DARKNESS VISIBLE

by

PiperMerlyn

Chapter 0

The Chapters

INTRO

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

Vlad led the brothers back to the main floor, past the foyer, to a room that had dark paneling interspersed with ceiling-to-floor shelves full of books. Seated at an old oak desk was a dark-haired man with piercing black eyes. He gave them a nod and a faint smile as he got to his feet. "Buna seara.  Good evening and welcome to Bucharest. I'm Dorian Thayer."

Frank shook the man's outstretched hand, noting how cool and dry it was. "I'm Frank Hardy and this is my brother Joe."

Dorian nodded. "Yes. Duncan MacLeod informed me you two young men would be returning my chalice and sword."

"It's a beautiful sword," said Joe. "I don't think I've seen one like that  before."

Dorian's dark eyes focused on Joe and he slowly nodded. "Yes. It is an unusual sword. It is a double-edged short sword, more for  thrusting and stabbing than fencing or slashing."

"The etching along the blade is really beautiful. Is it just random etching or is it something else?" asked Frank. The sword he was referring to, was a highly polished short sword with a leather-wrapped grip and a slightly curved hilt. Aside from the decoration on the blade, it appeared a rather utilitarian weapon.

"It is Hebrew."

Joe blinked. "I thought in the Middle East, it was scimitars."

Dorian lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Arabs and Turks used scimitars. I'm referring to the Jewish people."

Joe  shared a puzzled look with Frank. "I guess I just never pictured  Abraham carrying a sword around."

Dorian gave a soft chuckle. "Oh, it's not that old. I believe it was forged around the turn of the century." He paused a moment and his smile widened. "The first century."

Frank was stunned. "Are you saying that sword is two thousand plus years old?"

Dorian nodded. "You know, the people were ripe for a revolution. Legend has it, this sword was one of several crafted in secret, possibly even forged in Roman blacksmith shops. It is said the Hebrew script dedicates the sword to Yahweh and continues with a prayer for freedom from Roman rule."

Dorian stepped around his desk to where a sofa and two matching chairs sat. "Please, sit down."

The brothers joined him, taking the two chairs while Dorian took the sofa. He heaved a soft sigh. "As you know, when the Star of Bethlehem appeared, it was believed to reveal the next king of the Jews. The Jewish people assumed this king would be a real one, taking the throne of David and ruling over Israel and kicking the Romans out once and for all. They had no clue that the Messiah was there for another purpose altogether."

Frank nodded. "So this secret revolution thought they'd be ready when the king claimed his throne."

"Exactly."

"So...why do you have it? Why isn't it in some museum in Israel?" asked Joe.

Dorian looked over at him. "It was taken from the land within a few short years of its making. It's never been returned."

Frank cocked his head to one side. "Who took it?"

Dorian shifted in his seat and then pushed himself to his feet. He walked over to the closest narrow window and stared out at the rain still falling heavily. "What do either of you know of the legend of Dracula?"

Joe gave a start. When he didn't say anything in answer to Dorian's question, Frank nudged him. Joe gave Frank a hard look and then gave  in. "It's believed Bram Stoker based his Dracula on Vlad Dracul – otherwise known as Vlad the Impaler."

Dorian nodded. "True. Did you know that there were earlier tales of vampires? In 1047, the word 'upir' first appeared in a document referring to a Russian prince as Upir Lachy – or wicked vampire." He finally turned around. "It stands to reason that even if Vlad the Impaler had been a vampire, he might have not been the first."

Frank frowned. "But Dracula doesn't necessarily mean vampire. According to what I've heard, it means son of Dracul. And Dracul meant dragon."

Dorian walked from the window to his desk and sighed. "True. Quite true. I believe it is today's cinema that seems to  equate Dracula with vampire. That is not necessarily correct. In 1196, William of Newburgh's Chronicles lists several stories of vampire-like revenants in England. Vlad Dracul wasn't born until 1428."

"I don't mean to be rude, but we were talking about a sword, not Vlad the Impaler," said Joe. "How could the two possibly be connected?"

"You'd be surprised. Are either of you familiar with the events in Jerusalem in the year 33 A.D.?" Dorian looked over at them and noticed their puzzled expressions. "In the  year 33 A.D., the Jewish Messiah was crucified. Do either of you know the details of the story? How he was captured, by chance?"

Joe blinked. "He was betrayed by someone close to him."

Dorian nodded. "Ah yes, and why now we call a betrayal a Judas kiss. What happened to Judas?"

Frank shook his head, confused. "Is this a Sunday School lesson? He hung himself, didn't he?"

"Yes. And that is the end of Judas Iscariot, right?"

Joe shrugged. "Isn't it?"

Dorian shook his head. He finally sat back down behind his desk. "Have you ever wondered why the sign of the cross could affect a vampire so? Have you ever wondered why he must drink blood?"

Joe was getting quite unsettled by the conversation. "Um, no."

