House of Bathory(7)

The Countess glanced at the silver-backed brushes and flasks of oils and potions. Her bejeweled hand ran over the ivory comb, caressing the handheld mirror, the silver pot of lip stain. Her lips curved in satisfaction.

Zuzana watched as Vida kneeled to smooth the hem of the velvet train on the floor and then backed silently out the door.

The Countess settled back into the chair. Zuzana curtsied, her head low and tight in respect.

The Countess lifted Zuzana’s chin with her cold, white hand and studied her maid’s face. The girl trembled in her mistress’s grasp.

The Countess laughed, her white teeth gleaming in the blazing light of the torches.

“My little monster,” she murmured, still holding the girl’s chin. “How delightfully ugly you are! Not like your charming friend, Slecna Vida.”

“Yes, Madame,” Zuzana replied, looking into her amber eyes. “I live to serve you, my Countess.”

“Yes,” the Countess said, pulling the girl beside her to gaze into the looking glass. Zuzana shut her eyes.

“Open your eyes, my pet.”

The girl opened her eyes wide at her mistress’s command and saw their reflections side by side in the silver glass.

“Do you think I am still beautiful?” the Countess asked, looking at her image in the mirror, her chin pointing left and then right. Bathory’s gaze was childlike and wistful, black lashes framing her feline eyes.

Zuzana did not hesitate.

“Of course, Madame, your beauty takes the breath from anyone who gazes at you. You are the fairest woman in Hungary!”

The Countess cast a look of scorn, her arched brows diving together above her thin nose. More words tumbled from Zuzana’s mouth. “—and of the Holy Roman Empire and beyond, Madame. More beautiful than the youngest maiden in Christendom, and far beyond to the Oriental kingdoms, I am certain.”

The Countess’s face softened and she gazed at herself again in the glass. Her blood-red lips broke into a smile, exposing her even white teeth. Zuzana felt a cold chill clutch her spine.

“But I am two and a half score,” the Countess replied, studying her reflection.

“Ah, but Countess! Not in the looking glass. See the white skin and blazing eyes! How they beseech your admirers to embrace your beauty.”

The girl took up the silver brush, gleaming in the torchlight. She softened the boar bristles in the palm of her hand, bending the stiff hairs back and forth until they were supple.

“With your permission, Countess.”

Her mistress lifted her chin, almost imperceptibly. Zuzana stroked the long auburn hair, taking care not to tug at any errant tangle.

Erzsebet Bathory closed her eyes and moaned, her long, pale fingers twisting together in her lap.

“Ah, Zuzana,” she whispered. “If you were only beautiful…like your brother.”

Beautiful? Her words sent another shiver up the girl’s spine. The Countess noticed a small tremor in the stroke of the brush and looked up at the girl’s pox-scarred face.

Zuzana was no beauty now, God be praised.





Chapter 3

CARBONDALE, COLORADO

NOVEMBER 19, 2010





I’m looking forward to our session,” Betsy said. “Did you bring your dream notebook?”

Daisy’s eyes seemed glassy and unfocused. She said nothing.

The psychologist held her breath. Not again, she thought.

Daisy entered the office like a sleepwalker. Then she saw Ringo, the mongrel shepherd curled up on a hooked rug, warming himself by the stove. It was the first time in months that Betsy had brought him downstairs to the office.

The girl’s body relaxed, light returned to her eyes, dimples creasing her white makeup.

“What a gorgeous dog!” she said, her hand extended for him to sniff. “May I pet him?”

“Of course,” Betsy said, marveling at the transformation. “He’s a big baby.”

Ringo licked the girl’s hand. Although sweet and gentle, he wasn’t a licker, and Betsy’s forehead puckered in astonishment.

He thumped his tail hard, as if he recognized Daisy.

Then he licked her white face. Betsy felt a stab of jealousy.

“He never licks anyone on the face. Not even me.”

Daisy extended her neck as Ringo sat up, still intent on licking her.

“This is strange. It’s almost as if he knows you,” said Betsy.

Daisy buried her face in his fur. Betsy noticed tears glistening in her eyes, as she stroked Ringo’s ears flat against his head.

They started the session talking about dogs and went on from there. It was by far the longest conversation patient and doctor had ever had.

“I had a German shepherd when we lived back in New York,” Daisy said. “We had several dogs, but Rosco was mine. He slept in my bed and ran alongside my horse on trail rides.”