“That is Miss Louisa Neulander,” the queen said. “Which is why I sent for you.”
“Miss . . . Louisa . . . Neulander?” Although the physician looked to be at least fifty, his voice cracked like a young boy’s.
“Her mother is Maria Louisa Florescu,” the queen said, as though it were of great import.
Judging from the physician’s reaction, it was. The man sagged onto one of the sofas without waiting for the queen’s permission to sit. His face was gray, and his eyes, once more, were drawn to Lou.
“Then it is true,” he whispered. “It is true!”
“What is true?”
Dacia could not keep the sharpness out of her voice. She sat very straight in her own seat, closest to Lou, her hands folded in her lap. She willed the physician to look at her, to see the elegance of her dress, her hair swept into a smooth, complicated knot, the way she gazed back at him so fearlessly. She willed him to see her and gape at her beauty, and not look as though her family were some oddity gossiped about behind closed doors.
Because she knew, she just knew that was what he was thinking. He had heard about the Florescu family, that there was something wrong with them, and now he had seen Lou as the Smoke. Dacia simply could not bear it if this eminent physician went away to carry tales of his own about her family.
Dr. Ionescu did look at her, long and hard. He took in the fine gown, and the way she was sitting; she could see him registering surprise and admiration . . . but then he paled once more.
“You are one of them?”
“I am Dacia Vreeholt. My mother is Ileana Florescu Vreeholt,” she said loftily.
It didn’t seem possible, but the physician’s face went even whiter. He reached up and fingered his right ear, and Dacia saw that he had a scar across the earlobe, and one on his cheek just in front of it, half hidden by his graying side whiskers.
“Ileana,” he whispered. “You’re Ileana’s daughter?”
Dacia nodded, too surprised to keep up her arrogant demeanor.
Nostrils flared in disgust, he leaned forward and raked her with eyes that were decidedly less than admiring now. “And what are you?”
Dacia was about to tell him that she was the person who was going to scar his other ear if he didn’t watch his tone, when the queen swooped in to rescue her.
“Dr. Ionescu! I am quite shocked! Miss Vreeholt is my guest, and she and her cousin are in dire need of aid!”
The doctor actually shook himself like a dog, bringing his eyes to the queen. The frown on her face made him turn dark red with embarrassment, and he stammered an apology to Her Majesty, and then to Dacia, who only nodded tautly in reply.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said, and made a little bow. “It is only that . . . I once knew Ileana Florescu . . .”
“You knew my mother?” Dacia leaned forward a little, and the physician flinched back.
“Another time, Dr. Ionescu,” the queen said. “But for right now, we have more pressing problems!
“As you can see, Miss Neulander has been transformed into a column of vapor, which among their family is known as the Smoke, I believe?” The queen looked to Dacia, who nodded. “This is a talent that the young lady normally can control. However, she was suffering from a headache, an affliction unusual to her, and took some headache remedy. Almost immediately she became faint and then transformed into the Smoke against her will. The remedy was bought by another of our guests, who had sent a Gypsy to the apothecary for it. We suspect that it was not medicine, but a drug of some kind, and that the Gypsy was a spy for Lady Ioana Florescu.”
All this information caused the doctor to sway a little in his seat as he took it all in.
“I see,” he said faintly. He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that . . . that I can do anything to . . . change the—her—back.”
“We are well aware of that,” Dacia snapped.
“Now, Miss Vreeholt,” the queen said, quietly but with a warning in her voice. She addressed the doctor. “It’s not that; it’s just that we wanted you to look at the powder that she took, and see if you could recognize the ingredients. It might help us to cure her.”
“Cure her? You mean, make her—”
“Make her able to transform at will,” Dacia interrupted. She did not want to hear what the physician was about to say. Normal. Human. No matter what word his lips had been about to form, she was certain that she would not like it.
“Oh. Yes. I will look at it,” Dr. Ionescu said.
