Hunting Prince Dracula (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 2)

by Kerri Maniscalco

  Eventually, we dragged ourselves out from our secret spot behind the ferns and danced and laughed until both my feet and stomach ached. Tonight wasn’t meant for sadness and death, I realized. It was a time to recall how extraordinary it felt to be alive.

  Dear Miss Wadsworth,

  I’m sure it will come as no surprise, but I must inform you that you did not place in the academy this season. After much thought, I determined that the students who were most deserving during this course were Mr. Noah Hale and Mr. Erik Petrov. They exhibited exemplary behavior as well as forensic skill. Perhaps next time you’ll do as you’re instructed. Part of one’s education includes listening to those of higher rank and experience–something you failed at miserably on more than one occasion.

  However, on behalf of the academy, I do offer my sincerest gratitude for your assistance. You might become proficient in forensics with more practice and polish, though that remains to be seen.

  I do wish you well.

  Sincerely,

  Wadim Moldoveanu

  Headmaster, Institutului Naţional de

  Criminalistică şi Medicină Legală

  Academy of Forensic Medicine and Science

  CEL RĂU-CRESSWELL RESIDENCE

  BUCHAREST, ROMANIA

  26 DECEMBER 1888

  Prince Nicolae leaned against the settee in the receiving room, face gaunt but back to his normal olive complexion. I’d never been more pleased to see him.

  “You’re much less corpselike,” Thomas said plainly. I couldn’t help but laugh. For all the growth I’d witnessed in him, there were still some edges that would never be smoothed out. He turned to me, a furrow in his brow. “What? Does he not appear better?”

  “I’m glad you’re well, Prince Nicolae. It was…” Calling what he’d been through “awful” felt too mild for what he’d experienced. What we’d all experienced. I inhaled. “It will be quite a story to pass down to our children one day.”

  “Mulţumesc. Just ‘Nicolae’ is fine.” A smile began but didn’t fully expand across his face. “I wanted to thank you both personally. And I wanted to apologize.”

  He pulled a piece of parchment from the journal he’d been holding and offered it to me. It was the illustration of me—the one where I appeared as if I were the Countess Dracula. I flicked my gaze to his, ignoring the way Thomas snorted from over my shoulder.

  “No one believed me,” he said simply, holding his palms out by way of explanation. “I’d tried warning my family, and then the current royal court, but they thought me mad. Nebun. Then… when Wilhelm died… they still didn’t listen. I decided to send threats. I’d hoped they’d take precautions. I assumed if our lineage was being targeted, it was only a matter of time before the king and queen were also threatened.” He pointed at the drawing of me. “I thought you were the one to blame. I drew that with the intention of passing it out to villagers. If the academy wouldn’t listen… Dăneşti or Moldoveanu… I thought maybe the villagers would dispose of anyone perceived to be a strigoi. I’m—I apologize.”

  Thomas said nothing. I stood and took the prince’s gloved hands in my own. “Thank you for the truth. I’m glad we’re parting on better terms than when we first met.”

  “I am, too.” Nicolae pushed to his feet, using an ornate cane, and limped to the door. “Rămâi cu bine. Stay well.”

  A long plain box tied with twine was delivered to my room along with the receipt that afternoon. It was the best Christmas gift I’d ever purchased for myself. Without preamble, I ripped off the twine and opened the lid.

  A pair of black breeches were folded along with a silky blouse. My attention fell upon the most precious part of the package: the leather belt strap with gold buckles. When we returned to London, I’d be quite the force to contend with. I hoped Father would be accepting, though perhaps I’d go a bit easy on him at first. I pushed those worries aside and found I couldn’t wait to try on the new clothes. I disrobed immediately.

  Tugging the breeches up, I secured them around my waist, marveling at the way my silhouette appeared to have been dipped in the finest ink, then laid to dry in the sun. Gentle curves arced over my hips, then tapered into my legs. I pulled the blouse over my head next and secured it with a series of ties in the front before tucking it into my breeches.

  The seamstress had crafted a silky shirt, yet it also had enough structure to keep my assets in place. It was perfectly done.

