House of Bathory(119)
“Take her to the dungeon. She will pay dearly for her crime against me!”
The two descended upon the girl, but it took Hedvika’s strong arm and wrenching pull on the girl’s long hair to drag Doricza to the dungeon.
As the screams diminished in the distance, Erzsebet thought of Darvulia. Incantations, omens, dreams—and the spells the witch had taught her.
She heard the cats squall in the turrets, screaming like wounded human infants.
I can feel their approach, she thought. I must depart. Just one bath, one last glorious rejuvenation before he sees me. This maiden will serve me well.
Darvulia, how could you desert me when I need your magic?
A draft blew down the hall. She felt the chill of the night storm, the wind haunting the corridor.
She thought of the incantation the witch Darvulia had taught her. She repeated it now.
Thou little cloud, protect Erzsebet; I am in peril. Send thy ninety cats, let them hasten to bite the heart of King Matthias and of my cousin Thurzo, the Palatine! Let them tear apart the heart of Megyery the Red.
The wind twisted the heavy brocade draperies.
“Oh, Dark One. I come to you,” she said. “Only let me bathe myself in youth and feed my heart upon the terror of this maiden.”
Chapter 109
BATHORY CASTLE
HIGH TATRA MOUNTAINS, SLOVAKIA
DECEMBER 29, 2010
A silk gown lay on the canopied bed.
Morgan rubbed the fine material between her fingers. It was deep crimson and black, and the exquisite weave of the fabric felt like cool water. Next to the gown lay a black apron.
And a huge ruffled collar.
This is ridiculous, Morgan thought. My head will look like a centerpiece on a Thanksgiving table.
A fuchsia-haired servant entered the chamber to help her dress.
“Take off bra,” she said. “Put on slip.”
“Go to hell,” said Morgan firmly. She gave the servant a chilling stare.
“We have little time. Count becomes angry. Take off bra.”
“No,” said Morgan. “I will not.” Her body stiffened, her fists clenched.
Ona watched the American’s woman’s face harden. If she snatched at her bra, there would be a fight, an ugly one. The girl had long sharp nails, and the look of a tiger.
Ona handed her the embroidered chemise and linen shift.
She had picked enough battles for one day.
Morgan slipped on the chemise and shift. When Ona turned to reach for the dress, Morgan dug a finger into her bra, touching the warm metal.
She smiled.
Chapter 110
BATHORY CASTLE
HIGH TATRA MOUNTAINS, SLOVAKIA
DECEMBER 29, 2010
Betsy clicked off her headlamp and was plunged into darkness. She placed her hand on the rusty iron handle of the door. With a deep breath, she pushed down the handle. When nothing happened, she set her left shoulder against the door and heaved forward.
With a shriek of corroded hinges, the door gave way. She stopped, listening for voices.
Please, please, let there be no one in the room.
The door was behind a heavy tapestry, hidden from view. Her fingertips ran across the rough backing of the tapestry, feeling her way to its edge. At last she saw the flickering light of the torches.
Her eyes blinked in the erratic light.
Thank God. No one’s here.
But they will be back.
Brown stains marked the stones, splatters on the wall. Betsy focused her attention on what to do next, not on what took place in the past.
She crouched in the shadows. A table stood in the middle of the room, raised on a wooden dais. A linen lace tablecloth covered the surface. A mahogany lectern, exquisitely carved centuries before, stood on the table.
She saw strange metal objects—farm tools?—set out on a long table alongside the dais.
Betsy searched the room carefully before daring to venture out. She crept hunched low to the long table. There she saw fire-blackened tongs, pinchers, a pitchfork. All sorts of crystalline glassware lay beside the tools. One looked like a decanter for wine.
An ancient leather satchel tied up with a cord lay on the far corner of the table. There was a silver spoon, two more fine crystalline decanters, and a strange gold funnel, with a plastic molding covering the stem.
On the floor was a tub made of granite, with a long plastic hose running from the drain. Ugly brown stains had discolored the gray stone.
She looked quickly away, climbed the dais to look at the tome on the lectern. It was not an old book, its creamy pages were new and modern.
Betsy blinked, focusing her eyes.
It can’t be, she told herself. She looked again.
It was The Red Book.
She scanned the pages. A passage was highlighted in red.
The task is to give birth to the old in a new time. The soul of humanity is like the great wheel of the zodiac that rolls along the way…There is no part of the wheel that does not come around again.