Hunting Prince Dracula

  “So we can understand disease and its effects on the body?” Erik said.

  “Sometimes. Should we always open up specimens for no good reason, then?” Percy asked.

  Cian nearly tumbled from his seat in his haste to answer. “No, sir. Postmortems aren’t necessary for all. Only those who die under suspicious circumstances.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Farrell. Mr. Branković, kindly put your scalpel down. It’s not a weapon. You’re going to hurt or maim someone. Most likely yourself. Anyone else have something more to offer?”

  I raised my hand. Percy nodded at me, his gaze steady.

  “Go on, Miss Wadsworth.”

  “Because, sir, as in the case of the deceased before me, who clearly died in water, one might think he simply drowned or died of hypothermia. Conducting a postmortem is the only way to be sure of his cause of death.”

  “Good. Very good. And what will studying his innards tell us?”

  “It will alert us as to why he may have fallen in the water. There may be a preexisting condition—perhaps he had a heart attack. Or an aneurysm.”

  “Or perhaps he’d had one too many spirits because it’s so bloody cold,” Nicolae added, coaxing nervous laughter from Noah and Erik. When the prince’s attention shifted to me, an uncomfortable chill trickled down my spine. It was hard to forget the drawings he’d done of me. Or the illustrated threats that had been made to the royal family. His family.

  “Prince Nicolae, keep the jesting outside the dissecting chamber. It’s in poor taste. Miss Wadsworth, very good. Foul play might also be a factor. That’s precisely why it’s important to inspect each body thoroughly. One may never know what secrets we’ll uncover when we dare to plunge into less… pleasant places.”

  Thomas leaned close and whispered. “He’s a bit odd, that one.”

  “Says the young man who missed his name being called out because he was too taken with his cadaver,” I whispered back. “Percy’s no stranger than you or I or Uncle. You’re only envious that I’m his favorite.”

  Thomas flicked his attention to me, but before he could dazzle me with a retort, I plunged my blade into my cadaver’s icy flesh, ignoring the deep blue discoloring and protruding eyes as I carved down to the rib cage. I fought with everything I had to see the corpse as it was, and not something staring coolly back at me, inconvenienced by the blade in my grasp.

  Its torso was bloated, along with the rest of the body, making it rather difficult to find identifying features. I swallowed a bit of revulsion down, unwilling to cower when this cadaver needed respect.

  I closed my eyes briefly and then inspected his heart, noting that all appeared normal before walking around to his head and pulling an eyelid back. There was no sign of petechial hemorrhaging in the whites of his eyes. This man had not been smothered or strangled before falling into the water, then. He likely had lost his life to the harsh mountain elements and hypothermia, not to some sinister cause. It was not the best way to go. Certainly not the most pleasant way either. I hoped he hadn’t suffered long—though I still had much to learn regarding hypothermia and its characteristics.

  Glancing around the room, I noticed my specimen wasn’t the most foul to be seen. Nicolae had a rather ripe cadaver, its torso bloated and stretched beyond capacity. Little wormlike grayish-black lines crawled over its skin. That wasn’t a good sign. I watched the prince set his face blank as stone, then slice into the body. But his cut was too deep and swift…

  Maggots shot from the intestinal area along with a terrible gaseous odor. Nicolae stepped back and swiped the larvae from his brow, hands shaking ever so slightly. His chest expanded and contracted as if he could contain the disgust with a few measured breaths.

  Silence descended like a curse. It was an extremely undignified position for a member of royalty to be in, and yet he maintained that air of superiority even with maggots slung over his face. Erik paused, finally glancing up from his own cadaver. He slowly took in the scene, blinking as if it were all a terrible dream, then shrieked, tossing his apron toward the sullied prince.

  Though it was hardly funny, I nearly choked on the laughter I swallowed down. Andrei was unable to contain himself even for a moment. He doubled over, laughing so hard he started wheezing. Erik clapped his back as Andrei coughed and sputtered.

