🔪gentle🔪biters🔪club🔪

I reach under my seat for the pamphlets. I traced my thumb over the cream cardstock. The ink was raised, a deep charcoal that caught the amphitheater's torchlight. At the top, in a cursive script, were the words: PRELUDIO A COLÓN by Julián Carrillo

Beneath the title, the description was brief, written with the type of academic detachment of someone who had forgotten what it felt like to breathe. I squinted against the dim light, reading the text. 

“ A journey into the 'Thirteenth Sound.' Witness the Fracturing of the traditional octave into micro-intervals, Carrill unveils the hidden frequencies that exist betwixt the notes of the living and dead. This piece is a sonic and phonetic map of the unseen."

Apparently, this piece was written for a soprano opera singer, flute, guitar, violin, cello, and a harpzither. The name of each artist was listed under the instrument they played. According to the pamphlet, the opera singer was Julian Carrollo’s great granddaughter. She stuns in a wine-red dress and a red flower in her hair. 

It starts on a solemn note. Then, the music began on a haunting chord. The soprano's voice rattles something inside of me. With my senses raw, Carrillo’s piece was like a glass of cold water against the skin. The strings had microscopic cracks between them, creating a serrated frequency that vibrated against my feet and shot up to my heart. There was nothing familiar about the harmonies to find comfort in. Just a sliding, ghostly pitch that turned my stomach. 

I'm trying to green out right now. On 2 mg’s IF that. I couldn’t understand it. This sensitivity of it all. 

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm that fought the music’s eerie stretch. I gripped the armrests, nauseated and spinning, as the world shredded into thin, screeching ribbons. This song feels more like the death of something. An ending. Every string plucks at my nerves, causing a deep sense of unrest. The printed program notes that this is Sofia’s favorite arrangement. The violin sounds like a cry. 

The spotlight beams down on the band as they play louder and louder. I press my hand into Vlad’s lap and he takes hold of it.  I straighten my posture to take deeper breaths. The music stops and then starts, intensifying and then diffusing over and over. It feels as if it’s pushing me towards a place I don’t want to go.

Earlier I’d noticed red pattles in the crowd for drinks. I raise mine, and within a minute, a server grabs me a bottle of water for my stomach. I chug half of it as the piece fades out, hanging over the last few notes. 

I’m grateful for the silence, and I focus on box breathing. The technique seems to take the edge off my panic as I rest my hand back into my lap and grab the pamphlet. 

Next. A ballet called Lo Eterno en Marcha. In English it translated to “The Eternal in progress”. I read the dancers' names. Lucian and Estella. They walk into the spotlight shining down on the pit. Lucian is tall with fire-red hair pulled into a ball at his nape. He is freckled and wide-eyed with a hooked nose. His eyes are an electric green. Estella is a tan-skinned, black-eyed woman with her hair slicked into a long braid down her back. There’s is something ancient about her specifically though they look the same age.

I lean closer to Vlad and whisper, “ Are they together?” 

He smiles quietly and nods. At first, I think he won’t elaborate, until he leans over. “They died on the same day during The 1755 Tsunami of Cádiz.”

I marvel at the two of them, reopening the program to read about the performance.

" Emerse yourself in the exploration of the Kinetic Infinite, where dance transcends mortal perception. By moving beyond the speed of sight, the performers shed the friction of time to exist as a singular line."

Hmph. Not for my eyes, clearly. I was riding high. My shoulders relax as the water seemed to calm me down. Slowly, the music morphs into an almost rhythmic thrum. They might as well have been hummingbirds. Their bodies were a kaleidoscope of frantic, impossible motion. I blinked, trying to focus, but my eyes couldn't catch them—not fully anyway. They were moving at a speed that defied the physics of my own sight.

I watch the carousel of bodies entangled together, their garments bleeding into a new color. Ribbons of white silk and streaks of black and red caught in a hurricane. I somehow managed to catch the occasional "stutter" of an image—Estella’s face, twisted in serene focus, before she dissolved back into a trail of silver light. It was as if someone were flipping through a sketchbook, giving the human eye only a millisecond to process a picture that was already long gone. 

I felt a slight pressure on my hand. Vlad was leaning forward, his eyes tracking something I couldn't see. He wasn't looking at the blur. He was watching the individual. "Lucian’s Grand Jete is the best I’ve seen," he whispered, his voice smooth and captivated. "Estella is holding the peak of her arc for a fraction of a second too long. It works..."

I looked back at the pit. I saw nothing but a shimmering mist of movement and the rhythmic snap of fabric slicing through the air. I imagine that for the vampires, this was a display of peak athletic grace. For me, it was a reminder of the sheer, breathtaking distance between our physical capabilities. There would come a day when I could appreciate a performance like this. But not tonight. Tonight was reserved for getting through this event without losing my shit. So far, I think I’ve done somewhat well for myself…all things considered. 

The program moves on. Lucian and Estela get a standing ovation. They’d clearly impressed the crowd of old blokes. I clap alongside Vlad, paying my respects. 

We were closing in on the main event now. Sophia floats down to the pit with Luna in her arms. Luna slowly unties her robe, and Sophia takes it from her and folds it, leaving it on a nearby ledge. A woman and a man walk into the pit, one holding a guitar and the other a microphone. I take another glance at the program. The first dance would be to “ La Llorona” by Chavela Varagas. The performers were yet another set of vampires, Allen Baker and Alicia Chavez. The pair was dressed in matching suits. 

I've heard the song before in a movie, and to my surprise, Alicia sounds just like Chavela. So much so that I start to wonder if she’s lip syncing. I tap Vlad. “ She sounds just like her”, I whisper. 

He nods. “ Some of us are mimics. She could have heard Chavela once, and that was enough for her to memorize every inflection of Chavela's voice. Pretty neat, right?” he murmurs. 

My eyes widen at the sound of her voice. Impressed by the impersonation. I couldn’t tell a singular difference in tone.  Slowly, Sophia pulls Luna into her arms, and they begin their dance. 

The love between the two of them was palpable. I could feel it. Sophia, looked at Luna like she held the moon and the stars. I knew how it felt to be looked at like that. To love somebody so much that if you thought about it long enough, it started to hurt. Luna, with her glowing skin and fragile build, held her arms around Sophia as if she’d float away. 

Sophia is pliable, and I notice she’s not leading. It’s Luna who decides where they go. Her respect for her wife outweighing her need to physically control her. Instead, she tucked her chin into the crook of Luna's neck, her eyes closed, inhaling the scent of her partner. I imagine this would be the last time she could smell her as a human. Or, feel the murmur of her blood under her skin. It was a lingering, almost desperate press of the face…a silent apology, or maybe a benediction.

I can feel myself start to get emotional. A heat burns on the inside of my face but I managed to blink away my tears. I can feel Vlad looking, but he gives me my dignity and doesn’t ask any questions. 

Luna leaned back, her fingers grazing the sharp line of Sophia’s jaw, and for a moment, they stopped moving entirely. Sophia took Luna's small, shaking hand and pressed a kiss not to the knuckles, but into the center of the palm, then folded Luna's fingers as if giving her a secret to keep for eternity. 

Luna is trembling. For good reason. Because these were the last time she’d see Sophia through human eyes. To feel her touch with human skin. 

The singer's voice carries a heavy devotion. As if pleading to whoever she’s singing to. Though I couldn’t interpret the words, I felt what it meant. As the song climaxed, I could see Sophia begin to work the sleeves of Luna’s night gown. Her fingers slip under them as they sway until she’s tugging on them. They slide down her arms, and then her dress slips over the peaks of her breasts, exposing her entire chest. Bare. 

I swallow a small gasp. Luna is unalarmed, eyes closed as if this entire thing had been practiced a thousand times. I can’t help but lean forward as Sophia leans in to kiss her wife, unrushed and patient, not pulling away until Luna needs a breath. Then she moves to her ear as she flicks her hair behind her shoulder.  Slowly, her lips slide down to her neck. Her nose traces itself along her shoulder, savoring her here the most. Then she moves to the front of her throat, kissing a path down her chest in slow pecks. 

Her nose trails to the middle of her breasts, and she kisses her there, tasting her. Luna holds Sophia's hair, her fingers etched into her scalp as she closes her eyes. In an aching pace, Sophia unhinges her jaw and lines her teeth up with Luna’s heart. I think to myself, surely it can’t be here. Did Luna choose this to be the place, or was it only here? 

Sophia’s teeth sink into her wife’s chest as she bites her. Luna lets out a pained mule, cradling Sophia’s head as her own falls back. I can see the tears trickle down her temple as she takes in quick gasps of air. Luna doesn’t struggle in Sophia’s hold despite the pain. She doesn’t push her away. She cries out long and painfully. A finality in her mewls as if this moment had freed her from something. 

I’d realized I hadn’t been breathing when I took in a long-needed gulp of air.  I didn’t feel my own tears until they were dripping on my neck, already starting to cool. I fan myself as I sit back watching in marvel. 

Sophia kept drinking in large gulps. Blood poured down the front of Luna’s dress, inking the silk and widening with each passing moment like tie-dye. My humanity is quietly panicking because I know what comes after this. She’s going to kill her own wife. 

Luna is becoming paler by the moment, and nobody is stepping in to do anything. Yet somehow, her unwillingness to push her away is enthralling. To love somebody that much that you take their blade for them. To stare unflinchingly in the jaws of death. 

Luna goes limp, and Sophia holds her up with a hand on her back.  The crowd is so silent I can hear my own breathing. I tremble at the imagery as Sophia keeps drinking. Gripping the armrest, I keep myself planted in my seat. Forcing myself not to look away. On her last few sips, Sophia pulls away and gazes down at her bloody wife. 

Something wet drops on my forehead, startling me out of my concentration. Then another. Then another, until my head is whipping back and forth, trying to figure out the culprit. Had somebody thrown water on me? Was it leak? Seconds later, a fourth drop prompts me to look up. 

Eyes. All I see are eyes. Fearful eyes. Pleading eyes. Recognizable eyes. 

Enez. Oh god. Enez from the club. Tied up at the mouth, hands bound to his back and hanging from his feet, he looks to me as if I’m his only hope. However, it’s not just Enez either. It’s DJ and dozens of other men bound and gagged. Swaying from the ceiling of the amphitheater at their feet. I cover my mouth, holding in a scream as my heart begins to race. 

Alex warned him. He told Enez what he would do….

“Wait until I tell him the shit you tried to pull” ….. 

Some conveyor device electronically moves the men hanging around various sides of the theatre, pulling them all together to hang over the very center of the pit. They begin to struggle and cry, groaning from behind their gags and pleading. Servers begin to hand out disposable rain jackets and plastic face shields. I can feel my breathing become erratic as I grab one and clumsily pull it on. 

