The young man’s lips twitched ever so slightly while I studied him. His hair was a shade darker than Thomas’s, and his eyes were a deeper hue of brown. His deep olive complexion was alluring in the way most enjoyed in a dark hero. He was rugged, though I assumed he held a rank of sorts, based on what Anastasia had mentioned.
Bulky snickered from the dark-haired boy’s side, upper lip curled. I had a feeling it was his normal expression thanks to genetics, and not one I should be offended by. How unfortunate for his parents.
I waited for the dark-haired boy to break away from my gaze, but he fixed his eyes stubbornly on mine. A challenge to gauge how easily I could break, or something more flirtatious, I didn’t care. I’d not tolerate being harassed because of my sex.
We were all here to learn. He was the one who had a problem, not I. Perhaps it was time for fathers to teach their sons how to behave around young women. They were not born superior, no matter how society falsely conditioned them. We were all equals here.
“Well?”
“I’m deciding, domnişoară.” He lazily dragged his gaze down each inch of my body, inspecting me closely, then coughed into his hand, no doubt whispering something unseemly as Bulky burst into laughter.
A slimmer, slightly paler young man sat on his other side, shifting his eyes from the dark-haired boy, to me, then to his hands, his mouth drawing into a frown. There was something in their bone structure that made me think they were related. However, his countenance was vastly different. He flicked his attention around as if it were a fly landing on different spots, then buzzing off just out of reach. He seemed so familiar…
I gasped as recognition set in.
“You. I know you.” He’d been on the train with Thomas and me. I was certain of it. He’d been the nervous passenger I’d wanted to question. He shifted in his seat, staring at the grain of the wood, ignoring me all together. His skin seemed to darken before my gaze.
I’d all but forgotten about the annoying dark-haired boy, and almost missed the fire that lit his eyes, as I gathered my skirts and headed for a table of my own.
DINING HALL
SALĂ DE MESE
BRAN CASTLE
2 DECEMBER 1888
“You do make the best entrances, Wadsworth. Half the young men at that table want to marry you now. I’ll have to work twice as hard on my fencing skills to defend your honor.”
I loosed a breath as Thomas folded himself into the seat across from me, plate piled high with savories from different regions, likely intended to accommodate students from across Europe. And sweets. Mrs. Harvey had been right about his affinity for desserts. I’d been so distracted by the boy I was certain was on board the train, I hadn’t noticed Thomas near the buffet.
“I hardly believe that’s true. I just made enemies, is what I did.” I stole a scone from his plate after he’d slathered clotted cream on it. “Anyway, I dislike all of the young men at that table, Cresswell. No need to turn in your scalpel for a foil just yet.”
“Careful, now. You’ve voiced the same charming sentiments about me. I get jealous rather easily. I want to have a duel, not raze the academy or burn it to the ground. Though it might improve Moldoveanu’s attitude, actually. Promise you’ll visit me in my cell?”
I smiled despite the topic and inspected my friend. “You know no one could ever annoy me as much as you, Cresswell. Hopefully they’ll think twice before mocking me again.”
“I’m quite certain it won’t be the last time you’re teased.” Thomas grinned while he covered another scone with cream. “Men enjoy the hunt. You have now proven you aren’t easily won, which makes you an interesting challenge. Why do you think so many heads are mounted on walls? Displaying trophies of our accomplishments is like saying ‘I’m strong and virile. Just look at that stag head in the study. I not only hunted it, I set the trap and coaxed it into my lair. Here’s some brandy, let’s pound our chests and shoot something.’”
“You’re saying you’d like to trap me and hang my severed head above the mantle, then? That’s so utterly romantic. Do tell me more.”
“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat, interrupting us. “Would you mind if I sat here? Vă rog?”
Even while sitting, Thomas somehow managed to stare down his nose at the dark-haired boy who’d rudely laughed at me earlier and was now standing beside our table. There was nothing lighthearted in Thomas’s expression now.
