Hunting Prince Dracula

  Thomas stared at the woods and the falling snow outside. I wanted to gaze out at the massive trees but was afraid of the images my disturbed mind might conjure up. Animals loping through the underbrush, decapitated heads stuck on pikes. Or other horrid tricks and illusions.

  “Feeling unwell?”

  He flicked his attention to me. “Is that your way of saying I don’t appear my best?”

  Without meaning to, I dropped my gaze to his cutaway coat. The midnight hue of both it and the matching waistcoat offset his dark features well, though I had a feeling it was something he was quite aware of. The way his own gaze lingered on my lips confirmed that thought.

  “You seem off, is all.” I didn’t bother pointing out that it was freezing in our rented Growler and, if he wasn’t sick with fever, he ought to wear his overcoat instead of using it as a blanket. Letting that observation go, I lifted a shoulder and proceeded to ignore him. He shifted forward, focus drifting away from Mrs. Harvey.

  “Haven’t you noticed?” He tapped his fingers along his thigh. I could have sworn he was creating some epic saga using Morse code but didn’t interrupt him. “I haven’t touched a smoke in days. I find the excess nervous energy to be… a nuisance.”

  “Why don’t you try to sleep, then?”

  “I can think of a few more intriguing things we might do to pass the time other than sleep, Wadsworth. Braşov is still hours away.”

  I sighed heavily. “I swear, if you came up with something a bit less repetitive, I’d kiss you for the intellectual stimulation alone.”

  “I was speaking of something else entirely. Something of myths and legends and other noteworthy topics to assist with your Romanian studies. You’re the one who assumed I was talking about kissing.” He sat back with a satisfied grin and resumed his inspection of the forest as we slowly ambled by. “Makes one wonder how often you’re thinking about it.”

  “You’ve discovered my secret. I think about it constantly.” I didn’t so much as crack a smile, enjoying the confusion playing over his features as he silently puzzled out my sincerity. “You were supposedly saying something worthy of note.” He blinked at me as if I’d spoken a language he couldn’t identify. “Hard to believe, I know.”

  “I, noble specimen that I am, was going to tell you about the strigoi. But I enjoy unearthing your secrets much better. Let’s hear more about your thoughts.”

  He allowed himself a full scan of my person, seeming to pluck up a thousand details. A smile slowly curved his lips.

  “Judging from the way you’ve straightened up and the slight intake of breath, I’d say you’re at least considering kissing me this moment. Naughty, naughty, Wadsworth. What would your pious aunt have to say?”

  I kept my focus fixed on his face, avoiding the desire to glance at his full mouth. “Tell me more about the stri-guy. What are they?”

  “Strigoi, like ‘boy,’” Thomas said, his Romanian accent perfect, “are undead that take the form of those you trust. Those you’d be only too happy to invite into your home. Then they attack. Usually, it’s a relative who’s passed on. It’s hard for us to turn away those we love,” he added quietly, as if he knew how deeply those words might cut.

  I tried—and failed—not to recall the way my mother’s limbs had twitched when the electricity snaked through her body. Would I have welcomed her back from Death’s Dominion, no matter how frightened I was? The answer disturbed me. I did not believe there was any line one wouldn’t cross when it came to those one loved. Morals crumpled when faced with heartache. Some fissures within us would forever remain irreparable.

  “There must be some explanation for this,” I said. “I highly doubt Vlad Dracula has risen from the grave. Undead are simply gothic stories told to frighten and entertain.”

  Thomas turned his gaze to mine and held it. We both knew that sometimes stories and reality collided, with devastating effects. “I agree. Unfortunately, some villagers do not. When strigoi are spotted, the entire family—or anyone who’s been affected—travels to the grave of the offender, digs them up, rips their rotting heart out, and burns them on the spot. Oh,” he added, leaning forward. “I almost forgot. Once they’ve burned the undead ‘monster,’ they drink the ashes. It’s the only way to be sure the strigoi can’t come back or inhabit another host.”

  “Sounds a bit… much,” I said, scrunching my nose.

