It wasn’t long before they were seated in the balcony of a high-ceilinged, quirky bistro, enjoying the open view, live piano music and listening to the waiter as he rhymed off the specials.
“How about a local beer and whatever constitutes a good traditional Hungarian meal?” Leslie suggested.
“Of course.” The waiter nodded.
Alana piped up. “I get beer now too, do I?”
“The young lass here will take a soda.” Cullen winked “And be sure to keep the food comin’, this one over here is starvin’,” he said, pointing to Leslie who sat to his left. She graciously smiled. Most people underestimated her size.
Apparently, this Hungarian man was the one person who didn’t; when he returned to the table, he brought with him a smorgasbord.
They made small talk about the festival and Hungarian culture while they feasted on stuffed pork and chicken baked in bread.
Alana stood after finishing off the stuffed potato pancake. “Please, Lord, somebody point me in the direction of the loo before I burst.”
“It’s just around the corner and down the hall,” Cullen said, pointing.
Leslie, who was still working on the stewed beef and noodles, paused long enough to look up and see the waiter approaching with a tray of desserts—cheesecake with an apricot sauce and meringue, and a white chocolate blondie with a lemony ice cream—her eyes lit up.
Cullen took the photo of Sophia in front of the Castle from his pocket and began to fixate.
Leslie looked over her shoulder. “All right, the coast is clear. What happen with the Professor?”
“He doesn’t think its Bran Castle in the background,” Cullen burst out. “I’m beginnin’ to agree.”
Leslie took her napkin from her lap and wiped a noodle from her chin.
“Let me see.”
Cullen reluctantly handed her the photo.
“Well, that’s not so bad, so we just need to figure out which Castle it is and then we’ve found her.”
“How? Our train leaves tomorrow and the library is closed for the night.”
“The internet is never closed,” Leslie, the eternal optimist, said with a grin.
God bless her, Cullen thought, she would never give up.
“Ye’re right, we just need to re-focus and dig deeper.”
The waiter returned with a canister and stared down at Leslie, his mouth slightly agape as she began sopping up the ice cream with the blondie. “More eszpresszó?”
“No, I think I’ll spring a leak if I drink anymore,” Cullen said with a chuckle.
Leslie waited for the server to walk away. “Why did we think it was Bran, anyway?”
“That notepad Sophia wrote on after her regression. Wait a minute,” Cullen said, pulling the brochure from his other pocket. “At the store today—that girl said there was a castle in Hunedoara that was also known as Dracula’s Castle. She gave me this brochure.” He quickly unfolded the paper and handed it to Leslie. “Just look at that staircase. This is definitely the place.”
Leslie nodded, grinning ear to ear.
“We found her. Now to find a way in. I don’t suppose there’s a event there tomorrow night?”
Leslie used her cellphone and pulled up the website. “Nope.”
“I’ll go outside and call the Professor, give him the good news. I don’t want him wastin’ his time lookin’ into Bran.”
FIFTYSIX
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
Alexandra passed me into the arms of an older servant who placed a cloak about me. The lady was not precisely plump, but there was solidity about her and I dared not fight back. Costin inclined his head as if to ask his mother what she was up to.
“Flora will hide Sophia in the village until I can explain the situation to your grandfather.”
If Costin distrusted his mother as much as I did, then he betrayed no sign of it. He merely reached forward and kissed my cheek.
“Goodnight,” he murmured. “I’ll be there to get you in the morning.”
The old woman said nothing, but gave Alexandra a curious glance and I felt once again that neither woman could be trusted. Flora blew out her candle and led me onto a horse.
At last we rode the length of the village and came to an old-fashioned house, with a steeply pitched roof dotted with gables. The moon was bright and I could see that ivy climbed the walls and smoke rose from the stone chimney. We tied the horse and she led me up the little stone path to the door.
“This is the house of my cousin; you will stay here for now,” the woman informed me.
The room was comfortable; layers of hand-woven blankets and embroidered linen hung from the ceiling on wooden poles, smelling of woodsmoke. Next to a ceramic stove, there was a dining table where sacred icons were draped with white scarves.
She led the way to a small bedroom, and before I could ask any questions, she’d gone, leaving me to unravel my situation here. The bed was heaped with blankets and cushions and softened by a silver glow from the moon falling through the casement, sometimes shining brightly through the broken storm clouds. Not for the first time, I thought of Elena in the castle. They would come for her at dawn. What was I doing? I had to free her, but how. I jumped to my feet, trying and failing to remember the route back to the castle.
Then I heard a chorus of wolves, first a plaintive cry and then a response from far away.
FIFTYSEVEN
Cullen looked out the window of the Baltazar Hotel room at the heavy night sky; he could practically smell the storm dropping from the east. The dark clouds matched his somber mood and he welcomed the rain although he was glad it had held off until they returned. They’d taken a cab to the edge of the Castle district and walked back from dinner. It had been nice, so many beautiful sights to see in Budapest especially the Parliament buildings and the Castle, which were all lit up at night.
A knock sounded at the door. He threw his t-shirt back on and opened it to find Leslie pacing to and fro.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course. Did ye change your mind about the arrangements?”
