“Costin, Sophia!” she cried, and her voice was high with emotion. “What are you doing up here?”
She embraced me, but carefully, as if I were made of glass.
“I’ve freed her and now we must hide.”
“Costin, you can’t hide here. They’ll check all the rooms up here. I’ll be put to death, because I didn’t report you.” She drew back. The light from the torches fell across her face, then, and I saw that she was young—possibly thirteen or fourteen.
“No. Sarah, you’re wrong,” he explained, pushing past the girl. “The guards will assume we’ve run away. They’ll never think to check the tower.”
“Do you have any water?” I asked realizing now just how parched I was.
The girl left for a moment and returned with a pitcher. She set it on the sideboard and poured me a cup while Costin led me to the hearth. A fire was burning brightly, but it did little to dispel the chill that had settled into my bones from my stone prison. I stood and rubbed my hands together as if they were kindling and I could catch fire.
The room was circular and furnished with an old, carved wooden bed that boasted great clawed feet.
“Sarah, go to the spyhole and see if you can hear what they’re saying, but be careful.”
FIFTY-ONE
“Cullen, my old friend! Nice to see you,” the Professor, a trimly dressed man in tweed trousers and an immaculately pressed shirt, said as he clapped Cullen affectionately on the shoulder and closed the door to his office. “Please sit down,” he said, turning on his coffeepot and waving Cullen into a chair. “I was surprised to hear from you.”
“Aye, what’s the story with ye, pal. It’s been ages,” Cullen agreed.
“Ten years at least since I last saw you and Sophia in London. How is that pretty wife of yours?”
Cullen’s smile faded. How would the Professor take his outlandish tale?
The Professor went on, “And your daughter, Alana? She must be all grown up now.”
Cullen nodded and accepted the coffee cup that the Professor handed him.
“From the look on your face I get the feeling you’re about to tell me that your dog just died.”
“Ye’ve no idea, pal.” Cullen took a deep breath and filled him in on the last few months. The Professor’s face dropped at the mention of Sophia’s disappearance.
“I’m so sorry. That’s terrible news…but I’m confused. You said on the phone that you needed my help. I don’t understand how my research on Bran could possibly benefit you. I’d assumed you’d been hired to renovate it.”
Cullen looked around the room at the rows of bookshelves all neat and orderly. He took in the desk, not a paper out of place. How would this rational man react to the irrational? They’d known each other for twenty-five years—and gone to school together in London as boys—but could he trust him with such a tale?
Cullen tipped the empty porcelain cup in the Professor’s direction. “Do you mind if I have another? I have a whale of a story to share and I’m not sure I can do it on just one coffee, even a good Turkish one such as this.”
The Professor raised his eyebrows. “Something stronger perhaps?”
Cullen looked at the clock on the wall. It was early in the day but they would definitely need whisky. “That’s a fine idea, and I just so happen to have brought ye a bottle. It was my intention to bribe ye with it.”
“No better time,” the Professor said, accepting the gift.
The Professor filled their cups with the amber-colored liquid and then stretched back behind the big desk, ready to listen. “You’re not going to tell me that you think Dracula kidnapped Sophia, are you? Because I just don’t know if I could handle that on just one cup.”
“No,” Cullen said firmly. “The story I’m about to weave is even more unbelievable.” He sipped his whisky and finally worked up the nerve.
Ten minutes later, the Professor had drained his second glass and was leaning forward. His face was still. He stared at the picture Cullen had handed him of Sophia standing in front of the castle circa the 15th century. “Time travel,” he repeated.
Cullen nodded; it was all he could think to do.
The Professor seemed unable to drag his eyes from the image spread before him. “Where did you get this?”
“Sophia’s best friend; she’s been searchin’ since Sophia disappeared. Do ye think ye can find any records of her there?” Cullen asked, looking narrowly at his friend. “At the castle? It would help me locate her when I went back if I knew the name she’s under.”
