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His brown eyes twinkled. “That it is.” He studied the snow that was coming down a bit more heavily, blanketing the exposed stones and statues. I watched his gaze drift up to the castle. Muscles in his back tensed as Moldoveanu appeared briefly in one of the windows, striding down the corridor. “Am I mistaken, or is the headmaster a miserable fellow?”
I laughed outright. “I daresay he’s awful in general.”
“He’s pretty good with a surgical blade, though. Guess we can’t have it all, right?” He yanked the collar of his overcoat up and swatted at the bits of ice now mingling with the flurries. They pinged and skittered against the ground, the sound an almost lulling accompaniment to the gray skies. “I’m Mr. Noah Hale, by the way. Though you already know that from class. Thought it was time I properly introduced myself.”
I nodded. “You’re from America?”
“I am. Grew up in Chicago. Have you ever been?”
“No, but I hope to travel there one day.”
“What did you think about Radu’s lesson?” Noah asked, abruptly changing topics. “About the rituals supposedly taking place tonight? Do you believe all the villagers will make a sacrifice and are convinced animals speak our language this one night?”
I lifted a shoulder, choosing my words with care. “I’m not sure this lesson was any stranger than the folktales regarding vampires and werewolves.”
Noah glanced at me sidelong. “How did a young woman such as yourself get involved in all this”—he motioned vaguely at the castle—“business of cadavers?”
“It was either that or embroidery and gossip,” I said, allowing humor to creep into my tone. “Honestly, I imagine the same way anyone else who came to study such subject matter did. I want to understand death and disease. I want to offer families peace during difficult times. I believe we all have a special gift to offer the world. Mine happens to be reading the dead.”
“You’re not too bad, Miss Wadsworth. No matter what anyone else says.” Noah was blunt, but I didn’t mind his straightforwardness. I found it as refreshing as the mountain air.
A clock tolled the hour, a somber reminder that this bit of levity was over. I stood, stuffing Liza’s letter into my skirt pockets, and brushed snow from my bodice where my cloak had fallen open. “Are you excited about class? We’re in the dissection room today.”
“It’s the good stuff.” Noah stood and rubbed his leather clad hands together. “We’re all getting a specimen today. Some of the boys have placed wagers on their performance.”
“Is that so?” I raised a brow. “Well, then I apologize in advance for earning the top spot.”
“You can certainly try for that top place,” Noah said. “But you’ll have to fight me for it.”
“May the best person win.”
“I love a good challenge.” Noah took my gloved hand in his and shook it. I found that the action of a young man grabbing my hand didn’t offend me one bit. It was a sign of respect, a sign that Noah now thought of me as an equal. I beamed as we made our way inside.
This was precisely what I lived for: the exploration of the dead.
The interior of a dissecting room: five students and/or teachers dissect a cadaver, c. 1900.
DISSECTION ROOM
CAMERA DE DISECTIE
BRAN CASTLE
13 DECEMBER 1888
“What is the purpose of inspecting the bodies of those who die from no outward sign of trauma?”
Professor Percy stood beside the exposed brain of the specimen before him, his apron stained in rust-colored blood. His reddish hair and matching whiskers were neatly styled—so at odds with the fluids marring his wholesome features. I imagined it was how Uncle appeared when he was a young professor. The thought warmed me despite the crispness of the dissection-room air.
/> “Why carve them open when we can plainly see they’ve died of ‘natural’ causes?” he asked. “Hmm?”
Eager hands shot into the air like fireworks, exploding with the need to answer and prove themselves, ready to outshine their peers. The prince glanced around the room, sizing up the competition. There was an edge to him today. It was one of the first times I’d seen him show more than a passing spark of interest. Percy ignored them all, turning his attention on the one student who was distracted.
“Mr. Cresswell? Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”
Thomas, unsurprisingly, was a hand space away from being face-first in his cadaver, ignoring everyone and everything except for his scalpel and the cadaver. I watched the line of skin part under his blade as if it were a wave pulling back from the shore. He snatched up toothed forceps from his tray, inspected them, then went about the task of exposing the viscera, humming quietly. The tune was rather upbeat and jaunty given what he was doing. I raised a brow. Perhaps he had a bit too much passion for his work. Percy didn’t bother interrupting. He’d learned rather quickly that Thomas was a force unto himself while in the laboratory.
“Prince Nicolae?”
