Tenfold More Wicked

by Viola Carr

  Remy gives her a fumbling kiss, desperate with pleading. I want more. Fuck, I want to be alive to taste it. But it’d be no use, Lizzie. That kiss weren’t for you. Did you truly believe you could steal him from her?

  “Change, Eliza. You have to . . .” Over and again, a magic spell that won’t work. She don’t answer. Too far away. Lost.

  “Let me help her.” A second man, a lean shadow in the dark. My sluggish blood stirs. Diamond cuff link, red necktie. Sparkling, maniacal green eyes.

  Hiss-flick! Remy’s pistol, electric purple fire. “Get away from her.”

  “Do we have time for petty envy? I think not.” Steel sings on ivory, a silver-bright flash. “I’d rather enjoy killing you, lapdog. Step aside, or I’ll leave you in the mud where you fall.”

  In hell, Eliza heaves a shuddering breath.

  Remy drops his pistol. Half-choke, half-sob. “For God’s sake. Do what you must.”

  Todd’s on his knees. He gathers me up, feverish. “Eliza, wake up. Forgive me. Come back.”

  I don’t want him to touch me. Leave me be, Todd. Better for everyone if I die.

  But his blackdusted hair falls softly on my face, that uncanny rosy sweetness she adores. His kiss, shy and gentle on my cheek. My lips tingle, and something awakens . . .

  My heart beats faster, our heart, our blood shudders and sighs. Skin rippling, stretching, shedding like a snake, she’s struggling against a roiling undertow, yearning for the light.

  “Eliza, come back . . .”

  ME AND SHADES OF CRIMSON

  WITH A SEPULCHRAL GROAN, ELIZA SHUDDERED awake.

  Blinking, she sat up on a verdigris chaise amidst the scents of oil paints and roses. A fire crackled, golden warmth suffusing her aching limbs. Her dark red skirts rustled, echoes of a fading nightmare. Suffocating in a cramped cell, limbs contorted, beating blindly against glassy walls. No room. No air. No light . . .

  But in this magical place, light flourished. An old-fashioned candlelit chandelier glittered, and the first blush of dawn shimmered between long magenta drapes. Firelight danced across aubergine carpets and forest-green upholstery, gloated over polished furnishings, glistened on a collection of miniature ivory carvings in a cabinet.

  His easel sat by the window, canvas half-hidden, drenched in golden light. A shelf held paint pots, brushes and knives, pencils and charcoal, bottles of linseed oil, a tub of varnish. Beside them, a fresh painting lay drying. Lot’s Wife, in her moment of decision, storm-gray eyes drawn inexorably to the truth, while behind her, the world burned.

  Deep in a sweep-backed armchair, fingers steepled before that scarlet smile, reclined Mr. Todd. The light sought him out, a laughing fire-kiss in his hair, twinkling in his eyes.

  “There you are,” he said. And that was all he said.

  Where was his weapon? What did he want with her? An ugly black splash of alien memory swamped her. Nemo’s knife, sinking into her guts—no, Lizzie’s guts—ripping flesh, agonies unspeakable. Remy’s lips on hers, death creeping unstoppably into her bones. Terror, desolation, despair . . . but she, Eliza, had watched it all from the far distance. Helpless. Coiled in cramped darkness, unable to break free.

  Her blood slithered with worms. Lizzie had tried to kill her. But where was Lizzie now? To thrash, protest, scream what are you doing, dimwit, run before he slices you up?

  Nothing. Just crackling flames, and her own perfidious heartbeat.

  “I apologize for the state of your attire,” offered Todd at last. “I’d have attended to it, but I’ve nothing else for you to wear.”

  Carefully, she rose. No sudden movements. “You saved my life. I shan’t forget it. Now I really must—”

  “I found your message, in my studio. Shadow and I went looking for you, and I confess my intentions weren’t friendly. I’d vowed I’d never forgive you. But then I saw what she’d done, and I . . .” His cheeks brightened, a faint flush. “Eliza, the world without you . . . fades. I couldn’t bear it.”

  She edged towards the door. “Mr. Todd, I’m forever in your debt, but you must understand. I can’t be your friend, or . . . whatever it is you want.”

  “Mmm. And yet, in that alley outside the theater, you didn’t scream. Why?”

  A loaded beat of stillness.

  Her breath hovered on a dangerous edge. You terrify me, she wanted to say. The truth at last. But only half of it. And the other half she’d carry to her grave.

