(second half) by Sarah T.

"So," Caroline said nearly two hours later, looking at Lucard with eyes sparkling with mischief, "are you still hiding Klaus from me, or will you introduce us this time?"
           "My dear Caroline," he said urbanely, taking a sip of the Abstberg Riesling with which they were finishing their dinner, "I consider myself entirely justified in doing that. He would have fallen in love with you inside of five minutes, and then I would have had to destroy him. It was hard enough living with Klaus when he wasn't lovesick."
           The idea visibly pleased her. "Am I that dangerous, then?"
           "Without question," he smiled.
           "I suppose it's true," she said thoughtfully. "But you will let me meet him now?"
           "I'm afraid that's not possible."
           "You want to keep his attention all for yourself, even after this many years? I never realized you were so jealous, Alexander!" She laughed.
           "I'm not. As you should know. But Klaus is no longer with me."
           Her eyes widened. "Did you...did you...?"
           "No." He grimaced wryly. "In fact, he tried to kill me."
           She gasped with indignation. "The monster! How terribly ungrateful! I could claw his eyes out! Where is he?"
           "I don't know." He looked at her with amusement. "But I hope, for his sake, that it is not you who finds him."
           "If he crosses my path," she declared determinedly, "he will regret it."
           The image this statement evoked made him smile, even though he did not believe her for an instant. That had been the tone of the whole evening so far. Alexander had done what Caroline wanted, and so, while her good mood lasted at any rate, she would be her most enchanting self for him: it was a pattern he remembered perfectly. Well, if she was determined to be good company, he saw no reason to insist otherwise. The conversation had been inconsequential and delightful. She had given him a fantastically embroidered version of her recent life. At first, he had automatically picked out the obvious distortions and tried to come up with an approximation of the truth, but after a few minutes, he had decided to let himself enjoy the nonsense. What she had really been doing was not important. She had listened intently and sympathetically to a few carefully chosen stories of his own, exulting at his triumphs, clutching her hands together when she heard of dangers he had experienced. They had discussed common acquaintances, and he had chuckled to hear her deliver some outrageous but apt observation in the most innocent of tones while looking up slyly at him beneath her long lashes. He let her prattle on about art and music, flashes of genuine insight appearing amidst a wider flow of harmless generalities, as he admired the way she held her head and shoulders. It had been the first time in a long time that she truly reminded him of why he had brought her to him--even if it was only the pose of the moment.
           She had been so charming as she fluttered from topic to topic that he could almost will himself to forget the fact that had struck him unlooked-for and unbidden when they first took their seats at the table: she was the first woman to occupy that chair since Margo Burton. Quiet, elegant, gracious Margo, so different from the dazzling child seated across from him now. His darling Margo, whom he had sent to her death. He had not permitted himself to regret that choice. Had he been fool enough to let her husband live as he had promised, aware as Burton was of his true identity, the man would surely have exposed him. He had forsworn himself thousands of times in his life, of course, but when he made that particular promise he had actually meant to keep it, so deeply had Margo bewitched him. It was only after she had left that he could force himself to realize that he must not do it--and that he must not let anyone with such power over him continue to exist. Not even Margo.
           So both of them had died. He had not indulged in remorse. But he had felt himself grimmer since that fateful afternoon, and his few unoccupied hours (he had striven to make them as few as possible) had hung a little heavy on his hands. He had not expected it, but Caroline's beguiling chatter was something of a relief. He had made her, after all, because she had been the only thing that amused him during an extraordinarily tedious interval in his life. That evening she had almost succeeded in doing it again. Almost, he thought, suppressing the memory of haunted grey eyes and a dusky, pleading voice. <<"Maybe you're wrong?">>
           His silence had caught Caroline's attention, and she was looking at him with sudden seriousness. "Then you really are alone here now."
           "Yes," he said, recovering himself with some difficulty. "But you needn't worry that pretty little head about me, Caroline. I have never needed a companion."
           "No." Her voice quivered. "You've never needed anyone. You only make others need you."