The expression on his face stopped Cullen. He looked ten years older, by some trick of the light from the dusky window.
“What makes you think this is Bran?” The Professor rose slowly and went to a corner of his study behind the desk, climbing two steps of the library stool to bring down a little dark volume. He stood looking at it for a minute, as if unwilling to put it in Cullen’s hands. Then he passed it across the desk.
The book itself fell open to the middle, revealing a labeled image of Bran Castle.
“Ye don’t think it is?” Cullen questioned.
“I don’t recognize this part of the Castle. No.”
Cullen nodded. “Castles are often renovated. Hell, I wouldn’t have a business if they weren’t; besides there’s not much to see of the place in this photo—just a wall and a set of stairs, really.”
“True,” the Professor agreed, “I still don’t think it’s Bran. Call it a gut instinct. Even the flora is different.”
“Well, that could be the time period, right?”
The Professor frowned.
Cullen stood and walked to the window. “We really don’t have much to go on.” For a moment he was silent, turning his gaze toward the University grounds below. “After one of Sophia’s regressions, she wrote the words Dracula’s Castle on a notepad. Leslie came across it after she died and that’s really all we have to go on.”
The Professors fingers drummed the desk. “Anything else?”
Cullen added, “Only the term, the reddish wolf. It was another of the things Sophia had mentioned and written down after the regression. I believe the woman’s real name was Elena, but we don’t have a last name.”
“Let me look into it for you. It’s not much but I’ve written papers starting with less.”
Cullen gave a sigh and walked back to the desk. “I owe ye, my friend, this is all very last minute.” He held out his hand. “Our train leaves for Brasov tomorrow mornin’. Any information that ye could give me before then would be most appreciated.”
The Professor smiled, affectionately, but sadly. “I’ll get to work and see what I can find.”
FIFTY-TWO
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
Sarah scurried out the door, closing it firmly behind her.
“Sit,” Costin urged. “You must be cold and tired. That torture chamber is an abomination.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed.
He strode to the bed, and pulled the scarlet blanket from it, leaving the animal skin that had adorned it to fall to the floor.
As he placed the blanket around my shoulders, his hands lingered and I was reminded of the way he’d kissed me yesterday.
“How did you know?” I stuttered, suddenly realizing this wasn’t what was supposed to happen at all.
“How did I know what?”
“That Elena and I had been taken? You weren’t supposed to show up until dawn.”
He squinted his eyes in confusion, and I realized I was the only one this had happened to before. I was changing history once again.
“I knew something was wrong when you ran from me at the river, so I followed you home and I saw the guards arrest you. I had to wait to make my move.”
He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. His eyes were shining, his manner more animated and vital and yet more relaxed than I had seen before.
“You like the tower,” I observed.
“You know I do,” he said in puzzlement. �
��It’s our own private retreat. Sarah keeps it clean for us. You must have missed coming up here. Things have been so tense lately,” he explained. “I’d take you to the lookout but that wouldn’t do much to warm you.”
I kept silent, not wanting to tip him off that I had no recollection of this special place he spoke of.
Suddenly the girl, Sarah, was back and she was panting. “Someone saw you heading upwards. They’re checking the level below right now.”
From the shadows behind her emerged a boy about two years older than she. He turned and ran out the doorway before we could stop him. His voice bouncing off the walls, “Guards. I’ve found them.”
FIFTY-THREE
The smell of the sweet and salty—candied apples, sugar-spun cotton candy, and popcorn—filled the air. Cullen knew he should get back to the hotel—the girls would be worried and hungry by now—but he felt deflated. What if they were wrong about Bran Castle? What if they were wrong about everything? Maybe it was time he faced the fact that the girl in the picture was just some sort of ancestor and Sophia was really dead after all. Pain stabbed at his chest and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep the tears from escaping.
No, he took a deep breath and steadied himself. He was not ready to give up yet.
