Book 2 Chapter 23: Hotel de Transylvanie

Eliza

July 9, 2035 Earth Time, Paris

Traveling with Saint Georges was an enjoyable experience, even if somehow dangerous. The knight was constantly driving over a hundred miles per hour. The museum and sightseeing were the best part. He was knowledgeable about the past; she was about the present. Rome, Florence, Milan went by in a blink of an eye, making her wish they had more time.

The knight's vibe was… trustworthy. Eliza was not the type to take anything and anyone at face value. Yet, Saint-Georges made her feel comfortable when he was around. And thus, after a week on the road, they arrived in Paris.

Paris, Eliza loved to visit, but not to live in it. It was too noisy and stressful. On the opposite pole, Saint-Georges was fascinated. The Eiffel Tower, the boulevards, and mainly the Garnier Opera were like heaven for him.

There was a ballet show that evening, and Eliza knew half the soloists. After the performance ended, they went to the dressing room to congratulate them. Some were pleased to see her again, some not, fearing she'd make a comeback and steal their roles, but all were jealous. To prevent any conversation about Sam and their divorce, Eliza had taken good care to hang at the knight's arm, and they both were dressed to kill.

A few former colleagues even dared to joke, but Saint Georges was not getting the allusions, so all went okay. They walked out in the night, arm in arm, heading to the supposed Vampire base, on quai Malaquais. It was called, to her surprise, Hotel de Transylvanie. In fact, it was the real deal that had inspired the Manon novel, and the opera by Massenet.

The building hosted a few boutiques, and looked like any other big Parisian Mansion. Its windows were dark. They went around, and Saint Georges knocked at a small door.

A short man with a crooked back opened it, looking at them with suspicion. It inspired Eliza either a Quasimodo or Renfield vibe, but both were anything but polite, so she remained silent.

"I'm Joseph, Chevalier de Saint Georges, a friend of the Count of Saint Germain. We seek an audience with the highest-ranked Vampire in situ."

The door slammed in their face.

"That was not polite," Eliza said. "Knock again, and I'll knock him out."

"Let's wait for a few minutes," Saint Georges asked.

The minutes never became a plural, as after the first, the door opened and a tall, elegant man rushed to grab Saint Georges by the shoulder, kissing him on the cheeks, French style.

"Joseph, my friend!" the man exclaimed.

"Count Saint Germain, it's a pleasure to see you again after so long," the knight said.

"How did you find the back door? Only Vampires can see it," Saint Germain asked.

"About that… we'd better talk inside," Saint Georges said.

"Follow me, my friend. Oh, I beg your pardon," the count said to Eliza, who was sitting beside the door. "I didn’t notice you. Are you perchance his fiancée?"

"No, I am not," Eliza said curtly, refraining from further details.

Saint Germain nodded and led the way inside. They went through a narrow corridor, which was probably built in the back of the boutiques, and reached an elevator. The count pressed a button. As soon as the doors opened, soft music started playing: the Hotel Transylvania trio, from Massenet's opera.

"I have a good guess what we are going to talk about," Saint Georges said while the elevator ascended.

The walls of the cabin were all mirrors, and they didn't reflect any of them.

"Miss Eliza de Lavalois has turned me," Saint Georges said.

"Congratulations, my friend. One of my biggest regrets ever was that I wasn't able to do it."

"We are here to register. She's an Outworlder."

"Oh… I wasn't aware Earth has true Vampires. Transylvanian or Scottish?" the count asked.

"Neither," Eliza said. "It all will be clear soon."

There was a bell ringing, and the doors opened toward a giant loft, an open space as vast as the building below, with large windows showing the Seine. It was, in a way, something Sam had frequently dreamt about: a man cave, but in the attic. Comfortable sofas, a bar, and a giant leather gaming chair, with a computer and a screen so wide Eliza would have sworn it was bespoke.

"I'll be with you in a moment; the raid is almost done," a voice said, belonging to a man with long dark hair, a thick mustache, and a thin goatee. Eliza had seen his portrait somewhere…

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Is that—

"I'm Vlad," the man said, getting up and coming to shake Eliza's hand, then gesturing toward the couches surrounding the coffee table. "Please, sit down. Refreshments?"

"Would that be blood?"

"Do you wish for blood?"

"Not really. A lemonade would— ah!" Eliza yelped when a seven-foot-tall suit of black armor she thought was furniture moved, leaving its greatsword down, going to the bar and pouring a glass of lemonade from a pitcher, before bringing it to Eliza. "T-thanks."

"He's Black John," Vlad said. "Doesn't like to talk much."

With a grunt, the armored Vampire returned to his position, retaking his immobile pose near the wall.

"What grants us the pleasure of your visit?" Dracula asked.

"We're here to register ourselves as Vampires," she repeated the knight's words.

"Then, you must tell us your origin story," Vlad said.

"Very well, but you must promise not to reveal what you're about to hear to other parties," Eliza said.

"It goes without saying," the man said, shrugging. "Who wants to start?"

"I'll go first, if you don't mind," Saint Georges said, staring at her for a second. He was allowing her to think about what she should say, and what not.

The knight's story was similar to what she had read on Wikipedia, with no significant difference. Slowly, her mind focused on what she wanted to reveal.

