Night of the Dragon's Blood



Prologue



Countess Borca was livid. It was bad enough that Nazi Germany had invaded her country. But tonight the Nazis were inside her castle, their jackboots defiling its centuries-old floors. In the spacious, medievally furnished main hall, several armed SS blackshirts stood about, keeping an eye on the pale, dark-haired, attractive Transylvanian lady, as she impatiently paced, slim and well-bosomed, in her red satin gown. To the Nazis' admiring eyes she looked about forty. They had to wonder how old, how ancient, she actually was, in that autumn of 1944, if the rumor was true about why they were ordered to secure Castle Borca.

Outside in the moonlit courtyard, a dark four-door sedan pulled up, a blackshirt behind the wheel. From the car's right rear door a pudgy SS officer emerged, his peaked cap knocked from his head by the door sill. Moments later the Countess stopped pacing and watched as the officer swaggered into the hall. He was an Obergruppenführer, the equivalent of general in the Schutzstaffel ranks. A Schütze (SS private) held the massive front door for him, the other men coming smartly to attention.

The Countess glowered as the officer walked over, a smug smile on his round porcine face. "Countess Borca," he said, politely removing his cap, which he checked nonchalantly for damage. "I am Obergruppenführer Dorsch of the Schutzstaffel. Do you speak German?"

"Yes," she said coldly. "May I ask why the SS has invaded my castle?"

"To protect you, dear lady. You must come to no harm." He gestured toward a nearby oak table. "Shall we sit down?"

She went along grudgingly. "I've searched all Transylvania for someone like you," said Dorsch, setting his cap on the table as they sat down across from each other. He produced a silver cigarette case from a pocket. "I had almost decided that you didn't exist."

Opening the case, he held it toward her to offer a cigarette. She declined with a slight shake of her head. She did not even look at the case.

"You do not smoke, Countess Borca?"

"No."

Leaning forward, he drew her attention to a mirror that was inside the case, and smiled. "No reflection on you," he said meaningfully.

Taken in, the Countess reacted violently, slapping the case out of the Nazi's hand, cigarettes flying in the air. They both rose to their feet in a huff. Then the Countess quickly regained her composure.

"I am sorry," she said calmly. "I do not like mirrors. Don't ask me why."

She turned and walked slowly toward an unlit fireplace.

"There is no need to ask," Dorsch said, his composure also regained. "You are a vampire."

"Who told you such nonsense?" she asked, stopping casually near the fireplace.

"The local peasants," he informed her. Leaving his cap on the table, he strolled over to her side. Two Schützes were busy gathering up his smokes. "But I had to be sure. The mirror is proof enough. I could freak you out with a crucifix, but that would be needlessly cruel."

He noticed that her eyes were on a leafy plant, about three feet high, that bore roselike red flowers. It stood between stone and wood carvings on the fireplace mantle. "A lovely plant," he said. "What is it called?"

"Dracaena," she said absently, her eyes still on the plant.

"Dracaena? I have never heard of it. Does it grow only here in Transylvania?"

She turned to him. She was in no mood for small talk. "Are you here to talk about plants?"

"Of course not," he smiled. "I am here for one purpose."

A Schütze handed Dorsch his refilled cigarette case. Dorsch looked again with a smile at the Countess's non-reflection in the mirror. "Now you see her, now you don't."

"What do you want of me?" she asked impatiently, as Dorsch repocketed the case.

"You must come with me, to Berlin."

"To Berlin? But why?"

"Because those are my orders."

She stared at him. He was smirking, but the smirk faded at the knowing look in her dark, haunting eyes. They both knew that the Third Reich's days were numbered--the end surely too near for Adolf Hitler's comfort--and the Countess could guess why this SS Schweinehund had been sent to find her.

"I will not go," she said with a defiantly raised chin.

"You will go," said the double-chinned Dorsch. He offered a kindly smile. "With your coffin, of course, for your daily repose. You don't want to leave home without it."

With a cagey look she slowly backed away from him, away from the fireplace, as if she was about to do something clever.

His smile faded. "Do not try the bat thing," he warned. "You cannot escape us."

Despite the warning, the Countess, to the wonder of all in the room, transformed, seemingly sucked out of sight in an instant, replaced immediately by a big black bat.

The bat flew toward an open door at the end of the hall. Dorsch shouted, "Close that door!" A Schütze closed it just in time and the bat turned away.

The creature winged toward two Schützes guarding the top of the stairway. They raised their weapons.

"Do not shoot!" yelled Dorsch. He knew vampires were reputedly immortal, yet he could just see himself handing a dead, lead-filled bat to the F�hrer.

The bat had already veered away. The Nazis watched the chiropteran fly in wide aimless circles overhead.

"It is useless, my Countess!" Dorsch called to her with amusement. "You might as well come to roost!"

The bat responded with a pass that was far from aimless. Perhaps she could not escape, but she could at least give her captor something to remember.

His men tried not to laugh as the Obergruppenführer pulled out a handkerchief to clean some of the batshit from his face.

"Another bat thing," he muttered.





Part One

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