Is there any escape from Collinsport? One anxious young woman has left not in hopes of escaping the haunted little village, but rather to escape the contractual obligations agreed to centuries ago, and written in blood by a hand other than her own. Esther Friedman has traveled to New York in the hopes that Nikki and her mother have uncovered the key that unlocks the chain of a claim that the evil vampire Casimir asserts binds her to a future of indentured servitude – to a aristocratic member of the Undead!
Strategically selected for the anonymity the dim recess of shadows afford him, the man in the steel-rimmed glasses sits at the far corner of the bar. He reaches into his coat pocket and removes a crumpled pack of Marlboros, which seems almost as crumpled as his coat. He feels the three remaining cigarettes within – and although he longed for the nicotine, he was well aware of the probation against smoking. Still, as he dropped the pack on the bar, the sight of them was comforting as he adjusted the glasses that sat slightly crooked upon his nose.
A Bols gin appears on the bar beside his cigarettes.
He looks up, “A beer would be fine.”
“On the house – been awhile.” The large, blonde bartender, Markarova replies. “And—I figure you’re just passing through this time as well.”
The bar had begun to grow crowded. Patrons standing now shoulder to shoulder as the after work crowd pushed through the door and began the increasing din of conversations.
“I see you have added clairvoyance to your repertoire,” He says and pulls the gin closer.
“Where to this time?” She asks wiping her large hands on a small white towel.
“Prague.”
‘So—the woman over near the door. A client or just interested?” She asks although, Markarova was more than certain she was not at all his type.
He glances once more to the woman sitting at a table before one of the large windows.
He had immediately recognized her when she had entered, taken a seat, and ordered a beer. It was Esther Friedman from Collinsport.
It was obvious she had taken a seat at the table nearest the door in order to watch Jagiellon’s Antiquarian Books and Bibliographical Curiosities across the street.
“Or perhaps she has business with Jagiellon?” Markarova asks with a lifted brow.
“I have business with Jagiellon.”
“Ah, Prague.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. Then returns his gaze to Esther Friedman.
She was speaking softly, conspiratorially—or so his keen eye observes as she continued to glance out the window of the bar to watch the building across the street.
Dean Corso frowns– was she on the phone with Nicole Collins?
If so that could be bad for business.
“Noah – I just wanted . . . well, I wanted to say . . . just in case . . . no. . . I am alright.” Esther says watching the bookstore, “I swear – I just wanted, well, what I wanted to say was . . . What? You told me you would not be investigating that alone – not without speaking to Nik. No. No, that is not what you said,” irritation grows in her voice.
Esther glances now down the narrow street as the afternoon shadows continued to lengthen. She glances at her watch – well aware of today’s predicted time for sunset. Here in New York, long this narrow street nestled in the valley of the skyscrapers and brownstones, one could not see the setting of the sun. She could only rely on her watch.
Then, suddenly, as she was looking down the street, Nikki and her mother, Erzsébet Báthory, just appear as they rather leisurely walk down the sidewalk. It was disconcerting to actually observe as one moment they were not there, and then the next, before her eyes – they just – were.
Esther can feel the folded paper, the copy of the contract written in the distinctive script of Erzsébet Báthory’s handwriting. She kept it safe in her jacket pocket, reaching in to touch it now for the 18th time since she entered New York by way of Greyhound. Nikki’s mother handling the arrangements to transport Nik and herself – which had something to do with a New York State Mortuary and a private plane, or, Esther would have been allowed to travel with them.
She had arrived that morning and spent most of the day anxiously awaiting – secretly concerned they might end up in some funeral home in New Jersey.
She rises and leaves money on the table for the beer and moves over to the door, having to momentarily stop to allow a couple to enter, “Okay, okay – “ She says into the phone, “We will talk about this later. No – I don’t have time at the moment;” and she steps out of the bar and on to the sidewalk.
Oddly it had been crowded – people on the way from work, on their way home, to dinner dates, to bars – and now, the street on both side was vacant.
Together Erzsébet and Nicole walk abreast, the raven-haired beauty waving a hand dramatically, “I do admit, I do so love this city.”
Nicole remains silent, observing Esther across the street as she exits the bar.
