“What is the matter?”
“Nothing, I just—” Adam sighed. “Not here.”
Immanuel glanced at those sitting across from them and above them, but all eyes were locked on the stage. “But no one will see. We are only holding hands.”
“I know, but we can’t, not here.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but the words dissolved into nothingness as Adam’s attention returned to the intermingling voices of the bass and soprano. Immanuel bit his lip and shifted his mouth into a stiff, crooked frown. Turning his body toward the stage, he tightly crossed his legs and barred his arms across his chest. Adam disappeared behind him, but the sting of undue dismissal remained. With one gesture, his night was ruined and he was reminded of the limitless impossibilities of their relationship.
Chapter Twenty-Two:
No More Tomorrows
The pavement glistened with the fog’s sickly yellow dew as Immanuel Winter marched down the street with his head down. Holding his arms close to his chest, he fought against the chill of the damp winter wind seeping further through his tailcoat and trousers with each gust. He cursed himself for not taking a scarf or a coat with him. Somehow, he had not felt the cold when they left together. His blue and copper eyes burned, yet he pressed on, all the while ignoring the man hanging at his elbow. In the gloom and with his gaze locked on the cobbles, he could scarcely make out where he was going, but if he began to stray, he knew Adam would put him back on the path to Wimpole Street.
“Immanuel, can’t we talk about this?”
He held his arms tighter and quickened his pace as he turned the corner. “What is there to talk about? You ruined a perfectly good dinner and night on the town.”
“Cousin Eliza’s house is the other way,” Adam called. When Immanuel did a downcast about-face, he continued in a harsh whisper, “Please be reasonable. You must understand how much risk is involved. We could be arrested for simply holding hands. Aren’t you afraid of ending up like your uncle?”
Immanuel turned on heel, stopping only inches from Adam. Even with the sheen of moisture across his eyes, they steeled and held his companion’s shrinking gaze. “Don’t you dare bring up Johannes and Theodor! You know nothing about them, Adam. Have you forgotten that I nearly went to jail for the same thing?”
“All the more reason for us to be cautious.”
“If you knew what I went through, you would understand why I am tired of hiding. I am done letting the world push me.” Number thirty-six’s windows glowed brightly only a hundred yards down the street. “Thank you for taking me to the opera. Good night, Adam.”
The accountant caught his narrow wrist before he could escape his reach. “I’m sorry I upset you, but please, Immanuel, let’s talk about this.”
“Not tonight.” He drew in a constrained breath. “Tomorrow we can discuss it. Tonight, I just want to go to bed.”
Storming past the last five houses, he sighed, knowing Adam hadn’t left. Even without looking, Immanuel knew he was lingering at the corner where he left him. He resisted the urge to go back and apologize. It could be done tomorrow. Immanuel searched his pockets for his house key, but as a black mass vaulted over the railing and landed on the step behind him, he froze. A plume of hot, ashy breath blew against his shattered eye socket. The smell of the demon’s breath had haunted him for months, and with his eyes shut, he could feel the cigarette sear into the flesh of his back again. There was nothing left to do but face Lord Rose.
***
Adam Fenice sighed and hung his head as he walked back toward the corner of Wimpole Street. How could he have been so harsh to him? Immanuel needed to know how risky it was to do anything in public, but he could have explained himself with a little more tact. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, he would make it right. Maybe he could make him breakfast since Hadley was supposed to go visit her future mother-in-law in the morning. Taking a step into the road, he allowed two women to pass, but as they swept past them in their red and grey gowns, a pale hand jumped from a fur muff and grasped his arm.
“Cousin!” the taller woman cried, but when he glanced up, Eliza Hawthorne was grinning at him. “Did you and Immanuel enjoy the opera? He was so excited to be going.”
He smiled stiffly. “He seemed to. Actually, I just walked him home.” Adam looked down the street and over his cousin’s head, but one person was still missing. “Where is James?”
“Some of the queen’s men came looking for him and Lord Rose at the party. They always keep him late, so Emmeline and I decided to leave soon after.”
