Andrei yawned obnoxiously in the front row, and the professor practically deflated before our eyes. If I hadn’t been so horribly bored myself, I would have felt sorry for the older man. It had to be difficult teaching fiction and myth to a class more interested in science and fact.
“All right, then. I shall tell you a story almost too fantastical to believe.”
Nicolae shifted in his seat. I could tell he was trying not to be too obvious about watching me, but he was failing considerably at his task. Wilhelm, as unfortunate as his death was, had likely died from a rare medical condition. Not murder. Certainly not mystical powers working to assassinate him on my behalf. I hoped the prince wouldn’t spread rumors of my supposed curse; I had quite enough obstacles of my own to overcome.
“Villagers believe the bones found in the woods outside the castle are the remains of Vlad’s victims. There are those who’ve claimed his grave is empty. And there are others who say it’s been filled with animal skeletons. The royal family refuses to allow anyone to exhume the body or casket to be sure. Some say this is because they know precisely what will be found. Or rather—what won’t be found. There are those who believe Vlad rose from the dead, his thirst for blood defying Death itself. Others claim it’s simply blasphemous to desecrate the resting place of such an important man.”
Professor Radu went on about the legend of the alleged immortal prince. How he’d made a deal with the Devil and, in exchange for eternal life, needed to steal the blood of the living and drink it fresh. It sounded like the gothic novel by John William Polidori, The Vampyre.
“Voievod Trăgător în Ţeapă, or, roughly translated to, the Impaler Lord, was thought to drink from the necks of his still-living victims. It was meant to inspire fear in those who sought to invade our country. But history says his preferred method was dipping bread into the blood of his enemies and ingesting it in that more… civilized manner.”
“Oh, yes,” I whispered to Thomas. “Dining on blood is more civil when one dunks their bread in it as if it were a hearty winter stew.”
“As opposed to calling it a precursor to cannibalism. First one drinks blood, then they move on to sautéing up some organ meat,” Thomas mumbled back. “Next comes the blood gravy.”
“Scientifically improbable,” Anastasia whispered.
“What’s improbable? Blood gravy?” Thomas asked. “Not so. It’s one of my favorites.”
Anastasia seemed momentarily stunned before shaking her head. “Ingesting blood the way Radu’s implying would lead to too much iron in one’s system. I wonder if he bathed in it instead. That would be more logical.”
“What sort of journals do you read?” I said quietly, flashing Anastasia a curious look.
She grinned. “There’s a limited number of novels in this castle. I make do.”
“Unfortunate for dear old Vlad,” Thomas said in a loud whisper. “His flatulence must have been legendary.”
I hid my smile behind my quill as the professor nearly tripped over his shoes again. Poor thing. His eyes lit up as if he’d been offered a shiny Thomas-shaped gift from God above. Too bad Thomas wasn’t commenting pleasantly on the subject. There was only so much fantasy that he could withstand. If anything, I was impressed it had taken this long for him to speak up. At least Nicolae seemed to be slightly amused. It was far better than that awful glazed-over expression he’d worn since his cousin’s death.
“Did someone say something?” Radu asked, caterpillar brows waggling skyward.
Thomas drummed his hands over his journal, pinching his lips as if he could keep his comments from spewing out. I sat straighter; things appeared to be getting interesting. Thomas was a geyser ready to burst.
“We were speaking of flatulence.”
I snorted in the most unladylike manner, then coughed the giggle away when Radu turned on me, eyes blinking expectantly. “Scuzele mele,” I said. “So sorry, sir. We were saying perhaps Dracula bathed in the blood.”
“I believe you’re confusing Vlad Dracula with the Countess Elizabeth Báthory,” Radu said. “She is sometimes called Countess Dracula and was said to bathe in the blood of servants she killed. Nearly seven hundred of them, if reports are accurate. Very, very messy business! Another good lesson, though.”
“Sir?” The boy with red curls spoke with an Irish brogue. “Do you believe historical accounts of Vlad drinking blood have been confused with folklore?”