“Nicole—we simply have to get you away from all that . . . quaint . . .don’t know quite with the word is that I am looking for…“
“I don’t know Mother, but here comes Esther.”
“Yes.”
Hands in her jacket pocket Esther crosses the street and hurries over to them, “I see you made it okay.”
“Quite an uneventful trip – actually.” The Countess replies.
“Have you seen any of them yet?” Nicole asks.
“No. It’s just sunset. No one.”
Erzsébet half smiles and lifts a brow, “They will be arising. Just the perfect time to call.”
Esther frowns as she observes that side by side, together, they seem to walk and move the same – she doesn’t want to bring it up – well, not right at the moment, but she has begun to suspect the Countess was not the best influence upon Nikki. She has already trained her in the art of materialization – somehow just dematerializing into a mist. At the Old House, she has seen Nik practicing.
“Nicole—now, please allow me to handle this.”
Before Nik can answer Esther looks at her, “Lets just get this over with—the quicker the better.”
Erzsébet nods, “Absolutely.”
And as they approached the mullioned doors of Jagiellon’s Antiquarian Books and Bibliographical Curiosities, Erzsébet slows her runway like stride; and with a motion of the hand, both of the doors suddenly swing open. A wild gust of wind whirls into the store flipping over the covers of books, turning pages and blowing paper off the counter.”
“Shit! Oh, Hello! Welcome to Jagermeister’s bookstore,” comes a voice from behind the main counter, before a tall young woman with striking neon blue hair rises, revealing herself dressed in a white fringe-cut t-shirt, black jeans, and thin framed glasses. She holds several pieces of paper she’s snatched from the floor behind the counter, deposited there by the wind. She looks now at the doors standing open, and the two women dressed in back. “Ah . . . sorry . . . we are about to close—“
The Countess steps forward letting her finger run lightly along the books stacked upon a display table.
The wind whips about the room lifting more unsecured papers.
“Right—closing time.”
The Countess continues to walk toward the main counter – she has yet to say anything, as he stares at the blue haired woman.
Esther steps into the bookstore, “Really – do we need such dramatics?”
Aware of the wind tossing pages, the woman behind the counter looks to Esther, “Hey, would you mind closing that door.”
Before Esther can actually turn to do so, the Countess lifts her hand and snaps her fingers – both doors slamming shut.
“Okay—right—you’re here to see Mr. Jagermeister.”
“Jagermeister?” Esther asks, looking at the name on the door.
“Jagermeister . . . Meisterburger . . . . Burgermeister . . . Tagalog . . Jagiellon – whatever . . . It’s not like I actually see the man all that much.”
Erzsébet walks slowly toward the counter. “So—he is here, yes?”
“Yeah – somewhere . . . . around here.” The young woman says anxiously, with a dismissive wave of her hand, “Look I just work the store, you know – whatever the hell goes on . . . around here – well that’s not any of my business, I mean, the store manager, Mister Casimir, creepy, with a capital C – into some crazy s**t, but hey, not going to pry into it, as it’s not listed in my pay grade.”
Esther glances around, clearly a bit nervous.
“So, like if you want to wait on him, fine, like I said I don’t get paid to fool with any of you crazy goth magicians.”
“Magicians?” Nicole asks.
The girl nods, “Yeah, lots of you weird – I mean rather – fashionably eccentric people come to see Mr. Jagiellon . . . “
Esther looks at her, ”Fashionably eccentric?”
In the concealed office, an aristocratic figure sits behind his large desk, using a gold letter opener to slice through an envelope bearing Polish stamps. He removes a page and unfolds it as two figures suddenly materialize. Both are pale. One is dressed in flannel and a vest, whereas the other wears a garish yellow-green coat and fez-like hat.
“ . . . and then I said to him, that’s not a kaczka, that’s my żona!” The one wearing the plaid flannel shirt and vest says with a mischievous smile.
The pale man in the yellow-green coat frowns, “Oh do shut up you imbecile.”
“What? That was funny.”
Without looking up from the letter which has captured his attention, the man at the desk says: “If you gentlemen, are not otherwise detained, perhaps you might take a moment to attend to business. I sense we have some . . . visitors . . . that require your attention.”
The man in the yellow-coat nods curtly, “Very well my Liege.”