  I ran gloveless hands down the front of the shirt, smoothing away wrinkles as I shifted from side to side in the looking glass. My figure was shown in a way that meant there would be no mistaking me for one of my male classmates when we returned to Uncle’s lessons, no matter if I were dressed like one. Part of me wanted to blush at how much of my form was revealed in this ensemble. But mostly I felt like marching around with my head held high. There was a freedom in movement that I rarely experienced with all my layers and bindings.

  With effort, I walked away from my reflection and lifted the leather belt from the box. I stepped one limb into it and secured its buckles against my thigh. I slid my scalpel into place and grinned. If I’d felt like blushing before, this was a whole new level of indecency to be toying with. I’d need to wear my apron to avoid whispers and stares. As of now I appeared to be—

  “You’re stunning.”

  I flipped around, hand straying to the cool metal of the scalpel sheathed against my thigh. I allowed my fingers to brush against the smooth blade before dropping my hand. “Sneaking into a young woman’s sleeping chambers twice in one month is rude even by your lax standards, Cresswell.”

  “Even when I’m sneaking about my own home this time? And when I’ve brought a gift?”

  He had a feline tilt to his smile as he laid a canvas against the door and stalked into the room, circling me. Unapologetically, he inspected each inch of my ensemble, then stepped close enough for me to feel the heat of his body.

  Suddenly feeling shy, I nodded toward the back of the canvas. “May I see it?”

  “Please.” Thomas swept his arm out. “Indulge your fancies.”

  I walked over to the painting and turned it around, my breath catching at the sight. A single orchid glittered as if it had been encapsulated in ice. I bent closer, realizing that wasn’t correct at all. The orchid actually was a star-speckled sky. Thomas had painted the entire universe within the confines of my favorite flower. A memory of him offering me an orchid during the Ripper investigation crossed my mind.

  I leaned the painting against the wall and flicked my gaze up. “How did you know?”

  “I…” Thomas swallowed hard, his attention fixed on the painting. “The truth?”

  “Please.”

  “You’ve got a dress with orchid blossoms embroidered on it. Ribbons in the deepest purple. You favor the color, but not nearly as much as I find myself favoring you.” He took a deep breath. “As to the stars? Those are what I prefer. More than medical practices and deductions. The universe is vast. A mathematical equation even I have no hope of solving. For there are no limits to the stars; their numbers are infinite. Which is precisely why I measure my love for you by them. An amount too boundless to count.”

  Slowly enough to make my heart race, he reached out and pulled a pin from my hair. A section of raven curls fell in a cascading layer down my back as the gold plunked to the floor.

  “I am wholly bewitched, Wadsworth.” He plucked another pin, then another, releasing my hair entirely from its restraints. There was something intimate about him seeing me with my hair unbound in this private chamber. About his confession. Like a secret language only the two of us knew how to speak.

  “Are you implying your feelings are the result of some sort of spell craft, then?” I teased.

  “What I mean is… I cannot pretend I’m not… I suppose what I’m saying is it’s been a few months.” Thomas scratched his brow. “I was hoping to make things a bit more… official. In some capacity. Whichever way you prefer, actually.”

&nbs
p; “Official in what way?” My heart banged around the inside of my chest, searching for a crack to escape from. I could scarcely believe we were having such a conversation, especially while alone. Though I could also scarcely believe Thomas had practically said “I love you.” Which was what I needed to hear again. Just once without prodding.

  “You know what way, Wadsworth. I refuse to believe you’ve misinterpreted my affections. I am wholly in love with you. And it is permanent.”

  There it was. The admission I’d been craving. He nervously bit his lip, unsure even with all his powers of deductions if I could ever truly love him back. I wanted to remind him of our conversation—about how there was no formula for love—but found my pulse racing for an entirely different reason.

  I was ready to accept Mr. Thomas Cresswell’s hand. And it terrified and thrilled me at once. He watched as I stood taller and thrust my chin up. If I was going to submit to my own feelings, I needed to be sure of one last thing.

  “Will you only ask my father permission to court me?” I needed to know. “What of my feelings? I might fancy Nicolae. You’ve not asked me directly.”

