Montgomery kicked the empty can of oil into the water, where it floated for a moment before drowning. Flames highlighted the angles of his face.
“If you’re going to judge me for creating her,” he said, “don’t bother. I already know I’ll go to hell for it.”
I watched the dying fire. I took a deep breath. “It isn’t your fault she died.”
With a crack, Alice’s pyre splintered. The sea bubbled up from beneath, swallowing the flames, pulling the remains of her body to the deep.
Montgomery spun and strode back to the wagon, putting distance between him and Alice’s sinking body. I ran after him, but he was already back with the others. My footsteps echoed in the hollow space below the dock. I stopped. If he’d wanted me to catch him, he’d have let me.
Our nerves were as battered as the wagon’s old struts and axle on the ride back. No one spoke. I don’t know what terrified us more—passing through the jungle at night, or what might be waiting for us at home.
Thirty-six
FOR DAYS AFTERWARD, FATHER wouldn’t speak of what had happened—not Antigonus’s betrayal, nor the savage murders that had claimed Alice as the most recent victim. He plunged himself into his work instead, spending all day and night in the laboratory and only emerging for meals or to go on secretive errands with Puck into the jungle. The rest of us lived every moment on alert.
One evening Montgomery, Edward, and I stayed in the salon after an awkward supper during which Father refused to entertain even the slightest suggestion of danger. Montgomery paced by the windows like a caged animal, eyes fixed on the darkness outside. I sat on the piano bench, touching the long black keys one at a time, slowly, listening to the sharp resonance spilling out across the room.
“We’ll have to build a raft,” Edward said. “Between the monster and the beasts, we’ll be lucky to last another week.”
I struck a C-sharp. “That’ll take too much time. Father will figure out what we’re doing.”
Montgomery paused, folding his arms. His gaze was still focused out the window. “There’s another launch,” he said curtly.
My finger slipped off the key, crashing into the C and D with a discordant echo.
Edward leapt up. “Where? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” he asked.
“It’s not exactly tethered to the dock, waiting for our escape.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s in the village.”
I took my foot off the sustaining pedal, cutting off the notes. “We can’t go back there. You saw them. And they’re getting worse every day.”
Montgomery ran a hand over his hair. “I didn’t say it would be simple. The boat belongs to Caesar. He used it for baptisms.”
“Next you’ll be saying those animals take communion,” Edward said.
Montgomery narrowed his eyes. He’d grown up with the islanders, I wanted to remind Edward. Not with governesses and siblings and servants like a general’s son would have. “You think they’re not good enough for religion, Prince?”
I pressed the pedal again, feeling the hammer board tighten and release, wishing everything could be as simple as the workings of a piano.
Edward cracked his knuckles, one at a time. The air was getting tense. “I don’t recall the Bible preaching clawing people’s hearts out.”
Montgomery’s hands curled to fists at his sides. “You can’t blame them for wanting revenge. Do you have any idea of the pain they’ve suffered at human hands?”
“I don’t,” Edward said. “But I’d wager you do.”
I pounded my fist against the lower keys. The room shook with the wild combination of deep notes. “Stop it! You can box each other to bruises back in London, if you like. But let’s get the launch first and get off this island.” I slammed the key cover down. “Agreed?”
They stared at each other, taut as a piano string. At last Edward turned away, his eyes meeting mine. I got a chill, thinking of the three of us back in London. Not every problem would be solved by leaving the island.
“Where’s the boat, then?” Edward asked.
“There’s a church,” Montgomery said. “It’s a stone building in the main square with a wooden cross above the door. The rowboat is in a shed behind it. They might have smashed it for firewood for all we know.”
“We don’t have any other options,” I said.
“We should wait until the doctor leaves,” Montgomery said. “The next time he takes Puck on another fool’s errand.”
“How do we know the beasts won’t try to kill us?” I asked.
Montgomery folded his arms again, staring out the window. “Let’s hope they feel more loyalty to me more than they do the doctor.”
I COULDN’T SLEEP THAT night. My dreams kept replaying the feel of my kiss with Montgomery. His arms around me in the barn, pulling me closer, his hand running down my hair. The dreams slipped to Edward holding me behind the waterfall, and I awoke, restless. It was very early, though already hot. I sat up and my foot accidentally kicked the wooden box where I kept my medication. I’d run out the day before but I hadn’t told anyone. If I didn’t take it today, I’d start to feel symptoms.
I pushed the still-locked box farther under the bed. No matter how Montgomery tried to convince me my treatment was different from the islanders’, I needed to find out for myself.
I went to the salon just after dawn. The mantel clock sliced little ticks through the thick early-morning silence. Troubling dreams. Father insane. Murderer loose. Alice dead.
Montgomery came in, as surprised to see me as I was him.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said. “The heat.” I left out the dreams.
