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A smile curved his lips in a most delightful manner. “I’ve already fallen hard, Wadsworth. Perhaps you should have warned me sooner.”
Devilish flirt. I turned my focus to the tree and scanned the route I’d take. Without dwelling on what I was about to touch, I hoisted myself up, placing one hand after the other, thinking only of the task. The cut on my calf stretched uncomfortably and the warmth of fresh blood trickled down my limb, but I ignored the discomfort in favor of moving quickly.
I refused to glance down. With each new limb I climbed up, the parchment grew closer. I was halfway to the top when a clavicle snapped beneath my feet. I hung, suspended in the air, swinging from side to side as if I were a living pendulum.
“You’ve got it, Wadsworth!” My fingers shook with the effort of maintaining my grip. “And if you don’t… I’ve got you. I believe.”
“Not comforting, Cresswell!”
Using the momentum of my body to my advantage, I swung over to a sturdy-looking rib cage and shifted my weight. My muscles quaked with both surging adrenaline and pride. I’d done it! I mastered my emotions and… The bone at my fingertips creaked in warning. Celebrating victories could wait. I moved steadily but cautiously, climbing with slow precision.
Testing and moving. Testing and moving.
Once at the top, I paused to catch my breath and glanced down at Thomas, immediately regretting the action. He appeared much smaller from this vantage point. I was at least twenty feet from the ground, and the fall wouldn’t be pleasant.
Not wanting to picture all the vivid ways in which I could become part of the artwork of skeletons myself, I inched my way up the last few bones and reached the parchment. I extracted it from the skull it had been fastened to. Someone had used a dagger—whose hilt was encrusted in gold and emeralds—to stab the parchment through the eye socket of the deceased.
“It says ‘XXIII,’” I whisper-shouted down, mindful of not swinging around and losing my footing. The last thing I wanted to do was impale myself while hunting down the murderer known for using the same deadly method.
Thomas found the correct poem and read it aloud. I cri
nged at how strong and powerful his voice was in this morbid space.
XXIII
WHITE, RED, EVIL, GREEN. WHAT HAUNTS THESE WOODS STAYS UNSEEN.
DRAGONS ROAM AND TAKE TO AIR. CUT DOWN THOSE WHO NEAR HIS LAIR.
EAT YOUR MEAT AND DRINK YOUR BLOOD. LEAVE REMAINS IN THE TUB.
BONE WHITE, BLOOD RED. ALONG THIS PATH, YOU’LL SOON BE DEAD.
“Oh, goodness,” I muttered. That poem… it was one that Radu had read to us in class. The meeting place of the Order. And the place where it sacrificed people to Prince Dracula.
We needed to get out of this crypt at once. I knew, deep within my bones, that we were about to encounter something more horrendous than we could fathom. Another sheet of parchment caught my attention as I began my descent. I carefully moved toward it, then read it aloud for Thomas: “Fa o plecaciune în fata contesei.”
Bow to the countess.
“What was that?” he called.
“One moment.” An illustration accompanied the sentence. I blinked, reading it over again. I certainly hoped this was a remnant from the Crusades, though the slick sensation in my innards told me otherwise.
We were wrong again about the Order of the Dragon’s involvement. This appeared to be the work of Prince Nicolae Aldea.
And the countess in this drawing was entirely covered in blood.
CRYPT
CRIPTA
BRAN CASTLE
22 DECEMBER 1888
I tucked the second clue into my underclothes and climbed down as quickly as I dared. I didn’t want to shout for fear of calling even more attention to ourselves.
Dread made my hands tremble as I reached for a femur and missed. I concentrated on my breaths. I would treat this as if it were a body in need of study—precision was key. I swung over to the next bone, fingers sliding off its smooth surface. If I didn’t collect myself and make it back down to Thomas… I didn’t want to consider what might happen. Prince Nicolae was close; I sensed his presence as each cell of my being warned me to flee.