           Lucard looked away. He had not needed Margo. He had killed her to prove it.
           "I think you may be the most heartless person I've ever known," she said melodramatically, mistaking his averted gaze and tightened mouth for signs of contempt. "I've never been able to understand how anyone could be so cruel, so cold."
           "Heartless?" he answered, trying to keep his tone light. "A most unfair charge, Caroline, since it was you who stole my heart from me."
           She held her chin high. "You shouldn't joke about such things. How long has it been since you even cared about a human woman?"
           "Perhaps...not as long as you think."
           "What does that mean?"
           "It means," he said, abruptly setting down his empty wineglass, "that dinner is over. As I have work to do, I am afraid I must leave you for the evening. Felix!" The zombie appeared noiselessly. "Show Miss Posonby to her rooms. Caroline, if you wish anything, you need only ring for it."
           "But Alexander--"
           "Good night, Caroline," he said evenly, over her protest. "Sleep well."

A few minutes later, he was back in his own rooms. Everything necessary for a quiet evening's work had been laid out by invisible hands while he was at dinner. But he did not touch the neat pile of faxes upon the low mahogany table in his outermost room, nor open the thick Andersson file that lay next to it for further perusal. Instead, he picked up the glass of Tokay and went to the French doors of the balcony. The heavy burgundy drapes had been tied back and the door left ajar to admit the fresh night air. He stepped out onto the balcony and leaned on the railing, admiring the view down into the valley. The full moon cast an icy gleam over the mountain peaks. The river ran in and out of shadow, glittering when it emerged, mysterious when it plunged again into darkness. The lights of houses twinkled in the hills along its line, as they had for so many centuries. The sky was a fine shade of deepest blue that only vampire eyes were sharp enough to distinguish from black. He remembered how he had once spent an entire night on this balcony, simply watching the subtle changes from hour to hour in the color of the heavens above. He had observed the beauty of the night thousands of times, but he never tired of it. And he possessed it for eternity. Nothing had the power to take it away from him, not time nor death nor mortal man. A few moments of sorrow could not be too high a price to pay for the splendor of it all...
           "Alexander?" Caroline's voice came from quite close behind him, interrupting his reverie.
           "Caroline," he said, turning around with exasperation, seizing her hand and leading her back into his room, where he opened the outer door, "you seem to be lost. Your rooms are in the white tower, as I distinctly recall reminding you. This is the black. To reach your rooms, you go down these stairs and turn left--"
           "Alexander, you're hurting me," she whispered, staring up at him with luminous eyes, but not trying to break his hold.
           He realized that he was, in fact, grasping her hand far more tightly than he'd intended. He grimaced and released her. "I'm sorry, Caroline."
           She looked down at her hand, on which an angry red mark had appeared, and rubbed it gently, saying nothing, though her chin trembled.
           "Do you need something?" he finally inquired.
           "I didn't mean to make you angry." She looked at him tremulously from beneath her lashes. "I only wanted...to ask you a question."
           He sighed silently. "Yes?"
           "That woman"--she took a deep breath--"did she hurt you?"
           "Yes." His tone was flat.
           "She did?"
           "Yes."
           "Do you know, then," she said softly, "that I'm terribly jealous of her?" She reached up to touch his face with her injured hand.
           He caught it, carefully this time, an inch away. "Don't be," he said brusquely. "She is dead."
           She looked the question, and he nodded expressionlessly, a single jerk of his head.
           Her eyes widened. "Does nothing make you sad, Alexander?" she asked in a tone full of wonder. "Nothing?"
           It was not worth the struggle. "All right, Caroline," he murmured, bringing the tips of her fingers to his cheek as he let the door shut again. "All right."

Lucard had not taken a day off from work within living memory, and although Ariadne had not so much as flinched the time that Klaus had teleported, completely enveloped in flames, into his office as she was in the middle of taking dictation, it sounded as if she was about to faint when he called her early the next morning and told her to reschedule his appointments. "In fact, why don't you take the day off yourself, Ariadne?" he concluded, chuckling to himself. "You sound a bit dazed."
