“Harry! Careful! The scorpions, they’ll—”
Just like a trick. Control was everything. Harry rolled his body so slowly that it hardly seemed to be moving at all, the scorpions on the outside of the jacket crawling on as if nothing was happening, the ones inside undisturbed too. But he was moving. He could tell that by focusing on that lifted tooth and watching the bars of a nearby cell door move past behind. He watched that tiny, inch-long piece of metal as it traced an arc, down to the nearest buckle on Billie’s straitjacket.
“Stay still.” His lips shaped the words.
He could only use one eye now. One of the scorpions on his face was creeping over the lid of the right one, so he concentrated on what he could see with the other eye instead. More muscles tightened, and the lifted tooth of the buckle glided forward, sliding into the buckle on Billie’s jacket. It hooked under the leather strap and angled itself against that buckle’s tooth. Harry rolled slightly back and watched one tooth lever the other upward.
The tooth of Billie’s buckle lifted.
And slid out of the hole of its strap.
“Your turn. But slowly!” Harry hissed, keeping still. “Undo one of my buckles…any one…”
Billie’s arm was already moving. The fallen-away strap had released a fold of material, and although the arm was buried in the jacket, it could shuffle about. Harry watched it struggle beneath the cloth. Billie’s face was pouring with sweat, and he knew that she would be feeling those tiny bodies creeping over her, but her arm managed to reposition itself, her hand pushing its way out. Harry saw two fingers poke out through a gap and strain toward one of the buckles on Harry’s jacket. They brushed against it and fell away. Billie tried again, and this time the fingers grabbed the buckle’s strap and pulled.
The shaft of the buckle’s tooth slid out of the strap. Harry could move his shoulder but nothing more.
That’s all I need.
Harry’s shoulder wriggled loose, and his elbow hinged upward. He could feel the scorpions feeding all over him, but he moved so smoothly that none of them seemed to notice. Control. The jacket was looser; his wrist flexed, and his fingers probed around. He managed to wiggle one of his fingers out of the straitjacket, hinged it back, and flicked a buckle free. His hand was out, and it swept about, finding buckles all over the jacket, sliding them loose. The rest of his body lay still, the scorpions undisturbed. His hand took hold of the jacket’s front edge and opened it up. He looked down at his body inside.
Scorpions were all over it, but they were all over the inside of the jacket too. Harry saw specks of sugar clinging to the jacket’s insides and noted how the scorpions were gathered around those specks. Food—that’s what they want most. He watched the scorpions on his body scuttle about and make their way back into the folds of the jacket that lay around him.
Slowly, he sat up. His arms slid from the jacket’s sleeves, and he felt the scorpions scuttle away from his neck, his back, vanishing down into the jacket, their sugar-laced nest. He gathered his legs underneath himself and stood up, the final scorpions creeping down his trousers. He waited until the last one was gone and crouched over Billie.
“Don’t move,” he whispered. “My turn again.”
Billie did exactly as he asked. His hands rustled around the buckles of her jacket. Opening her jacket, he watched the scorpions hurry away from her body into the sugary folds. He grabbed her arms, pulling her so that she rose up out of the jacket, leaving the scurrying hordes behind. Only then, as her face grew close to his, did she allow herself to move a little, her lips shaping the words.
“I knew you could do it, Harry. You always do,” she whispered.
“Ow!”
Pain shot into Harry’s hand. Something tore through his skin, just beneath the base of his thumb, but he kept his grip on Billie until he had lifted her free. Harry rotated his wrist and saw it, the scorpion, scurrying over his knuckles. He flung it away, but the pain was already traveling deeper into his hand. He felt it, a cruel jabbing, racing up through his wrist. Harry gripped his arm in a desperate attempt to choke off the flow of blood, but the pain traveled on, up his shoulder, into his neck. Gathering strength, it burst into his head. Harry fell to his knees, his body slammed onto the floor, and he was lying on his side, jolting all over.
So this is it. The demon curse.
It was as if the scorpion's claws were inside his skull, tearing at the flesh inside. The claws were burning hot, and their jagged tips buried themselves into a spot behind his eyes, another one at the base of his neck. Harry felt his back arch and saw his wrists and arms flex. His whole head pulsed with the pain.
