This Rough Magic Read online

  Newly reissued and available for the first time in ebook! Rediscover this classic romance by the queen of romantic suspense, New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham.

  Like a legend come to life....

  Wolves were howling and the moon was full on the night Carly Kiernan reached Castle Vadim. Its walls rose forbiddingly, as if part of the mountains themselves. No less forbidding was Jon, Count Vadim, who dressed in black and called to mind another man, one who feared to face the sun and consorted with the creatures of the night.

  But this was Halloween! Surely, Carly told herself, by day the count would prove to be no more mysterious than the trick-or-treaters she would have faced at home. But the morning brought only another question: why was she falling in love with such an enigmatic man?

  Originally published in 1988

  This Rough Magic

  Heather Graham

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER 1

  The moon rose high over the misty night, bright, round and full. It cast an eerie glow upon the shrouded forests that sat on either side of the ancient trail that led to Castle Vadim.

  A wolf howled. It was a lonely, haunting sound in the darkness. Despite herself, Carly Kiernan felt a rivulet of chills cascade down her spine. In her corner of the elegant Vadim carriage, she smiled to herself, holding back the velvet drapery at the small window to see the peculiar beauty of the night. The count, it seemed, was being granted some magnificent special effects for his Halloween party.

  But then, what else? Castle Vadim sat high upon the picturesque Carpathian mountains, in the Duchy of Westphalen, which bordered Romania. Like Transylvania, its other neighbor, Westphalen was a land of legend, of baying dogs and howling wolves, of the real Vlad Dracul, the Impaler. By day the castle was a splendid Gothic structure, her sister, Jasmine, had assured Carly. It was impeccably clean and elegant. No cobweb would dare to dust its ancient rock.

  But by night, as Carly could see now, the castle stood implacable and chilling, surrounded by a surreal, yellowish glow, turrets and towers rising stark against the moonlit sky.

  The wolf howled again. Plaintively.

  Despite herself, Carly shivered once more. This was a far cry from Manhattan, where the mass of buildings created a landscape of pure concrete, where neon and glitter, noise and bustle were the order of the day.

  Carly was struck by the sheer loneliness of this place. Miles of forest and swirling mist separated each tiny village from the next, and the shrouding fog seemed to rule eternally, resting upon the ground, dancing within the trees, creating imagery, fantasy and the magic of illusion.

  And that wolf! She could hear the creature’s cry over the sounds of the hooves of the black stallions that pulled the eighteenth-century carriage, over the grating of the wheels and the jolting of the coach body. The cry hung on the night air, and each time she heard it, she shivered with some primal fear. This was the modern world, and she knew she was perfectly safe. Wolves did prowl the woods, but she would soon be at the castle—safe from the beasts of the night, if nothing else.

  She frowned, leaning back, watching the moon with its ivory circle of haze. The atmosphere was fascinating, marvelous. She couldn’t believe that she was here, and she wouldn’t have been here if it hadn’t been for Jasmine.

  Carly opened her evening bag and fingered the letter that had come to her in the States last week. She smoothed out the paper and read the words again.

  Carly, I know that you have been hesitating, but you must come here for the Halloween party! The count is wonderful. I’m so very excited. I need you. I really need you. You must come!

  Jasmine ran a travel agency that was very popular with the jet set, and she was always jaunting off somewhere. Carly had known about the party—she had planned costumes for herself and her sister months ago—though she hadn’t decided whether to really come or not until she received the letter. But the words “I need you. I really need you” had bothered Carly.

  Carly was even more disturbed now, because she hadn’t been able to contact Jasmine since she arrived this afternoon. Her calls to the castle had been answered by a confused maid. It seemed as if the count didn’t want to see her or even talk to her. Actually, it seemed as if he wanted her to go home. Carly had even tried to explain about Jasmine, and that she’d been invited herself.

  At long last the concierge at her hotel had appeared at her door to tell her that the count would see her at the party and would send his coach for her at eight.

  Jasmine had so forcibly tried to persuade her to come, and now this count, whom Jasmine was so crazy about, was behaving incredibly rudely.

  Staring out at the night sky as they lurched along, Carly remembered how it had all begun. Jasmine had come to see her in New York between trips, and she had already been talking about Count Vadim’s costume ball. Carly designed costumes for a living, and Jasmine was convinced that she could help Carly’s career through her acquaintances.

  “The ball will be wonderful for you professionally,” Jasmine had assured her. “You must wear the blue silk Empire gown with the velvet cloak. It’s the most stunning outfit I’ve ever seen. Geoffrey Taylor will be there, and I’m sure he’ll demand you do the work for his next play.” She had added softly, “And you’ll have to come out of that cocoon you’ve spun around yourself since Tim. It’ll be good for you.”

  Carly had been hesitant, and it now appeared that Jasmine had known it. But Carly had thought even then about coming.

  It was more than the professional benefit. She had felt that she needed to come. She had been hiding for a long time, and maybe she was ready to meet the world again. Or maybe she wasn’t really ready to meet the world at all, but the tiny duchy was so different that there she could more easily reenter society. Perhaps she did not have to come into the world as herself at all; her entire time here could be a wonderful dress-up party, and she could pretend that she was living a dream.

