Stoker's Manuscript (30 page)

“And the bonus question is?” he asked.

“What you want . . .” I shivered as the chilled night air evaporated my sweat. “. . . second most is to know where your brother’s wife is.”

He studied me from a distance, swooping in for a couple sniffs. I assessed him to be less trustworthy, more mercurial than Dalca, for the Master had only one demeanor, contempt, which he doled out in varying measures.

“Hear me, mortal; I do not wish to repeat myself.” He stroked his chin and narrowed his red eyes. “My dealings with your kind suggest that if you have located my brother’s wife, then you have also found my wife. You would give me both, but first you wish for me to eliminate your most immediate obstacle. Then you have only one of us to scheme against, not two. And one who is doubly grateful for your help.”

The sarcasm was unmistakable, but I nodded. Several bats took turns diving toward him. He swatted them away, took another long breath next to my head. “I do not smell confidence,” he breathed into my ear. “You only think you know where she is. This I can tell.”

“I think I’m close,” I said, “but it’s only one of them . . . unless they are together.”

He stepped over to the sarcophagus and lifted the lid as if to invite me back in. I tried to speak but could find no words as I shook. Bats swooped about and he swatted another away.

“
Now
I smell the proper fear,” he said, lowering the lid. “That’s better.”

In the instant it took me to look downward, he was behind me with his mouth against my ear. “I do believe that you have come closest of the mortals to finding her. In fact, you would not be here in person if I could just go get her myself. Behind enemy lines, to use a human term. No, you think you are safe because you think I need you to find her. Think again. I only need to have you followed, for you will show me. I don’t need for you to tell me. Now, go back to your little house with the
bab
aˇ
, and maybe someone will come calling on you.”

My mind reeled. It chilled me that somehow Radu knew I’d been staying with Sonia. “How will I . . . ?”

He was gone, and with him followed the sound of a hundred mosquito swarms and thousands of bats.

I
left the cemetery under my own power and stumbled my way back over the bridge. When I reached the old road I thought it would be easier for everyone if I just stepped out in front of the first truck that passed. But none did. While trying to decide if I should go into Baia Sprie and ask for sanctuary at the Catholic church or hoof it five-plus miles back to the hotel, I heard a voice from across the street. “Over here.” It was one of Radu’s two men who’d driven me to him. A quiet return ride to Baia Mare ensued. We exchanged no words at the hotel door.

When I awoke the next morning, I put on CNN News while preparing to leave. Just as I stepped from the bathroom, I heard my brother’s name.

“. . . here at the church where Father Bernhardt Barkeley is believed to have disappeared this morning before first services. The priest is the brother of Joseph Winston Barkeley, the man wanted for questioning in the brutal ritual killings last month of two people. Joseph Barkeley is believed to have fled to Europe, and authorities suspect that he may have been in contact with his brother . . .”

The fear of the previous night suddenly seemed trivial. Whoever orchestrated the murders in the States had obviously nabbed my brother. I struggled to shake my worst fears about his fate. Whatever it was, I prayed it would be swift. There is a passage in the Bible that speaks of the martyrs crying out to God from under an altar about justice for those murdered, and all I could think about was seeing his pleading face among the victims.

Again I thought:
None of this would have happened except for me.

I learned that when you’re in trouble, your mind fills with tension while you yearn for an abrupt ending to the suspense. When someone you love is in jeopardy, anxiety is equally strong, but you feel less prone to hope for a quick end. Not knowing seems marginally better than learning the worst news possible. Such was my state of mind riding the train back to
. En route I rehearsed what I would say to Luc. When I arrived he was at the station, and we headed toward the edge of town.

“What did you find?” he asked.

“I found a few local spots.” I bent the truth. “I’m going to have to do some excavating.”

Luc acknowledged this tripe with a suitably suspicious nod.