  Nicolae’s face flushed as Noah and Cian and even the Bianchi twins chuckled. Whether because of the horror of seeing those maggots, or the uncontrollable levity the scene brought, a small giggle of my own finally broke free. The prince stared coolly at me. But instead of lashing out with some obnoxious comment, he wiped the mess from his face and laughed. It was quick and restrained, but still. The action seemed to shatter the tension he’d been carrying since Wilhelm’s death.

  Thomas lifted his eyes from the table beside mine, a smile spreading even though he tried taming it. “I’m utterly disgusted, yet can’t turn away.”

  Percy strode over to the scene of the maggot attack, his mouth a grim slash of annoyance. “That’s quite enough, class. This is a forensic hall, not a bawdy house. Prince Nicolae, go wash up. Erik…” The professor handed him a new apron, then pointed toward his own teaching table as he addressed us all. “Please sit quietly and observe. If this is too much for your constitution, you may be excused. Class? Do not laugh during a serious scientific exercise. Have some respect for the dead. If this is something none of you are capable of controlling, then I will recommend that none of you make it through this course. Here at the academy, we take our duty seriously and execute it with great dignity. One more outburst and you will all be dismissed. Understood?”

  “Yes, Professor,” we all uttered in unison.

  We followed Percy to a table holding a specimen covered in a shroud. The fear of being tossed from the assessment course was enough to erase any lingering giggles. Without ceremony, Percy yanked the cloth back, revealing a body that was vaguely familiar. A bit of decomposition made it difficult to place at first and then—

  I inhaled sharply, bumping into Erik, who had the nerve to sneer at my reaction as if he hadn’t just screeched at the maggots.

  “Apologies.” I stared at the blond woman on the table, bite marks splattered across her flesh, dried blood indicating each wound. I could have sworn the sound of leathery wings echoed in the dissecting chamber. A cloth still covered her face for reasons I dared not ask about.

  Thomas went rigid from his place near the corpse’s head, his gaze finding mine and holding it. I prayed our reactions would be thought of as the result of seeing a brutalized woman and not of having recognized her from the tunnels. Something uncomfortable prickled between my shoulder blades, tempting me to turn around and swat it away. I squeezed my eyes shut. If this was another figment of my imagination…

  I subtly shifted and glanced behind me. Headmaster Moldoveanu entered the room and tapped a finger against his arm, focus drifting from the body on the table to my pinched expression. Deep in my bones I knew with certainty that he’d read the recognition on my face.

  I pretended not to notice and wondered if Thomas was doing the same. I stole a glance at him, but he was watching the prince closely. I assumed he was trying to discern if Nicolae had already been acquainted with this cadaver.

  Thomas finally noticed Moldoveanu just as the headmaster turned on his heel and left. He made no sound and yet it felt as if gongs were banging in my ears at his departure.

  “This unidentified woman was discovered in the morgue before class, in one of the cadaver drawers,” Percy said. “The body has been drained of most of its blood. Bite marks are present over much of her person. Seems as if someone moved her there to keep her cold and to slow decomposition. We have a most intriguing case to crack, class.”

  Percy had no idea how correct he was.

  TOWER CHAMBERS

  CAMERE DIN TURN

  BRAN CASTLE

  14 DECEMBER 1888

  I bolted upright, blinking away the fang-toothed images my subconscious had created from da
rkness.

  Moonlight streaked down the curtains in rivulets and pooled on the floor like a silver waterfall. A chill lay tangled in the sheets around me, but the cold wasn’t what had roused me from sleep. Sweat coated my skin in dewy patches—somehow my nightgown had untied itself, exposing more of my collarbone than was decent.

  Still panting from my nightmare of winged creatures swarming and biting, I gently prodded my neck, half fearing my fingers would come away wet with blood. Nothing. I was completely unsullied. No strigoi, or bats, or bloodthirsty demons had feasted while I’d tossed and turned. I felt only smooth, hot flesh, unharmed by anything other than frigid winter air or the scandal its exposure would cause.

  I squinted toward the shadows, pulse racing on high alert. The fire in my bedchamber had died out, not long ago, judging from the winking embers. I sank back, but only marginally. My mind was groggy with strange nightmares, but I could have sworn I’d heard voices. They couldn’t all be the product of disturbed dreams. I’d been visited less often by my hauntings recently, or so I’d thought. I gripped my blankets, quieting my frantic heart as I took in the unmoving silhouettes of my dresser and nightstand.

