Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Persuaders!

Prologue

"I say, Daniel, how does a weekend in Romania sound?"

There was no response.

"Daniel." Brett Sinclair moved his foot, disrupting Danny Wilde's makeshift bookstand. The two men were stretched out on either end of the Englishman's sofa – Brett laboriously sifting through his accumulated post, and Danny deeply absorbed by an article that had caught his attention.

"Hmm? What was that, Your Lordship?" Danny looked up from the magazine, putting a finger on the line he'd reached.

"Romania."

"What about it? What are you going on about?"

Brett sighed, impatiently. "I said, do you fancy a weekend in Romania?"

Danny scrunched his nose up. "Romania? What's in Romania?"

Brett leaned forward and passed over an opened envelope to Danny. The American peered inside and pulled out two tickets. "Rigoletto, Bucharest National Opera House." He looked at Brett.

"A gift, from an acquaintance of mine."

"I don't know. Opera, Your Lordship? Always thought it was boring."

"Sacrilege, Daniel!"

"Come on, they don't even sing in English – I won't have a clue what they're going on about."

"You uncultured oaf, Daniel. Anyway, I wish to go and you're coming with me," Brett announced decisively, and picking up the brandy by his elbow he settled back with a satisfied smile.

Danny rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue. It'd be an experience, if nothing else. A weekend in Romania? Who knew, it might even turn out to be fun.

An Encounter with the Undead

"It's my own fault. I blame myself." Brett shook his head and sighed.

He stared once again out of the car's windscreen, and frowned at the desolate scene it revealed.

Windswept and ravaged by rain, a rocky and barren landscape stretched out in front of the car, with nothing but the odd fir here and there to break up the depressing monotony, and savage, high peaks that cast a dark shadow over the miserable scene.

Brett groaned. What an awful place to break down, and for once even Daniel couldn't work out what had gone wrong with the engine. So here they were - in the middle of nowhere - stranded and without seemingly a soul for miles around to help them. Brett groaned again and lowered his head until it was resting on the steering wheel in front of him. He closed his eyes and indulged silently for a minute in his self-pity.

There was a sudden friendly pat on his back. Brett turned his head to glare at the man in the passenger seat.

"There, there. We all make mistakes." Danny smiled sympathetically when he saw he had his friend's attention, patting Brett's back again. "No-one's blaming you."

Brett's mouth fell open and he promptly sat up, indignation running through every fibre of his body. "Blaming me!? You have a nerve, Daniel! It's thanks to you we're lost in the middle of God knows where, and unlikely to find civilisation anytime soon!"

Danny held up his hands in protested innocence. "You just said it was your fault, pal."

"My fault?! You're the navigator! You're the one with the map! Turn right, you said. Turn left, you said. Drive up that precipice, you said. And where are we? Where are we, Daniel? Probably in Timbuktu!"

"Now don't be silly."

"Silly?!" But then just as suddenly Brett's flare of temper dropped away. He sighed again. "The most annoying thing is I know all about your appalling sense of direction - ever since you drove us to Berlin when we should have been going to Madrid. You remember?"

"Yes, you've reminded me many times."

"But a moment of weakness on my side, and here we are."

"Well, you live and you learn."

Brett narrowed his eyes at the American, who very hastily continued: "But, yeah. My fault too, pal." He looked out of the window. "Now, there's really no need to get stressed, Your Lordship."

"I'm not stressed," muttered Brett.

"We know we're in Romania. Right?"

"One must be hopeful."

"And we know we should be near Bucharest. Right?"

"One is very much less hopeful."

"Well, all we've gotta do is find a landmark," Danny continued, as if Brett hadn't spoken. He nodded confidently and picked up the map. "And then we find it on here, and voila! we'll know where we are exactly. Brett, find me a landmark."

"Such as?" Brett asked, dryly.

"Well, a barn or a big hut or a cathedral or something."

"A cathedral." Brett looked pointedly out of the window. "And where do you suggest I look for this cathedral? Perhaps there by that storm-stricken fir? Or over there by the raging river? Or better yet that rocky outcrop? Slightly hazardous exit for the congregation, but I'm sure with a good strong rope or two they manage."

Daniel smirked. "Okay, Your Lordship, okay." He folded the map. "Well, it doesn't really matter where we are anyway. This car ain't going nowhere."

"Isn’t going anywhere," corrected Brett petulantly, under his breath.

"So we've got no choice, anyway. There's only one thing we can do at this point."

"And that is?" Brett asked, hesitantly.

"We walk. We're bound to come across someone at some point - especially if we stick to the road."

Brett grimaced. "Isn't it better to stay where we are and wait for someone to drive by?"

Danny dismissed him with a wave of his hands. "No, no – that's only in a survival situation, and this ain't that."

"I beg to disagree."

"We've already sat here for hours, pal, and nobody's passed us. At least this way, we're increasing our chances. There has to be a farm or something further along. And if we don't find anything, we'll just turn back."

Brett pursed his lips. "You're probably right, Daniel." Decision made, he straightened his tie and checked his hair in the car mirror. "Just because we happen to be in the middle of nowhere, it doesn't mean we have to look like castaways," he explained, sniffing, as Danny smirked.

"Whatever you say, Your Highness. Now put on your coat, grab your torch and let's go rescue ourselves."

…

"Daniel, Daniel?" Brett tugged on his friend's arm, which Danny had firmly linked through his over an hour ago. Since then, they had walked for what seemed to be miles to Brett. They were both soaked to the skin, and Brett shuddered to think of the condition of his bespoke Windsor shoes. He pulled at his friend's arm again. "Don't you think we've walked far enough?"

