Beneath the Blue Flame: Treasure of the Dragon

By Jacqueline Mahan

Two travelers uncover the legend of Prince Draculas treasure, but their research into the Romanian past could awaken much more than just royal riches.

Legend claims that bloodthirsty Romanian prince Vlad Dracula left a treasure behind after his death. A fifteenth-century woodcut reveals the harbingers of this treasure: rings of blue flame that rise from the ground only on St. Georges Eve. The woodcut is also believed to harbor an evil curse that has kept weaker souls away and the treasure as yet uncovered.

Ben Florand and Manda Murrow are on holiday in Romania during their spring break. On the second day of the Dracula Tour through Bucharest, they come upon a young girl lying at the edge the forest. Her name is Gina Marin, and she claims to have seen the blue flames of legend. Ben and Manda decide to abandon the tour and enlist the help of local librarian Dinu Varmas in an effort to discover the hidden treasure.

While Ben and Manda hope to uncover history, Varmas has something else in mind. Although their initial search seems to produce positive results, the team begins to realize they are on much more than just a treasure hunt. It is possible that the woodcut is capable of more than revealing treasure; it might bring a long-dead prince back from the grave.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Jul 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458204394

Jacqueline Mahan

Jacqueline Mahan is the author of two children’s books, The Courtyard Duck and The Courage of Violet Hue. Her first novel, Ezrah’s Plateau: Legend of the Cemetery Witch, was published inOctober of 2011. She is an artist and educator and resides inChester, New York.

Book preview

Chapter One

One week earlier

New York

Ben Florand returned to his recliner and flopped down comfortably. He looked up at the television. Stupid commercials, he thought. I wait all week for Friday night; they could at least show fewer commercials. He was prepared for tonight: the living room lights were off; he held his pewter goblet, half full with red wine while two tapered candles burned in sconces on either side of the flat screen and a few others flickered around the room bouncing shadows in a golden gothic light.

The end credits rolled under the ominous screech of horns and groaning tubas. Dracula has Risen from the Grave was Ben’s favorite Hammer film. It had one of the greatest endings of any Dracula film. And Christopher Lee was the screen’s greatest Dracula. The clock above the television now read 7:59 pm. The next film set to air was Dracula A.D. 1972. Another good one. He temporarily forgot about the uneasy feelings that had distracted him all week regarding his upcoming birthday. Friday Night Flicks was his kick off to the weekend.

The cable box displayed the eight o’clock hour in blue numbers. The screen faded to black. A new symphony of horns announced the next film’s opening credits. He watched, quoting the lines along with the film, secretly rooting for Dracula even knowing that he never wins.

Ben looked at the clock again and thought about Manda. Where was she? She hadn’t called. It wasn’t like her to be late on a Friday. At the commercial he got up and went to the window. Then back to the television.

Ben had been a fan of old horror films since he was a kid. Besides being a history buff he thought of himself as a tried and true Dracula buff. He had read the novel five times; the shelves in his office were weighted with a wide collection of films and books related to the subject, fact and fiction. Figurines and dolls of Max Shreck, Lee and Lugosi stood in a glass armoire against the wall. He had even managed to find a rare Lon Chaney vampire figure from the lost film London After Midnight.

As the film ended, Ben smiled and nodded to himself as Lee’s Dracula was impaled by the spoke of a large round wagon wheel. He sipped his wine.

Knock, knock! a pleasant voice sang from the doorway.

Ben pushed himself up from the recliner to meet the voice in the kitchen.

Manda hoisted the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter, pushed wet strands of hair from her face and wiped her hands on her jeans. Ben?

Yeah, he answered. He walked into the kitchen, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. She pulled away, regarding him thoughtfully. He pushed back the remaining strands of hair from her forehead. Manda wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him again.

Still raining? he asked.

Yup. Still moping?

Was. But it’s Friday night. He motioned over his shoulder toward the living room.

Well good, she poked his belly. You know, it’s not so terrible turning forty.

Easy for you to say, Ms. I-Have-Four-Years-To-Go,

Oh please, look at you, She pushed him in front of the hall mirror. Look, Manda tilted his chin upward. If you were a personal ad you’d be dangerous. Ben smiled despite himself and Manda continued, Tall; enough brown hair to run fingers through; sexy, sleepy brown eyes; athletic; toned and flexible and in very good shape. One strategically placed tattoo on left shoulder, she squeezed his arm, You’re a handsome man with a great smile, no wrinkles—

Laugh lines, he interrupted, touching his face.

