I get to The Garlic Not, and the place is packed with regulars. I decide to sit at the bar, and an old man with the fewest teeth I’ve ever seen hands me a menu.
“For a virgin as pure as you—on the house,” he says and passes me a goblet of something neon green. I take a sip, and it’s not half bad. I order the lamb alfredo and decide not to correct him on the weird virgin thing.
I’ve only been in Coffins Crest, Transylvania, for three days, and the omnipresent fog, eerie wind chimes, and sinking feeling that something horrible is about to happen is starting to feel normal.
I take a sip of my goblet cocktail and wonder how I’ll tell Historic Castles Magazine that someone else is also here to cover the famous castle.
When I got the assignment from my editor, Trish, to write a piece on the famous gothic castle in the Carpathian Mountains, I knew I should have told her that’s where my brother went missing three years ago. And his fiancée. And my dad. And his fiancée. My sister told me not to come, but I knew I’d never finish my novel if I didn’t face what happened here. I don’t want to be a travel writer specializing in haunted castles forever.
That’s when I see him. His razor-sharp, marble-like cheekbones, his jet black eyes, and the fourteenth-century cape he wears everywhere, even though it’s the twenty-first century. He sits in the back of the restaurant, glowering into a big glass of blood, like always. He’s constantly glowering, and he’s always drinking a big glass of blood. I pick up my goblet and walk over to his table.
“Count Dracula.”
“Lucy,” he says, still glowering. I take a seat.
“Just because we both hang at The Garlic Not doesn’t mean we’re friends,” he says.
“Oh, this is just a professional courtesy. I’m actually here with my friends,” I reply, pointing to a random table of crusty old grave diggers.
It’s hard even to believe he’s here in front of me. Dracula’s breathtaking review of Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory was why I got into castle reviewing in the first place. And then his novel. The Aliveness was what I needed most in those dark days after all my family members mysteriously disappeared. The book tells the story of a vampire who hunts a man, his fiancée, his father, and his fiancée, but in the end learns about himself. The story was so real to me, the characters so familiar, that at times it felt like I was reading about my actual brother, father, and their respective fiancées.
Count Dracula opens his mouth again, and I see those long, long, very pointy teeth, and I get that buzzing feeling in my chest again.
“You know, I could help you with your novel if you want,” Dracula offers.
“When? We both have huge, competing castle review assignments.”
“I stay up all night.”
“Uh-huh. Doing what? Playing creepy organ songs?” I joke.
“They aren’t songs, they’re my études,” he smiles, the first time he’s smiled all century.
Dracula reaches out and touches my face. His fingers are eight inches long, and just as pointy as his teeth. His touch is ice cold. My phone buzzes, and it breaks our spell. I look at the name on the screen: VAN HELSING.
“It’s my ex-boyfriend. I should go,” I tell him. I get up and head for the door. Van’s been ghosting me, and now I’m sure he just wants to hook up because his ship just docked in Romania.
“Wait!” Dracula yells across The Garlic Not.
Count Dracula slams a pile of ancient currency I’ve never seen before on the table and runs toward me.
Outside, a bat flies by my head, and I lose my balance. Count Dracula catches me, and I stare into his translucent white face. He leans in and kisses me. His mouth is hungry, impatient. But he’s not kissing me the usual way. He’s biting into my neck, and blood starts spurting everywhere.
I pull away from Dracula. That’s when I knew. I never expected falling in love would mean I have night vision and can levitate. I also might be a vampire now.
“By the way,” Dracula says, “The stuff with your dad and brother was not me. That was my asshole cousin Count Chocula.”
