I glanced at Vayl, wondering if I should lay one on him.
Tourists got a huge kick out of the castles, of course, and in the daytime Pelisor’s little nook of Romania looked like it had been peeled off a painting, with bright green grass and dark green pines forming a smal break in the endless rol of the Carpathian Mountains. Pelisor itself was kinda homey for a castle, which had been the intent of its first owner, King Carol I. The main reason, I decided, was the hodgepodge of materials that had been used to build the place.
The foundation was formed from traditional gray castle stone. It was topped by German-cottage-style gables, with medieval church archways and turrets that looked pink in some lights and sandy brown in others pinched between. Topped by so many russet-colored roofs that it seemed as if the place had been built in sections and superglued together, it confused the hel out of my white-siding senses. And yet it worked.
I almost regretted getting past the caretaker so easily. Despite Raoul’s tour-guide costume, the slope- shouldered old gent hadn’t fal en for our American-VIPs story at first. Then Vayl had laid a gentle arm around his shoulder, looked deep into his eyes, and spoken to him in his own tongue while shoving hypnotic suggestions down his throat. He’d instantly dropped a handful of castle maps into our hands and shuffled away, twitching like he was trying to shake a persistent mosquito. I found myself wishing he’d fought Vayl’s push a little harder. Then I wouldn’t have had to face the gilding so soon.
“Oh. My. God.” I stopped three steps into the Gold Room, where Queen Marie’s ghost appeared the most, forcing Aaron to backpedal so he wouldn’t slam into me. His curse drew itself out when he got a load of our new surroundings.
“Shee-it!” he said, sliding past me to wander around the room’s edge, slowly, like he had to get his bearings or he just might get lost amid the glitter. Raoul had stationed himself near the center by a chaise longue draped with black lace. It was in startling contrast to the rest of the space, which shone with the color of power. Not purple. Nuh-uh. I’ve-got-a-Golden-Ticket gold.
Gilded thistles covered the wal s and ceiling of the room, the center of which held a Celtic cross framed by four golden lights. I immediately looked to Vayl to see how he’d be affected by the holy sign. He’d noticed it right away too, and was checking the backs of his hands for signs of smoke.
“Don’t worry,” Raoul told him as he nodded toward the cross. “You’re under my protection here.” Vayl stuck his hands in his pockets. “Thank you,” he said. He went to the opposite side of the room, where a door flanked by two arched stained glass windows would let beautiful light in during the day. I tried to gauge his mood by the way his shoulders strained against his suit coat, but it was too hard to tel while his back was turned. So I let my eyes wander to the Tiffany lamp on the heavy rectangular table that sat between the chaise and the bank of windows, which gave the room an unearthly glow. Stately square chairs sat at each end of the table. At a diagonal behind one of them a double throne—I couldn’t think of it in any other terms—waited for its owner’s return. Behind the other a golden cabinet held some of Marie’s most treasured possessions. A book of poetry written in her own hand. A pair of giant pearl earrings surrounded by diamonds. A blue velvet hat trimmed with white fur. A statue of her daughter, Elisabeth, lifting her face to a refreshing breeze, her long hair and ruffled skirts flying behind her.
Vayl turned, the dimple on his right cheek appearing briefly as he asked, “Jasmine? Is this what you would cal over-the-top?”
I said, “Vayl? This freaking room is the reason royals should be wired with an off switch.” Aaron said, “Holy shitsky, this guy’s got a gold dick!” He was pointing at a statue that stood beside the flower-painted doorway we’d entered. The artist seemed to be into helmets and swords but little else in the way of armor.
“Shitsky?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Where are you from, Aaron? Sheboygan?”
“Close,” he said. “My mom was from Madison and I grew up in St. Paul.” I crossed my arms. “Nice boys from Wisconsin do not go around kil ing people. Even after they’ve turned into vampires.”
He blew his breath out his nose. “That is exactly something my mom would’ve said.”
“I know. My Granny May was from the Midwest.”
“Is she in the Thin?” he asked hopeful y.
I laughed out loud. “Hel no! She’s probably in God’s left ear right now, informing him that maybe he should change his gemstone polish, because the pearly gates aren’t looking quite as shiny as they should.”
Aaron’s smile suddenly made the whole room look dul by comparison. “Mom was just like that!”
“How about your dad?” I asked.
Instant sorrow. “Not so much. Dad knew two things. How to brew beer. And how to say yes to Mom. I was fifteen when she died, and then it became my job to tel him what to do.” Now I understood how Aaron’s dad had been caught.
Raoul said, “Your father would have been easy prey, then. A wavering soul is a vulnerable one.” The kid dropped his head. “I’ve thought about that. But he’s a good guy.”
“I know.” Raoul gestured down to the chaise. “According to the plaque, this is the spot where Queen Marie died in 1938. This wil be where she returns when I cal her.”
“So that’s what you’re going to do?” I asked.
I came over to stand by him, staring down at the last cradle of a country’s ruler. It did feel different to me, as if I’d sidled up to the emotional firewal of a woman’s entire life. But I knew that I could reach through if I wanted to. That I could touch the sliver of soul that she’d left behind, that continued to cal her back. And it would burn to be so close to such raw humanity.
I clasped my hands behind my back as Raoul said, “If I invited her back to a place where she habitual y walked anyway, we’d al be less likely to become ghost kebabs. You could talk, hopeful y make the deal, and then take it from there. If she even—”
I held my hand up to head off his doubts before he pol uted the room with his negative energy. I said, “I’ve sensed it in Brude. She spends most of her time in the Thin. This is the only place that cal s her back.”
