Beth_Fantaskey-Jessicas guide to dating the dark side.

by Jessica's Guide to Dating the Dark Side (lit)

  "Me."

  "Yes. He didn't want you to suffer eternity with a mon­ster—in the more technical sense of the term. You know, some­one capable of terrible cruelty . .." Dorin trailed off. "But now he suffers."

  I looked at my traveling companion. "What do you mean?"

  "Lucius needs you. He mourns you. He loves you. It's very unusual for a vampire to truly love. Some hold that real love be­tween vampires is a myth. That we are too vicious by nature. But Lucius does. He loves you—as you love him."

  I wanted, more than anything, for Lucius to love me. But I was still hurt. "Didn't he realize that the crudest thing he could do was leave me?"

  "He thought you would recover quickly, get on with your life. That's what teenagers do, right? 'Bounce back'?"

  "But I'm not a normal teenager."

  "Of course not." Dorin paused. "Lucius thought he did you a favor, though. At great cost to his own heart. Tremendous cost.

  My eyes filled with tears, like they always did when I thought of Lucius. "I miss him so much."

  "Of course. But you must be prepared when you see him. His dark side really does grow more powerful every day. He de­stroyed Vasile, you know."

  "What?" I didn't think I'd heard right.

  "Oh, yes," Dorin confirmed. "When Vasile found out Lu­cius was still with us, and in Romania, he ordered him de­stroyed for disobedience. For abandoning the pact he was sent to fulfill. Well, Lucius marched right into the castle and said, 'Do it yourself, old man,' or something to that effect. And Vasile said, 'You impertinent chit,' and set upon Lucius like a wolf on a hind—that's a deer in your country."

  Lucius fighting Vasile? It hardly seemed fair. Lucius was strong, but Vasile was beyond strong. He was like a force of nature. "What happened?"

  "Lucius won. And in a fight to the finish . . . well, someone gets 'finished.'"

  "Oh." Even though Vasile had been unspeakably cruel, it was hard to imagine Lucius plunging a stake into anyone's chest. . . .

  Dorin correctly read my silence. "Lucius had no choice. But he was nearly shattered when it was all over. Wouldn't eat for days. Still, what could he have done? Stand there and let Vasile destroy him? If you ask me, the boy had endured far too much already. The world's a better place with Vasile out of the way."

  "But Lucius can't accept that, can he?"

  "No. Of course not. Lucius was raised—indoctrinated— to honor family above all else. He was taught since infancy to respect—and protect—Vasile as his mentor and superior. Of course Lucius sees disobeying and ultimately destroying Vasile as just more evidence that he is irredeemable. And so he acts irredeemably."

  "What exactly is he doing?" I was truly scared to hear the answer.

  "He is precipitating a war; that is what he is doing."

  "How?"

  "Our people, the Dragomirs, are furious about the pact. They think Lucius left you behind deliberately, for the express purpose of denying us our princess. Of denying us shared power. Lucius not only allows this misperception to fester, he fuels it. He taunts us toward war. Already, there are skirmishes between the Vladescus and the Dragomirs. Vampires have been destroyed in anger. Militias are being formed. Soon it will be all-out war."

  "Vampires have been destroyed because I didn't come back with Lucius? While I was wasting time mucking stalls, my rela­tives have been getting staked? Why didn't you come get me?"

  Dorin fidgeted. "I am not strong, Antanasia, like you ... I feared Lucius's wrath ... He told me that you were not to come to Romania, not to know that he lived. But the situation has gone too far. I cannot allow more Dragomirs to be lost, just be­cause I am afraid to defy his decree. I had to come for you."

  I squeezed my uncle's hand, almost as though I was the older, more experienced vampire. "Well, at least you did the right thing in the end. I promise I'll do my best to protect you from Lucius's 'wrath.'"