  I waited for it. For shadows to peel away from the wall and take the shape of the immortal prince, his serpent wings stretched wide enough to stop my heart entirely. But all was wretchedly silent. So much for spirits visiting the human realm on this supposedly wicked night. It had to be the high altitude of the Carpathians. The thinning oxygen was clearly affecting my brain.

  “Foolish.” I flopped back onto my side, drawing the covers up to my chin. Long pieces of unbound hair tickled my back, raising gooseflesh. I sank lower until my head was practically covered from the world outside my blankets. Nightmares were for children.

  Silly Radu and his folklore nonsense. Of course there was no such thing as a winter night that could call forth the dead. A scientific explanation could always be found. I closed my eyes, focusing on how cozy I was in my little cocoon of warmth. My breathing slowed, my lids suddenly heavy enough that I didn’t try opening them again. I felt myself fading into an exquisite dream. One where Thomas and I were on our way to Bucharest for the holiday, I was dressed in a beautiful gown I’d wear to a ball, far from the murders—

  Thump.

  Adrenaline erupted through my body in the form of action.

  In the space of two breaths, I swung myself off my mattress, stuffed my feet into slippers, and was halfway across my bedchamber, ears ringing with the strain of listening so hard. There was no mistaking the sound of someone or something moving in the hallway outside my rooms.

  I collected my fear and shoved it into the deepest pocket of my mind, ignoring the way it kicked and scratched on the way down.

  Forgoing a dressing gown in favor of stealth, I slowly cracked open my bedchamber door. I peered into the sitting room; the fire’s embers were nearly out there as well. For some reason, my new maid must not have stoked them before bed. The deep orange glow wasn’t enough to see by, which also offered an opportunity to not be seen by anyone who might be lurking about. Clouds of cold breath slipped out in uneven intervals.

  Thump-thump. I halted, straddling the threshold between my bedchamber and the sitting room. All was still as the grave.

  And then… a harshly whispered “Quiet” in Romanian. “Linişte.”

  Thump.

  After having spent time wrangling bodies in Uncle’s laboratory, I knew the sound that limbs weighted by death made when connecting with the ground. Images of corpse robbers whipped through my thoughts. I didn’t know why I pictured them as skeletal figures with claw-tipped hands, fangs dripping blood, and leathery wings when they had to be robust enough to hoist dead weight. And certainly human.

  I held my breath, terrified that even the smallest inhalation would echo like a bell tolling my fate. Whoever they were, I did not want them turning their sinister attention on me. Humans were the true monsters and villains. More real than any novel or fantasy could invent.

  Moments passed and the whispers continued. I eased my frozen joints into motion, moving as quickly and silently across the small room as I dared. I’d never been more thankful for the sparse furnishings as I was in that moment as I headed for the door to the corridor.

  I ghosted across the room, hesitating once I reached the door. Perhaps Radu’s silly tales had been correct. This was a night fit for haunting after all. Except I would be the specter, running about unseen.

  Pressing my ear against the wall next to the door, I listened, willing myself to remain cold and still as marble. Hushed voices rumbled too low for me to make out. It was hard to tell if they were both male or if a female was also involved. I leaned against the wall until my face ached with the force, but still couldn’t understand what the late-night prowlers were whispering. It almost sounded as if it were a chant…

  I drew back, confusion tugging me away. Why on earth people would be chanting unpleasant hymns in the dead of night was beyond logic at this hour. Maybe the thudding was only the result of a clandestine affair. Hadn’t I already learned this lesson with Daciana and Ileana? I turned, ready to march myself back into bed, then paused.

  Whispers grew louder, cresting like waves before crashing back to near-silence. This was no romantic tryst in the tower. As the voices let the fervor of their cryptic song distract them, I was able to recognize every few words, chanted in Romanian.