He enjoyed being outside in the crisp autumn air, watching the children point and laugh and eat and run while images of witches, vampires, and werewolves filled the window displays. Halloween wasn’t for another three weeks but apparently the town was hosting some sort of street fair in honor of the phenomena of the four blood moons. It had been seventeen years since the last one and the shops were overflowing with kids in search of last-minute costumes. But Cullen didn’t care anything about the tourists or the costumes. The blood moon meant he was going to find Sophia.
He saw a bookstore that reminded him of Mysterious Adventures in Ink and, before he knew it, he’d walked inside, glanced about as if the woman of his dreams were there. Several employees wearing black aprons bustled about the cash register and shelves helping one person after another, but sadly none of them were Sophia. Which of course was logical, she wasn’t here or there; she was 400 years in the past.
He walked to the counter and ordered a large black tea, watching as people streamed in and out, and that was when he saw Sandra Brun—dark hair, pale skin and wearing the same red coat that she’d worn to dinner at their house.
He moved closer, trying to get a better angle.
The woman flipped through some books on casting spells. She twisted and turned her face away as if she knew he were there watching her. She kept glancing up, as if she were looking for someone else. He followed her gaze to the next aisle.
“Cullen, is that you?” A familiar voice rang out.
He spotted Leslie and Alana coming towards him from the exact aisle he’d just been staring into. He turned back to the woman in red but she was gone.
“Earth to Da...” Alana tapped him.
He shook his head, coming out of his daze. “Hey! What are ye girls doin’ here? Surely ye haven’t need for yet another book?”
“No, but we do need costumes, remember? The Blood Moon Ball is a costume party,” Leslie reminded him and walked away.
Alana flitted off after her, bursting into a fit of giggles at the fake chest plate Leslie had just put on.
Cullen turned back to the salesgirl.
“Where is the ball being held?” The salesgirl asked.
“Dracula’s Castle,”
The girl laughed. “Which one?”
“What do ye mean, ‘which one?’ Isn’t Bran known as Dracula’s?”
“Yes, but Dracula was said to have had a few different homes.”
At that moment a twenty-something male stopped in front of them and held his black cape over his face in exaggerated form for his friends who laughed and clapped their hands. From his tuxedo shirt to the red streaks dripping from his lips, there was no mistaking his costume.
“That looks good. You should go as Dracula, too,” the salesgirl suggested to Cullen.
“I will yeah,” Cullen replied in an agitated voice. “Where was Dracula’s other home?”
Another customer walked by in a nun costume, looked at the vampire and shook her prayer beads. The salesgirl laughed and picked up a pamphlet from the counter, handing it to Cullen. “Vlad the Impaler was held prisoner by Hungary's military leader for 7 years in Hunedoara Castle.”
“I think ye gave me the wrong pamphlet. This is for Corvin Castle,” Cullen said, attempting to hand it back to her.
She shooed it back in his direction.
“One and the same—that’s the name of one of the families that owned it. The castle resides in the town of Hunedoara and was originally named after the family that built it.”
The girls came back into sight and Leslie flashed a pair of fake fangs. “What do you think—a hot new seller for the Mysterious InkSpot?”
“I think ye’re losing yer sanity,” Cullen mumbled, folding the pamphlet and shoving it into his pocket.
“I think she lost that years ago,” Alana said with a grin. “Besides, ye’re more the witchy type,” She said, grabbing a hat from the table and placing it on Leslie’s head. Come on, Da. Ye have to pick out a costume—at least somethin’ small, so ye blend in.”
“I’m a little long in the tooth for dressin’ up.”
“No pun intended, huh? Suit yourself, but you’re going to look a little silly at a costume ball without a costume,” Leslie added.
Cullen frowned.
She was right, but something felt off. He grabbed the hat off Leslie’s head. “Let’s go, we have important things to discuss.”
“Relax, Cullen. We were just having fun.”
“We can have fun when Sophia is home safe and sound,” He said and stomped out of the store ahead of them.
