CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CORPSE THIEVES
CORRIDORS
CORIDOARE
brAN CASTLE
Black hoods were drawn over the corpse thieves’ heads, obscuring their identity in the shadow-laden corridors as they picked their way from the tower to the lower levels.
My own cloak was deep charcoal—reminiscent of hazy half-moon nights and foggy alleys—and was perfect for slinking through unlit spaces.
I was grateful I’d left the scarlet cape in London.
I held fast to my scalpel, ready to wield it like a sword, as Andrei had done earlier.
The thieves moved with the steady caution of those who had done this many times in the past. Pausing and listening before slipping down the next hallway.
As they made their way to the lowest level, their procession was silent save for the scraping sounds of the body they pulled behind them.
It didn’t take long to understand that we were trudging toward the basement morgue.
I pressed myself against a wall and allowed an entire litany of doubts to wriggle through my mind.
Maybe these supposed thieves were simply servants moving the body between morgues on orders of the professors.
After all, someone had to transport the corpses from one place to the next.
I’d never witnessed them being carted around during waking hours.
The chanting, however—well, that was a bit odd.
But not damning evidence of guilt. Actually, as I stood there, contemplating, I wasn’t entirely sure they even were chanting.
Perhaps they were singing a tune to distract themselves from their job.
If they had anything close to Ileana’s skittish temperament, they likely didn’t relish being among corpses. Most didn’t.
I kicked at the threadbare carpet, worn from the countless feet that had passed by over the past several hundred years. I could not believe I’d gotten out of bed for this. A pair of corpse thieves indeed. It seemed I’d never let my romantic notions go.
Not everything that thumped and thudded in the night was a monster.
I’d clearly heard one too many tales of vampires and werewolves since arriving here.
It was all my cursed imagination. Somewhere, deep down, I wanted those strange and deadly tales to be true.
Though I was loath to admit it even to myself, there was something terribly appealing about the idea of immortal beings.
Perhaps it was the monster inside of me that wished for others, especially those found only in stories.
Dragging their shrouded package as best they could, the two figures rounded a corner, disappearing from sight.
I decided to linger a bit longer. Might as well confirm they were depositing this specimen in the lower morgue before climbing those abysmal tower stairs again so soon.
I eyed the giant fern on the opposite side of the hall, wondering if I should simply curl up behind it and sleep until morning.
A door clicked shut, and I rounded the corner, situating myself in an alcove hidden by a massive tapestry.
Shouldn’t be long now. I squatted down, covering my nightgown with my cloak to avoid any pale fabric catching unwanted attention.
No need for the castle servants to be aware of my late-night escapades.
I buffed my scalpel with the edge of my cloak, recalling one of my favorite Shakespeare quotes: The instruments of darkness tell us truths.
Needles pricked my toes, warning them they’d be fully numb in moments. I shifted, hoping to ease some life back into my feet. Surely it didn’t take this long to place a body on a table or in a mortuary drawer. Unease wound itself around me until I could barely breathe.
I closed my eyes. “Of course. Of course this is the sort of night I’m having.”
I’d not allowed the thought of them entering the secret tunnels to cross my mind.
I would not, could not willingly go down into that cursed place alone.
The mere thought of following those unknown people into tunnels brimming with bats and other loathsome creatures was enough to make me consider going straight back to my rooms, weapon or not.
I counted the increasing beats of my heart, knowing what I should do. I had no real weapon. No light source. And no one knew I was out of bed. Should something happen, I’d quite possibly never be found. Moldoveanu certainly wouldn’t send anyone out searching for me.
That thought brought me upright. My sleep-addled brain wasn’t quite as sharp as it should be.
Where were the royal guards? They’d been posted in the halls and outside the morgue each day this week.
It was odd I hadn’t encountered any of them already.
Though perhaps they only patrolled the main exits and entrances during these late hours.
Students were long since tucked away in their beds, dreaming of viscera and science.