“ospăț…”

“ ospăț!!” 

There’s a shift in the energy of the crowd. Suddenly, these quiet and astute vampires are getting more and more antsy. 

“ospăț”, a woman below us hisses. 

Pretty soon people begin to yell the phrase over and over as it spreads through the crowd like some virus. With trembling hands, I pull out my phone in a panic. I type in the passcode and unlock it, trying to find a way to translate the term. 

A notification pops up on my phone. Nya texted me as if she knew my distress. I open the text to see a picture of food captioned

“My lasagna🍽️😘.” Angrily, I swipe away from the text and open a translation app, recording the sound. 

ospăț… (feast) 

Feast….

The chorus of vampires chants the words until they all say it at once. A stern command as if they alone decide for him. Vlad stands, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He’s stepped out of his shoes. “ Listen to them. The children of the night. What sweet music they make”, Vlad murmurs quietly. I call out to him, but he doesn’t answer. 

He floats to the edge of the dias, feet hanging halfway off the stone. In a single blink, his skin is changing, or rather—shifting. Bones collapsing and lengthening under his skin. The golden undertone I'd come to know was now a pale husk of veiny flesh, taking on a lifeless color. His back widens, stretching the skin thinner and thinner and thinner until something breaks. 

He’s sprouted wings. 

A long layer of skin covers the wings like a bat. His shoulders widen. He gets taller. All of his body hair has vanished. The points of his ears have become sharper. His nails turn to dark talons. 

Am I dreaming? I feel an ancient dread. A familiar one. In a dying attempt, I call his name again. “Vlad Tepes”, I snap sternly. My heart racing, hands pinned to my seat. As if his name alone would give me dominion over him. 

Slowly, he turns to me, revealing glowing eyes, sharp teeth, warped and stretched features. A nose too sharp. A mouth too thin. Pure monstrosity. He’s not even there. I don’t feel him. I can’t feel him. Whatever this is. It’s a shell. 

Soundlessly, he jumps from the balcony, disappearing, and the crowd ceases its chant. I dart to the edge of the Dias to see him free-fall and then shoot upwards to the bound victims. The slap of his wings echoe across the arena with a heavy thwack. 

The creature claws at throats, bursting the skin open like broiled hot dogs. One by one, he silences each man, turning their cries into wet gurgles. Mists of blood hit the crowd. I turn my head, smelling iron permeate through the air. The vampires cheer in delight, some sticking their tongues out like children in the rain. He saves Enez for last, hanging upside down, nails and feet gripping the poor man’s body as he sank his canines into his neck. He pulled away heaps of flesh, making it hurt as Enez begged for mercy. 

I'm going to be sick.

On shaking legs, I begin to wobble down the stairs, holding onto the railing, ducking behind cheerful vampires who roar for more violence. My legs give out from the fear, and I fall flat onto my ass, swallowed by a sea of bodies. 

“ Mato!”, I yelp. I begin to hyperventilate. “ Mato help!”, I shout. 

In a snap, strong arms pull me up from my armpits, and I’m blasted into the lobby at the speed of light. He snatches off my blood-stained raincoat and grabs my face. 

“ Breathe…deeply”, he commands. 

My body has no choice but to follow suit, and it keeps me from passing out at least. I take the stragglers in the lobby into account. A few older-looking vampires and possibly a few humans were eating at the bar, boredly. They’d seen this all before. 

Mato, more sympathetic than the eyes of my lover, wiped my tear-streaked face. His hands rest on my shoulders. The sound of weeping men round the corner, all bound and gagged in a single file line. Sybil walks behind the group in knife-point stilettos, cheerily pushing them forward, towards the opening of the arena. “ Time to feed the beast!” she sang merrily, winking at me as she walked past. 

I stare at her dumbfoundedly. I can hear the moment the next set of food enters the pit, as the crowd gets more lively. I shake my head and look back at Mato. He raises a brow at me. 

“ Vlad should have been more thorough. You are very clearly not ready. I warned him”, he sighs. 

I shake my head. “ I wouldn’t listen to him. I kept…brushing him off. I…those people”, I stammer. 

Mato saves me the guilt. “Remember, we only pick the worst of the worst for these events. In this case, these hybrids were running a whole operation. Taking advantage of women and stealing their life force. It’s been a long time coming ”, he says. 

I frown in confusion. “ Hybrids. You mean incubi ?”, I ask.

He shrugs. “ Usually one parent is, and the other is human. Very pesky creatures, but surprisingly delicious. Luna will make a strong fledgling with quality blood like that”, he explained. 

A wave of nausea hits me again at the thought of blood. I’m greening out. There’s no stopping it this time. I fold my arms around myself, looking at the floor, trying to soothe myself somehow. 

“ Why don’t I call your ride and get you on your way back to the villa. What’d ya’ say, kid?” he asks endearingly. 

I don’t have time to answer him because I’m darting to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. The room is swirling. I flush the toilet, leaning against the stall as I close my eyes.

I slide down the stall, sitting down on my butt, and pushing my head between my knees as I try to recenter myself. My phone vibrates with a text from Nya. I open it. “Should I fuck Alex 🤔🤫”

I shake my head and close my phone, dropping it back into my lap. The sound of humming brings me out of my mental spiral. I peeped under the stall door, trying to see if anybody had come inside. I was completely alone. Weakly, I unlock the stall and peep behind the door. I smell the lavender and opium. There she sat in the mirror, brushing her hair and smoking. Amina.

The longer I stare, the less control I have. My feet scrape forcibly across the floor. She was the storm, and I was the helpless piece of debris being pulled into her orbit. I try to anchor my feet to the floor, hold onto the sink, and push my hands away to no avail. She’s trapped me. 

Amina Medina POV

“ Ghost”, I taunt, exhaling the smoke from my lungs. I turn to the room. I could feel her—I believe it to be a woman. “ Will you be of use today?” I tease. I go back to brushing my hair. I don't suppose the little ghost will answer anyhow. 

The woman in the mirror staring back at me has changed. My hard edges had been sanded down, first by my husband and then finished off by our cherubic children. Anger wasted a lot of my time and shaved years off my life. I found a place to put it long ago. I wrapped it around a paddle much like my hairbrush, except it was made for skin. Every woman finds her hobbies, I suppose. 

My quiet part of the day was dwindling. Soon, tiny feet would stampede into my private oasis, and I won’t get a moment of peace until I’m lying next to my Vlad. I cannot say that I did not prefer it this way. 

I use my last minutes wisely, finishing my pipe and oiling the candles for my children, Hamda, Alexandru, and Petru. In the short years I had with my mother, she taught me the importance of the spirit and how it must be guarded in children. I want to believe my mother's prayers still hold me to this day, and I’d hope the same for my children. 

I dress each candle in rose oil, roll it in an herbal blend with sea salt, working from bottom to top. I look over at Vlad’s candle. Undressed and yet to be lit. I’ve been fighting a thought for many weeks. A bad thought. One that may change the way he viewed me despite all the terrible things that transpired early in our betrothal. It was a forbidden rule. Some things in life couldn’t be cheated. 

I am pulled from my thoughts, hearing the patter of feet. Alexandru is always first because his legs are the longest. He bursts in, smiling, with two missing teeth. A spitting image of his father as a boy. I can’t contain my excitement, though it has only been 7 hours since I last saw their darling faces. Petru wasn’t far behind him as they crashed into me. A chorus of “Mommy! Mommy!” Echoing across the corridor. 

I grab them both into my arms, showering them with kisses on their soft little cheeks. Petru climbs onto me, wanting to be picked up, something his father had gently reprimanded him about. He was trying to get him to embrace being a “big brother” now, but it was a tug of war. He was stubborn, much like me. Secretly, I did not mind picking him up despite his growing heaviness. I hold Petru’s face against my rib, looking at the three of us in the mirror. The boys were dressed well for church, as all little princes should be. 

“ Mommy, Petru, and I want to go see the horses after service—please”, Alexandru asked respectfully. 

I put Petru back on his feet. “ Okay, but you must be nice and quiet during service. Then I will see if Lady Patricia will escort you”, I bargain. They nod excitedly, already knowing they’d get to visit no matter the outcome. 

I recognize the sound of the footsteps barreling around the corner. My heart leaps at the thought of him near. Vlad opens the door, holding Hamda, who’s squealing at the excitement of her little family. Vlad pressed a kiss to her head. I walk over and kiss her dimpled cheeks before landing a peck to my husband. He had stolen far too many this morning. 

Hamda reaches for me, and I pick her up. She grabs my mouth and stares into my eyes, transfixed on me. Would it be so silly to believe she was communicating with me deeply? In a way that her words could not yet form? Of all my children, she looked the most like me. The only girl, the quickest birth, and my easiest baby. And to think the midwives had all said that girls were harder, stole your beauty, and more. They were all so terribly wrong. In fact, I believed her birth had healed something deeply wrong with me. I found something inside myself that I'd lost long ago when she looked at me for the first time. I had so many grand plans for her. She would be the antithesis of my life. 

“ Hello, I’m still here. Hamda. You're rubbing it in”, her father waved to get her attention. We did have a bond that I couldn’t deny. I chuckle as she blinks at her dad, then turns to smile with me, showing her gums. 

“ It will be your turn very soon, I’m sure of it. You’ll speak in that secret language that all girls do with their fathers”, I laugh. Not that I’d ever experienced that, but it was what I saw in the towns. Men were capable of loving their daughters more than themselves. If I’d failed at anything, at least I knew I gave that to my daughter. 

Vlad lifts each boy by their feet, stomping around the room and out the door as they squealed in excitement. He loved to play the brute. Their game of “Mean Papa,” which they absolutely loved. There was no angry man in their home, and yet the idea of one humored them. I follow behind them with Hamda in my arms, watching them climb their fathers' backs. 

Our set of workers followed far behind us as we made our way to church. We sit in the front row of the chapel, last to appear as the crowd stands, waiting for us to take our seats. 

Service was service. Painfully long and achingly quiet. The priest's eyes rolled to me every now and then. I think he knew in his heart that I did not hold onto this faith. That I didn’t truly believe. Vlad did—but almost in a painful way. An almost punishing or fearful way. He needed this all to be true so badly. I couldn’t take that from him. If this was how he made sense of this wicked world, then so be it. 

It was a wife’s duty to abide by her husband's religious beliefs. Six years ago, I would have detested this idea. I eventually succumbed to my duty. Some choices came naturally, and others I gritted through. Not because I had no choice, but because it was easier to just get on with it. Vlad knew about my candles, herbs, and spells. He didn’t ask. He didn’t judge. That was enough for me.

