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:I can’t smell anything but tarry old smoke, dust, and iron.:

The access panel had a large, rusted lock holding it shut. Guillaume used one of his smaller blades to crack it open, but Lew still had to kick the rusted door to loosen the hinges. With a shrieking grind, the door finally gave way to pitch black.

I stayed back where Rik could still see me, while my Blood investigated. First Itztli, teeth bared, ready to attack anything that moved. The two birds hopped inside, curious to find whatever or whoever had been locked up here with them. Then Tlacel and Lew, though he stayed just inside the door. Guillaume stayed with me, just in case anything attacked.

:There’s a large solid iron cage,: Itztli reported, sending along an image.

“That’s an iron maiden,” Guillaume said. “Spent a little time in one of them myself before Desideria freed me. They’re basically like iron caskets, sometimes laced with spikes or holes for hot pokers or spears to be shoved through you.”

He said it so casually. Breaking my fucking heart.

The thought of him trapped inside an iron casket while someone shoved hot pokers through him made me quiver with rage, even while my stomach churned. I reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. I leaned against him, my head on his chest. “I’m so sorry, G.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Just one of the many inventive torture devices humans use to entertain themselves.”

“It’s locked as well.” Tlacel’s voice echoed hollowly from the brick room. “I tapped on the outside, and something moved inside. Wait. I hear⁠—”

A howling scream rolled through the attic, laced with so much pain it made tears drip from my eyes. No words that I could understand, just agony. Rage. Hatred.

Guillaume didn’t have to warn me that the person inside must be insane. Trapped for decades. Maybe even centuries. Inside an iron maiden with no light, fresh air, food, water or company. No hope of freedom. If Charles had been successful in burning the house down, we wouldn’t even know anyone was up here. The prisoner would’ve been burned alive. Though walled up inside the chimney, he might have survived even if the entire house crumbled around him. The bricks were built to withstand fire.

Endless screaming. Endless torture.

I wasn’t surprised that Rosalind was capable of something so evil. Though I couldn’t help but wonder who she’d trapped. And why.

24

ITZTLI

Poised with the knife on the lock, ready to crack the rusted iron open, Lew looked at me. :Ready?:

I shifted slightly to my right, directly in front of the crack where the door would open. Tlacel grabbed the edge of the metal rim so he could heave the door open once the lock was broken. He gave me a nod. :Ready.:

Heart pumping with anticipation, my senses wide open, I waited while Lew worked on breaking the lock. Surely whatever—whoever—was inside would be too weak to attack. Though I still braced for a flurry of fighting. The screams throbbed in my ears, shrill and desperate, far worse than the shriek of metal on metal.

The lock fell to the floor with a clank. Tlacel flung the door back. Crouched and braced for anything, I stared inside the cage, sharing my vision through the bond, not just for Shara but all the Blood. Just in case something happened and more needed to respond.

At first, I couldn’t really make out what it was, even with my queen’s glowing orb floating overhead. Raw, bleeding flesh. Pale white. Bones, I guessed, but bones wouldn’t be screaming. The withered body inside was barely more than a skeleton. Skin hung in shreds, so thin and transparent as to be strips of delicate muslin.

Two dark eyes, sunken but open. Blinking. Alive. Mouth gaping open on another scream, making leathery tendons stand out in his neck and shoulders. Fangs dropped. But he didn’t move. I didn’t think he could, even if he wanted to attack us.

My nose picked up a flood of scents. Decayed flesh. Blood. Both old and new. I didn’t see spikes like the knight had mentioned but the man inside was bleeding all over his thin, wasted body. There was a peculiar, distinctive odor I couldn’t quite place. It reminded me of the rotten human skin Zuma had worn in Teotihuacan but even more… foul, somehow. Corrupted. Tainted. Less Xipe Totec—my sire’s line—and more aligned with Xolotl, my black dog form.

The god of fire and twins—but also sickness.

His screams changed tone. Still shrill but even more intense. I could almost make words, though the language was foreign to me.

“Old French,” Guillaume whispered, still outside the chimney room, though his voice carried. “It’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” Shara asked. “I ought to be able to heal him.”

My nostrils burned, making me sneeze. Not entirely unexpected in a dusty, dirty space, but long strings of goo dripped from my nose. Down my throat. Choking me. I opened my jaws, coughing out the mucus. A foul taste lingered on my tongue. Not blood. Not anything I’d ever tasted before.

As if I’d licked an infected wound to cleanse it.

My claws scrambled on the floor as I flung myself back. Away. Even from my twin. :Flee. Leave now.:

I backed away into the corner, my legs already wobbly. I panted, my tongue lolling, stringing gobs of drool and mucus. I hoped it was snot—but feared it was pus. I could feel sickness inside me. Something bubbling, brewing, spreading like wildfire. Gobbling up my queen’s blood shining inside me. My bond felt strange, thin and fragile like wet tissue. Tearing apart.