           Caroline had come into the room as he was talking, and when he hung up, she demanded, "Ariadne? Who is that? Should I be jealous?"
           "My dear, you've met Ariadne. She's my secretary."
           "Oh, a professional woman!" She tossed her head scornfully. "Then I have nothing to worry about, even if she does have beautiful auburn hair."
           "Does she? I'd forgotten."
           She smiled brilliantly. "Liar."
           "Have you no faith in your own powers, Caroline? You have driven all thoughts of other women from my head."
           She laughed and kissed him, a little wistfully. "Do you know how long it's been since you've said anything nice to me and sounded as if you actually meant it?"
           "Let's see." He counted on his fingers. "Fifty, sixty, seventy..."
           "Oh, stop it." She playfully seized his hand, and he let her twine her own fingers around his. "What are we going to do today?"
           "Well, I'm afraid we haven't much time before George comes. I thought, perhaps, a picnic..."
           "Perfect!" she exclaimed. "I adore picnics. Of course, I'll need some clothes--"
           "My dear, this is not the eighteenth century any more. You do not have to dress as a shepherdess for every excursion into the countryside. I'm sure you will make a very fetching Phoebe in whatever you brought with you." As he saw the look of dismay on her face, he added, "However, I will go so far as a new hat. Dr. Varney would never forgive me if I let the sun dazzle those eyes."
           "Oh, dear Dr. Varney! It's true, he would scold you no end--and he would be right, of course. How is he, anyway?"
           "Oh, as critical as ever," Lucard said, not feeling like discussing the Paquette Springs incident, "but, fortunately for him, also as clever. Come, let's go find that hat."
           Lucard ended up buying himself a pair of sunglasses as he waited for Caroline to settle on her choice, and was glad he had them to slip on as they made their way down to the water's edge in one of the city's parks along the river. He normally spent the hours when the sun was brightest esconsced in the cool, dim, controlled environment of Lucard Industries, and his eyes had reminded him of this painfully as they'd set out. But once he had gotten used to the light, he relished the experience of being outdoors. It had been much too long since he had done anything like this. He had always refused to let his vampire nature restrict his life, and it was delicious to lie in the grass near a river on a sunny day watching a beautiful woman cooling her feet in the water. It had not been so delicious to try to eat the cake she had insisted on making herself, but Jane Linster had prepared all the other items tucked into the picnic hamper, so his suffering had not been too extreme. He sighed contentedly and put an arm behind his head, shutting his eyes and wondering if he might actually take a nap. This was folly, he knew, all folly, but surely, surely, it was a harmless indulgence. For the first time in several weeks, he felt as if he were enjoying life, and he had never seen the point of living forever if one were not to enjoy it to the fullest.
           "So," Caroline called back to him, "tell me about--George. What is his last name, anyway?"
           "He's never told me. He's used so many, I doubt that he knows."
           "Well, what is he like?"
           "If you are expecting Cary Grant, my dear, you will be disappointed. He is a very practical man--and none too handsome."
           "But surely a museum thief would have to love art. It's such a romantic profession."
           "He can't love it too much, or he would never be able to hand it over to his employers," Lucard said reasonably. "I could never have parted with that Rembrandt he just got for me from Boston--"
           As the conversation had progressed, Lucard had become aware of a rustling in some shrubbery a few feet away, too purposeful to have been caused by an animal. It had been getting closer and closer, finally stopping at the point nearest to them. In one swift motion, he rolled to his feet, darted to the bushes, and pulled Maximilian Townsend out from among the branches by one ear.
           "Hey!" the boy protested. "Let me go, Lucard!" He started to bring a cross out of a pocket of the vest he was wearing, but the vampire shook him sharply and he dropped it.
           "Maximilian, why can't you spend your leisure hours knocking baseballs through windows, like other little American boys?" Lucard's tone was smoothly menacing.
           Caroline had heard Max's cry and came up to them, a little breathless. "Who is this?"