“If you promise you’ll be nice.” Thomas slowly pushed his chair back, the limbs screeching against the floor in protest. He’d not moved far enough to allow the young man to come between us. I was reminded of how tall and long-limbed he was, and how he could use it as another weapon in his arsenal. “I’d hate to see Miss Wadsworth embarrass you. Again.”
Tension pooled from him in thick waves—so dark and turbulent I was nearly pulled under. I’d never known Thomas to show such strong emotions before and thought there might be something else going on besides his annoyance on my behalf. Perhaps Thomas had already encountered the dark-haired boy and it hadn’t gone very positively.
It didn’t take much to deduce that this wouldn’t end well. The last thing either of us needed to contend with was Thomas being expelled for—whatever he was about to unleash. Right now he was every bit the villain with a hero’s face.
“How may we help you, Mr.…?” I allowed the question to hang in the air.
As if Hell wasn’t unfolding around him, the young man angled himself toward me in an intimate way, and I reconsidered who was in danger of being thrown out of the academy: Thomas might very well be the one holding me back from landing a well-deserved slap.
“I apologize for my earlier behavior, domnişoară,” he said, accent soft and lilting. “I also beg forgiveness for my companions. Andrei”—he pointed to the brute, who nodded curtly in response—“and Wilhelm, my cousin.”
My attention drifted back over to the sickly young man from the train. Wilhelm’s color was even darker than before. Such an odd shade. It appeared as if he’d gotten smudges of reddish dirt on his face. I’d never seen a rash quite so horrible before. Beads of sweat dotted his brow line.
“Your cousin seems unwell,” Thomas said. “Perhaps you should tend to him instead.”
We watched as Wilhelm hoisted a large black cloak around his shoulders and hunched toward the door. I needed to speak with him, find out what he might know about the victim from the train.
The dark-haired boy moved into my line of sight. “Permite-mi să mă prezint. Er… allow me to introduce myself properly.”
He offered a shy smile, but it faded a bit while I kept my expression neutral. If he thought turning his charm on exceedingly high would endear him to me, he was quite mistaken. He sat taller, and an air of station dropped across him as if it were a velvet cloak settling into place.
“My name is Nicolae Alexandru Vladimir Aldea. Prince of Romania.”
Thomas snorted, but the young prince kept his gaze locked onto mine. I inhaled sharply, but made sure surprise didn’t show in my features, assuming he’d dropped his title in hopes of seeing the reaction he’d gotten from some other young men and women.
My suspicion was confirmed when his smile faltered, then vanished altogether the longer I went without reacting. I’d not allow myself to be treated so poorly, then swoon in the next breath. His title could likely buy much, but it couldn’t purchase my affections.
The entire room went silent as a church service while they waited for me to speak. Or bow. I was probably breaking all manner of protocol by not standing immediately and dropping into a curtsy. I smiled sweetly and leaned in.
“I’d say it was pleasant meeting you, Your Highness, but I was raised to not utter untruths.”
To keep from being entirely improper, I offered a slight incline of my head and stood. The expression on Prince Nicolae’s face was exceptional. As if I’d discarded my glove and slapped him with it in front of all these witnesses. I almost felt sorry for him—it was probably the f
irst time anyone had offended him so ruthlessly. Whatever was he to do with someone who wouldn’t hang on his every princely word?
“Mr. Cresswell,” I nodded toward my friend, “I’ll meet you outside.”
The boy with the red curls, sitting nearby, shook his head as I gathered my skirts. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or disgusted by my audacity. Without looking back, I left the room. Clanking sounds of forks falling onto plates, mixed with Thomas’s deep chuckle, accompanied me into the hall, where I allowed myself a small laugh of my own. Even the Italian brothers had lifted their attention from their studies, their eyes wide as petri dishes.
My satisfaction was cut short when I noticed Headmaster Moldoveanu standing there near the open doorway, vein pulsing in his forehead. He moved swiftly toward me, and I swore a great winged beast was prowling along behind, talons scraping the stone. I blinked. It was only his shadow, made enormous by the torchlight.
