“No.” O'Rourke lathered his arms and shoulders. “There are dozens of cities and sites that were important to the historical Vlad Tepes and that might be part of any ritual centered on him. Brasov, Sibiu, Rimmu Vilcea, Risnov Citadel, Bran, Timisoara, Sighisoara, even Bucharest itself.”

“But you had several circled on the map,” said Kate. She had to sit up and sponge her chest and neck or fall asleep.

“My guess was Sighisoara, Brasov, Sibiu, and the so-called Castle Dracula,” he said. “They're extremely important places in the actual history of Vlad Tepes. But I don't know which places . . . or which night. “

Kate brushed soap out of her eyes. “There is a Castle Dracula? I thought the Romanian Office of National Tourism just invented that.”

“They take tourists to phony sites . . . like Bran Castle that had nothing to do with Vlad Tepes,” said O'Rourke. “Or they drive the few Dracula tourists way up to Borgo Pass and other places that Brain Stoker wrote about but that have no historical significance. But there is a Castle Dracula . . . or at least the ruins of it . . . on the Arges River, less than a hundred miles from here. “ He described it then, the heap of rocks high on a crag overlooking the remote Arges Valley.

“You've been there?” said Kate.

“No. The road is impassable much of the year, and the passable parts have been closed off most of this year. There's a 'hydroelectric plant up there beyond the castle in the Fagaras Mountains above the city of Curtea de Arges and the military is very vigilant about guarding that area. Also, Ceausescu had the site closed because there was some serious restoration going on at the ruins. They probably abandoned the project when Ceausescu died.”

Kate suddenly felt very awake. “Unless the restoration was a strigoi project.”

O'Rourke sat up so quickly that water sloshed. “For the ceremony . . .”

“Yes. But which night? And can we get there?”

“We can get close,” said O'Rourke. He reached to the towels on the ledge, dried his hands, and unfolded the map he had carried in from the motorcycle. “Either by heading south and by picking up Highway Seven to Pitesti, then up SevenC to Curtea de Arges . . . or the very long way northeast to Brasov, then way north to Sighisoara, then southwest to Sibiu and all the way down the Olt River Valley to Highway Seventythree C. That would be . . . I don't know . . . two hundred fifty to three hundred miles on some iffy roads.”

Kate shook her head. “Why would we go that way?”

O'Rourke set the map down and began soaping his beard thoughtfully. “The Jet Ranger left flying to the northwest. If that was its actual route, it might be headed toward any of a million places, but . . .” He paused to dip his face in then water and came up spluttering. “Sighisoara is that way. About a hundred and fifty miles from here.”

Kate remembered the reading she had done about Vlad Tepes. “He was born there.” She frowned. “If Lucian's right and there are four nights to the Investiture Ceremony and the ceremony celebrates Vlad Tepes' career, wouldn't they have started at Sighisoara?”

O'Rourke lifted his hands above the soapy water. “What if they were working backward in time? ~Snagov is where Vlad was supposed to have been buried. Tirgoviste is where he ruled . . . “

“And Sighisoara is where he was born,” finished Kate. “Fine, but what about the fourth and final night? Your Castle Dracula doesn't seem to fit the itinerary.”

“Unless it was where the next Prince is to be initiated,” whispered O'Rourke. His eyes were focused on something distant.

Kate slumped back in the cooling water. “We're guessing. We don't know didley. I wish Lucian were here.”

O'Rourke raised an eyebrow.

“Not this minute,” said Kate, flustered. “But he seemed to know . . . “

“If he was telling the truth.” O'Rourke shifted his shortened leg. “Turn around and slide back this way.”

Kate hesitated a second.

“I'll scrub your back and shampoo your hair,” he said, holding up a small vial of shampoo. “It's not scented and perfumed American shampoo, but it's probably better for your hair than whatever we picked up crawling through the palace graveyard.”

Kate turned around and sat in the middle of the tub while O'Rourke first lathered her back and then massaged her scalp with strong fingers. The shampooing went on and on, and if she believed in magic she would have asked for three wishes just to keep the sensation going on forever. And never face tomorrow. '

“Turn around,” she said, sliding forward and turning. “I'll do you.”

After the shampoos, after the ritual lathering and rinsing of their bodies, they kissed and even held each other, nude in the still steaming water, but there was no surge of passion, and not just because each was bruised and exhausted. It was as if they were friends as well as lovers, two friends who had known each other forever. I'm tired, thought Kate. I'm sentimentalizing this.

No, you're not, said another part of her mind.

“Wherever the site is for tomorrow night's ceremony,” said O'Rourke, breaking the spell, “we can't do much tonight. The mountain roads are dangerous at night and police often stop private vehicles. We'd be better off blending in with traffic in the daytime. We'll flip a coin in the morning to see which way we go. “

“It will be hard getting out of here,” said Kate. The candle was burning low. The air was very cold.

“Once more unto the breach, dear . . . holy shit it's cold!” said O'Rourke, who had pulled himself up onto the tiled ledge and swung sideways. His body steamed in the cold air. He began toweling himself rapidly.

Kate stepped out and did the same. It was like going from a sauna to the freezing outdoors. She huddled under the thin blanket. “Tell me we're going to sleep here together for a few hours,” she said, teeth chattering. “Together.”

“The beds are very much single,” said O'Rourke. He balanced on one leg while he attached the prosthesis.

Kate frowned. “You don't sleep with that on, do you? I mean, other than in haylofts.”

O'Rourke finished attaching it and stood. Kate noticed that the modern prosthetic looked very lifelike. “No,” he said, “but some consider it undignified to hop to one's bed.”

“Single bed?” said Kate, shaking now as her body cooled.

“Good blankets,” said O'Rourke. He smiled gently. “And I took the liberty of carrying one single bed in and setting it next to the other in the nearest bedroom.”

Kate lifted her bag and a stack of clean clothes with one arm and slipped the other around the priest. Ex priest, she thought. Or soon to be ex priest. “Not to be unromantic about this,” she said, “but let's get under those good blankets before we freeze our asses off.”

O'Rourke carried the dying candle with him as they found their way to the room.