  “You’ll like Geoffrey,” Jasmine had assured her. It didn’t really matter to Carly whether she liked the man or not; she wanted only a professional association with him. He produced the kind of plays she found fascinating, wonderful extravanganzas, and she longed to design the costumes for just one of his plays.

  “Ah...and just wait until you meet the count!” Jasmine had teased her with wide eyes.

  “Count Dracula?”

  “You laugh, my dear child,” Jasmine warned, shaking a finger at her. “I’m talking about Count Vadim, of course, but I warn you, my sweet innocent, his effect is the same.”

  “Is it?” Carly had been amused. She and Jasmine were very different women. Jasmine was a whirl of emotion; Carly was more careful. It often seemed to her that a part had died with Tim, that she could not feel again.

  “Just wait,” Jasmine warned her sagely. “I’ve seen many a supersavvy jet-setter lose her heart, virtue—and her very soul—over the man.”

  “Her very soul?”

  “Be a smarty,” Jasmine retorted. “You’ll see!”

  Just what was going on? Carly wondered. She hadn’t been able to see much of her sister lately, and in fact, Jasmine had been in a big hurry in New York. She had simply taken her altered harem costume and left.

  Forgetting the conversation with her sister, Carly suddenly sat up, her frown deepening. The coachman seemed to be going faster and faster, and from inside the ancient carriage, Carly thought his speed didn’t seem at all safe.
/>   “Hey!” she protested as a sudden jolt sent her crashing against the side of the carriage. She didn’t know if “Hey!” translated as anything into French, the official language of the duchy. It wouldn’t matter; he would never hear her over the clatter of the hooves.

  She steadied herself, biting her lower lip in perplexity. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing in the carriage, anyway. She would have gladly called a cab. But the concierge at the hotel had assured her that the carriage was very real, that it had been in the Vadim family for generations. With its velvet seats and carved coat of arms, massive wheels and elegant brass folding steps, it was beautiful. The stallions wore plumes on their bridles, and Carly thought the whole thing resembled Cinderella’s fabulous carriage.

  She wasn’t at all thrilled with her curious transportation at the moment. They were going far too fast, and she wished she’d been picked up in the Vadim Lamborghini. Carly didn’t know a great deal about the roads here nor about eighteenth-century carriages, but she did know that the speed of this one couldn’t possibly agree with the condition of the road.

  Carly clutched at the ancient velvet seats to steady herself.

  “Hey! Stop! Slow down!” she called out. She gritted her teeth, wondering if the driver was insane, wondering if she was about to be pitched into the valley far, far below.

  “Please!” she cried. She tried to reach the window, but the tremendous pitching and swaying of the carriage sent her sliding back.

  Hadn’t there been a movie like this? she wondered uneasily. A dark night with a full moon, a misted forest and the cry of a wolf. A carriage wrecked within the fog-shrouded forest, and a woman left there alone, vulnerable, frightened, easy prey?...

  For the terrors of the night.

  A full moon. The time for demons, for witchcraft and satanism...and werewolves. And here she was, on All Hallows’ Eve, in the mountainous region so very near Transylvania....

  Don’t be absurd! Carly raged to herself in silence. She didn’t need to be afraid of a legend. What she needed was to be wary of the very real danger that threatened her now, the runaway carriage. Her life was in peril; the vehicle could overturn at any moment.

  “Please! Driver! Sir!”

  Against the jolting, she managed to pull herself to the window and held on with all her strength. The carriage veered, but she wound her fingers around the wooden frame and brought her head just outside the window so that she could look for the driver.

  “Sir!”

  The moon passed behind a sudden cloud, then came out again. Cold panic seized Carly.

  There was no driver. The coachman’s seat loomed dark and empty beneath the glow of the moonlight.

  “No!” she whispered.

  Her grip upon the frame went limp. The carriage slammed and jolted, and she went flying to the opposite side. Her head struck the paneling—hard.

  For a moment she saw stars. Her head cleared and she tried to sit up again; she needed desperately to think. She’d surely kill herself if she jumped.

  Yet if she remained inside as the horses careened along at this gallop, she would surely be cast over the side of the mountain when they came around one of the perilous curves.

  Suddenly, the carriage veered, slowed somewhat, then lost a wheel. Carly screamed as the carriage slammed down with a horrible rending sound. She prayed almost mindlessly, certain that her life was at an end.

  Then the carriage spun and tumbled. Carly screamed again as she was thrown savagely about. Her head banged against the roof of the vehicle, and blackness followed.

  Carly opened her eyes slowly. She had no idea how long she’d been out. She blinked, thinking that she had a hell of a headache. She looked above her, and the moon was still shining.

  Painfully, she raised herself on her elbows.

  She was still in the carriage, or what was left of it. The vehicle’s frame had broken apart. She lay upon a velvet seat, but that seat lay on the ground.

  It was as if a sudden twister had picked up the carriage and tossed it to the ground in a frenzy.

  Carly groaned aloud, pressing on her temples. She flexed her fingers and her toes, then her arms and legs. She was all right, she decided with relief. She was disheveled and disoriented but otherwise alive and well.

