In a half hour, we approached the castle. The sky was a pale blue with black storm clouds in the distance. It was still super hot outside, despite that. Casper parked in the gravel leading into the grassy field. The rest of the way was on foot.

We met the front door, and I took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. In a few minutes, someone finally met us.

"Hey Darien!" Mitchell said with a small, shy smile. “And Casper.”

"Hi Mitchell!" I waved. "I'm so excited! I wanna see around!"

"You need to get inside first. Are both of you coming?”

Casper held her phone up, showing the time. "I have stuff to do at home. Call me if you need a ride, Darien.”

"Got it. Bye!"

She lost balance a few times walking down the damp path. Now I was alone. Or not totally alone, I guess.

Mitchell waved me inside and locked the door behind us.

The last time I stepped in, everything was engulfed in black besides the wall of candles behind the man. But now, I saw a giant rotunda. The chandelier high above showered its golden light, with glass beads hanging below like frozen raindrops. Polished mahogany columns and wooden molding of crosses repeated around the room. Halfway to the sky-high ceiling was a surrounding balcony of the second floor.

I looked over to Mitchell with a huge grin, until I remembered he’s seen all of this before. For a few years, in fact. His eyes went to the first chair he saw at the table ahead. Just a regular, wooden table. He pulled it out, along with one next to it.

“So… Is this a dining room?” I set my satchel on the table. “I brought some pancakes. And a British lemon candy.

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Basically. We just call it the Rotunda.”

“Cool!”

I sat down in the chair. Mitchell counted to ten on his fingers, then once over without looking. When he was done, he stared at his reflection on the wooden table.

"Mitchell?" I set my hand on his reflection.

“I prefer ‘Drexel’,” he said.

“Oh. Sorry…”

“It's okay. Can I see those pancakes?”

“Yeah! I'm hungry…”

I set the containers on the table.

He smiled. The conversation fizzled and the silence of the room lingered. A comfortable silence I could sink into like a plush pillow. I could sit in my thoughts and admire the room. I noticed that all around the Rotunda were regular sized doors, like the ones in my apartment.

Mitchell grabbed the plastic fork I put in the container and stuffed his face.

“Who else lives here?” I asked.

“Others,” he said after chewing.

“You can sit here for hours,” I sighed. “Not fair.”

“You can too. It's summer break.”

“... I don’t know if I can.”

“Oh. Salvatore’s?”

“No. I don’t work there anymore. My last day was when I came to deliver the pizza. I was working part time after school, but my dad resigned me.”

“So why can't you?”

I shrugged. “I dunno, but it’s not as cool as being a vampire. Or I guess it depends on the type of vampire you are. You have a reflection, so you're not a sleeping-in-a-coffin, dying-in-the-sunlight type.”

The scent of frying pork traveled throughout the room. I was full just thinking about what was cooking. Mitchell sniffed the air.

Clash! Clonk!!!

I shivered. The sound echoed throughout the Rotunda.

Mitchell shot out of his chair. "Drac! Are you okay in there?"

Drac?

I looked over where the sound came from. Far to our right was a black door, which I assumed was a kitchen. It opened.

The musical sound of heels hitting tiles rung in my ears. Or maybe I just like how heels sound. Emerging from the door was a tall, statuesque man in a long, inky robe and poncho, with beautiful black hair falling over his shoulders. Most of it was combed over his head and pinned behind his eyes, revealing his stark widowspeak. But his skin…

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His skin was a deep, stone blue, with a hint of gray.

As he walked over to the table with a silver tray of charcuterie, he smiled.

"Hello, Drexel. Hello, Darien," he spoke with the deep voice I heard before. It was the same man I apologized to. He didn’t look like a crazy ax-killer; he was beautiful!

I sunk in my chair. “You remember me?”

"I do. And I don't think I told you my name." He held out his hand. "You can call me Dracula."

"What? Dracula? Like that Dracula?"

"It's my last name."

“You're his descendant?”