Danny squinted at him through the relentless patter of rain. "What was that, Your Lordship?" shining the torch in Brett's face.

"Do you mind?" huffed Brett, pushing the blinding light away. "I said, don't you think it's time we headed back to the car?" He wiped away another rivulet of rainwater from his face. "We're achieving nothing out here apart from giving ourselves pneumonia. Come on, Daniel. This is insanity."

The American patted his friend's arm. "Just a few more steps, Brett? What do you say?" He swung the torch's beam of light in front of him. "I just know there's something along here. I can feel it in my bones."

"Which is about all anybody will find if we keep on going. Come on, Daniel, we're heading back. At least in the car we'll - "

Brett was interrupted by a sudden, excited yelp. "Look, Your Lordship! Look!" He followed the line of light, and raised a surprised eyebrow.

A great iron gate had broken the monotony of trees on the other side of the road. As Brett studied it in the light of the torch, he noted the elaborate finial and evident workmanship. It was clearly an object of extortionate expense, and Brett nodded with approval. If this were merely the gate, the abode might very well live up to his standards. He rubbed his hands together satisfactorily, and stepped across the road.

"Come on, Daniel," he said brightly, leading the duo for the first time that evening, "no dawdling." Ignoring Danny's spluttering, he reached the gate and it was to both their reliefs that it swung open at the merest pressure of Brett's hands.

"After you, Daniel."

…

Danny stared up at the huge door in front of him.

"You know what, kid, I think we should skip this one and meet the neighbours instead."

"What on earth are you raving on about, Daniel? Now would you please ring the doorbell?"

"It hasn't got one."

"Well, use the knocker then. Honestly, Danny, what's the matter with you? It's freezing out here."

"I don't wanna use it. Have you seen it, pal?"

With a roll of his eyes, Brett stepped up next to Danny. He followed his pointing finger.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Daniel. It's only a - well, it's only - honestly, you're being a child - it's only ornamental."

Nevertheless, Brett internally grimaced. Truth be told, the door knocker was rather alarming in the dark of the night. A hideous face with red eyes protruded from the door, its features twisted into a maniacal grimace of wickedness and malice. Its open mouth held the knocker between sharp, serrated teeth and as Brett reached out to grasp hold of it, he felt an irrational shiver of nervousness run down his spine - certain for a fleeting second that the red eyes were watching him. He shook himself angrily and, resolutely grasping the handle, knocked on the door.

Danny grabbed his arm. "What did you go and do that for!?" He looked back at the door. To Brett's surprise he looked nervous. "Now they'll know we're here!"

"That is the general idea, Daniel." Brett raised an eyebrow at his friend. "What the devil's the matter with you, anyway? You're being absurdly odd, even for you."

Danny indicated the building in front of them, with wild gesticulating arms. "What's the matter with you, Your Lordship? I mean, have you seen this place?"

"Yes, and I must say it looks perfectly respectable. Perhaps on the slightly smaller side than one is used to for a country estate, but I appreciate one must lower one’s expectations when not in England."

"What country estate? It's a castle, Brett!"

Brett raised his chin, with only the slightest hint of superiority. "There's nothing wrong with a castle, Daniel. Some of the best people live in them." He straightened. "Her Majesty for one."

Danny shook his head. "Yeah, well this is no Balmoral, pal. "

Brett pursed his lips. Daniel wasn't wrong. It was indeed a most …striking… building. Its immense walls rose high up above the tree line - the cold stones blackened and worn with age. A once-majestic ivy had twisted its way fastidiously up the walls, but now it was dead and decaying - its rotting leaves framing narrow windows haphazardly strewn across the walls, and all of it in the vast shadow of jagged turrets of darkness.

Brett cleared his throat. "I grant you it's an acquired taste, Daniel."

"An acquired taste! It looks like Frankenstein's second home!" Ignoring Brett's snort, Danny pulled resolutely at his friend's arm. "I've seen those Hammer horror movies, pal. I know how this ends. One of us gets served up as dessert, or sacrificed, or locked in a dungeon with a nutty axe-murderer. Well, it ain't gonna be you and it ain't gonna be me. We're out of here, Your Lordship!"

"You're being absurd, my dear boy."

"Yeah, well you won't be saying that when we're both dead with a stake through our hearts!"

"Honestly, I've never heard such rubbish, Daniel. But -" and Brett gave another glance at the castle, "I agree it doesn't seem to be the most welcoming of places, so if you really feel all that strongly - "

"I do!"

"- we'll leave." Brett shook his head and sighed at his weakness - manipulated, he knew, by American stubbornness and British sentimentality. "I hope you appreciate I'm doing this for you, Daniel. You're being perfectly ridiculous. We're literally a threshold away from a roaring fireplace and warm beds."

"Yeah, and coffins with our names etched on them."

Brett ignored his friend's muttering. "Well, we're already having a dreadful evening." He sighed. "We might as well make it the entire night. Come on then, Daniel."

It was then the door opened.

…

"Good evening, gentlemen."

A tall, thin, severe-looking man was stood in the doorway. His raven-black hair was slicked back on his head, framing a large forehead and a long, sharp, nose. His pale, white skin was in stark contrast to the black dressing gown he was wearing, that was so excessive in fabric that it seemed to hang from him like a cloak. He smiled at the two men at his door, his red lips drawing back over a perfect set of teeth.

"Gentlemen? May I be of assistance?" His English was excellent, with only the slightest hint of an accent accentuating his words.

Brett was the first to recover from their surprise at the sudden appearance of the man. "Excuse me, and do please forgive the inconvenience of waking you up so late in the night, but I'm rather afraid we're lost." Danny remained silent at his side.

