Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Harriet
I tell Mom and Granabelle about the rich history buff who bought Kingston Manor.
“This calls for breaking out the Wharton whites,” Granabelle declares.
Before I can protest, she’s clambering downstairs. She reappears a few minutes later in a full-length Edwardian walking suit—complete with gloves, a veiled hat, and a ridiculous feathered muff.
“My calling card, if you please,” she announces, extending a napkin out between two fingers.
“Okay,” I say, taking it.
Mom shakes her head darkly. “You look ridiculous.”
“It’s a great theme,” Granabelle protests. “I’m gonna get a lot of mileage out of it. I wonder if the new owner will let me do a shoot at the place.”
I grab the potatoes. “That would be quite the get, Granabelle!”
Mom spears a cherry tomato. “For Christ’s sake. They’re rehabbing a historic mansion. You’d think they’d at least stop into the local antique store for a few pieces to match the period. But he gets useless calling cards instead?”
Granabelle sets aside her giant hat. “We’ve got half a dozen Eastlake chairs that would be perfect in there. And the Hepplewhite sideboard in the back room. That thing belongs in a house like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if it came from that house.”
“No kidding,” Mom says. “Maybe try interacting with the community that you’re moving into. The one thing he gets is calling cards? With just his name? What the hell is that?”
Granabelle laughs. “Some people really are ridiculous.”
The next bit of news about our mysterious new resident comes as I’m leaving work that Friday afternoon. A text from Josie lights up my screen:
Got it on good authority: Kingston Manor guy reserved a table for two tonight at the Stag. Soooo… I reserved us a table too. Same time.
I laugh. The restaurant mafia strikes again.
You’re shameless.
That’s why you love me.
We get there fifteen minutes early and settle into a comfy booth. The Golden Stag Supper Club’s interior is all polished wood and old chandeliers, leather booths and historic photos of Ashwood’s glory days on the walls. Luckily, in spite of the name, there are no animal heads on the walls.
We order drinks, and Josie promptly informs me of another piece of gossip: Sloane has been telling everybody that the new owner of Kingston Manor is a prince.
Something twists in my gut. A prince means a European.
“What’s wrong? Something against princes?”
“Not all of them.” I’ve already got my phone out. I’m looking for the place where I stored Alexandru’s giant, long freaking title, aka his full dynastic name.
I finally find it. His Serene Highness Alexandru Ilie of the House Dracul, Princeps of the Ancient Line of Van?tori, Sovereign Heir to the Principality of Karsovia, Lord Protector of the Eastern Vale.
I don’t see the word prince in there. Though there is princeps. I look it up and confirm that it doesn’t mean prince—it means “leading figure.”
Nevertheless, I have a really bad feeling. The waiter brings us our wine and I down half my glass.
That’s when I feel the tiny hairs at the back of my neck prickling to attention.
The place falls silent. No more chatter. No more clinking silverware.
Josie leans in, eyes wide. She nods over my shoulder.
I turn.
It’s him.
Alexandru.
He’s following the host across the floor, moving with the grace of an apex predator. His dark hair gleams under the soft overhead lights.
His black three-piece suit fits him like a second skin, and his tie is the color of blood.
Every eye in the place is on him. Alexandru Miramonte, Kingston Manor’s new owner, with Gregor following dutifully in his wake.
My heart falls through the floor.
He sits and takes a menu. Then and only then does he turn and meet my gaze. He inclines his head in a nod.
No. This can’t be happening.
He’s here.
In my town.
In my life.
The man who kills without compunction. The man who smiled when I drove a knife into his neck.
Josie whistles low. “That is some definite princely action over there. If I weren’t happily married...”
“No,” I say under my breath. “He’s… bad news, Josie.”
She blinks at me. “You know him?”
“He’s my late father’s boss.”
“The boss stuck in the Stone Age?”
I nod.
She slides a glance over to where a waiter is chatting with the two of them. “More like stuck in the stone-cold-fox age.”
I stare down at my shiny white plate. This is not happening.
“Are you going to say hi?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s his sad sack friend?” she asks. “Do you know him, too?”
How to explain...
“He’s coming!” she whispers. “Red alert.”
No, I think. No, no, no.
And then he’s there at our table, his presence unmistakable as a thunderstorm. “Ms. Renfield,” he says, voice low and resonant.
“Alexandru.” I look up, praying my voice doesn’t shake. “What a surprise.”
“And this must be Josie.”
Panic skitters under my skin. How does he know? I don’t want Alexandru anywhere near Josie. I don’t want him near anybody.
But she’s waiting. No way can I get out of this.
I straighten. Glare at him. “Josie, this is Alexandru. My late father’s boss.”
Somehow, he has her hand in his and gives a regal nod over it before letting it go.
“I’ve heard all about you and your whole...” She trails off, clearly remembering the string of unprintable words I used to describe his archaic record-keeping. “…system update project.”
“It’s quite the thing,” he says charmingly.
“Quite the thing,” I say, heart pounding so violently in my chest, it’s a wonder my rib cage doesn’t crack. And of course, he hears it.
But he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he’s smiling at Josie. And she’s charmed.
Nooooo! I think. Don’t be taken in. He sees you as food. He would eat your face given half a chance.
“Ms. Renfield has been extremely helpful to me,” he says.
“Ms. Renfield is amazing,” she says with a mischievous glance that tells me I’ll be explaining why the hell he calls me Ms. Renfield later.
“I am amazing,” I mumble.
Josie somehow tears her gaze away from Alexandru in order to put it on me, and she has a brand-new look now, one that could be described as: HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME HE IS A HOT PRINCE?
