Dracula the Imperishable Ch. 02 - Luminita

"Are you trying to speak, drunkard?" Desponia asked. "It would seem so!" She pressed her crotch more firmly into his mouth, filling the barn with the drunkard's muffled cries.

Suddenly Desponia jumped to her feet.

"By the gods, this imbecile has just bitten me!"

"Yes, but where?" chided Dracula.

"Directly upon my ethereal twat! I am through with the play, Dracula. He's yours for the slaughter."

Dracula lifted his hand, and an invisible force jerked the drunkard off the floor and held him dangling limply in the air, then twisted his vertebrae apart, tearing cartilage with immense pressure as the drunkard was folded head to heel and dragged to merciless Dracula, whose mouth gaped with exposed fangs.

Desponia watched as Dracula drank deeply, dropping the drunkard's husk on the floor and wiping his mouth. Her eyes widened, pulsing shades of green and yellow as she panted, as her breasts heaved. And then she reached out as if to pluck something from the air.

"Did you not see it?" she asked, in a near state of trance. It was there for the briefest moment, then gone."

"I took his life; your drunkard is what's gone," said Dracula.

"Yes, but the escaping spirit. Is it?" she asked, turning toward Dracula, "Was it the Christian spirit?"

"The Christian spirit is a narrative. Nothing more."

"You saw nothing more than death? I grow weary of your existentialism. I saw a soul!"

"Perhaps you are mad."

"As if it would matter," said Desponia, "but now my thoughts are for my gypsy."

"To the carriage, then,"

Ehrlich jumped from the driver's box and held the door upon hearing his master's approach. And then he started his team for the Plough and Stars.

****

Desponia pushed open the tavern door and stood in the entry with Dracula. The hour was late, and the crowd had cleared save the gypsy, the tavern owner, and the gypsy's husband. He was a powerfully built man, and he gripped the gypsy arm as he shook like a rag doll.

"I'll teach a lesson you'll not soon forget, wench!"

He tore her peasant's blouse, and one of her breasts tumbled into view. Her eyes widened, the ends of her raven hair touching the floor as she pulled back, catching hold of his wrist and prying.

Seeing Dracula, the tavern's owner quickly exited through a service door.

"I know you not!" cried the gypsy at her husband. She shot a desperate glance at Desponia, "I know him not," she cried.

"Release her," said Dracula, stepping forward.

"Or what!?" shouted the husband.

"Or I will turn you into a donkey," said Desponia, stepping past Dracula and pinching the husband's face between her thumb and forefinger. "Have you not noticed an excess of wayward asses in this town? Would you become one?" She stared into his eyes and cursed him.

"I am a lost man," he muttered, stumbling out the tavern door and away to wander the twilight perimeters of hopeless confusion.

Luminita turned to thank Desponia. The goddess pressed her mouth against the gypsy's lips.

"I've brought you something," she said, reaching into the folds of her skirts and producing a string of pearls.

"What are they?" asked Luminita.

"These are called pearls," said Desponia, reaching around Luminita's neck to fix the clasp.

"They seem a thing of value."

"As I have said, they are pearls and far from ordinary. No other woman possesses such as these. They are from the White South Sea."

"I should be pleased then. But who was that evil man who had my arm a moment ago?"

"You have never known him. He no longer knows himself. Do you remember I promised you a castle? Well, now there is an adventure for the three of us."

"You and I, together with this man?" asked Luminita, looking at Dracula, then burying her pretty face in Desponia's bosom. "He frightens me. What is he? Why can I suddenly not remember my age?"

"You are eighteen years old, Luminita. The rest you will learn over time. Now, let us be gone from here; our carriage is waiting."

"I suppose so," she said, shyly touching the pearls. "Are they lovely?"

"They do you justice."

While traveling back to the castle, Luminita fell asleep with her head in Desponia's lap.

Ehrlich guided the team masterfully, knowing that dawn approached, and his master shunned the light of day. He raised a conch shell to his lips as they approached and signaled the gatehouse. The drawbridge came down, and the carriage rumbled over it.

The sun would soon rise.

Dracula walked quickly into the great hall, his heels echoing as he made for his chamber, down the corridor to the iron door, the bolt an Egyptian design from the pyramids. He rotated the cylinder of a windlass, lifting a block weighing multiple tons, then tied the windlass off and pulled the bolt. Once on the other side, he lowered the stone and began his descent to the mausoleum. He lifted a lid, swung himself to the interiors, then lay on his back while the undead sleep washed away his memories of the night.

Meanwhile, Desponia brought Luminita to the corridor leading to the grotto.

"I'll have the servants prepare food, Luminita, but first, I would have you bathe. Come." She took Luminita by the hand and led her down a slope, pushing a door open and smiling at Luminita in the wavering reflections.

"Come here and lift your arms."

Luminita raised her arms, and Desponia drew her blouse over her head. She caught Luminita's skirt and pushed it to her feet.

"Now, stand before me. You are lovely, but you tremble."

The goddess took Luminita to the pool, letting the mineral evanescence excite her skin.

Luminita embraced Desponia, whispering something in her ear.

****

Dracula fell more deeply into his slumber. Down he sank, gaining the place where no star could glimmer. He could only escape God's eyes by tumbling over the edge of the universe into the bowels of eternity. Here were the echoes of his once human heart. He, the outcast of all outcasts, the blood drinker, God's antagonist, had once been a cherished child and admired for his virtue, generosity, and health.

His perished wife: of all Romanians, had been fairest. His family wealth, of all Romani, was the deepest. Coins were made in his likeness. He was a man of titles: Vlad the Heroic, Vlad the Generous, Vlad the Devout, and finally, Vlad the Impaler.

He sank even more deeply, imprisoned in a mirror hall where silver panes reflected the ruins of his history, the plundering of an Egyptian tomb. Here was his wife's body, Iona, and her severed head. Here were his children, cyanotic in complexion. And now, Desponia descending from on high, girded for battle, riding alongside him at the head of a column. Every seed has its plan, as well as its maker. Finally, no seed was more diabolically designed than Dracula's.