"I—backup—wanted—" I managed.
"Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but you should have listened to me. Now come on. We need to check out that basement."
Instead of marching off in the lead, she prodded me forward. When I turned the corner, I saw the artist slumped on the ground. I couldn't suppress a shiver.
"He'll be fine, Paige," Cassandra said, her tone gentler than usual.
"I know."
"You may not like it, but I could argue that some people would feel the same about the chicken you ate for dinner last night."
"I know."
A soft chuckle. "You aren't going to argue the point?
Quelle surprise.
" She patted my back. "Let's get to that secret room. I can't wait to see what they've stashed down there."
***
Before we went back into the cabin, I cast another perimeter spell. If anyone arrived before Lucas and Aaron, we needed enough advance warning to move the unconscious artist. It may have seemed wiser to move him immediately, but with a vampire bite, the safest way to hide what happened is not to hide it at all. Better for the artist to wake up on the ground by his chair, thinking he'd suffered a blackout.
With Cassandra following, I climbed down the ladder. Then I stood at the bottom and cast my light-ball around four walls, each with a floor-to-ceiling canning shelf. Every shelf was empty.
I slumped against the ladder. "It really is a cold cellar."
"Don't be so hasty," Cassandra said, moving her hands along the far shelving unit. "Here, this one seems looser than the others. Grab the other end."
I took hold of the shelf and, on the count of three, pulled. The shelf didn't move. I walked to the nearest shelf and began examining it, the first wave of disappointment having given way to resolution. Maybe I had been mistaken about this room, but I wasn't leaving until I was certain of that.
I poked and pried at the shelf but it didn't budge. On to the next one.
"That one's firmly fastened," Cassandra said as she inspected the remaining shelf. "It doesn't so much as quiver."
I stopped yanking on the shelf and instead ran my fingers along both sides, where the unit fastened to the wall. It was rammed so tight against the wall that I couldn't even squeeze a fingernail into the gap. I crouched to examine the underside of the lower shelves.
On the second-to-bottom shelf, I found a nail sticking out near the corner. I prodded it. The nail slid into the wood and the shelf snapped hard against my hands.
"A catch," Cassandra said. "Well done again."
Before I could pull it open, my vision clouded.
"Not again," I muttered. "My perimeter spell, with flawless timing."
Cassandra checked her watch. "Aaron and Lucas."
"Or so I hope. I'll check. You go on in."
***
I scooted up the ladder and out the cabin door. Lucas and Aaron were picking their way through the brambles. I hailed them with a shout.
"Hear you found Edward's hidey-hole," Aaron called as they drew closer. "Way to go."
"We haven't had a chance to look inside yet," I said. "We ran into a few complications."
When they caught up, Lucas's hand brushed mine, then gave it a squeeze.
"Oooh, would that be one of those complications?" Aaron said, jerking his chin toward the fallen artist. "Or just a late-afternoon snack?"
"Both, I think," I said.
"Is she in a better mood now?"
"Actually, now that I think about it, a much better mood."
Aaron's laugh rang out through the quiet meadow. "Oh, yeah, same old Cassandra. I thought that might be the problem. She gets pretty damned testy when she hasn't eaten. That's one big drawback to socializing with nonvamps. Nobody wants to hear you say, 'I'm just popping out for a bite.' If she ever gets bitchier than usual, that's a good time to send her out on a late-night coffee run. Best way to cheer her up." He grinned. "Well, there are other ways, but you don't want to hear about those."
We circled past the artist and headed into the cabin.
A Strange Place to Take a Bath
I led Lucas and Aaron to the secret room. As I looked around, my first thought was, "That makes sense, and that makes sense, and . . . what the hell is
that
for?"
The room was just slightly larger than the fake cold cellar, maybe eight feet square. Along one wall was a bookcase, filled with ancient reference books and experimentation journals. The shelves on the opposite wall held vials, beakers, jars, and other scientific equipment. All this was exactly what I expected to see in a quester's laboratory. What I couldn't understand, though, was the claw-footed bathtub that took up a quarter of the floor space.
"I like to read in the bath, too," I said. "But that seems a bit extreme."
"Especially with no running water," Aaron said.
"I would assume it's used as a mixing basin," Lucas said. "Though it seems rather large for the purpose and it would likely have required removing the cabin floor to get it down here. Perhaps it has a greater significance, a relic of some sort."
Cassandra looked up from the journal she'd been reading. "You're both right. It would be used for mixing a compound, then bathing in it. Ingestion is the most common way to take immortality potions, but immersion is also popular."
"Find anything?" Aaron said, looking down over her shoulder. "At least it's not in code."
"It would be better if it was," she said. "A code can be deciphered and broken. Instead, what they've done is put in only enough detail to remind themselves what they did."
"Huh?"
She lifted the book closer to my light-ball. "'March seventh, 2001. Tried variation B again with fresher source material type Hf. No change. April twelfth, 2001. Expanded variation A to include source material type Hm, subtype E. No change.'"
"Shit," Aaron muttered. "Is it all like that?"
Cassandra nodded.
"What's the date on the last entry?" Lucas asked.
"June of this year."
"A month or two before Natasha left him," I said. "Any idea what they were doing at the time? Maybe something changed, made her decide to leave?"
Cassandra handed me the journal. "It's exactly like the other entries. They talk about 'materials' and 'variations' and 'subtypes,' but nothing specific."
