“You inhaled a lot of smoke,” Montgomery said. “It’s making you sick.”
I clenched my hands over his, squeezing tight. “I told you to run,” I coughed. “To save yourself. It’s impossible, what you did.”
His fingers brushed back my tangled hair, damp with sweat. “Love can sometimes do the impossible. You’re mad if you think I would have left you there to die.”
I pressed my lips against his. The sound of fire spreading through the manor roared in the distance, and the stone under our knees was warming, but I needed to feel his lips on mine. If we only had one life, then I wanted to live it right.
Something crashed in the house, jarring us out of the kiss. His arm tightened around my back. The muscles of his biceps shook strangely from the superhuman exertion; I needed to get him out of here and treat him properly before his muscles gave out completely.
“Come on,” I said. “We’re not out of danger yet.”
I grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the burning tower. Smoke was already seeping into the ceiling of the passageway. We moved faster, and I tripped over a brick and fell against the wall, flinching. The dust was disturbed here, and I looked closer at the uneven brick. I’d tripped over it before, with Hensley.
“We’re by the library!” I said. “That means this passage leads down to the tunnel that goes outside, the same one I used to escape the Beast.”
The roar of the fire was getting louder. It took me back to another time, another fire, one that roared into the island night. Father had died in that one. Maybe I’d die the same way, fated to end up like him.
No, I reminded myself. We choose our own fate.
Montgomery coughed harder. Smoke was so thick that it was hard to make out his face even from a few steps away. We kept low where the air was still breathable and descended stairs, sliding more than climbing, until the temperature lowered. The stone walls here were blessedly cool. Our feet splashed in the flooded basement.
“There it is!” I spotted a low wooden door that led to the outside. But when I turned around, my smile faded. One glance told me Montgomery’s superhuman strength was failing. There was only so long a body could do the impossible.
“The south garden is just beyond this door,” I urged. “We have to push through. Don’t give up yet, Montgomery.”
He nodded. I counted, and on three we both poured the last of our strength into that wooden door. It slid open an inch, then two, and at last wide enough to crawl through.
A cold wind bit at me as rain stung my face and mixed with tears of relief. Montgomery came through the passageway behind me. I clenched my hands in the mud, wanting to collapse into it.
Laughing with exhaustion, I crawled over to him. His hand tightened on mine as his eyes sank closed. I rested a hand on his chest, enjoying the steady beat of his heart and knowing that everything would at long last be all right.
“We’re safe now,” I said, brushing the rain from his face. “We made it.”
The sound of a boot scuffing came through the rain, and I had just enough strength to look up. The fair blue eyes of Radcliffe stared at me. He aimed his pistol at my head.
All the joy drained out of me.
“Miss Moreau. Where, may I ask, is Lucy?”
ANGER FLOODED INTO ME. I pictured Lucy’s body in the tower, slumped against the wall as though sleeping. Dead by her own father’s hand.
From the other end of the courtyard, a crash came as flames exploded through the upper windows of the tower. Smoke billowed into the dark night sky.
“She’s already gone,” I coughed. “Burned in that fire along with all of Frankenstein’s equipment and journals.”
Radcliffe’s face went slack as he stared at the smoke that consumed his daughter’s body. There was loss there that I was sure my father had never felt, and for a moment I felt pity for this man I hated. But then he turned to me with a furious growl.
“Get up!” He dug the pistol against my forehead. When I stumbled, he wrenched me to my feet, digging the pistol in harder.
“Pick him up as well,” Radcliffe ordered to two of his men, nodding at Montgomery. Worry spiked in me again. Montgomery was flat in the mud, streaked with rain. Radcliffe’s men tried to lift him, but he was much larger than both of them, and they could barely lift his chest. His eyes were closed.
