I cleared my throat and pulled out the worktable stool. He dragged over the chair from the woodstove, and together we started working on the serums. We spoke little, because little needed to be said. He and I had an understanding that didn’t need words. I’d gesture to the salts and he’d hand them to me. He’s make a notation in the original formula and I’d take the pencil and tweak the amounts.
The desk chair had a rigid back, and I found myself constantly shifting so the stays of my corset didn’t dig into my skin. After an hour of this, Edward glanced at me and asked, “Is it the cold bothering you? I can add more wood to the fire.”
I had another fork buried in the seams of my dress to itch the corset, and I paused. Edward watched me keenly, seemingly unaware that scratching oneself with dinnerware was frowned upon. That was one good thing about his limited past—he never seemed to know, or care, how strange my actions could be.
“The temperature’s fine,” I said, setting the fork aside and focusing instead on measuring the draught before me. “It’s this bloody corset. Be glad you’re a man and don’t have to deal with anything more constricting than a pair of kneesocks.”
I finished measuring the amounts, though from the corner of my eye I could still feel his attention on me. I shifted again.
“Why don’t you take it off?” he asked. I turned to him in shock, but his face was blank. “If it’s bothering you, I mean. Take it off.”
Take it off. As though removing such an intimate undergarment in a room alone with a young man was as commonplace as making a cup of tea.
“I can’t,” I stuttered. “There isn’t even a changing screen.”
He glanced around the room as though the impropriety of his proposal hadn’t dawned on him, then turned back to his work with a shrug. The longer I sat there, barely able to breathe, it occurred to me that just because society said something was one way hardly meant it was right. Perhaps Edward’s innocent comment made far more sense. This was my attic, after all.
“Dash it,” I said. “You’re right.” I pushed myself up and reached for the buttons down the front of my dress, but paused when his eyes fell on the small triangle of exposed skin at the base of my throat. “Don’t watch,” I said. “Turn around.”
His eyes darkened as a hint of desire flickered over his face, and it left me breathless despite myself. He turned back to his work, though, and as I stared at the back of his head I undid the buttons with unsteady fingers down to my waist, and then turned my back and unhooked the corset. Air rushed into my lungs, though it was mixed with my fluttering nerves. I glanced over my shoulder to make certain he wasn’t watching, then put my dress on again, which felt loose without the corset, and rejoined him at the table.
“I don’t understand why women wear those,” he said, keeping his eyes on his work. “It isn’t natural. It’s hiding who you are.”
Now only the thin layers of my chemise and dress covered me, and it was both thrilling and unsettling all at once. “You should understand,” I said. “Your whole life is about hiding who you are.”
“I’m not hiding anything. This is who I am: these hands, this face. I might have named myself but that’s still who I am—Edward Prince.” He paused. “The Beast is something else entirely.”
My eyes slid to him, deeply curious. “You believe you’ve two souls in the same body? That you and the Beast have nothing in common?”
“I’m not certain,” he said thoughtfully. “Not two souls, exactly. He and I are the same, and yet we’re not. Two sides to the same coin, perhaps.” His voice had wandered, and at my silence he cleared his throat. “You needn’t fear me, though. Not you. The Beast loves you too much to hurt you.”
My lips parted, as I found myself torn between ending this conversation and a desperate sort of fascination for it to continue. What did he mean when he said the Beast loved me? How could a monster love anything but destruction?
“What does it feel like when you become him?” I asked.
His eyebrow raised, and his nervous fingers found his gold pocket watch. “It’s painful. The physical transformation itself, I mean. Aside from that, it feels a little bit like drowning. Sinking into something that you can’t come back from, and knowing you’re still there, and still alive, but that there’s something more powerful than you. I’ve no memory of what he does, only slips like forgotten dreams, and sensations. Sometimes the sensations can be quite strong, depending on what he does.”
“When he murders someone, you mean?” I whispered, riveted and horrified by the idea of it all. “Can you feel him doing it? Do you ever enjoy it too, just a tiny part of you, the part where the two of you meet? If you’re the same person, I don’t see how you can’t.” I stopped short, licking my dry lips, and found Edward watching me with a strange expression.
“No, I don’t enjoy it,” he said firmly. The edge to his voice had returned. “And you shouldn’t ask me such things. Nor should you be interested in him, Juliet. He’s a monster.”
I blinked as though he’d shaken me, yet he hadn’t laid a hand on me. I flushed deeply, mortified. I’d merely been curious, and curiosity was nothing harmful in and of itself.
Edward slammed the book closed, still upset, and paced slightly as he replaced his pocket watch into his vest. “I’m going out for the phosphorous salts. You needn’t worry about me killing anyone; I have him under control. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
I listened to his footsteps, followed by the door closing with a loud thwack. I thought about what he’d said, wondered why I was so fascinated by the Beast, told myself it was only because of my love for science, nothing more. I opened my journal, forcing myself to focus only on the chemistry at hand and not our conversation.
I read over my formula once more:
• 1 DRAM ................. CASTORIUM
• 80 MG ................... GLYCOGEN EXTRACT
• 30 MG .................... PHOSOPHOROUS SALTS
• 30 MG ................... EXTRACT OF HIBISCUS
• 10 MG (EACH) ......... WHITE HOREHOUND, GOLDENSEAL,
............................. AND BITTER MELON
INSTRUCTIONS: heat over contained flame in spirits of niter bath until separate oils combine; allow time for essential oils to evaporate. Note: Successful serum shall remain uniform in texture and color when allowed to cool below 40° C. If serum separates, THROW OUT.