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I yank over and over again on the cord in front of the Count’s gate. The bell rings nonstop, sending the tiny butler running down the leaf-covered path, looking harried.
“Are you mad?” he says, baring his pointed teeth. “How dare you come calling like this? Are you not afraid of troubling the master? Do you not know who he is?”
The figure of the Count appears in the doorway and expands to a colossal size. His outstretched arms cover the entire mansion. He pins his gaze on me and it pulls me to him like a magnet. I watch, helpless, as my feet refuse to obey me. I float over the garden, up above the rotting leaves and insects, until I slam right into the Count, unable to stop myself. He takes me in his arms and carries me into the large foyer. I can’t feel my muscles; I’ve completely lost control of my body. With a superhuman effort I manage to move my eyes to look at the Count, who still has me in his arms. He’s totally unlike the man I’ve seen on other visits. He’s young, and irresistibly attractive. His long black hair shines, moving like an animal as it breathes—an animal with heart.
The Count sets me down on the same armchair where I once saw him collapse in tears. Then he turns his back to me. The velvet of his cape brushes against the rug with a sigh. He’s back to a normal human size again, but he’s still quite tall, with wide, straight shoulders.
“Miss Eurydice, to what do we owe the pleasure?” he says, turning to me with a smile that makes me melt.
“I’m sorry to have come by like this...” My voice trembles.
“Au contraire. It indicates your strength of character. Never apologize for being yourself. Tell me, what can I offer you? A little of the liqueur from the other day, perhaps?”
I shake my head, saddened by the thought of the memories I saw that first day with the liqueur.
“I see,” the Count goes on. “Too painful. What about something to make you forget?”
“No! I wouldn’t want to... I couldn’t forget.”
The Count comes closer. He sniffs me gently. I close my eyes and allow myself to be lulled by the satiny sound of his breathing. I feel so guilty for losing myself in the pleasure I feel when he’s near me that I open my eyes at once and cling to the arms of the chair, fighting off the sudden heat I feel building inside me. The little butler appears with another armchair, so big he can barely hold it. He places it next to mine and the Count sits down. His appearance hasn’t changed at all. His beauty is so perfect that I can hardly breathe.
“All right. You do not wish to remember. You do not wish to forget. Tell me, then, how I can help you.”
“I want to go back to my world.”
“We’ve already talked about that, miss.”
The Count’s voice is so seductive that a single word is enough to make me feel shy. When he speaks it feels like a caress. I try to focus. I won’t forget why I’ve come. I’m going to find a way back home.
“I’ve heard about a river,” I say, avoiding the Count’s gaze.
“You mustn’t believe those rumors. They are nothing but superstition.”
“I want to go back to my world.” I gather my courage and speak with determination. “Now.”
The Count gets up suddenly. He looks old again. I know he’s angry, and I can tell a single false move might leave me trapped forever in this world—maybe even trapped in this mansion. A tiny tear rolls down from the corner of my eye.
“Oh!” says the Count, resting the palm of his hand on my cheek. He lifts a finger to catch the tear. “So that’s the way you feel, eh?” He looks at the tear, which is resting intact on the tip of his finger. “...It’s beautiful. Simply perfect. We have tears in the Sphere—I imagine you’ve seen them—but they’re empty tears. They never contain a world like this one does. Allow me.” He lays one long hand over my eyes and cradles the back of my head with the other.
I see Axel sitting on the grass in front of me.
“What difference does it make?” I say.
“What difference! Don’t you want to be important to someone?” Axel says.
“That’s weakness, Axel.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s life, it’s the way life works. To love someone, to know they love you. It can’t be that you don’t want someone to love you. We all need someone. We’re not islands, Dissie.”
“ENOUGH!” I shout, shaking myself and getting up from the chair. “Stop spying on my memories—all of you!”
I have my right hand lifted. My index finger trembles but I keep pointing it in warning.
“It is my life and I am going to get it back.”
“Your time is running out,” says the Count sadly. “I saw two flames shining in that boy’s eyes, and a mantle of sadness falling over you, hardening into a shell.”
