Hunting Prince Dracula

  I pulled up the hood of my cloak and glanced at the castle standing guard above us, dark and brooding in the moon’s silvery light. Something was out there, waiting. I could sense its presence. But what was hunting us? Man or beast? Before I could lose myself in worry, I led Anastasia to the place where Wilhelm’s body had been discarded.

  “There.” I pointed to the house that bordered the murder scene and its window, whose shutter was now fastened tightly in place. “I swear the shutter was loose the last time I was here.”

  Anastasia pursed her lips and focused on the dark home. I felt ridiculous, standing there in the night, as reality struck. I couldn’t be certain the shutter had ever truly been loose, or that I’d ever witnessed a silhouette watching the crowd from the window. For all I knew, it might have been another phantom dreamt up in my imagination. Hysteria, it seemed, was the trigger for each of my episodes.

  “I apologize,” I said, motioning toward the perfectly unremarkable building. “Seems I was mistaken after all. We traveled out here for nothing.”

  “We might as well be sure there’s nothing to see,” Anastasia said, tugging me toward the front door. “Describe what happened again. Perhaps there’s something we might start with there.”

  An idea slowly took shape as I fixed my attention on the door, head tilted to one side. I removed the hat pin from my hair, knowing I was about to cross a moral line I’d never before considered crossing. But Anastasia was correct; we’d come all this way, risked the wrath of Moldoveanu, potentially jeopardized my place in the academy, and still had to make it back to our rooms in the castle while avoiding snarling wolves and headmasters.

  No matter the consequences, I could not go back to the academy without knowing. My heart raced, not in fear now, but excitement. It was very troubling, indeed.

  I stepped forward and gripped the doorknob in one hand, sticking the hat pin inside the lock and twisting the tumblers around until I heard a beautiful click.

  “Audrey Rose! What are you doing?!” Anastasia said, focus darting all around us, voice scandalized. “People are likely asleep inside!”

  “True. Or we may find it abandoned.” I said a silent thank-you to my father. When he’d been consumed with laudanum last year, he’d often misplace keys, forcing me to learn the art of lock picking. Before tonight, I hadn’t thought about using my hat pin for such purposes in a while. I replaced the pin in my hair and paused, waiting to be discovered, pulse roaring inside my veins.

  One way or another, we were going to solve at least one mystery tonight. I had witnessed someone staring out that window, or I hadn’t. Which meant there either were clues to be found, or there weren’t.

  Regardless, I could not continue running from shadows any longer. I took a deep breath, commanding my body to relax. It was time to embrace the darkness and become more fearsome than any vampire prince hunting the night. Even if that meant I had to sacrifice a bit of my soul and good morals to get there.

  “There’s only one way to be sure,” I whispered before tiptoeing over the threshold and disappearing into the dark.

  UNKNOWN RESIDENCE

  LOCUINŢĂ NECUNOSCUTĂ

  BRAŞOV

  4 DECEMBER 1888

  Inside the tiny home, no fires burned and the air was nearly as frigid as the outdoors.

  Frost crept up the windowpanes and my spine as I made my way toward the solitary shaft of moonlight streaming in. Even in the near complete darkness I could see that the living space was a wreck. A chair was upturned, papers scattered about, drawers turned out. It appeared as if someone or a few someones had ransacked the place.

  Anastasia inhaled sharply behind me. “Look! Is that… sânge?”

  I spun around and stared at the large rust-colored stain on the carpet. Chills slowly trailed down my body. I had an awful feeling we were standing in the very place where Wilhelm’s blood had been forcibly removed. My heart beat double time, but I forced myself to investigate as if I were Thomas Cresswell, cool, detached, and able to read the pieces left behind.

  “Is it?” Anastasia asked again. “I may be ill if it is blood.”

  Before I could answer her, my attention landed on a broken pitcher. I carefully picked up a piece of its glass, and stuck my finger in a dark crimson spot. I rubbed it between my fingers, noting the stickiness. My pulse throbbed throughout my body, but I tasted the dried liquid, fairly confident of what I would find. Anastasia’s lip curled as I grinned up at her.

