Starkey.
She couldn’t believe Chuzzlewit’s very own mayor was Graham’s long lost friend. How could the mayor be the man Graham had been searching for all this time? It didn’t make any sense.
What would happen now? Would he take Graham home back to Chicago? The thought of him leaving left her with a helplessness she couldn’t shake.
And that was it? Charges dropped, no repercussions. Not that she’d relished the idea of being accompanied to jail by the two constables on duty, but it was odd to have the matter dropped so suddenly, as if none of it mattered. Not Harry Fenstermaker’s death or Dahlia’s disappearance. It was as if the mayor wanted them to forget about everything.
The crowd leaked from the town hall, filling the streets with upper class men in tailored suits and women in flounced skirts and colorful corsets that matched the feathers in their top hats, leading children equally dressed in fine clothing to waiting hovneys. Those of the lower class in more simple dresses with longer sleeves hustled children along to return to their homes and chores.
Victoria was grateful for the hubbub in the streets. It gave her time to think.
Uncle Jarvis hadn’t said Dahlia had died. He’d said she’d gone missing, and the distinction wasn’t lost on her. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her friend, but she knew Dahlia wouldn’t just disappear. She was too fiery for that. Besides, where would she go? Wolverton didn’t exist.
Part of her worried Dahlia had been taken, carried off by the Kreak. But she’d seen the beast retreat into the ocean, and it had carried no prize with it. Harry’s had been the only body they’d found on the beach.
Shame welled within her at the thought of Harry. It didn’t matter that the mayor had dismissed the charges. If she hadn’t gone after the Kreak last night, Harry would still be alive.
She rounded another corner, and the line of ocean came into view, sweeping over the horizon and greeting the azure, cloudless sky. It was deceptively calm compared to the chaos that had ensued the night before. The shore watcher’s shed slanted against the wind, and Victoria’s step faltered. The shed was the last place Harry and Dahlia had been seen alive.
She steeled herself. There was nothing to be done for Harry. But they could still find Dahlia. She straightened her shoulders and made for the shed. Perhaps Dahlia had left a note that no one had discovered yet.
Victoria lifted her skirts, ready to ascend the rocks leading to the overlook when a claw gripped her upper arm.
“Not so fast.”
She gasped in revulsion to find Uncle Jarvis snarling down at her. His hair flurried in the breeze, and a slight derangement hid behind his eyes.
“Release me,” Victoria demanded, wrenching free of his grip.
He grabbed her again and pinched tighter. “The last thing any of us needs is your snooping. Get home.”
“Uncle—”
He shoved her toward a hovney bobbing beside the boardwalk and Fenstermaker’s broken bookshop. Victoria stumbled forward with a little squeak.
“Do not push me, Victoria. Not now. Not ever again.”
“We must find Dahlia.” She lifted her chin, refusing to move.
His nostrils flared. “You’ve done enough! Just stay out of this!” he shouted, storming toward her. He thrust her toward the hovney, hardly giving her time to lift her feet onto the step ladder the footman had lowered.
“Do not let her out of your sight,” Jarvis ordered.
The footman bowed his head. “Very good, sir.”
Jarvis slammed the door, glowering at her. It was a fearful sight, her uncle unhinged as he was. Something in his eye told her he knew more than he was letting on. He knew what happened to Dahlia.
But if that was the case, why wouldn’t he give her any answers?
He turned his back to the hovercarriage as it bobbed away. Victoria kept her eyes on the silent horizon for as long as she could until it traded places with the rolling grasses and manor homes scattered along the way to Gingham Range. She would find out what her uncle knew. She would find her friend.
Thirty-one
Graham ran a hand through his hair, unease filling him. If he knew Victoria at all, he knew she needed these answers. That’s why they’d gone after the Kreak; she was so eager to understand. It would kill him to keep this from her.
But if he told her, it could drive her insane.
“Wait,” he said, another piece clicking in his brain. “If you created this place, does that mean you created the monster too? The Kreak?”
Starkey shook his head, sagging against his cane as though the thought was a weight in and of itself. “Ah. I knew we’d have to broach that subject eventually.”
“You made that thing.” It wasn’t a question. “Why—why would you do that?”
Starkey sighed, his shoulders hunching. “I didn’t create it—exactly. It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.” Graham crossed his arms over his chest.
Starkey gestured to the door. “Not here. I’m tired of standing.” He returned the lockbox to its drawer and limped to the door, leaving Graham with no choice but to follow him.
Back in the study, they settled into the soft chairs by the fireplace.
“Chuzzlewit is a remarkable place,” Starkey said, resting his cane across his lap. “It allows miracles to happen. But those miracles do not come without a cost. I didn’t realize it at first—and there was no way I could have predicted it—but the energy has to be balanced, you see?”
Graham did not see. What on earth was the old man rambling about?
Starkey leaned his head back against the high-backed chair. “I’ll be honest, Graham. I don’t fully understand it. All I know is that after a few years of building and creating here, the Kreak rose from the ocean like a vengeful angel. I believe it satisfies Chuzzlewit’s need for equilibrium. It’s the natural law that governs this place. Destruction to balance out Creation. As if the very act of generating life called death to my shores. And every time I use the Gateway, the Kreak attacks.”
