Outside in the moonlit courtyard, a dark four-door sedan pulled up, a blackshirt behind the wheel. From the car's right rear door a pudgy SS officer emerged, his peaked cap knocked from his head by the door sill. Moments later the Countess stopped pacing and watched as the officer swaggered into the hall. He was an Obergruppenführer, the equivalent of general in the Schutzstaffel ranks. A Schütze (SS private) held the massive front door for him, the other men coming smartly to attention.
The Countess glowered as the officer walked over, a smug smile on his round porcine face. "Countess Borca," he said, politely removing his cap, which he checked nonchalantly for damage. "I am Obergruppenführer Dorsch of the Schutzstaffel. Do you speak German?"
"Yes," she said coldly. "May I ask why the SS has invaded my castle?"
"To protect you, dear lady. You must come to no harm." He gestured toward a nearby oak table. "Shall we sit down?"
She went along grudgingly. "I've searched all Transylvania for someone like you," said Dorsch, as they sat down across from each other. He produced a silver cigarette case from a pocket. "I had almost decided that you didn't exist."
Opening the case, he held it toward her. "Care for a Lucky Reich?" he asked.
"No, thank you." She did not even look at the case.
"You do not smoke, Countess Borca?"
"No."
Leaning forward, Dorsch drew her attention to a mirror that was inside the case, and smiled. "No reflection on you," he said meaningfully.
Taken in, the Countess reacted violently, slapping the case out of the Nazi's hand, cigarettes flying in the air. They both rose to their feet in a huff. Then the Countess quickly regained her composure.
"I am sorry," she said calmly. "I do not like mirrors."
Dorsch smiled again, dismissing her effrontery. "Of course not. You are a vampire."
She strolled toward a large, leafy potted plant, which bore roselike red flowers. "Who told you such nonsense?" she asked.
"The local peasants." Dorsch followed her, two Schützes busily gathering up his smokes. "But I had to be sure. You know how superstitious they are."
Standing with her by the plant, Dorsch watched her smell one of the flowers. "A lovely plant," he said. "What is it called?"
"Dracaena," she said, her eyes still on the flower.
"Dracaena? I have never heard of it. Does it grow only here in Transylvania?"
"Are you here to talk about plants?"
"Of course not. I am here for one purpose." A Schütze handed Dorsch his refilled cigarette case. Dorsch looked again with a smile at the Countess's non-reflection in the mirror. "Now you see her, now you don't."
"What do you want of me?" the lady asked impatiently, as Dorsch repocketed the case.
"You must come with me, to Berlin."
She turned to look incredulously at Dorsch. "To Berlin? But why?"
"Because those are my orders."
She stared at him. He was smirking, but the smirk faded at the knowing look in her dark, haunting eyes. They both knew that the Third Reich's days were numbered--the end surely too near for Adolf Hitler's comfort--and the Countess could guess why this SS Schweinehund had been sent to find her.
"I will not go," she said with a defiantly raised chin.
"You will go," said the double-chinned Dorsch.
She turned and headed for the stairway, but stopped as two Schützes moved to block her way. She turned to glare back at the self-satisfied Dorsch.
"Do not try the bat thing I have seen in the movies," he warned. "You cannot escape us."
Despite the warning, the Countess, to the wonder of all in the room, transformed, seemingly sucked out of sight in an instant, replaced immediately by a big black bat.
"She is trying the bat thing," Dorsch said with annoyance. As the creature winged toward the top of the stairway, two Schützes stationed there instinctively raised their weapons.
"Do not shoot!" yelled Dorsch. He knew vampires were reputedly immortal, yet he could just see himself handing a dead, lead-filled bat to the Führer.
The bat had already veered away. She was headed toward an open window across the wide hall, but before the bat could reach it, Schützes banged the shutters to.
Dorsch and his men then watched the chiropteran fly in wide aimless circles overhead. "It is useless, my Countess!" Dorsch called to her with amusement. "You might as well come to roost!"
The bat responded with a pass that was far from aimless. Perhaps she could not escape, but she could at least give her captor something to remember.
His men tried not to laugh as the Obergruppenführer pulled out a handkerchief to clean some of the batshit from his face. "Another bat thing," he muttered.