Molly startled. “James? But why?”
“Because the doctor wants him to. He believes James’s talents will be appropriate for the situation, and I agree.”
Ava reached out and took Molly’s still-bloody hand.
“It’s better if you don’t know too much.” She squeezed it, and two fat drops of the dead woman’s blood dripped onto the table. “But this will be the beginning of so much more for us, Molly.” She let go. “Now hand me the heart.”
Molly carefully cradled the grisly jewel, passing it to Ava. Her aunt slipped the heart neatly inside a wooden box, giving the sawdust inside a small shake before snapping the lid closed.
“There.” She smiled. “You see? A body is just a body. The only one you ever need to worry about hurting is your own.”
27
Her second day in the lecture hall began worse than the first.
She’d wanted to wear the new gray dress, but no matter how much Maeve had tried to scrub out the vomit from the day with Sophie, there was still a small pale stain across its breast. The other students wore white shirts with black coats, but the only dress Molly had in black was the one she’d borrowed for Cady’s funeral. It was far too formal for work in the anatomy room, and its pockets were too shallow to carry her notes. She supposed she could have asked Ava for a new black dress, but she did not want to waste her aunt’s time on something so silly as a gown’s color. In the end, she settled on one of her ill-fitting hand-me-downs, the brown dress she wore to rob graves.
“Molly Green.” Dr. LaValle had called her name. “Please come forward and demonstrate the appropriate first steps in preparing a corpse for dissection.”
He was dressed in another one of his spectacular outfits, this one a mustard velvet with a teal silk beneath. Amidst the black and white of the students’ uniforms, he stood out like a colorful painting, intentionally displaying himself. There was no choice but to look at him. In front of the doctor rested the body she and Tom had collected from the pub. A sheet was now draped over the man’s enormous belly.
Molly moved to the front of the class. Placing her hands gently around the man’s soft jowls, she lifted the corpse’s head.
The eyes of the other students feasted hungrily upon her, eager for a mistake.
Gods don’t share their power, Molly.
Trying to keep her nerves steady, she reached to pull back an eyelid. She could feel the stares, Edgar’s keenest amongst them. Her fingers began to shake.
“Molly?” Dr. LaValle looked at her, an amused expression on his face. “Would you like to continue?”
“Of course.” Hurriedly, she picked open the other eyelid. She moved the head quickly from one side to the other. It was called the doll’s eye test. The movement checked the ocular reflex. If the person was alive, the eyes would remain fixed, staring straight ahead. Molly had read in her anatomy books that such a test was to be performed on all bodies to confirm death.
Small snickers were starting. Molly flushed. She was sure she was doing it right. She’d read about how to perform the test again and again, memorized the pages . . .
“I think we can forgo the formalities.” Dr. LaValle lifted the man’s arm and let it thump heavily onto the table. “Save your life checks for the hospital. In this room, we serve only the dead.”
Laughter rippled through the classroom.
“Now make the first cut.” He handed her a scalpel. She took it.
The breastbone. She should make the first cut there.
Raising the knife, she prepared to plunge it into the skin.
But at the last moment, her hand came down in a glancing sweep across the sternum, leaving a small scratch and nothing more.
Cursing herself, she took a deep breath. Then, closing her eyes, she remembered Ava’s words from last night.
The only body you need worry about hurting is your own.
She felt a calm center her, and her hands became steady.
She could do this.
“A little more force, yes?” The doctor laid a gloved hand over the top of her own. But before she could make a second attempt, he took the knife. With a practiced motion, he sliced a neat incision, quick and clean through all three layers of skin.
“Now, who’s next?”
A sea of eager hands rose as Molly, trembling with fury, was jostled back to her place in the crowd.
* * *
“How about a wager?”
Molly had been forced to watch as other students, including Edgar, did a better job demonstrating their knife skills on the corpse. Despite her rage, she’d scrutinized each boy’s cuts. Though several students were competent, none of them—not even James, who was by far the best—made incisions as neat as the hand who’d taken Kitty’s tail. Certainly not neat enough to strip the flesh from a body as cleanly as the newspaper had suggested. Then again, perhaps the Knifeman didn’t want anyone to know his skill.
Dr. LaValle returned to the front of the classroom. He paused, waiting for everyone’s attention.
An eager energy filled the air as the students stilled.
“I want each of you to remove the viscera from a body. This will mean a careful extraction of the intestines and stomach without damaging the pancreas or the spleen. Two to a corpse. The first team to finish will be given their pick of fresh bodies next week.”
Excited murmurs broke out across the room.
Even though the school got the best bodies on the market, many could still be very unpleasant to work with. Besides, choosing one’s own corpse meant the pick of any particularly intriguing ailments.
“Want to be partners?” James appeared at her side, and Molly nodded, grateful. She’d worried no one would want to work with her.
Their assigned corpse had been in use for several days now. Bodies could not be wasted, and so students dissected them in layers, working first through the muscles and then moving on to the internal organs. The woman on the table was middle-aged and had been pulled from the almshouse by Molly herself. Now her body lay completely stripped of skin, chest open.
