A Grand Display of Power

After an hour of eating and chatting at the Waffle House to kill time, Jason paid and they took off, but just before they'd left the table, Layathel pulled a few bucks out of her clutch, reached around Jason who had been expecting to put his arm around her waist, and tossed them onto the table.

"I gave her a tip," Jason explained with amusement a few moments later as he held the door open.

Walking past she said, "I know."

In the car they buckled. As he backed out, Jason pulled his cell, tapped the quick dial and put the phone to his ear.

"Who are you calling?"

"Who do you think? The dark stalker." At her uncertain look, he said, "I was assured I'm already welcome. Yes? Hello? Mr. Sange. No, the other. Jason. Yes, with a guest.

Thanks." He looked left, right, and pulled out while dropping his cell in the cup-holder. "Looks like we're good to go."

Layathel clapped her hands, squeaking in excitement. "Oh! This is exciting. Either I'm meeting Dracula or an insane person who thinks he is!"

Jason laughed. "Either way," he admitted, "it's good times." Now if only he could convince himself of that. Despite his reservations he was still curious to see how she'd react. That initial drive out into the country had been disconcerting for him the first time, and actually every subsequent time. He watched to see her reaction as they turned off the interstate, then again off the main road after a few miles. Layathel was sitting straight in her seat, head turning like a wary deer, watching for anything and everything. Jason would glance at her every so often and it'd never fail to make him grin.

"This is definitely the kind of trek I'd expect to go on to meet the Caped Crusader."

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it. She wasn't completely wrong.

Darkness descended suddenly. It was a horrible night to have a curse. Jason glanced over like he'd been doing and he saw thin lines etched across her brow, and her head panned slowly like she was trying to figure something out. "Yeah," Jason said, "I did the same thing."

"You mean. . . Did it just—?"

"Yep. Don't ask me to explain it. Look." He jerked his chin toward the treeline as he slowed and turned onto the familiar dirt road. The trees loomed high, and the darkness threw them into nebulous silhouette. Layathel became sedate. Her hand found a place resting atop his arm. It hadn't occurred to Jason that she might get freaked and change her mind, but she was looking uncomfortable. Not frightened really. Wary. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She turned to him with a mischievous grin, "This is freaky."

"Just wait."

They crested the hill as Jason and Pop had, and the tallest spire of the mansion jutted up, thin and black and wicked. While Layathel stared, Jason pulled to a stop and rolled down the window. "Belmont."

The gates shuddered and creaked and eased open. Gravel crunching, Jason pulled into the lot with Layathel giddy beside him. The car had hardly stopped before she had her seatbelt off and was throwing herself out the door. Jason quickly followed. The evening air was warm and comfortable, and the surrounding forestry smelled of pine, of oak, and of honeysuckle. Jason drew a deep breath, then blew it out in a burst as Layathel veritably plowed into him, thrust her hand between his elbow and his side and gripped his arm in a hug. She walked on and he went along. When they reached the stoop, Layathel calmed herself at the sight of the rolling flames in the big metal-grate sconces, and the formidable door with its gargoyle knocker, a disquieting sentry. "Go on," Layathel said in hardly more than a whisper. "Use the knocker." Her grip had become less "trailblazing" and more "security blanket." Jason was now having fun.

"Don't you want to knock? Look at how glorious is this architecture. You don't want to miss this opportunity."

"Jason!"

"It'll be alright, I promise." He gave her a reassuring look which seemed to build some sort of courage in her. She slowly released his arm and went up the last step, since she'd been hanging back on the penultimate. Crossing the deep landing, she reached her hands out to the knocker. Jason considered and reconsidered yelling or grabbing her shoulders or suggesting that there were moths about. She was deathly afraid of moths, even though spiders didn't bother her. Jason couldn't bother explaining that one, and didn't bother trying. It wasn't even a woman thing, it was just a "Layathel" thing.

She took hold of the big iron knocker with both hands. Her fingertips couldn't touch around its circumference, so thick it was. Squaring her shoulders for leverage, she pulled it up. Teeth gritted, she heaved it back down. The sound of it hitting the door was explosive, reverberating in the portico and shooting out into the distance behind. Layathel stood still, head up, listening to the fading thunder. When she turned toward Jason, her face was filled with delighted bewilderment. Then the door opened. She grunted to hold in a scream, turned, saw Derph Skuff with his hideous hunched back, and she screamed, tripping on her feet. Jason caught her as she went back. By time he'd caught her by the shoulders, she had regained her comportment and was more embarrassed than anything.

"I'm so sorry," she began, but Mr. Skuff just pulled the door open all the way, his visage portraying nothing but magnanimous dignity. He said, "Not at all, Ma'am. I receive that sort of reaction all the time."

