Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Harriet
We reach the very top of the stairway—how high up are we? Maybe five stories?
He pushes open an ornate oak door inlaid with silver filigree, leading me into the most breathtaking library I’ve ever seen.
Thick Persian carpets cover the floor, and a roaring fire casts dancing shadows on walls lined with bookshelves filled with volumes of every shape and color that spiral up a hundred feet.
Some of the spines glint with gold in the firelight.
It’s like one of those weirdly gorgeous libraries on Instagram that totally has to be fake.
Except this one is very real. I take a walk around, trailing my finger against ancient spines.
The organization of the library is absolutely immaculate: books arranged not just chronologically but in concentric circles of knowledge—mathematics flowing into astronomy, mythology into religion, poetry into philosophy—a physical manifestation of how ideas connect across centuries.
“You act as though you’ve never seen a proper collection before,” he says, watching me with those unnerving eyes. “Your father organized it for me, of course.”
I feel a strange pull as I take it all in—not just to the majestic space, but to the kind of mind that would assemble such a collection.
I hate myself for it, but I guess even monsters have their charms.
“Let’s just get this done,” I snap.
Alexandru moves to a box and withdraws a parchment, handing it over with strong, elegant fingers.
“This was the agreement between your father and me. You will copy it out onto a fresh scroll and modify it for our purposes. You will add a clause about setting your kin free in exchange for servitude. Their deaths en route to whatever medical facility they choose to visit, or deaths thereafter as a result of their wounds, will not alter the terms of this contract.”
“How can this be my father’s contract?” I point to the upper right corner of the aged paper. “The start date is 1921.”
“As I said, your father served me for over a century. Your father was very long-lived.”
“I met the man fifteen years ago. He didn’t look a day over forty.”
He shrugs. “He was born in 1893.”
I stiffen. “Did you do something to him to make him... like you?”
He doesn’t answer.
“What did you do to him?” I demand.
“It was your father’s fondest wish to stay by my side as long as he possibly could.”
“Not an answer.”
He gives me a hard look. “What’s more, he was respectful and deferential in his tone and manner, seeking always to please me. As you will learn to be.”
Don’t get your hopes up, I think.
Alexandru produces a blank scroll of bumpy, artisanal parchment paper that definitely belongs in a rustic farmhouse wedding. “You will copy the general framework, and we will make additions pertinent to our situation.”
“Don’t you think things would go better if you found somebody who actually wants this job? Why Renfields?”
“Renfields have a debt to pay.”
“What kind of debt?”
“The kind that curses a despicable family to centuries of penance, and even that will never be enough.”
There’s clearly a story there, but wheedling it out of him won’t free my siblings.
I sit at a sturdy old desk and smooth out the bumpy paper. “This was his desk?” I ask.
“Indeed.”
I select the least freakishly ancient quill and start copying the old contract in my best cursive:
Let it be known that on this day, in full awareness and sound mind, the undersigned shall enter into a binding agreement, sworn in ink and intent…
“Do you ever run into problems working in the modern world?” I ask as I scribe.
“If you have an actual modern business in this world, your things had to have been digitized at some point. Like, for instance, I would imagine Karsovian and Romanian tax documents have to be filed digitally. What if you have property in London or whatever?”
“Your father was not in the habit of bothering me with business minutiae.”
I copy out the next line, wondering if these vast businesses of his are imaginary, somehow. But what does it matter? My siblings are in a pit.
“Did he ever say anything about PDFs?”
“Ah, yes, the PDF. It did seem to bedevil Renfield at times. He would sometimes have to go down to the village to meet a boy who would use some manner of contraption to transform papers into this PDF entity required by various tax professionals and certain associates in Bucharest.”
“I’ll be bypassing the boy. I will be handling PDFs on my own for you. How does that sound? Why trust some random boy with your business documents?”
He shrugs. “Anyone who dares to defy me will pay the price. This is something that is quite widely known. I’ll have your father’s old room remade for a female.”
I nod, as if all this sounds reasonable. Years of managing Serena’s executive whims have taught me well, though the stakes were never as high as this.
He makes me write out all of the duties he expects. I work as quickly as I can.
He has me add a somewhat bonkers clause stipulating that if I break this contract, he will hunt and kill my siblings, as well as everybody else in my life who is dear to me.
