“I do not want to know!” Alyssa exclaimed, then continued in an altered tone. “Yet, Alan, somehow I think she did something very important. Very . . . special. I just do not feel right keeping her mother’s letters from her any longer.”
I nearly dropped to the floor as my legs went suddenly and completely nerveless. The words shook through me, turning into quicksilver in my veins. Letters. From my mother?
My hands fisted at my side. I was overwhelmed by two thoughts. The first was that my mother had written to me! She had not forgotten me, after all.
The second was that they’d kept them from me—Judith and Alyssa. Judith I could not blame, for she was a small-hearted woman, consumed with jealousy and rivalry. She knew my father would never love another as he had my mother. That she could hurt me—Laura’s child—like this I could well believe.
But Alyssa . . . Even now, I made an excuse, thinking that perhaps she could not help the heavy influence of her mother. But no—Judith was long dead, and I had been a faithful sister. Her conscience on this matter should have prodded her long before now.
I had to find a way to get the letters. I knew it would not do to stalk into the room and demand them. Therefore, I plastered a false smile in place as I entered. Nothing in my manner betrayed me; at least, I thought not.
I began the search for Laura’s letters that afternoon.
V
alerian returned on Twelfth Night, and brought a surprise with him—Peter Ivanescu, my beloved Uncle Peter.
“I do love surprising you,” Uncle Peter said happily as I rushed to embrace him. The foreign cadence of his words was like falling down a well to my youth. He had been a frequent visitor here at Castleton as one of my father’s closest friends, and I had been hopelessly infatuated with him. Just his presence still brought a rush of warmth, of comfort and happiness.
“I received your letter, my dear,” he intoned seriously. “I only just returned to England. I had gotten back but two days when Mr. Fox called upon me.” He tsked. “There is still unrest in the Baltic, you know. It has kept me quite occupied, and I am sorry to say I have not been able to make much advance in what we discussed before.”
He had vowed to help me find my mother. Now that his suspicions were confirmed—for he had long suspected she had become a vampire—he was committed to my quest of learning what had become of her, for he cared deeply about her fate, almost as much as I did.
“You are good to make a journey so soon after getting home,” I told him.
“As a matter of fact, I am off again back to Latvia in less than a fortnight on another diplomatic mission.”
I turned to Valerian and offered an uncharacteristically shy hello. He smiled, and I could see he was amused. I sensed it was because he knew well my awkwardness.
Naturally, Alyssa assumed Uncle Peter had come to pay homage to her son, and my very clever friend did not disabuse her of this notion. Thus we spent an agreeable afternoon and evening. But when it was time to retire, Uncle Peter cast me a meaningful look, and I nodded.
I returned to the parlor after the midnight bells had tolled through the house, and found him waiting for me, seated in a large leather chair with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He raised his glass as I joined him. “Your father always stocked the best. It is comforting to be here again at Castleton.” His large eyebrows dipped. “But it makes me realize how much I miss him.”
“You were more brothers than friends,” I said. “I know he thought so.”
He nodded, smiling warmly at me. “Mr. Fox is waiting to join us, but I wished to talk alone with you first. Your letter disturbed me, Emma, on two accounts. The more important is this foolishness concerning the Dracula. This we will wait to speak of with Mr. Fox. But first, I was terribly disturbed to hear you were investigating your mother’s past. I promised you I would dedicate myself to finding her. My services have been needed over the Russian matter, but I am still determined to help. Have you found anything yet?”
“No. But I have many theories, although none of them very substantial. Did she ever mention the name ‘Ruthven’ to you?”
He rolled the name on his tongue as he frowned in thought. “No, child. That name is not familiar to me.”
“What of the Cyprian Queen, did she ever speak of this during her madness? Or of Aphrodite, Venus, anything such as this?”
He seemed surprised. “Indeed, I do not recollect anything of this nature, and I have been laboring since we parted to remember as much as possible about Laura. Alas, those days are long gone and filled with regret. It is hard to look back.” He sighed. “I should have saved her.”
“We can save her now,” I told him.
His eyes softened and he smiled. “There. That spirit always surprises me, coming from one so young. Stephen would have taken such pride in your strength. You are a great credit to my dear friend.”
I lowered my eyes, emotion choking off any kind of reply. The idea of my father taking pride in me nearly overwhelmed me. I cleared my throat with difficulty, then said, “I share all information with Mr. Fox. It is not necessary for us to speak privately, even about this.”
He nodded. “I am glad you have such a confidant as him. He impressed me much on our journey.”
Valerian was waiting in the billiard room. He abandoned his game and followed me back into the drawing room. “I am eager to hear what you have to tell us. You know of the Dracula?” He waved off Uncle Peter’s offer of whiskey as he sat.
“Where I am from, all know of the Dragon Prince.”
“That is what Serena Black told me,” I interjected. “She was raised in Eastern Europe. She told me no one dares speak openly of him.”
“Indeed, there is great danger in doing so. Information about the Dragon Prince is tightly controlled. But I do know some things about him. I grew up not far from where he is rumored to have lived when alive, for as is true of all vampires, the Dragon Prince was once a man. But this vampire was not just any man. He was a prince of Wallachia, Prince Vlad—known to many by the appellation of Vlad the Impaler.”
At the grotesque name, I swallowed with difficulty.
Uncle Peter continued, “Prince Vlad was a knight of the great Order of the Dragon, as his father had been. This was a holy society committed to defending Christiandom from invading Turks. Thus, his father was known as Vlad Dracule—the Dragon—and he came to power as the Dracula. Son of the Dragon.”
“He was a holy man?” I said with a gasp. This seemed incredible.
