These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel

by Zekas, Kelly

  What in heaven’s name had brought Robert here?

  Without realizing it, I had risen from my seat and snatched up my glass, ready to ask him. He rambled to an old man sitting next to him at the bar, who took long swigs of his beer and nodded sympathetically. My feet brought me closer and closer, but restraint or sense prevailed and I continued onward without a word, taking a table along the wall. This was neither the time nor the place to comfort Robert.

  “This is a picture of my Rose,” he said, holding up a monstrosity he had drawn a couple of years ago.

  “A . . . uh, fine-looking girl, sir,” his drinking partner replied.

  “There’s something wrong, I know it,” he said, shaking his head. “I just wish I could see for myself that she was well!”

  He drained the remains of his beer and was in the process of calling over the bartender for another when my view was entirely blocked.

  “Yer sittin’ at our table,” a rough voice told me.

  Peering down at me was a large, bearded man and his stout, short companion not far behind.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, leaping up from my seat.

  “That ain’t our table,” the short one corrected. “Ours is outside.”

  “My ’umblest apologies,” the bearded one said. “But seein’ as yer up, ’ow’d you like a drink wif us?”

  I shook my head. “That’s quite all right—”

  “We insist,” the short one said, giving me a false smile. “Any ’quaintance of Dr. Beck is a ’quaintance of ours.”

  I picked up my glass, silently cursing to myself. The big one led the way to a wooden back door, and his companion prodded me from behind to follow. It scraped open to a secluded alleyway behind the bar. Sickening smells and foreboding reddish stains assaulted my senses, and my heart went off thumping again. The two men seemed to be quite at home here. What was their connection to Dr. Beck? And where did that short one acquire the long scar along his face?

  The tall man rolled up his sleeves and took a swaggering step forward. The false politeness disappeared from his face. “Who are ya?” he growled.

  “I—I’m sorry? Ah—uh, James . . . Brick?” I squeaked, backing against the wall.

  “No ya ain’t—now tell us.” He scowled menacingly.

  “An’ what’re ya ’ere for, girl?” the shorter one growled as he reached into his pocket. Another squeak loosed itself from my throat. How did they know?

  “I—I was, um—I am looking for my sister, Rose, and—” I started to say.

  The two exchanged the same curious glance. Smiles passed across both their faces, and they turned to me with synchronized bows.

  “Ah! As we suspected. Yer the gal.”

  “The one Braddock’s been tryin’ very, very ’ard to ’elp.”

  “You aren’t with Dr. Beck?” I managed.

  The two men whispered between each other.

  “Course we can trust ’er,” the bearded one said encouragingly. “She dunnit sound like she’s lying.”

  “Dunnit look like it, either,” the other finished.

  “Settled, then.” The bearded one turned to me. “Muh name’s Arthur, this ’ere’s William, and we’re with yer friend Braddock. We provide ’im with information on ’ccasion—call us merchants, yeah?”

  William sniffed the alley air and wrinkled his nose. “Arthur, we best be back, this ain’t no place for a lady.”

  “And in ’ere is?” Arthur asked, smirking as he pulled the door open for us.

  William led the way back into the black void, and the faint outline of his body was the only thing keeping me from crashing into everything as my eyes adjusted.

  “Who—how did you see through my disguise in here?”

  “We’re talented,” William said over his shoulder.

  “Quite talented,” came Arthur’s voice from behind.

  William stopped at an open table and pulled back a chair for me, which must have looked like strange behavior to anyone sober enough to notice or care.

  I sat down, trying to find the right words. “Are you? Do you have? I mean . . .”

  Arthur nodded at me. “Yea, we’re special-like, just as you are. I could ’ear the strain—in yer voice. Ya shoulda let ’er change it.”

  “Don’t matter,” William put in as he sat, “I could see the makeup and the alt’rations. Brushstrokes, yeah? Like you’s got a mask. Still, that Camille bird’s gotten right good at it, took me ’most two seconds to see ya through it.”

  “You are acquainted with Camille?” I asked.

  “ ’Ow’d ya think we got these threatenin’ faces?” They smiled, teeth glinting in a sharklike way.