  A grin slowly spread across Thomas’s face. “Romanians never do anything halfheartedly, Wadsworth. Whether it’s going to war, or fighting for love.”

  I blinked at the sincerity in his tone. Before I could comment, the driver whistled to the horses and drew back on the reins, halting the carriage. I sat forward, heart pounding as thoughts of roving bands of thieves and murderers swept through my mind. “What’s happening? Why are we stopped?”

  “I may have forgotten to mention”—Thomas paused and calmly donned the overcoat he’d been using as an extra blanket before adjusting the foot brick for me—“we’re switching to a more appropriate carriage.”

  “What do you—” Neighing horses and tinkling bells interrupted my next question. Thomas peered out the window with me, our breath creating opaque swirls. He wiped it clean with the sleeve of his overcoat and watched my reaction, a tentative grin upon his face.

  “Surprise, Audrey Rose. Or at least I hope it’s a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t sure…”

  A magnificent horse-drawn sleigh slid to a halt beside us, its muted reds, ochres, and pale blues an homage to Romanian painted eggs. Two large pure-white horses snuffed the air, their breath puffing out in little clouds in front of them while they toed the snow. They wore crowns of white ostrich-feather plumes—only slightly wilted from the unpleasant weather.

  “You… you did this?”

  Thomas glanced from me to the sleigh, biting his lip. “I hoped you might enjoy it.”

  I raised a brow. Enjoy it? It was a scene straight out of a fairy tale. I was utterly enchanted.

  “I adore it.”

  Without another thought, I unlatched the door and accepted the coachman’s outstretched hand, slipping over the slick metal rung before righting myself. Wind gusted with ferocity, but I hardly noticed as the coachman turned back to the carriage. I held fast to my hat and stared in wonder at the spectacular sight before me. The sleigh driver smiled as I moved away from the protective side of the Growler and stepped fully into the storm.

  At least I believed he smiled. There was no way of telling for sure, with most of his ruddy face and body covered to keep the harsh elements away. He waved as Thomas made his way to my side, inspecting both sleigh and driver in that calculating way of his.

  “Seems a reasonable mode of transport as any. Especially since this storm doesn’t appear to be giving up anytime soon. We should make excellent time. And your expression was well worth it.” I turned to him, eyes watering with gratitude, and watched panic seize him as I smiled unabashedly. He poked his head back into the carriage and clapped. “Mrs. Harvey. Time to wake up. Allow me to assist you down.”

  A chilly breeze chose that moment to knife its way through the woods, causing the branches to whistle. I buried my face in the fur lining of my winter cloak. We were in the thick of the forest, sandwiched between warring mountain peaks. While there were still a few hours of daylight remaining, darkness wove its way around us. This elevation was as temperamental as my friend.

  Thomas motioned toward our steamers as he helped our chaperone down from the carriage. She scowled at the falling snow and took a sip from her tonic.

  Thomas followed my gaze as it traveled from one creaking tree to the next. There was something odd about these woods. They felt alive with a spirit of something neither good nor evil. There was an ancient aura, though, one that spoke in whispers of wars and bloodshed.

  We were deep in the heart of Vlad the Impaler’s land, and it was as if the earth wanted us to be warned: Respect this ground or suffer the consequences.

  It was likely a trick of the light,
but the few remaining leaves seemed to be the color of dried wounds. I wondered if the foliage had grown accustomed to the taste of blood after tens of thousands of lives had been lost here. A bird screeched above us, and I sucked in a cool breath.

  “Easy now, Wadsworth. The forest doesn’t have fangs.”

  “Thank you for that reminder, Cresswell,” I said sweetly. “What would I do without you?”

  He turned to me, expression as serious as I’d ever witnessed it. “You would miss me terribly and know it. Just as I would miss you in ways I cannot fathom, should we ever part.”

  Thomas took Mrs. Harvey by the arm, guiding her forward, as the sleigh driver motioned for us to take a seat. I stood there a moment, heart racing. His confessions were delivered so matter of factly, it stunned me each time.

