Elliot’s father froze, fear and horror stilling his heart. “For God’s sake, Harlan, let me help him. It might not be too late.”
“The penalty for attacking one’s king is death.”
“Attacking one’s… king?”
“Toss me your gun, Frank. Now.”
Elliot’s father glanced at his hand as if he’d forgotten his pistol. He looked back up at the Lord Mayor, who still had his gun trained on him, and after a beat, he swallowed and tossed the weapon at his feet.
“Thank you, Frank,” the Lord Mayor said, retrieving the gun and sliding it into the pocket of his coat. “If there’s one thing I’ve always liked about you, it’s your practicality.”
“What did you mean by ‘king’?” he asked again.
“Just what I said. London belongs to me. I am its total and absolute ruler.”
“You are a coward!” Elliot cried, looking up from Albert’s crumpled frame and glaring at him.
“And you,” the Lord Mayor replied, “should have been dead four hours ago.” He started toward him, but then he changed his mind and walked to Iris, who was standing on the other side of Albert and Philomena. “Both of you should,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he approached her. “I must admit, I’m interested in knowing how you escaped, and why in the world you dared to bring a Hyde to your mother’s home.”
He smiled and glanced at Andrew, who was standing to Iris’s right, but then his mirth and self-assurance suddenly dissolved, and he creased his brow and turned back to Iris, studying her face.
“But you wouldn’t,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You aren’t mad. Perhaps you’d risk your own life, but you wouldn’t endanger your mother’s. You wouldn’t have let Andrew near her unless…”
His blood cooled as he glanced over his shoulder at Elliot, whom Cam had always accused of being a hopeless, open book.
“Christ,” he breathed, turning back to Iris. “I’m right. He’s cured.” He strode to Andrew and stared down into his face. “But how is that possible? What on earth could have cured you while you were locked inside that basement? Nothing was even down there but my tools and the three of you…” His voice died, and his face blanched as he slowly turned back to Iris. “Unless the girl who can heal herself can heal other people as well.”
The silence that filled the room was all the answer the Lord Mayor needed.
“Well,” he said, breathing a stupefied laugh as he approached her. “I suppose that’s one more reason to rid myself of you.”
Virginia screamed, and Iris jumped as the Lord Mayor raised his gun.
“I’m sorry, my dear, but I don’t think you’ll heal from a bullet wound to the head.”
He cocked the gun, and Elliot bolted toward him, blinded by terror, but the Lord Mayor flew to the ground.
Tackled by Elliot’s father.
The two men howled and screamed as they grappled for the gun, which Elliot’s father eventually managed to smack from the Lord Mayor’s hand. Elliot dashed toward it and kicked it out of the Lord Mayor’s reach, but he kicked too hard, and it soared through the air and landed behind a sofa. He looked back down at his father, who had nearly succeeded in snatching his own gun back from the Lord Mayor’s pocket, but the then Lord Mayor struck a massive blow to his father’s face, knocking him onto his back with nearly supernatural force. Once he was free, the Lord Mayor rose, drew the gun, and aimed it at Elliot.
“No!” Elliot’s father cried. He leapt to his feet and lunged between the Lord Mayor and his son, his love so strong that Elliot nearly stumbled in its wake.
“Step aside, Frank,” the Lord Mayor said, his voice as hard as his eyes. “I could kill you for what you just did, but I don’t want to do that. We’ve known each other a long time, and there are still some ways in which you could make yourself useful to me. But Elliot knows too much, and he’s proven he can’t be trusted.”
Elliot’s father straightened his back. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
The Lord Mayor laughed and shook his head. “You’re both pathetic. This is the perfect example of how compassion makes men weak.” He cocked the gun and aimed at Elliot’s father. “Have it your way.”
In the graveyard on the night that Iris and Elliot first met, Iris attacked the charging Hyde by jumping onto its back and slitting its throat with a knife from her boot, and at that moment―as Elliot stared at the Lord Mayor over his father’s shoulder―the same scene unfolded like a dream before his eyes. Iris, who had apparently freed her hands during the fray, leapt up onto the Lord Mayor’s back and dragged the scalpel from Mansion House across his open throat.