"I assure you, gentlemen, it is of no inconvenience to me - I was already awake." He laughed, and the torchlight caught the edge of his teeth so that they seemed to glint in the dark. "Wide awake. Now do please come in. I welcome you to my home."

He drew back with a flourish, and with an appreciative smile, Brett stepped forward, only to be brought to a halt by Danny's hand on his arm.

"Yeah, we appreciate the offer, but we just need some general directions to the next town." Danny smiled, but Brett could easily read the insincerity behind it.

"Nonsense!" The man put a hand to his heart. "It would be most inhospitable of me to let you go back out into such a night." He indicated the open door behind him. "Please, you must come in." At Danny's lack of movement, he sighed. "I do not speak only of the rain, of course. I do not wish to alarm you, but really you have been most fortunate - I assure you however your luck will not hold. It is only the weather that has kept them at bay, but later they will come out."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

The man turned back to Brett. He raised a surprised eyebrow. "Why, the wolves, dear sir."

"Wolves?!"

The man nodded, his eyes widening in alarm at Brett's shocked expression. "But surely you knew about them?" Brett slowly shook his head. "There are a great many packs of them all about here. The forests and mountains are their territory. The hills and plains their hunting ground. We may have claimed this land as our own, but we are merely the custodians."

There was silence for a moment.

"What a load of baloney. No offence, pal." Danny crossed his arms. "We haven't seen so much as a mouse, never mind White Fang."

The man's left eyelid twitched. And then he raised his arm. And though surely it were only coincidence, at the exact moment he threw it up, a deep distant howling broke out in the darkness around them.

Brett stepped forward and held out his hand. "We'd be absolutely delighted to accept your hospitality."

Again the man smiled, and he shook the Englishman's hand. "My home is your home. Gentlemen?"

With a creak and thud, the door closed behind them, and out in the darkness the howling ceased.

…

"I trust everything has been to your satisfaction, my friends?"

"Oh, most delightful, most delightful." Brett leaned back in the deep armchair, and stretched out his feet towards the roaring fireplace. He smiled at their host – a Count Budescu - "A most delicious meal, and a wonderful vintage. And, of course, many thanks for the dry shirts." Brett suddenly frowned, and patted his pockets. "Of course, you must allow us to reimburse you."

"I would not hear of it!" The Count shook his head adamantly from across the fireplace. "It is enough for me to know my guests are content." He sipped from a glass, the dark red vintage leaving a momentary stain on his teeth until he licked them clean with a brief flicker of his tongue. "You understand of course, my dear boy?"

"Of course. The talk of money - so vulgar." Brett murmured, and he took another sip. A warm pleasant feeling was stealing over him, and he blinked heavily.

The Count glanced across at the American. "And Mr Wilde? Are you satisfied also?

Danny was stood beside Brett's chair, one hand holding his own glass - though he was yet to take a sip - and the other behind his back.

"Yeah, you've been great." Brett rolled his eyes at Danny's flat tone. Really, it was beginning to be too much. He was going to have to talk to his friend, but not tonight, Brett reflected slowly. No, not tonight. He was much too content and warm and sleepy for that. He took another sip of wine.

"And now, gentlemen, I can see that you are tired. Please, allow me to show you to your rooms."

"We'll share," Danny suddenly said, so unexpectedly and sharply that Brett gave an involuntary start.

The Count stood up. "That is most unnecessary. As you can see, I have many rooms in this castle. There is no need for such penurious measures."

Danny smiled tightly. "Yeah, but we're gonna share anyway. Brett and I can drag another bed in. Ain't that right, pal?"

Brett stared at his friend crossly. "I haven't shared since my Eton days, and I found it most inconvenient then. Honestly, Daniel, I think the wine may have gone straight to your head."

Danny screwed his mouth up in frustration. "Fine, but we're gonna have neighbouring rooms."

Brett huffed. "I have no objection to that, but I still think you're being unusually pernickety." He stood up, but as he did so he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, and he put a hand on Danny's shoulder. He laughed. "Sorry, Daniel. Perhaps it's I who's had one too many."

Danny didn't reply but held out his arm, and Brett took it gratefully.

"If you would follow me, gentlemen?"

…

Danny was sat on the edge of his bed, but he hadn't undressed. He didn't imagine he would be sleeping at all tonight. After seeing Brett settled in the adjacent room, he had retired to his own, and had lost no time in surveying it. It unnerved him that the rooms were at least three stories (“floors!” came Brett’s unbidden retort in his head) up, and when he had opened the window, he had felt even more unnerved by the sheer drop to a thrashing and surging sea below.

"So much for Bucharest." He grimaced, knowing full well he'd be in for a "I told you so!" from His Lordship. He might not be much of a navigator, but even he realised the city was supposed to be far inland. So where were they? "Okay, so maybe I'm a dum-dum. But nobody's perfect."

Danny sighed. He lay back on the bed and stared up at the aged ceiling. He was hungry and thirsty, for he had not eaten much that evening and drank even less. Brett might call him superstitious or fanciful, but there was something about the castle and the Count which made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

A sudden noise out in the hallway distracted him from his thoughts.

Danny stared towards the door. Again! There it was, and when he strained his hearing he realised the noise was the pattering of feet. Danny froze. There was a moment of silence as if whoever it was had reached their destination, and then just as suddenly the door handle began to turn. Danny closed his eyes.

"Is he asleep?"

"He's asleep. Like a baby." There was a giggle, and Danny tensed. Two women? Who were they? And what the hell did they want?

He felt suddenly that they were much closer to him, and that someone was leaning over his bed.

"It's my turn first this time. You promised."

A warm breath fell across Danny's face, but it was the overpowering stench of copper that made him open his eyes.