Jason nodded to him as he entered, "Thank you." He moved a couple of fingers between them,

"Layathel, Mr. Derph Skuff. Mr. Skuff, Layathel."

"Charmed." Said Mr. Skuff. He then muttered something about not seeing kids around this young since something or other, but Jason didn't quite catch it. When he asked for clarification, Mr. Skuff dismissed the question. "No matter. I'll fetch the master."

"Thank you," Jason said again. When Derph had gone, footsteps no longer sounding, he turned to Layathel. "Did he say something like 'all you cards'?"

"I didn't catch it."

A moment of silence fell. When Layathel began giggling to herself, Jason asked what was so funny.

"Oh, nothing," she said. "It's just that 'Derph' backwards is 'Fred.'"

"Huh, so it is. I wonder about his last name—"

"My friend!" Dracula called, arm extended for a shake, other hand holding to his cane. His presence was commanding and all thoughts of the previous conversation vanished. They shook hands. "I am glad you have returned. You know my home is always welcome to you. The more history the better." That's right, Jason recalled. Dracula was quite interested in giving his home a rich series of events, a sort of memory, so he'd said. Jason understood how broken lamps and holes in the walls could be hints to the past, but he doubted that this conversation would have any affect on the home, not in relation to posterity. Jason wasn't here to ruminate idly with his host though, so he just said, "I appreciate it."

Dracula turned on Layathel with enthusiastic interest. "And who is this? Your bride?"

Jason almost immediately denied it, but had the sense to realize that it might smack of relief. Layathel had no such compunction. "Oh,"Oh? no," she said. "Not at all," she continued. Now what was that all about, Jason wondered.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise?" Dracula asked, turning his head toward Jason but eying Layathel.

"I have to confess, it wasn't my idea; it was hers."

"Oh?"

Layathel grinned bashfully. "Would it be offensive to say that I just wanted to see if you were real?"

"Layathel—" Jason began to chastise.

"What? I'm just being honest."

"I take no offense," Dracula interjected.

"See?" said Layathel with what Jason considered to be childish glee.

"In fact," Dracula said, looking strangely young, strangely spry as he walked toward Jason's girl,

"Layathel is such a beautiful name. Are you a vampire yourself? If not, you should be."

"Well, not as such."

Now, that was too far. "Not as such?" Jason said sarcastically.

"Well, I've always been interested in this kind of thing. My favorite book during middle-school was written by Bram Stoker." The cutesy little hint made Jason roll his eyes. She was not appreciating the reality of this situation, and he could feel himself losing hold of something in this situation. He wanted to grab back onto it, but what was there? It was only a conversation.

The Count was, for all intents and purposes, enamored. "Do you enjoy the violin?"

Jason had heard enough. "Alright, we didn't come here to watch you make moves on my—" he hesitated, but in accordance with the manner of his profession, his voice didn't waver, merely paused an instant. "—date."

The Count withdrew immediately, taking a step back and adjusting his jet-black coat that he seemed to be wearing at all times. "I do apologize. I was unaware that you two were seeing one another." His voice was so sincere it bordered on cloying. "I assure you, if she hadn't shown such obvious interest in me, I would never have spoken to her with such blatant interest. Still," he continued, looking toward Layathel with almost husbandly affection, "there are mitigating factors for a bonnie lady in this situation, even if her current prospect is more than adequate."

Jason was unamused, and he showed it openly. "And those are?"

"Why, you are a mortal mine, and I am the powerful Dracula."

So modest, too. Jason was ready to pull up his shirt sleeves on this poacher.

"Can you prove it?"

Jason and the Count both looked to Layathel, who looked between them with a sprightly flicking of her head. "You know. Demonstrate your powers. I know that a certain someone says not to test Him, but you get your powers from the other side, so they say, and Lucifer was never shy about boasting."

Jason started to protest, but Dracula's eyes had already turned red, staying words where they began. The earth shook. The chandelier's crystal ornaments tinkled like chimes in a breeze. A circular black mass appeared on the floor, with strands of even deeper black swirling and pulsating within. Screams of a million damned souls shrieked up and out, and permeated the air with agony. Jason and Layathel slapped their hands over their ears, which did little to dampen the noise. Fire flashed from Dracula's eyesockets. His skin cracked as if paint in an arid heat, then peeled and flaked and burst open. A demonic, bat-like creature stood in the place of the man, with only threads and rags of his skin hanging by tendrils of blood and damp, dog-like fur. With a screech at least as loud as the hordes from below, whose cries still filled the room, the demon-bat crouched, gathering itself, muscles bulging through leathery membranous patches among its fur, and leaped straight upward. Its wings beat with an explosive peal. It began to fly overhead in a wide circle beneath the cavernous ceiling. Flames leaped from the portal and rushed up, swirling about until Jason could see only orange and red and a dark mass circling within.

