A Deep Dark Call Read online

  Against the wall, quite close to him, George was just climaxing along with the first woman he’d chosen for the night. He’d had her right against that wall, in what was only his first spurt of passion. But it was not dawn yet and, Ioan knew, his friend was going to sample at least a couple more of the women before morning.

  On another table across from him, Mihai was still having foreplay with his woman, suckling on her dusky nipples while he was finger-pleasuring her. A meticulous man, he didn’t like to rush things, especially when he coupled with women.

  Further away, Iancu was roughly pounding the woman he’d chosen from behind—hard, punishing thrusts, one hand entwined in her dark hair. Ioan had once asked him why he always had his women only from behind and Iancu had just shrugged. He’d said that he had no explanation for it, but that he supposed he just didn’t want to look in the face of somebody he was fucking.

  In a secluded corner, Iancu’s pale handsome brother was patiently giving directions to his two women. Every kiss these women had to exchange, every movement or caress, had to be precisely choreographed in order to please him. Unlike his brother, he liked to watch before he took his own pleasure.

  “Stop gawking! Get yourself a woman or just get the hell out of here!” Mihai suddenly called in a vexed voice, hoarse with drink.

  “Maybe he only likes to watch...” one of the women taunted in a shrill voice.

  Ioan smiled. He wondered what he himself would have looked like from outside in moments like these. An impatient, insatiable lover like George? Rough like Iancu? Skilled and patient? Fastidious? He’d probably been all of these things and more.

  He closed his eyes to the scene in the room. Tonight, the spectacle was not arousing in any way, nor funny, nor wild. It was just sad. It was sad—they were all, himself included, sad, desperate men, each with his own secrets and burdens to carry. The room felt heavy, too heavy with wasted passion and energy from both the men and the women. The women, they were sad too, forced to sell their bodies to the likes of them, to the likes of him—to these rich, spoilt, ruthless men who were unable to find love elsewhere.

  He rose slowly and went to the woman who had been patiently waiting for him, and realized he didn’t know her name. He’d either forgotten it or never known it in the first place. He took her hand and pressed two gold coins in her palm, then closed it and kissed her fist.

  “I’ll go now,” he said. “I’m not in the mood tonight.”

  She looked at him with those huge dark eyes of hers. He supposed his arousal was more or less obvious, but he no longer cared. He’d decided he’d have no part of it.

  “Why are you paying me then?” the woman asked, looking him straight in the eye.

  He shrugged. “For your wasted time.”

  “I don’t want your money,” she said flatly, opening her palm. “It’s too much. And it’s money for nothing. People like me—we don’t take charity.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Well, call it a gift then,” he said.

  She shook her head. “No gifts either—only if I can give something in return.”

  He waved his hand in dismissal. “But I want nothing in return.”

  She smiled, flashing her white teeth at him. “Let me tell your fortune,” she told him.

  He shrugged again. It was, of course, all the same to him.

  She took the gold coins from his hand and then spat in his palm. Once she wiped the spit off with her finger, she studied the lines of the palm for a while.

  After a time that seemed like an eternity, she raised her dark eyes to him. They no longer shone with mockery, as they had before. He now noted something akin to astonishment and awe. She muttered some words in her own language under her breath.

  “What is it? Will I live?” he asked her ironically.

  She didn’t answer at first, but then nodded. At last, she spoke. “I wouldn’t have known you, because you hide your true face. Even from yourself. But, of course, it’s not your fault. Your soul, it’s trapped. It’s still waiting to come out.”

  He laughed. She was not telling him anything new. For so long, he’d been feeling the horrible confinement of his situation.

  “There’s still hope, however,” she told him solemnly, and for a moment he desperately wanted to believe her.

  Ioan shook his head and turned on his heel. Hope was a dangerous thing to have. And he did not want to fall into its trap. Hope was a trap.

  “She can set you free!” He heard the woman’s words following him, and he instantly turned to face her. “She can set you free. You only have to trust what your scent tells you and what your cock urges you to do.”

  As he left the tavern, he quickened his pace and finally broke into a run. Hope was a dangerous thing, but maybe this was the danger he needed. And maybe it was what he had so long been waiting for. He needed to go back home to the woman he’d run away from.

  * * *

  Two weeks had passed and Lucy had started to settle into a comfortable routine. She was already becoming quite fond of her new pupil. She did not have any previous experience with children, but she could realize that Alexandra was very special. The girl had an ease in adding or multiplying numbers that was probably even beyond the abilities of advanced mathematics students. Lucy also doubted there were many children Alexandra’s age who could perfectly recite a poem just by looking at it once. Besides, there was not only the effortless way in which she absorbed everything Lucy could teach her, but a genuine pleasure of learning more—always more.

  Alexandra definitely had one of those rare, brilliant minds with the promise of a true gift for science. She would, of course, have an excruciatingly hard time in gaining recognition in this world. Men still refused to believe that brilliance could come from a woman. But there had to be a way to conquer such obstacles. The year was 1880 and times were changing, or at least that’s what Lucy liked to believe.

  For the first time in a long while, she started hoping and dreaming. The dreams were not for herself—she had become resigned to her own fate, a half-ruined life where the best thing she could hope to do was survive. Her hopes were for the little girl who had been put in her charge.

