iv. chapter four

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VLAD FOUND HIMSELF GROWING MORE AND MORE IRRITATED with every second that passed of his father attempting to assign him tutor after tutor. The newest attempt had been the Baron von Racalud, his father's old hunting partner. Well, Vlad soon made short work of that. After requesting that the tutor show him how to turn into smoke, Vlad then proceeded to hoover up the man's smoke - trapping Racalud inside the dusty old vacuum, despite his protests, and then shipping him back to Transylvania without a minute wasted.

How was Vlad supposed to focus on vampire training when all he could think about was the girl he had just been speaking to - and when all they wanted to teach him was to hate breathers? He made a mental note to look in the old vampiric history books for anything somewhat resembling the supernatural feelings he had towards Saffron. He felt too awkward to even consider speaking to her about it - what if it was only him who felt it? Or what if he was imagining things?

He decided to retreat to the sitting room, after he sent the tutor away, where his sister remained with their two guests, their father and Renfield. Renfield was still busy experimenting with different ingredients, disguised with the aim of helping Ingrid but Vlad knew better. His dad was encouraging the man to keep making stupid jokes at Ingrid's expense.

Before Vlad arrived, Saffron and Erin had shared an awkward conversation together. Saffron had sat down, her back against the bottom of the sofa, opposite the half-fang and the resting Ingrid - still clad in facial hair no thanks to Renfield.

"So..." murmured Saffron, hating the silence the room had been engulfed in. Her voice cut through it, immediately gaining the attention of everybody - except Renfield, who was always none the wiser. "How are you doing...?" She asked Erin, aware that they hadn't really spoken properly. From behind his newspaper, Saffron could hear The Count emit a faint tut at the werewolf. She chose to ignore it.

Erin shrugged defensively, "I'm fine... how are you?"

"I'm fine... too..." Saffron's voice wandered - suddenly regretting even starting the conversation. Her head turned to the sound of Ingrid suddenly groaning in exasperation.

"God, can you both be any more awkward?" croaked Ingrid, tired and groggy from her sickness and coughing before drifting off again.

"Sorry." Erin immediately apologised, shrinking in on herself as though feeling embarrassed.

Saffron shook her head, "So you'd rather sit in absolute silence?" Her question addressed the whole room - to which nobody responded. She scoffed quietly, finding the silent treatment a bit ridiculous - she would have even spoken to The Count if she had to.  She wracked her brain for conversation topics, "What A Levels are you doing? Or- were, I guess," She asked quietly, fully aware that, obviously, now they might not be able to do the same classes as they were doing in their past lives. "If you were doing any, that is," Saffron added, not wanting Erin to feel awkward if she had dropped education altogether or had done something different.

Erin faintly smiled at the random topic, "I was doing History, Politics, and Media Studies - and resitting Maths." She replied, remembering the last part suddenly. "What about you?" asked Erin. Ingrid had now fallen asleep again, fading in and out of consciousness as her skin grew more and more cracked.

"Religious Studies, History, and French," Saffron answered, somehow missing her college where she'd been studying them. She hoped she'd be able to continue studying them at this school - knowing it was also a sixth form - but she knew there was no guarantee. 

Erin's smile widened ever so slightly and she flashed a mock grimace. "I... er... always hated French," she said jokingly.

Saffron rolled her eyes in jest, "Everyone does." Erin lightheartedly laughed in response. The air between them became more friendly as they both got used to each other. Saffron was still mildly wary, due to Erin's earlier reaction at the accusation of there being a human in the residence - but she decided to ignore it, for now. "At least we'll both be in History! Hopefully..." She added at the end, hoping they'd be able to just continue the same as they were doing before.

The Count tutted in annoyance at their interaction, lifting his newspaper and peering over at his sleeping daughter. "Surely she's dust by now!" He complained before the door creaked open, Vlad entering after it. Saffron's eyes shot to his frame as he sauntered in, looking a bit fed up.