If he could tell I was nervous, he said nothing. “I can’t say that I mind a little time with you before the world rises.” My stomach pressed against my spine, the air suddenly gone. He took my wrist, lightly. He kissed the soft, sensitive flesh, and then ran his finger up my arm. This is what people talk about, I thought, when they say they could die of pleasure. I would have gladly died, if it meant he’d press his lips to my skin again. But he stole away his touch and didn’t return it.
My eyes snapped open.
“You didn’t take your treatment this morning,” he muttered.
I swallowed, surprised, still longing for his touch again. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’re out of medicine. I’ve kept track of the number of days in your supply.” He pressed his palm to my forehead. “And you’re burning up.”
Maybe the heat I felt wasn’t just at the thought of him and Edward, then. I twisted my head away. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll drown at sea or be clawed to death before I get sick.”
But he shook his head, his eyes locked to mine. “You’re doing this on purpose. You want to see what will happen if you don’t take your treatment. You think you’ll become like them.”
A bead of sweat rolled down my temple. “It’s an experiment,” I said. “You have to appreciate that, as a man of science.”
“I told you. You aren’t one of them.”
“Then my experiment will prove it.”
His body tensed, the muscle in his bicep straining. He was so close all he’d have to do was duck his head to kiss me. “You’ll go into a coma and die if you stop taking the injections long enough.”
“Then we’ll know for sure,” I said.
He sighed. Those fathomless blue eyes swallowed me, making me helpless. “Juliet . . .”
My cheeks burned. All I could think of was his lips on my pulsing veins. I blinked, trying to regain my reason. He’d be easier to argue with if he weren’t so attractive.
“If you kiss me right now, I’ll slap you,” I said. But my threat was barely a murmur. The heat from his body made my skin sizzle.
He grinned. “I’ll make you a deal. You told me and Edward to wait until London to work out our differences. You must do the same. Once we’re in London, with proper medical care, then you can play your experiment if you insist.”
The clock on the mantel ticked away each long second. He was right, of course. Whatever the experiment proved, it did me little good if we were still stuck on the island.
I folded my arms. “You know, I suspect you and Edward would be friends if it weren’t for this place.”
His eyes were on fire. “It’s not the island keeping us from being friends.”
My pounding heart stole the words to reply to that.
He took my hand, kissing the knuckles gently, sending trails of fire along the length of my arm. “I’ve made you another batch of treatment. It’s in the lab.”
“But Father . . .”
“He left before dawn. He won’t be back for hours.”
EVEN WITHOUT MY FATHER’S overwhelming presence, the laboratory still gave me chills. I could hear the caged animals in the back pacing, their breathing heavy, eyes flashes in the shadows. It was my first time inside, and I could still feel the memories of that unholy operation. There was the wooden table where the thing had been thrashing, now cold and wiped clean of sin. There was the hardened wax on the floor from father’s candles, now extinguished.
Montgomery lit a lantern in the windowless room. Dozens of glass specimen jars reflected the flame. I eyed them as we passed. Animal hearts. Fetuses. An organ I couldn’t identify. I peered closer. The fleshy shape in the water suddenly moved. It swam into the glass, shaking violently.
“What in God’s name is that?” I asked. The thing’s toothless mouth gaped like that of a dying fish.
Montgomery led me past father’s desk, with its neat stacks of papers smelling of india ink and traces of chemicals. The tin walls made the room an oven, but it was so dark and still that it should have been underground, somewhere cold, somewhere forgotten.
Montgomery unlocked one of the cabinets lining the back wall. “You don’t want to know.”
He took out his medical bag and an engraved wooden box. He set them on the desk and then nodded toward the operating table. “Sit. It’ll just take a moment.”
He took out a gleaming glass syringe and a large vial. I came to the table hesitantly. A tray of spotless steel surgical tools lay on top. The leather manacles were soldered to the table with chains as thick as my wrist.
Montgomery held the vial to the light. Cloudy. A yellow tint. “It’s a slightly different compound,” he said. “We don’t have unaltered cows for the pancreatic extract. I had to make do. But I think this will work. Tell me if you feel unusual.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I said, trying to sound playful. But the sharp edges of the laboratory swallowed the sound. I hugged my arms. It was cold in the room, or else it was my fever. Either way, I had gooseflesh.
Montgomery prepared the syringe and came to the table. “Do you want to or shall I?”
My whole body was shaking. Chances were I’d miss a vein and stab myself in the arm. I briefly wondered what he’d used to replace the cow pancreas.
You don’t want to know, I told myself.
“You do it,” I said.
“Give me your arm.”
I held it out. My fingers quaked like the lantern’s flame. Montgomery set down the needle and took my hand in his. He rubbed them together, letting the friction warm me. The warmth spread to my blood, carrying his heat to my heart, to my limbs, to my every pulsing vein.
“You’ll feel better soon,” he said. His voice was soft as a caress. Alice had been right. He was an exceptional doctor, if only for the way he calmed his patients. The specimen jars, the manacles, the sound of the pacing caged animals—they all faded into the background.
He picked up the syringe. My stomach knotted.