“I’m afraid we cannot,” Jonathan said. “We have business with the Count.”
A gasp rose from within the coach, and Mina glanced inside to see the three remaining passengers bowing their heads in prayer. Before she could wonder further about their visible distress, the clap of hooves echoed through the silence.
As Mina looked toward the darkness ahead, a distant glow spilled through the shadows. It moved swiftly—so swiftly that she stepped back, a flicker of fear taking hold as she wondered whether the two vehicles might collide.
A calèche slid into view, coming to a stop just next to the coach. It was small enough for just two passengers in the back, topped with a curved roof made of leather or some sort of canvas, leaving the front completely exposed to the elements. Atthe head was a single horse, its fur black as coal and its bones so pharaonic that it towered over the horses leading the coach.
“You are early this evening,” the calèche driver called, his eyes fixed on the coach. The man had a long black mustache and a top hat upon his head that hadn’t shifted despite the speed with which they’d arrived. Mina glanced at the driver of the coach, seeing that, even at a distance, the man had gone rigid. She had the distinct impression of watching a mouse go still at the arrival of a cat.
“I apologize,” the coach driver replied, a slight wobble in his voice.
The calèche driver seemed to smirk as he stepped down from his vehicle, though Mina couldn’t be sure if it was real or merely a trick of the light as the lantern’s shadows moved across his face. He was tall and thin and moved with a grace that was almost otherworldly. Mina couldn’t help but hear the whispers of those in Bistritz—strigoi.
She imagined the creature she had read about long ago—skin as pale as moonlight, eyes shining silver, fang-like teeth. But just as quickly as the thought took hold, she forced it aside. The superstitions of the people in these mountains were getting to her. This man had none of those signs—not the fang-like teeth, nor the luminous eyes, nor the claws customary of such a fable.
“Lucky for you,” the calèche driver said, “my horses are swift.”
The coach driver uttered something under his breath, and though the words were unfamiliar to Mina, Jonathan straightened, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. The calèche driver appeared to catch it as well, for he paused, his gaze lingering on the coachman for several long moments before crossing the distance to where Mina and Jonathan stood.
“Miss Murray and Mr. Harker?” he asked, reaching for their luggage.
“Yes, that’s us,” Jonathan said, his spirits seemingly renewed. “And you are from Castle Dracula, I presume?”
The crack of a whip cut through the night, and the coach took off, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. Something about the driver’s evident fear unsettled Mina. Did he truly believe this man to be something inhuman? Or was it something else entirely—something to do with the Count’s noble reach?
“That is correct, sir. I am Vasile,” the man said. “Let us carry on to the castle.” He gestured for them to climb inside, then turned to strap their luggage to the back of the vehicle.
“That driver is in quite a hurry, isn’t he?” Jonathan said with a laugh as he helped Mina into the carriage.
“It is not so unusual,” Vasile replied. “You will find that many are fearful of what lurks in these mountains.” As Jonathan and Mina settled into their seat, the man laid a thick blanket over their laps and took his place at the front of the calèche.
“And what is it in these mountains that they fear?” Mina asked.
The driver looked down at her, the only light coming from the lantern fixed at the front of the calèche. The gesture sent a shiver through her, and she pulled the blanket up higher, disguising the reaction as only a response to the cold.
“That depends on who you ask,” he said.
“We’ve already seen our share of that today,” Jonathan said. “Was that a Bürger reference I heard from the driver?”
Vasile turned around, gathering the reins in his hands.
Jonathan went on, “‘Denn die Todten reiten schnell.’”
“You have a good ear, Mr. Harker,” the driver said, without looking back.
“What does it mean?” Mina asked.
“It was from ‘Lenore’,” Jonathan said, clearly pleased by her interest. “It translates to something to the effect of, ‘For the dead travel fast.’” He opened his mouth to explain further, but before another word could be uttered, the calèche lurched forward, throwing them back against their seats.
Mina’s heart lurched as they sped up the mountainside, and she grasped the bench beneath her. The wind swept past them, the thunder of hooves trailing into the night around them. She glanced to the right, peering over the cliff’s edge and finding only darkness, as though the world ceased to exist beyond the edge. She eased back against her seat, taking deep breaths.
The mountain grew steeper, and Mina felt as though the carriage would soon be vertical as they carried on, the air growing colder with every spin of the wheels. Then the dirt road widened, and they were surrounded by trees.
From the shadowed forest came a guttural howl. She thought of the wolf calls she had heard while in the village, and alarm coursed through her.
The carriage offered no protection—neither from the elements nor from whatever might be stalking them in the dark—and she was suddenly grateful for the driver’s hurried pace.
The howl came again. Then another joined it. Soon there were more, the terrifying cacophony closing in on them from all sides.
