Her Dark Curiosity

by Megan Shepherd

  TWENTY-NINE

  AT NIGHT, THE ROYAL Botanical greenhouse had lost its splendor. Sunlight no longer reflected off the thousands of glass panes. No glow of lanterns came from within. It was a fragile castle of shadows and frost, and it was the last place in the world I wanted to be.

  I scaled the fence with my skirt hitched around my waist, as Montgomery and Balthazar circled the garden in the carriage to climb over from the opposite side. The row of stone gargoyles glowed white in the moonlight, sentry to the secrets within, as I raced through the gardens and pulled open the heavy door.

  The warmth eased the stiffness from my joints. Boilers churned beneath my feet, pumping steam that obscured palms into dark lurking shapes. I heard nothing but the rustle of leaves, the babbling of the stream. I slid out the knife as sweat dripped down my temple.

  The spiral staircase to the catwalk looked skeletal at night, a twisting iron hand reaching to the domed ceiling. I gripped the railing and started up the stairs, which swayed as I moved, and climbed onto the high catwalk that allowed me to see the entire greenhouse at once.

  It was even warmer here, where the heat had risen. This high, I could look through the glass roof to see the lights of London. Somewhere out there Lucy dined with her parents, trying to hide the fact that she knew her father was a conspirator. Elizabeth slept soundly, unaware we’d snuck out of the house. Thousands of people who didn’t deserve to die did thousands of normal things.

  I kept walking until a splash of white far below caught my eye, and I paused. It was a grotto, tucked behind a spray of ground palms, hidden from view among the pathways.

  I gripped the catwalk railing and peered closer. The grotto was blanketed with little white flowers—Plumeria selva.

  I ran back down the spiral stairs, footsteps echoing in the cavernous glass room. I hurried along the stone paths and pushed through the colorful sprays of birds-of-paradise until the grotto opened before me. My breath caught.

  I was standing in the middle of a bed of Plumeria selva, the source of all the blood-tinged flowers that had been the murderer’s grisly calling card.

  I had found the den of the Beast.

  A twig snapped behind me. When I turned, Edward stood amid the palms.

  THE EDWARD I KNEW was gone—slipping away like a fallen leaf taken by the babbling brook. But neither was the man in front of me the snarling monster who had clawed my shoulder. His eyes were cast with a yellowish tint, the hair on his arms darker. He was trapped somewhere between man and Beast, just as I was caught in my illness’s icy grip.

  “Edward,” I whispered.

  I glanced toward the glass wall, hoping for a glimpse of Montgomery. With luck he’d already be rushing for the door, ready to tackle Edward to the ground. Muscles rippling, Edward bent over to pick up heavy iron chains that made my stomach twist. I’d dreamed once of Edward freeing me from chains; now he was poised to trap me with them.

  I raised the knife, but he shook his head.

  “Don’t,” he said. “It’s hard enough to keep him at bay, with him whispering in my ear. The transformations are quick now. If you threaten me, I won’t be able to contain him.”

  “This is a trap, Edward,” I whispered. “Montgomery will be here any moment.”

  “I know,” he said calmly, to my surprise, and threw the chains across the brook, where they clattered at my feet. “The chains aren’t for you. They’re for me. I read the headlines about the professor’s murder.” He paused, seeming to war within himself. “When the Beast was killing people who had wronged you, it was easier to forgive his crimes. But I know now that he’s grown too strong. I can’t contain him myself any longer. Now hurry and chain me to that tree. I can’t hold him off for long.”

  I stared at him, wondering if he could be believed. I shrieked as he leaped over the brook with unnatural grace, afraid he was attacking, but he only pressed his back up against a palm tree.

  “Hurry,” he said.

  I scrambled to my feet, fumbling to wrap the chain around him as tightly as I dared, though each time around he grunted, “Pull it tighter,” until the links tore at his clothing. I secured the chains in place with the thick padlock I’d given him and looked into his eyes.

  They shone with an ungodly glow.

