Covenant With the Vampire by Jeanne Kalogridis Page B

given to abrupt,
intense daydreams which completely remove him from the present. “Hardly more
noble in meaning than the name Dracul, but at least the peasants do not utter
it with the same loathing, and it carries no hint of the supernatural. Impalement
was a common form of execution at the time.”
    Mister Jeffries arched a pale, disbelieving brow as he stepped beside Arkady
and followed his gaze to a gold marker on which was engraved the legend VLAD
TEPES. “Indeed? History indicates it was common only among the Turks. The peasants
say Vlad borrowed their methods and turned this” - and he swept his arm to indicate
the entire countryside - “into a veritable forest of the impaled. The smell, they
say - ”
    And here Mister Jeffries broke off in horror at his own words and turned to
me. “Oh, my dear Mrs. Tsepesh, forgive me! How insensitive of me to alarm you,
mentioning such terrible things…”
    I laughed gaily, though in fact I had never heard these things before and was
fascinated in a horrified way. At the sound, Arkady withdrew from his reverie
and faced us, also distressed that such things were being discussed in my presence.
“I am no delicate maiden given to swooning, sir,” I said.
    Arkady flushed and moved beside me to take my hand. “It's true,” he said, gazing
at me with affectionate concern but addressing Jeffries. “Mary is the most levelheaded
person I have ever known.” He glanced at Jeffries with an awkward smile. “I
am constantly grateful for her trait. It is quite an invaluable attitude here,
where one is surrounded by superstition and dark legends.”
    “My dear,” I told him softly, “you mustn’t try to shield me from these things.
How will I be able to refute the servants’ strange beliefs if I know nothing
of them?” To Jeffries, I said in a firm cheerful voice, “Of whom were you speaking?”
    “Of Vlad Dracul - Forgive me, madam. Vlad Tsepesh, whom the peasants call Dracula.”
    “The prince?” I asked.
    Jeffries tilted his long face in a gesture which seemed to both confirm and
deny. “His namesake.” He flipped a page on his notepad and scanned it for a
fact, then looked up. “Born 1431, supposedly died 1476, though the peasants
would disagree.”
    Arkady gestured at the plaque at the foot of a crypt. “You see his marker here
before you.”
    “But he died in that region to the south known as Wallachia, did he not? Where
he reigned?”
    “True,” said my husband. “But the family moved northward to Transylvania soon
after his death, and brought his remains with them. It was not an uncommon practice.”
    Mister Jeffries’ tone grew skeptical. “Surely you know he is not buried here.
It is a blind, so that those who would try to desecrate the body will not find
it.”
    My husband turned towards his visitor with narrowed eyes and a faint, ironic
smile on his lips. “Sir, you clearly know more about the subject than you have
disclosed.” He paused and gazed back at the marker. “It is true. He is buried
at the monastery at Snagov, in his native Wallachia.”
    “The peasants would disagree with you once again, sir. They say no body lies
at Snagov, either. Perhaps that is why the peasants say he is
strigoi,
and accuse your great-uncle - ”
    “Strigoi,”
I repeated, unable to contain myself, as I recognised it
as the word Dunya had used earlier. “Please; what is the meaning of that word?”
    Arkady glanced at me sharply, clearly distressed to learn that I had been exposed
to the term, but Jeffries looked me in the eye and said, “A vampire, madam.
They say your kind and gracious great-uncle is in fact Vlad the Impaler, also
known as Dracula, born 1431; that he has made a pact with the Devil to obtain
immortality, and that the souls of innocents are the price.” And he laughed
as if the notion were incredibly amusing. Arkady and I did not join in.
    Jeffries realised the discomfort his words had provoked, and immediately switched
the