           "I'm Max Townsend, fearless vampire hunter," Max said. "But do you know who this guy is?"
           Lucard rolled his eyes. "Of course she does, Maximilian. She's known me for two centuries."
           "She has?"
           "She has," Caroline confirmed, smiling.
           Max looked down and groaned, "Oh, man."
           "This is Helsing's little nephew, Alexander?"
           "Yes. As you can see, he's a terrible nuisance. A nuisance that ought to be abated." Lucard glowered at him.
           "Oh, you're so harsh, Alexander. He's adorable," she said, bending over and pinching his cheek as he squirmed. "I'm sure he only wanted some cake. Isn't that right, you sweet little creature?"
           "Um...right," Max said quickly.
           "Then I'll cut you some myself." She went over to where their food was spread out.
           Lucard sighed and put Max down. The boy looked at him in astonishment. The vampire met his glance frankly, as man to man, and said, "You'll understand someday when you're older, Maximilian."
           "If you say so," Max muttered, shaking his head.
           Caroline came back with a plate and handed it to him, smiling. " I hope you like it, Maximilian Maurice Townsend."
           "Well, run along now. And don't come back," Lucard said. He briefly considered warning him about the cake, but decided that it would serve him right to have to eat it. Max didn't wait for him to change his mind, taking off hastily but carrying the plate carefully.
           "Oh, I do love children," Caroline said.
           "So do I. That one would have been particularly tasty. Helsing blood is delicious."
           "You are so cruel, Alexander," she laughed, putting her arm around him.
           "Why, thank you," he said, looking into her face, which was shadowed charmingly by the brim of her hat, and finding that there were far more agreeable things in life to contemplate than Max Townsend.

The problem with folly, Lucard thought eight hours later, was that it was hard to escape from once it had stopped being agreeable. This particular folly might take weeks to disentangle himself from, and the pleasure had lasted less than a day. He pursued this bleak line of thought as he sat on a bench next to Caroline in General George S. Patton Park, which was a few blocks away from the museum. George was sitting on the other side of the woman, drinking perfectly vile-smelling coffee from a styrofoam cup and regaling her with stories of his past escapades as they waited.
           "...But what I didn't know is that they were having a processional that evening. I spent two hours sitting in a tree in the churchyard listening to them hold the Corpus Christi Mass beneath me and wondering if I would ever get out of there."
           Caroline laughed. "Oh, no!"
           "And the worst part was that the priest barely knew his plainsong. He kept stopping and having to start over. Not only was it frustrating, but it sounded dreadful, too!"
           "I don't know much about masses. We were always good members of the Church. But it sounds perfectly awful."
           "Believe me, my dear Caroline, it was."
           "Well, we'll do better tonight, won't we?"
           "Indeed we will," George said, taking another swig of coffee. "You know, Alexander, I hope you haven't donated anything particularly valuable to this museum. Its security systems haven't been updated since the sixties. It would be child's play for me even without such a charming assistant."
           He looked significantly at Caroline, who blushed and protested, "Oh, don't flatter me. I'm sure I'll only be in the way!"
           "You? Not at all," he demurred, and they shared a smile for a moment before Caroline broke off and glanced at Lucard, saying, "But now Alexander will tell you such awful stories about me. He thinks I'm always doing foolish things--he holds every little mistake against me."
           "I'm sure no one could be so unfair as to do that to you, Caroline," George said magnanimously.
           "Indeed, I cannot recall ever being unfair to you, Caroline," Lucard concurred dryly. He had no particular interest in telling George anything, as a matter of fact. He was fully engaged with telling himself that he ought to have known better. What else could he possibly have expected? Caroline had never been one to rest on her laurels very long. Her immediate pursuit of the very next man who'd come along was only predictable. Still, he valued himself as a prize a little higher, and somehow he had convinced himself that she would, too. She might have given him a day--but then she would have missed her chance at this conquest. That, of course, would never do.
