by Zekas, Kelly
I had to stay conscious. Keep them open. Otherwise, I would not wake up anywhere pleasant, and Rose might not wake up at all. I twisted my head upward. A prickle passed along my left arm. It had regained feeling. I strained to move my hand inch by inch across the dusty floor.
“Of course,” Dr. Beck softly muttered. He knelt down and reverently touched my cheek. “Remarkable. Your body can fight it off. We’ll just have to increase the dosage.” He rose and crossed the room toward his supply cabinet.
Rose. I had to take Rose home. I had to help Robert. Miss Grey. Sebastian. Mr. Kent. Everyone. Pushing my tingling fingers on the ground, I lifted myself up an inch, two, hearing Dr. Beck’s whistling in one ear, a distant crackle in the other, before falling to the floor again.
“Hel—” My mouth could barely call for help. Useless. The haze was too much. It muddled every thread I tried to grasp, shrouded everything around me.
Except for that damnable whistling.
My right arm returned, and I dragged it up next to my face in an effort to rise. With a desperate push, I managed to slide up onto my knees. My legs struggled to exert control.
Get up. I had to get up. I panted, coughed, strained. Dr. Beck examined his syringe against the light and missed the movement behind him as Robert climbed back to his feet. Clutching a glass bottle, he noiselessly crept behind the scientist, wound his arm back, and lunged with the weapon.
And Dr. Beck caught it with ease. He thrust the bottle straight into Robert’s teeth and knocked him back. I clambered up, crying out, pushing weight into my calves, my legs wobbling as I began to rise. Stand, stand, stand.
Somewhere in my clouded head, an answer struck me. Dr. Beck did not foresee even a minute into the future that he would need a higher dosage for me. And he had only reacted seconds before he was attacked. His foresight was severely limited. I had to tell Robert. But at that very moment, Dr. Beck struck him again with the bottle and then reached out across a counter to pick up a knife.
My mouth felt like a rusted door. “Ro’ert,” I barely moaned. No feeling in my tongue. My body refused to comply. Locking my knees, I stood fully erect, afraid to move lest I collapse again.
Robert backed away from Dr. Beck, throwing every jar and beaker he could find between them. Dr. Beck yelled at him, “Stop, you’ll—”
Chemicals exploded in flames all along the wooden floors and gas-lit walls. Robert continued throwing in his rage until he ran out of nearby ammunition and found his back against an empty shelf. His hand desperately searched for more, then gripped something tightly and swung at Dr. Beck’s forehead. Dr. Beck caught the fist yet again. With his other arm, he raised the knife. The blade sliced into Robert’s jacket, shirt, and stomach.
Dr. Beck jerked the blood-soaked knife out and plunged it back in without hesitation. At that very moment, Robert’s fist, still held by Dr. Beck, loosened above the scientist’s face. A glass bottle. Red liquid poured out, and as tangled with Robert as he was, even Dr. Beck only had time to partially avoid it. The substance splashed into his eyes, and he screamed, dropping Robert to the floor as the air filled with an acrid stench.
Robert, that brilliant fool. Step by step, I staggered toward him. Slowly, my vision cleared. The world returned, sharp and ablaze. Robert lay on the floor in front of me, bleeding. I dropped down and placed my hands over his wound, begging it to close. “Keep breathing. Just a few minutes.”
His short, labored breaths persevered. By the sink, Dr. Beck seethed and washed his eyes with a dirty towel.
Faster. Dammit, heal faster, Robert.
I pushed harder. I only had a minute at best for a severe wound that needed at least ten. Dr. Beck blinked his eyes furiously, reassessed his vision, and dabbed away the last of the chemical.
“Robert,” I whispered, praying he was still conscious. He groaned in response. “He is too fast for you. We have to overwhelm him at the same time—he can’t anticipate both of us. Just keep attacking.”
His eyes drifted upward and back. “No, Robert, stay awake,”I pleaded with him, along with my healing.
Dr. Beck, eyes red with irritation, stalked to the knife on the floor while Robert coughed and rose to his knee. I pulled him up and leaned his body over my shoulder.
“We both know how this is going to end, Miss Wyndham,” Dr. Beck said, blade in hand. “Just accept your role. It will be far more comfortable.”
