Their boat, sunken into the shore and tied to a tree, came into view, and the guides began to chat again. No one except Geoffrey could make out what they were saying, and since he didn’t translate, no one assumed they were saying anything important. Tom was pleased to see the boat was large enough for four people to sleep on it if necessary. It was loaded with food and a gamut of supplies for travel and fishing, including oil lamps and cooking tools, small tents that could be pitched right on the boat and bedding for each. It had to have been prepared the night before. Tom guessed Felix had sent word to the village and one of the fishermen happened to spare a boat for them. If he had known, he would have left Felix with some money to compensate the man. Felix may have told him, incorrectly, that the boat would be returning.
“Das Boot ist die Straße hinunter verankert. Ich bin nicht erlaubt, weiter zu gehen. Ich warne Sie. Das Wasser ist auf mondlose Nächte gefährlich. Die Gesichten der Doppelgänger sind nicht Mythos.” The guide who spoke was looking at Tom, who hadn’t been able to understand a word he’d said.
“Oh,” said Geoffrey, stepping in to translate. “He says he must warn us about the river. The people in these parts do not go near the water on moonless nights. They are afraid of doppelgangers.”
“What are they?” asked Molly.
“Doppelgangers are evil duplicates of people. Supernatural mirror images that either wish to fool or harm mortals after leading them to believe they are someone familiar. That, or they attempt to replace their mortal counterparts in this world and may try to kill them …” Geoffrey stopped when he realized everyone had grown silent. Nervously, he fiddled with his spectacles, poking himself in his bandaged eye with the left earpiece. “The lunar cycle is very far from the new moon, though. The guides are unreasonably worried in my opinion.” He smiled in an attempt to overcome the damper he had unintentionally put on everyone’s mood.
“Agreed,” said Tom, coming to his rescue. “After all, we are the supernatural. What have we to fear, yeah?” The flash of confidence in his blue eyes was enough to persuade Molly. Even Leon smiled and nodded.
“Very good.” Geoffrey nodded to the guides, shaking their hands, thanking them for their assistance and telling them to send his and the group’s gratitude to Felix.
“Auf Wiedersehen.” The two Schwarzer Mond bid them goodbye and turned to follow the road back to the village.
Ever since she remembered what being clean felt like, Molly again paid extra attention to every filthy thing that might rub off on her clothes, including the innards of the boat. Tom thought it was charmingly feminine of her, and moved close to offer her a hand. Molly gingerly took a seat on the cleanest spot she could find, holding one end of a rope that was held by Geoffrey at the other end on solid ground. Tom and Leon each planted a shoulder against the bow of the boat and heaved it up out of the muddy bank, pushing until the hull took to the river and floated easily in the shallows. Geoffrey wound the rope into coils, closing the distance between himself and the boat and finally taking the other end from Molly, tossing the coil onto the boat. Taking one hand from Leon and one from Tom, Geoffrey then rested a firm foot against the exterior of the boat and hauled himself over the railing. Tom was the first to find a long wooden pole for steering and headed to the rear of the boat to direct it into the middle of the river. There the current swept up from beneath and powered the four onward, their vessel needing only casual attention and periodic course correction.
Commanding the little river boat came nowhere close to the challenge of a full-scale seafaring ship, but Tom felt closer to home on the Danube than he did in the mountains and behind the walls of Hainburg Castle. Something about a breeze that carried the smell of water relaxed him. To feel the sun on his head again and to see a blue sky completed the triad of familiarity, and for the remainder of the day Tom entertained everyone with a slew of folktales, beginning with the stories of Balaur, an evil, many-headed dragon. Afterward he delved into the stories of spirits and shapeshifting creatures that lurked in the mountains, rivers and dark forests of Romania, some good and some evil. Molly listened with rapt attention for most of the day, unable to remember the last time Tom had been in a storytelling mood. It was rarer and rarer that his mind was free enough to bother talking of anything other than his curse … or the dreigher. Each time he finished a tale, Molly would ask for more detail until Tom knew nothing more of the story to tell her. Then she would prompt another story by asking if the Greeks had any myths similar to the one he had just finished reciting, and he almost always knew some. Geoffrey took elaborate notes on every folktale and myth, scribbling away tirelessly and extracting little bits that were relevant to his work or personal curiosities. Leon was rather distant, occupied by his thoughts, but every now and again he would pick up a fishing pole and try his luck.
