Into The Shadows, page 38
"Tell Aleera I'd like to speak to her please… I'll be in the East wing."
"Yes, master. I'll go tell her at once."
Jane excused herself and when she was gone, he turned to head toward the stairs that led into the main foyer of the fortress, his footsteps taking him to the more abandoned part of the castle, the Eastern Tower.
Although the news Hera had shared with him regarding the survival of his legacy had pacified his temper, he had not forgotten Aleera, nor her defiance of him. She needed to be punished for her disobedience, reminded of her place.
And she would be.
She'd never defy him or attempt to harm Hera again, he'd see to that. Hera may have proven herself to be a rare exception to his opinion of women, but Aleera, unfortunately, stood true to his prejudices, through and through.
After he was done with her, when Aleera – humiliated and sore – would trudge back to her chamber, none of his brides would dare lay a foul finger on Hera ever again.
But one thing was abundantly clear to Count Dracula's brides when they retired that morning in their shared chambers – their master's feelings for this human clearly ran far deeper than just mere fondness.
XXVI
Delving Into the Past
The Count was silent as he roamed the empty corridors, absentmindedly headed in the direction of Hera's bedroom.
What a night last evening had been.
He figured after all that had transpired, Aleera would remain virtually invisible for the next few days, keeping to her coffin chambers with her sisters as they all talked about what he had done.
Perhaps he had been too harsh?
Then again, Aleera had tested him far too many times and her showing Hera the journal had been the last push over the edge.
He wasn't the kind of man who would beat or sexually assault his brides; there were far worse things to do to them that required less guilt on his conscience and a handful of those methods didn't even require him to lift a finger.
Although he privately wished he didn't have to resort to any kind of violence or manipulation in order to enforce submission, with a still fairly young vampire like Aleera, sometimes it was the only way to keep her in line, reminding her of who was in command.
Yet, his conscience still nagged in the back of his mind –
What about Hera? it would ask. She's defied you at nearly every turn. She's openly argued with you, insulted you, struck you. Why do you stay your hand when it comes to the mortal?
These shoulder angel/devil moments of his always drove him silently mad. For centuries, he had been able to smother what he believed were his more antiquated moral sensibilities, to silence the guilt as he behaved how he willed – but ever since Hera had arrived, ignoring that little voice in the back of his mind had become more difficult.
It wasn't that he hadn't punished Hera for her misdeeds, because he had – when he had given her fair warning and though she may had been ignorant of the specifics, she knew there would be consequences. Count Dracula was not the kind of man to make idle threats.
That being said, the Count still couldn't quite grasp why he allowed this human more leniency than he did his own brides. He entered the woman's darkened bedroom, the last remnants of the sun slipping behind the horizon as he pulled up a chair and sat by her bed, his mind struggling to make sense of the present situation.
There was something about Miss Hera Garret that made him feel different.
It had become a challenge to act as he had grown accustomed to, to do and say what he willed to whomever, to take without thinking, to deceive and manipulate – at least to the degree that he had in the past. In a way he could not quite yet grasp, Hera made him want to be better, to be the kind of man a woman of her caliber deserved.
But why? his conscience demanded. Why do you care so much about this human? Why is she all you think about? She's a woman out of time. She doesn't even belong here. She could never love you, Vladislaus – not when she knows not only what you are, but who you are. Do not forget – you are incapable of loving that which you only intend to use. If you get emotionally involved, the plan will be ruined. You must maintain your distance.
All valid arguments aside, however, Dracula clearly could not keep away from her. Here he was, watching her as she slept because after the day he had endured with Aleera, his soul craved the nearness of this slumbering woman. Her very presence seemed to soothe the raging darkness in him. Even when they were in the throes of a heated argument, he felt strangely more at peace with Hera than he did anywhere or with anyone else – and the silent acknowledgement of this fact frightened him.