“Careful whom you make enemies of, Miss Wadsworth. I’d hate for more tragedy to befall your already fractured family. From my understanding, the Wadsworth name and lineage are nearly wiped from existence.”
I flinched. Father had posted a rather vague obituary regarding my brother’s death, though the headmaster sounded as if he suspected foul play. He inspected me closely, lip peeled back in what was either a smile or sneer.
“I wonder how strong your father would remain should something terrible happen to his last remaining child. Opium is an unpleasant habit. Rather hard to recover from completely. I’m sure you’re aware of that, though. You seem to be mildly intelligent. For a girl. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”
“How did you—”
“It is my duty to unearth every morsel about prospective students. And I do mean every crumb. Do not make the mistake of believing your secrets remain yours. I uncover them from both the dead and the living. I find truth pays quite well once discovered.”
A coil of slick fear twisted in my intestines. He was threatening me, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. He stared a beat longer, as if he could glare me from existence, then marched into the dining hall. I slumped only after he’d made it to the far side of the room.
“Breakfast is now over,” he announced. “You may do as you wish for the remainder of the day.”
I quickly ran to my room to fetch my winter coat and a new pair of gloves, anxious to be outside this wretched castle and its miserable inhabitants.
TRAIL THROUGH WOODS
POTECĂ
BRAŞOV
2 DECEMBER 1888
“Prince Pompous might not be your biggest admirer, Wadsworth.” Thomas nudged me with his shoulder, doing a terrible job of hiding his pleasure at my new mortal enemy. “Once Moldoveanu left, he even broke a plate against the wall and cut his fingers. Blood splattered in the eggs. Very dramatic.”
“You sound a bit jealous you didn’t think to break glassware first.”
I slipped over an icy paving stone, and Thomas steadied me, slowly dropping my arm and standing at an almost respectable distance. Excitement was present in each of his motions. He was practically skipping to Braşov, also known as the Crown’s City, according to his endless banter.
I’d watched Wilhelm scurry out of the castle, staggering a bit here and there, and rushed to grab Thomas. I wished to speak with the boy and ask what he’d seen on the train, though he seemed intent on evading me at all costs. His avoidance only made his guilt seem more likely.
Wilhelm’s skin appeared a bit… I couldn’t be sure. The olive tone looked as if it had been almost entirely replaced with dark patches. As if fever had brought on deep flushing. I could have sworn it was even worse than in the dining hall. I tried to think of any known infection that would cause two different rashes but failed to recollect even one. It certainly wasn’t scarlet fever—I’d know those symptoms anywhere.
We trailed far enough behind Wilhelm that he either didn’t notice us or assumed we were heading into the village for our own purposes. I wanted to study him, see where he was going first. Then perhaps we’d gain some extra insight. If we assaulted him with questions now, he’d likely change his course. I’d filled Thomas in on my suspicions, and he agreed it was the best action to take.
I kept my attention on the ground, noting the footprints Wilhelm left behind in the newly fallen snow and the even strides he’d made. The staggering seemed to have stopped, though a fresh patch of steaming vomit lay just off the trail. I did not inspect it closely and moved along as fast as I could. Maybe Wilhelm was simply on his way to see someone about a remedy for his ailment. Though why he would travel to the village and not inquire about a doctor in the castle was strange.
I stuck my hands in my pockets and nearly slipped again. I’d forgotten about the parchment with all the fuss in the dining hall. I glanced around, ensuring that Thomas and I were alone on the trail save for Wilhelm, who was too far ahead to pay us any mind. I stopped and dug around my pocket, realizing the paper was no longer there.
“Tell me I didn’t quit my unseemly smoking habit only for you to pick it up.”
“Pardon?” I patted down my skirt pockets, the interior pockets of my winter coat. Nothing. My heart thudded. If I hadn’t shown it to Anastasia and Ileana this morning, I might be worried that I’d simply imagined the drawing. I turned my pockets out—they were empty.
“What are you looking for, Wadsworth?”
“My dragon,” I said, trying to recall if I’d placed it back in my pocket before heading down to the dining hall. “I must have left it in my chambers.”