           George glanced at his watch, threw the cup into the nearby trash can and stood up. "Well, here is your chance to prove him wrong if he has, Caroline. It's time to go."
           She got up eagerly. "Oh, this is so exciting! We never did anything as fun as this, Alexander."
           "Well, my dear, in those days you never had the clever idea of letting humans get hold of your jewelry," Lucard said, rising as well and offering her his arm.
           Caroline laughed. "You see, George? Alexander is so severe. He never forgives you the slightest misjudgment!"
           "Then, for your sake, we won't make any tonight. Come on." The three of them slipped into a little copse of trees, checking to make sure that they were unobserved, then flashed out in a shower of sparks. In another instant, they were standing in one of the museum's high, arched exhibit halls, the one that George had pointed out to them on the map earlier that day as containing the jewelry collection. The room was dusky and quiet. Portraits from the period hung on the walls in between the display cases. There was no sign of a guard.
           "So far, so good," George breathed. "This will just take a few minutes, if you'll help me find them, Caroline." He began examining the cases. Lucard looked at the paintings, recognizing more than a few people. The faces brought back many memories of those tiresome years he had spent in England, a refugee from the Revolution but so bored by the nation of shopkeepers he had fled to that he had nearly gone back over to France to take his chances. Even as he recalled that lost time, however, he did not fail to notice the intent way that Caroline was watching George. She herself would have been nothing more than a portrait on this wall by now if he had not taken her. He could easily imagine her, smiling coquettishly out of a heavy, gilded picture frame, but all her power for mischief gone forever...
           "Are these them, Caroline?" George finally asked, pointing.
           She hastened to his side. "Yes. Aren't they beautiful?"
           "Oh, I wouldn't know," he said, opening his bag.
           "George has very high standards, Caroline," Lucard said absently, drifting to one side, where he could see the passage that led into the hall more clearly. This was the most dangerous part of their little visit. "He must be being tactful."
           "Oh, these are lovely," Caroline said, looking across for a moment at a nearby case. "Alexander, come and look!"
           "Hm?" Lucard did not turn.
           "Just for a quick peek. There's no danger."
           "Only for a moment," Lucard consented, coming over with his eyes still fixed on the passageway and thus nearly bumping into the case. He turned and bent over it for an instant, then recoiled in pain.
           The case was filled with a dozen or more crucifixes, all refracting that terrible otherworldly radiance into his eyes. Dazzled, he threw up his arm to ward off their brilliance. "Caroline, that was not funny," he hissed.
           "Oh, no? I thought it was hilarious," said a voice, high, nasal, and gleeful, and suddenly Lucard was breathing in garlic powder. His throat burned, constricting painfully, and his stomach heaved. But even reeling in pain as he was, he recognized the voice. It was a voice he'd hoped never to hear again. "Nosferatu!"
           "Of course," the older vampire sneered, laughing unpleasantly. "You didn't really think you could kill me, did you, you annoying little brat?"
           Lucard blinked hard and stepped backwards. His vision swam with tiny sparks, but he could just make out the pallid, dark-haired vampire standing where George had seemed to be only a moment before, next to Caroline. He was wearing black jeans and a leather vest without a shirt. He had dropped his bag, which now lay by his feet, and as Lucard peered at him casually tossed the empty bottle of garlic powder on top of it. "I admit I had my hopes," Lucard gasped, half-strangled, trying to gain time. "How did you manage it?"
           "Power, Dracula, sheer power, of the kind a weakling like you will never have." Nosferatu came forward and seized him. Lucard tried to shake him off, but his muscles would not obey him. "Caroline, my dear, get the stake from the bag and finish him."
           "Finish him? But I thought...I thought we were just going to leave him for the police to find!" Caroline said unsteadily.
           "Slight change of plans. Do it!"
           Lucard heard the exchange distantly as he struggled to gain enough strength to teleport away. So this was the latest of Caroline's betrayals, he thought, coldly fitting it into place as the garlic seared his flesh. It hardly seemed possible, but he had managed to underestimate her again--probably, he thought, as he heard her rifling through the bag, for the last time. He took a grim amusement from the thought that he was apparently not the only one deceived in this matter, but that was not the irony he cared to end his life with.
