The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3)

by Heather Lyons

  There’s fear in Sara’s eyes as she stares at me. There’s also more than a bit of defiance. In fact, she spits in my face.

  If I hadn’t found her picture at Lygari’s, I think I might rather have appreciated this woman’s spunk. A mimsy she is not.

  From between clenched teeth, she hisses, “How long have you been spying on us?”

  Wrong yet interesting question. “You and I are set for a very important talk,” I say coolly. “And you will answer me truthfully if you value your life. Until that moment, you will do as I say.” The tip of my dagger digs into her soft skin. “Is there an understanding between us, Sara Crewe Carrisford?”

  The use of her full name surprises her. It also seems to give her incentive to do her best to dislodge me. Like her, I am stronger than I look, though, and whatever defiance she may have, she does not possess one tenth of the determination I have percolating within me.

  “I repeat: is there an understanding between us?”

  She must rue not having a pistol upon her. “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Let me make myself clear: you are to take me upstairs to wherever Finn Van Brunt is. As there is blood staining your pretty gown, and that is where you came from, I am thinking you have him hidden away up there. But let me promise you, if I find out those stains are from anything you have done to harm him, your life is forfeit.”

  Her eyes widen before a deep V forms between her eyes. There is suspicion there, apprehension, too—but not toward me, interestingly enough. It appears to be fear of something else. How very curious.

  “Is that clear, Mrs. Carrisford?”

  “Let me tell you this,” she snaps. “If you think to do any harm to him yourself, it will be your life that is forfeit. Even if it comes about with my last breath.”

  I laugh at her threat. She thinks to . . . protect Finn? From me? Who is it she believes I am? Or fears?

  I do not loosen my hold on her, but I say more softly, “I vow to you that no harm to him will ever come about from me.”

  She does not break eye contact. “Then it appears we both are in agreement.”

  “Fair enough. Now that we’ve wasted enough time, I ask that you take me to him.”

  She hesitates. A long, deep breath is taken; the air blown out is shaky. But then, she offers me a small nod of acquiescence.

  I angle her body toward the butler, now on his feet and shaking in anger and indecision. “Instruct your man to go ahead of us. We can’t have him running off to fetch the authorities, can we?”

  She also gives Mr. Groverley a sharp, reluctant nod. He smoothes his waistcoat and ascends the stairs without much hesitation. I keep Sara facing him so that there will be no surprises. But he does as asked, not even turning around once as we climb upward. Sara and I follow, and as we do, I instruct the man to ensure the door is already opened by the time we arrive. He does as asked with this, too, and soon enough, I enter a beautifully arranged room with drawn curtains and the stench of illness hanging in the air.

  My heart leaves its place in my chest and crowds my throat. Lying asleep on a bed in the middle of the room is the man I love.

  He’s here. He’s really here. Somehow, he is here.

  I instantly release Sara and dart over to his side. “Finn? Finn? It’s Alice. I’m here—I’m—” I grab his hand; it’s clammy. A thin sheen of perspiration lines his pale forehead. His lips are pallid, his breathing is uneven and shallow all at once.

  I rip the bedclothes back and suck in a deep breath. His white shirt is stained dark brown-red. The cotton is gently shoved upward and I peer down at wide swaths of linens circling his waist, their blotches matching those of his shirt.

  My eyes fly toward a wary Sara. “Has Victor seen this?”

  A nearby drawer is open; a gun is pointed toward me. But that’s not what matters—it’s that her mouth drops unattractively open as she stares at the scene before her.

  I ask the question more harshly.

  “Yes, of course Victor has seen it!” Anger and desperation fill her high-pitched voice. The gun in her hand does not waver, though.

  “What has he said? Is the wound from the stabbing infected? Has he administered antibiotics?”

  She’s still gaping.

  “Please!” I clutch his hand more tightly. “Tell me what is the matter with him!”

  “Nothing Victor’s done seems to be helping.” Her words are slow, reluctant, as if she’s surprised even at herself for answering me. “The wound was thoroughly cleaned and stitched up to the best of Victor’s ability with what we had on hand. We’ve administered pain relief, but there are no antibiotics or laboratories at our disposal.”