“Hmm? Ah, I nearly forgot!” Professor Radu paused beside Thomas’s desk, chest puffed up with pride as he faced Nicolae. “We have an actual Ţepeş family member in our midst. Perhaps he may shed some light on these legends. Did the infamous Impaler Lord drink blood? Or has that myth sprung from the fanciful minds of peasants who were in need of a hero more fearsome than the invading Ottomans?”
The prince was now staring straight ahead, jaw clenched tightly. I doubted he wanted to offer up any Ţepeş family secrets, especially if his ancestors were rumored to enjoy sanguine delights. I studied him closely, deciding that I wouldn’t be shocked to discover he enjoyed drinking blood himself.
“What of the Societas Draconistrarum?” Anastasia interrupted, her focus drifting toward Nicolae. “I heard they combat such myths. Do you believe Vlad was indeed strigoi?”
“Oh, no, no, no, dear girl,” Radu said, “I do not believe such rumors. Vlad was no vampire, no matter how compelling a tale it makes.”
“But where did those rumors originally come from?” Anastasia pressed. “They had to be born of some fact.”
Radu chewed on the inside of his cheek, seeming to consider his next words more carefully than before. It was a serious expression I hadn’t yet seen on him and I was intrigued by the subtle shift. I hadn’t thought him capable of being anything other than scattered.
“Once upon a time men needed explanations for such darkness and bloodshed during times of war. They were quick to blame anything other than their own greed for their troubles. And so they sat down and created vampires—sinister creatures that sprang forth from the twisted depths of their dark hearts, mirroring their own bloodlust. Monsters are only as real as the stories that grant them life. And they only live for as long as we tell those tales.”
“And the dragonists started these legends?” she asked.
“No, no. I did not mean to imply that. I’m getting all tangled up in my myths. However, the Order of the Dragon is a story for another time.” He addressed the handful of us in the class, seeming to come back to himself. “For those who may be unaware, they were a secret society made up of selected nobility. Often called Societas Draconistrarum, or, roughly translated, Society of the Dragonists. They fought to uphold certain values during times of war and invasion. Sigismund, king of Hungary, used the Crusaders as a model when he founded the group.”
“How on earth does this relate, sir?” Nicolae asked, his accented drawl expressing his disdain.
“The Order believes this academy is teaching young men—and women, I haven’t forgotten you, Miss Wadsworth—to be heretics! I’ve heard on many an occasion that village folk believe if Vlad were alive today, he’d be appalled by this school and its blasphemous teachings. His family were crusaders of Christianity, which is how they became involved with the Order. We all know how society looks upon the practice of cutting open the dead for study. The body being a temple and all. Complete heresy.”
I swallowed hard. Society had recently turned on Uncle as well, despising him for the practice of postmortem examinations. It did not understand the bodies he cracked open on his table, or the clues he could unearth about their demise. Radu took in my troubled expression, eyes going wide.
“Oh! Please don’t worry, Miss Wadsworth. Mr. Cresswell informed me of the sensitive nature of the Ripper case and its disturbing effects on you. I certainly don’t want to upset your fragile constitution, as Mr. Cresswell warned.”
For an extended moment, a piercing noise sounded within my head. “My… what?”
Thomas closed his eyes,
as if he could shut Radu’s revelations out entirely. I was dully aware that my classmates were now twisting in their seats, staring as if one of their favorite plays were being performed and the hero was about to fall.
“Oh, nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Wadsworth. Hysteria is a common affliction for young, unmarried women,” Radu went on. “I’m sure if you refrain from mentally taxing yourself, you’ll be emotionally sufficient again soon.”
Some of the boys laughed outright, not bothering to mask their delight. Inside, the cord that tethered me to Thomas vibrated with anger. This was my worst nightmare come to life, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to wrench myself out of it.
“Audrey Rose…”
I could barely look at him, too afraid of bursting into tears, but I wanted him to see the void yawning within. He’d betrayed me. He’d told our professor that I’d been affected by a case. That my constitution had been damaged. It was my secret to keep. Not his to share. His loyalty to me obviously didn’t mean a thing. I could not believe—after I’d told him to not interfere with my choices—that he’d go behind my back and share personal information.
