No longer was it chilly without. Only within.

Sad is the heart that beats without blood, churning nothing but the open air. Sad too is the body so emptied; though its parts may be capable, it sits, as it must, in stasis, waiting for the eventual rot. Yes, an injured arm can be patched up, but when blood stops its flow, stops racing through the brain, what shall that arm do?

How long would Dracula stay sleeping? His slumber was, by all rights, his reward, but there remained a twiddling doubt in Robert’s mind, a worry that he would remain in slumber or at least in depression, that he might never again be able to move them on.

These past few hours, after a rest of his own in the medical bay, Robert had put himself to as good a use as could be put to; with Adam’s help, he had organized the captain’s quarters. It was a simple affair, now that Bistritz was on cruise control above meadowlike clouds. When it was done, bookish cabinets flanked the room coolly, and Robert decided to bring Adam to the wheel for an educational moment.

“Now, son,” he said (here meaning “son of Frankenstein”), “you, know, how, steer, if, anything, go, wrong.”

“Oh, this is nothing,” said Adam buoyantly. “This is a wheel in the old style.”

“Let’s, learn, again, anyway.”

The refresher was unnecessary but, truth be told, both Robert and Adam were glad for it; this mundane business distracted them from recent grief, the body of a man.

When Dracula padded up the steps, he dragged himself, not with an elderly stagger but with the languor of a child half-awake in the middle of the night—this despite having slept for a full fourteen hours. The man was clearly deflated, paler than before, with widening wrinkles and a hunch to match Igor’s old look. At least he was wearing the sporty sneakers he’d been saddled with, which gave him a sort of ‘foxy grandpa’ look.

When he came, no one heard him; when he moaned “good eventide” whilst wiping one eye, Robert and Adam turned with a jolt. The initial fear and startlation passed; both rushed to his sides, eager to help him—or distract him—whichever was needed.

Adam, despite his continued insomnia, was all smiles and energy: “Sir! Count Dracula! You are looking fairly well this night. But you should not be here, piloting the bat—we have taken care of that—”

But Robert calmly rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder, and quieted him.

Indeed, Adam had failed to enliven the Count, who cleared his throat to say, “Thank you, thank you both…but at this moment, I seek no compliments, no…embraces, no condolences, no…reassurances. I seek to move forward. But first, I seek a meal.”

“Meal!” said Robert. “Trials, taking, care, of, that.”

Dracula’s eyes twitched wider. “She is?”

Robert pointed down the stairwell, toward the dining room. “Maybe, didn’t, see, dining, table.”

They downstepped, and the entire room was dark, uncheered by the hearth that had blazed for former meals. Everything here was a cold, deep blue, unwelcoming as bogland peat, and the armor on the walls shone a little with the eerie dreg of moonlight dripping through the captain’s window. They felt they did not need to come closer to the table to know that there was nothing on top.

Next to the stairway was a little cat bed containing a little cat, comfortably curled. Robert woke her up; though he considered nudging her with his foot, he ended up squatting to jostle her little cat shoulder. She yawned back to life, stretched lethargically, and asked, with a yet-sleepy mouth that seemed half glued together, “Whaddaya…?”

“Trials,” said Robert with efforts at patience, “any, food, for, Dracula?”

The whiskered old crone stood up, only to stretch, arching her front half down again. How self-indulgent, Robert thought. “Oh. Right. I picked out some canned soup from Drac’s pantry.”

“Canned, soup. That, really, all, you, did.”

“Well, I did set it out on the table.”

“’Tis true,” Adam called out; having circled the table, he could confirm that, while not lavish, it was by no means empty, harboring, as it did, four cans. Even Robert noted the faint glow of Adam’s eyes as he looked out from Dracula’s eat-place.

“I was gonna do more when Drac woke up. Look, Rob, didja really want me to warm up food immediately and then have it lying there for ages?”

“Trials, that, not, point. Dracula, woke, up, while, you, sleeping.”

“It was a catnap!”

“Where, your, hospitality?”

“And,” added Adam, “would it not have been grand if you magic’d up food?”

But Dracula stopped this vocal crossfire, his pale hand risen like a white flag. “I beseech you, give it a rest. Trials has done what you asked of her, Robert; actually, I am not sure it is fair to ask any more of any of you. But more on that as we nosh.”

Dutifully, Adam stoked the hearth. It was decided, tacitly, that the soup would not be warmed in the kitchen, but heated up on the spot. They balanced their soup cans on the ends of cast-iron fireplace utensils, with Adam doing double-duty, holding soup for Trials. Thus they crowded around the fire, all criss-crossed except for the cat.

For the first time, Trials noted Dracula’s trendy sneaks. “Goin’ for a night out, Drac?”

“I may not look my best at current,” Dracula acknowledged, the fire doing its level best to add strength to his features, “and this is only our first major setback in the face of many to come. I cannot move backward, but I also cannot force all three of you to fall headlong into death, as Walter Whipple unfortunately did, due to my own selfish desires. I will have you know I harbor no intention of letting anyone else expire in my care. All of you are permitted to leave this mission if ever and whenever you desire, even at this very moment.”

