Caleb sat beside the low bed, placing the vial between his knees so he could unscrew the cap. A plume of purple smoke emerged that made him choke. He leaned over the boy, wondering if he were conscious. “This will make you feel better,” he promised. “It might hurt for a second, so get ready, OK?”
The boy opened his eyes slightly and gave a low growl. When Caleb went to touch him, he sat up and sank his teeth into his hand.
The mother, watching closely from just behind Caleb, gasped and clutched the wall. Caleb glanced at her, then smiled at the boy. “Biting’s rude,” he said gently. “Now, growl all you like, but this will help, I promise.” Waving away the purple smoke, he splashed most of the vial’s contents on the bite.
The red welt caused by Vlad’s fang swelled even more, then began to drain a thin black liquid as it shrank back in on itself to leave a scratch no more conspicuous than if it had been from a rosebush.
The boy groaned the whole time, Caleb smoothing the hair off his hot brow and trying in vain to think of something comforting to say. He didn’t remember any of this from his own experience, and hoped he’d made the concoction correctly.
After a few minutes the boy breathed more easily, though his forehead was still very hot. Caleb sat at the bedside until the child fell into a deep sleep. As he waited, Mrs. Muscatura came closer, and finally sat on the bed and took her son’s hand.
“He hasn’t slept well in three days,” she said hopefully.
“Yes…” Caleb felt he should apologize. “I haven’t, er, ever done this before, so if there are any problems…I’ll come back tomorrow, anyway, and see how your boy is doing. What’s his name?”
“Bela,” said his mother, watching her son sleep.
“Good-bye, Bela,” said Caleb. “You’ll be OK, you hear?” He handed Mrs. Muscatura the vial. “I don’t think you’ll need this, but just in case.”
She tried to make her son’s head comfortable on the pillow. The boy slept on, making Caleb worriedly recalculate how much nightshade he’d added to the pot. He paused once more, and felt Bela’s forehead and pulse: cool and normal. It’s probably about as exhausting as a transformation, he thought, trying to reassure himself.
Passing by the old stable where Grigore and Vlad had been trapped three days before, he found some kids oohing and aahing over the clawed door. They spied Caleb, greeted him deferentially, and handed him a handful of long, gray hairs. Grigore’s. Had Vlad attacked him?
“We thought the fur might have magical powers,” they explained.
Caleb took the tuft and stuffed it into his pocket. Around his wrist he wore a cord Liszka had braided from his and her fur that they shed in Grigore’s cottage during the spring. It had no magical powers whatsoever, but the white and gray looked pretty together. “You…I…” he stammered. “Can I ask you kids a favor?” he managed finally.
Their eyes grew big and somewhat frightened, as if they expected him to ask for a silver dagger. He put those thoughts to rest quickly. “I want you to make sure the little boy, you know who I mean, is not treated badly. Do you understand?”
They gave nervous giggles. “What if he bites us?” one wondered.
“He can’t turn anyone into a werewolf,” Caleb responded firmly, “he’s too young.” He found his confidence again; children always made him nervous. “If you see any trouble, or if anyone plans to do him or his family violence, I want you to let me know immediately. Can you do that?”
They hesitated at first, but Caleb held his ground, hoping that his reputation as a vampire slayer would let him get away with being soft on werewolves. Slowly, one by one, the kids nodded, and Caleb saluted them like a good Young Pioneer before turning once again to the ascent of the long hill up to the castle.
12. Treachery
Meals at Castle Arghezi were a grim exercise for a while. Alexandru insisted Caleb eat with him, even if they spoke little to each other. However, Mihail had lightened up somewhat, maybe as a result of seeing Caleb’s concern over little Bela. Mihail frequently visited Stilpescu, so it seemed likely he knew of the many calls Caleb had made at the Muscatura house to check on the boy’s condition. Mihail would at least make eye contact with him while serving food now and did not resist his offers to help clean up.