  “It’s juice of some sort,” I wiped my hand down the front of my cloak, “not blood.”

  My friend was still staring at me as if I’d crossed some line too indecent to even comment on. I searched myself, finding that tingling thrill still lingering below the surface—an undercurrent of electricity making me feel more alive than I had in ages.

  “What do you believe happened here?”

  I glanced around the space again. “It’s hard to surmise anything for certain until we find a lamp.”

  I pulled the curtains back on the window, allowing more moonlight to spill in. Anastasia crossed the room swiftly and plucked up an oil lamp that hadn’t been destroyed in the chaos. With a quick hiss, yellow light filled the space, and a tragic story unfolded.

  Bottles of spirits littered the floor in the tiny cooking area off the main room. Some were broken, and all were empty. Judging from the lack of odor in the air, none of the alcohol had sloshed out, which led me to deduce someone had been drinking quite heavily.

  Upon second inspection, the room I’d thought was ransacked had likely just been turned over by whoever had indulged in all those spirits. Perhaps they’d been searching for another bottle to drink and had become enraged when they’d found the house bare. Anastasia located another lamp before setting off to inspect the other rooms.

  I picked up a photograph, surprised to find one in a home such as this, then gasped. In the picture, the same young woman who’d been described as missing in the sketch in the dress shop smiled down at a baby. Her husband stood proudly behind them both. Could she have been the one drinking all these spirits? And if she’d been intoxicated and walking through the woods alone…

  Anastasia returned, brandishing a book. The cross on its cover indicated it was a religious volume. “No one in the bedroom, but this appeared intriguing.”

  “You’re not taking that, are you?” I glanced at the book while she flipped through the pages; it was likely a holy text of sorts. Anastasia’s eyes widened as she shook her head. I set the photograph back down and motioned at the door.

  “We should leave,” I said. “It was wrong to sneak in here—I don’t believe this place had anything to do with Wilhelm’s death.”

  “Or perhaps it did.” Anastasia held the book up again. “I’ve just remembered where I’ve seen this symbol before.”

  “Seems like heavy reading before bedtime.”

  I jolted up from the anatomy book I’d practically had my nose pressed into. An entire day had passed since my adventure with Anastasia, and not much had occurred. Thomas and I still hadn’t spoken, Radu was as taken with vampire lore as ever, and Moldoveanu was intent on making my time in the castle as miserable as possible.

  I smiled sheepishly as Ileana set down a covered tray, then perched on the edge of the settee. Whatever was under that platter smelled absolutely divine. My stomach grumbled its agreement as I placed my book on the table.

  “I asked the cook to make something special. It’s called placintă cu carne şi ciuperci. Like a meat pie with mushrooms only in flatbread.”

  She pulled the silver lid from the platter and made a sweeping gesture at the stack of palm-size pies. There were half a dozen of them, more than enough for the two of us. I glanced around for a fork and knife but noted only napkins and small plates. I made to grab for one of them, then paused, my hand hovering above it. “Do we…”

  “Go ahead.” Ileana mimed grabbing one and taking a bite. “Pick it up and eat it. Unless it’s too unrefined. Eating with your hands
must seem common. I wasn’t thinking. Taking it back to the kitchens is no trouble if you’d prefer something else.”

  I laughed. “Not at all, actually. Growing up, we used to eat flatbreads and raita with our hands.”

  I took a bite, marveling at the savory tones of perfectly seasoned meat with diced mushrooms as they melted like butter on my tongue. The outer layer of the flatbread had charred bubbles that tasted of wood smoke. It took a great deal of my willpower to not roll my eyes or groan in sheer bliss.

  “This is delicious.”

  “I thought you’d like it. I bring an entire basket of them when I visit Daciana. Her appetite is almost as hearty as her brother’s.” Ileana’s smile faded a bit, turning more into a frown. I wagered she was sad Daciana was gone. “Don’t let her delicate manners fool you. She’s all steel. I’ve watched her finish the whole basket before a table of nobles. They were scandalized, but Daciana didn’t care a bit.”

