by Zekas, Kelly
“I dismissed them for years until one evening, I had an encounter while I was awake. When you girls were about thirteen and fourteen, I traveled home to visit my parents for Christmas holiday, and while I was waiting at Victoria Station, a number of familiar faces caught my attention. They were all in a group, and I found it strange that I couldn’t recall how I knew any of them. Then I saw a dwarf of a man and had an even stranger realization: They were from my dreams. I had memories of them performing in a traveling exhibition. . . . They called themselves human curiosities.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I followed them, but I wish I hadn’t. I was curious to see if my dreams were true, and when my cab followed theirs to a small theater, my curiosity only grew. I watched them perform acts that seemed to take advantage of the powers I’d dreamed they had. A man who could create fire was a fire eater on stage. A woman with a powerful voice broke objects with just her song. And the longer I stayed, the more I hoped something would contradict my dreams, prove they weren’t all true. But nothing ever did, so I just kept watching.
“I watched from the street as they left the theater, I watched one of them get caught pickpocketing a man, I watched the man lunge at the pickpocket with a punch, I watched the man disappear through a door in the air before his punch hit, and I watched him reappear in the middle of the street, right in front of a moving carriage.”
Dear God. This sounded like the same man from last night. “Did he . . . kill him?” I asked, wincing.
She nodded steadily, her eyes distant and stuck in the past. “That was the most horrifying truth to realize. Not the fact that these powers existed, but the fact that there were people who did such awful things with them. When I returned to your home, I tried to pretend the nightmares weren’t real, but the harder I tried, the more vivid they became—it nearly drove me mad.”
I remembered mornings when she came downstairs pallid, exhausted, and reticent. She would assign Rose and me work that required plenty of writing and little talking, then spend hours looking out the window, endeavoring to keep awake. It finally made sense.
“Eventually, it became too much. Your mother was concerned for my health, and we decided it best that I leave.”
“Where did you go? We wrote you many times.”
I could see her withdraw into her memories as she rose again, walking stiffly to a streetside window.
“When I was sent back home, my parents demanded an explanation, so I poured out everything. They sympathized and told me all would be well.” There was a cold anger lacing her words that made me freeze, almost frightened to hear more.
“But they had decided I was mad,” she continued, shaking her head in disappointment. “My two sisters also work as governesses, and my father could not risk my condition becoming known. I don’t blame them, but I can never forgive them. They bundled me off to Belgium and shut me in a place worse than a prison—an asylum.”
“No! They couldn’t have!”
She clutched the windowsill to slow her trembling. “I cannot tell you the particular horror it is in such a place. Surrounded by strangers, treated like a dangerous, deranged criminal, I was made to drink vials of concoctions that kept me sick and sleeping most of the day. Of course, as I slept, I was forced to dream more. Sometimes it was pleasant. Mostly it was not. I did not know what I hated more, my waking moments or the dreams. I wanted to escape from both. But then, I dreamt of . . . I dreamt of you and Rose, Evelyn.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding.
She whirled to face me, the light from the window turning her into a silhouette.
“I’ve recently become aware of my healing ability,” I said. “Rose’s, as well.”
The smallest bit of tension seemed to leave her body. “I was afraid I would somehow have to prove your abilities,” she said with a slight laugh.
“No, there have been many chances for that over these last days.”
Again, her eyes filled with guilt. “I am so sorry, Evelyn.”
“It is not your fault!”
“When I saw the two of you healing patients, it was the first time I had seen someone using their gift for good. I felt the slightest bit of hope and clung to it. I made an effort to better understand my power. I kept a diary of my dreams to remember more details. I discovered that when I dream of someone who is sleeping, I enter their dreams instead. I even found I could sometimes control whom I dreamt of. But then I dreamt of him.
