CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Clementine Preparatory was shuttered for the night, but gas lamps still lit the paths and quadrangle.
The clock tower chimed out eighth bell as she and Keen made their way to the cloisters.
There was no trace of poor Cassie Graham but for a marked-off section near the base of the tower.
Hero could smell her blood, and the blood of the hellhounds she and Keen had battled here.
Her partner seemed oblivious to any odors, but his eyes did slip toward the crime scene as they slipped across the quad, following a disgruntled nun with a torch – not a lantern but an actual torch, with flames licking toward the dark sky, a billow of smoke following them.
The nun wore her bedclothes beneath a thick cloak, her habit tossed haphazardly on her head, stray strands of hair poking loose here and there.
She’d let them in after a mild protest, Keen giving her his best smile and apologetic grimaces, blaming Hero for the late hour.
“We quite appreciate this, Sister Agnes,” he said to the nun when she glanced back at them nervously. She was just young enough to be charmed by his politeness and his disarming humility. “You are helping our case immensely, I promise you.”
She slowed enough for him to catch up to her.
Hero hung back, keeping a sufficiently neutral expression on her face, and let Keen lead.
“I don’t know why this couldn’t wait until morning,” Agnes huffed, but there was no real hostility in her complaining.
She gave Keen a pout. “I was nearly ready for bed. But I suppose you can tell that, being a detective and all.” Then she giggled – tittered, actually – and Hero was glad for her tinted glasses, which reflected the light of the torch enough to conceal her eyeroll.
“I’m afraid it couldn’t wait,” said Keen, and made a slight gesture toward Hero. “The inspector feared we might lose evidence.”
Sister Agnes glanced at Hero and away again, lifting her chin.
“No one’s been in her room since… since she was found.
” Her voice hitched and Keen murmured sympathy, laying a quick hand on her elbow.
The woman practically melted, and Hero smirked.
Keen might have been an outcast as a child, bullied and ostracized, but he’d certainly gained confidence since then.
Sister Catarine’s apartment was sealed by a red cord and a dollop of wax.
The roommate had been moved to new quarters and been forced to leave behind most of her belongings while the investigation was ongoing.
Hero had no suspicions regarding the roommate, but she hadn’t entirely ruled out the possibility that a jealous rival had been involved in the murder.
Someone remaining at Clem Prep had chased young Cassie Graham to her death, after all.
“I’m breaking the seal,” she announced formally. The nun blinked at her, the torchlight casting shadows across her face. “Bear witness, Sister.”
“I – yes, of course. I – I bear witness.”
The red wax snapped in her grip and she let the ends of the cord fall free. There was a soft sizzle as the ward was broken and the door tipped open of its own accord – only a crack, but the sister gasped in shock and backpedaled. What they could see within was only blackness.
“Do you need the torch?” Sister Agnes asked, her voice shaking, glancing back down the hall of the cloister and its rows of closed doors, deathly silent at this time of night.
Hero doubted she would be willing to venture back to her room in the vestibule without a light.
It would be a long walk alone and in the dark.
“Take it,” Hero said, slipping off her glasses. Her flaming eyes rivaled the torch. “We won’t need it.”
With a little shriek, Sister Agnes turned and hastened to the stairs.
“That was just mean,” Keen said as they entered the apartment, though the demonhunter sounded more amused than upset.
Hero shrugged. “I can’t help how people react to my oh-so-special eyes.” She turned to him. “At least you seem to have gotten used to them.”
Except for a slight wince, he held her gaze. “I suppose I have. Out of necessity.”
Good enough.
Inside the small apartment, Hero stood behind Keen as he kept a watch through the cracked door, sweeping her fiery gaze over the simple furnishings. The place felt decidedly empty to her now. Whatever had remained of Catarine was gone.
Finally, after a tense moment of silence, Keen said, “All clear.”
“Right,” she said, feeling a grim excitement. “Let’s go.”
The catacombs lay beneath the convent’s chapel but were accessible via a stone mausoleum in the adjoining cemetery.
The former revered mothers of Clementine were interred there, ten of them, stacked atop each other in stone crypts.
At the back of the mausoleum, a steep, narrow stairwell led down into inky blackness.
