Dracul (21 page)

“We always figured this place was deserted,” I gesture to the walls around me.

“Indeed. As I looked around, I found no sign of life, not even footprints or fingerprints on the dusty surfaces. Nonetheless, I wandered through many rooms and eventually found my way into a garage. Though most of the vehicles were locked, there was a Bugatti Veyron with the top down—”

Felix interrupts the story with a low whistle.

“That’s a nice car?” I ask my brother at a whisper.

“One of the nicest ever made. Some say,
the
nicest. Very expensive and rather rare.” Felix doesn’t bother to whisper.

“I won’t pretend I wasn’t drawn to the opportunity to drive the car, but I would much rather have done so with the owner’s direct permission.”

“Are you implying you had
indirect
permission?” I ask.

“Yes. You see, in all the years I knew him, Jean Lombard expressed a strong allegiance to his fellow dragons, and insisted those of us who remained in the dragon world should support one another—that is, not just dragons, but all those who belong to their world, for example, me and my great-nephew. To that end, he was a generous host during my visits and offered to let me stay at his chateau any time I wanted, and to make use of any resources he could provide me with. He even specifically mentioned borrowing his car. Granted, it was a much different car a century ago…”

“You drove his Veyron?” Felix asks in an awed voice.

“It was the best way to get to Monaco.” Constantine’s smirk is a pleased one. “Though I’m quite sure the chateau was locked up tight from the outside, by flying into the courtyard, I had access to much of the house, and the garage. And there was a garage door remote opener inside the car.”

“So you drove to Monaco.” My voice is slightly less awed, and more incredulous.

“Yes. I drove there and visited the Machine D’or in hopes of finding Lombard or Drake or even Gane. I found none of them, so I played blackjack. When the table I was playing got hot, I upped my bids—significantly.”

“Gutsy move,” I note. “Were you hoping they would accuse you of counting cards and drag you off to the major stakeholders?”

“That is precisely the theory I used to justify my exorbitant betting. That, and driving a Veyron into town might have gone to my head. Whatever the case, I won big that night, and employed a similar strategy the next night. I never did find any of the men I sought, but my winnings were impressive. On Monday, I drove the car back to the chateau. Once again, I tried to find any sign of life, human, dragon, or vampire, but no one seemed to be there.

“I returned again this past weekend, and my experience was almost identical to the previous weekend. However, I was becoming frustrated, because, while my winnings were good enough to almost distract me from my real purpose, I knew I needed to talk to someone, preferably Drake, and ask him to call his vampires off their pursuit of you. I asked around about Gane, Drake, and Lombard, but no one seemed to recognize their names—or else, they had been instructed not to talk. I cannot read human faces as well as dragon, but several persons I spoke with appeared to sweat my questions.”

“So, you didn’t make any progress.” I frown.

“Not in Monaco. When I returned the Veyron yesterday, however, something was different. Once again I checked the chateau for signs of life and found nothing. But in my search, I stepped into a dark hallway off the garage. As I was heading back out, I heard voices. They were speaking French in low tones, and unfortunately I was unable to make out much of what was said. But I crept closer and saw Lombard clearly. He looks the same as he did a century ago.”

I’m tempted to ask if Lombard is a good looking guy, but that seems superficial, so I keep my mouth shut.

Constantine continues, “He was speaking to a man whose back was to me. Before I could quite get over my surprise and make my presence known or introduce myself, Lombard climbed into another vehicle and drove away, and the other man disappeared.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Disappeared? As in, teleported away?” I ask.

“Presumably.” Constantine’s face says he’s not laying claim to anything for sure.

“That would mean the other man was also a dragon or at least a vampire, correct?” Felix asks.

“Presumably.” Constantine sticks to his noncommittal response. “If I would have realized they were both going to leave so suddenly, I’d have hurried out to speak to Lombard. I wish I would have—but I honestly thought the two of them were going to talk longer, and I hoped to overhear something that would give me a clue whether they realized I’d been taking the Veyron, or whether they knew of what Drake and Gane have been up to—any information that might help me to know where we stand.”

I’ve been holding back my question far too long, and it virtually bursts from my mouth. “Is he cute?”

“Who?” Constantine appears completely taken aback.

“Lombard? The guy you want to hook me up with.” I know it’s superficial, but you know what else? It’s my life and my future, and I just need to know.

“Cute?” Constantine repeats the word with an expression of sour distaste. “No, he’s not
cute
. He’s a dragon. He’s handsome and strong—he looks like Clark Gable, or one of those film stars from back in the day before men were expected to be
cute
.” He pronounces the last word in a high-pitched voice that sounds completely out of place coming from between his lips.

I could laugh, but I feel so conflicted. On the one hand, I’m relieved Lombard is handsome. But on the other hand, I don’t really want to like him, not when I care about Constantine. But on an entirely different hand (yes, that’s three—more hands than I can handle), I know I really ought to forget about Constantine and move on, or whatever good common sense dictates.

