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All I wanted was to skip ahead to the laboratory study next period. There was a cadaver waiting to be explored, and I couldn’t wait to put my new scalpels to use. Only two weeks had passed since my last postmortem with Uncle, yet it felt like two decades.
I needed to see if I could put my difficulties aside and study the dead as I used to. Or if the way I’d been forgetful and terrified of previous hauntings would plague me forever. I was not as anxiou
s to attend Moldoveanu’s lesson, though anatomy was a subject I excelled in.
Thomas shifted his long legs under his writing desk, drawing my attention. He tapped his inkwell so hard with the end of his quill I feared the ink would spill all over his parchment. Another quick rap had the bottle teetering precariously until he seized it and started tapping again. He’d been rather distant since he’d run off to speak with Radu before class, leaving both Anastasia and me puzzled at his swift departure as we exited the dining hall.
“Have any of you heard rumors of Vlad Tepes living in these woods?” Professor Radu asked the class of half-sleeping pupils. I exhaled. Honestly, I was surprised anyone would truly believe such nonsense. Anastasia shot me a knowing grin from the seat beside me. At least I wasn’t the only one in the classroom who thought this to be utter rubbish.
Thomas rolled his neck, dragging my focus to him once again. He was uncharacteristically subdued. We’d shared Uncle’s class at the start of the Ripper murders, and no one could keep him quiet then. Normally his hand shot into the air so often I had the urge to shoo him from the classroom. I wondered if he was feeling ill.
I tried catching his eye, but he pretended not to notice. I tapped my quill against my inkwell, eyes narrowed. The day Thomas Cresswell failed to take note of anything, most especially my attention, was a troublesome day indeed. Unease slipped into my thoughts.
“No one’s heard these rumors?” Radu tripped up one aisle and down the next, head swooping from side to side. “I find that rather hard to believe. Come, now. Don’t be shy. We’re here to learn!”
Andrei yawned obnoxiously in the front row, and the professor practically deflated before our eyes. If I hadn’t been so horribly bored myself, I would have felt sorry for the older man. It had to be difficult teaching fiction and myth to a class more interested in science and fact.
“All right, then. I shall tell you a story almost too fantastical to believe.”
Nicolae shifted in his seat. I could tell he was trying not to be too obvious about watching me, but he was failing considerably at his task. Wilhelm, as unfortunate as his death was, had likely died from a rare medical condition. Not murder. Certainly not mystical powers working to assassinate him on my behalf. I hoped the prince wouldn’t spread rumors of my supposed curse; I had quite enough obstacles of my own to overcome.
“Villagers believe the bones found in the woods outside the castle are the remains of Vlad’s victims. There are those who’ve claimed his grave is empty. And there are others who say it’s been filled with animal skeletons. The royal family refuses to allow anyone to exhume the body or casket to be sure. Some say this is because they know precisely what will be found. Or rather—what won’t be found. There are those who believe Vlad rose from the dead, his thirst for blood defying Death itself. Others claim it’s simply blasphemous to desecrate the resting place of such an important man.”
Professor Radu went on about the legend of the alleged immortal prince. How he’d made a deal with the Devil and, in exchange for eternal life, needed to steal the blood of the living and drink it fresh. It sounded like the gothic novel by John William Polidori, The Vampyre.
“Voievod Tragator în Teapa, or, roughly translated to, the Impaler Lord, was thought to drink from the necks of his still-living victims. It was meant to inspire fear in those who sought to invade our country. But history says his preferred method was dipping bread into the blood of his enemies and ingesting it in that more… civilized manner.”
“Oh, yes,” I whispered to Thomas. “Dining on blood is more civil when one dunks their bread in it as if it were a hearty winter stew.”
“As opposed to calling it a precursor to cannibalism. First one drinks blood, then they move on to sautéing up some organ meat,” Thomas mumbled back. “Next comes the blood gravy.”
“Scientifically improbable,” Anastasia whispered.
“What’s improbable? Blood gravy?” Thomas asked. “Not so. It’s one of my favorites.”
Anastasia seemed momentarily stunned before shaking her head. “Ingesting blood the way Radu’s implying would lead to too much iron in one’s system. I wonder if he bathed in it instead. That would be more logical.”
“What sort of journals do you read?” I said quietly, flashing Anastasia a curious look.
She grinned. “There’s a limited number of novels in this castle. I make do.”
“Unfortunate for dear old Vlad,” Thomas said in a loud whisper. “His flatulence must have been legendary.”
I hid my smile behind my quill as the professor nearly tripped over his shoes again. Poor thing. His eyes lit up as if he’d been offered a shiny Thomas-shaped gift from God above. Too bad Thomas wasn’t commenting pleasantly on the subject. There was only so much fantasy that he could withstand. If anything, I was impressed it had taken this long for him to speak up. At least Nicolae seemed to be slightly amused. It was far better than that awful glazed-over expression he’d worn since his cousin’s death.
“Did someone say something?” Radu asked, caterpillar brows waggling skyward.
Thomas drummed his hands over his journal, pinching his lips as if he could keep his comments from spewing out. I sat straighter; things appeared to be getting interesting. Thomas was a geyser ready to burst.
“We were speaking of flatulence.”
I snorted in the most unladylike manner, then coughed the giggle away when Radu turned on me, eyes blinking expectantly. “Scuzele mele,” I said. “So sorry, sir. We were saying perhaps Dracula bathed in the blood.”
“I believe you’re confusing Vlad Dracula with the Countess Elizabeth Báthory,” Radu said. “She is sometimes called Countess Dracula and was said to bathe in the blood of servants she killed. Nearly seven hundred of them, if reports are accurate. Very, very messy business! Another good lesson, though.”
“Sir?” The boy with red curls spoke with an Irish brogue. “Do you believe historical accounts of Vlad drinking blood have been confused with folklore?”
“Hmm? Ah, I nearly forgot!” Professor Radu paused beside Thomas’s desk, chest puffed up with pride as he faced Nicolae. “We have an actual Tepes family member in our midst. Perhaps he may shed some light on these legends. Did the infamous Impaler Lord drink blood? Or has that myth sprung from the fanciful minds of peasants who were in need of a hero more fearsome than the invading Ottomans?”
