The Madman's Daughter (Madman's Daughter - Trilogy)

by Megan Shepherd

  I’d felt a shiver from the touch of his lips that I hadn’t expected. A surprisingly welcome one.

  “Juliet—” he said, half filled with apology, half with lingering desire. “I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “Don’t say anything else,” I said. The rushing water was deafening. “Just forget it happened.”

  He paced, somewhat frantically, as though he wanted to come closer but knew he shouldn’t. “I don’t want to forget.”

  “Edward, please …” I slumped against the cold stone, eyes closed. Water had seeped into the inner layers of my clothes, giving me a rash of gooseflesh.

  He stopped pacing. “It’s Montgomery, isn’t it? You like him.” The fire sent sparks dancing in his gold-flecked eyes as he waited for me to deny it, but I didn’t. I didn’t know how I felt about any of this. I needed time to think, to analyze.…

  “You said he used to be your servant,” Edward interrupted my thoughts. “That there was nothing between you.”

  “There isn’t. Not yet. God, I don’t know.”

  Edward raised his voice above the roaring water. “He was in the laboratory, wasn’t he? Helping create those aberrations. He’s as bad as your father, Juliet! How can you love him?”

  “I never said I loved him!”

  My pulse quickened with all the boiling arguments forming in my head, but then I paused. Something Edward had said didn’t sit right. “How do you know what they were doing in the laboratory? You said you didn’t see.”

  A wave of guilt washed over his face and I knew, in that look, he’d been lying. Embers from the fire littered the ground, disturbed by my struggling. He knelt to rebuild it, avoiding my gaze.

  I watched him sweep the embers together, jerking his hands back to keep from being burned. “How long have you known?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

  He stood slowly, brushing his hands against his trousers. Firelight danced in his eyes. For a moment, we just looked at each other. He was gauging my reaction. Trying to decide how much to tell me.

  “Since the Curitiba,” he said. “Since the first time Montgomery said the name Moreau.” He flexed his scarred knuckles nervously, starting to pace again. “My uncle was acquainted with one of the detectives at Scotland Yard who worked on that case. The King’s College Butchery, they called it. They kept it quiet, but they suspected your father was trying to stitch together animals to create something human—more or less. It used to give me nightmares as a boy. And when I saw Balthazar and the other islanders, I knew.” His eyes flashed. He was not just the naive young man everyone had first taken him for—but I’d known there was more to him. “Scotland Yard’s theory was right.”

  “Balthazar’s my friend,” I shot. “He’s no creation of surgery.”

  “Your friend? He’s a monster!”

  I brushed the spray and tears and sweat off my face. Edward didn’t know Balthazar like I did. Balthazar might be malformed, but he wasn’t a monster.

  “He’s not,” I said. “Cymbeline—he’s just a little boy. That scaly man …”

  “Puck,” Edward said.

  “Puck.” I kicked at a glowing coal. Like the name of the sprite in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. A fitting name, since his existence was as unbelievable as any fairy tale. “They’re not all monsters.”

  “You’re making excuses for your father,” Edward said, his voice rising. We were shouting, but no longer because of the waterfall. “Trying to justify his work.”

  “You knew the truth and didn’t tell me!” I hugged my arms around my chest, turning toward the falls, letting the rush of water drown my thoughts. Edward was wrong—I wasn’t defending my father. I was defending the part of me that knew what my father did was evil but was terribly proud that he’d accomplished it. My father’s blood flowed in my veins, too. Didn’t he understand that?

  It stung. A stranger knew the truth I’d searched for my whole life. “You should have told me.”

  “Why do you think I came here?” he yelled. “I could have stayed on the Curitiba. Did you think I was so afraid of that idiot captain? I came because you didn’t know what you were getting into! You were walking into a danger with your eyes closed, not wanting to see the evidence so clearly in front of you.”

  I paced, hugging my arms tighter. He’d been right, I realized. I had known all along, in those deep recesses of my brain. It had been my heart—my weak, human heart—that had betrayed me, not my head.