  The slight frown was gone, replaced by a look of great pride, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. I wondered if she and Daciana had met at some nobleman’s home Ileana had worked at, but I didn’t want to intrude by asking. It was their story to tell when and if they chose.

  “I could likely polish off the entire tray in front of the queen and not regret one delectable bite myself.”

  We ate in companionable silence, and I sipped tea that Ileana had also brought up. She explained that Romanians didn’t often drink it, but she was being accommodating to my English preference for the beverage. I was grateful for the company.

  Anastasia had sent a note saying she was staying in her rooms all evening, reading the mysterious religious book. She believed the symbol on its cover was one of the Order’s, but I was skeptical that the missing woman from the village had been part of this ancient chivalric band.

  I tore my third stuffed bread into pieces, thinking of how Nicolae had done the same thing a couple of days earlier. I wondered if he’d eaten at all or if he kept consuming grief. To stop those thoughts, I decided rather suddenly to ask Ileana for advice.

  “I… find myself uncertain whether I might consider a future with Thomas, given our recent disagreement,” I said slowly. “Does it bother you… knowing a future with Daciana might be impossible?”

  “I cannot predict what the future will bring when tomorrow may not come. Any number of things may happen. God may decide He’s had enough of us and wipe the slate clean.” She swept the napkins from the tray, watching as they unceremoniously fell to the ground. “Yes?”

  I took a sip of my tea, mulling over what she said as the bright herbal taste trickled down my throat. “Surely it’s prudent to plan for different possibilities for the future. Shouldn’t one have some sort of goal to work toward, even if the path they take is unknown?”

  “You should follow your heart. Forget the rest.” Ileana stood and gathered up the used plates and napkins. “Thomas is human and will make mistakes, and as long as he apologizes and it’s something you can live with? It’s worth loving him today. It’s also worth forgiving him, too. You never know when he might be taken from you.”

  A tingle of fear worked its way down my spine. I did not want to contemplate such things. Thomas and I were temporarily at odds, and we’d live to resolve our differences. “You and I are quite the serious pair on a blustery night, Ileana. Between my mortuary book and this conversation, I can scarcely wait to see how the rest of the evening unfolds.”

  Ileana’s grin was replaced by a more serious expression. “Wilhelm’s family will be arriving in the morning to take their son home for burial. They are quite enraged about his body being… desecrated.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Servants are to remain unheard and unseen while we take care of the castle and its occupants. But that doesn’t mean we do not see or hear. Or gossip. The servants’ hall is always buzzing with some new scandal. Come. I’ll show you some secret passages. If you’d like, you may sneak about the empty corridors. It’s my favorite part of this job.”

  I followed Ileana into the washing chamber, where she removed a key from her apron then pushed on a tall corner cupboard I’d previously paid little attention to. Inside was a door that opened onto a tiny hall that ended with circular stairs. I was intrigued by the thought of hidden hallways. Our own country estate, Thornbriar, had an entire maze contained within its walls, it seemed. If Bran Castle had even a fraction of those hidden spaces, I would be delighted. There was something magical about treading where most would never go, or think of finding anyone else.

  After locking the door from the secret corridor, Ileana drifted down the stairs with the ease of an apparition floating through the ether. I had a difficult time not sounding as if I were an elephant crashing through underbrush as I clunked down after her. I’d never thought of myself as loud, but Ileana’s unusually silent tread put me to shame. We descended around and around until my thighs burned. Once we reached the main level, Ileana stalked straight over to a wide column.

  I shook my head. I’d walked here several times earlier and had never noticed that what I’d assumed were only pillars ushering students into the main hall actually led to a narrow entrance on one side. Ileana never broke her sure stride as she disappeared into the dark corridor that ran behind the enormous tapestries lining the hall.