  Allowing myself a moment to steady my heart, I petted the velvet-soft muzzle of the horse nearest us before climbing into the sleigh. It wasn’t fully enclosed like our carriage, but there were more fur throws in the small space than I’d ever before encountered. We might not have a covered roof, but we’d not freeze with all of the animal pelts to wrap ourselves in. Mrs. Harvey tottered into the sleigh and pressed herself against one side, leaving the rest of the seat open for us as she arranged the foot warmers.

  My body seized up when I realized how close Thomas and I would have to sit. I hoped the headmaster wouldn’t be standing outside for our arrival; it would hardly be decent to be found snuggling next to Thomas, even with a chaperone. As if that very thought were crossing his tainted mind, Thomas flashed a roguish grin and lifted the edge of a large fur-trimmed blanket, patting the space beside him. I set my jaw.

  “What?” he asked, feigning innocence as I situated furs around myself, stuffing extra bulk between us with dramatic emphasis on building a fluffy barrier. Predictably, Mrs. Harvey was already nodding off. I wondered if Thomas had struck some sort of bargain with her to be present in physical form only. “I’m simply being gentlemanly, Wadsworth. No need to spear me with that glare of yours.”

  “I thought you wanted to be on your best behavior for my father’s sake.”

  He held a hand to his heart. “You wound me. Wouldn’t your father be angry if I let you freeze to death? Body heat is scientifically the best way to stay warm. In fact, there are studies that suggest removing your clothes entirely and pressing skin to skin is the surest means of avoiding hypothermia. Should you fall prey to that, I’ll use every weapon necessary to save you. It’s what any decent young gentleman would do. Seems terribly valiant, if you ask me.”

  My treacherous mind strayed to the image of Thomas without his clothing and drew a wide grin from my companion, as if he were privy to my scandalous thoughts.

  “Perhaps I shall write to Father and find out what he thinks of that theory.”

  Thomas huffed and tossed the blanket about his shoulders, appearing like a wild king of beasts from some Homeric poem. I nestled into an oversize fur, breathing in the scent of tanned animal hide, and tried not to gag. It wasn’t the most pleasant-smelling ride, but at least we’d make it to the academy before midnight. I’d endured worse scents while studying putrid cadavers with Uncle. A bit of earthy skin would hardly be too much to handle for another couple of hours.

  Strange as it was to think about, I missed the slight smell of decay mixed with formalin most mornings. I couldn’t wait to arrive at school and be surrounded by scientific study once again. A new environment might cure me of whatever I was suffering from. At least I hoped it would. I could not continue with forensic practices if I was afraid of reanimated corpses.

  I glanced at all the grayish pelts, realization dragging my lips into a frown. “Isn’t it odd to have so many wolf hides?”

  Thomas lifted a shoulder. “Romanians aren’t fond of large wolves.”

  Before I could have him clarify, the driver loaded up the last of our trunks and climbed aboard. He said something quickly in Romanian, and Thomas responded before leaning back to me, his breath coaxing gooseflesh to rise. I shivered at the unexpected thrill. “Next stop, Bran Castle. And all the delightful miscreants who study there.”

  “We’re about to study there,” I reminded him.

  He sank into his blanket, doing a poor job at hiding his smile. “I know.”

  “How do you know Romanian so well?” I asked. “I was unaware you were fluent in anything other than sarcasm.”

  “My mother was Romanian,” Thomas said. “She used to tell us all sorts of folktales growing up. We learned the language from birth.”

  I frowned. “Why not mention it sooner?”

  “I’m full of surprises, Wadsworth.” Thomas pulled his blanket up over his head. “Expect a long life of unraveling these sort of delights. Keeps the mystery and spark alive.”

  With a snap of the reins we were off, gliding over the snow as new flakes whipped past us. Icy wind stung my cheeks, forcing tears out in glistening rivulets, but I couldn’t stop watching the forest flash by through slitted eyes. Every once in a while I swore something was keeping pace with us just inside the woods’ border, but it was becoming too dark to be sure.

  When I heard a low howl, it was hard to tell if it was the wind or a pack of hungry wolves chasing their next warm meal. Perhaps the living, breathing murderer and ghosts of Vlad Dracula’s victims weren’t the only fear-inspiring things to worry about in this country.

