The King stopped. He hunched his shoulders.
“Bathory’s empire will be larger than our own if he succeeds. He will be as powerful as Vlad Tepes once was.”
Chapter 51
ČACHTICE CASTLE
DECEMBER 23, 1610
The Countess ordered Brona the cook to prepare special meals for Countess Zichy.
“She is painfully thin and pale,” said the Countess. “She has no flesh on her bones, her body is nothing but sticks covered in skin.”
“They do not know good nourishment in the Eastern lands.”
The Countess’s face tightened in rage. She slapped the cook hard across the face. “What do you know of my country, you thick-headed idiot!”
“Yes, Madam. Forgive me, Countess,” said Brona, managing a clumsy curtsey that made her bones creak. The imprint of Countess Bathory’s hand blossomed red on her cheek and chin.
“Bah, you ignorant peasant! Heed me, Cook. Prepare tasty treats that will whet her appetite. Feed her butter cakes and meat, the choicest cuts. Give her cheeses and thick cream, pastries and jams.”
“Yes, Countess.”
“Your cuisine must be like a magic spell—she must be coaxed to eat, then eat more and more.”
“Yes, of course, Countess. It will be a pleasure to turn out special dainties for your guest. I will try my best.”
“And Cook, never dare speak ill of the Eastern frontiers and Transylvania again,” said the Countess, her voice ominous. “Do you understand?”
When Brona was dismissed, Countess Bathory muttered, “If the girl has no vitality in her veins, she is no use at all to me.”
She glanced in her mirror and saw Zuzana waiting silently.
“Why are you skulking about like a thief? Brush my hair!”
Chapter 52
CARBONDALE, COLORADO
DECEMBER 23, 2010
Nightfall comes early in the Rockies in December. It was pitch black by the time Daisy reached Carbondale.
Her mother had forced her to eat dinner before she left.
She still had the taste of sun-dried tomato brioche and watermelon chutney in her mouth when she knocked on the lavender door of the little Victorian on Main Street.
“All right, Funeral Girl,” said Luis, opening the door. Ringo nudged past Luis’s trunk-like leg, rushing to Daisy. He spun in circles barking and wagging his tail furiously.
Daisy knelt down to pet him and he licked her face over and over again.
“Good to see you before midnight, even if you are still dressed in black,” Luis said, yawning. “Why don’t you give up that witch look and wear some color? My mom can find you a nice fiesta dress—”
“Yeah, yeah. Enough, Luis,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I wanted to meet you here for another reason.”
“Entra,” he said. “Come in and tell me.”
Ringo clung to her side as she walked into the living room of the Victorian house.
“So what do you want?”
“You know that burglar? I don’t think he was looking for money.”
“So?”
She told him about what had happened in the cemetery. “Those guys were looking for something in the coffin. No chance there was any money in there. They were looking for something else.”
Luis crossed his thick arms across his chest. “That’s Doctora Betsy’s business.”
“Yeah, but Betsy isn’t here. What if we could help her somehow?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if we could find whatever those guys were looking for? And like—hide it away some place else, where they could never find it. Because chances are, they’ll be back.”
Luis grunted. “If they do, I have my cuchillo.”
“Yeah, but Luis! Even with a knife, you could get hurt. What if these guys have guns? And what if all three of them come at once?”
“Ringo and I can take ’em.”
Ringo wagged his tail.
“Be realistic—”
“Hey! Look at who is telling me to be realistic. You dress like a witch every day. You more real than I am?”
Daisy squinted at him. “You are not being helpful, Luis.”
“I’m here to protect this house from anyone who wants to take something from Betsy. Even you.”
“But it’s not to hurt her, don’t you see! It’s to protect her—”
“No. You leave her stuff alone. Come have a cerveza with me, witch girl. I know a place they don’t ask for ID.”
“You don’t have to spend more than an hour with him,” Daisy pleaded into her cell phone. Someone flushed the toilet next to her, nearly drowning out the voice on the line.
“It’s like a colossal fav for me—yes, you can take The Red Book home for the weekend, I promise. Yes, I will interview you on my blog. Just—”