Chapter Text
It may have been a total mistake. A complete error in judgment on the part of relatives so far down the line, they didn’t matter anymore. An elder of the Dracul line and a patriarch of the Van Helsing clan, Gabriel, were trying their best to create some sort of peace between the two before things got out of hand.
They'd met on the night of the full moon, leaving stakes behind and promising biblically that no teeth would be sheathed. “Van Helsing,” the elder would nod to the other, sitting across from one another at a squat wooden table. He was hundreds of years older than the human; withering and twisted and dying, but not so much dead that he couldn’t at least sip at wine and sign documents. “I’ve got years left. I’d like to leave them in relative peace.”
“As would I,” agreed the Van Helsing. He’d seen his children fester in obsessions, and he'd had enough. “So, what are we going to do about it.”
The Vampire hummed, twisting his wine glass to watch the legs trickle down. “I’ve been thinking… Perhaps a… union of sorts.”
“Elaborate-”
“The Dracul clan is blessed with many a healthy male. We can take advantage of that.”
“A marriage .” Van Helsing turned the idea over in his head. It had been some time since there’d been a woman born. Not since his aunt, a prolific Vampire Slayer. And the last babe to be born, only a few years old now, was a boy- Abraham. Still… “It might not be the worst idea.”
“It’s the only idea,” Dracul stressed. “Unless you have anything better?”
He didn’t.
And so it was arranged.
The next female born in the Van Helsing line, when they were of age, would be paired with the current Patriarch of the Dracul clan. They signed the paperwork, shook hands, and expected that things would change.
Nothing changed. At all.
Baby after baby born to the Van Helsing's was male. And as years passed, the memory of the treaty faded. Though its legality didn’t.
Still- Dracula himself had no idea of its existence by the time he’d married his wife and had a child and been hunted by every pesky Van Helsing left in their family. Things tinkered down. Lives were lead. He had a child and then lost a wife. He was depressed, and then he wasn’t. His daughter found a husband, he had a grandchild.
Across the oceans, another baby born long ago, the first female in her clan for hundreds of years, grew up under the careful eye of her great-great-grandfather. Learned how to be a monster hunter, received a boating license, and planned the demise of one Count Dracula.
“It’ll be so perfect,” she’d said, twisting her hands together and looking over the board they kept in the hull of their ship. “When we finally stick a stake through his smug heart.” The corkboard was line with pictures of Dracula. She’d grown up staring at that smile, those teeth; despising and fearing it. Even then, it made her spine crawl.
“Yes, Ericka,” her great-great-grandfather would say. “And soon, soon you’ll be the one to finish him.”
And they’d believed that, too. One family preparing for revenge, the other living their (undead) life.
And then
And then
And then
The Letter had arrived.
Apparently Dracula’s estate, upon the addition of one Johnathan, was being slowly combed through. Dracula had wanted to find some old documents that might have given him a clue of investment opportunities or heritages to pin to Dennis’ name. A slow process. But one he was sure would bring him nothing but good fortune.
It would appear he was wrong about that.
His lawyers had found the documents, and had contacted both families separately without delay.
“It would seem, Sir, that you’re due to meet your… erm… betrothed?” the sweaty, nervous lawyer said, standing in front of a fuming Dracula’s front desk.
“ What !?”
“Your… your betrothed? Your fiance? Your… to-be wife?”
Dracula had blinked, gaped, and tried his best to lock his jaw back into place, but it didn’t want to move. “What…?” he asked again, numbly. It wasn’t a busy season, and a few monsters and humans milled about. One or two looked over papers and itineraries curiously, but eventually pulled their attention back to their own affairs.
The lawyer standing in front of him (in a gaudy green suit that Dracula would remember forever) wiped his brow on his sleeve. He was human, and appeared to be regretting taking on the Dracula case by the second. No pay was worth being drained of blood. “I’m so sorry,” he said, attempting a smile. “It’s really nothing I could do-”
“I’m betrothed .”
“Technically she’s betrothed,” he corrected, voice shaking. “You’re, uh , in charge of her estate . Her included.”
“... what …?”
“It’s here, in the Contract.” He waved it about. It was a copy, scanned. The original had been to ancient to tote around. “Her estate, everything- it all technically belongs to you, though I doubt there’s much there, we’ve already checked her over and she doesn’t have much.”
The Count ducked his head into his palm. The room felt too small. “So,” he said, weakly, “this Contract is real then. It’s not some joke . I’m not on a- a- a prank show or something?”
