House of Bathory (19 page)

Chapter 53

B
RATISLAVA,
S
LOVAKIA
D
ECEMBER 24, 2010

B
etsy wiped her eyes with her knuckle.

“You are tired,” said Jo
hn
. “And jet-lagged. It’s after midnight, Betsy. Try to sleep.”

“It’s staring at this computer screen. It dries out my eyes,” she said. Jo
hn
looked over her shoulder, seeing a Visa card display with Dr. Grace Path’s e-mail.

Betsy typed in
“Rudolf II.”

“Crap,” she muttered.

She tried “Matthias.” Then “Matthias 1608.” “1608 Matthias.”

“Shit,” she said a little louder, twirling her hair around and around her finger.

“Just give up,” said Jo
hn
. “There are thousands of combinations for a password. The statistical significance of finding—”

“Just
don’t,
Jo
hn
. Don’t!” she warned.

Betsy stared at the computer screen

“Does Esztergom have a
z
in it?”

Jo
hn
checked the guidebook. “After the
s
—why?”

The fall of Esztergom in 1543 was a significant battle that her mother always taught in her Eastern European classes. Betsy typed “Esztergom1543,” hit Return and shouted, “Bingo!” as the computer screen changed from the log-in screen to a list of credit card expenditures in the days before her mother’s disappearance.

The last charge had been for a meal in Piestany, Slovakia.

“She was in Piestany. That was the last time she used the card.”

“That’s the spa town. Pretty pricey for your mom—”

“Maybe she was staying somewhere near there and went out for a meal. Or maybe there’s a B & B.”

Jo
hn
was already on his computer.

Trip Advisor suggested just two bed-and-breakfasts in the area. He dialed his cell phone.

“
Dobre Den, Penzione Trematin
.”

“Hello, do you speak English?”

“A little. How may I help you?”

“We are trying to find an American woman. She may have been staying in your hotel. Her name is Dr. Grace Path.”

“Are you the police?”

“Why do you say that?” asked Jo
hn
, motioning to Betsy.

“The American lady no come back. All her things—we put them in the suitcases and they wait for her here. We had to rent the room.”

“She was staying there?”

“Yes. I made her reservations for a dinner at Hotel Thermia Spa Restaurant in Piestany. She never came back. ”

Chapter 54

A
SPEN,
C
OLORADO
D
ECEMBER 24, 2010

D
ean Cox’s office.”

“Um. Hello. I’d like to speak to the dean, please.”

“May I ask who is calling?” said a woman’s voice.

“This is…Mary Jones. I was a student in Dr. Path’s class last semester.”

There was a pause on the line.

“I am sorry. I was expecting another call. The office is closed until next term. Please call after January tenth.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll be raising hell to the Foundation Board. My uncle is a major donor, and has been a member—”

The woman interrupted her.

“Maybe I can help you. The dean is on another line.”

“Well—I want to contest a grade. I’m really pissed. And my dad is a big-time donor to the university.”

“I see.”

“I’ve left messages for Dr. Path, but she hasn’t returned my calls.”

“Dr. Path is…on leave and unavailable at this time.”

“OK. So what I do about this grade? I mean I kept my exams and everything. I can prove that I didn’t fail this class—I got a ninety-five on the final! And—and I’ve transferred to a different school. These are on my transcripts and now I don’t have the credits—”

“These are matters you will have to take up with Dr. Path and the dean.”

“If I can’t speak to either one of them, how the hell do I—”

“I can send you a link to the paperwork required to file to contest a grade.”

“When is Dr. Path supposed to be back?”

“She…she is researching a book in Slovakia. We don’t expect her back until next term.”

“Slovakia?”

“I am sorry, Ms. Jones. We can’t discuss this—”

“Hey! I’m the one has an
F
on my transcripts.”

“Please file the paperwork and the dean will review the matter. Which class was this?”

Daisy ended the call. She flipped open her laptop, opened a browser window, and typed in search terms.

S
LOVAKIA.
G
RACE
P
ATH,
U
NIVERSITY OF
C
HICAGO.

As an afterthought she added
A
MAZON.COM
.

The search produced two books by Dr. Grace Path:
T
HE
R
EIGN OF
M
ATTHIAS
II, E
MPEROR OF THE
H
OLY
R
OMAN
E
MPIRE.
T
WO
B
ROTHERS,
T
WO
E
MPERORS:
R
UDOLF
II
AND
M
ATTHIAS
II.

