Page 18 of Atlas of Unknowable Things

THE UNDEAD

The curiously ambivalent allure of the vampire herself lingers in the memory … haunted by the dual images of “beautiful girl” and “writhing fiend.”

—FRED BOTTING, GOTHIC

As I stood in those eerily silent woods, staring at that gravestone marked by seemingly contradictory symbols, I felt vaguely like I might be losing my mind.

Setting the fact of the grave aside for the moment, why, I wondered, would anyone ever want to memorialize the Spanish Inquisition?

Most people are familiar with the trials in Salem, and in Scotland before that, and perhaps with the bloodshed enacted during the seventeenth century by Matthew Hopkins, England’s monstrous Witchfinder General, but nowhere were the horrors of the witchcraft massacres more evident than with the Spanish Inquisition.

It was the very incarnation of evil, and its motto wasn’t the kind of thing I want to run into in the middle of the woods.

But then I noticed what I’d missed on first inspection.

It was almost the Inquisition’s motto, but not quite.

One key word had been changed. Whereas the original motto, Exurge Domine et Judica Causam Tuam, translated to Arise, O Lord, and Judge Your Own Cause, what was written here was Exurge Antiqua et Judica Causam Tuam: Arise, Ancient One, and Judge Your Own Cause.

Ancient One? Who was this Ancient One? Suddenly the phrase took on an entirely different meaning.

This wasn’t some bizarre tribute to the Inquisition; it was an invocation of an ancient god.

As I started toward the campus, my stomach soured and I felt increasingly paranoid.

When I emerged from under the tree cover and onto the path, I turned and stared back into the woods in disbelief.

I had no clue what to make of the situation.

Wrapping my jacket around my torso, I hurried back to the cabana and locked the door behind me.

I don’t know how long I sat there, and I can barely tell you what I did in that time. I think I must have been in shock, just staring straight ahead at my wall. Eventually I showered and had breakfast, and when enough time had passed, I decided to go up to the house and tell Dorian what I’d found.

He and Lexi were in his office on the first floor, their heads bent over what appeared to be a balance sheet. I couldn’t help but notice that Dorian seemed pleased to see me, but Lexi avoided my gaze.

“Robin, is something wrong?” Dorian asked.

“Yeah. I think so. I went for a walk in the woods this morning. And I found … Well, I think I found a grave.”

They stared at me blankly.

“I’m sorry,” said Lexi, tilting her head, “but did you just say you found a grave in the woods?”

I nodded. “At first, I thought maybe it was a grave for an animal, but the inscription on the stone was ‘Isabelle Casimir.’”

They just stared at me.

“Doesn’t this concern you? Aren’t you all under the impression that she left?”

Lexi pursed her pretty lips and nodded. “She did.”

“Then why is there a grave with her name on it out there in the woods?”

“There isn’t.”

“Yes there is,” I said as politely as I could manage. “And it has some weird inscriptions on it, too.”

Lexi looked away, and I could have sworn she grew markedly paler. Dorian cleared his throat. Tapping her manicured nails against the leather desk blotter in front of her, Lexi nodded, finally meeting my eyes. She looked angry and almost like she’d been put on the spot.

“Can you take us to it?” she asked.

The three of us headed out almost immediately, and when we reached the mouth of the woods, I noticed with some interest that Lexi seemed to hesitate.

Her expression grew grave, almost fearful, but the moment passed quickly.

She led the way once we were under the cover of the trees, but when we reached the spot where the grave should have been, I was shocked to see that it was gone. There was nothing there.

“No,” I said in disbelief. “It was right here.”

I could barely speak as I stared openmouthed at the spot where the grave should have been. Lexi and Dorian glanced furtively at each other. I could tell they thought I was crazy.

“Right here,” I insisted, pointing at the spot where the marker had been. “You have to believe me.”

Lexi shook her head while Dorian slowly walked the area, a careful eye trained on the ground.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“I’m trying to see where the ground may have been disturbed, but I’m not finding anything.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice shaking. “How could it just disappear?”

“You must have imagined it,” said Lexi. “Have you been getting enough sleep? Perhaps you are working too hard.”

“I’m not sleep-deprived, and I didn’t imagine it. I know what I saw.”

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “there is nothing here now, so we should be heading back.”