  “I’m leaving now.” Her voice cracked, and hastily she turned away lest her courage fail. “I’ll tell them where you live. I advise you to be gone before they arrive.”

  He jumped up, a lean shadow flickering on the wall. “Wait. One moment more.”

  Paper crunched beneath her foot, and she tugged her torn skirts aside. A dozen charcoal sketches littered the floor . . . and before her, the half-finished painting on the easel glistened.

  He’d painted her while she slept. Captured the light as it slanted over her form. Hand laid softly beneath her chin, lashes curling on her cheek. Lips gleaming, a loose blond curl kissing her cheekbone. Her scarlet skirts flowed over the chaise and faded to empty canvas, unfinished. An exquisite, luminous princess, just a breath from awakening—or death.

  If he’d wanted to kill her—if he’d wanted her blood, flowing fresh and crimson over his hands—he’d had his chance.

  Her heart contracted, guilty. And like Lot’s wife, she glanced back.

  “I met your Lizzie, did you know?” A strange green stare. No deception. Just dazzling clarity. “She behaved rather unpleasantly, and I confess my disgust made me dismissive. But I see now she was correct. This can’t continue.”

  Incredulous warmth flooded her, the sweet seduction of hope. “I’m so pleased. I’ve developed a treatment regime, and we can begin immediately.” She edged forwards, her mind racing. Somehow she’d hide him. Maybe he could stay here. Locked in, of course, until she was certain he’d be safe . . .

  “Oh. Not that. Heavens, no.” A narrow smile. “Miss Hyde opened my eyes, Eliza. Far too many people know our secrets. It can’t be suffered any longer.”

  She faltered, hollow, her grip on reality slipping. “But—”

  “We can’t ever be real, Eliza, not while they’re hunting us.” The room telescoped, shimmering. Suddenly the distance separating them seemed so very small. “I’m afraid they’ll have to go. Reeve. Griffin. Finch. Your housekeeper. That lapdog Lafayette, of course.” A faint grimace of disgust. “We must kill them all. Soon. Tonight.”

  Her guts knotted. “No, that isn’t what I meant! We can’t—”

  “We must. Or we’ll never be free, don’t you see?” Todd gripped her hands. His fingers dug painfully into her cold knuckles, his fragrant warmth an assault. “We’re special, you and I. We can’t allow their idiotic rules to interfere. Half a life is no life at all.”

  Her flesh crawled. His grip was horrid—compelling, tantalizing. “No. Mr. Todd, please—”

  “Don’t be afraid. I’ll teach you. It’s easy, once you know how. All you need to do is . . . act.” Fervently, he lifted her fingers to his lips. A single, scorching kiss. “You said the game was growing tiresome. So it does, my love. Time to cease your lies.” His eyes glittered, and his mouth curled into an utterly lucid smile. “Either you dance with my shadow, Eliza, or as much as it would grieve me, I’m afraid I must add your name to that list. And we’ll see what color you really bleed.”

  Bitter defeat choked her, the taste of finality. And she tore her hands free and fled from the room.

  She stumbled into walls, collided with furniture. Todd’s opulent house distorted into a dark labyrinth, stifling her senses, traps and dead ends echoing with cruel laughter. Perfumed drapes swiped her face. A door loomed, and at last she stumbled into glaring sun.

  Leafy trees rustled in a cobbled square, fresh in early morning half-light. Not many people were about. One passing lady shot her a disapproving scowl. Unchaperoned in a gentleman’s house. How scandalous. Laughter ch
oked Eliza, an ugly cramp . . . and she halted, breath crushed to dust.

  Across the street in dawn-lit shadow stood Remy Lafayette. Beside him, the squat bristling shape of Chief Inspector Reeve. She stumbled back . . . and collided with Mr. Todd.

  His steely grip closed on her arms, immovable. “I say,” he murmured behind her, “what a clever trap. Sweet lady, how you savage my heart.”

  The idea of Reeve arresting him—breaking those talented fingers, blacking his exquisite eyes—made her want to claw the skin from Reeve’s face. Her moment of truth, snatched away. Would she truly have turned Todd in? Now she’d never know.

  But Todd’s dangerous calm made her shudder. Would he kill her, if he had to? To think she’d pretended she didn’t know the answer. “You presume, sir,” she ordered shakily. “Let me go.”

  A little laugh, triumphant. “Shall I? What will you do, Eliza? Run?”