“Everyone ready?” Dr. LaValle held his pocket watch in the air, its gold back gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the church windows. “Begin!”
“We’ll have to do it together if we want a chance,” James said. “Are you up for this?”
“Yes.” Eyes hard, Molly wiped the sweat from her hands along her dress.
“Good.” He handed her one of his knives, a beautiful scalpel perfect for cutting through the more delicate layers of muscle. “Do you want me to make the first incision?”
She could tell he was trying not to let his worry that she might fail again show.
“No. I can do it.” Carefully, she moved the scalpel, her hand steady. She felt the same exhilaration she’d experienced the night at the Red Carousel as she’d watched the bone game. The body was a puzzle, and she its master. In triumph, she lifted out the first section of the large intestine.
“Good.” James eagerly started on the small intestine. “You have to be careful of the jejunum. That’s a tricky bit. You’ll want to avoid nicking the organ where it curves.”
For the next hour, they worked perfectly in tandem. Molly looked up only once and was amazed to find their progress was well ahead of the other students. She was particularly pleased to see the usually smirking Edgar with his face buried in a clumsily dissected pile of intestines, trying to untangle the loops.
“We’re winning,” James whispered, trying not to let his excitement show. “Just the stomach now. You can do it!”
Choosing a new scalpel, Molly moved to cut away the last bits of mesentery. One more slice, and—
The jolt came from behind her, a push that knocked into the hand holding the knife, sending it slicing across soft tissue. A ghastly smell released.
Molly turned to see Edgar’s gr
inning face. “Sorry. Looks like you forgot to clear a path around your body.” He motioned to the small dissection tray that rested between her and James, the tools they’d been sharing laid out. It stuck farther into the room than it should have so that they might both reach it.
“You did that on purpose!” She raised her scalpel. “We were—”
“What’s happened here?” Dr. LaValle hurried over and looked down at the corpse. James stared grimly from behind. “What have you done?” the doctor said.
The stomach gaped open, the stench of bile now filling the room.
“This is unacceptable!” the doctor shouted. “What if this had been a living person? You’d have killed them with this carelessness.”
“I’m sorry,” Molly began. “There was an accident around—”
“Keep your periphery clear!” the doctor said. “A working distance between you and all causal impediments at all times!”
“We won’t let it happen again,” James said, moving to stand beside Molly. “If you’ll let us finish, sir.”
But the doctor’s fury only grew. Grabbing a sheet, he moved toward the body. “You are finished!”
Molly could not stop looking at the wound. The unfortunate cut she’d made yawned open like a mouth, revealing a jagged window into the organ.
Small white sandlike granules coated its bottom. Molly leaned closer. “What is that? Are those . . . ?”
The doctor shoved her away and threw the sheet over the corpse, hands shaking.
“Lectures are over for today.” A small pulse beat in the center of his forehead, and his face was a mask of rage. “The rest of you can thank Miss Green for the wasted time.”
Several groans erupted, and then Edgar’s voice sounded in her ear. “Get out of this classroom, bitch. Or I’ll throw you out myself.”
James moved to step between them, but Molly held up her hand. “No. I’m going.” Raising her chin, she met Edgar’s gaze. “The next time you mess with my knife, it’ll end up in your neck.”
She held back the furious tears until she was safely in her room, and there, where no one could see, she let them fall, as ugly as the cut she’d made.
The rest of day passed quickly. Molly dried her eyes, and in the little mirror over her washbasin, she practiced the lies she would tell Tom about how well she was doing. When night fell, she went downstairs and stepped out into the chilly air.
But Tom was not there. Instead, only the twins, Tom’s helpers, sat in the wagon, their faces a blank veil that refused to answer the question she would not ask.
Climbing into the carriage, Molly rode with them into the city, her heart calming to a stillness dark enough to match the dead.
28
Sunday came, and there were no lectures or evening work.
Molly was left alone with her thoughts. Like an overly fond cat, they trailed her throughout the house, insisting on a scratch.
Though she’d found a way into the lecture room, she was no closer to finding Kitty’s killer than when she’d arrived a month ago. The last two days of lectures had brought with them the doctor’s intense scrutiny of her own raw skills, leaving her confidence shaken. And Tom still wasn’t back. The twins, when she’d finally broken down and asked, claimed not to know where he was. As if mastering any blade might right her mood, Molly took the butter knife from her lunch tray, slicing it across the air in her bedroom like a madwoman.
Sometimes it was Tom’s heart she cut.
In the afternoon, a knock sounded, and Maeve entered to hand Molly an envelope. Folded neatly inside was a hastily penned invitation.
You are invited to dine with Miss Ginny Lion
The Red Carousel
Dinner at 8:00
At the bottom of the letter was a small doodle of a woman bending over to raise her skirts.
Molly grinned.
For a second, she thought to refuse; she should stay home and continue studying. But the damned house was making her crazy. She felt like a lepidopterist’s specimen, smothered beneath an airless glass display.