“Hey—me too!” The dark-haired one in flannel says hurrying to catch up as the man in the fez-like hat begins to cross the room toward the door.
“And Casimir” The gentleman at the desk says, looking up from the page he is reading, “Please . . . welcome them with the utmost courtesy.”
“Sire, would I ever not?”
The man at the desk continues to look at him.
“And you behave,” the man named Casimir, quickly directs his attention to the man beside him as they continue toward the door.
“It was funny.”
At the counter the young woman finds the two women dressed in black worrisome – more so than some of Mr. Jagiellon’s visitors. Either they are heading to some high society gathering or a funeral. And there is something about the woman with the black hair that gives her the feeling that it’s more likely a funeral, whose she doesn’t want to know, ”Yes, well as I said, we should be closing now ladies.”
“Mr. Jagiellon,” Erzsébet Báthory says, as her fingers run lightly along the cream and maroon script of Jagiellon’s Antiquarian Books and Bibliographical Curiosities, which adorns a store bag, lying on the counter, “Where precisely might I find him?”
“Well—normally, at closing, he always counts the drawers at night.” The clerk tells her, as she feels herself drawn into the woman’s gaze.
“Normally?” She repeats.
“Yes – unless he’s detained.”
The Countess gives her a smile, “I haven’t had the opportunity to do that yet.”
Nicole senses the girl’s pulse increasing as her anxiety grows.
“To do what precisely—“ Casimir asks, his voice deep and menacing, as he approaches, having stepped through the secret door that leads to Mr. Jagiellon’s office.
“Do you not have something you could be doing?” The man in flannel says as he looks at the clerk whose eyes are freed now of the Countess’ gaze.
“Yeah – I think I’ll go take a smoke break.” She replies and moves around the counter rather quickly.
“Ah, the paraszt rohadék.” Erzsebet remarks as her lips curl in a sardonic smile.
“The Hungarian Whore.” Casimir’s smile is equally derisive, “And her bitch daughter,” And then, he turns his cold gaze away from them and directs it toward Esther, “I see you have finally arrived. Of course, I was hoping your surrender would come sooner, rather than later.
From behind the counter, the other pale man frowns, “Hey Caz, you better watch yourself. Remember what the boss said . . . “
Esther takes a step back retreating from the two pale men.
The young woman once outside the bookstore, pulls out a vaporizer, and stands for a moment indecisive. Should she just leave – or do they expect her to return—no one has checked the register and made out the night deposit. S**t! And she had wanted to get away early tonight. She had plans. She wanted to hurry home and change so she could make it to the Upper East Side – where at the end of a strip of yuppie shops, beneath the Teese Plaza past a walk-down of thirty- one steps came the throbbing frenzy of Club Apocalypse – where her favorite band, Charnel Dreams, was to debut tonight songs from their yet to be release album, Secrets of the Dead. F**k! Now they would no doubt want to her close up and take the night deposit.
She glances back through the window, Casimir and Stanislaw are still talking to the two Morticians .
“Yes – “ Casimir says with a shrug of his shoulders and a pull at the lapel of the yellowish-green jacket, “Stanislaw you’re right . . . as always. I mean we have distinguished guests. The Bloody Countess.” He holds his hands up, and wiggles his fingers at her as if to ward her off, “I mean, surely, she has killed, way,” and then he snaps his fingers, “More than even you and I Stanislaw.” His smile is so disingenuous as he takes a step forward, “And so – yes, I agree we should offer all the respect she truly deserves . . . And so, Countess, if what I have heard is true . . . f**king the dwarf? Was that before or after you turned.”
The blur is startling as Nicole moves to grasp the throat of the supercilious vampire and lifts him from the floor; and carries him ten feet backward to slam him hard up against a bookcase, “You have a tongue sir that is just begging to be removed.”
Stanislaw, behind the counter quickly holds up his hands defensively, seeing the harsh glare of the Countess blue eyes, “Hey . . . Hey . . . hold on . . . now.”
Esther has never seen Nikki move so fast – or given herself over so completely to the vampire within . . .
Casimir grits his teeth with a effort to free himself – his eyes glaring at Nicole Collins, but he is held fast. This mere fledgling! It is not possible she could be that fast – that she should be able to hold him against his will . . . but, her hand around his throat only tightens and she slams his head back again, hard against the books. “Stanislaw!” He gasps.