"Ah!" The Count stood, "How's Racalud? Is he teaching you some new moves?" He gestured wildly, only to be let down by his son's response.

"He's..." Vlad began, wondering how to phrase it, "gone back to Transylvania." The Count looked at his son blankly, who only continued, "An important package to attend to, apparently." His terrible lie made Saffron's eyes narrow in suspicion. The empty look on his father's face made Vlad panic to change the subject, and his mind darted towards his ill sister. "How's she doing?" He walked towards the couch where Erin and Saffron gathered near Ingrid.

Erin held her head in her hand, not knowing what to say to the boy without being the bearer of bad news, "She seems to be getting worse."

Saffron nodded gravely, picking at her fingernails awkwardly as Vlad lowered his head and tried to hide his disappointment. "I think it'd be better if we weren't all crowding around her, maybe. It's not gonna help her feel any better having us all hovering over her."

The comment made The Count kiss his teeth, "It's not us, she's always a moody excuse for a girl!" He announced. Vlad rolled his eyes and offered a grateful look to Saffron, thankful that somebody was actually trying to offer some sort of solution even though it wouldn't actually make Ingrid any better.

Ingrid's skin had crackled and turned intensely grey, causing concern for the three people in the room who actually cared about the vampire's wellbeing. Sure, Saffron had only just met her - and Ingrid did not seem to like her at all so far - but she felt sympathy for the older woman who only received taunt after taunt from her own father.

"Time for your medicine," announced Renfield, that same subtly wicked look in his eyes as he handed it off to Ingrid - who drank it willingly, desperate to just become better. "I promise this will sort out your facial hair problem!" 

Saffron could almost see it happening before it actually did, and it made her cringe inwardly as she saw The Count and Renfield cracking up whilst more facial hair grew on Ingrid Dracula's sick face. "Don't you think it's getting a bit old, now?" She asked Renfield, who only turned to The Count and started laughing again in response.

"Not at all!" cackled The Count, with not even an attempt to restrain himself.

Their laughter was cruel, and it made Vlad just about get to the end of his tether. "That's it! I've had enough of you torturing my sister!" Their laughter died down at his outburst, and thunder crackled as The Count stared down at his son - his mood ever-changing. 

"You're no fun!" His father declared.

"I have to go back to school," stated Vlad, "I'll see you both later," He spoke directly to Saffron and Erin, "You stay here and rest, I'll be back to check on Ingrid in an hour or so- and you!" He turned to Renfield with an aggravated tone, "Look after Ingrid! And the next potion you make, it better work." His voice lilted off at the end, his picked-up Welsh accent coming through more with his annoyance. "Or else."

Saffron lifted herself off of the ground where she had been sitting, and Erin followed suit. Renfield stood around, looking mildly embarrassed at the telling-off he'd just received but doing nothing about it once Vlad stormed off and left.

"Go on, then," said Saffron, brushing the lint off of her clothes as she stood. "The boy said to get on with it."

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Vlad admittedly wasn't one for paying the best attention in school, as evidenced by his constant doodles during his art class. Let's just say he was taking creative liberties. His current masterpiece in the works was a teddy bear with fangs, and Vlad had been intensely concentrated more on this doodle than the actual assigned idea for the artwork when a voice cut through the usual chatter of the room.

"Good afternoon," With a sigh, Vlad felt that sense of annoyance creep up on him as yet another part of his attempt at a normal life had been rudely interrupted by the supernatural. There, in the middle of the classroom, stood a young man who couldn't have been older than twenty-five- but Vlad could tell he was a lot older by the way he stood over him with that longing, admiring look in his eyes that almost all vampires seemed to have for him when they knew he was the prophesied vampiric leader. The man who spoke continued, "My name is Bertrand du Fortunesa."

For God's sake, thought Vlad.