“Aunt Eliza, who is that on the steps?” Emmeline asked, her eyes wider than he had ever seen them.
Adam turned as a towering, bat-like creature wrapped his hand around Immanuel’s neck, hoisting him off his feet. Where had he come from? His friend stared directly into the assailant’s face, never wavering as the tips of his fingers dug in. No one was going to hurt Immanuel on his watch. As he poised to rush the man, Eliza caught his arm.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, her green eyes gleaming with fear. Without removing her gaze from the men on the steps, she pulled her niece closer until she was behind her cousin. “Keep Emmeline safe while I get a constable.” Eliza dropped her voice, “It is imperative that no matter what happens, you stay out of sight.”
***
Immanuel turned, expecting to see the nobleman in tails, but instead, his eyes met a set of gleaming metal ribs and clawed fingers. His gaze inched up the creature’s unnaturally tall form until it came to rest on the familiar horned leather mask looming over him. Just behind it lurked the man with the yellow eyes that never showed a hint of mercy no matter how hard he cried. As he returned to the creature’s ribs and glass lungs, he knew he had seen that costume before.
“We have already met, have we?” Alastair Rose growled as seized the younger man by the throat and slammed him into the door, digging his metal talons into the delicate flesh. “For months you refused to say a word, but tonight, in front of everyone, you decided to be brave.”
Immanuel’s throat burned as the man tightened his grip. He struggled to kick at his attacker but met only the senseless metal of climbing stilts. Beneath the anger of the nobleman’s gaze was that same smug satisfaction. Locking eyes with the madman, he breathlessly spat, “You’re Jack.”
“You stupid boy.” Pulling him higher, he slammed his back and head into the black door. Blood trickled from the points of his claws as he locked eyes with the insolent man who stared back defiantly with his blotted eye. “And to think, I almost let you live.”
With a sneer, Lord Rose pulled the trigger.
***
The cry caught in Adam’s throat as Immanuel’s form buckled and writhed in the beast’s grasp. His blue eyes disappeared into his skull and his long legs kicked and snapped. After a final convulsion, his body fell silent. With a flick of his wrist, Immanuel slid off the end of the man’s glove and crumpled in a heap at his feet. There would be no more tomorrows. No more chances to apologize or explain himself. As the creature stared down at his victim, a toothy grin crossed his lips. Anger exploded in Adam’s chest, thundering in his ears and deadening his fear. The man would pay dearly for what he had done. Fury compelled him forward, but when he took a step toward the next house, a hand latched onto his sleeve.
“Help— me,” Emmeline choked, grabbing at her breast with her free hand.
Her heart writhed against her sternum, wringing the air from her lungs. The muscles of her legs gave out as she stumbled forward, nearly pulling the red-haired man down with her. Landing on her knees with her fingers still loosely coiled in the fabric of his coat, her vision tunneled in until only a sovereign of light remained.
Adam halted at her side as his eyes ran from the still girl to Immanuel’s corpse. For a second, he thought of ripping his arm from her grasp and running to him when a gasp broke her paling lips. Her body lurched forward, and as she slammed her gloved palms onto the wet cobbles, the energy broke free from her bod
y. It flew from her flesh to the prone man on the porch, reanimating his body with a shudder.
***
Lord Rose smiled to himself as he stared at the broken body of Immanuel Winter. This time didn’t have the same charm as Kitty’s death, but he had to give it to Edison and Tesla, electricity had its appeal. With a twitch of his fingers, the ribcage swung open, revealing the glass jars nestled over his lungs. He gingerly dislodged the quartz canister and watched as a blue opalescent shadow floated within. The soul bobbed, blindly bumping into the sides before drifting into the center. Now, he had the German boy right where he wanted him.
A shuddering breath broke behind him. “You— you didn’t let me live.”
Alastair’s saffron eyes bulged behind his mask as Immanuel staggered to his feet with the help of the rail. Sweat glistened on his brow as he drew in another ragged breath and steadied his pounding heart. The muscles in his legs quavered and twitched with each step, but the electrical charge refused to dissipate.