“No. It was here. We need to dig.”

Lexi shook her head. “We should head back. There is no grave. You were seeing things, I’m afraid.”

I held up an authoritative hand, and when I did, I was surprised to see them both flinch, as if I somehow held the power in the situation—which perhaps I did.

Probably even places like Hildegard didn’t want a social media controversy on their hands.

“Everyone keeps telling me these woods are dangerous, but no one has told me why exactly. I saw a wolf here earlier—right here like it was guarding the grave. Is that what everyone is so afraid of? Wolves?”

“No. There are no wolves here.”

“But I saw one.”

“It must have been a dog.”

“There’s no way in hell that thing was a dog.”

“A coyote, then,” Lexi said definitively, and then she turned and started walking back through the woods toward campus.

“Lexi is right,” said Dorian. “We shouldn’t linger.”

As he spoke, I noticed some fallen leaves begin to pick up and dance lightly along the ground.

A strange wind blew through the trees, and there was a shift to the energy in the air.

Above us, shadows drifted across the sky, and although I knew all this probably was an indication of an approaching storm, in my bones I felt something else, something ancient and malevolent breathing down my neck.

“Look,” I said, running my hand through my hair in frustration, “you have to see this from my point of view. I’ve been told that this woman left recently and no one has seen or heard from her since. Now I find a grave with her name on it in the woods. You can understand how I might be alarmed?”

“But there is no grave here,” said Dorian as if he were talking to a confused child.

“I can see that now, but there was. And it wasn’t just a grave. It had weird inscriptions, something about an Ancient One, and a symbol associated with the horned god. Why would I make something like this up?”

“I’m not saying you are,” he said. “But it must be some kind of prank.”

“A prank? Who would think this is funny?”

But he had nothing to say to that.

I held his gaze. “So Dr. Casimir isn’t dead?”

He shook his head.

“Swear to me on whatever it is you hold most holy—swear to me she isn’t dead.”

Gracefully he slipped a hand over his heart. “I swear to you on the breath of the Mother, Isabelle is not dead.”

A cold wind flitted across my brow.

“The Mother?” I whispered. “Who the hell is the Mother?”

A noise came from behind us, something I couldn’t identify—a strange grunt, a low growl.

Gently he grasped my forearm. “We should go.”

Later, I would kick myself for giving in to the flight impulse that consumed me in those woods, but in the moment, I was so gripped by otherworldly terror that getting back to the cabana suddenly became the only thing that mattered to me.

We hurried along the path—never running, but walking very quickly.

When we reached the opening, I turned and stared back into the recesses of the forest, but all I saw were lush green ferns and creeping lianas.

“Dorian,” I said, never taking my eyes from the woods, “what the hell is in there?”

“I told you.” He touched me gently on the shoulder. “Bears. Coyotes. It’s not safe.”

I pulled away. “I know what I saw in there. It was a grave. Now give me an explanation or I’m going to alert the authorities.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do what you want, but there is no grave. Call the police. Call the FBI. There is no grave in those woods. Isabelle Casimir did not die.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“You’re shaking. Let’s get you inside. Make you some tea.”

Frustrated, I started walking toward the cabana, my mind racing.

Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong, and I needed some space to think.

As I walked, Dorian followed along behind me with the practiced repentance of a reluctant boyfriend.

When I reached my door, though, I had a sudden thought.

“That young woman from the village, Sabine étienne?” I said. “Did she ever come up here?”

He looked at me blankly. “Sabine étienne?”

“The one who was mauled by the bear.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. Why?”

“Why?” I balked. “Because it’s possible that Isabelle’s disappearance and Sabine’s death might be connected. You said as much yourself, remember?”

He looked away and I observed what I thought was a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“What is it you’re so afraid of?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, but his face contorted into a pained expression. “I’m not afraid.”

“I realized what those bottles in my basement were. People use them as protective magic. They’re supposed to deflect spiritual attacks. Why would Dr. Casimir think she was under spiritual attack? Is there something I should know about her?”

“I can’t speak for Isabelle, but I can tell you that belief in witchcraft and belief in science are not mutually exclusive.”

“I’m pretty sure they are. And I think we should all be a lot more concerned about what might have happened to Casimir, especially after what happened to Sabine étienne.”