From across the street Cullen grunted in frustration. Unhappy with his outburst, he could see Leslie and Alana emerging from the store. Alana’s arms were crossed over her chest while Leslie escorted her with an arm around her shoulders. Both of their faces were grim.
He sure knew how to piss them off.
Leslie’s fingers tapped in an agitated motion against her thigh as she stopped in front of him.
“I’m sorry, lass,” Cullen said as they finally reached him. “I can be such a dope.”
“Yeah, you can,” Leslie said and gave him a compassionate look. “Is something the matter?”
“Aye. Something was the matter all right. I thought I saw that cow—Sandra Brun—in the store right before ye called my name. When I turned back, she was gone.”
“You really think it was her?” Leslie asked, glancing up and down the street.
“No. That’s a ridiculous notion. I’m sure my imagination is just workin’ overtime but it’s disturbin’ none the less. I’ll be glad to get this all over with.”
“Amen,” Leslie agreed. “How was your meeting?”
“Let’s talk about it at dinner. I made reservations at The Crow on Paulay Ede Street,” Cullen said.
FIFTYFOUR
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
“My foolish brother!” Sarah mumbled. “The guards are now in the east wing.”
“We’ll have to get to the other passage,” Costin said, “You’ll need to start screaming, too, but tell them we went back down. Show them the passage behind the tapestry.”
The girl squeezed my hand and gave a short, sharp nod to show that she understood.
Costin grabbed a candle and we fled her room in the same direction the boy had gone, down a set of stairs and into a passage where there were no windows—the candle was burning low and the passage was dark and chill. My right hand trembled, while the left was wrapped around Costin’s arm.
Suddenly, a malignant draught gusted, blowing out the candle and plunging the passage into darkness. My heart slammed painfully against my ribs and I could scarcely breathe in the stifling darkness. What had seemed chilly a moment before was now airless
and dank, a suffocating blanket of blackness.
Without thinking I began to pray aloud. I had just formed the words “please God” for the fourth time when Costin squeezed my hand to signal for silence. He pushed open what I could now see was a stout oak door and I almost tripped over my own feet to get inside.
The hall we entered was large, the stone walls draped with moth-eaten tapestries. There was little furniture, but the expanses of wall that had been spared the tapestries were bristling with weapons-swords and fierce medieval battle axes.
When we reached the landing, we heard a woman’s voice. “Costin Vilhem Ioan Cuza, you are a fool!”
I recognized the woman as Alexandra. I narrowed my eyes and tilted my chin upward in as fierce a manner as I could muster.
To my surprise, the woman wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “This way, quickly, before you are both hanged.” Her voice was reedy and thin, and I noted she was well-wrapped against the chill. As I allowed her to guide me down a hall and out a door, I saw the resemblance to Sandra Brun in the bones of her face. But where Sandra Brun’s beauty had grown, this woman’s was fading. Her hair and skin lacked luster, more like the way Sandra had looked the first time I’d met her.
FIFTYFIVE
It was a quiet ride across the monolithic Széchenyi Lánchid Bridge. Cullen stared out the window, taking in everything from the flanking lion statues and triumphant arches to the lights that reflected off the Danube River, flooding the whole scene in a beautiful soft gold. There was something bothering him that he just couldn’t put his finger on. He was itching to hear back from the Professor but it was too soon. The Professor was good but they were practically searching for a miracle.
“The Blind Crow, eh? You couldn’t have found a more appetizing sounding restaurant to treat us too?”
“Actually, it’s called VakVarju,” the taxi driver cut in. “It’s named for an old nursery rhyme and it’s very good.”
Leslie gave the driver a chastened smile and then looked over at Cullen. She’d been attempting to catch his eye for the last two minutes. She was about to ask him about the Professor’s visit, he just knew it. He shook his head as subtly as possible and motioned toward Alana before she could utter a word. He wasn’t ready to dash Alana’s hopes. Luckily Leslie caught the hint and snapped her lips shut.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 89
