The Vampire from Transilvania

As the accumulator was being charged, I continued to wind myself up. At the moment when I wanted to climb the wall, I jumped up from the couch (from the despicable comfortable couch that was responsible for the fact that I would be taken to my homeland in the evening) and started pacing from corner to corner. How could I have got into that story? I could have passed by that Romanian. Why did I have to pretend to be Mother Teresa? Pictures of last night came to mind. A huge ice-cold man, sprawled on the floor in the living room, bleeding wound ... In the light of day, it looked very different. There was no trace of yesterday's incident: no blood on the floor, no mess I'd made, even the doormats were gone. And if Vlad had the energy to clean up, he wasn't going to give the god his soul yesterday. It's true what they say, fear takes molehills for mountains . ‘And I'm a fool for getting in trouble because of you.’ I said, feeling a little sorry for myself. ‘The battery's charged.’ I was taken by surprise by the owner's appearance, but the embarrassment I felt at the words I'd spoken out loud was immediately replaced by the realization that I was finally free! With no time to waste, I rushed into the hallway, pulled on my jacket, threw a scarf around my shoulders, and clumsily shoved my foot into the boot. ‘Well...’ I straightened up, not knowing what to say, and what could I say? It was nice to meet you... No, it wasn't nice at all. Vlad watched my fuss indifferently, leaning his shoulder against the wall - he clearly wasn't going to say anything. ‘Okay.’ My lips tightened, and I flew out the door, slamming it shut, cursing myself for the hundredth time for getting in trouble with a sullen, ungrateful jerk. The road stretched out before me in an endless line. How many times would I be knocked the living daylights once I was in Taliu? Nervous as I was, I unconsciously pressed the gas pedal and released it again, noticing that the speedometer was going over the limit. I was trying hard to be cautious and not break the speed limit. All that's left is to get into an accident. I didn't stop on the way to call my aunt. Partly because I didn't want to waste a minute of precious time, partly because I feared a hysterical phone call. Who, you might ask, would want to face the music. I was no exception. The desired turn to the village appeared in front of my eyes faster than I wanted – you can't escape fate. The courtyard was silent. Leaving the car, I flew over the threshold and opened the door with a jerk. ‘Aunt Tasha.’ I called, hearing my own voice tremble, and at the same time taking a couple of steps forward to look into the kitchen. In the middle of the room, at the large dining table, sat my aunt. Behind her stood uncle Grigor and the twins. There was nothing on the table but a computer turned on, from the screen of which was looking at me... my mom. Everyone stared at me. My heart finally stopped. I mean, it stopped. I could literally feel the color draining from my face under other people's gazes. ‘Alex.’ Mom broke the silence. ‘How are you doing? Is everything all right?’ I automatically nodded. ‘Thanks God, because I was already worried about Tasha's unexpected call. Tasha, what happened to your face? Tell me what's wrong, you're scaring me.’ Aunt Tasha took her dumbfounded look away from me and turned back to the screen. ‘You know, Ann, I missed you very much and I would like to see you. Maybe you'll come to us in the summer as a family?’ The question obviously took my mom by surprise. ‘What are you talking about? We talk almost every day, don't we?’ ‘It's not that. Come, Ann, please. Or we could visit you, if it's convenient.’ ‘Tash, of course you can come. Mike and I would be so happy to...’ The conversation was not long, and mostly aunt Tasha had to convince my mother time and again that nothing had happened, nobody was sick and my uncle was doing well at work. Finally, when mom calmed down a bit, they said goodbye and agreed to call each other the next day. All this time I stood still. The gears in my head were turning so slowly that it took me forever to realize that my mother didn't suspect my absence. ‘Alex.’ My aunt exhaled heavily, finally dropping the call. ‘You scared me to death.’ The sincerity of my aunt's words and her instantly reddened eyes made me feel the full measure of my own guilt. ‘Aunt Tash, forgive me, forgive me, please!’ I flew closer to her, squatting down and grabbing her hands. ‘I didn't think this would happen. Of course I'm an idiot, but I swear it never occurred to me that I might not make it home. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it.’ I kept babbling nonstop until someone, probably uncle Grigor, lifted me up by the shoulders and sat me down in a chair. After a cup of hot tea, I calmed down enough to describe my own misadventures in coherent sentences. I was slightly shaking with excitement and endless shame that my aunt had to cover for me in front of my mother. It turned out that uncle Grigor had persuaded his wife not to tell my mother about my disappearance and to wait until the next day, especially since the police wouldn't accept the report - I had been missing for less than a day. Having looked at the weather reports for the area where I’d gone the day before, my uncle suggested that I, being an inexperienced driver, must have got lost in the blizzard or stopped somewhere overnight to wait out harsh weather conditions. And my battery could have simply run out (which actually happened). To add to my embarrassment, it turned out that my uncle had driven to the castle last night, and then, looking for me,dropped to every gas station he could find, and had even stopped in Brasov on the way back, thinking I might be stuck in a hostel. I doubt my uncle is a connoisseur of tourist havens, which means he had to run around or look for information on the net, let alone ask someone for help. The hassle I caused made me want to groan desperately and wish the earth would swallow me up. All I could do was to recall over and over again the sad circumstances of my epic journey, which served at least some excuse for me. ‘Yes, Alex, we still have remote places.’ My uncle nodded at my explanations. ‘That was awesome, sist!’ One of the twins interjected, as the boys had been silent all this time. ‘What if that Vlad had turned out to be a maniac?’ ‘That's it.’ Aunt Tasha rose abruptly - her nerves were on edge, and, apparently, Kostin's suggestion was the last straw. ‘Alex,’ she turned to me in a tired voice. ‘I'm very glad you're all right.’ I was going to whimper again, begging for forgiveness, but my aunt guessed my intentions and didn't let me start. ‘We're not mad at you. It can happen to anyone. But now let's rest for a while, and afterward we'll make dinner.’ No one dared to argue. ‘She hasn't slept all night.’ Uncle Grigor said quietly when his wife left the room. I felt even worse. It's true what they say: hell is paved with good intentions. Feeling guilty, I held the twins before they slipped away and asked them to help me with dinner. The boys gladly agreed, making me promise to tell them the truth while they cooked. I was eager to make it up to them as soon as possible, and, taking their word not to tell their parents anything, I added a few colorful details to my adventures. Naturally, telling the same story to my aunt and uncle, I found it superfluous to say that the Romanian had passed out and I was carrying him on my back. And, of course, there was no question of any bloody traces on the floor and the wound, which I, as a "skilled" paramedic, decided to sew up with a thread and a needle. I think, after such details it would be time to go to pack a suitcase myself. The twins were wildly delighted with the new version of my story, retold in a low whisper while peeling potatoes. ‘You're lucky, huh. We spend our whole lives here and nothing happens to us.’ Yashka complained. I could only snort at such an unprecedented happiness, which stunned my head. Even now, listening to myself, it was hard to believe that everything had really happened. No, I'd better get it all out of my head... And drive exclusively on the main highways. *** The next day, I decided to stay with my aunt and help her with the chores, putting my itinerary on hold. At first she resisted, refusing help, but seeing that I was determined, she gave up. I was satisfied that I had insisted. And I was happy until about noon. After a pile of washed dishes, scrubbed floors, the domestic animals fed in the yard and laundry, my happiness waned, and I was almost ready to throw myself on aunt Tasha's neck with gratitude, when in the evening she insisted that I continued to admire the sights at my own pleasure. ‘I'll just ask you to leave us your detailed itinerary for the day. Just in case.’ I blushed, even though I could hear in my voice and see from the softened features that I'd been forgiven. Yeah, I'd made a mess. My next destination was Brasov. Its advantages were undeniable: close to home, crowded, no hope of losing touch. So I shared my plan without fear and with a solid hope of approval. My aunt was pleased and let me go for the day, reminding me that I could call at any time and for no reason. I took the hint, deciding that I would call back every three hours. The next day awaited me eagerly. A rooster crowed just below my window, as if urging me on. I didn't need any more coaxing; I darted into the bathroom before the boys were there. The whole family is at the table, we are concentrating on chewing, so as not to be late for school, for work, for the search of bloodthirsty monsters. ‘Alex, did you check the tank? Is it full?’ Asked uncle, chewing on a sausage. ‘Less than half, but I'll refuel first thing.’ I reported cheerfully. ‘Third gas station after the turn to the main highway. Right?’ My uncle insisted I fill up there. He nodded gravely. ‘Why don't you go with the others?’ Auntie suddenly suggested. ‘Grigor, will it be convenient for you to drop Alex to the center? You're going there?’ Having received an affirmative nod from me, aunt Tasha stared questioningly at her husband. ‘No problem.’ ‘Uh.’ I hadn't thought of such a prospect. ‘What time will you be back?’ ‘The working day ends at six, so I can pick you up in an hour and a half.’ ‘Or you could take the bus with us.’ Costin cut in. ‘Lessons end at half past two. We'll find you.’ ‘That's a little early. But after six...’ I pondered ’there should be enough time... But it would be more convenient with a car.’ ‘And I would be calm.’ Said aunt Tasha, tipping the scales in favor of a brisk walk in the fresh air. My conscience was still nibbling unpleasantly, and I was glad to oblige. ‘Sure.’ I smiled. Actually, while munching on my porridge, I came to the conclusion that a walk really wasn't such a bad idea, especially since most guidebooks talked about this way of getting to know the city center. Already sitting in the passenger seat of my uncle's car, I felt a rush of excitement again. I coudn’t be so lucky, if I wasn't to continue my search, and if so, it could mean the success of my enterprise. My insides quivered, and I looked up at the blue sign that said we were entering the city limits. *** Brasov is one of the most entertaining towns in Romania and has a lot to offer tourists. There was plenty of room to wander for lovers of classic European streets: the old Gothic quarters lured with their gloomy appearance, like ghosts frozen in time. Connoisseurs of antiquities could satisfy their curiosity by visiting the museums of history and ethnography. There was something to entertain art lovers as well. In addition to the museum, dedicated to everything beautiful, the city had a drama theater and an opera house. If this was not enough for the insatiable travelers, the town could offer festivities related to the Christmas holiday that was hanging in the air. Concerts, fairs, charity exhibitions, puppet shows - to name just a few events that I intended to attend if I had the chance, having scrutinized the town's website poster. First we took the twins to school - it was on the way - and then my uncle drove me away from the residential areas. The apartment buildings, not much different from the residential buildings in my hometown, were left behind. The buildings were slowly losing floors, bending lower and lower to the ground. The boring monotonous boxes were rapidly disappearing, revealing a view of Tampa Mountain, towering right above the old center. The traffic became denser, and I offered to drop me off at the curb. My uncle didn't argue - we both knew how long it would take to get out of traffic if he didn't take advantage of the roundabout looming on the horizon. It was just a short walk to the old center, and after a glance at my uncle's car, I threw my backpack on the shoulder and went to look for bridges and crossings to get to the colorful houses ahead. As I joined the line of tourists, I slowed down, starting to pace and stare stupidly around me. Everything was just as it looked in the photos, only a hundred times better. I walked down one of the wide streets to the city council square, accompanied by an honor guard of colorful buildings that stretched out in two slender lines. Everywhere, small wooden carriages sold hot drinks, whether it was the usual tea and coffee or the mulled wine popular in Europe in winter. Together with fresh, still warm pastries, the snack was delicious. I was already in the very center of the square, looking at the Town Hall - one of the town's main attractions, it had originally been a watchtower for archers. As time passed, the town grew around it, turning a military fortification into a public building. Small, three stories high, it enclosed the very same tower, now adorned with a clock. By the way, I’d already walked for two hours and, despite the morning mulled wine, my nose and hands were a little cold. After looking at the city's emblem - a crown, as if planted on a trunk with roots, I went farther. I found the gate of St. Catherine - the old entrance to the fortified center of Brasov, walked along the narrow street of Niti, where I could hardly squeeze through because of the abundance of people who wanted to enter, looked at all the cathedrals, fountains and monuments. I wandered around the old center until my toes finally froze. Despite the generally comfortable