The old wizard had avoided talking to Caleb since their quarrel in the library the day after the full moon, except to drill him in his lessons and insist that he practice his planetary magic every evening that planets were visible in the sky without moonlight. Tonight the moon was new, and they stood on the grassy outcrop by the castle, looking for Jupiter. It was endless rounds of tedious repetitions of spells, but still Alexandru refused to speak of anything but Kronos and Zeus. Caleb was not entirely sure that he wanted to continue the argument either. He feared there could be no rapprochement between them.
Alexandru even took to departing solo on his forays into vampire country. Caleb could tell where he had been by the dirt and straw on his boots, the bat guano in his hair, and the haunted look that lingered on his face. One evening he returned late, taking his seat at the dinner table just as Mihail had removed Caleb’s plate and poured his coffee. Caleb gathered up the book he was reading and his notes and rose to leave, not welcoming another hour of stony silence, but the old wizard gestured so vehemently for him to sit that he did so.
As had become his habit during the previous two weeks, Alexandru said nothing. Caleb ignored him, focusing on his coffee and Atlas of Magical Wards and Enchantments. Mihail brought a plate of bread and butter, followed by a steaming bowl of chicken soup. The vampire-hunter took a piece of bread, but seemed to forget what he was doing with the butter knife halfway to its target. His hands sagged, dropping the food onto the table. “A glass of wine,” he murmured, turning his head slightly towards the servant. “Or brandy, perhaps…”
Realizing something was wrong, Mihail approached quickly with the drink, unable to hide a look of concern. “What else may I bring you, Master?”
Taking a long sip and steeling his face, Alexandru managed to regain his composure. “Nothing, thank you, Mihail.” He waved his devoted servant away.
The quaver in his voice made Caleb look up. Alexandru’s face bore a look of horror that reminded him of Toby in that cold, stone courthouse. Their eyes met, and it was a long moment before Alexandru spoke three chilling words.
“He has returned,” he said.
There was a cry and a shatter of china. Mihail, his face impassive but ghostly white, had dropped a soup bowl.
“Come.” Alexandru rose and beckoned Caleb, with a warning glance at the servant. “I think it is time that we put aside our trivial differences.”
Advocating the cold-blooded murder of his kind was not exactly what Caleb would call a trivial difference, but his curiosity overcame his anger and he followed the old man into the library. The door magically shut and sealed behind them. Caleb sat in a chair opposite Alexandru and waited, taking in the mud on the other’s clothes. Had Alexandru been walking through a rainstorm?
“I do not wish to lose you, Caleb,” came the quiet words after some minutes’ silence. Caleb looked into Alexandru’s face to find a respect he’d never seen before from the old wizard. “I trust you. I have trusted you with my life. If I hadn’t, we could not have hunted vampires together.” He drew a deep breath. “And now we will be facing our greatest challenge.”
Under heavy clouds, a solitary traveler hurried along the dark nighttime road between Orastana and Albimare. The man had a pack slung over one shoulder. Vlad loped easily alongside the road, far enough away that the trees and hedges screened him. Even as a human, he could hunt as silently as a wolf.
And he was hunting tonight. He had watched the man, a farmer, counting the money he had gotten from selling his sheep in Orastana. The man stayed a bit too long in the tavern, so now he was forced to make his way home in the dark, which suited Vlad perfectly.
Vlad did not understand Fido’s insane desire to find jobs for the Fives. No one in
his right mind would hire a werewolf. The locals knew instinctively what he was; they were always nervous around him, although they didn’t understand why. He survived on stealing money or food, whatever he could find. Tonight’s quarry seemed to have plenty of money and Vlad aimed to take possession soon.
It began to drizzle as the road wound through the tiny hamlet of Catunescu. Most of the village had been abandoned long ago. A crumbling stone church and a few run-down houses were all that remained. The man ducked into the church as the rain came down harder and a crack of thunder boomed through the hills. Vlad watched him disappear into the dark opening as lightning sizzled and the rain fell in sheets. This was going to be easy.
