A good spy always needed to be aware of three things: the passage of time, the viability of escape routes, and the presence of dead bodies. In that moment, Meg had definitely failed at least on one of those counts.

As her center of gravity pulled her forward in the dank tunnel, Meg's outstretched hand collided against the wall, but at least it prevented her from taking an even nastier fall. "Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed as the rough stone scraped up the skin of her palm, before shining the flashlight's beam down to examine the unforeseen obstacle.

Tiny particles of dust floated in the air as the unusual scene came into view. The term 'dead body' was an understatement. Judging by the tattered rags hanging off the desiccated skeleton, the unfortunate soul who had met their demise in the basement of the monastery had been there for decades if not for centuries.

In a humorously delayed reaction, Barb screamed.

"Stay quiet, will you?" Meg shushed her mother before kicking a shinbone out of the way. "It's obviously a fake, left over from a spooky tour or something."

Barb huddled closer to her daughter, squeezing Meg's shoulders from behind. "Are you sure?"

Meg held back a laugh at the realization that it took a trip halfway across the world to find her mother's weakness. "Positive," she lied. "Now let's keep moving. At this rate, we'll be spending eternity down here, too."

The windowless tunnel also had no offshoots, no turns, and no way out other than a single door at the far end. Although it lacked a locking mechanism, it wouldn't budge no matter how hard Meg pushed down on the handle.

"Stand back," she instructed, waving her mother away. Raising her foot, she kicked the wooden panel at just the right spot before it flew open. And while she had expected criticism for her aggressive method, she got instead a fifty-year old art historian blow past her like a mini tornado.

True to form, Barb didn't dwell long on her momentary panic, but used her well-tested methods of steering the conversation her way. "Oh, goodness. Look at this place. And you wanted me to stay behind," she said, trying to keep her ragged breathing even as she reveled in the sight of where they'd emerged.

Meg followed her out, her eyes squinting at the brightness. It wasn't just from extra light. The domed room was full of bling: golden mosaics from wall to ceiling, gilded trims, and sparkly silver accessories. The Medieval chapel was a venerable Mecca for an art historian, and Meg breathed a sigh of relief. It looked to be the perfect spot to park her mother while she scoped out the rest of the compound.

"Dive in, Mom," she said after making sure there weren't any baddies hiding in the dark corners. "The place is yours. Just don't break anything. I'll be back when I'm done with work."

"All right, honey," Barb said absentmindedly as she picked up the bejeweled chalice in the middle of the altar and flipped it upside down as if she were looking for a price tag.

As Meg slipped out the front, she pulled the wrought-iron key from inside and used it to lock the door from the outside. Unless someone used the same secret tunnel they'd entered through, her mother would be safe and sound until her return. Judging by the spacious layout of the numerous buildings surrounding the courtyard where she stood, that could take quite a while.

Tapping on her comms device, Meg checked-in. "Agent Finn, do you copy?"

"He's currently unavailable, Agent Capulet," SAL's measured reply came at once. "I will be assisting you in the meantime."

Meg shrugged. Although she'd never been handed off to the AI during a mission, SAL had always proven to be a valuable asset, and she was sure she'd be in good hands.

"Very well, SAL. Please give me a thermal read of the monastery grounds. Over."

"Besides you, there is one other person in the facility based on body temperature," SAL said.

Meg furrowed her brows. She knew that the place was officially closed for renovations and that the monks had temporarily moved to another location. But based on intelligence from CANDY, she'd been expecting to find the people behind Astrid Louisa von Alsace-Thuringen's kidnapping if not the Duchess' herself here. The single readout besides her own belonged to her mother, meaning that they were alone.

And that didn't feel right.

Taking as much care to stay silent and invisible, Meg drew a handgun from her bag. She hugged the walls as she proceeded to clear each room and building in an established matrix pattern. This wasn't the time to go rogue or rush. Thankfully, it seemed like she had the luxury of both time and access.

The layout and contents of the monastery appeared straightforward. The public spaces had places for worship, contemplation, and gathering. There was even a ubiquitous gift shop selling trinkets and souvenirs. After leaving a crisp bill on the counter, Meg slipped a refrigerator magnet replica of the place into her pocket.

The private areas also started off uneventful. Dormitories with multiple beds in each served as the monks' residence, while an industrial kitchen connected to an obvious dining room. But then there was the hall of weirdness.

That was the only way Meg could mentally describe the large room adjacent to the well-stocked library. It was the only room so far that she'd found locked, although a well-placed bullet solved that obstacle. Inside the windowless space, electric faux-candles lit wall sconces, already ratcheting up the creepy factor. But then came the artifacts.

With some resting in glass display cases and others just hanging on the walls, the increasingly stranger and stranger items quickly monopolized Meg's attention. There were swords and daggers, crossbows and stakes, along with maces and muskets. Although these were a bit unusual for the ascetic location, they weren't too out of the ordinary for a serious collector of antique weapons.

The assortment of stuffed werewolves were another story.

The taxidermied lycantropes mostly stood on their hind legs in all of their furry glory. With clawed hands reaching for the sky and teeth bared, they loomed over Meg as she walked by. A few were displayed on all-fours, mimicking a sort of gallop and one unfortunate specimen only had the chance to have his severed head mounted on the wall.

"What the hell?" Meg whispered as she examined the realistic fur on a russet beast. The craftsmanship was marvelous, and if she hadn't been positive that werewolves weren't just the stuff of legends, she might have believed that these were actually real.

The bang of the door as it flew open interrupted her musings. In the opening, two masked strangers, clad all in black, stood ready in fighting position.

"Hey SAL," she called to the high-tech assistant. "I thought you said there weren't any other people here."

"That's correct, Agent Capulet," the artificial voice confirmed with over-the-top cheer.

Meg cocked her gun. "Then who are these guys that just showed up?" she asked frantically before barrel rolling for cover.