vonHelfin

Norah Chamberlain's life turns upside down following her father's execution. Her impoverished mother takes a governess position in faraway Romania. They come face to face with a vampire.

 

I

 

     The midnight forest surrounded the couch as it raced toward our destination. Tha-whack, tha-whack. Cragged black branches, reaching out like tentacles, beat a staccato against our conveyance. The springs beneath us creaked in response. Above us, the driver cracked his whip, urging his bulking horses to quicken their pace.

     Suddenly, the air split with the ululating of a hidden wolf. Shrieking, I grasped Mama's arm and buried my head in her throbbing bosom. Gently, her fingers raked through my soft brown hair. She crooned as she would to a babe. I snuggled deeper, burying my eyes and stopping my ears with index fingers. Then, we burst through the tangled forest. The jolting carriage began to climb the treacherous rocky edifice. 

     Chills raced down my spine when I set eyes on the gothic castle. Clinging precariously upon a rocky peak, it loomed in the swirling gray mist. The blood-red full moon hung ominously above its crumbling turrets. Our coach swayed perilously as it jounced along the ill-kept winding approach. Desperately, I burrowed my head deeper into Mama's shoulder.    

     Childlike, I squeezed my eyes closed and wished the sight away. I longed for the comforts of Grey Friars’ Vicarage and Victorian England. I envisioned the walled garden with its white gazabo in the center. Inside, Prentiss Wills awaited me. I ran to him, the skirt of my white dress billowing around my ankles.

     Once, my future held marriage and a cozy parsonage of our own. I envisioned a life similar to Mama and Papa’s. Prentiss would eventually become a vicar, and I would take my place as his devoted wife. Church affairs and planning the annual fete would consume my time.   

     At the age of sixteen, I noticed my parents’ nods of approval concerning the curate and me. Prentiss arrived two years previously. Tall and lanky, he wore his brown hair trimmed neatly above his ears. His hazel eyes, hidden behind thick-lensed glasses, peered studiously at his surroundings. Papa called him steady and reliable�"a perfect match for his daughter, Norah Chamberlain.

     Then, two months ago, the situation changed drastically. My gentle, loving Father, who never hurt another soul, became involved in a dreadful fight. Papa killed a man.

     Four times a year, Papa spent a week in London lecturing at the seminary. Occasionally, Mama and I accompanied him. While he conducted his business, we spent our time shopping. How I loved visiting the dress shops and millenaries. Frivolously, Mama purchased frilly hats and flounce skirted dresses for both of us. She was thrilled by my advancing age and determined I should appear in the height of fashion.

     On this occasion, however, Papa traveled alone. He stayed in a local boarding house for the week. It was a short walk between his lodgings and the seminary. On this particular evening, an elongated lecture kept him late. He hurried along the fog enshrouded London streets. Up a dark alley, he heard upraised voices.

     Peering into the mist, Papa noticed a man grasping a woman. His strong arms pinned her against a wall. Stepping toward them, my father ordered the brute to let go. The furious Londoner attacked instead. In the midst of the fight, Papa thrust the man against the wall, breaking open his head.

     “You’ve killed him!” the woman shrieked, backing away.

     “I…I didn’t mean to,” the good vicar responded. Kneeling beside the prostrate form, he checked the man’s pulse. Then, he solemnly closed the ogling eyes. “Lord, our Father, forgive this man his sins…”

     “You will kill a man, then pray for him,” the wide-eyed woman whispered, backing away.

     “I beseech you, madam,” Papa pleaded, his hands still clasped in prayer. “I did not mean to harm him. Please.”

     For the first time, my father looked at the woman. Tears streaked her face heavy with cosmetics. The plunging neckline of her gown surprised him.

     “A w***e,” he choaked out.

     “Yes, a w***e,” she spat out. Advancing upon him, she beat him with her fists. “You lost me two bob.”

     Completing his story, Papa collapsed against his chair’s back. He covered his face with his palms and sobbed. Wringing her hands, Mama gazed down upon him. Then, she sank to her knees and entwined his hands with hers. I stood awkwardly behind her, massaging her bent back.      

     "I don't know what overcame me, Belle," my Father moaned, staring at his smooth palms.

     “You’re here now, Millard,” my mother swiftly stated. “You’re safe at home.”

     “I can still hear my footsteps echoing on the cobbles as I hastened away,” my father continued as though she had not spoken. “The fog put everything out of perspective. I wandered around the city for hours before returning to my lodgings.”

     “There, there,” Mama comforted, placing a kiss on his balding pate. “You’re home, Mill. That’s all that matters.”

     “I must return,” Papa insisted, squeezing her hands. “I have repented of my sins. God has forgiven me, but I must face the consequences. I…I killed a man.”

     “Oh no, Mill, no,” my mother moaned, tears clinging to her pale lashes. Her nervous fingers played over the cameo at her throat. “Surely, it was self-defense.”

     “Nevertheless, Isabelle…” Papa started, but the words caught in his throat.

     Soundlessly, I watched my parents. My heart broke for them and our little family. Aghast, I knelt beside Mama and threw my arms around my father’s neck. He held me close while I sobbed.

     Dolefully, I leaned my cheek against the carriage window. Memories of that fate-filled night played in my mind's eye. Papa returned to London the following day. The good rector turned himself into the police. His confession and refusal of counsel sped up his trial. Found guilty of murder, the jury laid down the hanging sentence.  

     “Oh, Papa,” I mourned as the carriage jolted onward. Tears streaked down my face.

      Never again could I lay flowers upon in his grave in Grey Friar's churchyard. I could not run my fingers along the words marking his gravestone. My lips formed them as we moved closer to our destination.

Reverend Millard Richard Chamberlain

Born 1856

Died 1893

Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.

       His tragic execution struck us hard. Cast out of the vicarage, we became homeless. Suddenly, my frivolous Mama had to provide for us. She decided to become a governess and answered several newspaper adverts for the position.

     The notoriety of my father’s execution spread rapidly. Rejection letters to my mother’s inquiries began to arrive. She could not find a position nearby, nor in France, Spain or Germany.   Finally, she received a letter summoning her for an interview. And so, we left England.

     Romania! A godforsaken place to begin anew.

     The rickety coach halted before the castle’s drawbridge. Out of the mist, the bridge lowered, then thumped into place. Bravely, we crossed into the forbidding courtyard.

     “This is as far as I go,” the one-eyed coachman quipped. Leaping from his seat, he hastily dropped our baggage onto the uneven cobblestones.

     Mama's foot barely touched the ground before our conveyance jerked around. Swiftly, it disappeared. The quick-paced clop of horses' hooves reverberated around the still enclosure.

     Longingly, I watched the departure. I wished I had never exited the vehicle. Tentatively, I grasped Mama's hand. She held her head high and approached the ominous castle door. Boldly, she swung the knocker against the barred edifice. The moon, momentarily peeking through the midst, showed its bat shape. Involuntarily, I shivered. 

     The creaking door swung inward of its own accord. Mama stepped forward, practically dragging me along with her.

     “Hello.” The echo of Mama’s voice resounded about the cobweb-strewn hall.

     Alone, we stood close together. My arms encircled the waist of Mama's black bombazine dress. It held the comforting scent of lavender. I buried my head in her shoulder.

     “No one is here, Mama,” I stated, gulping my sobs. “We cannot stay.”

     The walk down the perilous incline would take all night. However, I preferred returning to the village to the moldy, abandoned castle. Anxiously, I tugged her arm, urging her to leave. She motioned me to follow her and stepped further into the eerie foyer. I following, clinging anxiously to her sleeve.

     “Hello,” my mother called, raising her voice. We paused, apprehensively.  

     Defeated, Mama strode toward the door. I hurriedly followed in her wake. Indeed, our departure became imminent. I felt an urgent need to put our fool’s errand behind us. Somehow, we would return to England.

     Then, out of the gloom, the dark figure loomed in front of us.   

 

II

     "Baron von Helfin, I presume," Mama stated, stepping toward the ominous figure. Sweeping a curtsey, she bobbed her head downward, then stood.

     Silently, the Baron gazed upon her, his hooded eyes hidden. The air froze around him, causing an involuntary shiver along my spine. When he stepped toward us, I hastily moved backward. Grabbing my arm, Mama pulled me beside her.

     "Isabella Chamberlain, at your service," Mama continued her introduction. "My daughter, Norah."

     I noticed the slight stammer in her voice. The Baron unnerved my stalwart mother. Tall and thin, he towered above her. He wore a black tailcoat buttoned over a red diamond-printed waistcoat. The cravat at his neck contained a ruby stickpin. Clicking his heels, he bowed slightly at the waist.

     "Please follow me," Mama's new employer invited. "I am sure you require refreshment following your long journey."

     We entered a small parlor with heavy drapes hanging at large French doors. The Baron sat in a wingback chair and indicated a small round table. His ghostly face disappeared into the shadows. A musty scent prevailed in the room, nearly choking me.

     Mama sat opposite our host and folded her hands in her lap. Her pale complexion stood out above her black mourning dress. Hovering behind her, I hesitated to join them. My entire body was poised to flee.

     "Don't stand about like a scarecrow, Norah," Mama chastised, beckoning me toward a red brocade armchair. "Do sit down and take refreshment."

     "Yes, Mama," I muttered unwillingly. I glared at the silent Baron as I slipped into the seat indicated.

     Mama poured the tea from the silver pot and offered our host the cup embossed with the von Helfin coat of arms. She frowned when he refused the proffered refreshment. Momentarily at a loss, she stared at her extended arm, then passed the cup on to me. I hastily accepted it and placed it on the table before me.

     Nonplussed, Mama buttered a scone and added clotted cream and jam. Again, the Baron refused the plate, and I accepted it. However, a moldy taste filled my mouth when I bit into the pastry. Stifling an involuntary gag, I awkwardly held the small China plate in my lap.

     While Mama and her new employer discussed her duties, my eyes roamed the small chamber. The furnishings appeared worn and disused. Dust clung to the window hangings, and the faded wallpaper peeled away at the corners. Cobwebs hanging from the ceiling entwined disused light fixtures. I shuddered and turned my eyes toward the fireplace. Soot clung to the mantel and the firebox. A small pile of coal glowed feebly, casting a dim light. Otherwise, the room remained quite dark.

     "You have traveled a great distance, Madam Chamberlain," Baron von Helfin stated. His smooth voice sounded dry, as though he hadn't spoken following a long interval.

     "Yes, from England," Mama responded, her teacup poised before her lips. "Burnley-Upon-Tyne. It's rather a small place in the northeast." Pausing, she bowed her head in reverence for my dearly departed father. "My husband was the Vicar of Grey Friars' Church. God rest his soul."

     At the mention of Papa's church, the Baron withdrew further into his chair. His pale face blanched, and a slight hiss escaped his tight red mouth.

     Mama did not notice. Instead, she reached for another scone and buttered it. She munched upon it, undisturbed by the taste and the awkward situation.

     Time passed slowly. On the mantelpiece, the ormolu clock read twelve-thirty-five. A light mist crept into the parlor, entwining our ankles. The Baron continued to sit, his hands folded in his lap. He did not offer to light the lamps. Then, I noticed that the room lacked any means of illumination besides the disused wall sconces.

     Finally, our host rose and again bowed at the waist. Baron von Helfin extended his hand. Mama stared up at him, momentarily at a loss.

     "The children await you in their nursery," the Baron stated, a small smile twitching at his ruby lips. "They are eager to make your acquaintance."

     Following Papa's execution, Mama applied for a post as governess. However, the scandal surrounding my father's crime created a lack of acceptance. England turned her back upon us as well as France and Germany. Finally, she received a favorable response from Baron von Helfin. Thus, we journeyed, by the Orient Express, to faraway Romania.

     Hastily, Mama abandoned her refreshment and grasped the Baron's hand. She rose with his generous assistance. I delayed following them. However, the Baron insisted I accompany them. Reluctantly, I re-entered the great hall in their wake.

     Mama halted at the foot of the swooping staircase, assuming the nursery's location. At home, the children's chambers occupied an upper level. Poised to climb upward, a look of confusion crossed her face. The Baron swiftly opened a nondescript oaken door. Its hinges screeched loudly, echoing throughout the chamber. We joined him and descended a narrow stairway.

     I shuddered as we passed through a tight corridor. The moist walls pressed close to our shoulders. Slippery with moss, the uneven cobblestones became more treacherous as we descended. Mama swiped at clinging cobwebs, clearing the path for me.

     Finally, the Baron paused outside a bolted door and swung it open. Inside the ghastly chamber, three children waited. The nursery held the scent of a long-disused room. A broken rocking horse slumped in the corner; its once brilliant paint faded. Along a wall shelf, antique toys stood in an inch of dust.

     Lined close together, the three children stood like statues. Their ghostly pale skin shocked me. Other than portraits of Queen Elizabeth I, I never saw such white faces. Pressing close to Mama, I grasped her hand and squeezed.

     "My son, Vlad," the Baron introduced.

     Stepping forward, the fourteen-year-old boy dipped his head in a bow. His black hair seemed plastered to his head. The white part stood out sharply in contrast. His eyes resembled his father's, and he smiled without emotion.

     "And my daughters, Luiza and Vanda."

     Clutching the younger child's hand, Luiza stepped forward. Vanda halted and stuck three fingers between sanguine lips. Then, she buried her head in her sister's black worsted skirt.

     Mama knelt before the two girls and greeted them kindly. Taking Luiza's pale hands, she captured the girl's dark eyes with her sparkling blue ones.

     "I am delighted to make your acquaintance," my mother stated, smiling warmly. "I am sure we will get along splendidly."

     Twelve-year-old Luiza stared at Mama as though she could not comprehend. Her dark eyes stood out from hollow, dark-rimmed lids. Long black hair hung lankly, framing a thin ghostly face. Her lips looked like an angry slash beneath her aquiline nose, like an unhealed wound.

     Vanda remained in the shadow of her older sister. Resembling her older brother and sister, she wore a black sack-like dress and black and white striped stockings, and dark ankle-high boots. I estimated her age at about six or seven.

     Patiently the Baron interpreted Mama's statement. The girl nodded solemnly. She could not speak English. I wondered how my mother intended to teach the children. The language barrier would surely stunt the activity.

     "Vlad already speaks English, Madam," von Helfin hastily remarked. "You will teach my daughters with his assistance."

     The statement did not comfort me. Our misfortunes led us to a strange place. Wistfully, my thoughts turned back to the vicarage and the small schoolroom. The curate, Prentiss Wills, taught the local children. His well-planned lessons provided a healthy education. However, Mama faced a difficult path with the three glum von Helfin children.

 

III

    

     Bidding the children goodnight, we returned to the upstairs parlor. A dreadful feeling enshrouded me. I tried to envision Mama descending into the cobweb-strewn cellar chamber each day. Her usually sunny disposition did not fit the eerie underground nursery.

     I considered the gloomy von Helfin youngsters. Their glum expressions startled me. I wondered if they existed entirely below ground. Did they ever come out to play in the sunshine? Did laughter and joy ever fill their meager lives? Mama had her work cut out if she expected to improve them through education. I shuddered at the prospect.

     I dismissed the youngsters from my thoughts as my eyes swept the dismal parlor. The red moon casts a supernatural path across the worn carpet. It remained the only illumination provided. As I retook my seat, I noticed the tea tray's disappearance. We would not have to partake in further refreshments. I sighed with relief.

     Mama and the Baron spoke in low tones as I continued to survey the parlor. I inhaled with surprise when the figure of a man appeared in a dark corner. Gasping, I drew our host's attention. He followed my gaze, a slight smile playing about his frigid lips.

     "Allow me to introduce my nephew and ward," von Helfin remarked, rising. Extending his hand, he beckoned the newcomer forward.

     A young man, approximately twenty years of age, stepped forward. His uncanny resemblance to the Baron took me aback. Bowing sedately at the waist, he acknowledged my mother. Then, he turned toward me. His face brightened with a slight smile, and his dark eyes twinkled. Lifting my hand, he brought it to his lips for a kiss.

     "Ranulf Zamfir," the Baron introduced, "the son of my late sister, Lavinia."

     "Pleased to make your acquaintance," Mama pleasantly remarked.

     "Likewise, Madam," the nephew stiffly responded. Bowing again, he clicked his heels.

     Dismissing my mother, Ranulf swiveled to re-face me. I lifted my hand in a wave and muttered 'hello' shyly. Beneath my bodice, my heart thumped wildly. I felt an instant attraction to the young nephew.

     Ranulf stood at attention with his hands clasped behind his back. Black wavy hair framed his slim face and tousled across his forehead. Although his skin appeared as pallid as his uncle, a soft peach hue tinted his cheeks. His red lips parted as though in expectation.

     I wiggled in my seat beneath his softening expression. Eagerly, I waited for him to speak again. However, the Baron coolly swung his gaze in our direction. He curtly nodded toward the door and dismissed Ranulf. The young man spun on his heels and abruptly departed.

     Falling against the chair's back, I felt deflated. Ranulf's sudden departure left an emptiness within my heart. I grappled with the instant feeling that overcame me. In the background, Mama and the Baron continued their discussion. I heard the murmur of their voices, but my thoughts flew toward the retreating nephew. I wished to follow him but remained in my seat, confused.

     "In a moment, the housekeeper will show you to your rooms," von Helfin announced, interrupting my contemplations. Lithely he rose and sharply yanked a crimson bell pull. "You may relax tomorrow and settle in. Your long journey will catch up with you. You may begin your curriculum with the children during the following evening."

     "Thank you," my parent responded, nonplussed by the Baron's statement.

     When I threw her a startled look, Mama shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. Apparently, the Baron expected Mama to take up her duties during the overnight hours.

     Responding quickly, the housekeeper stepped into the parlor. Her crisply starched apron covered her black homespun dress. Bobbing her snowy head, I glimpsed a maid's lacy cap. A sullen expression covered her worn face. Her short, plump body filled the doorway. Obediently, she awaited her employer's orders.

     "Madam Balan will see to your needs," Baron von Helfin explained. Bowing deeply at the waist, he swiveled on his heels and marched from the room.

     "This way," Madam Balan instructed, leading us into the entrance hall.

     We followed her up the curving staircase to the second floor. Briskly, she stomped along the corridor. Mama and I followed in her wake. As we passed, I noted the worn carpet and faded wallpaper. Cobwebs clung in the corners, and dust covered the meager furnishings. Giant portraits of long-dead von Helfin's stared down at me. I could swear their eyes swiveled to follow my every movement.

     At the end of the dank hallway, we mounted a narrow stairway. Up and up we went without pausing on the third-floor landing. At the fourth, we climbed a spiraling stairway into the west turret. Finally, Madam Balan halted and flung open an oaken door. We stepped into a semicircular bedroom.

     The cleanliness of the chamber surprised me. Hung with burgundy damask curtains, the ebony bed dominated the room. Mama stepped toward it and tested the mattress. Pleased, she sat at its edge. A huge fire crackled in the fireplace, warming the room. Antique furniture dominated the large room. It appeared comfortable and inviting.

     "Hot water and breakfast will arrive promptly in the morning," the housekeeper flatly announced. "The midday meal is served in the small dining room. The maid will assist you and guide you. And, now, for the young lady."

     Throwing a tentative glance at Mama, I followed Madam Balan across the rotunda. A similar chamber greeted me. Emerald hangings adorned the bed instead of burgundy. I frowned at the slit of a window. It would provide little natural light to my new surroundings. Otherwise, my room appeared as pleasant as Mama's did.

     As soon as the housekeeper disappeared, Mama entered my room. She glanced at the surroundings, then dropped into a cushiony chair. For the first time, I noticed her strained expression. The rigors of travel and our arrival at the imposing castle took their toll on her usually vibrant personality.

     "What a strange place," she muttered, applying her handkerchief to her perspiring brow. "What strange people."

     Kneeling, I placed my head on her lap. Soothingly, Mama combed her fingers through my soft, brown hair. The hours ticked away on the ormolu mantle clock as we sat through the night. I could not guess what the morrow would bring. Nor could I see into our future life as a part of the von Helfin household.

 

 

 

 

IV

 

     Weak sunlight peeked through the damask draperies surrounding my bed. Yawning, I sat up and surveyed my strange surroundings. A slim finger of light entered through the high slit in the turret wall. It cast the room in a dim, forbidding glow. Optimistically, I hoped our environment would take on a less sinister aspect.

     I slid off my bed and shivered in the chill air. Donning my dressing gown over my flannelette nightie, I hurried toward the fire dancing beneath the mantle.  Stretching out my hands, I basked in its warmth. I sank into the brocade armchair and propped my feet on the matching ottoman.

     My new bedchamber contrasted favorably against the eeriness of the castle beneath the turret. I considered the curiosity of the entire situation. The occupants seemed strange. The austere Baron with his staunch manners and his pale children alarmed me. They appeared to come from a different world, perhaps a different century.       

     I sat in the brocade armchair with my feet propped on the matching ottoman. The fire chased away the chillness of the room. When the door cracked open, I smiled welcomely at the girl who entered. She placed the breakfast tray on a side table and bobbed a curtsey.

     “Helga Balan at your service, ma’am,” she introduced in stilted English. “I’m to assist you and your Mama.”

     “I am pleased to meet you, Helga,” I cordially replied. “I am Norah Chamberlain.”

     “At your service, Miss Norah,” the young woman muttered, demurely. She bobbed again.

     When her dark melancholy eyes met mine, I noticed the nearness of our ages. I guessed her at between fifteen and seventeen. A mass of unkempt curly black hair escaped Helga’s white lace cap, surrounding her apple-red cheeks. Similar to the Baron and his children, her creamy white skin appeared sallow. Nevertheless, I warmed to her and hoped, in time, a companionship would grow between us. I felt I could sorely use a friend within the bleak von Helfin castle. 

     "I will return with hot water in half an hour," the young servant announced. "You can wash up after breakfast. Then I will help you unpack."

     I smiled warmly, noticing she pronounced her ‘w’ with a ‘v’ sound.  

     Before I could respond, the chamber door swung open, and a large man, carrying my trunk on his shoulder, trundled in. He dropped it to the floor, creating a loud thump. Snatching his flat-hat from his straw-colored hair, he kneaded it with splatted hands. The male servant stared helplessly at me. Then, his soft brown eyes shifted toward Helga. He did not utter a word of greeting or introduction.  

     “That’s Godoired Cazacu,” my companion whispered, conspiratorily. “He’s a dummy.”

     I stared at Helga incredulously. Her abrupt introduction seemed callous and touched my sensibilities. The manservant continued to scrunch his hat in his blunted fingers. Bowing his head, he stared at the floor between his feet. I suddenly realized he could neither speak nor hear. I cringed the term 'dummy.' Papa taught me to respect everyone regardless of their disabilities.

     “You mean Godoired is a deaf-mute,” I replied, sharply, “not that he is stupid.”

     “Well,” Helga answered, drawing out her response. “He is a little of both.”

     I felt my cheeks grow hot with indignation. Although Godoired could not comprehend the conversation’s tone, the disdain Helga showed him irked me.

     “I am pleased to meet you, Godoired,” I exclaimed, carefully forming my words. If he understood English, perhaps he could read my lips. “Thank you for bringing my trunk. You may go now.”

     “That means ‘get out of here,’” Helga rudely intervened. Grasping the retainer’s arm, she hurried him through the door and slammed it in his face.  

     I glared at the maidservant angrily. My thoughts of gaining her friendship fled instantly. Swiftly, I rounded on her, ready to scold her. Helga faced me glibly as though nothing untoward had happened. My antagonism flared, then simmered.

     “You may go now,” I snapped, coolly. “I will expect the hot water, but I can unpack myself.” Dismissively, I turned to my morning meal.

     The crumpets, jam, and pot of coffee appeared inviting. Hungrily, I began to spread the jam on the breakfast pasty. However, when I bit into it, the moldy taste of the previous night evaded my tongue.

     “Ugh!” I exclaimed, tossing the crumpet into the fire. If the situation continued, I would surely starve to death. I sank into the armchair and glared at the floor.

     “Good morning,” Mama chirped sweetly. She entered through a connecting door, carrying her breakfast tray. Sitting across from me, she began to eat. The taste did not phase her. 

     "How long must we stay here, Mama?" I snapped, bluntly. 

     "We've come a long way, Norah," my mother responded. "You cannot expect to depart too swiftly." Pouring a cup of coffee, she sat back in her chair. Daintily, she brought the cup's rim to her lips and sipped.

     "But, Mama," I cried, disdainfully.

     “There are no ‘buts’ about it, Norah,” my parent remarked. “I must earn my living now that Papa is gone. This was the only opportunity open to us. We must make the best of it.” 

     Restlessly, I stood and wandered toward the window slit. Leaning against the cold stone wall, I peered through the gap. It did not provide a wide view. However, the uninviting vista sent a shiver down my spine. A black forest stretching toward the horizon greeted my gaze. Angry thunder clouds hovered above it. Forked lightning flashed, followed by the roar of thunder. All about the castle, death seemed to spread its tentacles.

     Suddenly, I longed for the green fields of England and autumn apples. A tear formed in the corner of my eye. I lowered my lashes and dashed it away in utter despair. Far away, Prentiss Wills resided at Gray Frair’s vicarage. I could see him standing in the Sunday pulpit delivering the sermon. He stood erect; his wire-framed glasses perched on his nose’s sharp peek. In his soft, imploring voice, he called upon the village sinners to repent.

     Papa lay dead in the adjoining cemetery beneath the marble cross erected in his memory. I wanted him to come to life again and take his rightful place in the church. Only a cruel society could rob the world of such a kind and loving soul. However, the new vicar would replace, and Grey Friars would cease to mourn my devout Papa.

     I longed to return home again, to run out to the gazebo and into Prentiss's open arms. Behind my mind's eye, I envisioned a young girl in a white dress. Her golden hair flew wild as she crossed the garden and tripped happily toward the summerhouse. Tall and erect, my lover stood in the latticed opening and smiled. The girl flew into his tender embrace, and they kissed.

     I sighed and turned away from the window slit. I pressed my back against the stone wall and clutched my hands against my throbbing breast. The young woman was not Norah Chamberlain. Instead, she was the new vicar’s daughter. Bitter tears flooded my swollen eyes.

     Oh, cruel life, I silently railed. My mind raged against my shattered dreams. My happy world lay in ruins�"as dreadfully destroyed as the dilapidated von Helfin castle. A loud sob caught in my throat and my knees buckled.  

     “Norah,” Mama soothed, smoothing my hair from my forehead. She knelt on the floor beside me and held my head in her lap.

     “I hate it here, Mama,” I whispered furtively. “I want to go home. Papa…”

     “My dear, dear child,” my mother murmured, comfortingly. “Papa can’t help us now. We must endure here until we can find something better. I promise we won’t stay here forever.”

     I wrapped my arms around her. Burying my head against her shoulder, I felt like a child awakened by a nightmare. She rocked me tenderly and spoke soothingly into my ear. I loved her dearly, but�"OH!�"how I hated Romania.

 

V

 

     The first dreary day crept passed slowly. Mama and I remained in our turret apartment and unpacked our trunks. One by one, I hung my pastel-colored dresses in the vast wardrobe. The light cotton and dimity fabrics seemed out of place in the dank castle. Nevertheless, my mother optimistically believed the light shades would brighten our surroundings.

     "I'm happy to put aside my widow's weeds," Mama announced cheerily. She swooped into the room wearing a pale lavender damask. Standing before the cheval glass, she adjusted the floral bonnet on her golden locks. "I feel sure the Baron intends to entertain now that we've arrived. He'll want to introduce us to the correct society."

     I wondered at her optimism. From what we saw the previous night, it appeared as though no one had visited the castle in years. Our surroundings did not depict a possible social life. Nevertheless, Mama continued chatting about dinner parties and an introductory ball in our honor.

     "Mama," I finally broke in, exasperated. "I don't believe Barons hold balls for newly arrived governesses. You're here to teach the children, not to socialize."

     My mother shifted her eyes toward me momentarily, then dismissed me quickly. Wrapped up in her fantasy, she began rummaging through my wardrobe. Pulling out a pink chiffon, she held it against me.

     "You were to wear this gown to Amity Barstow's coming out ball," she sighed, tossing the garment onto the bed. "How beautiful you would have looked with your hair piled high. I planned to give you Grandmama's Spanish comb on that special evening. Nevertheless, you can wear it when the Baron…"

     "The Baron isn't going to present us, Mama," I snapped, grasping her arms. I captured her startled blue eyes with my own and held them. "You're the governess, Mama."

     "Oh, yes, the governess," she murmured, returning to earth. "I must work on my lesson plan." Absently, she drifted from my room into her own.

     I watched her departure for a moment, then lifted the chiffon from my bed. I hung it in the wardrobe and absently caressed the soft fabric. Squire Barstow's daughter, Amity, attended the parish school until her sixteenth birthday. Then, she attended finishing school in France for an additional two years. Somehow, Mama had wrangled an invitation for me to attend her coming out ball.

     I closed the wardrobe door and leaned against it. Amity and I were never on friendly terms, although Mama constantly pushed us together. Haughty and spoiled, the older girl disdained my position as the Vicar's daughter. When she realized my parents intended marriage between the curate and me, she flirted unmercifully with Prentiss. I realized he didn't interest her, and she only intended to cause tension.

     I refused to accept when the invitation arrived to attend the festivities announcing her coming of age. Mama insisted upon engaging the local seamstress to create the lovely gown. I realized I would never wear it now.

     Deep in thought, I jumped in my skin when the door cracked open. Pushing it with her back, Helga entered carrying a luncheon tray. She set it on the table near the fire and turned to me.

     "Sorry to startle you, Miss," the chambermaid stated, bobbing a curtsey. "It's your lunch, Miss."

     "Ah, yes," I responded dismissively. Absently, I lifted the cover. I frowned at the stew and mashed potatoes.

     "'Tis goulash, Miss," Helga softly stated. "Grandmama made it specially."

     "Grandmama?" I questioned, raising my eyebrows.

     "Mrs. Balan, Miss," the maid stated. "She's my grandmama."

     "Is that so?" I asked, without interest.

     "Oh, yes, Miss," the girl continued, rocking on her heels. "My Mama ran away with the Gypsies. She was pregnant with me, but my birth killed her. After, I came to live with Grandmama."

     "Do you like living here, Helga?" I fired my question rapidly. "Don't you find it strange?"

     "Strange?" my companion asked, backing toward the door. "Why no, Miss. Tisn't strange here at all. Perhaps you're the one who's strange, Miss."

     Hastily, Helga scuttled through the door, slamming it behind her. I rushed after her, propelling myself onto the landing. Catching the railing, I presented myself from tumbling downward. Below, the echoing sound of fading footsteps clattered on the fieldstone passageway.

     I shrugged and returned to my room. Tentatively, I tasted the goulash. Although the moldy taste remained, it did not appear as strongly as in the scones. I ate it along with a loaf of crusty bread. When I finished, I stepped into Mama's room.

     Mama lay across her bed, drowsing. I tiptoed close and peered down upon her. Deciding to leave her to her rest, I moved away.

     "Don't go, Norah," she called, rising.

     "I wanted to leave you to your rest," I answered, turning to face her. "You have a long night ahead of you."

     "Yes, I suppose…" she began uncertainly.

     "Don't you find it strange to teach children after midnight?" I queried, perching on the bed's edge.

     "Perhaps…" Mama hesitated again and worried her bottom lip with her front teeth. "But…Oh, perhaps that's the way they do it in Romania. Nevertheless, it's what the Baron wants, so we must comply."

     "I don't like it here, Mama," I announced bluntly. "I want to go home."

     "This job is essential to me, Norah," my mother stated, grasping my hands. "You must understand. Why, we've only just arrived. You must adjust to your new surroundings and accept that you are no longer in England. It's a different culture. It's an opportunity to learn about how people live in different parts of the world."

     "I don't want to learn."

     Swooping from the room, I slammed the door behind me. I re-entered my chamber and sat before the fire. Mama joined me, and we spoke of our outward journey. We boarded the Orient Express in Paris and journeyed through Strasburg, Munich, Vienna, and Budapest. Finally, we alighted at the Romanian capital of Bucharest. From there, we picked up a branch line to Bacova.

     Our travel plans halted when we attempted to board the train that would eventually bring us to von Helfin castle. The conductor adamantly refused to stop at the village station. Nonplussed, Mama insisted upon calling the stationmaster.

     "The Baron von Helfin awaits our arrival," my mother insisted. "My daughter and I have traveled from England to take up a post there. The Baron expects us."

     "Yes, Madam, yes," the stationmaster agreed, nodding vigorously. "I have the order right here." Turning to the conductor, he commanded his compliance.

     "But…"

     "Never mind the buts," the conductor's supervisor exclaimed. "Stop the train at Helfin and let these ladies off. The order is final."

     "Absolutely, sir," the ticket collector stated, clicking his heels.

     In due course, the train halted at the small village, and we alighted. The one-eyed coachman greeted us solemnly and loaded our baggage onto his conveyance. We sped up the mountainous passage at a gallop, and the coachman unceremoniously dumped us within the gates.

     "Why did everyone seem frightened when we asked to come here, Mama?" I eventually asked. "It's as though they feared something…or someone."

     Before my parent could respond, Baron von Helfin appeared in the doorway suddenly. I gasped and sank back against my chair. Mama rose hastily and, taking his arm, bid me a pleasant goodnight. I shuddered as I watched her retreating back. I did not want her to leave with the ominous Baron.

     Rising, I raced into the rotunda and clattered down the spiral staircase after her. She vanished as I reached the bottom, and the door slammed closed. The sound echoed through the round vestibule. I grasped the ornate brass handle and pushed.

     "Locked," I muttered, aghast. Throughout the overnight hours, I would remain imprisoned within the castle turret. I sighed and began the climb upward to my bed chamber.

     The feeling of being watched straightened my back as I reached the doorway. Furtively, I glanced about and searched for the unobserved figure. I squinted against the penetrating dark but did not see anyone lingering nearby.

     "Hello," I called nervously. My voice trembled slightly. "Hello?"

     No response. I looked about again. Then, gazing upward, I saw the bat. Its beady red eyes seemed to penetrate my skin as it hung upside down from the rafters. I swept open my door and entered hastily. Leaning against the thick oaken ingress, I gnawed my lower lip.

     I cracked the door and looked up at the bat again. Something about those eyes seemed vaguely familiar. It appeared to wink at me. I re-slammed the door and moved away from it quickly.

     The uneasy night crept past. Hour after hour, I awaited Mama's return. I would not feel comforted until she entered the chamber. Finally, I slept fitfully and awoke when the door creaked open in the morning.

     Mama entered along with dawn's first fingers of sunlight. Ashen, she stood with her back pressed against the closed door. She quickly threw the locking bar in place and advanced toward the bed.

     Hastily, I propped my pillows behind me and sat up. Mama perched at the edge of the bed and soothed my hair gently. I leaned my head against her shoulder and stared at her quizzically.

     "Norah," she whispered my name tremulously.

     "Whatever's the matter, Mama?" I asked, alarmed.

     "You must promise me, my sweet, to never leave this chamber after dark," she adamantly insisted. "Never, never leave."

     "Ye-yes, Mama," I conceded weakly.

     "Lock the door and never allow anyone inside," she continued.

     "Ye-yes, Mama."

     I shuddered, imagining my mother teaching the Baron's children in that dreadful cellar nursery. If they roamed the castle during the overnight hours, I did not wish to encounter them. I had no intention of wandering into the eerie corridors after dark.

 

VI

 

     Mama awoke when the last rays of sunlight crept through the window slit. She arrived in her bedroom at dawn and slept throughout the day. Fresh as a dewed flower, she rose with the moon. Carefully, she dressed in a light morning gown and primped before the cheval glass. I watched her suspiciously from the adjoining door. My mother made a great effort with her appearance considering her position as the children's governess.