  “Charged a fortune, though.”

  Arthur gave a disappointed shake of the head. “Shouldn’ta paid extra for the scar, Willy.”

  “Scar’s the most impor’nt part,” William said. He looked to me. “Terrifying, innit?”

  “Quite,” I said, my pulse finally slowing. “Why did you change your faces?”

  “Went into ’iding,” they spoke together.

  “From?” The two exchanged rapid, hesitant glances before coming to a silent decision, turning back to me.

  “The one yer lookin’ for. Experimented on me ears.”

  “An’ me eyes.”

  “We’d rather not dredge up those memories, love.”

  “Unpleasant, see?”

  “Where’d that lass get to?” Arthur asked, twisting around and searching the room.

  “There she is,” William declared triumphantly, holding up three fingers for a barmaid across the room to see. “Drinks on Arthur ’gain.”

  Arthur scoffed. “If she were talkin’, I’d’ve won,” he said, shaking his head.

  “But ya din’t.”

  They looked easy enough, but I could sense an undercurrent of pain that was strikingly similar to Mr. Braddock’s. Still, I had to keep on the difficult topic. “So why are you two here?”

  “Braddock asked us to keep our ears out for information about Beck,” Arthur whispered. “And this ’ere is the top place for ’earing about special-like folk.”

  “Why this place?”

  Arthur shrugged. “Don’t know ’ow it started. Maybe’s more comfortable drinkin’ with your kind?”

  “Everyone keeps it quiet, though. You gotta look extra close. See that barmaid?” William asked, nodding toward our server. “Beer comes out warm, but watch ’er hands.”

  The bartender poured our glasses as he had done mine earlier, but when the barmaid fetched them, she took an extra moment to wrap her hand around each base. Within seconds, each glass fogged up, chilled to its core. After she delivered them to our table, I couldn’t help but scrape the frost in amazement.

  “Of course,” I sighed. “Mr. Braddock doesn’t tell me about this place, either.”

  “That there—wait.” William eyed me in a terribly uncomfortable way—it felt as if he were slowly peeling off layers of my skin. “He don’t know you’re ’ere?”

  “He doesn’t tell me anything and then goes off searching without me,” I complained, my exasperation not particularly well disguised.

  “ ’Haps he’s tryin’ ta protect you.”

  “An’ we ain’t ’elping by keepin’ you ’ere. You should return ’ome. We’ll keep watch. Better suited for it anyways.” William spoke in the soothing tone one uses with an irrational child. Of course, the effect on a rational adult was anything but soothing.

  “No. I need to find my sister, and all this ‘protection’ does is slow the search!” I said, the table rattling as my fist banged down.

  A couple of sleeping drunkards at the tables around us jerked their heads up, bewildered. Neither Arthur nor William flinched at my outburst, though. Arthur just gave me a look of pity, which felt rather insulting, considering our pathetic surroundings. “He’s got ’is own reasons.”

  “What on earth is his hold over you? Did he threaten you? Beat you up? You know, I could help if he injured you—”r />
  “Dearie, we owe ’im our lives.”

  I gaped at them, certain I was mishearing. Perhaps they owed him their wives? Knives? “I’m sorry, what exactly do you mean?”

  “He’s the reason we ain’t dead. Freed us from Dr. Beck,” Arthur said. William nodded along enthusiastically.

  “I see . . . and this was when he was not testing his power on innocent subjects?” I was rather viciously pleased to see their abashed reactions.

  “It’s true—’e did that,” William said ruefully.

  “Yeah but ’e dinnit wanta, did ’e?” Arthur turned back to me, earnest. “Tore ’im right up that ’e couldn’t control his power, but he didn’t hav’a choice—he was locked up. Dr. Beck’ll do anything for his research. It starts out real friendly-like, but then one day ’e locked us up, and ’e would’a cut us open if Braddock hadn’t helped us ’scape.”

  “And if Mr. Braddock hadn’t let Dr. Beck go,” I said, “you or my sister wouldn’t have been locked up in the first place.”