But before his fellow vampire can move to be of any assistance, he sees Erzsébet Báthory removing an ancient and very evil looking silver dagger marked in strange runes from a black velvet sheath, concealed somewhere in the back of her gown, “Nicole! As I said, there will time enough for amusements later.”
Nikki looks over her shoulder to her mother and then disdainfully tosses the pale vampire aside. He crouches low, his eyes glinting red, as he bares his fangs in a horrid hiss.
The Countess runs a long finger along the silver blade and looks at him, “No matter how old one gets – one never forgets what the cut of silver feels like—does one?”
Stanislaw looks at the cruel blade, “Caz, look . . . okay, Lady please, just wait. Okay. Okay. Look. The boss has asked us to, ya know, bring you to him. Sorta to speak.”
Nicole turns and glares at him, “And so, where is he – this would be King.”
Casimir eyeing the dagger defers to the peasant’s sudden foresight and diplomatic tone. Even as he continues to glare at the blonde. He had underestimated her – and he would not do that again, as he rubbed his hand over his throat.
‘I’ll take you to him.” Stanislaw says.
“And best you remember, I have my eye on you fledgling.” Casimir remarks.
“While you have it,” She turns to look at him once more, “Did you not said you wanted war—“
Stanislaw looks at him with a frown, “Casimir, you said that?”
“Just a figure of speech.”
“Long undead, you would have thought he would have learned something by now. “ The Countess says as her finger continues to lightly rubbing the edge of the blade, “Words have consequences. Perhaps Nicole is right – perhaps we should take that tongue.”
“Look – okay, Casimir, he’s . . . he says things, okay. Most of it is just talk – you know. But, you’re here to see the boss right?”
“I thought we were just going to stand around and listen to this rohadék.” The Countess remarks, “So, please, lead on, take us to the hidden panel.”
“How do you know about that?” Stanislaw asks.
Casimir looks at him.
“This way.”
The clerk outside looks through the window to see them heading now over to where she knew the hidden door to Mr. Jagiellon’s office was located. She was well aware that he was involved in some stuff other than just old books – she had seen the letters, parcels from Prague, Warsaw, and someplace called Cluj-Napoca, wherever the hell that was . . . and so, she figured he was into some kind of ex-patriot resistance – only, weren’t most of those places in that NATO now? And who were these funeral ladies – and that blonde – and man, did she really just lift that smart-ass Casimir up off the floor?
A volume on the third shelf is tilted and the bookcase slides back to reveal a passage.
With a wave of his hand, Casimir motions for them to enter, “Please, this way” and just barely audible, he adds, “. . . suczka.”
Erzsébet Báthory motions for Casimir to proceed.
He eyes the dagger and steps through the threshold leading the way into Jagiellon’s office.
Stanislaw tips his hands apologetically to Nikki, and she follows her mother.
He comes behind and closes the sliding panel behind them.
With a dramatic wave of his hand, Casimir enters the study and announces, “The, “Guests” are here my lord.”
The man behind the desk is dressed in a green tunic with a high collar and dark embroidered frogs across the front. His black beard, well trimmed revealed traces of grey. He wears a green hat. As they enter into his study he does not look up from the letter he was reading, “Oh yes good . . . Oh!’ Then suddenly, he stops, puts the letter down, “Yes the guests. “ and he looks up. He detects some agitation on their faces, “My apologies my ladies. Sorry, I should have greeted you – but I so rarely go into the store and so, please have a seat!”
Leisurely walking into the study, Erzsébet surveys the room as she taps the edge of the dagger on the tips of her fingers as she approaches the desk and lifting a brow looks at the man seated there. “Stephen—it has been some time has it not?” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
He looks at her intently, “Could it be?” <In Hungarian sub-titles> He looks closer, “Yes! Ah Lizzy! How have you been. It is so good to see you! What? It’s been centuries has it not?” <In Hungarian sub-titles> His voice low and husky.
Stanislaw takes up a position behind the desk, close to hand, while Casimir takes a position at the front edge of the desk – closest to where Nicole is standing.