A young woman - dressed in a white nightgown - was bent over the side of the bed, her face inches from Danny's own. Black hair cascaded down her back and across her face, and her hand - which had come up to brush back the dark locks - was thin and pale, with long, sharp fingernails. All this Danny noticed at a glance, for it was her mouth that transfixed him. Her lips were blood red, beautiful in their perfection, but even as Danny watched in a sudden involuntary haze of desire, they pulled back over a row of sharp and jagged teeth which protruded horribly from her mouth, and the illusion of beauty was shattered. He gasped, and drew back.

"He's awake! He shouldn't be awake!"

The women - and now Danny could see that there were three of them and not two as he had thought - scrambled back from the bed.

"What do you want?" he demanded, and he rolled over and lurched to his feet, so that the bed was between him and his visitors.

He stared at them. Like the woman with the black hair, the other two were dressed in white, and like her, their hair fell to their waists in long curling locks. They all seemed to Danny to be unnaturally thin, and they moved in unison, swaying and giggling together as they grinned at him. Again an overwhelming stench of copper reached his nostrils, and he swallowed back a sudden urge to vomit. A few weeks ago, Brett had taken him to The Globe to see a production of Macbeth, and now as he stared at them, Danny thought of the three witches, and shuddered.

"You need to leave," he said. There was a sudden tension in the room, and the smiles on the women's faces seemed to sharpen. Danny's heart thudded in his chest. He suddenly felt that one wrong move on his part could lead to something altogether unpleasant.

Raising his hands, Danny forced a wide smile. "Hey. It's not like I'm not flattered but I'm gonna need my beauty sleep, or ain't nobody gonna like what they see in the morning."

There was a moment's silence, and then it was broken by another burst of giggles. Danny grimaced at the sound but smiled sweetly when the women turned to him.

"Goodnight, ladies."

Danny was certain for a moment that they wouldn't leave, but then - after a moment's whispering in a giggling huddle - the women turned as one to the door.

"Good night, darling!" they called, and almost as quickly as they had appeared they were gone, the door closing softly behind them.

"Now just what the hell was that all about?"

Danny hurried to draw the latch on the door and then leant against the back of it. He was now more certain than ever that his gut was right. Brett could mock him all he liked, but he knew what he'd seen. "Well, pal, we're getting out here, whatever you say. We're not having our arteries sucked dry!"

After putting his ear to the door and being certain no-one was in the hallway, he opened it, and hurrying down the dim passage rapped loudly on Brett's door.

"Wake up, Your Lordship! We're getting out of here!"

He rapped again. Nothing.

"You better not be naked or anything!" he warned, as he went to turn the door handle, "'cause I'm going in."

It was locked.

A sudden chill ran through Danny's body. Brett had been asleep when Danny had left him earlier that night, so who had locked the door?

"Brett? Brett!"

A trio of giggles erupted from the other side of the door. Danny paled in horror.

"Brett!"

…

"Brett!"

Brett Sinclair was having the most delightful dream - dressed in his cricket whites in the test grounds of Lord's, he had just hit a perfect six to take England to victory, and now he was basking in the acclaim of the roaring crowd - until somewhere in amongst them he heard an annoyingly recognisable voice.

"Brett!"

The Englishman ignored him, revelling in the glory of his win, but the cheers of the crowd fell away, until it was only Daniel's voice that reverberated in Brett's head.

"Brett! Brett!"

He woke up.

"Brett! Brett!" The shouting was accompanied by a relentless hammering on the door.

"For goodness sake, Daniel," Brett groaned, his eyes still closed, "this had better be an emergency; some of us are trying to sleep."

A giggle tickled Brett's ear.

A giggle?!

Brett shot up and opened his eyes. As he did so, he cried out and clasped the side of his neck at the sharp stinging sensation that had whipped across it.

"Did you bite him? Ooh, did you bite him? Does his blood taste sweet?"

Brett stared in shock at the three women by the side of his bed.

"Who are you? How dare you…?"

Brett's indignation came to a stuttering halt, as a sudden repulsion overwhelmed him. For as he watched, the woman closest to him grinned and then with a gleam in her eyes licked grotesquely at a small dribble of blood that coated her teeth.

"Mmm. Oh he does - he tastes delicious!"

Brett stared in horrified confusion, and then with a sickening realisation drew his hand away from his neck. It was smeared in blood.

"Dear God. Did you - bite me?"

There was another hideous trio of giggles, but above it Brett heard another voice.

"Brett! The door's locked! Brett!"

Without a second's hesitation, Brett threw himself from the bed, and leapt towards the door. But a sudden blow to his head made him stumble, and when he had regained his balance, the women were between him and the door.

He drew himself up. "I don't know who you are, and frankly I don't care. But I'm asking you to get out of my way. I've never hit a woman before, and I don't intend to now, but if you don't step aside I shall have to use force."

The women didn't move, and as Brett watched them it seemed to him that they hadn't heard a word he'd said. Instead their eyes flitted back and forth from his neck to his hand, and as they did so, their nostrils flared and their tongues flicked out, as if they were tasting the air.

Suddenly, and without warning, one of the women rushed towards him, her hands outstretched and her mouth gaping wide. With a cry of alarm, Brett pushed her away and to his shame did not restrain his strength, but she merely stumbled as if he had done nothing more than pat her on the back.

With a terrifying manically-gleeful screech, the other women sprang at him, and Brett hurled himself to the side, swiping out as he did so, so that one woman was pushed into another. Again, they did nothing more than stumble, and already all three were turning towards him, but it had given the Englishman a solitary second to act, and, with a desperate leap towards the door, he did so.