“Indeed, he was a hero of his time. He was especially beloved, for he had achieved the throne by showing great prowess and cunning. The old prince pitted his sons in mortal combat against each other, for he wished to see which was the most worthy, the fiercest, the most ruthless, and thus the most fitting ruler of the princedom. The others had no chance, for in all of these things, the young Vlad was unsurpassed. He inflicted the most barbaric of torments on his adversaries, his brothers among them. But he ruled his country well and protected it from the Muslim hordes seeking to invade.”
Peter’s smile was humorless as he paused to give weight to his words. “He was feared by his own people, as well as his enemies. His cruelty, his bloodlust, his absolute absence of mercy or human pity knew no boundaries, nor loyalties. Thus, he was transformed by his wickedness into the undead.”
“Is that simply legend or do you have proof ?”
“What proof can there be? I tell you, I am convinced, as are legions of others, that despite his heroic defense of the Church in life, he searched and found the means for immortality. And so now he rules in secret from the shadows of mystery and fear. It is not wise to speak of him. Many who are familiar with the revenant world know of at least one instance when a loose tongue on the subject of the Dracula cost the speaker his life. And in a most . . .” His features blanched. “It is a horrible punishment.”
I shivered. “Serena said as much,” I said soberly as I recalled my friend’s words. “He makes you over, and sends you back to kill all those you loved.”
Uncle Peter nodded.
Valerian leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees. His eyebrows knit together in concentration. “I have traveled far and wide in this world, to many exotic lands. I have been hunting for a long time, and I have only heard the Dracula spoken of in the vaguest of terms. That was why, when I saw his mark in Avebury, I was not certain what it meant.”
Uncle Peter touched a hand thoughtfully to his lips. “Of course, the legends of the Dracula have not been fully suppressed, at least not among those who know and see his power. That is why, in my country, we know of him.” He laughed. “When I was a boy, we would dare each other to whisper of the Dragon Prince, the Dracula, as a test of manhood. You know how it is among youthful men; foolishness is often a badge of honor. We survived. Yet the fear is there, and very effective.”
I asked, “Is there anyone to whom I can go who would be willing to speak to me of him?”
“Oh, there are fools who profess to know of the Dracula, or at least some part of the tale.”
“But you said those who speak of him are destroyed.”
“Only some. He allows some of self-proclaimed ‘experts’ to tout their theories, for it only advances the great Dracula’s cause. You see, he is most clever. Consider: if he is spoken of only by those already discredited by society, if he remains merely a myth, a legend, a figment. What better way to maintain the anonymity of his true power? You see? What greater protection than the idle and unsubstantiated rumor to cast even the most ironclad proof of his existence into doubt?”
“He manipulates masterfully,” I said, impressed.
Uncle Peter nodded gravely. “It grows worse with the dawn of our modern conceits. The progress of the world is his protection, the vanity of science, of philosophy that moves us away from the wisdom of the simple, basic ways that served humankind for thousands of years.” He spread his hands. “People hardly need God anymore. Why on earth should they require monsters? As if either was their choosing. They put too much faith in intellect, but even the smartest of men does not know everything.”
Father Luke came to my mind, for this sentiment seemed to echo his disillusionment. Had he found his answers in Rome?
“Who among the discredited fools is the most informed?” Valerian asked.
Uncle Peter laughed at this cleverness. “I know of only one man who ever dared investigate the legend of the Dracula openly. An Irishman named David Stoker, but he disappeared years ago.”
I let out a pent-up breath. Disappointment weighed on my shoulders. “Then we are at a dead end.”
When I glanced at Valerian, he appeared lost in thought. I wanted to mention the letters my mother had sent, but I did not think either one of the men would have any idea to help me. I had to be the one to find them, and I would read them first before bringing them to the others. They were, after all, written to me.
Valerian asked, “Do you know of the Dracula’s connection to someone named Lliam?” He glanced at me. “Ruthven spoke of kinship to Emma through Lliam.”
Uncle Peter shook his head. “I have not heard the name. But this Ruthven is a bold one indeed if he openly claims kinship with the Dracula. It is not only the living who fear the Dragon Prince. All of the undead are under his rule, across Europe and even into some parts of Asia. He can and indeed has destroyed many of his own kind in his quest for absolute power. I cannot see why this Ruthven would take so great a risk.”
“Nor I,” I admitted. “Perhaps it is simply that he is mad with power, and boasting foolishly because of it.”
“That could be,” Uncle Peter agreed.
“I think I understand how and what he is doing in Blackbriar, what he has been doing for centuries. But what has he to do with the Dragon Prince—or me?”
I did not expect answers, but that did not mean my spirits were immune to the gaping silence in the aftermath of my questions. I felt demoralized as we adjourned.
But the following morning, I rose from bed with a new resolution. I was going to find my mother’s letters. I had not done so yet, because of the difficulty of the task. I was with Alyssa nearly all the time, and even though I’d grown up in the house, it was no longer my home; I could hardly wander about where I would.
It was a big house, however, and progress was slow. Alyssa’s bedroom alone took over an hour. But by that night, I’d not had a hint of the letters’ whereabouts. I lay in my bed and tried to think of more places I could search on the morrow.
By the second day, Valerian noticed my strange behavior—I was ever amazed at his powers of observation—and I told him what I’d overheard between my sister and her husband. He later suggested to Alan that he take his wife on a small outing, to get her out for a little while down to the village for a coffee and a bit of shopping. Alyssa pounced on the idea.
“I shall be happy to look after Roderick,” I rushed to put in when I saw a shadow of doubt cross her features. She really was a devoted mother. “Or rather, look after nurse while she looks after Roderick.”
With Uncle Peter busy at work on his mountain of correspondence, I had the entire day to do a search. In the end, I found nothing. And then, a terrible thought occurred to me, one I refused to allow myself to entertain, for it was too awful . . .
I did not know how I could manage to maintain my spirits if I found Alyssa had destroyed them.