“Afraid not, sir. This is real. And legally binding, too, apparently. They didn’t miss a step. Your ancestors were very thorough.”
“Good for them.”
Dracula groaned and rubbed his face and swore that his ancestors had been absolute off their rockers. Shit, old people sucked. “Fine- okay-” He breathed. The first step, before anything else, was to stay calm. His ancestors had royally fucked him over. But this was the here and now, and all that mattered was breathing and moving on through. He pressed his palms flat to the desk. “I think the best case scenario before we do anything else would be to, I don’t know… talk to this person first? My...” he tests the word, choking on it. “ Betrothed .”
The lawyer had nodded, and swallowed hard. “Well, sir- Count - uh. That’s the other thing.”
The lawyer told him the name.
The count threw the front desk across the lobby and it smashed and splintered against the back wall.
Across an ocean, Ericka was getting a similar call. Docked for the week to replenish supplies, her phone had popped up an email with a subject line that screamed URGENT PLEASE REVIEW. Which was rare. Especially when you made it your business to not be in anyone’s business.
It had been a PDF from a law office located somewhere in Transylvania, which had been enough to raise her interest (and her eyebrows) and she’d opened it, hiding her screen behind the cupped palm of her hand to shield it from the sun.
Ericka Van Helsing,
Please contact the offices of Gheorghe and Vasil as soon as is possible.
There was a phone number and a fax, and she sat on a bench just beyond the dock, watching her grandfather in a trench coat try to haggle with a merchant over a couple pounds of fresh haddock. Clicking the phone number, sitting back against the salt worn wood, she waited through the rings.
“-ello?” They answered on the third.
“Hi- um- I got an email?” Her grandfather was not faring well at all with his negotiations and was waving his arms around, screaming. The fishermen looked unimpressed. “This is Ericka Van Helsing-”
The sound on the other end was something like a vicious cough and a sudden inhale of something very hot. The man on the other hand heaved. “ Are you okay!”
“Fine,” he choked. “ I’m fine! I just didn’t expect -” he coughed again. “Oh my- oh… oh my. Um. I didn’t expect you to call us so soon.”
“Well, you said urgent. So.”
“Right,” he rasped. “Right. Well. Um. I’m glad you called.” He cleared his throat. “Ericka Van Helsing, my name is Geoffrey Vasil . I contacted you because there’s been a development with one of my clients. Someone who lives in-district and out of many an unfortunate circumstance, it seems as if it’s included you by chance .” He laughed an uncomfortable and pitched sort of laugh.
Ericka sat back harder against the bench. The wood pressed bruises into her skin, and her fingers held tighter to the phone. Something about the call felt apocalyptic. What was the rule if you were a captain and you saw a storm? She breathed deep; Secure everything, take the wheel, keep calm. She breathed again.
Keep calm.
It’s probably nothing.
Just keep calm.
“Who’s your client?”
“Well, that’s the thing. My- my client is… um… you’ve probably heard of him? He owns the hotel here in Transylvania-”
She hadn’t. It had been ages since her grandfather had stepped into the Transylvanian territory, and though it had long been a subject of interest, she’d been warned from crossing any of the borders. Not until we’re ready , he’d always said. She tapped her foot. “Sorry. No.”
“Oh… oh you don’t? Really? I thought that you of all people…” He laughed again, and she felt the storm darken. The lawyer sounded like his hands were shaking. And when he does say the name - “Count Dracula, Miss. It’s Count Dracula” - the storm inside her turns into something deep and red and ancient.
Van Helsing’s failing haggles are cut short by a short shocked noise from the dock, and he looks over his shoulder to see his granddaughter wide eyed, stalking a furious path back up the ships plank. He called for her, but she didn’t hear, one hand clasped around the phone, the other tugging her hair.
He wouldn’t hear her when she ducked her face and hissed, “what the fuck do you mean Dracula .”
“Miss, please! Try to calm down!”
“Do you know who I am!?”
“Of course I do! ”
“Then I’d be very careful when you tell me to calm down.”
“Miss, please!” He’s begging, pleading, twisting his fingers raw on the other end. “Please understand, this was all coincidental! There was a document signed so, so long ago and the first female born on your end was all that they said, and since you’re the first female you got sort of… caught.”
Ericka breathed out a heavy shudder, gritting her teeth, storming across the ships deck. It was bordering on early afternoon and the sun was too hot blazing down towards her. She was on fire. She was a raging, fuming, Vampire-Killing fire. “So I got caught in a document . And you can’t just write me out? Wait for someone else.”
