A vision of the impaled body crossed my mind. I set down my meat pie, suddenly not very hungry. “Dreadful, actually.” I gave a clinical account of the man on the train and the injuries he’d sustained. Ileana’s bronze face had gone pale as a specter’s. “I didn’t get a chance to see exactly what had been shoved into his mouth. However, it was organic in nature and was a whitish color. The smell was… pungent yet familiar, though.”
“Usturoi,” Anastasia whispered, eyes wide.
“What is that?”
“Garlic. I’ve read it’s placed in the mouths of those believed to be… the English call them vampires.”
“That’s actually from a gothic novel.” Ileana snorted. “Strigoi are disposed of differently here.”
I thought back to the organic substance. It definitely fit the description of garlic, and it explained the scent. “My friend said strigoi are burned,” I said carefully. “And all those affected drink the ashes.”
“How vile.” Anastasia sat forward, ravenous for more information. She reminded me of my cousin, except where Liza was obsessed with danger dashed with romance, Anastasia seemed excited solely by the danger part. “Do peasants still do such things here? In Hungary, some villagers are stuck in the old ways. Very superstitious.”
“You’re Hungarian?” I asked. Anastasia nodded. “But you also speak Romanian?”
“Of course. We’re taught it along with our own language. I also know Italian quite well. Not that I get to use it with your classmates.” She shifted her focus to Ileana. I watched the way the maid twisted her napkin in her lap, doing her best to avoid noticing Anastasia’s intent gaze. “How do villagers identify strigoi in town? Or is it like a secret society? Like that of the dragonists?”
My attention snapped back to Anastasia. I could have sworn the illustration was burning a hole in my skirt pocket. For a moment, I felt the need to protect this drawing, keep it hidden from everyone until I discovered its origins. Which made absolutely no sense. I withdrew the parchment and set it on the table. “Someone left this in my train compartment after the murder. Do you know what it means, if anything?”
Anastasia stared at the drawing. I had a hard time reading the expression she was guarding. A moment passed.
“Have you ever heard of the Order of the Dragon?” she asked. I shook my head. “Well, they’re—”
“It’s late.” Ileana jumped to her feet and indicated the clock on the mantel. “Moldoveanu will toss me out if I don’t get to work.” She quickly gathered up our breakfast napkins and shoved the lid back on the tray with a clank that set my teeth on edge. “You both should go to the sală de mese. Moldoveanu will be watching.”
“You mean the headmaster doesn’t lock the dining hall doors after a certain time?”
Ileana gave me a pitying look. “He makes threats but doesn’t follow through.”
Without uttering another word, Ileana hurried from the room. Anastasia shook her head and stood. “Peasants are so superstitious. Even the mention of supernatural things makes them jumpy. Come”—she linked her arm through my own—“let’s introduce you to your esteemed peers.”
“Sounds as if a small herd of elephants are charging about the dining hall,” I said to Anastasia as we loitered outside the doors. Feet stomped and lids clattered, the sound of carefree conversation droning over the din.
“They certainly act like a bunch of animals.”
Anxiety twisted its way through the corridors of my innards. I peered inside the great oak doors. A few young men sat at tables, and others lined up to gather breakfast trays along the broad back wall, but Thomas wasn’t among them. I had no idea how so few men could make that much noise in such a large space. The dining hall was grand enough—with the all-white cathedral ceilings and walls trimmed with dark wood that composed the rest of the castle’s interior.
My thoughts turned to fairy tales and folklore. I could see how a castle like this would be inspiring to writers such as the Brothers Grimm. It was certainly dark enough to invoke a macabre atmosphere. I tried not to think about Father and Mother. How they’d read those stories to me and Nathaniel before bed. I needed to write to Father soon; I hoped he was feeling better. His recovery had been slow, but steady.
Suddenly I was bounced against the wall, startled from my reverie and shocked someone had not only bumped into me but also chuckled as if it weren’t an affront to a young woman.
Anastasia sighed. “Miss Wadsworth, allow me to introduce you to Professor Radu. He’ll be teaching you local folclor to round out your assessment course.”
“Oh, dear. I didn’t see you there.” Professor Radu fussed with a napkin and inadvertently dropped a piece of bread off his tray. I bent to retrieve it the same time he did, and our heads knocked together. He didn’t even blink. His skull must have been made of granite. I massaged the lump on my own head that was already forming, wincing with the throbbing. “Imi pare rău. I do apologize, Miss Wadsworth. Hope I didn’t spill my porridge on that lovely dress.”