“Please, please, have a seat! We must catch up. And – I see you’ve brought a friend . . . <In Hungarian sub-titles> He sniffs, “Ah, yes, the Friedman woman! Oh how delightful.” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
Only the Countess is not in any mood for niceties as she points the dagger at Casimir, “This one, where did you find him? The privy behind a whore house? You could do so much better uncle.” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
Not understanding a word of Hungarian, only recognizing the word ‘Friedman’, Esther glances nervously at Nik. There are too many Vampires in this room – she thinks.
Casimir glowers.
Erzsébet takes a seat and crosses her legs, the silver dagger dangling purposefully in her hand. Nicole takes a seat at the other end of the desk, nearest Casimir, and Esther, anxiously sits in the middle, staring intently at this all too seemingly civil and almost bureaucratic aristocrat – who, with the Polish flag behind him, the maps on the wall, seemed as if he were some shadowy governmental official. This was the same man who had ordered her family murdered? Demanded she surrender to become indentured to him based on some ancient contract signed in blood?
Jagiellon, who was actually Stephen Báthory, looks at the Countess curiously, “Casimir? Oh no, he was with me when I was attacked away back in the beginning. He is my most trusted servant. He hid me well for several decades before I turned him fully.” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
“Odd I never saw him when you came to Csejte.” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
“Yes, well, as I recall, I visited only twice – I would say, no more than three times . . . before you were turned.” He said, “ You know how I loathed Ferenc.” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
She smiled, “Everyone loathed Ferenc – especially the Ottomans.” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
“Ah—yes, well, those were the wondrous days. I must say, it is truly marvelous to see you Lizzy – but what pray brings you to see me after all these years.” <In Hungarian sub-titles> He glances at the dagger she continues to ominously allow to dangle so effortless in her hand.
“There are two items of concern, Stephen.” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
“Just two?” <In Hungarian sub-titles>
“First, there is a matter that needs clarification – being that there have been more than enough rumors and lies spread about me.” And she suddenly begins to speak in English in order for Nicole and Esther to understand their conversation.
“Lies? “ he says with a modest sweep of his hand, “We are, dear Lizzy, both well aware . . .” Speaking now in English as well, glancing over at those seated before him, “Of certain . . . facts.”
“Of lies and exaggerations in a court was I never allow to attend.”
Esther confused looks over at Nikki. Were they not there to discuss the contract? What is all this ancient history about . . .
“True. . . “ He nods, “But a trial my dear . . . would have at the very least put all your lands in jeopardy, and of course, there was the consideration concerning the overall repercussions such a spectacle might have had upon the reputation of the nobility in general. “
“Reputation of the nobility,” She lifts her head haughtily, “Matthias’ only concern was to erase his debt.”
“Ah, true as well, my dear – but neither happened did they?” he looks at her with a confidential gleam in his eye.
“You?”
“Well, being undead has it’s advantages.” He replies, “Now, Lizzy, dear Lizzy, with such a menacing blade in your hand . . . . as to this clarification of which you speak?”
“Well – based on what I can only say was the most discourteous and insolent behavior on the part of your most trusted servant—“
“Insolence?” His low husky voice grows a bit louder.
“With Ill mannered dispositions cast upon my daughter’s bloodline, in an absolute lack of respect, not only for her station, but, for the very House of Báthory itself – spoken to as if she were no more than some mere common, shoeless peasant—“
“Casimir—is this true?”
“I was merely pointing out Sire to this one,” he points to Nicole, “As she was all but incoherently babbling on about what station she seemed to think to which she aspired to, that she was in fact, of dubious lineage, owing of course to the nature of her birth, and of course . . . to the state of the Countess most unfortunate true death?”
“The very lie of which I speak!” The Countess snaps and points the deadly silver blade at the vampire in the yellowish-green coat.
There is nothing about this Casimir that does not irritate Nicole as her blue eyes continue to darken the more she looks upon him.
Stephen looks over at her, “Yes, well, to say the least we were all so terribly saddened to hear of your death, and I, I was overcome with grief . . .. We had a ceremony and everything. Well, Casimir put up a fuss, but I insisted all the same.”
Esther sits in stunned silence hearing her boogieman rambling on.