  My gaze falls back to my beloved’s face. “How long have they been here?”

  Her lips thin into a straight line.

  “If I wanted him dead, believe me, I would not be begging you for this information!”

  And still, the gun does not lower. “Nearly two days now.”

  My words are bullets in the room. “Why have you not notified the Society? We would have come to rescue both he and Victor immediately!”

  Now, I’ve truly surprised her, and it’s enough for her to lower her weapon just a bit. “I do not have the capabilities to any longer. And we have yet been able to successfully make contact with this Timeline’s liaison.”

  I count to ten, desperate not to lose any more of my raging temper than I already have. I tell her man, “Fetch Dr. Frankenstein Van Brunt immediately. He and Miss Lennox are downstairs.”

  “Mary’s here?” Sara has the audacity to ask.

  “Go!” I bark at the butler.

  He scurries out of the room.

  “Tell me what you know about Finn’s condition.”

  She shows some intelligence by staying on the other side of the room, yet the words that come from her sound as if they’re being forcibly torn from her throat. The gun stays down, though. “His fever broke this morning. We were—” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “He’s holding on, thank God, but he hasn’t woken since they arrived.”

  I stroke his face gently. “Finn? Love? Can you hear me? I’m here. I’m so sorry it took so long to find you.” Angry, helpless tears threaten to crowd my eyes. I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I’m here, love.”

  His hand in mine twitches. What sounds like a sigh escapes my north star’s lips.

  “I will fix this.” I lift our joined hands and press a kiss on the base of his knuckles. “I promise you that.”

  Shouting fills the hallway. Sara says flatly, “Fetching Victor will do nothing, I’m afraid.”

  And then Mary appears with Victor on her heels. And I am stunned.

  The Society’s doctor looks less put together than I have ever seen before. His hair and clothes are askew, his eyes bright and more than a bit wild appearing. Mary says, “He’s in the midst of an episode that came on fast. He—”

  “Blimey!” Victor rakes both hands through his hair. “You’re here, too, Alice?” A low, majestic bow is offered before he tears himself away from Mary to pace the room, muttering nonsensically beneath his breath.

  This is not good. This is not the doctor I know.

  “Oh, God,” Mary whispers as she stares down at Finn.

  Victor wheels around. He juts a finger out, his face turning serious. “The nineteenth-century is a wretched cesspool of blackness when it comes to medicine.”

  “It is.” Mary sounds as if she’s attempting to calm a rabid dog. “It’s all right, though, darling. We’re going home straight away. You will have all the tools and supplies you need there.”

  He pulls at his hair. “I need you. That’s what I need.”

  She reaches for him. He jerks, but he allows the touch. “You have me, you great idiot. You always have, you always will.”

  He falls to his knees, kissing her hands before springing back up to pace the room.

  She turns to me, her face paler than normal. “I’m afraid it appears both of our boys’ situations ar
e dire.” As if she’s just noticed the other woman in the room, Mary inclines her head. Her voice is frigid when she says, “Sara.”

  Confusion and wariness line Sara’s face. “Mary.”

  Without warning, Mary pulls out the tranquilizer gun in her bag and shoots Finn’s former partner. Our reluctant host quickly crumples to the ground, her revolver dropping uselessly next to her side. A red, feathered dart sticks from her neck. The butler gapes and sputters in shock as he stumbles toward his mistress. Victor, on the other hand, bursts into what I can only term hysterical laughter as he claps a hand over his mouth, and then he proceeds to dance about the room, pretending to be . . . well, I’m not quite sure.

  Perhaps I’m not in 1905BUR-LP. Perhaps, instead, I am merely back at the Pleasance, hallucinating once more.

  “I think I warned you she was a decent shot,” Mary says mildly. She holds up the tranquilizer gun and stares at it. “I’m not, but I suppose I can hold my own with this beauty. In any case, at least now we won’t have to listen to any of her sniveling.”

  I would roll my eyes if I were not so concerned about Finn. “We still must question her, you know.”

