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A scream rent the air, chilling my bones to their very marrow.
Forgetting about good form, Thomas reached for me across the compartment, and Mrs. Harvey finally stirred. As Thomas gripped my hands in his, I knew this was no figment of my imagination. Something very dark and very real was on this train with us.
ORIENT EXPRESS
KINGDOM OF ROMANIA
1 DECEMBER 1888
I jumped to my feet, scanning the area outside the train, and Thomas did the same. Sunlight tarnished the brassy world in sinister shades of gray, green, and black as the sun rose past the horizon.
“Stay here with Mrs. Harvey,” Thomas said. My attention snapped to him. If he thought I was going to simply sit back while he investigated, he was obviously more unhinged than I was becoming.
“Since when do you believe me incapable?” I reached past him, tugging the compartment door with all my might. Blasted thing wouldn’t budge. I kicked my traveling slippers off and braced myself, intent on ripping it from its hinges if necessary. I would not stay trapped in this beautiful cage a minute longer, no matter what was waiting to greet us.
I tried again, but the door refused to open. It was like everything in life; the more one struggled against it, the harder it became. The air suddenly felt too heavy to breathe. I pulled harder, my too-smooth fingers slipping over the even smoother gold plating. My breath hitched in my chest, getting caught in the stiff boning of my corset.
I had the wild urge to rip my underthings off, consequences of polite society be damned. I needed out. Straightaway. Thomas was beside me in an instant.
“I do not… think… you… incapable,” he said, trying to wrench the door open with me, his leather gloves affording him a bit more control over the smooth plating. “For once, I’d like to be the hero. Or at least pretend to be. You’re… always… saving… me. One more tug on the count of three, all right? One, two, three.”
Together we finally heaved it open, and I thrust myself into the hallway, not caring what I looked like as a crowd of passengers stared, and slowly backed away from me. I must have appeared worse than I imagined, but I couldn’t worry about that yet. Breathing was much more important. Hopefully no one from London society was traveling in this car and would recognize me. I bent over, wishing I’d gone with a corset-free gown, as I dragged in uncooperative breaths. Whispers in Romanian reached my ears: “Teapa.”
“Tepes.”
I drew in another quick breath and stood taller, immediately recoiling when I spied the very thing the passengers were transfixed by, their faces drained of color.
There, between the narrow corridor and our door, a body lay slumped over. I’d have thought the man was intoxicated if it weren’t for the blood leaking from a large chest wound, staining the Persian rug.
The stake protruding from his heart was a glaring indication of murder.
“Saints above,” someone uttered, turning away. “It’s the Impaler. The story is true!”
“Voivode of Wallachia.”
“The Prince of Darkness.”
A fist clenched around the area near my heart. Voivode of Wallachia… Prince of Wallachia. The title rolled inside my mind until it landed on history lessons and staked itself to the area where fear lived. Vlad Tepes. Vlad the Impaler.
Some called him Dracula. Son of the Dragon.
So many names for the medieval prince who’d slaughtered more men, women, and children than I dared to think of. His method of killing was how he received the surname Tepes. Impaler.
Outside the Kingdom of Romania, his family were rumored to be devilish creatures, immortal and bloodthirsty. But from what little I’d learned, the people of Romania felt very differently. Vlad was a folk hero who’d fought for his countrymen, using any means necessary to defeat his enemies. Something other countries and their beloved kings and queens did as well. Monsters were in the eye of the beholder. And no one wanted to discover their hero was the true villain of the story.
“It’s the Immortal Prince!”
“Vlad Tepes lives.”
has the immortal prince returned? The newspaper headline flashed across my mind. This truly couldn’t be happening again. I wasn’t ready to be standing over the body of another murder victim so soon after the Ripper case. Examining a cadaver in the laboratory was different. Sterile. Less emotional. Seeing the crime where it occurred made it too human. Too real. Once it was something I’d longed for. Now it was something I wished to forget.
“This is a nightmare. Tell me this is a horrid dream, Cresswell.”
For a brief moment, Thomas appeared as if he longed to take me into his arms and soothe each of my worries. Then that cool determination set in like a blizzard descending the mountains.
“You’ve stared Fear in its nasty face and made it tremble. You will make it through this, Wadsworth. We will make it through this. That is a fact more tangible than any dream or nightmare. I promised I’d never lie to you. I intend to honor my word.”
I couldn’t tear my gaze from the growing bloodstain.
