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soul,” I explained. “But Antanasia, our nurse, never left her side. I believe that Antanasia’s ministrations are the sole reason that Lily pulled through.”
    Harker nodded. “Have you no other relatives?”
    “No,” I replied. I forced a smile. “Death seems to have followed our family closely, but I am determined to outwit him until I am very old.”
    Harker’s eyes burned through me with that same intense stare. “I have no doubt you shall get your wish, John.”
    I couldn’t imagine why he was so certain. The battle-weary soldiers I’d encountered yesterday had, in a single day, made me horribly aware of how raw and inexperienced I am in this dark place. Yet his eyes held such conviction that it was easy to believe his words.
    Harker returned to his chair. He slid open a desk drawer and took out a bottle of whiskey. “You will be surprised to learn just how much we have in common, Lieutenant,” he said, smiling again. “But such a story deserves a drink.” He poured a measure into each of the two tumblers that sat beside his lamp.
    “My father, Jonathan Harker, died shortly after my first birthday,” he began, handing me a glass. “My mother, Mina, was comforted by Count Tepes, a family friend and Romanian nobleman. They fell in love, and she and I went with him to his native Romania, where they married.”
    I took a sip of whiskey and found it rather strong. “So you too grew up in Romania?” I asked, stifling a cough as my throat burned.
    Harker nodded. “Until I returned to England—for Eton—at thirteen.”
    “You are the first person I have met outside Romania who speaks the language,” I remarked, gratified. “Apart from Antanasia and Lily, of course. Whereabouts did you live, sir?”
    “Our home is a castle in the Carpathian Mountains. Transylvania,” answered the captain. “Very close to a town named Bistritz. I suppose you lived in Bucharest?”
    “Yes,” I confirmed. “But we often travelled around the country. We may have visited Transylvania, when I was too young to remember. My parents loved the Romanian people; they found them warm and full of charm. If a little superstitious …”
    “Ah, yes.” Harker smiled. “And what did your parents make of Romanian folklore?” he asked.
    I felt the heat of the whiskey reach my belly. “They tried to shield us from the peasants’ dark stories,” I replied. “They thought them too frightening for children.”
    Harker laughed. “But one should never shield children from darkness. For darkness will find them anyway. And all the more easily if they are not prepared.” He swallowed his drink in one gulp and placed the glass back down on his desk.
    “Did
you
believe the superstitions, sir?” I asked him curiously.
    Captain Harker raised a sardonic black brow. “I still do,” he said with a smile.

C HAPTER 3
    War Journal of
Lieutenant John Shaw
    17TH JULY 1916
    As a communications officer, I take no part in active battle. It is a strange role I play, sitting in my small office, pad and pencil in hand, while the other men are shooting, shelling, fighting, and dying.
    Lieutenant Butler, my counterpart in the communications office, assures me that our mission, eavesdropping on German radio communications, is vital. And yet …
    Yet I wish to take a larger role in all of this—especially after what I have just seen.
    Today I witnessed something of why Captain Harker is so revered.
    The men had gathered in the trench at dusk, tense as they prepared for the next assault. While they awaited Captain Harker’s arrival, they adjusted their bayonets with trembling fingers.
    Then Harker strode toward them. He was something to behold, with the commanding stature of an emperor—at once an awe-inspiring and heartening sight. He flashed a confident smile. As his gaze swept over them the men snapped to attention, seeming to grow taller themselves, their mouths hardening with purpose.
    Giving the command, Captain Harker mounted the ladder. In