Reading · A Work Of Fiction

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36|

We decided to climb down the ladders, approaching the ground floor through its broom cupboard. It would bring us straight into the main hallway, but we had little choice. Muldoon led Celeste, Mary Frances and me, the others waiting on the floor above until there was enough room for everyone to come down. The sword, strapped to my back with a belt, forced me to stand up straight at all times. Everyone else bore crossbows, axes and daggers, trying not to catch them on the narrow beams. When I thought about what we were doing, and what the odds of survival were, a manic laugh bubbled in the back of my throat. I held my hand to my mouth and swallowed it back. I wondered when the last time I drank or ate anything was as I struggled to maintain a clear head. I felt I’d finally transcended hunger and thirst, but I did not feel as weak as I ought to have.

“Catherine of Siena,” I said to myself.

“What?” Celeste asked, startled by the sudden comment.

I blinked, unsure of what I was seeing. My vision had adjusted again: dark was dark once more, but I felt too big for the cupboard suddenly, my lungs struggling to accommodate my breathing. “Nothing,” I said, looking up at the ceiling in the hope I’d find some clean air to breathe. I lost my balance and fell forward, Celeste quickly grabbing me in her arms.

“Mr Muldoon!” she whispered.

The loud rattle of a tin bucket confirmed it for me. I’d collapsed into the cleaning apparatus.

“Jesus, give her some room,” Muldoon whispered, slapping me on the cheeks. “Come on, Salome. We don’t have time for this.” Someone was trying to straighten the mop and the broom quietly.

“Should I go back for salts?” Celeste asked breathlessly.

“We don’t have time. It has to be now.”

I fully came to, able to see the faces belonging to the voices again. “Mi dispiace tanto.”

“What is she saying?” Celeste asked.

“What makes you think I know?”

“You said you lived in Rome once.”

“She’s saying she’s sorry, I think?”

I rolled over, groaning. I felt terrible. My head was pounding, my mouth dry and sore.

“Salome, hang on,” Muldoon said, helping me sit up against one of the walls. “I’ll—”

We were interrupted by the sound of music playing in the chapel. An organ, a choir singing along with it, their voices so beautiful. It made it hard to hear what was directly outside. The music, so ill-fitting for the severity of the situation, stirred more suspicion.

“I am not sure about this, Muldoon,” I said, the doubt rising. “It’s too calm.”

Muldoon held his ear to the door for what felt like an eternity, eventually speaking again.

“I will go first,” he whispered. “And I’ll secure the hallway. Once I can get to the corridor leading to the kitchen and the chapel, I will come back for you.” He reached for the chain around his neck and lifted it out in front of his waistcoat, the silver cross gleaming in spite of the lack of light.

I grabbed his wrist, harder than intended.

Or you can call. We can still communicate.

He nodded. Count your blessings, I suppose.

I let go of him. My heart thudded in my throat, the apprehension bordering on exhilaration. I put my hand to my chest, feeling for my own cross.

Had it protected me thus far? Would his protect him? There were so many bodies upstairs, and yet, we were all ready for another confrontation, hoping to win where our spiritual sisters had failed? My breath, shallow and accompanied by a quickening pulse, finally calmed when Muldoon opened the door, a slight groan of the hinges creaking into the empty hallway.

I watched him take cautious steps, his shape vanishing into the shadow of endless night. I closed the door behind him and turned the key, pushing my ear to it. His footsteps, light but careful, continued in the hallway, turning left into the private dining room, and coming out again, slowly. I held my breath as I heard the cracking of the leather shoes. He was walking past us and heading further down the hallway. The air around me felt hot and damp. I held the little cross in my hands again, thinking.

If they were all wearing theirs, how did the vampyres attack so many of them?

The realisation came with the sharp, breathtaking slap across my consciousness. Margaret hadn’t been wearing hers. It was in her hand, the chain torn from her neck. I’d been too preoccupied trying not to finish her off with my newly-acquired tastes.

Father John’s words on the deck of Vittoria spoke to me again now: “They are cruel, and some are so powerful that they can torment the mind of any mortal.”

And convince them to turn from God.

My heart sank. I’d been a fool.

They know not what they do.

I reached for the knob of the door, shoving Celeste off me as she tried to stop me. I turned to her and shook my head. “Please, for the love of God, pray and do not come out.”

I opened the door, the cool air of the hallway hitting my warm cheeks. There was nobody there. I went to the corridor. The sconces had been left abandoned, the wax dripping onto the wall and the floor. I squinted in the dark, the chill of a draught whispering in my ears.

I heard footsteps behind me, many of them. The light footsteps of my sisters ascending the staircase, leaving their hiding place and fleeing. I turned and quickly followed, lashing out and failing to catch anyone’s hand or skirt. “Where are you going?” I whispered. No one turned to look at me. They climbed each step with silent grace, their direction purposeful.

I took a couple of steps, and sensing something behind me, glanced from the corner of my eye. A winged creature, and I could not bring myself to look at it directly. Not again. I fled up the steps.

I followed them up to the first floor, then to the second, my heart pounding and my chest tight with the exertion. I was ready to stop, my hands on my knees, but they continued climbing, this time quietly chatting amongst themselves. I could not look behind me, but something was there. With heavy, shaking legs I followed.

I grabbed the newel post with white knuckles, the breath I was hoping to regain leaving me.

We were on the third-floor landing again, the door to the library opening, revealing the warm glow of the fire and the candlelight as it spilled in my direction.

Rows of my sisters filed in and passed Sister Therese. She greeted them as she always did, turning to look at me, the straggler. “Good evening, Salome.”

I frowned. I did not understand what was happening. “Sister?”

She gestured for me to hurry. “My coffee grows cold, child,” she clucked. I reached behind my back, feeling for the sword that was not there. Where had I left it?

“If you please, Salome,” she said pleadingly.

I hurried in.

They were inside, kneeling on the carpet with their heads bowed in prayer. I wanted to fall to my knees and praise God for waking me from a troubling, enduring nightmare, but something made me reconsider.

I fired one more glance over my shoulder, wondering if I could survive any more fear. The winged creature was on the landing, fully silhouetted, and it had no horns like the one I’d fought off in the kitchen. One could have even mistaken it for a man. I turned to try and see it more clearly, but Therese was closing the door.

Francesco?

No response.

“Wait!” I cried, watching Sister Therese lock the door. “Was that…?”

Salome: Episode 31.

Comments