by Zekas, Kelly
He opened the cab door and climbed out. “Not quite,” he replied, shutting it in my face. “I will do it myself.”
“MR. BRADDOCK, WHAT do you—”
The driver took off down the street with me still inside.
“Wait! Let me go! I’m still here! Stop the cab, sir!” I yelled.
“Sorry, ma’am, fella paid me well,” he shouted back.
As the cab picked up speed, the whole of Mr. Braddock disappeared, shadowy as his stupid past. Damn it all.
I grasped for excuses. “He’s mad! You must turn around! He’s a thief who stole from me!”
“Then—then I say we best get as far as we can!”
A frustrated scream grew within me, climbing through my chest, crawling up my throat. I banged on the roof with all my might. The whole cab rattled, but the driver said nothing. He was only going faster and getting farther away.
Dammit. I pushed open the hansom door and watched the dark, painful-looking road rush by below me. A gulp as the cab slowed to make a turn and I leaped out, hitting the ground hard, rolling, tumbling across the pavement, pain bouncing around my body and then filling it as I slowed to a stop.
I pushed myself up to my feet, reminding myself that the damage wasn’t permanent, and limped my way back around the turn and down the road, scanning building numbers and hoping I’d be able to find the house.
Nearing the end of the road, I slowed in front of a building that seemed familiar, and a heavy bang conveniently rang out to confirm it. Movement and shadows in the glowing second-floor window. Images of bloody Roses and broken Mr. Braddocks flashed in my mind. No time for nervousness. The front door was unlocked, the shattered window next to it presumably Mr. Braddock’s subtle work. A strange feeling of familiarity chilled me as I padded up the bare-board stairs to the second-floor landing and rounded the banister. Mr. Braddock had paused at the threshold of a room at the end of the hall.
He looked back over his shoulder, briefly shooting me a grim, frustrated glare as he removed his gloves. But something more important immediately spun his attention back. Before I could reach his side at the doorway, he clutched the jamb and blocked me out.
“I’m here to see what you are—” I said, my harsh whisper cut short by the sight of the towering Claude, whose head nearly grazed the ceiling.
In his gentle voice, Claude spoke with a stilted politeness: “Miss Wyndham.”
“Go back downstairs,” Mr. Braddock breathed, betraying a touch of panic.
I started to protest, but a voice interrupted. “Mr. Braddock and Miss Wyndham! Two pleasant surprises. You need not have broken in. I would have gladly invited you, had I known you were in town.”
At the far corner, a short, lean man in a white coat stood up at his desk and crossed the room to greet us. As he passed glass jars, tubes, microscopes, and all sorts of equipment that stood in perfect ranks throughout the laboratory, I remembered that I had been here before. In my dream two nights ago.
The searing, clean smell of chemicals sharpened the air, growing stronger as the man approached. Large, almost silver eyes stood out in a waxen face. A normal man, unremarkable in every way, but for those eyes—watery, intelligent, and too pale. He stopped beside Claude and bowed to us.
“It has been too long,” he said. Was he speaking to me? Or Mr. Braddock?
“Where is my sister?” I demanded, refusing to be frightened by this man.
A glint of unexpected intensity and vexation jumped into those eyes. “I’m sorry?” he asked. And seeing that glint of danger, suddenly I was the one who was sorry.
Still, I refused to let my voice fall. “Rose. Small, fair, beloved sister. You took her, now give her back.”
He peered up at Claude in mock confusion. “I apologize. . . . I believe there has been a mistake,” he replied.
“Where is Miss Rosamund?” Mr. Braddock demanded—a darker, more potent anger emanating from him.
“She healed my sister yesterday,” the giant claimed, a horrible liar. “I have not seen her since.”
“Camille saw her locked in here,” I spat out, feeling like a pesky child as I bobbed behind Mr. Braddock’s shoulder, trying to glare at them.
Claude had no response, except a sidelong glance at the smaller man for their next lie.
“Where is she?” Mr. Braddock persisted. He took two steps closer to the scientist. It would have been intimidating, if Claude were not there.
The scientist attempted a soothing voice. “No need for any unpleasantness. I don’t want you breaking all of my doors.”