  Time passed in frozen minutes and darkening skies. We traveled up steep mountain slopes and down into smaller valleys. We made one stop in Braşov, where—after great debate on the questionable suitability of arriving at the academy without a chaperone—Thomas assisted Mrs. Harvey with securing a room in a tavern, and we said our good-byes to her. Then we climbed our way from the village toward the top of the greatest mountain I’d ever seen.

  When we finally crested its summit a while later, the moon had fully risen. In its light I could make out the pale walls of the turreted castle that had once been home to Vlad Ţepeş. A jet-black forest surrounded it, a natural fortress for the man-made one. I wondered if that was where Vlad had acquired the wood he’d needed for the victims he’d impaled.

  Without worrying about being untoward, I inched closer to Thomas, leaching his warmth for several reasons. I hadn’t thought about it earlier, but Braşov was very close to our school. Whoever had murdered that first victim had chosen a place near Dracula’s castle.

  I hoped it wasn’t a sign of worse murders to come.

  “Appears as if someone’s left the light on for us.” Thomas nodded toward two glowing lanterns that could be proclaiming they were the gates of Satan’s lair, for all I knew.

  “Looks… cozy.”

  Winding our way along the narrow path that led from the woods and across the small lawn, we finally pulled to a blessed stop outside the castle. Fingers of moonlight reached over the spires and slid down the roof, casting the shadows of the sleigh and horses in sinister shapes. This castle was eerie, and I hadn’t even stepped inside.

  For a brief moment, I longed to hide under the animal furs and travel back to the well-fortified, colorful town whose lights winked like fireflies in the valley below us.

  Perhaps traveling back to England with Mrs. Harvey wouldn’t be such a wretched thing. I could meet my cousin in the country. Spending time together talking and sewing items for our hope chests couldn’t be that terrible. Liza made even the most mundane tasks a grand romantic adventure, and I missed her dearly.

  A pang of homesickness hit my center, and I struggled to keep myself from doubling over. This was a mistake. I was not ready to be thrust into this academy built for young men. Bodies lining tables and surgical theaters. All of them reminders of the case I couldn’t get past. A case that had destroyed my heart.

  “You are going to dazzle them all, Wadsworth.” Thomas gently squeezed my hand before releasing it. “I cannot wait to see you outshine everyone. Myself included. Though do be gentle with me. Pretend as if I’m wonderful.”

  I shoved my n
erves aside and smiled. “A monumental task, but I will try to go easy on you, Cresswell.”

  I emerged from the sleigh with renewed strength and made my way up wide stone stairs as Thomas paid the driver and motioned for our trunks to be brought up. I waited for him to reach me, holding my skirts above the gathering snow, not wanting to step beyond that bleak threshold alone. We were here. We’d face down my demons together.

  A massive oak door was flanked by two lanterns, a giant knocker set directly in the middle. It looked as if two C shaped serpent bodies had become one brooding face.

  Thomas smiled blandly at the knocker. “Welcoming, isn’t it?”

  “It’s one of the most ghastly things I’ve ever seen.”

  As I lifted the dreadful thing, the door groaned open, revealing a tall, thin man with silver hair that fell in a sheet about his collar and a deep-set scowl. Fire crackled behind him, gilding the edges of his narrow face. His dark skin glistened with a thin sheen of perspiration that he didn’t bother dabbing away.

  I didn’t dare guess what he’d been doing.

  “Doors lock in two minutes,” he said in a thick Romanian accent. His upper lip curled as if he knew I fought the whispered urge to step back. I could have sworn his incisors were sharp enough to pierce skin. “I suggest you hurry inside and shut that mouth before something unpleasant flies in. We have a bit of a bat problem.”

  ACADEMY OF FORENSIC MEDICINE AND SCIENCE

  INSTITUTULUI NAŢIONAL DE CRIMINALISTICĂ ŞI MEDICINĂ LEGALĂ

  BRAN CASTLE

  1 DECEMBER 1888

  I snapped my mouth shut, more out of shock at such an egregious welcome than compliance.