           "But--but--darling, I never wanted to kill him! Just to pay him back for all his unkindness by humiliating him and making him give up this life! You said we could--"
           "We can discuss it later. Just do as I say--now!"
           It was hopeless, Lucard realized. He must have swallowed some of the garlic; the pain was getting worse instead of fading, and his power was ebbing away. He needed just a few minutes to recover, but they were minutes he would not have. He braced himself for the blow, holding his head up as best he could. He would die standing at least. To have survived so many things only to be brought down by a foolish woman--
           But the anticipated blow did not come. Instead, he heard a crash of glass, immediately followed by the sound of the museum's alarms. Startled, Nosferatu dropped Lucard's arms and looked back over his shoulder. "You stupid wench," he snarled, "what are you doing?"
           "The police will come now and find him," Caroline said quickly. Lucard's vision was clearing again, and he could see her flushed face. The case nearest her had been broken open. "That's good enough. Let's just go, darling."
           "You little--" Nosferatu stopped abruptly and turned around to reach for his bag, but Lucard was faster, flinging himself past him and landing almost on top of it. He fumbled through it, coming up with the stake and somehow wrapping his fingers around it. Nosferatu grabbed his shirt from behind, but he stabbed the stake backwards with both hands and the older vampire let him go. He got to his feet with difficulty, turning around to see Nosferatu standing a few feet away.
           "Well, the police will be here any minute," he said disgustedly. "It's a draw this time, Dracula, thanks to this idiot creation of yours. But next time--"
           "Why wait?" Lucard said, coming forward unsteadily with the stake. "I'm willing to wager I can dispatch you before the police arrive."
           "That garlic must have gone to your brain, Dracula. It's you who has the most to lose if we're found here. But it's your funeral." Nosferatu began circling him, hissing, making the occasional feint inward towards him, but Lucard fended him off with the stake. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Caroline standing with clasped hands, looking constantly back and forth between them. He could not keep this up long, he knew, but hopefully he would not have to...
           "Ah, monsieur Lucard, how nice to see you again. Do you happen to need any help with this fellow?" Captain Wolf inquired from the doorway to the room.
           "How kind of you to offer, captain. In fact, I could use your assistance." Lucard congratulated himself woozily on having had the good sense to apprise the captain of his evening's plans and arrange for him to make a personal response to any alarms from the museum that night--and on not having mentioned it to Caroline.
           Nosferatu looked back and forth between the two of them in disbelief. "This is the police?"
           "I have always found it helpful to cultivate good relations with the local authorities," Lucard said as Wolf bared his fangs and began moving in on the other vampire. Nosferatu raised a hand and hissed at him--and Lucard threw the stake into his chest. Nosferatu shrieked horribly as he dispersed into a greasy dark cloud which blew slowly away. Lucard could bear the pain no longer. As soon as he was certain his rival had been destroyed, he fell to his knees, dropping the stake with a clatter to the floor.
           "Are you all right?" Wolf asked.
           "I've...been better," Lucard said, so hoarsely he could barely understand himself. "I need to get back to the castle." He got to his feet again, swaying a little.
           "That's a good idea, especially since my men will be here in"--Wolf looked at his watch--"exactly one minute and forty-three seconds." He glanced over at Caroline, who had picked up the bag and was helping herself to the jewels from the case which she had shattered. "I'm afraid your friend here doesn't really have time for a proper shopping spree."
           Caroline hastily shoved the jewelry into the bag and turned to meet Lucard's blurred gaze, radiant with triumph. "It worked! I saved you!"
           "Yes, my dear Caroline, you did. Come here." He opened his arms.
           There had been just a touch of uncertainty in her eyes before, but it vanished as he smiled at her. She danced over to embrace him. "I was so afraid he was going to hurt you! It was the only thing I could think of to do! I thought he might kill me, too, for trying it, but I had to!"