“The scientist. The one I dreaded most. Cold, empty, heartless. In my dreams he sought others with powers, convinced them to aid his experiments, and performed atrocious tests on them without remorse, all in the name of research. And in my dream, he was discussing Rose with his two partners: a giant and the murderer I’d seen in London.”
“Calvin Beck,” I said, strangled breath wrenching itself from me. “He . . . has a power? What is it?”
Miss Grey shook her head. “I never witnessed it. I dread the possibilities. Perhaps it is the lack of a conscience.”
My head felt cloudy, stormy. Not only did Claude have an abnormal amount of strength and the other man the ability to travel anywhere, but Dr. Beck had a mysterious advantage, as well.
“I tried to warn you,” Miss Grey continued, “but the caretakers refused to send my letters, and it was impossible to escape. Out of desperation I tried what I assumed was impossible. I entered your dream, Evelyn, and endeavored to speak to you. But I lacked the proper control.”
“No. You have been wonderful. I simply didn’t realize.” It was my turn to stand and pace, trying to push away thoughts of what if. “How did you come to me now?”
“I met Emily Kane. She was a young girl recently transferred to the ward. You see, the asylum itself held a number of gifted patients who were also deemed mad by their families. Emily and I were not friends—not exactly. She was almost as insane as they wished her to be. She was too scared to leave, no matter what I said, but she used her fascinating ability to help me, God bless her.”
“What did she do?”
“She could move objects without touching them. When one of the nurses fell asleep, Emily managed to acquire the keys to the gate and pass them to me. Unfortunately, they caught her. When they questioned the poor girl, she had a wild fit that nearly destroyed the entire building—fires, crumbled walls and ceilings, flooding. With the distraction, I was able to make my escape.” A long silence settled as Miss Grey collected herself. She wandered to the pianoforte in the corner, gently running her fingers along the ivory keys without pressing them. “Although it seems I’ve arrived too late to be of any help. I failed you and Rose,” she muttered.
I walked over to her and forcefully hugged her, as if to squeeze away that lingering guilt. Somehow I became the optimistic one. “Don’t say that. Heavens, you did everything possible, and you have been through too much.”
That did little to rest her spirits. Neither did telling her about my many mistakes over the past few days. The missed opportunities weighed heavy on both of us as we tried to find a solution.
Then the obvious answer hit me. “Miss Grey, could you not dream of Rose and find her?”
“I have tried,” she said, her shoulders slumping even more. “If I think of the specific person before I fall asleep, it sometimes works. But my perspective is limited. Rose would likely be confined to a room, and that is all I would see. Even when I dreamt of Dr. Beck, I rarely saw him leave his laboratory. I never learned where it was.”
“What about Claude or . . . that man who can create doors, what do we call him? The door man? My God, we don’t even know their names.”
“Gabriel Hale, I believe,” Miss Grey said. “But he often travels straight to his destination with his own doors.”
I felt a strange fear of breaking a fragile memory with too direct a question. “Can you remember anything else about them? Do they have homes or families?”
She shook her head, displacing stray wisps of hair. “I wish I had paid more
mind. I cannot recall. My dreams are fragmented like anyone else’s, and it’s hard to remember details. All I have is my diary from the recent months, but I don’t know if it will be of any use.”
She handed me a small, ragged notebook from her reticule, and I skimmed through the delicate thing, finding the pages for Dr. Beck, Claude, and Mr. Hale. They were filled with brief, horrible memories and unfamiliar names. A couple of names were labeled as patients, but the unlabeled ones piqued my curiosity. Were they colleagues of Dr. Beck? Patrons? Camille had mentioned his funding last night. Surely Dr. Beck would need to meet with someone if he were moving to a new laboratory. Could this be our way of finding him?
“Miss Grey, do you know who these men are?” I asked, pointing at the names. A pang of guilt struck me when I looked up. She had taken several steps back, as if she did not wish to relive those memories with me.
But she stepped forward, glanced them over, and shook her head. “No, I only heard them mentioned in Dr. Beck’s conversations. I’m sorry.”