Distinguished laugh lines, she added, winking at his reflection. Ben turned to face her.

Thanks. He kissed her forehead.

I mean it.

I know. You’re not so bad yourself, he said. "If I were a personal ad you’d be the one in danger, he arched one eyebrow, his fingers twirling an invisible mustache. Manda threw her hands up and batted her eyelashes in pretend helplessness. Ben grabbed her waist and pulled her to him. And now I’ve got you," he mocked.

Okay, okay she pushed away from him and headed for the kitchen counter. Enough melodrama. I’ve planned something special in honor of your fortieth, she said. Her back was to him, her arms reaching and descending as if she were exercising instead of putting away groceries.

He watched her. She was smiling.

You can hem and haw all you want, but you’re going, she said.

Going? Hand in his pocket, Ben fumbled absently with coins and the little Chevy Matchbox his father had given him years ago.

Yes. Even though you’ve been acting like big baby these past few weeks—

Ba—

She held up a hand silencing him. His eyes narrowed but he listened. I have a gift that appeals to the history lover in you…and the horror buff, she paused, then added, and the art lover in me. Her green eyes flashed. After the grocery store, I made another stop. I went to see Jerry.

Ben’s eyebrows lifted high. Travel agent Jerry? he asked.

The same. For your birthday we are going to….. she hopped around placing her behind in front of him. The white of paper peeked out from the top of the back pocket. He took the hint and slid the paper from her jeans.

Ben’s eyes flashed wide. Romania?

Yes! I know how much you love all those creepy things, so I booked us a trip! We’re set to leave on the nineteenth at seven a.m. We are spending seven very damp and creepy days in Romania, four of them on the famous Dracula Tour. Then I figure we’ll catch a museum or two. Bucharest is a great city for history and art. So it’s perfect. You’ll always remember your fortieth.

No kidding, he breathed, taking the airline tickets from her fingers. His eyes were as wide as teenager who had just been handed the car keys for the first time.

It’s during spring break so we won’t miss work. What do you think?

He looked at the tickets. You did this for me? I think it’s amazing. Thank you. Ben ran a hand over Manda’s damp honey colored locks and kissed her rain-beaded forehead again.

Chapter Two

April 18th

New York

One week later they were packed. Due to one unused snow day, spring recess had begun the Friday before the weekend. It was sunny and quite warm for mid April. Ben brought his coffee outside to the patio. He breathed in deeply. It was a perfect Saturday morning. This time tomorrow they’d be on the plane.

The thought of someplace like Transylvania, with its dark past and fine line between factual and fictional fame felt exciting and strangely appropriate for the two teachers.

Ben thought about his students. After teaching for thirteen years, he thought they would get a kick out of his stories when he returned to class in a week. Maybe they’d appreciate some recent and relevant tales. He could tell the kids who really sought to gain the knowledge and understand history. He saw it in their eyes; something like desire as though they were trying to will themselves back into a separate time period, to relive what they had never experienced. And then there were the ones who simply wanted to pass. He didn’t understand why they didn’t care about learning. Why they showed so little interest in such a fascinating subject.

When they were dating Ben had taken Manda to historical landmarks around New York City; to old cemeteries and museums. One weekend on a trip up through the Hudson Valley they went on a day tour through West Point. Though she had been raised in a nearby suburb, this was her first intensive history lesson on one of America’s most prominent posts. She looked happy, amazed at the history, at sharing this subject he himself was so passionate about.

Manda had arranged the trip but Ben couldn’t wait to tell her all about the history surrounding the Dracula legend, as well as the country’s folklore and legends that had more to do with superstitions about death, about the forests and what superstition says dwells there after dark. He would teach her about the sites they would see on the Dracula Tour, as well, since he knew of most of them.

Manda joined him at the table. I hope the weather is this nice when we land tomorrow.

In the fifties, he said. Looked it up last night. Except for a little rain on one day the week looks good. Bring clothes for all kinds of weather anyway.

Already packed, she said with a hint of annoyance. She briefly averted her eyes. Did you read about the tour and see where it takes us? she asked.