     When Baron von Helfin arrived at midnight to escort her to the nursery, Mama smiled brightly. He offered his arm, and she placed her small palm on his elbow. Slowly, they descended the spiral staircase. Their light chatter echoed throughout the round turret. Mama giggled at a remark I could not hear and leaned her head closer to her companion's shoulder.

     Returning to Mama's bed chamber, I caught a whiff of her lavender cologne. I picked up the atomizer from her vanity table and sniffed it. I studied her cosmetics and the costume jewelry she left scattered across the flat surface.

     'Curious,' I thought to myself.

     I re-entered my room and read the note Mama left on the table. It contained my daily lessons. I tucked it into my history book, ready for the morning. The assignments followed the same methods Prentiss Wills utilized at home. I could complete them with ease.

     Slowly, I prepared for bed. My thoughts flew to Mama teaching the children in the dank underground nursery. Although I never saw her pupils, she spoke glowingly of them. It seemed, at times, that she grew more attached to them than to her daughter.

     "Vlad puts great effort into learning his lessons," my mother explained one evening. "He longs to impress his father. He is adept at languages. His Latin is superb, and his English has improved greatly since my arrival."

     Latin!�"I sighed, recalling the hours I spent with Prentiss repeating verb conjugations. The curate prompted me to continue until my tongue tripped over the lists and my head throbbed uncontrollably.

     "I'm never going to use this in my entire life!" I insisted, stamping my foot on the floor. "No one speaks Latin anymore."

     I stumbled from the schoolroom, my skirts, and petticoats twisting around my ankles. I tripped on the carpet and righted myself. Propelling myself outside, I rushed for the gazebo and sank on the rounded bench.

     "Norah," Prentiss whispered, sitting beside me and taking my hands.

     "I'm sick of it, Prentiss," I exclaimed vehemently. "Sick of Latin. Sick of repeating the same verbs again and again. It's useless. I'll never learn."

     No, I'll never learn, but Vlad would. Perfect Vlad�"the Baron's son. I thought of his ashen face with its prim scarlet mouth forming Latin verbs. Mama's bright eyes shone when she spoke of his achievements.

     "The Baron shows great pride in his children," my parent continued. "He says I have made huge strides with them during my short time as their governess. He is pleased with the results."

     Indeed, the results satisfied her. Mama gloated over her success as a governess. I stared at the ceiling, jealousy raging beneath the surface of a placid expression. She rarely complimented my work. Diligently, I bent over my assignments. I completed them efficiently and left the stacked papers on her bureau. During the weeks since our arrival at the castle, they piled up. I did not know if she had corrected them. She remained wrapped up in the von Helfin children's accomplishments.

     "The Baron suggested you join the youngster in their lessons," Mama stated one evening.

     I stared at her, aghast. I preferred studying in my bed chamber. The dank cellar room frightened me. I would suffocate if forced to spend time beneath the earth's surface.

     "I will remain above ground, Mama," I snapped, "if you don't mind."

     "Have it your way, Norah," my mother sighed. She regarded me briefly, then continued, "Luiza is a fine girl; she's only a few years younger than you. I thought, perhaps, you two might become friends. She has a sweet voice. You could harmonize…"

     "Thank you, Mama, but no," I responded swiftly.

     "Vanda could use help with her grammar…"

     "Mama!" I shouted, losing my patience. "I'm not interested in the von Helfin children. I'm not interested in that horrid nursery. Please, leave me out of your plans."

     "You don't have to take that attitude, Norah," my mother chastised. She hastily plunked onto my bed and covered her face with her hands.

     I stood above her, unmoved by her sudden outburst. I would have felt more sympathetic if she paid attention to me instead of extolling the children's virtues. Day after day, I remained in the turret chamber, studying. She rarely complimented my efforts. Instead, she spoke about Vlad, Luiza, and Vanda. I began to think they were more like her children than me.

     "I don't enjoy teaching under these circumstances either, Norah," Mama finally stated. "I spoke to the Baron about opening the nursery on the fourth floor. It contains a marvelously huge window that allows plenty of sunlight. He refused.

     "Furthermore, I recommended long rides in the countryside," she continued, nonplussed. "A day out in the warm sunshine would do wonders for the youngsters. I told him it would put roses on their cheeks. I swear he hissed at me."

     Finally, I sat beside my mother and grasped her hands. Often, Squire Barstow allowed Prentiss and me the use of his stables. Blissfully, we cantered across the moors and frequently into the lake district. Amity repeatedly chased after us, and we reluctantly permitted her company. Much to my annoyance, she flirted openly with the curate and pushed her horse between us when we rode side-by-side.

     I sighed, wishing for those days again. My English life seemed to fade in my memory. Day after day, I remained trapped in the unforgiving castle. I would give everything I owned for another afternoon meandering along the country lanes.

     "The Baron permits short rides along those treacherous mountain passes," Mama exclaimed, "only after the moon sets." She clenched her fists and grimaced.

     "How strange," I muttered.

     "Indeed."

 

******

 

     The monotonous days caught up to me. For two long months, I remained confined in the castle turret. I saw Mama infrequently. Helga brought my meals promptly. Occasionally I spoke to her. However, if she lingered too long, Mrs. Balan appeared to scold her.

     "I can't bear this any longer," I suddenly exclaimed. I stared at my lunch tray with disgust. "Goulash…again!" Disdainfully, I pushed the tray aside.

     "I'm sorry, Miss," the maid responded demurely. "Grandmama…"

     "I don't give one whit about Grandmama," I retorted angrily. "I'm tired of goulash, this turret, and von Helfin. Tired! Tired! Tired!"

     Helga stared at me flabbergasted. Then, snatching up the tray, she fled. The door slammed behind her, and her footsteps echoed in the rotunda. I sank into my chair and covered my face with my hands. I sobbed.

     "Miss," a soft voice whispered. "Miss."

     I glanced up at the maid and wiped my eyes. I did not want her to see me cry.

     "Come with me, Miss," Helga invited, stretching out her hand.

     Bewildered, I stared at her outstretched palm for a moment. Helga continued to offer it, and I finally grasped it. I rose and followed her downstairs.

     "Von Helfin castle was built during the eleventh century," my guide explained.

     We stood in the grand hall with its swooping staircase and medieval weaponry gracing the walls. Although the furnishings lay in ruins, Helga did not appear to notice. Next, we entered the dining room. The vast table lay broken in half in the midst of the room. Along the walls, the ancient benches lay scattered. Cobwebs draped the elk antler chandelier.

     Helga led me through a dank passage into the vast medieval kitchen. A huge cauldron bubbled over a roaring fire. Wiping sweat from her brow, Mrs. Balan stirred it. My companion pressed her forefinger against her lips and waved me onward. We tiptoed across the flagstone floor and exited into an overgrown courtyard.

     Godoired Cazacu knelt before a weed-tangled flowerbed with a hand trough. Shushing me again, Helga crept behind him and raised her foot. Aghast, I pulled her away before she connected with his upraised derriere.

     "What did you do that for?" the maid demanded, swooping on me.

     "It was cruel!" I declared angrily.

     Spinning on my heels, I rushed toward a set of French doors. I entered the parlor we occupied the night we arrived. Noticing the harpsichord in the corner, I approached it and ran my fingers over the keys. Tentatively, I sat and began to play. As the music swirled around me, von Helfin's castle faded into the background. I floated miles away.

     "Miss," Helga finally interrupted me. "Tis late, Miss. Twill get dark soon."

     I stared at the maid for a moment, blinking my eyes rapidly. A light mist entered the dark room, and I shivered. Rising, I closed the harpsichord and noticed the bat hanging in the corner. Its red beady eyes penetrated mine. I gasped. It appeared more malevolent than the one I encountered in the turret. Frightened, I raced from the parlor.

     My rapid heart continued to beat when I entered my bedroom. Mama stepped in from her chamber and stared at me in astonishment. Then, her dower expression broke into a wide smile.

     "Did I hear harpsichord music?" she asked, advancing toward me.

     "Yes, I played it in the parlor," I answered. "It's tuned to perfection. I…" I paused, then suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, Mama, there was a bat. It watched me so intently. I…I thought for a moment… Its eyes…so eerie."

     "Did it frighten you, my love?" Mama suddenly enfolded me in her arms. I nodded against her warm bosom and snuggled in close.

     "Never mind," she continued to soothe. "I'll speak to Nicolai about it this evening."

     "Nicolai?" I asked, glancing up at her. The name seemed unfamiliar.

     "The Baron," my mother explained with a slight giggle. "He asked me to call him by his given name. He calls me Bella in his quaint Romanian accent."

     I looked at her again quizzically. No one other than Papa called her Bella. How dare the Baron make such an assumption! Rage suddenly flared in my mind. That horrid man could never replace my beloved father. Yet, I felt he penetrated further into my mother's life than a mere employer.

     "Nicolai is kindness personified," Mama continued despite my wall of silence. "You'll get to know him quite well, I expect. Just give him time."

     My mind hardened against the Baron as fear gripped my heart. I studied Mama intently. Her skin appeared more shallow than usual. A faint peach glow rose on her cheeks, and the scarlet shade of her lips deepened. Finally, I noticed the two red punctures on her neck beneath her earlobe.

     "Mama, you've hurt yourself," I gasped, my fingers lightly touching the marks.

     "It's nothing, sweetheart," she sighed. She adjusted the lace at her collar hastily to hide the imperfection. "Just a minor scratch. I probably caught it with my fingernail."

     I shrank away from her and began to protest. However, before I could speak, the chamber door swung open. The Baron leaned in the frame and ogled me contemporaneously. I gasped as his sullen eyes met mine. How familiar they seemed, but, naturally, they could not belong to the bat in the parlor.

     "Did you hear Norah playing the harpsichord this afternoon, Nicolai dear?" Mama exclaimed, weaving her arm through the Baron's elbow. She pressed herself against his side.

     "Ah, so, your daughter is as talented as she is beautiful," von Helfin declared, his lips twitching with amusement. "You may continue to play if you so desire. A little music in the daytime helps a man relax."

     During my tour with Helga, we did not glimpse the Baron or his children. Mrs. Balan and Godoired kept busy with their duties. Otherwise, no signs of life appeared within the castle. I slanted my eyes toward our host, wondering what he did during the daytime.

     "Shall we give the children the night off, Bella, my dear?" the Baron questioned as they drifted onto the landing. "We shall take a ride along the ridge in the moonlight."

     "Certainly," Mama replied, "we shall." She giggled lightly.

     A few moments later, the sound of the horse's hooves reverberated in the courtyard below. I pressed my eye against the window slit and watched Mama and the Baron canter across the ridge. The enormous black horses appeared fierce, and Mama struggled to control her mount.      However, she kept pace with her companion, and soon, they vanished from sight. I watched them disappear, dumbfounded.

     "Oh, Mama," I sighed in trepidation.

 

 

VII

 

     Mama slipped further from my life with each passing month. Her nightly activities left her drained in the morning. Occasionally, she stumbled into my room and nibbled on a piece of breakfast toast. The children's antics filled her conversation. Smoldering with resented, I listened to her in silence.

     "Vanda reminds me of you at her age," my mother stated, oblivious to my growing jealousy. "She drew the most charming picture of her Papa and me last night."

     Hustling into her bedroom, Mama returned with a rolled parchment. She spread it on the bed and smiled upon it fondly. Angry black coal scribbles filled the page. I ogled it, time stretching out intermittently. I could not discern any figures resembling humans.

     "Mama, I…" I lifted the parchment and turned it on another angle. Still, nothing popped out at me.

     "Vanda shows great talent, does she not?"

     "I…" I stuttered, at a complete loss. "I…I don't know what to say." Slowly, I re-rolled the drawing and handed it back to my mother.

     Mama stared at me blankly for a moment. She began extorting the children's virtues again, but I turned my back on her. Then, abruptly spinning on her heels, she exited the room. While she slept the day away, I addressed my history assignment.

     Stonehenge�"a prehistoric monument�"stands on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, I read. Tears welled in my eyes. Vividly, I recalled the holiday we spent in the South of England many years ago. Papa loved visiting historical sites. He believed studying ancient monuments meant seeing them up close.

     "Did the Pagans really sacrifice to their gods here?" I remembered asking. Slowly, I turned in a circle and gazed upon the massive sarsen stones topped with their heavy lintels. The entire structure seemed imposing to a five-year-old girl.

     "We don't know for sure, love," my father explained, squatting beside me. "History holds many mysteries that we are yet to unravel. It makes our past a fascinating subject."

     "Are we going to stand here all day, Mill?" Mama burst into our explorations. "The noon hour is drawing close. I want to return to London before the shops close."

     "In a moment, my dearest," Papa called back. "Norah has asked a question, and I wish to answer it fully."

     "She's a five-year-old child, Millard," Mama sharply declared, "not an Oxford scholar."

     "We'll come along shortly, Bella," Papa jovially called back. Turning to me, he continued his description of Stonehenge.

     "Now, Millard!" Mama stood on the edge of the ruined circle impatiently.

     "Yes, dear," my father meekly remarked. Bowing his head, he followed her from the field. I trotted along behind, my short legs hurrying to keep up.

     The memory remained fresh in my mind as I stared down at the pencil drawing in my history book. Did the Pagans really sacrifice to their gods at Stonehenge? I whispered to myself. A tear unexpectedly dropped upon the page, smearing the picture. Hastily, I closed the book and stared at it blankly.

     I wanted Papa. I longed for Grey Friar's Vicarage and the happy days of my youth. If only I could sit on his knee again and listen to him read from his history books. Unlike Mama, I longed to learn about ancient times. I always resented her interruption that day on the Salisbury Plain.

     I left my books and wandered into the adjoining bed chamber. My mother sprawled across the massive bed in a deep sleep. How pale her skin appeared against the scarlet counterpane. Momentarily, I hovered above her. She looked so different than when we first arrived. Her vitality seemed to disappear overnight.

     Cautiously, I sat beside her and swept a blonde lock away from her neck. The pinpricks I noticed previously stood out against her jugular vein. Hurriedly, I located Mama's cosmetic bag and found an antiseptic. Tenderly, I cleansed the angry, infected wounds.

     "Norah," Mama mumbled sleepily.

     "Lie still, Mama," I ordered gently. "Your scratches are festering. I'm applying an antiseptic."

     "Leave it alone, Norah." Briskly sitting up, Mama removed the antiseptic from my hand and set it aside. Tenderly, she touched the marks and muttered the Baron's name.

     I stared at her dumbfounded. She caressed the wounds, her eyes filled with a strange love.

     "Did the Baron do this to you?" I asked, grasping her icy hands. "Has he touched you? Has he taken advantage of you?" I fired my questions rapidly.

     My mother stared at me for a long, defiant moment. Then, she sank against her pillow in a sullen repose.

     "The Baron and I are both adults, Norah," she demurely stated. "We can act as we please."

     Mama's behavior toward Baron von Helfin startled me. Where did they go, and why wasn't she teaching the children? Several times, I had seen them riding across the mountain peak.

     I gazed down upon her miserably. My heart raced, and I balled my hands into fists.

     "I want to go home!" I finally wailed. "I want Gray Friar's Vicarage and Prentiss." A lump built up in my throat, and I swallowed it. "I want Papa!"

     "Papa's dead, my sweet," Mama stated emotionlessly. "This is our home now. The Baron and I…"

     "It is not our home!" I flared, my cheeks burning with rage. "England is our home. We don't belong here."

     "This is our home."

     The stark tone of my mother's voice startled me. Her usually soft eyes turned hard as stone, the blue pupils like orbs of ice. Her lips twisted into an angry frown.

     "You may leave me, Norah." Mama dismissed me with an impertinent wave. Sinking into her pillows, she averted her face and fell into a deep slumber.

     I watched her for several moments before returning to my chamber. Spreading my books across the small table, I fell into a brown study. Helga appeared with my luncheon, but I waved her away. The day passed slowly.

     Shortly before midnight, I heard the Baron knock at Mama's door. I cracked mine open and watched them descend the turret staircase. My shoulders sank as I closed the door and leaned against it.

     A deep depression settled upon me. Slowly, I undressed and pulled my flannelette nightie over my head. I lay on the bed and stared at the emerald curtains. Faint moonlight filtered through the window slit casting a path across the carpet. Falling into a dream, I walked along the moonbeam. Prentiss Wills stood at the end, his arms open wide. I ran into them. Then, a loud fist rapping against wood brought me back to reality.

     Still wrapped in my fantasy, I drifted toward the door. I swung it open, expecting to find Prentiss. Instead, the Baron's ward strode in.

     Taken aback, I gasped. Ranulf swept a deep bow and addressed me in lisping English. At first, I did not understand his words. He repeated them.

     "The Baron�"my uncle�"requests your presence," he stated, clicking his heels together. "Immediately."

     "Immediately?" I questioned imperiously. "At this hour? Whatever for?"

     "He said immediately," Ranulf responded, offering his arm.

     I glared at his outstretched elbow disdainfully. His soft, imploring eyes met mine. Stepping back, I grasped the bed curtain and clung to it. The Baron's nephew moved closer and reached out with his hand.

     "You must hurry," Ranulf stated. "Uncle has requested both of us."

     I hesitated momentarily. Something about the nephew attracted me. His dark eyes seemed to melt as he looked at me. His red mouth twitched as though to form a smile. Tentatively, I reached out to take his hand. Then, I froze.

     "I refuse," I remarked coolly. Hastily, I folded my arms beneath my breasts and sucked in my breath.

     "You cannot refuse." A perplexed look crossed the nephew's face.

     Indeed no one ever refused an order from the Baron. However, I intended to hold my ground.

     "I refuse," I briskly repeated. "You may leave my chamber. I do not wish to remain alone with you under these circumstances."

     Ranulf hesitated momentarily. His sultry eyes took in my nightdress and the turned-down bed. Crimson flamed into his cheeks. Clicking his heels, he bowed deeply at the waist and spun around. The door banged closed behind him.

     Inadvertently, a giggle escaped my lips. Plunking onto the bed, I covered my face with my hands and rocked with hysteria. Poor Ranulf, I thought. I mistreated him.

     When I finally fell asleep again, the moonbeam dream repeated itself. However, instead of Prentiss, Ranulf awaited me. I gasped and bolted into a sitting position.

     Mama stood at the bed's foot, glaring down at me. Her angry expression told its own story.

     "When the Baron summons you, you arrive," she snapped irritably. "Where were you?"

     "I was asleep in my bed," I hissed, "where I belong."

     My mother continued to hover above me. Her unattended hair hung in corkscrews, framing her haggard face. Abruptly, I pushed my pillow behind me and sat up straighter. She wore a skimpy black dress with a plunging neckline and a black veil. In her hands, she grasped a bouquet of wilted roses. I could not recall her possessing such a horrid outfit.

     "What happened, Mama?" I finally asked, dreading her response. "Why did the Baron summon me after midnight?"

     "Oh, Norah, the most wonderful thing…"

     Mama crumbled like a ragdoll and sprawled across my bed. She curled into a ball, hugging herself, and rolled about like a child. A delighted expression crossed her face as she gazed upwards into the emerald bed hangings.

     "All my fantasies have come true," she muttered dreamily.

     Hastily, I leaped from the bed and clung to the bedpost in alarm. I feared for Mama's sanity. Her eyes took on a wild cast, and a hideous cackle escaped her twisted lips.

     "I have finally escaped that drafty old vicarage and your pompous father," she cruelly stated. "Oh, how I hated all those dull sermons and that dreadful fate. I'm free, Norah, finally and irrevocably free."

     I cringed at her dreadful, mocking words. All my life, I believed she loved Papa. Her ideal life in the vicarage seemed complete. Gazing down upon her, I viewed her differently. The cutting remarks she used to make took on new meaning. I began to chastise her; then, I noticed the new ring on her finger.

     Hastily, I sat on the bed and grasped her hand. A thick golden band connected by the head and tail of a snake replaced my father's wedding ring. I froze, the meaning catching me off-guard. The reason for the midnight summons became crystal clear. Hot tears clung to my eyelashes.

     "You have guessed correctly, my little love," Mama exclaimed, sneering maliciously. "Nicolai and I wed last night beneath the blood moon."

     The door swung open as she spoke, and the Baron nonchalantly leaned in the opening. His smile widened, showing the tips of his sharp canines. Mama rose and enfolded herself in his arms. She smiled up at him, and he kissed the tip of her nose.

     "Aren't you going to greet your new Papa?" von Helfin questioned smoothly. He extended his arm and waved me into their embrace.

     Suddenly, I broke into the most horrendous laughter. It welled inside my chest like a balloon and ululated with the wild abandon of an African hyena. Losing all control, I grasped the bedpost, and my knees buckled. The outlandish hilarity continued to echo throughout the chamber until I suddenly hiccupped. Then, my tears let loose. I wept with equal abandon.

     Shriek upon shriek filled the air around me. For a moment, I thought Mama made the gruesome noise. She stood above me, gazing upon me pitifully. I met her softened eyes momentarily and realized the screams originated with me. Gasping, I tried to hold onto the last shreds of sanity and failed.

     "Isabella?" the Baron prompted, placing his arm comforting around her. "We must depart quickly. Our honeymoon…"

     "Yes, of course, Nicolai," Mama murmured, casting one last glance in my direction.

     I reached out my arms to her in a last attempt at succor. Nevertheless, my mother gyrated toward her new husband. She stepped into his embrace and turned her back upon me as though in a trance. Instantly, I felt lost and abandoned. Heartbroken, I fell into a faint.

     I awoke with the first sunbeams of the morning. Mrs. Balan hovered beside my bed and offered a mug of broth. At first, I refused it, but she insisted. Grasping the cup, I sipped the steaming liquid. Helga peeked out from behind her full skirt, her expression expectant.

     "My mother…?" I whispered, hoping I dreamed of the night's adventure.

     "She will return shortly," the housekeeper assured me. "The Baron has taken her away to the hunting lodge. They will spend their honeymoon there in seclusion."

     "Oh." I sank against my pillow, filled with disappointment.

     "You must rest for the day," Mrs. Balan prescribed, her voice expressionless. "You'll feel much better tomorrow."

     Helga plopped onto the bed and insisted she would remain with me. However, her grandmother grabbed her arm and pulled her away. I watched them depart through hazy eyes. The broth made me sleepy, and the room began to whirl. I rested my aching head on the pillow, and the world drifted away.

 

 

VIII

     A feeling of dread ripped me from my slumbers. A finger of moonlight pointed across the carpet from the turret slit. I sat up and pulled the bedcovers to my chin. Swiftly, I surveyed the room. I felt as though I were not alone. Then, I saw the creature.

     Hanging upside down from the bed curtains, a huge black bat ogled me. Its beady red eyes seemed to glow in the shadowed corner. I pulled myself to my knees and shrieked.

     "Get out of here!" I yelled frantically.

     Grabbing my pillow, I began beating at the dreadful mammal. I rose to my knees and battered it, screaming like a banshee. Its wings began to beat briskly, and it suddenly flew into my face. I flared at it with my arms and finally connected. The bat spiraled against the wall and landed, with a thud, on the floor.

     I leaped out of bed and stared at the abominable beast. The black body convulsed, and its wings beat on the floor. My heart pounded as I bent to examine it closely. Fearing I harmed it, I prodded it with my toe. Abruptly, the bat rose and swooped through the open slit. I ran after it and, halting at the window, watched it fly into a nearby tree.

     England seemed a million miles away, in a different world. Hugging myself, I tentatively sat on the edge of the bed. Since Mama returned from her honeymoon, I rarely saw her. She no longer occupied the other turret bed chamber. Occasionally, I saw her wraithlike form slip along the ghastly corridors. However, when I chased her, she vanished.

     I longed to speak to my mother, to share confidences with her. Due to her neglect, I fell behind in my studies. Day after day, I roamed the castle corridors. The abandoned bedrooms remained unkempt, leaving me to wonder where the Baron and his family slept.

     When the sun set, I returned to the turret. As soon as I mounted the spiral stairway, I heard the bolt slam into place. From sunset to dawn, I remained a prisoner in the tower. In the morning, Helga, carrying my breakfast tray, unlocked the door.

     "Ranulf has a horrible lump on his forehead," the chambermaid gossiped. "Grandmama put ice on it." She giggled. "Women trouble, she suspects."

     My heart fluttered at the nephew's name, then it sank. I imagined him carousing in the nearby village inn late at night. I decided that a handsome young man like Ranulf must have a love interest.

     Absently, I lifted the cover on my breakfast plate and stared at the eggs and sausage. My appetite fled as my jealousy rose. Forcefully, I pushed my thoughts concerning the Baron's nephew aside. Closing my eyes, I recalled an image of Prentiss Wills. I had to find a way to return to England and continue my relationship with him. Ranulf remained out of my grasp; I had no right to consider him.

     "Take this away," I commanded sharply. Lifting the tray, I shoved it into Helga's arms.

     "But, Miss," the maid exclaimed.

     "No, but Miss," I responded snappishly. "I said I do not want it."

     Hugging myself, I turned away and stared into the smoldering fire. The thought of Ranulf with another woman disturbed me. A tear clung to my lashes, and I dashed it away.

     "I told you to go," I declared, spinning back to the chambermaid.

     Helga continued to stand in the midst of the room as though rooted to the spot. She clung to the dining tray. I took a step toward her, and she flew from the room. The door banged behind her.

     "Stupid," I chastised myself. I sat on the bed, staring in front of me. Finally, I rose and, wrapping my plaid wool shawl around my shoulders, plodded downstairs.

     The crisp autumn air struck me when I entered the castle courtyard. A high stone wall enclosed the dismal area. A withered ornamental cherry tree hovered in the east corner, and the hedges remained bare of leaves or color. On the opposite side, a dilapidated arbor stood crookedly amongst them. I sat on the bench and stared despondently at the broken fountain in the center.

     My emotions chased themselves around and around in my head. I fought to dismiss them.

     "Get a hold of yourself," I upbraided my thoughts.

     Standing, I drifted absently toward the cherry tree. Its poor black branches dipped toward the earth dejectedly. I twisted a small branch until it snapped off in my hands. Death seemed to prevail in von Helfin castle's nooks and crannies. Inside and outside, every object appeared neglected�"unloved--including the inhabitants. Yet, Mama must have fallen in love with the Baron for her to marry him suddenly.

     I had to remain faithful to Prentiss, I decided. If I focused solely on him, I felt I could connect with him. I clung to him, depended upon him. I applied pressure to my brain and telepathically sent out a mental distress call.

     "We're connected, heart and soul, Norah," I recalled the curate telling me. Together, we stood in the white gazebo at the bottom of the vicarage garden. Prentiss grasped my hands and pulled me close. He kissed my forehead tenderly. "If you ever need me, call me with your mind, and I will come to you."

     I needed him and focused my thoughts on him with all my strength. Behind me, a branch snapped. I spun around, expecting to see my father's assistant. Instead, Helga stood shyly at a distance.

     "What do you want?" I snapped fiercely.

     "I want your friendship," the waiflike girl stuttered. Clasping her hands behind her back, she rocked on her heels.

     For a moment, I ogled the maid. Then, my heart softened. Mama's absence left a huge gap in my life. Without her, I had no one to talk to, no one to share my secrets. I did not particularly like Helga. Her attitude toward the deaf-mute handyman disturbed me. As I thought of Godoired Cazacu, he trundled past, pushing a wheelbarrow. My companion's eyes narrowed suspiciously. However, I wove my elbow through hers and strolled toward the garden's opposite end.

     "Tell me about England?" Helga asked keenly.

     In hushed tones, I spoke of my old home. Weaving my words, I described autumn apples and hedge roses, the lanes Prentiss and I rode over on our borrowed horses and galloping across vast open fields. Helga listened avidly to my description of London shops and Hyde Park in the springtime.

     "During the summer, Papa planned excursions to historic places," I stated enthusiastically. "We visited Stonehenge, Bath, and Stratford upon Avon--Shakespeare's birthplace. I've walked upon Hadrian's Wall and visited Loch Laven Castle where Mary Queen of Scots lay imprisoned."

     "You have seen many places," Helga remarked enviously. "I wish I could go there. I have never left von Helfin."

     I stopped short and stared at my new friend. I could not imagine spending day upon day in the ominous castle precincts. A desperate yearning filled me to fly away, return to England, and never see the horrible place again.

     "If you could run away," Helga began wistfully, "would you take me with you?"

     "If I could run away…" I repeated dreamily. Escape!�"the word flashed in my mind, its letters a bold red. I halted and dug my toes between the cobbles. If only… "Oh, yes, Helga, you could come with me."

     Spinning, I grasped my new friend's hands and danced with her in a circle. Perhaps Helga knew an escape route; maybe she could assist me. Halting my impromptu celebration, I grabbed her hand and dragged her to the arbor seat.

     "How far away is the village?" I demanded, grinning wildly. "Can we walk the distance?"

     Surreptitiously, I cast my eyes toward the craggy descent. Far below, the tiny hamlet crouched amongst the forest overgrowth. Although I could not locate it, I knew it lay nearby. I had enough money saved to purchase a train ticket, maybe two.

     My thoughts whirled in anticipation of leaving von Helfin far behind. Then, an image of Mama sprang up behind my mind's eye. I could not run away and leave her. If I escaped, I had to take her with me. However, since her marriage, Mama clung to the Baron as a drowning person would to a life raft. Her adoring eyes followed his every movement. I determined I had to separate the newly married couple. If I spoke with Mama reasonably, I could convince her to return to England with me.

     Oh, how my gentle mother changed since our arrival in Romania! She became an altogether different person beneath the terrifying grip of Baron von Helfin. Time and again, I wished to shake her awake from the dreadful nightmare that enraptured her.

     "Norah!" Helga gripped my sleeve and tugged hard.

     Abruptly pulling away from my idyllic visions, I refocused on my companion. An urgent expression crossed her face.

     "The sun, Norah, the sun," the chambermaid gasped, pointing toward the western horizon.

     The last remnants of the scarlet sun peeked between the jagged tree line beneath us. Clammy perspiration covered my skin, and, swiveling, I ran. I bolted toward the heavy oaken door--my shoes beating a staccato against the cobblestones.

     The door to the turret stairway seemed miles away. The ancient hinges squealed their displeasure but yielded to my tug. Rushing inside, I tripped over the threshold and stumbled on an upraised flagstone. I righted myself and plunged toward the curving stairway. Gaining the ancient gallery, I rushed past portraits of long-dead von Helfin family members. Their images blurred with my passing.

     As I reached the egress into the tower, a black figure emerged from the shadows. I halted, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. In the fading light, the shape stepped forward. I gasped.

     Swiftly, Ranulf blocked my passage. His thin lips spread into a crimson smile. Reflected in the final glimmer of daylight, I noticed the elongation of his sharp canines. Grasping my shoulders, he drew me against his chest. Then, hovering above me, he leaned toward my exposed neck.

 

IX

     The putrid scent of death filled my nostrils. My throat constricted, and I gagged, unable to control my reaction. Undeterred, the Baron's nephew strengthened his grip. The prick of his sharp teeth broke the tender skin of my neck. Frantically, my tiny, tightened fists beat upon his rigid back.

     My posture slackened, and I felt my life drain away. I focused on Ranulf's ear. Its tip ended in a sharp point. Wisps of unruly black hair hung over his smooth white forehead. Squirming feverishly against his firm grip, I struggled for release. His head bent deeper into my neck, and I felt a trickle of blood flow beneath my collar. Then, I recalled Papa's advice if a man accosted me. I raised my knee and positioned it between the crook of his legs.

     "Ranulf!" Baron von Helfin's sharp voice reverberated around the eerie corridor.

     My attacker's form dissipated in the swirl of his black opera cape. High in a cobwebbed corner, a solemn bat stared down upon the frightening scene. Its glowing red eyes blinked as though startled by the commotion.

     My ill-used body collapsed, and I slid down the wall. Squatting, the Baron gently placed his arms beneath my shoulders and knees. Lifting me quickly, he carried me into a nearby chamber and put me upon an antique Davenport. Mama perched beside me and encircled my body with her outstretched arm. I buried my head in her comforting bosom and inhaled her sweet lavender scent.

     "My deepest apologies, Bella, my dear," Niculai von Helfin politely stated. "Norah is off-limits to Ranulf. Time and again, I have made it abundantly clear. It will never happen again; I promise."

     Mama hesitated momentarily. Her cool hand soothed my brow, and she smiled upon me tenderly. In my heart of hearts, I longed for her indignation. Indeed we could not remain in the castle following such a heinous act. Nevertheless, her anxious pallid expression softened. She smiled at her husband, accepting his assurances dutifully.

     "Youngblood flows hotly," Mama demurely stated. Then, her lips twitched merrily as though she suddenly realized a joke.

     "Ah, yes, young blood," the Baron stated seductively. His thick Romanian accent emphasized each word.

     Mama's laughter deepened despite the circumstances. Rising, she threaded her hand through her husband's elbow and leaned against his chest. Methodically, step by step, they departed. Horrified, I gaped at their retreating backs.

     Alone, I grappled with my mother's calm withdrawal. I vividly recalled running to her with scraped knees and elbows. Mama soothed my childhood tears with butterfly kisses and bandaged my minor wounds.

     "All better?" Mama consistently inquired on such occasions.

     "Yes, Mama," my younger self responded. I smiled and skipped off to rejoin my village friends.

     Since our arrival in Romania, Mama changed. I called her 'The Baron's Puppet' when my anger against her flared. She constantly clung to him and demurely obeyed his wishes. In the past, she sharply rebuked Papa, called him a prude, and often refused his smallest request. I could not understand her abrupt change of attitude.

     I brooded in the isolated bedroom for ages before I finally rose. Sluggishly, I climbed the turret. A cold chill swept through my chamber, and I hugged myself against it. On the table, a solitary candle glowed dimly. It provided little light or warmth.

     The fire lay untended. I squatted before it and lit the crumpled paper with the candle flame. When it began to blaze, I sat in my chair and watched the orange sparks dance up the chimney. A faint mist crept in, encircling the furnishings.

     A solitary tear formed and clung to my eyelash. Frustrated, I dashed it away. Then, one by one, others trailed down my cheeks and dripped from my chin. Forlornly, I stared into the fire without seeing it.

     My jagged thoughts flittered from Mama to Ranulf. My fantasies led me to consider the Baron's nephew a romantic figure. Until the earlier incident, I had not entirely made his acquaintance. However, he often appeared in my wayward thoughts.

     I fingered the tiny puncture marks on my neck. Two delicate scabs formed over them. The tip of my nails loosened them, and my blood flowed again.

     "Drat!" I exclaimed peevishly. I dabbed at the punctures with my handkerchief and stared at the red smears with disgust. Impulsively, I threw the lacy fabric square into the fire.

     Rising, I drifted toward my bed. Two beady eyes stared in at me from the window slit. Aghast, I faced the black bat again.

     "Begone!" I shouted, racing toward it with my arm flailing. It immediately flew away. I collapsed across the emerald bedcovering.

 

******

     When I awoke, Helga Balan hovered over the bed. Clasping a pitcher of warm water to her chest, she stared down at me. I smiled weakly up at her. Carefully, she filled the washbasin from the ewer.

     "Ooh, Ranulf had you by the neck last night," she solemnly announced. "Lucky for you, the Baron appeared. Otherwise, he would have…"

     "That's enough, Helga," Madame Balan snapped, appearing suddenly with my breakfast tray. The housekeeper put down the tray and swatted her granddaughter's derriere. "OUT!"

