In my room, I sat, legs crossed, on a mat in front of a small table.
Carefully placing a pink candle in its holder, I gazed out at the view beyond. Outside, towers shimmered, their colourful lights like stars. I now knew them to be technological, yet they still appeared magical to me.
The glittery flow of traffic was peaceful to watch.
I had to admit it was quite pretty.
I lay the Book of Renfields on the table and opened it.
Dear Master.
If I die tonight, my only regret is I never got to hear your voice.
I am Jennifer Collins, and I am twenty-three years old. I have blonde hair and even though my boobs are small, my heart is big!
I hope everything will go well tonight, but if it doesn't, then my last word in this life will be your name.
I lit the candle and bowed my head deeply.
"Jennifer Collins," I said heavily. "I call to your spirit. Hear my words. Your sacrifice has moved my heart, and I have dedicated this night to your memory. I have thought about you, and your big heart, often. One day, I will speak to you again. Until this moment, wait for me, my beloved Renfield. Wait and be at peace."
The candle flickered.
Was it joy? Sorrow?
Or just a breath of air from the air conditioning unit?
After contemplating Jennifer's message a little longer, I turned my attention to my Bloodline. Pressing my fingers to my chest, I closed my eyes and pushed my awareness inside.
The thin line from the base of my heart had expanded. Where it had been a hair's width, was now six times that!
So, I had been right. The thick heartblood of the vampire had nourished the vein and caused it to thicken dramatically. If I repeated this process a few more times, it's possible it would reach its limit, which I guessed to be just under an inch.
I wondered what the effects on my body would be then.
Pleased with the progress, I followed the line through my heart and out into the branches which threaded through my flesh. They, too, showed exponential growth.
Did I feel stronger?
It was hard to say. My stamina felt low, and I was struggling not to collapse out of sheer exhaustion. However, that could also be a side effect of squeezing my Coagulum shut.
I would need to wait until tomorrow to be sure.
I pulled my awareness outwards and opened my eyes to study my hands.
My skin looked little less dry, but I was still skeletal. It felt like my greatest changes were still within. I grunted, pushing my disappointment aside. I shouldn't expect to recover too quickly after spending almost 150 years as ash in a jar.
"Molly?"
My voice caused her to let out a little squeak from where she's been standing outside my door. Quickly, she opened the door and poked her head in to give me a nervous smile.
"Master? You called?"
I nodded, motioning for her to enter.
She stepped into my room shyly, brushing down her skirt. I didn't see why. They didn't seem to hide much of her thigh in the first place.
"Did you know this Renfield?" I nodded at the book. "Her name was Jennifer Collins."
"Jen?" Molly's eyes widened before she dropped her gaze with a sad sigh. "Yes, Master. Not well, unfortunately. But we spoke a few times. She was very nice to me when I first arrived."
"What else?"
"Umm…" She pushed her finger against her chin, thinking. "She was shorter than me."
"Yes, and she had blonde hair and small boobs. She says so."
"That's right!" Molly giggled. "She complained that we didn't sell enough bras in her size."
"Hmm."
Molly glanced over her shoulder before whispering softly; "Hina has the same problem…"
"Right," I said, trying to push past discussions of underwear. "What else do you recall about Jennifer?"
"Well, I only have one real memory, I think." She closed her eyes, trying to drag it out of its depths. "She won one of the raffles we held to select a painting to hang in your apartment."
"Oh?"
"Yes, we drew it at our con last year."
"Convention?"
"That's right," she smiled, remembering. "All the girls who won were so excited! I mean, you could hear them screaming for miles, I'm sure. And, when Jen won, everyone was really happy for her. You see, Jen was a painter. So, we all knew she would pick one of her own paintings. She cried when her name was called out. I mean, everyone did, but Jen cried for days! Melanie started to call her Waterworks for it."
"Which painting is hers?"
"Umm, it's in the hall."
"Take me there."
She helped me to my feet. I should have felt bad about that, but I accepted the frailty as a temporary thing. Vela had also found a walking stick, and I grabbed it from by the door and hobbled along behind Molly into the hall.
There were about a dozen paintings in the hall. I hadn't paid any attention to them. But now I noticed, there were little plaques under each painting which had the name of the painting, and the Renfield who'd selected it.
"This one is hers, Master," Molly said, stopping in front of a relatively small frame.
I stopped in front of it and leaned in close.
It was a dragon, wrapped around a heart. The dragon, painted a light blushing crimson like the heart, had bright yellow eyes and was styled to emphasize cuteness instead of realism. Painted in delicate water colours with black ink outlines.
An illustration, more than a painting.
But better than anything I had seen in books of my time.
I smiled at the dragon's expression, which was both contented and smug at the same time. Its clawed hand gently held the heart close to itself, while its tail wrapped around it.
Protecting it.
"She was really into fantasy things," Molly said. "And she read loads of books."
"Reading is a good thing," I said.
"She painted a lot of dragons, too. We have another gallery downstairs, and there's more of her paintings down there, too. Some of the other Renfields made art, too. The sculpture in the living room was one of Lisa's."
The dragon's expression captivated me.
"Dragons are important creatures to my family," I said. "My father belonged to the Order of the Dragon. It's where my name comes from."
Molly nodded. "We have a forum devoted to the Order of the Dragon."
"I would like to see it." I frowned as a thought teased the edge of my mind. Words. From an alchemical tome. "Kill the dragon, and from his blood shall rise the stone."
"Sorry?"
"It's from something I read." I squeezed my eyes shut. "I can't recall the name of it…"
"I can find out if you want?"
"Really?"
"Sure," she smiled brightly. "A lot of old alchemical texts are online now. It shouldn't be hard to search for it."
"If you could," I said. "And if we have the book, could you bring it to me?"
"Of course, Master."
I glanced at the little plaque.
Red Dragon by Jennifer Collins.
"Red dragon," I mused. The two words suddenly held more weight than I expected. A memory crawled out of the depths and I snatched at it greedily.
I was in a room. A dark room at the top of a tower.
Outside, a storm raged.
Inside, a storm of magic crackled and huffed around me.
I held a large stone in my fist whose heart flared with red light as I called a name.
"Did you know, Molly, there is a grimoire called La Dragon Rouge? In English, The Red Dragon. Within its pages are methods with which one might speak to the dead."
"Really?" She looked up at me, her eyes glittering brightly.
"Really."
"Does it work?"
"No."
"Oh."
"But do you know why it doesn't work, Molly?"
"Umm… because magic isn't real?"
"No," I hissed. "Because it's French!"
"Eep!"
I took a deep breath and swallowed to get the ugly taste out of my mouth. "Please bring me a copy of the Papyri Graceae Magicae. And you might as well fetch Liber Juratus Honorii. Picatrix, too. We shall start there and then work our way deeper."
"Deeper, Master?"
"Into the foul depths of necromancy, Molly. Are you afraid?"
Molly shook her head firmly. "No, Master."
I patted her head and turned to smile at the little red dragon painting.