He’s pretending to fit in, just like I pretend. And he was good at it—better than me.

I curled my hands into his shirt. “What happened to you?” I whispered breathlessly. “What are you running from?”

For a moment his gold-flecked eyes flickered, and he knew I wasn’t referring to his overbearing father. I meant what he truly ran from—the source of his deep-seated scars. He shook his head, almost violently. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll go back to London and none of it will matter. It’ll just be you and me. Juliet . . .”

I knew what he wanted to say. He loved me. He loved the half-mad, filthy girl standing in a pool of formaldehyde. But he would come back to his senses once we were in London. He’d hide his scars, as he was so good at doing, and find a girl like Lucy—sweet, rich, sane. And that’s how it should be. Besides, I’d already made my choice. Montgomery.

But then why did I still think about the cave behind the waterfall? Why did my thoughts slip from Montgomery’s face to Edward’s late at night, in the instant before sleep overcame me?

“Montgomery,” I said, though my throat caught. I supposed I’d hoped that saying his name would evoke his spirit and help ease this heart-clenching tension. “Montgomery’s coming back, too.”

Edward’s jaw twitched. His fingers found my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies were touching. The preservatives seeped into his clothes, binding us together. But he didn’t let go. His eyes were dilated, black as night. “I want to tell you something. . . .”

I shook my head forcefully. I didn’t want him to say he loved me. Because I had recognized a little of myself in him. Too much. And it terrified me.

I put my finger over his lips. “Father’s taken the dogs to the village. He’ll find Montgomery. We’ll go back to London and we’ll never speak of this place again.”

IN MY ROOM, I peeled off my stained dress and shoved it between the iron bars of my small window. The island could have back the mud and the salt and the sweat. I washed the burning chemicals off my face and hands and pulled on the old muslin dress I’d worn when I arrived on the island. I didn’t want Mother’s fancy things. I wanted to feel like myself again.

A chill crept up my back as I bent to lace my boots. That odd sensation of being watched. I whirled to the window, but there was nothing. A familiar smell hung faintly in the air, though—wet dog.

“Who’s there?” I said.

The tip of a boot peeked out from the cracked door.

“I see you,” I said. “Come out.”

Balthasar shuffled forward, peering through the crack. Eyes still human, not regressed like the others.

I threw my hands to the buttons at my chest, doing them up quickly. “What are you doing here?” I snapped. Had he watched me undress? He retreated as though I’d struck him, and I felt a wave of remorse. Balthasar wasn’t a leering beast. He was innocent as a child.

I eased open the door. He was holding the wooden box from the laboratory that contained my new batch of serum. “I’m sorry. I’m not cross,” I said.

He shyly handed me the box. “I wanted to bring you this.”

I took it, feeling guilty. “Thank you.”

His big hands, empty now, plucked nervously at his pockets. “I also wanted to ask you . . . wanted to ask . . .”

I jerked my head towrd the room. “Come inside.” I tried to listen, but my head raced with what needed to be done. I set the box on my dressing table. We still had to fill the jars and waterskins. Find something to use for shade. A weapon would be handy, a pistol or a knife. I dug through the trunks, looking for the shears. Where had I left them?

I glanced at Balthasar, who shifted his weight back and forth. “Yes? Ask me what?”

“Take me with you,” he said. “Take me to Lon-don.”

My hands closed over something hard and sharp between two dresses. The shears. But just as quickly, my fingers went slack. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Montgomery says you’re leaving the island. You and the other . . . five-fingers.” His lip trembled. “I’ve got five fingers,” he said, holding up his hand. “I’ve crossed the sea. I’ve been to Lon-don. I can pretend. Like actors in a play, Montgomery says. And I will help you. You’ll need a servant.” His mouth broke into that odd panting smile that meant he was nervous.

I leaned on the dresser, closing my eyes. He’d clearly spent some time composing this request. It was true that he could pass for human—a mutilated, deformed man whom people shrank from in the streets. But that wasn’t why I hesitated.

The reason was because I was terrified of taking Balthasar—or any of Father’s creations—off the island. Father’s brilliant and horrible discoveries had to stay lost on that small bit of land in the South Pacific, exiled with him, never to leave.

Balthasar was still smiling. He was so hopeful it broke my heart. I stared at my reflection in the fractured mirror, knowing I hadn’t the strength to tell him the truth.

“Promise you’ll tell no one?” I asked. I hated myself for lying. Destroying Father’s laboratory had been simple, but a single lie to this dog-faced beast made my stomach heave. He nodded enthusiastically. I swallowed, trying to keep the bile down. “You won’t be able to tell anyone about this place. It will have to be a secret.”

He nodded again vigorously. “Like actors in a play.” His hands clamped together.

I looked at a spot just over his left ear. It made the lie easier. “Then you may come.”

His face broke into a genuine smile. He scratched at his nose, trying to hide his excitement. My heart tore, just a little, right along the ventricular septum.

I shoved the shears into my pocket. “But we aren’t going anywhere if Father doesn’t find Montgomery.” I cocked my head, wondering if Balthasar had any sense that his master had been taken. I placed my hand on his hulking shoulder, wondering how to explain. “Some of the islanders took him. I don’t know where. I want you to be strong, no matter what happens. Not to worry. Can you do that?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not worried. I know where Montgomery is.”

My body went rigid. “You do? Where?”

“He’s with Ajax. I heard the birds talking about it.”

I stared at him, speechless. The birds talking? All those whispers I’d heard in the jungle hadn’t been my imagination after all. But that wasn’t what disturbed me most. “Ajax? Jaguar? Are you sure?”

Tags: Megan Shepherd The Madman's Daughter Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net