In the silence, the house creaked rhythmically above us. Footsteps. Claude’s gaze flickered upward for the briefest moment. I glanced back out of the laboratory, noticing another staircase to the third floor. Was my dream right about that, too?
Before I could take a step back, the scientist flashed me a courteous smile. “I don’t believe we have been properly introduced, and Mr. Braddock seems to have quite forgotten his manners. I’m Dr. Calvin Beck—”
Mr. Braddock interrupted with a growl and charged straight at Dr. Beck, who simply looked bored. Claude stepped between the two and caught Mr. Braddock’s tackle. The momentum sent the giant stumbling back, but he managed to stay on his feet, while Mr. Braddock took the chance to wrap himself around Claude. From behind, Mr. Braddock reached under Claude’s armpits and clasped his hands tightly together behind Claude’s head, like a wrestler, locking him in an uncomfortable hold.
Unable to break the tenacious grip, Claude spun around and forced Mr. Braddock backward, slamming him hard into the walls, crashing into bookcases, and finally, in a desperate move, throwing himself out the street window. A shrill, useless scream escaped from my throat as the glass shattered and the cold London air rushed in. The pair disappeared out the window. There was the briefest silence, a thud, and a rattling.
“No!” I rushed forward and could just glimpse Mr. Braddock below, rising to his feet to face his wheezing but uninjured enemy.
“Get yourself out!” Mr. Braddock yelled up at me.
Thank heavens. Still well enough to order me about. But Rose was here, and I would not leave without her.
Legs quivering and hands shaking with nerves, I stumbled past Dr. Beck, who called after me.
“Miss Wyndham! Don’t run away just yet. I wish to speak with you.”
Ignoring him, I made my way out of the room and up to the top of the stairs, where two doors faced me. One opened on a sparse bedroom with three empty beds, so I turned to the other, finding an unlatched padlock on the floor and the door half open. I heard shuffling and movement from within and shoved my way desperately inside to finally find her directly in front of me.
Rose.
It was her. Not some copy, not some actress. I knew it with every beat of my frantic heart. Then terror filled her eyes.
“Evelyn,” she gasped. “He’s in here—”
A hand appeared out of the shadows and clamped over her mouth. And she vanished.
“Rose!”
Without a second thought, I took a desperate lunge into the darkness, reaching for her, her captor, anything. My hand caught fabric—an arm. I squeezed tight and pulled with all my strength, but suddenly I was the one pulled right into the pitch black.
The cold ground hit me. Hard. Somehow I was outside again, lying on wet cobblestone. A blast of fishy air filled my lungs, and I gagged back waves of nausea as I pushed myself off the ground in the filthy alley to find a pale, wiry man clutching Rose tightly, his arm around her mouth.
He took a slow step back, then another. He couldn’t carry her and run away. I could catch him. With a gasp, I scrambled to my feet and charged. He dove out of the way, to his left, straight into the wall, into an opening that wasn’t there a moment ago and wasn’t there when I reached it a second later. I grasped and scratched and pounded and screamed at the brick wall, at the shadows, at nothing. The alley was completely empty and silent.
Gasping back sobs of frustration and pain,
I hurried toward a streetlight in a daze. Where was I? And where in God’s name was Rose? The passage brought me to the main street, where glass shards, dirt, and blood littered the ground and Dr. Beck’s house loomed over me.
As I made my way back to the building’s entrance, Dr. Beck emerged and chuckled. “There you are. I was worried we wouldn’t get the chance to speak.”
“Where is she?” I screamed.
“Your sister? Why, she’s gone. My associate—no doubt you noticed, he’s very gifted—why, he has probably snapped her clean out of London by now. Let’s not worry about that. What’s more important is that you listen to me—”
Suddenly, a loud screech echoed down the street. I turned to see Mr. Braddock and wasn’t sure my eyesight was working so well. His fight with Claude had continued to where the cobblestones met the long wooden bridge over the river, and Mr. Braddock was crouched low to the ground, slowly circling his enemy and waiting for a chance to strike. But Claude rendered that nearly impossible, wielding a gas lamppost as a normal man might wield a mace. Upon Mr. Braddock’s every advance, the giant swung his massive weapon with unexpected quickness, always sending Mr. Braddock back in retreat.