I closed the diary. “No more apologies, Miss Grey. This is a very promising start,” I said. “I’m sure Mr. Kent and Mr.—will recognize a name, and we will find her soon.”
She smiled and looked like she was starting to believe me. “What happened to that cynical pupil of mine?”
“Oh, don’t worry, she’s usually here.”
“Well, you’ve grown since I last saw you—” Miss Grey broke off with a yawn. “Oh, dear. I’m terribly sorry!”
“No, no, you’ve had a long day,” I said. “We will continue tomorrow.”
With evening fast approaching and the many stresses, memories of horrors, and guilt pressing on her, Miss Grey needed her rest. She gave me her lodging information, and a footman escorted her to a cab. As I waved good-bye, I couldn’t help but wish, despite all she had gone through, that she might continue searching in her dreams.
I had three wonderful seconds to myself before Laura leaped out from around a corner. “Evelyn!”
My heart stopped. An embarrassing scare, considering everything. “Heavens, don’t frighten me like that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You promised this morning we would talk! Who was the woman who came to visit? I thought of eavesdropping, but the last time I tried was positively dreadful. I got trapped in a cupboard for hours!”
“My former governess. She heard I was visiting London, and she wished to see me. Not worth getting trapped over,” I said, unable to imagine Laura sitting still for minutes, much less hours.
She bounced across the entrance hall and to the next subject. “And what happened last night at the . . .” She trailed off, coyly lifting her shoulders and pouting awkwardly, which I could only take as the universal sign for brothel.
“It wasn’t Rose who was there,” I said and gave her the abridged version of the tale as we climbed the stairs to my room.
“You’ll find her soon! I’m sure of it,” she said with an optimism she must have learned from her stepbrother. “But there must be something more! You spent an entire night there! Was anyone’s virtue . . . compromised?”
I shook my head, feeling a faint envy for Laura’s boredom. Between the horrors befalling Rose, Mr. Braddock, and Miss Grey, there seemed to be merit to the comfortable tedium of my life a week ago. “The Argyll Rooms were much like a ball or dance,” I said gently, slipping behind the dressing screen to begin removing my attire. “Nothing terribly special.”
“Oh! Oh! What about Mr. Braddock? Was he still dark and mysterious and far less charming than my brother?” I gave her a harsh look over the screen as she squinted her blue eyes and sucked in her cheeks to remind me what dark and mysterious men look like. Like fish or Miss Verinder, apparently.
“Mr. Braddock is a reprehensible man, and we will not talk of him again.”
She must have sensed something in my tone, because she immediately pounced on the idea and my bed. “Oh, Evelyn! Don’t tell me you are in love with him! Oh, you are! Look at how red you are, Evelyn! My poor brother. You love him!”
“Goodness, I’m in love with no one, least of all him. He has done horrible things, and he’s dishonest and dangerous, and, well, he has many awful qualities. Not that I ever think about him anyway—no, no, Mr. Braddock is nothing to me. Nothing at all! In fact—” I could hear myself rambling, and a certain quote about protesting too much flitted through my head.
Judging by her subject change, Laura still seemed to think I was putting on an act. “Well, since you won’t admit to anything, I have exciting news about our theater outing for tonight!”
“The Lyceum . . .” I sighed. I didn’t quite miss society yet.
“I know, they are performing some ancient play, but more important, Mr. Edwards will be in attendance! Sadly, he was not able to join our party because the family already had a commitment, but we will surely see him during intermission!”
“How lovely,” I lied. “Did you say our party?”
“Yes! We have a box, remember? It will be us, the Verinders, and of course my brother!” Oh hell. Could I fall sick again?
She sighed and fell back down, staring at the canopy over my bed in utter contentment. “Oh, Evelyn! I don’t think Nick would have come if it weren’t for you! What it must be like to have two men in love with you!”
