Chapter Text
“Nadia!” A booming voice echoed through the library.
Nadia flinched, the dusting cloth slipping from her fingers. She cursed under her breath; all those months keeping a low profile, slipping in and out of the shadows, doing her best to remain unnoticed; all for naught. Now the Lady of the House was yelling her name.
She wobbled down the creaky ladder just in time to see Lady Dimitrescu storm through the open doors, the train of her gown billowing behind.
There were blood stains along the seams of Lady Dimitrescu’s dress. Splatter marks sprayed on her waist and chest. She’d never known Lady Dimitrescu to look anything but photo-shoot ready, always poised and immaculate. Either she’d recently fed or someone was dragged into the basement. Hopefully a fate she’d avoid for another day.
Lady Dimitrescu’s flinty eyes locked on her from the threshold. “Are you Nadia?”
Nadia swallowed and forced her gaze away from a splotch of blood along Lady Dimitrescu’s pale cheek, so stark against her usual pallor. She waited until Lady Dimitrescu crossed the distance between them.
“I am, Lady Dimitrescu. How can I be of assistance?”
Lady Dimitrescu studied her like a specimen under glass. Nadia stuffed her hands into her apron pockets, having spent most of the day scrubbing soot from the fireplace grout.
“Ms. Boureanu speaks very highly of you and I am in need of assistance,” said Lady Dimitrescu. “How long have you worked here?”
Six months and five days. It’s marked on a calendar in her room; two crisscrossed lines over each day. But, it’s not what she answered.
“Just a few months, milady.”
“Just a few months,” Lady Dimitrescu repeated, clearly finding her answer unsatisfactory. “How come I’ve never seen you?”
“I keep a low profile, milady.”
Lady Dimitrescu pursed her lips, looking at her with mild interest. Deciphering her thoughts wasn’t hard.
Fresh meat.
Nadia quirked her head just as the grandfather clock on the wall chimed six o’clock. She was due for dinner with the other maids soon.
Lady Dimitrescu trailed her gaze. “You won’t be attending dinner tonight,” she said, already turning away. “Follow me.”
It took her a second to move her leaden feet, and by then Lady Dimitrescu had already left the library. She scrambled after until she trailed a respectable distance behind. Every long stride the Lady took was thrice her own.
The blood along Lady Dimitrescu’s dress wasn’t just in the front, either. The train of her gown had smatterings of it, along with streaks of mud. She kept her eyes trained down, matching her breath to her stride. She cataloged the last day or two—had she done something to upset Lady Dimitrescu or her daughters? Maybe used a wrong cleaning solution?
They walked down a long corridor, passing endless doors and portraits, twisting and turning until they arrived at a wing of the castle she rarely ventured. Her cleaning duties were the more public areas of the castle, not the daughters’ wing.
Lady Dimitrescu led her to a large, looming door, the middle carved with intricate designs made of molded copper and bronze.
“It’s about my daughter.” Lady Dimitrescu unlocked the door with a large, metal key, using one hand to push it open and the other one to usher her inside. “Bela.”
A wave of heat blasted her in the face as she peered into the room. The curtains were drawn shut against the windows, but the faint glow from the fireplace cast a hazy film over everything.
The sound of a throat clearing jolted her into action and she stepped into the room. A moment later, the door closed and locked behind her.
On the far side of the room stood a large fireplace, stacked high with wood and emanating enough heat to warm a small village. Sweat prickled along the back of her neck.
“What about Lady Bela?”
“Sick. Why don’t you have a look?” Lady Dimitrescu gestured to the large, canopy bed on the other side of the room. The bed was draped in elaborate tapestry that hung from four large pillars. The heavy piece looked like it belonged in a museum, not something to be slept in.
“You want me to…to go to the bed?”
That seemed hardly appropriate, but a hum of confirmation was all she got.
“I don’t understand, Lady Dimitrescu.” Her clammy hands twisted together, bunching her apron at the waist. “Where is Lady Bela? Why am I here?” Behind her, the door beckoned, but her feet stayed rooted. “I am not a blood maiden.”
“Are you disobeying me?”
“No, milady.”
Beads of sweat broke out along her upper lip and forehead. With a shuddering breath, she crept towards the bed. Every few steps she glanced at Lady Dimitrescu, searching her face. All she got was scrutiny from afar, though the Lady’s eyes were starting to look unnaturally yellow.
Just like a wolf.
She trailed a hand over the rough texture of the tapestry, curling her fingers around the lip, where both ends meet. She looked back at Lady Dimitrescu one last time. “Is Lady Bela in here? You…you want me to open this?”
“Yes,” Lady Dimitrescu hissed.
She yanked the curtain back.