Robert shoved me behind him and swung at Dr. Beck with great pains. Dr. Beck swiped at Robert with the knife after every dodged punch and sent him stumbling back with more shallow cuts.
Futilely, I searched along the massive tables for an available weapon. The gas jets couldn’t be moved. Scalpels, bottles, books. No, too small, too fragile, too weak. Hurry, dammit. No choice. This had to do.
I lifted a heavy microscope and gripped its neck tightly. There was no time to feel ridiculous.
A deep smack wrenched my attention back to the fight. Dr. Beck kicked Robert in his stomach, striking the stab wound and knocking him down hard. He slid toward the fireplace, a streak of blood marking his path, and stopped just short of the flames. Dr. Beck turned his attention to me, and any courage I had seconds ago vanished.
He charged with the knife, and I staggered backward. Dear God, I could not survive this. I couldn’t even see the blur of his arm as he swiped, much less predict where he would attack. I wielded the microscope with its base facing out, hoping to block and divert his attacks. Rapid surges of pain cut across my hand and arm, and my grip on the weapon started to slip.
But Robert had stubbornly risen again from the fireplace, clutching a burning log with one hand and his wounded stomach with the other. He marched behind my attacker, and Dr. Beck turned, again anticipating him at the last second. Robert took a heavy, obvious swing and aimed the log at Dr. Beck’s head, while I found a burst of energy and leaped forward.
I swung the microscope into an empty space to the left of Dr. Beck’s head. He dodged the log flying at him but moved just where I had hoped. His eyes registered the mistake for the briefest moment before the base struck him square in the head with a crack. He fell back, dazed and bruised, and I swung again and again until he collapsed on the floor, nearly unconscious.
A sob escaped my throat, but I choked it down.
My hands shook ferociously, rifling through Dr. Beck’s front pockets as he struggled to breathe and clutched his bleeding head. “Miss . . . Wyndham . . . p-please don’t . . . I . . . just want to . . . help.”
My fingers found what I needed. As I pulled it out into his half-dazed view, a whimper even escaped his lips. “Please,” he whispered.
My grip tightened around the glass syringe—the syringe filled with a sedative meant for torturing me, torturing countless others, torturing Rose. I couldn’t let him get up again. He was far too dangerous. My sister’s face slid into my mind as easily as the needle slid into his arm. My thumb pushed the plunger, injecting the full contents into his bloodstream, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first time he’d ever feared his uncertain future.
PIECE BY PIECE, the burning house fell apart around us.
Robert exhausted his last reserves of strength to remain upright until I was close enough for him to collapse on. My shoulder took most of his weight as I guided him around a blazing table and stepped over shards of glass soaking in strange, discolored liquids ready to ignite.
Panic erupted inside me as my thoughts moved too quickly. I had to get him out. And Miss Grey. And Rose. It was too much. Smoke had already started to collect in the laboratory, leaving me choking and gasping for fresh air as the chemically fueled fire spread. Flames cracked overhead, and a wooden beam dislodged from the ceiling, swinging inches in front of my face. A mere pause and glance at Miss Grey’s unconscious body saved me.
I silently begged her: Please be safe. Just one minute and I’ll be back.
Robert and I dodged, staggered, and prayed along the edge of the room, passing everything of Dr. Beck’s go
ing up in flames—his equipment, cabinets, samples, chemicals, and hundreds of pages of notes.
When we finally turned into the main hallway, a voice reached us from outside. “Evelyn!”
The hazy shape of Sebastian emerged out of the smoke by the front door, his face bloodied and begrimed. He fought his way to us and lightened my load, supporting Robert from the other side. “Are you all right?” he asked.
I nodded fervently and hurried my pace. “Yes, but Rose is still upstairs and Miss Grey is in the laboratory and I don’t know how much time—”
“Take him somewhere safe. I’ll get Miss Rosamund and come back to help with Miss Grey.” He bounded down the hallway.
“Sebastian! Wait!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The roar of flames swallowed my words.
