nothing to calm the water’s turbulence. The farther north we sailed, the more the landscape became austere and unforgiving. Black stone flags began to jut like tentacles into the ocean from the mainland. The gray-green waters merged on the horizon with purple-tinged skies, and the winds shimmied the waves into prancing white peaks.
We watched the winds whipping the water from the glass-enclosed promenade deck of the steamer, where the Count wrapped me in a fur blanket against the chilly afternoon. About an hour before twilight, the steamer dropped its anchor off Sligo Harbor, where two rowboats met us to take us to shore. The sea spray left us wet, and me very cold, but a carriage and coachman greeted us to take us to the castle.
For the last two days of the voyage, the Count had insisted that I rest. Not once did he touch me as he had on the first evening, though I am sure that he read my thoughts and knew that I craved it. Sometimes he dined with me, and at other times, he left me to myself, sending broths and potions in the evenings that would help me sleep. He insisted that I had to gather my strength for the days ahead. He would not even continue the story of his early life but promised that he would tell me the rest of it at the appropriate time once we were in Ireland. He often pressed his fingers to my pulse and listened to my body’s rhythms. Sometimes, he would say, “Good, good.” Sometimes he would frown and send me to bed. I yearned for him to come to my cabin with me, or to allow me into the quarters were he slept, but he refused on the grounds that I must have uninterrupted sleep. A silent and dutiful staff saw to my every need, often while remaining invisible. I was never certain who had been in my cabin while I slept, taking care of my clothing and preparing fresh dress for the following day, or who left the trays of nuts, fruits, and tea to refresh me upon waking from naps.
We rode now in the dark, the countryside vaguely lit by the carriage lamps. A light mist had drifted in from the sea, and I saw only shadows and silhouettes as the Count pointed out sights and landmarks.
“There is the great mountain Benbulbin. It sits on the earth like an anvil, and when it rains, the deep rivulets run with water as if the mountain is shedding tears.”
“I barely see its outline,” I said, squinting to see what he described.
“Ah, I forget that you do not see what I see. But you will, Mina, and you will be amazed at the secret beauty of the night,” he said.
“There is the castle. Do you see it on the promontory at the top of the hill?”
The monstrous stone structure, with a tall, thick watchtower, lorded over the headland, the walls slit by long, thin bars of yellow light emanating from its windows. The carriage began the long climb up the hill, where we gazed over the dark and glossy moonlit sea. At the top of the hill, we were turning onto the long curved lane that led to the castle, when I glimpsed its massive entryway lit by torches. As we came closer, I saw more clearly its two huge, turreted wings with long, tall windows, united by a great stone facade.
A tall, thin woman in a plain black dress with a swirl of gray and black hair piled on top of her head greeted us as we alighted from the carriage. “My lord,” she said with a low curtsy to the Count.
The Count nodded politely. “We are delighted to be in your care, madam,” he said, introducing her as Mrs. O’Dowd. She was not old, perhaps younger than Headmistress, and though her frame was bony, she had very correct posture, and her sallow skin was unlined. “This lady is from the clan of the fiercest warlords in Ireland,” he said, which brought a pleased look to her face, and I wondered if she was one of the Count’s kind and had been alive since the early days of her tribe’s existence.
Awed by the sheer size of the castle, I let the Count take my elbow and guide me. Refreshments awaited us in the grand reception hall, where a roaring fire burned in a hearth as tall as a man. Immense animal heads crowned the room-big-toothed bears, elk, and an animal with jagged, tiered antlers that I could not identify. A tripaneled stained-glass window with English kings and imposing crests presided over the wide staircase that curved around on either side of the well and disappeared into the upper stories of the castle.
I wanted to run about the rooms like a little girl and investigate this wondrous place, but Mrs. O’Dowd took my cloak and gestured for me to sit on the divan in front of the fire, where she poured me a cup of tea. She neither poured any for the Count nor offered it to him. “Shall I serve the young lady some food?” She did not address me, but asked the Count, who nodded his head. She selected an assortment of sandwiches and fruit, placed it before me, and then left the room.