The butter knife dug into her palm, pressing against the healing skin.
Besides, there were more ways than one to catch the Knifeman.
Opening her wardrobe, she took down the dress Dr. LaValle had given her. Cringing, she slipped it on. Ginny’s removal of the top layer had made it more comfortable to wear but did not erase its garish color or revealing lines. Molly felt as exposed as a raw nerve. Shivering, she wrapped Ma’s coat over top.
Shortly past seven she made her way downstairs, tucking her blade from the orphanage into her pocket.
Outside, the skies were the twilight gray of an oyster shell. Though it was a Sunday, the city hummed with activity, people returning home from their day of leisure before nightfall.
In front of Ava’s house, a group of people waited at a stop for the city’s omnibus. Until coming to the city, Molly had never seen anything like this mode of transportation—a white carriage thrice as long as usual that ran planned routes throughout the city for three cents a ride. One of the routes went very near the Red Carousel.
But instead of getting on, Molly walked determinedly past, shivering slightly from the cold. Though it was March now, the month had arrived with a tempestuous face that could not decide on winter or spring. Stubborn pockets of snow still dotted the streets.
Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the dwindling crowds. Night slipped its arms around her in a shivery embrace, squeezing away the last of the light.
She found herself leaving the pretty tree-lined streets surrounding Ava’s neighborhood for the well-worn cobblestone of the city’s business district.
Soon enough, she was the only woman. Here and there, a gentleman made his way to and from a supper club, but even that was rare. Proper people locked themselves and their families away behind prayerful walls on Sunday night, readying themselves for a new week.
What was left on Philadelphia’s streets were those who had no home.
Or those who wanted a thrill that could be found only in the dark.
Overhead, the moon’s light peeked in and out of clouds, seeming to wink at her in a disease-addled leer.
She closed her eyes. Her heart quickened with anticipation as she sped her step, walking heedlessly down the city streets toward the seedy district that housed the Red Carousel.
Slowly, she slipped off Ma’s coat, revealing the startling red dress beneath.
The metalmark moth mimics its predator, drawing in its carefully colored wings to look like the shape of a spider.
But tonight, Molly did not want to ward off her predator. She wanted to draw him close.
You took her. Now take me.
She felt the pinprick of eyes. A hungry gaze skimming over her flesh.
Her footfalls echoed like a heartbeat, and she let them guide her toward the heat of a freshly lit gas lamp. Scanning the street, Molly found herself completely alone. Only the shadows moved. Lifting her head, she revealed the pulsing white of her neck.
A carriage rolled slowly out of the dusk, its windows covered completely in black.
Come for me, she thought. Come on, you monster. I’m right here.
Her fingers curled around the knife.
The carriage stopped, not ten feet away.
Its door swung open.
A figure in black descended, rushing toward her. Molly steadied herself.
“Are you going to meet him?” Ursula Rutledge pulled the hood away from her face.
Anger and relief washed over Molly in equal measure. She slipped the knife back into her pocket. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“I followed you.” Ursula lifted her chin in defiance. “Edgar White told me the kinds of girls you’re friends with. Did you come here to meet James?”
Molly blinked in astonishment
. “James?”
Ursula looked over Molly’s shoulders at the Red Carousel’s door. “I know what happens inside that door.”
Molly laughed at the absurdity of the insinuation. “I don’t work there!” she said.
But Ursula’s face did not change. The thin lines Molly had noticed the other day seemed deeper, the hollowness beneath her eyes like bruises. She had never liked the girl, but even so, she could not help but feel sorry for her after last week. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said. But her whole body had started shaking.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” Molly said quietly. “It’s horrible to lose someone.”
“You leave Cady out of this!” Ursula’s eyes burned like flames. “And James too! Stay away from him!” Her shoulders hunched as if she’d been struck. “He’s all I have left.”
Before Molly could say anything else, Ursula turned away, walking briskly back across the street to her carriage. A driver descended and helped her inside. Then they were gone, the horses’ hooves echoing in the night.
Molly waited for the anger to return but found only pity. Before coming to Ava’s, she’d always thought women like Ursula were the lucky ones, their lives full of constant parties and leisure, their every whim waited on by servants like Kitty.
But Death stole without prejudice, taking from both the rich and the poor.
Reaching into her pocket, Molly felt for the knife, trying to regain the feeling she’d had before Ursula interrupted.
But it was too late. Whatever had been there—her connection with a madman, the pull of the moon luring him toward her—was gone.
She found her way down the narrow alley to the familiar red door. And when she knocked, it wasn’t the Knifeman’s face that haunted her.
When I kiss you—
“There you are!” The door swung open, and Ginny pulled Molly into a fierce hug. She wore a peach dress, tame by Ginny standards but beautiful nonetheless, with ruffles gliding up and down the arms and the bodice like a flower’s opening petals. She peered past Molly into the pitch-black night. “Where’s your ride? You didn’t walk here, did you?”
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