  “Now back away from me,” he said, as his voice grew deeper. “And whatever you do, no matter what he tells you, don’t unlock these chains.”

  I scrambled back to the grotto, falling among the flowers. Where was Montgomery? He should have been here by now. I had seen Edward transform before, once in Father’s barn, and once in my attic, but this time, amid the palm trees and vines, it seemed even more savage. I looked on in horror as pain wracked him, as his swelling muscles strained to split the seams on his shirt. His nails turned black. His hair turned darker, grew longer.

  I crawled backward, heart throbbing.

  Edward’s head hung, and for a moment all I could hear was him breathing, breathing.

  Why didn’t he speak?

  “Edward?” I whispered. “Can you still hear me?”

  The chains groaned under the restricted movements of his chest. I could smell him now, a mixture of sweat, the iron chains, and a deep earthy scent like tobacco smoke.

  His head tilted up to reveal a pair of insidious yellow eyes.

  “No, my love. Not Edward.”

  THIRTY

  I JERKED MY HAND up, holding the knife as though it was an extension of my hand. I braced for him to lunge and tear at me with claws, but as my panic stretched and still no horror came, just the soft sound of his breath against the chains, I exhaled slowly.

  I took a few cautious steps until I was within feet of him.

  “You can’t hurt me,” I said. “You’re chained, and I have a knife.”

  “How endearing that you think a knife can stop me.”

  It was the same voice from the masquerade, when he’d trapped me beneath the mistletoe and spoken from behind the red mask. A voice too human for such a devil, and yet it evoked the smell of the island, the feel of caves hidden behind waterfalls and beasts crawling through jungle leaves, and a little part of me longed to hear him speak again.

  “If you could free yourself of those chains, you would have by now,” I said. “That padlock was designed to withstand a force far stronger than you.”

  I could almost feel his sinister grin. The boilers let out another burst of steam as sweat dripped down my face and soaked into my dress. At first his silence felt as though I had triumphed—I had the power here, the freedom, and he was trapped. Yet as the silence stretched, so did my uneasiness.

  Where was Montgomery?

  I went to the window and pressed my face against the frosted glass. Only darkness outside, not even the ring of lanterns around the frozen lake to give me comfort in the desolate night.

  “Loosen these chains, my love. Only an inch. I can’t breathe.”

  I winced at the memory of the bruises cut into Edward’s chest and arms in such intricate patterns that they were almost beautiful. He’d have more bruises before the night was out, because of me this time.

  I tightened my hold on the knife. “I can’t.”

  “It’s killing me.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “It’s killing him, too.”

  His gaze was keenly focused. I knew it was a trick, and a transparent one at that. But the body was still Edward’s. The voice—certain words, certain expressions—rang as slightly familiar.

  “I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “You know I can’t. Mont­gomery will be here any moment. Until then, it’s better if you don’t speak to me.” I felt my cheeks burning and prayed he couldn’t see in the dark. “Especially don’t call me… by that name you use.”

  “What, my love?” I heard a strained bark of laughter. “But that’s what you are. We’re more alike than you want to admit.”

  “I hate everything about you.”

  “What you hate is what you are. An animal, just like me. D
on’t pretend like you’ve never imagined it—the thrill of the hunt. No chaperones, no silk stockings, nothing holding you back. Tearing through the city like we were back on that island, feeling your blood boil, your pulse race. You’re jealous of my freedom. You said it yourself once.”

  “I’ve no desire to kill.”

  “I did you a favor. Don’t tell me some part of you didn’t delight to find them dead: Penderwick, Sir Danvers. You fantasized about hurting them after what they did to your family, didn’t you?”

  “Stop it,” I snapped. “You can’t pretend that what you’re doing is for me. You enjoy murder.” I shook my head. “There’s no justification for that.”

  A sinister smile crossed his face. “Not even for your own father’s murder?”

  I drew in a quick breath, realizing I’d fallen into the trap of his words. When I had opened the door for Jaguar to kill Father, I had assumed Edward dead at the time. It had never occurred to me that he would know about what I’d done.

