Choiceless

Jason still had a towel around his waist and steam rising from his shoulders from the hot shower when he entered his bedroom and plucked the cellphone from the nightstand. He shot a text message to Layathel apologizing for shooing her out, and asking if she wanted to meet later. It was Saturday and he'd no college paperwork left over. He liked to take care of things as he got them so he'd be prepared for anything new. Time was spent more efficiently that way.

After getting dressed and frying up some eggs and bacon for a late breakfast, he settled at the small dining table to enjoy his repast while studying These Scarlet Transcripts. What he really needed was a way to defeat the contract. There was no obvious method, but there must be something. He'd be willing to make sacrifices, especially after what had happened at Dracula's manor yesterday. There was no way that Jason could do what his father did, not with the knowledge he had. That was baffling in itself. This book, this journal, it told of the emotional turmoil that Jason's ancestor went through to make this contract, to save his wife and child. Every subsequent generation that yielded was directly propagating this madman's sick machinations. Pop wasn't the type to do that, was he?

Well, was he? Jason hadn't thought Mom was the type to have the hots for the Prince of Darkness, either. Jason rubbed his face with one hand, letting his fork clink loudly onto his plate.

Gotta get that outta my head, he thought, moaning through his fingers.

After some more study, he noticed that the reference to scarlet and blood seemed significant. Obviously, it must be related to the fact that relations, through blood or marriage, can't be harmed by Dracula in any physical way. That meant Mom and Pop were safe, and Jason himself was safe, but it didn't do anything to protect Layathel. Jason stood and went to the refrigerator where he tore a sheet from the shopping list he had attached to the door with a magnet. Sitting again, he scrawled a note.

Ways to terminate the contract without replacing my shots with blanks:

1. Mutually agree with Dracula to end the contract. (Ha ha.)

2. Incite Dracula to injure me. (Plausible.)

Jason sat for a moment thinking. That was about it, as far as he could tell. There was always the option of ending the contract himself with a verbal declaration, but then the Sange line would end, and according to the phrasing of the contract, it seemed that his folks wouldn't be allowed to simply have another child: that one would be barren, too. He hadn't really considered having kids, but he wanted the option, at least. Anyway, the idea of being cursed was unsettling. On the other hand, wasn't he already cursed insofar as he was linked to this infernal contract? Literally infernal, probably. He went over the contract again, and this time something caught his eye: It was slight, but once he noticed it, there was no denying. The ink on most of the book was black, but the ink was a reddish-brown on the text of the contract. Blood? Scarlet Transcripts indeed. It wasn't likely the actual original document, so even if the contract was inked in blood, what would be the purpose of inking this copy in blood? Maybe it was just trying to be as accurate as possible, or perhaps as a sort of reminder, a creative way to reference the original document? Perhaps this wasn't even blood, but a colored ink to mirror the proper document. In any case, it didn't tell him much.

He finished his breakfast-cum-lunch, washed his dishes, and by time he was finished putting them away he was wondering why Layathel hadn't texted him back. She was usually on top of it, and after their little rude parting earlier he'd been certain she'd want to clear the air as soon as possible. Fetching his phone from the table, he dialed her number. It rung, and rung. Then it went to voicemail.

"Hey, Laya. Give me a holler when you get this message. Thanks." He hung up thinking about how give me a holler was a particular phrase that he probably got from Pop. He wondered if getting older meant acquiring his father's mannerisms. Maybe getting older just meant noticing them.

Jason got dressed in a dark-gray button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of black jeans; then he was out the door.

He wanted to talk to Pop, but it was impossible. The contract's magical compulsion, or whatever, was clearly preventing him from getting out more than a word before knocking him unconscious. At best it was a good way to cure insomnia. Layathel's magic though, that was something. She had clearly done something to them, some sort of linking of—something. If she could do that, and it wasn't just a cheap trick of some sort, then maybe she could do some other kind of spell, something to counter the infertility spell. This was sounding ridiculous, and increasingly so the more he thought about it, but what was he supposed to do? The game seemed to have been laid out, and he could only play it as it was presented. If there were suddenly magic and vampires, then he'd be an idiot not to take advantage of it.

Outside he headed for his car, still not sure where he was gonna go, but he stopped short and stared. Layathel's Tiburon was still in the lot, parked right next to his Stingray.

His first thought, the thought that streaked through his mind instantly and unbidden, was that Dracula had something to do with this. He needed to act. A missing persons report? The idea came and was summarily dismissed. They'd not start looking in earnest until at least twenty-four hours, but even if he insisted that he had probable cause to believe that she was taken under duress, he'd have no evidence, and the truth wouldn't go over well. Yes, officer: Dracula. Fangs, blood, vicious sort. Indeed, debonair as in the books, but I don't think that's relevant at this moment, what with my girlfriend having been spirited away.