No demon, he told himself. Only pain. But what demon could ever be as terrible as this?
The claws dug, twisted, scraped. His arms flailed, and his head twisted to the side. A few feet away, he saw a fragment of one of the glass jars, and he saw, in its curved surface, the reflection of his face. The muscles were stretched wide, the teeth bared. He hardly recognized himself, and then he recognized himself even less as the claws dug again, and his face became a blur. He closed his eyes. The claws kept ripping through the tissue inside his skull, and every rip released a terrible sight.
A gun, flashing with light.
A pen lid, lodged against the foot of a chaise longue.
A glass jar, clutched in two shaking hands.
A flower of blood, spreading over Dr. Mincing’s shirt.
Madame Melrose’s spectacles, glimmering…
The claws dug on. He noticed a new pain, a different one, down in his left arm. A smaller jab, followed by a cool sensation spreading toward his shoulder. A different pain, and not nearly so powerful. He opened his eyes and looked down to see what it was.
Billie was holding his arm. In her other hand, she clutched one of the syringes from Dr. Mincing’s desk. Its needle was buried just beneath his shoulder, its vessel full of the green antidote, and she was pushing the stopper all the way in.
Chapter 19
Chemicals flooded up Harry’s arm. He felt them in his blood, flowing into every part of him. They pulsed in his neck, and he knew they had reached his brain, because the claws were releasing their hold. But he could still feel their tips, hot and jagged, and his body shook. Sprawling, he watched Billie pull the needle out of his arm.
“How did you know how to do an injection?” The words struggled out of his mouth.
“Did a stint as a hospital worker back in Kansas City when I was on the road to New York—didn’t I ever tell you about that?” Billie held up the syringe and the bottle of antidote. “Just mopping the wards, but I used to watch the nurses give plenty of injections, so I pretty much know what to do.”
“But…how did you know…the right amount to use…” Harry winced as the claws pushed back.
“Didn’t. Still, this syringe’s got a green stain up to the seven-fluid-ounces mark.” Billie tapped the syringe. “And I guessed Mincing used it to give himself a dose. Bit of a risk, but you’re used to taking those, aren’t you?”
A corner of her mouth curved up, the beginnings of a smile, and she jerked a thumb toward a spot a short distance away. Using all his strength, Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows and saw the shapes of the two straitjackets, their necks still chained to a cell door. Scorpions scurried over them. He felt his own mouth curve too. One heck of a trick. He slumped back down, but he felt a warmth across his back and saw that Billie had caught him. He looked up. He saw his reflection in her eyes, just as he had in the fragment of glass. His face was shivering, he noticed, but that little curved smile could still be seen.
“You did it…” Billie whispered. “And we’ve got enough antidote for Mayor Monticelso and Artie too.”
“We did it together.” Harry heard his own quavering voice. “We—”
He stopped. His vision was blurring again, his body slumping back onto the floor. Billie’s e
yes had turned away, her mouth falling open as the asylum flashed with light. Thunder throbbed, and Harry clutched at his head. The claws were back.
“So you think you have escaped, mes enfants?”
Madame Melrose stood in the doorway at the far end of the asylum, the leather bag containing the jar of scorpions hanging from her shoulder, the revolver gripped in her hand. Its muzzle blazed, making the asylum thunder again, and something whined past Harry’s ear. He saw sparks shower off a cell door to his left as a bullet ricocheted off it.
“Mincing is disposed of. I see some work remains regarding the two of you.”
“Run, Harry! Run!”
Harry’s body lurched upward. Billie’s hands were under his arms, and his boots scrabbled against the stone floor, but the claws were still in his head. The antidote must take time to work, he thought as he and Billie toppled toward the corridor through which they had entered the asylum’s hallway. They plunged down it. Another shower of sparks, and another bullet whined, but they were out on the wooden jetty, stumbling toward the steps that led down to the boats. Rain pounded off the jetty’s boards, and Harry slithered and lost his balance. Billie caught him and pulled him down the last few steps to where their boat was tied.