"Danny!"

He threw the latch back, and even as he did, he could feel their nails clutching at his clothing, but the door was open, and Danny was pulling him through, and they tumbled out into the hallway together.

"Follow me, follow me!" cried Danny, and they tore down the passageway, not daring to look back, and threw themselves into the American's room.

Without pausing, Danny slammed the door shut behind them, and drew the latch. But in the next instant, the latch had jumped in the lock as the door shuddered under a tremendous blow.

The two men looked desperately at one another, and then at the room.

"The chest of drawers!"

Without another word, they sprang together to one end of the heavy wooden furniture, and heaving, pushed it in front of the door. The door shook again, but it stayed closed as it rebounded off the chest, and a sudden angry scream of frustration pierced the air. There was another scream and another, and then abruptly there was silence. Danny and Brett remained still, frozen where they stood facing the door, their breaths coming in great, heaving gasps. There was nothing more for a moment, and then the silence was broken, but this time it was by the soft sound of footsteps moving further and further down the passageway, until they too fell away, and all was still and silent.

…

"I think - I think they've gone," gasped Danny, taking a deep breath and forcibly slowing down his breathing. He slid to the floor, and leant against the chest. When Brett didn't move, he patted the floor next to him, and tugged on Brett's trouser leg. "Come down here, Your Lordship. We need to get thinking about how we're getting out of here."

"Danny -"

"And you were right, of course, pal," continued the American, scratching idly at a blemish on the wooden floorboards. "We ain't nowhere near Bucharest. Sorry. But hey, I was right about us ending up as dessert, so I guess we're quits?"

Brett didn't respond.

"Your Lordship?"

There was still no response. Danny looked up.

"Brett!"

How hadn't he noticed the blood before? Danny scrambled up, and pulled at the hand which was pressed to Brett's neck. The Englishman resisted him.

"Let me look, pal."

Brett shook his head. "I - I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before, Danny. We wouldn't be in this mess if I had."

"Yeah, and if I could read a map we'd be a hundred miles away. Besides, who knew vampires were real?" Danny scoffed. "Not me. I was just jawing off back there, I didn't really believe any of it. Shows what a dum-dum I am. Now let me look."

Again, Brett shook his head. "Look, Danny. You need to get out of here."

Danny stared at him. "Now who's the dum-dum? That's we need to get out of here, pal."

Brett stepped back, angrily. "You're not listening to me, Daniel!"

"And you're not making any sense! Now would you let me have a look? How bad is it?" Danny attempted to peel back Brett's fingers. "Is it a cut? What did you cut it on? We'll need to wash it out and -"

"She bit me, Danny. Don't you understand? She bit me."

Danny stepped back, and lowered his hand. For a moment there was a deafening silence in the room.

"Are you sure?"

"Very." Brett looked at his friend. "Do you understand now? Do you understand why you need to get out of here?"

Danny didn't reply.

Brett laughed bitterly. "Oh come on, Danny. I've read the folklore too. Papers at Oxford. A snobbish step up from Hammer Horror I grant you, but it's all the same thing."

"Yeah? Well, so what?"

"So we both know what happens next."

"Which is what?"

Brett paced away, angrily. "Oh, stop playing the fool, Danny. You know very well. Of course you do." He suddenly turned away so that his face was hidden.

Danny considered Brett's words, a feeling of dread and despair settling in his stomach. Brett was right. Yes, Danny knew exactly what would happen next. He also knew it was irreversible, or so the lurid tales said. He stared at Brett - he was still turned away from him, but Danny didn't need to see his face to read him, he could do that through his friend's hunched shoulders and the hand clenched by his side. Danny nodded. Well, there was only one solution, of course. Any maybe it hadn't exactly been a life-plan of his, but let it never be said Danny Wilde couldn't roll with the punches.

Danny stepped up behind Brett. "Listen, Your Lordship. Okay, so you turn into a vampire." Brett flinched at the word, but Danny ignored him, instead he continued on as if nothing had happened. "And so maybe your diet will get you kicked out of the Ritz, and maybe you'll hang out with the bats in London Zoo a little too much, and maybe you'll live to be six hundred and fifty and grow grouchy and bad-tempered, but if you think for one minute that I'm gonna let you do all that alone, well you've got another thing coming."

Brett turned around and stared at him, his hand dropping away from his neck.

"Just what exactly are you saying, Danny?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "When are you gonna stop being a dum-dum?" He paused, and then he continued on with as nonchalant a shrug as he could muster: "We'll just have to sign me up too."

"You cannot be serious."

"Hey. I'm doing the world a favour, because if you think for one second I'm gonna let you mope around on your lonesome for the next century and a half making everyone's lives a misery, then you ain't as smart as I thought you were." He patted Brett on the arm. "I guess what I'm saying is we're in this together, pal."

Brett found himself at a loss for words.

Danny stepped towards him, "So, listen, we're gonna have to - "

He stopped mid-sentence. Instead, he screwed his eyes up in concentration, and stared intently at Brett's neck.

"Come here, pal."

He pulled Brett's head down, and moved closer. Suddenly, he began to laugh.

Brett pushed him away. "I don't see what's so funny, Daniel." He sniffed. "This is going to play absolute havoc with my social standing."

"Shut up, would you, Your Lordship, for one minute and listen?"

"I'm listening."

Danny laughed again. "It's not a bite mark, pal, it's a scratch."

Brett stared at him. "Are you certain!? Are you sure!?"

"No doubt. It's a long scratch, Brett, but it's still only a scratch. Maybe she went for the bite, but she didn't get the chance."

