Her Dark Curiosity (27 page)

“I’ll go tonight,” Montgomery said. “Balthazar and I.”

“He’ll never come if he knows you’re there. We need some sort of enticement, while you stake him out from afar.”

“What do you propose, a raw hunk of meat?” Montgomery asked wryly.

“Not meat.” I hesitated. “Me.”

Montgomery shook his head forcefully. “Absolutely not. You sound like Radcliffe, proposing to use yourself as bait.”

“You know it’s our best chance,” I said. “We know he’s been following me. We know he wants me; and there, where it’s so much like the island, he won’t be able to resist.”

“But there’s no guarantee Edward will show up as himself. There’s a good chance he’ll have transformed into the Beast.”

“Then we’ll be ready for either.”

Montgomery paced, considering this, but shook his head. “He’ll sense it’s a trap. He’ll smell Balthazar and me there.”

“Not if you stand downwind, outside the glass. You can see right through the walls. I’ll leave a door propped open, so you can rush in and capture him.” For an instant I felt as though I were giving him order in the same way Father used to, as though he were still a servant.

It’s not like with Father,
I thought.
He and I are partners in this.

“And take him where?” Montgomery asked.

“Here. There’s a stone cellar in the basement that is quite soundproof.”

“What do we tell Elizabeth?”

“Whatever we must. It doesn’t matter nearly as much as capturing Edward before they do. She’s a strong woman. She’ll be able to handle it.”

“I still don’t like it,” Montgomery said.

I rubbed the delicate bones on the back of my hand, which had started to grind together on their own accord. It was a terrible time for my illness to be setting in, so soon after the last bout, which had laid me out for three days. “We don’t have any other choices.”

Montgomery paced, back and forth, and at last gave a curse. “When?”

I swallowed. “Tonight.”

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TWENTY-NINE

A
T NIGHT, THE
R
OYAL
Botanical greenhouse had lost its splendor. Sunlight no longer reflected off the thousands of glass panes. No glow of a lantern came from within. It was a fragile castle of shadows and frost, and it was the last place in the world I wanted to be.

I scaled the fence with my skirt hitched around my waist, as Montgomery and Balthazar circled the garden in the carriage to climb over from the opposite side. The row of stone gargoyles glowed white in the moonlight, sentry to the secrets within, as I raced through the gardens and pulled open the heavy door.

The warmth eased the stiffness from my joints. Boilers churned beneath my feet, pumping steam that obscured palms into dark lurking shapes. I heard nothing but the rustle of leaves, the babbling of the stream. I slid out the knife as sweat dripped down my temple.

The spiral staircase to the catwalk looked skeletal at night, a twisting iron hand reaching to the domed ceiling. I gripped the railing and started up the stairs, which swayed as I moved, and climbed onto the high catwalk that allowed me to see the entire greenhouse at once.

It was even warmer here, where the heat had risen. This high, I could look through the glass roof to see the lights of London. Somewhere out there Lucy dined with her parents, trying to hide the fact that she knew her father was a conspirator. Elizabeth slept soundly, unaware we’d snuck out of the house. Thousands of people who didn’t deserve to die did thousands of normal things.

I kept walking until a splash of white far below caught my eye, and I paused. It was a grotto, tucked behind a spray of ground palms, hidden from view among the pathways.

I gripped the catwalk railing and peered closer. The grotto was blanketed with little white flowers—
Plumeria selva.

I ran back down the spiral stairs, footsteps echoing in the cavernous glass room. I hurried along the stone paths and pushed through the colorful sprays of birds-of-paradise until the grotto opened before me. My breath caught.

I was standing in the middle of a bed of
Plumeria selva,
the source of all of the blood-tinged flowers that had been the murder’s grisly calling card.

I had found the den of the Beast.

A twig snapped behind me. When I turned, Edward stood amid the palms.

T
HE
E
DWARD
I K
NEW
was gone—slipping away like a fallen leaf taken by the babbling brook. But neither was the man in front of me the snarling monster who had clawed my shoulder. His eyes were cast with a yellowish tint, the hair on his arms darker. He was trapped somewhere between man and Beast, just as I was caught in my illness’s icy grip.

