House of Bathory(124)

You are the other, her father had said. The unspeakable thoughts, the basest desires, the unfathomable horror. All of this is part of you as much as you deny it. It is your shadow.

When you realize that, you will indeed be a Jungian. What decisions you make, given the ugly face of your shadow, is who you are.

Remember: Nothing human is alien to me.

The sour taste in the back of her mouth gave her the urge to spit. She choked back the bile and watched, her left cheek twitching.

She remembered the ledger, zipped in the back pocket of her jacket. The names of all those girls.

The Count motioned and Ona applied a tourniquet to Daisy’s arm. Then she bandaged the wound, using butterfly adhesives. Her practiced hands indicated that the sinister chore was a familiar one.

Using the golden funnel, the Count carefully poured the blood from the tray into the crystal decanter.

He swirled the blood around, watching the red liquid in delight.

He walked toward Morgan.

“Get away from me,” she snarled. “Get away! Leave me alone!”

Daisy’s voice cried, small and distant.

“Get away!” Daisy said. “Run! Don’t let him touch you!”

Standing before Morgan, the Count recited from The Red Book.

“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—”

He swirled the blood again in the decanter. A dark sheen clung to the glass.

“Everything that comes up in a constant movement from below to the heights was already there. There is no part of the wheel that does not come around again.”

Blasphemy. The Red Book interpreted as evil, thought Betsy.

Daisy gave a small cry and fainted, her head lolling as she slumped in the chair.

Betsy swallowed, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. She had to act—but again John’s voice told her she had to wait.

Ona knelt beside Daisy.

“Little witch,” she ordered. “Wake!”

She slapped the girl’s pale cheeks, trying to bring her back to consciousness.

Daisy’s eyes flickered open.

She’s still alive, thought Betsy. But she could die of shock.

The door of the dungeon swung open. A dark-haired servant stood at the opening, speaking quickly in Hungarian.

The Count’s face turned stony. He issued an order. Akos left, casting a pointed look over his shoulder at Andras, who stayed behind.

“Some unfortunate business threatens to interrupt our pleasure,” said the Count. He turned to Morgan. “But the night games will continue as planned. Precisely as you practiced them four hundred years ago, my Countess.”





Chapter 114

ČACHTICE CASTLE

DECEMBER 29, 1610





Zuzana hurried through the dark underground corridor, her fingers trailing against the rocky wall. She carried no candle but ran blindly, her skirt flying behind her.

A cold draft of air curled around her ears, neck, and shoulders as she reached the juncture of tunnels. She saw torchlight at the end of the tunnel, heard the murmur of voices. She dropped back, behind fallen rubble.

Suddenly from the dungeon, the corridors, and the castle above came the scream of a baby. Then another, and another.

Zuzana froze. Could the Countess be torturing infants?

Then she recognized the sound. Every cat in the castle howled, the weird cacophony unbearable.

What could it mean?

Zuzana searched for amber eyes in the darkness. She was barely able to breathe; the cats’ screeching flooded her ears.





“The servant girl Vida was found, running for the gate,” said a man’s voice. “She has been captured. She was seen giving something to the horsemaster.”

“The horsemaster?” It was Hedvika’s voice.

“Captain Kovach has gone to retrieve whatever she gave him. He should be here momentarily. Also, Slecna Zuzana cannot be found.”

“She and Vida—”

“Captain told me to notify the Countess at once.”

“Consider her notified,” said a voice behind Zuzana. A cold hand clutched her forearm in the darkness, the grip tightening hard against the bone.

“Guard!” shouted the Countess, yanking at Zuzana’s arm, pushing her forward. “Here is our traitor!”

Zuzana jerked away and began to run. The riding boots she wore were too large for her. She stumbled, fell, and scrambled back up.

The first guard seized her. Two more followed with torches.

“Fool,” said the Countess, out of breath. She slapped Zuzana hard across the face. “Did you think I do not know these corridors better than you? You and your clumsy, clattering boots. Why are you dressed this way?” The Countess pulled her close. “You smell of horse sweat. Where would you be riding at this time of night?”