     The young maid made an 'oof' sound and hustled toward the door. Then, she stopped, pivoted, and stuck her tongue out at the castle chatelaine.

     "You mustn't pay attention to my insolent granddaughter," Reveca Balan exclaimed placidly. "I have pled with her, again and again, to curb her imagination. Yet, still…" The housekeeper shrugged in hopeless exasperation.

     "Thank you, Madame," I murmured in dismissal. To emphasize my desire for her departure, I turned to my tray.

     The usual scone and jam tasted like sawdust in my mouth. I ate mechanically and poured tea from the accompanying pot. As I completed my meal, Helga reappeared. Plopping onto the bed, she curled her legs beneath her. Then, my companion reached for a scone and buttered it. I glared at her familiarity, but she remained at ease.

     "Haven't you work to do?" I gruffly questioned.

     My companion shrugged nonchalantly. Impertinently, she flopped onto her back and shook her head violently. Her white cap fell off, and her mop of dark hair spread across the old quilt.

     "Work?" Helga laughed uproariously. "Does it look as though anyone works around here?"

     Exasperated, I shook my head.

     "No one cleaned the castle in a thousand years," Helga exclaimed eerily. "The Baron will not allow it."

     "Knock it off, Helga," I briskly remarked. "Your tall tales do not entertain me."

     "How little you know, Miss High and Mighty," my companion chortled, rolling her eyes into her head. "You have only just arrived. I have lived within the castle precincts for an untold time�"a thousand years or more. I have seen…I know…" Raising her arms, she twinkled her fingers mysteriously.

     "Please, Helga!" I cried, raising my voice. "Enough!"

     The little maid leaped up and scurried toward the door without further ado. With a whisk of black skirts, she disappeared. The heavy door slammed loudly.

     Relieved, I sat back against my pillow and glared at the door. It cracked open, and Helga's small face peered in. A hollow grin crossed her face, and she winked.

     "I tried to warn you, Miss," she whispered ominously. "You would not listen. Ranulf will take you, my sweet, just as the Baron took your mother. Once you're bit, there's no coming back. A thousand years is an eternity to wait…to wait for hell."

     "Be gone!" I yelled. Grasping my pillow, I heaved it at the door.

     I stood in the room's midst and attempted to catch my ragged breath. Tears leaped to my eyes again, and I sniffed loudly.

     "OH!" I exclaimed, stomping my foot on the floor. I crossed my arms tightly and plopped into the embroidered chair. The overnight fire had died down, leaving a pile of smoldering ashes.

     "I want to go home," I cried childishly. "I want to go home. Prentiss…save me."

 

X

     A hidden door swung open in the turret chamber. Rising from my chair, I stood before it. The lane leading passed Grey Friar's Vicarage stretched in front of me. I stepped through the egress and hurried along it. Home! My mind shrieked joyfully. I skipped through the welcoming privet fence and halted outside the open French doors.

     I faced Papa's study. Prentiss Wills sat at the desk, his back straight and rigid. My younger self sat alone at one of several school desks.

     "Norah," Prentiss called my name. His chiding tone prickled down my spine.

     I watched myself stand and approach the curate. Nervously, my fingers tapped on his desk. Amity Bradshaw lingered in the hallway. I caught a glimpse of her blonde ringlets and bright blue ribbons. We planned to stroll into town and buy candy at the newsagent.

     "I wish to speak to you about your composition," Prentiss exasperatedly remarked.

     "Oh," I responded absently.

     The curate straightened his back, his hands folded on its smooth surface. The sunlight streaming through the bow window cast him in shadow. I stood in front of him, my hands clasped behind my back. I wiggled my fingers in Amity's direction.

     "Norah, the undead do not rise from their graves and walk the earth," Prentiss stated, indicating my assignment. It lay disdainfully before him as though it were a distasteful object. "Dead is dead. The soul resides either in heaven or hell, as God ordains."

     "Marley's ghost appears to Scrooge in 'A Christmas Carol,'" I objected, mentioning Charles Dickens' latest novel.

     "Mr. Charles Dickens is a heathen," the curate snarled, dismissing the great writer.

     "Begging your pardon," I heatedly exclaimed, "Mr. Dickens is one of the greatest novelists of our time. I have read all his stories."

     Eagerly, I awaited each new installment of Dickon's own periodical, Bentley's Miscellany. After Papa read the latest serialized chapter of 'The Pickwick Papers' or 'Oliver Twist,' he handed it to me. I spent many wonderful hours reading and rereading each one.

     When Dickens published 'A Christmas Carol' as a standalone novel, Papa presented it to me on my birthday. I cherished it and kept it on the table beside my bed. It astonished me that Prentiss disapproved.

     "The disturbance of a churchyard's sanctity is reprehensible," the curate continued, dismissing Mr. Dickens. "Kindly leave those who are at rest where they lay."

     Snatching up my composition, I gazed down upon my father's assistant. His half-glasses perched on the tip of his sharp nose; his brown eyes bore sharply into mine. I captured them and held them for a moment. Then, turning on my heels, I fled through the French doors.

     Outside, I walked into the churchyard. Grey gravestones surrounded me. The newer ones stood straight as soldiers guarding the recent dead. Further and further, I wandered into the cemetery. The chiseled older stones sank into the moist earth, slanting in misdirection. Bending, I swiped away the clinging moss and squatted.

 

HERE LIES

PATIENCE MOWBRAY

1641-1658

BELOVED DAUGHTER

DEPARTED THIS EARTH

BEFORE HER TIME

BABY BOY MOWBRAY

1658

 

     Recently, the small village class studied Cromwell's rise and iron-fisted rule. Sitting back on my heels, I contemplated the young mother and child's grave. Suppose Patience Mowbray had the chance to return? What tales would she tell of the English Commonwealth years?

     When Prentiss required a composition on the subject, I wrote of Patience and the babe she bore out of wedlock. I viewed my fictional self-told story of her life as a literary masterpiece.

     The youthful Quakeress rose from her grave on the full moon night. Clutching her baby to her breast, she told an eerie tale of a night of passion and lost love. Ashamed, her family scorned her. However, after she died in childbirth, their hearts softened toward her.

      As I knelt before the poor woman's grave, my heart raged against Prentiss. I loved him. Of course, I loved him, I assured myself. Papa expected me to. Nevertheless, there were times when I could not bear his hypocritical religious stance.

     Papa did not hold as staunch a viewpoint as Prentiss did. My father encouraged my education and my ofttimes wild imagination. I dreamed of becoming a famous author like the Bronte Sisters and Jane Austin. Spinning tales of intrigue enchanted me. Nodding his support, Papa read my stories and made the necessary corrections.

     The curate, on the other hand, disapproved of my ambitions. He expected me to fill my mother's shoes as the vicar's wife. Arranging flowers at the altar and hosting local fetes bored me. I longed for more from life. However, Prentiss closed his ears to my future plans.

     I sighed and sat on my heels amongst the tilted graves. Night crept upon me as I contemplated my fate. The rising mist rose and swirled eerily in the cemetery. For a moment, I saw the hazy form of an ashen-faced woman cradling a babe in her arms. Grey Friar's Abbey loomed in the oncoming darkness. A lanky man stood in the shadows of the doorway. He beckoned toward me.

     Standing on my feet, I strode toward the Norman church. I did not wish to confront Prentiss again. However, I would face him and defend my writing if I must.

     "Boo!" A figure rose from the mist, startling me.

     I gasped, then recognized Amity Bradshaw. She held out a bag of peppermint sticks, and I took one. Defiantly, I stuck my tongue out at Prentiss and hooked my arm through my companion's elbow. Together, we entered the vicarage garden and sat in the gazebo.

     "Are you really going to marry the curate?" the squire's daughter asked.

     "Papa and Mama want me to," I nonchalantly answered.

     "Do you love him?" Amity suddenly grasped my arm and faced me.

     "I…" I took a moment to consider it, then nodded. "I suppose so."

     "Well…" She shrugged and turned to stare into the garden. "Mama's getting me ready for my London season. Mother wants me to marry Ellsworth Clement. He's her cousin's son. In the meantime, they want me to attend the balls and soirees for a season. I don't know." She shrugged again. "I'd rather just get it over with and marry Ell."

     I sighed and propped my elbow on my knee. Cupping my chin in my palm, I glanced at Amity. As the vicar's daughter, I would not attend the London festivities. However, I often dreamed of experiencing a presentation to Queen Victoria. I pictured myself attending one of the grand balls the season offered and dancing with a handsome gentleman. Nevertheless, I knew I had to accept Prentiss Wills instead.

     As my thoughts drifted toward the curate, I heard him clear his throat. My eyes traveled from his shiny black shoes, perfectly creased pant legs, and paisley waistcoat. Then, I met his sharp brown eyes. Beside me, Amity suppressed a giggle. I abruptly poked her side with my elbow.

     "Do you plan to join us for tea?" Prentiss asked rudely. "The vicar sent me out to rouse you, my dear."

     "Oh, is it that late?" I questioned innocently. Rising, I bid goodnight to my companion and walked toward the vicarage sedately. The curate followed close on my heels. We entered the dining parlor and joined my parents.

     I blinked my eyes rapidly, clearing my vision. The vicarage faded, and I found myself curled in the armchair before the turret fireplace. The bright red and yellow flames danced merrily. A log crackled, and sparks flew up the chimney. I held an ancient copy of Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales in my lap. I flipped the pages until I discovered a folded paper. I spread it open and gazed upon my story of Patience Mowbray.

     Suddenly, I longed for Prentiss but not in contemplation of marriage. I would force him to stand face-to-face with Baron von Helfin and tell me, once again, that the dead are dead.

 

 

XI

     A specter hovered over my bed when I awoke on a crisp December morning. The waxen face and deeply sunken eyes wavered in the dimly lit room. Ogling it in terror, I sat up and clutched the blanket.

     "Norah," the apparition spoke.

     I squinted at it until I recognized Mama. Grasping her icy hands, I pulled her onto the mattress. Tenderly, I brushed aside her straggly grey hair. It hung limply across her gauzy nightdress. She swayed and collapsed, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

     "Mama," I breathed, astonished.

     The minutes swept passed agonizingly. Frantically, I patted her cheeks, hoping to revive her. Finally, I poured a glass of water from the ewer and dumped it on her forehead. Mama abruptly sat up, blinking at her surroundings.

     "You're ill," I stated when she focused on me.

     More than a month had passed since I last saw her. The dramatic changes in her appearance set me back. She looked close to death.

     "Neculai has taken the children away," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "He claims I require rejuvenation. I must rest while they are gone and build my strength."

     "But…where have they gone?" I questioned. My voice rose in sudden expectation.

     News of the Baron's departure enlightened me. I could convince my parent to leave the hellish castle environment if I could overwhelm von Helfin's iron grip. Despite Mama's blighted countenance, I became filled with joy.

     "Hunting," she stated flatly.

     "Hunting!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "The little girls too?"

     Traditionally, men took their sons hunting when the boys reached certain ages. I could easily imagine the Baron planning such a trip for young Vlad. Perhaps Ranulf accompanied them, but he undoubtedly left Luiza and Vanda behind.

     "Well, certainly," Mama responded, rolling her shoulders. "The Baron is eager for fresh bloo…." Mama hesitated a moment, stumbling over the last word. "Fresh meat," she corrected after a momentary hesitation.

     "Oh." My mouth formed the word; however, I did not make a sound. Indeed, she began to say 'blood' instead of 'meat'�"an odd choice.

     Edging closer, I placed my arm tenderly across her shoulder. Mama leaned onto my side and brushed away a tear. She sobbed lightly. I gently kissed her on the forehead and buried my face into her matted gray hair.

     The door cracked open, and Helga backed in carrying the breakfast tray. Hastily, I waved her away. Nodding briskly, she departed silently.

     "Mama?" I whispered. "If you are ill, perhaps we should call the village doctor."

     "No!" my mother exclaimed heatedly. Then, she calmed immediately. "Oh, no, that's not necessary."

     "But, Mama!"

     "There are no 'buts,' Norah," my parent remonstrated. "Neculai decided I require a rest. He took his children hunting. That's an end to it."

     I scanned Mama's face, searching for the old sparkle in her eyes. She looked at me vaguely as though from miles and miles away. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she finally grasped my hands. For a moment, I noticed the old gleam in her eyes and her excited uplifting voice. Despite her haggard appearance, she brightened. Then, the quick flash of color faded from her cheeks.

     "Let's go home to England," I announced ecstatically. "Let's leave this gloom and doom castle. I long for the green fields of home, the narrow lanes, and the old churchyard. Let's arrive in time to bring in the Yule log and hang the mistletoe."

     Hugging myself, I danced about the room. My nightdress's long flannel skirt swirled above my ankles. I pictured the snowy pathway to the church door and Papa greeting his congregation on Christmas morning. Mama and I stood behind him, smiling at the joyous parishioners.

     Stiffly, Mama rose and drifted toward the door. Grasping the knob, she thrust it open and stepped into the turret's rotunda. Then, like a statue brought to life, she turned to face me.

     "My home is in Romania, Norah," she firmly stated. "Neculai is my husband. England is long ago and far away. I will never return."

     "Oh, but Mama," I exclaimed, rushing toward her, "how can you forget England and Papa? Remember how wonderful it was. How loving we were together. Here…" I spread my hands wide to indicate our decrepit surroundings. "It's not our home at all. It's dark and dismal and horrid."

     "Neculai has provided a home for us. He is our family now," my parent hollowly stated. Her blank eyes seemed to stare through me. "His children are my children. I belong to him…to them."

     I watched her long shadow slide along the brick wall as she descended the spiral stairway. All that remained of my Mama was that shadow, I thought. Leaning in the doorway, I felt my spirit dissipate. A tear welled in my eye and crept along my cheek.

     Closing the door, I leaned against it. I cried for Papa and Mama. I lost both of them. Alone…I felt so alone in the vast, forbidden Romanian castle. I longed for my old life. Nevertheless, it hovered in my mind's eye like some strange dream.

     Sinking onto the bed, I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed. Visions of Mama playing pat-a-cake with Vanda crept into my thoughts. The Baron's little girl took my place in my mother's heart. Did she tuck the child into bed and kiss her pale cheeks as she had once kissed mine? Did she gather daisies with Luiza and weave them into a chain? Oh, but where would she find daisies in a place as dead as Castle von Helfin?

******

     The weeks crept slowly past, and the Baron did not return. Mama frequently joined me for breakfast. Then, she took up residence in her bedroom across the rotunda.

     "Good morning!" I called out, entering her room with my morning tray.

     The sun's first rays brightened the scarlet room. I pulled a chair into the bright slant and basked in its warmth. Rising, Mama sat opposite me, her tray perched on her lap. She appeared refreshed, and a peach tint brightened her cheeks.

     "I often think about Prentiss, Mama," I began, buttering a slice of toast. "I wonder if he remained at Gray Friars after the new vicar arrived."

     "Papa was quite fond of Prentiss," my mother stated, a smile played on her lips. "He expected you would marry and have your own church."

     "Yes." I drew out my response contemplatively. "I'm fond of Prentiss too, Mama. He spoke to me last Easter. He wanted to wait another two years to announce our engagement. When I turned eighteen, he said."

     "A wise choice, my dear." Reaching out, Mama patted my knee. "Papa proposed on my eighteenth birthday."

     I leaned forward, knowing I drew her out. Romantic thoughts danced behind my eyes. How I loved hearing about my parents' early days together.

     "Of course, I had my eye on Robert Chamberlain, your uncle." Mama sat back in her chair and stared above my head. "Squire's son. There were three sons and two daughters. Robert, the eldest and heir; Forrest, who went into the army; and Millard, who entered the church. Bob married Melora Campbell, Forrest remained a bachelor, and I wed Millard."

     "Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix remained spinsters," I added, recalling Papa's family. "They remained in the manor house to tend Grandpapa Robert until he died. Then, they moved into the dower house."

     "Indeed," Mama muttered, sipping her coffee.

     "Let's go home," I exclaimed merrily. "Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix will welcome us, surely. It feels like years since we've seen them."

     "Oh, perhaps in a week or so," my mother finally relented. "When I feel stronger, Norah. I am not quite fit for travel yet." A faraway look crept into her eyes. I hoped she longed for home as much as I did.

     I filled our days with chatter about England. Fervently, I began to make plans. A westward journey on the Orient Express thrilled me. Perhaps we could spend a few days shopping in Paris. Then, we would travel to Calais and cross the channel. If only Mama would agree before Neculai von Helfin returned!

     "If we could get home before Christmas…." I began expectantly.

     "We'll see, love." Mama patted my hand and smiled weakly.

     My dreary spirits uplifted as each day passed. I chatted effortlessly about caroling, sleigh rides, and drinking hot cider before a crackling fire. Methodically, I reminisced about Christmas stockings filled with walnuts and oranges.

     "Remember the year Papa appeared at the orphanage dressed as Father Christmas?" I recollected.

     I could still see him in his red suit trimmed with white fur. The long snowy beard hid his smile, but I recognized the twinkle in his soft blue eyes. Noticing my eagerness to expose him, Mama cautioned me to remain silent. At age seven, I was without guile and ready to burst with my knowledge.

     "You'll spoil the children's Christmas if you call him Papa," Mama remonstrated harshly. "Keep your tattle-tailing mouth closed."

     The old memories flooded me. Blithely, I recalled other holiday mornings in the vicarage parlor. When I glanced at my mother, I could see her falling further into the past. I hoped to stir her into a desire to return home.

     "Children adored your papa," my mother stated, her voice filled with delight. "They climbed all over him and grabbed at the toys. He had such great patience for them."

     "We had wonderful times together, Mama," I exclaimed encouragingly.

     Rising, I stood with my back to the fire and clasped my hands behind me. I hummed, 'Jingle Bells.' My mother added her voice, and we sang in harmony. One after the other, we sang the long beloved carols. Finally, when we couldn't think of another, we collapsed into our chairs.

     The warm fire danced merrily before us, and the room grew cozy. We lost ourselves in shared memories until Helga appeared with our dinner trays. The usual goulash tasted better than expected, and the warm tea soothed our souls. Drowsily, we reclined in our armchairs.

     "Let's go home, Norah," Mama finally consented. She smiled at me demurely for a moment, then a wide Cheshire Cat grin crossed her face.

     A weight suddenly lifted from her shoulders. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she leaped from her seat. Grasping my hands, Mama jigged around the room in hopeless abandon. Our skirts swirled merrily to the rhythm of our stamping feet.

     Finally, I fell across my bed, and Mama landed beside me. We laugh like schoolgirls contemplating their first holiday abroad.

     "We'll make the arrangements immediately," I happily gushed. "Let's surprise Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix on Christmas day."

 

 

 XI

     A specter hovered over my bed when I awoke on a crisp December morning. The waxen face and deeply sunken eyes wavered in the dimly lit room. Ogling it in terror, I sat up and clutched the blanket.

     "Norah," the apparition spoke.

     I squinted at it until I recognized Mama. Grasping her icy hands, I pulled her onto the mattress. Tenderly, I brushed aside her straggly grey hair. It hung limply across her gauzy nightdress. She swayed and collapsed, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

     "Mama," I breathed, astonished.

     The minutes swept passed agonizingly. Frantically, I patted her cheeks, hoping to revive her. Finally, I poured a glass of water from the ewer and dumped it on her forehead. Mama abruptly sat up, blinking at her surroundings.

     "You're ill," I stated when she focused on me.

     More than a month had passed since I last saw her. The dramatic changes in her appearance set me back. She looked close to death.

     "Neculai has taken the children away," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "He claims I require rejuvenation. I must rest while they are gone and build my strength."

     "But…where have they gone?" I questioned. My voice rose in sudden expectation.

     News of the Baron's departure enlightened me. I could convince my parent to leave the hellish castle environment if I could overwhelm von Helfin's iron grip. Despite Mama's blighted countenance, I became filled with joy.

     "Hunting," she stated flatly.

     "Hunting!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "The little girls too?"

     Traditionally, men took their sons hunting when the boys reached certain ages. I could easily imagine the Baron planning such a trip for young Vlad. Perhaps Ranulf accompanied them, but he undoubtedly left Luiza and Vanda behind.

     "Well, certainly," Mama responded, rolling her shoulders. "The Baron is eager for fresh bloo…." Mama hesitated a moment, stumbling over the last word. "Fresh meat," she corrected after a momentary hesitation.

     "Oh." My mouth formed the word; however, I did not make a sound. Indeed, she began to say 'blood' instead of 'meat'�"an odd choice.

     Edging closer, I placed my arm tenderly across her shoulder. Mama leaned onto my side and brushed away a tear. She sobbed lightly. I gently kissed her on the forehead and buried my face into her matted gray hair.

     The door cracked open, and Helga backed in carrying the breakfast tray. Hastily, I waved her away. Nodding briskly, she departed silently.

     "Mama?" I whispered. "If you are ill, perhaps we should call the village doctor."

     "No!" my mother exclaimed heatedly. Then, she calmed immediately. "Oh, no, that's not necessary."

     "But, Mama!"

     "There are no 'buts,' Norah," my parent remonstrated. "Neculai decided I require a rest. He took his children hunting. That's an end to it."

     I scanned Mama's face, searching for the old sparkle in her eyes. She looked at me vaguely as though from miles and miles away. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she finally grasped my hands. For a moment, I noticed the old gleam in her eyes and her excited uplifting voice. Despite her haggard appearance, she brightened. Then, the quick flash of color faded from her cheeks.

     "Let's go home to England," I announced ecstatically. "Let's leave this gloom and doom castle. I long for the green fields of home, the narrow lanes, and the old churchyard. Let's arrive in time to bring in the Yule log and hang the mistletoe."

     Hugging myself, I danced about the room. My nightdress's long flannel skirt swirled above my ankles. I pictured the snowy pathway to the church door and Papa greeting his congregation on Christmas morning. Mama and I stood behind him, smiling at the joyous parishioners.

     Stiffly, Mama rose and drifted toward the door. Grasping the knob, she thrust it open and stepped into the turret's rotunda. Then, like a statue brought to life, she turned to face me.

     "My home is in Romania, Norah," she firmly stated. "Neculai is my husband. England is long ago and far away. I will never return."

     "Oh, but Mama," I exclaimed, rushing toward her, "how can you forget England and Papa? Remember how wonderful it was. How loving we were together. Here…" I spread my hands wide to indicate our decrepit surroundings. "It's not our home at all. It's dark and dismal and horrid."

     "Neculai has provided a home for us. He is our family now," my parent hollowly stated. Her blank eyes seemed to stare through me. "His children are my children. I belong to him…to them."

     I watched her long shadow slide along the brick wall as she descended the spiral stairway. All that remained of my Mama was that shadow, I thought. Leaning in the doorway, I felt my spirit dissipate. A tear welled in my eye and crept along my cheek.

     Closing the door, I leaned against it. I cried for Papa and Mama. I lost both of them. Alone…I felt so alone in the vast, forbidden Romanian castle. I longed for my old life. Nevertheless, it hovered in my mind's eye like some strange dream.

     Sinking onto the bed, I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed. Visions of Mama playing pat-a-cake with Vanda crept into my thoughts. The Baron's little girl took my place in my mother's heart. Did she tuck the child into bed and kiss her pale cheeks as she had once kissed mine? Did she gather daisies with Luiza and weave them into a chain? Oh, but where would she find daisies in a place as dead as Castle von Helfin?

******

     The weeks crept slowly past, and the Baron did not return. Mama frequently joined me for breakfast. Then, she took up residence in her bedroom across the rotunda.

     "Good morning!" I called out, entering her room with my morning tray.

     The sun's first rays brightened the scarlet room. I pulled a chair into the bright slant and basked in its warmth. Rising, Mama sat opposite me, her tray perched on her lap. She appeared refreshed, and a peach tint brightened her cheeks.

     "I often think about Prentiss, Mama," I began, buttering a slice of toast. "I wonder if he remained at Gray Friars after the new vicar arrived."

     "Papa was quite fond of Prentiss," my mother stated, a smile played on her lips. "He expected you would marry and have your own church."

     "Yes." I drew out my response contemplatively. "I'm fond of Prentiss too, Mama. He spoke to me last Easter. He wanted to wait another two years to announce our engagement. When I turned eighteen, he said."

     "A wise choice, my dear." Reaching out, Mama patted my knee. "Papa proposed on my eighteenth birthday."

     I leaned forward, knowing I drew her out. Romantic thoughts danced behind my eyes. How I loved hearing about my parents' early days together.

     "Of course, I had my eye on Robert Chamberlain, your uncle." Mama sat back in her chair and stared above my head. "Squire's son. There were three sons and two daughters. Robert, the eldest and heir; Forrest, who went into the army; and Millard, who entered the church. Bob married Melora Campbell, Forrest remained a bachelor, and I wed Millard."

     "Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix remained spinsters," I added, recalling Papa's family. "They remained in the manor house to tend Grandpapa Robert until he died. Then, they moved into the dower house."

     "Indeed," Mama muttered, sipping her coffee.

     "Let's go home," I exclaimed merrily. "Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix will welcome us, surely. It feels like years since we've seen them."

     "Oh, perhaps in a week or so," my mother finally relented. "When I feel stronger, Norah. I am not quite fit for travel yet." A faraway look crept into her eyes. I hoped she longed for home as much as I did.

     I filled our days with chatter about England. Fervently, I began to make plans. A westward journey on the Orient Express thrilled me. Perhaps we could spend a few days shopping in Paris. Then, we would travel to Calais and cross the channel. If only Mama would agree before Neculai von Helfin returned!

     "If we could get home before Christmas…." I began expectantly.

     "We'll see, love." Mama patted my hand and smiled weakly.

     My dreary spirits uplifted as each day passed. I chatted effortlessly about caroling, sleigh rides, and drinking hot cider before a crackling fire. Methodically, I reminisced about Christmas stockings filled with walnuts and oranges.

     "Remember the year Papa appeared at the orphanage dressed as Father Christmas?" I recollected.

     I could still see him in his red suit trimmed with white fur. The long snowy beard hid his smile, but I recognized the twinkle in his soft blue eyes. Noticing my eagerness to expose him, Mama cautioned me to remain silent. At age seven, I was without guile and ready to burst with my knowledge.

     "You'll spoil the children's Christmas if you call him Papa," Mama remonstrated harshly. "Keep your tattle-tailing mouth closed."

     The old memories flooded me. Blithely, I recalled other holiday mornings in the vicarage parlor. When I glanced at my mother, I could see her falling further into the past. I hoped to stir her into a desire to return home.

     "Children adored your papa," my mother stated, her voice filled with delight. "They climbed all over him and grabbed at the toys. He had such great patience for them."

     "We had wonderful times together, Mama," I exclaimed encouragingly.

     Rising, I stood with my back to the fire and clasped my hands behind me. I hummed, 'Jingle Bells.' My mother added her voice, and we sang in harmony. One after the other, we sang the long beloved carols. Finally, when we couldn't think of another, we collapsed into our chairs.

     The warm fire danced merrily before us, and the room grew cozy. We lost ourselves in shared memories until Helga appeared with our dinner trays. The usual goulash tasted better than expected, and the warm tea soothed our souls. Drowsily, we reclined in our armchairs.

     "Let's go home, Norah," Mama finally consented. She smiled at me demurely for a moment, then a wide Cheshire Cat grin crossed her face.

     A weight suddenly lifted from her shoulders. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she leaped from her seat. Grasping my hands, Mama jigged around the room in hopeless abandon. Our skirts swirled merrily to the rhythm of our stamping feet.

     Finally, I fell across my bed, and Mama landed beside me. We laugh like schoolgirls contemplating their first holiday abroad.

     "We'll make the arrangements immediately," I happily gushed. "Let's surprise Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix on Christmas day."

 

XII

 

     "Carriage," I sounded the word out carefully. "I wish to order a carriage."

     Godoired Cazacu stared at me blankly. Again, my lips pronounced the word. The Baron's mute servant removed his cap and absently scratched at his unruly mop of hair. I held back my impatience and imitated entering a conveyance. Suddenly Godoired's eyes widen in understanding. He vigorously nodded his head, then shook it dolefully.

     Defeated, I spoke again. Over the months, I had picked up a spattering of the Romanian language. Yet, it remained challenging to talk to the deaf and mute retainer.

     Indicating that Godoired remained, I raced inside, searching for Helga Balan. I discovered her idly swiping at the parlor furniture with a duster. Grabbing her hand, I dragged her outside.

     "Mama and I are returning to England for the holidays," I hastily explained. "I am trying to order a conveyance to the village. Can you explain, please?"

     Helga's eyes widened. For a moment, she hesitated. Eagerly, I waited for her to speak. The minutes ticked passed.

     Awkwardly, we stood in a loose circle. Helga rocked back and forth on her heels, nonchalantly staring over my head. Godoired twisted his cap into a ball and knotted it with his huge hands. My eyes shifted from one to the other. The silence between us continued to drag out.

     Why didn't she speak? I wondered. The matter seemed quite urgent to me, and I wanted an answer. Then, I recalled the many conversations between us about my homeland. Helga appeared eager to learn more. Wistfully, she voiced her zeal to travel the world and visit England particularly.

     Although Helga's disdainful attitude repulsed me, I felt sorry for her. She lived her life entirely within the confines of von Helfin castle and never experienced the outside world. The little maidservant enviously listened to me describe our travels from France to Romania. Finally, I comprehended the reason for her silence.

     "Yes," I exclaimed, lightly touching her arm, "you will accompany us."

     A huge grin brightened Helga's wan face. Joyfully, she turned to Godoired. Using her hands as her voice, she mimicked my request. I nearly laughed at her antics but held my expression in repose. The deaf-mute servant's perplexed expression disappeared. He mumbled a response, his sounds dull and hollow. I could not comprehend his answer. However, my young companion nodded vigorously.

     "Tomorrow, at noon," the young maid confirmed. "You must not detain the driver. He will not wait for you. Prepare to a-light immediately. No hesitation."

     "Yes," I jubilantly exclaimed. The instructions were as I had hoped. The quicker Mama and I departed, the sooner we could put von Helfin castle behind us.

 

******

 

     Mama's enthusiasm had waned since our earlier discussion. Throughout the afternoon, I begged and pleaded with her. The change would do her good, I cajoled. We could visit old friends and leisurely explore London.

     "Let's stay a few days in London, Mama," I urged enthusiastically. "We'll spend a whole afternoon in Harrods, Christmas shopping."

     I hoped mentioning the department store located on Brompton Road in Knightsbridge would inspire my mother. Often, we stopped there while visiting the English capital, much to Papa's chagrin. Mama loved to shop and frequently spent more money than we could afford. Indeed, a sumptuous hour or more of wandering through the clothing and food halls would impel her to leave this horrible place.

     Mama's eyes sparkled, and her dour expression brightened. Then, her countenance suddenly flattened. Glancing at her flimsy black gown, she muttered an exclamation of dismay. She glimpsed her straggly gray hair in the mirror and appeared shocked. Muttering under her breath, she dashed through the connecting door into her chamber.

     I followed her and leaned in the doorway. Mama stood in the open wardrobe. She threw her dress, shirtwaists, and skirts onto the bed one by one. Her hat boxes followed her clothing. She dragged out her trunk and began to pack.

     Satisfied, I returned to my bedroom and gathered my own belongings. Helga appeared and offered her assistance. Carefully, we folded my clothes into tissue paper. The young maid added a rolled-up dress to my garments.

     "I only own the two dresses," Helga exclaimed balefully. Running her callused palms over my pink organdy, she sighed. Then, she held it up against her black maid's outfit and spun around on tiptoes. "I wish…"

     "When we get to England, we'll purchase a new wardrobe just for Helga," I announced, anticipating her joy. "We're going to London for a few days to shop for Christmas. I'll make it my gift to you."

     "Would you, Miss?" the forlorn maid asked. She stared at me in wonder, then her face fell even further. "Oh, but that's not for me, Miss. Pretty things don't suit me. I'm just a poor gypsy waif. I have to work for my keep."

     "Not in England!" I exclaimed, grabbing her hands. "In England, you will become my lady's maid. No, my companion. You'll go with me everywhere I go. You'll take care of my wardrobe and fix my hair. When I marry Prentiss, you will come with me�"to assist me."

     Throughout the months, I had grown fond of Helga Balan. Beneath her strange exterior, she displayed a strong personality. I longed to protect her and remove her from the von Helfin environment.

     Flopping onto my bed, I spoke vibrantly of London and the English countryside. However, when I mentioned the Christmas holidays, Helga became withdrawn. Her dark eyes shadowed, and her complexion paled. Bowing her head, she dolefully shook her head.

     "Don't you celebrate the holiday in Romania?" I asked, perplexed. "But, surely, you do."

     Helga shook her head and withdrew further into herself. Then, she hastily grabbed her bundle from my trunk and flew from the room. Leaping from the bed, I rushed after her. However, I lost sight of her when I reached the lower level.

     I wandered aimlessly along the castle corridors and peeked into the disused rooms. One by one, I flung open wardrobes and peeked beneath the beds. Finally, reaching the ground floor, I discovered the young maidservant in the kitchen. She cowered behind her grandmother, clutching her skirts. Reveca Balan turned upon me and waved her wooden spoon menacingly.

     "The Baron forbids talk of Christianity and Christian celebrations," the elderly housekeeper proclaimed. "You will not fill my granddaughter's head with such mysticism. Mark my words: you will do well to forget your English beliefs." She spat out my beloved country's name disdainfully.

     I bowed my head and turned away. Papa taught me to avoid debates with non-believers. Dolefully, I left Helga with her furious grandmother and returned to my turret room.

     Picking up my pink organdy, I folded it and placed it in my trunk. Then, my face crumpled. Unexpected tears welled in my eyes. I thought of happy mornings gathered around the holiday tree and holly boughs on the mantlepiece. Mrs. Balan's urge to forget about Christmas joy shocked me. I closed my trunk and wandered into Mama's room.

     I found Mama sitting at her vanity table. The candles in their sconces glowed brightly, framing her haggard face. Lethargically, she pulled a comb through her tangled hair. I gently took it from her and began working on the gray knots.

     "You seem different, Mama," I mentioned, swallowing a throat lump. "We arrived only a short time ago, yet so much has changed." I hesitated, biting my lip thoughtfully.

     "Change occurs in everyone's life, now and then," my mother offered, smiling slightly. "We must accept it and carry on as best we can."

     "I suppose," I remarked pensively. "Still…" I worried my lip again.

     The minutes dragged past as I worked on an intricate tangle. Mama gasped when I pulled at a clump, and I apologized.

     "Mama," I began again, "You still believe, don't you? I mean, in God and Christmas?"

     "It doesn't matter what we believe, Norah," my parent exclaimed. Turning on her stool, she suddenly grasped my hands. I met her dull eyes with my earnest ones. "Nicolai prohibits all talk of Christianity. We must comply with his wishes."

     "Oh, but…Mama!" I placed the comb onto the tabletop and stepped away hastily. "You can't mean… What about Papa? Papa believed; Papa…"

     "Papa doesn't matter any longer, my dear child." Mama rose languidly and drifted toward the door. She grasped the knob and hesitated. "We owe much to the Baron…Nicolai… Your Papa is in the grave he dug for himself, and Nicolai is my husband now. We comply with his wishes."

     My mother disappeared before I could speak. I stood in her room, clutching my fists. We must depart quickly, I assured myself. I determined to break the unholy chain that bound my once beautiful mother to her heathen husband.

     Mama must have realized the Baron's adversity to Christianity when she took her wedding vows. Yet, she married him and clung to him and… My racing thoughts halted, and my fist tightened. And she obeyed him. I shuddered.

