Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Harriet
That’ll teach me to ask questions about his abilities.
Even though I have so many more. Does he appear in mirrors?
Why does he seem to hate Renfields so much?
What is this debt we are supposedly cursed with?
And how good is his hearing? More specifically, can he hear my phone conversations?
I’ve taken to scraping a spoon on the tiles while I speak on the phone, just in case.
I didn’t train in finance, but I’ve backed InovaSpire’s CFO through enough quarterly panics that he owes me—and I’ve collected. I’ve also pulled in a few outside resources. Irina even contributed some research.
A business empire is just another data set. You tame it, then you bend it to your will.
I just have to finish getting this set up and then get the hell out of here, for all the obvious reasons, but also because people at InovaSpire are starting to freak out.
Alexandru has to let me work remotely.
He signed the contract, after all. And from what I can gather, he’s bound by it, somehow.
But I don’t have to be a psychic to predict that he’s not going to be happy when he finds out what he’s signed.
I’m going to need a way out of here right after I tell him—a taxi that actually drives all the way up to the door and takes me right to the Suceava International Airport for a flight to Heathrow, and then a connecting flight home.
I thought about asking Gregor for a ride out of here, even if just to the train station, but I can’t figure him out, honestly. He seems to be some sort of prisoner here, but he won’t talk about it, and he doesn’t want to leave—I asked him.
“Like, even if Alexandru said you could leave? You wouldn’t want to leave even then?” I’d pressed him at one point. This line of questioning only seemed to upset him. All he’d divulge was that he was once the gatekeeper in some sort of village.
So he’s preternaturally old, yet he eats food.
But he doesn’t like good food. He makes himself this weird gruel.
When we went down to the village to get supplies, I stopped at a bakery and bought us some amazing scones, and he refused to even try one.
Even though, when pressed, he admits he could eat such a thing.
Maybe it’s some sort of Stockholm syndrome… I don’t know. I’ve seen Alexandru having him do terrible, backbreaking chores. I’d love to be able to break him out of here, but I’m not going to do it against his will.
The tales of the special Renfield dungeon and the special Renfield cemetery did have me thinking about just making a run for it, but there is that pesky clause in the contract about him going after all of my relatives if I don’t fulfill my part of it, and I could see him carrying it out.
As much as he seems like a fixture of this castle, I don’t believe he’s confined here. It’s obvious he’s traveled; there are objects and artifacts throughout the rooms from all over Europe, even parts of Asia.
His accent tells me he spent real time in England. Who knows what he was doing there. Or maybe it was Saxony back then. How old is he, anyway?
I had always pictured vampires as cool, beautiful dolls with fangs, but there’s a raw heat to Alexandru.
I can picture him in battle, chain mail stretched over sweaty arms, muscles coiled as he swings some wicked, black-iron sword.
And whatever you do, best not ask the man if he snacks, because he eats the whole person in one meal like a lion.
Anyway, he could easily travel around Europe, killing Irina, Magda, and Stefan.
I don’t think he’s been to North America, or as he calls it, “the Americas,” which says everything I need to know. But I have no doubt he’s fully capable of plane travel, especially considering he won’t have to endure the embarrassment of pulling a coffin off a baggage carousel.
No, my plan can work. We signed a contract so I can manage his empire remotely.
It’ll be fine.