When I got out of the tube station in Pimlico, it was after four o'clock and slowly getting dark. The early, wintery twilight was settling over the city, filling the space between the tall, bright nineteenth century houses surrounding me on each side and the low, enormous mass of leaden, churning clouds promising more rain.

I took my phone out of my bag and checked the address again. According to a little map of Pimlico I had found, Bram Stoker's house was supposed to be quite close to the station.

I looked around, then started walking down an empty cobbled street, hopefully in the right direction.

Luckily, I found the house I was looking for without trouble. There were not many people around whom I could ask for help. Unlike Hammersmith, this part of London was peaceful and quiet, as if it had fallen asleep a couple of centuries ago and never really woken up again.

St. Georges square was a very long row of white terraced houses facing an equally long garden.

I walked through the garden and, finding a bench facing number twenty-six, I sat down, listening to the strangely muffled sounds of London's late afternoon traffic, reaching me as if from a great distance. I decided to wait for a while before knocking on the door; I didn't exactly know what to do. What if no one opened the door when I knocked? And what if someone did? What was I to ask?

Trying to summon my courage to walk over and knock while preparing a few intelligent questions, I observed the place as the darkness grew thicker around me. The tall house looked uninhabited. Not abandoned, for there were curtains on all the windows which I could see, but... empty. The glass panes looked dirty, and the small patch of grass under the front windows was uncut. It looked as if whoever lived there was away, on a very long holiday.

As the time passed and I started to shiver from cold, I noticed that the two houses on each side of number twenty-six had the same neglected look about them. Farther down the road, I saw a few people walking in and out of the houses, but there was no activity in any of the three I was looking at now.

Taking a deep breath, I finally crossed the street that separated the garden from the building. I entered the front yard through a low iron gate, which stood open, walked along a narrow walkway, and climbed the few steps leading to the door. Even though my hand was trembling with cold and hesitation, I knocked softly at first, still unsure of what I should say if the door opened. After a while, I knocked again, more loudly this time. And again. But there was no answer and no bell which I could ring to make more noise.

I descended the stairs, then stepped on the uncut lawn and peeked through the window. Unfortunately, it was already too dark to see anything inside.

Discouraged, I returned to my bench and sat down again, scowling at the house in front of me. It was nearly six o'clock when I gave up for the day, dispirited and half-frozen, after having observed, with rising frustration, as the lights came on in all the neighbouring houses gradually, while mine and the two closest to it remained dark.

I got home feeling down and not in a mood to talk. Luckily, Mum was out with Julian as her note, left on the table next to a sandwich she had prepared for me, informed me.

Missing Cook's warm, filling meals, I sank my teeth into the soft, white bread. I miss her pies and stews. And Shadow, my friend Shadow, my subconscious reminded me cruelly when Lily jumped on the chair next to mine, begging for a slice of ham.

Tears threatening, I pushed the plate towards the small dog, letting her choose whatever she wanted. I wasn't hungry anymore. I just wanted... to go home, to Vlad.

You mustn't think about any of it. I reminded myself as I dragged my feet up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. It won't help you at all.

Later, showered and curled under my warm quilt on the verge of sleep, I called Lia as I had promised.

"So where did you go to this afternoon?" she enquired immediately.

"Pimlico," I admitted. She would get it out of me sooner or later anyway.

"To do what?"

"To ask questions, Lia," I said, my voice filling with exasperation at the memory of my fruitless adventure. "I... wanted to talk to one of Bram Stoker's great great whatever children. The writer met... Vlad," I said, voice breaking, realising how painful it became to say his name out loud, "and I think that if someone could help me somehow, it's them."

"O...k..." Lia said, stretching the two letters as long as they would go, making me understand that she did not agree with me. "And... did they tell you anything interesting?"

"No. No one was at home. I'm going back tomorrow."

"Good," she quipped, surprising me. "I'm coming with you. I've never stalked a dead Victorian writer or his offspring. Sounds fun."

"Lia, you are horrible!" I exclaimed, trying to sound appalled but failing. As usual, she managed to make me smile.

"Shall I pick you up tomorrow afternoon in the shop?" she asked.

"Lia..."

"Samara, I don't want you to stroll around London or follow strange people alone. I have nothing better to do tomorrow anyway, I want to come with you."

"All right then. But would you pass by in the morning, too? I'll have another box for you."

"Of course. See you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Lia," I said, my words slurred by sleep before hanging up and switching the phone off. Then I closed my eyes and let the sleep finally take me.

I saw Vlad in my dream again, but this time, for some reason, he couldn't see me.

He was in the same cell as before, though not alone tonight. Petru Rareş stood in front of him, flanked by a few more members of the Vampire Council, judging by their grey cloaks.

Vlad looked angry, angrier than I had ever seen him before. He stood facing Rareş, tall and perfectly motionless, trying to look unfazed by whatever the man was telling him. Despite his admirable self-control, I could feel the rage emanating from him and see it in the deep wrinkles lining his forehead and his clenched fists, half hidden in the folds of his cloak.

I approached him, walking across the room unseen by anyone, and reached out for him in an attempt to soothe the worries away from his face with the tips of my fingers. He shivered infinitesimally when my hand touched him, and I saw his eyes dart for a split second to the dark corner where he saw me appear the night before. Finding no one in the shadows, he took a deep breath and spoke to Rareş, making me realize that the other man had said something that I didn't catch.

"You can not keep me here. It was your men who attacked mine. You claim that you were not aware or responsible for their actions... let's say I believe you, Rareş. But by keeping me here, you are making a mistake."

