The Heartless City

by Andrea Berthot

  He grinned at Andrew and Andrew grinned back, until Philomena grabbed his arms and swept him back into the dance. Cam laughed again and raised the bottle to his lips, his eyes like pale blue flames as he watched them twirl around the floor. Then, amid the fog of glee, Elliot felt something shift in Cam, something stronger than mere delight or riotous amusement. A longing spread through his body, from his fingertips to his toes, a soul-stirring ache as raw and magnetic as the music. Elliot blinked, furrowed his brow, and looked at Philomena. Could Cam possibly feel more for her than brotherly affection?

  At the moment, she was convincing Andrew to lift her off the ground, but once he did, he tripped and stumbled back against a shelf, causing a massive jar of preserves to crash against the stone. They all erupted with laughter, Philomena most of all.

  “The problem is that we’re the only ones trying,” she decided. “Elliot and Iris, you get up here, too.”

  “And what―dance?” Elliot asked, still laughing.

  “No. Recite Shakespeare.” She grabbed Iris’s hand and seized the collar of Elliot’s coat, dragging them onto their feet. “Yes, dance. Come on. I know you want to.”

  She flashed them both a wicked grin and returned her attention to Andrew, and Elliot stared at Iris in her single-layer nightgown. If he took her waist, as was proper, he’d be practically touching her naked skin. When he looked back up at her face, however, he saw she was smiling at him, so he swallowed, ran a hand back through his hair, and stepped toward her.

  “Miss Blackwell!”

  The voice sliced through the buzzing, cheerful air like an icy blade, and they stopped and spun around to see Albert rushing down the stairs.

  “The Lord Mayor is coming.”

  The temperature dropped, and Elliot’s mouth went dry.

  “That’s impossible,” Cam said, leaping up and stopping the Victor’s needle with a scratch. “He’s asleep.”

  “No, he’s in the Grand Hall. When something crashed, he started this way. He’ll be here any minute.”

  The terror that flooded the room melded Elliot’s feet to the floor, and for a moment, every one else seemed equally paralyzed. Then, abruptly, Cam bent down and seized the bottle of bourbon.

  “I know what to do,” he said, turning to Iris. “Come with me.”

  He grabbed her wrist without waiting for a response and started toward the stairs. She lurched after him, and Elliot finally pried up his feet and followed, Andrew, Philomena, and Albert stumbling close behind him.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed at Cam. “You won’t make it out in time!”

  “I know,” Cam replied. “We’re not leaving.” He reached the top of the stairs and threw open the door to the pantry, guiding Iris through it and then turning back around. “Stay down here and don’t make a sound,” he said. “No matter what.”

  He stepped through the door and closed it behind him, and Elliot, Andrew, Philomena, and Albert froze in the darkness. After a moment, however, Elliot noticed a sliver of light―a gap between the hinges of the door and the pantry wall. He crouched behind it and found that he could see into the room, and soon Andrew and Philomena were ducking close behind him. They watched as Cam steered Iris to a shelf lined with small glass jars, turning her to face him and placing the bourbon on the floor.

  “Iris,” he whispered, the ice of his terror penetrating the door. “I know you could probably throw me across the room, but please―don’t.”

  “What?”

  The floorboards beyond the pantry’s outer door began to creak, and Cam reached out and knocked a few of the jars onto the floor. Iris gasped and started to speak, but he gripped her face, slammed her against the shelf, and covered her mouth with his own.

  The air in the stairway dissolved, and Elliot’s stomach dropped into his feet. He clutched the wall beside him, digging his fingernails into the stone, wanting to close his eyes but unable to look away.

  “Cry out,” Cam whispered.

  Iris released was what likely a genuine yelp, because he clutched the hem of her nightgown and hiked it up her legs, exposing not only her stockings but a flash of smooth, white thigh. He drove his body into hers and crushed her mouth with his own again. Something in Elliot’s brain snapped, and he started to leap to his feet. Fortunately, Andrew clasped his shoulder and jerked him back, and Elliot sucked in a startled breath, not only from the realization of what he’d almost done, but also because of the rage and disgust that had swarmed him at Andrew’s touch. For whatever reason, the two of them were feeling exactly the same.