  Remy’s gaze held hers from across the street. Not upset. Just resigned. Tired.

  Her bones stung cold. This wasn’t what he thought. It was exactly what he thought. She’d done no wrong. She’d committed the most evil sin in the world. She licked parched lips. “Gentlemen. I—”

  “See, Chief Inspector,” interrupted Remy coolly, “told you she’d be up to the task.”

  Reeve rubbed eager hands. “Malachi Todd. Never thought you’d fall for a honey trap. You ought to be more careful whom you associate with.”

  “So it appears,” called Todd over her shoulder. Using her as a shield. “What a foolish fellow I am. Next time, lapdog, remind me to look the other way when I see a friend in need.”

  From nowhere, constables swarmed, the silver buttons on their uniforms flashing like ice in the dawn. “Don’t even think about running, Todd,” Reeve warned. “You’re surrounded. Pity if we were forced to shoot you on the spot.”

  Unaccountably, her heart clenched. “Don’t. There’s no need for—”

  “Oh, enough.” Peevishly, Todd pushed her aside. “Betrayal is so undignified, don’t you agree? Most unworthy of you, my love. I shan’t lower myself to make a fuss. Just get on with it, the wretched lot of you.”

  Her insides curdled. Was he merely keeping up Remy’s pretense for Reeve’s sake? Or did Todd truly believe she’d tricked him?

  She shouldn’t care. It was unconscionable to care. But the idea that Todd might go to his fate thinking less of her—that he might die disappointed in her—carved an aching hole in her chest.

  The policemen—four of them, just to be sure, armed with truncheons and electric whips—cuffed Todd’s wrists behind his back. One hit him. He gritted his teeth, spat blood. Didn’t fight.

  Efficiently, a constable patted him down for weapons. Todd frowned. “I say, idiot, have a care what you’re poking at down there. Never know what might slice your clumsy paws to ribbons.”

  The constable turned to Reeve, showing empty hands. “Nothing, sir.”

  Reeve shook his head in disbelief. “You nutty bastard. Evidence or no, you’re still a dead man.”

  Todd wriggled his clothes into place, and cracked his neck bones, pop! “Capital job, men. Most excellent. Shall we be off? I don’t have all day, you know, and we’ve still business to address. Slamming my face into the mud, beating me until I vomit, conscripting some coarse and hairy buffoon to sodomize me for a few shillings. You know the drill. Or have standards slipped at Newgate since last I paid a visit?”

  “Shut it, convict.” Reeve elbowed Todd in the guts.

  Todd doubled over, coughing, and gave a bloody grin. “No?” he wheezed. “I’m so glad. Come, let’s get this over with, you beastly little man. That moldy-walnut miscreation you call your suit is making my head ache.”

  Her eyes stung. Lord, she’d howl like a baby. Just the kind of hysterical fool Reeve thought her to be. And in front of Remy. Please, not that.

  With relish, Reeve lit a fresh cigar. “That’s the Pentacle case closed. It pains me, Doctor, but I’m in your debt. Couldn’t have done it without you. Come work for me anytime.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She gritted her teeth, kept up the charade Remy had started, probably to preserve her professional reputation, though heaven knew why he cared now.

  She’d wanted her job back. Well, now she had it.

  Gleefully, Reeve clapped Remy on the shoulder. Probably already imagining the plaudits he’d get from the Commissioner. “Job done, Royal Society. Not just a mouthy arsehole after all.”

  “Pleased to be of service.” Cold, almost inaudible.

  The constables marched Mr. Todd away. As he passed Eliza, he leaned close, a whiff of guilty memory. “Check your pocket,” he whispered.

  And in a few swift seconds, he was gone.

  Had the sun winked out? She could barely see, all the world’s colors drained dim. In her pocket, paper crackled, wrapped around a small solid object. She longed to examine it. But she wiped her eyes, forced her breath to behave. Turned.

  Remy waited, a stormy shadow.

  “He saved my life.” Small, apologetic. Damn it. She didn’t want to apologize . . . but she did. Desperately. As if it would make a difference, remorse without hope of healing. What a cruel barb sorry could be.

  “As I could not.” A small, aching smile. “I’ll owe him forever for that. Isn’t irony a killer?”

  “Remy, we didn’t . . . I don’t want you to think . . .” But her words stung, toxic in her mouth. All lies. From the very beginning, she’d lied to him about Todd, and this was her reward.

  “It wouldn’t matter to me if you had.” Remy tugged his hair, weary. “This isn’t about you and me. I just can’t let that man walk free.”