“Looks like we’re not finished with the risks yet,” Billie was saying. “Mind you, that’s probably how you like it, isn’t it? Keep us all on the edge of our seats, right to the very end…”
Billie’s voice gave way. Harry saw the smile had vanished from her face. She pulled him off the bottom step into the boat, where he sprawled out in the rain. The claws kept pushing back, ripping, tearing. Get up. Recover. He heard the splash of oars, and he knew Billie was rowing them away. But Harry also saw, through the rain, the shape of Madame Melrose appearing at the top of the jetty steps.
“Do you really believe you can get away?!” Her voice shrieked after them. One hand reached down and stroked the corked top of the jar of scorpions, protruding from her bag. “Dr. Mincing’s creatures may have failed to dispose of you, but do you really believe my bullets will not find you as you paddle your petit bateau? My marksmanship is formidable, rappelez-vous?”
She reloaded the gun. Harry saw the revolver’s carriage swallowing the bullets as Madame Melrose pushed them in. The carriage snapped back, spun, came to a halt. Billie pulled at the oars, but she wasn’t fast enough. From a pocket in her dress, Madame Melrose pulled out her spectacles on their stem. She twirled them four or five times, and then they stopped. Rain dripped from them, but the eyes behind were clear.
The muzzle flashed, altered its angle, and flashed again. Harry felt the boat shudder twice and heard Billie cry out. He swung around and saw that both the oar brackets had been hit, one shot off completely, the other hanging by a single screw. Billie had already thrown one of the oars away and was trying to use the other as a paddle, but it was too long, and the boat was hardly moving. Harry reached for the other oar, but the claws kept digging. Get up. He saw Madame Melrose, her revolver gleaming, the bag containing the scorpion jar swinging at her side. She was descending the rain-covered jetty steps, water flying up around her sequined shoes.
“You are within range, mes enfants. My bullets will find you. True, I am disappointed that your bodies cannot be found trembling with the demon curse. Instead, those two bodies must simply do as the remains of Dr. Mincing have done and become food for the creatures of the swamp.” The spectacles twirled faster, and she was almost dancing as her shoes splattered on down the steps. “Ah well. I must content myself with that.”
“Help me, Harry!”
Billie was thrusting the other oar at him. Harry fumbled for it but lost his grip, the oar splashing into the water. The claws pushed even deeper into his brain. Impossible. He lay there shaking in the boat, looking back through the rain at the figure on the jetty.
He saw something.
The slip of a sequined shoe. Water splattering, Madame Melrose slithering down onto one knee. The leather bag containing the scorpion jar sliding from her shoulder and slamming onto the step.
Harry heard something too.
The crack of glass.
“Look, Billie!”
Harry managed to lift an arm and point. Billie swung around and froze. She too was staring at the leather bag, lying on the steps. Harry saw a curved fragment of glass jutting from it and other pieces of glass scattered nearby. Madame Melrose was trying to struggle back up, reaching for the nearby rail while flailing at something on the lower part of her dress. Harry saw a shape scurrying along the blood-soaked hem of her petticoat. Another one higher up her corseted waist. Another on her lace sleeve.
“The scorpions!” Billie cried.
Harry’s hands were around his head again. However vital the events at the end of the jetty were, he found it hard to keep his eyes focused. He saw Madame Melrose’s back arching. He watched her arms shoot up above her, scrabbling at the air, the revolver falling away. The flesh of her face stretched wide. Harry’s eyes flickered shut, but he managed to open them again as he heard the terrible cry and the splash.
Madame Melrose had tipped off the jetty. The water churned up, a white mass. Laced arms fought, and hands thrashed in the foam. Harry saw a face, the eyes bulging, swamp water pouring out of the mouth.
His own eyelids drooped. Everything went dark.
Harry forced his eyes open again. The water still surged up by the jetty, but not so high. He saw a hand, its fingers clawing the rain, and he heard Billie screaming.
His eyes closed. This time, it took him even longer to force them open again.