Furthermore, I do not believe the priest is an honorable man. He yearns for violence. I’ve seen it in his eyes. The way they ignite when he speaks with Vlad. I’d know no religious man to talk about decimating their enemies to fire and ash. I look up at the intricate mural paintings on the chapel ceilings. I whisper to Vlad,“ I have often wondered why the angels in church are always so fair. Why is this?” I ask him. 

I can see his dark eyes roll to the ceiling, looking up introspectively. He tilts his head and squints. “ I asked that question many years ago. The answer was unclear. Apparently, angels can only look this way. I do not believe that to be true. It’s all by interpretation”, he murmurs very quietly into my ear. 

Our eyes meet with a deep understanding. I could have left it here but I respond. “ They believe it is only they who will go to heaven. We are the ones who must fight to get in”, I whisper back, leaving him to his thoughts. 

Tensions escalated. The Turks were edging closer to a victory. New battle strategies were drawn up day by day. The feeling of uncertainty drew closer. 

I watch Vlad suit up in armor. I put my hand on my stomach, trying to quell the nausea. He was gone more than he was away. The children had begun having intense meltdowns in his absence, crying for him at night. He’d only been back for three weeks and would soon be gone for another four. He’s staring at me with an apology as he grabs his helmet. He’s an angel in silver and mesh. The suit makes him this terrifyingly large abominable figure. The impaler…they call him. He gets to me across the room in three long strides, towering over me, cupping my face. I look up at him through teary eyes. He kisses me, and it feels like the first time ever. I breathe him in through my mouth. Trying to capture the essence of him with my tongue, just in case it's the last time.

All I can manage to croak is “I need you.” Which frightened me because I never needed anyone. His eyes mirror back my pain. I see them swell with tears, too. I knew this hurt him. I knew he hated being away. But this was duty. That’s what they made the sons of kings believe. And so there would be no debating any of this. I was married to a king. I was a queen consort. I don’t have the power to make him stay. 

This carries on for months and months. The frustration made me agitated, but he refused to argue with me. He would let me get it all out and insisting that he understood. Insisting that he felt the same way, but made no move to change any of it. I would melt back into his arms, tiring myself out with my tears. Sex would ensue, an attempt to try and salve the sting of our situation. It sated us both for a day or so, but it couldn’t fix this. Not permanently. 

Time had become my obsession. I was running out of it. I knew it deep in my heart. One stormy night, I’d dreamt of a large bird that had cracked open the ceiling of Poenari and plucked me from my bed like a bug from a leaf. Our greatest archers were of no use for its impenetrable wings. It had the strength of 100 men or more, and it shot me straight into the clouds. I did not panic at all as the wings holding me by my waist turn into strong hands. It's the nail in my decision. 

Through the French doors, I watch Vlad bounce a squealing Hamda in the air from the other room. I’m seated at my chaise, sitting across from the traveler I’d arranged this meeting with. She pulls back her black hood to reveal her eyes. One green and the other brown. Her skin is darkened, withered from the sun, with a light coating of dirt and dust. She’d travel a long way to get here. I call for a guard to close the curtains, blocking Vlad from seeing this exchange. “ Have you brought it?” I get right to it, picking up my cup of tea and bringing it to my lips. 

She waves her stained red fingers, and the guard brings over the brown leather case, setting it down on the table that divided us both. “ It is there”, she says in a heavy accent. 

I slowly grab it and fiddle with the locks until it clicks open. The petals are like wine, with a thin stem, no thorns, and a sickly sweet fragrance. Rosa Aeternitas. Few knew of the flower's potency. Vlad assumed I was ordering more jewelry for Hamda—— my usual frivolous spending. But no. I had to order in secret. 

I pet the petals with the tips of my fingers, staring at it in complete wonder. Many people say that this flower was cursed. It was created from black magic. In my many travels as an adolescent, grieving women and mothers would use this flower to cheat death. I’d often wondered why women were so drawn to it. Nevertheless,  this world had unseen laws and scales, and toying with the finality of death was precarious.  

“You may stay until you feel you’ve fully rested. Feel free to use any of the guest amenities.  I will make sure you are accommodated”, I say in finality. What more was there to discuss? She’d done good work, but she made no move to get up. 

She puts up a gentle hand and takes a sip of her beverage. Warm milk. No tea or sugar. I eye her suspiciously as she rests the cup on the saucer. 

“ Let us go over conditions of use— to say that I did my part”, she warned in an almost melodic tone. I pause, crossing my legs and clasping my hands on my knee. 

“ Death is a tricky thing. I'm not sure who you will use this for, but I can say this flower won't let you escape sacrifice. Whatever or whoever you're trying to save, you must trade your wish for something of equal or greater value”, she advised. 

“ Naturally”, I quip. Trying not to give away my naivety with this particular plant. 

“This flower has a thirst for blood. Plant it in a pot and bleed over it every day. You will know it is ready when it turns dark red, like old blood. Then you must dry the flower, grind it into a fine powder, and wear it close to your body. Let it get to know you and your intent. Only then can you work with it. Tincture, tea, salve, syrup—no matter…”, she trails off. 

She looks over at the covered door and then back at me. I can see her thoughts swirling in her head. “ It will hurt. Please know that”, she murmurs carefully. 

I grimace. “ Hurt?” I question. 

She begins with a sigh. “ It will feel like death. I do not mean to be forward, but if you feed it to the children, it may be very—”, I stop her. 

“ It is not for children”, I blurt.

That seems to relax her slightly. We sit there for a moment in silence. Suddenly, Petru cracks open the door and then busts in. “ Mommy. Mommymomma!”, he shouts. I stand up quickly.

“ Petru. Mommy will be out in a moment !” I begin to walk to the door. He stands in the doorway with his finger in his mouth, staring past me and at the traveler. Vlad rushes behind him to snatch him up, whispering a quick apology. I close the door behind them both and turn back to my guest. Joining her again, I settle back down onto the chaise, pouring myself another cup. 

“ The King, he dotes on the children”, she observes. I nod quietly. 

“ He enjoys them. Watches them. This is unusual for a man of his status. Terrible rumors have spread far and wide. And yet…”, she counters. 

I turn a defensive eye to her, not wanting to get too much into the details. “ He is good to us ", I murmur.

The traveler stays all but two days before she leaves in the night. I pot the flower in my private room, hiding it behind a wardrobe. On the 7th day the rose turned a dark red—almost black. I plucked it, dried it, and wore it against my skin for seven nights.

In the blanket of the night, I sneak off to the markets with two guards. My hands hover over the stalls and their displays, waiting until the feeling feels right. Snake venom, Dried rat tails, Bat teeth, bird feather, and a wolf's eye marble. 

I spread the materials on my desk, watching their shadows dance under the candlelight. A feeling of hopelessness overwhelms me. In another week, he’d be gone, and this time, there was more risk involved than ever with this ambush. I clasp my fingers together trying to piece together the ingridents. 

My mother once told me that if I wanted something, I should cry to the world.  If I’m worthy, whatever I wish for will come true. So I do. They’re hot and heavy down my face. I plead for his protection, bargaining with his past. Asking the world not to turn its back on him. To give him more time to prove his worthiness. Of what? I didn’t know. There’s a belief that Kings don’t have to be good men—only dutiful men. There was a time I didn’t care about his moral standing. I’d only wanted him and if he was good to me then to hell with the rest of it. I couldn’t have felt any more different than I do now. I bottle each and every single tear into the smallest glass flask I could find, scooping the water from my cheek and watching it pool inside the glass. I close the flask and begin with boiled hot water. 

I add each ingredient minutes apart, grinding down what I can into the thinnest of powders. Rosemary, Rue, and Clove for protection from physical harm. Calamus for domination over the enemy. Yarrow for healing the wounds. What couldn’t be crushed would be steeped, including the marbles and teeth. The Snake venom was for defense, the Rat tail for strategy, The wolfs eye for perception, bat teeth for wisdom, and the bird feather for agility.  Hours later, I’m left with a thick black syrup. I finish it off with the drops of my tears, stirring it all together before straining it. 

I speak over the concoction, commanding dominance over his enemy’s discernment and clarity. Breathing my biggest hopes into the bowl, pleading for his protection. I sing hymns of ancient prayer, my uncles used to sing before heavy storms. As a young girl, I often believed those songs could stop the wind in its tracks, turning the outcome in our favor. Being so far from home for most of my life has left me feeling disconnected. I’d always felt that my  religion was whatever I learned along the way in distant lands. Yet I knew that the best form of protection I could give my husband and my children was my love and my wrath. And maybe that in itself is my religion. 

“ As payment… To this world and this world alone, I give my soul and flesh and bone.  Bind my life to this mortal track, so where he stays, I must come back”.

In the morning Vlad had gone off for a hunt with the hounds and a few foot soldiers. The children were fond of wild rabbit and Vlad had promised to bring some back for supper. The kids and I spent the entire late morning and afternoon in play. Podul de Piatra  (The stone bridge) and Leapșa (Tag) were some of their favorite games. Eventually, the staffers joined in my place as I walked around the courtyard with Hamda, who was now standing on her own at 9 months. Her fists wrap around the tips of my fingers as I guide her down the stoned path. We watch crows dance in the snow. We eventually head back, watching the boys play sword with their nanny. 

The thunderous clank of hooves and the screech of the King spaniels, Greyhounds, and Basset hounds alert the children that Daddy is here. He turns the corner, and it feels like seeing sunlight. The boys run to the mud room, jumping up and down as Vlad walks in with 8 men and dirty dogs, who try to dodge the staff's hands as they try to catch them. On his belt hung 5 small rabbits. The other men hold dozens of wild doves and a pig. 

Chaos ensues as the boys begin to chase the dirty hounds. Vlad’s men laugh as the staff slips in the mud tracks, desperately trying to rein everyone in. Vlad grabs the children in one hand, slamming the rabbit on one of the tables with the other. My husband hooks his finger in his cheek and gives the room a sharp whistle. The dogs stop in their tracks, allowing the staff to herd them back outside for a rinse.

The group disperses as the cooks take the fresh game to the kitchen. The children run off to play leaving only Vlad and myself. He closes the gap between us, and I look up at him, reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. He always steals more than I give until we end up in a lip lock. Eventually, we pull away when one of the cooks rounds the corner for the last rabbit. “ How badly did they terrorize you?” He asks. 

“ They played all day. No piano and violin lessons. No foreign language. We skipped all of it…which means they will sleep all night…thank goodness”, I grin. 

He raises a brow at me. “ I’m in luck?”, he hints. 