And the inhabitants of the morgue needn’t be watched over.
No one but me saw illusions of them rising.
I clutched my cloak, wrapping it around my body like armor, and left the sanctuary of my hidden space.
I peeked around the corner and released a slow breath.
No one in sight. Thrusting my shoulders back, I crept down the hall.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I twisted the knob and slipped into the morgue.
It was empty and still. Not a thing was disturbed or out of place.
Except for the trapdoor. That was slightly propped open—an alluring trail of morbid bread crumbs I could not resist following. The same foul scent of rotten meat assaulted my senses as I tiptoed down the broken stone stairs, watchful for signs of traps.
I prayed no bats were stalking the tunnels tonight. Or spiders. I could do without their long, spindly legs and reflective eyes. Corpses and thieves and foul odors were one thing to contend with in dark, wretched places. Bats and spiders were where I drew the line.
Once in the tunnel, I oriented myself to the heavy darkness.
I blinked a few times, adjusting to the lack of light, and watched the darker shapes of the pair move swiftly, no longer afraid of making noise or rousing students or professors.
How many times had they done this? It certainly seemed as if it were a familiar routine.
I ran a few feet, then paused, waiting for the light of their lantern to fade but not vanish entirely as I scurried from shadow to shadow, remaining far enough behind them to avoid detection.
They paused at an intersection, holding their lantern to the wall, and traced something there with their fingertips. I made a rough estimate of how high on the wall this object was, hoping to feel what had caught their attention after they’d moved on.
Continuing down the tunnel—one of the ones Thomas and I had decided against investigating the night we’d discovered the woman’s body—I waited for the shadows to embrace me again.
Once I could no longer be seen, I bolted to the corner, groping around the rough stone wall.
Cool wind brushed the hemline of my nightgown.
For a horrifying moment, I imagined spiders crawling up my stockings, and my blood prickled.
Breathe, I commanded myself. I could ill afford to have an episode down here, alone.
My fingers brushed against sticky webs and things I preferred not to put a name to before slipping into deep-set carvings.
XI
I felt around, one eye trained on the tunnel that was nearly black now that the thieves were at its opposite end.
XI. That was all there was to the carving.
No other letters. Tucking that information away, I sprinted down the next corridor, witnessing the hooded figures do the same thing before continuing on.
Each new fork in the tunnel system brought a new set of carvings and a new wave of fear.
XXIII
VIII
I silently repeated the Roman numerals, hoping to be able to retrieve them from my memory for further inspection once I returned to my chambers. Their significance now was a mystery, one I’d have to unravel another time.
Wings flapped anxiously, drawing my attention up toward the gray ceiling separating me from the upper levels of the castle and ultimately from fresh air and starry skies.
I sucked in a few short breaths and focused on the ground, forcing myself to remain calm as the sound intensified.
I knew too well what was making that awful flapping.
Without waiting to become a meal, I hurried along, placing one foot in front of the other, filling my thoughts with anything other than the creatures flying above me, or the sound of my pulse pounding in my head.
Moments bled together until I was uncertain if it was night or day, yet the haunting whisper of aerial pursuit persisted.
I hated thinking of them swarming out of sight, waiting for an opportunity to attack.
I was tempted to find a torch, consequences of being caught be damned.
There was only so much terror my body could endure; I feared my heart might stop altogether from overuse.
“Hurry, hurry,” I urged the figures ahead, praying we would arrive wherever we were headed without being bitten.
It seemed as if we’d never leave these cursed corridors.
We continued down so many loops and circuits, I worried I’d never find my way back.
I heard something scuttle behind me and froze.
Praying it wasn’t a newly risen corpse hunting down a warm meal, I grabbed my skirts and hurtled forward, gaze trained on the thieves and the body.
Finally we came upon a wide expanse where four tunnels met. One of the figures wandered ahead, his light flickering like fireflies in the dank cave as he spun in a slow circle. Darkness loomed from every corner, waiting to swallow us whole.