     Long ago and far away, we lived an idyllic life. We worshipped in the small church together and participated in local gatherings. Mama took charge of the summer fetes and autumn harvest dances. Our friends in the village looked up to us for guidance, both spiritual and temporal. We upheld firm Victorian standards and shunned adversity.

     I could not comprehend Mama's change in attitude. Her marriage to the Baron reversed all her past beliefs. She turned her back on her life with Papa completely. Once upon a time, my father meant all to her. We worshiped in the church together as a family. Following the service, she stood on the sanctuary's porch and spoke kindly to the parishioners. Her warm smile never left her face.

     I shuddered at the Baron's adversity to Christianity. I could not put Papa in my past as swiftly as Mama had. I loved him still and thought of him in his cold grave. If I could turn back time, I would have prevented him from turning himself into the police. He had acted in the defense of a poor prostitute. My mind railed against fate.

     I clutched the stairway banister with white knuckles. Then, I flung myself down the spiral stairway, my footsteps echoing loudly against the vaulted ceiling. Propelling myself across the rotunda, I grasped the door handle and pulled. It did not budge. I yanked again and again until my arm ached. Balling my fists, I pounded on the oaken egress and yelled Mama's name. No response. Defeated, I sank onto the bottom step and covered my face with my hands. I sobbed.

 

 

XIII

 

 

     The following day, I stood in the empty courtyard impatiently. At noon precisely, Godoired Cazacu dragged our luggage down to the great hall. Grasping Mama's arm tightly, I trailed behind the deaf-mute servant. Mama sat upon her trunk and placidly folded her hands together. Her zombie-like movements startled me. I still did not know if she intended to accompany me to England. Furtively, I watched her, expecting her to bolt at any moment.

     The hours ticked past without a sign of the one-eyed coachman. Perhaps he had a change of heart. When we first arrived at the train station, he showed an unwillingness to drive us. A frightened shadow hovered behind his one blurry red orb as he gazed upon us.

     "Baron von Helfin assured me a conveyance would await us at the station," my mother stated imperiously. "Take us to the castle immediately." Stomping her foot, she held her ground.

     Fog crept along the train platform, entwining our ankles with wispy fingers. Steam billowed from the waiting engine, and its wheels began slowly churning. In a moment, it would depart, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

     "Either convey us to von Helfin castle or let us board the train before it departs," Mama continued imploringly.

     The coachman swept off his cap and knotted it in his palms. The train chugged to attention and began to move. It gained speed, little by little, and left the small branch station.

     "Women and young girls belong tucked up in their beds at this hour," the Romanian exclaimed in broken English.

     "Nevertheless," Mama continued briskly. "Baron von Helfin awaits us. His letter…" She produced it from her patent leather purse. "…assures a coach will convey us immediately to his residence." She energetically shook the envelope beneath his bulbous nose.

     "There is an inn only a few steps along the sidewalk, Madam," the attendant remarked, lifting one of our trunks. "I will gladly show you the way."

     "You will gladly take us to Baron von Helfin." Purposely, Mama strode through the station and stopped before a rickety carriage.

     "Yes, Madam," the one-eyed Romanian finally consented. He reluctantly held the door open, and we began the perilous journey up the steep crag.

     I glanced furtively toward the hazardous roadway again and gnawed my lip. It remained empty.

     "What's taking so long?" I peevishly demanded. Turning briskly upon Helga, I pushed my hands against my hips. "You did tell Godoired noon?"

     "Ye…yes, Miss Norah," my companion responded hesitantly. "At twelve o' the clock, I said."

     Twelve o' the clock, my mind raged�"a statement that could imply noon or midnight. Silently, I marched toward the massive iron gate and grabbed the railings with tightened fists. I closed my eyes and reopened them. For a moment, I envisioned the carriage swinging around the last bend. Hopefully, I pressed closer to the gate. I blinked, and the vision dissipated. Tears hung from my lashes.

     "I said 'noon' specifically," I moaned when Helga joined me at the gate. "Not twelve o'clock."

     My companion stared at me, her pale moon face blank of expression. Then, an unseen point in the distance caught her attention.

     "Am I still going with you?" the little maid finally asked, her voice a whisper.

     I shot her a disdainful glance. My mind raged at her selfish attitude. I had only accepted Helga's company as a means of escape. Without her assistance, we would languish in Romania for the rest of our lives. Desperately, I wished to put the eerie castle and its occupants in my distant past.

     "Yes, yes," I finally shot out, spinning upon her. "I promised. However, next time, follow my orders completely…exactly as I say."

     "Yes, Miss." Helga bobbed a curtsey.

     In the great hall, Mama continued to perch on her trunk. Her slim white hands moved to adjust her black bonnet. A ghost of her formal self, she accepted our departure meekly. At any moment, I expected her to change her mind.

     "The coachman will arrive momentarily," I assured her. Grasping her icy hands tenderly, I sat beside her.

     Mama would return to her usual self once we arrived in England. The fresh, clean air and familiar surroundings would certainly revive her strength. I hated to see her so drained of energy. In the past, her vivacious attitude kept the family going. When Papa struggled with his weekly sermons, she inspired him.

     Her marriage to the Baron changed her dramatically. Listless, Mama roamed about the castle during the nighttime hours and slept the day away. I rarely saw her until Nicolai von Helfin departed on his hunting trip. When she did appear, her blue eyes seemed dull, and her expression remained undescriptive.

     While we waited, I hoped to inspire her with holiday excitement. I expected the scenery would bring Mama out of her doldrums as we traveled westward. Methodically, I described our return journey on the Orient Express and the ferry crossing to Dover. She nodded optimistically.

     "We should wire Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix before we cross the channel," I suggested confidently. "Perhaps they'll meet us at Paddington Station. We could spend a few days in London and…"

     Mama turned her baleful eyes toward me. For a moment, I believed her lips twitched toward a smile. Then, it faded.

     "I doubt very much whether Mary or Dix will greet us at the station, Norah," Mama muttered dismally. "Mary's never taken kindly to me, and Dix follows suit. They may not welcome us."

     "Oh, but surely, Mama…" I began.

     Over the years, we rarely visited Papa's old home. When we did, Aunt Mary greeted my father cordially and fussed over how much I had grown. Mama remained in the background, pensively observing. Aunt Dix attempted friendliness but generally followed her elder sister's lead.

     "When your Papa…died…unexpectedly…" Mama paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. "I wrote to your Aunt Mary asking for assistance. She offered you a home and asked that I give you up entirely to her. I could not bear to part from my only child. We were left…" She gulped and continued, "...fend for ourselves."

     I remained beside her, silently rubbing her cold hand. News of Aunt Mary's response shocked me. Cast out into the world, Mama accepted the only post she could obtain�"governess to the von Helfin children. I felt sorry for her but also believed the time had arrived to admit defeat.

     "I'm sure the Aunties will help us, Mama," I suggested encouragingly. "If they realize we are in trouble…"

     "We are not in trouble," Mama tersely remarked. "I am happily married to Nicolai von Helfin. I agreed to a Christmas holiday in England. When it is over, I plan to return to Romania."

     "Oh, Mama," I wailed, my shoulders sagging. "We cannot remain in this godforsaken place. We must…"

     "Godforsaken, Norah?" my parent questioned dolefully. "You would renege upon the opportunity to live in a fine castle? To have a Baron as your stepfather?"

     "I would renege on any opportunity that took us away from England, Mama," I sharply retorted.

     Abruptly, I stood and faced her.

     "Look, look around you, Mama," I hotly exclaimed. Waving my arms frantically, I indicated our dismal surroundings. "This is not a fairy tale castle. It's rundown and decrepit. Your beloved Baron slinks about as though half-alive. Workhouse children live better than the Baron's offspring. You cannot believe…"

     Filled with disdain, I reapproached the wrought iron gate. The cragged roadway remained empty. No carriage, no escape. Tears glided down my cheeks, dripping off my chin.

 

XIV

 

"The Holly and the Ivy

When they are full grown

Of all the trees in the wood

The holly bears the crown

The rising of the sun."

 

     My plaintive voice rang against the stone walls of my turret bed chamber. I knelt before the roaring fire and prodded the logs with the iron poker. Sparks flew up the smoke-darkened chimney as I sat before it. The leaping flames transfixed me.

     Alone on Christmas Eve, I hovered close to the fire's warmth. The rest of the room remained chilled against the Romanian winter. I wrapped my woolen shawl around my shoulders and gripped it at the neck. I had not seen Mama since the night of our attempted escape.

     The bolted door kept me the Baron's prisoner. Other than Mrs. Balan, I never saw another soul. She entered with nourishment twice a day and left with the chamber pot. Stale bread and lukewarm water made my daily meals. The fire provided the only comfort.

     Once, I caught a glimpse of Helga hovering behind her grandmother. She attempted to enter my chamber. However, the housekeeper forced her back and closed the door in her face. I would have enjoyed the little maid's companionship. My solitary confinement wracked my nerves.

     I thought of cold winter evenings in the vicarage parlor and skating parties on the mill pond. Mama served hot mulled cider and warm gingerbread for the young skaters. Near the edge of the pond, a bonfire blazed. I closed my eyes, and the fireplace transformed into a roaring bonfire. It warmed my soul.

     As though in a trance, I rose and rummaged in the highboy for a black stocking. I hung it from the mantlepiece. It cast a limp shadow against the hearth. Inside my broken heart, I hoped Mama would appear to fill it during the overnight hours. Shining like a golden beacon from the past, our Christmas tree angel sat at the center of the chimneypiece. Clasping my hands tightly together, I knelt and prayed for a miracle.

     "So close," I muttered to the still room. "So very close."

 

******

 

     Night fell, and we continued to wait for the coachman. Encouragingly, I urged Mama to hold on until his arrival. The tall tower clock hovered at five minutes to midnight. Straining my ears, I listened for the clop-clop of horses' hooves. Mist enveloped the courtyard as we lingered. I hugged myself tightly and paced before the iron gate.

     Helga stood in the doorway, pressed against Mrs. Balan's side. The housekeeper's steely grey eyes seemed to cut into my flesh. I threw an ominous look in her direction, and hers challenged me in return.

     Mama rose and stood in the midst of the courtyard. A solitary soul�"she hugged herself tightly against the cold night. A heavy black cloak concealed her gaunt figure. Gray wisps escaped her black poke bonnet. Pity for her rose in my heart. Crossing my fingers tightly, I urged the appearance of the one-eyed coachman.

     For a moment, the pale full moon peeked through the mist. The form of a black bat rose and hovered on its surface. Bats swarmed from the naked trees. Their wings beat a hellish staccato as they swooped into the castle's precincts. Throwing my arms over my head, I ducked as they assaulted me. Then, they returned to perch in the dead tree branches.

     "Mama!" I screamed, fearing she had sustained an injury. However, when I looked in her direction, Baron von Helfin stood protectively by her side. His deathly white hand clamped possessively on her shoulder.

     "Take your hand off of her," I demanded, briskly stepping toward him.

     Behind hooded eyes, von Helfin glared at me ominously. Defiantly, I balled my fists and rushed him. I intended to pummel him in the chest, to release my pent-up fury. However, as I swooped upon him, Ranulf materialized from the fog and blocked my way. The Baron's ward gripped me tightly above the elbows.

     I struggled against my captor, but his grip tightened. I could not release myself. Looming above me, Ranulf bent me backward. The pins holding my chignon loosened, and my long brown hair tumbled freely. His hand raked my tresses, and he cupped my chin. A sudden tenderness leaped into his sanguine eyes. Gasping, I stood transfixed beneath his glare. Then, with a brisk head shake, I yanked myself out of my trance. Pulling my foot back swiftly, I drove my booted toe into his shin.

     The Baron's nephew released me momentarily. I danced backward rapidly but could not evade him. His sharp fingernails cut deeply into my flesh, and his lips lifted in a snarl. The slight parting of his mouth produced his canine teeth's spikey points. Ominously, he leaned toward my straining neck.

     "Ranulf!" Nicolai von Helfin barked tersely. "Not now!"

     "If not now, when, Uncle?" the Baron's ward countered. His grip tightened. I stared into his anguished face.

     "When she is ready. When she is compliant to our wishes."

     "Compliant?" I sputtered, straining for release. "I will never comply with your evil wishes."

     Forcefully, the Baron shoved Ranulf out of his way. The young man lay sprawled against the wrought iron gate. Picking himself up, he slunk into the darkness. The mist encased him, and his curt footsteps echoed on the cobblestones.

     I turned my frightened eyes toward my mother's menacing husband. His black hair glistened in the moon glow. His pale expression hardened, and his red pupils narrowed to pinpricks. He leaned his tall form above me and pressed his face close to mine. I caught a whiff of his overly sweet metallic breath. Cringing, I stepped backward. He swiftly followed my movement.

     "Who are you?" I defiantly shot out. "What are you?"

     "I am your stepfather, your mother's husband," Baron von Helfin responded, clipping his words. "You will obey me."

     "NO!" I shouted, my voice reverberating around the mist-filled courtyard. "My father lies dead in Grey Friar's churchyard. He was an honorable man, a parish vicar. You are no father to me. I wish to return to England immediately. Set my mother and me free."

     The Baron's icy hand slammed against my cheek, sending me reeling onto the flagstone. My body connected with the ground and skidded to a halt. Stunned, I sat up and, wrapping my arms around my injured body, swayed back and forth.

     Von Helfin hovered above me. His long, slim reached for me. Using my feet, I propelled my body backward and evaded his grip. Steadily my lips began to form The Lord's Prayer.

 

Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name;

thy kingdom come;

thy will be done;

on earth as it is…

 

     An unearthly hiss escaped the Baron's leering mouth, followed by ululating screams. He seemed to shrink before my eyes.

 

…in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation;

but deliver us from evil…

 

     I continued, the words quickly falling from my lips. I noticed Mama standing immobile with her back against the stone wall. For a moment, I believed she would intervene. Instead, she shrank further into the stonework.

 

For thine is the kingdom,

the power and the glory,

forever and ever.

Amen.

    

As I muttered the final holy word, the Baron enfolded himself in his black opera cape. Then, the silk fell into a pile on the pavement. Astonished, I stared at the black fabric pool. Mama stepped forward and knelt. Her stark expression gripped me with fear. Silently, tears slid down her sallow cheeks.

     "Mama," I exclaimed, squatting beside her. I could not believe she loved von Helfin. In my view, he represented the epitome of all evil.

     Then, the opera cape began to shift. It lifted and fell, lifted and fell. Slowly, it rose, and a bat escaped its confines. The fierce mammal beat its wings into my face, its sharp teeth gnashing toward my neck. Utilizing all my strength, I swatted it away. Spiraling, it crashed into the iron gate and flew upward.

     Silence fell in the courtyard, minutes ticking away. Falling to my knees, I crawled toward my prostrate mother.

     "Norah," Mama murmured, collapsing into my embrace.

     "Godoired!" Nicolai von Helfin's voice cut through the mist.

     Astonishingly, the Baron's deaf henchman appeared. Haphazardly, he lurched into the open and gazed skyward at his master.

     "Take her away!" von Helfin's menacing finger pointed in my direction.

     Godoired Cazacu ambled in my direction. His muscular arms encircled my shoulders. With the ease of a strongman, he lifted me and carried me into the turret. I fiercely beat upon his back with my tiny fists as we ascended the circular stone stairway.

     Unceremoniously, I felt my body drop onto my bed. Then, the door swung shut, and the bolt fell into place. The realization of becoming the Baron's prisoner stunned me.

 

******

 

As sharp as any thorn

And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ

On Christmas Day in the morn

The rising of the sun

 

     I continued to sing my father's favorite Christmas carol. Tears formed in my sorrowful eyes. Ignoring them, I kept up my hollow chant. Momentarily, I stood in the church choir box. The village children surrounded me, their cherry-cheeked faces raised in song. Stepping forward, eight-year-old Hammond Billingsby disengaged himself from the group. He rendered his solo in a bright clear voice. Steadily it rose above the snow-covered ground, calling faithful worshippers to the holiday service.

     Prentiss Wills conducted the choir from the pulpit. A wrist flick caused his slender baton to rise and fall rhythmically. Mama and Papa stood outside on the porch. Smiling, they welcomed each parishioner and wished them a Happy Christmas.

     Hammond stepped back into his place, and the children's sweet voices rejoined him. I pressed my shoulder against Mary Wilson and gripped Amity Bradshaw's palm. Our heads turned toward each other, and we grinned. Although I reminisced about Amity occasionally, thoughts of Mary never crossed my mind. I absently wondered about my other best friend.

     Poor Mary Wilson�"the gamekeeper's daughter. Mary did not have the advantage of being either the squire's or the vicar's daughter. She arrived at school wearing faded gingham dresses and scuffed shoes. Her drab, colorless hair hung in two uneven plaits, and she wore a lopsided smile. At first, Amity chided her about her lack of clothing. However, I took pity on her and became her friend. After a while, Amity accepted her companionship also.

     I prodded a log in the fire and chided myself for forgetting Mary. In my mind, I wished her a Happy Christmas and prayed I would see her soon. On the morrow, Amity and Mary would stand side-by-side in the choir box. They would grin at each other, and perhaps miss my presence. Never would my two best friends suspect I lay a prisoner in von Helfin castle.

     Unhappily, I continued to sing as the fire crackled and my stocking hung limply from the mantlepiece.

 

XV

 

     The oaken door blasted open, carrying in a gust of cold winter wind. Tall and gaunt, Baron von Helfin appeared within the frame. I rose from my place before the fire, my body trembling with fear. The words to my beloved Christmas carol trapped within my throat. Fearfully, I backed away until my spine connected with the firebox.

     "Silence!" von Helfin roared. His round eyes bulged fiercely from his ashen face.

     Hastily, the Baron strode toward me. Raising his hand, he struck my cheek forcefully. I staggered, and my knees buckled. I grappled for the mantlepiece, slipped, and fell to my knees.

     "Uncle!" Ranulf exclaimed, rushing to kneel beside me.

     "Be gone!" Swiftly, von Helfin grabbed his nephew's arm and hauled him to his feet. Propelling the young man toward the door, he continued, "If I required your assistance, I would demand it."

     "But, Uncle," the Baron's ward pleaded, "you needn't use violence. She's just a young girl."

     "I said be gone," my adversary repeated, swinging the heavy door closed in Ranulf's face.

     A firm hand shot out, preventing the closure. The nephew leaned in the entryway, his arms crossed defiantly. Von Helfin surveyed him coolly, then turned back to me.

     "It's…it's K…k…Christmas Eve," I stuttered, re-finding my voice.

     von Helfin flinched at the word 'Christmas.' Nevertheless, I stood my ground. He would not prevent my celebration of the holy season.

     "I forbid the word in my presence," my capturer hissed, a nerve in his cheek pulsating. "Bring her," he ordered, shoving me manfully toward Ranulf.

     Stunned, I collapsed into the Baron's nephew's arms. Gently, he pulled me against his chest. The rapid thump of his heartbeat calmed me. Encased within his embrace, I allowed him to lead me down the spiral staircase. Nicolai von Helfin followed on our heels, occasionally prodding his ward's back. We continued downward until we reached the dank cellar and halted at the nursery door.

     Mama barely glanced at us when we entered. She perched on a faded divan with Vanda and Luiza cozied against her side. In hushed tones, my mother read to them from 'The Brothers Grimm.'

     Vlad occupied a school desk. He leaned over a slate filled with arithmetic problems. Peering over his shoulder, Ranulf offered his assistance on a tricky response. The younger boy scrubbed his answer away and began again.

     "Your daughter, Madam," von Helfin coolly stated, "will join your class. She requires instruction and a keen eye. You will keep her occupied from now on."

     Hastily, the Baron withdrew. Wordlessly, the children stared at his retreating back, then cast their eyes downward. Ranulf remained. His smooth brown eyes traveled from my toes to my head as he leaned against the wall. I shuddered at his cool observation and shot him a hate-filled glare.

     "Christmas Eve, Mama," I announced dolefully. Swiftly, I squatted before her and laid my head in her lap.

     Her blue eyes surveyed me dully. A momentary light filled them and swiftly dissipated. Rapidly, I began talking about the yule log, mistletoe, and decorating the vicarage Christmas tree. Silently, Vlad rose. Vanda ran to him and buried her head in his stomach. His long fingers combed her straggly black hair. Luiza approached and placed her hand protectively on the back of her little sister's head.

     "Shush," Mama balefully admonished.

     "It's Christmas, Mama," I whined, unashamed.

     Silently, Ranulf ushered the children from the room. They ogled me as they passed, their complexions as white as a bleached sheet. The door swung shut, leaving Mama and me alone.

     "We should celebrate, Mama," I pleaded imploringly. "Papa loved the holiday. Don't you remember? He would want us to rejoice with glad tidings; he would…."

     "Your Papa's dead, Norah," my parent exclaimed unmercifully. "We have a new life and must accept a new way of living. The Baron does not celebrate; he does not wish…"

     "I don't care what the Baron wishes," I rapidly stated. "How can you live with a man against all our beliefs? How can you forget Papa and Grey Friars and…?"

     Waith-like, my mother rose from the divan. Absolute terror filled her eyes, and her mouth turned downward in a snarl. Believing her emotion rose against the Baron, I advanced on her. Stretching out my arms, I attempted to embrace her. The touch of my fingers against her shoulder caused her to flinch backward.

     "Oh, Mama, what has he done to you?" I exclaimed mournfully. I suddenly realized she did not act in fear of the Baron. My words and my movements terrorized her.

     I paused, staring at her sorrowfully. Folding my hands together as though in prayer, I fell to my knees and pleaded with her. She looked past me blankly as though she could not see me. Gathering her full skirt in my fist, I buried my head and sobbed.

     "Don't allow him to destroy you, Mama," I begged imploringly. "You're good, Mama, good at heart. I love you. Please love me back."

     Impassively, Mama stepped around me and drifted toward the door. Remaining on my knees, I crawled toward her, grasping for her gown's hem. She hesitated momentarily in the frame, then stepped beyond it. The Baron emerged from the shadows, and Mama walked into his embrace. She cast one last look over her shoulders toward me. Then, they seemed to evaporate into the stone wall. I threw back my head and screamed like a banshee.

 

******

 

     Startled, I awoke in my turret bedroom. The morning sun shone a meager shaft of light through the window slit. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I bolted up and gawked at the solemn room.

     'Nightmare,' I muttered, half in terror-half relieved.

     A glowing fire crackled warmly in the fireplace. My black stocking bulged from where it hung from the mantle. Recalling the day, I leaped from the bed and dashed for it. Hugging it against my body, I plummeted triumphantly to my bed. Gleefully, I reached inside. My hand circled a hard lump. I pulled it out and stared at the black coal.

     "Naughty little girls get coal in their stockings," Papa admonished. His grave gravelly voice floated from the bed hangings.

     My back stiffened, and I turned toward the sound, expecting to see my beloved father. For a moment, I believed I saw a wispy man's form. Then, I blinked, and he disappeared.

     "Oh, Papa, I try to behave," I whispered, tears forming, "but I want to go home. I'm unhappy here."

     I absently counted the coal�"sixteen pieces�"one for each year of my life. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished for peppermint candy. Nevertheless, when I reopened them, the black coal remained.

     "Papa," I cried, reaching toward where I believed he stood. "I need you, Papa. Oh, why did you have to die?"

     Rising slowly from my bed, I gathered up sixteen lumps of coal. One by one, I flung them through the window slit. Exhausting my supply, I flailed my arms and, tripping on the carpet, fell to my knees. Filled with fury, I balled up my fists and beat the floor, my feet thrashing behind me.

     "I have never had the patience for spoiled children," Mrs. Balan remarked, slamming the breakfast tray onto the table. "Stop this at once."

     Roughly, the housekeeper grabbed my arm and pulled me up. She pushed me into the embroidered chair and, swinging her arm back, slapped me across the face. My neck lashed to the right, cracking loudly. I began to flail madly again. Mrs. Balan slapped my other cheek.

     "How dare you!" I hissed menacingly. "How dare you strike me!"

     "I'll give you that and worse if you continue," the chatelaine threatened.

     "How dare you," I sputtered again, less enthusiastically.

     "Be silent." Mrs. Balan drew her hand back again, and I cowered. "Eat your breakfast." She straightened her back and marched through the door, slamming it behind her.

     I remained in my seat, staring into the fire. Finally, I rose and, lifting my plate, flung the morning scone into the fire. The porcelain teapot followed it and shattered on the firebox bricks. The yellow and orange flames crackled when the hot liquid touched them.

     Crossing my arms across my chest tightly, I plunked into the chair and stared into the blaze. A deep frown cut across my face, and I pouted.

     "A fine way to spend Christmas day," I muttered.

 

XVI

 

     A sharp rapping awoke me from a sound sleep. I sat up and wearily gazed at the mantlepiece clock. Its hands stood at exactly midnight. Wrapping my dressing gown around me, I trudged toward the door. I flung it open, and Ranulf Zamfir strutted in. I gaped at him as though he were an apparition.

     Tall and lean, Ranulf bore a slight resemblance to his uncle. His sleek black hair glistened in the dim moonlight. A slim smile upturned his sanguine lips, and his penetrating brown eyes softened as they traveled over my body.

     "What do you want?" I snapped, clutching my robe closed at the neck. "A lady's bed chamber is a private…"

     "Your mother requires your presence in the schoolroom," von Helfin's ward tersely cut off my diatribe.

     "The schoolroom?" I queried, perplexed. His statement took me aback wholly.

     "The Baron ordered you to join the children," Ranulf curtly remarked. Clicking his heels together, he bowed slightly and offered his arm.

     The previous night's dream became a sudden reality. My mind whirled. Indeed, Baron von Helfin intended that I join his offspring in their horrid nursery. I clenched and unclenched my fists nervously. I could not imagine Mama as my governess and the pallid children as my classmates. I shivered involuntarily.

     "We must hurry," Ranulf urged, again offering his arm.

     I glared at him disdainfully and swept past him. The Baron's nephew followed me down the spiral stairway. At the rotunda, he gracefully opened the door and bowed again. I held my head high and exited. I marched down the swooping main staircase with Ranulf pacing at my side. At the bottom, he grasped my sleeve, halting me.

     "Norah," my companion whispered when I turned upon him. Smiling, he took my shoulders and bent me backward. His canines peeked over his lips, but he swiftly closed them. "I…I…" He seemed to lose his thoughts because he uttered, "Never mind," and proceeded toward the cellar door.

     Our footsteps echoed hollowly on the flagstone steps. Cobwebs clung to my dressing gown, and my carpet slippers slid along the moss-grown floor. Warily, I peered through the murk into a labyrinth of corridors.

     "Do not penetrate further than the schoolroom chamber," my guide cautioned. "You can easily get lost down here."

     Deep within the cellar, a growl arose. A colossal dog emerged from the mist and lunged at the iron grate. It bared its fierce teeth and gnashed the barrier violently. I shuddered and inadvertently grabbed Ranulf's arm. He gazed down upon me condescendingly, then his eyes softened.

     "Take my advice, and no one will harm you," the nephew gently stated. "The Baron's dogs reside in the kennels further along this corridor. They are hunters and unfriendly toward newcomers. You do not wish to provoke them…or Uncle Nicolai."

     "What kind of dogs?" I tentatively asked. I shot my eyes toward the beast hunched behind the bars. I could not make out the breed.

     "Bullmastiffs," Ranulf replied, "specially trained to kill at the Baron's orders. Diabolus, Dybbuk, Moloch, Incubus, and Belial by name."

     I paused, running the names through my brain. Horrorstruck, I gasped.

     "Satan!" I exclaimed, my voice wavering with recognition. "They are alternate names for Satan."

     "Naturally," my companion remarked, rolling his shoulders.

     "But…" I began. For a terrorized moment, I believed I stood at the portals of hell. Taking an uneasy step backward, I bumped into my companion. His hands encircled my shoulders, drawing me close.

     "Beyond the grate, one of the dogs always roams freely. Today it is Moloch�"the fiercest of the five. Uncle favors him particularly," Ranulf curtly explained. "However, he will not hesitate to release all the dogs if he discovers a stranger in his private chambers. Do not enter; I cannot save you."

     "Save me?" I questioned, startled. Why would the Baron's nephew offer to save me? I gazed up at him and found his brown eyes surveying me wistfully.

     Ranulf did not respond. Instead, he pushed open the schoolroom door and stepped aside. Bowing at the waist, he waved me inside with an elaborate gesture. I brushed past and entered. Vlad hunched over his desk and bent over an arithmetic book. Deep in thought, he gnawed on the tip of his pencil. He looked up at me momentarily, then quickly dismissed my presence.

     Mama sat on the faded divan with Vanda on her lap. Luiza sat on a low stool at her side. The older girl held the Brothers Grimm book and read from it out loud. Squinting at the page, she stumbled on the words. I listened intently and recognized the story of Rumpelstiltskin.

     "Thank you for delivering my daughter," Mama stated absently.

     Ranulf clicked his heels, bowed at the waist, and swiftly departed. When the door closed, I shifted my attention to my mother. Immediately, I noticed her sunken eyes within her skull-like face. Her pallid cheeks held no color whatsoever. Sinking to my knees, I grasped her icy hand.

     "Mama!" I exclaimed desperately. Her entire appearance alarmed me. "You…you look exhausted. Why don't you take the night off, get some rest?"

     "I expect you to appear properly dressed for our next session," my parent briskly cautioned, ignoring my comments.

     "Ranulf awoke me from a sound sleep, Mama," I responded pertly. "I did not know…I thought I had a nightmare and…"

     "Nevertheless, the Baron insisted you join us for lessons," she firmly continued. "You will appear here at midnight from henceforth and dress accordingly."

     "Why midnight?" I demanded indignantly.

     "The children awaken at the witching hour, my dear," Mama explained, normalizing the time. "We must not disturb their schedule."

     "Disturb their schedule!" I exclaimed hotly. "Since when do children wake up at midnight? Since when do they study during the overnight hours? It's unheard of, Mama! Children require a good night's sleep. Isn't that what you always said?"

     "We must do as the Baron requires, Norah," Mama chided half-heartedly. "We are here at his will. I am his wife, and I must obey his orders."

     "Obey his orders!" I shouted, my indignation growing. "Obey! Mama! NO! NO! NO!"

     A firm believer in the feminist movement, I strongly protested against men's dominance over women. I believed Mama agreed with my stance. Never did I see her bowing to Papa's will. They lived together in harmony. They often composed the weekly sermon together. Once, when Papa suffered from influenza, Mama stood in the pulpit to recite it. She claimed that women would become ordained the same as men in the future.

     "Please, Mama, listen to me." I tightened my grasp upon her hand. "Do not allow the Baron to dominate you. He's crushing your spirit. You deserve better than this."

     My mother's grey eyes deadened and seemed to sink further into their sockets. I reached to stroke her ashen locks. The dry strands crackled beneath my fingertips and disintegrated into dust. Aghast, I opened my palm, and the particles drifted to the floor. Her life seemed to drain from her veins before my eyes. Mama lived but barely.

     Covering my face with my palms, I sobbed bitterly. How much longer could Mama sustain life? I wondered frantically. Railing against fate, I cursed the one-eyed coachman for not appearing on the night of our planned escape. If our luck had held out, we would have returned to London and forgotten about Romania and von Helfin Castle.

     Mama called my name gently, and I turned toward her. She remained on the divan with the two girls close to her side. Deftly, she removed the book of fairy tales from Luiza's hands and pushed it toward me. I stared down at it, dumbfounded.

     "Join us and continue to read," Mama prompted, a solemn smile playing on her lips. "You may select a story of your choosing."

     Absently, I flipped the pages, considering each story intently. Finally, I chose 'Snow White and Rose Red.' Luiza and Vanda turned their attention to me as I began to read. Mama sat back and observed intently. Finishing, I closed the heavy book and held it on my lap.

     "Read another one," Vanda prompted eagerly.

     Although the child's face remained solemn, I caught an eagerness in her voice. Her upturned face brightened slightly with a soft rose tint. I reopened the tome and scanned the table of contents. However, Mama removed the book from my grasp and snapped it closed.

     "I believe that is enough for one night," she announced sharply. "You may return to your desks and open your grammar."

     "Aw," the youngsters cried in unison.

     "Come now, girls." Mama clapped her hands together briskly. "You must work on your English grammar. Then, we'll move on to mathematics."

     The children groaned but moved to their desks and began their assignments. At a loss, I remained seated close to Mama. Finally, she turned to me and asked that I assist Luiza. I squatted beside the younger girl and glanced at her slanted handwriting. She struggled to copy the phrases Mama assigned her.

     "Can I help you?" I asked, smiling gently.

     Luiza edged over, making room for me beside her. In whispered voices, we discussed our task. My limited ability to speak her language and her mind caused complications. Nevertheless, we pressed forward until we began to understand each other. Finally, Mama dismissed us, and I returned to my bedroom to sleep the day away.

 

XVII

     I sprawled in my bed, staring at the emerald hangings above me. I expected Ranulf's rap on the door at any moment. Night after night, he appeared to escort me to the cellar nursery. I did not require his assistance; I knew my way alone after several nights. Nevertheless, the Baron's ward made a point to appear precisely at midnight.

     My thoughts lingered on my encounters with Ranulf. Previously, I viewed him as an enemy. However, as time passed, I began to regard him as my friend. Suddenly, he seemed to care about my well-being and set himself as my protector.

     At midnight, I entered the nursery and sat with the other children at my desk. At first, Luiza dismissed me with a disdainful glare. A quiet, intense girl, she made me feel like an outsider. Her pale skin and grim expression sent shivers down my spine. Then, one night, her sanguine lips turned upwards in a half-smile.

     "Hello." Luiza's voice rose to barely above a whisper. However, she raised her hand in an awkward wave.

     "Hello," I answered in the same soft tone. I twinkled my fingers at the younger girl, causing her to giggle.

     "Ranulf likes you," she remarked, inching her desk closer to mine. "He never likes anyone."

     "Really?" I sang out, causing Mama to glance sharply in my direction. "Really?" I repeated in a lower tenor.

     "Yes," my companion responded, bending her dark head toward mine. Eagerly, I leaned in to share confidences.

     "Girls!" Mama reprimanded, sharply banging her pencil against her desktop.

     Wordlessly, I opened my grammar book. Luiza copied my action. Silence prevailed in the schoolroom as we bent over our assignments. Then, Vanda let out an unearthly wail. Mama swiftly rose and hustled to the younger von Helfin sister. Angrily, she yanked on the long dagger that pinned the child's braids to her desk. I gaped incredulously at the ancient iron weapon with its bat-shaped hilt.

     "How many times must I scold you for tormenting your sisters?" Mama exclaimed, looming over Vlad's desk.

     The boy ogled her contemptuously, his dark eyes narrow slits. Vlad's upper lip lifted sardonically, and his pointed canines appeared. A low guttural hiss rose from his throat, and he lunged toward Mama. She recoiled instantly, and he removed the blade from her slack fist.

      Mama pivoted slowly and returned to her seat. She folded her trembling hands before her and stared across our heads at a point above the door. I stood to approach her, but she waved me back to my desk. Finally, we settled into our books but could not concentrate.

     "Class dismissed," my mother abruptly announced. Rising, she floated toward the door and vanished into the corridor.

     Vlad swiftly followed her, abandoning his open history book. I raced after them, expecting a confrontation. However, they had moved beyond the iron barrier before I could reach them. I clutched at the grating and yanked on it with all my strength. Against the wall, I glimpsed two shadows, one bent backward and the other menacing above.

     "Mama!" I screamed, my voice echoing throughout the chamber.

     "Come away, Norah," Ranulf breathed into my neck. Gently, he drew me away and pinned me against the murky wall.