  “Ah, seeing things differently now, are you, love? I know exactly what happened that night on the island. You thought me dead, but I was very much alive. I saw it with my own eyes. A girl aiding a monster to kill her own father. You did it to stop a greater evil from spreading. How is that any different from what I do?”

  I could only stare at him, at a loss for words. I didn’t like what he was suggesting—that he and I were the same. I hadn’t killed my father because I’d hungered for blood, and yet the results were the same. What did motivation matter, when death was the result?

  It was true that I hadn’t regretted it for a moment.

  My mind scrambled to piece together an argument, a justification, a rationale for why we were different, yet the only words I could manage were “What about the professor? He never did anything but help me!”

  The Beast watched me closely, silent as the boilers let out another burst of steam. I saw a flicker in his otherwise penetrating eyes. “That one was not me, love.”

  “Of course it was you,” I snapped. “I saw the body. I saw the wounds.”

  He cocked his head, still eyeing me with that strange, too-human look. He was lying to me. He had to be. He would say anything to get what he wanted.

  “You killed him,” I seethed. “Because you’re out of control.”

  He raised an eyebrow at this. “Out of control? Yes, perhaps you are right. Nevertheless I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t anywhere near Highbury last night. Believe me or not, it’s the truth.”

  I didn’t dignify him with an answer. Instead I paced among the ferns, mind fractured like a broken pane of glass, terrible memories of the professor’s dead body coming back to me. I pulled at my itchy collar.

  “You know it’s unnatural,” he said softly, his insidious voice working its way into my ear. “Dressing up in stiff clothes and pinching shoes that one can barely walk in. Making small talk about holiday decorations when terrible things are happening in the city. You’ve never felt a part of this world, have you? We weren’t meant to live like this. We’re a different breed. I’ve watched you working away in that secret room you call a workshop, though we both know what it really is—a laboratory, laid out exactly like your father’s. I’ve seen you reading your father’s journal for hours on end, barely stopping to breathe. What do you tell yourself—that you have no choice but to read it? That you don’t enjoy reading through the scientific marvels he uncovered, how he revolutionized the world? Admit it. You loved reading it.”

  “I was looking for a cure,” I whispered, though my lips were dry.

  “Ah yes, the fabled cure. Don’t you realize why you haven’t cured yourself yet? Not because you can’t—because you don’t want to. You’ve always had that animal inside you, stirring, since you were an infant. It’s been more of a friend to you than any of those girls who titter behind their fans in church. You’re afraid that if you rid yourself of it, you’ll be hollow. A shell of a person content to let the days pass in boredom and chores, never really feeling, never truly living. Not like how I live.”

  I could only stare at him. I wanted to tell myself there was no truth in what he was saying. I desperately wanted a cure—I’d die without one. Even now a stiffness spread up my arms to the pit of my elbow, and my head throbbed behind my left eye.

  “Without a cure I’ll go into a coma.”

  “Will you? You really have no idea what will happen, do you? All you have is your father’s speculation, and we both know his arrogance was far greater than his actual talent.” He grinned. “You’re dying of curiosity—that’s why some deep part of you is sabotaging any attempts for a cure. You’re desperate to know what you’ll become, and as far as Edward goes, let’s just come out with the truth, shall we? You don’t want to cure him, either, not deep down, because the one who fascinates you is me.”

  I tried to shake my head, but my neck had gone stiff.

  “Montgomery,” I whispered. “Montgomery will be here any moment.”

  “I even saw you eyeing that hideous little dog,” he whispered as though I hadn’t even spoken. “You were thinking about it, weren’t you? Cutting him open, seeing what lay within.”

  “No!” I shook my head violently. “I would never.”

  “I’d wager your father made that same magnanimous claim a long time ago. You’ll change your mind just as he did. Haven’t you wondered why that fool Dr. Hastings isn’t dead yet? I’ve saved him for you, my love. You’ve dreamed about repaying his cruelty for months, and I couldn’t rob you of that joy. Consider him a gift.”

