Hunting Prince Dracula (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 2)

by Kerri Maniscalco

Muttering something about the engine room, the passenger with the disheveled hair ran off in that direction, probably to have the engineer stop the train. I watched him weave through the gaggle of people, most of whom were struck motionless by horror.

  “Mrs. Harvey fainted,” Thomas said as he exited the compartment and smiled reassuringly. “I have smelling salts, but I think it’s best to leave her until this is…”

  I watched his throat bob with emotion he was suppressing. I chanced indecency—figuring the crowd was preoccupied by the corpse and not my lack of discretion—and gripped his gloved hand in my own quickly before letting go. Words needn’t be said. No matter how much death and destruction one encountered, it was never easy. Initially. But he was right. We would get through this. We’d done it several times before.

  Ignoring the chaos breaking out around me, I steeled myself against the abhorrent image and divorced myself from my emotions. Lessons on tending a crime scene Uncle had instilled in me were now body memory—I didn’t need to think, simply act. This was a human specimen in need of study, that was all. Thoughts of the blood and gore and unfortunate loss of life were doors that closed simultaneously in my brain. The rest of the world and my fears and guilt faded away.

  Science was an altar I knelt before, and it blessed me with solace.

  “Remember,” Thomas glanced up and down the corridor, trying to block the body from passengers’ view, “it’s merely an equation that needs solving, Wadsworth. Nothing more.”

  I nodded, then carefully removed my top hat and swept my long cream skirts behind me, folding away any extra emotions along with the soft fabric. My black and gold lace cuffs brushed against the deceased’s frock coat, its delicate structure a horrible contradiction to the rough stake protruding from his chest. I tried to not be distracted by the blood splatter across his starched collar. While I checked for a pulse I knew I wouldn’t find, I flicked my attention up to Thomas, noticing that his normally full lips were pressed into a thin line.

  “What is it?”

  Thomas opened his mouth, then shut it as a woman peered out from the adjacent compartment, a haughty tilt to her chin. “I demand to know the meaning of—o oh. Oh, my.”

  She stared at the man heaped on the floor, gasping as if her bodice were suddenly restricting all airflow into her lungs. A gentleman from the adjacent booth caught her before she hit the ground.

  “You all right, ma’am?” he asked in an American accent, gently slapping her cheek. “Ma’am?”

  An angry cloud of steam hissed as the train screeched to a halt. My body swayed one way, then the next as the great force of propulsion stopped—the corridor chandelier clinking madly above. Its sound made my pulse race faster despite the sudden stillness of our environment.

  Thomas knelt beside me, gaze fixed on the newly departed as he steadied me with his gloved hand and whispered, “Be on alert, Wadsworth. Whoever committed this act is likely in this corridor with us, watching our every move.”

  A serpent, a winged serpent, and a dragon, c. 1600s.

  ORIENT EXPRESS

  KINGDOM OF ROMANIA

  1 DECEMBER 1888

  That very thought had also crossed my mind. We were aboard a moving train. Unless someone had leapt from between one of the cars and taken off running through the forest, they were still here. Waiting. Enjoying the spectacle.

  I stood and glanced around, noting each face and cataloguing it for future reference. There was a mix of young and old, plain and gaudy. Male and female. My attention snagged on one person—a boy around our age with hair as black as mine—who shifted, tugging at the collar of his morning coat, his eyes flicking between the cadaver and the people surrounding him.

  He appeared on the brink of a fainting spell. His nerves might have been from guilt or fear. He stopped shifting around long enough to meet my gaze, his water-filled eyes boring into mine. There was something haunted about him that set my pulse racing again. Perhaps he was acquainted with the victim at my feet.

  My heart slammed into my sternum at the same time the conductor whistled a shrill warning to return to our compartments. In the seconds it’d taken to close my eyes and regain my composure, the nervous boy had gone. I stared at the spot where he’d been standing before turning away. Thomas shifted, his arm subtly brushing against my own.

  We stood over the body, both silent in our own tumultuous thoughts while taking in the scene. I glanced down at the victim, stomach twisting.

  “He’d already perished by the time we got our door open,” Thomas said. “There’s no amount of stitching that could make his heart whole again.”

