Hunting Prince Dracula

by Kerri Maniscalco

  “That sounds wonderful,” I said. “I should like it very much.”

  “Do you need assistance changing for bed?”

  I nodded, and Ileana got to work on my corset. Once she’d worked it off and I was standing in my chemise, I thanked her. “I’ll handle it from here.”

  Ileana nudged the door open with her hip, then bid me good night in Romanian. “Noapte bună.”

  I glanced at the washroom, realizing that she’d also filled the tub with hot water. Steam rose in tendrils, beckoning me in. I bit my lip, contemplating the warm bath. I supposed it would be too improper to march into Thomas’s chambers this late at night, and I did not wish to be ruined in society’s eyes because of my impatience. And the drawing of the dragon would still be there in the morning…

  I slipped out of my underclothes, feeling the warmth of both the water and friendship sink into my weary bones.

  Perhaps the next few weeks wouldn’t be as horrid as I’d thought.

  TOWER CHAMBERS

  CAMERE DIN TURN

  BRAN CASTLE

  2 DECEMBER 1888

  Mist rose from the trees around the castle and settled over the mountains like fog in London alleyways as I perched on the settee, trying not to fidget.

  Ileana said she’d return for breakfast, but it was nearly sunrise and I still hadn’t seen her. For all I knew, she might have been detained in another part of the castle. My foot bounced in place. Headmaster Moldoveanu would lock me out of the dining hall if I showed up late. My stomach grumbled its own disapproval as I waited. I decided I’d give her two more minutes before setting out to the dining hall. I’d need to be fortified if I were to survive the next few weeks and keep my wits about me.

  I walked into my sleeping chamber and fussed with the few personal items I’d brought with me; in particular, a photograph of Father and Mother, taken long ago. I set it on my nightstand, feeling a little less alone in this strange place.

  A knock came promptly at my door as the sun gilded the mountains outside the window in my tower chambers. Thank the powers that be. I moved quickly to the other room and ran a hand over my winter-green skirts. Whispered voices hushed the moment I opened the door.

  Ileana carried a covered tray and smiled at the young woman beside her. “This is Miss Anastasia. She is the…”

  “The ward of Headmaster Moldoveanu, or, as I enjoy calling him, the Most Uncharming Man in the history of Romania.” She waved her hand around and walked into my chambers. Her accent was slightly different from Ileana’s but retained a similar essence. “Honestly, he’s not as bad as all that. He’s simply… how do you say…”

  “Crotchety?” I supplied. Anastasia laughed, but didn’t comment.

  Ileana smiled. “I’ll set this here.”

  I followed her over to the little settee and table while Anastasia inspected my shelves. She was plain but pretty, with wheat-colored hair and bright blue eyes. She certainly knew how to use her assets to her advantage, especially when she flashed an infectious grin.

  “Are you searching for something in particular?” I asked, noticing the methodical way her focus swept over the spines.

  “I’m so pleased you’re here. The boys are… fără maniere.” She lifted a shoulder, noting the confusion that must have shown on my face. “Most aren’t very pleasant or polite. Perhaps it’s the lack of oxygen. Or females. The Italian brothers are the biggest disappointment. Their noses stay stuck within their books at all times. They do not even glance in my direction! Not even when I show off my most prized attributes.”

  She grabbed a book from the shelf and pressed it, open, against her face, walking about in exaggerated fashion, giggling. Ileana dropped her attention to the floor, her smile wide.

  “I was hoping for a gothic novel to pass the time when you’re in your classes,” she said, tossing the book aside. “Of course Uncle Moldoveanu wouldn’t keep any such frivolity here. Did you bring any gothic novels, perchance?”

  I shook my head. “Will you be taking classes as well?”

  “Of course not. Uncle believes it’s unbecoming for a girl of my station.” Anastasia rolled her eyes and plopped onto the settee with a huff. “Though I don’t care. I will be sitting in on some classes, if only to spite him. He cannot be everywhere at once.”

  “Has everyone else arrived?”

  “All the ones who are from important families have, I believe. It’s a small group this time. Uncle is said to be… out for sânge, they say.”