"Crucifixion was a dastardly way to die, the worst death you could give someone. How would the shape or sign of a cross affect you if you'd betrayed an innocent man and watched him die on that  cross?"

Frank sat up straighter in his chair. "What are you saying, that Judas was the first vampire?"*

Dorian shrugged. "It stands to reason. Vampirism is a curse, wouldn't you say? Detractors to Christianity have oft called it a bloody religion."

Joe narrowed his eyes. "So...what you're saying is this sword – it belonged to Judas?"

"Theories abound about Judas Iscariot for many reasons. Some believe it was his destiny to do what he did. Otherwise, Jesus would not have been condemned and Christianity today would be very different, if it  existed at all. Others say Judas was cursed from the moment, he accepted the Pharisees' silver coin. I believe there is more."

Frank couldn't help but wonder where this man got his ideas. "More?"

"I believe that it was indeed Judas' destiny to do what he did. But he also had an ulterior motive. Now this is only my theory, I've not found any evidence that it could even be partly true.  But as I said earlier, Israel was ripe for a revolution and many interpreted the prophecies as meaning a literal king on the throne of David, ridding Israel of Rome's rule entirely. I believe Judas was a revolutionary, who to protect his own skin and those of his fellow revolutionaries, betrayed Jesus when he realized Jesus wasn't the king they'd been waiting for."

Joe and Frank shared a long look. Church and Sunday School had been a part of their lives as children but it had been years since they'd brushed up on their Bible stories. Joe frowned. "You know, that does make a kind of sense. In a way."

"It's only my theory." Dorian shrugged. "At any rate, Judas upon discovering his 'curse', fled Israel, with only that sword."

"So how is it yours now?" asked Frank.

"Technically, it's mine," came a soft female voice from the doorway. "Dorian, you started without me?"

Dorian's pensive look faded as Fiala walked into the room. He watched her walk across the threadbare Persian rug as if she was his sole reason for living. She stopped by his chair and gave him a gentle kiss. "Dorian, is something  wrong?"

He smiled and the brooding expression on his face faded completely. He looked like someone completely in love. "Not anymore." He pulled her down into his lap and grinned over at Frank and Joe. "I understand Fiala is the reason you made it here tonight before the storm."

Joe blinked at the sudden subject change. "Yes, and we appreciate it. If Frank had had his way, we'd be drenched right now."

Frank didn't even look at Joe. He was gazing at Fiala. "The sword belongs to you?"

Fiala nodded. "I wanted a souvenir. It was close at hand." She jumped as if Dorian had pinched her. "Why – oh, silly me. I bought it when I visited MacLeod's shop in Vancouver." She shot Dorian a look and then smiled at the brothers. "Dorian definitely helps me keep my mind on track."

Dorian cleared his throat. "I'm sure you two must be hungry." He did something on his desk and a bell rang somewhere in the castle. A few moments later, Vlad appeared in the doorway. "Vlad, show the boys to the kitchen. I'm sure you'll find something delicious to eat."

Vlad gave a little bow. "Yes, Master. This way, please," he added, looking at Frank and Joe.

Frank and Joe followed Vlad out of the room, feeling they'd been quite abruptly dismissed. Joe  spared a glance for the room as they headed back down the hallway and past the foyer. "He's crazy," Joe said in a low  voice. "Certifiable."

A loud boom of thunder punctuated his words. Frank looked up at the ceiling. "Storm seems to agree with you."

"I'm serious."

Frank sighed. "Joe, everyone is entitled to believe what they want to believe."

"But that? He's certifiable, Frank, come on."

"You're the one who said it made sense."

"I was humoring the man. We're guests in his house, after all."

Frank rolled his eyes as they entered the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the castle, the kitchen was gleaming chrome and white tile. It had an industrial double sized refrigerator, a huge stove with four burners plus a grill. The sink was metal, large and deep. Vlad went to the refrigerator and pulled open both doors. "The master has a well stocked larder. Help yourself."

At that moment, Joe's stomach growled – loudly. "I guess I am hungry," he said, a bit embarrassed.

"The pantry is that door there," said Vlad, pointing to a door beside the stove. "You are welcome to come eat at any time."

Frank frowned. "Your m—Dorian Thayer doesn't have a formal sit-down meal in the evenings?"

Vlad gave him an odd look. "No. There is no need. The master and madame have unusual schedules. There is no need to adhere to  old-fashioned habits."  With that, Vlad pushed the refrigerator doors closed and left the kitchen.

Joe stared after him. "Huh, since when were breakfast, lunch and dinner old-fashioned habits?"

"I think he's referring to the habit of having each meal at a certain time. Remember how Aunt Gertrude used to be? We ate breakfast at a certain time, lunch..."

"But she's learned with our schedules and...oh." Joe sighed. "I get it. Like a midnight snack doesn't have to be at midnight."