“Afraid we can’t, miss. It was notarized and everything. Whoever these ancestors were, they didn’t miss a step. Dotted all their i’s.”
“Well isn’t that fucking great for them.” She rubbed her temples. Leaning against the rail of the ship, looking down at the water, she tapped her foot too-hard against the floor. They were between cruises, and the ship was eerily silent and vacant with only the two of them occupying it. Her thoughts were screaming. She squeezed her eyes shut. “What exactly was this document for. And please don’t say some sort of ritual sacrifice or whatever, because I swear-”
“Oh no , Miss. Nothing like that.” He paused, and there was a muted tapping sound. She could almost see him sweating through the sound waves. “Um… you may want to sit?”
“Oh for-”
“Marriage.” He spits out the word, like he’s afraid.
He has good reason to be.
But he has little right.
Ericka’s throat sticks closed. The waves lap the sides of the ship and the silence is overwhelming and she can’t, she can’t, she can’t breathe when she manages a ragged little “excuse me”. The world is spinning, and it’s all she can do not to drop her phone into the deep waters below.
“It’s a marriage arrangement, ma’am. I’m- I’m so sorry-”
“It’s 2018,” she croaks. “It’s the 21st century and you’re honoring some old as shit marriage agreement .”
“It’s legally binding, ma’am.” He’s talking faster now. Hurrying through it all. “Everything- your estate, your name, whatever you own-”
“No.”
“-he technically has a legal claim-”
“ No.”
“Miss, please, just let me-”
“You know who I am,” she says again, closing her eyes. Just moments ago she’d been fire. And now? Now she’s burning. She’s ash, simmering into nothing. “I’m making plans to kill him.”
“I know-”
“Our families are at war.”
“I know .”
“I’m… I’m trying to finish a legacy and you’re telling me I have to…” she ends the sentence with a laugh that sounds a bit too hysterical. “Oh my god!”
Mr. Vasil was at least empathetic enough to apologize a few more times, sounding more distressed than he should. It’s not his life. Not his sentence. “That’s why I’m calling, Miss Van Helsing. We’ve alerted Dracula of the issue and he’s very much in the same position you are. And what I’m recommending is that, if we can find some sort of agreement between the two of you, perhaps we can annul the entire affair without much fuss at all.” He swallows. “I don’t know what I can do about the estate. That’ll- that’ll be up to him…”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
There was an ocean above her head, around her lungs; she was drowning on something that wouldn’t release.
“It’s just going to require some agreements,” he explained hurriedly. “And this is where things get a little bit unfortunate again.” She closed her eyes. Her pulse was heavy in her ears. “It’s a grandfathered Contract. So new laws or not, it has to be honored as it was written. The agreements are going to have to come entirely from him, I’m afraid. Being the male, and all. He owns what you own. His say is the final one.” He stops a moment and then says again, “I’m sorry.”
Ericka cursed the sexist bastards who she shared blood with, kicking one of the rails with her boot, hissing when it squished her big toe. She’s afraid to ask the question, but she knows she has to. “What does that mean? For me?”
Mr. Vasil sighed. He sounded tired and wrung out, and the hysteria they’d both shared moments ago (his from having to deliver, and hers from being the victim) was beginning to dissipate into something softer and sadder and deep. “It means that he’ll get the full say of what happens. The exemptions, the new additions, where and who your estate goes to- it’ll be his to decide. You’ll have some say in denying, but it’ll be his word last.” She hears the shuffling of documents. “It was meant to create a union of sorts, long ago. To combine the families by giving legal control to one. One unit. But now…” he breathes. “Now it’s just made a big mess that I have to abide by, unfortunately.”
Ericka lowers her head. Her forehead rests on the guardrail. It’s rusted and cool, and it scrapes her forehead. “Why.”
“Because that’s just how it was written. And… and I’m sorry.”
“Would killing him work in this case? If I just went and did it?” She’s only half joking.
“I think that might just make things worse.” He still sounded sad, but there was something of a smile in his voice. Well, at least one of them was feeling a little better. “The best thing you can do now, Miss Van Helsing, is meet with Dracula. I’m more than happy to pass along your number. He’s requested it already. I just need your permission-”
Before he can finish she’s already rattling off the digit and there’s the sound of a pen scraping to catch them all. He thanks her, apologizes again, and promises that she’ll hear from him and his client soon.
She doesn’t say anything and hangs up before he can finish.
When she opens her eyes again, the world looks darker.
“Ericka?” Her grandfather rolls across the deck. There’s a bag of fish in his hand. Apparently, he’d settled. Like he always did.
