are all red-roofed. Overlooking the town is the abbey, a noble ruin of immense size. Between it and the town is the parish church—St. Mary’s, I was to learn later—around which lies a capacious graveyard, chockablock with tombstones. The grade of the hill is so steep over the harbor that part of its bank has given way and some of the graves violated. Vambéry had pointed to this sad development when first we arrived. “Many of those tombs are empty, the headstones there just to placate the loved ones of those lost to the sea.” This explanation did not erase the image in my mind of the cliff breaking away and the bodies of the buried falling to the waves below.
To reach the graveyard from the street, one must climb one hundred and ninety-nine steps—no simple feat, considering how steep the hill is and how strong the winds are blowing off the sea. At the top of the steps stands the church and abbey.
I was drawn to the summit of this hill and its abbey.
Even before Vambéry left word for Thornley and me to meet him in the lobby of the inn, I knew we would be climbing those steps soon.
* * *
? ? ?
17 AUGUST 1868, 4:13 p.m.—“I have spent the past few hours in search of information,” Vambéry told us, “anything my contacts might share that may be of use to us.”
The four of us sat around a table at a small outdoor pub on Church Street, with the abbey looming over us in the distance. The blue sky of earlier was gone, replaced with one of dull gray and thick clouds. There was rain in our future, but none as of yet. A fog hung over the harbor, threatening to roll in.
“I would have gone with you,” I said.
Vambéry waved me off. “You needed to get some rest, all of you, for what lies ahead. I got plenty of rest in my younger years and have little need for sleep now.”
“You have friends here?” I think the question came across more skeptical than Matilda had intended, and her face reddened.
“I have friends everywhere, my dear. In my line of work, one can never have too many friends.”
At this point, we all knew better than to ask him what that line of work was, so we said nothing.
“Ellen is very close, I am sure of it,” I said.
“What about Emily?” Thornley asked.
“I don’t know.” This was the truth. While I could most definitely sense Ellen nearby, I had no connection to Emily. “Ellen feels as if she is sitting at this table with us. I believe she’s watching us right now. The daylight is fearsome to her; it makes her feel vulnerable, so she stays within the shadows, but close, very close.”
“What about the tall man, Dracul?” Vambéry asked. “Can you feel him?”
I could not, and I told him so. “But when I think about him, I believe Ellen can feel him. In fact, I know Ellen can feel him. I don’t believe he is in Whitby yet, but he will be soon. She waits for him to arrive . . . yes, she is watching us and waiting for him.” I said these words slowly, as they came to me. I couldn’t explain this bond between Ellen and me, but it seemed to be strengthening, allowing me to reach out and pluck thoughts from her mind. I couldn’t help but wonder: If she were doing the same, would I know?
“I want you to try something, Bram. I want you to think about Emily while focusing on Ellen as she thinks about Dracul. Think of Emily in Ellen’s mind. Does she know where Emily is?”
My eyes closed, and Vambéry said these words in a soothing voice, a monotone; I found his tone put me in a dreamy state, on the verge of sleep. “Plant the thought in Ellen’s mind, then try to capture the result.”
I did as he requested, then said, “Yes, Emily is with the tall man. A dark, dismal place. Waiting. Anxious. No rest. Rocking. Rocking with the sea? Wait, no, not anymore. Coach. They