Chapter 8 – — Restricted Artifacts Registry
Chapter Eight
“Keys forged within Ashwell do not open doors by design. They respond to necessity, danger, and intent when no other passage exists.”
— Restricted Artifacts Registry
“I can’t believe my father never told me about this,” Lux mutters beside me, folding her arms across her chest. “After all these years, he had to know.”
Across the room, clusters of blood and breath years lean together, voices low as they talk amongst each other. Whatever this is, they’ve been waiting for it.
Malric clears his throat and steps forward, drawing attention back to himself. “My fellow upper classmates are going to start breaking you into teams of four.”
Lux and I instinctively edge closer, shoulders brushing, neither of us saying it out loud but both hoping the same thing. I scan the room and catch sight of Jace near the far wall, his wings half folded, his attention fixed on Malric. I consider slipping away to reach him then think better of it.
A sharp tap lands on my shoulder.
“You,” a woman says, already turning away, “follow me.”
I offer Lux a helpless look before stepping away and into the stream of moving bodies.
We’re lined up quickly and pushed around until I find myself standing in a group of four.
My stomach drops when I realize who’s beside me, Draven and the violet-eyed girl from earlier.
Our fourth teammate I haven’t seen until now, a short and stocky guy with black glasses and slicked-back hair.
Malric announces, “The doors you passed in the hallway outside lead to the morgue’s examination rooms. Each team has been assigned a body. Tonight, every one of you will perform an autopsy.”
I swallow, forcing my breathing to stay even as my thoughts spiral. Fuck. I wish desperately that Jace were standing at my side instead.
“We know not all of you have previous medical experience,” he continues, pacing slowly along the edge of the room, “which is why we’ve so generously provided a step-by-step instruction manual and checklist to guide you through the autopsy.”
A scoff comes from a few bodies over. “What’s the point?” a man calls out. “What’s in it for us? Not everybody’s even here, and you can’t stop me from leaving.”
Malric’s smile sharpens, pleased by the question. “The winning team receives a prize. And trust me when I say it’s something you’ll want.”
My eyes roll. Whatever he’s promising sounds like bait, nothing more than hazing dressed up as opportunity.
“Bone years who didn’t bother showing up tonight,” Malric adds, “will be regretting that decision by morning.”
Sure, if there even is a prize.
“How will the winning team be chosen?” a girl asks from somewhere behind me.
“All teams will be timed,” he replies, “but speed alone won’t decide the outcome.
There is a grading criterion. Several factors will be considered, including how well you work as a team, whether you correctly identify the cause of death, your overall time, and which anomalies you accurately document. ”
A seedy smile spreads across his face. “Off to your exam rooms,” he says, waving a dismissive hand, “boners.”
We file out of the room in clusters of four, and our supervisor leads us down a narrow corridor to one of the exam rooms. The body is already laid out on the table when we step inside.
“Time starts now.”
The woman assigned to supervise us reaches over and taps the timing device, and red numbers begin counting upward.
We all burst into action at once. Putting on gloves, gowns, and masks.
“Nyra, get the scale. Miles, uncover the body. Maelis, read the chart and take notes,” Draven says, calm and commanding, as though he has done this many times before.
I can see he thinks he is going to be team leader already. The way he stands, shoulders back, chin lifted slightly, radiates authority he hasn’t earned yet.
Fine, I will play along. For now.
“What the fuck?”
Nyra’s voice snaps through the room as she wheels the scale closer to the gurney with a harsh metallic scrape. I glance up from the instruction pages I’m holding as Miles pulls the sheet the rest of the way off the body.
What the fuck is right.
I have no idea what bloodline the body is.
There are no obvious tells, no wings, no elongated canines, no animal body parts.
It is humanoid enough but at the same time all wrong.
The proportions are slightly off, the limbs too long, the joints bent at angles that suggest they once moved in ways joints should not.
I take a step closer to study it and have an uncomfortable realization.
It looks like the thing Jace and I ran into in the forest back home. The crazed man who attacked us and tried to take a bite out of Jace. A shiver spreads up my spine at the memory, the wild, unseeing eyes, the guttural sounds, and the creepy twitching motions he made when he moved.
I cannot believe I forgot to ask Jace if he went back to study the body that night.