  I knew what Thomas said was accurate, yet I could have sworn the victim’s eyes fluttered. I took a deep breath to clear my mind. I thought of the newspaper article again. “The murder in Braşov was also an impalement,” I said. “I doubt very highly they’re two separate crimes. Perhaps the Braşov murderer was traveling to another city but found this opportunity too tantalizing to ignore.”

  Though why choose this person to slay? Had he been a target before boarding?

  Thomas watched everyone, his gaze calculating and determined.

  Now that the corridor was clearing out, I could inspect the deceased for clues. I begged myself to see the truth before us and not get swept up in another fantasy of a corpse springing back to life. Judging from his appearance, the victim couldn’t have been more than twenty. Such a senseless loss. He was well dressed with polished shoes and an immaculate suit. His light brown hair had been carefully combed to one side and styled to perfection with pomade.

  Nearby, a walking cane with a jeweled serpent head stared unseeingly at the lingering passengers ogling its former owner. That cane was striking. And familiar. My heart thudded as my focus trailed up to his face. I staggered against the wall, breathing deeply. I hadn’t paid attention during the initial chaos, but this was the man I’d been mistaken about earlier. It couldn’t have been more than ten or twenty minutes ago.

  How he’d gone from alive and heading to the cigar car to dead outside my compartment was incomprehensible. Especially when he appeared so much like…

  I closed my eyes, but the images stuck there were worse, so I stared at the entry wound and concentrated on the blood that was congealing and cooling.

  “Wadsworth? What is it?”

  I held a hand to my stomach, stalling. “Death is never easy, but there’s something… infinitely worse when someone young is taken.”

  “Death’s not the only thing to fear. Murder is worse.” Thomas searched my face, then glanced at the body, his features softening. “Audrey Rose—”

  I quickly turned away before he could put words to my affliction.

  “See what you’re able to deduce, Cresswell. I need a moment.”

  I felt him hovering behind me, lingering long enough that I knew he was picking his next words with extreme care, and tried not to tense. “Are you all right?”

  We both knew he was asking about more than the deceased lying at my feet. It seemed as if I could be flung into the depthless dark of my emotions at any second. I needed to control the images haunting me both day and night. I faced him, careful to keep both my voice and expression steady. “Of course. Just getting my bearings.”

  “Audrey Rose,” Thomas said quietly, “you don’t have to—”

  “I am fine, Thomas,” I said. “I simply need some quiet.”

  He pursed his lips but honored my wishes to not press the issue. I bent down once more, studying the wound and ignoring his uncanny resemblance to my brother. I needed to find my balance again. Locate that door to my emotions and seal it shut until my inspection was over. Then I could lock myself in my chambers and cry.

  Someone gasped as I unbuttoned part of the victim’s shirt to better inspect the stake. Civilities were clearly more important than discovering any clues, but I didn’t rightly care. This young man deserved better. I ignored the people lingering in the corridor and pretended I was alone in Uncle’s laboratory, surrou
nded by formaldehyde-scented jars filled with tissue samples. Even in my imagination, the animal specimens blinked at me with their milky dead eyes, judging each move I made.

  I flexed my hands. Focus.

  The victim’s chest wound was even more gruesome up close. Bits of wood had splintered off, giving the appearance of brambles and their thorny stems. Blood dried nearly black around the stake. I also noticed two lines of dark crimson that had escaped from his mouth. Not surprising. Such an injury clearly caused massive internal bleeding.

  If his heart hadn’t been pierced, he’d likely have drowned in his own life force. It was an exceptionally horrid way to die.

  A pungent scent that had nothing to do with the metallic tang of blood wafted around the victim. I leaned over the body, trying to locate the offending odor, while Thomas eyed the remaining passengers surrounding us. Knowing he could glean clues from the living the way I could divine information from the dead soothed me.

  Something poked from the corners of the deceased’s lips, catching my attention. For the love of England, I hoped this wasn’t something my mind had conjured up. I nearly tumbled onto the victim as I drew even closer. There was most certainly something bulky and whitish shoved into his mouth. It appeared to be organic in nature, perhaps rootlike. If I could only get within…

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” The conductor had cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting from the end of the hall. His accent hinted that he was from France. Unsurprising, as we’d departed from Paris. “Please return to your cabins. Members of the royal guard need the area free from… contamination.”