  “I failed.” The admission stabbed her heart, a jagged shard of mirror. Ruthlessly, she forced it deeper. Let her poisoned vanity bleed out to stain her forever. “I wanted to cure him. Even though I knew what he was, I kept falling for his tricks.”

  “No. Some sicknesses have no cure. That doesn’t mean you’re beyond saving.”

  How well he knew her. Better than she did herself.

  “I said I’d do anything to protect you,” he added. “I meant it. Even if it means you won’t ever . . . Oh, Eliza, I am so sorry.”

  God, the world was upended. Her shallow, craven soul lay bared, and Remy was begging her forgiveness? “Don’t. None of this is your fault.”

  “It is.” His eyes shimmered. “I should have helped you.”

  Damn it. She wiped her own eyes angrily. Oh, to claw out her own treacherous heart. He wasn’t blind. He knew this wasn’t innocent. She’d betrayed her precious justice. Perverted the principles of medicine. Put lives at risk. Spared Todd for the sake of a vain, selfish obsession that she’d pretended made her special.

  Yet Remy forgave her everything. Even betraying herself.

  Why couldn’t he be furious with her? Tell her she’d deceived him, corrupted everything she’d claimed to believe. For the rest of her life, she’d be scrambling to make up for this. And suddenly the prospect was too awful to bear.

  Somewhere inside, a tiny child wept and banged fat fists on the wall. It isn’t fair! Don’t make me be the one.

  But this, at least, she’d get right.

  She tugged the chain around her neck free. Turned the ring in her fingers, a rainbow flash. “I meant everything I said, Remy Lafayette, and I still do. You’re an extraordinary man and I’ll be forever humbled beyond belief that you’d ask me—”

  “Eliza, please don’t.”

  “No. Listen. You’re deceived in me. The principles you admire are illusions. I’m not the woman you think I am.”

  “Eliza. Stop it. With every breath, you prove yourself ever more that woman.”

  “I don’t deserve your esteem,” she insisted desperately. “I have not honored it. I’m weak and vain and foolish. I let pride eclipse my reason. And I lied, Remy. I told you I cared nothing for him, but if that’s so, then why did I keep this from you?”

  “Don’t.” His gaze was raw. “For God’s s
ake. I won’t judge you. How can I?”

  Unnerving, how he bared himself before her. A man who was half-beast, who’d killed his first wife in an animal fit of fury. Who’d lain with Lizzie, loved her, a deeper and more personal betrayal than anything else he could have done.

  Still the finest man she’d ever known.

  Her throat swelled, choking her. What fatal hubris, to imagine she could live in two worlds. Lord, this was the worst mistake she’d ever made.

  “I don’t deserve you.” Trembling, she held the ring out to him. The stone shone, flawless, blue as summer sky. Uncomplicated, like his heart. “Forgive me, Remy. Because I never will.”

  Remy tried another smile. “Keep it.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “Please. Do me the honor. It’s yours.”

  Tears half blinded her. She clutched his ring, helpless.

  “Oh,” he added, “one more thing. I’ll probably lose my commission for this, but . . .” A shrug, heedless. “Lady Lovelace is onto Marcellus Finch. I don’t know what evidence she has, but he ought to clear out.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She couldn’t bear good-bye. She just turned, and stumbled away.

  Somehow, she found her way home, along glaring sunlit streets that blurred and tangled like a maze. Her dim hall was chilly, lifeless. Only Hippocrates greeted her, snuffling dolefully at her skirts. She fumbled to pick him up. His brass body was cold. Blindly, she forced her wooden limbs to climb the stairs. Her study door slammed, a prison echo. The curtains were drawn. No fire, no lights, no warmth. She didn’t want warmth. She didn’t deserve it.

  In the dark, she sank into her chair, and let the tears flow.

  FLASCHENGEIST

  HAD SHE SLEPT? HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED? HER eyes stung, her throat hurt from weeping. Exhausted, she teetered back in her chair and poked the study drapes apart. Afternoon sun, red and raw like tortured flesh.

  Dully, she set Hipp on the floor. He snuffled in sleepy protest. He’d been slumbering in her lap, cogs clicking as he dreamed.

  She leapt up, stumbling in haste. She’d forgotten. How could she be so selfish? “Hipp, wake up! Run and telegraph Mr. Finch immediately, in cipher. Tell him to leave town. It’s over.”