My heart punched at my chest. There’d be no Carden to save me if I got caught. Though the worst punishment would come from Ronan. I’d disappointed him once before, when they’d discovered my illicit iPod, and the look he’d given me had razed me. I didn’t want to see that expression ever again.
Ever so slowly, I slipped inside, carefully placing a foot, waiting, sliding the other foot forward, waiting, and so on until I was inside. No squeaks, no traps.
I let myself take a quick moment to calm my heartbeat and open my senses to the night. Nothing heard me. Nobody was coming. I was safe.
Originally, I’d wanted to get close to the janitor in order to get my hands on moldable materials, but in the end, that was the one element that’d been easiest to procure—especially as there wasn’t going to be any extreme cliffside castings in my future. When the janitor lit a candle inside his shed, he’d given me the answer I needed. Wax. Duh.
I went straight to the wall of keys. In the blackness of the shed, it was a mass of metal—dangerously noisy metal—but I’d memorized well the approximate location of that one key ring. Shutting my eyes once more, I swept my fingers lightly along until I touched it, that strange infinity shape protruding from the wall differently from the others.
I took it from its hook, cringing at the tinkling sound made by the surrounding keys. I stood frozen, heart pounding, waiting to be caught. But still, no one came.
I worked quickly from there. It was easy to get ahold of candles in this place—the vamps loved all things antiquated—and earlier I’d melted one into a smooth puddle. I quickly warmed it, praying the smell of matches didn’t summon any of the many creatures on this island with hypersensitive noses.
My first attempt was uneven, and finally I decided it’d be best to press the fob itself as flatly as possible into the wax, without the keys in the way, but they were proving remarkably tricky to pull from the ring. I fiddled with the thing, my panic rising with each passing minute. Finally, I just gave it a good twist…but rather than the keys sliding off, something else happened. Something else entirely.
With a soft click, the triangle popped out from the fob.
I stared in disbelief. Then I burst into action, warming the wax in my palms, rolling it into a ball, winding it around the triangle, taking an exact impression.
Later, I’d whittle the ends of several stakes into the same shape. Hopefully one of them would work and be a perfect fit for that strange triangular hole. I’d use the end of a stake to open that padlock. Open the gate.
This was it. It was becoming real.
I’d do this. I was breaking into the castle.
I wondered if I’d ever come out again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I needed to see Ronan. I wanted to say good-bye. To thank him. And maybe there was a part of me that hoped someone cared enough to see what I was doing and stop me. I longed to feel some connection with somebody before I went off pursuing certain death. I wanted someone who wasn’t Vampire to know what’d happened to me. I wanted to feel—or pretend to feel—that somebody gave a damn about my fate.
I didn’t want to just disappear.
Because I had no illusions: I knew well that mine was a suicide mission.
Ronan had said he was off to the village, and so I set off for the village, too. I moved quickly, keeping to the coast. If caught, I’d claim ignorance. Claim I thought my newfound Initiate status protected me. And who knew—maybe it did. My skin crawled, recalling Ronan’s words, how my status as Alcántara’s greatest amusement protected me, too. I shoved away the thought.
Sundays were generally quiet, and I snuck off at dawn, heading farther north than I’d ever gone. Would I find Ronan? See him among his people? Would there be family who resembled him? Some cousin with his green eyes?
Once I was close enough, I headed inland, perching on a rock, surveying the valley below. Several cottages were huddled into a small settlement. They all looked the same—squat, rough-looking things, constructed of dingy stone connected by sloppy seams of mortar, once white, now weathered to a mossy greenish gray. Every roof was thatched, curving down on either side, close enough to the ground to touch. I tried to picture Ronan moving among them—he’d have to hunch while standing inside.
What struck me first was the quiet. It was a ghost town. Nobody was around. It wasn’t the picture of what I imagined a quaint village to be—there were no laughing children, no gossiping women, no bustle to be seen at all.
I went on alert. This place had a weird vibe. A hostile vibe. And of course it did—I’d be pretty hostile, too, if forced to live in service to a bunch of old vampires.
I thought with a smirk how that was exactly my situation. Servile, hostile: check and check.