Hera suddenly stirred in her sleep, rolling over onto her side as she sank deeper within the linens of her bed, lost in the fantasyland of her dreams. A small, disturbed sigh escaped her before her breathing became soft and steady again, though a few creases of concern lingered on her brow.
She was dreaming, though of what he couldn't be certain. Eager for a reprieve from the mire of his own thoughts, he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him.
Just a peek. She'll never know, he thought to himself and he let his eyes flutter shut as his mind and body relaxed, and with the greatest of ease, he was able to slip into Hera's mind.
Dracula could only see flashes a first, blurred images that took some concentration on his part to make sense of, and when he did, what he beheld was strange.
He was sitting in an outlandish looking carriage without horses. Digging into Hera's mind a bit more he discovered this miraculous machine was a car, and he was in the backseat. It was late in the evening from the looks of it, and when he noticed the illuminated Palace of Westminster and the famous Elizabeth Tower which housed Big Ben, he realized where he was – London.
Why was Hera dreaming about this?
Dracula glanced over to see a small child of no more than four sitting beside him. She had beautiful honey suckled eyes and curly copper hair pulled back into a ponytail, her petite little body strapped into what he discovered was a car seat.
"Josh! I'm not going too fast, just shut up and let me drive!" the girl in the front snapped at the boy beside her. The girl reminded him a lot of Hera, only her hair was a darker auburn red, and her irises a dull shade of green. But she had the same shaped eyes, nose, and cheek bones – and despite her protestations, she was driving significantly faster than the other cars were.
"Athee! Where's daddy?" the little four year old girl seated beside the Count inquired. The teenage girl in the front adjusted the rear-view mirror to look behind her at the child.
"Daddy's still in the conference, Hera," the one called Athee explained. "He'll be home later tonight."
"Oh," four-year old Hera said softly.
Dracula looked over at the child beside him, realizing who she was. This was Hera? This must be a memory of hers, he assumed. The boy called Josh suddenly grabbed the wheel from Athee and the car swerved as another automobile zoomed past them, barely missing them by inches.
"Jesus Christ, Athena! Would you keep your eyes on the sodding road? You're gonna get us all killed!" he shouted at her.
Athee sent Josh a look that was borderline anger, but mostly it was untold despair. She didn't say anything. She just kept her eyes on the road as they drove over the Westminster Bridge. The Count could see tears streaming down Athee's face and it made him wonder.
"Are you sure you can drive?" Josh asked in a much more soothing voice, squeezing her shoulder affectionately.
Athee nodded, quickly brushing her tears away.
"I'll be fine," she insisted, her voice slightly broken.
Dracula watched as Josh took Athee's hand and he gave it a reassuring squeeze before bringing the hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles with the greatest amount of affection, concern radiating in his eyes.
"I trust you," he whispered softly.
Athee just smiled pitifully, more tears rushing down her cheeks as her attention returned to the road.
"Why do you put up with me, Josh?" she asked him.
"Because I love you," was his immediate and genuinely sincere answer.
Athee's smile broadened as her tears ran more freely and a small sob escaped her lips.
"Athee, why are you crying?" the young Hera asked her.
Athee just smiled, doing her best to control her emotions.
"I just miss mommy, hon. That's all," she said in a broken voice. "I just miss mum."
"Me too," said Hera thoughtfully, staring out at the window to her side, never noticing the Count sitting next to her.
The wheels in Dracula's head began to turn as he started to make connections. So this Athee was Hera's sister? He didn't know she had an older sister. And her mother had died too? He felt an uncharacteristic swell of compassion flood his veins as he saw the grown Hera he knew now sitting in the seat next to him, staring directly into his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
Before he could even utter a word of explanation, bright lights suddenly flooded the car and the sound of Athena and Josh screaming drowned out everything else.
Hera tried to cry out, but nothing came out of her mouth as Dracula, now observing from a distance, watched as a car drove head on into the one Hera was in. The image flashed abruptly to the totaled vehicle on the bridge, and there was blood and smoke everywhere. He didn't have to use his heightened senses to know that Josh and Athena hadn't survived the crash.