There was one pre-order book:
T
HIS BOOK HAS NOT BEEN PUBLISHED:
P
ORTRAIT OF A
M
ADWOMAN:
C
OUNTESS
E
RZSEBET
B
ATHORY OF
R
OYAL HUNGARY.

On the cover was the portrait of a pale-faced woman with a high, slightly bulging forehead. Her hair was held back in a headdress and her face was framed by a ruffled collar.

“Madwoman?” whispered Daisy.

F
ROM THE PUBLISHERS:
D
R.
G
RACE
P
ATH, KNOWN FOR HER SCHOLARLY RESEARCH AND EXPERTISE IN THE REIGN OF
M
ATTHIAS
II,
EMPEROR OF THE
H
OLY
R
OMAN
E
MPIRE, EXPLORES NEW TERRITORY IN THIS COMPELLING BOOK, EXPLORING BOTH FACT AND FICTION OF THE LEGENDARY MURDERESS
C
OUNTESS
E
RZSEBET
B
ATHORY
…

Daisy’s black fingernails clicked against the computer keys. U.S. Embassy. Slovakia. She scribbled down the number and e-mail address.

“Bratislava,” she murmured. “Where the hell is that?” She typed “Google maps” into the browser and, moments later, Bratislava popped into focus.

She dialed 411 and waited.

“Hi. How do I dial direct to Bratislava, Slovakia, from the U.S?”

“Yes. This is the daughter of Dr. Grace Path,” Daisy lied, working hard to make her voice sound more mature. “I need—”

“I’ve told you before, Ms. Path,” said an irritated male voice on the other end of the line. “We have no further information about the disappearance of your mother. Your report has been filed and all other inquiries will have to be made to the Bratislava police—”

“Wait? You—she’s missing?”

“Excuse me,” said the man, losing the edge in his voice. “You did say you were Dr. Path’s daughter. Is this Elizabeth?”

All right, asshole,
thought Daisy,
her lip catching on her canine as she smiled.

“No. I’m—her other daughter. Mary. I had no idea my mother had been formally classified as missing.”

“You should contact your sister.”

“I—I’ve tried. I—can’t get through to her on her cell. I’ve called and called. I am distraught with worry. I—”

“You might try her at her hotel.”

“She didn’t give me the address. Only that something was wrong—”

“Just a moment. Hotel Arcadia is the listing I have for her.”

“Thank you. I’ll call them immediately.”

“Please know that the ambassador is looking into the matter. And if your sister locates your mother, she should call us immediately so that we can close the file. Good luck.”

Daisy pressed the
END
button on her cell phone. She narrowed her eyes, thinking.

Chapter 55

B
RATISLAVA,
S
LOVAKIA
D
ECEMBER 24, 2010

B
etsy’s computer pinged, signaling an incoming e-mail. She frowned at the UK address, a username that she did not recognize.

D
EAR
D
R.
P
ATH,

I
AM AN EDITOR-AT-LARGE FOR THE
P
SYCHOLOGY
T
ODAY
PUBLICATION.
I
HAVE BEEN TRAVELING AND WAS NOT PRESENT WHEN MY COLLEAGUES SENT THEIR CORRESPONDENCE TO YOU, CONCERNING YOUR WORK WITH SCHIZOPHRENIA, EMPLOYING FREE ASSOCIATION WITH
T
HE
R
ED
B
OOK
PLATES.

H
AVE YOU CONSIDERED EMPLOYING PLATE 34, WITH THE HIGH MOUNTAIN, WHICH COULD APPEAR INSURMOUNTABLE TO A PATIENT, ESPECIALLY DURING A FUGUE EPISODE?
I
T WOULD BE INTRIGUING TO SEE HOW THE PATIENT REACTS 4-6 HOURS
(
FROM
P.)
AFTER A ROBUST DOSE OF
C
LOZAPRINE, WITH THE CHALLENGE OF LOCATING THE WINDING ROAD TOWARD REALITY.

M
OST IMPORTANTLY, IT IS PARAMOUNT THAT THE PATIENT REALIZES HE IS NOT ALONE.
T
HERE ARE MANY OTHERS WHO SUFFER DELUSIONS AND NEED HELP.

Betsy became aware of the warmth of Jo
hn
’s breath on her neck as he hovered, reading over her shoulder. Her skin prickled.

“Let me guess—” said Jo
hn
. “There is no plate thirty-four showing a mountain.”