  They both frowned and exhaled. “That’s a messy business, dearie,” Arthur said. “You’re right ’bout your sister, but Beck ’ad us in another laboratory.”

  “If Braddock had killed ’em instead of followed ’em, we’d’a never been found.”

  I stared into my cloudy glass, watching the whirling liquid settle into stillness. So Mr. Braddock had told me the truth. He really hadn’t had a choice. And he’d saved Arthur’s and William’s lives. But the two images—of Mr. Braddock killing an innocent and showing mercy to Dr. Beck—proved impossible to banish with Rose still out there.

  The duo seemed to silently communicate again with glances before Arthur cleared his throat, speaking low. “Even if ’e don’t tell ya everything, you can trust ’im to ’ave a good reason for it.”

  “Did he tell you Dr. Beck has an unknown power of his own?” I took a heavy gulp of the ale.

  When I set down the glass, I was faced with identical expressions of confusion. “Dr. Beck’s special-like?”

  “We only learned of it yesterday. We’re quite sure he has a power—we just don’t know what it may be.”

  Nauseated, William pushed aside his drink, while Arthur drained half the glass, foam collecting on his beard. Neither reaction was entirely reassuring.

  “Then I gather you don’t have ideas of what it might be?” I asked. “Did you ever see anything out of the ordinary with him? Anything at all?”

  Arthur closed his eyes a little and touched his ears, wincing in pain at my strained tone. “Dinnit think ’e could get scarier, didja, Willy? But that ’bout makes me wanna run ta ’nother country,” he said miserably.

  “Sorry, can’t say I noticed anything,” William put in. “Cunning bastard iffin you’ll pardon me for sayin’ so. Always planned well. Never let it slip. He musta known ’ow to hide the power. Nuthin’ ever seemed strangelike.” He nodded in his short-necked way.

  I took a final sip of the beer. The bitter taste was a bit more tolerable this time, but it was nothing I’d miss. “And do you still mean to keep watch here for Mr. Braddock? You still trust him?”

  They both nodded, without the need to look at each other for agreement. Very well. Staunch supporters of the cause.

  “Then I will thank you for your help and take my leave. You two are infinitely more suitable for the task, and I’ve distracted you long enough.” I pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote down the Kents’ address. “If you discover anything at all, please include me. You can imagine how difficult it is knowing the danger my sister is in and not being able to help.”

  They stood up with me and Arthur took the address. “We do. And I s’pose that fella there knows a bit about it, too,” he said, nodding toward Robert, who by now had buried his face into the crook of his elbow to weep.

  “He is a dear friend of mine. Would you make sure he does nothing stupid?”

  “If you’ll do us a favor in turn.”

  William gave me an earnest look. “You try ta forgive Braddock. He means ya well.”

  I pushed in my chair and nodded a clumsy, hesitant good-bye to them. The sticky floor brought me through the smoky haze and out the front door, where I found a sudden, blinding reminder that it was still the middle of the day.

  Lost in the bustle of my thoughts, I only realized where I was when my cab came to a jolting stop outside Camille’s building. When I knocked on her door, an elderly man poked his head out this time. “Oh, Miss Wyndham, come in.”

  She led me into the dressing room, where she tilted my chin up, admiring her work one final time. “Did it all go accordingly?” she asked.

  “Not quite,” I said. “But it was instructive, nonetheless.”

  “It often is.” She soaked a rag in a bucket of water warmed by the sunlight and set to reversing the process, scrubbing off my makeup, massaging a tingling substance into my hair, manipulating my shoulders and chest. As she worked, I could swear my muscles were relaxing and my hair lengthening with her every touch, returning almost imperceptibly to equilibrium. It took only a fraction of the time to undo her work.

  When she had finished, she motioned to the large looking glass. “Please tell me if there’s anything I’ve missed. I’ll fetch your dress from the other room.”

  She left me alone with my reflection. My appearance looked as close to normal as I could tell, though it still felt strange with the loose men’s clothing I wore. Maybe my dress—wait. I’d left my dress in this wardrobe.

  I cracked the dressing-room door open and called out, “Miss Camille, my things are here.”

