believe. Can you not believe, even a little?”
I looked down at the paw, the terrible remains of that long-ago hunting party, and I wondered. Was it possible? Could I allow that such things could happen? I had explained to Charles that the uneducated folk in the Carpathians held such beliefs, but could I? My grandfather had spoken of such things; I had been reared with tales of witches and selkies, mermaids and faery changelings. I knew that some people still believed in them. Even Mrs. Muldoon, with her stolid Irish sense, had put out a cake for the faeries on the garden step on Midsummer Night. How much easier would it be to believe in these wolfen men in a place such as this, where the howling carried on the wind and the forests pressed in about us, thick and black and knowing?
“I suppose,” I said slowly. Suddenly, I remembered the little maid Tereza and the word she had spoken. “Dr. Frankopan, what is strigoi? ”
He put down his cup and fixed me with a solemn look. “Where did you hear the word?”
“The maid, Tereza. She seemed to be cautioning me against sleeping with an open window, and she hung basil upon the casement latch. What am I to fear?”
The doctor gave another sigh and settled further into his chair, looking rather older of a sudden. “I presume you know what a vampire is?”
I nodded. “Of course. Cosmina used to talk of them at school, and my grandfather was a scholar of folklore. He wrote a monograph upon the subject of vampires. I cannot recall to mind the details, but I do remember his thesis was that such creatures exist in almost every known civilization.”
“This is true, this is true. And here, the word for such a monster is strigoi . There are two varieties, but the strigoi morţi are the dead who will not rest. Death has taken the strigoi mort , only he does not lie easy in his grave. He walks in search of blood, to take it and feed his monstrous need with a bite to the neck or above the heart.” His eyes took on a faraway look, and I was not certain he even saw me as he continued to recite in a dreamy tone. “The strigoi mort comes at night to take the life of those left behind, of those most dear to him. He is immortal so long as he steals blood from the living. He is a monster, risen from the grave to take what does not belong to him.”
“And the other form?” I asked.
“ Strigoi vii , living men who have given up their immortal soul, either by choice or happenstance. One might be the seventh child of a seventh child, or perhaps have suffered the bite of a strigoi mort . These living vampires draw sustenance not from blood, but from the life force of those around them. A strigoi viu is doomed to become a strigoi mort after his death.”
It seemed an impossible thing to accept. The stories I had read about these creatures had been unreal to me, no different than any other bit of dark folklore. Somehow even as I had lectured Charles on the subject, I had failed to grasp that these creatures were very real to the folk who believed in them.
“But vampires, Dr. Frankopan,” I told him. “Surely they do not exist.” And even as I said the words I heard the shiver of doubt.
To my astonishment, the doctor leaned forward and covered my hands with his own. “My dear, you are a friend to the Dragulescus, and for this reason, you are dear to me as well. I must care for you as they would in their absence, and you must be warned.”
“Warned against what?” I demanded. I felt a little impatient with him now, and I struggled against it. It was not his fault that he had been brought up with such superstitions; indeed most folk had. Even in Edinburgh, a city that prided itself upon learning and sound common sense, I had heard of the ways of the peculiarities of the country folk and their odd beliefs about unseen things. How much more easily could they thrive here, in this fertile land of myth and magic?
He did not loose his hold upon my hands. “You cannot guard yourself
I looked down at the paw, the terrible remains of that long-ago hunting party, and I wondered. Was it possible? Could I allow that such things could happen? I had explained to Charles that the uneducated folk in the Carpathians held such beliefs, but could I? My grandfather had spoken of such things; I had been reared with tales of witches and selkies, mermaids and faery changelings. I knew that some people still believed in them. Even Mrs. Muldoon, with her stolid Irish sense, had put out a cake for the faeries on the garden step on Midsummer Night. How much easier would it be to believe in these wolfen men in a place such as this, where the howling carried on the wind and the forests pressed in about us, thick and black and knowing?
“I suppose,” I said slowly. Suddenly, I remembered the little maid Tereza and the word she had spoken. “Dr. Frankopan, what is strigoi? ”
He put down his cup and fixed me with a solemn look. “Where did you hear the word?”
“The maid, Tereza. She seemed to be cautioning me against sleeping with an open window, and she hung basil upon the casement latch. What am I to fear?”
The doctor gave another sigh and settled further into his chair, looking rather older of a sudden. “I presume you know what a vampire is?”
I nodded. “Of course. Cosmina used to talk of them at school, and my grandfather was a scholar of folklore. He wrote a monograph upon the subject of vampires. I cannot recall to mind the details, but I do remember his thesis was that such creatures exist in almost every known civilization.”
“This is true, this is true. And here, the word for such a monster is strigoi . There are two varieties, but the strigoi morţi are the dead who will not rest. Death has taken the strigoi mort , only he does not lie easy in his grave. He walks in search of blood, to take it and feed his monstrous need with a bite to the neck or above the heart.” His eyes took on a faraway look, and I was not certain he even saw me as he continued to recite in a dreamy tone. “The strigoi mort comes at night to take the life of those left behind, of those most dear to him. He is immortal so long as he steals blood from the living. He is a monster, risen from the grave to take what does not belong to him.”
“And the other form?” I asked.
“ Strigoi vii , living men who have given up their immortal soul, either by choice or happenstance. One might be the seventh child of a seventh child, or perhaps have suffered the bite of a strigoi mort . These living vampires draw sustenance not from blood, but from the life force of those around them. A strigoi viu is doomed to become a strigoi mort after his death.”
It seemed an impossible thing to accept. The stories I had read about these creatures had been unreal to me, no different than any other bit of dark folklore. Somehow even as I had lectured Charles on the subject, I had failed to grasp that these creatures were very real to the folk who believed in them.
“But vampires, Dr. Frankopan,” I told him. “Surely they do not exist.” And even as I said the words I heard the shiver of doubt.
To my astonishment, the doctor leaned forward and covered my hands with his own. “My dear, you are a friend to the Dragulescus, and for this reason, you are dear to me as well. I must care for you as they would in their absence, and you must be warned.”
“Warned against what?” I demanded. I felt a little impatient with him now, and I struggled against it. It was not his fault that he had been brought up with such superstitions; indeed most folk had. Even in Edinburgh, a city that prided itself upon learning and sound common sense, I had heard of the ways of the peculiarities of the country folk and their odd beliefs about unseen things. How much more easily could they thrive here, in this fertile land of myth and magic?
He did not loose his hold upon my hands. “You cannot guard yourself
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