I watched his throat bob with emotion he was suppressing. I chanced indecency—figuring the crowd was preoccupied by the corpse and not my lack of discretion—and gripped his gloved hand in my own quickly before letting go. Words needn’t be said. No matter how much death and destruction one encountered, it was never easy. Initially. But he was right. We would get through this. We’d done it several times before.

Ignoring the chaos breaking out around me, I steeled myself against the abhorrent image and divorced myself from my emotions. Lessons on tending a crime scene Uncle had instilled in me were now body memory—I didn’t need to think, simply act. This was a human specimen in need of study, that was all. Thoughts of the blood and gore and unfortunate loss of life were doors that closed simultaneously in my brain. The rest of the world and my fears and guilt faded away.

Science was an altar I knelt before, and it blessed me with solace.

“Remember,” Thomas glanced up and down the corridor, trying to block the body from passengers’ view, “it’s merely an equation that needs solving, Wadsworth. Nothing more.”

I nodded, then carefully removed my top hat and swept my long cream skirts behind me, folding away any extra emotions along with the soft fabric. My black and gold lace cuffs brushed against the deceased’s frock coat, its delicate structure a horrible contradiction to the rough stake protruding from his chest. I tried to not be distracted by the blood splatter across his starched collar. While I checked for a pulse I knew I wouldn’t find, I flicked my attention up to Thomas, noticing that his normally full lips were pressed into a thin line.

“What is it?”

Thomas opened his mouth, then shut it as a woman peered out from the adjacent compartment, a haughty tilt to her chin. “I demand to know the meaning of—o oh. Oh, my.”

She stared at the man heaped on the floor, gasping as if her bodice were suddenly restricting all airflow into her lungs. A gentleman from the adjacent booth caught her before she hit the ground.

“You all right, ma’am?” he asked in an American accent, gently slapping her cheek. “Ma’am?”

An angry cloud of steam hissed as the train screeched to a halt. My body swayed one way, then the next as the great force of propulsion stopped—the corridor chandelier clinking madly above. Its sound made my pulse race faster despite the sudden stillness of our environment.

Thomas knelt beside me, gaze fixed on the newly departed as he steadied me with his gloved hand and whispered, “Be on alert, Wadsworth. Whoever committed this act is likely in this corridor with us, watching our every move.”

A serpent, a winged serpent, and a dragon, c. 1600s.

ORIENT EXPRESS

KINGDOM OF ROMANIA

1 DECEMBER 1888

That very thought had also crossed my mind. We were aboard a moving train. Unless someone had leapt from between one of the cars and taken off running through the forest, they were still here. Waiting. Enjoying the spectacle.

I stood and glanced around, noting each face and cataloguing it for future reference. There was a mix of young and old, plain and gaudy. Male and female. My attention snagged on one person—a boy around our age with hair as black as mine—who shifted, tugging at the collar of his morning coat, his eyes flicking between the cadaver and the people surrounding him.

He appeared on the brink of a fainting spell. His nerves might have been from guilt or fear. He stopped shifting around long enough to meet my gaze, his water-filled eyes boring into mine. There was something haunted about him that set my pulse racing again. Perhaps he was acquainted with the victim at my feet.

My heart slammed into my sternum at the same time the conductor whistled a shrill warning to return to our compartments. In the seconds it’d taken to close my eyes and regain my composure, the nervous boy had gone. I stared at the spot where he’d been standing before turning away. Thomas shifted, his arm subtly brushing against my own.

We stood over the body, both silent in our own tumultuous thoughts while taking in the scene. I glanced down at the victim, stomach twisting.

“He’d already perished by the time we got our door open,” Thomas said. “There’s no amount of stitching that could make his heart whole again.”

I knew what Thomas said was accurate, yet I could have sworn the victim’s eyes fluttered. I took a deep breath to clear my mind. I thought of the newspaper article again. “The murder in Braşov was also an impalement,” I said. “I doubt very highly they’re two separate crimes. Perhaps the Braşov murderer was traveling to another city but found this opportunity too tantalizing to ignore.”

Though why choose this person to slay? Had he been a target before boarding?

Thomas watched everyone, his gaze calculating and determined.

