Page 29 of The Shadow of the Count

“My country is rich in lore. The count is legend.”

“Oh…” His mind spun. They had to contact Clark, somehow. “Whatishe, Yvgeny? A monster?”

“He is. A vampyr. A vampire you would say. He was such an evil man in life that he is the undead now.” Yvgeny crossed himself.

“We must try to wire or call as soon as we disembark.”He had heard of such creatures, and he would have said he didn’t believe in them until he’d met the count. Even after the desert of Egypt.

Yvgeny didn’t argue. He just nodded solemnly and rose to start pulling their bags from overhead. “Will your Donald be there?”

He prayed so. “Yes. Of course he will.” Peter knew if it was in Don’s power, he would do it. He looked out the window, the city asserting itself.

Excitement built in him.

He buzzed as he hurried out of the train, Yvgeny behind him. Surely Don would be here. His lover would have come. He searched the platform, scanning faces, and it was Douglas Fitzhugh he saw first, his movie-star face standing out. Beside him, though, as the dearest visage Peter could see.

Donnie.

He rushed to his lover, stopping short of sweeping him into a kiss. He did give him a manly embrace, however.

“Don. Don, I missed you.” He ached inside.

“Peter! Oh, I’m so glad you’re safe and well. I was so frightened for you.” Donnie kept patting his cheeks. “The count…”

“We have much to discuss.”

“Damn good to see you, Peter,” Douglas said.

“Douglas. You as well. Is Charles here?” He looked around for Douglas’s lover.

“He stayed in London to help. My friend Lyle, the one I was staying with? He’s very ill.”

Peter tilted his head. “Is Clark there?”

“Yes, and Jeb too.”

“He’s in trouble. We must go. Now. The count is there. He attacked them. I dreamed it!” He looked over his shoulder. “Yvgeny? Come, friend, and meet everyone.”

“The count. So it is him.” Donald looked at Yvgeny. “Hello.”

“Hello, good friend of Peter.” Yvgeny bowed deep.

“Yvgeny saved my life from the count’s minions. Can we call the estate?”

“Yes! Come on.” Don led the rush to find a phone.

The crowds seemed to push against them, trying to separate them, when all he needed was to touch Don. He kept as close as he could, and Douglas took his bag.

“Run, Peter. We’ll catch up.”

There was a pay telephone near the office, and Donald slipped into the privacy box around it, ringing up his friend’s home. Peter stood by, shifting from foot to foot.

“Hello, Norman? Yes. Tell Clark not to let Lyle out of his… What? What do you mean?” The color drained from Don’s face.

Without a word, he handed the phone to his brother and sagged against the wall. “It’s too late.”

“Oh, Don. I’m so sorry.” He took Donnie’s hands in his. “Your friend…”

“He’s dead.”