I can’t hold back my laugh. “ I may or may not have a surprise for you.” I can see the smile widen on his face. “ But you must stay awake and not fall asleep like you did last time”, I tease. When really it was both of us. He just happened to fall asleep first. 

“ You have my word”, he swears, stealing yet another kiss. “ I will not leave my post”, he murmurs. I grab his hand, leading him to the drawing room to join the children and me until dinner was ready. 

On such a cold evening, rabbit stew was the obvious choice. As we funnel into the dining room, I hand Hamda off to Vlad as I sit Petru down in his seat and wipe his little hands clean with a rag and bowl of warm water, a Moorish custom from my people. Bathing the skin meant fewer sicknesses. Alexandru wipes his own hands, waiting for my praise at how independent he is. This, of course, offends Petru, who insists he will do it himself the next time. I choose my battles wisely, not bothering to disagree with the choice that he will surely forget. 

“ Did you boys thank your father for going out and getting your rabbit?” I ask. 

“Thank you, Papa!” Petru shouts. I shush him, holding back my chuckle. 

“ Thankyou”, Alexandru murmurs before stuffing his spoon in his mouth. 

Vlad picks out bits of soft carrot and mashes them between his fingers to feed Hamda. Though many families I've come to know, including my own, expect their children to be peripheral objects, that wasn't quite the approach Vlad and I wanted for our children. We asked them questions about themselves, about their day, about what they dreamt of when they slept. I’ve found that it is at the dinner table that children let their true personalities show. Where one could make the obvious distinctions between siblings. This, in turn, produced outspoken, but very polite and expressive, children. 

“ What did you do with Lady Patricia yesterday?”, Vlad asks Alexandru. Our son perked up, mentally replaying his day at the markets. 

“ First, we went to see the sheep, and then she let me pick which one we could eat. Then, we went to the stables to see the Arabian horses. T-ThenT-then…...”, Alexandru pauses for a moment. We patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts, as he was still very young. Much like his father as a boy, he’d developed a stutter. Vlad assured me he’d grow out of it with much practice and space to work it out on his own. He had extensive speech lessons 3 times per week. 

“ S’alright Alexander. Take your time, it’ll come back to you”, Vlad reassures him gently. I nod in agreement, smiling at his puzzled little face.

Alexandru takes a long, deep breath. “ Then we went to the markets to go pick out toys, and Lady Patricia got us sweets”, Alexandru beams. I chuckled at his sweet face.

Vlad turns his attention to Petru. “ Very good, Alexandru. Petru, what did you eat for breakfast today?”

Petru answers in a way that only Petru could. “ The men in the towns said that papa dips his bread in the blood of his ena….”, he begins to stumble. 

“Enemies, Petru”, Alexander quips. Petru twists his face at his brother for helping. 

Of course, Vlad and I share a look. He looks more amused than anything, and I’m just disturbed. “Those Saxon merchants spread lies to make the day go by faster. It is simply gossip. Do you know what gossip means?” asks Vlad.

Petru shakes his head. Hamda began smacking her hands down on the table because Vlad wasn’t feeding her fast enough. 

I step in. “ Gossip is when people make up stories about other people, where they tell lies for fun or to hurt the person they lie about. People make up a lot of gossip about Daddy. But is Daddy scary? Is he mean to us as they say? Does he hurt us?” I ask. The boys quietly shake their heads no and go back to eating dinner. 

Dinner concluded with the boys falling asleep at the dinner table. I can see the smile creep on Vlad’s face as he picks them both up, getting them ready for bed. I grab Hamda, knowing she’d be the easiest to put down, considering she skipped her nap. 

Like old times, I sent for him through a letter passed by a maid to another maid, and so on. It’s just like when we were sneaking around, when there was so much more at stake on a social front.  I tell him where to meet me—the bathhouse. 

All those years ago, when I made him pay for my affections, I criticized him harshly for the lack of baths in Poenari. If one wanted to bathe, a wooden tub would be moved into their room, and it would never stay hot for long. After an intense night between the two of us, I reminisced on the Arab baths in Grenada. I’d only seen them a few times as a small girl, but they were immaculate. Inside the Alhambra, the Comares Baths were a world wonder. It beheld stunning geometric tilework, marble floors, and a vaulted ceiling punctuated with star-shaped skylights that let shafts of daylight filter through the steam. These large pillars stood from the water, and I’d hide behind them, waiting at just the right moment to scare the older women. The stone kept the water warm along with the underwater heater. I faintly remember the smell: cardamom, jasmine, and clove. 

To my surprise, development at Poenari began shortly after I mentioned it. The bath was completed within three months. Only then did I realize he’d do almost anything to make me happy. Soon after, it became our hideaway. If he couldn’t find me anywhere else, he would look here. 

At the refreshment cart, the two glasses of wine I ordered for the bathhouse sat side by side. I take the syrup flask from my pocket and hold it up, inspecting it. I pour the tiny flask into each cup, swirling the concoction around with the spoon until it dissolves into the cherry wine. I slowly strip out of the nightgown, folding it and leaving it on a bench just a few feet from the water before I step in. 

I submerge myself, swimming under the water to the other side to soak through the twists in my hair. I touch the bottom, swiping my fingers against the colorful tiles, opening my eyes to watch the candlelight dance on the surface of the water. A black shadow blocks the ray of light shining into the pool. I peek my head out to look at Vlad.

I wipe the water out of my eyes and stand, revealing half my torso. Without my prompting, he begins to disrobe. With each thud of clothing, I tread further and further away from him, heading towards the deeper end of the bath. I turn around, pushing my feet from the stone to launch myself into the deep end. When I turn back around, Vlad is gone.  I can hardly contain my laugh as I begin to kick rapidly, moving faster, feeling him near but not knowing what angle he would strike me from.

His arms grab my thighs, and I let out a sharp, startled scream that rolls into a fit of giggles. He lifts me up onto his shoulder, spinning me around before he drops me back down, catching me by my waist. I turn around and embrace him, wrapping myself around so tightly that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. 

His hand encircles my waist as his face nuzzles into the crook of my neck. “ So, this is my surprise. How long has it been, wife?”

I murmur. “ Not since Hamda was born, I imagine.” I slide my hands up his scarred torso, up his neck, and then plant my hands on either side of his face. My heart leaps at the sight of him, all these children later. Maybe even more so than before. 

“ Do you want to try for a fourth? Or how about triplets this time? ” I blurt. Half joking. 

He lets out a chuckle, eyes tracing my mouth before he shakes his head. “ And have you cursing me the entire delivery…again??”

I smirk in remembrance. “ They’re so cute when they’re little, though. They look like little old people. Especially Petru.”

His grin softens into a warm smile. “ Yes, I suppose he did look about 80 years old, didn’t he?” 

Now I giggle. “ Do you remember how he always had hiccups and this little shocked expression. Like he could not believe he had actually been born”, I snort. 

Vlad’s face lights up fondly, remembering those special times. “ Well, maybe we can have a more serious conversation about a few more once the war is over”, he prompts. 

I can’t help the way the hike in my shoulders drops. Then. My smile fades, and I’m looking down in the water, avoiding his gaze. I gently pull back, but he doesn’t let me go. He never does. Even when I’m angry with him, he doesn’t. He always follows me. I’d felt like such a lucky woman in that way. It was no different now. “ Amina…”, he murmurs in a pacifying tone. I turn my head, and he grabs my chin. 

“ Stop it”, I clip. 

“ I’m not doing anything to you”, he soothes. 

“ You are breaking my heart,” I scoff. 

“ I don’t want to fight”, he pleads. His brows furrow when I avoid his gaze.

  “ You know that is not my intention. But this war is what I've been waiting for my entire life. This is what men in my position are trained to do”, he rasps. 

A flame of anger licks me, and I lose the lid on my temper that I'd kept tucked away for some years now. It rears. “ FUCK the war. I’M what you've been waiting for your entire life”, I sneer. He blinks in surprise. I reach behind his head and tug a tuft of his hair, now just short enough to grab hold of. 

I hover close to his ear. I can feel his erection bobbing against my stomach. “I hope that fucking priest dies a slow death. He is a snake. He will pay for the turmoil he has caused this family”, I spit. I let him go, wading further from him. He catches me by the ankle and drags me back to him. I struggle in his grasp when he whips me around, enclosing his arms around my stomach. 

Sometimes, I needed this. When something was too painful to say to his face, he'd turn my back to his chest and wait. I can feel the scruff of his beard and chin rest in the crook of my neck. He was waiting patiently for the truth. 

It spills out in a wounded way. A way that made me feel so incredibly small. “ I hate how emotional you make me. I hate this. You make me a blubbering fool. I hate this feeling”, I whine. I bite my bottom lip trying to stop the incoming tears.  

He grumbles. “ That’s what love is. Complete and utter madness—I’m finding.” 

I take a long sigh, feeling myself relaxing into him like I always do. “ So many women lose their husbands to war. They lose them and get on with it. They find a way through it. I suppose it’s easier when he’s a complete monster. If he’s away, then there’s nothing to worry about. Nobody to pester you for sex or hit you…or berate you. What do you do when you actually love him? ” I mutter.

He chuckles quietly behind me. “ Have a little faith in me, my love.” 

“ I planned to be a spinster before I met you, you know?” I ramble.  A kiss to my temple pulls me out of my haze, and I blink back to life.

“ I consider myself to be one of the luckiest men in Europe—the world even”, he hums. 

I turn around to look at him. “ I don’t want flattery, Vlad. I want to hear how angry you are”, I plead.

Something in Vlad’s expressions drops. “ I’m angry every day of my life, Draga. I don’t want this war, but I inherited it. I don’t want this responsibility, but it’s mine. My faith waivers constantly, and I have questioned the priest in private. It is my family or his. It is my kingdom or his. Sultan Mehmed feels in his heart that he is doing the right thing by attacking Wallachia, because it is a war he himself has inherited too. So perhaps everyone is wrong…I do not know. But what I do know is that I will not run from this fight, and the Turks cannot be reasoned with. So if it's blood they want…”, he sighs tiredly. I can see his brows crinkle in exhaustion. For the first time, I see the physical and mental fatigue written all over him. 

Vlad could put a brave face on for almost anything. He could be hard to read in front of other people. It was only now, however, that I could see the stress. I find myself reaching back into him, feeling upset with myself for coming onto him so sharply. 

He doesn’t push me away. He accepts me into his embrace. I rest my ear against his chest, listening to his heart. I relinquish my control of this war. I know in my heart that there is nothing that can be said to deter this war. No matter how tightly I hold onto him, within the next few days, he could be called into battle. I have to find a way to accept this. All I can do is reinforce my protections and hide. 

