Page 31 of Mongrel
As I drift toward bliss, I try not to think of Bowie. It seems wrong somehow to fantasize about him like this, in secret.
I try.
But I fail.
Chapter 11
When Bowie returns, I’m in bed under the thick covers, nearly asleep, dressed in a robe I found hanging by the bath. His face holds an uncharacteristic scowl.
I shake off sleep and sit up. “What’s wrong?”
“Bad news.” He rubs his shoulders, then rolls his neck. “You’re not going to like it either, I’m afraid.”
Worry patters its way across my mind. “What’s happened?”
Bowie glances longingly at the waiting tub full of fresh, warm water. With a sigh, he trods over to the bed instead and sits next to me. “I sent word to Bettina requesting her help. Then I filled Ivaz in on what we know. I could tell by the look on his face it was no longer news to him.”
I blink, stunned. “He knows about the missing girls?”
Bowie nods. “Whispered rumors have been circulating, though only recently has the matter become known among certain aristocracy, and thus, to Ivaz.”
“Well, what does he say?”
His gaze darkens. “There are theories. Turkish slave traders, for one. But even more peculiar, there is a noble woman from a prestigious family who’s thought to have left a trail of dead bodies in her wake across the whole of Hungary. Young maidens.”
My jaw drops.
“Her name is Erzsébet Báthory, and if the rumors are true, she is a killer with an appetite so large as to require new victims from farther and farther abroad. Hence the insidious path of hergirl snatchersto Varad.”
I hear him, but I can’t take it in. “How does Ivaz know?”
“Apparently, it’s been going on for some time. First at her castle in Sarvaar, then at every location she traveled since, even so far as Vienna. All north of here. And now likely in Csejthe, where she’s settled since the death of her husband, Ferenc Nadasdy. The killings have gotten worse since she was widowed.”
My mind spins. “But if people know, why is it nobody’s stopped her?”
Bowie pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s only in looking backward that the pattern became obvious. The early deaths were all peasants and explained away as outbreaks of plague or cholera. The bodies were burned or buried quickly to stem rising panic. No one would dare accuse a noble of such crimes, especially not a highborn lady. Her uncle was the King of Poland. Her cousin is Voivode and Prince of Transylvania. It’s risking your own death to accuse one of such status.”
“But the girls…” I can’t finish my own sentence.
“Many may still be alive. She tortures them, Andras. A slow death.” At this, Bowie stumbles on his words. “There’s nothing to be done for the lives already lost, but we can still save the ones in her clutches now.”
I’m at a loss for words.
Bowie continues, “King Matyas of Hungary has been made aware of her crimes. The legal process to stop her from further evil is underway, but it creeps at a snail’s pace, held back by the interests of her powerful family and their many allies.”
Reeling with this information, I’m having trouble processing all the pieces. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll try to explain,” says Bowie patiently. “The crown owes the Báthory woman a vast sum of money. She’s been funding them for decades, for she has more wealth than the entire fractured country. Believe me, King Matyas has every motivation to see her brought to justice. If she’s found guilty, those debts are canceled. Furthermore, he can confiscate her lands and wealth.”
This makes even less sense. “Then why don’t they hurry?”
“It’s complicated. The late Nadasdy appointed her guardian, Gyorgy Thurzo, to look after her best interests and those of her heirs. And Matyas directed him to see her face trial. Thurzo is between a rock and a hard place. The other noble families whisper their threats in his ear. They will fight against the setting of a precedent that the aristocracy can be punished the same as any peasant. Matyas can’t take on the whole of the Transylvanian aristocracy. Thus the Báthory woman is well protected. For now.”
“For now.” But she doesn’t know a vampire and a werewolf have sniffed out her crimes. “We have to find this woman.”
“Yes. And we have a few likely destinations. West to Sarvaar, a residence of hers since her marriage. Possibly Buda or Pest, as she owns castles in both cities. Or northwest to the Little Carpathians where Csejthe Castle stands in the foothills. Erzsébet has a gynaeceum there, a finishing school for girls. Surely that’s how she’s gotten so many. She travels, so I can’t be sure, but my instinct says that’s our best bet. Though slave traders can’t be ruled out either.”
It’s unfathomable to me that such a woman exists, that her crimes have been uncovered, and yet somehow, she remains unscathed. And slave traders? How horrible. Suddenly Farkas doesn’t seem so bad. “Those poor girls.”