But on yet another entirely different hand, I’ve never been a fan of good common sense. It tends to be boring and practical, all things which dragons most certainly are
not
.

Even while I’m thinking all these conflicted thoughts, Constantine touches my hand with his icy fingers. “Rilla? I want you to be happy. I would not attempt to marry you off to an ogre, or anyone who might make you anything less than happy.”

Now I really can’t speak past the lump in my throat. My instinct is to say I don’t want to marry anyone but Constantine, but of course that’s not possible.

“So,” Felix sums up where we stand. “We still need to track down Gane or Drake or whoever set the vampires after Rilla, and tell them to back off and stand down and all that. And maybe we should figure out a way for Rilla to get a peek at Lombard and decide if she wants to be introduced.” His grin is perhaps a bit too big. “What do you say? Are we going to Monaco?”

“I think we should go to Monaco,” Constantine confirms.

“I think I need to go to bed.” I’ve polished off most of the venison while we’ve talked, and my exhaustion is catching up with me. “In case you’ve forgotten, I just flew here from Montana. I need my rest before I meet anyone, future dragon husband or otherwise.”

“Rest,” Felix tells me. “And
then
we should go to Monaco.”

“Are you sure that’s the best plan?” I’m still not convinced. “Constantine already spent two weekends there, with no luck.”

“Third time’s a charm.” Felix grins.

“Or three strikes and you’re out,” I mutter, but the guys don’t want anything to do with my pessimism. They think maybe I’ll warm up to the plan once I’m rested up, so while I head off to sleep, they practice up on blackjack and the particular strategies Constantine feels work best in Monaco.

Somewhere in there Constantine must have showed Felix a map and explained how to get from Lombard’s remote chateau to Machine D’or, because when I wake up rested the next morning (yes, I slept most of a day and a night—I needed that sleep), Felix announces they’re ready to head out whenever I’m ready.

“Ready. Yeah…” I rake my fingers back through my disheveled hair. I still smell faintly of the Atlantic Ocean, and I haven’t shaved my legs since the last time I donned an evening gown. “How am I supposed to get ready? I need a hot shower. And where am I supposed to dress—I can’t fly in my dress. Are we planning to fly into Lombard’s chateau in dragon form?”

“Don’t worry about how you look now,” Constantine reassures me. “As I mentioned, since we are able to fly into Lombard’s courtyard from above, we can access many of the rooms from inside—including bathrooms. I have checked the taps, and the water flows.”

“
Hot
water?” I don’t want to be picky, but have you ever tried shaving in a cold shower? I am not in the mood to slice off goosebumps.

Not that there’s really a mood for that.

“Yes, hot, cold, showers, everything. It is a very fine chateau in the south of France. I think you will be impressed. Why don’t you pack a bag, Felix and I will hunt up a meal, we can eat and then head out. The cloud cover is perfect for flying today, and if we don’t waste too much time, we should arrive in Monaco by evening.”

The promise of a hot shower sways me, so that is exactly what we do.

Our flight is uneventful, other than that Constantine flies ahead of me and Felix, since he knows the way, which means I get to spend the entire flight looking at Constantine in dragon form, which is an impressive sight and makes me wish he really was a dragon and not a dragon-turned-vampire.

But wishing won’t make it so.

We arrive at the chateau, a cluster of gray stone towers encircling a cobbled courtyard, with wings of rooms, empty stables, and an enormous garage. Maybe it’s the gothic architecture or the fact there’s no sign of life. Or perhaps it’s just the cold mountain air.

Whatever it is, the place makes me shiver.

I had packed both evening gowns, rolled up in bags so they wouldn’t wrinkle, with the intention of leaving them at Constantine’s castle, since I didn’t feel comfortable keeping them once our agreement ended. But because of that, I conveniently have them and the matching shoes and jewelry and everything with me, along with all my overnight toiletries.

And, as Constantine predicted, the bathrooms at the chateau are amazing and the water is steamy warm, which I appreciate so very much after our cold flight. The decor is slightly dated, but marble never goes out of style and neither do spacious showers, and there are even plush rugs and towels. I wouldn’t say they were the freshest towels ever, but neither were they used.

I sweep my long dark hair into an elegant updo, and then hairspray it like crazy because I’m nearly certain the Veyron is a convertible. When I finish my makeup and check my reflection in the full length mirror, I can’t help trying to see myself through Lombard’s eyes.

What’s he going to think when he meets me?

If
he meets me.

And what am I going to think of him? He has great taste in chateaus. This place is both bigger and fancier than Constantine’s Romanian hideaway, what with the plumbing and electricity and marble…everything. Living here would be no hardship. Sure, the place is remote, but that’s the way we dragons like it. I could totally live here, and probably even love it.

But will I love
him
?

Last thing before I head out, I put my color-dulling contacts in.

My disguise is complete.

“Any sign of Lombard?” I ask Constantine and Felix when I exit the bathroom.

