I kissed him again, silencing those thoughts. I didn’t want to think about Father, or Edward, or what would become of him. For months I’d dreamed of Montgomery, and he was here now, wrapping an arm around me as we rode in an exhausted silence. Every bone in my body ached, reminding me that I was just as cursed as Edward—though my affliction stayed buried deep beneath my skin.
It’s a part of you now, the Beast had said. What will you be without it?
I pushed aside the curtain, focusing on the city outside, rows of storefronts with holiday wreaths, quiet streets spotted with snow, until at last we arrived at the professor’s. I stumbled out of the carriage and pounded on the front door, while Balthazar and Montgomery dragged Edward, unconscious and chained, out of the back. I tried to run my stiff fingers through my hair, but it was useless. My dress was torn and covered in bloodstains; Elizabeth would instantly know we were in trouble.
And yet Elizabeth didn’t answer. I pounded again, called her name, peered in the front window.
“She must be asleep,” I called back to Montgomery. “I’ll climb in through my window.”
Once I was up the trellis and in my bedroom, however, there was no sign of Elizabeth, only an eerie silence in the big dark rooms, and her keys missing from the front door.
I opened the door from the inside to allow them entrance. “She isn’t home. She must have gone out.”
“Fortunate for us,” Montgomery said. They carried Edward into the foyer, then through the dining room, still set with silver finery, and into the kitchen. The basement doorway was low, the stairs narrow, and Balthazar had to step carefully not to miss a stair. At the bottom I twisted open the rusted cellar door. Balthazar carried Edward inside and I followed him, fumbling to unlock the chains.
“Are you mad?” Montgomery said. “Leave him chained.”
“The chains will serve us better wrapped around that door,” I said. “The only thing the professor ever imprisoned in here was vegetables, and they hardly required a lock.” I handed the heavy chains back to Montgomery.
Edward’s sleep was troubled. His head tilted to the side, as his eyes fluttered behind his lids. A dried patch of blood clung to his temple from where I’d hit him. I brushed it off with the pad of my thumb. His skin burned with a deep fever.
“Juliet?” Montgomery asked.
I blinked and pulled my hand back. Montgomery helped me out and locked the root cellar behind me, testing the lock. I tossed one final glance through the barred window at Edward’s bruised body, and something hitched in my chest.
Maybe I was fascinated by Father’s research. Maybe I did think some of it brilliant. But the Beast was wrong when he said I didn’t want to be cured, and I didn’t want Edward cured. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than for the both of us to be free of Father’s curse.
Father had won in life; he wouldn’t win in death.
THIRTY-TWO
WE CLIMBED THE STAIRS to the kitchen just as the cuckoo clock chimed midnight. I looked around the quiet house, shivering at how empty it felt.
“We should try to find Elizabeth,” I said. “She might have gone looking for me.”
“It’s a big city,” Montgomery answered. “We’d have no hope of finding her. Best to stay here and wait for her to return.” He stumbled slightly and my eyes went to the glass still embedded in his skin, the web of cuts across his arms.
“First things first,” I said. “You need sutures before you pass out on the floor. Come with me.” I led him up the stairs to the professor’s study and turned on the lamp. For a moment I expected to see the professor’s body there, the blood dripping onto the floor below, but it was empty now, save the cat. With my knee I gently nudged the cat out of the chair so Montgomery could sit. I sat on the edge of the desk, examining his wounds. As I’d suspected, a few shards remained buried in his flesh.
I found the professor’s medical bag in the dusty old cabinet, stacked atop the ancient journals and boxes, and placed it on the desk. With the soft lamplight and the cat winding between my feet, I felt safe for once—if only for a little while.
“You’ll have to unbutton your shirt,” I said softly.
He started at the cuffs, taking care with a glass shard embedded in the fabric, and then undid the buttons down the front of his chest. Wincing, he let me help him peel it away from his blood-soaked skin.
My breath caught at the sight of his chest—bloody, slashed, bruised. Not so very unlike Edward’s bruises, in fact. I touched his shoulder softly, studying the cuts with a surgeon’s eye, then grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bookshelves. “You might want a swig of this before I start.”
He took it gratefully as I arranged the handful of medical supplies I’d dug out of the professor’s bag. Forceps. Sterile needle and thread. Tin pan.
As I picked up the forceps, I couldn’t resist studying the pattern of his cuts. Wounds had always fascinated me. These were so smooth, perfectly sliced. A shame, really—straight cuts like these never healed as well as jagged ones.
He flinched as I touched the cold forceps to his forearm.
“Sorry,” I said.
He brushed back a strand of blond hair. “It’s fine. I just wish you’d let me clean that cut on your face first.”
I touched my cheek, surprised to come away with my own blood on my fingertips. I’d felt so numb that I could hardly feel the scratch the Beast’s claw had made.
“I didn’t crash through a glass wall. My cheek can survive a few hours without soap and water.” I examined the glass in his forearm, and then carefully extracted it with the forceps.