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. Yes. They mix up the fictional and factual places connected with Dracula. From his birthplace to the old palaces; I can’t wait. I know of all the places they stop at, but to see them in person will be amazing.

She didn’t know sometimes how she handled his ego or how he sometimes thought he knew it all, but she did and it often kept the peace between them. She spoke up only when she really felt slighted. It wasn’t really him, though, and she knew it. Manda didn’t want her own phobias to get in the way of Ben’s birthday gift. She felt stuck. She wished he would notice and ask her about it just so she could put it out there.

The day passed quietly. Manda sat on the couch by the bay window reading about the Romanian culture, impressed by the descriptions of the beautiful countryside. What a lovely place, she murmured to herself. These photographs are a stark contradiction to the dark stories that come out of this country, she thought. They must make so much of it up for the benefit of the tourists.

In bed that night, Manda sat up against her pillows finishing another book on Dracula. She had specifically booked the Dracula Tour that goes through the various areas of Romania associated with the real Prince Vlad Dracula and the places mentioned in Bram stoker’s novel. Ben’s love of horror films went back to his childhood. She recalled how his eyes lit up when he spoke of those times. He and his father would spend Saturday afternoons watching Chiller Theater and old black and white movies like The Abominable Snowman, The Wolfman and Hammer films from the fifties through the early seventies. Ben used to mention his father a lot. Lately, not so much. She noticed he carried the die cast metal Matchbox Chevy with him all the time now.

She remembered their first date. Before marrying Ben Manda Murrow lived on her own. She was putting herself through school, studying to be an art teacher. Like Ben, it made sense that her career followed her own passion. She often thought of the events that brought them together. While she’d waited in the high school’s main office for an interview, he walked in. They made quiet introductions and chatted briefly. She explained she was there for an interview. He taught history. She was nearly finished with her master’s degree.

Manda did not get the high school art position but was instead asked to return as the new elementary art teacher and she began working that September. Their paths crossed again on the day before school started, at the district Superintendent’s Day. Ben had welcomed and congratulated her. He called her classroom one week later to see how she was surviving the elementary school. He said was sorry she wasn’t in his building but happy she was in the district and would she care to go out for coffee sometime? She agreed.

They went to the city for lunch and walked through the Metropolitan Museum of Art Manda talked about the paintings. He listened. She turned toward Ben. Sorry. I don’t mean to chew your ear off. I don’t often get to express my own views to other adults, so when someone opens the door I just walk right on in, she laughed with a sweep of her hand. I tend to drone on without thinking.

Ben smiled at her. She couldn’t tell if it was appraisal or doubt that crossed his features. I wouldn’t call it droning, he finally said. So what else do you come here to see?

They shared pretzels and soda on the steps outside the museum and talked the afternoon hours into dusk. They shared student stories and college stories and spoke of the real differences they thought they made as teachers. Ben made her laugh with some stupid jokes and expressed why he liked living in the city. The commute to work isn’t so bad, he had said.

Before they parted, Ben asked for a second date.

Call me this weekend and we can set a time for dinner, Manda said. I can come back down here to see you or you can come up to Fieldstone. She kissed him on the cheek and got into her car. You sure you don’t want a ride back to your apartment? she asked.

No, I’ll walk, he leaned down into her window and smiled. I’ll call you. That’s where it began. They’d been together now three years, married for just over one. Ben had moved up to Fieldstone from the city and Manda sold her townhouse. Together they moved into a cozy high ranch that suited them both.

The pipes inside the bathroom walls clunked as Ben turned off the shower. Manda’s thoughts returned to the present. After spending the past week brushing up on her Dracula and learning about the country and culture of Romania, Manda struggled with the growing excitement in the pit of her stomach. She felt prepared enough for the trip but not for the plane ride.

Moments later he was by her side, shirtless and warm, his hair damp. Manda could feel the heat from his skin. He smelled clean. How’s the book? he asked her.

Almost through. It’s really good. I’m learning a lot, she said, lifting the cover for him to see. The book was In Search of Dracula.

The best teachers… he began.

Are the best learners, she finished. She leaned over and kissed his face. She returned to her book and continued reading.