Elliot and his father stumbled backward as blood sprayed the air, and the Lord Mayor dropped the gun and clutched his throat in his hands. He slumped to his knees, emitting a strange and horrible gurgling sound, and then his body went limp. He collapsed facedown on the floor and lay completely motionless in a pool of his own blood.
Iris let out a strangled breath, staring down as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Elliot stared as well, his chest swelling with stunned relief, and then his father spun around and clutched him, compounding the feeling.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, and Elliot nodded, unable to speak. His father drew back, reached inside his pocket, and pulled out a key. “I’m going to look at the footman,” he said, inserting the key into Elliot’s handcuffs and freeing his tender wrists. “Here, take this and unlock the others.” Then he ran to Albert.
Still dazed, Elliot rushed to Andrew and Virginia, released their bonds, and tossed the open cuffs onto the floor. Then he approached Philomena, who was on still her knees beside Albert, her face streaked with tears, and her lower lip caked with blood. He sucked in a breath, fighting her pain and fear as he freed her wrists. Once he was done, she reached for Albert, but Elliot’s father stopped her.
“Let’s get his hands free first,” he said, taking the keys from Elliot and unlocking Albert’s cuffs. Once they were off, he turned him over and slid his coat from his shoulders, then bunched it up to firmly press the fabric against the wound. The blood, however, was everywhere, and Albert’s face was pale and slack. Elliot lowered his head and closed his eyes.
It was too late.
Philomena covered her face and sobbed into her hands, and Iris wrapped her arms around her and pulled her against her chest. Elliot stood and stepped away, consumed by the rising grief, but then a low groan sounded just a few steps behind him. He furrowed his brow and turned around, but there was nothing there―nothing but the Lord Mayor’s bleeding, lifeless body. Shaking his head, he turned back, but then he heard the sound again, and this time when he looked, he froze.
Because the body moved.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first―not even air. His throat was dry, his lips were numb, and his feet were off the floor. He watched, completely paralyzed, as the Lord Mayor started to rise, crawling up out of the pool of his own blood and onto his feet. Once he was standing erect, he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, staring out at Elliot through the mask of blood.
And smiling.
“F―father!” Elliot cried, finally finding his voice, and the blast of terror behind him let him know they’d all looked up.
“How,” his father choked. “How in God’s name―”
“It’s simple Frank.” Smirking, the Lord Mayor lifted his chin and wiped the blood from his throat. The flesh that Iris had just sliced open was now completely intact. “Miss Faye―I mean, Miss Carroll,” he said, “is no longer the only person in London who can heal.”
“My God,” Virginia murmured, edging forward. “That’s why you took her blood.”
“How very astute, Virginia,” he said. “You may be a treacherous bitch, but I must admit you’re a sharp one.”
“What do you mean?” Iris asked her mother. “What did he do with my blood?”
“Fashioned a serum,” the Lord Mayor replied. “My own creation. For years, I’ve been tr
ying to find a way to obtain a Hyde’s abilities without becoming infected. I’ve crafted other serums out of the blood I’ve taken from Hydes, but every time I tested them on people who weren’t infected, the subjects simply ended up becoming Hydes themselves. One of them was the younger brother of that stable boy―the one who killed Andrew’s father―which I probably should have seen coming.”
Elliot trembled as violent rage erupted in Andrew’s heart, and they started forward, but then the Lord Mayor picked up the bloody gun.
“When Iris fell into my lap,” he continued, wiping it off on his trousers, “I knew that she could finally be the answer to my prayers. Once we’d tested her powers and made certain she wasn’t infected, I took her blood and used it to make her abilities my own.”
“You are a monster!” Elliot cried, unable to fight the rage around him and too disgusted to care. “A thousand times more of a fiend than Dr. Jekyll ever was!”
The Lord Mayor laughed. “What I am is invincible. Throw in immortality, and I’m very nearly a god.” He raised the gun and aimed it at Iris. “And I am a jealous god. One that will not only have no others before me, but none at all.”