Brett nodded vigorously, recalling his encounter with the woman. "That's right, Danny. That's right! I woke up just as she was bent over me. I must have knocked her away, and she only grazed my skin instead!"

For a moment, the two men were speechless as the sudden and immense relief hit them, and then they were clapping one another on the back.

"Oh, thank God," gasped Brett, and he laughed again. He returned Danny's wide grin with one of his own. With one last sigh of relief, he sat on the floor and leaned against the chest. After a long moment, he sat back up, and straightened his tie, and adjusted his cuffs. It slightly aggrieved him that he'd slept in his clothes, for now they were horrendously creased, but he supposed it was preferable to running around in his pyjamas. He ran a hand through his hair, and satisfied that he was as presentable as he was going to be considering the circumstances, he took a fortifying breath. He was ready for action. He looked up just in time to see Danny smirking at his wardrobe ministrations, but Brett only rolled his eyes. He patted the space next to him. "Now, Daniel? You were saying something about getting out of here?"

…

Brett blinked. For a moment, he'd felt the soft temptation of sleep stealing over him, and with a tsk of self-recrimination, he shook himself together.

He looked at his watch. By his calculations it would be another two hours until dawn broke, and then they should be safe for another day.

He settled back against the chest, but once again he yawned. Ridiculous! He'd already had a couple of hours sleep as Danny stood watch. He was getting soft, or maybe it was the sleeping draught slowly filtering out of his system. Danny was certain his wine had been drugged. Either way, it was too risky to stay as he was, so standing up, he stretched and then careful not to wake Daniel who was fast sleep on the bed, he took a turn about the room. He paced the perimeter, but the soft lighting and warm air was too much, and he felt tempted more than once to lower himself into the deep-seated armchair by the window. The window! He hurried over to it, pulled the bolt back and closed his eyes against the bitter, night air. He was awake now, and stayed where he was, feeling for the first time that night refreshed and reinvigorated.

A sudden, odd noise startled him, and he looked above him in confusion. Nothing. He heard it again, and looked down. Dear God! His eyes widened in horror, and he drew a hand to his mouth, to muffle any sound of shock he might make.

Certain that his eyes must have been mistaken, Brett peered over the windowsill once again, and just as quickly he drew his head back, lest he be seen.

"Pal, close the window, would ya? Some of us are freezing in here."

Brett spun around and raised a frenzied finger to his lips. Danny frowned, but he didn't speak. Instead he slid quietly from the bed, and joined Brett at the window. He gave him a quizzical look. The Englishman pointed slowly beneath them.

For a moment, Danny couldn't see anything that would explain Brett's odd behaviour, and then just as suddenly his eyes caught a movement on the stone wall of the castle below.

He frowned in disbelief, and then the realisation of what he was seeing filled him with dread.

A man was crawling - was creeping - down the side of the turret. His limbs were stretched out in a horrible mockery of a lizard, and as he moved he lifted them one at a time with the delicate motions of a predatory spider. He was silent, but every so often his movements would cause the black cloak on his back to billow out, so that it flapped against the wind. He was crawling head first, but his clothes did not fall about him, and instead remained where they were as if some supernatural force were shadowing him. Down, down, down the castle walls he crawled until he was half way between the crashing sea below and the silent moon above. He paused, and then he seemed to curl into himself, tighter and tighter, until he became impossibly and horribly small, and then he disappeared altogether.

"Where did he go?" whispered Danny.

There was a sudden flutter, and a bat flew away from the castle walls and out into the darkness.

The two men stared after it.

"I think you have your answer," said Brett, dryly.

…

Neither of them slept anymore that night, and instead sat together against the chest. They had agreed that their best hope of escape was during the daylight hours, and that if they could make it to the road, they might be able to flag down some help. Failing that, they would keep on walking until they reached the nearest town. If they left early, it would give them a good few hours until once again they would be in danger.

"And it's not just the vampires," Brett had reminded Danny. "We'll have wolves to contend with too if we're still out in the open at night."

"A walking blood-bank for a vampire, or a chew toy for a wolf," Danny grimaced. "And my mother said I'd never amount to anything - shows what she knows."

They had fallen into silence then, with their ears strained at the door for the return of the women, and their eyes towards the window, for now they felt horribly exposed by its fragility and the terrifying truth that the Count could easily enter through it, if he so wished.

The hours seemed to pass torturously slowly, but at last the dawn broke through the night, and the bright early morning light shone through the window.

"This is it, Your Lordship. Up and at 'em."

Danny climbed to his feet, and offered a hand to Brett.

Brett took it and stood. "Good luck to the both of us, Daniel," he said.

"To the both of us, pal."

…

The two men walked quietly down the hallway, only stopping when they came to any open doorway - bracing themselves for the sudden appearance of the women as they passed them by. But no-one appeared from the gloomy rooms, and they continued on, undisturbed.

"This way, pal," and Danny motioned to the long staircase winding down to the floor below. Quickly, they ran down it, and again and again, until they had reached the ground floor. "Through here," Danny whispered again, and he led them down a passageway and yet another, until at last they were stood before the great castle door.

It was locked, but to their relief it was not with a key, but rather with iron bolts the width of a man's arm which ran across the top and bottom of the door.

"Piece of cake," smiled Brett, and they took a bolt each. His smile soon dropped away. "Daniel? I don't know if it's because I'm half famished, or if I'm simply not as strong as I thought, but I can't move it."

Daniel looked up from where he was attempting to pull back the bolt closer to the ground. His face was red and his voice strained, "Me either, kid. It won't budge."

"Perhaps both of us together?" And Danny stood up to help Brett, but try as they might, the bolt would not move.

"I don't think it's our puny muscles, buddy."