     "I must…" I began, straining for release. "Mama needs me. I…"

     "There is nothing you can do," the Baron's ward stated. "If you penetrate beyond the gate, the dogs will shred you in no time. You cannot cross the barricade."

     "But…"

     "I will escort you to your room," Ranulf gently stated, drawing me along the corridor. "I assure you, no harm will come to your mother. Uncle will not permit it."

     Reluctantly, I followed the nephew to the ground floor and then up into the turret. We paused at the door momentarily. When he leaned forward as though to kiss me, I caught a whiff of his repugnant odor. Swiftly, I recoiled and pushed open the door. Stepping inside, I hesitated and caught the stark expression of disappointment across Ranulf's face. Sighing, I closed the barrier between us and pressed my back against it. After a while, I heard his retreating footsteps.

     I breathed deeply, and the putrid odor I detected lingered in my nostrils. Hurriedly, I poured water from the ewer into the basin and scrubbed my hands and face. The sweet lavender scent flushed away the obnoxious smells quickly. Drying myself with a fresh towel, I felt my body relax.

     "What is that lovely scent?" Luiza asked from behind me. Surreptitiously, she lifted the bar and breathed in deeply.

     "Lavender," I answered, rummaging in a dresser drawer. I handed my companion an unopened bar. Although I only had two left, I unselfishly gifted it to her.

     "For me?" Luiza inquired, clasping the small round package against her undeveloped bosom.

     "Yes, for you." I smiled and enfolded her pallid fingers inside my hands. I flinched briefly at their icy, flexile texture. Then, recovering, I patted them convivially.

     Luiza's lips quivered, then broadened into a wide grin. The unique expression appeared awkward at first. However, the girl quickly loosened up and fell backward onto the bed, still clutching my gift. Her tangled black hair spread across the emerald comforter, and she stared into the canopy. I lay down beside her and followed her gaze.

     How different we looked, I reflected. Luiza's faded woolen dress hung limply on her small frame. It appeared centuries old in design. She wore black and white striped stockings and heavily scuffed black boots. On the other hand, my rose-sprigged poplin contrasted with her dark gothic aspect. Beneath my dress, I wore lacy petticoats and white pantaloons. My white silk stockings were clocked from ankle to knee with embroidered crimson roses. Pink slippers adorned my feet.

     "You're pretty," Luiza breathed. Inadvertently she twined a strand of my soft brown hair around her finger. "It's no wonder Ranulf likes you."

     I closed my eyes and pictured the Baron's handsome ward. His mass of black hair framed an aquiline nose, red lips, and penetrating brown eyes to perfection. A high alabaster forehead and smooth rounded chin finished the picture. I imagined him standing in the doorway, his pale hand outstretched to beckon me. As though in a trance, I rose and drew him inside. I swung the door closed, and we embraced.

     My trembling fingers combed into Ranulf's silky hair. My head fell backward, and my lips parted in expectation. Gently, my lover bent over me and lowered his face to mine. Then, instead of capturing my mouth with his, he bared his fangs and plunged toward my exposed neck. I gasped and sat up, my dream fleeing into oblivion.

     "Norah!" Luiza screamed, grabbing me by the shoulders. Her frightened expression startled me.

     Our eyes locked for a moment, then shifted toward the door. Slowly, it creaked open. I stared incredulously, expecting Ranulf's entrance. Instead, Vanda stood shadowed in the aperture. Then, running inside, she plunged onto the bed.

 

******

    

     "Tell me about Ranulf," I asked Luiza. Arm-in-arm, we strolled through the castle garden.

     The yellow crescent moon smiled down upon us. Wistfully, I regarded the nightly grin. Papa called it 'The Cheshire Cat' moon. Night after night, we gathered in the parlor to hear him read from 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.' He enjoyed imitating Lewis Carroll's magnificently imaginative characters. He developed a different voice for each one. I enjoyed the White Rabbit, the Dodo, and the Tweedle Twins, but the mischievous disappearing feline remained my favorite.

     The novel and its accompanying sequel, "Through the Looking Glass," remained in the bottom of my trunk. I cherished the few books I brought with me to Romania. Perhaps, Mama would allow me to read them aloud in the schoolroom. I made a mental note to ask her. In the meantime, I eagerly wished to know more about Ranulf.

     "Aunt Lavinia eloped with the stableboy at age sixteen," Luiza confided late one night as we strolled in the garden. "Grandpapa and Papa chased after them and discovered them at an inn on the road to Bucharest. They had already married, and Auntie Vin revealed her pregnancy. Grandpapa brought them back, and they lived in the hunting lodge on the other side of the forest.

     "Grandpapa died shortly after Ranulf's birth, and Papa married. Vlad and I were born eighteen months apart. Then, Mama died giving birth to Vanda," Luiza paused, a sorrowful expression crossing her pale face. "Papa fell into a deep depression. Day after day, month upon month, he sat before the fire without moving. No one laughed or smiled. We no longer played games or rode our ponies. Mrs. Balan took charge of Vanda�"Papa wouldn't look at her."

     Tenderly, I drew Luiza into my embrace. The girl stared into the middle distance for a long time, tears forming on her lower lids.

     "Finally, Ranulf appeared, demanding to see Papa. He claimed Uncle Claudiu had gone insane. If Papa didn't act swiftly, Uncle would kill Aunt Lavinia," Luiza flatly stated. "Papa and Ranulf rode off together. Auntie Vin died before they arrived, and Papa fought with Uncle Claudiu. Papa destroyed Uncle, but he and Ranulf both received terrible injuries. The encounter changed Papa's life forever…and ours too."

     Luiza cozied against my side, and I hugged her closely. Her young body trembled against mine. Soothingly, I whispered tender words until she calmed.

     "Ranulf came home with Papa," the girl finally continued. "He mopes around, and sometimes he flares out violently. Our cousin never softened to anyone except you. I've seen him watching you, and his eyes sparkle. He smiles at you…and Ranulf never smiles."

     I sat against the wall and gazed at the Cheshire Cat moon. The mellow grin cut the forbidding starless sky, providing a safe haven. Perhaps, in my arms, Ranulf could find a little warmth in the Baron's cold castle. I dreamed of melting his icy heart and filling the void his lost family created.

     Ranulf required love and attention to lift him from his deep depression. Determinedly, I decided to provide it. In my loneliness, I yearned for love. Prentiss Wills slipped from my life and my dreams. I no longer fantasized about returning to England and marriage to the curate. My life led me in a new direction.

     I began to question Luiza further about Ranulf. However, Helga Balan appeared in the garden. The chambermaid hesitated a moment. Then, she pointed toward the east. Dim light filtered through the dead woods, brightening the sky. Rising, my young companion fled into the castle, her hasty footsteps beating a staccato on the cobblestones.

 

XVIII

 

     Helga rushed across the courtyard and plunked onto the bench Luiza had vacated moments earlier. I raised questioning eyebrows at my new companion. Since our aborted departure from the castle, I avoided the chambermaid. Inadvertently, she had told our secret to her grandmother, thus spoiling the planned escape. Madam Balan informed Baron von Helfin, causing him to appear at the last moment.

     "What do you want?" I imperiously snapped. I rose, but Helga grasped my arm. I stared down upon her haughtily. "Release me!" I yanked my arm to free myself, but her grip tightened.

     "I'm sorry," the girl muttered, lowering her haunted eyes. "I didn't mean to tell granny. It just came tumbling out."

     "Apology not accepted," I coolly responded. Nevertheless, I regained my seat beside Helga. Folding my arms tightly across my chest, I allowed a 'humpf' to escape my lips.

     The sun peeked over the horizon in the east, chasing away the moon's shadows. The dismal courtyard brightened slightly. Behind us, the castle loomed darkly upon its precipice. The yellow sun could not chase away our gloomy surroundings.

     Back to back, Helga and I crouched on the stone bench. Harboring our own thoughts, we waited for the other to speak. Silence prevailed between us as dawn took its grip on the new day.

     "Norah," Helga's hollow voice finally broke the stillness surrounding us.

     "I'm not speaking to you," I stated tersely.

     "But…"

     I did not respond. Instead, I stood and aimlessly wandered toward the high iron gate. The long, windy road remained empty. Its barrenness exclaimed the stark isolation of the castle and its inhabitants. My mind raged against fate as I clutched the railing in desperation. Mama and I had walked into a trap that held no escape.

     "I wanted to go to England with you," the chambermaid began again. Her sudden appearance at my side startled me from my dark thoughts. "Next time…"

     "Next time will never arrive," I responded in clipped tones. "You ruined it, Helga, simply ruined it. Mama decided to leave this hellhole. Now we're stuck here�"probably forever. England is a fantasy, a fairy tale, a forbidden myth."

     Briskly, I pivoted and stormed toward the castle. I wished to put a long distance between the betrayer of my plans and me. Holding my head high, I swooped past Helga and grasped the door handle. She rushed behind me and inserted herself before the castle entrance.

     "Ranulf doesn't love you," the maid demurely stated. "He will use you just like the Baron uses your mother."

     Her sudden exclamation froze me on the spot. My mind whirled as I considered my budding relationship with von Helfin's ward. At first, I had remained wary of Ranulf Zamphir. However, as time passed, I realized he had my best interest at heart. Several times, he had inserted himself between the Baron and me, thus alleviating a distressing situation. I grew fond of him.

     Helga stood before me, clasping her hands behind her back. Smirking, she rocked back and forth on her heels. Grasping her shoulders, I tried to force her away from the door. Nevertheless, she held her ground. I stared at her incredulously.

     "What do you know about it?" I demanded in exasperation.

     "You are not the first nor the last," Helga coyly announced.

     "First or last what?" Anger filled my sharp inquiry. I grew furious with each passing moment.

     "Viccccctimmmm." The eerie elongated response echoed throughout the lonely courtyard. Helga stood on tiptoes and, lifting her arms above her head, shook her fingers wildly.

     "Victim," I repeated disdainfully. "Oh, for God's sake!"

     A sharp wind howled and rushed through the courtyard. My long brown hair fell loose from its pins and swirled above my head. Swiftly, the temperature dropped, and I shivered. The denuded trees came alive with bats furiously flapping their wings.

     "Let me pass," I demanded, dodging quickly to the right.

     Helga followed my movement, continuing to block my way inside. I dodged to the left, and she mimicked me again. Our actions became a parody.

     "Stop!" I yelled, grasping the chambermaid's shoulders to force her aside. "Stop playing games with me."

     "Listen to me, Norah," Helga implored, standing still instantly. She grasped my coat sleeve and yanked hard. "I want to help you, make up for my mistake. Pleeezzze." Suddenly, she fell to her knees and bowed her head in submission.

     I looked down upon her bare head. A stark white stripe of skin stood out against her dark hair, where she parted it. The unkempt strands tumbled forward, covering her face. Wistfully, she peeked through them, her dark eyes demure.

     I gnawed my bottom lip with my front teeth. Did Helga sincerely wish to help, or was her plea another attempt to gain my attention? In a way, I pitied Helga. Working day and night in the castle provided little entertainment for a girl her age. Lonely and forlorn, she desired companionship. She had probably never seen other people besides the von Helfin occupants. My heart wept for her, and my stance softened.

     "All right," I finally conceded.

     Grasping hands, Helga and I returned to the garden bench. I awaited her explanation eagerly. However, the maid hesitated. She plucked a plain white handkerchief from her sleeve and worried it in her fist.

     "What's it all about?" I demanded, my patience dwindling.

     "Your mama isn't the first governess," Helga hastily exclaimed. "You're not the first governess's daughter. The Baron picks 'em special and coaxes 'em to come. They're always down and out. Poverty-stricken widows with young daughters are his favorites."

     I stared at Helga incredulously. Her ability to fantasize grew audacious with each passing day. Filled with frustration, I began to rise. Her restraining hand on my arm held me back.

     "It's the same, over and over," she continued, her breathing hastened. "Ever since the Baron was bit…centuries ago."

     "Centuries?" I guffawed, appalled by the extent of Helga's lying. "You're out of your mind."

     I roughly pried her clasping fingers from my upper arm and stood indignantly. Purposely, I strode toward the door and grasped the handle. I yanked it open and stepped inside. Helga grabbed me by the arm again and, sinking to her knees, began to plead. I pulled away and swiftly stepped inside. The stout oaken door slammed shut behind me.

     "THEY'RE VAMPIRES," the little maid screamed as I shut her out. "VAMPIRES, NORAH. PLEASE LISTEN! THE BARON, RANULF, THE CHILDREN�"ALL VAMPIRES!!"

     Helga pried the door open and raced toward me. I continued to march toward the dilapidated grand staircase, my heels beating a rapid staccato on the flagstone floor. Bowing my head downward, I plunged upward toward the wide landing. The maid's voice followed me, reverberating around the empty hall.

     "YOU'RE MAMA'S THEIR HOST; THEY'RE USING HER TO SUSTAIN THEMSELVES," Helga continued to shout. "RANULF WANTS YOU. HE'LL ATTACH HIMSELF TO YOUR NECK AND SUCK YOUR LIFE. PLEASE LISTEN, NORAH. PLEASE!"

     I hesitated at the top of the stairway and, grasping the railing, turned. Below, Helga scurried across the entranceway. When she reached the bottom riser, she stumbled, and her ankles became tangled in her long black skirt. Still, the young maid attempted to continue upward, gaining a half dozen steps. I cringed when she collapsed with a thump and slid back to the ground floor. Beneath her crumpled form, her left leg sprawled awkwardly at an odd angle. Instantly, I realized she had broken a bone.

     Hurriedly, I rushed down to help. However, Mrs. Balan appeared and assisted her granddaughter to her feet. The housekeeper glared at me accusingly, and I hesitated. Grasping the newel post, I watched them move slowly, painfully, toward the kitchen. I finally moved toward them, but Mrs. Balan spun on me.

     "I will attend, my granddaughter," she hissed menacingly. "You will not come another step near her. You are to blame for this…this mishap. Leave us alone."

     A sharp rebuke rose to my lips, but the look on the chatelaine's face stopped me from uttering it. Instead, I pivoted and ran pell-mell up the stairs. On and on, I ran along the first-floor corridor, then up to the second and third. I did not stop until I bolted the turret door. Finally, I dashed into my bed chamber and locked myself in.

     "Vampires," I muttered, hysteria rising in my voice. Crumpling to the carpeted floor, I hugged my knees and sobbed. The sound echoing around the still room shocked me. Alternating between high-pitched mirth and unworldly howls, I did not recognize my own voice.

     "Vampires," I repeated, my heightened tone diminishing. "Vampires?"

     My mind settled, and I wondered at the new word. It seemed vaguely familiar; however, I could not place it precisely. Straining my thoughts, I pressed for a memory of the term. Nothing came to mind.

 

XIX

 

     The word 'vampire' haunted my thoughts. I rummaged through my mind's hidden places, trying to bring it to light. For some reason, I should have recognized it. However, no matter how hard I pressed my memory, I could not reveal its meaning.

     "Perhaps…" I muttered to myself, suddenly inspired.

     I dragged my trunk to the center of the room and lifted the lid. Carefully, I removed my unused summer clothing and stacked the folded garments on my bed. My most prized possessions, Papa's books, lay across the bottom of the traveling crate. In the haste of our immediate departure, I saved about twenty of our favorites.

     Slowly, I shifted through the novels, searching for one that might hold a particular clue. Many of them recalled special memories. Picking up LITTLE WOMEN, I considered the charm of Louisa May Alcott's March Sisters. Papa presented it to me as a birthday gift when I turned twelve. I immediately flipped through the pages, promising myself I would re-read it.

     I placed the book on my night table and returned to my task. Next, I selected Jules Verne's AROUND the WORLD in EIGHTY DAYS. The adventures of Phileas Fogg and Passepartout filled me with the excitement of world travel. Entranced, I pictured myself floating amongst the clouds in a hot air balloon and racing across America on a steam locomotive. Papa and I became anxious as we turned toward the final pages. Would Fogg win or lose his impossible bet? Knowing the answer, I returned the book to its place in my trunk.

     As an avid reader, I became entranced by the selections quickly. Many of them drew me far away from Castle von Helfin. I swiftly fell into a world of daydreams and fantasies to escape my present horrors. As I clasped WALDEN, I recalled Papa's admiration of Henry David Thoreau. My beloved father once cherished the ideas of the Naturalist and Pacifist. I hugged the volume tenderly to my heart and pictured Papa's serene smile.

     My world had shifted significantly during the past months. I closed my eyes, and the castle disappeared. Instantly, the parlor at Grey Friar's Vicarage appeared. The fire crackled merrily upon the hearth, and Papa sat in his favorite chair. He poked his lit pipe into the corner of his firm mouth and opened Dickens' A TALE of TWO CITIES. Kneeling beside him, I leaned my head against his knees. I closed my eyes and pictured the great guillotine towering against the lowering sky. Madam Defarge knitted a long scarf as the Royals lost their heads one by one.

     "Read as much as you can, as often as you can," Papa advised, closing the book but holding the page with his index finger. With his other hand, he combed through my soft brown curls. "Books are your friends; the stories within the key to a world full of imagination."

     "Yes, Papa," I muttered, smiling up into his twinkling grey eyes. I wanted to read�"to travel from adventure to adventure.

     "These stories will take you to places you have never imagined," he continued, lifting Lewis Carroll's fantastic fantasies, ALICE'S ADVENTURES in WONDERLAND and THROUGH the LOOKING GLASS.

     Her many curious adventures sparked my imagination. I often poured over ALICE while sitting beneath the plum tree in the vicarage garden. Usually, I fantasized about following the White Rabbit into his hole or stepping through the looking glass. I drifted into Alice's Wonderland and joined the Mad Hatter's Tea Party.

     "Foolishness," Prentiss Wills exclaimed, breaking into my illusion. His sudden appearance startled me.

     The curate lifted the book from my hand and snapped it closed swiftly. Leaping to my feet, I attempted to take it back. However, Prentiss held it behind his back. I dodged to grab it, but his grip remained firm.

     "Divine foolishness," I remarked, finally dislodging it from his grip.

     Prentiss snorted derisively.

     "You should not describe such flippancy as divine," the curate sternly admonished. "Divine translates as Godly. There is nothing Godlike about this drivel."

     "Papa adores Lewis Carroll's books," I hotly exclaimed. I hugged my beloved storybook against my heaving bosom and glared defiantly at Prentiss.

 

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

    

     I quoted from "The Jabberwocky." Slowly, I rocked back and forth on my heels as the words tumbled from my lips quickly. Then, I spun and raced into the churchyard. My skirts tangled amongst my ankles, and I tripped over a grave surround.

     "Norah!" Prentiss exclaimed, suddenly contrite. He fell to his knees beside me.

     Hastily, I tried to stand, but my ankle would not support me. I winced painfully. An angry black bruise marked my leg instantly. Carefully, the curate lifted me in his arms and carried me to the vicarage parlor. He tenderly placed me on the settee before the roaring fire. Dr. Murray arrived shortly after and declared I had twisted it.

     For the next month, I rested with my ankle propped up on cushions. Tenderly, Prentiss carried me from my bedroom to the parlor. He greatly sorrowed over my affliction and blamed himself for causing my graveyard accident. However, the opportunity to spend my time selecting reading material from the vicarage library thrilled me.

     Papa presented me with copies of Tolstoy's ANNA KARENINA, TESS of the D'URBERVILLES by Thomas Hardy, and Nathaniel Hawthorne's The SCARLET LETTER. My heart panged over the fates of the three tragic women. Then, KING SOLOMON'S MINES caught my attention. As I turned the pages, I felt deeply entranced by H. Ryder Haggard's handsome adventure, Allan Quartermain, and his search for the lost treasure.

     I moved the books beneath my hands as though playing the shell game. As I did, I mumbled the titles HEIDI by Johanna Spyri, The PRISONER of ZENDA by Anthony Hope, George Eliot's MIDDLEMARCH and STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL and MR. HYDE by Robert Louis Stevenson. Then, I rested my hand on LES MISERABLES.

     "The poor, wretched ones," I muttered, flipping the pages of Victor Hugo's masterpiece. "Mama and I are the poor, wretched ones now." A tear glittered at the edge of my eye, and I dashed it away. My shoulders heaved. Heavy-heartedly, I fought back my tears and lost.

     Sullenly, I began to place the books into the trunk. One by one, I lovingly lined them along the bottom. Bittersweet memories contained within the pages of beloved old tomes brought back better days. Oh, those happy times of the not-so-distant past! Mama was different. I missed her smile and laughter and the love she and Papa shared. I had nearly forgotten the sense of security the vicarage provided.

     Six books remained. I placed Rudyard Kipling's The JUNGLE BOOK beside Hugo's novel. VILLETTE by Charlotte Bronte followed it. I stared at the last four: Wilkie Collins's The MOONSTONE, Thomas Hardy's FAR FROM the MADDING CROWD, and Sir Arthurs Conan Doyle's first Sherlock Holmes adventure, A STUDY in SCARLET.

     The last book remained a mystery. Papa brought it home from London on the fateful day he killed a man. In my haste to pack, I had not removed the brown paper. Slowly, I turned it in my hands, wondering what the small package contained. Then, I ripped it open.

     "Yellow," I whispered, ogling the contents. My fingers trembled as I contemplated the book. The significant color shocked me. It indicated that the story held disreputable subjects. Bold red lettering stood out from the mustard-tinted cover. I traced my finger against them.

 

Dracula

By Bram Stoker

    

Papa and Prentiss argued over the newly printed novel. The fervent curate insisted that it was unfit to read. On the other hand, Papa decided anything 'unfit to read' required his attention. I leaned toward my father's opinion.

     "Stay out of it, Norah," Prentiss remarked when I spoke my mind. "Let the men decide."

     My cheeks flared at his biased viewpoint. According to him, men made all decisions. Women had little say in any matter. That would certainly change, I determined, if we were ever married. Many things would change…indeed, they would!

     "I have the right to state my mind," I countered hotly. Tightening my fists, I faced Prentiss.

     Behind me, my father stood hastily and placed his hand on my shoulder, restraining me. He knew my temper when it came to my feminist stance. Papa hated confrontations in his home and always sought to avoid them. Nevertheless, I prepared to confront the curate.

     "And you would read that filth?" my father's assistant stated coolly.

     "I certainly would!" I responded, rising to the bait. I folded my arms tightly across my heaving bosom. "If Papa says it's all right to read it, I intend to and gladly."

     When Papa journeyed to London, he always stopped at the bookseller's. He constantly kept his selections a surprise. All day, I anxiously anticipated his return. I hoped he would decide to purchase the Stoker novel, although Prentiss disapproved. Then, catastrophe struck, and the book lay forgotten in its wrapper.

     Eagerly, I stretched across my bed on my stomach and opened the first page. Jonathan Harker's Journal entranced me immediately.

 

XX

 

     Enthralled, I lay across my bed and began turning pages. Suddenly, the similarities between the unearthly story and our existence in von Helfin castle fell into place. I compared the Baron's midnight activities against the fictional vampire 'Dracula.' Then, I associated the red pinpricks on Mama's neck with those of Lucy Westenra.

     Slamming the book closed, I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed. The danger of our current predicament alarmed me. When Mama gave her life in marriage to Baron von Helfin, she did much more than wed him. She sacrificed her entire existence for his preservation.

     Blood! Nicolai von Helfin thrived upon it. Like Dracula, it sustained him. His progeny, Vlad, Luiza, and Vanda, shared his need. And Ranulf…

     Abruptly, I sat up. Ranulf! I had to admit I had grown fond of the Baron's nephew. He seemed genuinely concerned about my welfare. I could not bear to think of him as the same ilk as the rest of the dreadful family.

     Emotionally exhausted, I sank into sleep. The day passed into night, and I continued in my slumbers. When I finally awoke, I discovered Ranulf hovering beside the bedpost. The soft moonglow lit his dark hair and brightened his crimson lips. He became alert to my awakening and dragged a chair toward my bedside. Perching at its edge, he leaned forward to brush my hair away from my face lightly.

     Finally, Ranulf noticed the Stoker novel and lifted it. He flipped through the pages casually, then began to study it intently. Frowning, he finally closed it but continued to hold it on his lap.

     "I have heard rumors such a book existed," he eventually stated. "Until this moment, I doubted the truth of the reports. I had not seen it myself."

     "It belonged to my Papa," I answered, gently removing it from his grasp. "It was the last thing he bought. He left the booksellers and encountered a man raping a woman. He did not recognize her as a prostitute. Papa fought the man and killed him."

     The words tumbled from my lips quickly. I had not intended to speak on personal matters.

     "You cherished your Papa," Ranulf remarked soothingly. "You brought his books with you, I see." He rose and stood above my open trunk.

     I hastily wrapped my dressing gown over my flannelette nightie and knelt beside the traveling crate. Picking up a book randomly, I lovingly ran my hand over the smooth cover. Ranulf peered over my shoulder and read the title.

     "Ah, The PRISONER of ZENDA," he stated, his smile widening. "It's rather newly published, is it not? I have not seen this one either."

     "You enjoy reading?" I eagerly asked.

     "I enjoy storytelling," the Baron's ward responded, kneeling before my trunk again. "I haven't read a novel in quite some time. I cannot find the time any longer."

     "Oh, well, I…" I hesitated momentarily before plunging onward. "I intend to ask Mama if I can read to the children. Perhaps you will join us?"

     "Perhaps." Ranulf's voice seemed to drift away. "Tell me more about your Papa."

     "Papa loved his position as parish vicar. He loved the church and devoted his life to his parishioners." I rushed my words, eager to talk about my deceased father.

     Ranulf backed away as Papa's story tumbled across my lips. His face paled, and a sharp snort issued from his nostrils. I stopped speaking abruptly and stepped toward him, reaching out my hands.

     "Tell me about your father and mother instead, Ranulf," I encouraged, pulling him back to his chair. "Luiza began to tell me. I would like to know." I perched on the bed and leaned forward keenly.

     "My mother loved my father dearly," my companion wistfully stated. "She married far beneath her station in life, and he could not keep up with her standard of living. Papa fell into debt and gambled heavily. He lost, and we became penniless."

     "I am sorry, Ranulf." My fingers reached toward his hand, and I grasped it. Tenderly, I brought it against my cheek.

     "Papa became involved with a nefarious creature," Ranulf sighed, his face contorting with distress. "I recall seeing a horrid form lingering in the forest surrounding our home. After midnight, Papa used to sneak out to meet him. That loathsome beast offered my father everlasting life in exchange for repayment of our debts. Papa�"always gullible�"accepted.

     The Baron's ward covered his face with his hands. His shoulders heaved. Inching closer, I flung my arm around his shoulder. Ranulf returned my embrace, burying his face in my bosom.

     "My life changed so drastically," he finally continued. Sorrow filled his voice. "Papa disappeared. Finally, when he returned, he came back a different man. He drained Mama's life before we understood what had happened. Then, he turned to me. I fought back and, freeing myself, ran to Uncle Nicolai.

     "The Baron returned with me, but we arrived too late to save my mother. Some days, I can still hear Uncle's unearthly howls when he discovers Mama's inert body. They ring in my ears and echo around my head."

     Pain etched itself across Ranulf's pallid face. The room grew eerily silent as we sat upon the canopied bed. His arms tightened around my body, pulling me closer.

     "Papa appeared, a shadow of himself,” my companion finally continued. “The Baron attacked him and forced him back. While they grappled, Uncle picked up a jagged stave from the wood box. He plunged it into my father's heart, destroying him instantly."

     Thunder cracked outside; a jagged streak of lightning brightened the night sky. I leaped in my skin at the fierceness of the sudden storm. Terrorized, I forced my way out of Ranulf's grasp. I stood before the fire, and my head hung downward.

     "It was too late for Uncle Nicolai, Norah." Ranulf stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders. "In the struggle, Papa infected him. Uncle, in turn, infected the rest of us."

     I trembled. Fear gripped my heart as I turned to face my companion. VAMPIRES! Helga's wild exclamations proved true. Wildly, I cast my eyes toward Bram Stoker's yellow-covered novel. Fact and fiction suddenly intertwined.

     "Norah," Ranulf pleaded, his hands outstretching toward mine. "I…I love you, Norah. Never have I known love as I do now. Please, Norah…"

     "I…" I stammered, backing away.

     Rapidly, my mind flew in every direction. For a moment, I hovered over my acceptance. My fondness for Ranulf grew. I thought of him idyllically as I once thought of Prentiss Wills. However, my thoughts ran toward a normal relationship�"love, marriage, and eventually, children. Under the circumstances, my most basic longing could not come to fruition with the Baron's ward.

     Then, I considered Mama. Was this how the Baron approached her? Was this how he convinced her to become his ungodly pawn? Did he promise her love in exchange for her ability to give him life? I could not follow in her footsteps.

     "Save me, Norah, save me," Ranulf begged, falling to his knees.

     The Baron’s nephew grasped my dressing gown's skirt and buried his head in the soft folds. I entwined my hands in his rich black hair and held him lovingly.

         

XXI

     Absently, I combed my fingers through Ranulf's luxuriant dark hair. He glanced upward, his brown eyes pleading. My heart thumped wildly in my chest. Tenderly, my lips formed his name.

     "Ranulf." I liked the sound of it on my lips. I repeated it in a whisper and held him tighter.

     I desired him, longed for him with the insistence of a woman desperately in love. Gently lifting him to his feet, I laced my arms around his neck and strained toward him, my body eager for love. Our lips met momentarily. Then, he roughly threw me aside.

     "Norah…" Ranulf choked on my name. Emotion etched his pallid features, and a lone tear hung from his lashes. "I… I'm sorry."

     Aghast, I stared up at him. I sat up and rubbed my elbow. A deep purple bruise appeared following my collision against the fireplace fender. Ranulf instantly squatted beside me.

     "I didn't mean to harm you," he explained, solemnly kissing my injury. "I'm sorry."

     Silence hung between us. His anguished expression eclipsed my annoyance concerning his sudden rough treatment. Reaching out, I caressed his arm tenderly.

     "I will never become the man you wish for," the Baron's ward whispered. Raw emotion filled his voice. A hangdog expression filled his face. "I cannot love you as a man loves a woman. I cannot fulfill you or produce children."

     "Ranulf…" I began, gnawing my lower lip. His abrupt confession shattered me.

     "I am dead and alive simultaneously, Norah," he continued, casting his dark eyes toward the carpeted floor. "We live by night and thrive upon human blood for nourishment. And, so, you see, I cannot love you in the way you expect. I haven't a man's ability to make love to you."

     Leaning against the fireplace mantle, Ranulf suddenly slammed his fist against it. Then, he buried his head in his folded arms. I approached him comfortingly, but he shunned me.

     "Ever since I first met you, I longed to become a man…a real man," the Baron's ward continued, sobbing. Angrily, he palmed his face, wiping away his tears. "I have never felt emotion until I encountered you. There is something inside me that yearns to break free."

     "If I can help you, I will," I promised, leaning my head against his shoulder blade. "Tell me what to do?"

     "There is nothing," my companion sulked, "nothing you can do."

     "But surely, there's a way out," I stated determinedly.

     "Uncle Nicolai has long sought a solution," the nephew countered. "If there were a way out, he would find it."

     "I will find a solution," I vowed, clutching my fisted hands. "I promise you, Ranulf, I promise."

     The Baron's ward spun on me, his expression fierce. He advanced, and I stepped backward, fearing his sudden anger. Then, he stopped and spread his hands beseechingly.

     "How can you help?" he asked, his defeated voice barely a whisper. "We became trapped in this situation years ago�"centuries. Uncle has searched for a solution since our dilemma first began. He has traveled the world and tracked every lead. He has failed at every attempt."

     "Centuries?" I muttered, my voice rising with hysteria. Helga used the word centuries frequently. I dismissed her exaggeration quickly. Ranulf's use of the word stunned me.

     "1232, Norah," my companion stated, "the year of our infection. We strive by night, half alive, half dead. We go on and on without end. Each day adds to the centuries of our never-ending existence."

     "Helga…" I began.

     "Helga, Mrs. Balan, Godoired Cazacu�"they are all under Uncle's spell," Ranulf explained, "They live by Uncle's will; they serve us when necessary. When…"

     "When?"

     Digging his hands deep into his pockets, Ranulf slouched toward the door. He opened it and cast a wistful look over his shoulder. Then, he disappeared. I ran after him and clattered down the spiral staircase. The corridor below remained empty. Perplexed, I wondered how I could have missed him.

     "When?" I whispered, leaning against the oaken door. When, what? When were the servants called upon to perform their duties? I shook my head woefully. Then, I recalled Helga speaking of other governesses and other governesses' daughters. She claimed we were not the first nor the last.

     Slowly, I climbed back to my turret bedroom. I could not understand how Ranulf disappeared so quickly. For a moment, I hesitated. Then I swung open the door to Mama's abandoned chamber. Ranulf had not ducked inside. Wistfully, I entered. I wished I could run to Mama as I had in the past.

     Her bed remained unslept in. I peered inside the wardrobe at the clothing she never wore. Gently, I lifted the yellow dimity dress she purchased for Easter services. It pleased her to replace her awkward hoops for the gathered bustle in the back. Proudly, Papa extended his arm to escort her to the church. She sashayed beside him as though attending her first date.

     Dark grey and stark black replaced her pretty pastel dresses and Chantilly lace shawls. Mama no longer wore her frilly hats with long curving ostrich feathers. Instead, her straggly gray hair hung lankly along the sides of her drawn face. I longed for my fun-loving Mama and the tinkling sound of her joyful laughter.

     Sullenly I replaced the dimity amongst the rest of Mama's old dresses. The faint scent of lavender lingered, although I detected an invading musty odor. Sooner or later, her pretty clothing would mold and disintegrate along with the rest of Castle von Helfin. I closed the wardrobe and leaned against the door.

     Disheartened, I stepped onto the circular landing. High in the shadowy rafters, a bat hung upside down. I glanced up at it and dismissed its presence. The eerie creatures did not alarm me as they had when I first arrived. However, when I reached to open my door, its fluttering wings startled me. Swiftly, I raised my arms to shield my face from a sudden attack. When I lowered them, Ranulf stood before me.

     "You?" I questioned, aghast.

     "You can call it an advantage or a disadvantage," my companion responded, shrugging.

     "Do you often spy on me from that vantage point?" I huffily inquired.

     "Sometimes," Ranulf confessed. "Sometimes, Uncle Nicolai."

     "Oh." The color drained from my face, and then it flushed hotly.

     Grasping behind me for the door handle, I pushed it down and practically fell into the room. Slamming it closed, I leaned against it. My heart pounded against my ribs. Then, I cracked the door and peered into the corridor. It appeared empty.

     I sunk into a velvet brocade armchair and covered my face with my hands. I did not appreciate the Baron spying on me. Had he watched me undress? Did he know my bedroom secrets? I shuddered, and my heart sank.

     "Norah?"

     I glanced up when Ranulf whispered my name. A black bat flew in through the window slit and perched on the chair's arm. Then, it transformed into the Baron's ward. Tenderly, he lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes.

     "I… I'm sorry, Norah," he softly stated. "I want to protect you, so I watch you. Uncle Nicolai insists I…." His sorrowful eyes drooped as he cut off his statement. "I refused, Norah. I won't harm you."

     "What does Uncle Nicolai want?" I questioned, perplexed.

     Ranulf turned away, his head bowed. His shoulders quivered.

     "Please tell me, Ranulf," I pleaded, approaching him. Tenderly, I laid my head against his muscular shoulders.

     "He wants your blood, Norah," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "He wants me to take you…suck your life from your beautiful body….drain you of all your wonderful vibrance. I…I cannot do it."

     The Baron's ward spun to face me and dropped to his knees. He buried his face in my skirt. Beneath my comforting hands, his body trembled.

