This Rough Magic

by Heather Graham

  “I suppose,” Carly agreed, and stood. Geoffrey, Alexi and Jon were instantly on their feet, too. There was something nice about the old-world atmosphere here, she realized. It was the wine. She’d had a great deal of it, and bed would definitely be the best place for her.

  “I agree with Tanya,” she murmured a little apologetically. “I’m sorry. I think I’m exhausted.”

  “Geoffrey, you bored her to exhaustion!” Alexi said.

  “Geoffrey, you did no such thing,” Carly insisted.

  “I’ll walk you up,” Jon offered.

  “No!” She was aware that she’d spoken too quickly, and bit her inner lip as everyone looked at her with discreet half smiles. “Please, Jon, Geoffrey, Alexi—all of you, stay here. Tanya and I can go up together.”

  “Perfect.” Tanya too, rose. She took Alexi’s hands and let him kiss both her cheeks. “Good night. And Geoff...” On tiptoe, she kissed his lips lightly, then did the same with Jon.

  Carly stepped back before she could become embroiled in it all. “Good night, Alexi, it was wonderful seeing you again.”

  “You’ll not get rid of me,” he promised. “You see, I made it back for dinner this evening. And I think I’ll stay the night.”

  “You’re welcome, of course,” Jon told him. Carly wondered whether or not he meant it. Then she didn’t care. She was really exhausted and wanted only to escape Jon, though she didn’t have the strength or the will to fight him at the moment.

  “Bonne nuit,” Jon said softly.

  Smiling weakly, she turned from his gaze and hurried after Tanya.

  “He definitely has his eye on you,” Tanya remarked as they walked up the stairs. “Ouch.” She paused to slip her high-heel sandals off. She grimaced at Carly. “One just doesn’t wear sneakers to dinner here.”

  Carly laughed. “No, I suppose not.”

  “I wouldn’t have minded being mistress of this place,” Tanya said with a sigh.

  “But—”

  “There is nothing between us,” Tanya assured her with a laugh. “For a while I thought that Jas—” She broke off.

  “Jasmine,” Carly said.

  Tanya shook her head. “No, no—”

  “Then what were you saying?”

  “Honest, I don’t remember what I was about to say.” She leaped up the remaining steps in her stocking feet. “I’m so tired! We should have a day tomorrow to do something with. Some sight-seeing. It’s a beautiful country, the best of western Europe and the best of eastern Europe. Good night!” She disappeared through the door to her room.

  Carly entered her own room. Her suitcases had been emptied. She hurried over to the armoire and saw that it had been filled with her things.

  Marie had probably come in to unpack for her, she decided. But still, it bothered her. She reflected again on the letter from Jasmine that had disappeared. Someone, she was certain, had gone through her purse.

  She was too tired to deal with it at that moment, though. She had meant to leave today but hadn’t, putting her faith instead in an arrogant, mysterious and confusing man. She was here for another night, at least.

  Carly shed her gown, kicked off her evening slippers and rolled down her stockings. In the armoire she found her own flannel nightgown, which was nowhere near as sexy or as elegant as the one she had worn the night before. Evidence of a life-style, she thought wryly. Tanya’s was definitely more exciting—and attractive—than hers.

  She was considering changing that, she thought as she lay down. Just hours before, she had lain here with Jon, and they had almost...

  She thumped her pillow and wiggled down into it. It had been so long, but she knew he would make things easy. All the same, her emotions would run deep, and she would need more than just expertise from him; she would need to believe that the magic was real.

  She was too nervous and excited to sleep. But she was exhausted, too. She closed her eyes, which felt so very heavy....

  She dreamed she was not alone. Someone was with her, watching over her. Someone who tenderly touched her cheek, then bent down and very gently kissed her lips. The touch was just a whisper of breath, barely a touch at all. Sweet and provocative. She wanted to reach for more....

  Carly awoke with a start, certain someone really was in the room with her. It was the dream, she told herself. But it wasn’t. She was tense and frightened because the danger was real.

  She didn’t move.

  No one could be in the room, she assured herself. She had made sure to lock the door that night, and from the moonlight filtering into the room she could see that the door was still closed.