  Edward hadn’t lied to me. I’d lied to myself.

  I ran a shaky hand over my face, feeling like the world had flipped upside down. “You should have stayed on the Curitiba, then. There’s nothing for you here.”

  “I came here for you, Juliet!” He was so close to the falls that water danced on his shoulders like fine rain. He wiped the spray from his eyes. “I came because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I still can’t.”

  For a moment, the water roared around us. He’d come here, knowing my father was a madman, for me. My heart thumped so loudly, I thought the whole jungle must hear it. I touched my lips, wet from the waterfall’s spray, still cold from his kiss. Still wanting. But this was wrong. My heart belonged to Montgomery, not Edward. But Montgomery had been helping my father do his terrible work. So much had happened that I was unable to decipher my own feelings.

  I sat down at the edge of the cave, closing my eyes, sealing out the rush of emotion.

  Edward paced a bit more and then sighed. He eased himself down beside me, wincing.

  “You’re hurt,” I said at last. Hoping to change the subject.

  “I tripped after we got separated. I might have cracked a rib.”

  I picked up a thin twig from the cave floor, twirling it in my fingers. Trying not to think about how Montgomery was helping my father while Edward, who’d come to protect me, had just kissed me.

  After a minute Edward pulled a steak knife out of his pocket.

  “Where did you get that knife?” I asked.

  “While you were chatting over dinner, I was stealing the silverware.” He started to whittle at the pointed end of a stick. Trying to make a spear. God, were we that desperate? His grip was too tight. He didn’t know what he was doing any more than I did. He’d probably only read about spears in Robinson Crusoe.

  The twig stopped in my fingers. “How did you know you’d need one?”

  “Your father tried to kill me five minutes after I arrived. That was a pretty good indication.”

  I rolled the twig between my fingers, scraping the thin bark with my thumbnail. At last I threw the stick into the fire.

  “I came across two of the islanders in the jungle,” I said. “They weren’t like Balthazar or those big ones on the dock. They were wild. They killed one of the rabbits—ripped it in half. I don’t know what they’d have done if they’d known I was there.” I shivered at the memory of the spotted one’s piercing eyes. He’d looked directly into the bamboo grove. Had he really not seen me?

  The knife paused in Edward’s hand. “That’s strange. Montgomery said no one eats meat on the island.”

  I’d had the same thought. I studied Edward, impressed that he wasn’t scared out of his wits. Firelight danced across his strong features. His face belonged half cast in shadows, with warm light on the planes of his nose and forehead. He would have looked out of place in the bare electric lights that were becoming so popular in England. I wondered if we would ever again see London. In the small world of the cave behind the waterfall, it felt like we were the last two people on earth.

  “So what do we do?” I asked. “We can’t stay out here forever. It’ll be a year before another ship comes.”

  “Other ships must pass nearby on the way to Australia or Fiji. Montgomery said there’s a Polynesian shipping lane not far off the coast.”

  “So we take our chances with a raft and hope a ship finds us?” I pulled my arms in tight, shivering. “We’ll drift off course. Or go down in a storm. Or die of thirst. You should know better than anyone
.”

  He sat back, staring into the fire. The tic in his jaw pulsed, just once. He’d spoken so little of what happened when the Viola sank. He didn’t have to. It was written in the sun blisters that still marred his face. “What choice do we have? Your father’s gone mad out here. What’s to say he won’t find a use for us after all? Strapped to his operating table, perhaps.”

  “He wouldn’t do that. He’s my father.” I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to speculate how far Father had gone over that line.

  Edward placed a finger on my cheek to turn my face back toward him. “You know how I feel about you. You don’t have to say anything in return—it doesn’t matter. I came here to protect you and that’s what I intend to do. Tomorrow we’ll find our way back to the compound. We’ll act like everything is fine—we just got lost in the jungle while exploring. And then we’ll find a way to get off this island.” He brushed my hair behind one ear. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  I studied the tender new scar that ran just below his eye. His bruises had faded, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still there, under his skin, beaten into his bones.