“I think I should mention,” said Leon when Tom paused, “there are a handful of cults in the East. It is unlikely we will encounter them if we stay true to our route, but these cults are very old and very unwelcoming to outside immortals.”
“You mean the Transylvanian cults?” Geoffrey looked up from his writings and winced as his spectacles scratched the bandaged half of his face.
“Yes, particularly the branches related to the House of Draculeşti.” Leon sounded serious. “Again, we need not worry unless we change our route. I want to make sure I’m not the only one aware of potential pitfalls, should we go roaming through highly guarded cult territories.”
“I had almost forgotten,” admitted Geoffrey. “It is good that you reminded me or else we may have made that mistake. I was considering faster routes, but yes, now that you mention it, I advise we do not deviate from the way Felix suggested.” Geoffrey turned to emphasize the point to Tom, looking at him directly. Tom took the advice to heart, not wishing to complicate the trip any more than necessary. It was reassuring to know Leon was acting and thinking in the group’s best interest, and so he thanked Leon for volunteering the information.
****
By nightfall a fascinating spectacle was beginning to take place on the banks of the Danube. Luminous figures and otherworldly essences drifted along the water’s edge, up the banks and along the branches of the trees. A great multitude of spirits were roused by the presence of the boat and, surely, more so because of the presence of magical items that Tom and Molly were carrying, in addition to the great reservoir of supernatural power continually flowing from Molly herself. The four watched as the things of the night followed them along the banks, never daring to cross the water. Tom began to identify each of the spirits, naming them according to what Romanians called them. One of them, a soft white ghost of a woman, walked gracefully along the river’s edge, her feet moving slowly and gliding above the muddy ground. Her mouth opened to speak several times but no sound came from her lips. She would also reach out, her eyes on Molly.
“Do not speak to her,” Tom warned Molly gently, giving the steering pole a push. “Anything you say is an invitation for her to cross the water, which, at the moment, she is unable to do.”
“What does she want?” asked Molly, turning her head but keeping her eyes on the ghost. “She looks so sad.”
“I am guessing the magical forces on the boat, especially the one coming from within you, are drawing her and the others. Spirits like these want nothing more than to be alive again. They need life energy and magical energy to take even a weak form as a ghost.” Using the pole, he nudged the boat closer to the middle of the river and away from the far bank.
“They steal energy from living things,” Molly said, already having figured out the puzzle for herself. Leon made a small sigh of discomfort, and his head drooped. No one noticed.
“Yes,” Tom said, eyes narrowing and grinning darkly at the spirits. Laying down the pole, he rolled back his sleeves and took a jade from a pouch on his belt. “Viridi ignis,” he said, calling forth a stream of green fire from his palm. “Ignis circuli.” The fire leapt from his hand and crawled around the boat in a
circle, forming a ring that hovered above the water’s surface and followed them as Tom put away the jade and took up his steering pole again.
The spirits on the banks retreated in alarm as the light of the fiery ring washed up against the shore and drove back the shadows. The white ghost watching Molly reeled back in anger, suddenly darkening to a shade of violet. Her eyes blackened and her mouth opened in a silent scream of rage. Molly gasped and leaned away from the railing, as did Geoffrey.
“Just as I suspected,” said Tom, smiling. “She is a fantomă rău. A dark spirit.”
More of the spirits changed color, and several of them revealed themselves to be the same malevolent creatures as the ghostly woman. Geoffrey nervously sketched them into his notes, fighting with his spectacles, which threatened to slip off his nose each time he looked down.