  But she could feel someone...or something!

  She turned her head carefully, looking toward the balcony and toward the rear of the room. There was very little light, and she couldn’t tell what she was seeing. Shadow and substance converged. First there was a form in the room, and then there was nothing at all.

  She closed her eyes and opened them again. Nothing was there.

  Shaking, she sat up, turned on the bedside lamp and wrapped her arms about herself.

  She was alone.

  For several seconds she just sat there. Then she jumped up and checked the door. It was bolted.

  She walked over to the French doors. They too were locked. She opened them, and the night breeze rushed in upon her. Up in the sky was a gibbous moon, which was still nearly full.

  Carly heard the sudden, startling howl of a wolf.

  She peered across the courtyard. The wolf was there, looking toward her window. It was a big wolf. She thought she could see the creature’s eyes. They were golden in the darkness, golden beneath the moon.

  It howled again, seeming to watch her, then it turned and raced off, a wraith in the night.

  Carly shivered. “There was no wolf in this room!” she whispered. Then she added in confusion, “There was nothing in this room. Nothing at all!”

  She came back in and locked the French doors. She checked the door to the hall again. It was still firmly bolted.

  Leaving the light on, Carly crawled back into bed and pulled the covers to her neck.

  Eventually she closed her eyes again and dozed. She had vivid, though sketchy, dreams. A wolf was running after her, a wolf with golden eyes. He would run on all fours....

  And then he would run on two legs. He was no longer a wolf, but a man. A man with golden, amberglowing eyes. A man in a flowing black cape.

  A man who bent down to seal her lips with a kiss and steal her breath and her very soul.

  CHAPTER 5

  In the morning Marie brought Carly a breakfast tray. In broken English she told Carly that the count would like her downstairs by ten; a drive through the estate and the nearby countryside had been planned. There would be seven excursions altogether.

  Geoffrey, Alexi and Tanya were with Carly and the count as they rode over the estate. Jon, on Satan, kept a discreet distance from Carly. Sometimes she would catch him watching her, however, and it was almost as if he were asking with vast amusement whether this wasn’t just what she wanted. Tanya was an excellent horsewoman, and Geoffrey and Alexi were very comfortable, too. Carly was grateful for the trail riding she had done through Central Park, so she didn’t feel like a complete idiot. Still, when the day was over, after they’d traveled through the internationally famous vineyards and over the fields and farmland, she was in some pain and had difficulty pretending that she could walk normally. Sitting through dinner was a nightmare, and she escaped as soon as the meal was finished.

  The second day, the five rode again through the countryside. They passed flocks of sheep and charming little houses where the storks nested in the chimneys. They stopped for a picnic and drank wine, and for a while Carly let her guard down. She laughed and ate grapes with the others while she rested her head on Jon Vadim’s lap and occasionally looked up into his magic gaze.

  The third day, they all went into the village. The houses were exquisite cottages that might have jumped right out of
Hansel and Gretel. They lunched in the one major restaurant, where people scurried to serve them, happy to please the count.

  They explored the shops and meandered through the quaint alleys. At five they stopped for wine and pastries in a building that was older than Castle Vadim. Jon was called away to the phone. While the others lingered at the table, Carly wandered about, studying the architecture of the ancient building. She was startled to find herself being studied.

  She turned around, and her eyes widened when she saw that the man behind her was a gray-haired hunchback. She tried to smile, while trying at the same time not to stare. He offered her a toothless grin and said, “You like?”

  “The house?” Wishing her French were better, she tried to tell him it was very beautiful. “Oui. Elle est très belle.”

  He shrugged, and she saw that the man’s eyes held a keen light of intelligence.

  “Beautiful?” he said. “I don’t know. But rich and fascinating—mais oui! Here, we are between the Dark Ages and the Renaissance. Our woods are misted, our forests deep. Mysteries surround our land. You’ll note the pretty village—and that every pretty door carries a cross. Wherever you travel, you will find shrines—shrines to the Christ child, shrines to the Virgin Mary and shrines to all the saints of God!”