  “What was the photograph?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  Surprise registered on his face for a second. And then the fold between his eyes deepened. “What photograph?”

  “You had a photograph. It was too water damaged to make out. I haven’t seen it since the ship.”

  He gave a slight shrug, brow furrowed, as though thinking back to the time in the dinghy unsettled him. “I don’t remember any photograph.”

  We stayed like that for some time, listening to the water in our own private world behind the falls. I didn’t believe for a minute he’d forgotten the photograph, but the secret was his own, and so were his reasons for lying. The night got cooler, and my soaking dress made my skin turn white. I self-consciously stripped to my chemise to let the dress dry next to the fire. I was too aware of my bare ankles, my bare arms. Edward’s eyes shone bright in the dying firelight, not like a gentleman anymore. But he didn’t try to kiss me again.

  The closeness of the cave pressed in, as hard as the memory of his kiss. I knew Edward wouldn’t hurt me. And yet I didn’t exactly feel at ease with him.

  I lay down next to the fire, aware of every stone and crack in the ground. Edward lay down behind me, a respectful two feet away, but close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. I fell asleep to the sound of the roaring water and a thousand questions tumbling in my head.

  I AWOKE HALFWAY THROUGH the night to find the embers barely smoldering. Edward and I had found our way together in our sleep, my head against his chest, his hands wrapped fiercely around my waist, our legs scandalously intertwined. It wasn’t safety I felt with him, no, more like a deep connection I didn’t even understand. I had a vague memory, more like a dream, of him wrapping his arms around me, breathing in the scent of my hair, muttering against my cheek. I could have stopped him. But I kept my eyes closed instead, and held him closer.

  IN THE MORNING EDWARD was gone. The coals were cold in the light filtering through the screen of water. The cave looked different in daytime, without shadows clinging to the dark corners. It was only a damp outcropping, bare except for clumping moss near the puddles and more spiders than I cared to notice.

  The knife, which Edward had left by the fire while we slept, was gone too.

  I peered through the gap in the falls. A young man’s naked form bathed in the shallows of the pool. I jerked back with a gasp, embarrassed to see Edward undressed. I’d never seen a man naked before. The memory of his body against mine all night and the brief, unreturned kiss made me feel suddenly very warm.

  I splashed water on my face from a puddle. Went to check on my dress. Washed the cuts on my arms. No matter how I tried to busy myself, I couldn’t stop throwing glances at the waterfall.

  “Oh, dash it.” I tiptoed back to the gap. My heart thumped in my ears.

  He had his back to me. He waded up to his chest and ducked underwater, whooping as he came up, holding his hurt rib lightly. I’d never seen him so carefree. And I’d certainly never seen him so … exposed. He didn’t have Montgomery’s impressive physique, but there was something undeniably strong in his wiry arms. Arms that had held me last night.

  I fanned a little air onto my face.

  He scrubbed his head and climbed out of the pool. My fingers twirled the soft ribbon of my chemise’s neckline, knowing I should stop watching. He might turn around at any minute. The thought gave me goose bumps.

  He pulled his trousers and shirt down from a tree branch, taking care with his ribs, and dressed quickly. He started toward the waterfall and I hurried back to the makeshift fireplace to wait for him. I slipped my dress back on and closed my eyes, stilling my heart, imagining what Mother would say if she saw me now. I’d never held hands with a boy. I’d certainly never watched one bathing.

  A centipede crept over my toe and I jumped. I realized Edward still hadn’t returned. I went back to the gap in the falls, but the pool was empty, and there was no sign of Edward.

  “Edward?” I called tentatively. No response. I scrambled down the side of the falls and into the jungle. My foot landed on a rotten yellow fruit. No sign of him.

  “Edward, are you there?” I called again. A glint in the fallen leaves caught my eye and I hurried over. Half buried in the leaves was his silver steak knife. Fresh blood stained the blade.