Chunks of falling bricks and crumbling plaster rained down upon us. I had to get Robert out now. I half-dragged him down the hallway, one heavy step after another. Acrid gases and smoke stung my eyes, rendering my vision a blurred mess of orange globules. My legs felt like lead, and Robert slipped down my shoulder, inch by inch. I reached to pull him closer, and a flame flared out, searing my hand. I nearly dropped him.
Ignore it. Keep going. It’ll heal.
Digging into his coat with my nails, I wrenched his body back up with aching fingers and forgot the pain. Through the entrance hall, out the front door, down the steps toward indistinct green masses. The crisp, cool air, fleeting heavenly relief. Robert collapsed down onto the grass, his body streaking my dress with bloodstains.
“Will you be all right?” I asked.
He mumbled something incomprehensible, and I hoped our contact had healed him enough for the time being. I sucked in a huge breath of air and rushed back inside, dodging floating flecks of fire and draperies burning to ash. Back down the hallway and into the laboratory, where the ceiling continued to collapse above me. Narrowly missing showers of debris, I threaded around tables, flew past the furnace, and skidded to a stop by the sink—where Miss Grey should have been lying.
A massive pile of fallen rocks and wood sat in her place, burying her underneath.
No, no, no. On my hands and knees, I dug furiously through the rubble. Burning wood and scorched stones piled on endlessly, the heat scalding my hands. Then I jumped at the sight of a boot—not under the debris, but to the side of it.
“I’m like a moth to the flame, Miss Wyndham!” a voice yelled.
I clambered to my feet and gazed through the stifling smog into the straining eyes of Mr. Kent—with Miss Grey hanging over his good shoulder, broken arm cradled against his chest. “It’s time we go,” he said.
Without the time or air for even a gasp of relief, I led the way back out of the laboratory with a hunched Mr. Kent in tow. We made our way down the hallway to the exit, but my feet stopped, immovable, when I peered outside. Rose and Sebastian hadn’t come out yet. Could he not find her? Were they trapped? Had they—
“I need to get Rose!” I shouted, ignoring Mr. Kent’s protests. “Get yourself to safety and make sure Robert is well enough!” I flew back down the hallway, made a jump over a burning rug on the first stair, and gasped when my skirt caught flame. I ripped frantically at the fabric before it could spread, leaving the tatters of outer skirts smoldering on the floor, while only my petticoat remained intact.
With each step up, the fumes flared in my nose and my head felt lighter, my neck becoming rubber. A tumbling portrait nearly struck my head as I ducked and crawled up to the top, lungs heavy, heat coursing through my skin.
Ignore it. Keep going. It’ll heal.
A tight, smoke-filled hallway met me at the top. Three open doors and a narrow servant staircase at the end. Had they taken that route? Wiping my eyes, I hobbled down the corridor, past blazing wall hangings and embers searing my cheek. I poked my head into the first room. Empty. Second room, empty again. Around the corner to the third room, when an earth-shattering explosion from below—the laboratory—shook the house violently. I stumbled forward into the vacant room and heard a strained creaking before a series of awful snaps. With a violent lurch, I collapsed, along with the rest of the floor.
A blistering pain pulsed through my entire body as I hit the hard ground with a thud, while the house seemed to crash down around me. The back of my head pounded from the barrage of falling rubble that seemed to last forever. When the pain was somewhat manageable, I opened my eyes and found myself buried in a pile of stone and splintered wood. My hands and knees felt damp, sticky. Blood. Somehow I was still alive, but barely mobile. I managed to turn my head up and crawl out of the dusty mess to find I was no longer on the second floor.
It was a cramped storage room. No windows, one door, and two walls engulfed in the fire spreading from the laboratory. My body felt broken, my arms unable to even handle the rest of my weight. I wheezed and choked and gagged on the cloud of smoke, hoping my power could keep me going without air. Up I climbed, wobbling on my weak legs and balancing myself against a box. I limped the few painful steps to the exit and twisted the metal knob, gasping at the searing heat, and pulled. It rattled and stopped with a click. Locked. The blasted door was locked.
My legs wavered, and I caught myself on the wall. The ceiling was now a massive hole, but it was too high to reach—even with the boxes. And I could barely stand, barely breathe, much less pull myself up one story.
Ignore it. Keep going. Dear God, I was going to die here.