  “Bone… Blood… Here… something… dead… wings of black… heart of… enter… woods alone… he’ll mark… tracks… Hunt… down… then…”

  Thud. The chanting stopped as if a guillotine had severed the tongues from whoever dared speak such blasphemous words on this hallowed winter’s eve. I didn’t want to give any credence to Radu’s superstitions, but perhaps there was something other about this night.

  Light flickered beneath the doorframe, gilding the floor and lapping at my slippered toes. I dared not move. I sucked in a quiet breath, watching as the light faded down the corridor, accompanied by the sounds of something being dragged behind going with it. At least two sets of boots marched rhythmically down the stairs, their stolen cargo dully thumping after. Curiosity reached inside my mind, making thinking logically difficult. If I didn’t follow them soon, I’d lose them in the maze of castle corridors.

  Going alone seemed an awful idea, and yet what else was I to do? I couldn’t very well pretend nothing untoward was happening. There wasn’t enough time to rush down to Thomas’s sleeping chamber and wake him. Plus, he shared the floor with other male students. I could not imagine the scandal I would cause by dragging him from his bed this late at night. We would both lose our place in the academy. And rumors of clandestine affairs would surely reach those in London who seemed to gain power through gossip and trade it as if it were currency. I wished Anastasia had returned—she would surely have assisted with this dilemma.

  I bit my lip. I didn’t think our murderer was behind this midnight theft—I couldn’t imagine why he’d steal a body. He enjoyed murdering, not corpse robbing. Indecision continued to toy with the rational section of my brain. The part that said I should wake the headmaster and let him deal with the thieves. I could imagine the twisted curve of his mouth when I relayed what I’d heard. His sneer sharp enough to pierce skin and draw blood. That decided it, then.

  I rushed across the room and fetched my cloak and a scalpel, hands shaking so powerfully I almost dropped my weapon. At least I was armed with some measure of defense. If I ran to Moldoveanu, he would snap at the late-night intrusion and think me a liar. I might even end up as one of the bones he picked his teeth with. I’d rather take my chances with the body snatchers and their wicked-sounding chants.

  I dashed into the corridor and ran down the stairs, catching the last flicker of movement before they entered the lower levels, and halted, my breath catching.

  Apparently, we were going subterranean with the stolen corpse.

  CORRIDORS

  CORIDOARE

  BRAN CAST
LE

  14 DECEMBER 1888

  Black hoods were drawn over the corpse thieves’ heads, obscuring their identity in the shadow-laden corridors as they picked their way from the tower to the lower levels. My own cloak was deep charcoal—reminiscent of hazy half-moon nights and foggy alleys—and was perfect for slinking through unlit spaces. I was grateful I’d left the scarlet cape in London. I held fast to my scalpel, ready to wield it like a sword, as Andrei had done earlier.

  The thieves moved with the steady caution of those who had done this many times in the past. Pausing and listening before slipping down the next hallway. As they made their way to the lowest level, their procession was silent save for the scraping sounds of the body they pulled behind them. It didn’t take long to understand that we were trudging toward the basement morgue. I pressed myself against a wall and allowed an entire litany of doubts to wriggle through my mind. Maybe these supposed thieves were simply servants moving the body between morgues on orders of the professors.

  After all, someone had to transport the corpses from one place to the next. I’d never witnessed them being carted around during waking hours. The chanting, however—well, that was a bit odd. But not damning evidence of guilt. Actually, as I stood there, contemplating, I wasn’t entirely sure they even were chanting. Perhaps they were singing a tune to distract themselves from their job. If they had anything close to Ileana’s skittish temperament, they likely didn’t relish being among corpses. Most didn’t.

  I kicked at the threadbare carpet, worn from the countless feet that had passed by over the past several hundred years. I could not believe I’d gotten out of bed for this. A pair of corpse thieves indeed. It seemed I’d never let my romantic notions go.

  Not everything that thumped and thudded in the night was a monster. I’d clearly heard one too many tales of vampires and werewolves since arriving here. It was all my cursed imagination. Somewhere, deep down, I wanted those strange and deadly tales to be true. Though I was loath to admit it even to myself, there was something terribly appealing about the idea of immortal beings. Perhaps it was the monster inside of me that wished for others, especially those found only in stories.