  Just as she was congratulating herself on her well-being, the wolf howled again.

  The sound was so much louder now. Frightening.

  The wolf was near. Trying to stagger to her feet among the wreckage, Carly looked around. She was in a small clearing. Thank God the carriage had crashed into the forest, she thought, and not over the edge of the rugged mountain road.

  But the mist was heavy around her. It swirled against her, covered the base of the trees and made an eerie enigma of the forest.

  The wolf could be anywhere. He could be watching her from the cover of the trees.

  There was a sudden rustling to her left. Carly tried to spin around. She cried out, aware suddenly that her ankle was injured. In pain she fell back against the seat, straining to see through the mist.

  Something was out there. The rustling came again, and her heart began to pound.

  A cloud hid the moon once more. Total darkness descended upon her.

  Her breathing was ragged and desperate as she blinked into the total darkness. “Oh, God!” she whispered.

  Then she assured herself that she didn’t believe in ghosts or goblins, werewolves or vampires or anything that went bump in the night.

  No...she didn’t believe in ghosts or in mythical beings.

  But she was in the Carpathian mountains. And a full moon was hidden by a black cloud and she was alone and hurt on a mist-shrouded mountain where wolves preyed....

  “Don’t be silly,” she warned herself aloud, needing to hear the sound of her own voice. She didn’t usually have a wild imagination, and wasn’t easily frightened. She was a New Yorker. She lived in a city with any number of wolves and bloodsuckers; it was just that those wolves and tricksters walked upright and spoke with smooth voices. In the city, she carried her Mace.

  But in these mountains...

  She could imagine an old gypsy woman warning Lon Chaney, Jr. that the curse of the werewolf would come upon him by the light of the full moon. There had been woods in the movie, too.

  There was no such thing as a werewolf! But there were great, big, hairy canine creatures that might very well come after a defenseless woman in the woods.

  She wasn’t defenseless. She was a New Yorker, and that had to count for something.

  “Oh, God,” she said. But it was true. She had nothing to defend herself with.

  There came a rustling sound from the bushes.

  Carly swallowed. Even if she knew in which direction she should be going, she couldn’t walk. She still couldn’t see, either.

  She reached forward blindly. Groping, she found a long, splintered piece of wood.

  Where was the driver? What the hell had happened to him? she wondered irritably.

  The wolf howled again. Carly let out a gasp, gripping her weapon more tightly. It was really just a splintered piece of wood, she thought dismally. Not strong at all. If a rabid wolf came after her, it would probably break in two seconds. But it was sharp, at least. It was kind of a stake, she decided. A stake, like the kind used to kill vampires.

  Vampires.

  “Oh!” she wailed. “Stop it!”

  But there was a wolf out there. And it was coming closer, circling around her, she thought.

  And it was so dark. She could feel the mist about her, soft and damp and swirling. There was another rustle in the trees, right in front of her.

  It was just the horses, she tried to tell herself.

  No, she was sure she had heard them running away as the carriage crashed and broke up.

  Maybe they had come back.

  No. Whatever moved toward her seemed to have night vision. It came slowly, slyly. Furtively.

  The cloud moved. Eerie moonlight lighted the copse
again. Carly looked up at the orb in the sky, then gasped when she heard movement once more. She looked across the copse, and her scream seemed to freeze in her throat.

  It was the wolf.

  Huge and snarling, its yellow eyes fixed upon her. The beast stood not twenty-five yards away. Saliva dripped from its ivory fangs.

  It would kill her, Carly thought. She had her little stick; the wolf had sharp fangs. How much did the beast weigh? she wondered. A hundred pounds? A hundred fifty pounds?

  What did it matter? She herself was five foot four and not quite a hundred and ten pounds. The wolf could devour her in one swallow, or, at the very least, tear her to shreds.

  If it was just a wolf.

  A distant howl sounded; Carly decided that the woods were full of beasts. This one wanted her. To rip her limb from limb.

  “No!” She shook her head to dispel the fantasy. If she weren’t frozen by such sheer terror, her eyes locked with those of the wolf, she would have smiled at her imagination.

  She had to realize that the wolf was as real as the careening carriage, and she had to fight it to save her life. But her weapon was so flimsy.

  Still, she faltered to her feet, then carefully balanced her weight upon her good foot and raised her flimsy stick high above her head in what she thought was a threatening manner.

  The wolf took a step toward her.

  She knew not to run. A wolf was cousin to a dog, and Carly knew that running would only bring on a growling dog. Not that she could have run, anyway. But despite herself, when the wolf came forward, she stepped back, nearly screaming out at the pain that shot through her ankle.

  The wolf came on again. Slowly. As if he could corner her.

  And again, despite all the commands her mind gave her limbs, Carly took another step back.

  This time she collided with something. Something massive and dark and living. Another scream catching in her throat, she whirled.

  The moon passed behind the cloud again. Darkness filled the sky and the night.

  And then the moon reappeared.

  Carly discovered that she was looking up at a man. She had backed up against an immense horse, and astride the horse was a man. He wore a high-collared cape and sat the curiously still animal with a natural grace. His hair was as jet as the night, and his eyes...