At that moment, Elliot formed one final, desperate plan. He lunged forward and grasped the Lord Mayor’s free hand in his own, pushing every feeling in the room into his body―Iris’s panic, Virginia’s fear, Andrew’s rage, Philomena’s grief, his father’s horror, and even his own wild and frantic despair. Eventually, he even managed to dredge up Cam’s crippling shame, closing his eyes and sharing every last bit with the Lord Mayor. He knew that once he felt the pain and misery he’d caused, he would have no choice but to reconsider his actions. When he opened his eyes, however, the Lord Mayor was sneering down at him, completely unmoved and feeling nothing at all but vague disgust.
“You fool,” he said, shaking him off. “You think I care what you feel?”
Elliot stumbled backward, all the air in his lungs dissolving. Iris was right―empathy couldn’t solve heartlessness on its own. A person could know exactly how another person was suffering and still choose to look the other way and do nothing about it. The scent of blood hit his nose as the Lord Mayor raised the gun, pointing it directly at the spot between his eyes. His father screamed, and Iris’s distant figure started toward him, but he knew that there was nothing she could do to save him now. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, and a gunshot split the air.
But then… nothing happened. No sudden blow, no oblivion.
Elliot blinked and opened his eyes to see the Lord Mayor still before him, but the gun slipped from his hand, and he slumped down onto the floor, his body completely inert.
And the back of his head blown away.
Slowly, as if he’d stepped inside a dream, Elliot raised his head, and there―at the foot of the Grand Staircase, with a gun in his hand―was Cam. As soon as he saw Elliot, he dropped the pistol, leapt over his father’s body, and rushed straight into his arms. Relief, regret―but more than anything, love―consumed them both, and Elliot clutched him back with all the strength he had left in his body.
“El, I’m sorry,” Cam cried.
“No, don’t be―”
“No, listen to me.” He stepped back and looked into his eyes, gripping the sleeves of his coat. “This morning I abandoned the two people I love most in this world.”
“You had no choice, and you couldn’t have known what he’d do.”
“I should have known. And I should have listened to you, because you were right about everything. I don’t deserve you, El―your love, your acceptance―”
“Cam, shut up!” Elliot shook his head and laughed, nearly drunk with joy and relief. “You saved my life―all our lives. Give yourself a break.”
For once, Cam was too stunned to speak, and Elliot touched his arm. “Aller à Andrew,” he said, smiling. “Go to him. He wants to see you.”
Cam flushed and stared down at his feet. “How do you know?”
“Because I can feel it myself, remember?” Elliot quirked up an eyebrow, and when he saw it, Cam spit with laughter.
“Christ, you’re smug now,” he said with a sigh. “This power is going to make you bloody impossible to live with.”
Elliot smiled again. “Je t’aime.” I love you.
“Well, who doesn’t?” Cam grinned, let out a breath, and then hurried over to Andrew, and once he was gone, Elliot’s gaze fell on Iris across the room. She beamed at him, and he felt the force of her love from where he stood, so he crossed the floor and swept her into his arms, sharing his own.
lliot held Iris’s hand as they climbed over the pebbles and cobbles of Brighton’s rocky shore. The air smelled of salt and fish, and the setting sun had spread a blanket of gold out over the beach. Elliot’s heart had been racing since the ocean first came into view, and now that they were nearing the water’s edge, he thought it might burst. Iris’s excitement only amplified the feeling, but just as he had every moment he possibly could for the last two months, he kept his fingers entwined with hers, clasping her hand even tighter.
The quarantine had been officially lifted the day before, but they hadn’t had the chance to get away until today. Even though the Hyde menace was now considered eradicated, a few people were still trickling in to Frank and Virginia’s clinics, which Elliot and Iris had been helping to oversee. Today, however, they’d finally boarded a train at the newly opened King’s Cross, and in less than an hour, arrived at the nearest seaside city.
“Is it like you remembered?” Andrew called to Iris over the crashing waves. He and Cam were walking beside them, holding hands as well. The beach was out on the edge of Brighton―more rocky, but also deserted―which made them feel safe enough to behave as they would at the palace.
“It’s even better,” Iris said, smiling. “Everything is.”