I charged at the door. A stabbing pain surged through my shoulder with each push. My fist pounded against the wood in a futile attempt to burst through. My arms ached. I made one more pathetic attack and found myself blocked by hard indifference. My head felt light, my body heavy, my legs numb. I crashed and slumped against the door, which somehow moved it and sent me falling. For a moment I was pure nothingness. But before I hit the floor, hands seized me at the waist. Sebastian flew into my veins as I was pulled out of the room.
“Evelyn—”
“Wait—ple—where’s Rose?” I interrupted.
Sebastian helped me through a doorway. “She’s outside!” he said with a smile. “She’s safe.”
He had gotten her out already. Sebastian had saved her. Thank heavens. I clutched his shoulder and he lifted me into his arms, carrying me through a hallway, out the side, and into a small garden, where he set me down on the lawn. He knelt down, holding me against his chest, as I let my eyes close in exhaustion. Beneath the smoke and chemicals, he still smelled like leather and mint.
“That was foolish,” he said, the slightest quiver in his voice. “There was no need for you to come back in.”
Behind him, the full devastation of the inferno made his point. It was less of a house on fire now than it was a fire using a house for fuel. I gorged myself on the fresh air, unable to say a word. Everything felt clean again, pure, safe. I never knew how good it felt to breathe—to truly breathe.
“You’ve been burned,” he said. He kissed my forehead, then my hand, and the sting of pain was enveloped and overwhelmed by the touch of his lips.
“It—it’ll heal,” I said. “Thank you.”
Lying in his arms, I felt a heavy sort of contentment and relief roll through me. A reluctant moment of ease, where I knew everything was all right, but my body seemed to forget what it was like to relax. I opened my eyes and looked for my sister. “Where’s Rose? Why isn’t she here?” I asked.
“She’s by the back of the house. She was sedated when I found her.”
A cold shiver tore through my bones. Sedated. Unconscious. No. I . . . I had misheard him. That could not be right. It would mean—
“Then she—did—did you carry her out?” I asked desperately, gagging on the words.
His face was all confusion. “Yes . . .”
My heart pounded furiously. I leaped up without a word, ignoring the ache in my limbs, and sped around the back of the house. She lay still in the grass. I dropped to my knees by her side and shook her. “Rose,” I sputtered out. I lifted her ang
elic face in my hand and ran my finger across her neck.
Nothing.
I checked with my other hand to make sure I was not mad. I ran them both over her chest. No heartbeat. The same lingering nothing. I grasped her hand and squeezed hard. “Rose,” I whispered in her ear. No response. Her hand fell limply by her side.
“Sebastian, she—she—” I could not get the words out.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“She cannot heal!” I cried. “She does not have th-that ability! Dr. Beck said it was a mistake.” I looked to him for a counter, a retort to prove me wrong, to solve everything.
But he only stared down at Rose, examined his gloved hands and stood up, a sickening look of horror and realization paling his face. His deep green eyes sank into mine.
“I—I only held her for a—it was—I thought I felt—” He moved to grab my shoulders, but I flinched at the suddenness. He put his hands down and stumbled back. “Please heal her.” His voice faltered as he turned. Twigs cracked. Grass crushed beneath his boot.
And he ran.
He ran until he was out of sight.
I kept my hands on Rose, pushing against her skin, trying to revive her, heal her wounds, bring her back, do one goddamn single useful thing in my pathetic existence.
“Rose, I can heal you. It’ll be fine.” I held her hands in my own, shutting my eyes, waiting for a sudden revival, a rapid pulse, a steady heartbeat. She couldn’t die here. No one ever died. The patient always recovered. That was how it worked every single time.
Police whistles rang from the streets, onlookers yelled, and carriages bustled, rushing to the building to help or crowd or simply gawk at something much greater than them. I hauled my sister into my arms and peered at Dr. Beck’s laboratory, overcome with rage. It was him. He did this, not Sebastian. He deserved to burn forever. My sister was supposed to be alive, smiling and relieved to go home. We were supposed to laugh about our adventure, go on walks, heal the sick, and figure out our lives. She wasn’t supposed to be lying here, withered in my arms.
