The homes were all shut, no lights shining into the cobblestone streets. It was thoroughly silent and still. Her only company was the moon as she crept to the boarded-up house.
Thalia glanced over her shoulder, but nothing prickled at the back of her neck like she was being watched. She didn’t think Julian or Francesca would be in the house. When she’d left the great hall, they’d been thoroughly engrossed with whatever the courts were discussing.
Thalia eased up to the door, pressing her ear against the worn wood. Silence echoed. She slipped the knife out of her boot, placing it into the crack of the doorframe, then she pushed.
The lock broke and the door creaked open, swinging inward to reveal an empty living area. Thalia took a moment, counting in her head to see if anyone would come and investigate. When nothing jumped at her from the shadows, she slipped inside.
The room she entered was bare save for a few broken pieces of wood and littered glass shards. A worn rug had been thrown over a spot in the back of the room with a rickety table set on top of it. It was a small space with the remnants of a kitchen off to her left, and there was a closed door at the back—the only door in the room.
Thalia took a breath, keeping her grip loose as she tiptoed on silent feet to the closed door. Once more she pressed her ear to the wood but was met with quiet. She pushed open the door.
The room was just as bare as the rest of the house, although it seemed someone had dumped a sack of grain in the corner and its contents had spilled onto the floor. A bed with its mattress fallen through, its springs and stuffing exposed, was the only piece of furniture. A family of mice seemed to have made their home in the decaying cloth, because they all startled at her approach.
Thalia bit down on her tongue as they all bolted past, scurrying over her boots in the process.
She willed her heart rate to slow as she looked around. There was nothing here. Not even a dresser or desk. She scowled. There had been a third person in the house, she knew it. Someone who needed help based on the Vampyrs’ previous conversation. Something to do withmadness.
Thalia stalked back into the main room to see if she’d missed something, but there was nothing. No other room, no other furniture.
A high-pitched squeak echoed, and Thalia ducked as something dark flew near her head.
“Fuck,” she hissed, dropping her knife as the bat who’d been nesting in the rafters let out another strange pitch. Her knife had fallen near the crumbling table. She moved to pick it up, and froze.
The corner of the rug had been lifted, revealing wooden planks that didn’t match the stone floor of the house.
Thalia shoved the table to the side, flipping back the rug. Her heart pounded in her throat at the trapdoor staring back at her.
Thalia carefully eased it open, and musky, dank air floated up to her. The opening revealed a set of stone steps leading down into pitch black.
She cursed again, looking around to see if there was anything to light her way. Nothing. Not even a torch.
Thalia stared into the dark, willing her eyes to adjust. She could have sworn that at the very bottom of the steps, there was a gray haze of light. Against her better judgment, she took a step down.
Thalia kept one hand on the wall as she slowly crept down the staircase. The musky, wet smell intensified, and Thalia resisted the urge to gag as something rotten hit her nose, like the stench of decaying meat. But a soft glow lit the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light.
The space she entered was much larger than the house above her. But unlike the house, it wasn’t bare.
An empty metal cage stood at the back of the room. The bars looked as though they’d been ripped off their hinges, and chains lay discarded inside. The sole source of light came from an odd lamp against the wall. It glowed faintly, like a drop of moonlight had been captured and placed within the glass.
Lumpy sacks were piled up in the other corner. A substance oozed from the bottoms of them, coating the dirt ground like oil, and a figure was hunched over the sacks.
The smell worsened as Thalia stepped deeper into the room, trying to make sense of what she saw.
The figure—a person—was rummaging around the sacks, pale fingers flying over them before discarding them without care.
Thalia covered her mouth against the smell. Squelching and slurping sounds echoed from around the person.
What are they doing here? Are they being held hostage by the Vampyrs?
Everything in her screamed to get out, but Thalia took another step forward, and her boot scuffed against something she hadn’t seen in the shadows. She slowly looked down, bile rising to her throat.
It was a leg. A skinned leg ending in a hoof, the tendons hanging off the bone like strips of cloth.
The slurping stopped.
Thalia’s eyes jerked up as the figure kneeling slowly rose. The person was naked, their fingertips dripping in blood as they turned.
Thalia’s stomach bottomed out as the Vampyr’s hazy gaze met hers. Sores covered his entire body, as though his own nails had scrabbled at his flesh until it ripped apart. His mouth was a gory mess, bits of meat hanging from his bloody lips, and his nostrils flared once. Then twice.
