The large car left the city lights behind and climbed laboriously up a winding road that quickly turned rough. Dirt rather than concrete. A light fog settled over the mountain, but the headlamps pierced it with thick chords of light. The longer they traveled, the less talking took place between the driver and his guard. Soon the only sounds were the engine’s whine and crunching gravel under the wheels.

When they finally stopped and turned off the engine, the air felt heavy, or was it the silence? The fog had thinned, and he could see the colossal citadel towering over them, barely visible against the dark sky. No lights. And no windows to allow light out.

Miranda walked in ahead of him. They shoved him forward, forcing him to take small, quick steps to avoid tripping on the shackles.

He stumbled through huge wooden doors that thudded shut behind him. Miranda’s hard-soled shoes echoed down the torch-lit stone hall.

“There is no escape, chosen one. Follow me.” Her voice dripped with spite.

Johnis followed, his heart pounding with each clank of his chains. Down the hall, into a stairwell that curved as it fell into the ground. He stopped at the entrance to several tunnels and lifted his arm to his nose. The odor was unmistakable: Shataiki.

He’d been in Teeleh’s lair. Then Alucard’s lair. And now another lair, here in the Histories: Romania.

“Move!”

He obeyed. Mucus covered the walls. No worms, but they were near; all of this sludge had come from somewhere. He shivered and forced his legs to move on, toward his objective.

It was true, no matter how much fear coursed through his veins, he was as much drawn by purpose as pushed by his enemy’s demands now. He’d come to the Histories to destroy evil, not flee from it!

The thought gave him some courage, but not much.

Miranda disappeared through a gate ahead on his right. He slowed, listening. Very soft popping sounds ran up and down the tunnel. But by peering into the light cast by the wall sconces, he could see only more darkness beyond.

The iron gate rested open, and he stepped cautiously through. A couch, a desk, bookshelves mostly empty. But unlike Teeleh’s or Alucard’s lair, this study had a large opening in the back. Another tunnel glowed with flickering flame. Water dripped far away.

He hesitated only a moment, then headed in. The floor sloped down, deeper into the ground. For a few steady breaths, he seriously considered turning and running, but he knew that there was no escape.

So he pushed his legs on. Further. Deeper.

The tunnel opened into a large, two-story library lit by wall torches and a half-dozen candelabras rising from dark wooden tables at the center. Wrought-iron railings ran the perimeter of the second floor and opened to the large atrium in which Johnis had entered.