"Not with you, anyway." Frank opened one refrigerator and looked inside. "Wow. There's like a dozen deli meats in here as well as all the fixings for sandwiches."

Joe wandered over to the pantry and peeked in. "Hey, Frank, they could probably open a sandwich shop. There's all types of bread too – white, rye, Jewish rye, wheat...potato? There's such a thing as potato bread?"

Frank pulled out mayonnaise, mustard, several packages of deli meat, a tomato, lettuce, cheese and sliced dill pickles. "Boy, are you out of date."

"Ha, ha." Joe glanced over the breads. "Which do you want?"

"Wheat."

Joe came out of the pantry with two loaves of bread. He handed the wheat bread to Frank and set the white bread on the large island situated in the middle of the kitchen.

After a moment's searching, they found utensils and plates. While Frank made his sandwich, Joe dug in the refrigerator for something to drink. "Water, soda..." Joe peeked in a glass pitcher. "Tea."

"Soda."

Joe took out two twenty-ounce bottles of Coke and set them on the island. "Wonder if there's potato chips?" he asked, wandering back to the pantry.

"You know, potato bread isn't much different than potato chips. Comes from the same source."

Joe came back out  with a long skinny can of Pringles. "Ew. Oh, forgot to check for dip."

Frank finished making his sandwich and grabbed the can of chips. "Find any?" he asked, taking a handful of potato chips.

"Yeah, Ranch dip and French onion dip." Joe set the two containers on the island. "Well, Vlad's right about one thing. The larder's well stocked."

Joe quickly made his sandwich and settled on one of the stools next to the island. "I still think he's certifiable though."

"Wonder how he knows Duncan," said Frank, around a mouthful of food.

Joe blinked. "Hmm, good question." He pointed a half-eaten potato chip at his brother. "Very good question."

Frank arched an eyebrow. "You're about to lose the dip off that chip."

Joe quickly ate the chip. "Anyway," he muttered. "I'd love to ask him how he came to be owner of a chain of blood banks." Joe cleared his throat. "That just sounds gross."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Who knows, maybe he's a vampire," he said, jokingly.

Joe grunted. "Considering the butler's name is Vlad, that's not funny."

Frank laughed, then. "Joe, get real. Vampires aren't real."

"Probably said that about Immortals too," Joe muttered.

"I didn't even know Immortals existed, Joe."

"Okay then, how can Immortals be real but not vampires? Neither can be explained away satisfactorily."

Frank opened his mouth, ready to answer, and then realized he didn't have a good answer. "Joe, just drop it. Did you see anything for  dessert?"

"Cookies and candies in the pantry. I call dibs on the peanut butter and chocolate!"

Frank just shook his head as he walked into the pantry. He scanned the shelves, not sure where Joe had seen the food. The back was dim, because the light from the kitchen didn't penetrate all the way into the pantry. Frank looked up and saw a string. He pulled it and a bright bare bulb clicked on, flooding the pantry with light.

He found the candy on one shelf and the Oreo cookies on another. He idly wondered if there was milk in the refrigerator as he reached up to switch off the light. He spotted a familiar looking bottle and paused a moment, wondering why it looked so familiar. It was shaped like a wine bottle but had no labels or markings.

Curious, he shifted the food packages to one arm and reached for the bottle. Then he noticed there were several rows of  these bottles identical to each other. He pulled the bottle down and felt a sluggish liquid inside. He exited the pantry, his thoughts on why the bottle looked familiar.

"Frank, I know you're legal, but do you think you should imbibe strange liquor in unmarked bottles?"

Frank's head jerked up as he looked over at Joe. A memory flashed through his mind...a long tall bottle that was either black or very dark gray. It held a cork stopper but no label. Curious, Frank grasped the neck of the bottle and shook it. Liquid sloshed thickly inside, so he uncorked the bottle to take a sniff.

"That's it. That's where I've seen this bottle."

Joe frowned. "Frank, what are you babbling about?"

Frank sat down at the island and quickly told Joe about the bottle he'd seen in the refrigerator at the Slade house. "It looked just like this down to the cork and no label."

"And?"

"You stopped me from finding out what was inside that night."

Joe grunted. "What if it's poison?"

Frank shook his head. "Most people don't keep poisons near any food, whether in a pantry or a refrigerator." He pulled the cork out and took a whiff of the contents. It had a pungent, almost metallic smell. He frowned and held it out to Joe to take a whiff. Joe did so and then jumped back so quickly, he dropped several chips and knocked over his stool.

Frank looked at Joe. "What?"

Joe swallowed hard. "That's blood, Frank. That's blood," he  said in a choked whisper.

Frank sniffed again and with a sinking in his stomach he realized Joe was right. "Why?" he asked hoarsely. "Why would – God, there's at least two dozen bottles just like this in the pantry."

The brothers shared a horrified look just as lightning crashed, thunder boomed and the lights went out—

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