Five
There are some things worse than death. Pray you never encounter them.
—BROTHER FRANCIS, Encyclopedia of the Realms
The elevators had fallen into neglect long ago, forcing Kim to take the primitive, circuitous route up through a maze of steep and spiraling stairwells. By now his legs ached, their muscles no better than rubber, his every step more ponderous than the last. He’d been journeying through the upper fourth of the Academy’s infamous Bell Tower, its innards a dark, forbidding maze of smudged walls, cracking plaster, and grimy, lead-paned windows. Most of the Tower’s lower chambers were used as storage space, but the top three floors had the distinction of possessing three separate chapels, none of them in official use, but all of them used on a regular basis by Kim, by Stephanie, or by anyone who wanted to host a private ritual. Today, though, he was aiming for the Tower’s pinnacle, where the Vatican’s hundred-year-old brass bell had once rung out the hour on the hour, but fell silent after numerous seasons of harsh weather took their toll, crazing the bell and splitting it down the middle. Now it was a relic, hanging in shadows seething with bats and rats.
And much, much worse.
He dragged himself up the last set of stairs, turning onto a rickety landing. Rain tinkled against a nearby window, dampening the sound of flapping wings.
Shadows flickered.
The crow paused on her newest perch, cocking her head sideways, peering through the pane. Kim listened to the notes of the falling water, half glancing at the bird, fingering the stolen keys in his pocket. Finding the right one at last, he slipped its metal into the keyhole. The door groaned as he pushed, nudging it open.
Two rats squeezed through the crack, scuttling over his feet and down the stairwell.
The smell was almost overpowering. Rodent urine and bat feces. Decaying meat. But the Bell Attic was in reality more cavernous than its outer architecture—and its smell—suggested, most of its vermin hiding in holes chipped out of the stone or nesting near the bell’s metal supports. The low, sloping roof was mostly to blame, as it kept the wind from entering and flushing out the stench. Kim picked his way around a mound of bat dung and a selection of hollowed-out bones. “Troy.”
Silence.
At least she couldn’t fool him. Light outside, no matter how scanty, meant Troy’s presence inside, and the sunbeams had at least another half hour before they disappeared completely. But standing exposed in her territory like this, alone, ignorant of where she was roosting, was far more dangerous. No matter how familiar his scent might be, her hunger could always overcome her common sense. Kim stared up into the darkness, barely able to discern the beady eyes of bats staring back at him. If he took a few careful steps, keeping the wall against his shoulders—
A human arm, shredded to the elbow joint, dropped at his feet.
Ten black fingernails reached down from the gloom, pinching into the stone near his head. Troy appeared soon afterward, and their faces were parallel, inches apart.
“It’s about time,” she said.
Kim bit back the scream in his throat.
Troy’s corpse-white skin, her large yellow eyes, those short, sharp teeth. No matter how many times he looked at her, the terror refused to die. And though Troy might have been somewhat typical of the Jinn, her stealthy silence was second to none. She had a horrific way of creeping up on him, on anything, without giving herself away. Often he’d find that she’d stay in the same position for hours, frozen as only a hunter could stay still. Watching him and waiting. Yet she’d chosen to ignore him again for the moment, instead swiveling a pointed ear in the direction of the rain. Water dripped from her chopped black hair, her sickle-shaped wings and layers of rags. One of her chilling hisses broke the silence, and she licked at the blood caking her bluish-white lips. They always seemed bruised to him. Punishing.
“Why so slow?” she said again, shaking the rain away. Her eyes flicked in his direction, cold and terrible.
Troy’s games could be infuriating. As could many of her other habits. “Your latest handiwork slowed me down. It took me an hour to cart the body to the sea.”
“It’s your own fault for interrupting my meal. Besides”—her voice held the hint of laughter—“Fury warned you well enough in advance. Although it was fun to guess how long it would be till you arrived here angry and depressed.”
“Stop stalking her,” he said. His voice sounded bitterly crisp.
Another hiss, as if in consideration. Troy descended from the wall, her body fluid and lean, her eyes seeming to glow like ghost lights. Cackles from outside announced Fury’s arrival before the crow glided inside, aiming for the severed arm lying on the floor. A Vapor, a soul-slave granted the shape and nature of a bird, Fury gave her true identity away through unusual size and eyes similar to her master’s. Whenever Troy couldn’t bless Kim with her unsettling presence, the Vapor was never too far away to take over the job. He’d already tried bonding with Fury, half hoping that years of tasty tidbits might trick the nuisance into letting her guard down, but to little result. Today, the bird found both his offered hand and its morsel distasteful as ever, choosing instead to hop onto Troy’s skinny shoulder. “You’re in no position to give orders,” Troy said, growling. “Didn’t the death of your favorite student teach you that?”