  Little prickles of unease wound their way up Carly’s spine. She had wandered into an archway now and could hear laughter in the distance. Tanya was teasing Alexi. They seemed so far away. Geoffrey said something to the two of them. Where was Jon?

  “The count, he is a busy man,” the hunchback warned her.

  She nodded, shivering. She was being ridiculous, she chided herself. She stretched out her hand. “I’m Carly Kiernan. Is this your home and your business?”

  He took her hand. His was gnarled but warm. “It is mine, yes. I am Henri Gasteau. Gasteaus have been here as long as Vadims have been here.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “Where is your sister, Ms. Kiernan?”

  “Jasmine?” she said, surprised.

  “Oui, madame. She spoke often of your coming here. She was anxious to show you off.”

  “She—she left. She went on to Paris.”

  Gasteau blinked, and it was as if a curtain fell over his eyes. “She left...with you coming.” He shrugged, smiling again. “Beyond is our enchanted forest, the land where the gray wolves roam and prowl and howl. Have you encountered any of our wolves, Madame Kiernan?”

  “Yes, I have. They can be frightening.”

  “You must be very careful of creatures that suddenly appear in the woods, Madame Kiernan.”

  “I try to be careful. Always.”

  “Enjoy your stay, Madame Kiernan.” He bowed to her and walked away.

  She was still shaking, she realized. She hurried back to the table. Jon had returned. His eyes were sharp upon her as she sat down. She stared at the napoleon pastry she had ordered and could no longer eat. His knee brushed against hers, and she felt him still watching her. She couldn’t look up, though she felt his gaze, the heat. Golden heat, like that in the hungry gaze of the wolf.

  On the fourth day Jon decided that they would take a jaunt over the border. There was a slight cloud over it—he had to inform the inspector that they would be gone for a few days, but he promised he would return if he was needed for questioning.

  Alexi, who invited himself along, was in an exuberant mood, and he dispelled all clouds of resentment and fear she felt as a result of the inspector’s suspicions. They entered the Romanian province of Transylvania. Because she was with Count Vadim, Carly barely had to flash her passport at the border crossing.

  The drive was long but intriguing. They headed for Brasov, one of Vlad Dracul’s most famous haunts. They spent the first night in Siblu, a fairy-tale town that was said to have been Vlad Dracul’s favorite. It was like a fourteenth-century cobbled kingdom, and Carly loved it. Jon was charming, and Alexi and Geoffrey both outdid themselves in telling her stories about the real count. He had supposedly been very handsome, pale, with curious green eyes. Eyes that could sometimes gleam gold, Alexi added.

  Jon smiled at her apologetically. “They were hazel, really. Just ordinary hazel.”

  Tanya laughed and picked a flower, and Carly kept silent. There wasn’t anything ordinary about him at all.

  They spent two days in Sighisoara. Jon hired a young man, Michael—but he preferred “Micky”—to guide them. Micky convinced them that Sighisoara was one of the best-preserved fifteenth-century towns in Europe.

  Geoffrey laughed and explained to Micky that Jon was the Count Vadim. Not wanting to insult the count’s home Micky flushed and said that maybe they were both very well-preserved fifteenth-century towns. Jon agreed, and Micky proceeded to take them around.

  “Vlad Tepes was born here,” Micky informed them.

  As they wandered along between buildings that seemed to meet over alleyways, Alexi told Geoffrey it would be a wonderful place to film a movie. Geoffrey reminded him that he directed plays.

  “Yes, but there’s always a first time for everything,” Tanya commented, then shivered. “This place is delightfully gothic!”

  “It gets better,” Micky assured them. He led them onward, and they came to their destination—a yellowish house with a plaque that labeled it as the home where Vlad Dracul had been born in 1431. Upstairs there was a table set for lunch. While they were served a fiery plum brandy that Jon called tuica, gypsies began to dance. The dance was exciting, wild and fast and willful. Carly felt flushed and warmed by the brandy. She turned and found Jon watching her, smiling, his eyes heavy-lidded and sensual. He sipped his brandy, then reached out to her. She heard the plaintive cry of the violin and the crash of the tambourine just as he touched her lower lip and drew a finger across it. As she looked at him, she felt the fire of his eyes and the warmth of his nearness. She felt the promise of something that sizzled sweetly inside her. One day he would touch her further, she knew. She had never known anything as sweet or as painful as that anticipation.