     "I told him NO!" Ranulf sobbed. "At first, I eagerly longed for you. I wanted you as my host, just as your mother is Uncle’s. Instead, I fell in love with you. It has never happened before now. I've always… always…"

     Ranulf rose and drew me close, placing his arms around my waist. His lips met mine, and we kissed. Then, he abruptly broke away again and turned his back on me.

     "Uncle contends the time is right now. He says you are ready for me to take you," the Baron's nephew stated, clutching his hands into fists. "He becomes more and more insistent. If I don't act soon, he will."

     A deadly silence fell between us. Instantly, fear gripped my heart. I sank onto the bed and covered my face with my hands. The Baron prepared to take me as he took Mama. He would step into Ranulf's place to drink my life's blood. I could not bear the thought.

     "I watch you, Norah, so that I can protect you. He's biding his time, also watching," my companion continued. "One day, he will strike. I am prepared to fight him for your life."

     Suddenly, I realized the danger I now faced.

XXII

 

     I sat behind Mama's school desk with a book opened before me. Vlad and Luiza sat side-by-side on the divan, with Vanya seated on the floor in front of them. I cleared my throat and began to read.

     "The PRISONER of ZENDA." I cleared my throat. "By Anthony Hope."

     I stumbled over the first words, but my voice strengthened as I completed the opening paragraph. Vlad leaned forward and propped his elbows on the knees of his green velvet knickers. Instantly enthralled, he mouthed the words as I spoke them aloud. Luiza showed an interest equal to her brother, but Vanda tuned me out. Her eyes grew blank; then she scurried off to her desk. Drawing a piece of paper toward her, she began to scribble with her coal.

     The door creaked open. I paused my recital and glanced up, expecting Ranulf. Previously, he promised to listen to my reading. Instead, Baron von Helfin leaned in the door frame. His beady reddened eyes swept over me, sending shivers down my spine.

     "Please join us, Nicolai," Mama encouraged, scuttling toward her husband. She held her hand out invitingly. "Norah narrates beautifully."

     The Baron glared down upon my mother and glowered disdainfully. She seemed at a loss for a moment, then resumed her place behind me. A lump formed in my throat, and I hastily swallowed it. My voice faltered when I began to read.

     Vlad and Luiza squirmed beneath their father's scrutiny. Unperturbed, Vanda continued to draw. Nothing seemed to phase the youngest child. On and on, my voice droned. My enthusiasm for the story drained under the pressure the Baron inserted into the situation.

     Realizing I became the object of his evaluation, I became nervous. My heart beat wildly, and I stumbled upon the text I recited. Finally, Mama leaned over my shoulder and closed the book gently.

     "We will stop here and pick up again tomorrow," she announced, to my relief. "In the meantime, let's take up the geography lesson for the day."

     Despite the change of topic, von Helfin remained in the door jamb until Mama finally dismissed the class. Hastily, I closed my book and, rushing headlong past the Baron, sprinted up the cellar staircase. I did not stop until I stood in the courtyard and breathed in the cool night air.

     "Papa seemed interested in the PRISONER book," Luiza commented, appearing close beside me.

     "Oh…oh yes," I responded absently. "The Baron did seem interested. I…I guess he put me on edge. I couldn't concentrate after he arrived."

     "The same thing happens to me," my classmate confided. "He makes me nervous sometimes. Vlad too�"although Vlad won't admit it."

     "I…I expected Ranulf," I stammered hopelessly. "He said he wanted to hear the story. When the door opened, I thought he…"

     "Papa sent my cousin away for a few days," Luiza stated dismissively. "He had a mission to fulfill and…well, he should return by the end of the week or maybe next week. I don't quite know."

     The blood rushed from my face suddenly. A feeling of vulnerability enveloped me. Left without protection, I became immediately alarmed. My body swayed, and, for a moment, I thought I would faint.

     "You look frightened," Luiza remarked, hooking her arm around my elbow. Slowly, she led me on a stroll around the decrepit garden. "There's nothing to fear. Papa won't harm you."

     Although I did not believe her, Luiza's comment soothed me. I relaxed and bent my head closer to hers to share secrets. Over the months, the Baron's daughter and I grew closer. Our conversations improved her English; although she spoke with a heavy Romanian accent, I understood her perfectly.

     From a distance, we might have appeared like average schoolgirls. We bent our heads close together and giggled occasionally. We talked about the latest Paris fashions, famous dance steps, and�"our favorite subject�"boys.

     "I'm practically engaged to Prentiss Wills," I confided confidentially. "He's the curate at Grey Friar's�"Papa's church." I struggled to recall Prentiss's face momentarily. Nevertheless, my companion's next statement turned my attention away from my faraway fiancé.

     "Ranulf and I became betrothed on the day of my birth," Luiza remarked, kicking away a loose stone with her toe. "Papa intended to request a dispensation so we could marry. You know we're first cousins. Mama and Papa were cousins also."

     For a moment, I stood stark still. Jealousy raged inside me as I thought of Ranulf married to Luiza. Then, recalling the situation, I relaxed. Day by day, my love for the Baron's nephew grew stronger.

     "Do you remember your Mama?" I asked, changing the subject.

     "Oh yes," my companion breathed, sighing. "Mama was beautiful�"dark and mysterious. She had gypsy blood, Papa said. Often, at night, she danced in the moonlight. Vlad and I watched her from up there." She indicated a sizeable third-floor balcony facing the courtyard. "After Vanya was born, she disappeared. Everything changed. Suddenly Papa became a different man, and we all became different. But I remember the old days, and so does Vlad. Vanya doesn't�"she only knows the way things are now."

     "My life was different, too," I remarked, sinking onto a stone bench. "It changed after father's execu…death. I always felt we were so rich�"perhaps not in a monetary sense�"but we were so safe and secure. Then, we lost everything. A new vicar took over the church, and we were homeless. Mama had to take a position, but no one would hire her because of Papa's notoriety. And, so, we came here."

     "I'm glad you came here," Luiza blurted, grasping my hands. "If only I could be like you…If only…but I can't. We're cursed, Norah, cursed." She leaped up and dashed into the castle, covering her face with her hands.

     My footsteps led me back to the schoolroom. Sliding behind my desk, I opened a book of poetry. Luiza did not appear. Mama called us to attention and asked Vlad to recite. Dolefully, the Baron's son narrated Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven.' Each 'nevermore' echoed eerily against the rafters. Vanya stared at her brother's moving lips, entranced.

     As dawn approached, the Baron reappeared in the doorway. Mama dismissed the class quickly and rose to join her husband. I rushed away but halted at the cellar stairway. Clinging close to the damp wall, I slid back and watched. Von Helfin led the way toward the iron barrier and, with a key, unlocked the gate. One by one, Mama and the children followed him.

     My eyes trailed after the eerie group. Then, when they disappeared, I approached the barricade. Fisting the iron railings, I shook them. In the depths of the cavern, the dogs bayed menacingly. Two appeared and charged the gate, their teeth bared. I hastily stepped back, trembling.

     "Diabolus, Belial," Baron von Helfin snapped, materializing from the chamber's dark inner sanctum.

     The bullmastiffs slunk to their master's side and hunched threateningly beside him. Deep in their throats, they continued to growl. Caressing their heads with his lean, pale fingers, the Baron calmed them.

     "Step closer to the gate," he sharply ordered.

     Instead of obeying, I moved backward, my feet sliding on the damp flagstones. I slipped and righted myself.

     Suddenly the Baron strode toward me. I did not see him unbar the gate. When I glanced toward it, I noticed it remained locked. I gulped, realizing that a barrier could not hold him. Before I could flee, his hand encircled my arm. I tugged furiously to release myself.

     "Stand still!" von Helfin snapped, grabbing my other arm. Pulling me close, he forced me to look into his dead expression.

     His piercing gaze froze me on the spot. Unable to resist, I stared into his hypnotizing eyes. My body refused to respond to my urgent necessity to escape.

     "Curiosity killed the cat," he hissed ominously.

     "Satisfaction brought her back," I immediately retorted, my voice sounding numb in my ears.

     "Satisfaction is not an option," the Baron quipped. "Until you and Ranulf obey my commands, my private chambers are out of bounds. Are we understood?"

     "The Lord is my shepherd," I recited the twenty-third Psalm. My soft, meek voice rose in crescendo. "I shall not want."

     Outside, thunder and lightning crashed. A loud screech echoed against the mildewed cellar walls. A mist arose and swirled above the flagstones. I stumbled backward and fell. Above me, von Helfin dissipated as though a part of the vapor. My feet scrambled beneath me, and I plunged for the stairway. Up and up, I flew until I reached the safety of my chamber. I stood with my back against the door, panting for breath.

     Throwing the bolt, I relaxed. Then, a phantom figure rose from my bed. My heart stopped, then began to beat rapidly. A scream rose in my throat. Desperately, I attempted to suppress it.

     "It will go better for you if you obey the Baron," Helga Balan remarked, her voice hollow.

     "I did not invite you into my bedroom," I hissed, advancing on my unwelcome visitor.

     Helga sat crossed-legged on the bed and shrugged. Falling back onto the mattress, she stared into the canopy. I stood above her menacingly, wondering how her broken leg could heal quickly. I avoided her presence following the last incident when she fell down the stairs.

     "I said I did not invite you into my bedroom," I repeated, hovering above her threateningly.

     "I'll go where I please," the young maid arrogantly responded, "when I please."

     "You will not," I sputtered defensively. I lunged toward Helga. However, she swiftly rolled over, evading my grasping fingers.

     "The Baron always gets his way," Helga stated, ignoring my statement. "You better get used to it. Your mother accepted the situation."

     "Von Helfin might control Mama," I responded indignantly, "but I'm not my mother."

     "Suit yourself."

     Mechanically, Helga rose and strutted toward the door. For a moment, she hesitated and turned back. I waited for her to speak breathlessly. Her pert lips parted, then she shrugged again. Spinning, she pulled the door open and vanished.

 

XXIII

     I raced out of my room and leaned against the banister. Below, Helga trotted down the spiral staircase. Momentarily, I saw her retreating back, then she turned and disappeared into the curve.      The scene repeated over and over until she reached the bottom landing. Then, swinging open the door, she finally vanished altogether. I let out my pent-up breath and returned to my bed chamber.

     Once, I believed Helga and I were friends�"until she betrayed my escape plans. After that fateful night, I began avoiding her, only making contact when necessary. How desperately I required a companion! I longed for someone to confide secrets with, to comfort me in my distress. Nevertheless, I could not trust the little maid.

     Moments ticked away, and then a knock sounded on the door. Purposely, I marched toward it and swung it open.

     "What do you want now?" I demanded my hands on my hips.

     "Your breakfast," Reveca Balan sternly announced.

     I stepped back, astonished. I had expected to find Helga outside the door. Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Mrs. Balan entered, carrying a tray.

     "My apologies, Madame Balan," I demurely stated. "I thought Helga had returned."

     Reveca Balan sighed and set the tray down on a small table. Her shoulders sagged dejectedly.

     "You must not pay attention to my granddaughter," the housekeeper remarked. "she is full of high spirits and gypsy blood. Her tongue runs faster than her brain."

     "Gypsy?" I questioned, stunned. For the second time in a few hours, gypsies played a part in a conversation. First Luiza, now Madame Balan.

     "In the spring and fall, gypsies camp in the woods beyond the castle precincts," Reveca Balan sharply explained. "The Baron allows them to remain for two weeks�"and only two weeks. Then, they must vacate his property immediately. Nevertheless, that amount of time provides ample opportunity for them to make their mischief.

     "My beautiful but high-spirited daughter, Ilinca, ran away with one of those filthy gypsies," the housekeeper spat out disdainfully. "The following year, I discovered a basket outside the kitchen door�"inside a nameless baby girl. I instantly knew where she came from�"my child's leavings. I named her Helga after my mother.

     "That girl became a nuisance on the day of her arrival," Mrs. Balan confessed, sinking into the brocade chair. She covered her face with her hands, and I knelt to comfort her. "That one is always into trouble."

     "I am sorry, Madame Balan," I remarked, taking her hands in mine. "If there is anything I can do, anything…."

     My heart wept for the poor foundling child. Her wayward mother did not want her; her grandmother accepted her out of pity. Throughout the years, Helga grew up in the foreboding castle. Friendless, she eagerly clung to anyone who showed her the slightest attention.

     Although approximately the same age as Vlad and Luiza, Helga would never gain their friendship or sympathy. She remained a part of the staff and, as a result, could not mix with the Baron's children. However, since Mama began as an employee, the maid considered us on a particular par with each other. She cultivated my friendship, but her attempt did not attract me. I found her repulsive and insufferable.

     "Madame Balan," I began again. I squeezed her hands reassuringly.

     Helga's grandmother suddenly froze as though stricken. She rose mechanically and strode toward the door. She turned to face me, her eyes full of sorrow. Her usually solid shoulders sagged, and she bent her head in shame.

     "I have said too much," the chatelaine proclaimed bitterly. "My granddaughter brings me great sorrow. However, I don't want to speak to you in such a way."

     I advanced toward her, hoping to offer consolation. However, the housekeeper swiftly spun on her heel and exited. I stared after her, wonderingly.

     The appearance of gypsies always caused a sensation at home. At the approach of midsummer, a band of unwelcome nomads set up their camp on the outskirts of town. Several church ladies partitioned Papa to affect their immediate removal. However, my father could not control occurrences outside the town's precincts.

     The townspeople surreptitiously filed out to their field despite the multitude of complaints. Inside the brightly painted caravans, the gypsies read palms or gazed deeply into their crystal balls. Papa noted, with chagrin, that several complainants appeared amongst the eager group.

     On midsummer's eve, the gypsies built a massive bonfire in the field. They played their fiddles, guitars, and cymbaloms late into the night. Becoming drunk on vodka-infused libations, our local residents joined the celebration.

     "Drink leads to licentious dancing," Prentiss Wills grumbled at the tea table. "Licentious dancing leads to fornication."

     "Such words," Mama breathed, holding her hand against her heart, "are not meant for speaking aloud at the meal table. You must consider Norah, Prentiss."

     "I am considering Norah, Isabella," the curate countered harshly. "Last summer, three young local girls became pregnant with gypsy offspring. "One�"young Marsha Allen�"disappeared completely. She ran off with one of those rogues, no doubt."

     "Papa warned me against mingling with gypsies, Prentiss," I stated demurely. "You shan't worry over me."

     "Ah, but I do, my dear," my father's assistant remarked. He widened his eyes and leaned across the table toward me. "You are young and impressionable, Norah. You require guidance."

     I shrank against my chair in astonishment. Fervently, my mind whirled for a quick rebuke. I started to speak, but Papa cut me off swiftly.

     "I will guide my daughter," my father commented coolly. "Until you take your marriage vows, she remains mine to care for and to instruct in moral behavior."

     Prentiss gaped at Papa momentarily, then slowly closed his open mouth. His back straightened pertly, and he readdressed his meal. I praised Papa for his interference and breathed a sigh of relief silently.

 

******

    

     "Imagine getting pregnant by a gypsy," Amity Bradshaw whispered breathlessly.

     Following Mrs. Balan's departure, I stood in the small aperture and gazed through the window slit. The talk concerning gypsies brought back vivid memories of midsummers' past.

     Amity and I grew closer as we grew up. Often, following our school dismissal, we went up to my bedroom. Occasionally, Mary Wilson joined us, but more often, she had chores to complete. Side by side, we spread across my vicarage bed, cycling our legs in the air.

     "Patience Floyd is only twelve," I stated, mentioning one of the impregnated girls.

     "Yeah," Amity sighed, shaking out her long blonde curls. "Marsha Allen�"the innkeeper's daughter�"ran away with the gypsies. Her brother, Melvin, saw her run across the field and leap into the back of their caravan."

     "Papa and Prentiss joined the search party," I added, sitting up abruptly. "They looked for miles' 'round but never found her."

     "I wish a renegade gypsy would sweep me off my feet and carry me away into the night," Amity stated furtively. "Perhaps next year…" My companion sat beside me and hugged a pillow to her heaving bosom. "We'll run away together, Norah, and have an adventure. You don't really want to marry Prentiss, do you? He's such a bore." She rolled her eyes into her head.

     Silently, I lost myself in thought. I often lost patience with the curate. His unbending religious stance unnerved me. Although Papa trained me in spirituality, he also taught me to show compassion toward non-believers. He believed in free will and claimed that all people had the right to choose their lifestyles. My father declared that we should not interfere with the practices of others or force our beliefs upon them. On the other hand, Prentiss believed everyone should think and believe as he did.

     Young girls' pipe dreams, I thought, my daydream dissipating. I lifted the lid off my breakfast tray and gazed down upon Madam Balan's freshly baked scones. I sat and buttered one. As I ate,   I wondered about Amity Bradshaw. During the previous year, she left for Switzerland and a girls' finishing school. Her father, the local squire, arranged her departure.

     Amity and I spoke about the Swiss school many times. My friend insisted that she could make her Papa pay my way. I would have loved to have joined her. However, events interfered with our plans. Papa killed a man and died for his crime. Mama and I traveled to Romania and became the Baron's pawns.

     Following my breakfast, I washed and curled under the covers. Strange, I thought, how quickly my body assimilated to sleeping during the day.

 

XXIV

 

     The days began to pass without a sign of Ranulf's return. I grew lonely, frustrated, and anxious. I entered the nursery schoolroom each night at precisely midnight. Completing The PRISONER of ZENDA, I began Victor Hugo's LES MISERABLES. Although Luiza listened intently, Vlad lost interest quickly. As I narrated, he picked his fingernails with his ancient dagger. His nonchalance unnerved me, and I slammed the book closed.

     "I'm sorry, Mama," I moaned in despair. "I…I cannot continue." I rose and ran from the stifling room swiftly. Entering the desolate garden, I plunged toward the stone bench and plopped down.

     "Norah?"

     I glanced up to find Luiza hovering above me.

     "May I sit with you?" The Baron's daughter asked. She perched next to me without waiting for a response. "What's the matter?"

     "I shouldn't have selected LES MIZ," I answered, twisting my hands in my lap. "I feel miserable all the time. I guess I…" I could not continue to speak.

     "Do you miss Ranulf?" Luiza questioned, edging closer. Her hip touched mine, and I felt comforted.

     "I…" I stared at my companion blankly for a moment, then rushed on, "I feel safer when he is close at hand."

     "And you don't feel safe here?" my companion asked. Her black eyebrows rose questioningly.

     "I…" I stumbled again, my fears rushing forward. "I…No, Luiza. I don't feel safe here. The Baron…your father… he wants…"

     "I know what he wants," Luiza remarked, grinning. The points of her sharp canines flashed whitely in the moonlight. "He wants it for all of us. It is the only way we can sustain life. Without your blood, we cannot survive."

     I leaped to my feet hastily. My companion stood also and edged closer. A vein throbbed in my temple, and my brain pulsated behind my forehead. Taking a quick step backward, I stumbled on a cobblestone. I sat down hard, and Luiza knelt beside me. Suddenly, Vlad appeared and joined his sister. Together, they attacked�"the girl focused on my neck, her brother on my temple.

     "STOP!" The loud demand echoed throughout the courtyard. A black bat swooped from the wall and beat its wings at the children furiously.

     Hastily, the siblings rose and ran toward the castle. The heavy oaken door slammed. Struggling for breath, I sat up. My stomach churned, and, leaning on my side, I vomited onto the cobblestones.

     "Norah?" Ranulf squatted beside me. "Are you all right?"

     "I…" Relief overcame me instantly. "Yes, I am…now."

     "I will escort you to your bed chamber," the Baron's ward stated. He helped me rise gently, and we returned to the castle together.

     "I missed you," I stated once we crossed my bedroom's threshold. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't appeared. Vlad and Luiza…they…"

     "They have become desperate," Ranulf stated. He guided me to the bed and sat down beside me. "Uncle sent me on a fool's errand to Mongolia. I returned as quickly as possible."

     I leaned my head against his shoulder, and he tenderly drew me close to his side. Although my heart continued to beat rapidly, I relaxed beneath his grip. My companion leaned down and kissed my forehead affectionately. I drew great comfort from the Baron's nephew.

     Hours seemed to pass while we continued to sit in the silent bed chamber. Then, the first rays of dawn slanted through the window slit. Abruptly, Ranulf's spine straightened, and he became alert.

     "I must leave you now," he whispered, rising. I grasped his arm, urging him to stay. Nevertheless, he moved toward the door.

     "Where do you sleep?" I asked, clinging to his side. Together we descended the circular stone staircase. "Will you show me?"

     "We sleep beyond the gate in the cellar," Ranulf flatly responded. "I cannot show you unless…."

     "Unless I comply with the Baron's wishes," I finished tartly. I halted our progress and reached out to caress Ranulf's pale cheek. He turned and clutched my arms above the elbows.

     "Norah," he whispered, edging his face closer to mine.

     For a moment, I believed he would kiss me. Throwing back my head in expectation, I invited Ranulf to press his sanguine mouth against mine. Instead, his lips parted, and he plunged toward my throat. I felt a sharp prick and pulled away. My companion straightened and peered down at me sorrowfully.

     "I'm sorry," he whispered, turning his back on me. "I did not mean to… I did it impulsively. I try desperately to contain my desires… I can't always… My strength fails me."

     I embraced Ranulf from behind and laid my head against his shoulder. I longed to tell him I understood, yet I did not fully comprehend.

     "Norah, I do not wish for you to become one of us," the Baron's nephew finally confessed. "I want you to remain as sweet and gentle as you are now."

     "Oh, Ranulf," I sobbed, heartbroken. I longed for a normal relationship with him.

     After a while, we continued downward. Our hands automatically entwined, and I caressed Ranulf's icy hand with my warm fingers. He smiled, his lips curling upwards in a vague posture. I realized facial expressions were new to him.

     "Do you have a beau?" Ranulf inquired. We stood in the great hall at the bottom of the grand staircase. The rising sun had not penetrated the west-facing space, and we remained in the shadows.

     "Mama and Papa wanted me to marry Prentiss Wills," I stated dismissively. "He assists Papa as the curate at Grey Friars."

     At the mention of the church, Ranulf withdrew. I heard him suck in his breath and noticed him cringe.

     "I thought I loved Prentiss," I rushed to continue. "Papa became very fond of him, but I worried about his prudish behavior. I mean to say he's very religious and doesn't believe a man and woman should sleep together�"intimately�"until after marriage. He would embrace me, but we never kissed."

     Stepping away, I faced the vast window and looked at the wasted garden. Beyond, the forbidding mountain loomed against the grey sky. I imagined Prentiss�"his face stern and grim. He would never swerve from his unrelenting beliefs. Frequently, he recited from the Bible, taking the Word of God literally.

     For a long time, I assumed I could crack him. I longed to melt the ice and explore romance. Prentiss remained unrelenting; he lacked any amorous emotions. To him, love and marriage were a duty he felt resigned to fulfill. He believed God set him upon the earth to 'go forth and multiply.' The sexual act would never bring him the pleasure I desperately sought.

     Far away, in England, I accepted Prentiss Wills as my destiny. Papa and Mama wanted the marriage and pressed me toward a relationship with him. Facing Ranulf, I realized I could not oblige my parents' dearest wishes. I wanted more from life�"love, passion, and an everlasting bond with a soulmate who understood my heart.

     I wanted Ranulf�"the real man behind the vampire. I gazed upon him lovingly. In my eyes, he was more than a frustrated young man trapped in an unforgiving unreality. I reached out to touch him, and he embraced me.

     "Jekyll and Hyde," I whispered, caressing his pallid cheek. "You're Jekyll and Hyde."

     The good guy and the bad guy wrapped into one. I considered the Robert Louis Stevenson story as I struggled to understand Ranulf. I determined to thaw the Baron's ward if I could not succeed in melting Prentiss.

     Confusion crossed my companion's face momentarily. He seemed to struggle to grasp my statement; his face suddenly brightened.

     "Aw, the good doctor who drank a potion and became a fiend," the Baron's ward acknowledged. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he finally grinned. "Am I a fiend, my love?"

     "You are my dear, sweet friend," I responded happily.

     When we fell into each other's arms, Ranulf captured my lips and kissed me passionately. My heart throbbed uncontrollably, and I deepened our embrace. Around us, daylight filtered into the vast chamber. Abruptly, my lover pulled away, and his pallid face blanched. He spun on his heels and fled toward the cellar doorway. Instantly, he disappeared.

     I remained rooted to the spot for several moments. Drained of emotion, I reclimbed the grand staircase and returned to my turret bed chamber. Barring the door, I climbed the spiral staircase and collapsed onto my mattress. Staring into the canopy, I muttered, "He loves me; he loves me not." My hands made the motions of plunking petals from a daisy.

     "He loves me!" I finally exclaimed, sitting up with delight. Then, I flopped onto the bed and hugged myself gleefully.

 

XXV

     Mama did not appear in the schoolroom. During the past several nights, she seemed lethargic. Her pale skin stretched across her skull of a face like thin gossamer tissue. Taking her frigid hands in mine, I stared into her translucent pupils.

     "Are you all right, Mama?" I asked, my distress growing strong.

     "I am fine, my love," she whispered, her pale pink lips barely forming the words. "I need a rest, that's all."

     "Are you sure, Mama?" I asked, my heart thumping loudly behind my heaving bosom. "Perhaps we should call the doctor? Surely there is one in the village."

     "There is no need to worry, Norah, dear," my mother assured me. She patted my hand, hoping to comfort me. "A rest will do me a world of good. The Baron is going hunting soon, and I'll regain my strength. It will not take long."

     I accepted her response with trepidation. Mama continued to weaken. Her shadowy form moved lethargically along the underground corridors. Once or twice, I caught her leaning against the stone wall. Her breath came in shallow gulps, and she wheezed almost constantly. She barely mustered the strength to speak.

     Mama's gray hair hung in unruly strands surrounding a drawn face. Once, she had proudly fixed her hair before the vicarage mirror. Adorning it with splendid, feathered hats, she poised beside my father on the church porch. The parishioners praised her beauty, and she vainly drank in their compliments. After months beneath the Baron's thrall, her brittle locks began to fall out in massive clumps. I could see her colorless scalp underneath the few stands remaining.

     Suddenly, Mama disappeared. Anxiously, I awaited her appearance with mounting trepidation. Vlad, Luiza, and Vanya ogled me menacingly. They sat on their seat edges and threatened me with their exposed canines. My eyes shifted toward the door, willing it to open, wishing for Mama.

     An immediate feeling of loneliness surrounded me. Without my mother, I had no support, no sense of home. The hours ticked past slowly, and my anxiety level rose to its crescendo. I leaped to my feet and slammed my hands upon Luiza's desk. The girl stared up at me with a languid expression pasted upon her frozen face.

     "Where's my mother?" I severely demanded. I hovered above her desk, hoping to intimidate her.

     My schoolmate lackadaisically lifted her shoulders and then let them fall. The Baron's eldest daughter stared at me blankly.

     "You know where she is," I accused, icicles dripping from my voice.

     Luiza continued to appraise me serenely. Vlad stood and placed his hand protectively on his sister's shoulder. Vanya joined him, crowding in close to his side. The boy wrapped his other arm across her shoulders and pulled her against his body.

     "WHERE'S MY MOTHER?" I screamed, slamming my hands against the desk again. I directed my question toward the three von Helfin children.

     "Keep your voice down," the Baron instructed. He strode through the door, calm and relaxed. "There is no need to shout."

     "I want my mother," I insisted, spinning toward my nemesis. "Where is she? What have you done with her?"

     "You have no concerns about your mother's whereabouts," Nicolai von Helfin countered. He placed his icy hands on my shoulders and locked his red pupils on my startled face.

     Instantly, I fell under his hypnotic stare. His glassy orbs dilated and undulated as they locked onto mine. Mustering all my willpower, I broke free and placed my gaze upon the far distance.

     "Her safety is my concern," I remarked, regaining my self-control. I defiantly forced my eyes back to von Helfin's pallid face, hoping to force a response.

     Time stood still. I would not back down. Neither would the Baron. Simultaneously, Vlad and Luiza edged closer to their father, forming a human triangle. Menacingly, they joined their gaze with his inhuman stare. Vanda wiggled between her brother and sister to stand beside her parent. The Baron placed his youngest child in front of him and held her around the shoulders.

     Suddenly, Luiza bared her fangs and plunged toward me. I hastily stepped backward and felt the slimy wall against my back. She raced forward like a streak of lightning. My arms automatically flew up to protect my face against her attack. In a flash, the Baron intervened.

     "Luiza!" I pleaded, stretching my arms toward her. "I thought of you as a friend. How swiftly you turned on me!"

     "Friends?" the girl shrieked vehemently. "I have no friends."

     Von Helfin's daughter lurched forward again, but the Baron held her tightly. Fiercely, she struggled for her freedom. Behind her, Vlad inched closer, his fangs protruding from sanguine lips. Vanya advanced on his heels.

     "My children hunger for you," Nicolai von Helfin declared, tightening his grip on Luiza. "I ordered Ranulf to proceed with your initiation. My nephew betrayed me. I intended to step into the breach. However, I cannot control my children when their hunger is upon them."

     The Baron stepped away hastily, and the youngsters swarmed toward me. Vlad, Luiza, and Vanda advanced, their fearsome fangs protruding. Trapped, I edged toward the door, my back sliding against the mossy wall. If I could reach the cellar corridor, I could escape. Full of fear, I grappled for the door handle. Again and again, I reached for it and came up empty. Then, it swung open of its own accord.

     "Uncle!" Ranulf gasped, stepping into the horror chamber.

     Swiftly, he moved between me and the advancing children. Holding out his arms, he drove them back. The children snarled and hissed at their cousin. Vlad flew upon Ranulf, beating his fists against his relative's chest. Leaping suddenly, Vanda sunk her teeth into her cousin's wrist.

     Valiantly, Ranulf beat the children off. On her hands and knees, Vanda attempted to crawl between his legs, but he kicked her away. Luiza scratched unmercifully at Ranulf's face with her sharpened fingernails. Vlad lasted the longest, plummeting his cousin in the stomach with tight fists. Ranulf finally grabbed him by the collar and heaved him against the wall. Defeated, the three children slunk away to cower behind their father's back.

     "How dare you to interfere," von Helfin hissed, advancing toward his ward. "Leave at once."

     "Not without Norah," my rescuer announced, roughly shoving me into the corridor. He followed me and hastily shut the door. "Quickly!"

     Grabbing my arm, Ranulf dragged me upstairs. My legs twisted beneath me in my haste, and I stumbled. Quickly, I righted myself and plunged onward. Our feet clattered up the grand staircase and along the mildewed corridors. I ran out of breath and fell to my knees abruptly. My lover squatted beside me and tried to pull me to my feet.

     "Quickly, Norah," Ranulf urged, his earnest voice hot in my ear. "We're nearly there."

     Regaining my strength, I stood and leaned against the wall. The turret door seemed miles away. Slowly, I shook my head. Ranulf swooped me into his arms and swiftly rushed along the long hallway. Weighted by his burden, he struggled up the spiral staircase and finally set me on my bed tenderly. Then, he bolted the door rapidly.

     "It will not hold them," my lover confessed, leaning against it. "If they want in, they will get in."

     "I…I…" I stammered, staring wide-eyed at Ranulf.

     "You must get away, Norah," the Baron's nephew exclaimed, sitting beside me. Wrapping his arms around my quaking shoulders, he held me close. We remained locked together in each other's arms until the sun peaked through the window slit. Then, Ranulf pulled the heavy velvet curtains around the massive bed, shutting out the daylight. Entwined together, we fell into a fitful sleep.

 

XXVI

 

     I awoke each morning with dread in my heart. Behind the safety of the bed curtains, I clung to Ranulf. He remained vigilant although the tension between von Helfin and his ward grew thicker with each passing day. However, he could not remain with me constantly. Often, in the night, he ventured into the castle and returned with food he stole from Mrs. Balan’s kitchen.

     Although I ate hungrily, Ranulf did not touch a morsel. When I urged a plate of goulash on him, he roughly pushed it away.

     Please eat something, Ranulf,” I coaxed, replacing the plate before him. “You grow thin, and I can see your veins through your transparent skin.”

     Dolefully, he shook his head, his eyes full of sorrow. I urged the meal on him again, but he continued to refuse.

     “You don’t eat human food,” I finally remarked. “You need blood. Why don’t you take mine? We’re together day after day yet you never try to nourish yourself on my blood.”

     “It is difficult for me to refrain, Norah,” my companion responded. He strolled toward the window slip and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Mournfully, he gazed out into the far distance. “Instinctively, I want to�"I need to. It’s difficult to restrain my urges, but I love you.” He turned to me pleadingly. “I cannot hurt you.”

     “I appreciate your efforts, my love,” I responded, relief flooding me. “You are starving.”

     “Uncle and the children are starving too,” Ranulf stated, worry filling his voice. “They could burst in at any moment. They could overpower both of us and… But they don’t. I cannot understand it. Why is Uncle playing this cat and mouse game with you?”

     The days passed one after the other without a movement from the Baron. I remained in the turret, never setting foot beyond the oaken door at the bottom of the spiral staircase. Von Helfin and the children stayed in the cellar and Ranulf patrolled the ground floors. Finally, my companion erupted into my bed chamber with an announcement.

     “Uncle has postponed his hunting trip for too long,” Ranulf remarked, grasping my hands firmly. “We depart at midnight.”

     “We…?” My heart sank.

     “I must,” my companion stated, lowering his hooded eyes. “I cannot delay any longer. I promise I will return as swiftly as possible.”

     “I…I understand,” I answered, a lump growing in my throat. I hated to lose him even for a brief time.

     Ranulf said his goodbyes shortly before midnight and the von Helfin menagerie departed. Although I missed my lover, I breathed a little easier following the Baron departure. Nevertheless the terror remained. Aimlessly, I wandered about the castle. Reveca Balan watched me, pitifully. She cooked lavish meals, hoping to draw me out of my lassitude. I thanked her but ate little.

     One day, I wandered in the cellar. I stood in the empty schoolroom and my depression deepened. Longing for my mother, I whispered her name. It sounded empty in the hollow space. I returned to the corridor and headed for the stairs.

     The Baron’s departure provided me with a means of release. However, I could not depart without my mother. Somewhere within the dank castle she reposed�"dead or alive. I had to locate her. Then, I could consider my escape plan.

     “You miss your Mama,” Helga meekly stated. She joined me on the garden bench one dismal afternoon.

     Mournfully, I nodded. Although I had previously avoided the young maid, I turned to her for companionship. It helped to have someone close to my age nearby. Fighting back my tears, I spoke to her of my fears.

     “My granny will know where she is,” Helga offered, eagerly rising to her feet.

     “If she knows, why hasn’t she told me?” I questioned, imperiously. Surely, Reveca Balan understood my longing for my mother.

     “Not that granny. My other granny,” my young companion exclaimed. Grasping my hand, Helga dragged me toward an ivy covered wall. Thrusting aside the growth, she revealed a solid oak door. “My gypsy granny.”

     Beyond the egress, we stepped into the dark, gloomy forest beyond the castle precincts. Hastily, I trotted behind Helga. The little chambermaid navigated the hidden paths with familiarity. We traveled a great distance before emerging into a wide clearing.

     Six gypsy caravans stood in a rough circle around a fire. A black cauldron hung over it. The scent of lamb stew filled the area. I paused to peer inside, but Helga urged me forward. An old woman sat on the stoop of a faded red painted wagon. Her thin mouth grinned toothlessly when she espied my friend.

     “Granny!” Helga exclaimed, rushing into the old woman’s arms. Gently, she kissed the wrinkled cheek.