temperature of minus eleven for a resident of Anchorage, the persistent breeze, pulling from somewhere off the mountain, chilled my strong bones. Judging by the time – it was passed noon – and my immediate goal, I had two prospects: to go to a puppet show nearby or to go to a café. Lunch seemed preferable, but the crowds were occupying all the nearby establishments. I wondered how long it would take to find a seat and then wait for my order. Not that I was in a hurry, but I had an important event scheduled for tonight that I couldn't miss. And it was about an hour and a half away. The play had been chosen. Taking another mulled wine, I headed toward the lilac house here on the square. There, from my advance research, they were showing half-hour performances for a small fee. Not that I was a huge fan of such shows, more like a child's show and therefore boring, but my decision had at least two advantages: I could keep warm and rest my legs, and it would be good for me, a tourist with zero experience. You have to broaden your horizons along the way. Otherwise, what could I talk about with vampires, creatures who live incomparably longer than any ordinary human? Yeah, like about a puppet show, Alex. The inner voice said sarcastically. Shut up. The play didn't disappoint me. I can't say it was very interesting, but at least it was on the right topic. The story was about the bloody and terrible Vlad Tepes, who put stupid puppet-people to the stake, and then ate the beautiful maiden given to him by his father to save the village. ‘Yeah, right.’ I snorted to myself. ‘For his own skin. What kind of father would sacrifice his only child for the neighbors?’ As I warmed up, I kept glancing at my watch, realizing that I'd soon find myself in a much more entertaining place. At least, I hoped so. Being a fan of Twilight, and afterward of all vampire things, I knew all the right sites and forums. Not the ones full of silly fools who only knew how to praise Pattinson, discussing for the billionth time what hypnotic eyes and incredible cheekbones he had, but the ones where people were seriously concerned with the existence of vampires and the search for them. Of course, it was impossible to expect that everything written and said there was pure truth - there was plenty of nonsense everywhere, but still, sometimes interesting information came from there. Once, after chatting with lenka37 – one of the oldest and most respected residents of the forum – I learned that there were more serious-minded guys traveling the world in search of vampires. I wouldn't be surprised if this lenka37 was one of those. Asking about it head-on was stupid. A jerk would assure me that he was the most desperate Seeker, but a real Seeker would be more likely to make jokes and flip out. Acting incredibly cautiously, I asked more and more questions, hoping to find out at least something useful, and, to my incredible luck, I succeeded. Although lenka37 didn’t share the contacts of those I was interested in and didn’t confess herself, but still she told me some things. For example, that on the twenty-third day in Brasov near the Black Church there will be a gathering of Seekers. The more I tried to learn about them, the more I realized that this group was not for everyone. Every time I tried to find out more, it was like running into a wall. The site or page is closed and no one is in a hurry to accept you there (in fact, often no one just respond), and if I get a reply message, it contains only one word: password. How much frustration I've experienced seeing that stupid word. However, it just couldn't help but strengthen my confidence that the Seekers were real, and they would surely be able to answer my questions, and then ... Burning with excitement, I was literally rushing to the right address. The Black Church, not far from my destination, lived up to its name. It got dark early in the winter; the sun was already behind the mountain, plunging the old part of the city into misty gloom. The Gothic bastion-like walls looked ominous. I raced past the church and the monument to Johannes Honterus, noting in passing that the Lutheran reformer's surname sounded similar to the English word ‘hunter’. Not that my knowledge of the language was very deep, but I knew all the strategically important words. One of the staircases of the unremarkable dirty yellow house went down to the basement floor (exactly as described by my Internet acquaintance). Before stepping down, I looked around: nothing special - the same tourists all around. There were far fewer of them here than in the main square, but like everywhere else, people were engrossed in snapshots and guidebooks. No one paid any attention to me. I ducked into the staircase and in a couple of seconds I found myself in front of a dark brown door with a worn copper number 63. Nestling against the door, I listened - silence. My heart was pounding excitedly in my chest, and to calm down, I decided to check the address again. I opened lenka37's message: ‘...number 63. Knock six times.’ My eye slid lower. ‘What if they ask for the password?’ ‘Right question:) Reread Stoker. Reread it carefully.’ After our conversation, after thinking it over and over, I realized that the password would indeed be asked. And it is probably contained in the book. Alas, my interlocutor was unwilling to speak directly, or maybe it changed and she herself didn't know it exactly, but if every time it was a detail from the book, you could easily find the answer. There was nothing new in this approach. Being true Twilight fans, we  – fans – knew the books by heart and sometimes dabbled in passwords too. It was more for atmosphere, but it was fun. Staring at the door, I gathered my wits. Would I have ended up here if I hadn't mentioned in conversation with an essentially random person that I was going to Transylvania to do some searching on my own? I'd probably be driving around everywhere, but I never would have realized that one of the places I needed was right under my nose. Thank you, lenka37. ‘Hey, hello?’ From surprise I even flinched and bounced to the side. Behind stood a guy taller than me, dressed in dark jeans and a long gray coat. A white scarf dangled carelessly around his neck. There was no hat, so I didn't have to worry about his neatly styled, overgrown hair. If I'd been walking around like this, I'd have been home with a fever a long time ago. ‘Are you going to come in, or shall we stand around and stare?’ His dark brown eyes were beaming with amusement. At me. ‘Oh, yeah, sure. I'm sorry.’ I finally remembered and turned back to the door, banging on it again. After knocking three times, I suddenly remembered the right signal and hurriedly added three more knocks. I must have looked like a fool or a moron. I didn't have time to feel bad about it. The door swung open. A dark silhouette appeared in front; another guy, apparently. The dim light from somewhere down the corridor obscured any of the sentry's features. I couldn't even make out what he was wearing. ‘We don't need proof.’ The shadow said after a pause. Here it is! The part of the password I need to know the answer to! ‘We're not asking anyone to believe us.’ I said next, trying to control my agitated voice. Thank goodness those words were at the very end of the story, and I certainly paid special attention to them, thinking that password phrases should be symbolic. The door opened a little wider. The man hiding in the shadows stepped aside. The excitement made me dizzy. At last! I exulted, rejoicing in my first real victory in my chosen field. ‘Watch out!’ He called rudely when my first step outside the gates of paradise almost ended in a fiasco. I'd forgotten to watch my step, and caught my nose on the high threshold. ‘There.’ The sentry at the door grumbled, closing the door behind us. ‘Thank you.’ I thanked my unexpected savior. I was easily picked up and returned to my place a moment before the stone slabs of the floor met my face. ‘Always happy to help.’ he smiled broadly and held out his hand to me.  ‘Etienne.’ ‘Alex.’ ‘Nice to meet you.’ ‘Likewise.’ I said, feeling awkward. ‘First time at the meeting?’ ‘I think it's obvious.’ I summarized the fact of my own clumsiness. ‘And you?’ ‘Sometimes, if I'm around.’ He winked at me, turning his back. That explained why I was the only one asked for the password. Etienne walked down the corridor first, for which I was immensely grateful. In the twilight of the passage, I could barely make out the outlines of the doors, and that was only when I was in line with them. Where exactly we were going, I had no idea. But that didn't stop me from taking a closer look at my companion. Etienne looked older than me - he should be in his last year of uni. ‘Are you French?’ I ventured to ask, hoping that my new acquaintance would find nothing offensive in the question. ‘Half. My father was Spanish.’ ‘You speak English so well.’ ‘Yes... There was a time when I was traveling the US. That's how I learned the language.’ He must have traveled a lot - you could hardly pick up the accent. Maybe I wouldn't have heard anything if he'd met me in a café back home being introduced as Tom. ‘How did you know I was American?’ Etienne's face showed a slightly puzzled expression. ‘You addressed me in English.’ ‘Oh, there, on the steps.’ I nodded affirmatively. ‘It's easy when you have a little experience. And,’ he glanced at me, ‘the flag on your hat. ’A condescending smile tugged at his lips. I felt a little embarrassed of myself. ‘What language do the Seekers speak?’ I jerked my chin forward, pointing down the passage we'd been walking down for a couple minutes. ‘Different ones. But since we're in Brasov, it's mostly Romanian. Don't worry.’ Etienne encouraged me, noticing a shallow wrinkle just above the bridge of my nose - I didn't know Romanian - ‘a lot of people speak English, and I'm sure we'll meet at least a couple of your compatriots.’ I couldn't say that I felt much better, but I had already met at least one of the Seekers: who else could Etienne be? I didn't dare to ask directly, planning to put my curiosity on hold if I didn't figure it out sooner. I was about to ask how far we had to go when Etienne stopped at one of the doors, the music throbbing in a low bass. ‘Welcome.’ Said the Frenchman swinging the door open for me. I was pushed forward and found myself in a spacious room with overhanging ceilings. The subdued light was brighter than in the hallway, diluted by spotlights; bright red and white bulbs. The low murmur of the few guests mingled with the muffled thumping of music –j no one had noticed Etienne and me, so I had plenty of time to look around and feel like I was at a club Christmas party. There were holiday banners and huge red socks hanging all over the walls, over the small stage in the back of the room. The party could have been mistaken for a Christmas one if it weren't for the fanged men in Santa Claus hats and the desperately gothic-looking crowd. ‘Don't get bored.’ Etienne threw, winked again, and headed off into the back of the room. Well done, Alex. So you've lost your escort. Now you're on your own. Glancing at my watch, I noted how much time I had before I had to leave the party to go home with my uncle, and went on the offensive. Thinking about sitting on the sidelines and wasting time was out of the question. Being shy and hiding in a corner was also out of the question. There was no telling when (if ever) I'd be able to make it to a Seekers’ meeting. Choosing two girls at the bar for the first acquaintance I went straight to them. I'll order myself something and then we'll figure it out... *** My time was up. My uncle had already called. We agreed to meet near the center, and it would take me about fifteen minutes of brisk walking to get there. It also meant that I only had ten minutes left in the dungeon – the name I chose for that place. I ordered my last cocktail and looked around the room in disappointment. Alas, the so-called Seekers couldn't help me. They, like me, were absorbed with the subject of vampires; they read everything about the bloodsuckers, knew all the legends and myths regardless of culture, discussed urban legends and planned nighttime forays, but... But for all that, none of them had ever managed to come up with anything worthwhile. Fables like that they'd met actual ghouls (pale, black-eyed, unsociable) I could spot from a mile away. I might as well have written down not only my own uncle, but at least a third of the Romanian population as ghouls. I was looking for facts and eyewitnesses with irrefutable evidence. Well, not this time, Alex. I mentally patted myself on the shoulder, leaving the empty glass on the counter. Having paid, I wandered back down the passage, left behind the ‘sentry’ - the same indefinable shadow in the darkness (it looks spectacular, until you realize that it's all just an entourage) and found myself in the fresh frosty air. It got dark early in the winter. The streets were lit up with thousands of colorful lanterns. Snow had fallen while I was underground, and now the laughter and clatter of the endless stream of tourists was accompanied by the deafening crunch of hundreds of soles as tiny clouds of vapor rose above the heads of the crowd, merging to form a haze. Frost began to nibble at my cheeks as I left the warm shelter. There was nothing more to wait for, so I turned left, going to meet my uncle. Just to duck into this string of suitable links, and... At the very corner of the building, which I managed to reach, looking for a gap, I was attracted by a barely recognizable voice. Etienne was standing with his back to me, legs wide apart and his phone in his hand. He was speaking in French, but that didn't stop me from realizing that he was annoyed or even angry. If he'd turned his face, it would have been clear, but he kept hissing and spitting, repeatedly raising his arm to pull his hair back, hunching over, and growling more and more fiercely. My knees suddenly shook as if I were near a beast of prey; it was time to meet my uncle, I realized, and I was about to dive into the crowd, spitting on someone's hastily trampled feet and preparing in advance to apologize left and right, when the Frenchman turned sharply, catching me with the black pupils of his eyes. I froze, as if caught in the act. ‘Alex?’ ‘I'm... on my way home.’ ‘I'll walk you home a little.’ He said as if nothing had happened, tossed something into the receiver, and slipped the phone into his pocket. ‘No need. It's not far.’ It wasn't that I objected to the company, but somehow Etienne didn't inspire confidence anymore. Maybe it was that intimidating, almost wrenching growl. Or the expression that flashed across his face a moment before Etienne realized he was being watched. He didn't listen, intercepted my hand and put it on his elbow, then ducked into the crowd, dragging me with him. ‘Is there a problem?’ I asked, realizing there was no point in playing dumb. ‘Yes.’ The Frenchman said immediately. ‘It's always like that on holidays. Everything comes at once and you become a scapegoat.’ Etienne was still angry with someone, so I decided to change the conversation: ‘How was the meeting? Did you decide not to stay, too?’ ‘It was a waste of time,.’ He said. It was hard to argue with that – I felt the same way. ‘I know. I thought it was more serious than that.’ I was careful to find the words, not knowing what Etienne thought for sure. ‘Did you think there'd be vampires dropped in for a sec?’ My new acquaintance snorted derisively. ‘Not vampires, of course, but...’ I didn't know what I was hoping for. ‘But at least it was something real. Something important.’ Etienne slowed down and looked at me with a sidelong glance. There was no trace of the easy, casual look he'd given me in the hallway. For a moment I thought he looked much older than I was. ‘I don't know if I can trust you.’ He looked away and stopped talking. What's he talking about? We walked in silence for a full minute. It was like Etienne had water in his mouth, and I could feel the curiosity and impatience rearing its head. ‘What are you talking about?’ He looked at me again, taking his time to answer. ‘You know, these Seekers are... Not real.’ ‘What do you mean?’ Sure, there was little seriousness to the party, but I was willing to bet that it was the Seekers they were. Or at least they thought they were. ‘I mean, they're just kids playing around. Vampires, really? They just come here for a chat, tell each other all this crazy stuff.’ ‘Then why did you go there yourself?’ ‘Because we...’ He paused, silent, as if considering whether to speak again, ‘...the true Seekers, need replenishment. Conscious replenishment.’ ‘Real Seekers?’ I turned all ears. ‘Replenishment?’ ‘Of course.’ Etienne nodded seriously. ‘You don't think all encounters with vampires end harmlessly.’ I swallowed. Encounters with vampires. ‘We need young people to pass on secrets and covertly monitor the bloodsuckers.’ ‘Watch them?’ I seem to have lost my ability to think clearly. Am I talking to someone who's met vampires? ‘For sure, as long as they know they're being watched, they keep to themselves.’ ‘You said not all encounters are harmless.’ I almost whispered. ‘Not all. It's foolish to think that going into a cage with lions you're completely safe.’ ‘And they let you watch them?’ ‘I'm sorry.’ He cut me off abruptly, looking around frantically. ‘I've already told too much to the uninitiated.’ He took a hesitant step away, about to walk away, but I grabbed his arm with a deadening grip. ‘Wait! I... I want to become an initiate. Let's meet somewhere tomorrow and talk.’ ‘I have to run.’ He tried to pull my fingers away and free himself, but I already had both hands on him. ‘Etienne, please. I can be trusted.’ I whimpered pleadingly. For a second, the Frenchman stopped struggling, looking me straight in the eyes. At that moment, my cell phone rang –  it must have been my uncle, tired of waiting. No matter, I wasn't about to let go of someone else's hand. Etienne stared at me as if he was really trying to figure out if I could be trusted. ‘Okay.’ He gave up and reached into his pocket. ‘Here.’ He handed me a black rectangle. ‘What's this?’ ‘It's an admission ticket.’ The card, the size of a business card, had the address, date, and time. ‘Come here and you'll find out.’ I scrutinized the address, which looked painfully familiar. ‘Isn't that the address of the Black Church?’ I took my eyes off the card, questioning Etienne demandingly. ‘Etienne?’ I looked around. The Frenchman was nowhere to be found. No matter how hard I tried to see him in the crowd, he seemed to have vanished into thin air. I was sure that this was the address listed in every guidebook in Brasov, and it was where one of Transylvania's most famous landmarks, the Black Church, located. Looking up, as if drawn by an unknown force, I stared at the outline of the familiar roof and tower, a black shadow against dark blue holiday sky. Was it a coincidence? Or fate? The cell phone in my pocket came to life again. ‘I'm on my way.’ I replied briefly to my uncle and hurried through the crowd, still clutching the cherished piece of paper in my hand.