The water by the jetty still rippled, but only with the rain. White flecks spattered up from each raindrop, forming a pale mist. Apart from that and the dim light from the asylum, there was blackness all around.
His eyes closed once more, and everything went blacker still.
Chapter 20
Harry’s eyes sprang open, this time to a blinding light.
The walls around him were white and gleaming; the ceiling above him was perfectly white too, apart from a few cracks slanting through the glare. Harry looked down and saw something else that was white—a strip wound across his body. He tried to move, but it held firm. He stared back at the wall, his eyelids flickering shut.
“Harry?”
His eyes managed to open again. There were shapes in the brightness now, two of them, dark but growing in size. Staring at them made his eyes hurt less, so he kept watching them as they drew close. The gleaming walls seemed to have faded, and he saw other shapes nearby too: framed pictures, a window filled with blue sky. Harry saw that the strip of white was just a folded-back bedsheet, tightly tucked. He pushed and felt it slide loose, and he realized that one of the dark shapes had reached out to help him.
“You’ll come around properly soon enough. You got a particularly big shot of scorpion venom, it turns out—one dose of the antidote wasn’t enough. Still, I did my best. That stint of floor mopping in the Kansas hospital came in handy, yeah?”
Billie was now sitting on the bed. Harry’s eyes were wide-open at last, and he could make out the room properly, but his gaze remained fixed on his friend. She was smiling back at him as she took one of his hands in hers. Harry’s mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. He had noticed another shadowy figure sitting next to the bed, and he could only think of that.
He recognized the familiar tweed suit, a tie, a pair of hands holding a book.
“Billie’s right, Harry. There’s no need to worry. The antidote will see you through in the end. I should know, shouldn’t I?”
Arthur. That face was its normal thoughtful self, no longer stretched out of shape. Harry searched it for the slightest tremor, but there was none. Those arms, once thrashing blurs, were calmly at his side, and his hands were paging neatly through the book, the title of which Harry could just about make out: Theories of Animal Venom.
>
“Clever and sinister stuff.” Arthur tapped a page of the book, then lifted up an object that Harry recognized as his friend’s leaky fountain pen. “I’d pretty much worked it all out, that night in the library. Found this book and a couple of others, which explained it all, and so when I took off my pen lid and saw what was crawling out of it, I knew what I was in for. Thought I was pretty much finished.” He winced and then smiled at Harry. “But it turns out the clever, sinister business wasn’t quite clever and sinister enough, was it? Thanks to you, Harry—oof!”
Harry was up out of the bed. His body was still weak, but somehow he had flung himself forward, and his arms were around Arthur, hugging him tight. Arthur hugged him back, and as he did so, Harry felt a little of his strength return. From a different direction, he felt Billie reach in and join the hug too.
“We did it, Harry,” she whispered in his ear. “You, me, Artie—not to mention pretty much every doctor in New Orleans, working day and night to make sure you were okay. They brought you right here to the city hall, to work on you alongside Mayor Monticelso, and Arthur too. And you pulled through, Harry. I knew you would.” She laughed. “Reminds me of the time I had to spend two days in bed after walking nonstop from Ironville, Kentucky, to Parkersburg, Virginia…I bet you’ve missed my tales of the road, haven’t you?”
Her face was next to Harry’s, tears glistening on it, but she was grinning too. Harry blinked, and he realized he could see perfectly clearly at last—his friends and everything else in the room. He touched his head with his fingertips, remembering those terrible claws. But they were gone, he was sure of it.
At last, he spoke. “Mayor Monticelso…is he all right?”
“He’s fine. Just down the corridor, actually.” Arthur shrugged. “He says he’ll come and see you when you’re better… Harry, wait!”
But Harry was already up off the bed. Billie and Arthur were trying to hold him back, but he was sliding on his clothes, shuffling his boots onto his feet. A couple of unsteady steps and he was out of the room, his friends running along beside him. Harry recognized the curved door at the end of the corridor and made his way there. The city hall. The door flew open, and he stumbled into a room he knew he had been in before, although it no longer had a bed at its center. He heard a voice, and he saw an elderly figure sitting in a chair at the room’s far end.
The Demon Curse Page 13