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Moldoveanu motioned for the twins to continue with the postmortem. Giovanni removed a bit of the stomach. Its contents would be examined for signs of arsenic, though a familiar garlic odor already hung in the air. I glanced around the room; each student was carefully scribbling notes, their focus more intense under the watchful gaze of the headmaster.
I tried thinking back on my conversations with Anastasia, convinced there had to be some indication of what she’d discovered about the scene in the missing woman’s house. I hated thinking of her traveling into the village alone and meeting her doom. But I didn’t even know if she’d made it that far. For all I knew, she never made it past the tunnels in which her body had been found. Was the murderer someone in this room, and if so, who would have been able to dispose of that much blood so quickly?
I surreptitiously inspected Andrei and Nicolae, who quietly spoke to each other in Romanian. They could be working together, though I cautioned myself to not focus entirely on them and miss other clues.
My attention strayed to the Bianchi twins. I recalled Anastasia remarking on how they ignored her attempts at chatting. Was one of them the person she’d been intrigued by? If disposing of the blood was too much of a risk for a single individual to handle, did that point to the two of them working together? They were very good at forensics and likely had ample knowledge of poisons. Perhaps it also wasn’t a coincidence that they’d discovered the maid’s body.
I glanced toward Thomas. He was already watching me, head cocked to one side as if he were reading my thoughts. We hadn’t known what to make of Radu the other night, and we couldn’t talk afterward due to the guards patrolling the corridors. We had been fortunate to make it to our chambers without being caught.
I still couldn’t believe that Radu had saved us from predatory wolves in the dead of night, then returned to his stew as if nothing at all had occurred. His behavior was predictable in its unpredictability. Though I still had a difficult time imagining him murdering students or anyone else.
“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today’s lesson. In light of recent events, I have decided that this is your final class before Christmas break,” Moldoveanu said as the clock tolled the hour. “Classes begin again on the twenty-sixth. Do not test my patience; I’m not keen on late arrivals.”
FOYER
FOAIER
BRAN CASTLE
22 DECEMBER 1888
The next morning Thomas and I met in the castle’s receiving chamber, ready to embark on our journey to Bucharest. Noah and Cian had bid us good-bye before disappearing into the dining hall, and I was now lost in thought, dreading that Daciana wouldn’t be there to greet us upon our arrival. Thomas had written her immediately after our initial suspicions regarding Ileana, but Daciana hadn’t replied. If she was hurt, or worse… I could not allow myself to think this way.
Thomas shifted every other moment, his attention riveted on the small window beside the door. Our carriage was due to arrive any moment. I closed my eyes, doing my best to ignore the memory of Anastasia’s corpse. There were so many scratches and bite marks, it had been hard to recognize her. The memory of those bats covering her body—a sudden burst of heat overwhelmed my senses. I needed to get out into the cold before I was sick.
I rushed past Thomas and wrenched the door open, gasping in huge gulps of icy air. Outside, the scent of pine mixed with that of the fires roaring inside. The cloud-covered sun had barely stretched its arms across the horizon, and the temperature was cold enough to create icicles that looked like fangs surrounding the main doorway. Snow fell in a consistent rhythm.
The cold steadied my body temperature, allowing the bout of sickness to pass.
“Are you all right?” Thomas stood beside me, brow crinkled in concern.
I nodded. “The air is helping.”
Thomas turned his attention to the cobbled path, though it appeared as if he were lost inside his mind. We were both bundled up in our warmest cloaks, tucked into layers upon layers of heavy material fighting the winter storm. Thomas’s cloak was black as tar, with matching fur around the collar. He stared out at nothing, jaws locked tight. I could not imagine the thoughts running through his head.
I stuffed my hands into the muff hanging from my neck. “No matter what we discover, we’ll make it through this. We’re a team, Cresswell.”
Thomas stomped his feet and blew warmth into his leather-clad hands, steam rising like London fog around him. “I know.”
A familiar coldness settled into his features. This was the Thomas Cresswell I’d first met in London. The young man who didn’t permit anything or anyone too close. The one who felt much too deeply, I realized. Liza had been right all those months ago, more than even she’d guessed. Thomas used distance as a barrier against being hurt. He wasn’t cold and cruel—not even close to the relatives he feared being compared to. He was breakable and knew precisely where his weakest points lay. To help those he loved, he’d tear apart the world.
“Thomas. I—”
A sleek black carriage pulled up before us, horses as tall and proud as the driver who opened the door with an exaggerated flourish. Thomas offered his hand and helped me into the coach before seating himself across from me. I tried to ignore the sense of wrongness that sitting in such a small space unchaperoned stirred within me, as he nudged the hot brick at my feet.
“You were saying, Wadsworth?”
I smiled. “Nothing. It can wait.”
“What are you sorting out over there? Some deep-seated fear or…” His powers of perception clicked in at once. A lazy grin stretched across his face, replacing the intensity of his previous expression. He sat back, then patted the small space beside him on the seat. “Bucharest is several hours away. Let’s not talk about serious matters yet.”
I inspected my friend but said nothing. My thoughts returned to my discomfort. It was quite scandalous to be traveling without a chaperone, but Mrs. Harvey had already left Brasov and we needed to confirm that Daciana was safe in Bucharest. Decorum and even our reputations needed to be set aside for the greater good. Though Father might not view it the same way were he to find out. I leaned back and forced those worries away.
We rumbled off, leaving the gothic castle in its commanding perch among the mountains. I watched as it slowly disappeared behind swirls of snow. I imagined the fortress’s icy glare had reached into our carriage, trying in vain to drag us back. I could not get over how much a building made of stone could take on human qualities. Monstrous qualities, actually.
I dropped my hands in my lap, smile fading with the action. “I did some research on the House of Basarab last night.”
Thomas angled his face away, studying me from the corner of his eye, which prevented me from fully reading his reaction. “Sounds dreadfully boring. Mother hired a governess for Daciana and me, and part of her glorious teachings included memorizing our Basarab family tree. More branches and thorny offshoots than an entire forest of brambles, with Daci and I being the sole blooms. Are you certain you’d rather not cuddle? It’d be a vast improvement over this topic. I should very much like to not think of anything related to Uncle Dracula.”
