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CRIPTA
BRAN CASTLE
22 DECEMBER 1888
I struggled to keep my nose and mouth above water as we slid down what I assumed was an ancient pipe covered in slippery algae, heading toward Lord knew where.
I kept my hands tucked against my body, which helped prevent sludge from covering them. If I had known we weren’t about to be spat into a worse chamber—or that my scalpel and Thomas’s hammer weren’t about to cause grave injury—I might have enjoyed the giant underground water shoot. However, I didn’t believe Vlad Dracula or the Order of the Dragon had designed this for amusement. My muscles clenched in anticipation of where we might land.
I shuddered against more than the icy water as I slipped down the seemingly endless pipe. I couldn’t imagine how far underground we must have been—the dark was so complete I couldn’t see my hands in front of me.
The pipe twisted and turned, and after several rotations of my body, it eventually flattened out. Seconds later, I was dumped into a shallow pool. I refused to consider what might be bobbing across the surface as I splashed about; at least the smell wasn’t too foul. As I pushed myself up, Thomas came flying out and landed on me, knocking us both down, our knees and foreheads smacking together in a clumsy backward dance.
Somehow he’d managed to cup my head so I avoided smashing my skull into the stone below us. I imagined his knuckles hadn’t been as lucky.
“That… was… terrifying… and incredible,” he said, losing himself in a fit of laughter. I wanted to agree, but all I could think about was his hands wrapped around me. We’d been so close to death. As if it were a star shooting across the night expanse, our lantern sailed into the water, floating on the surface and offering a bit of light.
Thomas glanced down at me, then stopped chuckling. His expression was now serious and measured. I stared, noting that his lashes were long and dark like the nighttime sky. His eyes were my favorite constellations to gaze at; e
ach fleck of gold surrounding his pupils were new galaxies begging to be discovered. I’d never been fascinated by astronomy before, but now found myself an eager student.
“You saved me once again.” Thomas leaned on his elbows, grinning at my dazed expression. He reached over and plucked sludge from my hair. “You’re beautiful, Wadsworth.”
“Oh, yes. Covered in grime and whatever that foul-smelling bit of…”
“You truly do not wish to know.”
I suppressed a gag and gingerly moved each limb, testing myself for broken bones and fractures. All seemed to be in working order, though it was hard to tell without standing.
“How was that for adventure?” I asked, shivering in place. “Closer to what you’d had in mind?”
The tiniest smile curved his lips, erasing the awkwardness. “Clearly, you’re in need of sleep. I’m not sure we should be friends any longer, Wadsworth. You are too wild for me.”
I winced as he shifted his weight. Lying on the stone floor of the pool, soaking wet, was too horrid to ignore, no matter how much the devious part of me enjoyed being that close to Thomas. Concern flashed in his features.
“What is it? Are you injured?”
“Perhaps we should get back to our task of locating the Impaler. And if you wouldn’t mind moving off me so I might breathe properly… You’re worse than a corset.”
He blinked as if coming out of a dream, then hopped up and offered me a hand. “Apologies, fair lady.” He scooped the lantern out of the water and wiped off its sides. “Which chamber of doom is next on the menu?”
“I’m not sure. Do you still have Poezii Despre Moarte?”
“Right here.” Thomas patted his front pocket. “Though the cranium hammer has gone missing.”
“My scalpel, too.” I glanced around the chamber, noticing a ledge on either side of the pool of water we were standing in, and indicated we should head there. “Let’s see about drying off a bit.”
We picked our way up the ledge and wrung our clothes and hair out as best we could. My skirts stuck to my limbs, making each movement more difficult than the last. I was surprised to see steam rising from a few crevices in the rock face, taking most of the biting chill out of the air. I held out trembling hands, and Thomas quickly did the same.
“Must be hot springs in one of these mountains,” he said, removing his frock coat and hanging it over the steam. I stared at his chest, defined and on full display thanks to the water soaking his shirt. He was finely sculpted, his body recalling ancient sculptures of half-clad heroes or gods.
I tore my gaze away, holding my skirts as close to the steam as possible. Now was not the time to be distracted by improper desires. I turned around, hoping to dry the back of my bodice, and spotted another tunnel entrance, marked with the numeral XII. Chills wracked my body for an entirely new reason.
“Let me see the book, Cresswell.”
Thomas spied the entrance I’d pointed out and handed over the old vellum tome. I flipped through it, marveling at how the pages had survived the waters. Whoever had created it must have planned for it to withstand these dangers. I found what I’d been searching for and stopped. It took a moment to work out the Romanian in my head, but I sorted it out.
XII