Brett chewed his lip. "If you're right, and I’m inclined to think you are, Daniel, then we're not getting out this way."

"A window?"

"Our next hope." Without another backward glance, they moved out together, but although the windows on the ground floor and the next two were numerous, they were all barred with great iron gratings.

It was now the afternoon, and the two men were horribly conscious that they were running out of time if they were to make their escape that day.

"I don't think we have a choice, Danny. I doubt the Count will leave us alone for a second night."

"Agreed. So we've gotta figure out how we're getting out of here, pal, because I'm not betting on our chances otherwise."

They were currently stood in the kitchen, and by mutual agreement had briefly scavenged the larder. It was practically empty, save for a large casket of red liquid that neither of them cared to study too closely, but they had found a small plate of cold chicken, and had washed it down with a cup of water from the tap.

"The way I see it," said Brett, as he paced around the kitchen table slowly, "the way I see it, is we have to approach this thing logically."

"I like it, Sherlock. Go on."

"Well, we've tried the door - and we can't get out that way. We're tried all the windows - and we can't get out that way. We've got no weapons - so we're not going to have much chance against the four of them, if they decide to come at us together."

"Is there a happy ending to this story, Your Highness?"

"I'm getting to it, Daniel. Now there is one exit that doesn't have any bolts or gratings across it."

"Where?"

"Your bedroom window."

Danny scoffed. "Would you be serious?"

"I am."

"We try and jump from there, Stanley, and we won't have to worry about vampires or wolves or rabid bats. We'll be splattered all over the rocks."

"Which is why," Brett continued, warming to his idea, "we'll climb."

"Climb?! We're not King Kong, you know. We can't climb down from there!"

"But of course we can, Danny. You know what these old castles are like - there's bound to be a ton of natural footholds. I really think we can do it."

"Fine."

Brett blinked. "I was expecting a somewhat stronger argument than that, Daniel."

The American shrugged. "We don't really have a choice. Besides, anything you think you can do I can do better."

Brett laughed.

…

"We're going to have to try and climb as far down the wall as we can, Danny, but when it comes to it, we'll have to jump.” Brett, from where he now stood by the bedroom window, leaned over the ledge and studied the drop. After a moment, he turned back to Danny. “The closer we are to the bottom, the better chance we have of not hurting ourselves - and, of course, a better chance at missing the rocks."

Danny nodded. “And not splattering ourselves all over them.”

The Englishman grimaced. “Yes, and not splattering ourselves all over them.”

“And if by some miracle we manage not to do just that?”

"Then we swim for the shore."

Danny nodded again. He had already pulled off his coat, and was now tightening the shoelaces on his boots. He looked up. "You should lose the tie and the jacket, Your Majesty."

Brett pouted, but he pulled them off all the same, and Danny smirked as he folded them neatly over the back of a chair. "I don't think they're gonna dry-clean them for ya, pal."

Brett scowled at him. "I happen to like that tie." He stepped over to the window. "Do you think we'll have enough time to get to the road?"

Danny joined him, and studied the sky. "I think so. Maybe. Well, let's do this, Your Lordship."

They nodded at one another, and shook hands. "See you on the other side, Daniel."

…

Danny watched as Brett swung his leg carefully over the edge of the windowsill, and finding his first foothold, lowered himself with his arms. The American waited a breath, and was about to follow him, when he paused, rolled his eyes and grabbed Brett's tie. He stuffed it into his pocket, and then, taking a deep breath, he followed him over the edge. He was relieved to discover that Brett had been correct, and that the potential footholds were numerous, but it was a terrifying thought that all that stood between him and a plummeting drop was his tenuous grip on a crumbling piece of stonework. He banished the thought from his mind, and continued on, concentrating on the placement of each foot. "Almost there, Danny-boy," he said as a mantra, foothold after foothold.

It was five minutes later that he felt the first drop of rain.

He heard Brett curse below him, but neither man stopped, but nor did they speed up for fear of slipping.

Another drop splashed on Danny's head, and then another and another, until the sky opened up and a relentless torrent of rain thundered down, soaking everything in its path.

Danny reached for his next handhold, and his heart leapt into his mouth, as his hand slipped on the now soaking-wet stone. He clung on desperately, and stopped until he was certain he had secured himself.

"Danny!"

"I'm okay! Don't worry!"

"No! Danny! Up! Up!"

Danny craned his neck as far back as he dared, and as he did so his eyes widened in fear, for crawling out over the windowsill they had descended from was the Count. How was that possible? Surely it was hours until dusk? But even as the thought whipped through Danny's head, he saw that the sky about them had darkened with the heavy rain clouds.

"Climb, Danny, climb!"

Danny began to move again, but hindered as he was by the slippery stone, his pace had slowed. Above him he could hear the Count scrambling towards him.

"Faster, Danny!"

And now he could hear the crashing of the waves below him, and wondered whether he should jump.

"Not yet, Danny! Not yet!"

Danny could hear Brett climbing beneath him, but he didn't dare look to see how far they still had to go.

He looked up instead, and then wished that he hadn't. The Count was gaining on him, and already he was close enough that Danny could see the hunger in his eyes, and the rage that twisted and warped his face.

"I shall feast on you first!" And the Count cackled, his eyes gleaming as he scurried rapidly down the wall. "But I shall be sure to only sip upon you, so that your fear and terror as I feed will make your blood all the more sweeter!"

"Danny, now! Jump!"

But it was too late. For even as Danny braced himself to plunge off the side of the wall, his outstretched arms were seized by the iron grip of the Count.

"Danny!"