  “Cambrian?”

  The Lord Mayor’s voice was stern, but Elliot felt the stunned excitement sizzling beneath it.

  “Father!” Cam exclaimed, freeing Iris and backing away, twisting the fear he felt into a mask of alarmed surprise. The Lord Mayor descended the stairs and stepped into the light, glancing at Iris, whose thighs were still exposed by her bunched up skirt. She gasped and smoothed the fabric back over her legs, her cheeks darkening.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Cam began, bending down and clumsily scooping the bourbon off the floor. “I came down here for a drink―although I’d probably already had too much―and Iris was here, looking for more of those pastries we had at dinner.” He swallowed and glanced at the floor, his guise of shame so masterful Elliot thought he might actually blush. “Like I said, I’d had a bit to drink, and when I saw her here, wearing nothing but that nightgown…” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I lost control.”

  “And the pantry?” the Lord Mayor asked, nodding toward the shattered jars.

  Cam bit his lip. “She wasn’t exactly receptive to my advances.”

  A surge of amusement, and even a bit of pride, swept through the Lord Mayor, but his face was filled with nothing but sympathy as he walked to Iris and guided her away from the cluttered shelf. “Are you hurt, my dear?”

  Her stomach lurched at his touch, but she shook her head and murmured, “No, sir.”

  He brushed her shoulders as if she were a child who’d fallen while playing. “You said that, with your adrenalin, you could muster enough strength to fight off the average man. If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you?”

  She looked at him, eyes wide. “I would never do such a thing to the son of the Lord Mayor of London.”

  His lips curled into a grin, and he shook his head and sighed. “You’ve lived among women for most of your life, have you not?” he asked her gently. “After your mother passed, you lived in a girl’s home or boarding house?”

  She nodded, and he sighed again.

  “Let this be a lesson to you about living amongst grown men: If you walk around in attire like that, chances are you’ll get a response you won’t be too pleased about.”

  Rage seared Iris’s veins, but her face remained pale and cool, and the Lord Mayor patted her cheek and turned his attention to Cam.

  “I trust you’ve calmed down enough to allow Miss Faye to return to her room without further interference?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said sheepishly.

  The Lord Mayor smiled, and Elliot thought he would turn and leave, but instead, he walked to Cam and guided him back away from Iris, coming so close to the door Elliot sensed their heat through the boards.

  “As tempting as it might be,” the Lord Mayor murmured in Cam’s ear. “I need you to leave the subject of my research untouched and intact.”

  Cam’s blood froze, but he nodded obediently. Then, after a final grin, the Lord Mayor turned, climbed the stairs, and exited the pantry.

  Neither Cam nor Iris moved or spoke for a solid minute. Then, slowly, Cam crept up the stairs and into the hall, returning after a moment and closing the door behind him.

  “He’s gone.”

  Elliot rose, opened the kitchen door, and stepped into the pantry, with Andrew, Philomena, and Albert emerging just behind him. The air in the room was warmer than that on the stairs, but it seemed frigid, and the silence that swelled around them only sharpened the bitter
chill.

  “Are you all right?” Cam asked, approaching Iris, but she stepped away.

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s the only thing I could think of to do―”

  “I’m fine.”

  But she wasn’t fine. She felt numb and sick, like she needed to go sit down, and Elliot opened his mouth to suggest it, but then Cam turned to him.

  “El, I’m sorry. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  Cam shifted his gaze to the rest of the group, remorse and self-disgust rising up inside his throat. “All of you―I’m sorry you had to see―”

  “Cambrian, relax.” Andrew stepped forward, the warmth in his heart reflected in his eyes. “You thought on your feet, and you did what you could to stop him. We’re all grateful.”

  Cam looked at Andrew, his heart aching so badly Elliot thought it would break.