A few more classmates snickered. Bulky Andrei even pretended to have fainted from shock and required assistance from the boy with the Irish accent. My face burned.
“Don’t worry, class. I do not believe you are all damned because of the science that’s performed here,” Radu went on, completely unaware of what he’d unleashed. “It’s hard to break villagers of their traditions, though. Be mindful if you go into Braşov alone. Oh… I suppose there’s been a meeting about that—”
A clock chimed in the courtyard, signaling the blessed end to this torture. I tossed my journal and writing utensils into a small sack I’d taken to carrying. I could not remove myself from this room fast enough. If I overheard one more snide remark about fainting couches or hysteria, I would truly snap.
“Students aren’t permitted off grounds unsupervised!” Radu called over the clamor of seats being pushed from desks. “Don’t want anyone being sacrificed as a heretic. That would be quite bad for our program! The vigil will be held at sundown, don’t forget.”
Nicolae shook his head at the professor and stepped around him into the aisle. Thomas paused by his desk, stopped from closing the distance between us by the fleeing students, his attention riveted on me. I didn’t wait for him to get close. I turned my back and walked for the door as quickly as I could.
FOLKLORE CLASS
CURS DE FOLCLOR
BRAN CASTLE
3 DECEMBER 1888
“Audrey Rose, please. Wait.” Thomas reached for me in the corridor just outside the classroom, but I moved swiftly. He let his arm fall limp at his side. “I can explain. I thought—”
“Oh? You thought?” I snapped. “You thought it a fine idea to make me into a mockery in front of our peers? To undermine me? Did we not just have a similar conversation yesterday?”
“Please. I swear I never meant—”
“Exactly. You never mean anything!” Thomas staggered back as if I’d struck a blow. I ignored his air of injury, dropping my voice to a harsh whisper as Anastasia tiptoed around us and fled down the corridor. “You care only for yourself and prove that through your cursed actions daily. You keep your emotions and stories and history to yourself. Then you freely tell others my secrets. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me? Most men do not take me seriously based on the skirts I wear, and then you go and prove them right! I am not inferior, Thomas. No person is.”
“You mustn’t—”
“I mustn’t what? Tolerate you thinking you know what’s best for me? You’re right. I don’t. I do not understand how you believe yourself entitled to speak for me. To warn others of my fragile constitution. You are supposed to be my friend, my equal. Not my keeper.”
A few weeks earlier I’d worried that my father would take Thomas and forensic studies from me the same way my brother had been torn from my grasp. I wasn’t able to bear the thought of being without him. I couldn’t have known that Thomas would betray me under the guise of protecting my best interests. I never would have predicted that he would be the one who’d destroy our bond.
“I swear I am your friend, Audrey Rose,” he said earnestly. “I see you’re angry—”
“Another fine deduction made by the infallible Mr. Thomas Cresswell,” I said, unable to keep the bite from my tone. “You said you loved me once, but your actions show a much different truth, sir. I require equal standing and will accept nothing less.”
The future I hadn’t been sure I’d ever wanted was made clear as fine crystal. I was correct in my assumptions. No matter how much Thomas pretended otherwise, he was still a man. A man who felt his duty and obligation would be to speak on my behalf and set rules, were I to marry him. I would always be undermined in some manner by his thoughtless “assistance.”
“Audrey Rose—”
“I refuse to be governed by anything other than my own will, Cresswell. Allow me to make myself even more clear, since you obviously missed the point earlier: I would rather perish an old maid than subject myself to a life with you and your best intentions. Find another person to torment with your affections.”
I heard Thomas calling my name as I rushed down the corridor and blindly ran down a twisting set of stairs. Torches nearly blew out as I rushed past them, but I dared not stop. I ran around and around as I descended the winding staircase, my heart shattering with each step I took away from him.
I’d never felt more alone or more foolish in all my life.