Brett cried out as he saw the Count lunge at the American. For a moment, he thought Danny had managed to leap to safety, but he heard the Count's triumphant shout, and saw then that Danny was caught helplessly in the Count's hold, and he could only watch in horror as his friend was dragged back up the wall.

"Danny!"

With no clue how he could help his friend, Brett began to climb back up, desperately trying to catch up with the struggling figures in front of him. He was blinded by the rain, and he cursed the slippery stones, but on and on he climbed, his only proof that Danny was still alive being the desperate shouting he could hear above him.

Danny yelled again, and pulled wildly against the Count.

"You really want me to release you, peasant? From this height, you won't die. But you'll break your back, and you'll have to lie paralysed as the crabs feed upon you."

The Count screeched with laughter, and he scurried backwards again, dragging Danny up with him.

"Get off me! Get off -" His shouts cut off, as the Count - cursing his violent desperation to escape - suddenly stopped and drawing his hand back, seized Danny's head and slammed it against the wall.

But in that moment of distraction, Brett had reached them, and with a desperate yell, threw himself upon Danny's legs.

The Count snarled, but though he was strong, he was encumbered with Danny, and at the added weight he began to feel himself slip. Brett felt it too, and knowing that this was it - that this was their last chance - he flung himself back from the wall, dragging Danny and the Count down with him.

They fell - tumbling over and over - and Brett wondered if he would feel the slam of the rocks beneath, or if their death would be instantaneous, but suddenly all thoughts and breath were knocked from him, as he felt the sudden shock of icy water enveloping him, and with a gasp he was plunged into the freezing waters of the churning sea.

Coughing and spluttering, he rose to the surface, and heaved himself up.

"Danny! Danny!"

There! The coldness of the water had woken the dazed American, and Brett could see him desperately fighting the waves.

"Danny - hold on! I'm -"

Something pulled on his legs, and he was dragged beneath the water. He rose up again, choking and coughing, and as he did so, the Count came up with him, clutching at his arms.

"I cannot swim! Help me! I cannot swim!"

With a snarl, and the last of his strength, Brett lunged backwards out of the reach of the flailing man.

"Help me!"

Turning his back, Brett desperately swam for Danny, who even now was beginning to sink beneath the waves. He reached him, and pulled him up.

"I've got you, Danny!"

He turned them to the shore, and as he began to pull Danny back with him, they saw the Count heave himself once more above the crashing waves. "Help me! Help me! Have mercy!"

But even as he cried out, he was already sinking, and as they watched, the waters closed over his head, and he was gone.

…

With a groan, Brett heaved, pulling Danny up onto the black rocks of the castle foundations.

"Come on, Danny, we can't rest here," he gasped, "the waves will smash us onto the rocks. Come on, Danny! On your feet!"

Sick and dazed as he was, Danny nodded numbly, and allowed Brett to drag him up. Up and over the rocks they clambered, until they had left the rocky labyrinth behind and were up and out on a small dune of sand. Even then they did not rest, for Brett insisted they walked along it as far as they could, until at last he looked back and was satisfied that they had escaped the reach of the castle, and then with a great exclamation of relief, he pulled them down onto the sand.

It was only then they noticed that the rain had stopped, and the clouds had begun to part, so that as they lay there, the warmth of the sun shone down upon them.

"Well, we did it, Brett." Danny closed his eyes and drew his hand to cover them, and it was lovely, oh so lovely to be out of the castle's cold darkness. "Not that I ever doubted us," he added quickly, removing his hand and glancing across at the Englishman. He caught Brett’s raised eyebrow, and – in shared slight hysterical relief - they giggled.  

The two friends fell silent, each basking in the sun and the smell of the salt-tinged air, until with a reluctant sigh, Brett sat up. He looked back to where they’d come from. "You know, Daniel, it hardly seems real, any of it, especially now that we're out here and - all that -" and he waved his arms vaguely in the direction of the castle, "is back there."

"Yeah, I guess, but it sure feels real," mused Danny, and he grimaced.

"Good Lord, your head! Well, sit up, and let's have a look at it," insisted Brett, and he tutted as he inspected the nasty wound on the American's temple. "It looks pretty awful, but most head wounds do, so I can't really tell how bad it is. It would be as well to have it looked at, at any rate." He pursed his lips. "It's a shame we don't have any bandages, it could do with being covered up."

"Will this do?"

"Is that my tie?!"

Danny shrugged sheepishly. "Well, you did say you liked it."

"Well, I like it even better now. It'll be most useful," and Brett wrapped it tidily around Danny's head.

They were both silent for a moment, each caught up in their own thoughts.

"What day is it, Brett?" asked Danny, suddenly.

"Sunday – I think. Why?"

"I think we missed the opera, pal."

Brett laughed. "Can you believe it hasn't once crossed my mind over the last few hours? Anyway, I wouldn't much fancy the opera now," the Englishman continued, running the sand through his hand. "Besides, I can't imagine anything will reach the heights of the drama we've just been through."

Danny smirked, weakly. "Yeah, you're right there, Your Lordship."

Brett nudged him. "So, what now, Daniel?"

"I guess we walk back down the road. We're bound to come across someone."

Brett nodded, and brushing the sand off his damp clothes as much as he was able, stood up. "A sound plan. Well, the sooner we crack on the sooner we'll be sorted."

Danny reached up a fumbling hand. Heaving him to his feet, Brett stared anxiously into his face. "You are alright to walk, Danny, aren't you?"

"You couldn't stop me, pal." But then Danny put a hand out and clasped Brett's arm. "But just promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"We see any more iron gates or gargoyle door knockers or weird, ghoulish Counts, and we just keep walking, Your Lordship. Agreed?"

"Daniel, I couldn't have put it better myself."

The End

...