Chapter 25
Castle Dracula, Transylvania
Mina had long felt that something was wrong in Castle Dracula—had sensed it in her bones—but now there was no denying it.
But how could she ask either the Count or Sofia about it without drawing suspicion from them?
It was clear they were lying to her, even going so far as to deny her very memories of the night of the raid, but why?
As Mina followed Sofia to breakfast the next morning, she wondered about this woman who’d done so much to care for her, yet whose loyalties clearly lay with the Count.
It was unfair, but Mina couldn’t help but feel a stab of betrayal about it all.
Had Mina truly seemed that untrustworthy, that fragile, that they’d both thought it best to keep her in the dark about whatever was going on within this castle?
Despite the distress broiling within her, Mina had no choice but to act as though nothing was wrong, as though the world was not crumbling around her.
That day passed slowly as Mina tried to return to the routine that had never truly felt like hers.
She sat before her desk, paper in front of her and a quill in her hand, yet she could not write.
The only things she’d wanted to share were things she couldn’t yet speak of to anyone—certainly not write down on a letter that the Count or Sofia might read.
And what was the point of writing these letters when she’d receive none in return?
Her thoughts turned to paranoia when she considered, for the first time, the possibility that perhaps the Count and Sofia were receiving her letters and simply not giving them to her.
It seemed a foolish suspicion, after all, why would either of them have a problem with Mina communicating with her family?
She’d been set to marry the Count and she’d done just that—it wasn’t as though they would try to talk her out of it at this point.
Though she supposed, had she told Lucy and Jonathan of the strange things she’d experienced here, maybe they would express concern. Perhaps even insist on coming to see her. But then again, she couldn’t just accuse the Count of withholding her mail without cause.
She thought of the note that had been left behind the day prior.
That had not been mail of any kind, but clearly left behind by someone already within the castle walls.
And then she wondered about the book that had been left beneath her candelabra, what seemed like ages ago.
She had taken the book as a threat, its title seeming clear, yet now she wondered what was in its pages.
What if there had been a note inside? But then, why not just leave the note itself?
For a moment, she considered returning to the north wing, but the memory of her name being chanted from beyond the door gave her pause.
She’d been frightened by the unseen forces, by the howling of wolves outside the window—there had been something supernatural about it all, like a curse of witches or wraiths.
But that was foolish. There was only fact, only science, and it was clear that such things did not exist.
She’d allowed her fear to fog her reason, but she could no longer sit within the gilded walls of this prison and pretend she was content.
She had allowed herself to behave like a child, to be treated like a child, but she was a grown woman who deserved the truth.
Whoever was within the north wing was someone made of flesh and bone, and that meant they’d been trying to frighten her, trying to scare her.
Perhaps they’d even tried to scare her to prevent her from returning, wanting to keep her away from the truth, and she’d allowed it to happen.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever lay within the north wing was a secret worth protecting. And she would not go a night longer without clarity.
Mina skipped dinner that night, unable to stomach food with all these suspicions swirling through her head. She got into bed, listening to the howling of the wind outside her window, and waited for the sun to set.
Once night had fallen, she waited longer, wanting to be sure that Sofia would have turned in for the evening and would not be there to interfere.
When it finally felt time to go on, Mina climbed out of bed.
She looked around the room, eager to find something to bring as a means of protection.
Her eyes caught on the iron fireplace poker next to the hearth, and she moved forward, picking it up and feeling the weight of it in her hand.
Tonight, if she encountered a threat, she would not run.
She would do all she could to find the truth, and if needed, she would fight.
With a lit candle in one hand and the poker in the other, she eased open her chamber door and stepped into the dark hall beyond.
She turned right, following the path of hairpins she’d laid for herself weeks prior when she’d first taken this path.
The deeper into the castle she drew, the more her chest tightened with unease.
Her mind returned to the sounds behind that door, the whispering of her name, Wilhelmina.
A chill ran up her spine and she forced the thought away.
The Transylvanian people might be superstitious, but she was not.
She didn’t believe in ghosts, and she wouldn’t let herself be frightened again.
She would move forward, toward the silent darkness of the halls ahead.
When she finally approached a hall that she recognized, one stone corridor merging into another, she took a deep breath. She’d come to the wall with the windows, so close to that wing where last night she’d heard those whispers of her name.
She reached toward the door handle, the iron poker tapping against the wood as she tried to turn the handle. And with a click, the door eased open.
She supposed some part of her had thought it might be locked again, but as she stared into the hall beyond, she saw no light, only shadow.
She stepped into the north wing, heartbeat loud in her ears, and looked at the hall ahead, and then the one to her left. Taking a deep breath, she turned left, following the hall she’d taken before, though this time there was no light ahead, just darkness beyond her candle’s glow.
The castle was silent around her as she walked. The fine hair along her arms stood on end in the eerie quiet. There was a pressure on her chest that made it difficult to breathe, a sense that something was wrong, that something was unnatural about this emptiness, but she pushed the feeling aside.