I moved beside Lucas and held the journal between us as we read the last half-dozen pages. Then I flipped to the start of the book, which dated back to 1996, and skimmed to the present.
"The only change I see is a gradual increase in ingredient Hf and Hm. It appears on and off in the earlier entries, then becomes a regular ingredient in the last year. Otherwise, the entries are pretty similar—variations A through E, methodologies A through K."
"Let's see what other goodies we have, then," Aaron said. He scanned the equipment shelf. "Lots and lots of unlabeled, half-filled bottles." He grabbed one, pulled out the stopper, sniffed it, and gagged. "I may be invulnerable, but please don't ask me to taste-test anything."
I took the bottle from him and sniffed. "Sulfur." He handed me another one. "Rosemary." I eyed the shelf and named three more from looks alone. "All fairly common potion ingredients. Same with the dried stuff. Half these things you could pick up in any New Age shop."
"Which could mean that this is all they use," Cassandra said. "Or it could mean that they've hidden the more damning ingredients."
"Time to start looking for more cubbyholes," Aaron said. "I'll get the top shelves."
He ran his hand over the highest shelf, which appeared empty. As he swept along it, he dislodged a bottle and sent it crashing into the tub. Cassandra reached into the tub and touched the bottom, beside the broken pieces.
"Dry," she said. "It was empty."
She started to stand, then stopped, and ran a finger along the inside of the tub. With a frown, she leaned farther in, then shook her head and straightened.
"See something?" I said.
She shook her head. "It's been scrubbed clean."
"I believe I've found something here," Lucas said.
He was crouched in front of the equipment shelf. I expected to see another doorway behind the shelf. Instead, he gestured at the shelf itself, which he'd cleared of bottles. When I looked, I saw not a wooden shelf, but a drawer. It seemed too shallow to hold anything. Then Lucas pulled back the velvet cloth that lay over the contents—a row of surgical instruments.
"They, uh, could be veterinary tools," Aaron said. "Some questers use animal sacrifice. It's discouraged, but it does happen."
I met Lucas's gaze. "Hm and Hf."
He gave a slow nod. "Human male and human female."
Cassandra said nothing. When we looked over at her, she was bent over a hole in the floor, where she'd taken off a section of board.
"What's that?" I said.
She slammed the board back into place. "More ingredients. They're . . . human."
Aaron squatted beside her and reached for the loose board, but she held it fast to the floor.
"You don't need to look, either," she said.
"I've lived through Jack the Ripper, Charles Manson, and Jeffrey Dahmer. Nothing under that board is going to shock me."
"It's not going to make you sleep any easier, either." She looked at us. "I'll draw up an inventory of what's in here, and package it if you'd like. For now, I can tell you that they were using body parts, from multiple humans, and they weren't retrieving them from graveyards."
Her gaze skittered toward the tub. She blinked hard and looked away.
"It smells of blood, doesn't it?" Lucas said.
"I caught a whiff of something, and I thought it might be blood, but I can't pick it up again."
Aaron ducked his head into the tub. He inhaled, then shook his head. "Nothing. That's one smell we can always pick up but I'm not—" He stopped. "Scratch that. I caught it. Very faint, but definitely human blood."
"So that's what the tub is for," I said. "They put them in there to . . . harvest what they needed without making too big a mess."
"Could be," Lucas said.
I met his gaze. "But you don't think so."
He picked up the journal and turned to a page near the end. "There are several references this year to immersion in source material Hm and Hf."
"Elizabeth Báthory," Cassandra murmured.
My gut sank, as I understood what they meant.
Elizabeth Báthory was a Hungarian countess who lived in the sixteenth century. According to legend, she'd killed six hundred and fifty young women, most of them peasants, and bathed in their blood because she believed it would grant her eternal youth. After several decades of killing, Báthory was arrested, tried, convicted, and put into a room. Then the door was bricked over.
It has been argued that Elizabeth Báthory was at least part of Bram Stoker's inspiration for Dracula, perhaps even more than the equally sadistic and better known Vlad Dracul, from whom Stoker borrowed the name. In vampire society, it was generally believed that Elizabeth Báthory had been a vampire and that she'd been seeking, not eternal youth, but her youth for eternity—in other words, an immortality quester.
It was also rumored that her experiment had succeeded, that she had found eternal life and that the story of her death had been concocted, not by human officials, but by powerful elements within the vampire community. When they'd discovered her crimes—and, yes, killing six hundred humans
was
a crime even by vampire standards—they'd masterminded her arrest and trial. Then, the vampires themselves walled her up, where she remains to this day, having outlived every vampire who knew where she was imprisoned.
In covering up the success of her immortality experiments, her captors had tried to ensure such crimes would never be repeated. Yet the story, true or not, had been passed down through generations of immortality questers. Most didn't dare replicate Báthory's work but, about every hundred years or so, somebody tried.
"But to bathe in blood," I said. "That would—each time you did it, you'd need to kill how many people? Where would they bury all those—?" I stopped, remembering the strange patchwork terrain out back. I swallowed. "I think I might know."
***
After uncovering the fourth body, we stopped digging. All four corpses were drained of blood, and all in the ground less than a year, which meant they weren't Edward and Natasha's requisite annual kills. When we looked out over the patchwork of old-growth and new-growth meadow, we knew if we kept digging we'd find many more.