The dawn light filtered in, making the bedroom appear a gauzy gray. Haidée was already up but still dressed in a night gown, sitting at the desk with ink and paper. A thick candle sat on a small bronze plate, gutted. The paper itself had been carefully folded and torn into squares a couple inches across. She was carefully lettering peculiar symbols on one side of each piece and setting it aside to let the ink dry.
One of the desk drawers was open. The marten had crawled inside a few hours before and had curled up into a tight knot with its nose tucked under its tail and fallen asleep.
Haidée yawned. She put her free hand to her mouth and glimpsed at her bed. She would sleep later.
The previous day had been somewhat hectic and frightening. She had seen dead bodies, of course, but the man plastered on the wall underneath the wallpaper of the secret room had sent every alarm in her head screaming. Renaud had managed to remove the rest of the wallpaper, but the body itself was immovable. She did not need to touch it to know that the force holding the body in place was something that Madame Zephyrine had termed unnatural powers.
At least the body itself was facing the wall. She did not know if she could have born it if she had to see the victim’s face.
The victim’s body appeared fresh as if he had been killed just moments before. His foot had been detached, but there was no sign of blood. The back of the man’s shirt had also been ripped open revealing dark signs etched into his skin. Nausea had overcome her when she saw the markings, forcing her to escape from the room.
They had closed the fireplace in Legard’s room, sealing the secret passageway and the unfortunate victim back into the depths of the observatory. After that, Haidée had hurried back into her room to vomit into the chamber pot that she had kept underneath her bed. The rest of the day, she had pled a headache and ignored all the door knocking. Instead, she just drank and slept.
It was only until the middle of the night that she awoke and started working.
A knock sounded at the bathroom door. Slowly, she finished the sign that she was working on and put down her pen. She made her way to the door and opened it. Renaud stood on the other side, looking down at her over his spectacles.
“You didn’t answer your door yesterday,” he said. “You missed the noon and evening meals.”
“I know.” She felt tired and heavy. “What did you tell them about the body?”
He watched her for a moment and then said, “I didn’t tell anybody about the body. We don’t know who it is—although I have some speculations to the identity of the victim—and what the consequences would be if this was revealed. Whoever murdered him would realize that we found the body. And due to that body’s location, it wouldn’t be too hard to deduce that we are trying to find out who killed Legard and D’Aubigne.”
“That would mean the murderer might turn his attention to us, right?” She rubbed her temples, feeling both surprisingly alert and exhausted at the same time. She had wasted an entire bottle of tonic trying to stay awake during the night. “I have something for you,” she finally said.
“What…”
She turned away from him and gathered up the bits of paper that she had been working on before he had knocked. There were ten slips etched with symbols, none of them resembling the one that she had used as a defensive shield against Renaud in what seemed to be eons ago. She shoved them into his hands. “They’re to repay you. I decided not to do the defensive signs—those would be completely ineffective against whoever it is out there…” She did not finish her sentence. She rubbed her eyes, thinking of the murderer and his powers.
“Haidée, this is more than what I had asked. What’s wrong?” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Those signs you saw on the victim. What did you see?”
She tried to stifle a yawn. “Bad signs. And the very placement of the body—I think whoever is doing this is more powerful than I first thought.”
“Is he more powerful than you?”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Maybe.”
He frowned, but he reached out to cup her chin. “You’re tired. Go to bed.”
“But.”
“Go to bed,” he repeated. “I’ll wake you at noon.”
She thought about protesting, but her mind was beginning to shut down. “Very well,” she finally replied. She climbed back into bed and laid her head on the pillow. Before her eyes drifted closed, she heard the bathroom door close with a click.