  An eerie feeling settled in my center. When I’d sneaked through the halls the night I’d left Anastasia’s rooms and ended up visiting Thomas, I’d sworn I’d been watched. I very well might have been. I shivered at the thought.

  “Be as quiet as possible. We’re not supposed to talk or make noise back here. Moldoveanu is unforgiving when it comes to breaking castle rules.”

  Silently, I bottled up every detail. There were more tapestries hanging on this side of the secret corridor, presumably extras stored here until needed.

  We walked quickly enough that I had to gather up my skirts to keep from tripping over them as they wound around my limbs, but not fast enough for me to miss the scenes depicted on the tapestries. Persons being impaled, screaming in pain and terror, adorned one. On another was a forest of the dead, blood dripping from the victims’ impaled mouths. Another showed a man feasting at a table, wine or blood spilled across its surface—it was hard to tell. I was reminded of Radu’s mentioning that Vlad Dracula dipped his bread into the blood of his enemies.

  Chills pierced my skin. Between the barely lit narrow hall and the artwork, I wasn’t in the brightest mood. There was a heaviness around my chest, pushing me back. This sinister castle seemed to breathe in my fear with delight. My pulse accelerated.

  Ileana came to a sudden stop, and had I not been forcing myself to stare straight ahead, I’d have sent both of us sprawling.

  I drew my brows together, noticing the color drain from her face. She jerked her chin forward, hands occupied with the empty tray. “Moldoveanu.”

  “What—where?”

  “Shhh. There.” She pointed to a section of a tapestry where a patch of fabric had been carefully clipped away. I’d never have seen it if I didn’t know to look. I assumed servants used it as a means of checking the public corridors before entering them. A slithering feeling snaked down my spine. I didn’t care for the thought of the walls having eyes. “Through the tapestry.”

  I stepped closer, careful to not disturb the heavy fabric keeping us invisible to Moldoveanu. I prayed that the floorboards wouldn’t sound the alarm and that he’d not hear the thundering beat of my heart.

  The headmaster was having quite the heated discussion with someone, though he seemed to be the one doing most of the talking. He spoke in Romanian so quickly I had difficulty keeping up.

  A cloudy looking glass hung on the far end of the public corridor, offering a hint to his expression. His long silver hair flashed like the sharp sweep of a guillotine blade as he jerked his head from side to side. I’d never witnessed such a severe man in every sense of the word.

  Ileana quietly translated for me.

&nbs
p; “I have my job to do and you have yours. Do not cross the line.”

  I strained to see around Moldoveanu, but he was thoroughly blocking the other person with his long black robes and his fists on his hips.

  “We have reason to believe it will happen again. Here.” His companion’s gravelly male voice took me by surprise. There was an essence to it that was somehow familiar. “Members of the royal family received… messages. Threats.”

  “Of?”

  “Drawings. Death. Strigoi.”

  Moldoveanu said something neither Ileana nor I could hear.

  “The villagers are nervous.” Again, the deep male voice. “They know the body was missing blood. They think the castle and the woods are cursed. The body from the train is also causing… alarm.”

  I covered my mouth, stifling the sound of surprise bubbling up. I no longer needed to see whom Moldoveanu was speaking to; I knew that voice even though I’d only heard it once before. I’d seen those sharp eyes that could cut a person in two.

  Dăneşti, the royal guard from the train, stepped from behind the headmaster, brushing down the front of his crested uniform. His gaze paused on the spot where we hid, making my pulse still to a slow crawl. Ileana didn’t so much as breathe until he refocused on the headmaster. He stood tall, all angles pointed at the older man in the most threatening of manners.

  “Do not disappoint us, Headmaster. We need that book. If those chambers are not disarmed, the royal family will shut the academy down.”

  “As I’ve already informed His Majesty,” Moldoveanu growled, “the book was stolen. Radu only has a few pages in his collection, and it’s not enough. If you wish to tear the castle apart, be my guest. I guarantee you will not find what is no longer here.”

  “Then may God have mercy on your students.”

  SERVANTS’ CORRIDOR