A/N: I would like to thank both Acondo Van Helsing and Van Finales for your wonderful reviews. Enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Two: Home, Sweet Home

Things started to come back to me slowly. The first thing that came back to me was the musty scent of the carriage. Then came sound…or, rather, lack of it. I couldn’t hear the wheels turning or the hooves of the horses pounding on the ground. I didn’t feel any movement, either…I opened my eyes slowly, and when my vision cleared, I saw that I was laying face-down on the seat of the carriage, with one arm slung over the side of the seat, brushing the floor. I sat up slowly, feeling the blood rush to my head and trigger another spell of dizziness; I gently touched my forehead, where it had slammed into the carriage walls. A thick piece of cloth had been pressed there, and I could tell the blood had been wiped from my face. For some reason, a small spot on my neck also burned and itched.

The door to the carriage opened, and a hand reached in, a hand belonging to the driver. His head and upper chest soon followed; he gave me a smile that didn’t seem to reach his dead brown eyes, and…was it simply my imagination, or were his canine teeth unusually sharp and pointed?

"Ah, you’re awake, miss. Good, very good. You've been unconscious nearly a full day…You must've hit your head harder than I thought."

I stared at him for a minute, blinking so I could focus on him, then opened my mouth. "Whywestopmovingmister?"

He stared at me curiously, and I blushed furiously. I probably sounded like the village drunk after one too many pints of ale.

"We're here, miss," he said. "Follow me."

I stepped out of the carriage and felt my breath catch in my throat. I was staring at the most beautiful castle I’d ever seen in my life. It was huge and gothic, made of gray stone, with tall towers and narrow windows. Most of the windows were dark, but a few windows glowed yellow, suggesting cheerful fires within. Stone gargoyles perched high on the balcony, as if they were guarding the castle; their stone faces were forever frozen in grotesque snarls and scowls. The driver led me to the huge wooden door, at least thirty feet in height, and lined with thick bands of iron. He pulled at the big door knocker, and after three loud, banging knocks that echoed in my skull, the door creaked open. We both walked inside.

The hall beyond the door was enormous. The ceiling had to be at least sixty feet high, and torches in brackets on the walls provided the only illumination, casting flickering shadows on the wall. There were tapestries and weaponry hanging on the walls, but, to my surprise, no portraits of the family who lived within these vast-and admittedly chilly-halls.

A young woman, no more than a year or so older than my eighteen years, scurried over to the driver and I. Her thick black hair was pulled back with a ragged scrap of cloth, and her simple brown dress was worn and tattered. Her large green eyes looked me over, taking in my wavy brown hair and modest green dress.

"Ah, Lynda," the driver acknowledged her. "There you are. Will you take Miss Anderson's things to her new quarters?"

"Abby," I said. Both the driver and Lynda, the castle maid, looked at me as if I was a rock that had just spoken.

"What did you say?" the driver asked.

"Abby. You don't have to call me Miss Anderson. My real name's Abigail, but you can call me Abby."

He nodded. "Abby, then. Take Abby's things to her new quarters."

The girl nodded. "Yes, sir."

She threw my trunk over her shoulder as though it weighed absolutely nothing, grabbed my bag in her other hand, and trotted off down a dark hallway I hadn't noticed. I started to follow her, but the driver grabbed my arm. I was surprised at how strong his grip was…it was like steel, or iron...

"No, Miss Ander-” He paused, remembering my request. “-Abby. Lynda will show you to your quarters later. First, the master wants to meet you."

He pulled me further down the hall, until we reached a large, stone spiral staircase that ascended into a deep, dark nowhere. He started climbing the staircase, still pulling on my arm. For what seemed like hours, we just kept climbing the steep, somewhat slippery. As we rose, it seemed to get colder and colder, until my breath clouded up at the end of my nose as I breathed. Finally, he led me down a hallway off the stairs, roughly about five or six flights up.

"This way, Abby. We are almost to the master's quarters."

This hall was much smaller than the one I'd come in, and darker too. Only a few flickering torches here and there broke up the darkness. By the light of these sparse torches, the driver's shadow and my shadow appeared long, wavy, distorted. Our footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hall.

At the end of the hallway, we came across a single door. It was wooden, but painted black, with a small, simple silvery doorknob. Above the door, a stuffed raven was posed in a position that looked like it was about to take flight. I half-expected it to actually soar down the darkened hallway at any minute, silent as a spectre. From behind the door, I heard voices talking and laughing softly, and glasses clinking, suggesting a full room behind the door. The driver knocked on the door.

"Come in," a bored voice with a thick Transylvanian accent said from behind the door.

The driver gripped the knob, turned it, then slowly opened the door...