’d binged on horror stories and followed the rise of the paranormal genre as a completist. The most fascinating man I’d ever met was telling me he was Dracula. Even if he was some pathetic vampire wannabe, I’d let this fantasy play out a little longer. It had been a while—to be honest, years—since I’d been with someone. Missing out on this vampiric—or at least kinky—booty call was simply not happening. For the time being, I supposed he could call me “his.”

  “All right,” I said, “You’ve enticed me with books. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Five

  Dracula drove an Aston Martin DB4 GT Zagato—or at least, that’s what he told me. I didn’t know what all those letters and numbers meant. All I knew was even under the dim streetlights outside Beowulf’s, I could see it was pure sex on wheels. He talked to me about the car for a while as we drove. It was such an amazing vehicle that I was able to listen without my eyes glazing over. I must have expensive taste.

  It took some time to realize how fast we were going since it was dark out and I couldn’t interpret the various levels of growl made by the DB4. It sounded like it might be doing ninety when we were still at ten, but the trees on either side of the road seemed to be rushing by disturbingly fast. I felt a discomfiting mixture of terror and arousal. This was probably not inappropriate around a vampire, although it was mostly caused by the sense that I shouldn’t look too closely at the speedometer.

  To distract myself, I ever-so-subtly worked the conversation back around. “So, why do you call yourself ‘Alexandru?’”

  He was quiet for a moment, and I listened to the DB4 growling along. Like a tiger who was considering eating you, its beauty meant you’d find it a desirable way to go out. Come to think of it, also perfect for a vampire.

  “‘Alexandru’ means ‘defender of mankind.’ When I ruled Wallachia, I protected my people. They still remember me as a hero, and they are proud of me. That, ei bine, means a great deal to me.

  “After I ‘died,’ I could not go on calling myself Vlad. Looking like Vlad Dracula and also having his name was the sort of thing people would notice. The news of Vlad Dracula had spread far and wide since I was a crusader against the Turks and known to a large part of the civilized world.

  “I needed something common enough to not make me stand out, but also I wanted it to be meaningful. I looked first to my family, although most of the names were not, ei bine, particularly helpful. For example, take ‘Vlad.’ It was not just my name and the name of my father Vlad Dracul, but also of my half-brother Vlad Călugărul, who fought me for my throne, and it was the name of my son Vlad, who I called, ‘Tepuluş.’” Here he chuckled, a darker sound than I’d yet heard him make, which gave me the shivers. “Tepuluş means ‘Little Impaler,’ you see.

  “You could say my family did not waste names. Once we found one we liked, we kept it. Another example: I had a brother named Mircea, my father’s father was Mircea cel Bătrân, and my other son I had named Mircea. And then there was Radu.” Here he paused mid-sentence. Was this fascinating stream of information going to dry up?

  I gently prompted him. “Radu?”

  “Radu cel Frumos. That means ‘the handsome.’ He was… I heard an excellent phrase the other day: ‘They put the fun in dysfunctional.’ You could say that about my family.” He shook his head as if to clear the memories like you would an Etch A Sketch.

  “My father was fool enough to accept the ‘invitation’ of Sultan Murad—the second of that name, I note for your fact-loving mind, dragă Noosh. He was not pleased because he felt my father had not honored an agreement between them. The Sultan took Radu and me as hostages to our father’s loyalty since he was trying to win back Wallachia at the time. This was not uncommon; the Ottomans called the practice of stealing sons ‘devşirme.’ My people called it the ‘tribut de sânge,’ the blood tax.

  “Radu knew how to get along with people, and he took to the intricacies of the Ottoman ways with ease. With...pleasure. He became close to the Sultan’s son Mehmet. We did not have the terms ‘homosexual’ or ‘bisexual’ in those days. How I saw it then was that Radu became fully caught up in the indulgence of the Ottoman court. He also converted to Islam, which was for me more unforgivable.

  “I, on the other hand, did not know how to get along with people I considered my enemies. I did not care that my father had struck a deal with the Sultan. Nu, I did not get along well with anyone. No one thought I was ‘the handsome.’”

  “Well, that’s stupid. You’re gorgeous. Um...”

  Oh, shit. That was my out-loud voice.

  His chuckle continued to be dark and dangerous, making certain parts of me twitch. “Finally, draga mea, you let yourself say how you feel. I wish you would let yourself do so more often! In case I have not made myself quite clear, I feel the same way about you. You are gorgeous, beautiful, delightful, mouth-watering.”

  I was perfectly OK with the first three, but the last adjective made me shudder, although I didn’t look too closely at whether it was alarm or...anticipation. Well, it was too late to worry, wasn’t it? I wondered how close we were to his house.

  His words brought me back from my musings. “My grandfather was an Alexandru. It is a proud name, so that was the name I took. It is also a common one among not just my own people, but in its various forms, it is the most universal of names. Later, I came to rule my country again as Alexandru, but that is a story for another time.”

  Dracula—Alexandru—made a shockingly tight left turn into what seemed like dense woods. There was a loooong driveway, which curved at the end to deposit us in front of the house.

  Drac…Alexandru pulled up and turned off the car. The lights and the sexy growl went away, the world immediately muted. Small car-cooling-down clicks and pings were the only things breaking the stillness. We sat there for a while, and I could tell he was watching me.

  “Would you like to come in, dragă Noosh? Or shall we stay out here? You’ve made your admiration for this car apparent, but I assure you it’s even more comfortable and interesting inside the house.”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. All the bravado
I’d felt leaving the café with Alexandru was long gone. “Mouth-watering,” he’d said. He reached over and took my hand, and his hand was the same temperature as mine. What did that mean? That he wasn’t a vampire? That he was and had just fed? All the vampire stories I’d ever read crowded into my brain and made it impossible for me to think.

  I felt unexpectedly bereft when he let go. Had I done something wrong already? No, he got out of the car and came around to open my door with sincere courtesy. This whole older man thing had some pros, obviously, although maybe there was an upper limit? If Alexandru was telling the truth and was indeed Vlad Dracula, he was over five hundred.

  Just a little more than the usual age gap.

  All this was running through my mind as he led me up the steps to the porch, but the ornate moonlit architecture—Dracula didn’t have movement-sensing lighting around his house—distracted me from those thoughts. Everything was as fancifully carved as wood could get without breaking from an overdose of whimsy.

  Looking up, I glimpsed pointed towers and more scrolls and decorative trim than seemed possible. Perhaps the moonlight outlining all the edges just made it seem like we were stepping into an overwrought Victorian fantasy. I’d have liked the dress to go with it.

  Once we were under the overhang of the porch, everything turned into amorphous shades of gray. We went through the front door, which didn’t seem to have been locked. It did not open with a screeching protest of old hinges, which would have made me at least flinch, if not do something even more twitchy and embarrassing.