Magia Posthuma ✓

Eighteen

"Have you ever heard of the Solomonărie – the Scholomance?" Vlad asked as he brought down a heavy, dusty tome from a shelf so full of books that it was sagging in the middle. "Some call it, The School of the Dragon."

Irina looked sheepish. She wrinkled her nose, "No," she replied, smiling awkwardly. "I'm sorry; I'm afraid my Transylvanian History is about as dusty as that book."

Vlad chuckled as brought the book over to the table and then dropped it down in front of her. The sheen of dust covering it erupted into the air in a cloud as it hit the table.

Irina spluttered and wafted it away with her hand.

"Sorry," Vlad said as he leaned over her – planting one hand on the table and using the over to open the old book. He planted a kiss on her bare shoulder, "I haven't cracked the spine of this particular book in quite a while," he whispered, his lips moving below her ear.

Irina shuddered and sighed. She wanted to feel those lips against every pore, "I can tell."

Vlad peered down at the book from over her shoulder. He brushed his hand over the cover, sweeping away the dust to reveal an embossed title that had once been gold.

"...Țara Dincolo de Pădure: Poveștile Transilvaniei," Irina muttered – her tongue tripping over the words. She attempted to translate, "The... something about a forest?"

"The Land Beyond the Forest," he translated with a soft smile, "The stories of Transylvania."

It was a children's book, Irina realised; a book full of fables and tales for children – although it was so old that the child who it had once belonged must have been long dead by now. "Are you about to tell me a bedtime story?" she teased.

Vlad sent her a heated look as he opened the cover, "A long time ago, there were whispers of a school hidden away in the mountains not far from here – a school dedicated to the study of black magic and alchemy," he told her, his face hovering in the crook of her neck. "It's said that the devil himself would handpick the students who studied there – and that he was their tutor. He'd teach them his secret powers – teach them how to command the weather, how to speak to animals and even how to evade death – among other things. There's even a story about the students riding a flying dragon that was hidden under a mountain lake. However, out of all the students, he would only apprentice – only claim – one of them. One student who he'd allow to graduate the school and take his knowledge and power out into the world."

Irina watched as Vlad turned the yellowing pages, her eyes flicking over the faded and blotched medieval handwriting and drawings. Beautifully inked drop capitals of snakes and dragons and skeletons and sword-wielding heroes. There were some words that she recognised – some stories that Fiebe had told her as she sat by fire sewing, mimicking her own mother.

Vlad turned back to the inside cover and smoothed his hand over a page where a family tree had been almost crudely mapped out. "This book – this very castle – belonged to that student," he said as he brushed his fingers over a name – a child's signature scratched into the page – right at the bottom of the tree. "And still does."

Irina sat forward. "...Vladislaus Drăculea," she read, tracing the letters with her fingertips as she spoke. She slowly turned her head and met Vlad's hard gaze, "Dracula?"

He looked at her for a moment – his dark brow furrowed as his blue eyes danced across her features. He watched her expression shift from surprise to disbelief to fear to utter bewilderment. "...Yes."

She narrowed her eyes. "...The Dracula?"

Vlad's lips curled. "...You asked what my family name was."