I scooted down the far side of the hill for a closer look, moving as stealthily as I could. It went unspoken that vampires and villagers didn’t mingle, but how would these people view me? Lately, it felt like every time I went out alone, I was attacked. I was sure I could deal with a few regular humans, but I’d prefer to avoid a mob if I could.
I began to question this whole endeavor, but still, I waited. I’d wanted a glimpse of Ronan, but now my curiosity consumed me. I wanted to see someone, anyone. Who were these people? Would they be mostly like Tom: a realist who was wary but friendly? Or would they be like that janitor? Fearful. Hateful. Suspicious.
My eyes were drawn to movement just below me, behind one of the cottages on the perimeter. I waited until I saw it again—fabric fluttering. I scooted sideways, craning my head until I was able to peer behind the building. And finally, I saw a person, a woman, moving slowly and methodically, hanging laundry out to dry.
I edged down, keeping low and out of sight—unless, of course, there was someone looking out the window, in which case, I was totally busted. But nobody spotted me.
I reached the ground, inching my way closer, careful not to tangle myself in the thorny hedges growing along the side of the cottage.
I stole a peek. She was old, with weathered skin that’d been so thinned by the years, it seemed to sag from her bones. Row after row of mud-brown cloaks billowed in the breeze, and she worked her way down the line, reaching in her basket, pulling out a cloak, pinning it up, stepping over, reaching down, and so on. Each robe was the same color, the same size, with the same long hood drooping down the back. They looked like something Druids might’ve worn.
She hummed as she worked, and it was such a normal thing, it gave me courage to show myself. I carefully peeked out from a wall of hedges. “Excuse me…hi?”
Her wizened face burst into cartoonishly wide-eyed shock, her nearly lipless and mostly toothless mouth forming a gaping black hole. She looked like a witch carved from a dried apple.
I put up my hands in the universal gesture of Relax; it’s cool, but unfortunately she wasn’t acquainted with universal gestures, because she shrieked the kind of shriek generally associated with haunted house tours.
Crap. I put a finger to my mouth, desperately motioning for her to be quiet. “Sorry, sorry. It’s okay.” I stepped closer. “I’m sorry I scared you. I was—”
“Oot nooo.” She waved at me, shooing me like an animal, repeating, “Oot. Oot nooo.”
Was that even English? I spoke slowly, just in case. “I don’t mean any harm. I’m looking for—”
Frantic, she shook her head, looking like a madwoman. She seemed like she might shriek again, so I sped it up. The last thing I needed was for this woman to call for backup. I dared not tempt whatever shrieking might happen then.
“Shh, please don’t scream. Do you know—” Ronan, I’d wanted to say, but I stopped myself at the last second. For all I knew, this woman adored the vampires. I couldn’t get him in trouble. Going off half-cocked through the countryside was exactly what he’d warned me about. “Do you know the way back to the beach?” I asked, in the lamest topic swerve ever.
Staring at me like I was the nutty one, she stabbed her finger back toward where I’d c
ome from. “Ye best oot nooo.”
I best out now? Was that what she’d said? Apparently, teeth were for more than just chewing—they also really helped with the whole diction thing.
What a twisted, isolated world this was. I should’ve learned my lesson with the janitor—old didn’t necessarily mean kindly. But now that I was here, I had to know more. I had to press it. I ducked between the robes to get closer. “Who are you?” I brushed my fingers over the brown fabric. “What are these?”
“Fer auld ones. Nae touchin’!” She waved her hands at me, but her mania had toned down a notch. I was no longer a homicidal interloper, just a stray cat sniffing at her stuff. “Shoo!”
Old ones. Now we were talking. I took a tentative step forward. “The old ones? You mean the vampires?”
Her eyes grew wide, terror making the irises expand till her gaze was all watery red and pale blue. The vampires, then.
Again, I touched one of the robes—the texture was coarse, like burlap—and she snatched it from me. “Antonsmas,” she shouted. “Antonsmas oonly. Dinna touch.”
Antonsmas. That was one of the names Ronan had given to the festival.
