The Perilous In-Between (The Chuzzlewit Chronicles Book 1)

by Cortney Pearson

  “Stop,” she said. The whiteness climbed, right at the edges of her brain, cold and killing to every one of her cells. She thought she’d been ready. She thought she wanted this.

  “You got into some trouble after that. You dropped out of high school when—”

  “I said stop!” she shrieked. Fear, panic, and worst of all, the whiteness draped her mind. Sadness and shame descended, but she couldn’t escape them this time. They dredged in her chest like a bog. Tears stung her eyes at the flash of a kind man’s face, at his admittance that he’d been arrested, that he would be leaving her to fend for herself.

  Good heavens, she remembered him. She remembered her father. Her real father.

  The image clashed with the thought of Thomas Digby, a gray-haired man who’d raised her, who’d encouraged her, taught her to ride horses, allowed her to accompany him on his excursions, took her to watch the planes as they’d been built.

  Tears streamed down her face. Both images suffocated her. Both were too much, too hard to grasp.

  The strength left her knees. She teetered against the tree.

  Graham reached his arms to keep her from losing her balance. “Victoria? Are you okay? Aw, man, I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “I have to think,” she said, staggering to the water’s edge.

  “Right.” He hurried to catch up with her. “I know it’s a lot. But Tori, I—I don’t care. You’re you, no matter what happened in the past. I mean, your past only matters if you let it.”

  Her throat clamped. She peeled her distant gaze away from the water to look directly at his entreating brown eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to say a word.

  “I care about you. I don’t know if it’s love yet, but I think we’re on the way to it. And no matter what it is, no matter what you did, we can figure it out. You’ll be with me. You’ll always be with me over there, okay?”

  Victoria blinked at him, drowning in the irony of it all. Out of nowhere a laugh ripped from her throat.

  “We’re on our way to it? You don’t even know who I really am! Or what I’ve done that’s so terrible.”

  Graham reached for her, but she shoved him away.

  A look of hurt crossed his face. “I do, I know. Starkey told me. But I told you, it doesn’t matter. You’re still you.”

  Her head shook, almost of its own accord. “I don’t want to go back there.” Her voice was as weak as a shadow. “I can’t become that person again. I have to think this through, Graham.”

  “Sure, but . . .” He ran to block her way. Gradually, she lifted her eyes to meet his sinkhole brown ones.

  “Midnight. At Starkey’s,” he said. “You’ll need to warn the Nauts. There’ll be another attack. I hope you’ll be there. I understand if you won’t, but I hope you will.”

  Oscar dragged his body along the grass in a slow, mechanical motion. Move forward, pull. Move forward, pull. His nails carved into the dirt. Blades of grass tickled his palms. The pain in his neck increased, but he couldn’t stop moving.

  He wasn’t sure how long it’d been since Rosalind left, but he wasn’t able to loiter and wait for the doctor’s arrival, especially not when he was fairly certain the doctor could do nothing to help him. Rosalind didn’t understand. Not even Graham would understand.

  The mechanical arm gripped the ground with strength he’d never known, leveraging him forward. Perhaps the strain was too much. But he couldn’t slow, he had to…

  Pain lanced along his collarbone.

  . . . keep . . .

  It blossomed like an explosion, spearing up his throat . . .

  Into his chest . . .

  Pain so strong mastered him, took control of him, rendering him incapable of movement. He still had control of his voice, however, and he screamed out as the pain tacked onto his bones. It drilled into him like sculptor’s picks, transforming them into something else entirely. Something not quite human.

  Oscar collapsed, gasping for breath, for anything to take this away. But the dirt could do nothing to help him. No, the dirt couldn’t.

  The water could.

  Water, cool and inviting. It would wash over this burning, unbearable discomfort. Trees bowed over the lake’s edge, and as Oscar slowly, torturously slithered his way to it, it began to burble.

  The water’s surface churned like a pot set to boil, and a form rose out from its center.