My heartbeat sped. Had he passed out from exhaustion? I looked around the courtyard frantically. There was no sign of the Balthazar or the little girls, so Radcliffe must not have discovered their hiding place. I hadn’t seen Jack Serra and his troupe since they lowered the electric wire, but they were nimble acrobats and would be able to escape the burning building. At last I saw McKenna, Carlyle, Lily, and Moira huddled under a tree that gave them little shelter in the rain, guarded by one of Radcliffe’s men. That left only Edward, and his body still lay in the same place, faceup in the gravel, blood surrounding him.
Faceup? I thought. He had landed and been shot facedown.
My heart beat faster. Was he alive?
This exhilarating thought was met with a crash from the house as part of the roof fell in. The servants shrieked, and even the mercenaries seemed nervous so close to a raging fire. The only one who didn’t flinch was Radcliffe.
“There’s no point anymore,” I said. “The research is gone. You’ve lost.”
A low moan came from the courtyard, and Edward’s arm twitched. Radcliffe took notice, just as I did. “Not dead yet?” he called. “I suppose all that’s left is to finish the job, since you’ve made it perfectly clear you aren’t willing to bargain, Miss Moreau.”
“Don’t!” I cried, but Radcliffe’s mercenary had a rifle aimed at me.
Radcliffe cocked his pistol, aiming for Edward’s head, but then paused. He holstered his firearm and took out a hunting knife instead. “No. A bullet is too easy. I’ll cut open his throat so deep not even you could stitch it back, Miss Moreau, and then do the same to everyone else in this household.”
He hauled Edward to his feet, the knife glinting at his throat, cutting into the outer layer of skin. My heart beat wildly as a line of blood rolled down his chest. It flowed too freely, not at all like Hensley’s had. It made me start. If Edward could bleed like that, could he also die? How much damage could his body take before shutting down completely?
My eyes met Edward’s over the glinting knife. Radcliffe didn’t know that he was stronger than most, possibly even immortal. Edward raised an eyebrow, asking me a silent question. He could overpower Radcliffe easily, but not before Radcliffe slit his throat.
I shook my head, telling Edward not to try anything.
“Let him go,” I said. “Return to London and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”
“I don’t give up so easily.”
My mind whirled with ideas for how to bring him down. I caught sight of a gleaming metal object—the lightning rod. When the roof had collapsed, it had landed in the center of the courtyard, revealing a jagged end.
I took a step closer to the rod. Edward followed my gaze with understanding.
“There’s a problem with your plan,” I said slowly, taking another step closer.
Radcliffe moved the knife closer against Edward’s neck. Flames burst out of the upper windows, raining glass to the front steps.
“I don’t give up so easily either.” I lunged for the lightning rod. It was heavier than I’d expected, but that only meant it would kill quicker. I aimed it at Edward’s chest, and by extension Radcliffe’s chest behind him. “Let him go.”
Radcliffe laughed low in his throat. “You really expect me to believe you’d murder your own friend just to kill me, too?”
My eyes met Edward’s. Memories flashed in an instant: a curled body in a rocking dinghy, the boy behind the waterfall, the boy who’d fought against the Beast.
“Believe it,” I said.
I rammed the rod into Edward’s chest with all my strength. He jolted with the shock but didn’t cry out. Radcliffe, how
ever, howled with pain. The force pinned them both against the wall, but I hadn’t the strength to push it far enough through Edward’s body to entirely pierce Radcliffe’s chest.
“Edward,” I gasped. “I need your help.”
He winced as he gripped the lightning rod, and together we thrust it all the way through his chest. Dark blood seeped from the wound, and alarm again shot through me.
How much blood could he lose and still live?
Radcliffe cried out in anguished pain as the lightning rod went straight through him. His arms went limp, the blade falling from his fingers. At last he was silent.
I picked up his pistol and aimed for the mercenaries who remained, but they were already fleeing the manor, disappearing into the darkness. I knew we wouldn’t ever see them again.
I returned to Edward, close enough for his dark blood to stain my hands. I was terrified to look up, afraid that he’d be dead, and this time I’d have killed him.
