Chapter Sixty-Three: Pursuing You in the Darkness

In the alchemy chamber, shrouded by the deep of night and punctuated only by silence, she glanced up at the clock on the wall. There was about an hour left before curfew—time enough to take her leave. Shani placed a palm on the opposite shoulder blade and, with her other hand, gently grasped her elbow, stretching in the opposite direction to ease the stiffness that had settled into her body after so many hours of reading.

The slight but unmistakable sound caught the attention of the chamber’s other occupant. He set aside his half-finished notes, stood up, interlaced his fingers, and stretched his arms overhead as far as they would go.

Taking the unfinished “Forensic Medicine” from the table, the doctor walked to the bookshelf and slid it back into place.

Victor spoke: “You know, you could take it home to finish. I trust you with my books.”

She shook her head, smiling softly. “It’s all right. Your reading room is more comfortable—quiet, with good chairs. Besides, these two books are rare. If I accidentally damaged them at home, I’d never forgive myself.”

She paused, then teased him with a half-serious, half-playful look. “Or are you saying you don’t want me coming over?”

He laughed. “Not a chance! Like I said, my door is always open to you.”

Their conversation carried them from the basement to the ground floor. Victor donned his leather armor, buckled on his steel sword, and slung the silver sword across his back. He placed the note he’d prepared earlier on the dining table, weighing it down beneath the pot of pork ragu.

“I’m escorting Doctor Shani home. If you get back and have eaten, go ahead and sleep. No need to wait for me tonight. I have permission to be out after curfew—I have some investigations to conduct.

—Vick”

Leaving the note, they both headed for the door, almost in perfect synchrony as they slung their herb satchels over their shoulders. Catching each other’s eyes, they exchanged a smile, amused by their shared habit of never being without their pouches.

…

As they walked, Shani recalled tonight’s dinner at Victor’s house. The meal had been simple—just ordinary Temerian ragu pasta, with three large pots for the pork sauce, noodles, and onion soup—but it was clear a great deal of care had gone into it.

She wasn’t much of a cook, but she knew good food. The noodles were cooked just the way she liked—firm but not hard. The onion soup was topped with Gruyère and croutons, a touch she appreciated.

Even the seemingly simple pork ragu required careful preparation: searing the meat until slightly caramelized, then braising it with tomatoes, garlic, and chicken broth to unlock its full flavor.

“Thank you,” she said. “You remembered my preference after only one mention.”

Victor blinked, understanding at last that she meant the firmness of the pasta—she liked it a little al dente.

For Victor, who had some “experience in relationships” from a past life, remembering the little things a beautiful woman let slip was second nature.

“It’s nothing, really. I like my pasta a bit firmer, too. Angouleme doesn’t care—so long as it tastes good, she’s happy.”

The subject turned to Angouleme. Shani asked, “She’s not home this late—are you sure she’ll be all right?”

“She’ll be fine. We agreed she’d be home before curfew. I’m not worried.”

“But isn’t it dangerous to let her investigate the city gate guards alone?”

“I’m not concerned—others should be. With Catherine at her side, plus her wild instincts, she’s almost immune to trouble. She was home this afternoon, anyway—finished off the roast chicken I left at noon.”

Hearing his confidence, Shani relaxed. She was fond of that spirited, tomboyish girl.

“You don’t really need to walk me home. The Temple District is safe enough, and I’m hardly a fragile maiden,” she said.

Victor didn’t reply. As a doctor with a long knife at her waist, she could handle herself under normal circumstances. But knowing their neighbor was a werewolf, he wasn’t about to let her walk home alone.

Soon, they reached Shani’s rented lodgings—slightly earlier than last time—giving her elderly landlady the chance to raise her candle and scrutinize Victor’s height and features.

He paid her no mind. After a brief farewell to Shani, he strode off at a brisk pace.

He had business to attend to, as he’d mentioned in his note to Angouleme. He possessed a “late-night activities permit,” courtesy of Siegfried of the Order of the Rose.

This would allow Victor to enter the Vizima cemetery to investigate and deal with the “ghoul” problem.

…

“Night falls, beware the ghoul,
East and west, it feeds so cruel,
If you’re near, you’ll be its food,
So mind yourself, or end up chewed.”

—Nursery Rhyme

…

“Is that so? I understand… Thank you for answering my questions and for the warning. I’ll take this set of keys and return them tomorrow.”

In the small guardhouse outside Vizima Cemetery, Victor—an unexpected visitor late at night—first offered a jug of strong liquor to loosen the “gravedigger’s” tongue, then a few orens to ensure complete candor.

The man looked about thirty, though his hair was already white, his body sturdy and muscular beneath coarse gray cloth. The stench of corpses clung to him—a result of too much work and too many recent burials.

With the city under quarantine and the swamp cemetery inaccessible, only plague victims were cremated and buried at Saint Lebioda’s Hospital. All other dead were interred in Vizima Cemetery.

After discovering that several newly buried bodies had been unearthed and mutilated, he’d alerted the city guard immediately. The great iron gate to the cemetery had been locked at night ever since, opened only during the day to avoid further danger.

“It’s fine, you take the keys! I’ve got spares. But be careful in there. I actually saw them from a distance—real ghouls.” Recalling the sight made the gravedigger’s arm tremble.

…

Ghouls—as the name suggests, monsters that feast on corpses. They haunt graveyards, burial mounds, or any place where the dead are laid to rest; the stench of putrefying flesh is a delicacy to them.

…

Victor unlocked the iron gate, entered, and closed it behind him. At night, no one would call a cemetery a welcoming place. Amid the cawing of a few night crows, he moved quietly, following the directions the gravedigger had provided.

He hadn’t gone far when, as a witcher apprentice, he found them—or rather, they found him.

They had arms and legs like humans, but moved on all fours like dogs or badgers. Their faces were grotesque, and any attempt to discern emotion, reason, or even a spark of awareness in them was utterly futile.

They were driven by one instinct alone: “An insatiable appetite for human flesh.”

Slowing his pace, Victor crept closer.

There were three of them, crouched on the ground, feasting at an invisible banquet. When driven by hunger, a ghoul’s senses sharpen to predatory levels, and they will attack any living thing without hesitation.

But with their heads buried in their meal, they paid Victor no mind.

“Only fire, silver, and bright sunlight can harm them. Fearing sunlight, they hunt only at night.” As Victor recalled the lore he’d read, he compared it to the unsettling scene before him.

Though ghouls share many human physical traits, they and their monstrous kin—graviers and alghouls—are actually “conjunction creatures” from another world. In other words, their existence violates the laws of nature.

Victor halted, not rushing to attack. He weighed his options—he didn’t want to strike and find he’d kicked a hornet’s nest, only to be swarmed by seven or eight ghouls joining the feast.