Camille (4 page)

“I did.” The frown on my face must have been
plain to see.

Dr. Bennett stared down at his hands. “I
see.”

I reached across the table and placed my hand
over his. “You had no choice, John. He would have killed others.
Better to be dead than a murderous beast. Right?”

He squeezed my hand, and I sat back. Dr.
Bennett poured cream into his coffee and stirred it three times
like always. “All the more reason to find this boy, Strider.”

I took a sip of my own lukewarm coffee. “Yes,
bring the next murderous beast here, by all means.”

He leaned forward. “Hear me out, Camille.
I’ve been looking at the lad’s cells all morning. I am convinced he
is not completely altered…yet.”

“But it’s dangerous.”

He took one bite of his egg and swallowed.
“Who is this staid, dull girl sitting across from me? Where is your
sense of adventure, Camille?”

“I am the same impulsive and silly girl. I
just prefer not to bring a werewolf into our home.” I stared down
at my cup. The cream had produced an iridescent sheen on the
surface.

My gaze lifted. Dr. Bennett had that I can
read your thoughts look on his face. It was not always easy living
with a genius. “Sometimes, you ask too much of me.”

“Courage has never eluded you before,
Camille. Stop convincing yourself otherwise.”

“Courage is a fickle friend. One day it’s
there for you, and the next it has disappeared like a snowflake on
hot coals.” That I knew first hand.

Dr. Bennett stood from his chair and walked
to the window. “What if we could help this boy, Strider?” He walked
over and put his hands on the back of my chair. “We must think of
him in purely scientific terms. No emotional attachment. He will be
a specimen to study, and in the long run, if we can save him…”

I twisted back and looked up at him. “And if
we can’t? What right do we have to make him a specimen?” I stood
now and began clearing the plates that we’d barely touched. My
hunger had diminished without a bite. “And what will we tell him?
Pardon us, but we need to poke you with needles to find out whether
you’re a full-fledged shape-shifter or merely stuck at some hideous
stage between human and beast.”

He looked at me with thoughtful blue eyes.
“We tell him that without us, his fate is sealed, and he has less
than a month to live.” He walked to the table and nonchalantly
picked up the cups as if he’d just recited the recipe for
gingerbread.

My insides churned as if someone had taken an
eggbeater to them. As outlandish as the whole scheme was, it
brought with it the hope of ending our midnight hunts. “Am I really
staid like old Mrs. Bruner next door?”

“Not quite. That type of starched composure
takes years of practice.”

We carried the plates down to the kitchen.
“Today is visiting day at Bethlem. Tomorrow, I’ll make a trip to
Buck’s Row and look for our finger-slicing, grave robber. Perhaps I
can convince him that he needs our help.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Do not forget your parcel,” Dr. Bennett
called from his lab and stuck his head out into the hallway. “I
have a letter for your sister.” He outstretched his hand, and I
grabbed the wax sealed missive from it. As always, Emily’s name was
written hastily on the front with an oversized E. I had no idea
what his letters to Emily contained. He never spoke about the
contents, and she never read them in my presence.

“Are you walking to Bethlem?”

“The paper, where did I lay it last?” I
leaned over the umbrella stand and found the stack of sugar and
Cobb paper tucked behind it. I grabbed the twine that held it in a
bundle and plucked it from its hiding spot. “Yes, I’m walking. The
fog has lifted, and the view from Westminster Bridge should be
splendid. Besides, it’s too early for visiting hours.”

“Be careful. The carriage traffic is heavy at
this hour.”

“I hadn’t actually planned to walk down the
center of the road.”

“Such an amusing girl.” He disappeared back
into his lab.

The dawn mist had lifted leaving behind a
crisp, blue sky and a glacial breeze. My shoulders inched up closer
to my ears. My eyes watered from the cold, blurring the silhouette
of the parliament building. Barges meandered beneath the squat
arches, producing long turrets of smoke that snaked up before
scattering in the gusty morning air. The crystal view was well
worth the walk, but for most of the journey, I kept my face down to
shield it from the biting wind.