  "Indeed, I trust that you are the one force capable of bring­ing back the benevolent side of Lucius. I stake my existence on it—and the fate of our people. For in a war with the Vlades-cus . . . well, in the time of peace, which began with your be­trothal ceremony, we Dragomirs have allowed ourselves to soften. If this war cannot be averted, I fear that the Dragomirs, for all our current outrage, will be no match for the Vladescus."

  "How bad might it be for our family?"

  "Obliterated," Dorin said glumly.

  "So if I can't convince Lucius, in a last ditch effort, to admit that he loves me and honor the pact. . . ?"

  "The Dragomirs, I fear, will soon be no more. Lucius, as he is now, cannot be counted upon to show much mercy, I fear."

  I leaned my head against the seat back, letting it all sink in. My new to-do list: Control angry Dragomir vampires. Win back no-longer-destroyed, reluctant, rampaging fiance. Stop imminent war.

  I fingered the bloodstone at my throat. I was up for the challenge. I had no choice.

  The plane hit some turbulence, and we jolted sharply, sev­eral times. So sharply that several passengers yelped.

  Dorin grabbed my hand and smiled. "Welcome back to Romania, Princess Antanasia."

  Chapter 60

  GIVEN ALL THAT Lucius had told me about living in castles and eating the finest foods and having his clothes tailor-made, I was a bit surprised to find myself bumping along the rutted roads of rural Romania in a battered Fiat "Panda," which huffed and puffed along on only three of its four cylinders.

  "Urn, Dorin," I said, clutching the dashboard as my uncle once again ground the gears into submission. "I thought we were vampire royalty."

  Dorin nodded to me. "Indeed. Excellent bloodline."

  "Then .. . what's with the car?"

  "Oh. That. Do not think this vehicle representative of our heritage. It is just a temporary manifestation of our some­what . . . er, reduced circumstances." He wrestled with the non-power steering, trying to avoid a rut as we climbed into the Carpathians.

  The mountains stood in sharp contrast to the Appalachians that rolled gently across Pennsylvania. Indeed, the Carpathi­ans, steep, rocky, and jagged, shamed the Appalachians' claim to mountain-hood. From time to time, the road would veer out over sheer, breath-snatching drops, then snake back into dense, shadowy forests, where Dorin assured me bears and wolves still prowled, only to emerge in brightness, cutting through small towns that seemed carved out of stone and fixed in the Middle Ages. Crooked cottages, snug little chapels, and busy taverns hugged narrow streets. I would glimpse these things, then, in the blink of an eye, we would plunge back into the wilderness.

  I could see why Lucius had missed his homeland: the fairy­tale villages; the sense of time stopped; the pervasive impression that one was within a hidden mystery; a secret, wild enclave forgotten in a modern world.

  "Hold on," Dorin advised, turning off the main road from Bucharest and bumping onto an even narrower lane.

  We jerked along, and my head thumped the Pandas low ceiling. "Ouch." I rubbed my curls. "Is this really the best we can afford?"

  "Well, I've told you. The clan has hit some hard times in re­cent years. We sold the Mercedes years ago. The Fiat's very re­liable, though. I have no complaints. None at all."

  I had a few complaints. How was I supposed to assume my proper place as a vampire princess when my mode of trans­portation was the size of a golf cart, with an engine that sounded like it belonged to a tabletop fan?

  We rode in silence for quite some time, until we crested a rise that revealed, below us in the distance, a large cluster of terra-cotta-colored roofs glowing in the sunset. "Sighisoara," Dorin announced.

  I leaned forward, staring out the windshield with eager eyes. So we had arrived, finally, in Lucius's home territory. This was where he had grown up, become the man I'd grown to love. "Will we drive through?"

  "Yes," Dorin said. "Anything you wish."

  I had noticed that my uncle's demeanor toward me had changed subtly since we'd landed in Bucharest. He had become more formal. More deferential. I considered tel
ling him that he didn't have to treat me like a princess just because we weren't in the United States anymore. Then I realized, no, I would as­sume my rank. I would need deference; I would need to pro­ject authority if I was to achieve what I meant to achieve. I was in a Fiat Panda, but I was still a princess. "Please, show me," I urged.