But he let out a deep sigh.
“You’re alive,” I whispered.
He winced, reaching for the lighting rod. I hurried to help him pull it from both Radcliffe’s body and his own. Radcliffe’s body sagged onto the mud, face in a puddle, no air coming from it.
Dead.
I knelt next to Edward, brushing the hair from his face. He clutched a hand to the slow seeping blood from his chest. “Nothing you can’t fix, right?” A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.
I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight, knowing that soon I’d have to tell him about Lucy. What place was there in the world for a man like him, so unnatural and yet so good?
“Go to him,” Edward said, nodding toward Montgomery’s unconscious body.
I pulled away, wiping my eyes. Edward gave me a gentle push, and I crawled across the muddy courtyard to where Montgomery lay. The color had drained from his face and arms. I pressed my fingers to his neck, praying to every god I knew that he wouldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be. Not after everything.
Someone shuffled behind me, and I smelled wet dog. Balthazar crouched next to me. Blood seeped from a gash on his shoulder, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.
“Is he alive, Miss?”
Beneath my fingers there was a pulse, and I closed my eyes with gratitude. I braced my arms in the mud, crying freely now.
“Yes,” I said. “He’ll make it.”
Balthazar patted my shoulder, and all the strength ran out of me. I hadn’t realized that, like Montgomery, my body had been pushing me beyond what was humanly possible. I slumped to the mud, barely able to keep my eyes open.
“Balthazar, it’s still dangerous. The fire—”
He patted my shoulder. “I’ll take care of everything, Miss. Rest now. It’s over.”
The final bit of resistance within me let go. Over. I let my eyes sink closed, and the last thing I felt was the soft rain against my eyelids.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
FORTY
I WOKE AS MORNING broke over the moors.
The last tendrils of smoke streaked across a mottled pink sky. I was lying beneath the open ceiling of the winter garden; though all the glass had shattered, the iron skeleton still stood. I sat up, still dazed from smoke poisoning, and took in the other survivors.
Edward had dragged one of the white metal chairs into the grass and sat with his back to me, facing the smoldering house. He rested his elbows on his knees, slightly hunched and stiff. Montgomery, still unconscious but breathing steadily, was laid out on the floor beside me on an old saddle blanket. A bark came at my side, and Sharkey nuzzled against me.
“Good boy,” I said, scratching his ear. There was something so simple about petting a dog. Sharkey didn’t understand what the burning building meant. Sharkey didn’t know that Lucy was dead and the world had turned upside down time and time again.
He laid on the dusty floor, rested his head in my lap.
“I found him in the barn this morning.” Balthazar lumbered over, crouching down to scratch Sharkey’s back. “The fire didn’t spread there. He was sleeping in the straw with the goats.”
“So all the servants are safe?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“How’s Montgomery?”
“Still hasn’t woken, but the rest is good for him. His body will take some time to recover.”
I let my eyes trace over his sleeping form, remembering how he’d torn open the metal grate with his bare hands. It had wrecked his body, but maybe that was a blessing. If he’d been involved in the fight with Radcliffe, there’d be no telling if he’d be alive right now.
“And Edward?”
“He bled and bled,” Balthazar said. “I tried to do stitches, but these hands.” He held up his giant fingers and sighed. “I haven’t the dexterity. You’ll have to do it, Miss. I plugged the hole in his chest with straw, and that’s held for now. He’s like Master Hensley, I think. Not much can kill him.”
“No. I don’t suppose so.” I drew my knees into my chest, taking a deep breath. The air was thick with the smell of smoke. A few lingering fires still crackled in the east wing; we’d probably find burning embers deep in the ruins for days. In the morning light the manor looked like a looming skeleton, all stone spines and ragged metal bones. A building that had stood for hundreds of years, against the attack of the Vikings, protecting a secret that had the potential to change the world.
Now it was nothing but ashes and stone.
“What about Jack Serra and his troupe?” I asked.