Bethlem Hospital, with its magnificent dome
and columns, looked as imposing as Westminster. But in the
parliament building, self-important men flew through the halls in
long, black coats making decisions about critical matters. Here, at
the hospital, curables and incurables shambled through the halls in
white gowns trying to decide whether or not they mattered. Even
though it was visiting day, the place was near to deserted.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

“Sarah, it’s me, Camille. I’m here to see
Emily.”

Sarah lifted her plump frame from the chair
and glanced over her desk. “It is you. I don’t believe I’ve ever
seen you in a dress.”

“Is my sister back in her room?” I had no
interest in discussing my wardrobe.

She waved her hand toward the hallway that
led to the female ward. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.”
She laughed. “That is if she recognizes you.”

I pretended to be amused and headed to
Emily’s room. One worker pushed a carpet sweeper around the feet of
the patients who lingered on the varnished benches, while another
watered the green plants cascading from the sconces on the wall.
Not many years back, the floor would have been covered with filth
rather than an immaculate rug, patients would have been shackled to
the walls rather than moving freely about, and the only thing green
would have been the porridge served at supper.

My fingers rapped lightly on the door.

“Come in.”

I sighed with relief when the voice on the
other side sounded cheery.

Emily smiled. She was thinner, which made her
round, blue eyes look like saucers in her small face. Her pale
yellow hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. With
her starched white shift and fair skin, she nearly vanished into
the whitewashed walls of the room.

“I haven’t woken them yet.” My sister walked
to her window. “We were waiting for you.”

She drew back the curtain and pushed the
window open a crack allowing in enough breeze to blow life across
the room. Hundreds of blue wings twittered on the backs of paper
fairies as they clung to the delicate chains circling the room, and
we were no longer standing in a place called Bedlam. We were in a
mystical forest, Emily’s forest of sugar paper creatures.

“You’re wearing a dress.”

“Why does everyone feel the need to state the
obvious this morning?” I tossed the bundle of colored paper onto
her bed and placed Dr. Bennett’s letter on top.

“It seems rather odd, that’s all. But you
should wear dresses more often. It makes you look more mature.”

My sister Emily had been born eleven minutes
before me, and she’d convinced herself that those few extra moments
gave her the imperious rights of older sister.

“I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

She rolled her eyes at my sarcastic tone,
picked up the pack of papers, and pocketed the letter. “Could you
not find red?”

I shook my head. “Not even from the book
binder. Why don’t you make her hair brown? I brought some coffee
colors.”

Emily walked to her dresser and lifted a
delicate paper sculpture from the top drawer. “Her name is Aidan
which means little, fiery one. Brown hair will not do.”

I flopped onto the bed. “Fine. I will look
for red. If only I had such immense things to worry about.”

“Forgive me for being a nuisance,” Emily said
and tucked the hairless fairy back into the drawer. “There was an
incident last night, wasn’t there? I nearly scratched myself raw.”
She pushed back her sleeve and showed me her forearm. Her crescent
shaped scar was surrounded by red skin. After my father’s death,
she had carved a quarter moon into her forearm with a knife. She’d
done the same to mine, and I’d let her because she was the older
sister, and even though I was considered the strong one, she made
all the decisions. We had rubbed the cuts together to show our
never ending devotion to each other. But that promise had ended
when she’d abandoned me for this place.

“Dr. Bennett handled it.” I rarely spoke of
our midnight hunts with Emily. “Are you reading anything new?”

Emily adjusted several of the fairies so
their wings would get the full effect of the morning breeze. “I
picked up one dreadful novel after another and couldn’t finish any
of them. So I’m reading Austen again.”

“Perhaps I’ll bring you enough paper to
sculpt yourself a Mr. Darcy.”

“A paper man. How romantic. And when I tire
of him, I can just crumple him into a huge ball.” Emily sat on the
bed next to me, pulled free my white hunk of hair, and weaved it
into a tight plait. “What’s the matter, Cami? Was it very bad last
night?”