Graham’s lips parted, realization flooding through him. “So—the attack last night. That wasn’t us at all. That was you using the Gateway.”
Starkey nodded. “I’m sorry you got wrapped up in it. But I got you out of it. And I’ll make sure Jarvis doesn’t come after you again. That man sometimes forgets his place here.”
Graham was no longer listening. “I have to tell Victoria. She’s probably killing herself over this—blaming herself for what happened to Harry and Dahlia, and the town. I can’t let her think this is her fault.” He stood and turned to the door.
“No!” Starkey leapt from his chair, faster than Graham would have thought possible, and grabbed Graham by the arm. “You can’t do that! You would be doing her great harm.”
Graham deflated. Right. Cognitive disconnect. Mental paralysis. “But I can’t just—”
“You can, and you must,” Starkey insisted. “If you care about her at all, you must.”
Graham sank back down into his chair. This was all too much. “All right, I won’t tell her. But we have to do something about the Kreak. It’s killing people, Starkey.”
“I know.” Starkey ran a hand over his face. “It’s unfortunate. It’s gotten so much bigger, even just within the last few months. We’ll have to increase the size of the Naut team to keep it at bay.”
“Keep it at bay?” Graham shook his head. “Starkey, we have to destroy that thing.”
Starkey’s eyes whipped to Graham, piercing him with their intensity. “No! We can never do that. Didn’t you hear a word I said? The Kreak is balance. If you destroy it, you will destroy Chuzzlewit itself.”
“So—that’s it, we just have to let the monster keep attacking the town?”
“I’ll stop using the Gateway for a while,” Starkey said slowly, formulating his plan as he spoke. “Yes,
that should do it. We’ll take a rest and build up the Nauts, get a bigger defense system. If we can just keep the Kreak from getting into the town it will be fine. No one needs to know.”
Graham’s eyes turned to slits. “You mean no one needs to die.”
Starkey waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, of course. That too.”
Graham sank back in his chair, processing it all. Of course he knew there’d be a wild explanation for this place, but he’d never imagined this. A town full of memory-wiped people, living out a strange Victorian fantasy, whose lives depended on the very thing that threatened them. It was too much.
He stood and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I—I have to think.”
“Course you do, m’ boy. But remember, mum’s the word, right?”
“Right,” said Graham. He grabbed the door’s slanted, golden handle.
“And Graham? You can’t stay here with me. Not using the Gateway also means I can’t use the stone to wipe anyone’s memories. We can’t alert anyone’s suspicions. I’ll see to it that Jarvis takes you back.”
“Whatever.” Graham shut the door behind him and staggered out, his thoughts circling like hubcaps that spin even when the car stops moving.
He paused and stared up at the extravagance Starkey had supplied himself with. The high ceiling climbed at least a hundred feet to the top of the dome. The fine wood trimmings and furniture, the decadent carpets and paintings. Starkey had made it seem like a noble thing he was doing, rescuing people from misery. But Graham couldn’t help noticing that Starkey had given himself some pretty sweet digs here. He’d even set himself up as mayor. His motives weren’t completely altruistic.
And he continued using the Gateway. Even when he knew it would make the Kreak attack.
He stepped outside and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, letting them expand. There wasn’t a hint, not even a smell of something different, nothing strange-tinted to trigger any kind of suspicion. He wondered how Starkey had known about it, how he’d found out he could create something from it in the first place.
Graham kicked a few stray rocks, mind pressed with the magnitude of it all. How much of the town had Starkey created? Even that rock he just kicked? He wished he could talk to someone, but he couldn’t take that risk.
Victoria’s house climbed in the distance across the grassland speckled with a few trees and the lake at the center of it. Graham didn’t want to go back to Gingham Range, but he had to see if Victoria was okay. He picked up his pace and ran along the lake that curved lazily along until it marked the way toward the Range.
He ducked through the manicured trees that had been trimmed so squarely he was surprised it hadn’t been with a chainsaw. He stared up at the numerous windows interrupting the back of the house that wasn’t anywhere near as huge as Starkey’s. Three of the windows had balconies. One had to be hers.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, mo,” he whispered, hands in his pockets. Movement caught his eye. The curtains parted at the window in the center, giving him the sight of her face.
“Bingo,” he said, reaching for the vines snaking their way up along the brick.
He wondered if she was sent her to room like a naughty child. If her uncle had been half as bad on her as he’d been to Graham, Graham pitied the poor girl.
Graham hurdled around the balcony’s edge to find Victoria standing near her bed with one arm cradling the tall post. Long curls dangled like ribbons down her back, and she wore a light pink corset with a cream-colored skirt. The pink brought out the flush in her cheeks the instant she saw him.
“Graham!”
She hurried to open the glass doors and let him in.
His foot hit the carpet, and before he could so much as say her name, she threw herself in his arms the way she had on the beach the night before.
“I was so worried about you,” she said.