“Leave me alone,” I beg, letting myself fall back into the armchair.
“You are so lucky...” Dracula’s voice has lost its seductiveness. Now it’s hoarse, full of sorrow. “That intensity. Do you really feel like that? How do you have that kind of force?”
“I don’t know what force you’re talking about,” I say, disoriented.
“That boy... you... You should find a way to go back,” says the Count. “But first find Mina—that’s all I ask.”
Dracula looks at me with pleading eyes. His eyelids are nearly transparent, like rice paper. When he closes them I can still see his sorrowful eyes through them.
“So may I cross through your garden? I have to get to the river.”
“The river won’t help you.”
“But...”
“The river won’t return you to your world. Your only hope is to find a way back using the same path that brought you here.”
“But I don’t know how I got to the Sphere!” I say, losing patience. “Help me, please.”
The Count grows slenderer and smaller very quickly. His clothing, now too large, puddles on the floor.
“I promise you I’ll find Mina, I’ll bring her back to the mansion, but help me get back home. Tell me how to do it.”
“I suppose you could follow that light you have in your chest.” I look down but I don’t see anything. “Here,” says the Count, pointing at my heart.
The butler comes in and whispers in my ear: “You must go. My master is too weak.”
I get up, confused—I don’t want to leave, everything in me is telling me that I still need the Count. My mind is buzzing with questions. I feel helpless, like I’ll never be able to find the way back on my own. The huge garden gate slams shut behind me with a thunderous crash. A great flock of black birds bursts out of the trees, startled into flight by the noise. I don’t know when or how I left the mansion.
I have to search—but where? What’s all this about following my light? My visit to the Count has only left me more bewildered. At least before I thought the solution was to steal Charon’s boat.
Dissie!
That voice again. That feeling of heat in my chest again. I don’t know why, but I find myself walking back to the harbor. The few boats I find there look abandoned. The mussels clinging to the rocks by the pier are open; I think they’ve all died. I hear the voice calling me insistently. It could be coming from my left, from the hill. Or maybe from my right, from the ocean. I walk along, trying to hear it again so I can walk toward the sound, but for a long time all I hear is the noise of my own footsteps and the creaking of the wooden boats as they gently nudge each other.
Eurydice!
The voice... It’s coming from the hill. I climb up slowly, still hearing my name. It’s not just one voice—there’s more than one person calling me. When I reach the top I find a stone wall, half in ruins, and a cemetery on the other side. Why didn’t Morgan and Sherlock tell me about this place? Do they not know about it? It certainly doesn’t look like it gets many visitors. The grass and wildflowers have reached an impressive height, and a lot of the gravestones are completely covered by creeping plants.
Dissie!
Now the voices are mingling with the sound of the sea. I can see East Sands in the distance, far off below me. This cemetery is abandoned, although a few of the tombs are tidy. Someone pulled up the plants covering them fairly recently.
I look around carefully. Many of them are high tombs made of stone, and getting to them is pretty easy. I move my hands over one, another, another. On one the stone is out of place; there’s a gap. I push hard and it topples over. I have to wait a few seconds for the dust to clear so I can look inside. My heart does a somersault when I see that this tomb, unlike the ones at the cathedral cemetery, is not empty. I’m not afraid. All I feel is a wild hope that I might be able to go home. Maybe solving the mystery is the price I have to pay to go back.
I stick my hand in without hesitation. My fingers brush gently against the thing inside—it feels like cardboard. It’s hard to touch it; most of it is pretty deep inside. I lean in, standing on tiptoe and stretching out one hand as far as I can while I hold onto the edge of the tomb with the other.
A sound is growing clearer and stronger above the noise of the ocean. It’s a kind of asthmatic breathing; the whistling of air struggling to move in and out of some misshapen or sick body. A gasping that’s coming louder and closer. Icy hands touch my back and shove me hard. The next thing I hear is the rough sound of rock against rock as the lid of the tomb slides back into place, trapping me in the darkness.
I recognize the sound of powerful wings from the other disappearances, and then the sound recedes, leaving me sunk in the deepest possible silence.