I rested my head on her bone thin shoulder.
“There was a victim last night, a mere bite, so we’re quite sure he
survived. John thinks he could provide us with answers.” I lifted
my head and glanced at the nightstand where my father’s journal had
been locked away for years.

“What kind of answers?”

I stood and walked to the pitcher of water on
her dresser. “Answers to how the universe began, Emily, what do you
think? A cure, Dr. Bennett is searching for a cure.” The water
cooled my dry throat. I had not meant to be rude, but occasionally,
I became angry that I was out there in the ugly world, and she was
in here hiding from it.

“Who was this victim?” Emily asked.

I shrugged and tapped one of the fairies with
my finger. The blue winged sprite twirled around as if dancing.
“Some lad who lives on the streets. Makes money by stealing from
dead people.”

“Less chance of being caught, I suppose. Is
he young?”

“Seventeen or eighteen perhaps.”

Emily untied her new bundle of paper and
sifted through the assortment. “Do you think it wise to get to know
this victim? After all you will probably be faced with--”

“Killing him,” I finished for her. “Dr.
Bennett has been stalled with his study. He needs more evidence.
And since we don’t have father’s journal…”

Emily was practiced at ignoring things she
didn’t want to hear. She continued categorizing the squares into
piles according to color and size. My mention of the journal swept
past her unheeded. Nothing would make her part with father’s
journal.

“’Tis a foolish endeavor, to be sure. There
is no stopping the cycle.”

“Spoken with the confidence of a true expert,
Emily.” I fingered some of her creations. “Tell me, who supplies
you with all this unfaltering knowledge. Is it little Ciara here?”
I traveled along the chain and pointed out several. “Or, mayhap, it
was Fayette or Elgar.” I glanced at her and saw that color had
flooded into her cheeks. I dropped my hand. “Forgive me, Em, but
you have no idea what it is like.”

She walked to her dresser, pulled out a
shawl, and threw it around her shoulders. “I have some idea,
Camille. But don’t forget, you’re the strong one.”

Her last words stung as they were meant to,
and only she and I knew the reason why.

My sister grabbed hold of my hand. Her skin
felt clammy. “I could use a little exercise,” she said. “Let’s take
a turn round the ward.”

Two nurses swept past us. “Is it Frances
again?” Emily called to them as they rushed on.

“Aye,” one of the nurses called back over her
shoulder.

“Poor Frances,” Emily sighed. “She is always
convinced that she is choking on her food. She hardly ever eats for
fear that she will die from it. She’s grown terribly thin.”

I peeked over at my sister who was literally
skin wrapped over bones and wondered what she might consider to be
terribly thin. “Why don’t they feed her soup?” I asked. “It would
be difficult to choke on broth.”

She shook her head. “You would think. But
Frances sputtered and coughed the entire time they spooned it into
her.”

“Perhaps it’s not in her head. Perhaps she
has some unseen malady that does not allow her to swallow
properly.”

Emily squeezed my hand and directed me to a
bench in front of a large window. “Perhaps. But I think it is more
likely that she is deranged.”

Sunlight streamed in through the window and
onto Emily’s face. We were twins, but we looked nothing alike. She
was the fair-haired beauty, and I was the dark-haired exotic, a
phrase my father drummed up for me so I would not feel left out
when people marveled at Emily’s appearance. The bench we sat on
reminded me of the park bench we rested on the day she told me she
could no longer function outside of the hospital walls. “Deranged?
Is that the category you’ve placed yourself in now?”

“Not deranged, just inappropriately suited
for normal life.”

I laughed. “If you are referring to life
outside these walls as normal, you’ve been holed up here too
long.”

The large door at the end of the hall swung
open and a young man walked through carrying a small table. Emily
released my hand and smoothed a few stray hairs back from her
forehead. A grin erupted at the side of her mouth. The man
approached us.

“Will this do, Miss?” he asked.

“That is perfect, Samuel,” Emily answered in
an uncharacteristically soft tone.

He smiled. “I’ll put it in your room.”

Emily stared up at him with her disarming,
blue gaze, and Samuel nearly fell backwards with the table. “Under
the window would be perfect.”

“Right away, Miss.” He hurried off.