Startled, Graham relaxed his hold around her softness and pulled her closer, smelling the rose scent of her hair. It was the first time he’d seen her with her hair all the way down, and his fingers wove through the curls.
Victoria stiffened as if realizing she’d just hugged a boy.
“Oh, my.” She stepped back, her fingers slipping across his as she pulled away. “I’m so sorry. I was just worried about you after Mayor Goshawk—I mean, your friend—pulled you off the stage like that. I . . .” She looked down at the floor, her cheeks reddening. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
Graham stared at her, trying to picture her in jeans and a t-shirt, hanging out at the skate park with him, or at the mall, or sitting across from him in class. Could she really be from home, too?
“What’s going on? How can the mayor be your A.C. Starkey?”
Graham opened his mouth and promptly shut it again. Cognitive disconnect. The last thing he wanted was for Victoria to end up in a coma. He couldn’t do that to her.
“I don’t understand it. Starkey . . . he didn’t explain anything.” The lie soured his stomach, urging him to do it, to just tell her the truth.
Victoria’s pretty, amber eyes squinted in confusion. “But he must have said something. You’ve been gone ever so long. What were you talking about all that time?”
Graham’s gaze shifted. “Uh . . . we were talking about how to get me home.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. Victoria backed away from him, hurt reflecting in her eyes.
“Oh, of course. I should have realized.” She tucked her lips under her teeth.
He longed to reach for her and pull her to him again. For days now he wanted nothing but to find Starkey and figure out how to get the freak out of this lame town. Now that he’d found him, he wasn’t all that anxious to get back home after all. He missed his family. His mom was probably worried sick, and his father had probably searched every inch of Illinois for him. Graham felt uneasy about that, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted to stay more than he wanted to go.
“Nothing’s been decided yet,” he hurried to say. “Starkey can’t . . . er, he’s not sure he can get me home. Not yet, anyway. So it looks like I’ll be staying here for a while.” If Starkey planned on avoiding using the Gateway until they’d built a larger team of Nauts, then Graham would have to hang tight anyway.
Relief stole across her features. “My uncle said he disinvited you,” she said, holding her hands in front of her. “Where are you staying now?”
“Not Starkey’s. He didn’t want me there either. He said he’d talk to Jarvis.”
Victoria’s shoulders relaxed completely. A grin spread over her face. Graham’s breath caught. She really was something.
“That would be wonderful. I mean, so that you would have somewhere to—”
Her cheeks reddened again, and he couldn’t help himself. Their obsession with properness and keeping distance so didn’t apply where he came from. He reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. Victoria watched the gesture; she watched his every movement until he pulled her against his chest.
She gazed up at him, her big amber eyes filled with astonishment, but to his relief, she didn’t try to pull away. He brushed a curl from her forehead.
Her eyes were wide and innocent, glittering with wonder and expectation. His heart lurched at that look, at how beautiful she was, at the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips. He lowered his head. She tilted hers upward.
Voices echoed through the doorway. “Victoria?”
Panic flooded Victoria’s eyes. She glanced at his arms secured tightly around her and shoved him away. “My mother!” she whispered.
Moment shattered, Graham scrambled back out to the balcony, and Victoria closed the glass doors and the curtains, blocking him from view. He climbed back down, practically falling to the grass below, and jerked to find Jarvis glaring levelly at him fr
om beside a line of hedges.
“Out for a stroll, Mr. Birkley?”
Graham tried as hard as he could not to look up at Victoria’s window.
Jarvis folded his arms. “Your friend seems to think it wise that you continue to remain here with us,” he went on, though it sounded like he was admitting Starkey thought it wise for Jarvis to eat horse dung.
“Sounds good,” Graham said. If it wasn’t for Victoria he probably wouldn’t accept the offer. But he wanted to be as close to her as he could.
“I think you’ll be more comfortable in the servant’s quarters. That will give you easier access to the backyard, which is obviously your preferred entrance into the house.”
Graham forced himself to keep eye contact.
“Myer has a dog, Mr. Birkley. A large dog. And we will be taking precautions to ensure you don’t feel the need to climb any more balconies.”
Thirty-two
The beast’s claw clamped her waist, cutting into her skin. She was weightless and yet heavy with a horrible sickness all at once.
Wind whirled her hair, tossing it about while the sea sprayed on her skin. The beast lowered her to its mouth. Its patchwork metal jaw opened. Green fumes budded within, choking her with fear . . .
Rosalind woke with a gasp, brushing sweat-matted hair from her temples. Though her eyes were blinded, her mind’s eye was not. The same sight played over and over again, tormenting her.
Her life nearly ended that night. That . . . that creature had her in its clutches. The Kreak had gripped her so hard she feared it might snap her in two.
She’d been certain that was the last thing she would see.
What a relief it wasn’t.
Shaking fingers made their way to the sides of her eyes while a new realization sweltered through her, a canyon running so deeply there was no bottom to it. If it hadn’t been for Graham Birkley, the creature’s breath would have paralyzed her and melted her from the inside. It would have sucked the life from her bones.
The Perilous In-Between Page 21