Draven pulls a second stainless steel table alongside the gurney, already lined with neatly arranged instruments, scalpels of varying sizes, forceps, rib shears, and a bone saw wrapped in oiled cloth. Everything gleams under the harsh lights.
“It’s a crawler,” he says, lowering his head to catalogue the instruments.
“I’ve never seen one in person before.” Miles lifts one of the man’s hands, examining the bloody, shredded arm. His fingers are steady, but I notice the slight widening of his eyes above his face mask even through his fogged glasses.
“Neither have I,” Nyra says as she takes in the body. “I wonder if every team has a crawler.”
It clearly was a man at some point, but his body is covered in injuries, deep cuts, ragged claw marks, patches of skin torn away entirely to reveal the gray-pink tissue beneath.
His eyes are open and abnormally red, as though every blood vessel burst at once and seeped into the whites and irises. He stares blankly at the ceiling.
What did he see in his final moments? Was any part of him still human enough to be afraid?
Nyra snatches the chart and instruction pages out of my hands, causing me to drop the ink pen. It clatters against the floor and rolls toward the drain in the center of the room.
“Here.” She shoves a scalpel into my palm, the metal cold even through my gloves. “You can start weighing the organs. I don’t want to touch that thing. Who knows if it’s contagious?”
I turn the scalpel over in my hand.
“Afraid you might catch something, Nyra?” Draven doesn’t look up from the instrument tray, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Cowardice, perhaps? I hear that spreads quickly.”
Nyra’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused.” He finally glances up, honey eyes sharp. “But Maelis is not your assistant.”
Is he...defending me? So it is acceptable for him to order all of us around, but when Nyra does it, he has something to say about it. Interesting.
Draven’s gaze slides to mine, and whatever gratitude I might have felt evaporates instantly. There’s no warmth there, no camaraderie, only calculation.
“Don’t look so surprised, Freckles.” His eyebrow twitches, and I am certain there is a sarcastic smile hiding behind that mask. “I prefer my teammates competent. You can thank me later.”
“I’d rather swallow the scalpel,” I mutter.
“Kinky.” He turns back to the body. “But save the dramatics for after we win. First incision, who’s making it?”
“The human should make it.” Miles stands back next to Nyra, folding his arms across his chest. “She needs to prove she belongs here.”
“I have a name,” I mutter. I want to kick him, but instead I swallow the rage and take his place next to the body.
“Standard Y-incision.” Draven stands across from me on the other side of the gurney. “Acromion to acromion, meeting at the xiphoid process.”
I know he means cut from shoulder to shoulder and down the front of the sternum so we can open him up. I know the anatomy and have done this before.
I take a long inhale, forcing my lungs to expand. I can do this. I have assisted my father on autopsies before in the clinic back home. I have held tools like this one and made cuts like this one.
My father.
I bring the scalpel over the body and hover the blade close to the skin.
This is anatomy. Structure. Skin, fascia, muscle. I have studied this.
My eyes trail up to the man’s face.
His skin is pale and bloodied with pieces of flesh peeling back like he scratched at his own face in a frenzy. His lips are parted, frozen during a scream or gasp. And then I don’t see the crawler anymore.
I see my father.
I see his lifeless body lying there, cold and pale and so terribly still. I see the way his chest did not rise. The way his eyes stared at nothing. The way my mother screamed.
My hand starts to shake. My vision tunnels, everything around me collapsing into darkness until all I can see is my trembling fingers and the gray skin of the crawler beneath them. The scalpel hovers, quivering.
I cannot press in. I cannot make the cut.
My breathing turns erratic, short, sharp gasps that do nothing to fill my lungs. And then I hear her voice, distant and damning, rising from somewhere deep in my memory. “You did this, Maelis. Look at him. This is your fault.”
The scalpel slips from my fingers and clatters against the steel table. I stumble back, swaying, losing my bearings. A hand grips my shoulder, steadying me, and for a moment I think someone is helping.
“I knew the human would choke.”
Miles’s voice echoes in my ear, far too loud for how close his mouth is to my head. His breath is warm and smug against my skin. I want to elbow him in his round gut, spin around, and drive my fist into his throat. But I can’t focus. I need out of this room. I need air. I need to run.
“Disappointing, Freckles.” Draven tsks, shaking his head slowly. “Maybe the rumors are true.”
Something inside me snaps.