Page 30 of The Shadow of the Count
Yvgeny gasped. “We must go there. Now. If the count…took him, then he is. Please. We can still help his soul.”
“We can book the night ferry and be there in the morning.” Douglas moved like a man on a mission. “Clark and Jeb are guarding the body.”
“Good.” Peter tugged Donnie with him. This was like Egypt. There was no time to grieve or rest right now. It was time to act, and to let their friends know what they were dealing with. “Yvgeny. Stay with us.”
“I am coming, my friend.” Yvgeny sprinted behind them, and Douglas was already arranging transport to the ferry by the time they caught up with him.
“I don’t understand what’s happening here,” Don moaned, even as he ran. “I was so worried about you.”
“You were right to be.” He would tell Donald everything, but how did he even explain it all? Like the portrait?
All he could do was pray Don believed him, understood how dire the situation was. Of course, if his friend had expired…
He should never have gone to that castle.
They made the ferry with some time to spare, so Douglas took Yvgeny to find them something hot to drink while he and Don waited at the gate.
“What happened, Peter?” Donnie asked quietly.
“The count…he’s not a good man, love. He’s a monster.” He felt so ashamed of putting everyone in such danger for something so foolish as his pride.
“Did he hurt you?”
“He locked me in to starve to death and left me. I—he saw your picture. I couldn’t understand why he was so shocked until I saw a portrait in his great hall.”
“I don’t understand. I’ve never been to Romania.”
“This portrait has to be three, four hundred years old, love.” It had been so shocking, to see Don’s face staring down at him from the antique clothes, the crackle of age on the painting.
Donnie’s forehead creased. “How can that be?”
“I don’t know.” That was his answer to almost every question regarding the count. Nothing made sense but the supernatural.
“Here, lads. I found some sort of coffee and chocolate concoction.” Douglas and Yvgeny reappeared, bearing cups and some sort of paper-wrapped pastry.
“I can’t believe Lyle is dead. He was…he was young.”
“I’m so sorry. I dreamed… The count took him.” Peter firmed his chin. “We’ll stop him.”
“How did you dream it? Why? Has it ever happened before?” Donnie gave him a wide-eyed stare.
“No. No, love. I dreamed the count was attacking a pale young man as a beast, and Clark drove him away. I had one other dream where I was talking to you…”
“I dreamed of you too.”
“Eat up,” Douglas said. “You’ll both need your strength and people are starting to take notice.”
Peter looked about, and they were receiving a few curious stares, so he backed up a step, hating the distance between him and Donnie.
Don smiled weakly. “I despise France.”
“I know. But you came for me.” Donald had braved Paris for him this time. “Thank you.”
“Come, friends. It’s time to board.” That was Yvgeny, herding them like a shepherd.
“Have you ever been to London, Yvgeny?” Douglas asked.
“I have not. Paris is as far as I have come before today. I was in school there and my father needed me. He has hired help, and my uncle is coming to stay with him, so I was free to help Peter.”
