Chapter 74 – The Vampire Court
The discussion within the abandoned warehouse gradually came to an end.
With the broad outline of their plan settled, Alexander and Roland briefly excused themselves to retrieve the invitation and suitable formal attire from the Jones Manor. The detour proved short. Barely half an hour later, the pair returned carrying several garment bags.
Blade looked at the tailored black suit in silence, then at Alexander, then back at the suit before muttering, "You're serious..."
Alexander smiled innocently and said, "You can't exactly attend an exclusive charity gala dressed like you're about to invade a fortress."
Blade grunted but didn't say anything else.
Hannibal, on the other hand, seemed almost amused as he commented, "I'll admit..."
He held up the jacket, "...it's been a while since I wore something this fancy."
Roland politely gestured toward an empty office and said, "If the gentlemen would kindly change."
Nearly twenty minutes later, the transformation was complete.
Blade still looked intimidating. There simply wasn't much any tailor could do about that.
The difference was that instead of resembling a hunter, he now resembled the sort of bodyguard hired precisely because nobody wanted to test him.
Hannibal blended in even more naturally.
Alexander adjusted the cuffs of his own evening suit before giving both men an approving nod, "Perfect."
Blade looked distinctly unconvinced, "I hate suits... They feel so restrictive."
Roland smiled politely, "Fortunately, sir, they are not required to be comfortable."
Blade once again simply grunted in disapproval before Roland urged everyone to get into the sedan, as late guests attract a bit more attention than others, and that's something they want to avoid.
Soon everyone took their place, and the luxurious sedan drove away from the abandoned warehouse.
The drive toward Hollywood Hills passed largely in silence.
The closer they drew to Drake Manor, the more luxury vehicles began appearing upon the roads.
Expensive European sedans. Stretch limousines. Vintage automobiles maintained in immaculate condition. Every guest clearly belonged among the wealthiest circles of American society.
Eventually the manor itself came into view.
Alexander found himself studying it carefully.
The estate occupied one of the highest points overlooking Los Angeles, perched above the city as though it had no intention of sharing the skyline with anything else.
Its architecture reflected old European influences far more than modern Californian tastes.
Pale stone walls caught the last traces of daylight. Manicured gardens stretched around the manor in careful symmetry, broken only by marble fountains and rows of dark cypress trees. Broad terraces descended toward the hillside, offering an uninterrupted view of the sea of lights spreading across Los Angeles below.
It was elegant without appearing ostentatious.
There were no gilded gates or excessive displays of wealth. Every detail seemed deliberate, as though the estate had been designed to project permanence rather than luxury.
Power expressed through restraint.
The long driveway was already crowded.
Valets moved with practised efficiency as they received arriving guests. Uniformed attendants welcomed each newcomer with impeccable courtesy.
Nothing appeared unusual. Nothing, except the security.
As Roland handed over the invitation, Alexander allowed his gaze to drift across the entrance.
The guards were professional, perhaps a bit too professional.
They weren't frisking guests, nor were they paying particular attention to handbags or concealed objects. Instead, their eyes lingered upon faces.
Expressions. Posture. The way each guest carried themselves. Almost as though they were searching for something impossible to hide.
Without moving his eyes from the entrance, Blade quietly muttered, "They're looking for hunters."
Alexander gave the slightest nod while thinking, 'This makes considerably more sense. Especially if this party is actually hosted by vampires...'
He discreetly observed another guard and noticed that not all of them possessed the same unnerving composure.
Several appeared entirely ordinary.
Professional security employees hired for an exclusive event and completely unaware of what tonight truly represented.
Hannibal quietly spoke from behind them, "Someone spent a fortune organising this."
Roland calmly adjusted one cuff, "If this is indeed a trap... It's an exceptionally expensive one."
Inside, everything became even more extravagant.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, scattering warm golden light across polished marble floors. The ballroom buzzed with quiet conversation beneath the measured rhythm of a live orchestra performing classical pieces from an elevated platform. Servants in immaculate uniforms moved through the crowd with practised ease, balancing silver trays laden with champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres. Framed paintings covered much of the walls, their age and craftsmanship suggesting that many were genuine originals rather than expensive imitations.
Alexander let his eyes wander across the room.
He recognised politicians speaking with Fortune 500 executives, celebrated actors exchanging polite smiles with foreign diplomats, and several old European nobles whose family names appeared regularly in newspapers covering international finance. It was the sort of gathering where influence carried more weight than celebrity, and every handshake seemed capable of changing fortunes.