Crossing the road openly in the driving rain, he stopped at the door to the church. It would be easiest to wait for the man to come out again, Vlad thought, rather than chase him around inside a dark church. A little covered stone porch kept Vlad mostly dry as he scrunched next to the door. As soon as the rain let up, the man would want to get back on the road and then Vlad could jump him as he came out. It seemed like a good, simple plan, the kind that worked best for Vlad.
The rain settled into a steady drizzle, although lightning continued to play across the sky. From inside the church, Vlad heard the faint scuffles of someone walking. The sky went white for a moment from an intense burst of lightning. Vlad expected to hear the boom of thunder, but in the split second before the drumbeat echoed from the sky, another sound caught Vlad’s attention. A scream. Faint, but unmistakable, it came from inside the church. The scream was not repeated, but Vlad then heard the heavy thud of something or someone falling to the floor.
Had someone beaten him to the robbery idea? That didn’t seem likely. Catunescu had been empty of people since Vlad was a small boy. He didn’t expect a thief to spend his nights waiting inside an abandoned church in a town nobody lived in. Perhaps a demon or spirit? Vlad debated with himself for some time, but in the end greed won the argument. He would peek into the church, knowing that his night vision was better than that of any human he might find inside.
Cautiously, he slipped through the partially open door and stood against the wall, surveying the dark interior. Occasional flashes of lightning revealed the church’s layout. The windows were up high, meaning that they couldn’t easily be used for an exit. In one particularly bright flash, he saw the ruined altar, but there did not seem to be another door at that end of the church.
Good, he thought, only one way out or in. It took a few minutes for him to pick out the figure of a man, lying amidst the jumble of benches in the middle of the floor. He sidled closer, moving away from the door but still hugging the wall. The traveler lay face up, his pack by his side. In another brief flash of light, Vlad noticed that the pack appeared untouched. No one else had tried to rob the fellow, at least. Perhaps the man had tripped over something in the dark…
Greed continued to hold the upper hand in Vlad’s mind. He couldn’t just leave that pack, now that he was so close.
Dropping into a crouch, he crawled across the dusty floor. Musty odors, dust and ancient incense, mingled with the perfume of rain. Approaching the body, he smelled something else that he couldn’t name right away. Tentatively, he touched the body. The traveler’s hand felt cold, too cold. Vlad grabbed the pack and was ready to flee when a flash of lightning showed him the man’s face. In an instant, he knew that the man was not dead, not yet, and what was worse, he now recognized that mysterious smell.
Vampire.
Of all the stinking piles of dung for him to fall into, this was one of the worst. He had to get out right away.
He stood up and turned toward the door, picking the straightest path through the wooden debris. A faint flutter from above made him hurry all the more, trying not to trip over the benches sticking out at odd angles at his feet. With a tremendous rush of air, something appeared above and behind him. Strong hands gripped his shoulders as he threw himself toward the door. He lunged, but tripped over the leg of a bench, hitting the floor hard while fighting off the fingers that closed around his neck.
The vampire (no question about it now) continued to choke him and he felt himself blacking out. Just try to make a meal out of me, he thought as he passed out.
“Dog.” In his haze, Vlad mistook the word as an affectionate greeting from a packmate. “A thief and a dog,” the voice continued, bringing Vlad more fully to his senses. He looked up from the floor to see the tall figure of a man, standing over him with a glowing orb in his hand. Vlad had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but he did know that the situation kept getting worse. The vampire must be one of the old ones—not some clueless local who had been bitten and turned into one of the garden-variety Undead, but a wizard. Vlad had never run into one of the old guys before, but he’d heard plenty of tales.
“Cadavru,” Vlad spat. “I hope you got a good taste.”
Dark, empty eyes regarded him coldly. The face was bony and hard, the skin looking quite rosy for a corpse, but of course the vampire had just eaten. A smile played across the vampire’s face, making it seem harder still.
“You think I’ll spare your miserable life, dog?” The vampire spoke as if describing a bug about to be squashed.
