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The Kingdom of Romania is truly enchanting. One of my first thoughts upon seeing Bran Castle and its spires was of those children’s stories you and Mother would read to us before bed. The tiles on the towers are cut in a way that reminds me of dragon scales. I half expect a knight to come riding in on his steed at any moment. (Though we both know I’d likely borrow his horse on my own to seek out a dragon to slay. If he’s truly a knight and a gentlema
n, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.)
The Carpathian Mountains are some of the grandest in all the world, at least what I’ve seen of them. I cannot wait to admire this land during the spring. I imagine the ice-capped mountains must burst with greenery. I believe you would enjoy taking a holiday here.
They have these divine meat pastries—filled with savory mushrooms and all manner of wonderful juices and spices. I have eaten them nearly every day so far! In fact, my stomach is grumbling at the mere mention of them. I must bring some back when I visit.
I hope you’re doing well in London. I miss you terribly and have a photograph of you I often say good night to. Before you inquire, I will say that Mr. Cresswell has been a most perfect gentleman. He has taken his duty seriously and is quite the troublesome chaperone. You would be proud.
His sister, Miss Daciana Cresswell, has invited us to a Christmas ball in Bucharest. If the weather permits, it shall be a lovely time. I do wish I could come home for the new year and visit. Please give my love to Aunt Amelia and Liza. And do take care of them and yourself.
I shall write again soon. I am learning much here at the academy and cannot thank you enough for allowing me to study abroad.
Your loving daughter,
Audrey Rose
P.S. How is Uncle faring? I do hope you’ve continued to see him and invite him over for supper. It may be forward of me to say, but I daresay you need each other, especially during this trying season. Merry Christmas, Father. And many happy tidings for the new year. 1889! I cannot believe it’s almost upon us. There is something fresh and wonderful about the start of a whole new year. I hope it ushers in the promise of new beginnings for us all. It shall
Thump. Thump.
Ink splattered across the last words on the page, my careful script ruined. I shoved away from the desk so quickly my chair knocked over. Something was on the roof. Even though I knew it was madness, I imagined a humanlike creature, just risen from the grave, the scent of freshly turned earth enveloping my senses, as its fangs shot out, ready to drain my body of blood.
I sucked in a quick breath and darted over to my trunk of postmortem supplies, snatching up the largest bone saw I could find and holding it before me. What in the name of the queen—
Scraaaaaaaaatch. It sounded as if that same something were clawing its way down the red-tiled roof. Again, an image of a strigoi assaulted my sensibilities. A humanoid creature with dead, gray flesh and black claws dripping the blood of its last meal, scraping its way to my chambers to gorge once more. Part of me wanted to dash into the corridor and scream for the guards.
Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart pounded double its normal beat. It was the sound of heavy treading. Whatever or whoever was on the roof was wearing thick-soled boots. Images of vampires and werewolves gave way to the more disturbing thoughts of depraved humans. Ones who had successfully murdered at least five victims.
I backed toward my nightstand, never taking my gaze from the window, and lowered my saw to turn the dial on my oil lamp. Darkness fell, hopefully rendering me invisible to whoever was still slowly crawling down the roof.
I waited, breath caught in terror’s grasp, and watched. At first all I saw were heavier drifts of snow falling past my window. The sounds of scraping and the heavy tread were replaced by a sort of slipping noise.
Then it happened at once.
A shadow blacker than coal eclipsed the snowy world outside. It shook my windowsill with tremendous force, the tiny latch barely staying in place. Fear paralyzed my limbs. Whoever was out there was seconds away from either shattering the glass or the flimsy latch.
I hefted the saw and took a small step forward. Then another. The reverberations of the assault on the windowpane amplified my racing pulse. I came ever closer to the window, hearing the phantom picking and prodding and—cursing.
A gloved hand pounded against the pane. I tossed the saw and moved swiftly, unlatching the window, and grabbed him as if both of our lives depended on it.
TOWER CHAMBERS
CAMERE DIN TURN
BRAN CASTLE
17 DECEMBER 1888
“Have you completely lost your senses?”
Thomas’s long legs wildly kicked for the edge of the roof while I gripped his overcoat with more strength than I knew I possessed. “Stop thrashing about, you’re going to lose your grip and take me with you.”
He huffed a laugh. “What, exactly, do you suggest, Wadsworth?”
“Pull yourself forward while I tug.”
“How… silly… of… me to panic. While dangling… inches away… from certain death.”
