Page 61 of Every Shade of Shadow

I sit on the bed and place the note aside wondering if I can summon the energy to even move. Another murder scene and I should be hysterical, out of my mind, but when I search myself, I find I’m oddly numb—not as affected as I should be, as would be common in any kind of civilized society.

But that’s the thing, apart from the redhead, no one really seemed too concerned about the boy with half his head missing, or poor Stephanie, or any of this madness, really.

So I’ll go. Having the lockdown lifted will help. I’ll go to the Professor and have him replace these thoughts with fresh horrors, let the heaviness of his hand strip away whatever humanity is left inside this husk.

Come the hour, I put on Gran’s coat and shuffle out into the castle proper. I do my best to avoid the area where the boy was found, skirting around the perimeter halls and only once having to pull myself into the shadows to avoid being seen.

I mean, it’s far from smart, prancing around the castle half-naked when a serial killer is on the loose, but such is my desperation I’m willing to take the risk.

I arrive at the Professor’s chambers nervous and unsettled. The murders, the imaginary fight against Cassandra, Darkwood practically throwing me out last time… These negative emotions fester inside me. They grow.

I consider asking Darkwood about the murders again, but would that be prudent? He did seem upset when that Stephanie girl was discovered. Nevertheless, concern and knowledge are two very different things. Just because Damien wants the killer to be found, to be punished, doesn’t mean he knows who they are. And punish them he would. Of that I have no doubt.

Unless he is the killer, I remind myself, thinking back to his former occupation.

But I’m here all the same. I don’t know what waits for me beyond this door, what he has in store tonight, but I need this, this release.

Pleasure, a deeper part of me considers, and deeper still, power.

The door opens and the Professor gives me a look-over, ushering me inside.

A chill runs through me in the little time it takes him to move around me. He waves the door shut and crosses his arms, his look just as inquisitive as it was during my first visit to these chambers.

“I hear there’s been another incident,” he says, but there’s no air of sorrow in his expression. His eyes have been overtaken by something else, by that same, unquenchable hunger I’ve seen before.

“A boy,” I tell him, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, continuing to pace around me.

“You’re not upset?” I remark, too curious to keep this to myself.

“On the contrary, my lamb,” he says, his tone steady. “Devastated.” He stops in front of me. “But I must tend to the living. It is they who require my assistance, not the dead.”

I nod. “And the rogue shadows? What are they?”

“That can wait until class, for I have a different kind of education in mind tonight. The coat,” he says.

As before, I let the coat fall away and the chilled air of the Professor’s chambers envelop me.

A light smile brushes its way across his lips. “Follow me. I have something special to show you tonight.”

He extends a hand, a space in the wall that was stone opening into a perfect oval, the edges sparking with energy and only a black void beyond.

And you’re going to do it, aren’t you? I ask myself. You’re going to follow him right into that murder hole.

But, as per usual, whatever power Darkwood has over me forces my feet into capitulation. They move of their own accord until I’m beyond the wall, the Professor moving downwards in front of me.

I’m surprised to find it’s a staircase, spiraling down into the depths of the castle.

Light disappears, leaving only the glow of the wall on my left. Shards of light illuminate the top landing and two steps below. After clearing those, it’s pitch-black. I begin to lose my bearings as we coil down into the darkness.

I sense yet another change in temperature. Humidity is high in the air. Just a minute into our descent, it’s sticky against my skin. An iron door opens, and we come into a low-roofed dungeon.

Because that’s what this is. There is no question about it.

It takes my eyes a while to adjust, for the dungeon is only lit by firelight. It’s nothing like the strange mix of ancient modernity in the rest of the castle. But when my eyes do adjust, I stop in my tracks.

Adorning every wall are sinister implements of torture—chains, whips, cages and coffins, iron, metal, and leather. The dungeon floor itself is no less empty. Odd machines and contraptions fill it—wheels, boxes, some spiked, others with channels and blades.

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