The Keep

Page 45

A few of the boys carried censers hanging from chains. The bronze globes swayed with each step, sending smoke wafting. A wall of incense hit me, and my reaction was instant—it was a sudden rush in my brain, a loopy, muzzy sensation that passed as the boys did.
What the hell was in that smoke?
I hunched a little more and, covering my nose with my hood, I followed. A boy at the end was straggling. He paused, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath, but his friends didn’t notice. When the tunnel rounded out of sight, I came up behind him. Struck him hard on the temple with the butt of my stake. He dropped.
I pulled him to the edge of the tunnel and leaned him against the wall, drawing his hood low over his face. He’d look like he’d simply passed out. I slid off his mask, relieved when I didn’t recognize him. Somehow, pretending to be a stranger felt like less of a risk. Silly, I knew, but I couldn’t in a million years put on Rob’s mask and pretend to be him; nor did I want my stolen mask to put me anywhere near his circle of friends.
I didn’t recognize the guy, but who would I recognize? Was Yasuo here? All the vampires? Where was Carden on this night? It was a traditional celebration, after all.
There was no time for thoughts like that, and so I donned the mask and pressed on. I was now a gray mourning dove, with high cheekbones and tiny pinprick holes for eyes. A dove in mourning—it was a fitting theme and fueled my courage as I followed the echoes of the procession ahead of me.
The tunnel grew lighter. I was getting close to the castle now.
When I passed a cluster of boys sprawled on the ground, leaning against the wall of the tunnel, looking completely blotto, it hit home how the original owner of my mask wouldn’t be missed. Nor did I think anyone would recognize his mask on me. I doubted anyone was thinking or seeing clearly with all this smoke.
I slowed my steps as I caught up to the Trainees. I wasn’t afraid now. My presence didn’t seem to matter—they were reeling, drunk or high or whatever it was that smoke was doing to them.
And what was that smoke doing to me? I breathed as shallowly as I could, but still I sensed the havoc it was wreaking on my senses. How it was making me brave. I tried to keep my wits about me, reminding myself this was bravado, not true bravery.
I could’ve argued with myself all I wanted, but still, the smoke was doing its work. It deposited me into a dream where I watched myself moving through the scene around me as though through a kaleidoscope. Sensations assaulted me. Flickering lights, smells, and sounds, getting louder now. Shouting, drumming. I walked toward it.
This was dangerous. I stopped and shook my head clear. Why was I here?
Truth, I remembered. I was here to find the truth.
I bent as though to tie my shoe. The smoke was thinner close to the ground, and I sucked in several cleansing breaths.
When I stood, my head was clearer, and I followed a knot of boys into a brightly lit room. The castle. I’d made it.
The contrast between rough-hewn stone caverns and wainscoted walls astounded me. The room was small, like a sitting room, but despite its modest size, candelabra were all around. There were chairs upholstered in gemstone colors. Enormous paintings in gilt frames.
It’d do no good for someone to stop me and talk, so I passed through the room and kept going. I moved with purpose. I breathed shallowly through my teeth now, squatting every now and then to clear my head. It helped, but didn’t completely eradicate the woozy feeling.
A handful of boys made their way up a winding staircase. Pulling my hood low, I followed. I needed to see more. To take in as much of this world as I could.
Following the crowd, I found myself in a large ballroom. The ceiling was high, elaborate chandeliers replacing the candelabra. The noise was overpowering.
There were dozens of boys now, though in their creepy masks and flowing cloaks, they seemed like men, menacing, gathered in one place and yet not together, each lost to his own raving.
I scanned the room, searching for a familiar silhouette. Who did I know here? Part of me was terrified I’d spot Carden, and for once I was grateful he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know if I could’ve dealt with the sight of him, because seeing these boys in this strange, secret setting was more disturbing than I would’ve guessed.
The smoke was doubly thick in here, muddling my judgment, and there was no longer room to squat and catch my breath. I fought to keep a clear head. Fires roared all around, robbing the room of its air. I tried not to cough from the stench of incense that clouded the room.
Rhythmic drumming reverberated in my head, and my pulse rose to answer. My heart…Suddenly it was all I was aware of. Pounding in my chest. Punching against my lungs. Making it even harder to get enough oxygen.
I pressed through the crowd, desperate to find some space. Some oxygen. I wove my way through the bodies and suddenly met with cool air. An opening, along the edge of the room. I sucked in a shaky breath.
Something called to me, but I stood too close to the wall. I craned my neck up to see.
Weapons. The entire wall was covered with them. This was a collection of Acari weaponry.