Vlad sat up, noticing that the vampire held the traveler’s pack in one hand. “Just try it, you stinking corpse,” he growled.
“I’ll admit,” drawled the vampire, as he casually strolled toward the door, blocking the only exit, “that killing a dog like you would take some work. But I am feeling quite, shall we say, energetic tonight.”
In response Vlad lunged, snarling at the vampire as he tried to pull him down. Pain and bright light shot from the glowing hand, knocking Vlad back to the floor. In the glow of his magical fire, the vampire’s face appeared to float above him in the dark, cruel but thoughtful.
“You want whatever’s in here, don’t you, thief?” He threw the pack at his feet, just out of Vlad’s reach. “Hmmmm. I have only recently woken after a rather long sleep. After my meal, I hunger for certain information. Perhaps I would be willing to let you live, if you have something of value to trade.”
Vlad glared at him, intrigued, but not willing to give away anything without a better idea of what the vampire wanted.
“What do you call yourself, dog?”
“Vlad,” he replied reluctantly as he warily pulled himself to a standing position. He and the vampire were both tall, about the same height, and Vlad felt better being at the same level, although he could not look into those empty eyes for very long. They stood about six feet apart, glaring at one another in the soft light of the orb.
“Well, Vlad, I have not seen too many of my old friends recently,” began the vampire. “My old, old friends are neither awake nor asleep. What do you know of this?”
“Vampires have been getting scarcer. People complain more about us, now that they’re not getting bitten by you corpses.” Vlad sneered, but the vampire was too intrigued by the information to notice the insult. “They say there’s a vampire-hunter killing them off.”
“Indeed? How long?” The vampire raked Vlad with his dark eyes, impossible to read because they swallowed up rather than reflected light.
“Dunno. Twelve months, maybe thirteen. You know how rumors are.”
“And do you know the identity of this hunter or where he lives?”
“No. No one’s owned up to it, if that’s what you mean. I hear about it mostly around Stilpescu and Orastana.”
“Now, that is interesting,” mused the vampire, “because I recently discovered that Castle Arghezi is protected by certain magical wards. Who lives there now?”
Vlad knew at least one person who lived there, although he didn’t think that Fido was tough enough to kill vampires. Other people lived in the castle, too, but Lupeni never talked about them. Vlad sensed that anything related to the castle could be very valuable.
The leader of the Fives was his own kind, however, and had recently saved his life for the second time. V
lad felt a strange loyalty tugging at him. He never expected to be shielding his rival, but the enmity between vampires and werewolves ran deep. He couldn’t sell out a former packmate to a vampire.
“Some wizards live at the castle,” he said slowly, “but no one sees them much or knows who they are.”
“But you do see them occasionally, don’t you?” asked the vampire sharply, perhaps suspecting that he knew more than he was telling.
“Yeah, I guess.” Vlad tried to shrug as if it scarcely mattered.
“Perhaps you might learn more? I would reward further information,” crooned the vampire softly. “I collect many trinkets which humans, and dogs like you, might consider valuable. If you are willing to tell the truth, that is.”
The vampire regarded him coldly, staring with the unnatural stillness that only the Undead could maintain for long. Rain still fell heavily outside, monotonous and hypnotic. Vlad grew afraid that the vampire had seen through him and was starting to think of another way to attack, when the silence was broken by the scrape of canvas on stone. With one elegant boot, the vampire kicked the pack toward Vlad.
“Take your stolen goods, dog,” he sneered. “But remember my offer.”
Vlad scrambled quickly to grab the pack, hugging it tightly, and edged toward the door as the vampire moved aside slightly to let him pass.
“Suppose I do find out something,” he said boldly. “How do I get in touch with you?”
“Others of my kind will know how to find me,” the vampire crooned, closing his fist to extinguish the light so that only his silky voice remained floating in the dark. “The Vampire Cuza. That is all you need say.”
Book III
13. Chasse-Galerie
Only the Moon Howls Page 9
