That night, Tom and Gregor arrived home after a long day. The air between them was thick with tiredness but also that familiar easy camaraderie. They were gisting, talking quietly as they walked through the front door, the familiar rhythm of their conversation filling the space.
Tom leaned against the wall, rubbing his temple with a hand. "I need just two more girls to get to Level 2," he said, the words low but certain.
Gregor cocked his head, eyebrows raising in curiosity. "Why don't you just drink the girl's blood three times? Wouldn't that get you the XP you need?"
Tom shook his head quickly, stepping forward toward the living room. "No, Gregor, it doesn't work like that. I read the book, you know. It's clear about the rules." His tone was calm, explaining something obvious to a kid. "The system doesn't count the blood of a girl I already drank from as XP again. The blood can nourish me, sure, but to actually gain experience points, it has to be the blood of a new girl every time."
Gregor grunted, nodding as he digested this. "So, no shortcuts. Got it."
Tom gave a small smirk, confidence returning to his voice. "Yeah. But it's fine. When I get to Level 2, that's when I'll get my fangs."
Gregor smiled faintly, amused. "You're looking forward to that, huh?"
Tom shrugged. "It's a milestone."
The two of them stepped inside their house, but the atmosphere shifted immediately. The front door creaked open to reveal signs of a struggle, furniture overturned, a lamp shattered on the floor, faint scratches on the walls.
Tom's sharp eyes scanned the scene. Then, near the far wall, he spotted her, his mother, passed out and slumped against the wall.
Without hesitation, Tom's voice grew steady and commanding. "Gregor, place her in the medical recovery position, now."
Gregor moved quickly, but Tom spoke as he watched carefully, his voice instructing every step of the procedure.
"Roll her onto her side, the side she's already lying on. Position the arm she's lying on at a right angle to her body so she's stable. Now, take the other arm, bend it at the elbow and place her hand under her cheek. That keeps her airway open if she vomits." Tom paused to make sure Gregor understood. "Finally, bend the top knee to a right angle as well. This prevents her from rolling onto her back or stomach. It's the safest unconscious patient position to keep her breathing clear."
Gregor followed each step carefully, repositioning her as Tom instructed. The room was silent except for her shallow breaths and the faint hum of the evening outside.
Minutes passed before Mrs Polo's eyelids fluttered open. She looked confused, blinking slowly as she tried to focus.
"Thomas" she croaked, voice weak and hoarse.
Tom moved closer, kneeling beside her. "Mom." His tone was soft but insistent. "Tell us everything. What happened?"
She took a shallow breath, gathering strength. "The house… someone broke in suddenly," she said, voice trembling. "When Dracula tried to attack the intruder, the intruder outsmarted him. They managed to stick a silver stake in his chest."
Gregor's expression darkened. He knew what that meant.
She swallowed hard before continuing. "I tried to fight back, but I was knocked out in the end."
Tom's jaw tightened. "The silver stake. It's the only weapon on Earth that can weaken Dracula."
Gregor nodded grimly. Together, they worked to treat her as best they could, tending to bruises and exhaustion. They helped her into bed, Tom promising in a low voice, "Everything will be alright."
Gregor settled in nearby, eyes alert.
****
Later, Tom retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him as the weight of the situation pressed down harder.
He pulled out a small device, a tracker, and held it up. "We can track him, I've attached these to all family members," he said without looking away from the screen of his tablet.
Gregor called out, "That includes me?"
Tom smirked without turning around. "What do you think?"
Gregor instinctively started patting himself down, searching his clothes, his pockets, even under his collar. Tom watched, fingers flying over his device as he tried to locate his father's tracker.
His face darkened.
"It's disabled," Tom muttered. "The kidnapper already found it."
A cold shiver ran down his spine as the reality of the situation sank in. He bit his lip, mind racing.
"We might be in a big pickle," he admitted, voice low and tense.
Gregor shrugged, trying to sound confident even though the tension was obvious. "We've been in a lot of big pickles. There's never been anyone too big for us so far."
Tom let out a shaky breath, trying to hold onto that hope. But for the first time in his life, he began to panic creep in.