“Edward,” I whispered.

I glanced toward the glass wall, hoping for a glimpse of Montgomery. With luck he’d already be rushing for the door, ready to tackle Edward to the ground. Muscles ripping, Edward bent over to pick up heavy iron chains that made my stomach twist. I’d dreamed once of Edward freeing me from chains; now he was poised to trap me with them.

I raised the knife, but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said. “It’s hard enough to keep him at bay, with him whispering in my ear. The transformations are quick now. If you threaten me, I won’t be able to contain him.”

“This is a trap, Edward,” I whispered. “Montgomery will be here any moment.”

“I know,” he said calmly, to my surprise, and threw the chains across the brook, where they clattered at my feet. “The chains aren’t for you. They’re for me. I read the headlines about the professor’s murder.” He paused, seeming to war within himself. “When the Beast was killing people who had wronged you, it was easier to forgive his crimes. But I know now that he’s grown too strong. I can’t contain him myself any longer. Now hurry and chain me to that tree. I don’t know how long I can hold him off.”

I stared at him, wondering if he could be believed. I shrieked as he leaped over the brook with unnatural grace, afraid he was attacking, but he only pressed his back up against a palm tree.

“Hurry,” he said.

I scrambled to my feet, fumbling to wrap the chain around him as tight as I dared, though each time around he grunted, “Pull it tighter,” until the links tore at his clothing. I secured the chains in place with the thick padlock I’d given him, and looked into his eyes.

They shone with an ungodly glow.

“Now back away from me,” he said, as his voice grew deeper. “And whatever you do, no matter what he tells you, don’t unlock these chains.”

I scrambled back to the grotto, falling among the flowers. Where was Montgomery? He should have been here by now. I had seen Edward transform before, once in Father’s barn, and once in my attic, but this time, amid the palm trees and vines, it seemed even more savage. I looked on in horror as pain wracked him, as his hands split open and seeped blood to allow his claws to emerge, as his swelling muscles strained to split the seams on his shirt. His nails turned black. His hair turned darker, grew longer.

I crawled backward, heart throbbing.

Edward’s head hung and for a moment all I could hear was him breathing, breathing.

Why didn’t he speak?

“Edward?” I whispered. “Can you still hear me?”

The chains groaned under the restricted movements of his chest. I could smell him now, a mixture of sweat, the iron chains, and a deep earthy scent like tobacco smoke.

His head tilted up to reveal a pair of insidious yellow eyes.

“No, my love. Not Edward.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

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THIRTY

I
JERKED MY HAND
up, holding the knife as though it was an extension of my hand. I braced for him to lunge and tear at me with claws, but as my panic stretched and still no horror came, just the soft sound of his breath against the chains, I exhaled slowly.

I took a few cautious steps until I was within feet of him.

“You can’t hurt me,” I said. “You’re chained, and I have a knife.”

“How endearing that you think a knife can stop me.”

It was the same voice from the masquerade, when he’d trapped me beneath the mistletoe and spoken from behind the red mask. A voice too human for such a devil, and yet it evoked the smell of the island, the feel of caves hidden behind waterfalls and beasts crawling through jungle leaves, and a little part of me longed to hear him speak again.

“If you could free yourself of those chains, you would have,” I said. “That padlock was designed to withstand a force far stronger than you.”

I could almost feel his sinister grin. The boilers let out another burst of steam as sweat dripped down my face and soaked into my dress. At first his silence felt as though I had triumphed—I had the power here, the freedom, and he was trapped. Yet as the silence stretched, so did my uneasiness.

Where was Montgomery?

I went to the window and pressed my face against the frosted glass. Only darkness outside, not even the ring of lanterns to give me comfort in the desolate night.

“Loosen these chains, my love. Only an inch. I can’t breathe.”

I winced at the memory of the bruises cut into Edward’s chest and arms in such intricate patterns that they were almost beautiful. He’d have more bruises before the night was out, because of me this time.

I tightened my hold on the knife. “I can’t.”

“It’s killing me.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s killing him, too.”

