In addition to the Vlads, there were women dressed in furs, holding up carved wolf heads on sticks—wolf heads with serpent bodies, the symbol of the Dacians, which made me briefly think of Valentin’s campfire stories.
Costumes. Wares. Food. White lights and banners strung between the medieval buildings. It was a feast for the eyes and ears. Unfortunately, we weren’t here to celebrate.
We had a baroness to find: Lady Maria Kardos, Lovena’s sister.
And hopefully my father.
“Lovena said their family home was up a hill in the center of town,” I reminded Huck.
“More than one hill,” he said, twisting to reach inside his rucksack. He pulled out one of the travel brochures that he’d picked up at the train station, and we tried get our bearings from a small map of the citadel. Fragile snowflakes dotted the folded paper, leaving wet spots as they melted.
“Looks like there’s a public square up ahead,” I said, pointing it out. “Maybe we can ask around there. Lovena said anyone could tell us where to find the baroness’s house.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Huck said. “You lead the way.”
As twilight turned into night, we headed into the town square, and I looked for a good place to stop and ask directions. There were several wine cellars and street cafés, but they were overflowing with knights and warriors and dark-haired maidens, huzzah! All of them costumed and mildly crocked.
“What’s that?” I said, pointing to a mustard-yellow three-story home in the middle of the square. Snow was collecting on its slanting black roof and window baskets. A line of people extended from its front door, over which a wrought-iron dragon sign jutted.
“Why, I do believe that’s dear old Papa Vlad’s former home,” Huck said. “Where a wee Vlad the Impaler was born.”
A chill ran through me, and it wasn’t because my nose was beginning to freeze. I pulled the lapel of my coat together at my neck and stood on tiptoes to get a better look at the painted canvas banner that hung from two of the building’s windows. “?‘Dracule?ti Family Living Museum. Grand Opening,’?” I translated for Huck. “They’ve turned his childhood home into a tourist trap.”
“He must be rolling over in his grave,” Huck said and added, “Wherever that is, because it damn sure wasn’t under a massive pile of very heavy rocks in a cave outside Tokat.”
“You know what they say. One man’s pile of rocks is another man’s treasure.”
Huck laughed. “I’ve taught you well. Wait—where are you going?”
“To Vlad’s house, of course. We’d be idiots to pass it by. That is the first place my father would visit here.”
“Doubt we can afford the admission,” Huck pointed out.
Right. Thatwasa problem. We were virtually broke.
It wouldn’t hurt to look a little closer, though, would it?
We snaked through the crowded square and slowed as we approached a line of people waiting to buy tickets from a small portable booth that had been set up outside the door. I lingered near the front of the line in hopes of asking the pink-cheeked ticket seller if possibly she’d seen my father. But at that moment the door was held open for several seconds to allow for a couple of tourists to step into what appeared to be a staged re-creation of a medieval home (roaring fireplace, wooden chairs). And in the middle of the room, I spotted an enormous figure. Big as a bear, dark hair. His back faced me, and he was leaning over a glass display case filled with small medieval weapons and tools.
My pulse sped like a downhill bicycle, picking up speed.
Without thought, I shouldered my way around the people waiting in line and burst through the entrance before the door could shut again, ignoring protests and heated Romanian cursing about my lack of manners.
Inside the house, it smelled of fireplace smoke and that peculiar scent that really old homes always have—generations of dust, must, and mold. For a moment my ears started ringing and my balance felt... off. A wave of dizziness struck me. Maybe my body was just briefly shocked, coming in from the cold to stifling heat. I shook it away and continued toward the display case.
“Father!” I called out.
He didn’t budge. I caught up to him and touched his arm. He swung around, curious, and just like that, my billowing hope was burst.
A stranger stared back at me. Just a middle-aged Romanian man with a red nose and a gold cross around his neck.
“Pardon,” I mumbled to the man, feeling the sting of my mistake. What was I thinking? That Father would just be casually browsing a museum without a care in the world while Huck and I were penniless and alone in a foreign country?
“Theo,” Huck said, breathless. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
“I thought...”
Ugh. I felt like a complete idiot. And another wave of dizziness hit me—not insignificant this time. I gripped Huck’s arm for support.