“We're one in the same.”

I couldn't muster a sound until I realized his hand was still outreached.

“Sorry!” I giggled. His fingernails were long and sharp.

Mitchell rested his head on the cold table, his hair blanketing his head and shoulders.

"I prepared a snack for you,” he exclaimed, waving his hand over the impressive snack tray. “I don't know if I made enough for you and your friend."

“I think you made too much,” Mitchell muttered, muffled from his sleeves.

“Wait, I thought vampires didn’t need food,” I said, holding a cut piece of sausage in front of my face. No one answered.

Dracula's ruby studs shimmered in the natural light. He went to arrange the cheese and meats on the tray to be less of a mountain. He towered over me.

"Friends, I'll be leaving in a few minutes," he said. "Sorry our meeting will end so soon. I'm visiting a friend. And you know him very well, Darien.”

"I do?"

"Vincent Alo. He's just lovely."

I bit my tongue so hard it could've drawn blood. "My dad! How do you know him?”

"I've 'ran into him' a few times around Caedispear. But not as myself."

No idea why he used quotes.

“Wait... Are you Mr. Dantes?”

He smirked.

“No way. But how? Your skin…”

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Dracula said. “I wish I could talk more, but I must go. Maybe Drexel can explain. I’ll see you later.”

We waved at each other as he left through one of the dark hallways surrounding us.

I opened my container of pancakes, and put the sausage pieces on top.

“Doesn’t your dad feed you?” Mitchell asked.

I blushed. “I think it tastes good. What kind of sausage is this, anyway?”

“Blood.”

“Oh… that’s interesting! I’ll get some more later.”

“Hmm. I’m gonna go outside for a minute.”

He got out his chair and ambled to the door, leaning against the frame and waiting for me to walk, too. He was so far away, but I felt his eyes piercing me. I took a few sausage bits off the tray and headed for the door. Once I met the cobblestone path outside, Mitchell, with steady breathing, gently closed the door.

The blue sky outside was dusted with gray clouds and little sun peeking through. The thick foggy air hit me in the face, and fresh rain drizzled down. I took in the wet stones beneath me and felt the mist tickle my face.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to make it awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

“With Dracula… and the snack he made.”

“I don’t understand.”

He stood in silence and started kicking at the pebbles on the ground. I understood why he was stalling. I’d think I sounded crazy if I told someone I was a supernatural creature. Or why I lived at a castle all the sudden. But I didn’t get what was upsetting him.

Did I really just talk to Dracula? I didn’t even get to squeal over the fact I knew a vampire. Or that they even existed. Now I knew two!

Dracula was different from how I’d imagined before. His skin wasn’t human, but it looked majestic nonetheless. He stood great over both of us, with his contagious aura and the slight wrinkles around his eyes and lips from years of smiling. But how would I know what he was hiding behind his eyes?

As I looked up, the top of the castle soared higher and higher, the very top scratching the dark clouds. Not even the oldest oak trees behind it stood as tall. It still hid itself within the forest wall that I only saw as a backdrop to Caedispear’s old houses and grocery stores.

Why here of all places?

The sausage bits were still scorching hot in my hand. I ate all of them in one bite. “These are so good!”

“You actually ate the mess on the tray?”

“Yeah. It’s just sausage. Pretty good.”

“Oh.” Mitchell said something under his breath like, “I guess that’s fine.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It sounds great.”

The time on my phone didn’t line up with my brain. Two hours passed from leaving the apartment to standing in drizzling rain. Mitchell leaned against the black bricks surrounding the doors. They were damp and with thin turquoise weeds tangling around it.

The front door didn’t have a stoop. Not even a couple small steps. Just the path cutting off at the bottom of a chipped, worn door. It was worn in a way that was worth more than my limbs.

I leaned next to Mitchell, trying to see his face. It was hidden behind his hair. I moved a bit of his bangs with my finger. His eyes sparkled.

But they weren’t Mitchell’s.