  Thomas unflinchingly held my gaze. “If that’s true, then tell me and I will never speak of this again. I would never force my presence upon you.”

  I couldn’t help thinking of the detective inspector who’d worked the Ripper case with us. About his ulterior motives. “It’s quite a lovely thought. But for all I know, you’ve already spoken to my father and a date has been set. Something similar has happened before.”

  “Blackburn was a fool. I believe you should always have a choice in the matter. I wouldn’t dream of excluding you from your own life.”

  “Father would likely be… I’m not sure. He might not approve of such a modern approach. Your asking my permission before his. I thought you cared about his opinion.”

  Thomas lifted his hand to my face, carefully stroking trails of fire across my jawline. “True, I want your father’s approval. But I want your permission. No one else’s. This can’t work any other way. You are not mine to take.” He brushed his lips against mine. Softly, so softly I might have imagined them there. My eyes fluttered shut. He could persuade me to build a steamship to the moon when he kissed me. We could orbit the stars together. “You are yours to give.”

  I stepped into the circle of his arms and placed a palm against his chest, guiding him toward the tufted chair. He figured out too late that there was something bigger than a cat chasing him; he’d attracted the attention of a lioness. And he was now my prey.

  “Then I choose you, Cresswell.”

  I delighted in the fact that he’d stumbled into the chair, eyes wide. I moved closer, until I was standing before him, and nudged his limb with my knee, teasing.

  “It’s not polite to play with your meal, Wadsworth. Hasn’t—”

  “I love you, too.” I captured his lips with my own, allowing his arms to circle me and draw me closer still. He opened his mouth to deepen our kiss, and I felt the heavens split open within the universe of my body. I didn’t care about Anastasia and her crimes. Or anything other than—

  “Much as I hate to break you two up…” Daciana coughed delicately from the doorway. “We have a visitor.” She eyed my new outfit and grinned. “You look phenomenal. Very intimidating and ‘Bringer of Death.’”

  Thomas groaned as I stepped out of his grasp, then shot his sister a withering glare Aunt Amelia would have been proud of. “Bringer of Death is what the villagers will label me if you continue to ruin all of our clandestine moments, Daci. Go entertain your visitor on your own.”

  Daciana stuck her tongue out at him. “Stop being cranky. It’s unbecoming. I’d love to entertain our guest, but I have a feeling Audrey Rose might want to say hello.”

  Intrigued, I smoothed down the front of my dangerous ensemble. My hair was unbound, but curiosity dragged me from my chambers and down the winding stairs before I could fix it. I halted at the bottom, nearly sending Thomas sprawling to the floor as he bumped into me.

  A man with blond hair and familiar gold spectacles paced around the foyer, hands flitting at his sides. It took every bit of my self-control to not jump into his arms.

  “Uncle Jonathan? What a lovely surprise! What brings you all the way to Bucharest?”

  His attention snapped to me, and I watched his green eyes blink in response to my choice of attire. I was certain the leather scalpel belt around my thigh might cause an embolism, but he took it all in stride. He didn’t bat a lash at the state of my hair, which was a miracle in itself. Uncle inspected the young man beside me, then twisted his mustache. I grabbed hold of the banister, knowing from the gesture that his news wasn’t good.

  Irrational fears flashed before my eyes. “Is everything all right at home? How is Father?”

  “He’s well.” Uncle nodded as if to confirm the fact. “I’m afraid you both may be delayed in returning home, though. I’ve been summoned to America. There’s a troubling forensic case, and I require the assistance of my two best apprentices.” He tugged a pocket watch from beneath his traveling cloak. “Our ship sails from Liverpool on New Year’s Day. If we’re to make it there, we need to leave tonight.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a wise idea. What does Lord Wadsworth say about it?” Thomas stood straighter, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I suppose my father doesn’t care one way or the other. Has anyone been in communication with him?”

  Uncle shook his head slightly. “He’s traveling, Thomas. You know how hard it is to receive the post, which is why I came myself.”