I heard men’s voices in the distance. Sound would carry across this valley—how far away were they? I spoke quickly. “They wear these for the festival?”
“Shoo,” she hissed. Panic had seized her again but, tellingly, she quieted her voice to a frantic whisper. “Go, you. Away,” she pleaded. “Right away.”
I heard the voices again. The clatter of tools. A faraway slamming door.
I didn’t know what I’d been thinking. I’d never spot Ronan here, and if I did, would he even claim to recognize me? For all I knew, the men in town all had shotguns and dined on girl flesh. Later, I’d be sad I hadn’t gotten to see him once more, but I couldn’t get killed before I’d even begun.
And so I shooed.
But as I wove back through the maze of robes, one happened to make its way into my bag. It would be my ticket inside the castle.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The day came. Antonsmas…Up Helly Aa…whatever they wanted to call it. I didn’t care. It was my day. The day I’d break into the castle and stake Alcántara.
In a stroke of luck, Frost was nowhere to be seen as I left. Usually, she spent every free moment lurking at her desk and studying, followed by gloating about how much studying she was doing. Briefly, I wondered where on earth someone like her got to this time of day, but mostly I was just psyched. Her absence meant I didn’t have to explain to anyone why I was heading out with my wetsuit on a bitter cold night, under a pitch-black moonless sky, with only an hour left till lights-out.
It was dicey moving around in the dark, when so many other creatures came out to play, but I couldn’t risk being caught. For once, my main concern wasn’t the guys—if Ronan was right, the vampires and Trainees would be busy in the keep, whereas I could think of a dozen Initiates who’d love nothing more than to tell on me for sneaking around like this…assuming they stopped pummeling me long enough to think about it.
I’d actually worn my wetsuit under my coat and congratulated myself on the stroke of genius. The neoprene material was thick and would keep me warmer than my catsuit, yet was also snug enough to move freely and climb in. And who knew? If I slipped, the thing might even protect me from superficial wounds. In my first year, I’d mended enough tears in my uniform not to underestimate that particular side benefit.
I’d already scoped out the best and least steep spot to make my descent. Now that I knew the exact location of the sea gate, I hoped to have an easier time navigating the hillside, picking my way across and down—with an emphasis on down. The tide was at its highest peak, and wetsuit or not, I had no intention of setting foot in that water. A freezing night swim in that black churning sea frightened me more than the vampires’ keep did.
I shed my coat once I reached the cliff’s edge, rolling it into a ball and stashing it by a rock. Would I survive the night to retrieve it, or would some nosy Acari eventually find it instead? Everyone could wave it around and celebrate how tenacious me had finally met my end.
I couldn’t think that way. As low as I’d felt lately, I needed to be positive. To taste success. To imagine it as an inevitable thing.
This is for you, Emma.
And for me, too, I thought. I’d reclaim myself, no matter the risk. And the risk, I knew, was tremendous. It could very well be my last.
Sucking in a deep breath, I looked out into the vastness, taking in the night. The moon was just a tiny crescent hanging low in the sky, and water swept before me, rippling like black satin sheets tucked somewhere beyond the horizon. Ronan had once told me to embrace the darkness, and I saw now what he meant. I felt cloaked in it. One with it. The night was mine.
The darkness was far from complete, though, and it was due to more than merely my improved vision. It was the stars. Millions of them clung here at the edge of the world, spattered across the sky like paint flung from a brush. Magnificent, they stole my breath, as though I’d never even known stars before Eyja næturinnar. The island’s one gift to me.
Or rather, one of its gifts. I would receive something more tonight, only it was something I’d steal: the truth. I would wrest the secret of this island if it took my dying breath to do it.
I was resolved. Time to do this thing.
I did a body check, wriggling my feet, feeling the stars tucked in my boots. I flexed my arms, testing the stakes I’d jammed up the sleeves of my wetsuit…stakes whose ends were carved like so many triangles.
The cloak I’d stolen was lashed across my chest like armor. I hoped it would be my armor in truth, disguising me enough to get into the castle unsuspected. I needed only enough time to find Alcántara. To take him by surprise. Stake him.