  Oscar knew what it was. His bones turned icy cold as if metal had replaced them inside his skin. The miniature Kreak lifted a small claw. The beast was the size of a small house. And Oscar knew he needed to change that. He needed to join with it.

  It all made sense. Lord Baxter’s talk of experiments, his denial of Rosalind’s hand. What could Oscar have been thinking? Of course he could never be with her. And while the thought tore at his heart like it was trying to rip the organ from his chest, he had a new master than his own self will. The creature rose from the water, beckoning to Oscar.

  He was almost there. Almost to the wet ignorance, to the forgetting.

  There’d been another time he’d ached to forget himself. He’d huddled into the fetal position on the concrete while pain from their hands, their feet, pummeled into him, shattering through his body. A group of angry boys and men surrounded him, beating him for wanting out of their brotherhood. For wanting a different life than the one he’d been living.

  He fought now. He struggled against this pulling memory as his will poured back in over the creature’s. But he couldn’t stop. Any second he would be in the water. What would happen to him then, would he lose himself completely?

  There was more to life than what he’d been living. He’d known something was off since he’d returned from University. He had to find out the truth.

  Oscar dug his palms into the dirt. Graham and Victoria were leaving that very night. And Rosalind.

  Oh, merciful heavens. Rosalind, forgive me.

  Giving it everything he had left, he ducked from the creature’s reach. Pain burst like shards in his chest and neck. It wasn’t enough. The creature grabbed him, sinking too fast back into the lake’s depths.

  Forty-two

  Rosalind dashed like an outright idiot about town, asking for Graham Birkley’s whereabouts to no avail. Desperate, pulsing in agitation, she whirled, cursing herself for leaving Oscar when he’d needed her most.

  Finally, she spotted Graham near the lake by Victoria’s home. Gingham Range was a pile of ashes and brick. The disarray and charred ground was a bull’s-eye to even the most casual observer.

  “Graham!” Rosalind cried, rushing to him, her lungs raw with breathing far too fast.

  Graham was pacing, whacking at a low-hanging branch and disheveling its blossoms.

  “I should never have said anything,” he muttered as she drew nearer. “I should have just taken her with me regardless. Then again, if Starkey’s right and her memories come back, she’d know I knew, and she’d be pissed.”

  He whacked the branch again. Rosalind paused, hating the delay but unsure how to interrupt.

  “I had to tell her the truth,” he said, sounding resolved. “As much as it sucked.”

  “Graham,” Rosalind said, urging her steps. Graham jumped at the sight of her.

  “Roz,” he said in surprise, glancing all around. His cravat hung loosely as though he’d been tugging on it. His hands upended the bottom of his suitcoat to delve into trouser pockets.

  “Oscar needs our help.”

  Graham shook his head, scuffing his feet along the grass. “Sorry, but I’ve got a lot on my mind right now. I just told Victoria what I told you—about your memories coming back—and it didn’t go so well.”

  Rosalind mustered her courage and reached for his hand. “I’m sorry, but there’s not a moment to lose.”

  “Hold up—” He held her back. “How did you cope so well?”
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br />   “He’s turning into the Kreak!” she shrieked.

  “What?”

  “It’s his arm. He’s becoming mechanical somehow. He could barely move, Graham, he kept saying he needed water, and heaven only knows what that can mean.”

  Graham said a word Rosalind blushed to hear. “Where is he?”

  “At Silverton Manor. Please, we must go now! I’ve been searching everywhere for you!”

  Graham darted off, not waiting for her to follow. She ran as best she could, but he kept a pace she could never hope to maintain. Still, it didn’t take long for them to arrive at her grand estate.

  “In the back, Mr. Birkley!” she called when he headed for the main steps. “The back of the house!”

  Graham changed course, veering around the hedges lining her home’s landscape, around a statue at the east wing’s corner and back. She walked as quickly as she could, her lungs aching.