     “Welcome, Granddaughter,” the ancient gypsy woman greeted. “What brings you all the way out here?”

     “Tell Norah’s fortune, Granny, quickly,” Helga shouted, dancing in anticipation. “Tell her where she can find her Mama.”

     I held back in dismay when the old gypsy cackled merrily. I did not believe in fortunetelling. Prentiss called it a scam�"declared the ancient wanderers heathens. However, my desperation concerning my mother’s whereabouts drove me forward. Helga and I entered the caravan.

     The Granny Woman lit a candle and plunked down in front of a crystal ball. Crooning softly beneath her breath, she waved her gnarled hands over it. A mist rose inside the crystal, and she leaned closer.

     “The bell in the well in the dell,” the gypsy sang, her cracked voice becoming melodious. Again and again, she repeated the incantation.

     “Nonsense!” I exclaimed, breaking the eerie stillness surrounding us. “Utter nonsense.”

     Spinning, I raced from the caravan and plunged into the forbidding forest. The gypsy’s cackling followed me, echoing amongst the black trees. Helga grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop.

     “Cross the gypsy’s palm with silver, Norah,” she cried, terror escalating her voice. “Cross it with silver otherwise you are cursed.”

     “Cursed? Nonsense!” I shouted, charging through the dense forest. Dried leaves crunched beneath my heels. Helga did not follow me.

     Finally, I emerged. The forbidding castle loomed above me. I sucked in my breath and strode toward the oaken door in the wall. Before I entered, Helga appeared behind me.

     “I did it, Norah. I gave Granny the silver,” she announced, pushing the door opened. “You are safe.”  

     “I still don’t know where Mama is,” I sobbed, spinning upon my companion. “The bell in the well in the dell. What does it mean?”

     Helga shrugged and rushed toward the kitchen. I watched her retreating back disdainfully.

 

XXVII

     Suddenly, wells obsessed me. I wandered around the castle, peering into everyone I encountered. Mrs. Balan caught me leaning over the kitchen garden well's stone surround. Rushing to my side, she grabbed me around the waist and pulled me away.

     "Don't do anything foolish, girl," the housekeeper briskly admonished.

     I stared at her incredulously. Then, it occurred to me that she thought I meant to throw myself over the edge. I quickly assured her I had not intended to commit suicide by drowning.

     "Stay away from that well," Mrs. Balan sternly warned. "The mortar is weak and could break away under a little pressure. You could tumble in before you can save yourself, my dear."

     "Yes, thank you, Madame Balan," I murmured, backing away. Then, I turned swiftly and raced inside.

     Absently, I roamed around the great hall. I longed for Ranulf. Perhaps, he could unravel the mystery of the well. He knew the area much better than I did, at any rate. Lonely and depressed, I continued my forlorn search of the castle. Finally, my footsteps led me into the dank cellar. I stood before the iron gate, peering between the railings. It rattled when I pushed upon it and moved slightly. I pressed my shoulder against it and shoved it further. Inch by inch, it finally swung open.

     Entering the forbidden chamber, I peered through the murky darkness. The kennels appeared empty. I knelt before them, searching for von Helfin's ferocious dogs. Apparently, the Baron had taken them with him to assist in his hunt. Relieved, I ventured through the labyrinth of winding corridors until a vast cavern opened before me.

     Lining the floor, I discovered six wooden coffins. Their lids lay canted upon their sides, leaving the interiors exposed. Red satin padding covered the bottom planks with matching pillows. I knelt beside the final one and lifted a scrap of Mama's favorite lace. I grasped it and caught a whiff of her lavender scent. I sat back upon my heels and held the scrap against my throbbing breast. I could not imagine my dainty mother sleeping in such a horrible place.

     Slowly, I returned to the castle courtyard and paced the cobblestones. I clung to Mama's lace and called to her mentally. If only she would appear and comfort me as she often did my younger self.

     "Oh, Mama!" I cried, desperately wishing for her. "Mama!"

     On and on I trod. I paced one way, then turned, a walked around counterclockwise. I continued to clutch her lace and mutter her name.

     "The bell in the well in the dell," I finally found myself chanting.

     Again and again, I repeated the gypsy's meaningless incantation. It meant nothing but nonsense. The crazy utterings of a senile woman left me lost and without foundation. If only I could grasp the significance of the chant. I sat on the bench and continued to repeat the phrase.

     The dell! I paused, considering the word. It wound around my brain, repeating and repeating. Suddenly, it made sense. I rose and rushed into the castle. Furtively, I searched the rooms until I located the chambermaid.

     "Where is the dell?" I shouted, shaking Helga by the shoulders. "Tell me: where is the dell!"

     "The dell," the little maid mused, pressing her index finger against her lips.

     I stared at her impatiently and shook her again. Her head bobbled back and forth on her shoulders.

     "Now, Helga!" I screamed, finally releasing her. "I don't have time to wait!"

     "In the forest, beyond the gypsy camp," my companion finally exclaimed. "If you wait, I'll take you there."

     I could not wait. Helga barely uttered her response before I spun on my heel. I sped into the garden and yanked open the hidden door. Frantically, I raced into the forest and quickly became lost. Crooked branches beat at my head as I plunged onward. I stumbled over a root and fell flat on my face. In a moment, I heaved myself up and raced forth.

     The western sun peeked through the barren branches, sinking further into the earth. Soon, darkness would descend. I had to locate the dell before nightfall. Finally, the forest opened, and I staggered into the clearing.

     The crumbling well stood in the midst of the dell. I tottered toward it and clutched the edge. A loose stone broke away and tumbled downward. Desperately, I grappled for purchase and saved myself from tumbling over the edge. Far, far below, a splash echoed, and the water rippled.

     I sat against the side of the well, my breath hitching in and out of my heaving chest. I caught a large gulp and held it. My heart slammed against my rib cage, and tears sprang to my eyes.

     "Control yourself," I sternly commanded. I waited a minute, two minutes, an eternity.

     Finally, I pulled myself to my knees and leaned forward. Darkness greeted me. I looked away and looked again. Slowly my eyes grew accustomed to the murkiness beneath me. I leaned further and peered into the well's depth. A sallow face wavered beneath the water's surface.

     "MAMA!" I screamed, the word echoing and re-echoing around the sparse valley. I fell to my knees and covered my face with shaking palms. I sobbed.

       

XXVIII

     I sluggishly paced my bedroom floor. I had to escape from von Helfin Castle. Mama's floating body in the well haunted me when I closed my eyes to sleep. I could not eat without gagging; I spent my nights tossing and turning behind the velvet bed curtains. The longer I remained, the worse my horror grew.

     I did not hesitate to gather my belongings together. Instead, I rushed pell-mell down the circular stairway and into the great hall. Cautiously, I peered around, expecting the Baron or Revaca Balan to appear. The massive space remained empty. Step by step, I inched toward the solid oaken door. Cracking it open wide enough to slither through, I exited into the courtyard.

     Godoired knelt beside the garden bed, his back to me. He would not hear my footsteps on the cobbles as I passed. Sucking in my breath, I boldly strolled past his crouching form. The high iron gate squealed when I pushed it. I wavered momentarily, throwing a furtive glance over my shoulder. The handyman continued his task, unaware of my presence. I sighed with relief and stepped outside the castle precincts. Beyond the first treacherous curve, I began to run.

     I sprinted along the steep path, putting the dreaded castle behind me. The sleepy village in the valley appeared much closer to the castle. My feet began to ache, and I slowed to a walk. Finally, my heel broke. I plunked onto the road to remove my shoe. Angered by the mishap, I rose and threw it over the cliff. Then, sitting down again, I removed the other one. It followed its mate over the jagged precipice.

     Barefooted, I continued. Frequently, I peered behind me, expecting to find the Baron on my heels. I dreaded another confrontation with my mother's murderer. If he attempted to force my return, I would adamantly refuse.

     "Oh, Ranulf," I muttered fretfully. Any hope of reforming my lover dissipated. His departure with his uncle sealed our fate.

     "A vampire requires nourishment, Norah," the Baron's nephew pleaded, grasping my hands. "I must survive on human blood."

     I turned my back on him, tightly folding my arms beneath my bosom. I realized he, too, had leeched onto my mother. He claimed he had to take her sustenance. I loved him but hated him for using her in such a way. I hated the whole idea of vampirism.

     Life is a series of twists and turns; I consoled myself. One never knows where one will wind up in life.

     The entire diabolic incident changed my life forever. Beginning with Papa stepping into that horrible fight and his subsequent execution, my world altered drastically. It culminated in Castle von Helfin�"the vampire's lair.

     Why had Mama chosen Romania to begin anew? We could have gone to America. When the worst times hit families, they packed up and moved to Boston or Philadelphia. Mama chose Romania�"a godforsaken place. She stepped into the vampire's trap and lost her life to his bloodsucking family.

     I continued to mutter as I plodded along the steep rocky path. The terrain chewed at my tender feet, causing them to bleed. Still, I propelled myself onward unrelentingly. I planned to locate the one-eyed coachman. If I insisted, perhaps he would assist with my purchase of a train ticket. I hoped I had enough money tied up in my handkerchief. I only possessed those few meager coins.

     Mile after mile, I trudged. The steep incline wound around the cragged mountain. I could see the village over the cliff's edge; then, it would disappear. It appeared closer and further away intermittently.

     Stumbling on a sharp stone, I fell, scraping my knee. I began to crawl, desperate for survival. Finally, I halted and caught my breath. I stood on trembling feet and began, again, the downward trek.

     Sweat beaded on my forehead. My hair fell from its clips and surrounded my face in an unruly tangle. I brushed it aside harshly and stumbled onward. Finally, I turned the last bend, and the village sprawled before me. Desperately, I staggered onto the main road.

     "Help me," I croaked, my knees buckling beneath me. I fell to the ground and lay prostrate in the middle of the avenue.

     I regained consciousness slowly. I did not know how long I remained in my faint. Hours might have passed or mere minutes. Exerting all my remaining strength, I rose to my elbows and gawked. No one appeared to assist me.

     Standing, I turned in a slow circle. The deserted road showed no sign of people traveling along it. The faded storefronts loomed against the dismal sky. A faint sign hung by a solitary hook and banged hollowly against a wooden post. I gasped.

     Where had the villagers gone? I wondered, perplexed. When we arrived, the coachman greeted us at the train station. He quickly loaded our trunks and assisted us into his conveyance. As we passed through the small town, I noticed people milling about attending their business. Although the main street was short, it seemed to thrive with a particular hustle and bustle.

     I glanced around curiously. It seemed no one had lived there for centuries. I had heard of old west ghost towns in the furthest places of America. I never expected to encounter one in Romania.

     "Hello?" I tentatively questioned.

     I took a step and halted. Then, I hobbled toward the general mercantile. Pushing the door open, I stepped inside. The door creaked shut behind me and banged loudly, causing me to jump in my skin. Bare shelves greeted me. The rotted countertop sagged.

     My nose recoiled at the musty odor. Covering my nostrils with my cupped hand, I returned to the sidewalk. The nearby public house cast the same appearance as the mercantile. Perplexed, I continued to investigate the village.

     "Hello," I called repeatedly. I did not expect a response. However, I continued to call.

     "Hello," a voice echoed back to me.

     I stood still and waited for the voice to repeat itself. Silence.

     Time advanced. Twilight settled upon the village, and I remained alone. Intermittently, I shouted 'Hello.' Disenchanted, I moved toward the pub. Earlier, I had noticed a room-for-let sign in the window.

     I entered and climbed to the upper floor. Pushing open a decomposing oak door, I halted, startled. The image of a disheveled figure greeted me. Hastily, I stepped back, and a bureau corner poked me in the spine. I advanced on the specter again and faced my own image in a shattered cheval glass. Spinning on my heels, I clattered down the swaying staircase and into the street.

     "Hello," I desperately hollered into the advancing twilight.

     "Hello," a distinct voice repeated my greeting.

     Breathlessly, I waited on the deserted roadway. The voice sounded oddly familiar, yet I could not recall it. When no one appeared, my shoulders sank. I turned and plodded toward the public house.

     "Wait!"

     I stopped and peered into the twilight. A shadow formed in the dusk and rushed toward me. I stepped toward it eagerly, then hesitated. Perhaps the Baron had discovered my whereabouts and intended to trap me. I did not wish to encounter my nemesis. Poised for a flight, I hesitated.

     "Norah!" the unknown figure breathed my name. Then, Prentiss Wills stepped out of the gloaming. I collapsed into his arms.

     My eyelids fluttered open, and I peered into the face of my father's curate. Prentiss Wills leaned forward. Carefully, he placed a damp cloth across my forehead. I sank back onto a pillow and closed my eyes.

     "You fainted," he whispered soothingly. "We're in the pub. I carried you upstairs and put you to bed. Whatever has happened to you? Where's Bella?"

     "In the well," I muttered unconsciously. "The bell in the well in the dell."

     "Fanciful," Prentiss mused beneath his breath. He leaned back in a crooked chair and studied me curiously.

     "It's not fancy, Prentiss," I remarked hotly. I sat up abruptly and swept away the moist cloth. "They're vampires! They sucked away all Mama's blood and dumped her in the well."

     I sank back against the pillow and sobbed. The curate ogled me, his jaw-dropping open in disbelief.

     "I can show you if you do not believe me," I exclaimed wearily. "I can show you what von Helfin did to my Mama after he finished with her. She's in the bottom of a deep well far in that forbidden forest." I jerked my thumb in the general direction.

     Deliberately, I told my story from the time of our arrival until my flight from the castle. Prentiss listened solemnly.

     The following morning, we trekked into the woods. My index finger shook as I pointed fearfully to the well in the dell. Cautiously, my companion approached the crumbling shaft and peered inside intermittently. Falling to his knees, Prentiss Wills folded his hands together beneath his chin. His lips formed a prayer for the dead. Ashen-faced, he stood and strolled to me.

     "Vampires," he exclaimed in a daze. "Extraordinary."

     We returned to the village and sat in a pub lounge booth. Prentiss located an old-fashioned brandy bottle. He sniffed it and declared it fit to drink. Pouring the libations into two goblets, he sipped and encouraged me to do the same. It burned my throat at first but calmed me instantly.

     "We cannot remain here," the curate declared, leaning toward me. "The Baron might return at any moment. If he catches us, we haven't much of a chance."

     I heartedly agreed.

     "Another village lies on the other side of the valley," Prentiss stated, clasping my hands in his smooth palms. "It's quite a long walk, but, if you think you can make it, we can start without delay. I left the train there. We can return to Bucharest quickly."

     "I can make it if I have the proper shoes," I replied, indicating my bare feet.

     My companion located a pair of sturdy boots in one of the dilapidated upstairs bedrooms. Although out of style by several hundred years, they fit reasonably well, and I could walk in them comfortably.

     We left immediately and, skirting the dell, tramped through the forest again. Night fell before we reached our destination, and we went directly to the train station. By morning, we arrived in Bucharest and ensconced ourselves in a moderate hotel.

     "I will return to von Helfin every few days," Prentiss explained over a continental breakfast.

     We sat on a cozy balcony overlooking a lush garden. I breathed in the clean air and broke a large hunk from a freshly baked baguette. Spreading strawberry jam lavishly, I crammed it into my mouth and sighed deeply. Nothing had ever tasted more delicious.

     "As soon as the Baron returns, I plan to destroy him," my companion continued, drawing my attention from my breakfast.

     "How do you plan to do that?" I asked, addressing another hunk of bread.

     "Garlic will ward them off, and a wooden stake through the heart will defeat a vampire," the curate decided. Absently, he fingered the silver cross dangling from his neck. "The cross will ward them off also. And holy water."

     Methodically, day by day, we formed our plan and awaited Baron von Helfin's return. The weeks began to pass, and I grew mentally and physically stronger. I accompanied Prentiss around Bucharest, and we gathered together our vampire-defeating weapons.

     "When you return to von Helfin castle, I intend to accompany you," I announced during luncheon at a sidewalk café.

     My announcement startled the curate. Straightening his spine, he ogled me coldly and then relaxed.

     "You will do no such thing," Prentiss declared vehemently. "I forbid it."

     "You forbid it," I shouted, drawing the attention of nearby diners. I lowered my voice and continued, "How dare you."

     "A vampire lair is no place for you, Norah," the curate responded, fervently shaking his head.

     "I will remind you, Prentiss Wills," I remarked, glaring at him through narrowed eyes, "I resided in the vampire's lair these many months."

     "Nevertheless," my companion coolly began.

     "Nevertheless," I exclaimed loudly, "they killed my Mama."

     Heads swiveled in our direction again. I stared at the onlookers ominously until they turned away. Then, I refocused on Prentiss.

     "I have the right to destroy them," I hissed, lowering my voice and leaning forward.

     Prentiss bowed his head in meek acceptance.

 

XXIX

 

     The days of waiting slid into months. Beginning to despair, I voiced my concerns out loud.

     "Suppose they never return?" I questioned. "What then?"

     "You said they left previously and returned," Prentiss Wills grimly assured me. "Surely, they must come back soon."

     I sighed and cast my eyes toward the gothic castle upon its precipice. Abandoning our cozy rooms in Bucharest, Prentiss and I returned to the von Helfin village. The upstairs rooms in the public house provided shelter but little comfort. Nevertheless, we stationed ourselves close at hand, anticipating the Baron's return.

     Shivering, I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders tightly. Despite the summer daytime temperatures, the night air remained cold and damp. Prentiss declared midnight the best time to espy von Helfin's return.

     "You'll catch your death if you continue in this cold," Prentiss remarked one early dawn. Our vigil ended for the night; we returned to the village to sleep. "Return to Bucharest. I can handle the situation here."

     "No," I countered stubbornly. "I intend to finish what we started. Von Helfin killed my Mama."

     "Suit yourself," the curate reluctantly agreed. "Nevertheless, I would feel better without your presence."

     Prentiss halted at my bedroom door with his hand on the knob. Although I dodged around him, he moved to block my path. He never tried to comfort me or embrace me. When I invited him inside my private sanctuary, he adamantly refused. His following statement took me entirely by surprise.

     "Will you marry me?" the curate abruptly asked. "Once we return to England, that is."

     I gaped at my companion in utter disbelief. He certainly chose the most inappropriate moment to spring his proposal.

     "Prentiss!" I declared indignantly. Stretching around him, I swung open my door. I entered quickly and slammed it behind me.

     I stood against the oaken door and steadied my breathing. In the past, Papa and Mama encouraged a possible marriage between the curate and me. I accepted their decision willingly. However, time and experience made me unsure. My thoughts flew to Ranulf. I freely admitted my love for the Baron's ward. Prentiss Wills seemed dull in comparison.

     A long time passed before I finally slept. Tossing and turning, I considered Prentiss. He traveled a long way to find me. He willingly offered his assistance to destroy my vampire nemesis. In England, our betrothal seemed a foregone conclusion. My wandering mind continued to dwell on several muddled points.

     The arrival of total darkness brought a tapping on my door. I rose silently and dressed. Prentiss waited in the pub beneath. When I joined him, we hurried into the forest.

     We sat against a large oak in the forbidding forest. High up on its ridge, Castle von Helfin loomed above us. Tension grew thickly around us. I attempted to speak about the proposal several times but stopped myself. I sighed loudly, not knowing where to begin.

     Occasionally, Prentiss crawled closer for a better vantage point. When he returned, we sat quietly and gazed at the yellow full moon. My companion handed me a loaf of bread and a pint of milk. The village beyond the forest kept us supplied with nourishment. Thanking him graciously, I nibbled on his offering.

     "I apologize," Prentiss finally remarked, breaking my repast. "I spoke inappropriately."

     "It's all right," I answered noncommittally. "I…I cannot answer you now. I will think about it…carefully."

     Silence fell between us. My companion edged closer to my side, and we continued our meal. Suddenly, Prentiss leaped to his feet and pointed. I stood beside him and peered into the darkness. Five stealthy figures appeared and entered through the courtyard gate. In my enthusiasm, I flung my arms around the curate's neck.

     "Are you sure it's them?" Prentiss asked, swiftly stepping out of my embrace.

     "Who else?" I snapped harshly.

     The curate surveyed me coolly, taken aback by the severity of my voice.

     "I'm sorry, Prentiss," I muttered, casting my eyes downward. "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's the excitement, the tension."

     "Not to worry, my dear," the curate responded, brushing aside my apology. "We must return to our quarters quickly. We attack at dawn."

     Dawn�"the triumphant word reverberated in my mind. While the vampires slept in their coffins, we planned to creep upon them stealthily. We returned to the village and stuffed our pockets with garlic cloves hurriedly. Prentiss hung a large silver cross around my neck and donned one also. In the forest bracken, the curate uncovered the five wooden stakes he had buried earlier.

     Silently, we entered the sinister castle. Clinging close to each other, we crept across the decaying entrance hall. Despite our clandestine progress, our shoes beat a loud staccato across the flagstones. I cringed at the sound. Would our clatter reach the Baron in his deadly sleep?

     At the cellar door, I grasped Prentiss's arm and halted him. He turned to me, his dismay etched across his lean face.

     "I warned you, Norah," he admonished severely. "You should have stayed in the village. You cannot back out now."

     "It's not that, Prentiss," I rebuked sharply. "The dogs…"

     "What dogs?" He stared at me wide-eyed.

     "The Baron's hellish hounds," I cried, becoming distraught. "I forgot! Diabolus, Dybbuk, Moloch, Incubus, and Belial." I counted the names off on the fingers of my right hand.

     Prentiss blanched, his skin growing whiter with each name.

     Minutes ticked past. The curate continued the hesitated at the cellar door. Then, placing his hand in his coat pocket, he drew out a silver revolver. I gasped audibly.

     "I'll handle them," Prentiss stated firmly. "I loaded it with silver bullets, just in case."

     "In case of what?" I asked, startled. Tentatively, I shrunk back against the wall.

     "Werewolves."

     "Werewolves!" I exclaimed, my eyes wide with fright. The wolf's nightly ululations sprung into my mind. I never thought of the shapeshifting beasts existing in the von Helfin surroundings.

     "Anything is possible," Prentiss responded, cautioning me to hold my tongue.

     The curate stretched out his hand and opened the cellar door. I followed him down the damp stairway, wondering about my prim companion. He suddenly knew a lot about subjects he disdained.

     "Foolhardy nonsense," Prentiss Wills often exclaimed when Papa and I discussed the occult. If he could not see things with his own eyes, he did not believe. As we descended into the dank underground chamber, I began to brooch the issue. He quickly hushed me.

     The massive iron gate loomed out of the misty corridor. A loud gasp escaped my lips when Prentiss touched it, and it swung open. Grabbing his arm, I stopped him.

     "Trap?" I mouthed.

     Anxiously glancing into the impenetrable darkness, I expected the Baron to appear and attack us with his children's aid. Prentiss pulled me against the wall, holding me around the waist. Time passed slowly. Nothing happened. Finally, we ventured forth again.

     At the end of the corridor, the vast cavern spread before us. The five coffins remained in their places, exactly as I remembered them. Falling to his knees before the first one, Prentiss pried the lid open. It fell onto its side with an echoing crash. I cringed, ready to flee.

     The curate drew out a stake and, stretching upward, raised it above the sleeping Baron's heart. Time stood still. My nemesis continued his slumbers�"his sanguine lips standing out against his ghostly skin. The muscles in Prentiss's arms stood out as he gathered his strength. When he plunged, I reached out my hand and stopped him.

     "He's mine," I stated unemotionally. "He killed my mother. I want my revenge. I'll take him and…"

     I studied the caskets intently. Then, rising, I moved on to the last one in the line. Kneeling, I removed the lid and stared into Ranulf's beloved face. My tears choked me as I gazed upon him. Nevertheless, I strengthened my resolve and determination.

     "This one." I pointed disdainfully toward my lover. "The children are yours."

     Despite my hatred of the von Helfin clan, I could not harm Luiza. I viewed her as my friend, a companion in a hellish nightmare. Although we had to destroy them, I would rather Prentiss did the deed.

     Swiftly, I grasped the stake, tightening my fists around the wooden shaft. My hatred of the Baron hardened within my heart, and I strode toward his casket. Holding my breath, I positioned myself before him and rose to my knees. It required great strength to drive the shaft home. I gathered my concentration and positioned the picket above his heart.

     "For Mama," I exclaimed, my voice reverberating in the hellish chamber. Tears filled my eyes, and my voice hitched with sorrow.

     The Baron's hate-filled orbs flew open when the stake entered his heart. Accusingly, he stared at me. Then, threateningly, he began to rise. Von Helfin's hands grappled for my throat and brushed my skin. I plunged the stake deeper into his body, and his arms slackened. A gurgling noise escaped his red lips, and then he fell silent.

     Deep in the cavern, a dog growled. It rumbled, multiplied, and grew louder. I stood and grappled for Prentiss's arm. Together, we drew back against the wall. Abruptly, five bullmastiffs burst upon us. They cornered us and continued to growl menacingly. The curate stepped forward, shoving me behind him. Raising his revolver, he shot Moloch through the head, killing him instantly.

     Diabolus and Incubus followed, each receiving a similar death shot. Leaping suddenly, Dybbuk sunk his teeth into Prentiss's arm. Yelping in pain, the curate encircled the dog's neck with his strong palms, driving him backward. Another fatal shot echoed through the cellar chamber. Belial turned tail and fled with Prentiss hot on his trail.

     I waited anxiously; my back pressed against the wall. At any moment, I expected the final bullmastiff's return. Finally, I heard another shot and a loud whimper. Prentiss emerged from the mist, and, running to him, I flung my arms around his neck. He encircled my waist and pulled me close. I relaxed against him. For the first time, the prim curate embraced and kissed me.

     "Norah, look!" Prentiss exclaimed, releasing me.

     Together, we approached the coffins. The Baron's transparent form shimmered weakly. Beneath him, I could see the red velvet lining. The children appeared in the same condition. Prentiss stood above them, overalled by the sight. Vlad vanished completely, but Luiza hovered between the Earth and the afterworld. Fading in and out, Vanda opened her eyes wide and she, finally, disappeared.

     "Ranulf!" I exclaimed, moving toward the far coffin hastily. I breathed a sigh of relief when I found him intact.

     Hypnotized by Luiza's transparent form, Prentiss did not notice my movements. I threw him a furtive glance, then fell to my knees beside my lover's coffin. His soft black hair fell over his high forehead. Tenderly, I brushed it aside. Looking toward the curate again, I saw him bend over Luiza's flickering body. I did not wish him to observe my actions. I leaned forward and gently laid a kiss on Ranulf's lips.

     "Oh, Ranulf, I do love you," I whispered, barely audibly. "With all my heart and soul, I do love you."

     Prentiss glanced in my direction and stepped toward me. Staring at him intently, I lifted the stake and positioned it above Ranulf's heart. The curate turned back to Luiza and watched her finally evaporate. I deftly positioned my weapon, forcing it to its destination. If Prentiss looked, he would not notice that it did not hit its mark. I could not destroy Ranulf.

 

XXX

 

     Snapshot memories of our return journey to England played in my jagged thoughts. Bucharest, Budapest, Vienna, Munich, Strasbourg, Paris. I pressed my cheek against the train carriage's window and watched the world cities pass with little enthusiasm. Curious onlookers gawked at me. My placid skin and worn expression created a reason for more than a passing glance. Ever diligent, Prentiss shielded me from their penetrating stares.

     We left the Orient Express in Paris, spending several nights in the city of lights. A vague sense of excitement hovered in the back of my mind. In the distant past, the French capital enthralled Mama and me. The gaiety we encountered on the Champs Elysee boosted our spirits despite our tragedy. Papa lay in his grave, and we embarked on a new adventure. Often, late at night, we lay in bed conjecturing our arrival at von Helfin Castle. Mama delighted in the opportunistic employment by a Baron would create. I wondered about my future away from Grey Friars and Prentiss Wills.

     I returned to reality a much different person. My horrific experiences left me emotionally drained. Nightmares terrorized my dreamscapes, and I awoke to frightful screaming echoing through my hotel room. Fearing I would wake the other guests, I cowered beneath my blankets until the curate pounded on my door.

     "Are you all right?" Prentiss asked, poking his head into the room. When I nodded, he softly closed the door and returned to his bed chamber. I wished he would come in and comfort me. Nevertheless, he refused to cross my threshold. His staunch morals would not allow his entrance into a lady's sleeping quarters.

     Finally, on a fresh spring day, we crossed the channel. I breathed deeply for the first time in ages, taking the clear air into my starving lungs. The stalwart white cliffs greeted us, and I became overwhelmed at my first sight of home soil. Unexpectedly, my emotions overflowed, and I collapsed against Prentiss. Firmly, he guided me into the nearest public house and ordered brandy. I sipped it and relaxed enough to smile weakly.

     "Norah, I want to make sure you are properly taken care of," Prentiss announced, reaching across the table to grasp my hands. "You are very ill and require a long rest."

     I sat back against the booth bench, considering his words. My hazy mind could not grapple with their significance. I continued to feel ill and uneasy in my mind. Slowly nodding, I left my well-being in the curate's capable hands.

     "I will take you to Heavenly Rest," he decided confidently. "It's a sanctuary on the coast in Devon, near Torquay. You will receive nursing care and soak in the sea air. It will do you the world of good."

     "I want to go home, Prentiss," I whispered, my lips barely forming the words. "Please take me home--to Gray Friars."

     "I will, but not yet." Tenderly, he stroked my cheek and then cupped my chin. "I want you to become well again. I cannot marry you until you are strong enough."

     My mind reeled as I contemplated the man who rescued me. Naturally, the curate expected to marry me. Mama and Papa both planned our nuptials. I should agree, yet something pulled against my heart. Ranulf remained front and center in my mind.

     However, I willingly put myself in Prentiss Wills's capable hands. He escorted me by train to Torquay and assisted in my admittance to Heavenly Rest. Peacefully, I began my convalescence. Days and weeks passed, then the months started to slide away. Suddenly, I realized the year had slipped past. I mourned Mama and Papa in my heart, but as my strength returned, I moved away from the horrors I experienced at von Helfin castle.

     On my release day from Heavenly Rest, I sat on the lawn facing Tor Bay. The calm blue water looked like a sheet of glass. I breathed deeply, soaking in the slight breeze. It rippled my hair, and I absently brushed the stray strands away as I gazed across the serene view.

     "Your surprise me," Prentiss stated, appearing beside me. "You're no longer a girl; you're a woman. I…" He sighed gratifyingly and took my arm. Together, we strolled along the bay front.

     "I have enjoyed the rest, Prentiss," I stated, pressing my body against his side. "I feel renewed. I've moved away from von Helfin, and now, I can move forward with my life."

     "I'm delighted, Norah," my companion remarked, leading me to a bench. Prentiss bent to one knee and held my hand tenderly. "Will you marry me?"

     I looked down upon him anxiously. I had not expected the sudden proposal. Rising, I walked several steps past him and stopped. Prentiss followed me and gently placed his hand on my shoulder.

     "Norah?" he asked. His whisper softly caressed my bent neck.

     "I'm sorry, Prentiss," I whispered, barely audibly. "It's… It's too soon." Lifting my long pleated skirt above my ankles, I hurried across the dewed grass. 

     Following luncheon, we boarded the train for Gray Friars. My traveling companion remained pensive but did not readdress his proposal. He remained courteous and solicitous about my health.

     The Right Reverend Martin Halifax greeted us at the old vicarage door. Taking my hands, he kissed me on both cheeks and invited me inside. My home looked much the same as the day Mama and I left.

     "Welcome home, my dear," the vicar's wife greeted, hustling into the hallway from the kitchen. "I'm Amelia Rose. Martin and I wish to make you welcome here. You can consider this your home for as long as you wish."

     "I…thank you," I muttered, glancing around the familiarly comfortable rooms. "I don't wish to inconvenience you."

     "You won't trouble us in the least," my hostess pledged, patting my hand.

     Despite my longing for Papa and Mama, I immediately warmed up to Martin and Amelia Rose Halifax. They made me feel completely at home.

     I gathered hedge roses each morning and placed them lovingly on Papa's grave. I prayed for his soul and for Mama. They should repose together in their death slumber, I thought wistfully. In the dead of night, I had terrifying visions of Mama floating in that awful well. Her sorrow-filled eyes reproached me, accusing me of not saving her from her folly.

     "Mama!" I screamed, bolting up in bed. "Mama!"

     "Norah," Prentiss soothed, immediately entering my bedroom. Overwhelmed by his desire to protect me, his inhibitions disappeared. "Shh. Shh. You're okay. Everything is okay now."

     "NO! NO!" I sobbed into his red-striped nightshirt.

     "We cannot remain here," the curate moaned, drawing me against his chest tightly. "Listen, I've applied for a living in Cornwall. It's miles away, and we can start anew. I want you to get right away…away from all your haunting memories. We can…"

     "Oh, Yes, Prentiss, yes," I answered, desperately clinging to him. Suddenly, I wanted to get away, far away. "Please take me away from here."

     "You'll marry me as soon as the living comes through?" my lover asked, anxious for my assurance.

     "Yes, yes." I nodded my head against his thin chest vigorously. Deliriously, I sank against the pillows, exhausted from the exertion.

     Amelia Rose eagerly offered her assistance when we announced our wedding plans. Together we traveled to London. I selected yards of white organdy for my gown. Day after day, we stitched the lovely fabric in the vicarage parlor. Finally, the dress hung in my wardrobe, waiting for my nuptials.

     I resigned myself to matrimony. Far from a romantic attachment, I considered it a marriage of convenience. Prentiss rarely uttered words of love and showed me scant affection. My young girl fantasies of romance and adventure dissipated. I desired amorous attention and a passionate embrace.

     I never dreamed about Prentiss Wills. Instead, Ranulf frequently appeared in my nightscapes. When I closed my eyes, I saw him at the altar instead of the curate. I realized my commitments forced me to put the Baron's ward out of my mind. I could not allow the Romania interlude to shadow my new life. I turned eighteen that summer and had to put my childhood behind me.

     Prentiss received his promotion and accepted the living in Cornwall finally. With the holidays fast approaching, he insisted upon a Christmas day wedding. Reluctantly, I agreed.

     "I've taken the liberty of booking rooms in Bath," my fiancé announced as we finalized our plans. "It's quite convenient for our journey to Cornwall. I believe we should stay for two nights before continuing to St. Winwalloe. You do agree, my little love?"

     I threw a hostile glare at Prentiss. His peevish voice suddenly irritated me. Slowly, I realized he intended to organize our lives without my input. The idea annoyed me.

     "I have always dreamed of a honeymoon in Florence and Venice," I remarked through gritted teeth. "A romantic tour of Italy would suit me quite well."

     "Why not combine business with pleasure, my dear?" the new vicar asked, bending to kiss my cheek lightly. I turned away swiftly. "Two days in Bath suits our needs."

     "Two days," I gasped, appalled, "will certainly not suit my needs." I clenched my fists tightly by my sides

     "I intend to give the New Year's sermon," Prentiss firmly stated. "Both feet forward, I always say."

     I opened my mouth to protest, but my head instantly throbbed. I sank onto the settee, the room swaying around me. Although I felt physically strong, my emotions continued to grapple for stability.

     "Yes, Prentiss," I answered meekly.

     Nevertheless, my mind reeled against his plans. I began to doubt my decision to marry Prentiss Wills. Falling into a deep depression, I locked myself in my room. My troubled mind would not rest. I tossed and turned beneath my blankets until I finally couldn't bear it any further.

     Wrapping a warm dressing gown around my shoulders, I crept from the still vicarage into the graveyard. Kneeling upon Papa's grave, I sobbed.

     "Norah."

