The Abbey slowly woke.  He was indoors now, the Bishop's stern face within his view.  He slowly sat up, coughing, the stench of burnt flesh surrounding him.  “What happened?” he asked.                “You passed out, quite disgraceful,” the Bishop pointed out.  The Abbey paused, remembering the screams of the crowd and, hauntingly, of the woman, screams that echoed in his ears and didn't want to leave.                “Get up,” the Bishop said.  “The vampire was not cured with the witch's death, so the Cardinal wants you to witness our next attempt.”                Dread made the Abbey nauseous and tired.  He was beginning to feel stretched thin, as if he was the one being tortured.  “What is he going to try now?”                “We are going to attack the demon with holy water.  That should chase the evil away.” +++++                The Bishop and the Abbey, still shaky but more composed than he had been, walked through the hallways of the dungeon beneath the chateau.  Soldiers guarded a door at the end of the hall, presumably the door to the room where the vampire was being held.  Screams echoed through the hallway, coming from the room.  They filled the Abbey's ears, blending with pained and terrified screams that ran constantly through his head.  He hesitated.                “Oh, I see they started without us,” the Bishop commented sounding a little insulted.   He led the nervous Abbey to the door, opened by the guards.                Inside, a small crowd was gathered around an upright table.  Someone, the Abbey assumed it was the vampire, was chained in silver to the table.  The Arch-Bishop turned as he saw them enter, then waved everyone away.                The man on the table was stunningly beautiful, more so than the woman had been, with long hair like spun gold that shimmered in the firelight and pale, pale blue eyes, cold eyes, eyes like a cold, snowy day where you could just sleep…                The Abbey yelped as the Bishop smacked him hard on the shoulder with his cane.   “You fool,” the Bishop said.  “Never look one of those beasts in the eyes.  They will bespell you.”                The Abbey looked away, then carefully back to the vampire, his hair falling in his eyes as he avoided meeting the creature's eyes.  He gasped.  Nearly one side of the vampire's body was dripping like a melted candle, skin running down the creature's face, forming deep, pitted craters.   Only his lips and his pale, perfect eyes were untouched.                The Abbey swallowed, his voice breathy.  “Holy water did this?”                “Yes,” the Arch-Bishop said.  “It seems to have an interesting affect on these creatures.”                The vampire hissed in fury at the Arch-Bishop's words.  Abbey Chanton glanced at him, the sound tugging at something inside him.  “I assume it isn't working,” he commented dryly.                The Arch-Bishop gave him a long look.  “Not as of yet, but we have all night to try.”                His words renewed the Abbey's sickening dread and, helpless to stop anything, he moved into the corner of the room to watch, sagging against the wall.                The Arch-Bishop turned back to the priest with the holy water.  “Proceed.”                The priest took the stopper off the crystal vial, a long stem shining with the water.  The priest moved the stopper just above the vampire's chest and two drops fell.  The drops ran down in hot, melting lines.  The creature screamed, high and piercing.  It was a haunting sound, clear as an eagle's scream and pulled at things deep inside of him.  It reminded the Abbey of clear, green-gold eyes.   He closed his eyes against the image.                At first, all the Abbey could hear were the screams, those present and ones remembered, but gradually new screams registered, almost drowned out by the vampire's torment.  During a lull in the torture, he opened his eyes, hearing the cries echoed nearby in the chateau.                “Does anyone hear that?” he asked, moments before the door burst open.  The broken and bloody bodies of the guards flew into the room followed by a dark shadow, fast as a nightmare.  The Abbey watched as the creature crossed the room and took the Arch-Bishop by the neck, snapping him like a doll.                  The Arch-Bishop collapsed, lifeless, as the force of the creature's entrance blew out the candles in the room.  Darkness, whole and complete filled the Abbey's eyes as screams and moans filled his ears.  He shrank into the corner, putting a hand to his mouth to silence his breathing as he closed his eyes to the wet crunching sound that came to him, followed by falling chains.                All went quiet.  Nothing could be heard but the Abbey's panicked heart beat.  He could smell the blood in the room and the memory of burnt flesh and melting skin filled his nostrils.                  Unconsciously, pale eyes full of loathing flashed through his mind.  But nothing moved.  He swallowed, trying to calm his breathing and slow his heart as he carefully pushed himself off the wall, trying to see in the darkness.  Hands grabbed him, whipping him around.  He cried out as something sharp and hot pierced into his neck and a mouth clamped down on him.  