“I survived.”
“How?” Alastair Rose snarled as he stared at the contents of the jar. It was there. How could he be alive while his soul was in there? With his claw, he tore open the thin membranous lid. A breeze blew past his hand before darting toward the younger man’s chest and down the street. “How can this be? You can’t—”
“I can’t die.” The wound on his neck pulsed blood onto his collar in time with his heart. Immanuel teetered before straightening to his full height. “For all those months, you tortured me to find out if I could die, and now you know. You hold no power over me.”
Without taking his eyes off his victim’s strained face, the creature’s stilted feet backed down the steps one clacking hoof at a time. Perspiration collected under the mask as he watched the blood from the triangular wound clot and seep through the white of his victim’s shirt until a hand-sized stain formed on his shoulder. Alastair looked down at the blood-tipped claws and the empty jar in his hand. The machine had lost its lethality and so had he.
“Now, I know who you are,” Immanuel hissed as he matched the nobleman step for step, his blood boiling, “and I will not rest until everyone knows what you did.”
Lord Rose broke his eyes away as a constable rounded the corner and charged down the street toward them, crying, “Stop! Stop, police!”
Before the policeman could reach them, Alastair slammed the jar into the pavement and kicked off the steps. Lord Rose jumped into the air, propelling higher each time his heel landed on the ground. With a final bounce, he grabbed the narrow, brick ledge on the second story of the house across the street and scrambled up the façade. By the time the policeman reached the building, Spring-heeled Jack had bounded over the rooftops and disappeared into the night.
Adam’s face paled as he jogged past Emmeline and Eliza to reach Immanuel’s shaking form. The younger man staggered down the last two steps, but when his companion put his arms out to steady him, Immanuel collapsed into his chest. Sinking down under his sudden weight, Adam broke his fall and held him on his lap. The world beyond them died away as he clasped his twitching limbs. His breath came in short gasps, and with each inhalation, blood soaked into Adam’s tailcoat, coating the pink rose at his lapel.
“He’s Jack,” Immanuel whispered, his legs and arms contorting against Adam’s tight grip. His gaze drifted over his face, lingering on his glistening blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Eliza was calling to them from the top of the porch, but Adam didn’t hear as Immanuel’s eyes slipped into their sockets and his body twitched and gasped with convulsions. Hiding his face in Immanuel’s hair, Adam held him to his chest and clamped his hand over the hemorrhaging wound. Adam hefted the weightless man into his arms and rushed him inside.
Chapter Twenty-Three:
The Aftermath
Pushing the tips of her nails into her bottom lip, Emmeline stood in the darkened kitchen and listened to the voices of her aunt and Mr. Fenice rising from below. When they carried Immanuel inside, they had rushed past her, leaving her at the threshold waiting to be called in to help, but no one seemed to notice her absence. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t needed by anyone. She was only a burden that needed to be dressed, fed, and chaperoned until she could be passed off to the next caretaker.
For the first time since they arrived nearly a month ago, she wanted to be part of helping him, and she needed to speak to him, but now, she wasn’t certain if he was going to be all right this time. The door to the cellar laboratory stood open, and with soundless steps, she padded halfway down before settling on a tread where she could observe the others through the railing. Aunt Eliza hovered over Immanuel’s neck with a needle and thread as he lay on his side across the marble tabletop. Standing behind him was Mr. Fenice who held Immanuel’s hand with his left and soaked up the excess blood with a wad of gauze in his right.
While Immanuel’s face was blocked by Eliza Hawthorne’s body, his voice rose through the stillness, high and strained as it had been when she found him in that filthy dungeon. “I— I ruined Dr. Hawthorne’s jacket. I promise— I promise I—”
“Sssh, don’t worry about that, Immanuel. James will not be angry. He will just be happy to hear you are alive. Now stay still a little longer.”