  He came closer to her; he parted her lips and kissed her lightly. Then he withdrew.

  The violin rose to a high crescendo. A dancing girl called sharply and fell to the floor in a heap of colorful cotton. There was a burst of applause.

  Carly drew her gaze away from Jon Vadim’s and glanced up. An ancient picture of Vlad Dracul’s father looked down grimly and mockingly upon her.

  “Excuse me!” she murmured to no one in particular and left the table, searching out the ladies’ room. She was grateful to find an ordinary rest room, where she splashed cold water on her face. Smiling, she felt that she’d made a return to the twentieth century and to sanity.

  On the seventh morning the five headed out for another of Dracul’s famous haunts—Brasov.

  Along the way they passed cemeteries filled with fascinating old tombstones that were covered with beautiful flowers. The group passed a number of vineyards, rich and lovely against the backdrop of the mountains. The fall colors were still glorious, reds and golds and oranges abundant all around them.

  Carly noticed signs on the road and asked about them.

  Jon, driving, flashed her a smile. “They warn of Carpathian bears lurking in the woods.”

  “Here they warn of bears,” Alexi murmured. “And at home we warn the unwary of the wolves that prowl about.”

  “In Manhattan we just warn people about the muggers,” Carly said sweetly.

  “In Manhattan the subways stand in for the forests,” Geoffrey assured them all glumly.

  Jon laughed. His hand found Carly’s and he curled his fingers around hers.

  They dined at a restaurant where bear steak was offered. Carly found the unusual entrée delicious, then wondered if it was the food or the company. Jon had set out to win her slowly, she realized, and it was a sweet and heady feeling. They were seated before a fire and served a wonderful warm ale. A stuffed bear loomed at the entrance, and hounds that were half wolf curled up by the fire. When they we
re done with the meal, Jon hired another tour guide, a middle-aged woman with silver hair. Her name was Dahlia, and as she took them through the town, she told them the story of Brasov, of how the people had refused to submit to Vlad Dracul. On August 24, 1460, Vlad Dracul therefore made Brasov famous for future generations by annihilating the population, impaling some thirty thousand men, women and children in a single day.

  “How strange,” Carly remarked. “It’s such a lovely, lovely place today.”

  “With thirty thousand souls to haunt it!” Geoffrey teased her with a theatrical ghoulish laugh.

  Tanya made a face at him and said, “What a despicable man! However did he earn such fame?”

  “He was powerful. He fought the Turks and once killed twenty thousand Turkish soldiers in a field. It was two miles wide and half a mile deep. Mohammed II, the conqueror of Constantinople, who was quite a demon himself, was so stunned and repulsed by the sight of it that he retreated, rather than take on Vlad Dracul. He was cruel; he lived in a cruel age.”

  “Do we ever get any better?” Jon said softly.

  Startled, Carly gazed at him. He smiled, shrugged and reached for her hand. The tour guide was watching them strangely, Carly noticed.

  They returned to the restaurant. Just outside, the guide caught Carly’s elbow. “Noroc!” she whispered tensely. “Noroc!”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand—” Carly began, but Jon was paying the woman now, and she was smiling as she spoke with him rapidly in French.

  “Alexi,” Carly said, drawing the young man aside. “Do you speak any Romanian?”

  “A few words. Why?”

  “What is noroc?”

  He hesitated, watching her. “Luck. It means luck. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I just heard it,” she said lamely. Chills swept along her spine, and she willed them to go away.

  It had gotten quite late. Alexi suggested that they stay for the night, and they decided to do so. Tanya and Carly took a room together. In the middle of the night Carly awoke, hearing the cry of wolves.

  She rose, went to the window and cast back the curtain to stare out into the night. She heard the fierce howling again. A cool breeze came in and swept around her. A light fog swirled below her on the ground.