“So, this is the English Channel, then?” Philomena asked. She and Jennie had been strolling arm in arm behind them, but now Philomena was hurrying up to the front, dragging Jennie along. Elliot let out a breath of relief as Philomena shot past him; at least for the moment, her joy had caused her grief for Albert to wane.
“What do you know?” Cam asked Andrew. “Miss Blackwell has a basic, working knowledge of geography.”
Philomena only paused long enough to stick her tongue out at him. “What I meant,” she said, “is France is on the other side. There’s only a stretch of water between us and a different country.”
Elliot looked out over the sea, now just a few meters away. He and Iris had talked about going to Paris for him to study art and her ornithology, but both of them wanted to stay and help their parents a while longer. Cam and Andrew would also remain in London for the time being, at least until the government had fully transitioned back. Only Philomena had definite plans to move away; she and Jennie were sailing for New York in a couple of weeks. They’d grown quite close in the last few months, especially after Albert’s death, and though Philomena’s parents had promised to cut her off if she left, she remained determined to pursue her dreams on the stage. Together, she and Jennie could find work and support themselves, at least until Philomena became an international star, which Elliot had no doubt she would eventually be.
Finally, the six of them reached the edge of the rocky shore. The sea stretched out before them, blue and endless as the sky, its salty spray filling their lungs as the waves lapped at their feet. They stood in silence, and then, softly, Jennie began to cry. Philomena wrapped her arms around her, resting her head on her shoulder, and Andrew did the same to Cam, who reached up and touched his cheek. Iris squeezed Elliot’s hand and leaned closer.
“Are you all right?” she whispered. “I mean, with everyone’s feelings right now. Is it too much?”
Elliot sighed and closed his eyes as love and hope washed over his heart like the waves along the beach.
“No,” he said, opening his eyes. “It’s not too much.”
I first have to thank my agent, Jen Linnan, not only for taking a c
hance on me in the first place, but for understanding me (and my writing) on pretty much a soul mate level. Next, all of the people on my team at Curiosity Quills, who have not only made my dream come true, but made me a better writer – especially my editor, Claudia Carozza, and my acquiring editor, Vicki Keire. I am so happy to be a part of the CQ family.
To my incredibly supportive family: My parents, Vicki and Scott Price, for always reading my work and never judging me for it (at least not out loud). My sister, Megan Coberly, who has always been my number one reader, cheerleader, and friend, and my brother, David “the raptor” Price, who always provides the enthusiasm (and expletives) I need.
I also have to thank my amazing beta readers, most of whom are former students and/or fabulous writers themselves. Nancy Horner for understanding me without ever even meeting me and giving me the strength and confidence to journey on, Grant Urban for being there for me as a person and a writer, Kaitlin Hicks for her hilarious, stream-of-consciousness responses, Alyssa Marr for her French tutoring, and Kylie Groom, Jordan Lolar, Kaycee Kellogg, and Nicole Cummings for their indispensable fangirling.
Thanks to my former professor and constant mentor, Darcy Zabel, for being the first person – other than my mother – to tell me I could be a writer and help me pursue it. To my uncle and fellow author, James Bryan Smith (or Uncle Jimmy), for always making time for me and supporting me as well. To Dr. Marv Hinten for appreciating my passion for justice and introducing me to Victorian/Edwardian England. To Dean Hall for helping me get to a place where I was strong enough to finally tackle a novel. To Darham Rogers for his crucial historical knowledge, Xan Mattek for unknowingly providing inspiration, and Scott Newland for blowing my mind with his awesome facts about zoos.
And finally, to my husband, Matt Berthot, who is not only the love of my life and the best father in the world, but also the biggest supporter of my writing and my dreams. I couldn’t have written this book if not for his constant love and encouragement, and also if not for his help in taking care of the next person I have to thank: My oldest son, Maximus, for showing me more love than I have ever known before. And lastly, to my youngest son, Leonardo, who – at the time of this writing – has yet to join us out in the world, but whom I already love with every fiber of my being. I want both of you to know as you grow up that you can achieve your dreams; all you need to do is trust your heart and never give up.
The Heartless City Page 24