The first room she came upon was on the right of the hall—the door was open, the room dark within. She glanced behind her, down the path she’d taken, seeing no sign of anyone. Then she faced the room, gripping the poker tightly in her right hand, and pushed the door open further.
The large space was sparse of furniture, and she quickly realized this was the same room she’d hidden within that first time here.
But now, with a light in hand, she could see that the walls were covered in paintings—a gallery of sorts.
Along the bottom of the wall, shadows of further art were propped up, not yet hung.
She stepped further into the room, curiosity tugging at her.
She set the iron poker down, resting it against the wall, and lifted her candle up to get a better view of the images.
The first was a painting of the castle, and written in the bottom right corner, in delicate cursive, was Castelul Dr?culea, 1625.
Mina took another few steps toward the next image, finding this one to be a painting of the Count surrounded by three women.
He sat in a chair in the middle, and just behind him stood a woman with hair ink-black, tendrils coming down about her face, emphasizing the hollowness of her cheeks and the intensity in her eyes.
There was something about her, about the way her hand was placed on his chest, that was possessive, and Mina couldn’t help but wonder how he knew this woman.
Her eyes wandered to the woman at his right, to her heart-shaped face and the fiery red hair falling down her back as she looked toward the painter with her head tilted just slightly.
But when Mina glanced at the third woman to the left side of the painting, she stilled.
This woman had long blonde hair that was fine as silk, her lips full, her eyes sparkling blue.
Mina had seen this woman before. But where?
She took a step back, her heart thrumming as she tried to dig through her memories. This woman, who was this woman? She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as though the image was there, just barely out of grasp. In her mind’s eye, she could see dim candlelight, she could feel her fear and confusion.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Mina spun around, finding a dark-haired woman in the doorway, a slight smile on her face as though she were amused. She was one of the women from the painting.
“Who are you?” Mina asked, breathless. After all this time of being made to believe it was only them in the castle, made to believe she’d imagined the things she’d experienced, she was almost startled to see this woman here before her.
“It seems the little mouse has lost her way,” the woman said.
Mina’s heart thrummed, fear building within her. Had this been the woman she’d encountered that night, the one who’d left behind that book? Had this been the woman who’d written the note? The one who’d lured her into the courtyard and opened the gates for the wolves?
Another woman stepped into the doorway, her hair wild and red—the other woman from the painting. She felt light-headed at the sight of them, here. Something was wrong—she could feel it. There was a reason they were in that painting with the Count, and there was a reason he’d kept them separate.
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” the redhead said, crinkling her nose.
“I suppose we need a closer look,” the first woman said, easing forward. Her movements reminded Mina of a cat prowling toward a mouse.
“So you’re the precious Wilhelmina,” the woman said, coming within a few feet of her now. They knew her name. Had they been the ones behind the door, whispering her name like a chant?
“Who are you?” Mina repeated, afraid to receive the answer.
“My dear,” the woman said, reaching out slowly and brushing a finger down her cheek. “We’re you.”
“Leave her be,” came another voice.
Mina looked to the doorway to see a blonde woman.
“You,” Mina whispered. And then it came back to her—the night of the raid, she had seen this woman. She had spoken to her. But what had happened? She couldn’t recall the details, only feeling such surety that this had been the woman she’d encountered that night.
“Why should we?” the redhead snapped. “We’ve been patient long enough.” She looked at Mina then, anticipation burning in her eyes. They’d been patient long enough for what?
“You’ll pay the price when he returns,” the blonde woman said. “You know the rules.”
“Forget the rules,” the raven-haired woman replied. “He’s taken too long. This isn’t just about him. It’s about all of us.” The woman turned back, fixing her eyes on Mina. “Besides, she came to us.”
He. Were they referring to the Count?
“She’s already broken the rules,” the redhead chimed in, coming nearer. “Why can’t we?” She smiled, but it was then that Mina noticed something strange—the woman’s teeth had seemed to sharpen at the edges like fangs. Mina stepped back, horrified by the sight, and the two women nearest her laughed.
Then, the dark-haired woman knocked the candle out of her hand. It dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, the light extinguishing and leaving them in shadow, with only the dim glow of moonlight spilling in through the window.
“You’re an innocent little one, aren’t you?
” the dark-haired woman said. “We won’t hurt her,” she said, still talking to the woman in the doorway.
“We just want a taste.” Her lip reared back to reveal the same fangs as the other woman’s, and before Mina could even utter a scream, the woman had pulled her into an embrace, sinking her teeth into Mina’s neck.
Pain surged through her, making her eyes water. She tried to push back, to force the woman off her, but her grip was too strong. Then came another sharp pain at her wrist—the other woman. Mina’s vision faded, pain running through her as she felt herself grow weaker and weaker.
Glass shattered, and suddenly both women released her.
Mina fell to the ground, her vision hazy as she looked at the ceiling above and saw nothing but bats.
One after another, flapping their long wings, screeching as they dove.
Mina heard the cries of the women elsewhere in the room, their shrieks of pain and anger as though the bats had set their sights on them.
And as Mina’s vision faded to darkness, she heard a familiar voice by her side.
“My dearest, Wilhelmina.”