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He hopped off my bed as gracefully as a panther and stalked close. “I’ve heard that body in the morgue might be hers. Now I need you to tell me for sure.”
I frowned at him. “You wouldn’t have come here if you wouldn’t benefit from the information, would you?” His answering smirk told me everything I needed to know about his motivations. “Don’t you ever do things out of decency?”
An ancient sadness filled his gaze for a moment, stretching far beyond what his nineteen years should know. Little hairs rose along my arms.
Then Mephistopheles blinked and his eyes were once again filled with mirth. I must be in need of more rest than I thought. My nightmares were bleeding into my waking hours.
“I tried decency once.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.”
“I thought that was just defeat,” Thomas added, trying and failing to not look smug. “I’ve heard that’s not so pleasant, either. Not that I’d know.”
With a seemingly great amount of restraint, Mephistopheles turned to me, taking my hand in his. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to my knuckles, his gaze locked on mine.
“I do hope you’re happy, Miss Wadsworth. And while I’d love to stay and be entertained by your court fool?
??—he flashed his teeth in what was supposed to be a smile at Thomas—“it’s time for me to go.”
I had a strange premonition that once he waltzed out that door, it would be the last time I set eyes on him. “You’re leaving for good, aren’t you? I thought the Moonlight Carnival only just arrived.”
“Have we, though… only just arrived?” A secret danced in his eyes, one he had no intention of sharing. His expression turned serious again. “Once blood starts flowing, even the most angelic of places loses its appeal, Miss Wadsworth.” His focus darted behind me. “Beware of trusting beautiful creatures. They hide the most wicked surprises.”
Thomas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me as I shivered in place. I tried to ignore the effect Mephistopheles’s words had on my growingly superstitious mind, but I couldn’t help but feel as if he spoke of the future. One he’d seen as clear as a cloudless day when the rest of us were stumbling in the fog.
“What about Trudy?” I asked, desperately casting about for a reason to make him stay. “Don’t you wish to discover if she’s the body in the morgue?”
“I trust you’ll sort it out the way you do best.”
He tipped his bullion-trimmed top hat, then vanished one last time. I could only hope we hadn’t just allowed a murderer to roam free once more.
Vintage Post Mortem Tools
FORTY-TWO
WHITE CITY STAINED RED
WORLD’S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
16 FEBRUARY 1889
One would never guess while walking through the heavenly city above that underneath it lay labyrinthine tunnels used by workers and laborers servicing the fair. It made sense, though. In order to keep the illusion alive and well, fairgoers couldn’t be bothered with mundane things such as rubbish being carted and loos cleaned.
As we followed members of the Columbian Guard deeper underground, we passed rooms filled with props and excess items for the fair. A riot of flowers was in one, buckets of creamy white paint and an odd-looking spray contraption in another. Electrical devices and popped-corn machines and things to delight—all polished and ready to go. There were boxes of Cracker Jack, which everyone had been eating the last time we were here. A scent of caramel mixed with salt followed us as we wound down and through another corridor.
Even being in the bowels of the grand city above, I felt awed by the majesty of it all. Then there was the secret chamber we were headed to. The one not mentioned in any pamphlet or newspaper. Beneath the beating heart of the Court of Honor was a command station larger than an army’s. Within its well-fortified walls, there was a morgue.
The lead guard paused outside a door with no name etched onto it. Unlike the others, it was closed, the lights out within. I knew where we were before he set his key in the lock and ushered us into the cool space. He flicked a light on, the slight buzz the only sound in the room. I scrunched my nose at the sharp scent. It smelled of bleach. My eyes watered and my throat burned. I wondered if they’d spilled a ten-liter jug or if they’d purposely used so much.
Whatever their reasoning, it was strange. Almost as if they were trying to scrub any stains from the glistening streets, even this far below.
Thomas blinked but, other than that, showed no discomfort. He was alert, his attention sweeping the room from ceiling to floor to the large drawers set into the far wall. The ones that held bodies, no doubt. I moved my own focus around, absorbing as much as I could of the sterile space. Everything here was white as well. The tiles that extended from the floor to the top of the walls. Everything was built of cool, smooth stone except for the ceiling.
A hose mounted on one wall featured an ornate crank, the only bit of beauty in an otherwise blank canvas. I caught a glimpse of familiar medical tools and aprons peeking out from an open closet door. Three silver tables were evenly spaced, the holes on top of them indicating they were meant for postmortems. A silver pail sat positioned under each and I fought my revulsion as I pieced together its purpose. I didn’t see any sawdust, and the stench of bleach made sense. Bodily fluids would funnel into the holes and get collected in the pails.
The guard who’d unlocked the door cleared his throat. “Dr. Rosen will be here shortly to answer your questions.”
With that, he stepped back toward the door, nodding to someone on the other side. Thomas and I both flinched as he shut the door behind him, locking it with a click that seemed to thrum in my chest.