“Which as Casimir says was most unfortunate, but then I dare say, I felt it coming, as you were ever so enamored with Basarab.” He says evenly, “Your war with him was unnecessary – and reckless . . and I said as much, and I still say it was motivated by nothing more than envy of that Harker woman, and—whatever is that blade you’re waving about – it is very Bohemian, I must say . . . or is it Czech? Yes, Czech, I believe. Yes. I am right. It is Czech, is it not. Is that the one—the one you attempted to use?”
“You mean the one I slit his throat with?”
“And yet, he still ripped out your heart, as I understand the events of the confrontation.”
“Before I could plunge this into his.”
“Ah—now – you see my lord, true death,“ Casimir with a smug smile of sharp teeth. “It is all true—and from her very lips.“
The look the Countess gives Casimir would cut deeper than the ancient dagger she held, “Alas, the trusted servant, is wrong. For in that moment I was hurled forward in time by a spell cast by a wizard. Simon Orne.”
“Ah . . . Josef Nadek—now there’s a name I have not heard in quite some time.” Stephen Báthory remarks as he sits back in his chair. “Not since 1928.”
“I was suspended between 1912 and 1968, held timeless, in what he said was between two ticks of the clock, by his spell, where he was able to procure the blood of two young woman in order to assure my hearts regeneration; and thus – I have ever remained undead.”
“This is truly wonderful news! Oh, I am quite happy to hear this. You see Casimir, I told you she could not be dead.”
“My Liege, heart ripped out and suspended in time?’ Casimir says incredulously, “A wizard? Come now.”
“But Casimir, I know this Nedak – this Simon Orne,” Stephen Báthory remarks, “Very powerful. Misguided, but very powerful.”
“And so as I said I want to clarify, and I will say this only the once, and do hear me well, if I hear of this lie continuing to be perpetuated, I shall slit the throat of it’s teller . . . with this very blade.”
“Dear, dear Erzsébet now that you have explained what truly transpired – I tell you we shall hear of this no more.” And he looks to Casimir.
Who rolls his eyes and groans.
“Enough. She who we thought true dead is undead and so we must celebrate.” He rises and lifting a decanter begins to pour four glasses of blood. “Stanislaw, where are you, yes, there you are, champagne . . . for our human companion. “
Nicole takes note from the scent that the blood is A+ and Hungarian.
Ester looks at them as if she is in the midst of some mad play, “Champagne?”
This is absurd.
She looks over at Nikki.
“Yes my liege,” Stainslaw heading at first for the desk, turns suddenly and hurries off to open the lower portion of one of the octagonal bookcases. He removes a bottle of champagne, which he pops open, the blonde liquid spilling through his fingers as he tries to catch it, while quickly returning with a glass, which he puts in the dazed Esther Friedman’s hand. He begins to pour the champagne into her a glass when she suddenly recoils –“This is totally f**ked up!”
“I am sorry, the champagne? Is it a bad year?” Stanislaw asks, looking at the bottle.
Nikki now rises from her chair, “Champagne? Esther’s parents are dead and they are responsible.”
Standing behind his desk, glass of blood in his hand, Stephen Báthory looks at her, “They?”
Nicole stands and places her glass on the edge of the desk, “Yes – these two. Upon your orders.”
“My orders?” He looks at Casimir, “Casimir, what is she saying?”
“We were ordered to bring back the line of ben Golde.”
“And you said you could not find them in Maine. A false lead you said.”
“He found them and he murdered Esther’s mother and father.” Nicole says, her eyes darkening, her anger growing at the memory of their deaths.
Stephen Báthory’s voice rises now for the first time, “Did you say murdered?”
“YES! MURDERED you A**hat!” Esther suddenly stands and points accusingly at Stephen Báthory. “These two . . . On my birthday . . So l—“ And tears well in her eyes.
“You are the granddaughter of our runaway David ben Golde. Our attempts to create a human weapon were sincerely hindered by his flight, and I wished to have him return so that we could continue the work we had started – but murdered, upon my order? Never! What is the meaning of this Casimir?”
“Things got out of hand.”
“They had a shotgun.” Stanislaw offers as explanation as he glances nervously at Casimir.
“All tho—“ And Esther falls back into her chair, curling into a ball.
“It is always the trusted servant – is it not Stephen?” Erzsébet asks. “But then, what can one expect when one chooses to trust a paraszt rohadék.”
Stephen looks at the Countess, then to Esther, his face appears truly shocked, “I—I had no idea . . . Casimir! Explain!”