Everyone in the room looked at this 'Bertrand', confused as to who he was and what he was doing there. Miss McCauley, the head teacher, took off her glasses to look at the guy, about to ask what he was doing, "Err... sorry, Bertrand...?"

"Bertrand," He corrected her, as she hadn't put the same accent into her pronunciation of his name. Then, in an instant and with the snap of Bertrand's fingers, the class had been frozen. Not a single one of them even breathed - they were frozen in time while Bertrand and Vladimir stared each other down.

"Ah, great," Vlad was exasperated, assuming 'Bertrand du Fortunesa' was another one of these tutors sent to try to correct him, "You're one of them. Look, I don't care what Dad's told you, I'm-"

"I never met your father."

His words shut Vlad up - leaving him momentarily dumbfounded. "But, he sent for you, though?"

Bertrand responded, "Nobody sent for me." He was unlocking his case with a look of determination as he looked upon Vladimir - "I came to find the Chosen One." Carefully placing his hands in his case, Bertrand gently pulled out a huge, old, leathery book that had skeletal fingers encasing the opening. "He who can open the Praedictum Impaver." 

Vlad's stomach flipped at the sight of it - what on Earth... What now?! 

"Vladimir Dracula," Bertrand continued, "It is my solemn duty and honour to present you with..." He approached Vlad and placed the malicious-looking book onto the boy's desk with dramatic flair, "...the Praedictum Impaver."

Vlad was having none of it, to be frank. "Right," he started, pointing with his pencil at this haggardly-looking book placed in front of him, "So, what does it do?"

Bertrand was lost for words, "I... don't really know."

Vlad nodded - wow. He sure loved having ambiguously threatening objects placed into his possession - especially when the giver had no idea what it was even capable of.

"I believe," Bertrand elaborated, "that when the Chosen One opens it, vampires will rule the world as we did in ancient times."

Scoffing, Vlad pushed it back towards this Bertrand bloke, "Right, well, I think that I'll just leave it shut." Vampires to rule the world? It almost made him want to laugh at how these vampires really thought he was going to enact some sort of vampiric supremacy onto the world.

Bertrand sighed, "You don't understand. Opening it is not a choice. It's your duty... That is if you are who you say you are."

"So, let me get this right. If I don't open it, then I'm not the Chosen One?" 

"You open it to prove your claim," Bertrand confirmed Vlad's thoughts to his bitter amusement.

"Got it." Vlad rolled his eyes before flashing away.

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"You can't give her more potions, you'll kill her!"

Renfield was about to pour another dubious concoction down Ingrid's throat when Erin called out in concern.

Saffron regarded how both Renfield and The Count turned towards the half-fang girl with cocked eyebrows and looks of unconcern toward the eldest Dracula child. "Wow," She stated at their silence, before sharing a look of disbelief with Erin. "There's no telling them is there," She muttered under her breath.

"The half-fang's right," announced Renfield, both he and The Count looming over the sickly Ingrid who still donned facial hair from the previous botched potions, "I don't think she can take any more."

With a gust of wind, Vlad sped in next to the couch where Ingrid was lying and sighed at the scene before him. Clearly, his sister wasn't getting any better.

"Pity, a great pity," muttered The Count to Renfield before side-eyeing his son who had just arrived. "Oh well, I suppose we better do what needs to be done."

"What do you mean?" perked up Vlad, his face blank at the revelation.

"This is a fairly common blood allergy," The Count suddenly announced, to everyone except Renfield's annoyance. "Like her, it's very painful and irritating! But, unlike her, it's easy to get rid of. Renfield, sort it out."

"You gotta be joking," Saffron let out as Renfield scurried away to get what was needed. "All of this palaver and you having him give her humiliating potions!" She accused The Count.

"There's a cure, of course," Vlad couldn't have been more annoyed, "There's been a cure, all along!"

The Count tried to soften the blow but really didn't care, "Transylvanian bat vomit. Does the job every time!"