His gaze was keenly focused. I knew it was a trick, and a transparent one at that. But the body was still Edward’s. The voice—certain words, certain expressions—rang as slightly familiar.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “You know I can’t. Montgomery will be here any moment. Until then, it’s better if you don’t speak to me.” I felt my cheeks burning and prayed he couldn’t see in the dark. “Especially don’t call me . . . by that name you use.”

“What,
my love
?” I heard a strained bark of laughter. “But that’s what you are. We’re more alike than you want to admit.”

“I hate everything about you.”

“What you hate is what you are. An animal, just like me. Don’t pretend like you’ve never imagined it—the thrill of the hunt. No chaperones, no silk stockings, nothing holding you back. Tearing through the city like we were back on that island, feeling your blood boil, your pulse race. You’re jealous of my freedom. You said it yourself once.”

“I’ve no desire to
kill.”

“I did you a favor. Don’t tell me some part of you didn’t delight to find them dead: Penderwick, Sir Danvers. You fantasized about hurting them after what they did to your family, didn’t you?”

“Stop it,” I snapped. “You can’t pretend like what you’re doing is for me. You
enjoy
murder.” I shook my head. “There’s no justification for that.”

A sinister smile crossed his face. “Not even for your own father’s murder?”

I drew in a quick breath, realizing I’d fallen into the trap of his words. When I had opened the door for Jaguar to kill Father, I had assumed Edward dead at the time. It had never occurred to me that he would know about what I’d done.

“Ah, seeing things differently now, are you, love? I know exactly what happened that night on the island. You thought me dead, but I was very much alive. I saw it with my own eyes. A girl aiding a monster to kill her own father. You did it to stop a greater evil from spreading. How is that any different from what I do?”

I could only stare at him, lost for words. I didn’t like what he was suggesting—that he and I were the same. I hadn’t killed my father because I’d hungered for blood. And yet the results were the same. What did motivation matter, when death was the result?

It was true that I hadn’t regretted it for a moment.

My mind scrambled to piece together an argument, a justification, a rationale for why we were different, yet the only words I could manage were, “What about the professor? He never did anything but help me!”

The Beast watched me closely, silent, as the boilers let out another burst of steam. I saw a flicker in his otherwise penetrating eyes. “That one was not me, love.”

“What are you talking about, not you?” I snapped. “I saw the body. I saw the wounds.”

He cocked his head, still eyeing me with that strange, too-human look. He was lying to me. He had to be. He would say anything to get what he wanted.

“You killed him,” I seethed. “Because you’re out of control.”

He raised an eyebrow at this. “Out of control? Yes, perhaps you are right. Nevertheless I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t anywhere near Highbury last night. Believe me or not, it’s the truth.”

I didn’t dignify him with an answer. Instead I paced among the ferns, mind fractured like a broken pane of glass, terrible memories of the professor’s dead body coming back to me. I pulled at my itchy collar.

“You know it’s unnatural,” he said softly, his insidious voice working its way into my ear. “Dressing up in stiff clothes and pinching shoes that one can barely walk in. Making small talk about holiday decorations when terrible things are happening in the city. You’ve never felt a part of this world, have you? We weren’t meant to live like this. We’re a different breed. I’ve watched you working away in that secret room you call a workshop, though we both know what it really is—a laboratory, laid out exactly like your father’s. I’ve seen you reading your father’s journal for hours on end, barely stopping to breathe. What do you tell yourself—that you have no choice but to read it? That you don’t enjoy reading through the scientific marvels he uncovered, how he revolutionized the world? Admit it. You
loved
reading it.”

“I was looking for a cure,” I whispered, though my lips were dry.

“Ah yes, the fabled cure. Don’t you realize why you haven’t cured yourself yet? Not because you can’t—because you don’t want to. You’ve always had that animal inside you, stirring, since you were an infant. It’s been more of a friend to you than any of those girls who titter behind their fans in church. You’re afraid that if you rid yourself of it, you’ll be hollow. A shell of a person content to let the days pass in boredom and chores, never really feeling, never truly living. Not like how
I
live.”