The stiff body lying on the examination table brought me more comfort than should have been proper. Instead of admonishing myself for unseemly behavior, I relished the feeling of absolute control over my emotions. Never was I more confident than when a scalpel was in my hands, and a corpse was waiting with its flesh cracked open like the spine of a crisp new book to be studied.
Or at least—I’d never been more confident in the past. This test was far more crucial to me now, especially after Thomas’s meddling.
I focused on the cold body, kept decent by carefully placed bits of cloth. My heart fluttered a bit, but I commanded it to calm. I’d not break apart during this examination. If need be, I’d allow stubbornness and spite to hold me together.
“Fii tare,” someone whispered from a spot nearby in the surgical theater. “Be strong.” I glanced up, searching for the source. It was likely mockery thanks to Radu’s declaration of my fragile constitution. I would prove to myself, more than anyone else, that I was completely capable of performing this autopsy.
I gripped the scalpel, putting aside my emotions as I stared at the boy who’d been alive yesterday. Wilhelm was no longer my classmate. He was a specimen. And I’d find the strength I needed to identify his cause of death. Give peace to his family. Perhaps this was how I might help Nicolae cope: I could offer him an answer as to why and how his cousin had died. My hands shook slightly as I lifted the blade.
Our professor, a young Englishman named Mr. Daniel Percy, had already shown us the proper way to make a postmortem incision, and he offered one of us the opportunity to assist in the investigation of Mr. Wilhelm Aldea’s death.
Since I’d completed similar tasks, I was the first to volunteer to remove his organs. I suspected Thomas was as anxious as I was to inspect the body, but he hadn’t challenged me when I’d raised my hand. Instead he’d sat back and sunk his teeth into his lower lip. I was much too annoyed with him to appreciate the peace offering. He knew I needed to do this. I needed to overcome my fears or pack my trunks. If I could not handle this postmortem, I would never survive the assessment course.
“Class, please note the tools needed for your postmortems. Before each procedure, it’s important to have everything you might need ready.” Percy pointed to a small table with a tray of familiar objects. “A bone saw, bread knife, enterotomy scissors for opening both the small and large intestines, toothed forceps, and a skull chisel. There’s also a bot
tle of carbolic acid on hand. New studies favor the practice of sterilization. Now, then, Miss Wadsworth, you may continue.”
Using a decent amount of pressure, I cracked the sternum open using a pair of rib cutters. Uncle had taught me his method last August, and I was grateful for the lesson as I stood in the surgical theater, surrounded by three concentric tiers of seats that rose at least thirty feet into the air, though my classmates were all smushed together in the lowest level. The room was mostly quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of feet.
From the corner of my vision, I noticed the prince cringe. Percy had offered him the choice of sitting this lesson out, but he’d refused. I had no idea why Moldoveanu wasn’t inspecting the body himself or why he’d turned it over for our studies. But Nicolae sat there, stoic. He’d chosen not to abandon his cousin until his body was laid to rest. I admired his strength but could not fathom sitting through such a procedure for a loved one.
Now I couldn’t help but sense his gaze on me, sharp as the tool in my hands, while I spilled secrets of his cousin’s unexpected death.
During pre-laboratory attendance, I’d learned that the Italian brothers—Mr. Vincenzo and Mr. Giovanni Bianchi—were fraternal twins. They were no longer staring hungrily at their books but at the method in which I was conducting my postmortem. Their intensity was almost as unnerving as the manner in which they seemed to communicate silently with each other. I glanced at my other classmates briefly. Mr. Noah Hale and Mr. Cian Farrell were equally intrigued. My gaze started to slide in Thomas’s direction before I stopped it. I did not care to look at him.
I clamped the rib cage open and forced my expression to remain unaffected as the scent of exposed viscera wafted into the air. A slight scent of garlic was present. I shut out images of slain prostitutes. This body had not been desecrated by a horrid murderer. His organs hadn’t been ripped from him. Now wasn’t the time for thoughts beyond the surgical table. Now was the time for science. I sliced through some muscle, revealing the sac around the heart.
Hunting Prince Dracula (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 2) Page 12