"You're sick and wrong."

"And deranged," added Saffron in astonishment.

"Oh, thank you, Vladdy."

"You could've healed her all this time!" Saffron scoffed, now standing as she watched Renfield get the bat vomit. "Seriously, what is your issue?" 

"Now, there's been no harm done at all!" insisted The Count, seemingly finding it hilarious that his daughter had been there shrivelled up the entire time.

Renfield scooped the aforementioned bat vomit onto a spoon and into Ingrid's mouth - which immediately cured her. Her grey scaly skin was replaced with her usual pale clear skin, yet the facial hair remained to her disgust. Coughing, Ingrid came to her senses. "What did I ever do to you?" Slowly, she looked up at her father in contempt.

This riled up The Count who had no end to his complaints about her. "Gloated at my execution," he began, "Plotted to overthrow me, left me to die." His words were blunt yet did not cut Ingrid at all.

The Dracula girl merely hummed in acknowledgement, "Hmmm, that."

"Welcome back, daughter," sneered their father, "I loathe you as much as ever." Stalking off, he left her with these parting words before she demanded to Renfield that he get rid of the facial hair.

To everyone's surprise, the potion Renfield gave Ingrid actually rid her of the hair instead of making things worse. "It actually works," Ingrid said before Renfield informed her of the side effect: Drowsiness. This seemed to have an immediate effect on the girl as she passed out instantaneously.

"I-I promise, Master Vlad, when she wakes up she'll be on the road to recovery," Renfield snivelled under Vlad's murderous gaze.

"Mm, she better be," spat Vlad as the man hurried away. And then there were three. "I'm sorry you two have to witness that," He spoke to them, scratching the back of his neck, "My dad's affectionate side is pretty much nonexistent."

"It's fine," grimaced Erin who now stood alongside Saffron who hummed in agreement. 

Before any of them could speak any further, Bertrand du Fortunesa sped in with urgency. "Vladimir Dracula, neither of us can escape our destiny!"

Rolling his eyes whilst he scoffed and laughed in mocking of this man, Vlad sped away with the man as he gripped Vlad's shoulders.

The two girls were left alone, staring at the empty space before them. "Was that another one of those tutors?" wondered Saffron aloud, remarking how unserious Vlad took the man.

"Must've been..." trailed Erin.

Saffron awkwardly swung back and forth on her feet, not really sure of what to do now. Ingrid seemed to be a lot better and mainly just needed rest. Besides, she was feeling quite cooped up and needed to take a breather. "I'm going to go take a walk, I need some air," She told Erin, "Do you wanna come with me?"

Erin quickly shook her head no, "No, I'm alright, thanks. I'll just stay here and watch over Ingrid. You know, just in case."

"You sure?" asked Saffron, having a change of heart, she didn't wanna leave Erin by herself. "I can just stay with you-" 

"-No," interrupted Erin, "It's fine, really. I'm just not feeling up to it, don't let me stop you."

Nodding, Saffron bid her goodbye before leaving the sitting room - briefly wondering if it was wise to leave her alone but then shaking off the feeling. It was just being in a lair full of vampires that was freaking out her senses. 

She found herself wandering the Draculas' residence, taking note of each of its rooms, but careful to avoid those where she heard voices - not wanting to intrude on whatever was going on with Vlad and that man. Instead, her curiosity led her to peek into the halls of the school they lived above - Garside Grange.

This was where she was going to spend the foreseeable future - no more was there the long, yet enjoyable, journey to the nearest college to try and get the semblance of an education her father wanted for her. It wasn't the norm to make the pack's children do conventional education, but her father had wanted her to have somewhat of a normal teenage experience.

Too bad that was never her or her brother's fate. She now lived in the spider's web and was going to be attending sixth form alongside a newly turned vampire and the alleged vampiric messiah who just so happened to be her soulmate. Could life get any more complicated?