As Eliza brought over a magnifying glass in order to finish off the last few minute stitches, Emmeline finally saw Immanuel’s ashen cheeks and clammy forehead. Blood clotted in the ends of his hair and halfway to the scar that cracked his features. Even though his neck had been wiped clean, his collar and the shoulder of his waistcoat had wicked up the blood, staining them beyond salvaging. Her aunt moved back to his head to affix the final sutures, but Emmeline’s eyes traveled to the young man’s hand. When Immanuel’s breath sharpened, his companion laced his fingers with his and let him squeeze until he rode out the pain. The way the henna-haired man looked at Immanuel was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was similar to the way she gazed at her mother, with reverence and devotion, but there was so much more in the manner in which he regarded him. In his eyes, it was as if there was nothing but them, and she and Eliza were nothing more than shadows. His eyes caressed the one he dared not touch, sheltering him from the world that threatened them. That soft intensity and palpable yet wordless connection was what she longed for but never found in Lord Rose or any other man.
With Eliza and Adam’s help, Immanuel sat up, teetering as the congealed blood was rubbed from the ends of his curls with an alcohol-soaked piece of gauze. Peering over the doctor’s shoulder, his weary gaze landed on the dark-haired girl who eyed him from the steps without contempt or repulsion.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Emmeline asked as her aunt followed her patient’s sightline to her perch.
“Put on a pot of tea and get him something from the larder.”
Emmeline left her aunt dabbing ointment onto the fresh burns that surrounded the torn, three-pronged wound. Averting her gaze from the scolded and singed skin, she returned to the kitchen and filled the spouted pot with water. As she picked through the cupboards for something to add to his plate, her hand lingered on the tin of biscuits. That was what she had been doing when it happened the first time, when her heart seized and her vision closed in until she thought her life would be snuffed out. It happened the night they arrived and he had slipped away from his injuries. No one had said anything, but she knew from the way the Hawthornes shook their heads in grief and then in wonder that he had passed that night even if it was only for a moment.
This time, she saw him fall, watched him die right before her eyes. There had been no question of it. The life had drained from his eyes, and within seconds, her body shut down too. Then, the most miraculous thing happened. The strangle-hold on her body released and a tingling, tugging pressure pulled through her skin before flying away with a breeze that blew her hair. Suddenly, Immanuel Winter was alive again as if he had not been electrocuted and dumped on the porch. But what bond could they possibly share to make this possib
le? Searching her mind, Emmeline could not come up with anything that linked them apart from being kidnapped by the same people. She had never seen him before, so why kidnap them? Take him with you or you both will die. Her mother knew the link before he ever died or she hung on the edge of oblivion. Emmeline had to speak to him. Maybe he knew how their souls could be inexplicably intertwined.
Filling the plate with cold ham and buttered bread, she loaded the tray and was about to carry it downstairs when the light from the basement was broken by the silhouettes of the men coming up the steps. Adam Fenice supported his friend as his legs buckled and fumbled at the landing. Immanuel’s neck had been wrapped in gauze and bulged on the left side where the sutures and burns were padded with honey-soaked linen. Lingering with the plate in her hand, Emmeline listened to instruments clanking below as they were washed and loaded into the steam-sterilization drawer and knew her aunt would not be coming up any time soon. With a sigh, she walked up two flights of stairs with the teapot clanking and threatening to tip at each step. Outside Immanuel’s door, she stopped at the sound of Mr. Fenice’s voice cracking.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, I will change after you leave. It is too much to ask of you at this late hour, Adam,” the blonde replied in little more than a whisper. “What’s wrong? Don’t—”
Emmeline peeked around the corner of the doorframe in time to see Adam’s black-clad back quaver as he covered his face. Sitting on the bed only a few feet away, Immanuel reached out and pulled him closer until Adam knelt before him. As he whispered in his ear, Adam nodded and stifled a sob with a sharp inhalation, but when the next cry worked free from his throat, he let his face fall against Immanuel’s neck, burying it against the bandage.
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 43