Renegade (23 page)

Then I heard my name called, distantly. From somewhere far away.

Abbie.

Abbie.

I felt my body quake, and pain seared through my lungs as if I were dying. What was happening? Full panic set in as I felt myself spiraling somewhere. I could no longer see or breathe. For all I knew that serpent woman could be nearly upon me, ready to strike.

Abbie!

The voice sounded louder now, desperate, and somewhere, distantly, as I seized blindly in the dream, I felt my knees hit a hard floor. The pain, the burning, the suffocating inside my body was too much, I thought I would die. Then the pain eased a bit, and I felt myself floating somewhere, somewhere away from myself. Soon all would be oblivion.

Then I felt lips upon my mouth, and I gradually became aware of my own body, feeling the hot throbbing pain on my kneecaps, each of my hands clenched in a fist with my fingernails digging hard into my palms. I became aware of my own legs. I felt my arms gripped tightly. Although I had not fully surfaced yet from my psyche, I began to feel other, more physical sensations. Desperately, I pulled myself deeper into the kiss. This drew me upwards. Outward. Away from the nightmare.

Confusion slowly faded, and I found that I was on my knees on the floor of Simon’s study. I must have fallen from the settee during the hypnosis. Simon was in front of me, on his knees, clutching my arms tightly as he kissed me. But this kiss wasn’t as controlled as the one we’d shared in Sir Bertram’s library. Rather, Simon crushed me to him, and I sensed something raw and reckless in his feelings, an urgency that I had never felt before. I felt my stomach lurch when I opened my eyes and pulled myself away a bit, to focus. The veil over his eyes had loosened and I saw deep worry.

Dear God.
I felt myself tremble at the realization.
He loves me.

Simon fought to regain his old composure.

I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t bear the anxiety I saw in his eyes.

And yet, shocking myself, I pulled him back to me and kissed him again. This time, I felt fully in my body again; I felt flushed, breathless, and bit his lower lip a bit to make him feel more. I thought of a time in Dublin when I had tried to ride Sir Edgeworth’s most obstinate horse. The horse had taken off across a meadow, running at full speed. I’d felt initial terror as I held the reins, and then, once I realized I had no control, I felt a strange elation in surrender. The feeling had been delicious, and I had embraced it. I wanted Simon, like this, as he was now. And I wanted to be as I was now. Authentic.

William.

With great effort, I pulled away. My thoughts and feelings were still reeling from the vision and from my near-drowning in my own memories.

Simon and I remained kneeling on the floor, staring hard at each other, unsure what to say or do. His lower lip bled a bit, but he didn’t seem aware of it. The trickle of blood looked oddly unnerving on his white-marble chin.

“Abbie.” He put his long fingers in my loose hair at my temples. “I was afraid.”

He placed his palms, cool now, gently upon my checks. It felt soothing, good. And I felt how sweaty and damp my cheeks were, burning as if I had a fever.

“What did you see?” he asked. “When you fell onto the floor, seizing.”

I quickly related what I had seen of William, telling him also that I thought this lamia creature was behind it.

He interrupted. “No. What were you thinking of after that? When you lost control of your body?”

I told him of being at that place in front of the cottage.

“Damn it,” I heard Simon growl as he pulled me to him in a crushing embrace. I had never before heard him curse. “The hypnosis brought you to your memories, as I’d feared. You imagined the lamia—whether she exists or not, you see her—possibly also because your mother assumed her disguise for the portrait. Your mother, your memories of her, your inability to understand her, and your need to avenge her, are, as you feel, your greatest threats. The conscious mind delving too deeply into the unconscious can be dangerous.”

I had a thousand questions on my tongue, but I said nothing. I still felt my body trembling at all that had just happened. Simon continued to hold me, and I felt his breath warm upon my hair.

“I worked one summer in a mental asylum near Brussels,” he said. “I saw a few patients, who had been sane all of their lives, brought in with sudden hysteria, dementia, an absolute separation from reality. None of it followed the patterns of what we are learning regarding traditional mental illness. They had died within their own psyche—withered and become lost to themselves. Many died soon after arriving.”

“So I might have ‘died’ to myself in that vision? I might have lost my mind, become permanently imprisoned in my nightmare?”

“It’s possible,” Simon said softly.

I focused. “Is that why you kissed me?”

He paused. “Partially. I was trying to wrench you, physically, from the place where you were as quickly as possible, and it seemed kinder than a slap.”

I remembered my sudden insight that he loved me. What had happened between us? I paused, and yet could say nothing in my confusion. This was too much to sort through at the moment.

“We need to save William,” I said instead, as Simon helped me to my feet. “He is imprisoned somewhere.”

“But the place you saw could be anywhere, Abbie. We need more information.” I could tell, based on his expression, that Simon still had doubts that William was really imprisoned.

“You don’t believe me.”

“No, I believe you. But how do you know he isn’t in some sordid brothel?” Simon’s expression was perfectly serious as he said this. “Or that he didn’t anger someone in a drunken gambling match?”

I frowned. “Do I have your help or not, Simon?”

“I will assist you. But not for William. This is no excuse for William’s poor choices. Whatever muddle he is in now is probably of his own—”

“I know, I know,” I muttered, smoothing my hair back, putting on my coat, and regaining my composure.

Simon sighed. We were both exhausted.

