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“Look.” I crossed the room and lifted the book from the table. It was titled in Romanian: Poezii Despre Moarte, “Poems of Death.” I’d been so distracted by the idea of the missing girl being lost and frozen in the woods that I hadn’t bothered reading the title earlier.
“When Anastasia and I entered that house, she claimed there was a connection between this book and the Order.” I held the book up for him to see. A cross was burned into the cover, each of its sides ablaze with crude
flames. “At first I thought she’d been mistaken, there was no logical reason for the missing woman from the village to be connected to a chivalric order made up of nobles. A mistake on my part, clearly.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, Wadsworth. There’s no shame in that. It’s how you go about mending them that truly counts.” Thomas flipped through the book quickly. “Hmm. I believe—”
“That it is time for you to go to your own chambers. You have no reason to be in these rooms.” Thomas and I both tensed at the intrusion and the gravelly voice. Danesti stood in the doorframe, his mass taking up the entire space. Seemed like this castle was full of people who could move about without a sound. “All activity within the castle has been canceled until the morning. Moldoveanu’s orders. The headmaster has decided to hold classes tomorrow under one condition: everyone will be escorted to class and then back to your chambers.”
Thomas had somehow hidden Poezii Despre Moarte, and he held his hands up. “Very well. After you.”
I didn’t dare search too hard for the now hidden book. I didn’t want Danesti to snatch it from us, especially if it turned out to be the very volume he’d been hunting. After depositing Thomas at his rooms, the guard watched me enter my chambers and then tugged the door shut behind me. Keys jangled and before I knew what he’d done, I was locked in my tower chambers. I raced into the bathing chamber and checked the door to the secret stairwell. It was bolted from the other side.
I did not sleep well that night, pacing as if I were an animal plotting its escape. Caged until someone set me free.
Carbolic steam spray, Paris, France, 1872–1887.
PERCY’S SURGICAL THEATER
AMFITEATRUL DE CHIRURGIE AL LUI PERCY
BRAN CASTLE
15 DECEMBER 1888
Prince Nicolae appeared paler than the corpse Percy was carving into as he handed the professor toothed forceps and coughed, turning away from the incision. It was odd behavior for the normally fearless prince. Perhaps he was coming down with an influenza.
Certainly it couldn’t be the nearly unrecognizable body from the tunnels making him ill. Though Percy had unveiled the body during our lesson two days earlier, Moldoveanu had recollected it before any of us could better inspect it and had released it to class only that afternoon.
Our headmaster had been oddly quiet and contemplative during our previous lesson, his mind seemingly stuck somewhere else. I wondered if the royal family was pressuring him to forensically solve or link the murders, or lose his position as both royal coroner and headmaster. It was also possible that his distress was completely unrelated to the body. Perhaps he was worried about Anastasia’s true whereabouts. He had to have concluded she was not in Hungary by now. I could not imagine what else might cause him such worry.
Percy placed his blade down on a tray, leaving the Y incision incomplete. Most of the girl’s features had been ruined by hungry bats, so her face was covered with a small shroud—a kindness for either her or us. Though I didn’t believe Percy would shy away from exposing us to the brutality of our chosen profession. Death didn’t always come peacefully, and we’d need to prepare ourselves for when it waged war.
“The carbolic steam spray, if you please.”
Percy waited for Nicolae to fumigate the surgical theater. Our professor took the same pains Uncle did to avoid contaminating a scene, though other scholars still claimed such measures unnecessary while studying corpses. I’d never seen a device like the carbolic steam spray before and couldn’t wait to tell Uncle all about it. He’d surely order one for his own laboratory.
Nicolae took aim, spraying the room down in a fine mist. Wisps of gray fog drifted through the air, smelling of sharp antiseptic that tickled my nose.
“We’ve gotten permission from the family to perform this autopsy…”
Something about Percy’s statement troubled me, but my mind drifted back to Ileana while the professor continued with our lesson. I couldn’t figure out what her motive would be in any of the murders, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been involved. In fact, I no longer believed she’d been working alone. Anastasia hadn’t returned to the academy when she’d said she would. I wondered if she had somehow played a part in the crimes, too. Despite their difference in station she and Ileana were friends. They’d both gone missing within a week of each other. I’d initially believed Anastasia’s note about investigating the scene at the house in the village. Now I wasn’t so sure.
Maybe I’d come too close to uncovering their secrets and they’d fled. I’d learned that trusting those who appeared innocent only led to heartbreak and devastation. Monsters could wear the smiles of friends while secreting away the rotten soul of the Devil in the darkest crevices of themselves. I thought back to the times we were all together in my rooms, and a new idea elbowed its way into my mind. If Anastasia and Ileana were working together, then perhaps each encounter and action had been a well-crafted act. They might have scripted their reactions, leading me purposely down the wrong path.
“Miss Wadsworth, are you with us today?”
I snapped into the present, face burning as I glanced around the theater. The Bianchi twins, Noah, Andrei, Erik—all had their attention fixed upon me, even Thomas.
“Apologies, Professor. I—”
Moldoveanu strode into the surgical theater, hands clenched at his sides. I had no idea he’d sneaked into the room. His robes were the exact color of his silver sheet of hair and hung as severely as the look he leveled at me.
“I require a private word with you. Now.”
Andrei snickered and said something under his breath. Erik also chuckled as I walked past them. The thought of stepping on his foot with my heel was enough to distract me from actually doing it. Cian caught my eye, offering a hesitant smile. It was quite the show of support, as the Irish boy had barely acknowledged my existence in the past. Noah must have put in a good word for me.
I picked my way down the stairs, hugging the walls of the surgical theater, and exited into the hallway where the headmaster was waiting, foot stomping the seconds away as if they were roaches he was exterminating.