  Mary groans quietly. “Must we? She’ll just tell us how we princesses must stick together and all that sugary vomit she likes to spew.”

  Victor ceases his pacing. “It missed his kidney. His appendix. Went clean through.” A finger points at me before he holds both palms out in submission. “Gangan.”

  “What in the bloody hell is gangan?” Mary sputters. “Do you mean gangrene?”

  The butler, now ashen white, takes yet another tremulous step toward his fallen employer. “Mrs. Carrisford?”

  “Gangan!” Victor shouts. “Gangan!”

  We must get back to the Institute as quickly as possible. While not as badly off as his brother, Victor still is in a precarious state of health, too. I gently place Finn’s hand down on the bed so I might root through my bag to find my pen and Society book.

  When Groverley practically weeps his employer’s name, Mary snaps, “For God’s sake. I shot her with a tranquilizer, not a bullet. She’s merely sleeping, you oaf.”

  Victor doubles over in a fresh batch of hilarity, slapping his knees until I am positive bright red splotches stain the skin beneath his pants. I quickly write a doorway to the Society’s medical wing. It appears, glowing and bright, in the middle of the room. Groverley promptly faints next to his mistress.

  Frabjous.

  “Victor?” I snap my fingers, rousing the doctor’s attention. “I need you to carry Finn for me through the doorway.”

  His head lifts. There are tears pouring down his cheeks. “As Your Majesty commands.” To Mary, he says solemnly, “My Mary never gives up on anything. I knew that. I was right.”

  She touches his face, and for an unbearably intimate moment, they simply stare at one another. Victor leans in and kisses her, soft and sweet.

  He adds, “It’s coming, you know. Saw it outside the window just last night.”

  A shuddery breath escapes my friend. “Get your arse over to help Alice, but be careful with your brother, okay?”

  He does as asked. Whilst I am on agonizing pins and needles at each tiny movement, Victor seems momentarily clearheaded enough to not jostle Finn too much. It is really not a far walk, considering. A hundred feet, perhaps. And still, I am ready to jerk forward if need be to catch Finn.

  I follow Mary’s warning with a “Be careful,” of my own—only mine comes with an unsaid but clear warning.

  The look he gives me prior to a quick nod is a familiar one, only to disappear as quickly as it showed itself.

  “I suppose we can’t have the butler haul Sara’s sorry arse back to the Society now,” Mary says forlornly.

  It is tempting to drag Finn’s old partner by her leg, much like I did with the Pan boy. But as I need answers she has, I still require her in fairly decent shape. “Help me lift her up.”

  Mary’s displeasure is loudly voiced, but she does as requested. Together we bring Sara through the glowing doorway and into the Institute.

  CHAOS REIGNS SHORTLY AFTER our arrival.

  Once the matter of putting Finn down upon a bed I occupied all too recently is finished, whatever control Victor gained is lost once more. He raves about things we cannot see, about a monster that will come to extract payment for his sins and soul. Mary wrestles him the best she can whilst Van Brunt, the A.D., and Marianne burst into the room. Many other agents fill the hallway, desperate for a peek in.

  Before our stalwart leader can process the scene before him, Mary shouts, “The protocol, Brom! He’s in the midst of a bad episode!”

  Van Brunt doesn’t hesitate in the task, although I am positive he wishes nothing more than to reach out and touch his sons to verify their presence. He deftly turns and exits the room, the lines of his mouth grim. I am next to Finn, his hand in mine again.

  “We’re home.” I smooth back sweaty hair off of his clammy forehead. “Hold on, love.”

  “I cannot believe this!” The A.D.’s head whips back and forth between the Van Brunt brothers. “How did you ladies find them?”

  Victor rounds on his father’s assistant. “He’s coming, I tell you. No pity. None. A family’s sin is a stain that never washes away. Blood is blood!” He slaps at his arms, rubbing at clean skin below rolled-up sleeves before jutting both out for all to see. “LOOK AT MY STAINS!”

  Marianne pales at Victor’s shouting, but she quickly composes herself. “How may I assist you?”

  “Summon the doctor who oversaw me during the boojum infestation. We do not know how long it will take for Victor to be in his right mind.”