“No. I told you I’m comfortable on the pull-out. It’s just I’ve been waiting for Alana to go to her room. I want to know what the Professor said.”
“He agreed. It’s Hunedoara Castle.”
Leslie smiled. “So what are we doing?”
“Haven’t a baldy.”
“A little breaking and entering?” Leslie asked with a smirk.
“Jaysus, I hope not,” Cullen said, although he wasn’t ruling it out. “The Professor says he knows of a way in. His friend is part of a television crew that’s taping at the castle this week—something to do with ghost sightings. Anyway, he thinks they wrapped today but he might be able to get us inside. He’s going to ring me back.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? What’s with the suspense?”
“I don’t want to change the plans and upset Alana until I know for sure. She’s been happy this week—happier than I’ve seen her since it all happened.”
“Fair enough,” Leslie agreed. “Please don’t keep me in the dark, though, okay?”
Cullen nodded and Leslie backed out of the room.
He clicked off the television remote and allowed his head to fall against the soft down pillow.
He’d never had trouble falling asleep until Sophia had gone missing. Now every night was a struggle unless he knocked himself out with sleeping pills and whisky and he couldn’t afford to do that tonight. He rolled onto his left shoulder, closing his eyes against reality. He breathed deeply to bring about sleep and realized part of the problem tonight was that the pillows smelled of lavender, one of Sophia’s favorite scents to place in the bedroom. He inhaled deeply and pretended she was next to him and, before he knew it, he was really staring into her slanted baby blues—only they were on the face of a girl and she had a rope around her neck, her eyes unnaturally wide with fear.
He realized by the cold dampness seeping through the knees of his pants
that he was dreaming or re-living an awful memory.
He knelt before the gallows. That was where he’d fallen when they kicked the stool out from under Elena’s feet. He remained there still, kneeling on the stone of the town square, as if a part of his own soul had just been brutally murdered. Next it was Sofia’s turn. A violent, desperate need to save her once again came over him but he’d tried and failed.
He got to his feet, and staggering forward, he snatched the bejeweled blade from his belt. Ignoring the outcry, he moved closer to the gallows, preparing to gather her precious limp body into his arms.
Cullen woke up, drenched in sweat and tangled up in the hotels expensive bedsheets to a vibrating sound on his night table. His relief was immediate. Not real. He reached over and hit the switch.
The bedside lamp illuminated the brick wall and funky artwork that adorned the room.
He lifted his arm to check his watch. There was still time.
He hadn't lost the love of his life but he knew, somehow, though it made no sense, that if he waited until tomorrow night then he would.
Cullen looked at the missed call and hit send.
“Professor,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to call so late, my friend. I have a few things to tell you. I found the name you gave me. Elena Maria Catargiu-Obrenović. What I found out wasn’t good news. Brace yourself.”
“She was hanged,” Cullen said.
“Yes, I know that.”
“It’s not important. Do ye know when?”
“That’s the bad news. She was hanged alongside her daughter the day of the blood moon.
Cullen’s stomach twisted. He dropped his phone. They were running out of time.
“Cullen, are you there?” He heard a faint voice coming from the floor. He retrieved the phone.
“I’m here.”
“You need to change your plans for tomorrow. Catch the 8 am train to Deva. My friend is going to meet you at the train station at 4 pm and sneak you into the Castle. I know you wanted to bring the girls but he thinks it would be easier if it were just one or two of you.”
“That’s fine. It will just be me.”
“Good. The crew is done with the taping now, they will leave anywhere between 5 pm and 8 pm so you’re going to have to hide out in the castle until they’re gone. He’ll show you the best room upstairs for that. He also wanted me to warn you that you will be in there overnight no matter what because there’s no way to get out. He’ll return the next day to sneak you and fingers crossed Sophia, back out.
FIFTYEIGHT
Hunedoara, Romania, 1494
Romania had a reputation for wolves. I would be easy picking out there. I covered up my ears with my hands, and prayed that while I had somehow changed my fate, perhaps I had changed Elena’s as well.
By the time the grey light of dawn began to lighten the chamber, I was numb with fatigue. Even the rooster crowing couldn’t stop my surrender to sleep. Sometime later, there was a sharp rapping and an old woman appeared in my doorway, carrying a tray.
“The boy, Costin, where is he?” I asked sleepily.
The old woman frowned and clucked her tongue as she removed the covers from my breakfast.
There was a bowl of porridge, a bread roll, scarlet cherry jam and a pot of thick dark liquid which I hoped was something akin to coffee, although I wasn’t sure if it was popular here yet.
I sat up in bed, knees drawn to my chest, arms hugged tightly about them. I thought of the dream I’d had, reliving each moment I’d just spent embracing my daughter, explaining the book to her. Why had I not been more open with her over the years? Me and my secrets, they were always getting me into trouble. If only it hadn’t been a dream.
The woman watched for a moment as I spooned the porridge into my mouth and then she smiled strangely and turned to go. It then crossed my mind that she might have poisoned my food. I begrudgingly pushed the bowl away.