  "Of course." Dorin drove us into the heart of the city, and I gazed, enchanted, at arched stone passageways leading to twisting alleys, at cramped and crowded stores whose special­ties—breads and cheeses and fruits and vegetables—spilled out onto the sidewalks, and at the seventeenth-century clock tower that served as the city's heartbeat, striking the hour as we passed. Six o'clock.

  At each spot that captured my notice, I wondered. Had Lucius strode this street? Made a purchase at that store? Lis­tened to the deep tolling of the clock, realizing that he needed to be somewhere, ducking his tall frame beneath one of those stone arches to keep an appointment in a hidden byway? This—this was a place where Lucius would not seem out of place, even in his velvet coat, his fitted trousers.

  "Are you hungry?" Dorin asked. "We could stop for a mo­ment, before all of the merchants close for the day."

  "It's just six," I noted. "Is it, like, the local custom to shut down so early?"

  Dorin pulled the car to the curb. "No. It is not always this way. But the people of this region have lived in the company of vampires for many generations. They keep the pulse of the clans. They have heard rumors of a coming war, and know that there will be thirsty, angry vampires about, seeking the fuel of blood—and recruits for our undead armies . . . They will not linger in the streets after dark without good reason."

  A shiver shook through me, too. Although I was now a member of the vampire clans myself, I could definitely sympa­thize with the local people's fears. "So even the regular people are affected by the tension ..."

  "Indeed," Dorin said. "They mourn the passing of nearly two decades of peace. For a time, we seemed to have reached a detente with the humans, too. That was largely the doing of Lucius. He was a good ambassador for us. So charming . . . Even those who would cross themselves at the name Vladescu could hardly dislike him. But now, of course, they know that he is changed ..."

  Dorin led me toward a small restaurant, opening the door and ushering me into a cramped, narrow room. The decor was simple—a few scarred old tables scattered about a wooden floor—but the smell was amazing. "Here. We will buy pa-panasi: cheese dumplings rolled in sugar. A local delicacy."

  "Sugared cheese?" I was skeptical.

  "I ate the vegan birthday cake," Dorin noted. "Trust me, this will be a treat by any comparison."

  I couldn't argue with that.

  We stepped up to the counter, and the elderly proprietor rose from a stool with effort, greeting Dorin. "Bună."

  "Bună." Dorin nodded. He held up two fingers. "Doi papanaşi."

  "Da, da," the old man said, beginning to shuffle away. Then he noticed me and stopped abruptly, his swarthy, weathered face growing visibly pale. He pointed at me with a shaking hand, wide eyes darting to Dorin. "Ea e o fantoma ..."

  “Nu e!" Dorin shook his head. "Not a ghost!"

  "Ea e Dragomir!" the old man insisted. "Mihaela!"

  I understood the words Mihaela Dragomir—and the gist of the conversation, however unfamiliar the language.

  "Da, da," Dorin agreed, seeming to grow impatient with the man, waving him off. "Comanda, vă rog. Our food, please."

  The man hobbled away, but continued to glance over his shoulder at me as he prepared our papanasi.

  "He recalls your mother," Dorin whispered to me. "He thinks you are her ghost. Her fantoma. You should get used to that."

  I was both flattered and vaguely uneasy to be mistaken for my birth mother. I realized, with a jolt, that this man believed, beyond a doubt, that I was a vampire. He had been raised with the reality of vampires. He had been alive when my parents had been destroyed. Perhaps he had taken part. . . . Now, standing in his shop, I knew from the old man's suspicious eyes that I was not just a curiosity; I was a potential threat. I felt vulnerable suddenly, high in the Carpathians, beyond the pro­tection of Mom and Dad, alone in a claustrophobic shop with an uncle I barely knew and a stranger who considered me a bloodsucking fiend, possibly fit for destruction.

  The old man handed Dorin our food, and my uncle paid, handing over a few coins. The proprietor continued to eye me warily.

