IDrakula - Bekka Black [2]
Subject: Renfield slipping in and out
Sent: June 13 8:27 PM
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Jonathan,
I miss you. I wish you could have come when we visited Renfield today. Am attaching a photo of the gates. Kinda cool looking, but only if you know you can get right back out.
He looks terrible. He’s lost about 20 pounds and his face is yellowish. It was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t cry, but my eyes got full and I had to do that blinky thing you hate.
Lucy stared at him with her mouth open, like a bird at a snake, so I had to do the talking. Why do I always have to step in and do the yucky stuff? Here’s how it went:
Renfield: I must consume life forces to be strong. He decreed it. He has come to me even here. And He decreed it.
Me (keeping one eye on the door and wishing you were there): Randy, how are you?
Renfield: Weak. I must eat live meat. Could you get me a kitten? A soft little kitten?
Me: No. (Eww. Do you think he’d really eat one?)
Renfield: How about a bird? Or a spider? Or even a fly? Carnivores are better because they’ve already consumed life forces. You understand?
Me: No. (And I don’t want to either. Not ever.)
Then he started to cry and said it was the only way. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked and cried. Lucy stood frozen, so I had to hug him and tell him everything would be ok. And he smelled bad. But it had to be done. I couldn’t leave him there crying all alone.
After that, Lucy actually hit on this premed student who is interning there. Right in front of Renfield. And he wasn’t so out of it that he didn’t notice. The premed guy seemed ok. Gorgeous and blond, as that’s Lucy’s new type. Abraham Van Helsing. Dutch. Poor guy’s totally helpless under Lucy’s spell, like most guys (except you). Still, I wish she’d stop dating totally random guys. Worries me.
Hope you arrived at the Count’s and got a good night’s sleep finally, poor baby!
Love,
Mina
-----------------Attachment Below-----------------
From: Jonathan Harker
To: Mina Murray
Subject: Re: Renfield slipping in and out
Sent: June 13 9:09 PM
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Mina,
I hope you get this. The Count’s daughter gave me a local mail server to use because the government won’t let me access the firm’s. Something about stopping spammers here from hacking mail servers back in the States.
I want to come home. Now. Seriously. Well, almost.
The Count lives in an old stone castle. One side opens onto a cliff. You can practically see the barbarians smashing up against it. The whole place is surrounded by bats at night. Wish I’d brought a taser. I’m attaching a picture here I took on the drive up. The Count “bid me welcome” with a bow and in perfect archaic English. He says things like “good sir.” It’s like he’s a 100 years old. Guess that’s just a good European education.
But he’s creepy. He’s pale as a bone and looks older than anyone I’ve ever seen. His skin is all weird. It’s thin and wrinkly, like tracing paper that was rolled into a ball and then smoothed out. He also smells bad.
Luckily, I won’t be here long. Renfield did all the real work with him last time he was here. The Count didn’t ask much about Renfield, even though they’ve been working together for months. And I wasn’t supposed to bring it up. But he did have a picture of Renfield and Lucy and you and me lying on his desk. He said Renfield printed it off of his phone. It was the one where we were all dressed up in Renaissance costume, right before my senior prom. Remember that? Your dress was lower cut in the photo than I remember, BTW.
He’s shipping three giant ebony boxes of dirt to Manhattan. They look like double coffins. When I asked why, he said he has something he wants to grow there that will not “flourish in foreign soil.” He doesn’t want the dirt to be sterilized, although I don’t know how it’ll get past customs. Apparently Renfield convinced him to ship it in a container with his household goods because they almost never check them.
Have to get back to dinner. The Count is hosting a farewell party, and the legal drinking age in Romania is 18.1 am finally