Whitby. He came here tonight to spirit her away. We only served to slow him down.”
“What about Ellen?” Matilda asked.
“Ellen is on her way there as well, of this I am certain,” I said.
“How can you know?”
My arm was itching incredibly, and for the first time in many years that cord binding me to Ellen tugged at my imagination, the link I thought as a child I was only imagining.
“I just know.”
But what I could not know was whether I was using this shackle to follow Ellen or if Ellen was using it to bring me to her, as an offering to this Dracul. Regardless, I was certain of one thing: answers were buried at the end of this path of questions.
Vambéry eyed me but uttered not a word. He was focused on my hand, where the burn had once inflicted pain but which festered no more and was now healed.
Thornley returned to the table and sat beside him. “Armin, you have been a tremendous help, more so than I could have ever hoped. I cannot ask you to come with us, that would be too much, you have given so much already.”
Vambéry said, “Enough! Of course I will accompany you. If you are going to march to your death, the least I can do is bear witness. We will need supplies, though; I will begin gathering them at once. We should be prepared to leave at first light.”
NOW
The man is glaring at him.
A shiver crept up Bram’s spine, as if this dark entity had reached out and caressed his cheek.
At the man’s feet, the coiled remains of the two snakes spasmed and twisted in the muddied grass. Bram watches in awe as the mucky mess surrounding them begins to bubble and the serpents are swallowed beneath the surface, the beady black eyes of one of the snakes locked on him still as its ugly head disappears from view.
A fog begins to collect then, rising from the still erupting earth like some ungodly steam. First it gathers only around the man, but then it spreads out from him, growing wider in a concentric circle configuration, fanning out until it reaches the tower and begins to wrap around it in some kind of embrace. Bram advances to the other window and sees that the soil has begun to bubble on that side of the castle as well, the grass simmering with steam, followed by the expulsion of fog. The mysterious mist hovers near the ground, rising no more than a foot or two, but within ten minutes the entire structure is shrouded.
The man’s eyes never leave Bram, although he appears to be in deep concentration. He flexes his hands at his side, stretching his fingers out straight, his long nails pointing to the earth. Then, in a fluid motion, he lowers himself to the ground and plunges his fingertips into the dirt. The fog stirs around him, swirling slowly then gaining speed. If a wind drives this, Bram does not feel it; the air inside the room lies still.
In an instant, the fog vanishes, as Bram watches it first sink to the ground, then disappear as it is sucked beneath by some unseen force, an inhaled breath.
All goes quiet, so quiet that when someone speaks from behind the door, Bram startles.
He is coming for you, it says in that little girl’s voice.
With that, the boiling mud around the man begins to stir as snakes break the surface—thousands of snakes, of all colors and sizes, wiggling out from the hell below.
LETTER FROM MATILDA to ELLEN CRONE, DATED 16 AUGUST 1868
My dearest Ellen,
I will not restate the occurrences of the past few days, for no doubt you already know. I can only assume the tall man, the one we refer to as Dracul, has informed you. I also believe that the link Bram shares with you allows you, in some way, to monitor him. You must know, therefore, that we are on our way to Whitby.
We boarded a ship in Dublin called the RMS Leinster and crossed the Irish Sea with little difficulty—unless, of course, you consider the two large trunks our Mr.