“No. No, there isn’t.”

“So she’s—what? Four to six hours?
P
stands for ‘probability’?” said Jo
hn
. “What does probability have to do in the syntax of the letter?”

“It’s not
p
for probability, Jo
hn
. It’s a capital
P
. Piestany. She must have had on her watch and timed the trip, even if she didn’t know where she was going.”

“Piestany?”

“Jo
hn
! She was kidnapped, like those girls. They disappeared from Bratislava and Piestany!”

Betsy stood up and ran her hand through her hair. Then she caught a fistful of it, twisting it violently as she thought.

“Four to six hours. East or west, north or south?”

“Let me get a map,” said Jo
hn
, sitting down at her computer. He clicked on Piestany and slid the map into a wide focus, scanning the topography for high mountains.

“How is she getting these messages to us? There must be someone helping her,” said Betsy.

“Look! The only big mountains lie east—the Tatras. Three thousand meters. That’s—what? Ten thousand feet.”

Betsy sat beside him. She leaned over to peer at the screen. His breath smelled of peppermint gum.

“Can I see something?” she said, taking the computer from him.

Betsy clicked on a tourist site for the Tatras advertising skiing and hiking. “A castle with a high wall in the Tatras. Not much to go on.”

“The mountains are pretty remote,” said Jo
hn
. “There might not be too many castles.”

“And we’re looking for one that is still inhabited. That’s something.” Betsy tapped the screen. “What about the last bit. ‘There are others who suffer.’ What do you think she means by that?”

Jo
hn
took a deep breath. Betsy waited for the warm scent of peppermint when he exhaled.

“I think there may be other kidnap victims,” he said.

Chapter 56

A
SPEN,
C
OLORADO
D
ECEMBER 24, 2010

O
ne advantage of being a weird kid of a rich divorced couple—Daisy had her own Visa card. Gold, of course. Without wasting any time thinking about whether it was a good idea, she bought an airline ticket to Bratislava via Denver-Frankfurt as soon as she finished talking to the embassy.

She wondered if she’d have to tell her mother about the trip. Maybe she could just go. Leave a note saying she would be back in a week or two. And school…well, it would still be there when she got back. It was winter break now anyway. Besides, kids on ski teams disappeared for weeks at a time, and the teachers posted all their assignments on the high school website. She could keep up—if she wanted to.

Daisy did a search for weather forecasts in Slovakia.

“Wow. Cold over there, too.” She was going to need woolen sweaters and jeans, warm socks, and her black boots. She rummaged around in her desk drawer to find her passport, from the trip to France she had made with her mother.

When her mother got home from playing tennis at the Aspen Club that morning, Daisy took a deep breath and jumped right into it.

“Mom, do you know where Bratislava is?”

“Is this your homework? Google it.”

“Well, no. I’m going there for New Year’s.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m flying to Bratislava. It’s the capital of Slovakia.”

“What do you mean, you’re flying?”

“Well. I could go tomorrow, but there is a flight from Denver tonight to Frankfurt—”

“You know that’s not what I meant. It’s Christmas Eve, God damn it!
What makes you think you can just fly off to Europe? And why Slovakia?

“It’s complicated, Mother. But it’s something I have to do.”

“Daisy Hart! You are NOT going to—whatever crazy place you said.”

“Yes, I am. I am going to Bratislava. Mother, I have to—Betsy is in danger, I can feel it!”

“Betsy? You are—what? Is Betsy in Bacalava?”

“Bratislava, Mother. BRA-TA-SLAV-A! She is in terrible danger. I can feel it in my…bones! My skin! My whole body is throbbing with this fear.”

“Oh, my God,” her mother said, covering her mouth with her hand. “You are totally insane. I’m calling your father.”

“I don’t care.”

“He’ll cancel your credit card.”

“He’d better not. I’ll starve.”

“You’ll be right here. You won’t starve. Don’t be irrational.”

Daisy stomped up the stairs. Her mother was already calling her father. She didn’t care.

But she was relieved when he didn’t answer.

Her suitcase was a carry-on. She packed her Goth essentials: white makeup, heavy black eyeliner, black lipstick, vintage necklaces. Enough underwear, socks, and sweaters to get her through a week. Then she could do laundry.

And of course both her phones—her black iPhone and the ruby-red cell phone from her father. If her father cancelled her credit card, she could do without food. But not without communication.