The Keep: The Watchers (33 page)

It was unbearable to contemplate. So much easier to remain angry.

I eased my mind, imagining how it would be if he
were
here. He’d tell me his funny stories and take my mind off my fear. Because I was afraid—this was a giant risk I was taking.

When I finally ventured out, the night was moonless. I knew firsthand how there were way too many things that saw better than I did in the pitch-darkness, but I assured myself I wasn’t even really off the path—I was smack-dab in the middle of the quad. Which, when I thought about it, was scarier than anything.

I’d have to be quick, and wasn’t that just the understatement of the year. But I had no choice. I’d shadowed that dumb man all day, and never once had he parted from his key chain. So much for him thinking it was stupid. I’d tried everything, even spilling an entire canister of Comet in the toilet. Then, claiming the need for more, I’d asked to borrow his keys to get back in the shed for supplies, and still he’d guarded them jealously, like the fate of the world depended on them. That, more than anything, told me I was on the right track. That his key ring might be my solution.

I squatted in front of the shed door for a closer look at the dead bolt. I’d cased the place well enough to know exactly what to expect and which tools to bring to break into his grim little
hideaway. If I’d had a tension wrench, this thing would’ve been a piece of cake, but of course, there was no such thing in the rudimentary lock-picking kit we’d been assigned—the vampires weren’t going to make it
that
easy on us. I’d have to get enough torque by using my file. Plus, I’d saved a can from the dining hall and folded a strip of aluminum into something narrow enough to fit in the keyhole but still sturdy enough to lever the pins.

I got to work.

My hands were raw, and I smelled like Borax, Windex, Ajax, and whatever other x-caliber toxicity I’d been exposed to all day, but it’d been worth it. It was hard going in the darkness, but finally I decided just to give in to it and shut my eyes, picking the lock by feel and instinct alone. Sure enough, the mechanism gave with a soft click.

Thank you, Judge,
I thought, with a pang for my beloved-but-now-dead Phenomena teacher.

I cracked the door open as narrowly as possible, terrified the hinges might squeak if I swung it open all the way. I was worried about any makeshift traps, too—setting an alarm constructed of precariously stacked cans seemed like just the sort of thing the sourpuss maintenance man might do.

My heart punched at my chest. There’d be no Carden to save me if I got caught. Though the worst punishment would come from Ronan. I’d disappointed him once before, when they’d discovered my illicit iPod, and the look he’d given me had razed me. I didn’t want to see that expression ever again.

Ever so slowly, I slipped inside, carefully placing a foot, waiting, sliding the other foot forward, waiting, and so on until I was inside. No squeaks, no traps.

I let myself take a quick moment to calm my heartbeat and
open my senses to the night. Nothing heard me. Nobody was coming. I was safe.

Originally, I’d wanted to get close to the janitor in order to get my hands on moldable materials, but in the end, that was the one element that’d been easiest to procure—especially as there wasn’t going to be any extreme cliffside castings in my future. When the janitor lit a candle inside his shed, he’d given me the answer I needed. Wax. Duh.

I went straight to the wall of keys. In the blackness of the shed, it was a mass of metal—dangerously
noisy
metal—but I’d memorized well the approximate location of that one key ring. Shutting my eyes once more, I swept my fingers lightly along until I touched it, that strange infinity shape protruding from the wall differently from the others.

I took it from its hook, cringing at the tinkling sound made by the surrounding keys. I stood frozen, heart pounding, waiting to be caught. But still, no one came.

I worked quickly from there. It was easy to get ahold of candles in this place—the vamps loved all things antiquated—and earlier I’d melted one into a smooth puddle. I quickly warmed it, praying the smell of matches didn’t summon any of the many creatures on this island with hypersensitive noses.

My first attempt was uneven, and finally I decided it’d be best to press the fob itself as flatly as possible into the wax, without the keys in the way, but they were proving remarkably tricky to pull from the ring. I fiddled with the thing, my panic rising with each passing minute. Finally, I just gave it a good twist…but rather than the keys sliding off, something else happened. Something else entirely.

With a soft click, the triangle popped out from the fob.

I stared in disbelief. Then I burst into action, warming the wax in my palms, rolling it into a ball, winding it around the triangle, taking an exact impression.

Later, I’d whittle the ends of several stakes into the same shape. Hopefully one of them would work and be a perfect fit for that strange triangular hole. I’d use the end of a stake to open that padlock. Open the gate.

This was it. It was becoming real.

I’d do this. I was breaking into the castle.

I wondered if I’d ever come out again.

I
needed to see Ronan. I wanted to say good-bye. To thank him. And maybe there was a part of me that hoped someone cared enough to see what I was doing and stop me. I longed to feel some connection with somebody before I went off pursuing certain death. I wanted someone who wasn’t Vampire to know what’d happened to me. I wanted to feel—or pretend to feel—that somebody gave a damn about my fate.

I didn’t want to just disappear.

Because I had no illusions: I knew well that mine was a suicide mission.

Ronan had said he was off to the village, and so I set off for the village, too. I moved quickly, keeping to the coast. If caught, I’d claim ignorance. Claim I thought my newfound Initiate status protected me. And who knew—maybe it did. My skin crawled, recalling Ronan’s words, how my status as Alcántara’s greatest amusement protected me, too. I shoved away the thought.

Sundays were generally quiet, and I snuck off at dawn, heading
farther north than I’d ever gone. Would I find Ronan? See him among his people? Would there be family who resembled him? Some cousin with his green eyes?

