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If the guard was involved with this matter, there was a possibility of the victim being connected to the crown in some way, too. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t left the body at the scene of the crime. I hadn’t heard any rumors about the murder on the train, leaving me to believe the royal family had kept the individual’s identity from the public.
Newspapers would have blasted that information from their ink-spotted trumpets. Would that mean Wilhelm and the first victim had been traveling together? I supposed it was possible that while the method of killing was significantly different, there might be a common link between the two men after all.
My heart beat frantically against its cage of bone. I wasn’t sure how it all connected, but I knew in my cells it did. Somehow. Three murders. Two unrelated methods. Or had the killing method evolved with practice from that first victim who made headlines?
Uncle had an uncanny way of placing himself in the mind of a murderer, and I tried to emulate his methodology. One victim was disposed of as if he were a vampire. The second as if he’d been slain by a vampire. Why?
If I could only examine the body from the train, perhaps I’d know more. Was that why Ileana told me where the morgue was? She knew secrets the castle held close, thanks to gossip—like who was waiting to be carved up and inspected for clues.
Ileana said the morgue would be empty, but if the headmaster or Danesti happened upon me, my prospects of finishing this course could be ruined. I should go straight back to my rooms and study for tomorrow’s classes.
Indecision toyed with my emotions, tempting and teasing me to pick another path. I thought back to my earlier conversation with Ileana, about our tomorrows never being guaranteed. We truly didn’t know what choices might drop into our moments. Which opportunities might come our way. I found myself walking steadily in a direction that wouldn’t lead to my room.
Cadavers were kept in two places that I knew of in the castle: one in the morgue on the lower level, as Ileana had said, and the other in the tower next to my rooms. I’d take a quick look inside each mortuary drawer and see if I was right about the train victim being there. Then I’d decide what to do.
I walked swiftly, chin lifted, hoping I appeared as if I were on a mission approved of by the staff. I had a feeling that if I looked as guilty as I felt inside, my daring adventure would be over before it even took flight.
I could not, in good conscience, sit back and be a passive participant in my life. If a murderer was now prowling the halls of the Academy of Forensic Medicine and Science, I wouldn’t wait until there was another cold body to inspect. If the murderer was stalking the Impaler’s bloodline, Prince Nicolae might be next.
I stopped short, gasping. That had to be it. The irony of someone hunting the blood of a man rumored to drink it was astounding. But it made sense. I continued down the hall, mind running wild with too many thoughts to contain. I wished Thomas hadn’t gone and complicated our friendship. I wanted to share my new theories with him, talk them out.
I paused again, considering my options. Perhaps I should speak with Thomas now, apologize for my temper. Then we could sneak into the morgue together and… I grabbed my skirts and continued on. I would go to the morgue alone and then I’d share my findings with Thomas after. I needed to know that I could handle being around the dead without company.
A flicker of movement caught my attention and I swung around, an explanation already forming on my tongue, and was met with an empty corridor. Not a thing was out of place. I waited a beat, breath held, certain that if someone had sneaked into an alcove, they’d surely make some sort of sound to alert me to their presence. Nothing.
I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, but it didn?
?t slow my rapid pulse. I was seeing things that didn’t exist again. I cursed myself for the hauntings of my past, despising myself for having such difficulty sorting fantasy from reality. No one was stalking me. No scientific experiments were being performed on slaughtered women. This wasn’t a gritty alley in Whitechapel filled with discordant music from nearby pubs. There was no cloaked figure gliding through the night.
If I kept repeating these assurances, I was bound to make them body memory. I heaved a great sigh. It had only been a few weeks since my world had shattered. I was still healing. I would make it through this. I simply needed time.
I turned around, half expecting to come face to face with whatever I had thought I’d seen, but the white corridor was still deadly silent, save for the sound of my own footsteps now hurrying along the wooden floors. I moved as swiftly as I dared, spurred on by the candelabra chandeliers, pointing fingers of light at me as if accusing me of wrongdoing.
I reached the end of the next hall and stood before a thick oak door marked with the sign morga. There was no window or other way for me to peek inside and see if the morgue was occupied. I would have to take my chances. My breath sped faster as I reached for the knob, then snatched my fingers back as if I’d been stung. Remembered whispers of steam-powered machines taunted me. But there was no whirling or churning coming from behind this door. I listened again anyway. I needed to be sure.
Silence was suffocating; not a sound could be heard. I breathed in through my nose, exhaled through my mouth, allowing my chest to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. I was a student here. Surely if someone were in the morgue I could come up with a valid reason for entering this room. It wasn’t as if we’d been told we might enter only during the daytime accompanied by a professor.
With that thought, I drew myself up. This wasn’t my father’s house, where I’d had to tiptoe around forbidden rooms. It wasn’t as if I were going to perform an autopsy this moment.
I clamped my hand over the doorknob, feeling the bite of cold iron beyond the protection of my thin gloves. The sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could seek out Thomas, I reminded myself. With that thought, I twisted the knob and then stumbled forward as the door jerked open from the opposite side. My heart nearly stopped. I glanced at the floor, forgetting to hide my cringe as I prepared for the wrath of Headmaster Moldoveanu.
“I was only going to catalogue—” I began, then looked up and saw a wide-eyed Ileana. The headmaster was thankfully nowhere around. The lie on my tongue disintegrated. “What—I thought you were heading to the kitchens?”
“I—I have to leave. We’ll talk later?”
Without uttering another word, she ran down the hallway, not bothering to glance back. I stood there, hand against my chest, collecting myself. I hated Moldoveanu for forcing her to tend to a room full of cadavers when she was clearly uncomfortable with them. Ileana was raised in the village and likely grew up with their superstitions regarding the dead.
Pushing my anger at the headmaster away, I grabbed the knob again, refusing to leave after I’d come this far, and stepped inside.
Royal Free Hospital, London: the interior of the post-mortem room in the pathological block. Process print, 1913.
MORGUE
MORGA
BRAN CASTLE
5 DECEMBER 1888