Chapter Three

Manda looked over at Ben lying on his back; ankles crossed, eyes closed, hands folded on his bare chest. She stared at the brown patch of hair in the center wanting to reach over and run her fingers through it. She hoped that he’d like this trip to Romania. She thought it would take his mind off his life and get his head out of New York for a while. She finished the book, placed it on the nightstand and turned out the light. The clock read 8:55. Their flight left at seven in the morning. Manda rolled toward Ben and laid her arm across his stomach. He draped his hand over her forearm, pressing her to him and they fell asleep.

Chapter Four

Wallachia 1457

Nedu Florandescu watched the old woman closely.

The coins slipped from her fingers onto the vendor’s wooden counter with a soft click. She collected her bread and vegetables, her ragged shawls gently flowing round the plumpness of her form. Smile lines were curved in her leathery face and at the corners of her eyes. The few coins she collected each week came from selling her hand-carved wooden figurines. It was enough to afford the necessities, food, firewood.

Pink and orange clouds contrasted the trees in silhouette. The marketplace would soon be closing. Nedu stood by unnoticed. When the vendor stepped away from his post to help his customer, Nedu made his move. He reached up with two dexterous fingers and slid the coins off the counter. He dropped them into his shirt pocket and walked away.

The movement caused the vendor to look up. He stared after Nedu, who glanced back. The vendor looked down at his counter. His coins were gone. Nedu trotted away, hoping to get lost in the marketplace throng. Sounds of yelling erupted behind him. Once more he looked to see the food vendor gesticulating and shouting, appearing smaller, smaller, his view eventually obstructed by the crowd. Nedu ran into the woods. He was home free.

He brushed his forearm across his forehead, clearing the sweat that had accumulated due to the day’s heat, running and adrenaline. Others in the marketplace had stopped their work and shopping to watch. They shielded their eyes from the sunlight to follow the boy running toward the forest. Some in the crowd shook their heads. Some shouted, waving tight fists in the air. They did not know Nedu, who was a usually quiet young man, but they knew he should not have taken what was not his. It would end badly for him.

Nedu smiled at his success as he reached the line of trees that would separate him from the people. He was not aware of the trouble he had caused himself with this one sly little act. His hand delved into the pocket sewn into the lower half of his shirt and brought up the gold coins. He looked back at the village with a wry smile. He’d made his way quite far into the woods when he realized the sun was setting. Nedu quickened his pace along the path.

He gently pushed open the door to the family’s modest cottage, built by his father, plank by plank. His father’s trade was their livelihood. Woodworking had been delivered down through generations. And Nedu had to admit that his father’s work was exquisite. He could construct a simple box to hold farm implements, build a pen to corral farm animals or carve the most finely detailed patterns on a bedpost or jewelry box.

His house was simple in its construct. It was comfortable and kept them dry and warm. Nedu’s mother welcomed him home with a hug and plate full of hot pork and bread with a small glass of tuica. The glow of the fireplace combated the chill just beginning to form in the air. He ate quickly, hungry from the brisk walk through the woods and the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He would be careful to stay around the house for a few days.

His mother sat down across from him at the table. Your father will be home in a few days. He’s been summoned by Prince Dracula to carve a wooden table for a room in his castle. If he’s lucky, the Prince will see what a talented woodworker your father is and hire him often. The whole land will know the name of Florandescu, She beamed.

Nedu looked at his mother and pushed a piece of bread into his mouth. The gears in his brain clicked into place and began whirring in his head. Only he could hear them. He knew his father’s work was in demand and the workload was steady. He would soon be asked to work alongside his father and eventually inherit the trade. Nedu would never disrespect his father’s wishes or reject the tradition. However, he wasn’t in a hurry to begin working for the rest of his life. A little work here, a side job there, was fine for now. His father had taught him well and with such pride! Nedu, however, could not bring himself to spend an entire day working, much less several in a row. He figured he’d just take over when his father could not do it anymore, and his father was still a relatively young man of not quite forty years.

Thank God we are an upstanding family. We will be treated well by the Prince. Your father will have work; we will have food and be able to buy new blankets for the coming winter. And you with your youth and your strength, can work by his side, she said, touching his fine brown hair. The corner of his mouth turned up as he chewed, but his hazel eyes remained fixed on his mother. Such a considerate boy, a good boy, Nedu. You are strong, honest and able. My son, you will go very far and be happy in this life. This is always my wish for you. Here, eat. His mother piled more meat on his plate. You will need your strength if you are called to help your father at the castle.