He grabs me out of my thoughts and kisses me, hard. It distracts me from the pain as I submit to his advances. All we have right now is this. This is what we both could control at this moment. Each other. 

I find myself pressed up against the ledge of the pool, his fingers wrapped in my hair, leaning over me as he licks into my mouth. I am pliant and wanting, wrapping my legs around his hips. It doesn’t go far before I insist on wine. I feel the water roll off my skin as I walk to the cart to grab our glasses. 

When I hand it to him, he makes no move to observe what’s in the glass. He chugs it, looking straight at me, transfixed on my naked form. He makes no complaint about the bitter taste or the darker-than-usual color. He slams the glass on the edge of the pool. So I do the same, chugging until there’s nothing left. 

“ Get over here”, he gruffs. He’s in a demanding mood. A rare treat indicating that he’s even more frustrated than he seems, but he won’t be able to rest until I punish him. Because not even a warm bath or stiff cup of wine would truly wind him down. 

I stare at the bottom of my glass, settling with what I’ve just done to both of us. I’d secretly hoped I could convince him to pull out of the war. Now, I must let the cards fall where they may. “ Amina..”, I hear him call with such a rare impatience. 

I let him take me the way he wants. I find myself entangled in his grasp, wholly and willingly. His fingers in my mouth, his tongue along my neck. He consumes me in a way that only he can. His odd way of taking me out of myself entirely until I’ve divorced myself from all thought or reason. I scream like I always do. A bathing sponge wedges itself between my teeth, giving me something to bear down on, but I end up pulling it out along the way. 

We break from the haze long enough to get back to quarters, cold from the contrast of the warm water. We sit by the fire, having another glass of wine. The candles in the room turn the air muggy. I watch the way they burn down so quickly before I spring my advances on him when he least expects it because that’s what he prefers. Someone so naturally vigilant in his daily life enjoys the element of my surprises. Enjoys being cut down to pieces and then rebuilt by my hand.  

I play this role. Pretend that he’s nothing to me when he’s become everything. Bound to the bed, blind folded, the wax stings enough to make each muscle in his body contract and then release. Over and over. Each exhale a relief as the sting brings him closer to a sense of release.  I watched the wax dry along his torso, while my hands gripped his shaft. It cools into a dark pink color, the same color as the very tip of him. I’d left him here on the precipice of climax for far too long. The most guttural sounds leave him when the pleasure and pain mix. A wounded mewl that he stifles between clenched teeth. I run my hand faster, up and down, to test just how much of himself he could hold back.  Every so often, my eyes roam up to his face to see the faintest sign of tears. 

I find ways to terrorize him the entire night. He finds his release more than once. I found mine too again and again, and then the sun came up. The fog of the night is lifted. The room is covered in wax and goose feathers from the pillows he tore into. Spilled wine, smoke, and ash litter the rug.

He lies there, muscles loose and eyes half lidded. I’m buried under pounds of his flesh, pressed to the bed with him as my blanket. We gaze upon each other, already halfway between worlds and almost asleep. My handprint is imprinted his cheek.

The words find me and leave me before I can even think. “Be with me, for all time”, I ask quietly. A vulnerability that hurts me in a way that I welcome. 

“ Always”, he croaks, sealing his promise with a kiss. 

A few days of bliss calmed my nerves. The Turks went quiet, and Vlad had talks with his generals about possibly ambushing the enemy. A sense of control over our situation had come back. But soon I would come to regret my decision to feed him my spell. Whatever I have done has affected him in such a horrific way. I question if I have poisoned my husband.

First came the nausea. He was sleeping longer than usual, sometimes even midday. He would get chills that left him shivering in the late afternoon. Our physician assessed him, and the only conclusion was that it was a seasonal cold. 

He sat in the baths, trying to work up a sweat. Breathing treatments with healing vapors and soothing teas did nothing. Boiled garlic made it worse. Then the nausea and vomiting came in the middle of the night. I watch in terror as the episodes unfold, trying to soothe him through it. I’m entirely unaffected. Doctors checked him for cuts and scrapes to rule out secret infections, but nothing came up. 

On a rainy night after a sick spell, he finally settled enough to go back to sleep. I watch over him,  rubbing his chest as he dozes off. That’s when I noticed the glint of his nails, sharp and pointy, they’d somehow grown in the matter of minutes to claws. I hold his palm and bring it closer to my face to inspect it. I watch them retract back into his nail bed. 

The night was full of terrors. Each night, lying beside him, I wait for something else to stir me. Fanged teeth poked from his mouth, and then the next minute, they weren’t there. His eyes glowed when he woke up to relieve himself. I was pinned to the bed in fear, unable to utter a word to him. Cuts and scrapes healed faster than usual, taking maybe a half day to grow new skin. Then he began to sleep less and less. I worried for him. Was this all I had hoped for? Or had I turned my lover into something unrecognizable? 

Soon, we were woken up in the early morning by soldiers banging on our door. I make myself decent as they barge in, armored. They suit him up with lightning speed as I rush behind him, my feet slapping against the marble as I frantically shout for our children. 

Handmaids pick the boys up out of their sleep. I grab Hamda and put on her coat and hat, then put on my own. The boys tug on their fur hats as the workers and soldiers zip past us. 

It’s time. It’s finally happening whether we want it to or not. Vlad is kissing me fully and harshly. An alarm in his eyes that burns me. I’m terrified. The boys go quiet, hanging onto my waist. He bends down to kiss them.  “ Look after your mother…”, he whispered to Alexandru. Hamda is screaming at the top of her lungs as I try to bounce and console her. It’s as if she knows what’s happening. Petru and Alexandru kiss their father as he hugs them tight. Then he presses a gentle hand to Hamda’s face, trying to soothe her. " I love you”, I plead. He says it back. Over and over, kissing me as he’s pulled away until he’s gone. 

“We must get to the safe house, follow me”, our Kingsguard instructs. 

Amina Boudreaux Pov

Zanto shakes me out of it. I peer up at the overhead lights of the bathroom, twitching back to life. I sit up, grabbing my pounding head. Deborah, Lisa, and Lettie all stand in the distance. 

Deborah speaks up. “ Word of advice, dear. We don’t do well with cannabis. That’s a great way to lose control of your abilities and end up in a hell of your own making”, she preached. 

“ How long have I been out?” I scramble to my feet. 

“ Not long. Maybe 5 minutes”, Zanto reassured. 

I remember it all. Every single last detail. A wave of guilt washes over me. I blink away the tears. Nausea swirls in my stomach again. 

“ I can get you to excrete the rest of the THC out so you can stop feeling so badly”, Zanto insists. 

“ Please!”, I beg. 

“ You’re really gonna have to pee in about 5 minutes”, she warns, placing her hands in mine. 

The warmth emitting from her hands is comforting. I look at the three other women. “ Ladies. Why don’t you all rejoin the ceremony? Amina and I will be out in a minute”, says Zanto. 

They all trail out of the bathroom. Sure enough, Zanto's work on me had me rushing to the stall. A welcome relief compared to what I’d been through earlier. I immediately felt better, but a heavy exhaustion weighed on me. Every limb felt ten pounds. I come out of the stall and wash my hands, gazing at myself in the mirror. 

I’d completely cried my makeup off, black streaks riddled my cheeks, and my lips were cracked from dehydration. The flyaways in my hair make me look like a parrot. This was the woman who cursed her husband. Who put him through unimaginable pain in the name of love? Rather than just letting go and letting things be as they are. 

I dry my hands on a napkin, trying to wipe the black makeup off my face, but only making it worse. Zanto looks at me in that wise way that she does. As if she could see right through me. As gifted as she is, I imagine she probably could with or without physical sight. 

“ Tell me”, is all she muttered sympathetically. 

I start, but my lip wobbles, so I bite it, trying to compose myself. “ I…. I'm the reason for all of this”, I whisper. I pause, looking at the checkered marble floor. I start again. “ Amina Medina used spell work to keep Vlad alive. She paid for it with her life. She— I watched what that poison did to him. I watched him suffer, and he blamed himself for it. All these years”, I shake my head in regret.

Zanto shakes her head slowly in protest, grabbing my hand. “ Love is madness. It makes us do things that we never thought we’d do. Don't judge yourself for loving—Amina. It’s the very thing we were put on this earth to do”, she countered.

“ He’s not going to forgive me. He will try, but he won’t be able to”, I argue. 

She made a soothing sound with her voice, resting her hand on my shoulder. “ If you really believe that in your heart, then you have a lot more to learn about him”, she warned. 

With some encouragement, I’m able to leave the bathroom. I didn’t want to be rude to Sofia and Luna, so I figured it was best to finish watching the ceremony. Mato escorts us both to our seats. Overlooking the theatre, I find Vlad still in his altered form. 

Luna, just barely breathing in her blood-soiled dress, drinks from Vlad’s arm. Sophia holds her wife in a bridal pose while she pets her cheek, coaxing her to drink. The dark blood seeps from the sides of Luna’s mouth as she finishes up. Her eyes close again, and Sophia places her on the theatre floor, propping her head in her lap. 

The theatre is so silent that I can hear Luna struggle to breathe. It’s so distinct that I’m sure I’ll never forget it. At first, it was much like a hollow suction. A bubbling rasp as the body tried to clear the airway. Then it morphed into a low, rattling click deep within Luna’s chest. Like pebbles in a pouch. Her diaphragm is barely moving. Small breaths turn to periodic gasps, spreading out from every minute to every two, five, and then none. She stops breathing. 

That was the conclusion of Luna’s human life.

 Sophia rubs Luna's hair so gently. We wait for Vlad’s blood to take its course. A reassuring hand rests on Sophia’s shoulder. It’s Vlad, now in his human form. Sophia looks up, placing one of her hands on top of his own. His eyes find mine in the crowd. We share a quick glance, but my eyes fall back to Luna. 

After ten minutes, Luna’s eyes open, and Sophia cries as if she’s been born. I can hear the sniffling around me as other vampires watch in profound sentiment and tears. Luna’s body reanimates as she sits up and observes the crowd, pantomiming her breathing. Blinking. All functions she no longer needs but what her humanity made her used to. A habit of life that followed her in death.

Luna has church glass eyes now, just like Vlad’s. It only made sense considering he sired her in a way. If we get through tonight, I'll have the same eyes one day. A distinction in his line of fledglings. A part of a whole. 

I watch as her mouth opens and closes. She’s hungry and ready for her first drink. Another group of chained Incubi comes into the arena. They’re compelled into acceptance and silence. Vlad chooses a short-statured man in the lineup and grabs him by the back of his neck, swiftly walking him over to Sophia and Luna. He kicks the back of the man’s legs to force him to kneel. Luna’s mouth opens, showing new and sharp fangs, reacting to the stimuli of a meal. Vlad holds the man down as Sophia whispers something in her ear. I imagine she’s telling her how to drink him correctly. Like a baby animal, standing for the first time, she clumsily brings her mouth to his neck. 