It all seems so surreal. This place. This man—a literal vampire.
And I’m agreeing to some pretty big things. But what choice do I have?
I make a theatrical production of negotiating my compensation, informing him that I have family members back home who I support, which is certainly true.
I demand an allowance for Egyptian cotton sheets and Swedish furnishings.
Each trivial demand serves its purpose: distractions that make him feel like he’s winning while I quietly secure what actually matters—digitization of his holdings and the express stipulation that I work remotely.
I get to the tricky part. “I plan to use modern telecommunications to coordinate with your business partners—your bankers, vendors, renters, various regulatory and governmental entities. Do you have any objections to that?”
He settles himself into an elegant armchair. “As long as your methods are demonstrably superior to those that your father used.”
“They are. It is my vision to upgrade your operations to rival those of the business centers of Zürich, Frankfurt, and Luxembourg.”
Alexandru looks quite pleased at this. “If you’re capable of doing such a thing, you will put that in.”
I put it into the contract like a good little scribe.
“And of course this castle is very remote,” I say to him. “I assume you’ll insist that, since the castle is your center of operations, I shall also work remotely, as defined in modern business parlance.”
Alexandru’s perfect jawline tightens. Is he sensing a trick? He might be. Does he have some kind of vampiric lie detector ability? “Meaning what?” he asks.
“Remote work is an efficient way of using technology,” I say, restricting myself to truthful statements. “You will agree this castle is quite remote.”
His dark eyes flash with aristocratic disdain. He reminds me of a large, powerful jungle cat, annoyed by concerns he deems beneath him. “Of course, the castle is remote. A castle that’s not remote is worth very little.”
I nod, as if this is a perfectly coherent point. “So am I to understand that you’ll demand that I work remotely? With the castle as your center of operations?”
“Yes, my castle is the center of operations. Did we not just settle matters regarding your bedroom? Your home here?!”
“So you insist I work remotely?”
“I will accept nothing less. You will put that in.”
I school my features like he’s just won a great concession. I make some demands about a view from my bedroom window, copy the rest of the language, and it’s done.
He reads over the contract. “You forgot this last clause. The term of your service is your natural life or until you are unable to continue.”
I swallow. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice that I didn’t add that in. “My natural life’s a bit much. Could we start with ten years?”
“No, we will not start with ten years. You are my servant. You will handle my business and real estate holdings to the best of your abilities until you are no longer able. You will have seen to it by then that your line persists so that you will have a replacement ready for me, just as your father did.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying that part of servitude includes banging strange men on trains?”
“You will beget a new Renfield in whatever manner you deem expedient. But seeing to your own eventual replacement is non-negotiable, and failure to comply with this clause…”
“Yeah, yeah, tracking down and murdering me and everyone else and the horses they rode in on.”
Annoyance clouds Alexandru’s bold features. “There is no reason to kill the horses. The horses may live.” He waves a hand in the air, signifying the generous reprieve of horses.
I don’t love the idea of signing my name to a document containing this particular clause, which, let’s face it, isn’t too far off from promising my firstborn, but I’m keenly aware of my siblings in that pit while I sit here in library porn central.
By the time I’m unable to serve him, maybe a nice little AI robot named Renfield will be the manner “most expedient.” I imagine myself dressing the robot up in a little monocle and a top hat, just like Mr. Peanut.
I add a clause about letting my siblings out and immediately providing transportation and paying for said medical transport. As soon as I deem them safe, I will prepare to start my “remote” work, which will definitely not take place in a remote castle.
I slide the contract over to Alexandru, who reads the thing with meticulous attention, still as a mountain, dark eyes scanning each clause.
I’ll manage his holdings like a boss. I mean, sure, he’s a deranged psychopath vampire, and all, but I don’t sign a contract I don’t mean to uphold.
“You will find that this modernization affords you greater leverage over your dominion,” I say. “I have no doubt we can find ways to increase your wealth and power.”
He seems to like the sound of this. “You truly are the worthiest of the batch.”
And with that, the contract is done.
He signs his name and dates it the Euro way, with the day before the month, while I sign my name and date it the American way. He then produces an ornate silver seal from a desk drawer and presses it into a pool of melted red wax at the bottom of the document.
The imprint is some kind of serpentine creature. Medieval and extra, just like him.
“It is done,” he says with finality.