Eternal Night

(I) Chapter 37: Calling His Bluff

It was one of Vladislaus' favorite pieces to play – Franz Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 – a technical nightmare musically speaking, and yet his fingers flew across the cool ivory with an inherent degree of elegance and delicacy that made the playing of it seem almost effortless.

Although momentarily engrossed in his own private concert, Dracula remained ever conscious of the hour. It was almost seven o'clock – just a few minutes more before Miss Chase was expected to arrive, but he was convinced she had not taken his invitation seriously. Which is why, despite the very slim possibility of her presence in his home this evening, the man showed no sign of anticipation, nor had he taken any additional efforts in making himself or his surroundings more presentable.

He was seated comfortably at his gorgeous Steinway grand on the far side of the room by the windows, dressed comfortably, though certainly not to impress; hair loosely pulled back just to keep it out of his face. His body absently swayed with the music as he played with a noted degree of ferocity, eyes utterly focused on his hands as he struck every white and black key with surgical precision.

The music, as it often did, pulled him in farther and deeper with every note and measure until the flat around him seemed to melt away. For a private moment of lilting ecstasy, he lost consciousness of place and time, to the point where he never did hear the lock of his front door click, the silent footfall of a familiar female entering his domain, the door shutting soundlessly behind her about two-thirds of the way through the number.

In retrospect, Dracula would realize that he should have noticed Francesca's sudden presence, for it was at that point in the song that a strange burst of fantastical energy had rushed through him – excitement, passion. Her company, combined with the intensity of the complicated composition, had him feeling for just a single moment strangely alive.

When the last notes were pounded out with dramatic gusto, the anticipated silence at the end of the piece was interrupted by the solo applause of his guest and Dracula turned his head around quickly to find Frankie emerging from the shadows of the entryway. Her expression was one of amusement – whether at his own surprise or in response to his performance he had no idea, but when she stopped about half way into the main room, her hands fell back to her sides.

"Well, I'm glad I took the trouble of dressing for a show," she announced as she slipped out of her coat, draping it over the back of the sofa at her side before turning to head into his kitchen.

Unlike him, she was dressed to perfection, donning an exquisitely tailored navy pencil dress, the heels of her black pumps clicking against the hardwood floor. He had turned to watch her momentarily, still astonished that she had arrived at all, but that surprise was short-lived as he became distracted by the way those mahogany waves bounced a little as she walked.

"Where do you keep the blood?" she called after removing a glass from his cupboard, the presumptive nature of her actions amusing him more than anything else.

Dracula returned his attention to the instrument before him, starting to play a Godowsky transcription of one of Chopin's Etudes after calling out, "There's an opened bottle already in the refrigerator. Help yourself."

"Would you like some?"

"I've fed already, thank you."

Although performing another monstrously complex and intricate piece again, Dracula's movements while playing seemed a bit more rigid than they had been previously, his back perfectly straight and face relatively expressionless as he attuned himself to the woman's movements. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she took a seat in one of the plush leather chairs near the piano, legs crossed one over the other before leaning back in order to get comfortable. Then she took a sip from her glass.