CHAPTER 3
The next few days involved travel of all manner—a train to Dover, a ferry to Calais, another train to Munich. With every hour they journeyed, Mina felt more disconnected from the only life she’d known, yet what lay ahead was still unclear, and when she let her mind linger for too long, a cold dread gnawed at her.
In the brief moments when Jonathan turned away from her, often stopping to ask a local for directions, Mina considered how easily she could slip away. She could disappear into a crowd and avoid her responsibility entirely—it would be cowardly, but Jonathan would forgive her eventually.
But then she thought of her aunt, of the many ways in which the woman had been like a mother to her. Mina’s father had made a fool’s wager, gambling away his only daughter’s hand in marriage to a stranger, and he had lost. But if Mina didn’t follow through, that left Aunt Emily to deal with the consequences. The woman had done enough in the years after Mina’s mother had died, making sacrifices for her family as any good woman would. Now it was Mina’s turn to sacrifice, to adhere to a lifeshe didn’t particularly want for herself, but one that was for the good of those around her. And so, she did not run.
By the third day of the trip, Mina’s bones ached from the days of sitting in jostling carts and the nights sleeping on stiff mattresses stuffed with hay. The carriage rocked and shuddered over the stony path that led to their final inn of the journey. Bistritz was the last village before the incline up the Carpathian Mountains—about a day’s trip to Castle Dracula. It was just after dusk, and to the east, the sky was a deep blue, a smattering of pink and lavender sneaking beyond the horizon to the west. Straight ahead, a great mass of mountains loomed in the distance, reminding Mina of her final destination.
As they pulled farther into the village, an uncanny stillness lay along the dirt roads. They were surrounded on either side by cottages that had smoke coming from chimneys and the sound of dogs barking elsewhere in the community—all signs that the town of Bistritz was far from abandoned, yet the streets themselves were empty of anyone. As Mina looked more closely at each home, she noticed the occasional shift of curtains within windows as unseen eyes watched the carriage drive past. A strange feeling twisted in her stomach, and she glanced at Jonathan to see what he was making of it all.
“Quiet little village, isn’t it?” he said upon catching her gaze. He gave her a smile likely meant to comfort her, but the smile didn’t reach his pale blue eyes.
She turned back toward the road, relief easing her chest when she saw a man up ahead, bringing in laundry off a clothesline. For a moment, Mina wondered how much the roles of the Transylvanian people differed from those of the English—for as much as London was progressive, it was not often a husband would be the one tending to the laundry. But as they neared, Mina noticed the speed with which the man was pulling the clothes from the line—practically ripping the items free and throwing them into the basket that sat on the ground a few feet away. She found herself transfixed, turning in her seat to watch as the man scooped up the basket and ran back to his cottage as though he were being chased by a wolf, the door slamming shut behind him.
The carriage rounded a bend in the road and her view was blocked by the side of another cottage, yet she couldn’t stop picturing the look on the man’s face. It was almost one of . . . fear. But that couldn’t be right. She’d seen no sign of danger, and there was certainly no one else occupying these streets to threaten him. What could a man possibly have to fear in this quaint village with the sun not even fully set yet? Was he fearful ofthem? Of the sudden appearance of their carriage? She couldn’t imagine there was much activity in the way of tourism, but could that truly be the cause of the entire village being so empty?
Mina was still pondering this as the carriage slowed a few minutes later, coming to a stop before the small inn. It lookednot much different from the other cottages along the path they’d taken—the red shingled roof with smoke curling from its chimney. The only indication that it was not a family home was a small sign that swayed back and forth in the breeze, its hinges groaning. The sun had dipped beyond the horizon now, and darkness was falling over the village with haste.
Jonathan stepped out of the carriage first, turning back to offer his hand to Mina as the driver fetched their luggage. As Mina stepped out into the evening air, standing before the small front yard, she found herself strangely disoriented. It was eerily quiet, the only sounds those of their own arrival now, and it took a moment before she realized that not a single light was lit outside any of the cottages. The street was cloaked in navy, the night only growing darker with each passing moment.
“Does something feel odd to you?” she asked Jonathan, trying to ease the sense of wrongness building in her chest.
“Odd?” he asked, lending her his arm as he led them down the stone steps within the grass.
“We’ve seen only one man on this entire stretch of road,” she said, her voice low in fear that the driver might hear her and take offense.
“It’s not uncommon in rural parts such as these,” Jonathan said airily.
He lifted his hand and knocked on the wooden door, but then a horse’s neigh came from behind them. Mina turned to find the carriage taking off into the shadows. She spotted theirsuitcases placed at the edge of the yard, but the haste with which the driver had fled only furthered the unease within her.
“Well, he was in a hurry, wasn’t he?” Jonathan said. She crossed her arms against the chill.
A wolf’s howl sounded in the distance, and she wondered if that was the cause for Bistritz’s empty streets. Did they have a great many wolves that roamed through the darkness? She supposed they were in such close proximity to the mountains that it was plausible.
The inn’s front door opened with a groan, just enough for a small, older woman to eye them warily through the gap. Mina could see only her greying hair, the creases in her skin, and a crucifix that hung from her neck.
“Who are you?” the woman asked in English, though her words were thickly accented.
“Jonathan Harker,” he said, reaching out a hand before realizing the woman would not take it. “And this is Miss Mina Murray. The Count arranged our stay.”
The woman lifted her hand, making the sign of the cross before her. “Herr Englishman,” she said, though she made no move to open the door any wider. A deep voice came from farther inside the room, and a burly man stepped into view. He had a dark mustache that fed into a hefty beard, and based on his age, he seemed likely to be the woman’s husband.
The couple exchanged a few words in a language Mina couldn’t decipher but assumed to be Romanian. After amoment, the woman pulled open the door and stepped aside just enough for a person to slip through.
“Come,” she said, not straying far from the door, as if she might need to slam it shut behind them. Mina and Jonathan squeezed past her, stepping into a small room taken up mostly by a large wooden table with a long bench on either side. A stone hearth lay across from them with a crackling fire, and to the right was a set of narrow wooden stairs leading upward to the second floor. Between the two was a doorway that seemed to lead into a kitchen.
The couple spoke to one another in hushed voices, their tones hinting at some sort of conflict between them. Mina turned away, not wanting to eavesdrop, though she didn’t speak the language, and instead looked around the room, taking notice of the many religious figures that ornamented the walls. A rosary hung above a small window, a painting of the Virgin Mary was set to the left of the fireplace, and a crucifix was nailed above the front door.
Finally, the older man sighed deeply and walked out into the night. Mina wondered if he’d gone to get their luggage, and a pang of guilt ran through her. She couldn’t blame the man for not being eager to venture out into the shadows if her theory about the wolves was correct. The innkeeper’s wife, however, did not seem concerned, and she swiftly shut the door behind him.
“You are hungry?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” Jonathan said. “Supper would be lovely if you have it.”
Mina gave a nod of agreement, and the woman smiled before walking across the room and disappearing through the doorway. The sounds of dishes clanging together spilled out from the kitchen as Mina eased onto one of the wooden benches before the table, her back to the door.
“Well, this is quite cozy,” Jonathan said, turning to Mina. “Hopefully the beds are comfortable.”
