11
The night was dark and cold. The mist had settled into the grass, tainting the air with a thickness that Jasper felt cling to his skin as he raced after Mistress Masen. She was fast; he gave her that. For someone so small, she could truly run well.
Jasper slipped a few times on slick cobblestones, but thankfully, he caught up to her before they reached the cemetery.
"Mistress," he panted. "What is it you hope to find?"
She was breathing hard as she set a brisk pace. "The dead are not walking," she said, shooting him a hard look. He shrugged lightly. "But if there have been more grave disturbances, that might mean some clue about my husband."
Jasper watched her warily. He didn't know which he found more disturbing: her disbelief in the Dead Witch or her belief that her husband was somehow involved in the grave disturbances.
He wished they had a lantern as they raced through the darkened streets. A candle … something. He felt too exposed in the dark night, in a village he was unfamiliar with.
Bella blazed ahead, unconcerned for trivial things like their safety.
The village was slightly bigger than hers, but she'd been here before, and she knew the general direction of the cemetery.
"Mistress, what is it you hope to find?" he repeated.
Jasper feared her answer, but his eyes flickered to her face anyway, waiting.
She didn't answer him, but he saw a shadow pass behind her eyes that had nothing to do with the darkness cloaking them.
They reached the cemetery and Jasper hesitated at the edge of the property. Mistress Masen barreled straight in, her skirts sweeping through the fog clinging to the dewy grass. He swore under his breath then crossed himself before following her into the land of the dead.
She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she figured she'd know it when she saw it—or hopefully, didn't see it. Unlike most people she knew, Bella did not fear the cemetery. She couldn't, being so involved in what her husband did for work. Cemeteries were more often thought of in her mind as galleries where her husband's work was worshiped and admired. Of course, most of the time his coffins were buried, never to be seen again, but the memory of them always endured.
She could feel the nervous energy rolling off the young apprentice as they navigated the thin paths of the cemetery. She wanted to soothe him, but she also wanted to reprimand him for distracting her.
Her sharp eyes scanned the ominous shapes through the mist, hunting. They navigated the cemetery, and she was starting to feel as if she would find no answers here when she froze, ice gripping her spine and freezing her lungs.
There, a few paces ahead of her—it was unmistakable. The scent of rot and decay, of putrefied flesh and freshly turned soil.
She took a steady breath, preparing herself to face whatever lay ahead in the fog.
Beside her, the young apprentice nearly relieved himself of his supper as he followed his mistress toward the upturned grave.
It was a terrible sight. His eyes scanned over the pieces of the wreckage, trying to make sense of the unimaginable. His eyes settled on strands of flaxen hair in the dirt in front of him. It was dull, lifeless hair, but it had probably once belonged to a young woman. It almost looked like his mother's hair, but it was a little paler. His eyes followed the strands, trying to soothe himself as he focused on them.
His eyes paused when they landed on the ends of the hair, the chunk of scalp that had been ripped from the body.
He understood too slowly, and when he realized what it was he stared at, he turned and emptied his stomach on the grass.
Bella commanded herself to stay rational, to be calm. The body was still very much in the coffin, though she'd been horribly handled, and in her state of decay, parts of her had flown off. Her head hung off her neck, broken and mangled like someone had ripped something from around her throat.
Bella's eyes turned from the mutilated corpse and focused on the coffin. She recognized it at once as her husband's work.
She sank to her knees, knowing what she had to do next, though she did not relish the task. She remembered the coffin, knew where to look, and her fingers slid along the lining, searching for the hidden opening. Her knuckles grazed the cold corpse, and she fought a shudder.
Her middle finger found the latch, and she quickly flicked it open.
The hidden compartment was empty, this woman's most prized possessions gone.
Bella felt her heart fall, her suspicions gaining further confirmation. Her eyes wandered the face of the dead girl, her gaze landing on the hollow sockets where her eyes once sat, on the torn hinge of her jaw, gaping in a silent scream.
"Mistress." Jasper groaned, gaining her attention. "We mustn't linger here."
Bella let out a breath and nodded, climbing to her feet. She cast her gaze once more on the girl whose life had been taken from her too soon, and now, who had also lost the dignity of her death.