“I said I would help you, for you. I’m taking you home now. Let’s both rest and think rationally. Perhaps, if you get some sleep, something, somewhere, in the vision will give you a clue to the location of the place.” He caught my eye. “And yes, I will help you.”

The lurch occurred in my heart again, and I felt that old bewilderment of not knowing myself, not trusting my own feelings.

The hues of early morning began to penetrate the room, and I knew that I would have to return so that I could slip into the house before Ellen arose. Still, as I stared at Simon, I felt my chest heave in a small riot from freezing anxiety … and from something else, warming and sweet. I blushed.

Simon walked me home, making me promise to sleep a few hours before he returned so that we might begin our search.

Part III

“We fear, indeed, you spent a stormy time
With our strange girl; and yet they say that still
You love her.”

—The Princess

Nineteen

A
fter quietly slipping in the front door, I forced myself to try to sleep for a few hours. But it was a restless sleep, not restorative or deep. Through those early hours of the morning, my mind continued to churn and spin, trying to figure out where the place was that William was being held. I felt spent, exhausted, knowing little more than I did before the hypnosis session. The vision during the hypnosis had been clearer, but I still had not learned the location. Furthermore, my mind now felt agitated and jittery over what had happened with Simon. I knew he still loved me, and I felt something deep within me respond.

But did I love him?

I truly did not know how to read my heart.

After my dreamless but frenzied sleep, I awoke, hearing the grandfather clock strike nine o’clock. I bolted upright. I needed to talk to Christina, to tell her about what had happened last night. And Simon and I needed to begin our search. I blushed as I recalled our kiss again. I remembered the elephant sculpture, the wintry expression in Simon’s eyes.

What draws me to Simon?

I knew I was drawn to him, needed him—even if I was not certain that I loved him. I finished securing the last button on the gray walking-suit dress.

Distractedly, my mind spun, thinking of all the places we should look for William. If William was being held by this creature, perhaps we should research various newspapers to see if there had been any animal attacks around the British Isles. I bit my lip. There were the cannibal attacks … but I knew William was somewhere along a coast; it didn’t seem possible that this creature had something to do with the cemetery murders. Furthermore, I had seen people—the walking dead—in the cemetery that night. That part of the puzzle I did not understand.

I was so deep in thought that it was only as I secured my hair in pearl combs that I noticed voices downstairs. Grandmother had a visitor.

It was rather early in the morning for someone to call. I wondered if it might be Christina, but I heard Grandmother laugh loudly and I knew that she would not be so warm to a Rossetti.

Quickly, I hurried down the stairs, intending to eat breakfast quickly and leave. But I froze when I reached the bottom of the stairs and could see the guest in the parlor. Horror and rage rose within me.

I saw Max, dressed formally in a dark waistcoat, seated in a mahogany chair and conversing with Grandmother. I saw Jupe unashamedly sniffing his top hat and gloves, which lay on a nearby bench. Max looked terrifyingly handsome. His dark hair curled wild about his face, and his eyes gleamed brilliant green in the pale gold light of the morning. His tone toward Grandmother was cheerful, indeed charming.

I walked into the parlor, determined to get him out of her house as quickly as possible.

“Arabella,” Grandmother exclaimed when she saw me at the door. Her cheeks flushed, and I could tell she was enjoying the visit. I remembered her reaction to the young priest at church and I knew how susceptible she could be to charm and flattery. “This visitor is a most marvelous surprise. Have you met Dr. Bartlett’s nephew, Mr. Max Bartlett?”

The Ripper. My mother’s murderer. If Grandmother only knew. I felt my stomach lurch and feared that I might become ill. I had wanted to protect Grandmother, keep her safe in this lovely world of hers. But I couldn’t keep him away from her, and the perversity of Max’s presence in her parlor infuriated me. I had to keep Grandmother safe.

Nevertheless, I felt overwhelmed.

Focus, Abbie.

Simply find a way to get him out of the house.

There was an awkward silence, as I stood silent and unsmiling in the doorway, too angry, too distraught to speak. With great effort, I stilled my pounding heart.

When Max turned to greet me, his eyes sparkled. He stood up and bowed a bit, in keeping with his act as a gracious young gentleman. “I am afraid that I’m here at a shockingly early hour, but, as I have already explained to Lady Westfield, I am in London only until this early afternoon. You see, I have been in Austria, where business has kept me ever since the tragic accident that took my uncle’s life.”

He shook his head regretfully, although when he caught my eye again, I saw the glimmer of a wink. He loved this charade.

What is he trying to do here?

This was the first time, other than during his attack on Abberline, that I had seen Max since murdering the rest of the Conclave. He had told me, that night, that if I refused the Conclave’s offer or did anything outrageous and he had to intervene, it “would not be pretty.” Was this what he had been holding out for? To murder Grandmother and myself on an ordinary morning, in our own parlor? No. Instinct kept telling me that something else entirely was going on. I felt sure Max was behind the cemetery attacks, and I suspected he somehow knew of William’s whereabouts. He still needed me for something else … I felt my eyes narrow.

“Currently,” he continued, “I am on my way to Oxford for business. My train will leave at one o’clock this afternoon.”

I wished I could get my knife—but that was impossible. I wasn’t about to leave Grandmother alone in the parlor with Max for even a second.