The short man bursts out into a painful scream. Sophia holds the back of her lover's head, still quietly instructing her. Once she’s drained the man, which takes all but five minutes, Vlad flings him into a pile of corpses like withered trash and grabs another body. Luna’s bite deepens this time, allowing her to get more blood at a quicker pace. Her eyes roll into the back of her head in satisfaction. I can’t imagine how this feels to illicit such a reaction from her.  In just a few short minutes, she drains the second screaming man, and Vlad grabs her another. Before I knew it, she was on her fifth body, then her sixth, and finally her seventh. I gawk at just how long it takes her to feel fully satisfied, but I know this satiation won’t last long. In another 30 minutes, she’ll need to feed again. Knowing vampires as I do now, they have it all planned out.  

Luna stands on wobbly legs as Sophia supports her. Her large black eyes take in the audience as she blinks. She looks like herself and then not like herself at all. A newness to her, a carefulness, bordering on uncanny, but also confused.  The audience roars into applause, throwing roses and whistling. They're quite moved by the display. I imagine that they're probably all trying to talk to her, giving her encouraging words in her mind. A whole new world would open up for her, and she’d have thousands of people to guide her through it. 

Unlike Vlad. He did it all alone.

Nauseous from the stench of blood, I ask Mato to escort me to the car and send my regards to the rest of the witches I’d met. When I slip into the vehicle, I open my phone to see that Nya is at the bar with Alex. She sends me a picture of their drinks, and I see his large hand in the picture. I can only imagine how the night will end for them both. As for me, I rest my head against the window, already tired from the events that transpired through the night. Half asleep, the car door opens, making me sit up. I can’t bring myself to look at Vlad. The ride back to the villa is a painfully silent one. 

He lets me shower first, though he’s covered in blood, sitting on the lid of the toilet, and brushing his teeth. I make quick use of it, clipping up my hair and giving my body a thorough scrub. I finished the rest of my care routine. Teeth, skin, lotion. I loosen my hair and throw on a bonnet before digging through my luggage for a night gown. 

Burrowing under the covers, I check my phone again. I sent Nya a text telling her I’m back at the villa and to share her location. She does so, right away, with not even so much as a goodnight. She was plotting clearly. I knew my sister. I rest easy knowing Nya would be safe, and maybe it’s for the better that she’s not here. I’m not sure how this conversation will go. We could easily be breaking up tonight if he can’t stomach what I did. 

I pull back the covers to look at him. He’s in boxers, clean from head to toe, hair still wet and shiny like his lashes. He smells like pine, cedar, and soap. He stands there, painfully still, unblinking, just like a statue. There’s a moment of silence between us both as we watch each other trying to figure out who will break the ice. 

“ I already know, Amina..”, he murmurs. 

My stomach drops, and I sit up, pushing the covers down to my waist. The strap of my nightgown slides off, exposing my breast. I’m oddly embarrassed for some reason. Maybe it’s the added exposure when I already feel so guilty. His head tilts, gently using his finger to hook it up back over my shoulder. Slowly, his eyes rolled back up to me. Not an ounce of animosity in him whatsoever. I shake my head in confusion. He already knows what I’m going to ask next. 

“ In the car. I was afraid I ruined everything between us with that display. I read you. I know you said not to. I know you didn’t give me permission, but I panicked”, he reasoned softly. 

I shake my head softly. “ No. No. " It’s okay”, I said. 

Another moment of silence passes us. I look down in shame, trying to find the words. “ I can’t say that I didn’t mean it, but I didn’t know the brutality it would result in. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I wish—I wish I had done things differently”, I stutter. I feel the tears swell, so I try to hide them, but the wobble in my voice gives it all away. They spill over as I discreetly try to wipe them. He bends down to his knees, resting his forearms on my thighs. His hands encircle my back as he meets me at eye level. 

“ The woman I knew stabbed me in my sleep. I knew then that she was capable of anything”, he croaks. 

I let out a bitter laugh. Not one of humor but rather irony. Because yes…I did. ME. No matter how many degrees of separation I tried to keep between my three lives. There’s a darkness inside of me. It’s always been there, and he sees that. That’s why we work together. He pulls me out of my thoughts abruptly. “ Your proximity to what’s hidden is no ailment. It’s not a burden. Your Darkness is your gift. You command it, it does not command you.” Then he looks at me with the most incredulous look. 

Pride. It’s pride.. of all things. 

His hands reach for my own, curling them around mine and locking between my fingers. “ There is nothing that you can do or say that will make me not want you. I want you when it’s easy, and I want you when it’s difficult. Especially when it’s difficult”, he chuckles softly. “ All these years, I thought my condition was a punishment. You can’t imagine the relief I feel knowing it was your protection all along. A dying wish. Though not everything went as planned and we’ve suffered great losses…I won’t shame you for doing what you felt was right. I would have done the same. I know you thought you’d be able to protect the children. I know you wanted our family together, so I still burn those candles for the children. Every time they melt, I collect it and burn it all again… ”, he rasps. 

That breaks something in me. I hide my sob behind my hand while he embraces me. I was fully ready for him to harbor some form of resentment towards me, and in the back of my mind, I’m still afraid he will. However, I know one thing to be true. I have to get them back. Petru, Hamda, Alexandru. Our story can’t end with just the two of us. If I study hard at the institute, then maybe this won’t all be for nothing. I can fix this…

When my crying stops, and I gather myself, he pulls away to give me a once-over. I wipe my face with a Kleenex, annoyed I’ve cried my skincare off. 

“ I need you to be honest”, he whispers softly.

“ Ok”, I croak. Already so tired and emotionally raw. 

“ I scared you. Yes?” he prompts. 

“ Yeah..”, I sniffle. 

“ I would never hurt you. Not as I am now. Not as I was. Never, never, never…ever ”, he chants. His brows furrow as he looks at me. I know it meant a great deal to him for me to understand this. 

“ Does it hurt you? That version of yourself? Or does it hurt to be like this?” I ask. 

“ No. That version of myself is me at my maximum. My most effective. My true form is as I am. Nothing hurts...”, hereassures. 

“ I called you, and you didn’t answer. I know it’s you, but is it still really you? Does it feel like you?” I whine. 

“ It’s an altered state. A blood lust. My need to feed was stronger, and therefore I did not answer. I can decide if and how I do harm. It’s just a little bit harder to reach all of me— the human parts of me, rather, but I’m still there. I’m still me”, he says with a cautious tone. 

“ I want to see you. Let me try again”, I blurt. I hold onto his shoulders firmly. His face twists in confusion. “ Let me try again, please...”, I beg. 

He pulls away a bit, studying me. “ Amina, are you sure about this…? It’s late, and you’re already so tired, and it’s been a long night”, he trails off.

“ I need this from you. I need to accept what I’ve done. This is important, Vlad ”, I sniffle 

As expected, he does not argue. Instead, he carefully stands to his full height and steps back. He grants me my wish. I look down at his feet. They begin to change, widening and turning from that bronze color to a sickly, fleshy, pale color. 

Soon, I can hear the rumble in his chest when he breathes. It’s akin to a bear or a lion, hollow and wide and rolling. Tuffs of air hit the top of my forehead every time he exhales. My hackles raise, naturally, as I sit as still as possible. My instincts barely comprehend that I’m sitting in front of my boyfriend and not a wild animal. 

My eyes roll up his body. He has pronounced calves and thighs that are larger than usual, having doubled in size.  His torso grew wider, and his forearms were more pronounced with these harsh, deep blue veins. I catch the sharp point of his claw, black, long, and curved. I reach out for his hand, carefully taking it into mine. Compared to my own, his might as well have been a baseball mitt. The mutation had doubled the size of his hands as I traced his palm. 

The thump of his wings unfurling makes me jump, but I don’t pull away. It’s nothing, but flesh stretched tight over bone, veins running in various directions. I stand and slowly reach for the edge, rubbing the tip of my finger to the top. He makes the most perturbed sound in his chest, akin to a rumble or growl. A shiver passes over him, and I run my finger to the highest point of the wings, stopping at the hooked bone that curves over, pausing just at his ear. I don’t dare look at his face. No, not yet. 

I work up the nerve, going back to his chiseled stomach. The skin feels like rubber here, smooth, hairless, and indestructible. I poke him gently, and my finger barely makes an impression. I questioned whether he was carved from stone, given how hard his muscles were. I spread out my fingers just above where his navel should be. I run my palm up, up, up, until I reach his chest. The breath on my forehead keeps me on my toes. I observe his body's reaction to me, careful not to make any sudden movements. If he had a prey drive, I wouldn’t want to trigger it. 

I jump the gun and finally look. Taking in my creation. As I thought, He is absolutely terrifying. My heart races when our eyes meet. Glowing reflective eyes, pointy ears, a sharp nose, and teeth. No hair, lashes, or brows. Just this other worldly creature that could rip me apart in seconds. I notice the way his eyes shift past me. Is this shameful for him? I hoped not. 

Somehow, I swallow my fear and reach for his face, and most peculiarly, he leans into the press of my hand. As if even in this heightened and primal state, he found solace in my touch. I pull my hand away, and he blinks back at me. My breathing fills the silence as we gaze at one another, like two beings meeting for the first time. 

Now, I understand this dynamic. As much as I belonged to him, he belonged to me, too. He’d accepted this long ago, and it was only now that I fully understood it. Without much thought, I guide his face down to mine and slot my lips over his own, holding the sides of his face as I lick into his mouth. I still taste his minty toothpaste, a reminder of the man still buried deep inside him. 

This one is sweet and gentle, opened with a soft parting of the lips, seamlessly aligning with his. Warmth blooms throughout my body. I get the same butterflies I always do, my body reacting to what it knows on a cellular level. He could stay like this and still have my heart. 

He deepened the pressure, tilting his head to allow me to catch my breath as a low vibration of pure contentment echoed from his chest straight into me. His palms close around my back and then his wings, cocooning us inside, pulling me closer to him. Kissing me until I was breathless. Eventually, I come back to myself and pull away to meet his eyes. When I opened them again, I found him back to his real form. No wings. Just Vlad. 

“ Be with me, for all time”, he whispers softly. 

I smile, knowing the origin of the proposal. Without a second thought,  I whisper back, “ Always.”

Vlad and I spent most of the morning and afternoon in bed. I know we should have probably spent our last day doing something special, but neither he nor I could unglue from each other long enough to do so. Nya came back at 2pm, walking in the door singing. I pulled on my robe, tiptoeing out of bed and meeting her on her way to her room. 