A humanoid thing was stretched out on the bed. This was Bela? Her arms were crossed over her chest—she could just about see a bump of cleavage under the black dress. The pale skin of her arms and neck were fused with patches of glittering crystal, giving her a pockmarked appearance. Her face, unrecognizable save for the blonde hair fanned across the pillow, had a gaping hole where a cheek would be. Black specks filled her nostrils, mouth, and eyes.
Nadia stumbled back. They were flies. Flies that marched inside Bela’s hollowed cheeks and mouth.
Flies and the daughters went hand in hand, though no one was ever sure how or why. It was considered taboo to even discuss—but this was something she never quite expected.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice whispered into her ear. A large, heavy hand came to rest on her shoulder.
Her shoulder sagged under the oppressive weight. “She is, milady.”
She’d never interacted with any of the daughters, but she’d watched Bela from afar. Oh yes. The Bela she’d seen once or twice in passing was beautiful and proud. Not sadistic like Cassandra, not delusional like Daniela, but worse in her own way—distant, cold, and cruel. Where the other two sisters had favorite blood maidens, Bela was different: a new blood maiden every other week. A faceless blood bag hardly worth her time or recognition.
Lady Dimitrescu left her and sat in one of the cozy chairs next to the fireplace.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong with her!” Lady Dimitrescu slammed a fist into the arm of the chair and the wood cracked.
She flinched. “I’m sorry, I mean—what’s happened to her? Why is she like this?”
Lady Dimitrescu pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and placed one between her lips with a slight tremor. “A man did this,” she said, spitting the word out like she’d just tasted something rotten. She fished a lighter out next, slapping her thumb against the wheel a few times until a spark flew out.
The acrid smell of cigarette smoke reached her nostrils. The pang of nostalgia hit hard—morning breakfast with her parents and brothers, eggs on toast mixed with the scent of ash. She inhaled it without thinking.
Lady Dimitrescu arched an eyebrow and flipped the pack of cigarettes in her direction. “Do you smoke, Nadia?”
“No. But…my parents do.”
“Interesting.”
Was it? Not really. This was all a test. She was here for a reason. If Lady Dimitrescu wanted her dead—well, she’d heard the rumors of Castle Dimitrescu long before she ever set foot in it. But in the end, a job was a job and she had nowhere else to go.
“What do you want from me? Why am I here?”
“Ah, excellent. And to the crux of the matter. Shall we?” Lady Dimitrescu dipped her head towards the tufted, burgundy settee, positioned directly across from the roaring fireplace. Nadia meandered around the back of it, cognizant of those golden eyes that tracked every tremulous step of hers. “Come now, dear. I won’t bite.”
She perched on the edge of the furthest cushion, as far away from Lady Dimitrescu as possible. The warmth from the fire was the only solace she’d allow herself—her sweat had started to dry, making the tops of her arms and legs break out in a chill.
Lady Dimitrescu took a long drag from her cigarette before speaking. “As you’ve now seen for yourself, Bela is severely injured.” She paused, staring hard into the flames of the fireplace, half her face obscured in shadow and the other half ghost white. “In fact…She may not survive through the night.”
Nadia strained to hear the last of what Lady Dimitrescu said. Spoken so softly, like she was preparing herself for what could be.
“I…uhm. I’ve heard—I mean, I don’t know, obviously—but, I’ve heard Bela is very, very stubborn.” She licked her dry lips and cracked a wry smile. “I’m sure if anyone could survive this, it would be her.”
Lady Dimitrescu huffed a laugh and lit another cigarette. “I can see why Adelina likes you.”
Adelina? Was that Ms. Boureanu’s first name? It was strange hearing her addressed like that, like seeing a teacher out of school.
“You will remain in Bela’s room for the rest of the evening.”
Her chest tightened. She sprung to her feet and whipped around until she faced the bed. “What if she wakes up?”
“Ideally, yes. But doubtful.” Lady Dimitrescu leaned forward and rose to her full height, inch by agonizing inch, until she looked down at Nadia. “Heat is vital to her survival. You’ve worked here for a few months. You know our rules.”
“Can’t you have someone else? Lady Cassandra or Lady Daniela? Ms. Boureanu? A blood maiden?”
Lady Dimitrescu sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We were doing so well. I thought we reached an understanding of sorts. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.” She opened her palm, finger by finger. A long ripping sound filled the room until four gleaming claws fanned out against her side.
Nadia gasped, backing away from the settee until she was pressed against one of the bed’s large pillars. Once she realized where she was standing, the image of Bela rearing up behind her, face half broken, mouth and eyes filled with flies had her stumbling in the opposite direction, further away from both of them.
“We’ll talk more in the morning.”
And with that, Lady Dimitrescu opened the door and stepped out into the dark hallway. Then the door latched shut, followed by the finality of a lock being turned.
She was alone.