Balthazar scratched the back of his neck. “They’re gone, Miss.”
“What do you mean? Where did they go?”
“I can’t say, exactly. After the fighting ended I carried you and Montgomery here and did my best to attend to your injuries, then I went looking for the carnival troupe but found nothing. They moved on.”
“They can’t have just left. Jack . . . Ajax . . . he’s one of us.”
“He isn’t one of you,” Balthazar explained patiently. “He’s like me, you know. A creation. His ways aren’t the ways of men. He isn’t one to stay for good-byes.”
It was the first time I’d ever heard Balthazar admit to the truth of what he was. He was so lovably naïve to the ways of the world that at times I had doubted he did know what he was.
“What about you?” I asked Balthazar. “Will you go, too?”
His face went very serious. “No, Miss. My place is with you and Montgomery, whether I’m one of you or not.”
I envied him the certainty that hung in his voice. This man had once been a creation in my father’s laboratory, then a dog at Montgomery’s heels. Now he was so much more. A savior. A friend. I reached over and squeezed his hand. “You do belong with us.”
The wind must have carried the sound of our voices beyond the winter garden, because Edward turned in the chair and came over to us. There was a carefulness in the way he handled himself, one hand pressed against his chest, his movements guarded and slow. I jumped up to help him ease onto a low brick wall. Behind him, the stone statue of a fox watched, unscathed by the fire.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He winced as he settled on the brick wall. Carefully, he pulled away his hand from his chest, where he’d been clutching a blood-soaked cloth packed with straw. “It doesn’t hurt. That’s something, at least.”
There was a strain to his voice; just because he had survived the metal rod didn’t meant it hadn’t damaged him. “We’ll get you to Quick and stitch you up there. There must be a carriage left that didn’t burn.” I glanced in the direction of the barn, but the galley was empty now where Carlyle’s wagon usually resided.
“I can help with that, Mistress, if you don’t mind.”
It was McKenna, making her way across the heather toward us. She wore her men’s boots and a tartan cape and though her gray-streaked hair was a bit wi
ld, it was clear she’d bathed and rested.
“McKenna! You came back.”
“Of course, little mouse. Even burned and gone, this is my home. Did you really think I could leave it for long?” She motioned behind her, to where Carlyle was hitching the mule and wagon, staring off at the ruins of his home. “We took the girls to Quick last night and settled them down. I reported the fire to the authorities—said it was caused by an errant spark in the fireplace.” Her voice trailed off as her gaze drifted to the courtyard, where the bodies of the dead still lay, starting to bloat in the morning sunlight. “There’s much work to be done, eh?”
I’d never been so thankful for someone so practical. Her tired face with the laugh-line wrinkles and the shock of white hairs mixed in with the red. Such a quiet woman, but there was strength there. I couldn’t possibly manage this place without her, Elizabeth had said. Maybe, with McKenna’s help, I could be as good a mistress to Ballentyne as Elizabeth had been.
Carlyle came over, a deep frown on his face. He and I had never really gotten on, but he’d been there when I’d needed him, and for that I would be in his eternal debt.
“Came to see if there was anything worth salvaging,” Carlyle said, and then nudged Montgomery’s unconscious leg with the tip of his boot. “He’ll do, for a start.”
“Would you mind taking him back to Quick?” I asked. “We can stay at the inn for a few days until he and Edward are both recovered.”
“Aye,” he said, and signaled to Balthazar. “Help me load ’em up in the wagon, won’t you, big fellow?” The two of them loaded Montgomery gently on the saddle blanket, and Carlyle took his seat at the front and picked up the reins.
I rested an arm over the wooden wagon bed, brushing Montgomery’s hair out of his eyes. “I’ll see you soon,” I whispered to him. “There are a few things I have to do first.”
I gave the signal to Carlyle, who clicked to the mule, and the wagon rolled off down the muddy road. Balthazar and I watched it go. With a deep sigh, Balthazar turned toward the courtyard.
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