“She watched as her mother’s head was ripped –“ Nicole does not finish the statement, “She was only twelve!”
Casimir glares at Nicole, then looks to his master, “You needed the most recent member of the line to continue your experiments – all that important work – and after all that we went through, in looking for ben Golde . . . how disappointed you have been . . and so, when we found them – they refused! Unbelievable. Sire, they refused! And then, as Stanislaw said, they—they fired upon us – with shotguns, and so, of course we could only defend ourselves – and besides, honestly, to be of any use to us, I figured the child could use a scarring to two. You know, to toughen her up.”
Stephen Báthory looks at him aghast, “Stanislaw . . . Can this . . . is—is this true?”
“Well . . . you see, we were . . . okay, we were out in middle of Maine, sir, and you have never been out in the middle of Maine . . . and so, you see, Casimir, he said this time there could be no escape, they would not get away, and so, well, we had to be, we had to be out in day time, which was okay, because it was very overcast that day, and so we had used up a lot of energy, you know sir, to be out in the day – and so, we were hungry . . . from the energy expended – and then like Casimir said, they refused and, well he was in charge and he said . . . “
“I can’t believe it! I can not believe it. My contract with Moishie ben Aliyah!” A hand to his forehead, “They were under my protection. And yet my two most trusted servants” he sits down forlorn, “M’lady Friedman I do not know how I can repay you for my servants actions. This is dreadful. Alas, all I can do, is I give them to you to do with as you please.”
“My Lord! This is most unorthodox!” Casimir all but stammers, “I protest to the highest degree!”
“You Protest! You! You have set my work back to the highest degree! Now you see she is not willing to help us! You are the imbecile!”
Esther continues to curl up, feet on chair, but has stopped crying.
Nicole looks at Esther and can not forget the memory of her as a little girl staring out the bedroom window, watching as Casimir attacked her mother, as he viciously ripped her head off.
“Miss Friedman. You may do with them as you wish.” Stephen Báthory says, “I—I wash my hands of them both.”
In a small voice, Esther asks; “Nik, please make them go away—“
Nicole looks to her mother, and the Countess gives the slightest nod.
And in a sudden blur, Nicole steps beside Casimir, her hands quickly gripping either side of his head, and in one wrenching twist, she rips his head off and tosses it across the room, dark blood spurting from the stump of his neck as the body falls backward. “I do this in remembrance of Esther’s mother.”
Esther closes her eyes tightly.
Erzsébet looks over to Stephen, “She is a Báthory.”
He looks at her unfazed by the death of Casimir.
Stanislaw, looking down sadly at the head of Casimir, the eyes he knew so well only staring vacantly up at him, and steps slowly over to the Countess and kneels on one knee as a serf, “M’lady. I am truly sorry, we have brought shame upon the House of Báthory.” He then reaches up and grips her hand and stabs himself in the heart with the silver blade of her dagger.
“True death.” He says as blood oozes out of his mouth.
Esther closes her eyes tighter as the blood flows from the vampire’s chest.
The Countess looks at him as he dies.
She pushes the body off her blade and lifts it looking at the dark blood. “Now Stephen, the second matter, I understand there is something about a contract.”
Stephen Báthory rises from behind his desk and looks upon the death of his two servants. The dark blood. “Stanislaw, clean th—oh yes. Hmm . . . “ He sighs, “Please, let us go outside to the store.”
He steps around the desk, to step over the headless body of Casimir.
Esther quickly gets up and runs out of the room.”
“As I said, there is a little matter of a contract.” The Countess says rising from her chair.
“Hmm . . . Yes, the contract. I made it with Moishie ben Aliyah.”
She walks over to the octagon book case and opens the glass door. Her deft fingers running along the titles.
Once outside the sliding door of the concealed office, Esther stops and vomits on the floor.
The Countess finds a volume and removes it from the bookcase and tosses it across the room to land atop the desk.
She flips her fingers and the pages turn.
“As I said about your contract.”
Stephen Báthory looks at the book, “Always with the theatrics, Lizzy?’
The book is a polish history book, very detailed, and open now to a section devoted to World War Two.
“We, nor Miss Friedman, will hear ever again about this contract—for it is null and void, Stephen.”