Unable to watch any longer as a team of medics pulled Hera's tiny body from the wreckage, nothing but a small scratch on her head from a piece of glass, he removed himself from her mind. Upon opening his eyes, he found himself back in the young woman's bedroom and the year was 1888.
Hera awoke shortly after he left her mind, and her hard and disapproving stare immediately burned a hole through his soul.
"I thought you said you weren't going to rummage through my mind anymore," she said, sitting up in her bed as she continued to keep eye contact with him.
"Who was she?" he asked, wanting clarification on the story.
"You said you weren't going to do that anymore! You lied!" she snapped, getting angry with him. "Come on, Count. After everything that happened last night? Seriously?"
But instead of getting agitated or defensive, he remained calm.
"I said I'd try. I didn't make any guarantees," he informed her. "Besides… had it been something else you were dreaming about, I wouldn't have persisted, however," and he got out of his chair and decided to sit on the edge of the mattress, the action taking her by surprise, "that was not a dream. That was a memory."
The mortal remained silent as she stared down at the bed. That was the second time Dracula had woken her up, and the second time he had been watching her dreams as she slept. Only this time, her dream wasn't humiliating… it was disheartening. She could feel the Count's long, icy fingers resting gently under her chin as he tried to lead her eyes back to his.
"Tell me," he said imploringly. "Please."
"Why do you even want to know?" she asked him in a petulant manner.
Dracula wanted to laugh. He had been asking himself the same question a lot lately. He leaned back a little.
"Well, I figured it would be fair, since you happened to read my journal just the other day and now know more about me than I would prefer," he mused. "In truth, now that I think of it, I know barely anything about you. Is it too much to ask for you to level the battlefield a little?"
Hera relaxed a little more at that, her frustration with him beginning to ebb as her expression softened.
"I suppose I can't say no to that, even if I wanted to," she commented and he patted her leg casually, hardly knowing why he did it, or where such familiarity came from, but if Hera had noticed it, she said nothing.
"Well, before I talk about the memory you saw, I need to explain something else first," she began. Dracula suddenly got off the bed and began to move about the room and she sent him a look. "Where are you going? I haven't even started yet."
"I'm getting some light into this room, unless you would prefer to sit in the dark," he explained, turning a switch and watching the dimly lit lights in the room illuminate to their full splendor before moving over to the windows and pulling back the drapes, allowing the sunset to flood the chamber. "You can still tell your story while I do this," he added.
"Right. Well, my parents met each other at Oxford. My father was finishing up his third or fourth doctorate degree, I can't remember, but it was in psychology, whereas my mother was working on a degree in forensic anthropology."
"That's an odd mix," Dracula mentioned as he returned to his seat on the bed.
"True. It was a shock to a lot of people that those two got together to begin with," she continued with a wry grin. "They were both interested in completely different fields of thought, but they had one thing in common that seemed to spark off the relationship — mythology and legends," and she sent him an inquiring look to make sure he was still following her. He nodded. "Well, the details are unimportant, but my father told me that my mother, her name was Catherine, that she was the greatest thing that ever happened to him. To make a long story short, they dated for five years…"
"Dated?"
"They courted… and eventually they were married. My father used to say that she was his greatest joy, his best friend… his whole life, really. No one loved or understood him quite like she did. Shortly after they were married, they had my sister, Athena."
"The Goddess of Wisdom," Dracula commented thoughtfully. "Minerva was the Roman counterpart, I believe?"
She nodded.
"As you know, Hera was also one of the Olympians. My middle name, Kali, is one of the Hindu goddesses."
"Yes, the Goddess of Death. I'm well acquainted with the name," and he smirked. "So you were named after the goddess of all the gods as well as the goddess of death," he mused. "I'm not sure if your parents have just a strange taste in names for children or a bewildering sense of humor."
Hera laughed.
"I know. My sister's middle name was Diana, after the Roman goddess of the moon. Even I'll admit, my parents were a tad bit obsessed."
