Crossroads.

Chapter 1

“I know who you are.”  A nun wearing a blue habit addressed the massive black wolf standing outside the iron wrought gates of the Convent. “I have studied the legends. I’m fully aware that I’m addressing Count Dracula.”  The wolf stood up, with its front paws on the gate, and howled. “The Sun is down. You don’t need to hide anymore.”  She continued, matter-of-factly. “Or are you too afraid to step from the shadows?”  She asked, jutting her chin out and raising her eyebrow. A sign that she was challenging him. The wolf growled and got down from the gate. The Nun went forth and pushed the Convent gates wide open. Out of nowhere, the wolf started behaving wildly. It stood up on his hind legs and swayed like a drunk man but fell down on all fours again, shaking it’s head side-to-side as if trying to get rid of flies flying around it’s head. All of a sudden, it keeled over on its side and there was no sign of movement. For a few moments, time stopped as the wolf lay dead and the nun standing a few feet away, looked at it with pity in her eyes. What happened next was nothing less than a heinous marvel.

Two blood smeared hands with sharp claw-like nails tore open the wolf’s belly. All the nuns, including Mother Superior, gasped and averted their eyes as their hands found the rosaries around their necks. Only Agatha kept looking with eagerness. A head, with dark hair stuck to it due to the gooeyness of the wolf’s innards emerged next. The torso followed the head, the arms contorting and the head hung at an unnatural angle. Slowly, the upper body straightened with the spine and a man stood up from the fur of the dead wolf, his tall muscular frame covered with the wolf’s blood glistening in the amber glow coming from the Convent’s braziers. He was a strikingly handsome man with a Roman nose and thick bushy black eyebrows. His face was hard and with sharp angles giving him a cruel yet sensual appearance. He smiled at the nun with his lush carmine lips stretched wide over his cotton white lupine teeth. “Now, this… This is not something you see everyday. A bride of Christ, who is fascinated with an undead aristocratic warlord of 400 years, a connoisseur of blood.”  The man said, with a smirk on his face. “Don’t give yourself such virtuous airs, Count Dracula. You are nothing but a mere bloodsucker who steals the lives of other innocents, simply to prolong his regal yet miserable existence.”  The Nun spoke up, her voice perfectly modulated. “And who may you be? A skeptical woman in a habit who had to resort to a Nosferatu’s ramblings of meeting an Aristocratic Vampyr to find God? Or, shall I say a nun who has managed to hide her bottled up obsession with everything dark and evil from the Mother Superior? A ‘woman’ beguiled by the legends of Count Dracula.”  The vampire replied, the smirk still evident on his face. They were standing at the gates of St. Mary’s Convent in Budapest on a chilly day in 1897. Strangely, none of them knew that this day was going to be written in red letters on the pages of history. “Regardless, I am not here to talk to you. Your nunnery has imprisoned something of mine. My bride.”  Dracula spoke. “So, why don’t you invite me in? I’ll take Jonathan with me and you’ll never hear from us again.”  He continued in a honeyed voice, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Hmm… It's a tempting offer but I’m afraid that as a nun, I’ll have to turn my back to it just like any other temptations. Though I will surely convey your love to your ‘bride’. I’m sure he’ll be happy to spare you the heartbreak by driving a stake through your heart.”  The Nun said with a wink.

The vampire was a little taken aback. “Who is this woman? Why does she think it wise to treat me with levity?”  He wondered to himself. He was brought out of his reverie by the loud chuckle of the Nun. “It’s funny, Count Dracula. You remind me of the stray dog who comes here sometimes. We often feed it scraps to help it survive the cold nights.”  She said with an impish twinkle in her eyes. With these words, she took out a knife from the pocket of her habit and without a thought, she pressed the blade down on her palm and swiped, leaving behind a deep slash dribbling blood. The vampire’s nostrils flared and he hissed like a feral cat caught off-guard. The nun smiled smugly and tossed the knife to where he was standing. Driven by his bloodlust, Dracula picked up the knife and started licking it slowly, deliberately with his long tongue. “Aww, who’s a good boy?”  The nun said, in a sweet mocking voice as if mocking the Count. The vampire licked the knife clean, his bloodlust sated for the time being. In a fit of pique, he threw the knife at the Nun’s feet.