"It won't be long now, Your Highness, we need to hear a few more witnesses, and then we will let you go, most probably. In a few months, you'll be at home... As you know well yourself, justice requires time. However, I have sad news to deliver to you." Rareş bowed, his typical unctuous smile playing on his lips. "I have just come back from your castle, where I found out that both your son and your wife have disappeared. No one has seen them since the day of the fight..."

Vlad closed his eyes shortly, summoning strength and patience, before replying, "My son is currently with his mother. He did inform me about Lady Samara's disappearance. I... don't want you to worry about it, do you understand?" he called loudly enough to make his voice reverberate off the stone walls of the cell.

"I thought that maybe if you told us where she went, we might find her for you while you are here..."

Despite knowing that I was where Petru could never find me, his words made me feel anxious. I moved closer to Vlad and stood there, at his side, as still as I could, looking at the abominable man in front of us.

Vlad shifted yet nearer towards me, as if he could really perceive my presence even without seeing me and wanted to protect and reassure me.

"No," he said calmly, managing to rein his anger in this time. "I don't know where she is."

"As you wish, my Lord," Rareş said, his voice hinting at the displeasure mounting inside of him. "Speaking of your wives. I got a letter from Lady Jusztyna today, in which she's pleading with me to free you... She seems to think very highly of you still, despite everything..."

A gasp of surprise escaped me at hearing Jusztyna's name. What does she have to do with all this... mess? My eyes strolled from Petru to Vlad, finding his gaze fixed directly on me.

His eyes were so full of love and longing that I wanted to close the remaining space between us, to embrace him, get lost in his arms, and forget the rest of the world, forever. But I had no time left. The room around me was already starting to blur and vanish in a misty whirlwind, just like the previous night.

"I love you, I always will," I pledged, making him smile at me in response, all the worries gone from his beloved face momentarily, just before everything faded to black.

Then I was back at home, too puzzled and stunned by the events of my dream to be able to go back to sleep or even start with the tears.

Vlad is all right. They'll let him go, hopefully soon, I repeated to myself a few times because I needed to believe it. It was the only thing that mattered at the moment. He is all right.

But I was not, I realised as I struggled out of bed, both my mind and limbs feeling too heavy to move. All these nights filled with too many vivid dreams and too little peaceful sleep left me feeling exhausted and strangely over-excited at the same time. I knew I wouldn't last long this way; the adrenaline keeping me going would wear off at some point.

I wouldn't want it to be any different, though. I was thankful for every single dream, making me feel closer to Vlad. If only they could really carry me over to him. I'd give anything to be able to curl up in the bed next to him right now, letting him wrap his arms around me, pulling me closer and sleeping the whole day... No. You mustn't think about that, my subconscious warned, as I finally forced myself to get up.

I pulled the full box from under my bed so I wouldn't forget about it later, and listened carefully for Mum descending the stairs while I got ready. Once she was out, I went down myself.

As I went around my morning routine, I let my mind stroll back to Vlad and my... vision freely. A vision, that's what it had been. Not just a mere dream, my subconscious showing me what I desired to see or happen. I could see what was really happening to Vlad, I was sure about it... But why did he not see or hear me so clearly as the previous night? At least he could feel my presence... Why Rareş couldn't perceive me at all? So he did come to look for me in Bran, that horrible, disgusting... And what was it he said about Junior, and... Jusztyna?

In the end, I felt more confused than before, and my head was throbbing when I got off the bus in Hammersmith, welcomed by the feeling of being watched as soon as my feet touched the ground. I sighed, feeling resigned. I was sure that whoever was following me for whatever reason, they were most probably innocuous. If they meant harm, well, they already had enough occasions to do something. But why would someone...

"Samara! Hey!" Lucas came running to me from around the corner when I walked by Paris, lost in thoughts. "Let me carry that for you," he said, taking my box before I could object. "I was just about to have breakfast. Will you join me?"

"No, thank you, Lucas, I need to be at work in ten minutes. How come you are out so early again?" I asked, realising that I had no idea where he worked or studied, and what was his normal routine.

"I don't sleep much," he said simply, but looked away from me when our eyes met, too fast, waking up my curiosity. I had a feeling that he, with that simple line, told me more than he had meant to.

"Lucas..." I started as he crossed the road with me, carrying my box. How on earth was I to ask him if he was a vampire?!

"What?" He prompted after a prolonged silence when we reached the Theatre Bookshop and stopped by the still locked door.

As I watched Mr. Turner approaching the door from the inside when he noticed me, I shook my head. "It's nothing."

Mr. Turner raised his surprised brows at my companion as he unlocked the door for me, looking so much like Hercule Poirot in that instant that it made me smile. I was sure he was curious to know what I had done with William and who was my new friend, but luckily, he was too polite to ask.

"Thanks, Lucas," I said, taking my box from him, while my boss disappeared among his bookshelves again. "I'm sure I'll see you around soon..." I added, looking in his eyes. He was puzzling me.

"You will." He smiled and made to leave. Then he stopped, turned back to me hesitatingly, and said the thing I was least expecting to hear from him, "Just... be careful. Please."

What? What is he talking about?

Before I could collect my wits to ask for explanations, he was gone, disappearing in a blur in the thickening crowd rushing towards the tube station, causing a few people to stop and look after him.

I shook my head when I realised I was gaping after him too, took a deep breath, then walked inside.

Right. I definitely need to talk to him.