Then the flames faded. The portal below closed. The bat descended in a dive, transforming mid-flight, and with a final beat of its wings, rose just above the floor, and dropped lightly down, feet tapping. Dracula, again a middle-aged man with a cane, handsome and healthy, stood before them. Also with no clothes. Derph Skuff appeared presently with a new set of raiment for him, of which he availed himself to Jason's relief. Layathel had her hands over her eyes.

"Do forgive me for my eagerness," said Dracula as he he buttoned his pants. "It's seldom such a lovely woman stands in my halls, and I admit I was zealous to display my power. Among other things."

Jason grimaced but Layathel looked intrigued, if not something more.

"Now then, my dear," the Count said, buttoning up his shirt. "I presume you have been convinced."

"Thoroughly."

"Then how might I please my guests?" He said "guests," but Jason was fully aware that he was looking openly at Layathel.

Being a bit annoyed a Layathel's enchantment with the very man they came to turn down as a client, Jason's response was a bit more heated than he'd have made it were he able to think of that sort of thing at the time. "I have to decline your offer. I love my father, and I really did want to continue the family business." At the mention of Pop, Jason's voice softened. "But there's a compunction."

Dracula sucked a breath in through his nose as though he were going to unleash an upbraiding, but he just smiled then, and patted Jason on the shoulder, saying, "I understand. We must do what we feel is righteous. I'll not try to convince you otherwise, but I dare say that the two of us may be rivals."

Jason became wary. "Rivals? For what?"

"The affection of a lover."

The two looked toward Layathel, who looked away, some of the smile gone out of her.

"Are you entertaining this?" Jason demanded.

"No, I—"

"The man is—no offense, sir—hundreds of years old."

"And yet," Dracula said with the same calm, self-assuredness that had not left his voice since he'd appeared. That was all he said. Jason realized he wasn't going to continue when he noticed how he was looking at Layathel. He whipped his head toward her in time to see her eyes go distant and glassy. "Even her name," Dracula said,

"Layathel. It is as though she were made for it."

Jason strode over to her, shoes clomping on the marbled floor, heart pounding; he took her by the shoulders and thrust her toward the entryway. The jostling seemed to wake her from what must have been some sort of trance. Only glancing over his shoulder, Jason cast the words back, "You stay the hell away from her." He almost ended his imperative with "demon." They reached the door, opened it, and egressed. Dracula let them.

"She's a lovely girl, Jason. As was your mother. Reconsider following in his footsteps, as he reconsidered following in his father's."

Jason heard that last declaration as clear as a bell; even as he and Layathel hurried down the stoop, the Count's voice, still calm and rational, came booming out of the open door.

Dead leaves whirled around their feet. A rock bounced off of Jason's shoe and struck the side of his car with a clack. He opened the door, got in. The two closed their doors simultaneously. They key went into the ignition, turned; wheels spun, dug for traction, and he did a half-circle, throwing a bow of dirt onto the mansion's face as he pealed out of the lot. Blasting through the gate, Jason's breathing was deep and fast.

It was clear now. That display in there hadn't been to impress Layathel. It'd been to show what he was capable of doing, to demonstrate how powerless anyone who defied him really was.

"Damn that maniac!" He pounded the steering wheel with a palm. Layathel started, but Jason ignored her. What was Dracula talking about? Reconsider? What did a bloody centuries-old vampire care about one family being on retainer, anyway? Why was this so important? Why the threats? And Layathel. She must have been terrified. That whole time in there, was she under his control? Or was it her? What about what Dracula said about Pop? Had he been threatened too? Of course he had. This was a man who made a deal with the devil. Dracula probably wasn't even human anymore, just a conniving, power-hungry lunatic. He'd do anything to get what he wanted.

Wait. Jason glanced at Layathel. Had Dracula used Mom to get at his father? He'd done the same here, with Layathel. What exactly was going on with this "family business?" Whatever it was, Jason wasn't going to let himself be coerced, and he wasn't going to let Dracula touch Layathel, either. Whatever he had to do, he'd ensure that this family business ended immediately.

Ten miles later, a passing car's headlight beam glanced off of a wet streak on Layathel's cheek. Jason winced, looked over and saw a huddled mess. "Hey, babe. You alright? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry!" Her voice came out too loud, and it quavered with shuddering breaths. Jason reached across and squeezed her shoulder. "Hey, no. There's nothing to be sorry about. I should have realized the man would be dangerous. I was an idiot to bring us in there. I'll be talking to my father about this."

Layathel didn't seem encouraged. Jason just put his hands on the steering wheel and tightened his grasp until the leather creaked. Pop would be answering some questions.