He stood up, and the queen rose as well, offering him the two saucers, one with its twist of paper, the other with a teacup and spoon. He looked at them, and sniffed the dregs of the tea.
“She drank from this?”
“Yes,” the queen said. “She stirred it into the tea herself. And we all drank from the same pot, so it was not in the tea.”
“Very good.” He paused, and looked around. “May I use your stillroom? I need a spirit burner, and perhaps some small dishes . . . ?”
“Of course, Doctor,” the queen said.
She rang for a maid to assist Dr. Ionescu. When she came, the maid bobbed a curtsy and held out a tray for the saucers, oblivious to Lou.
As they were leaving, Dr. Ionescu turned to Dacia one last time. Dacia and, she noticed with surprise, Lou.
“I did not mean to offend,” he said stiffly, and gave a little bow.
“I understand,” Dacia said as graciously as she could manage.
And she did. It must have come as a nasty shock to imagine that he was going to soothe some ailment of the queen’s—a fever, perhaps, or a bout of indigestion—only to find that there were creatures of local legend in the palace, and that they needed his help.
“I don’t think you do,” Dr. Ionescu said. “I—I loved your mother very much, once.” His hand rose to his ear again. “But she was a Florescu.”
And then he followed the maid out, leaving both Dacia and the queen at a loss.
To my beloved and noble parents,
Think of me with fondness, if I do not survive the coming night, and forgive me if I have offended you. I aligned myself with the Society, despite Father’s wishes, because Grandfather and Uncle Joseph turned my foolish head with talk of fighting for the side of righteousness, and of adventure and glory to be had. Instead I have found horror, and sorrow, and now (if you are, indeed, reading this letter) death, though I do not blame Grandfather, nor my uncle. I chose this for myself, and must see it through to the end.
It grieves me that I shall not see you again. It grieves me that the side of the right may not win this battle. And it grieves me to say that I cannot see the world as starkly as Grandfather does anymore. Is everyone born to power a villain? Have these so-called monsters against which we battle chosen the path of darkness? Were they free to choose their path at all? These questions plague me.
Mother, if I die, I beg of you to send Grandmother’s amber necklace, which she left to me, to Miss Maria Louisa Neulander of New York City. I know that it was to be given to my future bride, but as there may not be a future bride, I wish this young lady to have it as an apology for the many ways in which I wronged her.
Farewell, my father. Farewell, my mother.
God be with you.
Your devoted son,
Theophilus Xavier Arkady
(Written this 17th day of June, the year of Our Lord, Eighteen hundred and ninety-seven)
SINAIA
Night was falling, and Lou was losing herself.
She had to concentrate to hold herself into a column of Smoke. Her body—her Smoke body—wanted to simply dissemble, to waft away on a million currents of air. If it did that, she knew, she would be nothingness.
It must not happen, she told herself firmly. You are Maria Louisa Neulander. Be strong. You are approximately five feet, two inches tall. Hold yourself together. You are curvaceous of figure, a houri! Just thinking that word sent a scandalous thrill through her. She concentrated on that, on the memories of meetin
g Mr. Arkady . . . Theo! So dark and dangerous—strange to think that he was only a year or two older than she, and yet his life held so much more. He didn’t spend days shopping or going to parties; he was trying to help people by fighting against—
No. She was dissolving. Thinking about what Theo was fighting against, namely her family, was dangerous territory. She had to try something else.
Distressed, she moved around the sofa, wanting to shift from foot to foot in anxiety the way she had when she was younger. The movement forced all her particles together, and she froze in shock. Was that the key? If she kept in motion, would she hold together? She soared around the room, and found that it was true.
Dacia rose in alarm, following her progress around the room. “Lou, are you all right?”
How could she answer? She tried to speak to Dacia as she had spoken to Radu the night before, but Dacia didn’t hear her. Was it because Radu had been in his Claw form then? Or was it because she had been forced into the Smoke now? Either way, she could not communicate with her cousin. Nor had she any desire to spend the night swirling around the room like a deranged ghost. There had to be a way she could be of use. After all, they were expecting an attack, and who could say how large Prince Mihai’s force would be?