I rushed over, not knowing what to do, desperately trying to form a plan. The streets were empty—no one to call. Fear for the obnoxious man clouded my head. Could Mr. Braddock’s power really help him defeat a man strong enough to rip a lamppost from the ground? All it would take is one small mistake, and Claude could kill him with a single blow.
He needed help.
My sights sharpened on a broken stone in a nearby pile of debris. I darted for it, lifted the weight, and hurled it with miraculous accuracy straight at Claude. It soared through the air, thickly thumped his head, and dropped to the ground. Claude simply looked over his shoulder at me and scratched his head, then turned back to Mr. Braddock.
We needed to run.
“I keep trying to explain the matter, and you keep acting very rudely,” Dr. Beck’s voice crept in from behind me.
My dizziness immediately turned into a sharp-edged alertness, and I spun around with a desperate attack that he stopped without hesitation, lightly pushing me away. “What is wrong with you?” I screamed. “What are you doing with her?”
“Your sister is now part of my research that will change the world. There’s something in her, on a cellular level, that accelerates and heightens the human body’s regenerative properties.”
The grunts, the scuffling, the thunderous crashes behind me continually distracted me from the madman’s quiet voice. I feared each attack would be the last, but each one also meant Mr. Braddock was still on his feet.
“It’s a result of a jump in evolution . . . a process called saltation—”
“I know what it is!” I growled, flinching as another attack seemed to shake the street. But Mr. Braddock apparently took that as his cue. Like a bull, he charged straight at Claude, entering the dangerous range of his weapon, daring him to attack again and end the fight.
“Oh, he told you? Splendid. Then you understand the amazing possibilities of isolating this ability of hers. Think of the advances. Any disease curable, any injury reparable.”
Swinging low, Claude and his lamppost tore through the bridge’s wooden planks, just missing Mr. Braddock, who jumped over the first slash and slid under the hasty second with the help of the slick cobblestone street.
“If you’re so altruistic,” I snarled, “why did you kidnap her? She would have gladly helped you.”
Mr. Braddock landed right at Claude’s feet, vulnerable, and the giant seized the chance, stomping his boot straight down.
“I cannot be restricted in my experiments,” Dr. Beck sighed.
With a quick roll, Mr. Braddock barely escaped the attack, while Claude found his foot lodged deep in the stone rubble.
“I cannot deal with hesitation, guilt, or caution if I am investigating something so important.”
Mr. Braddock leaped to his feet and tried to seize the giant from behind, but Claude, desperate to escape, took a leap forward himself—his foot tearing apart the road—and dodged the grab.
“I must have the freedom to do whatever my research requires.”
Claude landed at the edge of the bridge and quickly spun around, once again keeping Mr. Braddock at bay with the lamppost. Breathing heavily, they both circled each other at a distance, ending up back where they started, locked in another stalemate. How much longer could Mr. Braddock keep this up?
“The greater good is all that matters.”
My stomach flipped. This scientist was rationalizing the pain and suffering he would inflict on Rose for his success.
“You’re mad,” I got out. “You’re all stark raving mad. She’s just a girl.”
“There are thousands of people out there every day, forced to watch their sisters and daughters die of diseases. And they’re saying the same thing.”
I turned to glare at Dr. Beck. “When I tell the police of this—”
“They will do nothing,” he interrupted, looking exasperated. “I have plenty of persuasive friends who are highly invested in my research. Not that it matters, as neither of you are leaving here alive anyway.”
The words sliced right through me—his matter-of-fact tone, as if our death were an inevitability I was too foolish to realize.
I tightened my fists and took a deep breath, holding back my tears of frustration. “Th-then what are you waiting for?”
He didn’t deign to respond. Instead, he just watched as Mr. Braddock dodged and Claude advanced, winding the lamppost back for another swing, digging his foot into the broken ground below him, and aiming a powerful and unexpected kick right in Mr. Braddock’s direction.