Now that the corridor was clearing out, I could inspect the deceased for clues. I begged myself to see the truth before us and not get swept up in another fantasy of a corpse springing back to life. Judging from his appearance, the victim couldn’t have been more than twenty. Such a senseless loss. He was well dressed with polished shoes and an immaculate suit. His light brown hair had been carefully combed to one side and styled to perfection with pomade.

Nearby, a walking cane with a jeweled serpent head stared unseeingly at the lingering passengers ogling its former owner. That cane was striking. And familiar. My heart thudded as my focus trailed up to his face. I staggered against the wall, breathing deeply. I hadn’t paid attention during the initial chaos, but this was the man I’d been mistaken about earlier. It couldn’t have been more than ten or twenty minutes ago.

How he’d gone from alive and heading to the cigar car to dead outside my compartment was incomprehensible. Especially when he appeared so much like…

I closed my eyes, but the images stuck there were worse, so I stared at the entry wound and concentrated on the blood that was congealing and cooling.

“Wadsworth? What is it?”

I held a hand to my stomach, stalling. “Death is never easy, but there’s something… infinitely worse when someone young is taken.”

“Death’s not the only thing to fear. Murder is worse.” Thomas searched my face, then glanced at the body, his features softening. “Audrey Rose—”

I quickly turned away before he could put words to my affliction.

“See what you’re able to deduce, Cresswell. I need a moment.”

I felt him hovering behind me, lingering long enough that I knew he was picking his next words with extreme care, and tried not to tense. “Are you all right?”

We both knew he was asking about more than the deceased lying at my feet. It seemed as if I could be flung into the depthless dark of my emotions at any second. I needed to control the images haunting me both day and night. I faced him, careful to keep both my voice and expression steady. “Of course. Just getting my bearings.”

“Audrey Rose,” Thomas said quietly, “you don’t have to—”

“I am fine, Thomas,” I said. “I simply need some quiet.”

He pursed his lips but honored my wishes to not press the issue. I bent down once more, studying the wound and ignoring his uncanny resemblance to my brother. I needed to find my balance again. Locate that door to my emotions and seal it shut until my inspection was over. Then I could lock myself in my chambers and cry.

Someone gasped as I unbuttoned part of the victim’s shirt to better inspect the stake. Civilities were clearly more important than discovering any clues, but I didn’t rightly care. This young man deserved better. I ignored the people lingering in the corridor and pretended I was alone in Uncle’s laboratory, surrounded by formaldehyde-scented jars filled with tissue samples. Even in my imagination, the animal specimens blinked at me with their milky dead eyes, judging each move I made.

I flexed my hands. Focus.

The victim’s chest wound was even more gruesome up close. Bits of wood had splintered off, giving the appearance of brambles and their thorny stems. Blood dried nearly black around the stake. I also noticed two lines of dark crimson that had escaped from his mouth. Not surprising. Such an injury clearly caused massive internal bleeding.

If his heart hadn’t been pierced, he’d likely have drowned in his own life force. It was an exceptionally horrid way to die.

A pungent scent that had nothing to do with the metallic tang of blood wafted around the victim. I leaned over the body, trying to locate the offending odor, while Thomas eyed the remaining passengers surrounding us. Knowing he could glean clues from the living the way I could divine information from the dead soothed me.

Something poked from the corners of the deceased’s lips, catching my attention. For the love of England, I hoped this wasn’t something my mind had conjured up. I nearly tumbled onto the victim as I drew even closer. There was most certainly something bulky and whitish shoved into his mouth. It appeared to be organic in nature, perhaps rootlike. If I could only get within…

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The conductor had cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting from the end of the hall. His accent hinted that he was from France. Unsurprising, as we’d departed from Paris. “Please return to your cabins. Members of the royal guard need the area free from… contamination.”

He nervously glanced at the man in uniform beside him, who glared at the crowd until they crept back into their private quarters, shadows sinking into darkness.

The guard looked to be twenty-five or so. His hair was blacker than a starless night and was lacquered to his head. All angles, sharp lines, and cut features. Though he never changed his bland expression, tension coiled within him, a bow pulled taut enough to shoot and kill. I noticed hard muscle beneath his clothing and calluses on his—shockingly ungloved—hands as he lifted them and pointed for us to leave. He was a weapon honed by the Kingdom of Romania, ready to be set upon any perceived threat.

Thomas leaned close enough that his breath tickled the skin of my neck. “A man of few words, I see. Perhaps it’s the size of his… weapon that’s so intimidating.”