  “Well, I suppose I’m grateful,” Philomena said with a lavish sigh. “Even if you only chose the second prettiest girl.”

  She’d clearly meant the comment to be a joke to lighten the mood, but for Elliot, it actually had the opposite effect. It would have been unthinkable for Cam to choose Philomena, as she was the kind of girl men married to bear their noble children. The Lord Mayor might be set on a marriage between the two of them, but he would never condone Cam taking her virtue in the pantry. Cam had chosen Iris because he knew where she stood in the Lord Mayor’s eyes; if it weren’t for her abilities, she would be as disposable to him as a parlor maid.

  Perhaps the same realization was currently sinking into Iris, because she cleared her throat and said, “I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Then she turned and climbed the stairs without waiting for a response.

  “Iris,” Elliot called, but she disappeared through the door, so he scrambled up the stairs as well and followed her into the hall. “Iris, wait,” he whispered, and she stopped and turned around.

  “Elliot, please. I’m really fine,” she said as he approached, but then she paused and breathed a bitter laugh. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

  “If you want to be alone, I understand, and I’ll let you go. But please, just let me tell you something first.”

  She sighed. “All right.”

  Elliot walked to a doorway to his right and turned the knob. The door was unlocked, so he pushed it open and beckoned Iris after him, and the two of them stepped inside a dark and silent gallery.

  “I know how you feel,” he said as he closed the door behind him, but then he realized how obvious and stupid the statement was. “I mean―you know what I mean―and you have every right to feel that way, but I thought it might help if you understood why Cam did what he did.”

  “Elliot, I understand―”

  “I know you understand that he was trying to protect us, but he wasn’t just afraid of being caught and reprimanded. The Lord Mayor, if he would have found out the truth… what he would have done…” He paused and swallowed. Cam wouldn’t want him to tell her, but she needed to know. “I’ve never known a father who beat his son like the Lord Mayor beats Cam.”

  Iris’s blood cooled. “I suppose I’m not surprised.”

  “And it’s more than that,” he continued. “The way Cam feels about his father… even I had no idea until after my affliction.” He paused, suddenly thinking of something. “Here,” he said, extending his hand. “I have no idea if this will even work, but may I try something?”

  Iris placed her hand in his, and he swallowed against the wave of her apprehension and closed his eyes. He calmed his mind like he’d done before, and then he thought of Cam, dredging up the memories of his crushing fear and shame. The feelings gathered and pooled inside him, poisoning his blood, and then―before he could change his mind―he let them flow to Iris. She sucked in a breath and doubled over, her body going rigid, and he opened his eyes and released her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you feel something so terrible, but I thought if you knew, it would help you understand―”

  “He feels like that?”

  She raised her head, her eyes wide with horror, and Elliot nodded.

  “I’ve never felt fear like that,” she said, her breathing sharp and shallow. “And it’s not only fear, but shame―murderous shame. Like he… loathes himself.”

  He nodded again. “I know. And I don’t understand it at all.”

  She tilted her head, her lips parting. “That’s why you haven’t told him about your empathy,” she murmured. “You don’t want him to know you know.”

  Elliot nodded. “He’d feel betrayed. Not to mention even more ashamed than he already feels.” Guilt swarmed his stomach. “Perhaps he’d be right; I betrayed him just now.”

  “No,” she said. “You helped me to understand him, to see his heart. Think about how different the world would be if we could all do that.” Elliot glanced away, and she craned her head to meet his gaze. “Elliot, I’m telling you―it’s a gift, not a curse.”

  He let out a breath, suddenly much too tired to argue about it. “I’m just glad for Cam’s sake that the Lord Mayor didn’t catch us.”

  Iris sighed as well. “I’m glad for Philomena’s sake, too. She told me that if her mother discovered she’d snuck out of bed again, she’d hire one of the parlor maids to be her personal guard.”

  Elliot furrowed his brow. “Her personal guard? What do you mean?”

