Bound by Flames

“Gretchen, go with him,” I said at once.

She wouldn’t have noticed his shudder, not with how fast he suppressed it. “I’ll be right back,” Samir promised. “Gretchen, Leila’s chain is three feet long, so stay back at least three feet and you’ll be safe.”

“She said she’s fine, go,” my sister replied. Once Samir left, the solid rock door closed behind him. Gretchen rolled her eyes. “You have no idea how irritating he can be.”

“You don’t say?” I replied dryly.

She missed the inference. “Seriously, Samir was more restrictive than Dad while we were in Vegas, and in New Orleans, I wasn’t even allowed to leave the hotel. I mean, we were right in the French Quarter, but Samir wouldn’t even let me take one of those Haunted History tours . . . which reminds me, did you send me a weird text the other day?”

“A text? No,” I said, not adding that I didn’t text because my electricity issues short-circuited all but the most elaborately protected cell phones.

She grunted. “Huh, thought it had to be you since it was a link to an article about an underground Dracula dungeon being found—”

“What?” I interrupted, alarmed. “Someone sent you a link about Dracula stuff?”

Was this Szilagyi’s way of taunting us that he’d found my family? It couldn’t be random spam; what were the odds of someone accidentally texting Vlad’s only living sister-in-law with an article about Dracula?

“What phone number did it come from?” I pressed. Maybe we could trace it back to the source.

“It was an out-of-country number, but when I called it, it was disconnected,” Gretchen said, not catching the fear in my voice. “You don’t think your husband did it, do you?”

“Not a chance,” I said grimly. “Vlad would sooner stab himself in the heart with silver than advertise any new Dracula hype . . .”

“Leila?” Gretchen prodded when my voice trailed off and I didn’t say anything for several moments.

“You say that the article was about an underground dungeon?” I said, an idea forming in my mind.

Gretchen sighed. “Yeah, guess historians or something think they’ve found the place where he was imprisoned as a child—”

“Where?” I interrupted more urgently.

“I don’t know, somewhere.” Gretchen shrugged.

I resisted my urge to shake her. “What about numbers? Were there any numbers after the link to the article?”

She gave me an irritable look. “That was two countries and a plane crash ago, so I don’t remember. I didn’t know I’d have to study the thing because there would be a quiz.”

“Give me your phone and let me see it,” I demanded.

“I can’t, it blew up in the plane crash, remember?”

Right. I was now so wired that I’d forgotten that. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll look up the articles to get the location myself,” I said, then yelled, “Samir, let me out of here!”

Chapter 33

Vlad glanced at what I typed into his default search engine page and annoyance grated along my subconscious.

“This is why you needed to use my laptop? If this is a joke, Leila, I’m not amused.”

“I know, you hate anything to do with the word Dracula,” I said, clicking on the first link that came up. “That’s why you’d never look at these on your own and why none of your people would mention them to you, either. It’s also why Szilagyi’s first lair was under the castle you lived in when you were human. He knew you wouldn’t be caught dead near that tourist trap.”

“Your point?” Vlad said, sounding no less irritated.

I found what I was looking for, then nearly shoved the laptop toward him. “Read this.”

Vlad glanced at the article, a frown darkening his brow. “As usual, lies. Mehmed didn’t relocate his palace to Tokat until years after I was released, so I was never there—”

“Vlad,” I interrupted. “Say you’re Maximus. You’re watched all the time because Szilagyi still doesn’t quite trust you, so you can’t leave any written messages at the drop points. You also can’t risk contacting any of your old allies because you don’t know who Szilagyi’s necromancer has bespelled. So, how do you relay information about where Szilagyi is without getting caught?” I tapped the screen for emphasis. “Maybe by texting an article link like this to Gretchen. She’s someone Szilagyi’s necromancer wouldn’t bother with because she’s human, yet she’s also in regular contact with me, and thus by extension, you.”

He looked at the article again, rage sweeping across my emotions when he pieced together what I hadn’t said yet.

“If so, then my boyhood prison is where Szilagyi has been hiding.” The words were coated with so much scorching wrath, I was surprised smoke didn’t pour from his mouth. “He chose it because the site of my torture and rape would be the very last place I’d ever return to.”

And with Szilagyi’s sick sense of irony, he’d enjoy plotting against Vlad in the same setting where his old enemy had experienced the worst years of his life.

“So if it’s not in Tokat where the archeologists think it is,” I said very softly. “Where is it?”

Two nights later, I viewed Edirne, Turkey, from over a mile above it while clasped in Vlad’s arms. With my enhanced vision, I could make out a mix of modern and ancient structures below, with rivers and empty patches of land cushioning the city. A lot had changed in the almost six hundred years since Vlad had been brought here as a child prisoner, so much that Vlad had needed to look up Edirne on Google Maps to acquaint himself with a bird’s-eye view of the city so he’d know where to go. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">