  I remembered Hastings accusing those two students at King’s College of following him as a prank, and Edward telling me later the Beast had been stalking a doctor. It had been Hastings—and this is why the Beast hadn’t killed him.

  For me.

  “Nothing you’re saying is true,” I spat. “We aren’t anything alike, and the sooner Edward is rid of you, the better.” I slapped my hand across his face, but he barely flinched. The chains rustled as he strained against them, jingling and clanking. To my horror, he pulled an arm free.

  He grabbed my wrist before I could run.

  The Beast smiled in the moonlight and dislocated his shoulder.

  HIS BODY CONTORTED AS one by one the chains fell to the ground, unbroken. He didn’t let go of my wrist for a moment.

  I’d been wrong. I’d been so, so wrong.

  “No!” I said, trying to pull away. “I put valerian in your tea only days ago; it should have lasted. And the padlock—you can’t break it.”

  “Come, come, my love. You think I didn’t know about the tea?” He leaned closer until I could feel his warm breath. “And the chains, well. I’ve always been able to free myself of the chains.”

  My hand went slack with shock. “But in the attic… you were contained. You didn’t kill for days.”

  “Of course I did. I slipped my chains and hid the bodies so you wouldn’t find out. Don’t you see? It’s all been for you.”

  “I didn’t ask for any of this!” I pulled the knife from my boot and slashed across his arm with all my force. He barely flinched, nearly impossible to hurt, but I was able to pull away. I scrambled over rocks, splashing into the creek, but a hand closed over my ankle. I clawed at the dirt, grabbed for the plants, but it was useless. The Beast’s hands found my calf, then my thigh, then my waist, and he spun me around, pinning me to the earth, laughing. Laughing, like this was a game.

  Where was Montgomery?

  His eyes glowed yellow. Edward’s face, Edward’s body, though it no longer belonged to him.

  “Let me go!” I cried, but he dragged me to the center of the flowers with superhuman strength.

  “You think we’re not the same?” he said. “You think we don’t belong together? I could have caught you a thousand times. I could have killed you, tasted your blood—and how badly I wanted to. I’m done being patient with you.” He dug a knee against my thigh, and I cried out with pain. “Doesn’t a monster deserve a chance at rede
mption?” he continued. “Doesn’t a monster deserve a mate? You were so quick to help Edward, but what about me?”

  I flexed my fingers behind my back, which were even now starting to pop and shift, triggered by his own transformation. “You’re the monster, not Edward!”

  “But you’re a little monster too, aren’t you?” His breath came hot on my face as he leaned closer to whisper. “If I’m to be punished, love, so should you.”

  “You’re insane,” I hissed. He’d crossed into madness, into savagery. My only chance was the knife, but where was it? With my head pressed into the dirt, all I could see were the flowers, with their cloying aroma, their soft petals grating against my skin.

  He ripped my dress along the shoulder seam, pulling it down over my arm. I could feel the bones in his hands shifting to make room for the claws that lay buried in his flesh, as my own body responded with its familiar symptoms and aches. It was his lips that found my skin first, kissing my neck, running his teeth over my shoulder as though he wanted to take a bite out of me. I tried to twist away, but he growled and pinned me harder.

  “You taste so sweet,” he whispered in my ear. “All the sweeter when you struggle.”

  He kissed me hard while one hand found the hem of my dress, drawing it up over my thigh. His fingers grazed the soft skin by my knee. Bones popped in the socket.

  A sound like metal against metal came, and I realized his claws were emerging.

  Sweat rolled off his forehead and onto mine. “One last chance, love. Say the word and I shall bring Hastings to you, and we can end him together, the pair of us as we are meant to be.”

  For a second an image flashed in my head of Hastings’s dead body, blood trickling from a slit in his throat, and I was glad of it. Hungry for it. He’d caused me such misery, and what of the other girls he’d abused? Because I knew there must be others.

  I was tempted, but I wasn’t a fool. My hand closed over a rock, my sweating fingers slick on its surface, as I gritted my teeth. Only one chance. Aim for the temple, aim to disorient.