Page 3 of Farkas: Gothika

As if on cue, a dim light switched on ahead of them, illuminating what he first thought might be a tunnel. But as he stepped closer, he saw that in fact it was a passageway leading to the door of a building. The structure was made of stone and seemed massive, although he couldn’t truly make out its shape. Once again he had the urge to flee, but instead he followed the driver into the close, arched corridor and stopped when the driver swung a metal doorknocker.

“The master will be here shortly.” The driver set down the luggage, turned and walked past Lee, and strode toward the car. Before Lee could protest his abandonment, the man was lost in the darkness. A few seconds later, Lee heard the crunch of tires on gravel and the retreating thrum of the engine.

The coyotes’ noise intensified. They sounded very near.

Lee’s breaths were ragged, and although he was cold, sweat slicked his skin. Seething with fear and uncertainty, he licked his lips and pressed his back against the stone exterior. He tried to think of something he could use as a weapon, but he had nothing except his small suitcase and his garment bag, neither of which would do much damage against a single animal, let alone a ravening pack.

He nearly collapsed with relief when the door swung open with a loud creak. “Come in, Mr. Harker,” said a deep voice.

Lee scrambled to pick up his bags and get inside.

He was in an enormous vestibule with a slate floor, paneled walls, dusty crystal chandeliers almost as big as the limousine, and an assortment of carved wooden chairs and accent tables. A double stairway—large enough to host a parade—rose along the back of the room.

A man stood before Lee, smiling warmly.

He appeared to be in his early thirties, like Lee, and wore a formal suit that was decades out of style. He was of average height, quite slender, and his thick, dark hair was slicked carefully into place. Lush pink lips and bright sable eyes provided a contrast to his moon-pale skin. His features were refined, almost delicate, like a marble sculpture come to life, yet something about his demeanor radiated confidence and power.

He was incredibly beautiful.

“Welcome to my home, Mr. Harker. I am Vincent Farkas.” He extended his hand for what turned out to be a very firm shake.

“I thought— The driver said—"

“Laszlo Farkas is my grandfather. And your client, of course. But I handle most of the business nowadays, so you will be working primarily with me.” He smiled broadly, as if this arrangement pleased him. His English was faintly accented by something European that Lee couldn’t quite place. Maybe the family had emigrated to escape the war.

Lee finally managed to catch his breath and find coherent words. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you expect from me. Mr. Graves—”

“Yes. I asked him to be circumspect about the details. Do not worry, my friend. In due time I will provide you with all of the information you require. But please forgive me—I am being a terrible host. I have very few visitors and am quite out of practice. Let me get you settled and provide some refreshments.”

Without waiting for a response, Farkas took Lee’s bags and led the way upstairs at a fast clip. They walked down a long hallway hung with paintings in ornate frames and lined with vases and small busts atop pedestals. The floor was covered in a thick Persian carpet, and the doors—all closed—had complicated carvings and fancy hardware. But like the chandeliers in the vestibule, everything was a little dusty, and the air smelled stale.

The hallway branched, turned a corner, and branched again; they climbed several short flights of stairs and descended several others. Lee was soon thoroughly lost, and in the immensity of the home, didn’t hear or see anyone except Farkas. It felt as if they walked for miles.

As they turned down yet another corridor, Farkas again gifted Lee with a smile. “I trust your journey here was smooth?”

“It was… fine. Thank you for the scotch and the snacks. Where exactly are we?”

“On my estate, in the mountains. We own several hundred acres.”

“I heard…. As I was walking to your door…. Coyotes, I think.”

Farkas grinned as if this was good news. “Ah, the children of the night. What music they make!”

Unsure whether this was intended as a joke, Lee held his tongue.

At long last Farkas stopped in front of a wide double door flanked by plaster columns. He took a key from his pocket and unfastened the lock, then pushed both doors inward. With a small bow, he ushered Lee inside.

They were in a room larger than Lee’s entire apartment. Part of it appeared to serve as a library, with two massive desks, tall shelves crammed with legal books, and some wooden chairs. The remainder of the space housed a small dining set and, clustered around a roaring fire, four leather armchairs. As in the rest of the house, the furnishings and décor looked old and expensive, but here they were free of dust and cobwebs, and the air held a pleasant aroma, something like cinnamon.

There were no windows in this room but there were several doors, and Farkas opened them one by one. The first led to a bedchamber that contained the type of tall canopy bed that Lee had seen only in paintings. The second was a white-tiled bathroom, complete with a shower and tub. The third opened into a bedroom-sized space lined with more laden bookshelves. The final door, which was narrower and standing open, gave access to a tiny balcony with a stone balustrade. Lee could see nothing but the night beyond, where coyote howls continued. Farkas chuckled before closing the door and cutting off the sound.

“I hope you will find this apartment comfortable,” he said. “If you need anything, you must let me know at once.”

“It seems very nice,” Lee said politely, unsure what else to say.

Farkas waved toward the bedroom. “Please unpack and freshen up. I will return shortly with a meal.”

Lee almost protested that he wasn’t hungry—it was past midnight, after all—but then he realized that he was indeed hungry. Starving, in fact, despite the things he’d snacked on in the car. Maybe it was the aftermath of his recent attack of nerves. So he nodded and carried his things into the bedroom.

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