  “Why would they believe he’s out for blood?” I asked. Ileana lifted the lid of the tray, revealing pastries and meat pies, her attention now glued to them. I politely took a bite of a savory meat-filled piece of bread and then tried not to devour it whole. Whatever these were, they were delicious.

  “Castle gossip I’ve learned while bored to near-death. So far everyone who’s in this course is either nobility or peasants with rumored links to nobility. Bastard-borns. No one knows what the point of all the royalty is, if there even is one. Don’t even ask about the Italian brothers. They have not spoken to anyone but each other. I have no idea what their history is.”

  Anastasia popped a bit of bread into her mouth and groaned in pleasure.

  “Though some believe it’s part of your test,” she continued. “Uncle enjoys games and intrigue. Finding common factors that may be beneficial when tracking murderers is a skill he believes all forensic students must possess.” She gave me an appraising look. “You’re obviously highborn. What is your family name?”

  “Wadsworth. My father is a—”

  “No ties to Romania?”

  I blinked. “Not that I’m aware of. My mother was partly of Indian ancestry, and my father is English.”

  “Interesting. Perhaps not everyone is descended from this region.” Anastasia bit into another piece of bread. “I heard you arrived at midnight with a young man. Are you betrothed?”

  I nearly choked on my next bite of breakfast. “We’re… friends. And work partners.”

  Anastasia grinned. “I heard he was quite handsome. Perhaps I shall marry him if you’re only work partners.” I’m not sure what she saw on my face, but she quickly added, “I’m teasing. I’ve got my heart set on another, though he pretends I don’t exist. How was your trip here?”

  A vision of the impaled body crossed my mind. I set down my meat pie, suddenly not very hungry. “Dreadful, actually.” I gave a clinical account of the man on the train and the injuries he’d sustained. Ileana’s bronze face had gone pale as a specter’s. “I didn’t get a chance to see exactly what had been shoved into his mouth. However, it was organic in nature and was a whitish color. The smell was… pungent yet familiar, though.”

  “Usturoi,” Anastasia whispered, eyes wide.

  “What is that?”

  “Garlic. I’ve read it’s placed in the mouths of those believed to be… the English call them vampires.”

  “That’s actually from a gothic novel.” Ileana snorted. “Strigoi are disposed of differently here.”

  I thought back to the organic substance. It definitely fit the description of garlic, and it explained the scent. “My friend said strigoi are burned,” I said carefully. “And all those affected drink the ashes.”

  “How vile.” Anastasia sat forward, ravenous for more information. She reminded me of my cousin, except where Liza was obsessed with danger dashed with romance, Anastasia seemed excited solely by the danger part. “Do peasants still do such things here? In Hungary, some villagers are stuck in the old ways. Very superstitious.”

  “You’re Hungarian?” I asked. Anastasia nodded. “But you also speak Romanian?”

  “Of course. We’re taught it along with our own language. I also know Italian quite well. Not that I get to use it with your classmates.” She shifted her focus to Ileana. I watched the way the maid twisted her napkin in her lap, doing her best to avoid noticing Anastasia’s intent gaze. “How do villagers identify strigoi in town? Or is it like a secret society? Like th
at of the dragonists?”

  My attention snapped back to Anastasia. I could have sworn the illustration was burning a hole in my skirt pocket. For a moment, I felt the need to protect this drawing, keep it hidden from everyone until I discovered its origins. Which made absolutely no sense. I withdrew the parchment and set it on the table. “Someone left this in my train compartment after the murder. Do you know what it means, if anything?”

  Anastasia stared at the drawing. I had a hard time reading the expression she was guarding. A moment passed.

  “Have you ever heard of the Order of the Dragon?” she asked. I shook my head. “Well, they’re—”

  “It’s late.” Ileana jumped to her feet and indicated the clock on the mantel. “Moldoveanu will toss me out if I don’t get to work.” She quickly gathered up our breakfast napkins and shoved the lid back on the tray with a clank that set my teeth on edge. “You both should go to the sală de mese. Moldoveanu will be watching.”

  “You mean the headmaster doesn’t lock the dining hall doors after a certain time?”

  Ileana gave me a pitying look. “He makes threats but doesn’t follow through.”