That's how the conversation would go.

Turning, Jason looked toward the lofty tower of sparkling white stone and black glass shimmering in the afternoon sunlight. Security cameras. The lot would be monitored, and Gerald was a friend. With long strides, Jason returned to the complex, rushing through the double-doors with the warm morning air whirling in behind him. "Ma'am," he said at the reception desk. "Tiffany," he corrected himself when he saw who the young freckle-faced girl was.

"Give me a sec." She had her back turned and was doing something over on a counter at the far wall. Jason turned in a little frustrated circle, looking around. Gerald came walking by.

Jason threw up a hand. "Gerald!" He went over to him leaving Tiffany asking, "What'd you. . . need?"

Gerald shook Jason's hand. "Howdy, Jason. How's it goin'? You look flat-out exhausted."

"It's Layathel." Jason's voice got low. "I think she's been kidnapped."

Gerald looked at him for a long moment, apparently judging his seriousness. "You called the police?" Gerald asked, matching Jason's volume.

"It was this morning. Her car's still in the lot. I want to see what happened."

Gerald jerked his head toward a pair of wooden double doors toward the back and Jason followed him to them, through them, and down the hall to the security room on the right. The room wasn't much to look at, just a small desk with a computer, a swiveling chair behind it, and a wall of HD monitors displaying every room on the ground floor, plus the cameras at every parking lot. Gerald sat, started going through video files on the computer. "When'd this happen about? I need to narrow it down some kinda way."

"I'd say maybe a quarter to six? Something like that. She came to my room around 5:30 this morning.

"A'ight, hang on."

Jason paced anxiously at the front of the desk while the security guard clicked and watched footage.

"There's your girl," Gerald said after an interminable wait. Jason banged his knee on the desk trying to get around it.

"O.K., perfect, perfect," Jason wheezed in both pain and relief. "What's she doing?"

They saw her start, turn. The footage was pretty clear, not like stuff you'd see in a gas station.

"No tellin', but what's that at her feet? Some kinda exhaust smoke?"

Black mist, Jason was thinking. He continued watching as Layathel stood there, then backpedaled a bit. It looked like she was talking to someone off camera. She was just inside the screen on the south-east, and speaking to someone further south-east still. Then she lifted her book like she was getting ready to strike someone with it. Then the image became fuzzy, pixelated. Gerald slapped his computer monitor impotently, and when the image restored in only about five seconds, Layathel was gone.

"I'm callin' the police."

Jason was already heading for the door. He didn't need the police to tell him where Layathel was, because he already knew. She was with Dracula, in his mansion.

Jason bounded up the stoop of Dracula's manor. As he reached for the familiar iron knocker, the door opened of its own volition. No, it was Derph. "The master," he said, "is expecting you."

That was both disturbing and expected. Jason walked in like he owned the place, looking about as if he expected the Count to step into view at any moment. Derph said, "The drawing room, sir. Do you recall where it is?"

Jason started to his right, marched across the gleaming marble floor and banged open the drawing room door. Inside, Dracula was smoking a cigar, sitting in the cushy chair that Jason had refused the first time he'd been there. Layathel was there too, but she'd had a change of clothes since he'd seen her that morning. She traded in both her shirt and jean shorts for a faint white dress that fell from her shoulders and waist and wrists in sheer, light wisps that gave her an airy, delicate look. The effect was weakened by her short hair and also the fact that Dracula had dressed her. Why would he do that? What was the purpose? It seemed inherently sexual, and more than that, weird. Bizarre.

When Jason entered, Dracula had been saying something while Layathel listened. She turned with a start when he came bursting in, but Dracula didn't react whatsoever, or turn. He just stretched his arm out to the side to dab some ashes from his cigar. "Perhaps, my dear Mr. Sange, you should reconsider your previous decision."

"I know about the curse," Jason said impulsively, hands relaxed at his side. A good lawyer never lets them see you sweat, or curl your fingers in fury. "It might be worth it though, to end your despicable curse."

"Fatuity. You know what's at stake."

Jason looked at Layathel, who looked back at him with sad eyes. A long moment past. Jason tried to think of some way to maneuver the situation, but there was nothing he could do. Layathel was a wild-card, completely outside of Jason's control, and entirely fair game for Dracula to do with as he pleased. The thought of her being harmed repulsed him, and made the strange tugging at his chest twist uncomfortably.

Dracula mashed his cigar into the glass tray and stood suddenly. "Fine. I'll take her now and be done with it. Quite honestly I am pining for her and would almost prefer to have her than you."

Jason's lips quivered with words that his brain had not fully formed yet. He had to accept the contract as it was. It really wasn't such a bad deal anyway, right? Discard his conscience and save a life. It really wasn't a bad deal when put that way.

Besides, what choice did he have?