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Pressing my ear against the wall next to the door, I listened, willing myself to remain cold and still as marble. Hushed voices rumbled too low for me to make out. It was hard to tell if they were both male or if a female was also involved. I leaned against the wall until my face ached with the force, but still couldn’t understand what the late-night prowlers were whispering. It almost sounded as if it were a chant…
I drew back, confusion tugging me away. Why on earth people would be chanting unpleasant hymns in the dead of night was beyond logic at this hour. Maybe the thudding was only the result of a clandestine affair. Hadn’t I already learned this lesson with Daciana and Ileana? I turned, ready to march myself back into bed, then paused.
Whispers grew louder, cresting like waves before crashing back to near-silence. This was no romantic tryst in the tower. As the voices let the fervor of their cryptic song distract them, I was able to recognize every few words, chanted in Romanian.
“Bone… Blood… Here… something… dead… wings of black… heart of… enter… woods alone… he’ll mark… tracks… Hunt… down… then…”
Thud. The chanting stopped as if a guillotine had severed the tongues from whoever dared speak such blasphemous words on this hallowed winter’s eve. I didn’t want to give any credence to Radu’s superstitions, but perhaps there was something other about this night.
Light flickered beneath the doorframe, gilding the floor and lapping at my slippered toes. I dared not move. I sucked in a quiet breath, watching as the light faded down the corridor, accompanied by the sounds of something being dragged behind going with it. At least two sets of boots marched rhythmically down the stairs, their stolen cargo dully thumping after. Curiosity reached inside my mind, making thinking logically difficult. If I didn’t follow them soon, I’d lose them in the maze of castle corridors.
Going alone seemed an awful idea, and yet what else was I to do? I couldn’t very well pretend nothing untoward was happening. There wasn’t enough time to rush down to Thomas’s sleeping chamber and wake him. Plus, he shared the floor with other male students. I could not imagine the scandal I would cause by dragging him from his bed this late at night. We would both lose our place in the academy. And rumors of clandestine affairs would surely reach those in London who seemed to gain power through gossip and trade it as if it were currency. I wished Anastasia had returned—she would surely have assisted with this dilemma.
I bit my lip. I didn’t think our murderer was behind this midnight theft—I couldn’t imagine why he’d steal a body. He enjoyed murdering, not corpse robbing. Indecision continued to toy with the rational section of my brain. The part that said I should wake the headmaster and let him deal with the thieves. I could imagine the twisted curve of his mouth when I relayed what I’d heard. His sneer sharp enough to pierce skin and draw blood. That decided it, then.
I rushed across the room and fetched my cloak and a scalpel, hands shaking so powerfully I almost dropped my weapon. At least I was armed with some measure of defense. If I ran to Moldoveanu, he would snap at the late-night intrusion and think me a liar. I might even end up as one of the bones he picked his teeth with. I’d rather take my chances with the body snatchers and their wicked-sounding chants.
I dashed into the corridor and ran down the stairs, catching the last flicker of movement before they entered the lower levels, and halted, my breath catching.
Apparently, we were going subterranean with the stolen corpse.
CORRIDORS
CORIDOARE
BRAN CAST
LE
14 DECEMBER 1888
Black hoods were drawn over the corpse thieves’ heads, obscuring their identity in the shadow-laden corridors as they picked their way from the tower to the lower levels. My own cloak was deep charcoal—reminiscent of hazy half-moon nights and foggy alleys—and was perfect for slinking through unlit spaces. I was grateful I’d left the scarlet cape in London. I held fast to my scalpel, ready to wield it like a sword, as Andrei had done earlier.
The thieves moved with the steady caution of those who had done this many times in the past. Pausing and listening before slipping down the next hallway. As they made their way to the lowest level, their procession was silent save for the scraping sounds of the body they pulled behind them. It didn’t take long to understand that we were trudging toward the basement morgue. I pressed myself against a wall and allowed an entire litany of doubts to wriggle through my mind. Maybe these supposed thieves were simply servants moving the body between morgues on orders of the professors.
After all, someone had to transport the corpses from one place to the next. I’d never witnessed them being carted around during waking hours. The chanting, however—well, that was a bit odd. But not damning evidence of guilt. Actually, as I stood there, contemplating, I wasn’t entirely sure they even were chanting. Perhaps they were singing a tune to distract themselves from their job. If they had anything close to Ileana’s skittish temperament, they likely didn’t relish being among corpses. Most didn’t.
I kicked at the threadbare carpet, worn from the countless feet that had passed by over the past several hundred years. I could not believe I’d gotten out of bed for this. A pair of corpse thieves indeed. It seemed I’d never let my romantic notions go.
Not everything that thumped and thudded in the night was a monster. I’d clearly heard one too many tales of vampires and werewolves since arriving here. It was all my cursed imagination. Somewhere, deep down, I wanted those strange and deadly tales to be true. Though I was loath to admit it even to myself, there was something terribly appealing about the idea of immortal beings. Perhaps it was the monster inside of me that wished for others, especially those found only in stories.
Dragging their shrouded package as best they could, the two figures rounded a corner, disappearing from sight. I decided to linger a bit longer. Might as well confirm they were depositing this specimen in the lower morgue before climbing those abysmal tower stairs again so soon. I eyed the giant fern on the opposite side of the hall, wondering if I should simply curl up behind it and sleep until morning.
A door clicked shut, and I rounded the corner, situating myself in an alcove hidden by a massive tapestry. Shouldn’t be long now. I squatted down, covering my nightgown with my cloak to avoid any pale fabric catching unwanted attention. No need for the castle servants to be aware of my late-night escapades. I buffed my scalpel with the edge of my cloak, recalling one of my favorite Shakespeare quotes: The instruments of darkness tell us truths.
Needles pricked my toes, warning them they’d be fully numb in moments. I shifted, hoping to ease some life back into my feet. Surely it didn’t take this long to place a body on a table or in a mortuary drawer. Unease wound itself around me until I could barely breathe.
I closed my eyes. “Of course. Of course this is the sort of night I’m having.”
I’d not allowed the thought of them entering the secret tunnels to cross my mind. I would not, could not willingly go down into that cursed place alone. The mere thought of following those unknown people into tunnels brimming with bats and other loathsome creatures was enough to make me consider going straight back to my rooms, weapon or not.
I counted the increasing beats of my heart, knowing what I should do. I had no real weapon. No light source. And no one knew I was out of bed. Should something happen, I’d quite possibly never be found. Moldoveanu certainly wouldn’t send anyone out searching for me.
That thought brought me upright. My sleep-addled brain wasn’t quite as sharp as it should be. Where were the royal guards? They’d been posted in the halls and outside the morgue each day this week. It was odd I hadn’t encountered any of them already. Though perhaps they only patrolled the main exits and entrances during these late hours. Students were long since tucked away in their beds, dreaming of viscera and science. And the inhabitants of the morgue needn’t be watched over. No one but me saw illusions of them rising.
I clutched my cloak, wrapping it around my body like armor, and left the sanctuary of my hidden space. I peeked around the corner and released a slow breath. No one in sight. Thrusting my shoulders back, I crept down the hall. Before I could talk myself out of it, I twisted the knob and slipped into the morgue. It was empty and still. Not a thing was disturbed or out of place.
Except for the trapdoor. That was slightly propped open—an alluring trail of morbid bread crumbs I could not resist following. The same foul scent of rotten meat assaulted my senses as I tiptoed down the broken stone stairs, watchful for signs of traps.