Of course.
She could spy on Mihai. She could find Lady Ioana and the rest of the family, and uncover their preparations. She might even find the cure for what had happened to her. And if she didn’t . . . well, she would figure out some way to tell Dacia what she discovered.
Lou went to Dacia and caressed her cousin’s cheek with a tendril of Smoke by way of reassurance. Then she went to the window and flowed out a crack between the pane and the frame, and she was in the open air.
Letting her body go as much as she dared, she filtered herself through the air, searching for a sound, a scent, a flavor, that she recognized. Lady Ioana, Prince Mihai, even Radu would do to lead her to their enemies. She let the wind carry her down and around, skirling through the trees that filled the park around Peles Castle.
It was afternoon now. Mihai’s force had to be nearby, if they were going to attack at night. An army marching through the streets would attract attention, even if they waited until nightfall. Mihai was too clever for that, she thought. He would have brought his men in slowly, and hidden them somewhere. Vlad the Impaler had come a day in advance, and scouted out the sultan’s army himself. It was unlikely that Mihai could disguise himself well enough to get into the palace, but perhaps one of his—
There!
It was Radu, down by the cathedral. It was a very old cathedral, with a monastery surrounding it, and the king had promised to build a larger church for the monks as soon as construction on the palace was finished.
Lou drifted down slowly, pulling herself together into a denser column, but hovering close to the roof in case someone looked up. She crept close so that she could hear Radu and waited for him to say something useful.
But Radu didn’t say anything. He was standing across from a monk. The monk’s black robes were so faded they were almost purple, and the curly hair hanging below his cylindrical hat was snarled. He held out a hand, and Radu handed him a purse. The monk tucked it into his robes, signed a cross over Radu, and left the monastery.
Lou waited, but nothing else happened. Radu kicked at the pavement, shoved his hands in his pockets, and then went over to the church and peered through one of the windows. That was all. Lou could not figure out what he was doing, and then something else struck her: Where were the other monks? The devout coming to worship? Where were the sightseers, stopping to admire the centuries-old frescos within the church before they toured the palace? The monastery was empty, except for herself and Radu.
Oh, Radu! What have you done now?
Unable to wait any longer, with her Smoky body threatening to dissolve again, Lou wafted down and hovered in front of Radu. He looked at her glumly.
“Hello, Princess LouLou,” he said. “Are you spying for the king and queen?”
Lou did her best to pull herself into a human shape, and nodded. She might as well tell the truth; it was hardly a secret.
He took off his coat and held it out to her. “Do you want to change back and talk? The others won’t be here for a few more minutes.”
Others? Lou silently cursed with frustration. She wondered if she could talk to him in wolf form, but how could she get him to transform? She decided to try something else, and touched him on the cheek.
What others? Just Mihai, the Draculas, and the Florescus, or were there more?
He shook his head. “You have to change back, or I’ll have to change, in order to have a conversation. You and Dacia left the estate before we could tell you more about our talents.”
There was no accusation in his voice, just simple statement of fact. And he obviously didn’t know that she couldn’t change back.
Now she shook her head, trying to make the motion look frantic, willing him to guess that something was wrong. She gestured around the bare courtyard, trying to ask what he was doing here, who was coming, wondering how much information he would give her.
“All right,” he said, shrugging back into the coat. “I suppose you saw me pay the priest?”
She nodded.
“All the monks have gone on a holy retreat, thanks to Mihai’s generous donation,” Radu said, rolling his eyes. “Their cells are all empty.” He pointed to the wooden doors spaced evenly around the courtyard. “Do you understand?”
She nodded again. She understood very well. This was where they would conceal their force: in the church.
Radu half turned, listening. “I think they’re coming,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Go, and tell Dacia and the others . . . quickly!”
