The next day, Lady Rosemary slept. 

Agnes had been given no instruction as to what, exactly, she ought to do when Lady Rosemary was not around. This suited her quite well. 

Though Aster had given her a small tour and introduced her to the staff all at once, it barely scratched the surface of what Agnes knew had to exist. How many side rooms had she missed? What secrets did this castle hold? There were a thousand years waiting to be uncovered, and she was the one to do it.

Agnes began her search in the cloister. During the day, the glowing night-flowers drooped, dull and grey as the stones that hid them. Out an ornate door, she found the parts of the castle that she had already seen: an impressive foyer, a dining room, and a kitchen, cut away slightly from the rest of the house, presumably to reduce the fire risk.

In the other direction, she found a sitting room, its ornate furniture settled around a decorative, low table. There were several tea sets on a shelf to the side. Agnes frowned. If this place truly was so old and unchanging, then why order new cutlery? And who was bringing it?

Perhaps, Agnes thought, it came from whatever humans were supplying blood.

She continued her sweep of the castle into its next quadrant. Here came a long hallway, lined with windows and decorative furniture. 

And there was something curious. It was shocking, the amount of open windows in this place. Was this not a vampiric abode? Were these not creatures of darkness? Agnes was certain she had seen many a vampire hide away in the shadows, and yet the windows here were never fully covered, either stained in bright colors or draped with sheer blinds. 

On one end of the hallway, she discovered a library, its walls lined with books. A comfortable-looking chair was settled by the window, across from a writing desk. It was a soft place. For once, she found herself tempted to stop and read a while.

But Agnes had work to do, as she did each and every day.

Turning away from the library, she strode to the door on the other side of the hall, and pressed her hand against it. 

Nothing happened. 

The door was locked, and shut tight. Agnes knelt and brought her eye up to the keyhole, but all she could see on the other end was a terrible, pitch darkness. 

“What are you doing?”

The voice that interrupted Agnes was not one she had heard before. Startled, she rose to her feet and turned.

There before her stood a maid. Her skin was dark– darker than Agnes’– and her textured, black hair had been pulled into buns on either side of her head. The woman wore no veil. Shifting the stack of books in her arms, she sighed, then gave an expectant look.

“My apologies,” Agnes began, pressing a hand to her heart, “you understand that I am new here.”

“Yes?”

“I had wanted to learn the layout of this place. And I had heard there was a library somewhere in this corridor.”

“That would be the other door,” the woman said. “Follow me.”

As she led Agnes across the hall at a brisk pace, the woman kept outside of the direct rays of the sun. Yet her gaze drifted towards the windows with a yearning expression, one that Agnes just barely could catch.

“Here is the library,” the woman said, “lucky you I was here, or I expect you’d have been trying to enter the tower all day.” As she pushed her back against the half-open door, her voice warmed in its tone. “You werewolves are so stubborn.” 

“Do you know many werewolves?” Agnes asked.

“Knew,” said the woman. “I suppose you might have met her? She should only be a few centuries old. Her name is Marie.”

Agnes blinked. “I’m afraid I do not know such a lady, but I never had a pack. I was surrounded by hunters.”

The woman winced. “I can’t imagine that was easy. One hears so many terrible things about hunters these days. But I shan’t force you to remember such details. Here is the library!”

“Wow,” Agnes breathed, “it’s so large.” It was not too difficult to pack her voice with enough wonder that it seemed she was seeing the room for the very first time.

“Isn’t it?” the woman preened. “And I take care of it all. I have for centuries.” The woman placed the books on a nearby table, then held out a hand. “But I’m forgetting myself. Please, call me Minerva.”

Agnes took her hand. It was as delicate as paper. “Lovely to meet you, Minerva. Call me Agnes.”

Minerva smiled. “I already know who you are. Everyone does.”

“And yet I cannot eschew politeness. I must say hello to everyone at some point or another.”

“I suppose you must. Well, I for one am pleased to meet you.” With a quirk of her lips, Minerva selected the first book from the table. It was a new volume, one of the romance books that was becoming popular in Cordis. All the volumes were new, in fact, with glossy gold thread decorating their covers.

“Are those for Lady Rosemary?” Agnes asked.

“Heavens, no.” Minerva said. “Who would bother her with such an earthly, mortal thing as books? No, no, those are a young vampire’s purview. I am only a few centuries old.”

Agnes raised an eyebrow. “How can you stand to work here that long?”

“As a werewolf, is it not your goal to do the same? Why go down there, where hunters stalk the streets, when you can stay safe here, and out of danger? The employment is stable, the pay is good, and the rooms are spacious.”

“Even for servants?”

“Even for servants.”

“My apologies,” Agnes said. “I am only a few decades old. I... was not aware that werewolves lived so long.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Minerva sighed. “You live among the riff raff in that terrible city. With all the hunters about, one can’t expect long-lived night creatures to be... common.”

“I suppose not,” Agnes said.

Holding her hands behind her back, she let them curl into fists.

Just how long would her life be? She had thought werewolves to have normal, human lifespans. This was news.

“It is a good thing that you are safe here,” said Miverna, reaching into her apron pocket and retrieving a round set of glasses. “It would have been a pity to lose someone so pleasant to the hunters.”

If you care so much, Agnes thought, unbidden, then why don’t you just let all of the night creatures come stay in safety, instead?

“I am happy that I am here,” Agnes said. 

Minerva placed her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Yes, yes, we are pleased to have you. But if you do not mind, I must get to work sorting these.”

Agnes blinked. “Of... course.” She turned to leave, but a thought gave her pause.

“Miss Minerva,” she asked, “why is it that you are wandering in the day, without protection, if you are a vampire?”

For a moment, no sound came from behind her. Then: “go on your way, werewolf. I have had enough of your questions.”

Agnes left in silence, stopping only a moment on her way back to the cloister to glance at the tower door. Sitting in darkness, it almost seemed to loom over her the same way the castle had, when she had first arrived.

She would have to find a way in.

Every locked place had a secret. She was determined to find them all. 

In the meantime, Agnes returned to the central cloister. There were still too many doors to explore, each one leading somewhere new and different. It was odd to think of a fortress as akin to a small city, and yet here she stood in the middle of one, the sun beginning its lazy descent down the sky.

Soon the world would be washed in gentle golds. Agnes had always loved this time of day, before everything fell into night. It occurred to her, suddenly, that she was going to see far, far more sunsets than she had ever thought.

All it had taken was becoming a beast.

Was this why so many seemed to turn themselves? Eternal life? And yet it did not seem worth it to risk the wrath of the hunters. Perhaps there was some other reason then, that people sought out such a state. Agnes had only ever imagined it to be selfish. 

Even upon becoming a werewolf, she had stayed true to her task, no matter how much her affliction led her to hunger.

Never once had she considered the other side.

Now it seemed difficult not to. Minerva had spoken so readily of the terror of hunters, despite not having faced it in centuries. Rosemary too, had urged Agnes not to call herself something so terrible as a beast.

Agnes placed a hand on her heart. It was beating far too fast. She remembered this feeling. It came with such a terrible sensation, with memories bathed in red. Her claws curled into her skin; how dare they, she thought. How dare they say anything at all of what life in Cordis was like? How could these ancient, distant creatures possibly understand?

A terrible place, Minerva had called it. 

Agnes’ home was not terrible.

Cordis was beautiful. It was vibrant and full of life and full of humans. They had no defenses against night creatures who could not master themselves. Agnes had dedicated her life to supporting them.

It was something even a terrible beast like her could do.