  Graham walked down a distinct trail lining from the bench through the garden and to the lake. It was as clear as if someone had taken a plow and cut a line along the grass, upending the dirt. The line led directly to the lake’s bank.

  Rosalind couldn’t breathe. “He’s in the water. Oh, mercy, he’s in the water!”

  “Calm down,” Graham said, shucking his suitcoat and tugging his cravat the remainder of the way free. Rosalind’s chest heaved. Her breathing rose to a hysterical level. Graham shook her. “Do you have a watch? How much longer until midnight?”

  The moon was at a higher point in the sky than it had been when she’d left to find him. Hands trembling, she pulled the slim pocket watch from her corset. “It’s nine thirty.”

  “Crap.” Graham turned toward the water and stared at the violet sky. “Go get Starkey.”

  “What?”

  “Hurry, get your mayor. You still have your light?”

  She removed the chain from within her corset and handed it to him.

  Graham draped it around his neck. “If I’m not back by ten, you start throwing pebbles into the water, you got it? But get Starkey here first.”

  “You can’t possibly be thinking of jumping in.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

  He turned and nose-dived directly into the shallows.

  Victoria stared at her sky. She should have figured it held so much more than she ever imagined.

  No longer did the sight of the stretch of blue steal her breath. That perilous space between cloud and foot held more danger than she’d ever realized. She’d thought its only hazard was the danger of rising too high. But that was just it, wasn’t it? The higher one rose, the harder one fell.

  That was the sky’s all powerful threat—or rather, delight. To let one fall.

  She fell now, all of her hopes plummeted like a rock through water and taking every sense of security with it. How had she ever felt free here? She thought of Elsie’s control panel, how she’d thought flying her plane had been the ultimate freedom, the power to move in the palms of her hands.

  Certainly. It was freedom within a fence. A horse allowed to roam as far as the gate provided.

  She felt tricked and played for a fool. She’d only been given the sense of control to keep her placated in this invisible cage. She had no choices here. Even her sky could grant her nothing but a tether.

  She was from another place. Another world completely. Graham hadn’t made it up—there was far too much evidence to support everything he’d said.

  She’d been so sure two hours ago that she wanted nothing more than to run off with Graham, to see his Chicago and escape the monotony of her life here. But after his news she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  She couldn’t give in to it. It was too painful, too difficult.

  Moving like a drone, Victoria returned to the Aviatory. The other Nauts were gathered around a table playing cards. Many had removed their corsets and sat in shirtsleeves and trousers. Some even lounged in their camisoles and pantalets, though the sight wasn’t anything new.

  “Victoria!” Orpha said, rising. “We haven’t seen you here since Dahlia disappeared.”

  “I—oh,” Victoria said distractedly.

  The rags tied in Emma’s blonde hair jiggled as she shook her head.

  “We didn’t want to bother you, not when you’d just lost your home,” added Aline, her hair lacking its usual curl. She wore just a shirt and her loose training trousers, and she stepped forward, pulling Victoria into an embrace, very different from the last confrontation they’d had at the town meeting. “How are you since that dreadful event? You’ve been staying with Rosalind Baxter, haven’t you?”

  “We knew we couldn’t keep you away for long,” Bronwyn added, her usual animosity gone. Her hair pooled around her white camisole, her hands rested on the card table.

  Victoria stared at each face in turn. Aline’s olive skin and slanted eyes, Bronwyn’s tangled curls, Emma’s pale, babyish expressions. It was true. Victoria hadn’t realized, but she hadn’t been back here since Rosalind was injured, since her home had been destroyed.

  Apparently they were being additionally kind to her, as if to make up for that loss.

  “You’re just in time,” Bronwyn said, taking a drink from the tinted glass bottle near her elbow. “I need a partner. I’m losing sorely.”

  “There!” Aline slapped her cards to the pile in the table’s center. “I won!”

  Emma groaned and slouched down in her seat. Victoria examined each of them, wondering who they’d been or if they’d been having bouts of déjà vu like she had. She wondered if they were wondering the same thing she did—if there was more to life than this.