Her clothes are in a shopping bag, and her flip-flops squeak against the floor like her own theme music. Her curly hair is pinned at the top of her head in a clip that’s about to fall off, and she’s not wearing any makeup. Just gas station sunglasses, an oversized white t-shirt stating,  “ I heart Mexico”  with matching Mexican flag shorts. 

Her night went as one could expect. She got all dolled up and cute to go out solo clubbing. She bribed her lex to sit with her for drinks, and then the conversation started. He was apparently a tough nut to crack, but she got him open because Nya was a charmer in that way. They hit it off. He seemed like a decent guy. He owned a few businesses, with his security job being his top priority. His family resided mainly in coastal South Carolina and Georgia. Later, they walked the boardwalk, then the beach, and then went bowling. Their last stop was a speakeasy for more drinks and bites. When he was just open enough to laugh at her jokes, she decided to strike, and strike she did. One kiss to his cheek and then the corner of his mouth, and he unraveled. She gave him the rundown as soon as they got to his hotel room. She came prepared with her rapid STD kit and her condoms. As a healthcare professional, she encouraged him to consider going on prep like she had been, stripping down to nothing but a thong and anklet. As one could imagine, he was most receptive. The image of her giving Alex a throat swab while sitting on his lap, topless, had tears running down my face from the absurdity. 

Everything came back clear, of course, because werewolves, much like other supernatural creatures, rarely got sick. She then went into the most explicit, dramatic, and immersive reenactment of the night's main events. Nya assumed that because of how assertive she’d been, she'd have to take charge of the bedroom. To her surprise, Alex preferred to call the shots. Afterward, they went to get food and get high on the beach. 

Nya sighs. “I cannot have a consistent dick like that. I’ll end up on the first fucking 48. He’s either crazy, a liar with no house, or he’s married. Something’s wrong. Besides, he’s not even my type”, she shrugged. I already knew she was talking herself out of pursuing this. 

I squint at her. “ Uh…he’s very handsome. Like objectively.” 

She crosses her arms defensively. “Somebody can be handsome and still not be my type.” 

I shake my head slowly, knowing her thought process already.. “ Well, you haven’t been having luck with your type. Sometimes you have to try something new. You're not marrying the guy”, I counter. “ Stop being scary and actually answer his text when you touch down in the US again. Do NOT block him”, I warn. 

I can already see her getting cold feet. Already overthinking the situation. I knew Nya; she could be a creature of habit when it came to certain guys. There were some glaring differences between the two of them that made her hesitate. Where we came from, he’d stick out like a sore thumb. He was also 16 years older than her, 45, to be exact. No kids, thankfully. Still, I remember the way he looked at her all dolled up in her dress at the wedding. He was a decent guy. I knew that entertaining the connection wouldn’t hurt. “ You said you wanted a rich guy. Live a little..”, I murmur quietly. 

She shrugged, a slight grin falling on her lips. Nya loved material items. She wasn't ashamed of it. If anyone was to blame, it should be Joseph Landry, who spoiled her rotten the minute he found out he was having a girl. A girl he very much prayed for the moment he found out his wife was expecting. I left her to her thoughts, scurrying back to the room with Vlad to let Nya sleep. 

We closed out the trip with a beautiful catered dinner on the beach with some of the best food I’ve tasted in my entire life. Vlad even managed to have an assistant snag us a few souvenirs to remember our trip, even though we had tons of photos. Nya and I left Mexico having gained something. For her, a new love interest or wallet, depending on how she wanted to play it. And for me, a certainty on what the path forward would be with Vlad.

Ironwood Keep had a drawing room that felt ancient, carved from grey stone and softened by centuries of magic. I see accents of crimson and tarnished gold, warmed by a roaring candy red fire in a massive, soot-stained hearth. Gothic windows line the far wall, overlooking the misty forest below. The glass is thick and distorted with age, casting warped, amber pools of light across the oriental rugs and oak furniture.

The entire back wall has been converted into a massive, floor-to-ceiling tea apothecary. Hundreds of tiny, dark-wood drawers and antique glass jars are built directly into the stone masonry, packed with loose-leaf teas, dried roots, and glowing botanical specimens. Lettie stands on A creaking, wrought-iron ladder leaning against the shelves to reach the highest cubbies. “ Calendula. Just what I was looking for ”, she hums as she comes down the ladder slowly, the jar of tea floating behind her by her command. 

Zanto sits in a high-backed velvet armchair, a cup of tea in her lap. Vlad and I sat next to each other on a double love seat. Two children occupy this space, working the room as if they’ve done so many times before. One little black girl with cornrows whispers to an Asian girl with pigtails. They look no older than about 8 years old. 

“ No, I want to give her the tea”, one girl fumes. 

“ No, I wanna do it”, says the other girl.

“ Girls…settle down”, Lettie calls out in warning, not even turning her back. 

They don't listen, of course. They keep whispering while my tea gets cold. “ He's a vampire”, the girl with the cornrows whispers with her hand over her mouth. The girl with the pigtails squints at Vlad as if trying to figure him out. I can see the smirk forming on his face as he sips his coffee. 

With this new knowledge, the girl with the pigtails stays behind and allows the girl with the cornrows to give me the tea instead. I hold back my laugh. “ Here’s your lapsang. Would you like anything else?” She smiles widely at me. I can see her two missing teeth, much like Alexandru, and it warms my heart. 

“ No, nothing else. Thank you for my tea, you guys are such good little helpers”, I chuckle, resting the cup on my lap. 

“ I-Is it true you're a vampire? ”, Pigtails speaks up, joining her friend standing in front of me. 

“ And you drink blood?” the girl with the braids chimes. 

Vlad looks at both of them for a few seconds, relaxing with his back to the couch, one leg resting on his knee.  He opens his mouth to reveal his sharp canines, letting out a faux hiss. The girls scream and run off deeper into the castle. 

I swat Vlad's leg, trying to hold my laugh. “ Why would you do that? You’re so fuckin’ mean.” 

Zanto lets out a loud cackle as red pools in her cheeks. Lettie shakes her head, trying to contain her laugh as she walks over with her own cup.

“ Serves them right. They're both a little too nosy for my liking”, she sighs.

Zanto chuckles. “They'll be bonding over that story for years to come. Trust me. I know my girls.” 

“Your girls?” I ask. 

“Yes, my pupils,” Zanto nods. “ They're just starting out. Much like you will be if you decide to make this place your second home.” 

“ Let’s talk..”, I prompt. Lettie joins Zanto, sitting across from her. 

“ Well, with your permission, I was able to tell the other ladies about your work with Rosa Aeternitas. To use that plant to its highest efficacy takes a very skilled witch. Now that we know the origin of the condition we call vampirism, please tell me you called Dr. Bach. I am sure his research team is beside themselves ”, Zanto asks Vlad. 

Vlad’s eyerbows shoot up. “ To think that my origin traces back to carnevorus plant. It's been a hell of a week. I’ve already contacted Dr.Bach. She'll be meeting with him soon”, he says.

“ Excellent. Lettie and I would love to answer your questions before she starts your tour", says Zanto.

I start. “ You all said you were watching me but I continued to have those dreams well after you guys stopped prying. Why do you think that was?”

Zanto shrugs. “ The truth finds us witches sometimes. Even when we don’t want the truth we find it. Emotional highs and lows can send our abilities into over and under drive. Deep down your subconscious likely wanted that answer.”

I nod slowly, thinking about our hallucination on the boardwalk. Well. Now I knew the truth. A hard truth but it was mine. I lean forward urgently. “ Theoretically speaking, how long would it take for me to become a high witch?” 

Lettie smiles. “ That depends on you. There’s no timeline for self-mastery.  For me, it took about 20 years.”

“ 11 years of study for me. It truly depends, but you’re a very talented girl. It could be even less time if you work hard”, says Zanto.

I nod, feeling a little more hopeful. There's nothing stopping me from passing my milestones sooner. “ Zanto, I know you work with spirits.  What do you think about death and its finality and all that?” I ask hesitantly. 

Zanto thinks for a moment. “ It’s really just a transformation rather than an ending. Why do you ask?” 

I pause. “ So bringing back someone from the dead?”, I prompt. 

The two women have worried looks on their faces. Lettie decides to speak for both of them. “ That is an extremely difficult and risky thing to do. In fact, we know of only one other witch who succeeded, and she is long gone now. People don’t always come back the way they came. It could take you maybe your entire life to do it successfully, and there’s a question of ethics and suffering. What is it that the spirit wants? Is that somebody who should come back? That all comes into account. Most times the answer is to leave things as they are…“Lettie winces. 

Her answer deflates me a bit. Either way, I know I won’t be giving up. I won’t show my hand either. Vlad may protest, but if he sees I can do it, he may change his mind. " Understandable”, I mutter. 

“ Well, we may be jumping ahead a bit. Every witch's experience is hers alone. Why don’t we get started on that tour to see if this place is the right fit for you?” Lettie encouraged.

“ Of course ”, I say, finishing the last of my tea and pulling myself up to a stand. Vlad and Zanto stay behind. It’s only Lettie and I who decide to leave. 

She takes the lead with swift steps. The massive, wrought-iron doors swung outward on their own with a heavy hum. We walk out to the grand Foyer that smells of lavender and wood.  Just above us, gothic arches and soaring glass domes looked out onto a foggy sky.

"We have 7 floors," Lettie murmured as they stepped onto a spiral staircase. Potion brewing was at the lowest level of ironwood. A small class with only one instructor. Which meant fewer classes. “ We only have one instructor for potion brewing, which means the children, teens, and adult groups only get one lab per week, and the rest is coursework. Every witch has a duty to teach and pass on her knowledge.” I peered over the stone railing into the dark lower floor. Below, seven-year-old girls giggled as they dropped beetle eyes into tiny cauldrons, sending up puffs of neon pink smoke. “Now, let me show you the courtyard. That’s where we do Elemental magic”, Lettie leads. 

In the courtyard, water cascaded down bare stone walls, and a harmless mist of stormwater drifted near the opening. To my right, a circle of older women stood in silence. With subtle, fluid extensions of their hands, they tore raw stone from the floor, condensing it into perfect, razor-sharp blades that hovered in the air. I can only imagine how quickly they could throw those if they had to. In theory, the courtyard was just another classroom, with desks, chairs, and whiteboards. No roses like poenari. 

The second floor was dedicated to telekinesis and mind control.  A class of small children sat cross-legged on the floor, faces twisted in fierce concentration as they kept brightly colored feathers floating a few inches above their palms. The instructor looked pretty young herself.