  "Come along," Dorin said, guiding me toward the door. "Try not to be shaken by this. Of course some of the older people will recognize you. You look exactly like her. It will take a while for them to understand that you are her daughter and have returned home."

  We left the shop, and I stared at the street, trying to think of this unfamiliar place as "home."

  "We should go," Dorin gently urged. "It is growing dark, and the road is dangerous."

  I folded myself into the little car and tried the papanaşi, biting down on the crisp sugared dumpling to release the warm, gooey cheese. "Mmm ..." I closed my eyes and savored the treat, braver and comforted with warm food in my stomach.

  "Good?" Dorin seemed pleased. He put the car in gear and pulled out into the street, which was nearly empty now.

  "Very good," I said, reaching into the paper sack for an­other. "Much better than vegan cake."

  "That is Lucius's favorite, you know," Dorin said. "He likes them from that particular shop best."

  I slowly licked the sugar from my fingers, watching the city pass by my window. Lucius could have been there. I could have walked into that shop and seen the man I'd been mourning alive and well. "Does Lucius live very near here?" I ventured. "How close are we, exactly? Minutes? A half hour?"

  "Very close," Dorin said, glancing at me. He sounded a bit nervous. "You . . . you're not thinking of swinging by, are you?"

  "Just to see his home ..." A sudden apprehension gripped me. Apprehension and excitement. "Will he be there, do you think?" Do I want him to be there? Am I ready?

  "I don't believe so," Dorin guessed, and I felt a little wave of relief. As much as I desperately wanted to see Lucius, I knew I should get ready first. Not only did I need to clean up from the plane ride, but I had to prepare mentally. To brace myself to face the Lucius whom Dorin had described on the plane. The Lucius who had destroyed his uncle, who was precipitating a war and scaring the local townspeople. The Lucius who was believed capable of "obliterating" my family, without mercy.

  "He's been out with his troops a lot lately," Dorin added. "In the field."

  "Are we preparing?" I asked, concerned by this latest revelation.

  "Somewhat. .." Dorin drifted off. "No, not really. Not in an organized way like Lucius. He is a warrior creating an army. We are more like your American colonists: earnest, if ill-prepared, vampires forming informal militias."

  I gazed out at the rugged landscape. The deeper we drew into the Carpathians, the more profoundly I recognized the mountains as my dreamscape. I could hear my birth mother's voice in my mind, singing to me. Being silenced. This was a beautiful place. But a severe, untamed place, too. "We will need more than 'informal militias,'" I muttered, staring out the pas­senger side window into the gathering darkness. "We will need to prepare, too." If only I knew what that meant. If only I'd been raised as a warrior, not a vegan in a farm overrun with stray kittens. Can I really help my Dragomir kin?

  "Look this way," Dorin urged, letting the Fiat drift to a halt on the side of the road.

  I turned in my seat and sucked in my breath, confronted— assaulted—by a towering stone building. The phantasmagoric edifice where Lucius had been raised, schooled with violence, reared on tales of his vampire lineage, and made fiercely aware of the Vladescus' proud place in the world.

  "Wow."

  We were parked on the edge of a precipice, overlooking a valley so steep, deep, and narrow that it looked as if a giant had created it with one sharp whack from a mile-long cleaver. Lu-cius's castle, black against the orange sunset, clung to the far esca
rpment, rising out of the hillside and seeming to claw up at the sky. Sharply pitched eaves, turrets like enormous spikes to jab the clouds, pinched and vaulted Gothic windows. It was an angry house. A house at war with the universe.

  Did Lucius really live there ?

  We parked the car and stepped out to the very edge of the cliff, the better to examine this snaggle-toothed architectural expression of rage.

  "Impressive, eh?" Dorin asked.

  "Yes." But the word was thick in my throat. Looking at that house, I was scared. It was ridiculous to be scared of a building, and yet the sight of that castle struck a chord of raw fear in me.