Kyle’s phone number was in Daisy’s list of contacts and John called it, looking out the ice-encrusted windshield at the pinkish gray clouds beyond the castle, giving a ghostly hue to the falling snow.
Nightfall descended swiftly in winter in northern Slovakia.
Kyle answered on the first ring.
“God, Daisy!”
John cleared his throat.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m—a friend, calling on her phone.”
“What kind of friend?” said Kyle, wary. “A friend who rips off her phone?”
“A real friend. I’m her therapist’s husband. Former husband.”
“What are you doing with her phone, dude?”
“OK, listen. She left the phone in her backpack in our car. I think that Daisy may have been kidnapped—”
“Kidnapped. Ah, shit!”
John heard the boy’s voice crack.
“Hang on. Don’t panic. I need your help. Betsy’s gone to look for her, but we’re in the dark.”
“Where are you?”
“Slovakia. On the Polish border.”
“Jesus! That’s where she said she’d be. She gave me coordinates in case she didn’t come back—”
“Who?”
“Daisy’s sister, Morgan.”
John stared at the creeping growth of an icicle on the passenger window. It was thin and sharp, a dagger.
“Wait. Morgan said she’s coming here?” “M” from the therapist’s report must be Morgan, he realized.
“She said something about destiny. ‘My sister’s destiny is forever my own.’ She said it like two or three times. I thought she was totally wasted.”
Through the ice on the windshield, the gray stone castle looked distorted in the distance warped like a fun house mirror.
“Do you think she’s really coming here?”
“I don’t know,” said Kyle. “She was kind of—cold and vague on the phone. Like she was making a pronouncement.”
Silence.
“So why did you call me?”
“In case you had heard from Daisy,” said John. “To see if you had any information that could help us—”
“Last word from her was on her blog, posted for all her friends. No e-mails, no calls.”
“What’s the name of her blog?”
“Aspen Goth Girl.”
“I’ll find her, Kyle,” John promised. He heard a snuffling sound on the line.
“Is she going to be OK?”
“I—I hope so,” said John. “Sure,” he added.
He tried to ignore the feeling that he was lying to the boy.
Chapter 92
ČACHTICE CASTLE
DECEMBER 28, 1610
His eyes flew open, showing white rings of terror.
His fingers grasped the sheet, and he sat up gasping for breath. He stared at the crucifix on the opposite wall.
Zuzana jumped back, spilling the jug of water she was holding.
“Where am I?” he croaked.
“Oh, Janos, Janos!” she cried, setting down the earthen pitcher and embracing him. The candlelight flickered, making their shadows dance on the plastered walls.
“Where am I?” His breath came in harsh gasps.
“Janos, calm yourself. You are within Čachtice Castle. The Countess insisted you be nursed under her roof.”
“Where—where is she?”
“I do not know. I have been by your side all along. I—”
Vida entered, bringing a bowl of soup on a tray.
“Janos!” she whispered, closing the door behind her. “The fever has broken!”
Janos stared, his eyes unfocused.
“Where is the Countess this minute?” he repeated. “I smelt the burnt bone of evil, even in my sleep.”
Zuzana and Vida exchanged looks. He was still haunted by the fever.
Vida shuddered. “The brazen witch tortures young women now above the dungeon. She has been in the east courtyard, laughing as women freeze to death begging for mercy.”
“Are they there now?”
“No, the guards have thrown their frozen bodies over the walls, after draining them of blood. The night wolves will devour them and carry off their bones.”
Janos raised himself in bed, his trembling elbow barely supporting him.
“Tell Aloyz to ready my horse. I must ride to Vienna,” he said.
“Janos, you are too weak,” said Zuzana. “You could never make the journey.”
“I must tell the King. I do not trust Count Thurzo. She should have been arrested by now!”
“You must let us help,” Zuzana insisted. “I can ride. You know I can.”
Janos stared at her. A memory flashed of the little girl who galloped her pony in the hillside meadows of Esztergom.
“I know the way to Vienna,” she said; she was not going to back down. “I traveled many times with the Countess.”