“Now you probably wish you had that torch,” Keen said to his partner as he stared pensively into the abyss.
His hands went to his bandoliers, taking inventory of his potions and vials before he adjusted his saber and loosened the strap around his blunderbuss.
If they ran into trouble, he would be ready.
Viridian stood motionless. She wore her long coat over her usual garb, her green harem pants peeking out beneath its hem.
Her cane was in her fist, and she’d left her fashionable hat back at her rental.
Flames dripped from her unshielded eyes.
Keen blinked. Again, the half-demon inspector seemed to grow in size, until her presence filled the mausoleum.
Light and heat poured from her, fire dancing across her skin and skimming across her clothes.
“Or not,” he said faintly.
“A torch might be a good idea,” she countered. “In case we get separated.”
And why in Hell would we get separated? Keen wanted to ask. Instead, he fetched a torch from an iron sconce just outside the bronze doors. His partner lit it for him with a touch of a long, slim finger, corpse-white beneath the dancing flames.
“I’ll take the lead,” she said in a voice as deep as the ocean. “I memorized the map, but it was sketchy.” She tapped the side of her nose. “This will lead us better.”
The narrow steps took them down to a paved corridor wide enough for both of them to walk side by side.
A low ceiling arched overhead. The brickwork was ancient.
Archways opened on to more pathways, some broad and well kept like the one they traveled, others narrow and worn, unpaved, little more than dirt paths leading who knew where.
Crypts lined every avenue, some merely pits filled with bones, others better built and maintained, stacked like berths on a ship.
Words carved into stone plinths were so worn they were unreadable.
Hero’s fiery outline illuminated the way but made the shadows beyond even darker.
The air was chill and dusty. Every breath was full of someone’s bones.
Keen shuddered, his palms growing slick as they ventured deeper into the labyrinth, the light from his meager torch swallowed by Hero’s radiance.
The corridor seemed to stay relatively true, leading due west. Would they be able to breach the walls of Bright Renewal?
Were the catacombs deep enough to take them under that impenetrable shield?
They descended. The crypts and vaults seemed endless.
By now, they had to be outside the limits of Havenside itself.
A few quick calculations placed them under the cropland on the northwest side of town – empty fields, mostly, with a few farmhouses scattered here and there.
If they had stayed their course through the dark and the twisting tunnels, they would be nearing the academy grounds.
The catacombs became more cramped and decrepit, the mortar crumbling from between narrow, broken clay bricks, the ceiling hanging closer and closer to their heads.
They made their way down some more worn steps to a passage where rows of skulls and the knobby ends of long bones replaced the stone walls, a macabre architecture of hundreds of dead souls.
Empty eye sockets stared in silent recrimination, teeth bared in final grimaces.
He’d been right, Keen realized; the tunnels of the dead went far beyond what the map had shown.
Despite the wall of bones, the tombs, the deathly silence, the foulness in the air growing ever stronger, he felt his excitement rise.
This had been the right call. Finally, he felt useful, like he was carrying his own weight again.
Ahead of him, Hero stopped abruptly. They had entered another broad corridor, though not nearly as neatly put together as the ones they’d previously passed through.
Here, the stone pavers sat under layers of dirt and the bone walls were crumbling in places.
It reeked of ages long vanished. And of demons.
“I can go no further,” she announced. The flames lighting her skin flared. “This damnable shield!”
Her fist flew and hit an invisible barrier, rebounding in a shower of spectral sparks. Lurid red ripples of light extended outward from the point of impact.
Keen’s spirits sank. Was this another dead end? “There’s no way through it?”
“Not for me.” She eyed him, flames dribbling disconcertingly down her cheeks. “You’ll have to go on alone, DH Keen.”
Of course. The shield wouldn’t stop him. The realization should have brought back his excitement, but instead he was filled with unreasoning dread. The way ahead was a passage through the dead in total darkness with only a flickering torch to guide him.
Ah, well. I’ve been through worse.
But had he? Really? When had he ever gone up against the forces of Hell without other demonhunters to watch his back? Dear Goddess, he was a squirrel.
Maybe Viridian sensed his prevaricating. Her lips twisted into a scowl. “That’s an order, Keen!”