Nothing about the gathering immediately suggested vampires.
For several minutes he began wondering whether they had somehow reached the wrong conclusion, that perhaps Hannibal's investigation had been misled.
But Hannibal's quiet voice interrupted the thought before Alexander even finished forming it, "No."
He casually accepted a glass of champagne from a passing servant without drinking and declared, "They're here."
Alexander glanced toward him.
Hannibal's eyes never stopped moving, "Watch."
He subtly inclined his head toward a nearby conversation, "The food."
Alexander observed and saw several guests accept hors d'oeuvres. They smiled, thanked the servants, yet somehow none ever actually ate.
Another group held wine glasses. Minutes passed, but the liquid level never changed.
Then Hannibal directed Alexander's attention toward one of the polished marble columns decorating the ballroom and whispered, "Reflection."
Alexander frowned.
One elegantly dressed woman passed beside the marble. For the briefest instant, there was nothing reflected beside her companion.
Blade, who had remained silent throughout the observations, calmly concluded, "We're in the right place."
At that point, rather than remaining together, the four naturally dispersed.
Blade disappeared into the crowd with surprising ease for someone his size.
Alexander suspected he was doing exactly what vampire hunters always did.
Hannibal moved in an entirely different direction.
He periodically paused beside windows, emergency exits, hallways.
His attention focused less upon people than architecture.
Escape routes. Fallback positions. Possible choke points.
Roland drifted effortlessly toward the servants.
Within moments, he seemed almost part of the household staff.
His posture. His timing. Even the way he carried himself while passing other butlers appeared completely natural.
Alexander almost laughed while thinking, 'Sometimes... The best disguise truly is honest competence.'
That left him.
Alexander spent the next several minutes doing what his upbringing had prepared him for since childhood.
Polite conversation. Business introductions. Social pleasantries.
He effortlessly navigated discussions involving investments, charitable foundations and international trade while quietly gathering information regarding the evening's mysterious host.
Very little proved useful.
Nobody seemed particularly interested in discussing the organiser. Instead, Alexander noticed something else.
Whenever certain individuals entered a room, the atmosphere subtly shifted. Conversations never stopped entirely, yet voices lowered. People unconsciously stepped aside. Respect followed them without being requested.
No introductions. No announcements. Likely because none were necessary, as everyone already knew exactly who they were.
Alexander couldn't identify a single one, which by itself was a telling sign.
Across the ballroom, however, Blade quietly crossed paths with Hannibal and simply observed, "Elder."
Several minutes later, another figure passed, "Old."
Then an elderly aristocrat carrying an ebony cane.
Blade's expression hardened almost imperceptibly, "Very old..."
He knew few names, but he didn't need them, as experience had taught him how age revealed itself among vampires.
The mood changed once more as a ripple spread across the ballroom.
Heads slowly turned toward the entrance. Alexander followed their gaze and saw an imposing figure.
He was tall and unnervingly lean, with skin so pale it seemed carved from marble. His white hair was combed neatly back from a long, angular face, where blue eyes gleamed with predatory intelligence. Every movement carried the effortless poise of an old aristocrat, his dark tailored coat hanging perfectly from narrow shoulders.
He wore a charcoal three-piece suit that hugged his narrow frame with understated elegance. The only splash of colour was a burgundy silk tie, almost matching the very faint hue of his eyes. His smile was practised, charming enough to pass among Los Angeles socialites, though it never quite reached those watchful steel-blue irises.
Perfectly tailored clothing, relaxed smile and the easy confidence of someone entirely convinced of his own importance.
For some reason, Alexander had the absolute confidence of that figure's identity, Deacon Frost.
Unlike the other suspicious figures Alexander had quietly observed, this one enjoyed attention.
He laughed loudly, greeted acquaintances with practised charm and accepted compliments as though they were his due.
Several younger guests eagerly approached him, while others, particularly the older aristocrats looking ones acknowledged him with little more than curt nods.
Alexander noticed it immediately, 'Influence... For sure. Respect? Not so much.'
Then Frost's eyes shifted across the ballroom, and they met Blade's.
Neither moved and neither spoke. Only the faintest hint of a smile appeared upon both faces. Recognition and expectation. Neither seemed remotely surprised to find the other present.
Moments later, the orchestra gradually lowered its instruments, and as the music faded, conversation naturally followed.