With his free hand, in nimble fingers, he flashed two objects from his handy cloak: a vial of the remains of Alice’s moon, mingled powder-gold and lune-dust, and a vial filled with brownish blood approaching the color of shag carpet. “I will give money generously, and even administer the werewolf serum, should any of you want to fit in for the first time in your lives.”

Adam had no wish for riches; for him, ‘twas the shag that captivated. Here came the vision of him—even him!—walking among the common folk, learning their manners to hide his lesser nature! Words leapt to his throat, and three letters, grabbing his tongue, launched themselves to the forefront of his mouth! Reader, you may think you know what those three letters were, as did Adam: “I do.” But what he actually said will surprise you and him both.

He blurted out, “Why…?”

The fire sizzled, giving the metal lacquer of their soup cans a nice browning shell, letting labels flake and fall in the ash like leaves.

“Why should I want to join the society that just killed our virtuous friend? Again and again I have borne witness to the depths that werehumanity will reach…starting even with my entrance into this world, I daresay, my attempted apprehension without explanation.” What he left unspoken was the cowardice he sensed within himself—for he had wanted to fade into that crowd, turning complacent and complicit.

He turned to Dracula now. “My heroic host,” he said, “I will stay by your side until the end.”

“The end, you say,” his host replied. “By which you mean, for the next three days.”

“That, soon, huh,” Robert say-ask-repeated. Squinting at his can, he pulled it from the flames. The two vampires followed suit, for their cans were all covered in a satisfying black crunch. “Me, get, can, opener.”

“No need,” said Dracula; he was scraping a fireplace shovel along his can’s lid.

Soon all soups had been oped, all long utensils set to the side and all short spoons in hand. The group remained sitting around the fire with their cans on the carpet. It fostered something to eat this close together, as if they all were the couple, in their younger days, from Citizen Kane. But it brought out something else too, something like claws, and it is easy to lash out with such proximity.

“So Drac,” said Trials, “you said we could get out anytime, even this very moment.”

Dracula sipped a spoon of low-sodium condensed blood. “That is correct.”

“Are you kitten me? We’re ten thousand feet in the air. If I got out right now, even I couldn’t land on my feet.”

Robert cast his spoon roughly into his soup, and the can toppled and spilled! “Oh, hush, up,” Robert growled. “Don’t, you, know, Dracula, being, serious? This, not, time, for, jokes!”

“Uh, excuse me, I, was, being, totally, serious, ahuh-huh-huh,” Trials fired back in mocking gasps. “You still aren’t smart enough to put together complete sentences, but at least I have enough brains to know when to bow out. This whole trip became a huge drag once that old fart died. I’d rather go back to my nice safe Stonehenge and keep watching the moon disappear for good than stay and watch a bunch of old Halloween costumes get beaten up by wolves.”

“I, had, up, here, with, you,” Robert griped, miming how high up he had had it with her by putting his hand up pretty high. “Best, flaky, cat, like, you, leave, early. We, never, possibly, work, together, well!”

“At least we can agree on that, fish-face.”

Adam begged them, “Why, oh why, can we not all simply getteth alongeth, ye travelers?”

“Oh, can it,” she said, and he did, sadly sipping soupy supper. “Who do ya think you are, anyway? Shakeyspeare?”

“That is enough bickering,” Dracula hushed, though sounding feeble. “Trials, I understand and respect your decision. Robert and Adam, please do the same. I shall set a course directly for Stonehenge and drop you off there, my furry friend.”

The entire cast and crew sighed a lethargic air out from their chests, and Dracula moved to take the wheel in its new direction.

Robert shook his head. “Don’t, see, how, we, save, aliens, just, three, people.”

“Not my prob anymore, Bob,” said Trials.

“We will cook up a way to accomplish our feat, to be certain,” Adam assured, gulping a gob. “What far more consumes me, as I consume this consommé, is: how ever could those werewolves in South Africa give Bistritz such leave without even attempting to attach him to the ground, take him into official custody, or even at the very least drape an overlarge tarp over him to ensnare him?”

“That danger has passed, and those fears are of no consequence anymore,” said Dracula from the pilot’s deck, hollering mellowly down the stairs. Though he found that the wheel was caught and stuck somehow, no worry was conveyed in his voice. “I assure you, Robert, more allies can be found… Oh dear. This is the cause of the steering-wheel snag. It appears someone has put a bicycle lock on the wheel. No wonder I cannot adjust it.” Indeed the wheel was locked in place; the chain was hot pink. “Did one of you affix this lock and forget to tell me?”

“Hmm, curious,” Adam said, sipping more soup. Then he fell backward, his meteoric soup can flying, and he tumbled into a violent coughing fit! His eyes bulged and his skin was turning a tomato-like shade of red (possibly beet-red, but definitely some sort of vegetable color). After a moment’s raging, he spat up an entire clove of garlic!

He spluppered, “Oh Trials, did you accidentally put a garlic in my soup?”

“But,” Dracula revealed, “I do not keep garlic in my kitchen.”

“But,” Alice revealed, “I do.”