For most of the night, the spirits of the forest followed the boat as it crept east, Molly, Thomas and Geoffrey watching them closely every minute of every hour. After midnight, Tom asked that Leon take the punt pole while he helped Molly set up her bedding in one of their tents. Geoffrey set up one of his own, excusing himself so he could sleep as well. Tom sat with Molly for an hour or so as she tried to sleep. She said little, but her happy face told him she was glad to be with him again. He felt as though, if they had been alone, they would have talked for the rest of the night, but Leon would be wide awake until the sun rose, and his presence kept them from catching up on their feelings for one another. When Molly’s eyes closed, Tom left her tent and sat outside in the cooler air while Leon steered the boat, eyes sweeping the riverbanks.
“In the time you spent in Paris, did you ever hear of the Eight?” Tom asked Leon, lighting the night lamps and hanging them along the railing hooks.
“You must share my suspicion,” Leon replied, giving the pole a push and tossing the brown waves of hair from his face. “One of the Eight must be close to the Parisian cults.”
“Who?” Tom put on a heavy coat and rested his elbows on his knees, little shadows cast by the lamps bouncing on his face and lighting his wolf eyes.
“I don’t know.” Leon shook his head in regret and straightened his shoulders, standing in a strict, proper fashion. “The more I hear of the Eight, the more I believe they had a hand in my father’s assassination. There are too many sycophantic and self-interested vampires in the Society and the Red Legion to sort through. The Eight could easily have had one of their own in Paris since my childhood and I wouldn’t have known. I do have theories.” Leon was angry, but his tone did not overemphasize the sour notes. “It may not have meant anything to you, but Don Violanti Pagani has been visiting London more in the past decade than he has in previous centuries. The Black Coat Society in London invites him to more formal affairs than they invite their superiors in Paris.”
“I don’t understand,” said Tom, brow furrowing. “Historically, the Red Legion and Black Coat Society have competed for London.”
“We don’t understand it either,” said Leon. “I’ve been very vocal about the matter for years, and as painfully obvious as Don Violanti is, trying to win over and absorb the London Society, I can convince no one in Paris that an intervention is necessary.” He paused, anger drawing the clover on his cheek up to his eye. Stamping his foot, Leon let a great burst of anger from his lungs. His fangs flared and a sharp hiss followed it. Shaking his head, he composed himself. “There is one vampire in the London Society who has my trust. Sylvia LeRouge left Paris to represent us in London a very long time ago, when my father was alive. She has been my father’s arm in London, and if the Red Legion has been plotting against us, she will know. I hope we return to London soon so I may find out.”
“Will the London Society have heard of your disappearance? They will want to know where you have been.” Tom said thoughtfully.
“The Paris Society does not care that I am gone.” They didn’t the last time, either, he thought. “They will presume I am dead or missing, and the longer it takes for the London Society to find out, the more time they have to replace me and upset my family’s reign forever.” The clover climbed back down his cheek, and the music in his voice was sad. “If I am to overturn their plans, I must work through my friends in the London Society.” The shame that had followed him since his youth was alive and well. He had fought his father about initiation, telling him it was unfair to ask him to choose to be human or vampire. Leon was Arnaud’s only son, and his initiation was a one-way road. As a vampire, he had been expected to succeed Arnaud—a responsibility he did not care for as a younger man, and as a human.
“London is home, so that’s our destination after Wallachia,” Tom assured Leon. “Granted I live that long,” he added with a smirk. Leon smiled, his fangs drawing back up behind his lips.
Tom slept for only an hour or two that night, but in his dreams he once again found himself roaming in darkness. Snowflakes floated down from the sky all around him. He walked on and on through the dark, it seemed, and could not decide what place he had come to when he stopped. Suddenly his home in London appeared before him. He stood in the little garden outside, in front of the small tree that grew in the middle of it. All around the base of the trunk, moonbloom covered the ground. A snowflake touched his face, and he realized that white petals were falling now. He reached to brush it away and saw on his right hand an old ring he had not worn since he was younger. Made of an alloy of common metals, the band was disguised to look like the many arms of an octopus, which sat atop the finger and nestled a perfect pearl between its eyes, in the bulge of its head. Tom’s father had made it for him. It was a memory ring. When activated, it vividly awoke the wearer’s memories of choice. It was not good for much else. Tom had stopped wearing it when he stopped believing his father was alive.