           Lucard had caught Wolf's eyes over her shoulder and nodded at the stake. The police captain raised his eyebrows as he stooped to pick it up, and Lucard nodded again with a sudden savage impatience.
           "Yes, my love, it was very clever of you," Lucard said, holding her head against his shoulder.
           "Now you must forgive me for losing them to begin with!" she went on, a little smugly. "You have to--"
           Wolf struck home. She gasped and stiffened. Lucard held her for just an instant longer, until he felt her melt away. "Ah, Caroline," he murmured, "can you have known me for two centuries and failed to realize? The only thing I have to do is survive. "
           Wolf slipped the stake into his jacket, chuckling and shaking his head, then glanced at his watch again. "Thirty seconds, Dracula."
           "All right, captain," Lucard said, scooping up the bag. "Let's go."
           The two blinked out as the first policeman ran up the hallway.

"So," Lucard said, touching the necklace with the tip of his finger, "all things considered, I believe everything worked out well."
           Dr. Varney chuckled. "I'm glad to hear you taking such a bright view of the matter, my boy; it shows you're on the road to recovery."
           Lucard shifted uncomfortably. He was sitting wrapped in a down quilt in a chair in his bedroom, watching Varney pound something even more foul-smelling than "George's" coffee in a pestle on his breakfast table. His very bones still ached from the garlic, but at least he was sitting up now. "Well, I disposed of Nosferatu and of Caroline, two very long-standing problems, and I recovered some fine jewelry into the bargain. Not bad for an evening's work, even if I will taste garlic for a week."
           "It's too bad about George, though, wouldn't you say?" Varney scraped the paste from the bowl into a glass of fizzy liquid and handed the drink to Lucard.
           "Yes." Lucard sipped at the glass, making a wry face at the taste, which was at least as strong as the garlic's. It was inconvenient. The thief was probably dead. He would have to start cultivating his main rival. "It is."
           "And I must admit, I feel rather sorry for Caroline. Poor girl, she always did believe anyone who told her what she wanted to hear. She obviously got in far over her head with Nosferatu. He must have pretended to care about her and come up with the plan as a way for her to get vengeance on you. That dizzy-headed little creature probably didn't even know that you two were such enemies. It doesn't sound as if she intended to get you killed."
           "Oh, no doubt she would have made a touching figure of grief at my funeral, veiled in black and needing some handsome young gentleman to support her in her prostration," Lucard said grimly. "That, however, would not make me any less dead. But you don't fool me, doctor. What you regret is the loss of a patient."
           "Perhaps," Varney conceded. "All the same, don't you feel anything for her? You did know her for nearly two centuries."
           "My dear doctor Varney, I believe these modern psychiatric disciplines are finally clouding your judgment. Next you will be suggesting that I have a 'dysfunctional family'! No, I do not feel sorry for Caroline. It's a funny thing about me--I've never really appreciated betrayal properly."
           "True." Varney took a bottle of pills out of his bag and gave them to Lucard. "Two of these every four hours, my boy, and never mind how they taste. I don't care to lose another patient today. Waste not, want not, you know." Lucard nodded and dropped the bottle onto the table as Varney snapped up the bag and picked up his hat, continuing, "Well, as much as I've enjoyed our night together, Dracula, I do have other patients to see. Stay in bed today, no matter what the American markets do, and let Rebecca know if the symptoms worsen."
           "Very well." There was a brief crackle of electricity, and Varney was gone. Lucard got up and went for one of the decanters on the dressing table. After looking around to make sure Varney hadn't returned, he took a stiff drink of absinthe. Then he picked up the jewelry from the other table and went back out onto the balcony, leaning unsteadily on the railing and looking at his prizes. It was almost dawn, and the gold reflected the dim light into his unusually sensitive eyes, nearly blinding him. Still, they were beautiful things, all of them. It was almost a shame.
           <<Does nothing make you sad, Alexander? Nothing?>>
           "No," he said aloud, and let the jewelry slip from his fingers, down towards the river.

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