  No response. The entire apartment sat silent. She was nowhere to be found in the other two rooms. A chill ran down my spine as I rushed to open the front door and stepped out into the vacant hall. Why had she just left without warning?

  “What a pleasant surprise, Miss Wyndham.”

  Smiling up at me from the lower staircase landing was my answer. Dr. Beck.

  No. No. No.

  Not him. Not now. Not this way.

  No one even knew where I was. My breath caught, and I fumbled for words before realizing that I should have been running. I bounded upstairs past the second floor, third, fourth, the clatter of footsteps following from one flight below. My chest heaved and my cravat flapped wildly out of my open waistcoat as I pushed myself forward. My suit was less cumbersome than a dress, but it was of no help to me once I burst through the roof door and stumbled outside. A vacant roof, a single entrance, and a five-story drop. The setting sun over the London skyline pleasantly bade me good-bye.

  “Miss Wyndham, please.” Dr. Beck and Claude had already caught up, standing by the door. “If you will oblige us for just a few minutes.”

  “No, I am in a bit of a hurry, thank you,” I shouted back.

  Camille poked her wrinkled head out the roof door behind them.

  “You called them?” I shouted at her. “Why?”

  She gave me a sort of frowning smile as if I’d asked a stupid question. “I told you. There’s no greater pleasure than removing one mask to reveal another.” She turned to Dr. Beck. “Are we finished?”

  “We are. Go enjoy this beautiful evening,” Dr. Beck said with a pleasant smile.

  She nodded and shut the door with an aching metal wail.

  “You were seconds away from death the other night,” Dr. Beck said. “Yet you still persist in chasing us. It seems stubbornness runs in your family.”

  A strong wind rushed in from the west, sending my hair flailing across my face. My heart thumped for Rose. She was still alive, then. I felt flushed, tense, seething. My mind flashed through hundreds of painful fates for him if only I had Mr. Braddock’s abilities.

  “Don’t you dare hurt her!” The empty threat escaped against my better judgment.

  Dr. Beck took slow steps forward and shook his head. “You keep insisting one girl’s comfort is far more important than millions of other lives. Do you understand how ridiculous you sound?”

  He didn’t de
serve a response.

  “You attend church, yes?” he asked. “Of course you do. Why is it acceptable that martyred saints and even ‘the Son of God’ can sacrifice themselves all for a set of beliefs? The actual results from those sacrifices are still up for debate, while the possibilities that stem from Miss Rosamund’s are as clear as day to anyone—and you cannot accept it.”

  There was nothing else to do, nothing to say. I could hear people from the street below, but could they hear me? Could I call for help without Dr. Beck knowing? Backing up to the edge of the roof, I lashed out the way I knew best. Loudly.

  “Even with your power, you’re still a terrible scientist! There’s a reason your fellow scientists ridicule you,” I yelled. “It’s because they—”

  “—know my work is going to accomplish nothing and help no one?” Dr. Beck finished calmly. A look of mild amusement unfurled across his face. “I’m sorry, I took the words out of your mouth. Please, continue.”

  Oh, God. A frightening revelation struck me. It explained how he could block my attacks, how he responded to unfinished sentences, how Arthur and William saw that he never made mistakes, how he always had a plan. Was it possible? It existed in myths, but . . .

  “You—you . . . can see—”

  Dr. Beck smiled serenely at me. “The future, yes, Miss Wyndham. I am impressed. Now you know I am not exaggerating when I tell you I am one step ahead of you. I was born to be one step ahead of you. I will know if someone is coming through this door before he himself even knows. And I can assure you with complete confidence, no one noticed your plea for help, no one cares, and no one is coming.”

  I didn’t know how it felt to have the life sucked out of me, but his words managed a close approximation. He could see the future, and he was only admitting everything because he knew I was going to be dead in less than a minute.

  Dr. Beck met Claude’s eye and nodded in my direction, and the giant stomped closer. Dear God, this was really the end of me. What a stupid way to go. Strangled, stabbed, bones broken, maybe all three at once. I had to do something. Anything. And then I saw it. As I moved toward the corner of the roof, another building came into view. It was right next to us, one story lower, a manageable jump, an actual escape.