Thomas stared at me for a moment with the strangest expression. “Where did you find this dragon? I’m sure all manner of scientists will want to speak with you and see the specimen. Small enough to fit in your pocket, too. Quite the discovery.”
“It was a drawing in my train compartment,” I said, letting out a deep sigh. “I found it after the guards came to take the body.”
“Oh. I see.” He suddenly turned and continued on toward the village, leaving me openmouthed in his wake.
I grabbed my skirts, mindful of not exposing any area above my boots, and hurried after him. “What was that about?”
Thomas nodded at the brush and brambles on the edge of the trail. I followed his gaze and noticed what appeared to be fresh paw prints from a large dog in the snow near the edge of the forest. They seemed to be following a trail of Wilhelm’s vomit. I hoped to avoid both contracting whatever it was he was suffering from, and whatever animal was following him. I watched the boy stagger again along the path, nearly cresting the hill. I wanted to run after him and offer an arm—he truly wasn’t looking well.
Thomas trekked through the snow, keeping his attention on our classmate.
“We don’t want to get caught out here once the sun goes down later,” Thomas said. “It’s winter, and food is scarce in the woods. Best not to tempt our fate by risking an encounter with the wolves.”
For once, I was too annoyed to imagine the forest coming alive with beasts. I sped up, my focus set entirely on Thomas as I reached for him. “Are you going to pretend as if I didn’t ask about that dragon?”
He stopped walking and lifted the hat from his head, dusting off a bit of snow that had fallen from branches above us before securing it again. “If you must know, I drew it.”
“Oh.” My shoulders slumped. I should have been happy there was nothing more sinister to the drawing, relieved a murderer hadn’t sneaked into my compartment and left a taunting clue. And yet I couldn’t deny my disappointment. “Why didn’t you simply tell me that sooner?”
“Because I didn’t intend for you to see it,” he said with a sigh. “Seemed rather rude to just blurt out: ‘Apologies. Please don’t ask about the dragon. Very touchy subject matter at the moment.’”
“I was unaware you sketched so well.”
Even as I said it, something nudged the edges of my memory. Thomas hunched over a corpse in Uncle’s laboratory, drawing remarkably accurate ima
ges of each postmortem, hands smudged with both ink and charcoal he didn’t bother cleaning away.
“Yes, well. It’s a family trait.”
“It was… lovely,” I said. “Why a dragon?”
Thomas set his mouth in a grim line. I didn’t expect him to answer, but he took a deep breath and replied softly, “My mother had a painting made of it. I recall staring at it while she lay dying.”
Without uttering another word, he marched off through the snow. So that was it. We’d come much too close to an emotional fence he’d erected long ago. He never spoke of his family, and I longed to know more details of how he’d come to be. I collected myself and hurried after him, noticing with a jolt that Wilhelm was no longer in view. I moved as swiftly as I could, though part of me now worried there was nothing out of the ordinary about Wilhelm’s train journey. It was simply another fantasy conjured up in my cursed imagination.
We were nearly to Braşov, and I was quite sick of sloshing through snow and ice. The hem of my skirts was soaked through and was as stiff as corpse fingers. Wearing close-fitting breeches and my riding habit would have been a better idea. Actually, staying inside the castle and studying the anatomy display cases and taxidermy chambers would have been the smartest idea yet. Not only were we wasting our time following a sick boy, we were miserably cold and wet. I was near convinced I could feel tendrils of my father’s worry over catching an influenza wrap around my sensibilities.
“Ah. There it is.” I caught glimpses of the buildings Thomas pointed out, his smile turning a bit more sincere. Nothing more than flashes of color through the evergreens, but excitement urged my feet to move faster. Then, as we started down another hill, I fully spied the gem that had been hidden between the craggy mountains.
We trudged along the snow-covered path, our attention fixed on the colorful village. Buildings stood crammed together as if they were pretty ladies in waiting, their exteriors painted salmon and butter and the palest ocean blue. There were other buildings, too, made of pale stone with terra-cotta colored roofs.
Hunting Prince Dracula (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 2) Page 7