“No sign of anyone,” Constantine answers. He, too, got all fancied up. He and Felix are both wearing actual tuxedoes tonight—perhaps because Monaco is more formal, more old-fashioned. They both look slick as anything, with their longish hair pulled back into low ponytails—Constantine’s black, Felix’s a deep auburn.

“Everyone’s in Monaco,” Felix predicts. “Let’s get going.” He hurries ahead of me to the Veyron.

It’s immediately clear why Felix is so eager to go. He wants to drive the car. It’s an opportunity I’m not going to fight him for. He’s studied the maps with Constantine, so he knows where he’s going.

Besides, driving an unfamiliar car on unfamiliar roads in high heels and an evening gown, is not how I want to prepare myself to meet the guy who could be my future husband. I’ll relax and enjoy the scenery—although the sun is already starting to set, so I’m not sure how much of that I’ll see.

“You’re ready then?” Constantine asks once Felix and I are seated in the convertible. “On my last two visits, I have purposely acquainted myself with a little-used bathroom stall near the entrance to Machine D’or. If I teleport there at this hour, the casino will not yet be busy, and there is an excellent chance I can arrive without anyone seeing me appear.”

“Ready.” Felix grins a bit too eagerly.

“What’s our exit plan?” I ask.

“That depends on a number of factors. If I am able to meet with Lombard, we may adapt our plans to spend time with him. Ultimately, though, this car needs to come back here, so the three of us can plan to meet here in the wee hours of the morning if we’re otherwise separated. If all else fails, I’ll see you back at my castle in Romania.”

“Sounds perfect.” The thought of the abandoned castle makes me smile. Lombard’s chateau may be grander, but Constantine’s castle has always felt like home to me.

I spend the next hour or two trying to enjoy the car ride. Felix is certainly enjoying it. I’m freezing cold at first, but then I discover a storage compartment with a blanket inside, so I bundle up while puzzling over why males, who tend to be warmer blooded anyway, get to wear coats to formal events, while females, who are inclined to freeze easily, are expected to wear flimsy fabrics and show lots of skin.

It’s not even fair in summer, because the men overheat.

The mystery remains a mystery and the sun sets, leaving the mountains bathed in darkness. We zip through the winding roads, and I catch glimpses of Monaco, glowing like a dragon’s eyes and reflecting off the Mediterranean. We show our passports to enter the tiny nation, and Felix finds the Machine D’or, which is a sparkling white-and-gold building shaped almost like a jukebox, nestled tight against a large mountain.

“Is it just me, or does the building look like it’s part of the mountain?”

“It’s built into the mountain,” Felix explains. “Constantine told me about it while you were asleep. They claim part of the mountain was dug away to make room for the casino, with the rocks taken to the sea to expand the land area of Monaco into the water.”

“That would take a lot of rocks,” I speculate.

“It all depends on how far they burrowed into the mountain. There’s no saying how far back that goes.”

Felix stops and hands off the keys to the Veyron to a valet who, in what I’m learning is typical Monegasque fashion, manages to not look excited to drive it.

Everyone is just too cool here, and I do my best not to feel like a back-country hick. Good posture helps, though in these heels I’m a foot taller than most everyone else. I sling the chain strap of my handbag over my shoulder with what I hope looks like sophistication.

“Stop smiling,” I whisper to Felix. “It makes you stand out.”

“Like we don’t already.” He shrugs off my correction.

We find our way past the clanging anteroom of slot machines into the deeper regions of the casino. Constantine explained that the high rollers play deep back in the building, though now I’m wondering how far back into the building they go.

What are we walking into?

As a dragon, there aren’t many things I fear. Discovery, of course. Meat shortages. Not finishing my senior thesis. But most of the fears most people face—assault, fire, earthquakes, spiders—are things I can fly away from.

But deep inside a mountain…

There’s no escape.

I feel a tad claustrophobic just thinking about it.

“Cold?” Felix asks when I shiver.

“I left the blanket in the car,” I remind him, unwilling to admit this gold-and-white building with its ludicrously-laden crystal chandeliers actually gives me the creeps.

But it does.

From long before recorded history, dragons have always favored caves in the mountains, both to live in and hide their gold. In fact, my dad’s castle is built into a mountain, with rooms tunneled deep below—a weapons storehouse, and below that, the treasury. I have never felt uncomfortable or creeped out by those subterranean rooms.

This is different. I don’t know how far back these rooms go or what might be hiding there. It reminds me too much of last summer, when I took my sister to the Swiss Alps to help her rescue the dragon she loved from the evil dragon Hans Wexler, and some things happened there that made us wonder if maybe there was more going on under the mountain than we could see.

But there’s no reason to allow those thoughts to distract me now. I’m on a mission.

We wind our way through the rooms and halls until we find Constantine, already heating up a smoking hot blackjack table. He is all smooth sophistication, his heavy-lidded eyes focused on the game before him, his motions discreet, studied. I can almost imagine his mind whirring with numbers—the card count, his odds of winning, the total in his hand, how much he’ll take home if he wins this hand. He purses his lips thoughtfully before signaling that he wants another card.