Ten minutes later, it was her turn. Trying to avoid revealing too much about the System, Eliza retold her story for the third time, emphasizing the Zeitgeist's influence rather than the technology behind their powers. Little by little, though, she drifted into her personal life, before and after going to the Realm. Her speech lasted for over half an hour.

"You have an interesting background," Vlad said. "Ballerina going Bounty Hunter? It's a unique story."

"Did you use mind magic on me?" Eliza shook her head at the end, feeling like she was exiting a mild state of intoxication.

"It's the Register," Saint Germain said, bringing a thick old book to the table and opening it to show Eliza a page where her story was recorded, alongside a small miniature painting of her.

"Old Magic artifact," Vlad said.

"One of the few items able to record us," Saint Germain added.

"Are you going to give her the talk?" Vlad asked.

"It would be fun to let Black John do it," Saint Germain grinned.

"The talk: Kill bad people. Don't get caught," the man in armor said.

"I'll do it," Vlad said. "If you want more drinks, this is the moment. I don't like to be interrupted."

"I'm fine," Eliza said.

"Then fasten your seat belt, for you're in for a ride." The modern expression made Eliza giggle. Vlad smiled and continued:

"There's so much to tell that I don't know where to start. I might jump back and forth, but please cope with it. First, never, ever, think of yourself as overpowered. We might be over-survivable, but winning a fight isn't about destroying your enemy."

"It's about conquering their hearts," Black John interjected.

Vlad rolled his eyes and continued. "It took me a hundred years to understand why I lost the fight against the Turks. It wasn't because I lacked power; it was because I failed to convince the people of the necessity of fighting. The poor couldn't help much as a fighting force, and neither had the means to contribute financially. For them, me, or the Turks, it was the same thing. A master to serve.

"The nobles had their ambitions, and we were two clans fighting for the throne. I killed a lot of them, and guess what? Despite that, they still plotted. And the worst part: they were still the backbone of the system, the ones who kept the economy going and organized things. As bad as they did it, we didn't have an alternative at the time.

"There's only one alternative: transform your weakness into strength, make them work for you. It sounds nice, but it's very hard. That's why people like Napoleon, the Kingling, or Sam are so rare and invaluable.

"Take my friend, Rackozi… All his struggles against the Austrians have been in vain. Then, the Kingling arrived, and he succeeded where he failed. So, this is my first piece of advice: the ability to work with people and be a competent ruler is paramount for a successful Vampire. Before we go on, do you have any questions?"

"I have no interest in being a leader; is that a problem?"

Seeing Dracula slack-jawed was not what Eliza had imagined on the menu for that night.

"What if I ask the first consul to give you a small piece of land to rule?" Saint Georges. "The buffs you can offer as a Vampire princess would be a great asset."

Eliza waved her hands in front of her. "Sorry. This is not what I want for myself."

"Being a vampire is a process. Maybe you'll change your mind in time," Dracula said. "The second piece of advice is to train your unobservability. Ferenc, come here!" he yelled.

"I am here," a voice said. It belonged to the malformed man who opened the door for them. He was sitting on a couch, in the back of the room, sipping a drink with a straw. Eliza realized she had not even noticed the man leaving the elevator, or being there.

Rackozi went in front of a mirror, beckoning Eliza to approach. He was clearly visible in the reflection. A second later, though, the image disappeared, and a tall, handsome man appeared next to Eliza.

"I'm hiding my true appearance under an illusion, and that illusion is seen by mirrors. Having no reflections is as good as shouting aloud: I'm a Vampire," Rackozi said.

"There are many ways to obtain the same result," Vlad said. "Choose one, train it. It's important."

"If I had mastered such skills, Eon would have never ambushed me," Saint Germain said, looking into nothingness.

"One of the reasons we're on Earth is to hide Saint Germain from him," Dracula said. "He swore a debt of vengeance after Saint Germain killed his sister."

"And he became very powerful… By killing her, I made it possible for him to siphon his sister's skills. Afterward, he continued killing people with magical powers, by the hundreds, absorbing countless abilities."

"By the hundreds?" Eliza leaned her head backward. The number looked unreal.

"He worked as an executioner during the Terror," Saint Germain said. "Eon was Robespierre's right hand. Robespierre sentenced thousands of Orders to the guillotine. He allowed only those who would work for him to live."

"And in the end, that was also his downfall," Saint Georges said. "When people have no other resort than to fight back, they fight back. All the surviving Orders concentrated under Lafayette's banner."

"And now comes the third advice," Dracula said. "To advance on your path, you need to constantly do dangerous things, right? It happens I have the perfect opportunity for you to gain… those things you call levels. A bounty. Find the Breton and kill him for us."

"The Breton?"

"Eon is from Bretagne. Scottish vampires are the majority, but they include all types of Celts. What do you say? It would kill two birds with one stone. You gain experience and money, and we get rid of Eon. Saint Germain is our best alchemist. His potions save lives."

"I dunno," Eliza sighed. "I was thinking to leave the adventuring life behind… Catch up with my dad, relax, stuff… Maybe having a comeback in my—"

"The bounty is for a hundred thousand ducats. Fifty million dollars."

"Then maybe I can postpone my plans for a while," Eliza said immediately.