“But they’re looking at us,” she whispered.
“Ah,” Jonathan said, a note of triumph in his voice. “Strigoi.I knew I’d heard the word before.”
Mina glanced between him and the book, her brow furrowed. “And what does it mean?”
Two more people climbed onto the coach, squeezing past them to fill the remaining space on the bench opposite. Jonathan gave a small sound of amusement, his attention still fixed upon the page.
“More superstitions,” he said, closing the book with a thud. “They seem to be speaking of a demon—or rather, a vampire. Fascinating.”
Mina frowned, her only reference to any such creature being tales of fiction. She recalled much chatter about a penny dreadful from years prior—Varney the Vampire—which spoke of a ghastly creature with the sharp teeth of an animal, its long nails like claws scraping against a window in the dead of the night.
“Do they believe these strigoilive in the Carpathian Mountains?” she asked, trying to make sense of the odd behavior.
Jonathan shrugged. “I couldn’t say.” He smiled then, amusement glinting in his pale blue eyes. “Perhaps they believe it is we who are the strigoi. Something foreign. Otherworldly.”
Mina swallowed, not finding the suggestion at all reassuring. It was foolish to believe such creatures could exist—demonic creatures that hunted in the night, fed upon the blood of the living, and endured for all of eternity. Yet the number of people who seemed to give such weight to these beliefs—who seemed to expect they might encounter such things in these mountains—did little to put her mind at ease.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Jonathan said, seeming to read the hesitation on her face. “Superstition is nothing more than a lack of information. And this is an old culture where superstition runs deep.” He sat back, placing his ankle over the opposite knee. “You know, I once read that every known superstition in the world has been gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians. Like a whirlpool of fables. We shall have to ask the Count about these tales.”
“Yes,” Mina said, aware of the uneasy glances still flicking in their direction, “we shall.”
CHAPTER6
The journey was long, but the view softened its toll. All around them were green fields and valleys, the sky a vibrant blue despite the autumn chill in the air. In the distance were white-capped mountains, and for the first time in days, Mina found herself filled with a sense of wonder. There was much unknown that lay ahead, but surely things couldn’t be too bad if she were to live in a place with so much beauty.
Jonathan passed the time in his paperwork, reading through documents even as the coach jostled over rocks and potholes in the road. They were surrounded by the steady chatter of the other passengers, though as the journey went on, fear began to weave itself into their tones. Mina found herself increasingly on edge despite not understanding the language.
The feeling only deepened when they passed a small wooden cross planted into the side of the road. At once, the entire coach crossed themselves upon seeing it. Mina reached for the crucifix around her neck, her thumb tracing the grooves in the wood. She had never been a religious woman, but something about itoffered a small measure of comfort after the earlier talk of strigoi and the dangers said to lurk in the mountains.
They made a few stops along their journey, each more remote than the last, and as the sun began to set, the sky filled with soft shades of pink and lavender. With fewer passengers remaining, the chatter inside the coach gradually faded. The air had grown colder, great grey rocks rising on either side as the road steepened, at times giving the sensation of climbing straight into the sky. Fog hung in the air around them, thin at first, then thick as though they were driving directly through a cloud.
Eventually, the wall of rock to the right sloped downward, and despite the gloom that dampened their vision, Mina felt a measure of relief at the sight of the distant tree tops cutting through the grey mist. By the time the last traces of light had vanished from the sky—leaving them in darkness save for the lanterns the driver paused to light—a tense anticipation hung in the air.
“We must be approaching the pass,” Jonathan said, looking up ahead. Mina glanced forward as well, but could see nothing beyond a veil of shadows and mist.
When the coach came to a stop, no one moved but Jonathan. Mina rose into a crouch and followed him down from the vehicle, keenly aware of the tension among those who remained inside. As she passed an older woman clutching a rosary andmurmuring prayers under her breath, genuine fear seemed to radiate off her, and the sight sent Mina’s heart racing.
Stepping into the dark night, Mina was met with a sharp, icy wind, the chill slipping down her spine despite the weight of her cloak. On one side of the pass was a wall of stone that disappeared into the gloom above, and on the other side was the cliff’s edge, with only the occasional treetop to reveal how steep the drop truly was. She supposed that if these strigoi did truly exist, she could see why this place might be their home—cold, isolated, and wrapped in a lingering fog which made it difficult to see in either direction.
The driver pulled their luggage from the coach, moving with such haste that alarm surrounded Mina on all sides, pressing in like the fog.
“Is this where the carriage will meet us?” she asked Jonathan. She’d known the castle must be isolated, but she hadn’t anticipated quite this level of wilderness.
A twig snapped in the distance, and she looked out into the gloom, her heart pounding.
“This is Borgo Pass, is it not?” Jonathan asked the driver.
The man nodded, glancing at his watch as though eager to be on his way.
“We must keep moving,” the driver said, climbing back into his seat at the front of the coach. “If he is not here yet, perhaps he will not come this evening. You should come along to Bukovina instead. Return tomorrow.”
Mina frowned, and Jonathan let out a small laugh of confusion. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.” They all looked down the road ahead, staring into a wall of black and grey.
The horses began to shift, squirming in their harnesses.
“It is not safe on these mountains,” the driver said. “The dogs are too wild, fierce. We must go.” His eyes darted around, as though afraid of what might step out of the darkness.
Mina looked over her shoulder for any sign of danger, but heard only a deep groan of wind rustling through the trees. Surely a man such as this, who’d taken this path many times, would not be so easily unsettled without cause.
