Her Dark Curiosity (The Madman's Daughter 2)

My insides wrung like a washrag, and all I could think was Balthazar, Balthazar, Balthazar, that he’d taken a bullet for me, a rifle blast no less, a shot that would have killed me instantly.

“Montgomery, help!” I cried.

I stumbled forward on hands and knees, skirts tangled around my legs, as Montgomery leaped over a couch to reach us. Dr. Hastings’s body lay in my way, the life draining out of him, and I had to drag my skirts to crawl over his bloody chest. With his dying strength he grabbed my ankle but I kicked free, shrieking, and toppled onto the rug. In a way, the Beast had left him for me to kill—what terrible irony.

Newcastle lurched for the door just as I collapsed against Balthazar.

“Where are you hurt?” I cried.

He peeled back a meaty hand clutched against his ribcage to reveal a pulpy wound seeping blood. I gasped as Montgomery rushed to my side.

“He’s shot,” I said. “Newcastle aimed for me but Balthazar pushed me aside.” My stomach clenched. If Balthazar didn’t survive . . .

Lucy rushed over. “You can stop the bleeding, can’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Montgomery said, hurrying to remove his coat. “Newcastle’s a good shot. How did he even survive?”

“It’s the copper breastplate he wears,” I muttered, glancing at the door, dragging a bloodstained hand through my tangled hair. “That blasted armor protected him.”

Fury seethed in me as Balthazar lay bleeding, just as the professor had bled to death. A man as ambitious and highly connected as Newcastle wouldn’t stop because we’d exposed him. If he escaped, he’d concoct some new scheme, move to a new country and invent a new name, involve new patrons—there was certainly no shortage of wealthy, unscrupulous men in this world—and anyone who stood in his way would be murdered. Worse, he was the sole witness to the massacre tonight. He might tell Scotland Yard what we’d done, turn this around to blame it on us, absolve himself of any involvement. Montgomery and Balthazar and Lucy and I would hang for what we’d done.

No, not Lucy. He loved her enough to spare her the noose, but what would he demand in return? A lifetime of marriage under threat of prison if she ever left him?

Men like John Newcastle stopped at nothing.

It was up to me, then, to stop him.

MY FINGERS WENT TO Balthazar’s bloodstained coat pocket, digging for the sugar cubes he always kept there to feed insects. “Stay with him, Montgomery,” I choked. “I’m going after Newcastle.”

I raced for the door before he could answer. I skidded out into the hall, following the sounds of Newcastle’s footsteps. It was a maze in these hallways, but one I knew well. The exterior door on this level was always kept locked, so if he was headed north as his footsteps indicated, he’d have to circle around.

I could intercept him.

I hurried to search each of the rooms until I found a small supply closet filled with bottles and powders, and located a glass jar of nitric acid and another of standard ether, staples of any laboratory. I crushed the sugar cubes in one hand, turning them into a dissolvable powder, and then took a deep breath.

Did I truly want to do this?

On their own nitric acid and ether caused minor burns, but when mixed with a metal alloy and a reactive agent—the sugar—they would create an exothermic reaction strong enough to melt copper.

Dash it. I hadn’t a choice. As I ran to intercept Newcastle, I unscrewed the lid of the acid and added the sugar, then shook the mixture. It was dark in these hallways, with only the moonlight, and I was able to hide myself in the shadowy alcove of a doorway. I heard his footsteps approaching as he doubled back, each step as loud as the thumping of my heart.

I squeezed my eyes closed.

He killed the professor, I reminded myself. He shot Balthazar. He was aiming for you.

He turned the corner and his face fell into a beam of moonlight, just as he saw me.

He started to speak, but I rushed him. I didn’t think, I didn’t listen, for fear that I’d lose my courage. I hurled my body against him, kicking and tearing. His rifle skidded down the marble hall as we tumbled to the hard floor.

“Get off me!” he yelled.

“Are you going to kill me?” I hurled back. “Like you killed the professor? Like you nearly killed Balthazar?”

He managed to pin my shoulder to the ground. “Like you just killed those men?” he hissed back at me. “Your father would be proud of your resolve, Miss Moreau. There can’t be too many girls as ruthlessly determined as you. He was the same way.”

I let out an angry cry and pushed away from the floor. I couldn’t let this man escape—he’d have us arrested, only to continue his schemes. He was much stronger than me, but in his wounded state, we were equally matched. As we tussled together, I managed to free my left hand and slam the glass jar of nitrate across his breastplate. Acid ran down his chest but Newcastle ignored it, knowing the copper armor protected him, and let out a harsh laugh.

The acid was only the beginning, though.

I took the glass bottle of ether from my pocket and, with more curses than prayers, aimed for the same place on his armor. He threw up an arm to deflect me, and the bottle smashed against the edge of his shoulder instead, spilling down over his chest. The dizzying fumes made me choke.

Newcastle coughed too, as I skittered back against the far wall. He whirled his head around, wondering why I suddenly looked so frightened. It wasn’t until the reaction began, the volatile gas igniting the acid and reactive agent binding to the copper, which began to glow a faint red, then a molten yellow and white hot, searing into his skin, burning his flesh, that he began to howl.

He tore at the copper breastplate, trying to get it off, but it had already begun to fuse to his flesh as it glowed bright as the sun.

I shaded my eyes from the light. By the time it faded, Newcastle had stopped howling. He lay on the stone floor, the smell of burned flesh in the air mixing with the sugar-sweet twinge of chemicals.

It took only one look to know that if he wasn’t dead, he would be soon.

My legs gave out. I sank against the wall, sliding to the floor. Behind me came footsteps, and I saw Lucy standing in the hall.

For a moment we only stared at each other. There were no words for what I had done; no words to forgive me, nor to condemn. I’d just killed one of her suitors, a man who despite all his terrible crimes, had truly loved her.

“We’ve stopped the bleeding,” she choked at last. “But we’ve got to get Balthazar back to the professor’s house so Montgomery can remove the bullet.”