Two weeks had passed since the incident in the subway and, much to Dom's delight, both he and Raffaele had gotten perfectly used to sharing a home.

Perhaps, looking at the big picture, this had been inevitable from the start. With Raffaele always eager to make a good impression, adapting his habits to suit whatever guest was staying with him. And Dom... well, Dom could adapt to anything, after so many years on his own, having to change his ways according to whatever new situation he found himself in.

But in this case, neither of them had to make any major sacrifices to avoid inconveniencing the other.

Raffaele continued with his routine, taking care of household chores as if he weren't an aristocrat who could easily afford staff to free him from such responsibilities. Every so often, he would go to the village or the church, spending the afternoons gossiping in the gardens of some elderly lady, tea cup in hand. And with Dom's help, little by little he made sure all his furniture and belongings from the move were placed properly, so that no one else would suffer any mishaps.

Dom, for his part, was having the time of his life. He had taken it as a personal challenge to clear the castle gardens of weeds, and every morning he could be seen hard at work.

At night, when the sun began to set, came the best part of the day. That is, the moment when both castle occupants would sit together in the drawing room, in front of a lit fireplace, and talk about the day's events. As if they hadn't already spent most of the past twenty-four hours in each other's company.

And maybe that was exactly what Dom found so appealing about this dynamic: how domestic it all felt. He, who was the kind of guy you had to chase after to make him keep his word and get to work, didn't have that particular problem with Raffaele.

On the contrary, even. The more Raffaele encouraged him to rest, insisting that there was no need to exert himself so much, the more Dom wanted to please him. It was inevitable.

"So, you no longer think he's a vampire?"

Fredo actually sounded disappointed upon hearing that not only did their noble neighbor appear to be an excellent human being, but that he actually was one.

And who could blame him? Legends sounded far too epic not to at least glance in that direction.

Though Dom felt he owed an explanation to those who had set him on Raffaele's trail, the truth was he'd have preferred to keep to himself and only share the strict essentials: Namely, that the whole thing had been a setup orchestrated by a high-ranking official with their own unclear agenda...

But anyway, night was falling, and this was one of those days when Dom stopped for a drink at the village tavern and used the opportunity to chat with his acquaintances while waiting for the appointed hour to meet Raffaele and make their way back to the castle together.

"There are no vampires," Dom stated, hoping it would be the last time he'd have to say it. "Raffaele is... a good friend of mine. And yes, maybe he's a bit eccentric—his diet, his hermit-like lifestyle in a palace, or his extensive mask collection. But there's nothing supernatural about him, I promise you!"

"I can't imagine Don Raffaele attacking anyone, child or adult," Marzio chimed in, using the moment to top off everyone's wine. "He's too friendly."

"You were the first to support my theory, because of that same reason!" protested Fredo, who, despite sounding deeply offended, still accepted the wine before anyone could think of taking his glass away.

"I didn't support you; I was actively listening. You have no idea how many absurd things I've heard over this bar, and that doesn't mean I believe a single one. I go along with whatever the customer says, always neutral... At least until they stop paying me. Then I start picking sides."

"Unbelievable, all these years giving this place my business, and what do I get? Zero trust!"

"You can't say this tavern is your 'go-to' when it's literally the only one in the whole village. You don't have any other options!"

"Exactly! I don't, and I still make the effort to come here every day. That should be apprec—No, don't take my wine away, I'm not a difficult customer. You're the one who lacks the patience for this line of work," Fredo declared, protecting his glass with both hands before turning back to Dom.

"Fine, let's say Don Raffaele isn't a vampire. In that case, who the hell is? Because I don't care what the kids are saying, the monster has kept attacking adults."

"What?"

Dom hadn't heard of any incidents since what had happened to Fortunato weeks earlier.

And sure, it was entirely possible that he hadn't been paying attention: It was painfully obvious that, ever since he'd considered his investigation closed, he'd been more focused on enjoying his stay with Raffaele than on continuing to pursue the malicious rumors that still lingered.

So no, it wasn't that the attacks had stopped. It was that he hadn't looked.

"Mrs. Acconci was bitten by the vampire too," Marzio went on to explain. "She was just lying in bed, napping, when the thing slipped into her room... And okay, the woman's over eighty and not exactly sharp when she gets drowsy. But we all saw the mark on her neck."

Dom wanted to argue, but wasn't sure what to argue against. Sure, these kinds of supernatural creatures didn't exist. But that didn't mean some mortal wasn't pretending to be one. And if his theory was right, this person wasn't going to stop until someone caught them—or until Sforza fired them.

"Was she able to identify him? The supposed vampire, I mean."

"Pale, brown hair, light eyes, and sharp fangs. About thirty, and quite handsome..." Marzio gave a quick rundown, pausing briefly. "Her words, not mine."

"All vampires are good-looking," Fredo said with conviction, turning to Dom. "The ugly ones are witches."

"He was dressed like an aristocrat, though his clothes were kind of... How should I put it? They looked tight on him, like he was wearing someone else's outfit."

"Mrs. Acconci would know—she's a seamstress," Fredo quickly added.

"We don't know who the guy is. He's definitely not from the village."

