Page 35 of Mongrel
I’m not looking forward to seeing Ivaz again, but leaving Bowie alone isn’t an option, not when he’s feeling so fragile.
We rush down the hall. Bowie leads us through an open door to reveal Ivaz sitting behind an enormous black desk, suitable for his huge frame, elbows on its shining surface, fingers steepled in front of him. Even seated, the man is intimidating. Behind him, a collection of weapons is mounted like artwork on the wood-paneled wall: an assortment of iron cudgels, battle-axes, swords, daggers, and crossbows—enough to kill a man in a variety of horrifying ways.
“Close it,” he says.
I shut the door behind me. Side by side, we stand before him. That same pulsing sensation of power emanating from Ivaz has me on edge. It whispers of strength and age.
“Sit down.”
Bowie shakes his head. “Just tell me. What’s happened?”
“If you insist.” Ivaz plucks a piece of parchment from his desk and offers it to Bowie, who takes it with trembling fingers.
“From your sister.” Ivaz doesn’t mince his words. “Cecily is missing.”
Bowie clasps the letter to his chest. A pained cry escapes his throat. The revelation hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless and shaken. I take Bowie’s arm, and he leans into my side.
Ivaz continues, “She was taken sometime last night. So her kidnappers have a head start. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such news,” says Ivaz, his eyes on Bowie, who’s gone quite still. “Cecily is your niece, is she not?”
Bowie wavers on his feet, stricken, Catherine’s note dangling from shaking fingers. He doesn’t respond and draws the note back up to read again.
Supporting him with an arm about his waist, I answer instead. “Yes, Cecily is his niece.” I don’t need to see the note Bowie is obsessively reading. Ivaz has already told us the worst of it. Combined with what we’ve learned of the wicked Báthory woman, we have much to fear.
“How?” Bowie chokes on the word. “She has guards. I don’t understand.”
“They don’t know.” Ivaz keeps his voice low and calm. “No one heard a thing.”
I hold Bowie tight. “We’ll find her. They only have a small head start. We can overtake them.”
Bowie whirls to face me, his expression the picture of anguish. “We have to go back!”
“Go back?” I don’t understand. “To Varad? But why?”
“Catherine will be out of her mind.” His eyes are wild. “I must see her. Jakob is likely riding a horse into the ground this very minute in search.” Bowie’s words come faster and faster. “And you, Andras. We’ll need you to find Cecily’s scent trail immediately.”
“I’ll find it on our way. They might have already passed through this very city. Give me an hour to run the perimeter, and we’ll leave from here.”
“What if you don’t find it?”
“Then they’ve taken another route, and we should still head west. The last two trails converged. Cecily’s will too. We can’t go back, or we’ll widen their lead.”
Bowie turns to Ivaz. “Can you send someone ahead to Báthory’s residences in Buda, Pest, Sarvaar, and Csejthe? Janos perhaps? And Thomas? They can keep a lookout while I confirm it’s not Turkish slave traders.”
“Janos isn’t here. He’s working for me in Kiskoros,” says Ivaz. “I’ll send word right away.”
“One vampire?” says Bowie. “That’s not good enough!”
Ivaz leans forward, spreads his hands. “Beauregard, she’s not been gone a full twenty-four hours. Your wolf will find her. Give him the chance.”
Bowie crumples, nearly collapsing to his knees.
I keep him up. Barely.
“You then,” says Bowie to Ivaz, desperation forcing his tone high. He pushes out of my hold and approaches the enormous desk.
“I cannot leave this moment,” says Ivaz.
Bowie continues as if Ivaz hasn’t spoken, his voice growing even more urgent. “Scout ahead to Csejthe, make sure Cecily’s not taken inside the castle’s gates while Andras and I go to Varad to follow the trail from the start.”