  Without uttering another word, Ileana hurried from the room. Anastasia shook her head and stood. “Peasants are so superstitious. Even the mention of supernatural things makes them jumpy. Come”—she linked her arm through my own—“let’s introduce you to your esteemed peers.”

  “Sounds as if a small herd of elephants are charging about the dining hall,” I said to Anastasia as we loitered outside the doors. Feet stomped and lids clattered, the sound of carefree conversation droning over the din.

  “They certainly act like a bunch of animals.”

  Anxiety twisted its way through the corridors of my innards. I peered inside the great oak doors. A few young men sat at tables, and others lined up to gather breakfast trays along the broad back wall, but Thomas wasn’t among them. I had no idea how so few men could make that much noise in such a large space. The dining hall was grand enough—with the all-white cathedral ceilings and walls trimmed with dark wood that composed the rest of the castle’s interior.

  My thoughts turned to fairy tales and folklore. I could see how a castle like this would be inspiring to writers such as the Brothers Grimm. It was certainly dark enough to invoke a macabre atmosphere. I tried not to think about Father and Mother. How they’d read those stories to me and Nathaniel before bed. I needed to write to Father soon; I hoped he was feeling better. His recovery had been slow, but steady.

  Suddenly I was bounced against the wall, startled from my reverie and shocked someone had not only bumped into me but also chuckled as if it weren’t an affront to a young woman.

  Anastasia sighed. “Miss Wadsworth, allow me to introduce you to Professor Radu. He’ll be teaching you local folclor to round out your assessment course.”

  “Oh, dear. I didn’t see you there.” Professor Radu fussed with a napkin and inadvertently dropped a piece of bread off his tray. I bent to retrieve it the same time he did, and our heads knocked together. He didn’t even blink. His skull must have been made of granite. I massaged the lump on my own head that was already forming, wincing with the throbbing. “Imi pare rău. I do apologize, Miss Wadsworth. Hope I didn’t spill my porridge on that lovely dress.”

  I glanced down at myself, relieved there was no offending porridge on my skirts. With one hand I held out the fallen bread and cautiously prodded the bruise forming under my hairline again with the other. I hoped it had knocked more sense into me than out. It certainly ached enough to make me wonder, though.

  “Please don’t trouble yourself, Professor,” I said. “The only thing that’s harmed is your bread, I’m afraid. And perhaps your head, thanks to mine.”

  “I’m not sure it was ever all right to begin with,” Anastasia whispered.

  “Er… what was that?” Radu asked, focus darting from the bread to Anastasia.

  “I said I’m sure it’s still delicious,” she lied.

  Plucking the dirt-speckled bread from my fingers as one might snatch a grape from the vine, he took a bite. I hoped my lip wasn’t curling the way Anastasia’s was; I didn’t want to reveal the disgust roiling in my stomach.

  “Langoşi cu brânză,” he said around the mouthful of bread, bushy brows raised appreciatively. “Fried dough with feta cheese. You must try some—here.”

  Before I could politely decline, he pressed a piece of the bread into my hands, squishing it when he squeezed my fingers excitedly. I did my best to smile, though a bit of grease soaked into my gloves. “Thank you, Professor. If you’ll excuse us, we’re going to meet the other students.”

  Professor Radu pushed his glasses up his nose, leaving a cloudy grease smudge on one lens. “Didn’t the headmaster tell you?” He eyed us closely, then clucked. “Everyone’s clearing out now. Some will visit Braşov, if you’d care to join them. Don’t want to walk down the mountain alone, now, do you? The woods are filled with creatures that snatch children from the path and gnaw the flesh from their bones.” He sucked grease from his fingers in a show of medieval manners. “Wolves, mostly. Amongst other things.”

  “Wolves are eating students?” Anastasia asked, her tone implying she didn’t believe it for an instant. “And to think Uncle didn’t warn me at all!”

  “Oh! Pricolici! That will be the first myth to discuss in class,” he said. “So many delightful folklore rumors and legends to denounce and argue over.”

