peaceful. Very much, in fact. And this is a particularly old one. Some of my ancestors are buried right here. But we can talk about that later. We need to treat this cut. Where are you staying?”
I pointed down the street at Casa Epoca.
“Ah. Good hotel,” he said. “I’ll walk you back, and I’m sure they will have some alcohol and bandages at the front desk.”
Normally I am cautious of strangers, but he had a calming presence, and it seemed harmless to let him escort me.
After treating my wound, he invited me to join him for a meal in the hotel restaurant, and I accepted. Over dinner, I found out Dalv has lived in Romania all his life, as has his family, dating back hundreds of years. When I asked what he did for a living—a reasonable question on a date, and staring into those unusual eyes of his, this did feel like a date—he appeared uncomfortable. He told me he works at the town hospital, not a doctor, but a medical lab researcher.
Dalv has a sexy face that looks a lot like George Clooney’s, so naturally I was a bit flirty. He asked what I’d seen of the area so far, and mentioned he would be happy to show me around. He was disappointed when I told him I had already been to Dracula’s castle.
My tiredness got the best of me then. He noticed my drooping eyes and suggested he let me get some rest. I thanked him for his kindness and dinner. Promising we would meet again, he kissed me goodnight—the European way, on both cheeks. It seemed intimate.
***
Dalv Lucard’s Journal—
Oct. 31
I met an American woman today, in the strangest of ways. A bat from a gathering swarm attacked her in the German Cemetery, and when I saw this disturbing incident, I vowed to investigate. I went to her aid, as she was upset. She is an American. From New York City.
After escorting Ariel to her hotel, to find treatment for the small cut on her forehead, I invited her to dinner. When I asked why she was alone here in Bistritz, she said she would explain later. I have to confess, I am deeply attracted to the woman.
I have not allowed myself to indulge in such feelings for so long that there is danger in doing so. Tomorrow I am taking her sightseeing, and will see how this develops. She looks lovely, and perhaps a little lonely.
***
Ariel’s Journal—
Nov.1
The weirdest dream woke me in the middle of the night. I was shaking so badly that I had to write it down. Here is what I saw:
A fog swirled around me. I was traveling—though I can’t remember where to or from—on a jumbo jet larger than any that exists in this world. I flew alone, as I do most of the time in my waking life. I was tired, traipsing up and down endless aisles, trying to find a free section of seats so that I could stretch out and sleep. I kept searching, searching.
Do dreams shadow one’s life, or does life shadow one’s dreams? How is one to know? All I know is that my lifelong sense of incompletion vanished for a moment in time, then returned again with a vengeance. I felt utterly vulnerable. And utterly alone.
Finally I spotted an empty row on the plane, the last one in the back. I smiled, thinking now I could lie down and rest. Through the semi-darkness, I saw a man at the end of this otherwise empty row, his face turned toward the window.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “Do you mind if I stretch out on these seats?”
He turned, and I recognized him as my new Romanian friend, Dalv. But this time his handsome visage was contorted and ugly, with pointed ears, sharp fangs, and a mouth that dripped with blood.
“Say hello to Vlad,” he said.
I cried out, then woke in a cold sweat.
There was no going back to sleep. A terrible thunderstorm howled at my window, and I opened the curtains to peer outside. Trees bent beneath the strain of the wind, and lightning lit the sky. Standing beneath my window, a man was smoking a cigarette.
I blinked, waiting for another burst of lightning so I could get a sharper look, but when the sky
I pointed down the street at Casa Epoca.
“Ah. Good hotel,” he said. “I’ll walk you back, and I’m sure they will have some alcohol and bandages at the front desk.”
Normally I am cautious of strangers, but he had a calming presence, and it seemed harmless to let him escort me.
After treating my wound, he invited me to join him for a meal in the hotel restaurant, and I accepted. Over dinner, I found out Dalv has lived in Romania all his life, as has his family, dating back hundreds of years. When I asked what he did for a living—a reasonable question on a date, and staring into those unusual eyes of his, this did feel like a date—he appeared uncomfortable. He told me he works at the town hospital, not a doctor, but a medical lab researcher.
Dalv has a sexy face that looks a lot like George Clooney’s, so naturally I was a bit flirty. He asked what I’d seen of the area so far, and mentioned he would be happy to show me around. He was disappointed when I told him I had already been to Dracula’s castle.
My tiredness got the best of me then. He noticed my drooping eyes and suggested he let me get some rest. I thanked him for his kindness and dinner. Promising we would meet again, he kissed me goodnight—the European way, on both cheeks. It seemed intimate.
***
Dalv Lucard’s Journal—
Oct. 31
I met an American woman today, in the strangest of ways. A bat from a gathering swarm attacked her in the German Cemetery, and when I saw this disturbing incident, I vowed to investigate. I went to her aid, as she was upset. She is an American. From New York City.
After escorting Ariel to her hotel, to find treatment for the small cut on her forehead, I invited her to dinner. When I asked why she was alone here in Bistritz, she said she would explain later. I have to confess, I am deeply attracted to the woman.
I have not allowed myself to indulge in such feelings for so long that there is danger in doing so. Tomorrow I am taking her sightseeing, and will see how this develops. She looks lovely, and perhaps a little lonely.
***
Ariel’s Journal—
Nov.1
The weirdest dream woke me in the middle of the night. I was shaking so badly that I had to write it down. Here is what I saw:
A fog swirled around me. I was traveling—though I can’t remember where to or from—on a jumbo jet larger than any that exists in this world. I flew alone, as I do most of the time in my waking life. I was tired, traipsing up and down endless aisles, trying to find a free section of seats so that I could stretch out and sleep. I kept searching, searching.
Do dreams shadow one’s life, or does life shadow one’s dreams? How is one to know? All I know is that my lifelong sense of incompletion vanished for a moment in time, then returned again with a vengeance. I felt utterly vulnerable. And utterly alone.
Finally I spotted an empty row on the plane, the last one in the back. I smiled, thinking now I could lie down and rest. Through the semi-darkness, I saw a man at the end of this otherwise empty row, his face turned toward the window.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “Do you mind if I stretch out on these seats?”
He turned, and I recognized him as my new Romanian friend, Dalv. But this time his handsome visage was contorted and ugly, with pointed ears, sharp fangs, and a mouth that dripped with blood.
“Say hello to Vlad,” he said.
I cried out, then woke in a cold sweat.
There was no going back to sleep. A terrible thunderstorm howled at my window, and I opened the curtains to peer outside. Trees bent beneath the strain of the wind, and lightning lit the sky. Standing beneath my window, a man was smoking a cigarette.
I blinked, waiting for another burst of lightning so I could get a sharper look, but when the sky
Similar Books
