Page 58 of The Book of Blood and Roses

Hi, this is Aliz. Aliz Astra.

My lips betray me, twitching into a smile. I pinch my skin.How old am I?I order a flat white with three shots of espresso, and the student working behind the bar smiles, too. I wonder if he’s seen me with Aliz.

It’s already dark outside. When I open my chat with Aliz, I see her typing, but she doesn’t send a message. So, I write to her instead.

I’m searching the tunnels till midnight.

You can search after class.

Don’t get lost

Also, Faust says the med depart’s library will have the best anti-thirst options for me

I want to see her. The itch from the mark has spread down, across all thorns and lines, and all I can do to soothe it is dig my nails into my skin, but not scratch, because that’ll only make it worse. Once I’ve finished my coffee, I head into the underbelly of the campus, notebook in hand. As I walk along the Cat’s Tail, I remember my first meeting with Elia. She had blood on her hands. Tiny little wounds that vanished shortly after.

Now I know she’s immune to garlic. And may or may not know that I’m a vampire hunter.

My steps echo on the curved walls. The lamps perched on the stone become sparse, further and further apart, and after I’ve turned a dozen corners I realise I have no idea where I am. For all I know, I could be directly beneath Tynarrich Hall, or all the way out at the hunting lodge.

I feel panic climbing up my throat as the realisation hitsme.

I’m lost.

But it’s not just that. Something about these tunnels feels different. It’s only when I turn a third time, noticing the perfect arch of the ceiling, that I realise the floor is completely flat.

The meandering staircases and dusty classrooms are missing, and when I pull out my notebook to scribble the names of the tunnels, I realise they don’t have any. There are no scratches, no cracks. And most important, they don’t have electric or gas lamps.

All they have are candles, in perfect alcoves, dotting the way. All of them are lit, but the wax doesn’t seem to be melting, as though they’re frozen in time.

I don’t know what it is about this place that unsettles me, but my gut tells me something sinister happened down here, eons ago. Goosebumps cool the back of my neck, and I turn, trying to follow my makeshift map back to the Cat’s Tail. But the more I walk, the less sense my map makes.

I pick up speed, ignoring my racing heart, until I turn and come face-to-face with a dead end. For a split second, I expect a hand to reach through the stone and grab me, just as Aliz did in our shared dream. I breathe out, forcing myself to remain calm. And that’s when I see it, so light it’s barely visible.

Vines with intricate leaves, roses and thorns. It’s an engraving, but there’s something so lifelike to it that I can’t quite believe someone was able to craft it. I run my finger over the stone, and the dream haunts me again. I see the rosebush at the centre of the maze, flanked by four statues.

Another chill. The sensation that I’m being watched, even though there are no audible footsteps near me.I should get out of here.

Just as I think this, the engraving on the wall changes, thorned vines shifting into words:

A phiuthar ghràdhach,

Tha m’ fhuil agad.

Ach tha thu fhathast nad chadal.

“What—”

The stone moved.

And I think my eyes may be tricking me, that perhaps it’s a screen, but when I reach out to touch it, the words are solid.

I swallow hard and scribble it down, trying not to think of how this is possible. I don’t know Gaelic, but I recognise it enough from the cursive words they put under the names of train stations. I’m only halfway through the engraving when the words disappear, twisting into vines again. “Wait,” I protest, but the wall doesn’t care.

I stand there for a minute, waiting for the impossible to happen again. But it doesn’t. I peer down at my notebook, at thehalf-finished inscription and the new, oddly even lines of the last few tunnels, then start making my way back.

Twenty minutes later, I find myself standing right in front of the dead end again. A shiver runs through me. What if I can’t get out?

Sweat dots my forehead. I’ve always assumed that if I died, it would be at a vampire’s hands. Not lost in a maze. I keep walking, the ground still too flat. I wait to hear a student, or even an animal, anything that will tell me that I’m heading in the right direction.