  He nervously glanced at the man in uniform beside him, who glared at the crowd until they crept back into their private quarters, shadows sinking into darkness.

  The guard looked to be twenty-five or so. His hair was blacker than a starless night and was lacquered to his head. All angles, sharp lines, and cut features. Though he never changed his bland expression, tension coiled within him, a bow pulled taut enough to shoot and kill. I noticed hard muscle beneath his clothing and calluses on his—shockingly ungloved—hands as he lifted them and pointed for us to leave. He was a weapon honed by the Kingdom of Romania, ready to be set upon any perceived threat.

  Thomas leaned close enough that his breath tickled the skin of my neck. “A man of few words, I see. Perhaps it’s the size of his… weapon that’s so intimidating.”

  “Thomas!” I whispered harshly, horrified by his impropriety.

  He pointed to the oversize sword dangling from the young man’s hip, amusement scrawled across his features. Right, then. My cheeks warmed as Thomas tsked. “And you say I’m the one whose mind is in the gutter. How very scandalous of you, Wadsworth. What were you thinking of?”

  The guard turned a severe look on Thomas, eyes widening briefly before he reset his jaw.

  I glanced between them while they sized each other up, two alpha wolves circling and nipping for dominance in a new pack. Finally, the guard inclined his head slightly. His voice was deep and rumbled like a steam-powered engine. “Please return to your rooms, Alteţă.”

  Thomas stilled. It was a word I was unfamiliar with, as I’d only recently began studying Romanian, so I’d no idea what the guard had called him. Perhaps it was something as simple as “sir” or “you arrogant fool.”

  Whatever the insult, my friend did not remain frozen with surprise for long. He crossed his arms as the guard stepped forward. “I think we’ll stay and inspect the body. We’re quite good at prying secrets from the dead. Care to find out?”

  The guard’s gaze drifted lazily over me, no doubt thinking a young woman in a lovely dress would be the complete opposite of useful. At least where science or amateur sleuthing was concerned. “It’s not necessary. You may leave.”

  Thomas straightened to his full, impressive height and stared down his nose at the young man. He hadn’t missed the intent behind the guard’s scan either. Nothing good ever came out of his mouth when he took that stance. I chanced indecency and grabbed his hand. The guard curled his lip, but I didn’t rightly care.

  We were no longer in London, surrounded by people who could assist with getting us out of trouble should Thomas aggravate the wrong person by using his usual charm. Ending up in some musty Romanian dungeon didn’t rank high amongst my plans for this lifetime. I’d seen the bleak interior of Bedlam—a horrid asylum in London whose name had become synonymous with chaos—and I could imagine well enough what we might encounter here. I wanted to study cadavers, not different species of rats in some forgotten, subterranean cell. Or spiders. A rivulet of fear slid down my spine at the thought. I’d rather face my hauntings than be trapped with spiders in some small, dark place.

  “Let’s go, Cresswell.”

  The young men stared at each other a beat more, silent arguing taking place in their rigid stances. I wanted to roll my eyes at their ridiculousness. I’d never understood the male need to carve out little plots of land and set up a castle to lord over them. All the posturing over every inch of space must get exhausting.

  Finally, Thomas relented. “Very well.” He squinted at the guard. “What’s your name?”

  The guard flashed a cruel smile. “Dăneşti.”

  “Ah. Dăneşti. That explains it, doesn’t it?”

  Thomas turned on his heel and disappeared inside his own compartment, leaving me to wonder not only at the body outside my door but the strange aura that had enveloped us since we’d entered Romania. Who was the menacing young guard, and why had his name evoked such aggravation in Thomas? Two more royal guards flanked Dăneşti, who was seemingly in charge, as he barked out orders in Romanian and motioned toward the body with precise movements.

  I took that as my signal to leave. I closed my compartment door and halted. Mrs. Harvey was lying down, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that indicated a deep slumber. But it wasn’t her position that startled me. A piece of crumpled parchment lay on my seat. I might be seeing phantom things every now and then, but I was certain there hadn’t been any parchment in here before we’d discovered the body outside my door.