The following day, Nedu remained at home. He chopped some firewood and piled it up against the house. Any scrap pieces or unusually shaped shards were cast aside for his father to carve. Sometimes his father would teach him how to whittle certain patterns or demonstrate how the natural contour of the wood piece lent itself to the creation of a particular figurine.

At dinner that evening, Nedu and his mother sat wondering aloud at the elder Nedu’s progress at Castle Dracula.

A firm rap on the door interrupted their conversation. She looked at the door, then at her son. Who would be calling at this time? She opened the door. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the stern looking man before her. Had something happened to her husband? Why would this man show up at their home? What should she say? Straightening her shawls and smoothing her skirt, one hand rose absently toward her hair and then rapidly descended to worry the fingers of the other hand.

Nedu’s mother bowed her head and lowered her eyes. The man’s own sharp green eyes glared at her; they moved from her to Nedu, who had half risen from the table, a piece of roasted meat hanging from his fingers. The long-haired man at the door stared at Nedu. The silence was terrifying. Nedu knew why he was here. He glanced at his mother—his humble, supportive mother who had such faith in his integrity.

The boy, said the Prince, pointing to Nedu.

Nedu’s mother smiled. He’s come to request Nedu himself, she thought. How proud she suddenly felt. First her husband, then her son, was to work at the castle.

Nedu stood frozen at the table.

His mother looked at him as if to say, Where are your manners?

He would just avoid the village for few days and everyone would forget what had happened. Forget it was him. One instance would not be recalled over time…

They were all so trusting and honest in Dracula’s country; the people felt safe in their village, in their marketplace. They knew the consequences for behaving without integrity. Nedu’s thoughts raced. He had to get himself out of this.

Good evening, Prince Dracula, said Nedu meekly. He offered his hand. The prince refused it.

What is your name?

Nedu, my Prince.

Were you in the marketplace yesterday?

Y-Yes, Prince.

Dracula stared hard at the young man. Did you purchase anything?

No, I-I had no money. I was passing through on my way home to my mother, Nedu replied, hoping to gain the Prince’s favor.

Dracula remained silent, staring at Nedu. He spoke in a voice that growled low and menacing.

Do you have money now? The penetrating emerald eyes never left Nedu’s face. Under his shirt, a drop of cold sweat slid fast down the side of Nedu’s ribs. He suppressed a shiver. His mother looked at him questioningly. There was no praise, no request or compliment for her able-bodied young man whose father was providing service for the leader of the province.

I –I-, Nedu stammered.

Nedu? his mother urged. Her voice was merely a whisper. Her eyes implored him to explain. She held the door handle with one hand, while the other had gathered the front of her apron in a knot at her chest. Her fingers worried the material anxiously.

Dracula’s chin rose slightly. His green eyes narrowed. Do you have money now? he repeated.

Without speaking, Nedu reached into his pocket and retrieved the small gold coins. He felt shame in front of his mother, but worse, he felt trapped.

Dracula smiled. His eyes remained fixed. He extended his arm and opened his hand. Nedu placed the coins in his palm. The orange firelight glinted off their surface. Dracula motioned for Nedu to come forward. Nedu hesitated, then found his feet and made them work. Outside he was suddenly face to face with the old woman and the owner of the small food stand.

Is this the thief? Dracula

Reviews for Beneath the Blue Flame

[musichick52 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It must be challenging to come up with a new twist on the Dracula story. Ms. Mahan has done it. A young American couple travel to Europe to do the vampire guided tour. The mister is gaga over all things Dracula. They are quickly off the tour bus and embroiled over a mystery fraught with disappearances, a spooky woodland, the creepy librarian/treasure hunter, caves, blue flames that come and go when near the treasure and the reappearance of Dracula (who is mostly bark and not so much bite this time). There are some edits needed for typos and such but the book reads well and the action advances swiftly. I was impressed with the amount of historical background and research into the locales that the author offered. If you are a Dracula fan this is a must add to your collection. I offer my thanks to the author and Goodreads for a complimentary copy. Additional thanks to the author for a personal greeting and the inclusion of her own art cards and horror classics calendar with the book package. A pleasant surprise from a generous talent.