  The mention of child-snatching wolves chilled my blood a few degrees. Perhaps I had seen signs of them while on the train, and then again in the woods close by. “What is a prico—”

  “Pricolici are the spirits of murderers who come back as giant, undead wolves. Though some also believe they are wolves and they become strigoi when killed. I do hope you enjoy the lesson. Now, remember, stick to the path and don’t venture into the woods, no matter what you may see. Many, many glorious dangers there!”

  He tottered off, humming a buoyant tune to himself. For a brief moment I wondered what it might be like, being so utterly lost in daydreams and fiction. Then I recalled the fantastical visions my mind had produced over the last few weeks and chided myself. “Why are they teaching folklore and mythology when the course is only four weeks long?”

  “All part of the mystery you’re to unravel, I suppose.” Anastasia lifted a shoulder. “Though Uncle believes science explains most legends.”

  A statement I very much concurred with, no matter how I despised agreeing with anything Moldoveanu said. I watched the professor drop his breakfast again. “I cannot believe he ate that piece of bread,” I said. “I’m certain a dead bug was stuck to it.”

  “He didn’t seem to mind,” Anastasia said. “Perhaps he enjoys a bit of added protein.”

  I cringed as the professor bumped into another student—a bulky, dark-blond-haired young man with a jaw too square for him to be considered handsome.

  “Ai grijă, bătrâne,” the behemoth hissed at Radu before shouldering his way into the dining hall, knocking a smaller student aside without apology. Nasty brute. My Romanian was decent enough that I knew he’d told the old man to watch out.

  “That charming specimen is Romanian nobility,” Anastasia said as the blond boy disappeared into the dining hall. “His friends are slightly better.”

  “I can’t wait to meet them,” I said dryly. I deposited the oil-soaked bit of bread into a rubbish bin and blotted at the stain on my gloves. I’d need to fetch another pair before I left. “Why do you think students are traveling into the village?”

  “I don’t know, nor do I care.” Anastasia lifted her nose in a faux-regal manner. “You won’t catch me going out in this snowy weather. I doubt the others will venture far from their chambers either. Oh! I’d meant to ask Radu if I could sit in on his lessons.” She bit her lip. “Would you mind if I caught up with you in a while? Will you be staying in?”

  “If we’re not forced to go, then I don’t see why I’d leave. I’d
rather explore the castle. I saw a taxidermy room I’d love to inspect.”

  “Extraordinar!” Anastasia exclaimed, kissing my cheeks. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

  Raucous laughter echoed inside the room as I watched Anastasia hurry after our professor. No matter how much I wished to not do this alone, it was time to greet my fears and introduce myself to my classmates. Gradually. For now I’d show my face and take it slowly from there. Plus, it wasn’t as if I didn’t know anyone. Thomas would surely show up soon enough.

  With my head held high, I marched into the dining hall. Five rows of long tables held curious students who grew quiet as I made my way to the opposite end of the room. One table held three young men, one being the rude, bulky boy from the hallway.

  Another table had two brown-haired boys who didn’t bother glancing up from their books, presumably the Italians. Their skin was a rich bronze, as if they hailed from a place near the ocean. One of them was the smaller student that the brute had bumped into without apology.

  A wiry young man with dark yellow-brown skin sat across from a boy who wore spectacles and had thick ginger curls. They tucked into their meals but lifted their eyes to gawk at my arrival.

  My cheeks warmed as the sound of my skirts swishing together rose above their scattered whispers. At least I had Thomas. Even if we needed to battle for spots in the academy, we could fight together. And commiserating with Anastasia was also something to look forward to.

  One of the boys at Bulky’s table snickered quite loudly, then whistled as if I were a common dog to be summoned. Of all the… I stopped walking and leveled a severe glare at him, cutting off his smirk with precision.

  “Something amusing?” I asked, noticing the silence that descended on them as if they were soldiers who’d been called to war. When he didn’t respond, I said it once more, in my best Romanian, my voice ringing out loudly in the sudden quiet.

  The young man’s lips twitched ever so slightly while I studied him. His hair was a shade darker than Thomas’s, and his eyes were a deeper hue of brown. His deep olive complexion was alluring in the way most enjoyed in a dark hero. He was rugged, though I assumed he held a rank of sorts, based on what Anastasia had mentioned.