"Oh, now you're sure of that?" Dom was surprised—this was definitely new.

"She saw him as clearly as daylight," Marzio confirmed. "And not only that—her description matches the one Fortunato gave, once he recovered from the blow."

This complicated things. Or made them simpler, depending on how one looked at it.

"I hope the woman wasn't harmed, apart from the bite," he murmured.

"No, he just leaned over her, sucked her blood, and then left," said Fredo, with complete nonchalance. "It should sound alarming, but the lady enjoyed the experience so much that she even offered for him to come visit her again."

"I don't think that would be very wise..."

"There was another attack three days ago," Marzio continued. "Same description of the individual. The victim was another young man who had been working in the fields and was assaulted in a similar manner to Fortunato, when he was alone."

"Surely the vampire was hungry and used his powers to take advantage of all these defenseless people," Fredo declared. "There's no doubt he's a despicable being... and extremely dangerous!"

"Although, are we certain he has powers? Because there's one thing... In this last attack, the victim didn't fully lose consciousness. And since it was still light enough to see, he realized the creature didn't sink its fangs into him but instead tried to use a device."

"What device? You didn't tell me about that part," Fredo complained, immediately adding, "What kind of vampire uses an external tool to take blood from its victims?"

Someone who wasn't a vampire, perhaps?

"What was this device like?" Dom asked. "Did he get a good look at it?"

"The vampire hid it before he could see it clearly, but it looked like a simple piece of wood with some needles stuck into it."

"What the hell would he want that for?" Fredo didn't seem to understand anything.

Dom, on the other hand, was starting to see it clearly: someone was going out of their way to frighten the townspeople under the pretense of being a demonic monster.

Someone who, evidently, had no actual powers. This was evident not only because of the object that seemed to be used to simulate a bite, but also because this new round of attacks on adults was happening less frequently— as if the attacker wanted to cause chaos but didn't want to risk being caught— and always targeted people who were unlikely to defend themselves.

Dom took this opportunity to share his suspicions with Marzio and Fredo. Not just about the alleged deception, but also his theory that Count Sforza might be behind it.

"The only thing I can't figure out is the motive," Dom concluded. "I've been discussing it with Raffaele, and he can't think of any reason that would have led him to act this way. Maybe we're wrong, but since we're still relatively new to the village and don't know..."

"It's because of the taxes," said Marzio, with the certainty of someone who had been sitting on that information for a while. "He's been raising them over the past year, excessively so, to the point where people can barely endure it."

Fredo nodded emphatically and added:

"Speaking of which, we were going to invite you to the best event of the century, which we're organizing with the whole community: since a revolt is beyond our means, we're planning to throw manure at the walls of Sforza's villa."

"What?"

"Well, there's not many of us, and we're afraid His Lordship might bring reinforcements and kill or imprison us all if the rebellion doesn't go well," Fredo elaborated. "And since we don't know any authority who could apply pressure, the second-best idea we came up with was to defile the count's house. That way, if he doesn't give in to our demands, at least it'll smell like shit for a few days."

"No, I mean—what was Sforza's plan?" Dom asked, trying to piece it together. "To distract you with a supposed vampire threat so you'd forget that the harvests weren't enough to pay tribute?"

"That would explain why it all started with the children, without having to spend more than the bare minimum, until someone believed them and he could expand the performance by investing a bit more," Marzio considered.

And yes, if the goal was to save money and test the waters before making another move, it had worked out well for Sforza. On the other hand, didn't His Lordship have more security than usual at his palace? Maybe he was trying to protect himself from a human threat, not a supernatural one, fully aware of what he had done wrong.

"And if you say Don Raffaele had nothing to do with it..." Marzio added tentatively.

"No, there might still be a bit of reasonable doubt as to whether His Lordship ordered this," said Dom, "but Raffaele is without a doubt innocent."

"We should do something to get back at Sforza," Fredo suddenly suggested. If there wasn't a real vampire, it was clear he still wanted some chaos—just in a different form. "Something besides the manure, so he knows you can't just go around hiring fake vampires to scare people."

Everyone agreed, but there was little that could be done against an aristocrat with that much power in the region. Not without a well-thought-out plan and, ideally, while everyone involved was sober.

So they agreed to meet again another day, once they were more clear-headed and had recruited a few more people willing to join the cause.

What was clear was that finding the stranger Sforza had hired was the top priority. Since they couldn't reach His Lordship directly, this man was the key to unraveling the whole mystery and ending it from within.

The problem was—how to find this guy? No one in the village knew him. They didn't know his name, and the only times he had been seen were during the attacks. So, it was quite likely he was hiding out in the woods or in some back room of Sforza's own estate, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

Dom didn't know for sure, but he could picture it clearly.

After finishing his wine and making sure it was time to meet up with Raffaele, he left the tavern still preoccupied with everything on his mind. In theory, he no longer had any reason to get involved in the town's affairs. But it didn't sit right with him to know there was still a threat lingering in the same lands where Raffaele lived, and that simply couldn't be allowed.

He wasn't fond of confrontations, but, as he liked to tell himself, he was learning not to run away.

Now, walking down one of the village's side streets, alone and with only the moonlight to guide him, Dom didn't notice that someone had started following him.