The third floor was devoted to spellcasting and conjuring. This was Lettie’s floor with her assistant teacher, a girl in her late teens. This floor in particular was lively and colorful. Clumsy, earnest adolescents crowded around wooden tables, practicing basic incantations to conjure butterflies made of light or make wooden blocks sprout fresh daisies. They mobbed around Lettie and hugged her. She seemed close with this group. She introduced me, and their bright faces lit up with welcoming smiles. 

This fourth floor was energy manipulation, and it was eerily quiet. A group of adult witches sit on pillows with tea candles in their palms. The objective was to manipulate the flame in time with their breathing. Lisa gives us a quick wave as we pass through. Her room in particular was the most serene, resembling a yoga or wellness studio more than a classroom. At the far end, there was a large window simulating a beach with an ocean for ample relaxation. I guess the concept would make sense. Energy manipulation required the person to be grounded. 

The fifth floor was for scrying. This was Deborah’s department, and I could tell it belonged to her from the coldness in the air.  This was the teen class. The colors here were dark, just like Deborah’s clothing. Her students stood in a circle, observing the student in the middle, who was leaning over a large stone bowl full of water. Its size was comparable to that of a cauldron, although it was stationary. When the student lifted her face from the bowl, her eyes were completely milk-white, rolled back into her head as she channeled. Eventually, she came back to herself. Deborah would then test the girl on the message she meticulously left for her last week. 

Eventually, we moved on to the 6th floor. This was the floor for mediumship. To my surprise, the floor was empty. “ No class today. Only every other day. It can be a very physically demanding class”, Lettie explains. We look into one of the empty rooms for the older woman. It looked much like a theatre except there were rows of chairs surrounding the small circular stage. 

“ What happens there?” I ask.

“ Complete surrender”, says Lettie ominously.

My legs were burning by the time we reached the 7th floor. Cursing and hexing. This floor was arranged like a sparring exhibition, featuring a long, raised wooden platform stretching down the center of a gymnasium-like hall dotted with rows of watchful students. This arena was fortified for safety, with thick, quilted leather padding covering the stone walls and flagstones to seemingly absorb magic. On the elevated stage, an adult student threw a hex at the target dummy. It blackened into decay, completely disintegrating into a mildewed, withered husk. The younger students clapped in excitement.  

The last stop was the library. The towering mahogany bookshelves stretched so high that the tops were lost in shadow. Little girls sat in sunny alcoves, giggling as oversized picture books turned their own pages and pop-up dragons blew real, harmless puffs of smoke. Grown witches scaled floating ladders that lengthened and shortened at whim. 

“ If you ask me, I think this is the most important room in the entirety of Ironwood. We don’t just read here. This is where we archive. We relive events through mediumship, scrying, or dreamwalking, like you. We record them, refining them over time until they’re as accurate as humanly possible.” Lettie smiles proudly at witches writing in books with inked feathers. 

I glance at their faces, full of concentration. “ What do you do with the archives?” I ask. 

She shrugs. “ Well, some of them are simply for preservation. To keep a memory alive. They can be used for historical accounts—primary sources. That sorta’ thing. Leverage. Every now and then, we do sell to big spenders, usually the vampires and fae. Most importantly, we can hold the world and ourselves accountable. To not make the same mistakes. History allows us to solve problems. Break curses and heal whatever was lost. Our first duty as witches is not only to protect but to help those in need. This allows us to do so. At least, that’s what I believe.” 

“My history has been haunting me since I learned to spell my name”, I murmur, looking at the endless rows of recorded documents on the other wall. Lettie pulls a leather-bound book from under one of the desks and hands it to me. I open it, flipping through the empty pages. 

She nudges me softly. “ Well, medieval Romania was no walk in the park.  I’m sure many of us here at Ironwood would love to read it one day. When you’re ready, of course.” 

We walk a loop around the castle grounds. I see women of all ages outside doing various activities like reading or riding their bikes. Ironwood Castle was nestled between the ocean and nowhere. Vlad got me here through his “shadow” travel. Besides the humongous lawn, there was a forest that went on for miles and miles. After that, nothing at all. Apparently, magic worked well here, caught between a rock and a hard place. 

As I watch the little girls playing tag on the freshly cut lawn, I feel a sense of completion here, not quite like meeting Vlad and agreeing to finish our story. No, this was a deep resonance. Almost as if I knew this place at one point and lost my way. 

So, I said yes.

Over Sunday dinner, Vlad proposed the idea. “ Put in your two-week notice. Just focus on ironwood and your art. I’ll keep the bills on autopay.”   I wish I could say that I put up more of a fight. Truly. But I didn’t. I could hear my grandmother now preaching about the importance of never depending on a man. By her teachings, I always kept a little money on the side in case I had to “escape”. Her words, not mine. 

The farewell party in the break room surprisingly got me all misty-eyed. They brought cake, balloons, flowers, and gift cards. I’d worked with some of these people so long that I considered them somewhere between friends and family. Sarah wept for me the most, telling me how happy she was that I was following my dreams. Mr. Landry said he could “sense it”. I’m sure he knew Vlad had something to do with it, but he respected my privacy enough not to ask.  

“ No matter what, we always got ya’ if things don’t work out, but I don’t wanna’ see you back here. Ya’ hear?  If you’re gonna’ swing, swing hard”, he mutters in my shoulder as I embrace him. 

“ I will, I sniffle, pulling back to look at him. I offer him my best watery smile. 

I walk back to the black with my gift bags and balloons. I take off my seat belt and scoot into his lap, suddenly stuck in rush hour traffic. I reminisce on the last ten years of my life. To have moved so slow and then change almost overnight. 

I was sure I’d spend the rest of my career busting tables, and I made my peace with it. I’d lived a life I hated for so long that I barely noticed the way it was slowly killing me. Much like a pair of shoes, they fit me for a long while before the sides began to close in and the ache from the confinement began to throb. Maybe what was becoming my old life was someone’s dream, but it doesn’t belong to me. I can admit it was a lifeline I wouldn’t take for granted.  I was just waiting on the permission to break away.

I watch the city pass us by out the rearview window as the surroundings of my old job stretch further and further away. I take it all in. The fractured asphalt against the cotton-candy-colored houses. I watch the seniors sitting on the porch in their rocking chairs, keeping a watchful eye on the children chasing a deflated ball. The corner grocery was littered with people leaving, carrying styrofoam plates or Thankyou bags. Retired men drove their candy-paint Cadillacs that shook the ground when they played their music. A woman walks home from work, her purse in one hand and a huckabuck in the other. We hit a pothole, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself. Yeah…the 8th ward. 

We stop just outside the church, parking on the street in front of the entrance. Vlad hands me the envelope, and I put it inside my purse. 

“ Do you want me to come inside?”, Vlad asks. 

“ No, you stay. I won’t be long”, I reassure him. I unbind myself from him and slide against the seat, pulling myself out the door. My shoes tap against the familiar steps of St. Peter. I remember thinking each concrete step was a mountain as I jumped down from them as a little girl in Sunday's best. I can already hear the pipe organ from outside. 

A woman in sunglasses and a hat zips past me, and I knew I’d come at the perfect time. The sun shone through the church windows, casting pink and blue hues onto the tile floors. I waltz past the pews to the confessional and close the door, sitting down. I can hear the slot behind the box opening as Gabriel awaits my confession. 

“ Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 6 months since my last confession”, I mutter. 

There’s a warmth to his voice, and I know he’s pleasantly surprised to have heard from me. “ May the Lord be in your heart”, he says. 

“ I found comfort and solace in the darkness. I went against everything I thought I knew. I let you bless my home, knowing that it wouldn’t work. That darkness I spoke of was never going to truly let me go. It’s always been with me. I tried so hard to fight against it, but it’s only when I stopped that I knew true fulfillment”, I confess. 

Gabriel interrupts me. “ Should I call someone ?” he asks in a concerned tone. Deciding it is best to break formality. 

I let out a light chuckle. “ I’m okay, really. I’m better than I’ve ever been, actually. A little scared, naturally. I let fear rule my life for a very long time. I guess I just came here to thank you. Thank you for always being a listening ear. You’re one of the few people who knew the battle I was up against—against myself.”

A beat of silence passes between us. I know he’s confused. I continue. “ I’ll leave my donation on my seat. You won’t see me for a while.” I pull the envelope from my purse and leave it next to me, standing. “Thank you for everything, Father Gabriel.” 

I leave the box, pushing past the wooden doors. I take my time down the steps, remembering how I toppled over them as a kid. I smile to myself. Cigarette smoke wafts under my nose, and I look ahead to see Vlad. He leans against the car, finishing half a smoke, dressed in black with those same shades on. The corners of my mouth tug upwards at his presence. 

“Amina !” Gabriel opens the door, holding the check in his hand. A bewildered look comes over him. He freezes up when he sees Vlad. Gabriel reaches for his cross cautiously. I look back at Vlad, and he’s smirking, putting out his cigarette with the ends of his fingers and throwing it towards the storm drain. I shake my head at the way he secretly enjoys freaking the Priest out. I don't think he'll ever be a fan of priests again.

When I finally reach for him, he pecks me on the lips. “ Where do you wanna’ go next?”, he ask.

“ Home”, I say. He opens the car door for me, and I slide in. I offer a wave to Gabriel, who’s stuck there at the steps, gawking, and unmoving. The car starts, and we take off down the road. From the rearview mirror, I can see Gabriel standing in the street, watching our car leave. 

“ Which house?”, Vlad asks. 

I slide back into his lap, smiling at the thought of being in Poenari again. “ Our house”, I said.

The End

Authors note: That concludes Dracula guys! I have a 2 part epilogue I’ll be posting in a few days. One of them will be VLAD’s POV finally! LOL. I would like to Thank these special folks for their kind words and comments during the duration of Dracula Penance. You guys have no idea just how much a comment can motivate someone to finish a story.

@harmshake / @ruth-belcher you have been such a pivotal part of this story because of the encouragment you’ve given me. I've been writing since 2017 and the way you've digested this story in such a meaningful way has singlehandedly restored my love writing again. You made it fun again. The amount of care and detail you put into your reviews make me feel so special. Thankyou so much.

Thankyou @that-one-anxious-mango and @blackbi4d for your heavily detailed commentary. I cannot tell you how many times the two of you have made me laugh and smile from your commentary. I’m always excited when you two share your thoughts.

@swiftscepterdragon Thankyou for your consistent interactions with my work.

@aphroditeshea Thankyou for your engagement with my work and taking time to leave comments!

@brownsugarcoffy I watched you binge the story in real time and all your comments put a smile on my face. Thankyou, truly.