“But thewhystill matters,” said Matthew. As quickly as he could, he searched Morrow’s pockets—first his trousers, then his jacket. In his waistcoat, he found a bundle of sodden papers tied with a black ribbon.
Sylvain made an inquisitive sound and moved to stand beside Matthew. He watched as Matthew, as carefully as he could, untied the wet papers and examined them. Most of the pages were illegible, the ink smeared by seawater. It appeared to be some sort of contract or legal document.The final page, being bound in the center, had not gotten as wet as the others, and Matthew could see that there was a space there for a signature, filled in with a neat feminine hand.
Melody Doyle Morrow.
“Miss Melody,” murmured Sylvain. “So was she perhaps secretly married to Mr. Morrow?”
“They behaved as if they knew each other not at all,” said Matthew. “But that is clearly not the case.”
“Unless it is some sort of peculiar game they play, in which they pretend not to know each other in company to amuse themselves,” mused Sylvain, which Matthew felt was a very French theory to come up with. “But they were not even traveling together. Clearly, they were estranged—”
He broke off as the door to the chapel rattled on its hinges. Matthew barely had time to jam the sodden papers into his pocket before he found himself hauled behind the altar by Sylvain.
He clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a sneeze. It was quite dusty behind the altar, and poorly lit. Sylvain was a shadow beside him. They were awkwardly pushed up against each other, and Matthew could feel the muscles in Sylvain’s arm flex as the other boy reached down to put his hand on the hilt of his weapon. He also noticed thatSylvain smelled pleasantly of salt water and soap, though he reminded himself immediately that now was not the time to be thinking about how people smelled. Now was the time to peer around the altar at the vampire standing in the middle of the room, looking down at the corpse of Bart Morrow.
Melody Doyle (Melody Doyle Morrow, Matthew reminded himself) had come into the room almost silently, and she stood over the body of the dead man with that preternatural stillness common to vampires. She wore a somber dark gray dress, at odds with the familiar glimmering necklace around her throat. Other than the stillness, and her pallor, she looked very ordinary, and very young. Matthew and Sylvain had assumed that by waiting until morning to examine the body, they’d avoid crossing paths with any vampires—an incorrect assumption, he realized now. Melody must be moving about the ship cautiously, avoiding the sunlight.
“We should question her,” Sylvain whispered into Matthew’s ear. They were squeezed into a tight space, but Sylvain really was leaning quite hard against Matthew’s side. He should probably move away, Matthew thought, and promptly didn’t. The feeling of someone else’s warmth and solidity against him reminded him, half against hiswill, of how long it had been since he had touched another person. Even for a simple embrace or the clasping of hands.
“I said,” Sylvain whispered again, “we should question her.” He had turned his head to look at Matthew. His eyes were very shadowed, very dark, the pupil widened to catch the sparse light.
Before Matthew could respond, Melody spoke out loud. Matthew froze for a moment—had she seen them hiding? But it soon became clear she had not. She was addressing the dead man, her voice low and cold.
“Remember when I came to you, Bart, and told you I’d been—turned? I thought you would help me. But you said I was better off dead.” She bent her head, strands of her pale hair falling to hide her face. “You never really cared about me, did you? You were always so cold. And yet I told myself it was because of father, the way he was. That he had so despised emotionalism that you had been forced to lock away your secret heart. But now I have found that you had no heart to hide. And all I’ll have to remember you by will be this.”
She yanked up her left sleeve. Matthew heard Sylvain suck in a breath. A red wound marked Melody’s inner arm, dark red and raw and crusted around the edges with black blood. It was a burn, in the shape of a cross.
Even knowing she might be a murderer, Matthew felt a wrench of sympathetic pain. A vampire would heal from a wound like that much sooner than a human, he knew; the burn must have been inflicted recently and still be very painful.
Melody drew her sleeve back down. And now, to Matthew’s surprise, she began to search the dead man, just as he had. Finding nothing in his trouser pockets, she turned her attention to his jacket, even slipping her hand inside the lining, her movements growing in urgency as her search turned up nothing. Matthew thought of the damp papers in his own coat pocket—was that what she was searching for?
“Now can we question her?” Sylvain demanded in a low voice.
“I didn’t say we couldn’t in the first place,” Matthew pointed out. “Also, it’s not up to me. You do what you like.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, pardon me, then. I was under the impression that we were working together.”
Matthew felt suddenly ashamed. Hehadbeen unnecessarily snappy. As Sylvain began to rise, Matthew caught at his hand. Sylvain glanced down at him, his darkeyes startled—and immediately ducked down again behind the altar. The door had opened once more, and a familiar passenger came in: the tall, bony man who had played Prospero onstage.
Melody hastily stepped away from Bart’s body, smoothing down the front of her dress. Interesting. Whatever she was searching for, she didn’t want others knowing about it. “Melody,” said the tall vampire wearily. “Come away from your brother. It will do no good dwelling on what’s gone wrong.”
And what exactlyhasgone wrong?Matthew thought. If only they would come out and say it. Just his bad luck to be stuck on a ship with a bunch of vampires who were both murderous and annoyingly tight-lipped.
“Oh, Virgil.” Melody sighed. “I cannot help it. I still can’t believe Bart would do such a thing. How can a human be so—inhuman?”
The tall man—Virgil—laid a hand on her shoulder. “Not every creature with a soul makes good use of it,” he said. “Now come. You must rest. We need you strong— we can’t afford a repeat of last night.”
The performance, or the murder of Morrow?Matthew wondered. Considering what he knew of actors, they were probably talking about the performance. He watched thetwo vampires as they left the room, Melody casting a single glance back at Morrow’s body before the door closed behind them. It was only then that Matthew realized that he was still, rather unnecessarily, holding Sylvain’s hand.
* * *
Having quietly disentangled himself from Sylvain without incident, Matthew led their way out of the chapel. Sylvain seemed lost in thought, and Matthew did not know him well enough yet to read the expression on his face. It was an interesting, clever, thoughtful face, the kind Matthew liked to look at, but he didn’t want to be caught staring.
They made their way to Matthew’s room, as Matthew wanted to check on Oscar. It was a relief when the door closed behind them; Matthew felt the weight of anxiety on his shoulders lighten as Oscar circled around his feet, wagging his tail wildly.
