-Chapter One-

If she'd turned left instead of right, Mina Murray's life might never have changed.

Evening was falling as she strolled down one of the streets of Bucharest, headed home from work a different direction than usual. She had a lot on her mind and wanted to mull through it. Her year's time here was almost at an end, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to return home to London, or take the offer of an extended position at the company.

With a sigh, she wandered amongst the flower vendors, admiring the wide variety of colours and scents. She stopped at one cart that had pink and red peonies. Feeling drawn to them, she pick up a small bunch of pink ones to take home.

"Pretty flowers," the woman selling the flowers said, in Romanian. "For a pretty lady."

"Oh, thank you!"

Mina hesitated over some mums, thinking they'd fill out a bouquet nicely, when the woman shook her head.

"No, mums are bad luck," the seller said. "You do not want those."

"Really? Mum are bad luck? That's funny, I've never heard of that." Mina's reply in the same tongue was halting. Deciding it didn't matter, she smiled and handed over the requisite number of leu for the peonies.

The vendor fell silent suddenly, eyes flicking to Mina's left. She was suddenly aware of a presence there, and turned, but there was no one there.

"Beautiful."

She turned to her right and looked up at the speaker, as he continued, in English. "The flowers," he said. "My lady."

"My lady," she repeated, with amusement. He was handsome, she saw, high cheekbones and a strong jaw dusted with dark hair. "Where are *you* from?"

"A long ways from here," he told her. There was an unnerving intensity in his dark hazel eyes.

He smiled, a little quirk of the mouth, and hesitated, as if wanting to speak.

Mina spoke before he could. "Well, good night!" she blurted, rattled by the feeling in her stomach that wanted to stay. She wasn't the type to talk to strangers, especially ones odd enough to call her "my lady".

As she hurried away, the peonies clutched in her hands, she heard from behind her, "Why think separately of this life and the next, when one is born from the last?"

She stopped, and a chill rushed over her, an overwhelming and intense sense of homesickness and longing stealing her breath. She turned, feeling shaky.

"That's my favourite poem," she told him, somewhat incredulous.

"It speaks to you of yearning," he said, as he closed the space between them. "Of one soul pleading for another."

She stared up at him, blue eyes huge, and said, "I'm Mina."

He took her hand in his gloved one, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Vlad."

Mina smiled, charmed by the gesture. "How did you know I'm English?"

Vlad returned the smile, bigger this time. "Your Romanian is terrible."

She laughed.

He gestured with a gloved hand towards the sidewalk ahead of them. "May I take you to dinner, Mina?"

She hesitated, thought of how lonely she'd been since Jon died. "You may," she replied impishly. "As long as you help me with my Romanian."

"If that's all, certainly."

She laughed. "I should introduce myself properly. I'm Mina Murray."

"Vlad Nicolae," he said. "Have you been in Romania long, Mina?"

"I'm finishing up a year's teaching at the university," she said. "I've been offered a permanent position, but I'm trying to decide if I want to take it, or head back to Britain."

"I'm sure Romania would feel your loss," Vlad said. He stopped at a recessed door, one without markings. It was just one of a number of old buildings scattered throughout the city.

At her curious look, he told her, "A local secret. I know the owner."

They went inside, and Mina saw it was a small, cozy restaurant, converted from an old family home. They were warmly greeted, their coats taken, and quickly shown to a table. Vlad was a gentleman and helped Mina into a seat at the table.

"There's no menu here," Vlad told her, as he sat down. "The cook is . . . eccentric. Diners eat what he feels like serving."

"Do we at least get to choose our wine?" she asked, delighted by the novelty.

"We do," he told her. To the server, he spoke in quick Romanian. To Mina, he said, "I've asked for a red of a decent year. I'm afraid I don't drink wine much."

"Neither do I," she confessed. "I mostly confine myself to a glass after a difficult day at work."

He gave a slight nod. "I can understand that. You said you teach at the university? What subject?"

"Gothic literature," she said. "You know, Stoker, Shelley, the classics of British horror."

"Shelley is a favourite of mine," he told her, "though I'm not much a fan of most of Stoker's works. I did, however, visit a few places where he lived and worked when I was in Dublin a few years ago."

"I'm afraid I haven't travelled much," Mina confessed. "Romania is my first time living outside of London, though I've been to Paris, and Berlin. I was born in London, and until recently, just hadn't seen a need to leave it."