We took a quiet ride to Dumitra. Certainly I could not have told a convincing tale to Luc. My body felt strange as well, legs all numb, much like they had been inside that tomb, and each rush of breeze across my face felt like the opening of the lid. I shuddered several times reliving the experience. Rain began falling as we reached the village limits, and I told Luc I’d meet up with him in the morning. I ran the remaining distance to Sonia’s house. It was open, as she had told me to come and go as family, but when I stepped in she was not home.

I lay down to take a nap and awoke after dark to the sound of a thunderclap as lightning struck a nearby hill. I felt my way to the bathroom and turned on a light—Sonia was still not home. The house felt utterly empty without her, as would my life.

I washed up and looked around for what I might use as a raincoat when I heard the front door open. I ran into the front room just as Sonia walked in. I dispensed with the three kisses and went right to hugging her. I’m sure she could feel me shake as she held me tightly.

I helped her with her overcoat and took a seat at the kitchen table while she brewed coffee. Sonia looked at me, and her smile turned serious as she stared into my eyes. “I am sorry for what your heart goes through,
draga mea
.”
My dear.

“Thank you. It’s my brother. I . . .” Words failed me.

“I know. I know.” After a moment, her thoughts reached mine.
Your trip? Radu?

He was . . . how it feels to be confronted by Satan,
I thought, trying to express in my thoughts how one’s footing on earth feels altered when confronted by a being of such superior power and intellect who holds your life carelessly suspended.

He is a monstru, worse than Dalca.

I nodded. Dalca was at least predictable.

When you are around him, do not think of his demise. He will smell it on you.

Again I nodded. When I conveyed to her my memory of being thrown in the tomb, she covered my hands and looked down; her eyes watered when she looked up. Then a feeling came through, as if she had projected to me what she felt, and it was not like a guardian, but something
she
had felt long ago.

I waited for her to straighten up before continuing.
He did not respond to my offer.

That makes sense.
She paused with a thoughtful brow and downward look.
He has human spies that can observe you, see if you give away your position.

She was right, of course, because if he thought that was his only opportunity to extract information from me, I would still be there. And if he believed that I knew where his wife, Luiza, lay, he would likewise have kept me.

I continued,
He said someone would let me know. And he knows I have been staying with you.
I did not relay that he referred to her as
. Old woman.

It means you’ll be forced to trust a stranger.

Like Luc?

Your guide?

I nodded.

Well, Luc is human,
she thought.
So far you have been able to trust him, but like any human, he will let you down.

I sipped the strong coffee.
I don’t know if Radu will call me to a meeting or if I’ll have to tell his messenger where she is.

Oh, he will not entrust such a thing to another. On this matter he will deal directly with you.

I closed my eyes and considered the risk. Then, rubbing my hand over my forehead, I thought,
Whatever I choose holds risk for you.

The risk was mine when I tell where they are.

Can you leave and be safe?

“No place is safe,” she said aloud.

Several minutes passed.
Have you considered the possibility that he will not show? That he will choose to make treaty with his brother instead of war?

Yes. I will still ambush Dalca, but I hope that Radu will not be standing by and allowing Dalca to get to his wife first.

You cannot plan for all contingencies.

I nodded.

Who do you think might be able to help you set up this ambush? Someone who might know of the tomb?

An image of the priest popped into my head, since he lived next to the church.

Correct.

How old is he?

A little older than the
.
She smiled weakly.

I’ve been thinking of a weapon.

Yes?

I was thinking of a crossbow. I’ve talked to the Gypsy about his. It might be adapted to our purposes.

. Is good.

I’ll also need a laser pointer . . . maybe two laser pointers.

The device that make narrow red light?

Yes.

There are superstitions against such things here. You may have difficulty finding such a thing.

I nodded, but I remembered seeing one in the street shops in
that sold cheap electronics and stolen cell phones.

“The best-made plans are born of a sound sleep,” she said aloud.

We closed our conversation and I went to bed. Despite my intentions of rest, the face of my brother kept invading. From the day he dressed to go to America until seminary graduation day, his smiles never quite reached his eyes, as if he did not deserve a moment’s happiness. Or perhaps he felt greedy for taking what was meant for someone else. I tried not to think of his fate.