  Alexandra was already becoming more relaxed in her presence, although Lucy was a bit concerned about the kind of grim tales the child enjoyed listening to. Alexandra’s former governess had left Charles Perrault’s Fairy Tales as a parting gift for her pupil, and Lucy herself had always found the Frenchman’s tales quite diverting, if more visceral than those retold by the Brothers Grimm. It was somewhat odd that “Bluebeard” was the child’s favorite fairy tale, and not, for example, “Sleeping Beauty” or “Puss in Boots.” Why did Alexandra want to listen to the tale of Bluebeard’s murdered wives every night?

  “What kind of fairy tales do you have here?” Lucy decided to ask one night.

  Alexandra shrugged. “Like everywhere, I suppose. With princes and princesses. With dragons and giants.”

  Lucy decided that she had overreacted. After all, many of the fairy tales that children enjoyed were rather scary.

  “Of course, the scariest are the ones about strigoi,” Alexandra added.

  “Strigoi?” Lucy asked, somewhat intrigued.

  “The undead. They feed on your blood. And there are also the night flyers.”

  “Night flyers?”

  “They come at night. Flying. And they feed on you.”

  “Like vampires? Do they also drink blood?” Lucy asked, her interest stirred, in spite of herself.

  “No. Not really. I don’t quite get it. They only come to visit you at night. They’re usually men. They visit only unmarried young women. It’s said they feed on their love. And the next day the girls look pale and worn...like ghosts of themselves, really,” Alexandra tried to explain.

  Ah, she was probably referring to some kind of incubi, Lucy guessed. She supposed all
children enjoyed scary stories. But still, maybe Alexandra was too interested in them. And there was probably someone who was feeding her overactive imagination.

  “So, who’s been telling you these stories?” she asked, noncommittally.

  “Ana, sometimes. But Florica too, and Mitru, when he has time,” Alexandra answered.

  Ana was the grim old woman who was Alexandra’s nurse. Florica was one of the servants, a rosy-cheeked young woman, and Mitru was the man she was engaged to. Lucy felt somewhat surprised. She had expected gruesome stories from Ana, but Florica was a cheerful girl.

  “And what does your father say about such stories?” Lucy asked cautiously.

  “He says strigoi are just nonsense. But he says there’s no harm in listening to the stories, as long as you don’t believe in them. But you see, both Ana and Florica believe in strigoi. And so does Mitru, I think.”

  “What do you believe?” Lucy asked, in the same cautious manner.

  “Well, Papa is usually right...so I guess there’s no such thing as strigoi,” Alexandra decided.

  Lucy felt somewhat relieved, only to be further alarmed when the child spoke again. “But still, Papa didn’t say anything about night flyers or about other creatures. And besides, Ana always speaks of varcolaci. She is terrified of them.”

  The last name the child had uttered sounded vaguely familiar; Lucy thought she had heard it whispered before. It clung to her mind, like a distant memory.

  “What does it mean?” she asked Alexandra, and was surprised with the urgency her own voice had taken.

  But the child just shook her head, as if she did not want to speak about it. She suddenly changed the topic, and Lucy did not want to press her to say more. “You know what’s my favorite story? It’s not a fairy tale, really. More like a...well... Papa says it’s a myth.”

  Lucy smiled. Alexandra was already an expert in Greek mythology. She knew the names of all gods and goddesses by heart, and all the myths that surrounded them. It was, Alexandra had told her, her father who usually told her such stories.

  “So is this a story your father told you?” she asked.

  Alexandra nodded. “It’s the story of the Great White Wolf.”

  The Great White Wolf? This did not sound like a Greek myth. Lucy felt something that was strangely like a frisson of anticipation. She could already picture him. A white wolf. Not beautiful, really, with old grizzled jaws. Too skinny, with ancient eyes that had seen a lot. He stood by the blue tree. But not really by the tree. Within it, in the heart of the tree...

  Lucy opened her eyes, realizing she had been almost dreaming.

  “Do you want me to tell the story?” Alexandra asked her eagerly.

  Lucy shook her head. Although seconds earlier she’d been anticipating the story, now it seemed as if she was too exhausted to listen to it.

  “Not tonight. But another night, I promise. It’s already bedtime,” she said.

  There was a look of disappointment on the child’s face. But Lucy kissed her good night. There was plenty of time for more stories tomorrow, she promised.

  * * *

  Ioan bent to kiss his daughter’s cheek. It was early morning and he’d been traveling half the night.

  “Papa...” she said sleepily, but already with a smile on her face.

  “I did not want to wake you,” he said softly. “Go back to sleep.”

  He should probably get some sleep himself, but he knew he couldn’t. There was this new frenzy that had come over him. He smiled faintly, recalling his friends’ dismay. They’d drunkenly come on his doorstep just as the carriage was pulling in front of his town house.

  “You’re not leaving already?” Mihai had asked incredulously. “We’ve come to finish the party.”

  “Your place was handier, after all,” Iancu had added, with his penetrating black gaze. “And we just couldn’t believe you’d deserted us. But now I can see you’ve really packed your bags.”

