I tore my gaze away, holding my skirts as close to the steam as possible. Now was not the time to be distracted by improper desires. I turned around, hoping to dry the back of my bodice, and spotted another tunnel entrance, marked with the numeral XII. Chills wracked my body for an entirely new reason.

“Let me see the book, Cresswell.”

Thomas spied the entrance I’d pointed out and handed over the old vellum tome. I flipped through it, marveling at how the pages had survived the waters. Whoever had created it must have planned for it to withstand these dangers. I found what I’d been searching for and stopped. It took a moment to work out the Romanian in my head, but I sorted it out.

XII

BONE WHITE, BLOOD RED. HERE LIES SOMETHING LONG DEAD.

TREE OF DEATH AND HEART OF STONE. NEVER ENTER THE CRYPT ALONE.

IF YOU DO, HE’LL MARK YOUR TRACKS, HUNT YOU DOWN, AND THEN ATTACK.

BONE WHITE, BLOOD RED. THERE LIE THOSE WHO SHOULD HAVE FLED.

I read it out loud for Thomas, my thoughts entirely set on our mission once again. He pushed strands of dark hair off his forehead and sighed. “I don’t recall Radu mentioning anything about battling strigoi, do you?”

“Unfortunately, no.” I shook my head. Our lessons on vampires hadn’t offered any hints on how we might survive a chamber dedicated to them. “Come on,” I said, lifting my partially dry skirts and nodded toward the entryway, “staying here won’t get us out of these tunnels any faster.”

“No,” Thomas agreed, following slowly, “but I’d much rather be covered in sludge than see what other delights are awaiting us.”

The tunnel wasn’t very long and spat us into another chamber, as if we’d walked from one grand room in the castle to another. “Like this. How charming.”

I tore my attention from the stone walls and inspected where we were, immediately regretting it. This chamber was an enormous old crypt split into two sections by an elaborate archway. Someone had recently been down here lighting torches, and my blood chilled at the thought. There had to be a way to get here other than the hellish route we had found. I found myself torn between pushing forward and running in the opposite direction.

Thomas and I stopped under the archway, unwilling to cross into the space beyond. He glanced at me and lifted a finger to his lips. We needed to move as quickly and quietly as possible.

I inspected the arch, trying to control the gooseflesh erupting down my body. It was made entirely of antlers. I couldn’t begin to comprehend how many stags must have died to fashion such a horrid thing, but my attention was quickly drawn elsewhere. The rest of the chamber was even more horrific.

The dead did not rest peacefully in this crypt. Their remains had been disturbed, manipulated into a nightmarish scene straight from the pages of gothic horrors. Everything was created from cold, white bone. Grave markers. Ornate crosses. The walls. Ceiling. Fencing. Everything, everything was made of parts of skeletons, both human and animal, at first glance. I swallowed down my revulsion.

Radu had been wrong about the woods being filled with bones. The space below the mountain was.

From here, we could see a fenced-in mausoleum, standing like a small, unholy chapel within a vast burial ground. Instead of having stone flooring, the graveyard had packed earth, making me wonder if we’d finally reached the true bottom of the mountain. The fence was constructed of upright bones that had been stuck into the soil. A crude, partially open gate sat at its center. My body hummed with anticipation and dread. I did not wish to cross into that section of Hell.

Huge columns of entwined bone stood tall along the four sides of the mausoleum, which was also made entirely from remains. In the center of what could best be described as a sprawling graveyard of half-unearthed skeletons, there was a large tree whose branches nearly reached the high ceiling. Like everything else in this horrid chamber, the tree limbs were composed entirely of bones. The monstrosity had to be at least twenty feet tall.

We walked on, pausing outside the fence. Thomas had gone as silent as the cemetery we were standing near, attention sweeping from one outrageous sight to the next. Upturned earth and mildew tickled my nose, but I dared not sneeze. Any number of things could be lurking in the tangle of horror surrounding us.

Thomas shifted his focus to the macabre scene directly on our path. “I believe we’ve found the Tree of Death mentioned in Poezii Despre Moarte,” he whispered, still glancing around.

“At least it’s aptly named. It certainly wouldn’t be confused with the Tree of Life.”

“It’s so… appalling. Yet I’m oddly enchanted.” Thomas rattled off each new bone he identified in the tree situated within the fence. “Humerus, radius”—he sucked in a breath, pointing to another bit of ivory—“and that’s an admirable ulna. Must have come from a near-giant. Tibia, fibula, patella…”

“Thank you for the anatomy lesson, Cresswell. I can see what they are,” I said quietly, nodding toward the gated entrance and its unearthed bones. “Where should we begin?”

“With the tree, naturally. And we need to hurry. I have a feeling whoever lit the torches will return soon enough.” Thomas handed the lantern to me. “After you, my dear.”