  Chills took the liberty of crawling over my skin. I glanced around my compartment, but there was no one there besides my sleeping chaperone. Refusing to let fear overwhelm me, I marched over to the paper and smoothed it open. On it was the image of a dragon, its tail coiled around its thick neck. A cross formed the curve of its spine. I’d almost mistaken it for scales.

  Maybe Thomas had drawn it, but I’d have noticed him doing so. Wouldn’t I?

  I dropped onto the seat, puzzling everything out, wishing myself back to the time when all I was concerned with was Thomas’s incessant tapping. I couldn’t be certain of anything, it seemed. Outside my compartment I heard the corpse being dragged down the corridor. I tried not to think about how the guards were destroying any clues that might have been present as the sounds of his shoes sliding over the carpet faded into nothing.

  If someone other than Thomas had created the image of the dragon, how he had sneaked into my compartment and vanished without Thomas or me noticing was another mystery.

  One that chilled me to my core.

  Bran Castle, Transylvania, Romania

  BRAŞOV OUTSKIRTS

  TRANSYLVANIA, ROMANIA

  1 DECEMBER 1888

  The Clarence—often called a Growler for all the noise it made—was as comfortable as a carriage could be while bumping and jostling for hours over uneven terrain and climbing the steep mountains and hills leading out of Bucharest.

  Out of sheer boredom, I found myself entranced by swaying gold tassels that pinned back the deep purple curtains. Golden dragons were stitched into the fabric, their bodies serpentine and elegant. Mrs. Harvey, miraculously awake for the last half hour or so, grunted as we bounced over a particularly large dip in the road and tugged her blanket back up.

  My brows practically raised to my hairline when she removed a flask from her fur-trimmed cloak and swigged deeply. Clear liquid sloshed ont
o her, filling the small space with a sharp scent of what could only be strong alcohol. Her cheeks flushed a vibrant red as she dabbed at the spilled liquid, then offered the engraved flask to me. I shook my head, unable to keep my lips from twitching upward. I liked this woman immensely.

  “Traveling tonic. For motion-related illness,” she said. “Helps with a fragile constitution. And miserable weather.”

  Thomas snorted, but I noticed he checked her freshly changed foot brick to be sure it still produced heat. Snow was coming down a bit heavier the higher we climbed in the mountains, and our carriage was quite frigid.

  “Mrs. Harvey also uses her traveling tonic before retiring to her room. Some nights after I come in from Dr. Wadsworth’s laboratory there are fresh biscuits laid out in the foyer,” he said. “With little recollection on her part of how they were made.”

  “Oh, hush,” she said, not unkindly. “I was prescribed this tonic for the trip. Don’t go spreading half-truths, it’s unbecoming. I always recall my baking and only take a nip afterward. And I make those biscuits because someone has quite the sweet tooth. Don’t let him tell you otherwise, Miss Wadsworth.”

  I chuckled as the friendly old woman took another sip of her “traveling tonic” and shifted back beneath the thick wool covers, her lids already drooping. That explained her awe-inspiring ability to sleep through most of this journey. She would get along with my aunt Amelia quite well. Aunt was rather fond of sipping spirits before bed herself.

  Thomas stretched his limbs out across the way, encroaching on my bench seat, though for once he seemed unaware of his transgression. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet most of the ride. Traveling never sat well with him, and this part of our excursion wasn’t doing him any favors. Perhaps I needed to slip him some of Mrs. Harvey’s tonic as well. It might offer us both a bit of peace before we arrived at the academy.

  I studied him while he was otherwise preoccupied. His eyes had a far-off glaze to them—he was here with me, yet his mind wasn’t anywhere close. I was having a particularly difficult time not thinking about the victim from the train myself. Or the strange drawing of the dragon. I wanted to speak to Thomas about it but didn’t want to do so in front of our chaperone. The last thing poor Mrs. Harvey needed was to be exposed to any more frightful situations. When we’d stopped to refresh our horses and have a quick luncheon a short while back, she’d hardly eaten a thing and flinched at each noise from the inn’s busy kitchens.