  Iancu had always been able to hold his drink better than the rest of them. His questioning look had told Ioan he had to make some explanation.

  “I have to get back. I think there’s a way.”

  The others hadn’t seemed to register what Ioan had said. They’d been already casually strolling into his home, heading for the drawing room, where they meant to go on with their party. No doubt they would raid his liquor cabinet and scandalize the servants.

  “You think there’s a way or know there’s a way?” Iancu had asked, raising his eyebrows.

  And Iancu was a friend Ioan had never lied to.

  “I know there’s a way,” he’d replied in a steady voice.

  His friend had only nodded silently. Ioan had almost pitied him, if one could ever pity a man like Iancu. But Ioan felt sorry for him nevertheless, because Iancu shared a fate somewhat similar to his own. It just seemed unfair that now only Ioan had found the key to his release.

  “Don’t let them burn down the house,” he’d added instead, not knowing what else to say.

  “What’s her name?” Iancu had asked tersely, as he was getting ready to follow the others.

  “Lucy. Lucy Cross,” Ioan had answered.

  Lucy, who didn’t even remotely look like the English governess he’d pictured in his mind. He smiled, tiptoeing so that Alexandra could resume her peaceful sleep. Lucy of the sparkling eyes, who strived too much to behave primly with him because she’d already perceived the unsettling heat that hung in the air between them.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. As he was gently closing the door to his daughter’s room, he met Ana’s usual glare. He felt annoyed because it was as if she’d been guarding his own daughter against him. She had been standing in front of the door.

  He almost sighed when she offered him a sullen greeting. Nevertheless, it felt good to be back home. At least that was what he thought later as he went down to the servants’ quarters to talk to his man, Mitru.

  “They’re getting restless in the village,” Mitru eventually said, after he’d told his boyar in detail what had happened in his absence.

  “Ah,” Ioan said, but he was not really surprised.

  “There’ve been complaints, about the wolves and all.”

  “But the wolves haven’t attacked or stolen anything?” Ioan asked, suddenly alert.

  “No, of course not. But still, some people are beginning to think that something must be done about them. They live too close to the village. And they howl at night something fierce,” Mitru said, raking a hand through his dark hair.

  “Still, they’ve lived close to the village for centuries. And nobody’s ever been in real danger because of them,” Ioan said sharply.

  “I know.” Mitru nodded. “But things are different now...”

  Ioan sighed. “Of course.”

  Things hadn’t been going well lately. And he knew exactly who was really to blame for it.

  “And how is Father Daniel?” he asked, a thin smile on his lips.

  Mitru gave a short laugh. “Prosperous. Still, he’s been asking for more timber. Apparently the monastery is in need of repair.”

  Ioan raised his eyebrows. “Again?”

  Mitru gave an exasperated shrug. He seemed concerned when he spoke again. “It’s been a lean time for the people in the monastery’s village. And it’s going to be leaner still this winter.”

  Ioan nodded. “I will do something to help,” he said.

  The two villages were close by. One belonged to him, by tradition, because it was on his lands, while the other was on the monastery’s lands. And the people on the monastery’s lands were cold and starving. Now the abbot was asking for more timber from him, but Ioan had no illusions whatsoever that Father Daniel would share any of the timber with the villagers. It would all go to the monastery.

  Timber was a precious commodity. It mean
t chopping off the trees in his woods and upsetting the wild things that lived there. Besides, Ioan had always liked his woods deep. Quite deep.

  “Tell Father Daniel I don’t have an answer yet. I’m still considering his request,” he finally said.

  Mitru nodded. This should be the end of their conversation. Still, Ioan could see that something more was troubling Mitru. He looked even more serious than usual.

  “Is something troubling you?” Ioan decided to ask.

  “Well...” Mitru was suddenly flustered.

  And Ioan knew Mitru well. And he knew there was only one reason Mitru ever got flustered—the girl he was promised to.

  “Is it Florica?”

  Mitru nodded again, coloring.

  “What has she done now?” Ioan asked in amused exasperation.

  Mitru would not look at him. And he would not speak. And, from experience, Ioan knew that it would be no use trying to have a talk with Mitru on this topic.

  “When are you supposed to wed her?” he asked nevertheless.

  “In summer,” Mitru muttered despondently.

  Ioan decided to take pity on the man. “Maybe you should marry her sooner. Early spring, perhaps?” he suggested helpfully.

  “Her family says we should wait. Weddings should take place in summer,” Mitru said mournfully.

  Ioan could understand Mitru’s predicament. Knowing Florica, he more than sympathized with the man. Florica was feisty and impatient. While she was fond of Mitru’s calm and controlled nature, she didn’t like his restraint when it came to their relationship. She resented it that her man behaved as if their engagement was tame and proper, and she took every opportunity to tease and taunt him mercilessly. It was certainly sheer torture for Mitru to try to resist a woman like that. And perhaps there was no point in trying to resist her. She wanted Mitru to prove that his blood was hot for her, and she was prepared to go to any lengths just to make him lose his self-control. Ioan hoped she would not do something unspeakably foolish if Mitru didn’t give in. God knew she was reckless enough.