  A lock of hair fell across Thomas’s brow, and I longed to reach over and smooth both it and his worries away. I gently squeezed his hand before stepping toward my uncle.

  “Come on, Cresswell. I’m sure both of our fathers will approve. Besides,” I said, my tone turning playful, “I fancy another adventure with you.”

  A flash of mischief lit his expression. I knew he was recalling the very thing he’d said to me at the end of the Ripper case. “I am rather irresistible, Wadsworth. It’s high time you admitted it.” He held out his arm, a question in his gaze. “Shall we?”

  I glanced at my uncle, noting the smile twitching across his face. I’d always wanted to travel across the pond, and saying no to another case and a trip aboard a luxury cruiser seemed foolish. I focused on Thomas’s outstretched arm, knowing he was offering much more than his best manners. He was gifting me with all the love and adventure the universe could provide.

  Mr. Thomas Cresswell, last male heir of Prince Dracula, was offering me both his heart and his hand.

  Without hesitation, I accepted Thomas’s arm and grinned. “To America!”

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  Aldea Al-DEE-ah

  Anastasia ah-nuh-STAH-zee-uh

  Andrei AHN-dray

  Basarab bah-sah-RAHB

  Braşov bra-SHOV

  cel Rău chel-RŌ

  Cian KEE-uhn

  Daciana dah-see-AH-nah

  Dăneşti Dah-NESH-tee

  Dorin DOOR-een

  Dracul DRAH-cool

  Drăculeşti Drah-coo-LESH-tee

  Erik AIR-rik

  Ileana ih-lee-AH-nah

  Liza LIE-zah

  Mihnea mee-nah

  Mircea MEER-cha

  Moldoveanu Mol-DAH-vah-nō

  Nicolae NEE-kuh-lie

  Noah NO-ah

  Percy PUR-see

  Pricolici pree-cō-LEECH

  Radu rah-doo

  Strigoi stree-GOY

  Ţepeş TE-pesh

  Voivode VOY-vōde

  Wallachia wah-LAH-kee-ah

  Wilhelm VILL-helm

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Historical and creative liberties taken by the author:

  As is the beauty of fiction, there are some historical truths at the heart of this story and a lot of imagination added for both embellishment and adventure. Much to my dismay, the Orient Express did not stop in Bucharest until early 1889 (a f
ew months after Thomas and Audrey Rose rode it to school during the winter of 1888), but I have always loved the train and couldn’t resist opening the novel with it. It was so romantic until that impaled body showed up…

  Unfortunately (or maybe not), Bran Castle never was a boarding school or hosted any medical students during its long history. Though popularized in fiction and film, Vlad III (Vlad the Impaler) only passed through the castle during his second reign before attacking Saxons in Braşov. Since it’s famously called “Dracula’s Castle” (thanks to Bram Stoker’s similar description of it, though there are arguments as to whether or not it was the actual castle that inspired his famous vampire tale… which is a story for another time), I decided it would be the perfect location for a serial killer who was pretending to be a vampire.

  During the timeframe this novel is set in, Bran Castle had been turned over to the region’s forestry department. It was interesting to imagine it as a school of forensic medicine and science in place of the abandoned, disrepair that it fell into for those thirty years until the citizens of Braşov gifted it to Queen Maria of Romania.

  Some interior descriptions—like the library—were inspired by the actual cathedral in the castle and were embellished greatly for the story. The entryway with stairs leading up and down and the dragon sconces are from my imagination. I also took the liberty of adding secret hallways and passages and labyrinths beneath the main floors. I liked imagining several ways for Vlad III to escape from this fortress, should any invading armies or unfriendly usurpers make a play for ending his life and seizing control of his beloved country. For more information on the castle and its historical timeline, check out bran-castle.com. There are amazing facts listed there, and the site also offers photographs that are superb.

  The Order of the Dragon was truly a secret chivalric order that both Vlad III and his father (Vlad II) were members of. They were really based off of the Crusades, but weren’t active during the time of this story. (And they likely wouldn’t have had female members, but that wouldn’t stop my fearless girls from invading the all-boys club and wielding their swords.)