     I looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. The cemetery remained silent beneath the full moon. An owl hooted, then flew away. I continued to kneel, silently praying for a solution to my dilemma.

     "Norah." Again the familiar, heavily accented voice.

     I glanced up again, hopefully. No one appeared. Pushing aside my imagination, I rose to shaky feet. Slowly, I made my way back to the vicarage.

     "Norah," the voice whispered. "Please, Norah, don't go."

     A dark figure appeared behind a mausoleum. I stared at it, trying to make it real. Then, the Baron's nephew rushed forward and wrapped his arms around me.

     "Ranulf!" I exclaimed, falling into his embrace. "How? How did you get here?"

     "I cannot exist without you, Norah," my Romanian lover moaned. "Save me, Norah."

     "How, Ranulf, tell me how?"

     In the shadow of Papa's tombstone, we renewed our acquaintance. Ranulf recounted his loneliness following my departure. He slept until the following night, waking to find his uncle dead, and the children vanished.

     "I realized you staked Uncle and fled," the Baron's ward grimly declared. "You couldn't harm me, could you?"

     "No, I could never harm you," I concurred, caressing his cheek softly. I narrated my flight from the castle quickly and my meeting with Prentiss, our plans, the Baron's demise, and our return to England. Ranulf listened gravely. "I…I agreed to marry Prentiss."

     "I see," my lover stated, his face deathly blank.

     "I'm sorry, Ranulf," I gulped. "I never expected to see you again."

     Together, we clasped hands and leaned shoulder to shoulder against Papa's grave marker. Prentiss discovered me alone in the morning, curled up in Patience Mowbray's final resting place. Tenderly, he carried me into the vicarage and placed me on my bed.

     "Ranulf," I murmured mournfully. "Ranulf."

     My fiancé hovered over me uncertainly. Then, he placed a cooling cloth on my forehead. He sat at my bedside for a long time while I continued to mutter my lover's name. I could not recall whether I actually saw Ranulf or if he appeared in my fragmented dreams.

 

XXXI

 

     ‘Dear Prentiss,

    

     I realized this will come as a great shock to you, and I pray you will forgive me in time. The truth is, I cannot marry you. My heart will not allow it. Truthfully, if I carried through with our plans, my life would become misery. I am sorry, Prentiss. I cannot go through with it.’

 

     I gazed through the open window onto the churchyard below. A shadow figure appeared beside Papa’s grave. Night after night, I crept outside to meet Ranulf. We sat beside my beloved father’s last resting place, making our plans.

     In the back of my mind, I felt I betrayed Prentiss. He rescued me from von Helfin castle and had every right to expect I would marry him. When Ranulf reappeared, I knew I could not follow through with the wedding.

     And so, on this last night in my old home, I sat at my desk in the opened window. The letter spread before me, I gazed down upon my anxious lover. For a moment, I pressed the pen against my lips and considered my next words.

 

     ‘On the day you arrived at the vicarage, Mama and Papa began planning our lives together. They both liked and trusted you, Prentiss, as I did. Circumstances drew us apart along with distance. I am forever grateful for your appearance in Romania and for rescuing me. I will never forget all you did.

     ‘I am a different person now than I was when we first met. Papa brought me up in the church, and I believe in his teachings with all my heart. Papa was a good man; he devoted his life to his profession. However, he was also kind, loving and forgiving. Life is give and take, Prentiss. I appreciate your concern and your care for me. Nevertheless, I feel stifled by your plans; you plan but do not include my opinions.

     ‘I have met someone else who shares my viewpoints and who longs to make me the center of my life. I find we have a lot in common and, oh, I do love him ever so much. As much as I hate to break this to you on this night�"our wedding eve�"I feel I must. By the time you find this, we will have disappeared.

     ‘All my best to you, Prentiss.

     ‘Norah.’

 

     Sealing the letter in an envelope, I propped it against the lamp and prepared to depart. Ranulf awaited me, and we had much to do before we left.  Hastening downstairs, I left my childhood home forever. Beneath my arm, I carried the book that would set my lover free.

     “I thought you would never arrived,” Ranulf stated grasping my hands. He smiled, the tips of his canines appearing at his lower lip.

     “I had a last minute task to complete,” I responded, dragging him toward the church.

     Ranulf hesitated at the church door. I tugged on his hand, urging him inside. Still, he faltered, not wanting to step over the holy threshold. I felt his resistance and turned to him.

     “It’s the only way,” I implored, yanking on his arm. “You said you wanted your freedom. We have to go inside.”

     For weeks, I had perused Papa’s extensive library. Finally, I discovered what I sought. Hidden behind a stack of Bibles, I found a slim volume concerning the occult. The information I required appeared under the heading ‘Vampires.’

     “Perhaps this is not such a good idea,” my companion stated, his feet rooted to the ground. “What if it doesn’t work? What if you can’t bring me back?”

     “We have to try,” I stubbornly responded. “Ranulf!” I fiercely tugged on his arm again.

     “If it doesn’t, are you going to marry him?” He roughly jerked his thumb toward the vicarage.

     “I’d rather die,” I hissed in return.

     “Just like Juliet,” Ranulf remarked, his red eyes glowing serenely.

     “Yes, like Juliet who couldn’t live without her Romeo.”

     Could I really do it? I wondered. Could I take my own life if I could not save my one true love? Or would I falter at the altar of love? I had not considered the thought until that moment at the church door.

     I pictured myself returning to my bedchamber and tearing up the goodbye letter to Prentiss. If Ranulf did not recover from the ceremony described in the occult book, I shuddered to think of life without him. Sadness over took me. Holding back my tears, I pushed open the door and stepped into the church. I willed Ranulf to follow me.

     Alone, I approached the altar. The scent of lilies filled the air. All about the church, they stood in vases awaiting the following day. The soft full moon shone through the stained glass windows creating a path upon the ancient aisle. I knelt in the chancel and prayed. Ranulf knelt beside me, his head bowed.

     He lay on the floor; his head at the altar, his feet facing the door. I knelt beside him and said one last prayer. Caressing his open chest with my palm, I willed it to become warm. Nevertheless, it remained stone cold. Ranulf closed his eyes. A serene expression crossing his ashen face.

     Time stood still. I garnered my strength, then plunged the wooden stake into my beloved’s heart. For a moment, I faltered before driving it home with a mallet. Ranulf made an ‘oof’ sound, his lips parting slightly. Then, he lay unmoving before me.

     Rising to my knees, I muttered another pray asking God to spare his cherished life. Swiftly, I gathered holy water from the baptismal font. Falling to my knees, I used it to recreate the ancient, Catholic sign of the cross.

     “In the Nomine Patris.” Tenderly, I touched his forehead. “In the Name of the Father.”

     My hand shook as it moved downward toward his chest.

     “et Filli�"and of the Son.”

     During the past few days, I memorized the unfamiliar Catholic ritual. Although it was against my Father’s teachings and my belief, I wished to perform the ascribed ceremony as authentically as possible.

     Gaining confidence, I lightly drew my finger across Ranulf’s shoulders.

     “et Spiritus Sancti�"and of the Holy Ghost.”

     My vampire lover remained in his prone position. He did not stir or flinch. Hour after hour, I remained at my vigil. Tears welled in my eyes, and I sobbed. Sorrow overwhelmed me. The ritual failed, and I destroyed the only man I could ever love.

     I had to leave the church. I visualized myself returning to the vicarage and tearing up the letter I wrote to Prentiss. My marriage to him would take place as scheduled the following morning. I could not face it.

     “Oh my Romeo,” I muttered, mournfully. Gently, I brushed Ranulf’s straggly hair from his forehead. Then, I bent and, for the first time, brought my lips to his sanguine ones.

     In fairy tales, a kiss awoke the Sleeping Beauty. Perhaps, just perhaps, it could awaken a dead vampire too. I knelt and prayed again�"still nothing happened.

     The sun began to peek over the horizon, lighting the nave. Slowly, it crept toward the chancel. Soon, the day would begin. Prentiss always came into the church during the early morning to pray. He would find us still there unless something happened soon.

     “Ranulf!” I screamed, desperately shaking his shoulders. “Oh please wake up. Please, Ranulf.”

     On my hands and knees, I crawled to the altar and lay prostrate before it, sobbing. My heart breaking, I sought a way to end my misery. Life could not continue for me without Ranulf. As though in a dream I rose, entered my father’s office and returned with the only sharp instrument I could find.

     I held the paper knife against my throbbing heart. Willing the strength to plunge it into my breast, I plighted my troth to Ranulf. If we could not live together in life, we would die together. My lips muttered a silent prayer, and I pushed the letter opener into my naked chest.

     “Norah.”

     At the sound of my name, I dropped the letter opener. It clattered noisily upon the flagstone floor and echoed against the stained glass windows.

     “Don’t do it, Norah,” Ranulf gasped, his lank form rising from the floor. Awkwardly, he stood to shaking feet.

     I spun and rushed into his arms. Joyously, I gazed into his restored face. A slight peach color tinted his pale complexion. The blood drained from his sanguine lips, leaving them a soft pink. His red, bloodshot eyes morphed into a golden hawk-eye. He bent his head toward mine and kissed me. My arms flew around his neck, and I pulled him closer, deepening our love’s first embrace. 

 

XXXII

 

     The crunch of footsteps approaching the church alerted us. The oaken door cracked open, and we stared at the shadow figure framed in the aperture. In our first thrills of love, we had waited too long. Prentiss would discover Ranulf and me wrapped in our tender embrace in moments. Frantically, I grabbed my companion's icy hand and rushed toward the side door. Our footfalls echoed loudly against the flagstone floor.

     "Hello?" my fiancé called, his voice raised in question.

     The door slammed behind us, and we stood at the graveyard's edge. Deftly, I wove around the tombstones I had known all my life. I halted behind the one belonging to Patience Mowbray and her stillborn baby boy. Ranulf squatted beside me, panting for breath.

     "The sunlight…" my lover gasped, shielding his eyes quickly.

     The morning sun hung low on the horizon, casting a bright welcome to the day. All my life, I delighted in the dawn, often waking early to watch it make its first appearance. I longed to share the moment with my lover. However, I realized he had not encountered daylight in many years.

     "Oh, Ranulf," I mourned, tears welling against my eyelids.

     "Blind," he muttered, tightly holding his palms against his eyes. "I'm blind."

     Bewildered, I sunk into the ground behind the gravestone. We had to leave instantly. At any second, Prentiss could appear. He may have devoted himself to his prayers or followed us into the cemetery. Anxiously, I glanced toward the church, willing him to stay inside. Our escape depended upon it.

     "Give me a few moments, Norah," Ranulf whispered reassuringly. His slim fingers parted slightly, allowing a little sunlight to penetrate. "I must adjust to the light."

     I gnawed on my bottom lip apprehensively. Time stood still. My companion removed his hands from his face and squinted uncomfortably. Tears streamed from his irritated, bloodshot eyes. I caressed his arm in an attempt to reassure him. Finally, he blinked and smiled at me affectionately.

     "The first train to London leaves at twenty past six," I announced impatiently. "We must make that train, Ranulf. We must hurry." I threw a hasty look over my shoulder, expecting Prentiss's appearance.

     Squatting, we dodged behind the tombstones until we reached a copse of trees behind the churchyard. Grabbing hands, we rushed into the small forest. Ranulf swatted at low overhanging branches, clearing a path for me to follow. Breaking free, we sprinted onto the main road. The George Inn stood at the crossroads, the last building before the station. I glanced furtively over my shoulder and pulled my companion toward our destination.

     The London train chugged, and steam billowed from its stack. We barely had time to purchase tickets before it departed. Hurrying toward the purchase window, I fumbled in my purse for the fare. Slamming the coins on the counter, I demanded the tickets.

     "You're cutting it a bit short, Miss Norah," Sam Wheaton, the station master, quipped. He lackadaisically counted out the farthings and shillings I pushed toward him.

     "Please, Sam, can't you count a bit quicker," I insisted impatiently.

     "Well…" The elderly attendant began, ogling me over his half glasses. "Say, aren't you marrying the curate today, Miss Norah?"

     Aghast, I stared at Sam Wheaton. Outside, the train chuffed again, and the pistons began to turn. Tears of fury sprang to my eyes.

     "Surely you can see the lady is in a hurry," Ranulf cut in, inserting himself between me and the ticket master. "We cannot miss this train."

     The sudden authority in my companion's voice startled Sam Wheaton. He cupped my coins in his shaky palm and dispatched the tickets quickly. The Baron's ward took my arm, and we scurried toward the departing train. It began to move as we rushed along the aisle, searching for an empty compartment. Finally, Ranulf swung open a door, and with a sudden lurch, we tumbled in.

     "Phew," I finally exhaled and leaned against my companion.

     The long London-bound express pulled out of Burnley-upon-Tyne. I peered out the open window and watched the George Inn slide out of view. Sadness overwhelmed me as I said goodbye to my hometown for the last time. We had not discussed our final destination. Once we reached the capital, we would make that decision.

     Ranulf grasped my hand, and I snuggled into his shoulder. We had the compartment to ourselves. However, an older woman approached our carriage when we stopped at the next station. She glared at us suspiciously and hesitated in the doorway. I willed her to go away, but she finally entered reluctantly. Perching on the opposite red velvet bench, she continued to ogle us.

     "Good morning, Madame," my lover greeted.

     The aged woman raised her eyebrows. His thick Romanian accent set her on edge. She clasped her worn carpetbag securely on her lap. Surreptitiously, she eyed the coach door seeking a means of escape. However, the engine released steam, and the train chugged out of the station, trapping her.

     I sat up quickly and put a space between Ranulf and me. Still, the older woman continued to scrutinize us. The stiff white lace at her throat seemed to choke her. She hooked her arthritic fingers into it and yanked it from beneath her chin. Her black worsted skirt lay smoothly across her ankles, a small round hat perched on her gray hair. The artificial daisy standing up from the crown looked wilted.

     "Good morning," I cheerily echoed Ranulf's greeting. "Are you traveling through to London?" I hoped to break the ice.

     "Eloping, I expect," the woman growled with Victorian sternness. "Your father will be after you, young miss," she warned.

     "My father is dead, Madame," I snapped tersely. "My mother too."

     "Humpff," our elderly companion snorted. She lapsed into silence and stared out the window.

     At the next stop, she hastily rushed from the compartment. Ranulf and I exchanged furtive looks, then burst into raucous laughter.

     "Eloping, I expect," I mimicked, giggling.

     My lover pulled me close and kissed me deeply. We remained in our embrace until the train chugged to attention. No one joined us, and we continued alone in the carriage.

     "We will check into the hotel as Baron and Baroness von Helfin," Ranulf announced as we drew closer to our destination.

     "Bah…Bah…Baron von Helfin?" I exclaimed, the name suddenly horrifying me. "Wha…Why?"

     "My darling, following the decease of my dear uncle," my companion remarked, "I am the Baron von Helfin. Vlad is dead, also. He has left no other heir."

     "But I thought your name was Zamphir," I muttered in confusion.

     "And so it is," Ranulf explained. "The von Helfin title is inherited. We passed it down from male heir to male heir. Twice it passed through the female line. My uncle was Nicolai Mihai Albescu�"Baron von Helfin. His grandmother was the last woman to inherit. Now it will pass through my mother�"Lavinia Albescu Zamphir. Do you understand, my love?"

     "I…" I began to protest. Then, I bowed my head in acceptance. "Yes, I understand."

     "When we marry, you will become The Baroness von Helfin," my companion continued, pulling me close. "It is an ancient title. Your son will become the next Baron."

     "Does this mean we have to return?" I stared at Ranulf wide-eyed and began to tremble.

     The thought of returning to the derelict castle atop its craggy precipice sent shivers down my spine. Fear overtook me, and I buried my head in my lover's shoulder. Pulling me close, he kissed the top of my head and sat silently beside me.

     "I must return, my love. It is my duty," Ranulf explained following an elongated pause. "It is up to you, Norah, to decide if you wish to accompany me. If you decide not to, we must part in London. You can return to your home and your…um…your Prentiss if you desire."

     Prentiss? Oh, no, I could not accept Prentiss as my husband. I pictured him returning to the vicarage and awaiting my appearance at the breakfast table. When I did not arrive, he would ask Mrs. Halifax to check my room. The new vicar's wife would return with the envelope addressed to the curate.

     I imagined his fury when he realized I had jilted him moments from the altar. Prentiss would search for me and attempt to bring me back for the ceremony. Clenching my fists, I determined not to accompany him. Regardless of the circumstances, my love for Ranulf meant more than anything else. Finally, I agreed to return with him to Romania.

     "Promise me we will do something for Mama," I stated, squeezing his arm. "I…I want to give her a decent burial. Please, Ranulf? It would mean so much to me."

   I glanced at him wistfully, awaiting his response. I envisioned my mother floating at the bottom of that dreadful well. Her pale dead face haunted me. I desired a decent burial if I could not return her to Gray Friar's cemetery to repose beside Papa.

     "Of course, my dearest," Ranulf responded with alacrity. "Your Mama was my uncle's wife also�"in a manner of speaking. She will lay in the castle crypt beneath the chapel."

     "The chapel?" I asked, sitting up straighter. I had not realized such a place existed in the hellish castle.

     "At one time, the von Helfin's were deeply religious," my companion responded, a slight smile curving his reddened lips. "Uncle expected all to attend morning and evening prayers. However, when uncle became…" he paused, momentarily, "afflicted, they ceased."

     I settled comfortably against the velvet seat, relieved Mama would receive a proper entombment. I loved her and Papa with all my heart and wanted her to repose comfortably.

     We crossed from England to France the following day and arrived in Paris by nightfall. In the morning, Ranulf escorted me to Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, a small church near the Pantheon, where we pledged our lives in holy matrimony. Fearing Prentiss's appearance, we curtailed our honeymoon and boarded the Orient Express for Budapest.

     "Von Helfin castle was quite opulent before my uncle's affliction," my new husband explained once we settled into our compartment. "I recall many sumptuous gatherings when I was a boy. It rapidly fell into disrepair during the dark days. Of course, we were all afflicted. I wanted so much…"

     Tears welled in Ranulf's eyes as he recalled his past life as a vampire. I understood him completely. Inwardly, he railed against his nightmare existence. Often, in the night, he awoke with the taste of blood in his mouth. I comforted him as best as I could. He assured me that, in time, the situation would fade.

 

XXXIII

     As we drew closer to Romania, my tension increased. I bulked when we finally reached Bucharest and refused to travel any further. Ranulf coaxed me to finish the journey, but I adamantly refused. The idea of returning to von Helfin castle frightened me.

     Resigned to remain close to the Romanian capital, Ranulf escorted me to a charming country inn on the city's outskirts. Our hosts greeted us profusely when he introduced us as Monsieur and Madame Zamphir. They went out of their way to ensure our privacy.

     "A short repast will do us a world of good," my husband exclaimed, wrapping his arms around my waist. "You would not have wished to forego a honeymoon on any account, would you, my dear?"

     "This is a lovely setting for a romantic holiday," I claimed, leaning my elbows on the balcony parapet.

     A vast vineyard spread before me. Dotted here and there, I noticed men and women gathering the harvest into large woven baskets. The orange sun sank deeper toward the horizon, sending shafts of light toward our loggia. Ranulf threw his arms up to cover his face and howled with pain. Hurriedly, he scurried into the bedroom, slamming the doors behind him.

     I rushed after him, hastily drawing the curtains. Soaking a washcloth in the water ewer, I dabbed his eyes soothingly.

     "It will take a long time to adjust," my soulmate stated, stretching across the bed. "I'm sure you didn't marry me to play nursemaid."

     "I'll play at whatever suits you best, my love," I remarked, placing butterfly kisses on his eyelids.

     Ranulf reached for me in the darkened room and caressed my cheeks lovingly. I fell into his embrace and shivered slightly when his cold body pressed against mine. He recoiled, knowing his touch shocked me. Gently, I drew him closer, and my lips found his over-moist mouth.

     I longed to make love to my husband. Despite our many attempts, we failed each time. Ranulf remained placid regardless of my passion-filled effort to arouse him. Anguish filled his face, and he turned away from me.

     "It will take time, my love," I assured him. "The trauma will pass, and you will grow away from your past."

     "Will it, Norah?" Ranulf snapped, angry and frustrated with himself. "I wish to please you, to love you, and yet…"

     "I wish to please you too."

     I reclined on the bed and pulled at my negligee's silken ribbon. The flimsy garment fell away from my exposed body. Ranulf knelt above me, his sanguine eyes traveling from my face to my breasts. He reached out to touch them, then hastily withdrew.

     "Nothing," my husband muttered, shaking his head dolefully. Turning abruptly on his heels, he marched from the room.

     Hours passed. I anxiously awaited Ranulf's return and finally fell into a fitful sleep. Dawn awakened me, and still, he did not appear. Filled with despair, I paced the room until the door cracked open, and my husband stepped in.

     "Where were you?" I cried accusingly.

     "Walking and walking and walking," my husband muttered, pacing the room. "I…oh, I feel humiliated." He covered his face and sank onto the bed. I perched beside him.

     "What has happened?" Placing my arm across his shoulders, I pulled him to my breast.

     "Blood! There was much blood!"

     I drew back aghast. The word 'blood' alarmed me, frightened me.

     "Blood?" I exclaimed, horrified. "What kind of blood? Human?"

     "Pigs," Ranulf muttered, lowering his eyes. "In a pigsty several miles from here. I…I slaughtered them and drank their blood. I could not control myself.

     I regarded him solemnly. Ranulf had fallen back into his vampire desires overnight. Anxiously, I rose and, throwing open the French windows, stepped onto the balcony. I gripped the parapet and gazed into the distant vineyard.

     "We must leave immediately," my husband stated, stepping behind me. "It is time to return to von Helfin."

     Von Helfin! The words screamed inside my head.

 

******

 

     I vividly recall my first sight of the foreboding castle. Perched high upon its cragged mountain, it hung precariously upon the apex. Covering my face with sweaty palms, I pressed close against Ranulf's side. My new husband squeezed my shoulders reassuringly and kissed my forehead. Fleetingly, I wondered if I made a mistake in returning.

     The high iron gate creaked ominously when Ranulf swung it open. Returning to the trap we hired in a nearby village, he urged the timid horses forward. As though sensing the sinister atmosphere, the bay bulked, and his pied partner reared in fright. I grasped the edge of the seat, expecting our conveyance to topple. Skillfully, my husband steadied the beasts, and we entered the castle precincts.

     As I stepped into the courtyard, I recollected the night Mama and I first arrived. The one-eyed coachman dumped our baggage off his carriage and departed as though the devil were on his heels. Left alone, we entered and faced our ominous host.

     Ranulf took my arm gently and led me toward the sturdy oaken double doors. We entered the dilapidated great hall and stared at our surroundings. Hesitantly, I gazed around the vast chamber. At any moment, I expected the Baron to appear and bow at the waist.

     "I feel the Baron's presence strongly," I whispered, my eyes roaming the ample space. "I expect him to step stealthily behind us at any moment."

     "Uncle is not here, my love," my husband assured me. "He is gone and will not return. I am sure of it."

     "Please, Ranulf, I…I want to make sure," I stated tentatively. "The horror… it's returning in full force. I…I shouldn't have come here. It is too much, too soon."

     "Let me prove it to you, Norah, my sweet," he remarked, strengthening his grip on my arm.

     Slowly, he drew me toward the cellar door. I bulked when he pushed it open. Nevertheless, I accompanied him down the narrow stairwell and the mossy corridor. I glanced into the abandoned nursery as we passed. My ears strained for the sound of children's voices and Mama's low tone as she read a story aloud. However, the room remained silent.

     I hesitated at the iron gate when Ranulf pushed it open. I halted, ready to flee at the slightest sound.

     "No one is here, Norah," Ranulf confirmed soothingly. "The illusion dissipated upon Uncle's demise. When you annihilated his spirit, those he called back from the dead vanished with him."

     "Mrs. Balan, Helga, and Godoired Cazacu," I muttered the servants' names.

     "The one-eyed coachman, the villagers," Ranulf continued the list. "And the gypsy caravan you visited with Helga."

     I shrank back against the mildewed wall in horror. The people he listed were all too real to me. They became an intricate part of my life while I resided in the castle. I could not believe they were all the walking dead. Hastily, I covered my mouth but could not suppress my screams.

     "Norah, Norah!"

     Ranulf's anxious voice came from a far distance. Slowly, I regained consciousness. His dearly beloved face came back into focus after I blinked rapidly. I stammered, my words tripping on my tongue. I could not put my thoughts into a coherent conversation.

     "Please, take me away from here," I finally sputtered. "I don't want to see anymore."

     "Of course, my love."

     I awoke several hours later in my old turret bedroom. Ranulf tended the blazing fire, his back to me. Sitting up, I softly called his name. He approached and knelt beside the large bed. Tenderly, he grasped my hands.

     "There is nothing to fear, love," he briskly stated. "Uncle is gone. Everything he left behind has turned to dust."

     "I am considering the poor children," I exclaimed, considering the awful fate of Vlad, Luiza, and Vanda. "Poor, poor children."

     "Indeed," my husband muttered dolefully. "I loved my nephew and nieces dearly. Our tragic lives destroyed all that was good in them."

     "I do not know if I will ever recover from centuries of vampirism." Ranulf continued, grasping my hands and staring deeply into my wide blue eyes. "Sometimes…" he hesitated momentarily and sighed. "Sometimes, I still feel the urge…

     Yes, I pondered, he still felt the urge, poor Ranulf. He had a ravenous hunger for raw meat, and his canines still protruded from his overly moist red lips. At night, he sat in the window gazing at the full blood moon. His body strained under the pressure of transforming into a bat. Balling his fists, he fought against the conversion. Little by little, he overcame those old habits, but many of them remained with him.

 

XXXIV

 

     On a briskly cold October morning, Ranulf and I walked into the woods. Over his arm, my husband carried a sturdy length of rope. Scaling down into the old well, he lashed it firmly beneath Mama’s shoulders and, together, we heaved her to the surface.

     I knelt beside her cold and bloated form, my lips muttering the Twenty-third Psalm. Tenderly, I reached out and brushed her matted gray hair away from her swollen face. She seemed a shadow of her old self. For a moment, I envisioned her happy and laughing again at one of Papa’s witty remarks. I wished for those glad days of my long ago past.

     A branch snapped in the surrounding forest, alerting us to danger. Ranulf scanned the area with his penetrating eyes. Shielding Mama’s body with my own, I cowered beside the old well. Perhaps the Baron had returned to punish us for disturbing the dead.

     “Hello,” Ranulf called, amplifying his voice. “Make your presence known, whoever you are.”

     Another branch snapped and dead leaves rustled. A shadow figure appeared at the edge of the clearing. Rising, I stared at it, aghast. For a moment, I could not believe my eyes. I blinked to clear my vision. Nervously, I stood and pressed close against my husband’s side.

     “Prentiss?” I asked, my voice trembling.

     “Norah!”

     Rapidly, Prentiss Wills rushed into the clearing. He stretched out his arms, willing me to run into them. When I held back, his focus shifted to my companion. He stared at us, incredulously. Then, he gazed upon Mama’s inert form. Kneeling, he prayed over her body.

     “We plan to entomb her properly in the castle chapel,” I stated, resting my hand on his back. “She deserves a Christian burial.”

     “Yes, indeed,” the curate agreed, solemnly.

     When Prentiss finally stood, my husband placed his arm around my waist. We automatically drew closer to each other.

     “Allow me to introduce Ranulf Zamphir,” I stated, quickly. “After we fled England, we married in Paris.”

     Prentiss stared at us dolefully. A thick silence grew between us, and the air crackled with tension.

     “I…I’ve come to take you home,” Prentiss finally announced. Although he seemed uncomfortable, he remained determined to speak his mind. “I want you…”

     Menacingly, Ranulf stepped toward the curate. I tugged at his arm, holding him back.

     “I’ve chosen my life, Prentiss,” I explained, briskly. Desperately, I wished to avoid a confrontation. “I am in love with Ranulf in a way that I could never love you. Please understand.”

     We stood beside the well in an awkward half-circle. Mama’s body reposed against the crumbling stone surround. Glancing upon her sorrowfully, my heart broke. We could not leave her in her prone state while the situation escalated.

     “We must do something for Mama,” I begged, breaking the tension. “Please, do not brawl over her poor dead body. Ranulf? Prentiss?”

     Prentiss broke his stance first. Tenderly, he re-knelt beside Mama and folded her arms across her chest. With trembling fingers, he pushed her lids down over her staring blue eyes.

     For a moment the old rhyme I muttered beside my bed at night fluttered into my mind. I tried to push it aside, but it insisted on falling from my lips.

   

     “Now I lay me down to sleep

      I pray the Lord my soul to keep

      If I should die before I wake

      I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

    

     After a moment’s hesitation, Ranulf fell to his knees beside me. Although he did not join us in prayer, he bowed his head. A single tear appeared in the corner of his gentle brown eye and slid to the tip of his chin. Burying his face in his hands, he cried for the first time since he became a vampire. The release of pent-up emotion effected an immediate change in him.

     “I loved your Mama, Norah,” he solemnly stated. “She was kindness personified. I am so sorry for my uncle’s actions. He…he lured women to the castle to become governesses to the children. The poor women did not know his real intention�"to suck the life out of them. I wish I could have saved her.”

     The sun began its descent onto the horizon. Ranulf lifted Mama’s body and carried her to the castle gently. Entering a disused portion of the castle, he halted at a boarded-up door. With Prentiss’s aid, they removed the barrier, and we entered the chapel. The Blessed Virgin and Child overlooked the ornate altar. Carefully, my husband laid my mother before it.

     I knelt beside her and offered a prayer for her soul. Beside me, Prentiss fell to his knees and added his voice in supplication. Ranulf hovered behind us, uncertainly. Using the strength of my mind, I willed him to join us. Still, he hesitated.

     The last westing rays of sun beamed through the stained glass window, casting a glorious rainbow across the chapel. Inspired by its beauty, I cast my eyes toward Ranulf, hoping to share the joy. He stood amidst the light, his pale face suddenly transforming into a healthy complexion. He sank to his knees beside me, his lips moving in silent prayer.

     Finally, we laid Mama to rest in the catacombs beneath the altar. Prentiss offered the requiem, graciously endowing my mother with the best qualities. Following the scant ceremony, I expressed my gratitude to my ex-fiancé for his kindness and generosity.

     The hour drew near midnight when Ranulf and I returned to the turret bedroom. I sat before the mirror while he tended the fire. Soundlessly, he approached me, and, removing the hairbrush from my hand, pulled it smoothly through my soft, brown locks. He bent swiftly and placed a small kiss at the nape of my neck.

     Turning toward him, I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. My husband lifted me gently and carried me to bed. A soft smile lifted his mouth. I caressed his cheek lovingly.

     “I am ready, my love,” Ranulf breathed, pressing his strong body against mine.

     I rejoiced at the rigid sensation as our bodies melted together to become one. Although he never fully recovered from his vampirism, my husband transformed into a full man that evening. The passion we shared grew into a deeper love�"a love we fully celebrated night after night.  

    

******

 

     Our devotion to each other altered the entire aspect of von Helfin castle. A magic spell did not changed the gloomy edifice overnight. Time brought about the transformation. Although I never truly forgot the hellish vampire Baron, I grew away from the horror.

     Ranulf and I greeted our first baby nine months after Mama’s burial. My husband wanted to call her Isabella, but I insisted on Vanda-Luiza.

      “We should commemorate the poor lost children,” I declared, holding my little one at my breast. “Luiza and I became friends despite the circumstance. I cherished her companionship, and I thought of Vanda as fate’s innocent victim.”

     “As you please, my dearest,” my beloved agreed. “We shall bestow your mother’s charming name upon our second daughter.”

     Our next child�"a son�"appeared eighteen months later. I took a fancy to Romanian names and called him Caturix. Six years passed before Cristofor entered our family.

     “The little von Helfin family thrives,” Ranulf exclaimed, appearing at my side on the sun-filled veranda.

     “Zamphir,” I countered, grinning up at him. “The little Zamphir family thrives.” I continued to avoid using the von Helfin title whenever possible.

     “Zamphir,” my husband agreed, drawing me close and kissing my upturned mouth. “Norah Zamphir�"I have always liked the sound of it.” He tightened his embrace.

      Children’s laughter filled the cobbled courtyard. Together, Ranulf and I looked upon the garden beneath. Vanda-Luiza sat upon the swing while Caturix pushed with all his might. My daughter’s outstretched legs reached for the sky.   

     “Higher, higher,” the little girl screamed as the swing hovered above the stone wall. Her laughter floated across the distance, banishing past sorrows.

     “My turn, Caturix,” Cristofor cried, toddling toward his two older siblings. “My turn.”

     Swiftly, my eldest son grasped his little brother’s arm. Caturix pushed him aside before the wooden swing could knock him down. Swiftly, his sister leaped down and knelt beside the three-year-old boy.

     “You mustn’t run beneath the swing, Cris,” she admonished, breathlessly. “You could get hurt.”

     My children, I thought, so young, so full of life. I adored them with all my heart.

     Laughter and love filled the old castle altering every aspect of it. No longer a forbidding ruin clinging to a cragged mountain top, the sun glittered off the high white turrets. Greenery brightened the courtyard and gardens. Even the forest surrounding the precipice sprouted anew and thrived.

     Below, the village came to life. Ranulf hired workers to rebuild and farmers to plant crops. Grapes and apples grew in profusion along with wheat and corn. On Wednesday afternoons, we held court and fairly judged local squabbles.

     I never cut ties with my beloved homeland. Once a year, following the plentiful harvest, we traveled to England. Prentiss Wills, happily married to Vicar Martin Halifax’s niece, Aimee, welcomed us into his vicarage home. He had taken the living in Cornwall and lived near the seaside on the North coast. It pleased me that he named one of his twin daughters Norah. The other one was called Naomi.

     Ranulf never fully recovered from his vampirism, but his pale complexion darkened. His cheeks glowed peach with delight when he cast his deep eyes upon his growing family. Cherry tones accented his full lips, and his sharp canines became less prominent. Often I ran my fingers into his unruly black hair. I loved him dearly. Despite the Baron’s cruelty, I would not changed the past if it meant living without my true love.      

Reviews

[Paul]

Now, I really have to figure all of this out, Lea. lol I need a few days, so your content can sink into me. Another words, if i review this content, right after my other review, i won't be seeing as much of your big picture, as much as i should. That's the thing with this reviewing thing, Lea, I have an inclination of my own to deal with and to deal with it, I have to slow down and let your content sink in. Otherwise, I will give you a same old, same old, review. I'm taking a break for a bit. I'll have your review done later on, today, Lea.

[Drexel]

Great job building up suspense and a great story overall, I'm not a big fan of poetic writing in prose,but you did a really great job here. I enjoyed it

[Lea Sheryn]

Thank you very much

[Paul]

Woah! This is mint! Great job! You have a little bit of reformatting to do, but does the editor have a mind of it's own? When I edit, it sometimes does. This is great writing!

[Lea Sheryn]

Thank you for your review. This is a story I'm going to revisit sometime in the future for revision and editing. I think I can turn it into a manuscript ready for publishing. I appreciate your feedback.

[FGFRANKLIN]

A wonderful vampire tale reminiscent of a few of my favorite authors in the genre. I have a Penguin book titled 101 Vampire Tales which is a collection of short stories by various authors. The writing here has a dark Victorian nuance to it with a good feel for detail. Your writing seems very professional. I applaud your efforts and enjoyed the read. F.

[Lea Sheryn]

thank you so much for your review. I enjoyed writing this Victorian vampire tale along with all the research into that world that went along with completing the story. I am happy to share it with you and appreciated your feedback.