  I kicked at the leaves until I found footprints in the soft silt around the pool. Bare prints mixed with the deep tread of Edward’s boots. They went every which way. Trying to follow them in the growing heat made me dizzy, dizzier still because I’d missed my injection for two days.

  “Edward?” I called one more time. Only a bird shrieked in response.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I PICKED A DIRECTION and ran as fast as my bruised feet would take me. The shears were heavy in my pocket, but I was glad to have them. And the knife. All I could think of was that rabbit, ripped in half, when supposedly no one ate meat.

  Someone had developed a taste for it, it seemed. And was now clawing apart anything with a pulse. I had to find the compound before whatever was lurking out there found me.

  My foot slipped on another of the yellow fruits, and I stopped long enough to fill my pockets. I’d seen a bowl full of them in the compound, so they must be safe. It could be hours before I found anything to eat again. I planned to find a stream and follow it to the beach. If I circled the whole island and couldn’t find the wagon road, I’d climb to the volcano’s rim, or as close as I could get, and look for the compound from above.

  A bird called overhead with a sharp, unnatural pitch. I caught glimpses of the ratlike creatures from the corners of my eyes. Had my father created them, too? Was the island filled not only with his lurching islanders but also with all manner of aberrations?

  Presently I came across a pile of river stones marking some kind of trail. I followed the narrow path until I found another pile of stones, where I stopped to rest. The yellow fruits had oozed and stained the inside of my pocket, but they were still edible. I ate a half dozen and dropped the slimy pits on the ground. A trill started up somewhere—an insect, or a bird. I squeezed the knife harder. Then I realized that anyone who saw the pile of pits would know I’d passed this way.

  I threw them into the jungle to hide my trail. Satisfied, I wiped my sticky hands on my skirt. As I turned to go, one of the pits sailed back through the air in a graceful arc and landed at my feet.

  I clutched the knife and spun around. Something was out there.

  “Who’s there?” I yelled. My palms were sweaty. I bit back my fear. Aim for the eyes.

  A catlike snarl emerged behind me and I whirled. “Come out! Show yourself!” I yelled.

  A deep growl came from the brush. The leaves trembled. A figure slunk toward me, keeping to the mottled light, his hunched posture and spots making him nearly undetectable.

  It was the blond island
er. The one who’d killed the rabbit.

  “You,” I breathed, brandishing the knife. Fear mixed with fascination. This walking, breathing creature had been created on my father’s operating table. Somehow, my father had accomplished the impossible: turned animal into man—almost.

  “Stay back,” I warned.

  “‘Come out.’ ‘Stay back.’ Make up your mind, girl.” His words came with a distinct hiss. I should have been afraid. I should have been terrified. But his mere existence—knowing what he really was—was so spellbinding that there wasn’t room for fear.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I said, raising the knife. He emerged from the leaves but hunkered near the clearing’s edge. His white shirt was roughly patched with scraps of linen. The sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing forearms covered with thick blond hair. For the first time I could see below his waist, where a tail flicked and swayed. A muscle in my back twitched involuntarily. A tail.

  I studied the way he moved, so silent, so graceful. The perfect balance of animal and human. My gut tightened as I remembered standing on the Curitiba, watching the monkey. That was something I’d once longed for: a way for humans to share the talents of animals.

  I was like my father in too many ways.

  The creature came closer, recapturing my attention. “If you try to hurt me, I’ll slit your throat,” I threatened.

  “Hurt you?” His lips curled into a snarl. “There are better ways to hurt a lost girl than throwing fruit.”

  “Who are you?” I snapped.

  “Jaguar,” he pronounced.

  “Jaguar? Didn’t my father name you, like the others?”

  “Jaguar,” he said again.

  “Did he make you? Did he turn you into this? Answer me!”

  “Lost girls must be careful. The jungle is dangerous, they say.”

  A drip of sweat rolled down the back of my neck. He was trying to frighten me. But if he truly meant to attack, surely he would have done so already.