"I was born in Sighișoara. That's in Mureș County, to the north of here," Vlad said. "It's a small town, very old, but I've spent most of my life here and there. I lived for a time in Budapest, I had an . . . internship in Istanbul."

She arched a blonde brow. "Istanbul? That must have been interesting. What was the internship for?"

"Religious studies. It didn't agree with me, though, so I returned to Romania as soon as I could."

"Mm."

Their server reappeared, with a tray loaded with dishes. They were placed family-style in the middle of the table. Mina saw it was a typical fare of potatoes, sausages, cabbage rolls served with sour cream, and a bean and meat soup.

"What is it that you do, Vlad?" she asked. "You haven't said."

"I dabble," he told her. "After my studies, I came into some family money, and I've done what I can to expand the family ventures. I own a vineyard just outside Târgoviște. Ironic, I know, as I don't sample much of my own product."

"Well, if it's a family tradition, it can't just be dropped, I suppose."

"Easily," Vlad said, "as I have no family left."

She frowned, full lips turning down. "I haven't any, either, unless you count my best friend Lucy. She's practically a sister, but . . . I'm an orphan, I'm afraid. I never knew my parents. Lucy's family fostered me."

Vlad leaned his forearms on the table, folding his ungloved hands before him. His long fingers were bare of any jewelry, though she noticed a leather cord just barely visible at the gap of his black shirt.

"That's unfortunate," he told her softly. "Family is, I think, the most important thing. I lost my parents and my brother when I was young, but I knew them."

Mina smiled. "That's good. I suppose I can't really miss what I never knew, so I don't mind all that much."

They ate in silence for a while, Vlad mostly picking at small bits of food. Mina noticed, but didn't comment. It was possible the cook's choices weren't his favourite, but it wasn't her place to say anything.

"What made you choose Romania?" he asked over dessert. "Of all places you could have taught, why in Bucharest?"

Mina picked up her wine glass and swirled the deep red contents a little, staring at the liquid for a while before answering. "It was Lucy's idea, really. She thought a change of scenery might help me."

His hazel eyes turned soft with concern, which she didn't see. "Help you?"

She looked up then, and her eyes were just a little wet. "My fiance, Jonathan, uh . . . He died about eighteen months ago, shortly before we were supposed to get married."

Vlad's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

She shook her head. "It's alright. Um. When the teacher exchange program opened up, Lucy-she's a music teacher back in London, at Clare College-she suggested that I do it. Get away for a while. She was right. It's been good for me. I almost don't want to go home."

"Not to belittle your loss, I'm very sorry for that," Vlad began, then paused. "Perhaps you were meant to come to Romania."

She took a big gulp of her wine. "Maybe." Mina cleared her throat. "Sorry. Maybe I was."

"No need to apologise." Vlad smiled gently. "I, too . . . lost my wife."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! God, what a pair we are!" Mina pushed her wine glass away. "Do you . . . mind if I ask how?"

"Not at all. It's been long enough that . . . it's not as difficult. I'm afraid she was murdered. A man came into our home, and . . ." Vlad stopped.

Mina reached across the table and put her hand over his. "That must have been terrible for you. Were you married long?"

"Ten years. Nearly eleven. We married young." He gave himself a shake. "Anyway. She would be happy I'm not being a recluse."

That got a smile out of her. "Yes. I think Jonathan wouldn't want me to wallow, either."

Seeing that she was finished, Vlad rose and offered her a hand. "Can I walk you home?" he asked.

"Don't we need to . . . settle the bill?"

His smile was wry. "As I said, I dabble. I know the owner because the owner is me."

"Oh," she said, feeling silly. "Um. Yes, I suppose you can."

Vlad helped her into her coat. It was spring, but there was still a chill in the air. Mina didn't live far, just a few blocks, and they walked in companionable silence for most of the way.

At her door, he again took her hand. He slipped a business card into it, then kissed her knuckles once more.

"I'd like to see you again, Mina Murray. If you'll let me."

Mina ducked her head a little, smiling. "I'd like that."

"You have my number. Call me when you're free."

"I will. Thank you for a lovely evening, Vlad."

"You are most welcome."

She turned to unlock the door. "I should be free on Friday."

"I'll look forward to your call. Good night, Mina."

When she turned to say good night, he was gone.