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The game board had exploded; I couldn’t afford just to focus on the SK if I was going to win, and I couldn’t do it by myself either.
I needed Val.
I needed to get my head and my hands around all of the Cucitrice’s skill.
And right now, I needed another clue.
At the bottom of the steps and to the right, was a wall with a long shelf and some graffiti under it. To the left was a three-tiered bank of storage with heavy metal square doors. Bodies would’ve gone in there. Ahead, at ceiling height, the end wall had partially caved in. Trees were visible and sunlight.
I turned off the flashlight.
A number of solid stone or concrete blocks, raised at waist height, made me wonder if they’d been used for dissections and post mortems, then had all blood and debris hosed off.
Macabre.
My gaze travelled along the paper labels on the boxes lining the shelf. Preserved by some kind of varnish, most of them still legible.
Bone rongeur. Bone saw. Forceps of some sort. More forceps. Retractors. Dilator. Gigli saw...which looked like a garrote. Calipers. Bone chisel. Bone mallet.
“Definitely the morgue.” This I muttered under my breath.
The rest of the wall, however, fascinated me.
The graffiti wasn’t stock standard. It looked quite old and faded, which was weird, given vandalism must have happened long after the place shut down. The drawn shapes resembled some of the alchemy symbols.
I felt lightheaded as I pulled out my phone and took several snaps—the tremble in my fingers blurring some of them.
This felt like the next clue.
If the eyeglasses meant the graffiti to lead me onward, the translation would be crucial. Chester would know. To my surprise, he’d already sent me a useful compilation of symbols through the ages.
I quickly sent him all the new pics, told him he was a genius, that I needed translations, and to send the bill when he wanted to.
“Someone’s been down here.” Val broke the spell, and I turned to face him.
“Amateur film crew or something.” He gestured at some tripods and props near one of the tables. “The fact they left some of their gear, makes me wonder if someone disturbed them.”
Orsomething.
A small trickle of cold dripped down my spine and I instinctively scanned the room’s crevices.
When my focus settled back on Val, he was exploring a thin metal arm and hand with three hooked fingers.
“Surgical hook,” he explained when he caught me looking. “These two tables have metal hooks beneath the edges, anchor points for tying down limbs. I’ve seen it on veterinary operating tables.”
“I find your medical fetish disturbing.”
He raised a brow. “Last time I checked, you seemed to enjoy being poked and prodded.”
“Oh, you thought the screaming wasenjoyment.”
He laughed, a rich round sound that filled the room and made me smile.
And then my smile froze.
My attention snagged on something behind him. The white jacket hung on a stand, impossibly long sleeves trailing to the floor. A straitjacket.
My muscles twitched as if in revulsion. As if I needed to run.