I swallow. “Alexandru, I don’t understand. Kingston Manor? That’s you? You love Karsovia.”
“I do love Karsovia,” he says, with a touch of theatrical sadness. “And the people there are wonderful. But you spoke so fondly of this town, and now I see why. It is… beautiful. And the people have been wonderful so far. Absolutely wonderful.”
Ice rakes down my spine.
He’s still talking—something about modernization and bringing his business interests into the twenty-first century—but all I can think about is the missing tourist.
I shove back my chair. “Excuse us for a second,” I say to Josie. I don’t wait for a response.
I seize Alexandru’s arm and pull him from the table.
He allows it, smirking, as though my distress amuses him for the moment.
I try to stay focused on what I’m going to say, and how I’m going to manage this new horror, and not the heat where my hand wraps around muscle, hard and immovable, like something forged for battle.
We end up in a shadowed alcove near the coat racks.
“Did you take that tourist?” I whisper.
A smile curls at the edges of his mouth. “Define take.”
My throat tightens. “Did you drain him? Are his body parts in your basement?”
“Oh, no,” he says. “The rest of him is long gone down the river.”
My stomach turns. “You killed him.”
He tilts his head slightly, like I’m asking a math problem that’s beneath him. “I believe I explained the process to you once before.”
“You can’t kill people!” I whisper-yell.
“Can’t I?” he says, voice low and cool.
“You have to leave. You can’t stay here. You can’t… hunt here.”
He steps closer. The air seems to condense around him. “I don’t recall anything in the contract that prohibits me from residing—or feeding—wherever I please. You chose Ashwood. And now, so have I.”
“Look, I can’t let you kill people. You can’t.”
He tips his head. “And how precisely will you stop me, I wonder?”
“Alexandru, these are my friends, my neighbors. They aren’t livestock!”
“Livestock is in the eye of the beholder, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Hell, no, I wouldn’t agree!” I put my hands over my face, totally smearing my glasses. “Oh my god.”
He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“You cannot stop me. I have chosen to come here. And it will be here that you will serve me. It will be here that I will take my meals.” His gaze drifts toward the dining room—toward the warm, laughing humans.
“I find the people of Ashwood to be delightfully unwary,” he continues.
“Back home, they were paranoid. Always walking in pairs. Slinking away from me the moment I set foot in the village. Do you know that I had to travel a hundred miles to get a good tailor?”
I grab his jacket front and shove him, but of course, he doesn’t move. He’s like a wall of muscle under my hands.
And now we’re close. Way too close.
His eyes sparkle down at me, bright and cruel, the color of rich coffee.
“You can’t be killing people in my backyard.”
“But it’s such a lovely backyard. If I’d known about it before, I would’ve relocated years ago.”
“You will not touch any of these people.”
His voice drops to a level that makes my blood run cold. “You’d be wise to make that the very last command you ever give me.”
“Or what? Do you have a Renfield rice-counting pit in your new house?”
His words are a feather on my lips. “You should be thankful that I’m not slaughtering everybody in sight after your trickery.”
I swallow hard and step back.
“Okay, look, what if I got you blood? Like… pig’s blood? I’ve heard that’s close to human blood.”
He blinks once, lip curled with disgust.
“Okay, how about blood bank blood? Blood from a hospital or something.”
“No.”
“Can’t you just try it?”
“There is no substitute for the living,” he says. “I’ll need another meal in just under two weeks, and we’ll see who I pick.”
“I’m going to stop you.”
“How? Will you call the police?”
“Maybe I will. I know the police in this town. I’ll tell everyone what you are and make it impossible for you to live here.”
“Would they listen? Would they search Kingston Manor on your word? And what, really, would they find?”
I can already hear Maverick Cooper explaining probable cause to me. He thought I’d lost my mind when I came to him with the wedding killer theory. He’d never believe this.
Alexandru adjusts his beautiful jacket. “People have tried such things before. It never ends well. I understand they no longer favor insane asylums here, but people still know how to whisper.” He leans in a fraction closer, and I back up, hitting the wall.
“They know how to smile and pretend nothing’s wrong.
But every time you walk into a room, the conversation will cease.
Every polite nod will carry a question. Has she always been like this? How did we not see it sooner?”
I drag in a breath, thick and unsteady. How is this happening?
“Screw it,” I say under my breath. “I’ll happily blow my life up to save somebody else’s.”
“Then do it,” Alexandru murmurs. “Go. Tell them what I am.”
I grit my teeth. He’s right about what would happen if I raised the alarm. It would come to nothing, and he’d have more control over me than ever, because people would think I lost my mind.
“Speaking of friends, your Josie seemed sweet.”
“I swear,” I say, fists clenching, “you go near Josie, and I will stake you myself.”
He raises his brows. “That I’d like to see.”
“What? That’s not how to kill you? What exactly would I have to do to kill you? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“You? There is nothing you can do to kill me. Nothing whatsoever. I will hunt here in your Ohio, and you will serve me to the end of your days.” He plants his hands on the wall on either side of me, boxing me in.
“Your instructions are to bring your things to Kingston Manor. You will serve me there. I have prepared a bedroom for you.”
“I have a room already. In my home.”
“What’s more, my agents inform me that you hold another job at a place known as InovaSpire. That is unacceptable. You are my servant. I do not share.”
“I’m doing both jobs just fine. I’m managing your empire way better than my father ever did.”
He straightens, casually adjusting his cuffs, the gesture so maddeningly civilized... it’s not right. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Seven sharp.” With that, he turns and leaves.