The sound of clanking drew my attention to the chickens that pecked in the dust just beneath my window. A dozen cows were shuffling through the field, their bells a discordant jangle. Off in the distance, a long, horse-drawn wooden cart carrying a huge load of golden grasses made a pass through the field. Fresh air would improve my mood. I headed for the kitchen, intending to depart whether the woman of the house liked it or not. As I approached, I heard voices through the door, Costin’s deep mumble and the higher pitch of Alexandra. The tones were impassioned and unmistakable, his pleading, hers implacable. I cleared my throat and Alexandra looked up sharply. Costin was standing at the fireplace, his hands braced upon the mantel, his head bowed. One of his hands was bleeding as if he’d been in a fight.
FIFTYNINE
“ Cullen?” Leslie whispered, sounding nearly as startled as he felt. He could just make out her silhouette in the dark. She was sitting up on the pullout sofa. He’d done his best to be quiet but he hadn’t accounted for the bag in the middle of the floor. She’d probably set the booby-trap on purpose, she was a clever fox. He’d tried to talk her into taking the bedroom so he could make a clean getaway but she must have been on to him.
“It’s one in the morning. What are you doing?” Leslie hissed.
Instantly he was by her side. “Whisht!”
Cullen whipped his head back and forth to see if Alana had woken, but the room remained silent and dark.
He lowered his voice and leaned in.
“I’ve had a change of mind,” he said and fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He took a second to carefully study the tattered photo that had been cocooned inside, a treasured memento of the beautiful ghost that haunted his memory. Was Sophia really alive and would he hold her in the flesh soon enough? What if he was too late? What if that dream signified, she’d already been hanged? Lord help him if he had to live through that twice. The nervous anticipation was almost more than he could bear.
“I can’t allow Alana to get involved. She’s as stubborn as her own mother—she’ll never accept that she can’t come.” He stopped to bring his voice under control, contemplating whether or not to tell Leslie about the dream, and then he held out the paper to her. “I wrote a farewell letter, ye know, just in case. Will ye pass it on to her?”
Leslie nodded and accepted it. “As stubborn as her mother, huh?” she said. “When will you go?”
“Now,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’ve already arranged a car. Ye take the train with her. Tell her I got called away early—a meeting in Bucharest.” His hands clenched into tight fists. He stood and paced the length of the room. The room’s electric fireplace kicked on, drawing his gaze, and he found himself going still, staring into the flames, imagining Elena falling, the entire weight of her body hurtling toward the ground and then stopping short at the end of that rope. The way she’d jerked at the bottom. The way her head snapped. And then the way her body had swung from the Gallows. What if Elena was Alana? He couldn’t risk her too.
“If I—” He furrowed his brow, then looked at Leslie beseechingly. “If I don’t make it back,” he said, “my will is in the safe. I’ve left it all to Alana and ye’re the executor.”
“Please don’t be melodramatic. You will find Sophia and she will bring you both home and hopefully Alana will never even know you left early. Sophia said that time froze when she traveled the first couple of times. It may be the same for you. Who knows how it all works?” She held out her hand and he took it. After a long time, he squeezed her fingers gently and let go.
“Thank ye, Leslie,” he said, “for everything.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Then he rose and went out, pocketing the photo before heading into the darkness of the hall.
SIXTY
I n the morning, Leslie rose somewhat lethargically, but she was determined to have her best poker face in place for when Alana got up. Whatever her own inclinations, Cullen was Alana’s father and if he didn’t want his daughter knowing the truth, then who was Leslie to ruin that?
&n
bsp; She reminded herself sternly that it would all be over soon and drew back the draperies, surprised to see the sun shone brightly through the windows of the hotel room. The treetops blazed with orange and gold and every shade of flame, and she wished she could push open a window and feel the breeze on her face.
Instead she moved to her suitcase where she’d hidden the research she’d done while looking for Sophia. She pulled out the page that she’d photocopied from the Book of Rochus. There was just something about it that kept calling to her.
My cauldron has been cleansed in rosewater and agrimony, and I’ve gathered all the ingredients; arrowroot, belladonna and a jar of powdered brimstone. Another jar holds sea salt, mixed with dried bat wings, and a tiny vial of hair. T’was my blood that brought this curse down upon my friends, and so it is my duty to save them, even if it means forfeiting my own power. It is time and yet I hesitate.
This sort of witchcraft—toiling with another witch’s spell—is not a simple task. My dearest friend has been betrayed and now her soul is in peril. I will not let that stand. I will brew and cast and Alexandra will soon learn that no action exists in a void. She will pay the consequences.
I have never used dark ingredients before. Magic was a gift, handed down to me through my ancestors and recorded in this book, but now it feels like a curse.
She read the name at the bottom of the page. Lasaya. Something nagged at her conscience but she couldn’t decipher what.
Just as she was considering waking sleeping beauty, the hotel door opened and in soared Alana, fancy coffee tray and pink pastry box in hand. Leslie tucked the page away and looked the girl over. Her red hair was braided and wound in a bun at the crown of her head and she was wearing a printed red, white and orange tunic with a heavy knitted sweater over top. She was smiling. Cullen was right; she looked much happier than she had in months.
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 90