A vast part of myself did not wish to enter this devil’s acre—it seemed an annihilation of the sanctity of death—but we’d come too far to let trepidation rule my senses. If Daciana or Ileana or Nicolae was in trouble, we needed to keep moving forward. No matter that my instincts were screaming for me to grab Thomas’s hand and run in the opposite direction.

I breathed deeply, hoping neither my imagination nor my body would fail me now. If ever there were a time for clear thoughts and a steady pulse, this would be it.

Without letting fear sink its claws into me, I lifted my chin and tiptoed toward the fence of long-picked-over cadavers. However, I couldn’t stop my sharp intake of breath when I entered the graveyard containing what the Poezii Despre Moarte called the Tree of Death.

I could very much imagine Vlad Dracula rising from this spot, coming to greet his last male heir.

TREE OF DEATH

COPACUL MORŢII

BRAN CASTLE

22 DECEMBER 1888

The tree was even worse than I’d thought from several yards away. Hand bones, skulls with hollow eye sockets, and broken rib cages created the frightening masterpiece. I marveled at how they fit together without any string or binding—they’d simply been woven together.

Femurs were bunched together, making up the center of the trunk. Rib cages faced each other, caging the leg bones as if they were bark. Eyeing the area around the base of the tree, I noticed stacks of bones lying in heaps, perhaps waiting to be assembled. Some of them still had bits of flesh and sinew attached. Not all of these skeletons were old. A chilling thought.

I realized I was holding my breath, terrified of making too much noise. I wanted to hurry, and yet this place made it impossible to not pause and gape at each new horror. Like the one before us now.

Sitting beside the pile of bones was a large claw-foot tub. It was filled to the brim with dark red blood, the scent of copper stinging my nose. It was likely a trick of my senses, but I swore something bubbled from within its sanguine depths. Thomas stilled, his attention latched on to the bathtub as he held an arm out, stalling our movements. I dared not wander close to it, the fear of what my mind would conjure too great. Thomas continued staring at it, shoulders tensed. We’d found the missing blood of the Impaler’s victims—the ones we knew of and God knew who else. The murderer was close. Too close. My whole body tingled with anticipation.

It felt as if we’d traversed deep into Dante’s Inferno, unaware.

“‘Abandon all hope ye who enter here.’ It’s so disturbing,” I whispered. “I cannot fathom how anyone would fashion an entire crypt from bones. Or that tub… poor Wilhelm and Mariana.” I shivered, knowing my damp clothing was only partly to blame. “The Order is quite gifted with psychological war games.”

“It is a literal bloodbath.” Thomas tore his gaze from the tub, expression grim. “Someone has a very dark and very twisted sense of humor.”

I closed my eyes, demanding that the rapid pounding of my heart slow down. We needed to find Daciana and Ileana. I kept repeating that thought until fear released me.

We quietly moved away from the tub of blood, but the horror of it clung to us. I felt it behind me, waiting, as if it were beckoning me with its nightmarish essence. I would not even consider what we’d do if another clue was located within that bloodbath monstrosity. If the villagers were superstitious about desecrating the dead, I could only imagine their reaction should they ever stumble upon this blasphemous burial site.

“There must be over two hundred human bodies that went into making this morbid sculpture.” Thomas held the lantern toward the top branch. A cluster of phalanges were strung together as if they were white leaves. “Perhaps the rumors of Vlad Dracula being immortal are true.”

I ripped my gaze from the bone tree, inspecting my friend for any signs of trauma. He shot me a crooked grin. “You’re most delightful when you stare at me like that, Wadsworth. However, I’m only teasing. Judging from the bath of blood, I do believe whoever’s amended that nasty little poem for you visited this spot. Maybe we’ll find a clue regarding Daci.”

“Do you see any Roman numerals carved into the tree?” I focused on the graveyard and mausoleum; I couldn’t stop myself from being intrigued by our surroundings. Flesh-free skulls lined the walls. Actually, the skulls were the walls. They were stacked on top of one another, packed so tightly I doubted I could stick my fingers between them.

Thomas shook his head. “No, but according to that sign, one must climb the tree to pluck its fruit.”

I stared at the plaque nailed to the bone gate. It was etched in Romanian, the letters rough as the tool that had been used to mark it. I stepped closer, reading it to myself.

Smulge fructe din copac pentru a dobândi cunoştinţe

Thomas was correct; it basically stated that one needed to pluck fruit from the tree to gain knowledge. I trailed my gaze over the tree limbs, searching for any sign of this so-called fruit. Bird skulls of all sizes were strung in intervals, their beaks facing this way and that. I pointed them out. “Perhaps those skulls? In some sickening way, they almost resemble pears.”