"Athena Diana Garret," he thought aloud. "Not the middle name I would have chosen, although it's certainly better than using Diana's Grecian counterpart - Artemis. I think Hera Kali Garret has a better ring to it, however. Your parents gave you the more powerful name."
The young woman's cheeks flushed as her eyes diverted to her hands shyly.
"Yes. But my sister was one of a kind. Both she and I were special, as my father liked to call it. Athee had a particular love and understanding for music. She was a virtuoso, really. She wrote her first series of sonatas when she was six, her first symphony when she was only nine, an opera when she was twelve, and the year before she died, she wrote her fourth and last symphony… a tribute to my mother."
"How old was you sister when she passed?"
"Seventeen."
"So you come from a long line of geniuses and prodigies, I assume?"
Hera just smiled, a faraway look her eyes.
"Yes. We were quite the group. I learned to read and write when I was only two years old. Everyone my age hated me when I was a kid and I struggled when it came to making friends. I was socially awkward – painfully so – and I seemed to relate better to adults who were three or four times my age than my own generation, especially when I was a teenager. Per my mother's wishes, my father put me in music lessons after she and Athee passed away, though for a long time I preferred academics to music, in part because I had convinced myself by eight years old that I would never be as good as my older sister had been."
"I've heard you play, though. Your skill is most impressive."
"Thank you, but if Athena had lived, she would have been leaps and bounds ahead of me still, even though she had quit playing and composing altogether after her tribute to my mother was finished. My father and I would listen to the recordings of her compositions for her birthday – despite her youth, her music was full of depth and expression. She had a way with taking these notes and creating harmonies that were more like raw emotion. I think if she hadn't given up her music she would have been in a better state of mind that night. She'd still be alive."
"How did your mother die?"
"She died when I was three …" Hera explained. "Brain aneurysm. Her death was so sudden and the minor headaches she had been complaining about the days leading up never gave anyone any cause for alarm. Her death tore my family apart. My father, in an effort to cope with the loss, became hyper-rational for a while. We never saw him cry and Athena, being devastated, couldn't understand why my father insisted on carrying on as before. I remember her being so mad at him. The only time they talked was when they were fighting. She gave up music and school, started drinking, doing drugs – anything she could to numb the pain she was in, I guess. Her boyfriend, Josh, had been with her for years. He was the only one who saw and understood the Athena none of us were allowed to get close to. Josh stuck by her after my mother died, even when she went through her rebellious phase."
Hera smiled through her tears.
"They were so perfect for each other; even at such a young age I could understand just how lucky my sister was. I can still remember how I wanted to be just like Athee, to be as clever and beautiful, and how I wanted to have a boyfriend just like Josh – someone who'd stay during the hard times and refuse to leave, someone who could love me even when I didn't deserve it or when I couldn't love myself. But all of my relationships have turned out to be quite dreadful, though that's a conversation for another time…"
Hera quickly changed the subject back again, hoping Dracula wouldn't persist. Thankfully, he didn't.
"So, my mother died, and several months passed. The memory you saw was the night I lost my sister, barely a year later. After my mother died, if I wasn't with Athee or father, I was hysterical and belligerent to the point that I couldn't even be left with a nanny or babysitter. After several disastrous attempts to saddle me with some poor stranger, my father finally began to take me to different conferences and lectures, and it actually proved to be quite good for the both of us as we could be together and he discovered that I could soak in and retain what was being discussed with ease. If a conference ever ran late, he'd have Athena or our butler, François, take me home. The night of the accident, Athena had picked me up early. I was tired and wanted to go back to the hotel. She was just on the mend; healing, I suppose is what you could call it, from my mother's death. She and father had fought and she was already so distracted that evening and, as you saw, she drove into an oncoming car. Josh died first, immediately on impact. Athena died just moments after she was pulled out of the wreckage. All I can really remember was waking up in a hospital bed with my father sitting beside me. When I asked him where Athee was, he…"
