Dawn Berkoski

Finding Curtea Veche, the summer palace of Vlad Tepes, proved harder than I thought. I was told that a life-sized bust of Vlad, similar to the statue I saw in Sighisoara, graced the entrance to the ruins. But, like the vampires I sought, The Old Princely Court continued to allude me.

Did I have the wrong address? I started to feel anxious. This was my last day in Romania. Time was of the essence. I knew Curtea Veche was located near a church, which led to a side-quest of visiting every church in Old Town, Bucharest. Maybe, like the odd experience at the bookstore, it was a sign. Perhaps I shouldn’t delve too deeply into dark spaces. Perhaps I should balance where I walked.

The truth was that I walked past Curtea Veche several times. It was near Hanu’ Lui Manuc, the restaurant I dined at the previous night. I couldn’t find the Old Princely Court because it was under construction and hidden by boards and tall fencing. On top of that, the Annunciation Church of Saint Anthony, located beside it, was closed.

But all was not lost. I found a clue on my side-quest, located near the doorway of the New Saint George Church, a building far older than the name suggests. There, a plexi-protected mural depicts winged demons and what appears to be a river of blood. On the opposite side, an array of animals stands by the shore, called by an angel’s trumpet. I’d never seen the like before. And a shiver ran down my spine as I remembered all the strange animal sightings since my arrival.

Once again, I thought about darkness and light, of Vlad Tepes and the bloodline of Dracul, of Corvinus and black ravens, of gold rings and hidden hearts. I thought of dark caverns and crypts, of castles and clock towers, of snow-tipped mountains and citadels. I hadn’t found any vampires, but I had gained a crystal of wisdom as valuable as life itself. Transylvania had transformed me. I was not the same person.

That night, I went out for drinks. I met some strangers, an attractive group of young Romanians. We joked and laughed. They invited me along to the Valley of the Kings. We sat in decadence, on cushioned chairs, under a ceiling of yellow stained glass. Smoke billowed from nearby tables, spiraling through the thin tubes of hookahs. The storyteller in me took over, and I playfully recounted all the places I had searched for the undead in Transylvania. They seemed to get a kick out of my adventures.

“I was really hoping to find a vampire,” I finished with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my birthday after all.”

“Then we should celebrate!” One of the young men said, a twinkle in his eye. “A Romanian ritual for the birthday girl!”

“Yes!” One of the women cried. They seemed more excited than I. And I smiled, pleased to join them at a special restaurant. Dinner, champagne, and cake would be supplied.

If only I knew what kind of ritual they meant.

Dawn B~