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"Are you quite finished with following me around yet?" Vlad complained as he sped into the training room where Bertrand followed behind incessantly with that wretched book.

Slamming it down onto the table, Bertrand refused to relent, "The book, Vlad. Open. The. Book."

Vlad shook his head indignantly and backed away, the sight of the book haunted him to no end. "No, I'm not touching it." He was scared to find out what would happen if he did, would his touch bring the end of all of humanity? 

Inadvertently, he led himself into a UV cage trap. Cursing himself mentally as the UV rays surrounded him, Vlad tried in vain to reach out but it was of no use. The UV ray stung him harshly and painfully.

"Like I said," Bertrand taunted, "You can't escape your destiny."

"Let me out," Vlad gritted his teeth and rubbed his sore fingers.

"Or what?" Bertrand asked, presenting to Vlad the lack of choice he had in the matter. Why should he let him out? "Come on, Dracula. What are you gonna do about it?" His voice had that condescending tone in it which made Vlad's blood almost boil.

"The Grand High Council won't stand for this," Vlad tried to reason, "I'm the Chosen One!"

"So you say," Bertrand's words grow more and more flippant, "You're not the first, you know."

What? "I thought there could only be one," insisted Vlad, confused at his accusation. Why would he lie about being something he didn't even want to be?

"Yeah, but there've been many pretenders," Bertrand nonchalantly glanced at his pocket watch as if their interaction was wasting his time. "How do I know that you're different?"

Stuttering, Vlad sought for a response. "Okay, I'm not the Chosen One," he played along, "Whatever. Who cares?" He certainly didn't.

"I do," stated Bertrand before revealing something that changed this situation entirely, "You see, the penalty for fraud is death. But if it's any consolation, I won't enjoy these executions."

"Executions?" Vlad's eyes narrowed as his mind ran a million miles per hour trying to understand.

"Yeah," Bertrand affirmed, so casually in a way that really pissed Vlad off, "Posing as the Chosen One means death for your entire family."

Vlad thought it all a bit mental - what sort of paradoxical situation was this? If he doesn't open that accursed book, then his family risks being accused of having lied about the prophecy - and then faces execution. But if he does open it, who knows what sort of things he condemns breathers and the rest of the world to.

"You touch them and I'll-"

"What?" Bertrand interrupted Vlad, silencing him, "What will you do?" 

Sighing, Vlad backed down as he realised that he wouldn't be able to do anything.

"That's what I thought." And that's when the bastard pulled out a huge wooden stake from his inside pocket.

"Leave my family alone," spat Vlad

"You can't care that much when you allow a werewolf into your lair. I don't know how you can even stand the smell."

"She is a guest, and she has nothing to do with this." Vlad's teeth gritted out his words, the mention of Saffron making him irrationally more defensive. 

"You're fraternising with our natural enemy. Just wait until the High Council hears of this, too. I'm not responsible for the deaths of your family, Vlad! You are."

Vlad could feel himself become angrier and angrier. He felt so livid it scared him. And so, the skeletal fingers that tightly bound the haggard book began to twitch under Vladimir's focused gaze - his power willing it to relent to him just a little. Just enough to prove something to this intruder that his family weren't liars. Just enough to save them all from facing the death penalty.

His eyes turned black as he siphoned power from the book. It made him feel drunk, his power surging through his veins and making him feel even more vengeful. Reaching out toward Bertrand, Vlad strained and destroyed the UV trap that encased him. 

His mind was blinded with rage at the thought of this man turning his family over to be killed by the Grand High Council. Forcing Bertrand to his knees, Vladimir looked upon him with contempt and bloodlust as he began to turn him into ash.

"No!" Bertrand almost pleaded, as his entire face slowly began to become ashen by Vladimir's power.

Vlad's thoughts swam and confounded him, and soon he realised what he was doing. It took all of his efforts to stop himself from killing this man, and Vlad stumbled away in shock at the power that had overwhelmed him. His power.