THE LYCEUM THEATRE might have been a magnificent sight, had the night’s plans not been so unappealing. Six gigantic Grecian columns planted by the curb created a portico that loomed over the sidewalk, like a monstrous mouth threatening to devour the entire street. Arched doorways led into a vestibule that opened on a large, warmly lit lobby decorated in dark shades of purple, green, and elegant glints of gold. Thick hangings and portieres were serenely draped about the room, interrupted only by the wide staircase at the center, leading up to the box tier.
Waiting by this staircase was Mr. Kent, who managed to both grimace at his stepmother and smile brightly at Laura. I received a knowing nod and a quick smile as he met us with bows. I gave him a curious look in return, wondering whether he had news and whether he’d have the opportunity to tell me. We should have arranged a secret code beforehand.
Lady Kent, with the air of a street cleaner getting a foul task done quickly, greeted her stepson. “Nicholas . . . a . . . most welcome surprise to have you here.”
“Yes, well, life would be so boring without a surprise here and there. You certainly have given me a few,” he said, the joke rather too dry. Lady Kent forced out a guttural, clacking laugh that I hoped never to hear again.
Mr. Kent managed to keep his eyes from rolling too high in his head by rolling them toward Laura. “And my dear Kit, are there enough dinner parties and outings keeping you and Miss Wyndham busy?”
“There are less and less!” Laura whined, her voice shaking querulously. “After tomorrow’s dinner, there’ll be nothing to look forward to for the whole winter!”
“Don’t worry just yet. I’ve spoken to some friends all over London this afternoon,” he said, flashing me an enigmatic smile. “Not everything is set, but I hope to have good news tomorrow.”
Well. It seems we did have a secret code.
Laura beamed. “Oh, I cannot wait! Please be sure to invite—”
“Ah, here they are!” Lady Kent interrupted. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled broadly, exposing too many teeth. “Nicholas, do you see Miss Verinder has arrived?”
With their grand entrance, it was rather impossible to miss them. The impeccably dressed Mrs. Verinder and her tall, shrewd-eyed husband floated through the archway, sending smiles to their numerous acquaintances, while the golden-dressed Miss Verinder followed close behind and was currently killing me twenty different ways with her eyes.
“I did see, but tragically, I’ve been blinded by that sun she’s wearing,” Mr. Kent replied, but then they were upon us, and introductions were made all around. Mr. Kent made a valiant attempt at politeness while Miss Verinder somehow managed to find herself at his side, clutching his arm, shoo
ting me a gloating smile.
The ladies nattered on about nothing, and I kept quiet, knowing Miss Verinder would twist around anything I said. My thoughts began to slip to my search for Rose, or rather how it had come to a complete standstill. My sister was trapped somewhere in this city (I refused to consider that she might be anywhere else by now), and here I was, acting just like my mother, trying to keep our family’s good name by wasting hours at a play.
Not that I even knew where to start looking. Dr. Beck’s planning, preparation, and power made this far more complicated than any of us had anticipated. Mr. Kent was confident that we’d find them soon, but he always sounded so confident that it was getting harder to believe him, especially when Miss Grey’s power to see them wasn’t even enough. Every plan I imagined with the three of us came down to the same unfortunate conclusion: We needed Mr. Braddock. And it wasn’t despite his past mistakes, but precisely because of them.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to force away the imagined scenes of his past. But when I opened them, Mr. Braddock was still there. Only now he was in evening dress incongruously paired with the bandage on his forehead, and curiously, he was attempting to hide behind a large fern. I withheld a gasp as I realized it really was him and not a conjuring from my imagination. Before I could investigate further, Miss Verinder’s voice buzzed in my ear.
“Yes, when will the elusive Miss Rosamund be able to join us? She always seems to be with the sick.”
“Sadly, she’s actually taken sick herself. She’s been resting,” I said.
Of course, Lady Kent couldn’t miss an opening like that. “That’s what happens when you work as a nurse!”