Once I was close enough, I headed inland, perching on a rock, surveying the valley below. Several cottages were huddled into a small settlement. They all looked the same—squat, rough-looking things, constructed of dingy stone connected by sloppy seams of mortar, once white, now weathered to a mossy greenish gray. Every roof was thatched, curving down on either side, close enough to the ground to touch. I tried to picture Ronan moving among them—he’d have to hunch while standing inside.

What struck me first was the quiet. It was a ghost town. Nobody was around. It wasn’t the picture of what I imagined a quaint village to be—there were no laughing children, no gossiping women, no bustle to be seen at all.

I went on alert. This place had a weird vibe. A hostile vibe. And of course it did—I’d be pretty hostile, too, if forced to live in service to a bunch of old vampires.

I thought with a smirk how that was exactly my situation.
Servile, hostile:
check and check.

I scooted down the far side of the hill for a closer look, moving as stealthily as I could. It went unspoken that vampires and villagers didn’t mingle, but how would these people view
me
? Lately, it felt like every time I went out alone, I was attacked. I was sure I could deal with a few regular humans, but I’d prefer to avoid a mob if I could.

I began to question this whole endeavor, but still, I waited. I’d wanted a glimpse of Ronan, but now my curiosity consumed me. I wanted to see someone, anyone. Who were these people? Would they be mostly like Tom: a realist who was wary but
friendly? Or would they be like that janitor? Fearful. Hateful. Suspicious.

My eyes were drawn to movement just below me, behind one of the cottages on the perimeter. I waited until I saw it again—fabric fluttering. I scooted sideways, craning my head until I was able to peer behind the building. And finally, I saw a person, a woman, moving slowly and methodically, hanging laundry out to dry.

I edged down, keeping low and out of sight—unless, of course, there was someone looking out the window, in which case, I was totally busted. But nobody spotted me.

I reached the ground, inching my way closer, careful not to tangle myself in the thorny hedges growing along the side of the cottage.

I stole a peek. She was old, with weathered skin that’d been so thinned by the years, it seemed to sag from her bones. Row after row of mud-brown cloaks billowed in the breeze, and she worked her way down the line, reaching in her basket, pulling out a cloak, pinning it up, stepping over, reaching down, and so on. Each robe was the same color, the same size, with the same long hood drooping down the back. They looked like something Druids might’ve worn.

She hummed as she worked, and it was such a normal thing, it gave me courage to show myself. I carefully peeked out from a wall of hedges. “Excuse me…hi?”

Her wizened face burst into cartoonishly wide-eyed shock, her nearly lipless and mostly toothless mouth forming a gaping black hole. She looked like a witch carved from a dried apple.

I put up my hands in the universal gesture of
Relax; it’s cool
, but unfortunately she wasn’t acquainted with universal gestures,
because she shrieked the kind of shriek generally associated with haunted house tours.

Crap.
I put a finger to my mouth, desperately motioning for her to be quiet. “Sorry, sorry. It’s okay.” I stepped closer. “I’m sorry I scared you. I was—”

“Oot nooo.” She waved at me, shooing me like an animal, repeating, “Oot. Oot nooo.”

Was that even English? I spoke slowly, just in case. “I don’t mean any harm. I’m looking for—”

Frantic, she shook her head, looking like a madwoman. She seemed like she might shriek again, so I sped it up. The last thing I needed was for this woman to call for backup. I dared not tempt whatever shrieking might happen then.

“
Shh
, please don’t scream. Do you know—”
Ronan
, I’d wanted to say, but I stopped myself at the last second. For all I knew, this woman adored the vampires. I couldn’t get him in trouble. Going off half-cocked through the countryside was exactly what he’d warned me about. “Do you know the way back to the beach?” I asked, in the lamest topic swerve ever.

Staring at me like
I
was the nutty one, she stabbed her finger back toward where I’d come from. “Ye best oot nooo.”

I best out now? Was that what she’d said? Apparently, teeth were for more than just chewing—they also really helped with the whole diction thing.

What a twisted, isolated world this was. I should’ve learned my lesson with the janitor—old didn’t necessarily mean kindly. But now that I was here, I had to know more. I had to press it. I ducked between the robes to get closer. “Who are you?” I brushed my fingers over the brown fabric. “What are these?”

“Fer auld ones. Nae touchin’!” She waved her hands at me,
but her mania had toned down a notch. I was no longer a homicidal interloper, just a stray cat sniffing at her stuff. “Shoo!”

Old ones.
Now we were talking. I took a tentative step forward. “The old ones? You mean the vampires?”

Her eyes grew wide, terror making the irises expand till her gaze was all watery red and pale blue. The vampires, then.

Again, I touched one of the robes—the texture was coarse, like burlap—and she snatched it from me. “Antonsmas,” she shouted. “Antonsmas oonly. Dinna touch.”

Antonsmas.
That was one of the names Ronan had given to the festival.

I heard men’s voices in the distance. Sound would carry across this valley—how far away were they? I spoke quickly. “They wear these for the festival?”

“Shoo,” she hissed. Panic had seized her again but, tellingly, she quieted her voice to a frantic whisper. “Go, you. Away,” she pleaded. “Right away.”

I heard the voices again. The clatter of tools. A faraway slamming door.

I didn’t know what I’d been thinking. I’d never spot Ronan here, and if I did, would he even claim to recognize me? For all I knew, the men in town all had shotguns and dined on girl flesh. Later, I’d be sad I hadn’t gotten to see him once more, but I couldn’t get killed before I’d even begun.

And so I shooed.

But as I wove back through the maze of robes, one happened to make its way into my bag. It would be my ticket inside the castle.