The door knocker sounded—three insistent taps. Renfield did not understand why someone should be knocking at the door. Certainly his master was not expecting anyone. He'd had a late night and was sleeping through the afternoon, and Renfield has closed all the drapes to discourage unwanted callers.

Tap tap tap. There it was again. I won't go away, it said, I will stay here until you answer me.

Renfield paused. He didn't want the knocking to disturb his master, so he went to the window, and looked to see who stood on the porch.

From his position he caught a glimpse of a young woman with light brown hair looking up at him. She looked determined, as if she would not remove herself from where she stood, which he could not have. He considered the situation for a moment, then sighed.

He went to the heavy walnut door and opened it cautiously. "Yes, may I help you?" His manner that indicated he did not intend to be any more helpful then he need be. You do not belong here, so you may as well go away, the tone of his voice said, you are wasting your time and mine.

The young woman who stood there was not intimidated by him. Though her traveling dress was well made, the material was of a low quality and her portmanteau was old and scuffed. Still, she held herself in a manner that said plainly that he did not intimidate her and she would not be here if she did not have reason. Renfield found himself somewhat impressed by her self-confidence and her determination.

"I have come to see Count Vladimir Dracul." Her voice had a soft, not unpleasing, Slavic accent. Still, Renfield shuddered as he heard the name. No one was supposed to know the true name of his master, let alone ask for him.

He held the door only partially open, unsure of what he should do, when he heard his master say, "Renfield, let her in. We are old friends. Hello Tatiana, when I left you were just a child and now you are all grown up!" Renfield opened the door to admit her, taking her portmanteau, even though he would rather have left her, and it, outside.

Grayson tightened the belt of his dressing gown as he came down the stairs, then held out his arms. The girl ran into them, holding him tight. "Oh, god father, how I have missed you," then burst into tears.

"There, there," he said softly, "Tell me what is wrong and we will see what we can do to make it right." He looked at Renfield and said, "She will need a brandy, please bring the VSOP and two glasses. And you must find a room for her, pick one that is light and sunny."

Grayson guided her to a chair and took the glass of brandy Renfield had poured and put it in her hand. "Now, my dear, tell me what is wrong. You know I will do all in my power to make it right."

She took a long drink of the brandy, then looked at him. "Papa is dead. They say he died in a hunting accident, but I don't believe it. Though they could not prove it they thought he was…" She looked hesitantly at Renfield.

"It's all right," Grayson soothed her, "He knows, he is in my confidence."

"It has long been suspected that he was your protector, though of course they could prove nothing. They knew nothing! When you fled to America, or so we thought you did, we hoped that the rumors would die down and they would leave us alone. Papa was ever cautious, and he had me keep a packed case and a stash of gold coins out of the money you left us so that I could flee if anything happened."

"For a long time we thought we were safe, we even began to live normally again, not always looking over our shoulders. Then, Papa had a craving for pheasant, and decided to go hunting. When he had not come back by dark, I knew something was wrong, but did not dare go out until it was light. They brought his body the next day, saying that his gun has misfired, and the bullet discharged itself through his forehead. As if I would believe something like that."

"A week later I woke up to find the body of a male goat with its throat slit lying on my porch. I waited until dark then grabbed my bag and ran to the main road, and walked until I came to a village with a small inn. The next morning I caught a coach to Budapest, and from there caught a train to Calais where I made the crossing to England."

"Papa always said that if I ever needed help I should seek you out and let you know. The funeral and my trip has used up almost all of my money. When I saw article about you in one of the society columns and saw the name 'Grayson' I was not so sure. Then I looked again and knew it was you. Godfather, I feel like I am a hindrance and I should not have come to you, but I had nowhere else to go. You were always so good to Papa and I. No child could ever have a better godfather. I come to you because I am afraid of what they will do to me in Romania—I heard some of the villagers say I should be burnt at the stake because of who I was."

"Now let's hear none of that," Grayson said. "You will live here as long as you like, or longer. But you must remember that my name is Alexander Grayson now. Vlad Dracul does not exist. You are now my niece Tania who was brought up in Romania. You must beware, though, there is a hunter named Lady Jane who is tracking me, and she will try her best to gather information from you."

"I would die, godfather, before I would allow that to happen."

"Now, now, you must call me Uncle Alex from now on. I know how clever you are, I am sure you will be able to act your part. In the meantime, we must have the have the dressmaker make you a wardrobe. I know two delightful young ladies who I am sure will love you. Mina Murray and Lucy Westenra will take you under their wing, I am sure. You need not hide where you are from—Romania will make you seem strange and exotic. If you are still fluent in French, that will impress people. That your father died and you came to me to see if I would take you in is a perfect cover. It will be as it was in the old days before I left Romania. Do we have a deal, as the Americans would say?"

"Yes," she said delightedly and threw her arms around his neck. He held her close, remembering the little honey haired girl with blue eyes who was never afraid of him, or the ghosts in his castle. Her disarming manner would serve as a perfect foil. By necessity she had grown up deceptive, her ability to keep a secret was unquestionable. Even Lady Jane would not know what to think, perhaps she would even be jealous.

He grieved for Tania's father, for he had always been loyal and alert, but his death had sent his daughter to him. Now she would play the game she always had, and best of all, he had an ally who was not only loyal, but loved him unreservedly.