I swayed and braced a hand on the wall to steady myself. Staggering forward, I scanned weapon after weapon. The collection was endless. Vast. Too vast, too much like hunting trophies hung for display, only instead of animal heads, these were relics of girls long dead.
Tiny details gutted me. The frayed leather on the end of a knife hilt. Smudges of dirt on a quiver. There were throwing stars up there, too, and that was the sight that shot clarity into my brain.
I bolted back the way I’d come. I had to get out of there, swerving around guys, weaving through the crowd. Those weapons, the smoke…I was beyond claustrophobic, beyond panicked. I was fevered. I ran into a body, spun around, lurched forward, slammed into something. Furniture. With a quick glance, I dismissed it. An ornamental table.
Then I did a double take. A hodgepodge of weapons had been dropped unceremoniously on its surface. But one stood out from the rest: Emma’s Buck knife.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
My throat convulsed, swallowing bile. I’d recognize that serrated blade anywhere. How I’d mocked my friend about it…I’d call her Billy Ray, joke about squirrel dinners.
Oh, Em. Was she here, alive, in some sort of hideous limbo?
My stomach churned violently, needing to repel its contents. I swallowed again, choking down the burning fluids. Not now. Not safe. I gathered my nerves. I wanted to crumple there and then. I wanted to scream. To run. But I’d do none of those things. Because more than anything now, I wanted to fight. Emma wasn’t truly dead. How could she be when her weapon wasn’t yet hung on the wall? Hope was ablaze in my chest.
Yasuo had said she couldn’t be alive. That she was gone. He’d crowed about her heart. He was haunted, but was it by something he’d seen or something he knew he’d be forced to see?
Hope was momentarily crushed by a dawning horror: Acari were entering the room. They were filtering in, just a few of them, some recognizable as ones who’d disappeared. These were girls—like Emma—whom I’d presumed dead. Each wore a white robe, and they stumbled slowly, lurching as though drugged. I scanned the room, frantically searching for my friend, but she wasn’t among them. I believed I’d have felt her if she were.
I’d assumed she was gone. Everyone had. But if she weren’t…
Could it be true? Emma, separated from her weapon. It didn’t bode well. But I couldn’t let it pass. If she truly were alive, I could rescue her. I would rescue her.
I could look right now. I was here. When would I get a better opportunity?
I realized I was striding back into the crowd when I stopped myself. No. Not now. Now, more than ever, I needed to stop the recklessness. It wasn’t just my life at risk anymore; it was Emma’s. If I were going to rescue her, it’d take more than just me running through the keep wearing a stolen mask and cloak.
Sure, if I found her, I could probably get both of us out alive. These boys were drugged out of their minds. I could steal another cloak, carry her out if I had to. But then what? Where could I take her?
No, this would take planning. It’d take help. I’d need a boat, a destination.
I’d helped a friend escape before. I had no doubts I could do it again.
A figure popped from the crowd, catching my eye. His was a familiar walk. There was a familiar set to his shoulders. I edged closer. He’d been affected by the smoke, and his movements were broad, sloppy. He adjusted his mask. Josh.
His presence shocked me. Though why should it? All the guys were here.
I spun in place, taking in the crowd. They were swaying, boisterous, moving to the drumming, growing louder. My head spun with smoke, but cutting through it all was the sharp stab of betrayal, sobering me.
Josh. He was one of them.
Betrayed. Duped. Used. Shamed. Emotions reeled through me, shrill alarms sounding in my head, clearing the smoke from my senses.
I focused, watching, suddenly sharper than ever. This creepy museum of Acari weaponry, an unmistakable Buck knife among them. I had to get out of there. But not before I made a vow.
I’ll come back for you, Emma.
I wended my way back through the crowd. I needed a door. Was it because I was regaining my senses, or was the chaos and revelry intensifying? I spotted Josh again, and I ducked behind a group of boys who I was certain weren’t familiar to me. He was at the head of a pack, other Trainees trailing him like dogs. He was acting the loudest. The rowdiest.
It disgusted me. Who was he? How had he fooled me all this time?
I thought back to the days he’d been friendly with Lilac. Back then, I’d believed I couldn’t trust him. I should’ve kept my resolve.
I couldn’t watch him anymore. I had to escape. Suddenly, this was a roomful of wolves, and I was prey, hiding in plain sight. I’d entered the castle thinking this a suicide mission, but now more than ever, I needed to live.
I strode through the door and stopped short. This wasn’t the one that led back to the staircase. Instead, I found myself standing in a vast dining room. At its center was a massive table of black wood, thick and scarred with age, like something Beowulf might’ve dined upon.