Home disappeared. Tom’s feet were wet and cold, ankle-deep in the shallow water at the edge of a river, looking over his shoulder for whatever was following him. The figure of the dreigher, tall and thin, stood at the edge of the woods, partially hidden in the trees. Its shadowy arms curled around their trunks, and its oblong, silhouette of a head, like the bulb on a matchstick, craned to look at him from the dark. Its distinct howl came from the woods and found Tom at the river.
Tom felt the need to escape, but he did not trust the murky river. When he took a step forward, several ripples ran across the unmoving surface and out of sight. The opposite bank was obscured in the dark. The river looked like an ocean. The dreigher’s howl was closer. Feeling it standing behind him, Tom panicked and ran forward into the river. In an instant, the water exploded to life as hundreds of dark hands burst from it and clawed at him as he stumbled and fell forward. The last thing he saw as his face slapped the cold water was the face of the demon, its eyes wide and mouth gaping.
With a violent jolt, Tom sat upright. Leon, at the steering pole, was staring off at something in the distance. It took Tom a moment to realize he had been dreaming and was still safely inside the boat.
“Bad dreams? I have them too. That’s why I stopped looking directly at her,” Leon said blandly.
“Who?” Tom scratched his head and rubbed his eyes.
“Corvessa.” Leon grinned, and they both burst into wild laughter.
Seventeen and a half days of slow current put the little boat just a few miles outside of Bucharest on the banks of the Argeş, where Felix had said it would. By that time, everyone was ready to leave the water, and Molly, most of all, was eager for another side trip away from the wilderness. She was first off the boat as soon as it struck mud on the bank, followed by Tom and Leon, a taut rope over each of their shoulders as they hauled the boat onto land. Geoffrey threw everyone their things and then attempted to vault over the railing. One of his feet caught the edge, and he fell face-first into the shallows. Tom helped him find his spectacles before the four headed out to find a road into the nearby city.
Winter hadn’t yet fallen on Bucharest, but the telling signs had. The chilly hike to the nearest road left an impression—at
least on Geoffrey and Molly—they would not forget. Leon’s pale complexion and cool demeanor matched the scenery and climate quite well, and Tom walked with almost more energy than usual, a steady outpouring of steam wafting upward from his shoulders and head. Geoffrey made no complaints, although his clothes were damp and sticking to his chest in some places. Molly, on the other hand, sighed or groaned each time a bend in the road did not reveal the tops of buildings in the distance. After several such disappointments, she caught up to Tom and kept as close to him as possible. Geoffrey imitated her, and Leon looked at him strangely when he did. Seeing the look, Geoffrey put a few more steps between himself and Tom, acting as though he didn’t know what Leon thought was so awkward.
Sights and smells of the Old World met them in Bucharest. The centuries-old city smelled of burning wood and hot food. Some of the buildings by the city’s edge still showed scars from the beginning of the new Austrian occupation. In this reprieve from winter’s bite, the sights and sounds reminded Molly much of Vienna, although Bucharest was rougher around the edges and not as modern. How she wanted another hot bath! Tom smiled at every passing thing as one does when coming home after many years. Noticing his behavior, Molly wondered if he had been to Bucharest before and if so, how long ago it had been. It made her curious about his childhood before the curse.
Geoffrey slapped his hands against his thighs and fought with his spectacles, shoulders pulled up high with impatience. For once he could not have cared less about culture and history, and he would have run into the nearest place of lodging if not for the others. His fidgeting amplified Leon’s discomfort. A great number of vampires were out in the streets, mixed with mortals, and detecting who belonged to what cult couldn’t have been trickier. Several werewolves drifted among them, and Leon kept waiting for Geoffrey to recognize them and perhaps offer an insight or two as to whether the local immortals were on good terms with one another. Geoffrey never said a word, his value as a lookout decreasing due to his concern for finding a fire. His wishes were answered when Tom chose a place to stay overnight. While Tom and Molly sat down to eat, Geoffrey sought a room in which to change.
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