Not long after, they stepped out into the cool autumn air, their hostess and her husband following themout onto the front lawn. While the man collected their luggage, the woman wore an expression of such grave concern that Mina stopped in her tracks.
“Must you go?” the woman asked, her eyes filled with pity. “It’s not safe in the mountains.”
Mina stepped closer, concern spreading through her chest. “Why not? What’s unsafe about them?”
The woman looked from left to right, then leaned in. “The mountains are not the danger,” she said. “It’s what lives in them.” A chill ran down Mina’s spine as she took in the fear in the woman’s eyes.
Jonathan took a step forward, his smile a placating one. “I assure you, I will take good care of her.”
The gruff voice of the woman’s husband came from just behind her as he stooped to collect their bags, his words thickly accented. “Man cannot defend against mountain danger. Only God can save you there.”
The wife crossed herself quickly, as if to ward off the mere thought of whatever lay in the mountains ahead.
Jonathan let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Quite right,” he said. “We shall have to do our best, then.”
But the man did not so much as smile, moving past them with the luggage in hand and heading toward the post station where they were to catch the coach.
“Come along, Mina,”Jonathan said.
Mina offered the woman a tight smile. “We will be fine. Thank you for everything.” She turned away, but the woman called after her.
“Wait.” With a timid smile, the woman lifted a small crucifix from around her neck—the figure of Christ carved roughly into dark wood, the cross strung on a coarse woolen cord—and held it out to Mina. “For your mother’s sake.”
Mina didn’t have the heart to tell her that her mother had passed long ago, so she nodded, allowing the woman to place it over her head. Despite the kindness of the gesture, as Mina looked down at the crucifix around her neck, she couldn’t help but wonder what was in those mountains that could inspire such fear. Surely this had to be about something more than the wolves she’d heard the night prior, but if the Count’s family had lived there for so many years, it couldn’t be unreasonably dangerous.
“Thank you,” Mina said, uncertain of how else to respond. The woman spoke again, but this time bowed her head and placed her hands on Mina’s shoulders, murmuring a prayer in her native tongue.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Jonathan said, drawing Mina across the stone path and toward the road. “I’m afraid we must be on our way if we wish to reach Castle Dracula by nightfall.”
The woman crossed herself once more.
As Mina followed Jonathan toward the post station, concern rose in her chest. Was the journey through these mountains particularly perilous? Was the woman this worried for each person who stayed at the inn? It seemed unlikely, but as they neared the cluster of people gathered around the station, Mina’s thoughts were drawn elsewhere. She had assumed they were all waiting to board the coach, but as she and Jonathan approached, the group turned, whispering amongst themselves and watching them pass.
She turned to Jonathan then, but before she could ask what was happening, he muttered something under his breath, a word she did not recognize.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“Something the man said.Strigoi,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder toward the innkeeper, who was now speaking with the driver after seeing to their luggage. “I’ve heard that word before. Remind me to consult my polyglot dictionary once we’re on the coach.”
Mina sighed, already feeling weary from the morning.
The driver—a stocky man with a thick mustache—stood beside his horses, deep in conversation with the innkeeper and another man. They were speaking in Romanian, and as Jonathan approached, they fell silent at once.
“Is this the coach to Borgo Pass?” Jonathan asked. “Toward Bukovina?”
The driver did not immediately respond but glanced at the innkeeper before nodding. “Yes. Bukovina.”
“Thank you,” Jonathan said with a smile, leading Mina toward the rear of the vehicle. He reached out his hand, and she gathered her skirts as she stepped up onto the ledge, careful to keep the fabric from brushing against the mud-caked wheels.
Two wooden benches ran the length of the coach, set opposite one another rather than facing forward. A handful of passengers were already seated inside, and Mina took an empty spot on the hard seat, Jonathan following behind her.
As Jonathan began to rummage through his briefcase, Mina glanced over her shoulder. Through the window, she watched as one of the locals tapped the driver on the arm, gesturing toward the vehicle as he spoke.
“They seem displeased,” she said quietly. “Do you think they’re upset with us?”
“Unlikely,” Jonathan replied, pulling out his dictionary and flipping through the pages.
Mina looked back at the driver and the innkeeper, then toward the crowd surrounding the coach. Men and women alike were staring into the vehicle, their expressions ranging from fear to pity to distrust.
