blocking the wind from mine, his hands twisted in the lapels of his own coat, drawing me closer to him.
“Better?” he asked, his lips hovering at my ear. I nodded and he stood and lingered a moment more beside me.
Suddenly a flutter of wings brushed past and I dropped my head, crying out.
“It is nothing,” he assured me. “Only a bat, intent upon its nightly hunt.”
I rose to discover the creature flying away, darting from tower to tower as it chased the darkness.
“Come,” said the count, urging me forward. He pointed upward into the night sky. “That bright spot just there is Venus. Fix it in your mind.”
I did as he instructed. Then he reached into the pocket of the coat he had placed about me to retrieve the small telescope. “Look again.”
It required a few attempts to master the instrument, but when I did I was rewarded with the sight of Venus, fairly dancing in the sky above us, the brightest star in the heavens.
“Do you observe anything peculiar?” he asked. He stood behind me, still shielding me from the wind, and the air carried the scent of him to me.
“She is lopsided, as if a bite had been taken from her.”
“Precisely. Even as she rises and seems to grow larger and brighter, she loses her roundness, forming eventually a crescent at her zenith. Galileo discovered this phenomenon.”
I proffered the telescope. “Thank you for that. I have never observed the stars before, at least not with someone who knew them so well.”
He took the instrument from my hands. “Now that you know where to look, you might even be able to determine Venus in the daylight sky. Napoleon did so once while he addressed the people from a palace balcony. He believed it was an omen of success for victory in Italy. He was quite correct.”
“It is a harbinger of good things to see Venus then?” I asked lightly.
“Of course. The planet was called after the goddess of love because it was supposed to shine a kindly light upon lovers’ meetings. I will show you.”
He stepped closer and leaned near to me. “Close your eyes,” he said, putting a hand over my face.
I complied, waiting expectantly for what would come next. My lips parted a little in delicious anticipation of the touch of his. I think I leaned forward just a bit, and even as I did so, he removed his hand.
“Open your eyes and look at me.”
I did, surprised and disappointed that he had not taken the opportunity to kiss me. I was shocked at myself, for such a thing was not to be wished. It was inappropriate and unseemly and yet it was what I wanted above all things.
But if he desired it as well, he betrayed no sign of it. His expression was calm, his tone even as he explained.
“Now, keeping your eyes fixed upon me, look with the tail of your eye at the wall. What do you see?”
I strained my eyes, looking without looking as I tried to discover what he wished me to see. And suddenly, there it was.
“There are shadows but no moon,” I said.
He gave me an approving look. “Very good. It took me quite a bit longer to understand when my grandfather taught me to see them. It is said that any love affair begun in the shadows of Venus will last an eternity, for it is blessed by the goddess herself.”
I did not know what to make of this. He was both scientist and mystic, capable of blending fact and legend to suit him. But to what end? What did he want of me?
Before I could puzzle over him further he put out his hand. “Come, Miss Lestrange. It grows late and the day has been a long one. You must be tired.”
But as he helped me down from the observatory, through his rooms and to the door of my own bedchamber, I was not aware of being fatigued. Instead, I felt more alive than I had ever done in my life, aware of the sound of my own blood rushing in my veins. I might have tarried on the roof with him a hundred years and never slept.
And yet, when he had kissed my hand and taken his leave, I scarcely managed to wash myself and put on my nightdress before I fell into bed and dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
6
Through the next several days at the castle a pattern emerged, each day as like to the next as beads strung upon a rosary. Each day I breakfasted alone in my room, then passed the rest of the morning in solitude, working on my book. I wrote in the library, but the count left me strictly alone-to my disappointment and relief. Something about the atmosphere, charged as it was, gave a fresh fillip to my work. I had not thought to begin so soon after my arrival, but the setting was so evocative I could not help myself. I remembered too what Cosmina had told me of the count’s plans. He meant to stay only a month or so, hardly enough time for me to take the proper measure of him. If I meant to use him as an inspiration, I had to begin, and quickly. Even with this determination, I found myself gazing often at the library door, wondering if this would be the day he provided a pleasant interruption to my labours.
But each morning ended with my collecting the sheaf of pages into a morocco portfolio and returning them safely to my room before taking a midday meal with Cosmina. If the countess was well, we ate together with the Amsels in a pretty little room with views of the mountains. More often, the countess kept to her rooms and Cosmina and I were served trays in her bedchamber. We talked of many things, but the count was not among them. After her first outburst she was content not to speak of him, and I hesitated to introduce the subject. I could not trust my own emotions not to betray me, and I knew I could not confide in her where I spent my evenings, for they were always passed in his company. The household dined together formally each night, and if the countess was strong enough some little entertainment followed, cards or perhaps music. But even those evenings we spent together were concluded early and I went to my room with hours yet to pass before I retired. The count, whom I had come to learn was largely nocturnal in his practices, knocked each evening upon my door soon after we retreated to our rooms. We passed our evenings in his grandfather’s workroom or, on clear nights, out upon the observatory walk itself watching the full moon rise over the valley. The count had cleared away the worst of the rubble in the workroom himself, refusing to permit the maids access to this most private of sanctuaries. The fact that he invited me there when no one else was granted such a privilege was not lost upon me, and as he conducted himself with propriety and restraint, I found myself increasingly at ease in his company. If his hand or gaze occasionally lingered a heartbeat too long upon me, this was countered with a seeming indifference that could only rouse my interest. Our evenings were spent in conversation that touched upon all subjects, and for the first time in my life I experienced the acute pleasure of being treated as an intellectual equal, for we sparred as often as we agreed, and I held my ground against him, frequently to his amusement, and always with his approval. I knew that he enjoyed me; I believed that he liked me, and the novelty of it was intoxicating.
I also came to enjoy the society of Dr. Frankopan, whose path crossed with mine nearly every day. He called often to see the countess and stay to a meal, and sometimes I ventured down to the village to accept one of his kindly invitations to tea. It was during one such visit, perhaps a week after I had come to the castle that I began to understand how deep the mysteries of Transylvania flowed. Cosmina had stayed behind to read to the countess, but I had grown familiar enough with the countryside and with the good doctor to call on my own. Usually we were alone, and I poured out while he sliced pieces of cake or cut bread and butter. But this day a dark, sullen lady attended us, and Dr. Frankopan introduced her as his housekeeper. As she passed me a cup, I realised her manner was brooding rather than surly, and the hostility she exhibited was not directed to me. Rather, she suffered from some calamity that worried her, for I saw that her nails were bitten cleanly to the quick and her eyes were rimmed red as though she had recently wept.
When she left us, Dr. Frankopan leaned near, his voice pitched low. “I must apologise for her, my dear. My good Madame Popa is very lowly at present. She has been at home these past days for there has been trouble in her family. Her husband, as they say in the vernacular here, has gone wolf.”
“Gone wolf?”
He sighed heavily. “Yes. Poor Teodor Popa. He has done what so many of his family have done before him. He