"What just happened?" He was mortified at himself, walking away and turning his back on the man.

"I had to force you to show your power." Bertrand sounded smug at his accomplishment. "Look what you have become! And this is just the beginning, one day you'll have power over all vampires!"

"Great! I'll start by getting rid of you." Vlad's voice distorted, wanting Bertrand out of his sight for what he had made him almost do.

Bertrand merely shrugged, "If you like. What will you do next time?" He egged him on, "You've got enemies, Vlad. The Slayers Guild want the Chosen One dead. So do half the High Council."

"I can look after myself!" insisted Vlad.

Bertrand didn't care, "Maybe you can. If that's all that matters to you." His words stung - the implication behind them making Vlad stop and reflect. "Good luck," He spoke, turning to leave.

Vlad was probably the worst person to be prophesied for this. This entire thing was the antithesis of who he wanted to be - he didn't want to have this burden, this terrible purpose placed upon him which almost everybody expected him to follow and bring about. But for the safety of his family, he at least had to keep up the charade that he was going to do all of these things.

Bertrand's footsteps were parting when Vlad spoke without hesitation, "Wait." Bertrand stopped. "What exactly is it you think you can teach me?" Vlad relented, accepting his fate, for now.

The way Bertrand turned and spoke with such confidence made Vlad worried but he gulped it down. "Everything. I've been preparing for four hundred years. With me as your tutor, you can force all vampires to do your bidding."

His words were sugary, attempting to sweeten up the young Chosen One.

"You can decide the destiny of all vampire kind."

Maybe this wouldn't be all bad. "And I'd still be able to do things my way, right?" Vlad asked, his gaze fixated on the other side of the room in thought - his voice far away. Who said that he couldn't use this training as a force of good? As in, not to destroy breathers and enforce vampiric supremacy. It would be better to reach his full potential and to be able to get other vampires to fall in line and be by his side - to be able to protect his family. He nearly turned Bertrand into ash. Vlad was scared of his true potential.

"Of course... It begins." 

"Yeah," turned Vlad, "I guess it does." Bertrand hadn't a clue what he was agreeing to, and Vlad felt a vague satisfaction in that.

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On his way back to the sitting room, Vlad came across the wandering Saffron. He hurried ahead alongside her, wanting to get out of Bertrand's way who also headed to discuss the training with Vlad's father. Vlad gently guided Saffron out of the way, the two of them down a separate hallway. He'd been dying to speak to her about it. "You would not believe what's just happened," He began to quietly explain everything once Bertrand had gone, how the bloke had brought some scary, ancient book and demanded Vlad to open it.

"What the hell," responded Saffron in a whisper-shout, "Are you gonna open it?"

"I don't want to!" exclaimed Vlad, "But I don't really have much choice. He's threatening everyone - my family, you. I'll just, err, I'll try to hold off on it as much as possible." Saffron nodded, ignoring the mention of her.

"All this over some tatty old book," She grimaced, "What does it even have in it? Sounds dodgy."

"No clue," Vlad shrugged, "Something about bringing about vampires controlling the world again like ancient times."

"Brilliant," breathed Saffron sarcastically with a roll of her eyes, "What a great idea! Can't wait for you to open it."

Vlad laughed, "Don't worry - fat chance of me letting that happen." He looked around anxiously, making sure no one was listening in, "I can decide the destiny of vampires, it's up to me to guide them." He said morosely.

The way he said it almost made Saffron shudder - the fact that this teenage boy the same age as her had the power to either doom the world or save it. One boy to command all vampires.

It freaked her out, a little, but she trusted his word. Her natural instincts would have her think he could never go against his nature like that. But there was something in his eyes, and in his soul, spoke to her and told her that he was good and he had a kind heart. Her own soul saw his and reached out and connected with it in a way that was indescribable - this sense of knowing, without rhyme or reason, that he was truthful and had nothing but good intentions.