My night from there looked iffy, but I was okay with that. Because I’d be me until the end. Not Alcántara’s creature. Not a dupe in service of vampires.
Starlight hummed on my back as I descended. Confidence and resolve guided my hands and feet. I found holds so easily, it felt like magic. Thank you, Carden. He’d taught me about climbing. Me, his dove with wings of fire.
The thought was a blade, quick and deep, there and rejected just as quickly. I’d be even more than what he’d believed possible—I’d have a heart of fire, too.
I came to a thick shelf of brush. I knew the gate was concealed just below. I shimmied around and down, and then I was there. On the rock plateau.
The porch, I thought with a smile.
I was so close now, and oddly, my heartbeat was slow. My hearing was hollow, my vision focused to a narrow point. This was it, and I was calm.
I pulled the gloves from my hands, wadded them up, and shoved them inside my suit. Twining my fingers around the bars of the gate, I leaned close and held still, holding my breath, opening to the universe to feel if anyone was near. But the tunnel was dark and silent.
It was time to break in.
I had five crude stakes in varying lengths and sizes; two hadn’t been thick enough to carve into a triangle, but I had three possible fits. This gate and its lock were a mystery to me—if one of the stakes actually slid into place, whatever happened next would just have to be a surprise. At this point, I hoped there’d be a surprise. The thought of climbing back up that hill, defeated again, was too much to bear.
I inserted the first triangle and gave it a jiggle. Too small. I told myself no big deal and went to the next one. But the angle on that one was slightly too obtuse. I could use one of my stars to whittle it to size, but I didn’t want to waste the time if I didn’t have to. I willed myself to be calm as I tried the next and final one. It slid in perfectly.
I waited. But nothing happened.
I wiggled the end of the stake. Turned it. I pushed down, pulled up, but still nothing. Panic began to crackle up my back, numbing my fingers and ratcheting up my heartbeat. I felt around the triangle. The fit was snug, but it was in there. I pried and twisted, and all it
did was give me a splinter.
My panic began to bleed out into despair. Was this it? I tried to tell myself it was only a temporary setback, that I’d just have to go back to the drawing board. But such things were easy to say and hard to believe.
Despair hardened into frustration. Was I destined to keep failing like this? How was it the damned vampires still managed to get the best of me when they weren’t even around?
Frustration sharpened into anger.
“Dammit.” I slammed the side of my fist onto the butt of the stake. “Damn you.” Then I hit it again, harder. I’d curse all I wanted now—I didn’t care. I cursed and hit. “Damn damn damn all of—”
There was a sharp click.
“Crap!” I jumped about a foot in the air as the medallion sprang apart.
And then I giggled. Putting a hand to my pounding chest, I peered closer. “Holy crap.” I’d done it. The outer casing had been spring-loaded, and when I pounded the stake, the infinity had split in two, popping open and revealing the inner workings of the lock.
Tentatively, I tried twisting the stake again, and this time the triangle turned easily. The ancient tumbler clicked. The gate cracked open.
I sat for a shocked moment, listening to the crashing of the waves and the silence of the beckoning tunnel. I smiled. And then I scrambled in.
The tunnel was dank, like something that’d been chiseled through the mountain centuries ago. The sulfurous smell was even stronger inside. I’d smelled it once before, fighting Lilac beside a hot spring deep underground. How extensive were these caverns? It was a disturbing thought.
I resheathed my stakes and scrabbled forward. Soon the tunnel expanded into something tall enough to stand in hunched over, then eventually to stand up straight.
I slipped on my cloak, shoving two of the stakes in the pockets, just in case. I readjusted the wetsuit underneath, tugging the legs back into place. The outfit might’ve been ideal for climbing in the freezing wind, but it was starting to bum me out now. Even so, it remained the best choice. I’d nabbed an extra shooter of blood at lunch and had rubbed some on my body in hopes of masking my scent, and what the blood didn’t mask, I hoped this pesky wetsuit would. Months of salt water had given it a briny odor—enough, I hoped, to hide what I was certain was the unmistakable smell of girl.
The Keep: The Watchers Page 24