  But hadn’t she had a good life here?

  Victoria took a deep breath. “Put your cards down, ladies. I have something I need to say.”

  The girls all exchanged glances, but did as they were asked. Bronwyn folded her arms but remained seated. Emma, Aline, and Orpha exchanged muted glances as if in preparation for the upcoming lecture.

  Dahlia’s bunk remained empty. Her boots and battle corset dangling in the open wardrobe beside her bed.

  Dahlia.

  “I had to see you,” Victoria said. “I can’t explain, but you must be at your hangars and ready for patrol at midnight tonight.”

  “Midnight? Why so late?” Bronwyn’s masculine voice was higher pitched than usual. The others chimed in as well.

  “Is this some kind of drill?”

  “Has Jarvis approved this?”

  “Ladies!” Victoria snapped. “It is imperative that you listen to me. The Kreak is going to attack at midnight. And you must be prepared. You all saw what happened to Gingham Range. You know there are two creatures now.”

  At the mention of her home, several girls turned somber. Not Bronwyn, though. As per usual, Bronwyn persisted in arguing.

  “How can you know that? There’s no way to predict its movements.”

  “I told you, I can’t explain, but you must believe me. You must. The mayor has found a way to predict its attack, and I’m telling you, for the sake of the town, and as your leader, to be at the ready.”

  The girls stared in subdued curiosity mingled with amazement.

  Victoria had laughed with these girls. She’d lost with them. Won with them. They’d shared secrets and dreams. They’d shared heartaches and hopes. They’d had their hard times as well, but these girls were as close to family as anyone could hope for.

  Her plans slowly solidified. She loved Graham, but she didn’t want to know who she was. Facing that fear, sadness, and shame was too much, even to be with him. Every time she thought of going back to Chicago and becoming who she used to be, she felt she might go insane. Starkey was right; she couldn’t handle being two people at once.

  But she was their leader. She was a Naut, the first ever to lead the Chuzzlewit Protection Progra
m. These girls needed her. Her town needed her.

  She couldn’t abandon their sinking ship.

  Graham dove into the murky water. Fish scattered away from the chunks of moss he disheveled. Even more moss coated the rocks at the bottom, which leveled away from him, dropping abruptly to blackness.

  As it had in the ocean, Rosalind’s light floated just ahead, secured around his neck. Water thickened his efforts, but he pushed forward.

  He’d seen that small Kreak rise from this lake. If what Rosalind said was true, did that mean Oscar would become a third one? She’d said his arm was completely made of metal, but Graham had worked with him. He’d seen him without a shirt, and Oscar had looked completely normal. What else was Starkey not telling him?

  He made for the drop where the water turned murkier. If Oscar was anywhere, he would be in those depths. Rosalind’s light helped, and he kicked forward against the pull of the water.

  There, at the bottom, amid a tangle of moss, Oscar floated as though chained. His eyes were closed; his good arm drifted slightly to one side away from his body. And Graham saw it.

  The Kreak lurked like a giant metal spider, with Oscar in its clutches.

  Graham kicked harder, making straight for his friend.

  Oscar’s mouth bobbed as though gasping for breath. Graham hurried to him, tipping his friend’s head back. His fingers grappled at the metal circling Oscar’s chest, but it didn’t budge. Graham pried and pounded, following the line of metal to see where the creature ended and Oscar began, but he startled, nearly gasping though there was no air to gasp.

  It wasn’t the Kreak holding Oscar. It was Oscar.

  His chest and right arm had become metal cogs, looking so much like the Kreak that Graham would never have been able to tell the difference. Graham took Oscar’s motionless body and pulled.

  The Kreak’s horrific, obstruction of a face shot in Graham’s direction, yanking Oscar back. Oscar’s eyes shot open.

  “No,” he said, somehow speaking under the water. Air bubbled out from his mouth. “It needs me.”