. . Wait, I think I’ve got something.”
He pulls his arm out of the casket, and he is clutching an envelope in his hand that is sealed with red wax. Bram dusts it off and holds it up.
“It is addressed to you,” Vambéry says under his breath.
Thornley and Matilda have climbed down from the wagon at this point and have come close as Bram tears the envelope open and unfolds the single page it contains:
I welcome you to this lovely land. Bring them to me. Bring them all to me.
—D
Bram crumples the letter up and tosses it into the bushes. “He is toying with us, trying to slow us down.”
In the distance, they hear the howl of one wolf being answered by the howl of another. The horses stomp their hooves nervously in response.
“We should keep moving,” Thornley tells them.
Bram quickly fills the grave, and they all climb back into the wagon. Thornley urges the horses on again and they reluctantly obey, moving at a speed a little slower than earlier.
Above, dark clouds churn and roll towards them, bringing a breeze that seems to carry ice; then the sun reappears, pushing it all back. Bram fears the storm might win, though, for the light loses strength with each volley. He pictures Dracul summoning these clouds, the thunder and lightning becoming audience to what is to come.
They press on.
Every now and then, the horses toss up their heads and sniff the air, but then continue on without incident. The Isar River flows to the west, where the ground is littered with sweet chestnuts. If allowed, the horses might stop and eat the nuts, but today they show little interest. Instead, they plod along, chestnuts crunching under hoof and wheel. It is only when they are asked to stand that they paw the ground with their hooves.
They cross a small stone bridge, then continue uphill, the road narrowing as the wagon somewhat awkwardly reaches the plateau at the top. Thornley pulls back on the reins and brings the team to a halt. “Is that where we’re to go?”
He is pointing at a path that breaks away from the main road and seems to dip down into a little winding valley, the floor of which is lost in the forest.
Again, Bram places his hand on the crate containing Ellen. A moment later, he nods his head. “Not much farther now.”
Thornley maneuvers the heavy wagon onto the narrow road and drives on.
“Do you see someone?” Matilda asks nearly an hour later, breaking the silence. “Down there, near the crest of that hill. Is that a man?”
Bram follows her gaze and sees him, too. A tall thin man standing off to one side of the overgrown road. He remains perfectly still as he watches them watching him.
“Is that Dracul?” Vambéry, squinting, inquires.
Bram shakes his head. “No, I have never seen this man before.”
The man is attired in a white shirt tucked into baggy, dirty white trousers, and he is wearing a cowboy hat. There is an enormous belt cinched around his midsection studded with brass nailheads. His black boots come nearly to his knees. A thick black mustache bisects his face, and his hair is long and black.
Bram’s arm begins to itch, and he reaches out and touches the edge of Ellen’s crate.
“What is it?” Matilda says.
“He’s not alone. I think they’ve been following us for some time now. A dozen of them, maybe more.”
Vambéry reaches into the satchel at his feet and wraps his hand around the stock of the rifle without removing it.
Bram closes his eyes, his mind listening to Ellen. “They’re only watching; I don’t think they intend to hurt us.”
“They do not look like locals,” Vambéry points out.
“I don’t think they are.”
“Are they undead?” Matilda asks.
Vambéry shakes his head. “Not if they are out in the daylight.”
The man is gone when Bram opens his eyes, having vanished into the woods. But Bram can still feel his presence, though, him and others