I glanced down at myself, relieved there was no offending porridge on my skirts. With one hand I held out the fallen bread and cautiously prodded the bruise forming under my hairline again with the other. I hoped it had knocked more sense into me than out. It certainly ached enough to make me wonder, though.
“Please don’t trouble yourself, Professor,” I said. “The only thing that’s harmed is your bread, I’m afraid. And perhaps your head, thanks to mine.”
“I’m not sure it was ever all right to begin with,” Anastasia whispered.
“Er… what was that?” Radu asked, focus darting from the bread to Anastasia.
“I said I’m sure it’s still delicious,” she lied.
Plucking the dirt-speckled bread from my fingers as one might snatch a grape from the vine, he took a bite. I hoped my lip wasn’t curling the way Anastasia’s was; I didn’t want to reveal the disgust roiling in my stomach.
“Langoşi cu brânză,” he said around the mouthful of bread, bushy brows raised appreciatively. “Fried dough with feta cheese. You must try some—here.”
Before I could politely decline, he pressed a piece of the bread into my hands, squishing it when he squeezed my fingers excitedly. I did my best to smile, though a bit of grease soaked into my gloves. “Thank you, Professor. If you’ll excuse us, we’re going to meet the other students.”
Professor Radu pushed his glasses up his nose, leaving a cloudy grease smudge on one lens. “Didn’t the headmaster tell you?” He eyed us closely, then clucked. “Everyone’s clearing out now. Some will visit Braşov, if you’d care to join them. Don’t want to walk down the mountain alone, now, do you? The woods are filled with creatures that snatch children from the path and gnaw the flesh from their bones.” He sucked grease from his fingers in a show of medieval manners. “Wolves, mostly. Amongst other things.”
“Wolves are eating students?” Anastasia asked, her tone implying she didn’t believe it for an instant. “And to think Uncle didn’t warn me at all!”
“Oh! Pricolici! That will be the first myth to discuss in class,” he said. “So many delightful folklore rumors and legends to denounce and argue over.”
The mention of child-snatching wolves chilled my blood a few degrees. Perhaps I had seen signs of them while on the train, and then again in the woods close by. “What is a prico—”
“Pricolici are the spirits of murderers who come back as giant, undead wolves. Though some also believe they are wolves and they become strigoi when killed. I do hope you enjoy the lesson. Now, remember, stick to the path and don’t venture into the woods, no matter what you may see. Many, many glorious dangers there!”
He tottered off, humming a buoyant tune to himself. For a brief moment I wondered what it might be like, being so utterly lost in daydreams and fiction. Then I recalled the fantastical visions my mind had produced over the last few weeks and chided myself. “Why are they teaching folklore and mythology when the course is only four weeks long?”
“All part of the mystery you’re to unravel, I suppose.” Anastasia lifted a shoulder. “Though Uncle believes science explains most legends.”
A statement I very much concurred with, no matter how I despised agreeing with anything Moldoveanu said. I watched the professor drop his breakfast again. “I cannot believe he ate that piece of bread,” I said. “I’m certain a dead bug was stuck to it.”
“He didn’t seem to mind,” Anastasia said. “Perhaps he enjoys a bit of added protein.”
I cringed as the professor bumped into another student—a bulky, dark-blond-haired young man with a jaw too square for him to be considered handsome.
“Ai grijă, bătrâne,” the behemoth hissed at Radu before shouldering his way into the dining hall, knocking a smaller student aside without apology. Nasty brute. My Romanian was decent enough that I knew he’d told the old man to watch out.
“That charming specimen is Romanian nobility,” Anastasia said as the blond boy disappeared into the dining hall. “His friends are slightly better.”
“I can’t wait to meet them,” I said dryly. I deposited the oil-soaked bit of bread into a rubbish bin and blotted at the stain on my gloves. I’d need to fetch another pair before I left. “Why do you think students are traveling into the village?”
“I don’t know, nor do I care.” Anastasia lifted her nose in a faux-regal manner. “You won’t catch me going out in this snowy weather. I doubt the others will venture far from their chambers either. Oh! I’d meant to ask Radu if I could sit in on his lessons.” She bit her lip. “Would you mind if I caught up with you in a while? Will you be staying in?”
“If we’re not forced to go, then I don’t see why I’d leave. I’d rather explore the castle. I saw a taxidermy room I’d love to inspect.”