( Well , she thinks sourly, at least some things stay the same ).
“I heard shouting. Is everything alright.”
She turns around, her back against the rail, extending her feet for balance. “No.”
“Oh…”
He looks at her like he’s waiting for an answer. She’s not sure she wants to give one. “There’s been sort of an incident." The air is thick. Or maybe it's just harder to breathe. "I’ve been pushed into a Contract, apparently. A marriage Contract from a bazillion years ago. Because our family has always been so fucking great, apparently.” She’s trying not to cry, and she swipes at the angry heat building behind her eyes. Her tongue is acidic. “And we might lose everything if things go the way I think they might. Not sure if my new husband's love for you has expired yet.” She laughed. It came out molten.
“Wait. What ?”
“I’ve been assigned a husband.”
(And a keeper. And a fucking jailor)
“You’ve... you’ve what?”
The email is still on her screen and her stomach turns. “Count Dracula.”
Her grandfather throws the bag of fish overboard.
“Well shoot…” says her grandfather that night over a cup of whiskey. She hasn’t seen him drink in years.
“Yeah.” She drains her second glass and goes in for her third. It sits heavy in her stomach, and her head is fuzzy, but she’s glad for it. They’re distractions, even if they aren’t comfortable ones. “This royally sucks.”
He murmurs his agreement.
“We’re going to have to find a way to get out of it,” she adds. “Because apparently killing won't work. Not until after we annul it. Even if he dies, his estate still picks ours up. We’d lose it all to his kids, his relatives. It won’t matter.” She runs her tongue over her teeth. “So fighting might be the only way out. Fight for everything we’ve got. And what I’ve got.”
“Oh my…”
“But after, no matter what happens… I’m gonna kill him. At least I’ve got a new reason to.”
“ If we’re even allowed to, after .” He swirls the whiskey around, watching it. It’s expensive stuff, and he smacks his lips after another sip. “I can’t imagine one of his additions won't be about what we do with our time. Hunting wise.” He shrugged. “The legacy might as well be over.”
“... yeah.”
“Let’s just hope you don’t end up with fangs lodged in your neck.” She blames her grandfather's cruelty on his age and grits her teeth to keep tears from rising again. His own eyes are a curious sort of scared when he asks “do you think that might be one of the terms, Ericka?”
She’s glad for the alcohol more than ever, then. It keeps her from breaking apart entirely.
And so she pours another drink and hopes it gets the image of fangs out of her mind.
Mavis is beyond furious. “So you’re saying,” she asks her father, sitting beside Dennis, who’s occupied with a coloring page, “that because of our great-great-great whatever, you’re going to have to marry a Van Helsing!?”
“No, honey. Because of our great-great-great whatever , I’m going to have to meet a Van Helsing.” He’s miserably draining another glass of blood. He’d usually drink the artificial stuff, but goat’s blood had a better kick, and he needed it now more than ever. “And I’ll figure out what arrangements we can make to end it.”
Mavis glares down at her hands. “I still don’t like it.”
From next to her, Johnathan picks up a crayon and helps Dennis with a small detail he can’t seem to get. “It’s really sort of screwed up.”
“Majorly,” agreed Mavis. “ Majorly screwed up.” She sighed. “So, what do we do now?”
Dracula taps his fingers against the glass. “I guess I meet her. Talk. She may have to come here and fill out paperwork with me after I agree on terms.”
“Have you decided on terms?”
He nods. “A few.”
He thought it might be good to create some boundaries; mental and physical. He wasn’t sure if he could still banish her family. But from what his lawyer had said over the phone, she was still very intent on revenge. Something about her great-grandfather and a legacy. So maybe keeping her away from Transylvania and his family could be something to consider.
His lawyer had sent over her information, too; she was a Captain, a title that had a little too much weight for his comfort. He thought about the idea of her using her fancy shmancy cruise ship to lure monsters on and shuddered.
He reminded himself to jot down any ideas later, focusing on Mavis again. “I’m supposed to call her sometime next week. She’ll be coming here to work out some of the details.”
Mavis made a sound like she was choking on air. “Wait- she’s coming here !”
“She has to, Mavis.”
“ Totally uncool ,” said Johnny, switching his color from purple to green.
“Understatement, Johnny.” She rubbed her brow. “Wonderful. So you’re technically engaged to your arch nemesis’ descendant who wants to kill you and you’re just going to hand her a room key?”
“I don’t have much of a choice here, honey bat.”
She lay her hands flat on the table and growled. “You have plenty of choices. Just… I don’t know… take your share of her stupid estate and move on.”