I ate while the Count told me some of the castle’s history, how it had originally been built in the last years of the twelfth century by a French knight who abandoned it some years later. “It went to ruin and was rebuilt again in the era of Cromwell, and modernized about fifty years ago by its present owner.”
I was curious to know more of this mysterious owner, but the Count said that he had another story he would prefer to tell me. He took me by the hand through the castle to a parlor at its rear. I could not see much of the room in the dark except the glimmer of its chandeliers and the large gilded mirrors on the walls. From a bay window, in the distance, I saw a vine-covered ruin sitting beside a moonlit lake. Something inside me stirred. I felt dizzy, faint. I leaned against him.
“Do you recognize it, Mina?”
“I do not, and yet it is familiar.”
“Come,” he said, taking my hand. He opened a door that led outside. The temperature had dropped, and the night was cold. He put his arms around me. “You will be warm,” he said.
He picked me up and started to walk toward the ruin and the lake. In moments, he was no longer walking, nor was he flying, but we were moving at a rapid pace, as if gliding on an invisible track. I held my breath as the landscape sped by me and the castle drifted away. In another moment, time collapsed, and we blasted through a window of sorts and were inside the ruin.
He put me down, and I held on to him while I caught my breath. “As your body adapts to mine, it will get used to that sort of travel,” he said. The room was very dark, but enough moonlight came through a big hole in the roof to illuminate its outline. It was a small room, bare but for some big logs that sat beside an abandoned hearth. The Count picked up a few and stacked them inside. He closed his eyes and held his hands over the logs. His long fingers, stretched out in front of him, seemed to pulsate and glow. Somewhere in the distance, an owl screeched, and wings fluttered madly in a tree, but I was too spellbound by his powerful shape in the moonlight to move or to utter a sound. He stood motionless until the glow in his hands intensified. I heard crackling noises coming from the logs, and suddenly, his hands ceased to glow, but flames started to shoot up in the fireplace, first in one place and then in another, until the hearth was dancing with fire.
He took off his cloak and laid it on the floor for me to sit on. He smiled at my astonished face. “It is not difficult to summon a fire spirit,” he said. “I have seen you do it.”
As soon as I sat down, the room started to spin around me. He knelt beside me, putting his arm around my shoulders.
“I feel sick,” I said. My stomach was upset, and I thought I would throw up the food I had just eaten. He put his hand on my stomach. “Just breathe, Mina.” I did as he said. “You are not accustomed to rapid travel.” His hand grew warm as it sat over my belly, dissipating the uncomfortable feeling. “This room carries memories, and, as with any human life, not all that we shared here was good. Yet so much of it was glorious.”
“What happened here?” I asked.
“We lived here. You and I, together, long, long ago.”
“I do not remember anything, and yet the place has an effect on me.”
“As it would, because the memories are still here,” he said. “All time occurs at once, Mina. I have shown you that. In a place that exists just beyond a thin membrane that you cannot see, you and I are still living that life here together.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. My eyes welled with tears and I clenched my fists in frustration. “I want to understand but I cannot. This is all too much for me.” A few months ago, all I had wanted was a simple church wedding, a little home in Pimlico, and a baby. Now he was calling upon me to apprehend the secrets of the universe.
He pulled me close to him and pressed his lips against my forehead, soothing me. “It has taken me centuries to understand it myself. I expect too much of you. You are probably still in shock from what happened at the asylum. Perhaps I should have waited until you were stronger to bring you here.”
“I wanted a life that was secure and simple,” I said. “I yearned for it, and now it is all gone, and I must comprehend things that are beyond me.”
“You cannot have that life because that is not who you are, Mina. You must be who you are, not who you wish to be.”
He took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes, once again mesmerizing me, melting away my