  “Someone to stay in her room with her at night and keep her from leaving.”

  A strange and hopeful plan began to take shape in Elliot’s mind. “Come on,” he said. “We need to go and talk to Philomena. If her mother wants someone to guard her, I know exactly who it should be.”

  lliot persuaded Philomena to agree, but only after assurances that Jennie wouldn’t really prevent her from going wherever she wanted, only stay in her room at night and pretend to be her guard. He didn’t tell Philomena or Iris why he wanted to make the ruse; when they asked, he simply said he would be grateful for the favor. As he’d expected, Philomena’s mother was overjoyed, and once she’d agreed, he went to find Jennie and tell her the news himself. At first she was stunned, and then she merely curtsied and said, “Yes, sir,” but both her heart and eyes were swimming with gratitude and hope. Elliot knew the arrangement wouldn’t protect her from harm forever, or make any difference to the other female servants, but it made a difference to Jennie, and that would have to be enough.

  For the next few days, Elliot’s father suspended his corpse snatching duties, paying a medical student to go out with Milo instead. He wanted him to be present during the study sessions with Iris, which took place in the mornings before the official workday began, down in the secluded privacy of his laboratory. He, Elliot, Cam, Andrew, and―of course―the Lord Mayor, watched her heal from deeper flesh wounds, make her heart rate undetectable, raise and lower her temperature, and even lift sofas and tables off the ground all by herself. As breathtaking as her feats were, and as much as Elliot liked being near her regardless of them, he didn’t really understand why his father wanted him there. But then one morning, after the session was over, he found out.

  Everyone else had just left the lab―Iris to rest and the Lord Mayor, Andrew, and Cam to go about their day―but just as Elliot stepped out into the hall, his father called him back.

  “Elliot, a moment.”

  He turned back around, his heart stilling. Since his affliction, his father hadn’t sought out his company unless he absolutely had to. Even now, as he beckoned him closer, his fear and apprehension were enough to make Elliot shiver.

  “I need to know what Iris has been feeling during these sessions.”

  Elliot’s lips parted. Now he understood why his father had wanted him around, but he couldn’t imagine why he cared how Iris had been feeling. She was a fascinating subject to him but a subject nonetheless, and during the sessions, all he’d felt toward her was clinical interest.

  The answer to the question, h
owever, was equally confusing, and it had been bothering Elliot since the study sessions began. He understood the rage Iris felt toward the Lord Mayor―by now, he felt the same way himself―but he didn’t understand why she felt equal rage for his father. She hid it perfectly, of course, and Elliot had respected her privacy and refrained from asking, but over the last few days, it had begun to weigh on his mind. Still, there was no question as to how he would answer his father.

  “She feels a bit nervous sometimes, but mostly she feels honored and eager for answers, like everyone else.”

  His father searched his face, and Elliot’s pulse began to race. According to Cam, he held the title of World’s Most Terrible Liar, but he held his father’s gaze and looked as innocent as he could. Eventually, his father gave a satisfied nod and dismissed him, but Elliot felt the uneasiness that lingered in his chest.

  At the top of the stairs that led to the lab, Elliot stopped and paused at his mother’s old door like he usually did. With a heavy breath, he reached out and pressed his palm against it, aching with the familiar combination of longing and grief.

  “What’s in there?” a voice asked, and he gasped and spun around to see Iris walking toward him. She’d been given a gown that fit by then―a simple day dress of checkered grey―and her hair was smoothed back and gathered in a knot at the nape of her neck.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when she saw him jump. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s just―I thought you had gone to your room to rest.”

  “I tried, but I couldn’t. I suppose I’m feeling restless.”

  She was, as well as curious, and he knew she’d seen the reverent way he’d pressed his palm to the door.

  “This was my mother’s room,” he confessed. “The one I told you about, where she painted and kept her supplies.”

  “The one you used to sneak inside and paint in. I remember.” She paused and took a step closer. “Are her paintings still inside?”

  “Some. At least I think they are. I haven’t been in there in years.”