He smiled mournfully and reached out, covering her hand with his. “That’s not how this works. She has to be here to sign the papers for anything to happen, sweetheart. It’s just what has to happen.”
Mavis sighs, but nods, defeat settling against the lines on her face. She tries to smile, and he appreciates her effort. “Then… I guess we’d better get ready for some new guests.”
He squeezes her hand. “That’s my girl.”
He has a long talk with his lawyers before. And they advise him on everything . Ericka Van Helsing, who he’s never met, has never seen, but has already crafted a pretty clear picture of in his head (rotting teeth, huge hands, evil smile) and before he calls her he wants to be prepared. Victor Gheorghe was a big man, in business with Geoffrey Vasil, and showed it more than his partner could. He wore rings on his fingers, and his tie was patterned and he smelled of cologne and coffee and cigars.
His decadence rivaled that of the count, and Dracula often felt the need to wear his best when the human lawyer, who helped keep his estate in order, came around. He arrived that day wearing royal blue, hair slicked back. Dracula fiddled with the clip on his best cape.
“Count Dracula,” he’d said, laying down his briefcase. “It would seem as if your predecessors have gotten you into a sticky situation.”
“The stickiest,” Dracula muttered. They’d adjourned to the hotel library, and had politely asked the patrons there to leave. It’s quiet, and the doors are locked, and there’s no one else save for a stoic and still suit of armor at the door. “All I need is to figure out how to do this. I’m lost, and I don’t want to go into this blind.”
Victor Gheorghe nodded. “My partner has been speaking to the Van Helsing, and she’s been made aware of her side of things. Now, on your side.” He takes out a pad of paper and a pen and clicks it twice. “Your entitled to some things automatically. Her estate, namely. And should you marry her via the Contracts terms-”
“Not happening.”
“- it would dissolve her title and legacy entirely. But, like you said…” he clicked his pen twice more. “That won’t be happening.”
“Right,” agreed Dracula, loosening his cravat. It was out of the question. He wouldn’t -couldn’t- tie himself to that name.
His lawyer didn’t press, scratching out a few words and nodding to himself. “We can at least prepare you for what you will receive. And what sorts of terms you wanted to set up. Did you have any idea.”
Dracula did have some idea, and he names them, drumming his fingers against the table.
Maybe stripping her of her title…
Her name, too. That would have to go.
Gheorghe advised him about possession laws, and he’d kept those in the back of his head but wasn’t sure he was cruel enough to dissolve her assets towards his. Though if her family's history was any indication of her character, then maybe he wouldn't protest to it too much. Well earned reward for past wrongs wasn’t something he’d object to entirely…
“It’s not a bad idea,” says Gheorghe, nodding. “Your entitled to some compensation for grievances. And from what you’ve told us, her family is nothing but grievances.” He writes it down and grins. Dracula clicked his own teeth together, feeling fangs brush his lip. He always thought lawyers looked like sharks, and it’s making him nervous. “To be perfectly frank, Count Dracula, I think what you’ve got here is a wonderful opportunity.” He wrote something down onto the pad. “It’s too easy an argument. You hold most of the power here. And when she does eventually come to argue her side, there’s little you’ll need to do. I’d say you could walk away from this with everything she’s got.”
Dracula hates that there’s a little part of him that sparks in satisfaction.
“Your ancestors may just have done you a huge favor,” Gheorghe says. He rips the paper clean from the pad. Dracula looks at it when it’s passed to him. A list of demands scrawled neatly down the page.
Preferred terms of the amended agreement
-Ericka Van Helsing’s name should be stripped.
-All assets associated with the Van Helsing line should be revoked and dissolved into the Dracul estate
-The title of Captain should be considered for repeal
-Marriage is not for consideration
Count Dracula isn’t sure about how he feels with most of the list. Except for the last piece. “I’ll talk to her when she arrives. I’m sure she’s got some ideas.”
Gheorghe laughed. “Of course she will. It all depends on whether or not you should care.” He stands up, straightens his tie, and shakes Dracula’s hand. “Remember,” he says as he’s being lead out of the library, “she’s the one who’s from the bad family here. You’re not the monster, this time.” And he ducks out, nodding to some of the guests wandering the corridors.
Dracula mulls that over in his head, standing in the doorway to the library.
There was a certain amount of truth to it, wasn’t there? It had been her family to cause him years of grief, years of mistrust. They deserved whatever they got.
Still. You’re not the monster, this time rings in his head the rest of the day, and he settles back on it until it sits, a heavyweight against his lungs.