  Marianne swiftly departs.

  To the A.D., I ask, “Did you happen to see a woman in the other room?”

  He darts to the door. “You brought Sara back to the Institute? What happened to questioning her?”

  “Obviously, that did not happen. Place her in the interrogation room we readied for Rosemary. I’ll deal with her shortly. And be quick about it. I have no idea how much time we’ve bought ourselves with Mary’s tranquilizers.”

  “A half hour at the most,” Mary wheezes as she does her best to force Victor into a chair. “Perhaps even less.”

  Once the A.D. leaves, I gently place Finn’s hand back down and march over to where his brother now sits. “Mary, please move to the side.”

  Her brow crinkles, but she does as asked.

  “Do not impede what I’m about to do,” I warn her. And then I slap a muttering, rocking Victor as hard as I can across the face.

  He reels back, stunned. Mary is equally so, livid even. But I now hold his singular attention.

  “How dare you!” she barks. “That was totally unnecessary!”

  “You have allowed madness to consume you, Victor.” My words are harsh. “I assure you I understand it just as well as you, but for now, your head must do its best to clear and your thoughts and purposes focus on the task at hand. You had a goal for two days, doctor. Do you remember this goal?”

  He blinks, his eyes refocusing slightly. “My brother is . . .” His gaze leaves me to settle on Finn. “Oh, God. He’s not doing well.”

  Mary grabs hold of his hand protectively, still glaring daggers at me.

  “What specifically ails him?” I press. “Does it stem from the stab wound?”

  He moves toward the bed, face falling. “It’s—poison. Perhaps magic. I can’t be sure. I can’t . . .” Words turn soft, hard to hear. “I didn’t have antibiotics. I know nothing of Neverlandian metals or poisons, if that’s even what was used. My Mary doesn’t even have any in her stock, and she collects poisons the way some ladies hoard jewels.”

  “It’s true,” she tells me. There is less hostility in her voice now than I thought there would be, as if she now understands my urgency.

  But if Mary does not have such an answer, there may be someone who might know. “Fetch Wendy, please. If anyone gives you trouble—”

 
Her smile is chilly as she heads to the door. “Nobody will give me trouble. Victor, I will be right back. Listen to Alice, okay?”

  He waves her off, his focus still on his brother. Finn’s shirt is peeled back to reveal the blood-stained bandaging circling the better part of his chest. “It isn’t right. The colors aren’t right. None of it is right. I’ve never seen such a thing, in any Timeline or any hospital. Watch the door, Alice. Do not let it take me. Not now. Not yet. He needs me.”

  “What colors?”

  Van Brunt bursts into the room, syringe in hand. Victor doesn’t even glance up when his father jabs the needle into his neck. He merely twitches irritably, as if a bee stung him. “Scissors. I need scissors.”

  Van Brunt pulls a pocketknife from his coat. Victor wordlessly takes it and gently cuts the wide swath of bandages free.

  It is a good thing I am a lady with a strong constitution and have lived through many a terrible atrocity on the battlefield, because had I not had such experience, I might very well have fallen prey to those vapors Finn teased me about when I first joined the Society.

  “Mother of God,” Van Brunt whispers.

  Surrounding a neat row of stitches is a vivid starburst of colors ranging from silver to blue to faint purple. These are no normal bruises, nor are they like anything I have ever laid eyes upon in the entirety of my life. These colors form a purposeful yet oddly mesmerizing and beautiful pattern.

  What does it all mean?

  “Not right,” Victor murmurs. “Each hour it becomes more intricate, like . . .” He traces a finger lightly across the space just above the lines. “Like it’s perfecting itself.” His head jerks up sharply and turns toward his father, eyes widening as if he’s just noticed the family patriarch is present. “Antibiotics. Saline, too. He’s refused food and water. A drip will do.” And then, more softly, “I—I failed him. Didn’t have enough tools. Tried leeches. They all died within minutes.”

  His father takes a deep breath and then nods just once before exiting the room again.

  To me, Victor whispers, “Turned black and shriveled up before exploding.” His fingers expand as a burst of breath leaves his lips.