The lights dimmed just enough to draw every eye toward the grand staircase overlooking the ballroom.
Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Blade, Hannibal, Roland, and Alexander gathered together once more.
Then, without anyone speaking, every suspected vampire present turned in the same direction at the same time.
A lone figure slowly descended.
No herald announced him, no servant spoke his name, as none were required.
Even Deacon Frost inclined his head, only slightly but unmistakably.
The figure towered over most of the guests, his broad frame filling a flawlessly tailored black tuxedo as though it had been made for royalty. The cut was timeless rather than fashionable, paired with a crisp white shirt, a silk bow tie, and polished leather shoes that reflected the ballroom lights. His long raven hair was combed neatly back, exposing a pale, aristocratic face with sharp cheekbones, a neatly trimmed moustache and pointed beard, and eyes of such dark crimson they seemed almost brown beneath the chandeliers.
There was nothing ostentatious about him, yet he carried himself with the effortless authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. Among Hollywood executives and old-money philanthropists, he looked less like a relic of another age than a European noble whose family had somehow remained untouched by time.
Blade's voice reached Alexander little more than a whisper, "Damn it... Dracula..."
Alexander's expression remained composed, but internally he was already screaming, 'For fuck's sake, Marvel!! Just how many curveballs are you going to throw at me tonight!? First Blade's doppelganger and vampires, now freaking Dracula... What's next!? Dormammu opening a freaking dimensional rift and yelling "Here's Drommy!" in perfect Shining style!? No! Calm Down! Let's not tempt fate...'
At the same time, his entire assessment of the evening changed. This wasn't merely a gathering of influential vampires; this was a royal court.
Dracula descended the final steps with measured elegance.
His presence filled the room without effort; he smiled warmly at those assembled.
For the briefest instant, Dracula's gaze lingered upon a broad-shouldered man in a black suit standing near the rear of the ballroom. A faint smile, almost imperceptible, touched the ancient vampire's lips before his attention moved elsewhere.
"Good evening." His voice carried effortlessly throughout the ballroom. "Allow me to thank each of you for accepting my invitation."
He spoke calmly, and without theatrics, it seemed that many of the people present knew him as the very reserved yet influential Justin Drake.
He thanked everyone for supporting the evening's charitable foundation before apologising that the remainder of the evening concerned what he politely described as, "...private family business."
Many of the human guests nodded with understanding, and several even began preparing to leave while Alexander almost admired the elegance of it, as he issued no threats or commands but simply used impeccable manners.
Then Dracula slowly raised one hand, and his crimson eyes glowed. Around the ballroom, dozens of identical crimson lights answered him.
Alexander felt it immediately. A subtle pressure settled over his thoughts.
Gentle. Comforting. Almost inviting.
Human conversations gradually slowed, their expressions softened, and questions simply ceased.
A master of ceremonies stepped forward with a pleasant smile and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen. Refreshments have been prepared in the eastern wing while our hosts conclude a brief private discussion."
No one questioned the request.
Guests smiled politely before calmly walking toward the eastern wing, continuing their conversations as though nothing unusual had occurred.
Alexander saw Roland tense beside him.
His butler's will was remarkably resilient, and for several long moments he resisted, but then his shoulders relaxed, and his expression became tranquil.
The combined influence of dozens of vampires had finally overwhelmed even him.
Alexander himself felt the same pressure attempting to settle over his mind.
For the briefest instant, his thoughts slowed, then something deep within him stirred.
His Ba responded almost instinctively, like a steady flame refusing to be smothered and as a result, the foreign influence shattered.
His thoughts became perfectly clear once more, but he did not react; instead, he calmly joined the flow of hypnotised guests moving toward the eastern wing.
At the same time, Blade briefly met his eyes, then Hannibal's.
No words were exchanged, and none were necessary, as revealing themselves now would accomplish nothing. Not before discovering why Dracula had gathered so many of his kind beneath a single roof.
The last humans disappeared beyond a pair of massive oak doors.
The attendants quietly closed them to ensure privacy.
One by one, servants extinguished many of the ballroom's lights.
The orchestra packed away its instruments and the elegant music faded into silence.
The atmosphere changed almost instantly.
Pleasant smiles disappeared. The carefully rehearsed manners fell away. The wealthy philanthropists. The refined aristocrats. The distinguished businessmen. Their masks remained upon their faces, but every other mask was finally discarded.
Only predators remained.
The court of Dracula was now in session.