It happened in the blink of an eye. The cobblestone debris hit Mr. Braddock’s face and sent him tumbling down, his forehead smacking the wooden bridge as he landed. With the slightest hint of satisfaction, Claude balanced the lamppost on his shoulder and made his way across the bridge to Mr. Braddock. Get up, get up, get up, I pleaded.
He didn’t.
Claude raised the lamppost high above his head for one last blow, his grip crunching into the metal post.
“Wait!” The cry ripped itself from my chest. “Take me!”
Silence. Dr. Beck looked at me, incredulous. “I’m sorry?”
“I can heal, too! Please, just call your other man back and take me in Rose’s place.”
Dr. Beck narrowed his eyes skeptically as though I were the insane one. Without a word, he turned and headed for Claude and Mr. Braddock.
Somehow, I found the legs to follow. “And you must let Mr. Braddock go.”
Dr. Beck motioned to Claude, who obeyed and lowered the gas lamp as we drew closer. “If you can heal,” he said.
“I can,” I insisted. “I promise.”
Dr. Beck knelt beside Mr. Braddock. In one swift motion, he pulled a knife out of his jacket pocket and slashed a long, cruel cut into Mr. Braddock’s back as I screamed. “Then prove it.”
My stomach sank, along with the rest of my body, and before I knew it, I was on the ground pressing my hands over Mr. Braddock’s gushing wound, willing it to close, to fix this whole mess, to bring Rose back.
With Claude and Dr. Beck standing over me, I swallowed my fear, removed my blood-drenched hand, and found the open cut staring back at me. No.
Dr. Beck shook his head. “As I thought. Just because you’re siblings does not mean you and Miss Rosamund both have the same ability. I’ve found no such correlation in my research.”
“It’s t-true, I promise you, it’s true.” My voice was as broken as my newfound power, and tears fell fast down my cheeks.
“I hope this same sense of selflessness runs in your family. Then Miss Rosamund and I shall get along very well,” he said, turning to go. “Finish it!”
Claude’s heavy tread approached, the lamppost scraping and rattling along the wooden planks. Clutching Mr. Braddock to myself, I slid us backward, inch by inch,
as if the extra step would somehow keep us from Claude.
Suddenly, Dr. Beck spun around, calling out urgently, “Claude, watch—”
A gunshot cracked through the silence, striking the railing near Claude. A carriage screeched behind me as the bridge started to vibrate. Claude froze, watching its approach, then turned to find Dr. Beck already backing away.
“Let’s go!”
Another gunshot rang through the air, and Claude retreated, not waiting to see if our savior’s aim would improve upon his approach. He disappeared down the street and into the distant darkness as the carriage rumbled close. Only when the horses whinnied to a stop and Mr. Kent leaped down next to us did my breath return in a gasp of relief.
“Miss Wyndham! Are you all right? What’s happened?” he asked, reaching out to calm me down. I wanted so badly to close my eyes, collapse in his arms, and sleep for days.
Instead I ignored his hand on mine, concentrating on the injured man in my lap. I forced back a wave of nausea as I stared down at the deathly pale face. The only color interrupting Mr. Braddock’s gray pallor was the sticky red blood still issuing from his forehead.
“I don’t know—Rose is gone—she’s gone—and he was protecting me from Claude,” I babbled. “We—we have to help him.”
I pressed my cheek against his, feeling his faint response tingle in my blood: weak, but it was there. A ragged breath scratched along his throat.
“Mr. Braddock, if you don’t wake up, I shall kill you myself.”
“It will be all right,” Mr. Kent reassured me as we tugged Mr. Braddock up, pulling his arms around our shoulders. “God, he is much heavier than he looks, isn’t he? Must be that large head.”
We laid Mr. Braddock down in Mr. Kent’s carriage, then squeezed ourselves in. “The closest hospital!” Mr. Kent called out to his driver.
“No!” I shouted, shaking my head fervently. The hospital would contact the police, and the police would contact Dr. Beck. We needed a quiet, safe place to treat him. With no other choice, I provided the driver with the Lodges’ address. Mr. Braddock had to live. Then we could worry about the rest.