But Lou didn’t want to go, not just yet. Radu’s face was deathly white, the dark circles under his eyes standing out against his pallor. Why didn’t he leave? Even if he couldn’t bring himself to help King Carol, why did he help Mihai? She held out a hand to him, trying to convey her concern and confusion. He looked at her with dull eyes, and she made a beckoning gesture, willing him to come with her, to change into a wolf and flee into the forest, anything but help Mihai in his evil scheme.
“I can’t . . . don’t you see?” His voice quavered and broke like a boy’s. “This is all I have. I can’t go to New York and pretend it never happened. This is my home, my life. Perhaps that makes me a coward; but if so, then that is what I am, and I admit it freely.” He looked at the gate once more. “Go, please,” he said, buttoning his coat as though he were putting on armor.
Now Lou went, wondering if it was possible for her heart to break when her heart was nothing but Smoke. She understood more than Radu could know. There was comfort in familiarity, but there would be no peace for her in New York society, familiar as it was, not anymore. She was just as trapped, only her cage was prettier.
She began to glide up and over the monastery wall, when Radu ran a few steps forward and called out, “Mihai is at the Hotel Sinaia!”
“What are you shouting about?” Uncle Horia marched into the courtyard.
Lou hid herself by spreading thin and clinging to the roof tiles, straining with her whole body to listen to them.
“I couldn’t remember the name of the hotel,” Radu said, his face turning red. He was a terrible liar. “The one where Prince Mihai is staying. Then it came to me, all of a sudden.”
“Why do you need to know?” His father cuffed him on the shoulder. “Your business is here, just keep your mind on that.”
“I’ve paid the priests,” Radu protested. “There’s nothing left to do.”
“Then pick a cell and wait,” Uncle Horia said. “We’ve lost those girls—I can’t lose you, too!” There was unexpected emotion in his voice, but Lou couldn’t decide what it was. Anger? Regret?
Radu started to turn away, then turned back. “But, Father, don’t you think that means something? There’s a Smoke after all these years, and she refuses to hel
p Prince Mihai? Perhaps it is a sign—”
“I don’t believe in signs,” Uncle Horia said roughly. “I don’t believe in prophecies, either! I do believe that we’re in a mess of trouble, and we’ll be lucky to get out of it alive. Now wait for the others!”
Radu fled, and so did Lou.
She realized that Uncle Horia and Radu didn’t know that Lady Ioana had killed the girls who were the Smoke. Perhaps Lady Ioana had only told Aunt Kate so that she could test Dacia and Lou? That cheered Lou: she hated to think Uncle Horia’s soul was as black as Lady Ioana’s.
Busy with these thoughts, she swooped right over the Hotel Sinaia before she noticed it, and had to flow backward to one of its chimneys. She poured down the chimney and hovered in a fireplace, feeling for voices.
In one room, a stout Hungarian man and his wife were arguing.
Two sisters from Targoviste were plotting to sneak away from their governess and see two young men they had met that morning on a walk.
Lady Ioana was ordering Aunt Kate to find Dacia and bring her back to the hotel.
Lou followed her grandmother’s voice until she was coiled just inside the flu of the fireplace in Lady Ioana’s room. Or perhaps it was Prince Mihai’s room; she could taste his presence as well.
“She is our queen,” Aunt Kate said stiffly.
Lady Ioana made a surprisingly rude noise. “Come now, Katarina! You are not mindless animals, foraging in the woods! You fought with the girl, she won. Stop weeping in the corners and do what you were born to do.”
“Which is what?”
Lou was startled by the bitterness in Aunt Kate’s voice.
“To help the Dracula family return to greatness,” Lady Ioana snapped. “If Dacia wants to be a true queen, she’ll come with you. If she doesn’t—make her come. This is her destiny!”
“Is it?” Aunt Kate said, half to herself. “I wonder. And, I do beg Your Highness’s pardon, but do you need a wife to ascend the throne?”
“If you are reluctant to assist me, Miss Florescu,” Prince Mihai said, “I would rather you left. I cannot afford to have anyone involved that I cannot rely on.”