Chapter 25 Chapter Twenty-Four

Father made some pleasant excuse to explain why he was in the vampire-themed library at Oxford University because of a problem that had been bugging him for a long time - and then he stopped, almost biting his lip, and said no more. After all, if my arrival shocked my father, what could he say?How does he explain, or casually close the folio in his hand?He closed it, but it was too late, and I saw the title of a chapter on the thick ivory paper: Vampires in the Pyrenees. I didn't sleep well all night in my tutor's palace bed, woken up every few hours by bizarre dreams. The silence this morning suffocates me for no reason.The heavy curtains in my father's room hadn't been drawn, and it took me a few seconds to make out the outlines of the furniture and portraits.The silence made the skin on the back of my neck tremble.I walked over to my father's bed to talk to him.But the bed was neat and dark, and there was no one there at all.

In the light, I saw a note left for me, on which were placed two things that surprised me: a sturdy necklace with a small silver cross hanging from it, and a garlic head.The harsh reality these things represent has turned my heart over.Then, I picked up my father's note my dear daughter: I'm so sorry to surprise you, but I have a new assignment to leave.I have arranged for Professor James to have your friend Stephen Barry escort you home safely.Mrs. Clay will try to join you later this evening.do not worry about me.In the meantime, I hope from the bottom of my heart that you wear that crucifix all the time, with a little more garlic in every pocket.I beg you, with the sincerity of a father, to obey me in this matter.

The signature of the letter is full of kindness. Immediately I fastened the chain round my neck, and divided the garlic into my pockets.Whatever his mission, I'm sure it was not a simple diplomatic mission.Otherwise he will tell me.He always tells me where he goes.This time, my beating heart told me he wasn't on business. We left the office and Stephen grabbed my bag. "Let's go. The ticket is half past ten, but it's better to leave earlier." I noticed that the professor and my father arranged every detail.I don't know what kind of chains I will be put on when I go home.Anyway, I have other things to do now.

"Stephen?" I probed. "Oh, call me Barry," he said with a laugh. "Everyone calls me that, and I'm used to it. It makes me feel awkward when someone calls me by my real name." "OK." His smile is still moving today - very easy to move people. "Barry, can I—can you do me a favor before we go?" He nods. "I'd like to go to Radcliffe House again. It's beautiful, and I—I'd like to see the vampire library there. I haven't looked at it yet." He complained: "I know you like those horror things, this seems to be a tradition in your family."

"I know." I felt my face turn red. "All right, then. Let's have a quick look, as fast as we can. If we miss the train, Professor James will stick me in the heart." Radcliffe House is quiet in the morning, and only a few hours ago my father would have sat there with that strange distant look in his eyes, and now I don't even know where he is. I remember the shelf where he kept his books, and he put them back on the shelf as we spoke.It should be placed under the box containing the skull, on the left.I looked over the shelves one by one.The place where the book should be is now empty.I was stunned: Father would never steal books.Who will take it?But after a while, I saw the book a palm away in front of me.

Someone must have moved after we left.Did my father come back to see it again, or did someone else take it down? I looked suspiciously at the skull in the glass case, which stared at me with anatomical indifference.Then, very carefully, I removed the book—a bone-coloured cover with a black ribbon dangling from it.I put it on the table and turned to the title page: Vampires in the Middle Ages, by Baron de Heyduk, Bucharest, 1886. "There are also legends that say this..." I read, out of breath with excitement, "There are also legends that say Dracula, he is the highest and most dangerous of all vampires, he is not in Valla Guia instead acquired his magic at the Abbey of St. Matthew in the Eastern Pyrenees. This is a Benedictine monastery founded in the first millennium AD. Dracula is said to visit the monastery every sixteen years , to revisit the old place and recharge it, so that he can continue to have the magical power of immortality. According to the speculation of the Provence friar Pierre in the seventeenth century, Dracula visited St. Matthew when the moon was half round in May."

"What shape is the moon now?" I asked in surprise, but Barry didn't know either. "Odd stuff," Barry said. "Is that the kind of thing your family likes to read? Would you like to hear about Cypriot vampires?" The other content in the book seems to have nothing to do with my purpose.Barry looked at his watch again, and I reluctantly left those tempting books. On the train, Barry told me anecdotes about his classmates, and we sat inside on plastic chairs for shelter from the wind. "I didn't sleep well at night," Barry told me, before sinking back into sleep.

Mrs. Clay was there when we got home.I want to rob my father's chamber right now.I'll figure out what to do with Mrs. Clay and Barry later.Now I'm going to find something, and it must be hidden there. I came in like a thief, closed the door, opened his drawer, horrible feeling, I took out the contents of the folder, searched every drawer, and carefully returned the things while looking. Finally, my hand touched a sealed bag. I boldly opened it and read a few lines, which were addressed to me, warning me that only my father died unexpectedly or disappeared for a long time before opening these.

There are letters in the bag, each of which is addressed to me, which is my home address.As if he thought he'd send me one at a time from somewhere else. I put them in order - something I didn't have to learn - and carefully opened the first one. This is a letter from six months ago, and the beginning of the letter is more like a cry from the bottom of my heart than dull words. "My dear daughter"—his handwriting quivered before my eyes—"forgive me, but by the time you read this letter, I have already set off to find your mother."