“Is it now?” he says
“Yes—uncle. It has been voided by, Auschwitz”
“By Belzec”
“By Chelmno”
“By Majdanek.”
“By Sobibor”
“By Treblinka.”
“By contract, under your protection — by, what was it 3,300,000 . . . in that you failed!”
“Ah . . Yes. I must confess the German high command was using my house as a HQ by the time I realized there was a war on. David’s flight . . . it consumed me. You must know how it is. But you are correct. There is no excuse. I failed.
“We are of the same blood, you and I. And as well, we are of noble blood born and our word is our bond and that which is signed in our blood is bonded by our blood. You failed your end of this contract and so uncle, by that failure, it is void, and you know it.”
“Yes, Lizzy, you are correct. I have just admitted it.”
“So, to this young woman, my daughter’s best friend, you will tell her from this day she is free of any claims you may have had upon her.”
He sighs heavily, “My people—who I had guided back into independence . . . and strength, whom had defeated the Soviets at Warsaw . . . and for want of a single boy, I let it all crumble.” He looks across the desk to Erzsébet and then to Nicole, “Yes, yes, Ms. Friedman is free, although it saddens me. For you see, the Oracle said that David would be a boy to change the fate of Poland. I suppose she was correct after all.”
“Oracle?” Nicole asks.
“Oh yes. Oh she is long dead now, the Oracle was assisting me with my plans to turn David into a warrior of superhuman abilities, but . . . not of the undead’s nature. A combination of Alchemy and magic applied to the family each generation that was supposed to be finished with David. He fled before we could finish the ritual. I’m sad to say that all progress is probably lost now, due to the lack of interaction with the family for so long . . . Which is truly a shame, because I think I’ve just hit upon a way to make it ten times more potent . . but what is the use. Poland is strong, a NATO member. We shan’t be fearing invasion these days.”
“You were experimenting on them?” Nicole asks, ‘Esther’s ancestors?”
“Indeed. Surely you must know how Poland has been destroyed, degraded and left for carrion all these years. The Polish people are strong, but that was not enough to save us by the 19th century. Oh, I took no personal glee in it, or any benefit for myself. All I do is for the good of my Kingdom. The Republic. They elected me you know. And I will continue to protect them in any way I can.
“Stephen as you well know we out live the worlds we know and arise in new ones.”
He gives Erzsébet a side-glance, “Some vampires give in to their baser desires. But that can be forgiven. “ He then looks over to Nicole, “The truly powerful—they care for others, when they could for themselves. I can sense that in you about Esther Ms. Collins.”
“My family—my family has been lost to me. And I have sought them all my life, I have done things, things that I have regretted in the hopes of finding them.” She tells him, “And at long last, I have finally found a family. For Esther is my family.”
The Countess closes the bookcase door.
“And you mother.”
The raven-haired beauty smiles, “And you my love.”
“Keep Esther close, and extend that feeling you have for her to all around you. Erzsébet is my kin. You are my Kin.” He tells them, “Although my home is Hungary, my people are Poland. Whereas your home is England, your people are Collinsport.
“Then let us protect those to whom we have been given.” Nicole nods.
“Let us now make peace among our house, for we are of one blood.” The Countess offers as she saunters back over toward the desk, “And, as much as I hate to quote my cousin, the blood is the life.”
“Very much so,” Stephen Báthory walks over closer, “And now I must find someone to replace the blood I had thought I could trust.” He offers a hand to Nicole, “But that is a thing for another night. Come, let us rejoin Ms. Friedman in the Store and give her the good news.
“Yes.”
Nicole and Stephen exit into the bookstore. Nicole takes note of the vomit on the floor, “Esther, are you alright?”
“I don’t know Nik. Am I?” Esther steps out from behind a bookcase.
Nicole hurries over to her and gives her a hug, “Yes, you are safe – and you are a free woman, you have nothing to fear.”
“Indeed! You are Emancipated, Liberated, and all-around Free!” Stephen tells her with a smile. “I give you my blessing, you need not live in fear again.”
Esther at first startled by the former King’s exclamation, then breathes a sigh of relief.
“Hey—someone puked in here.” Comes the voice of the young clerk, “Sorry – I am NOT cleaning this up.”
Cue Music End Scene