The vampire fed from him, forcing the image of fiery green-gold eyes and the Abbey screamed, long and piercing, hoping to chase the blind terror from his mind before he slipped into the darkness. +++++                The Abbey blinked.  Everything was still, quiet.  There was a weight in his arms, a heaviness that worried him.  Something dripped in a long, thick line from his chin.  He looked down.  Cradled in his arms was a man, a guard judging by his armor.  Blood coated him, blood from his throat, which appeared to have been torn out, as if by some animal.                The Abbey sucked in a breath, tossing the body off of him as he stood.  Strange sounds filled his ears, nagging and dull as a forgotten memory.  He knew they were important, but not what they were.  He looked around him.  The darkness stunk of death and rot.  Strangely, the darkness was not as complete as it should have been.                Something wet trickled slowly down the Abbey's throat.  He reached up, wiping the sticky liquid from his neck.  He could smell the sharp odor of blood.  He gently touched his mouth, feeling it coating his lips.  The coppery taste of it filled his mouth and he ran his tongue along a pair of sharp fangs.                The doors banged open, filling the room with bright firelight as the soldier poured in, holding swords before the unresponsive Abbey. +++++                Abbey Chanton wondered if the witch, when she had stared up into the night sky, had seen the same beauty in the stars as he did now.                The vampires had killed the Arch-Bishop as well as everyone else in the room three days ago.  They, of course, had gotten away.  The Abbey was the only one of the victims who had risen, or so the priest informed him.  The soldiers were not taking any chances of a repeated incident.  They had chained the Abbey to the outside eastern wall of the chateau with dawn slowly approaching.  The Abbey hadn't even struggled.                He had always loved sunrises.  The blooming sky brought the dew and, with it, the promise of a new day.  Whatever.                “May God have mercy on you soul,” the priest before him said when he finished the Abbey's last rites.                He laughed.  The priest looked at him quizzically.  “And what has God done for me lately?” he wondered aloud.                 The priest looked horrified.  “You blaspheme.”                 “Well, I am damned.”                “You speak like this only because you are under the vampire's spell.”                The Abbey rolled his head down, looking at the priest with piercing eyes, dim screams a constant noise in his ears.  The screams were going to drive him mad.  He didn't mind.  “Then why doesn't he come for me?” he asked, a little sad at being abandoned by the vampire.                “He is with you always,” the priest replied, misunderstanding.                “I meant my new master.”                The priest straightened with righteous indignation.  “Because God will not allow it,” he replied.                “If God cared, then why did he give me such an impassible test?  I warned them about those creatures in the chateau,” the Abbey said, more to himself than to the priest.                The priest remained silent, unsure of what to say.  A dark image and pale blue eyes flashed through the Abbey's mind, followed by the smothering scent of a fire.  The Abbey look at the priest, eyes as cold as a winter frost.  “Have you ever been in love?” he asked softly.                The priest shook his head.                The Abbey nodded.  “Don't,” he said, raising his eyes to meet the coming sun.  “It's hell.”                The screams rose to a maddening crescendo, then sudden, blessed silence filled the Abbey's mind and he sighed.  The sun rose over the edge of the horizon, bringing with it an end, and a new beginning. +++++                The painting was beautiful, he admitted, the woman's eyes shining with green-gold fire even through the paint.  They all appeared so happy together, the three of them.  It was like a fairy tale.                Whatever.                Anita was in the other room, putting Jean-Claude to sleep.  Dawn was approaching.  A new day.                  Anita once said that her apprentice, Larry, thought of the dawn as the promise of a new day.   It wasn't.  There was nothing promising about it.  It was just a respite from the darkness and the horror with it.  It was just another way to hurt you.                Something about the woman's eyes bothered him.  They seemed to stare at him relentlessly.   Anita said she had been burned at the stake by the Church about 200 years ago.  It was strange, but it seemed that everytime he looked at the portrait, he could smell burning flesh, hear her maddening screams mixed with others.                He looked away from the portrait.  It was just a painting.  He ran his fingers through his hair, just long enough to curl slightly at the ends.  He glanced back at the portrait and narrowed his clear blue eyes, deep and cold as the winter sky.                Anita stepped into the room.  “Coming?”                He looked at her, smiled slightly at the warm look in her eyes, and then Edward followed her away.