“My god,” I muttered.
I stumbled toward Lucy, over Isambard Lessing’s dead body. Dr. Hastings fell onto the leather club chair next to me, moaning as blood spilled from a deep gash on the side of his neck that turned his white undershirt crimson, before tumbling off the chair and landing near the fireplace.
I threw myself on the ground in front of Lucy, wrapping my arms around her, dragging her deeper into the corner. A broken bottle lay on its side that I grabbed as a weapon, heedless of how it cut into my palm. Across the room, Montgomery aimed the rifle at a creature he’d cornered in the fireplace. Balthazar dug his heavy knee into the backbone of another. The sounds of bullets filled the air, the dying cries of little creatures that should have never existed.
I had done this. I’d killed these men, I’d spilled this blood, just as a year ago I’d spilled Father’s. I tried to tell myself this was just as necessary, yet I hadn’t seen Father’s death. I hadn’t witnessed the carnage of his body torn apart, seeping blood like the dying body of Dr. Hastings by the fireplace.
Montgomery let out a final gunshot that echoed in the room. For a few moments there was the sound of moaning and wheezing little animal breaths, but no movement. Wherever the remaining creatures were, they were hiding. Montgomery raised a finger to his lips and started to crouch on the rug, but Lucy screamed suddenly as two creatures flew out from under the sofa. One went for the fireplace and Montgomery leaped up and fired his pistol, again and again. The other skittered on the ground toward us. Balthazar lifted a heavy foot and stomped on it, smashing it dead with a crunch of bone.
“Your rifle!” Montgomery yelled to Balthazar. “There’s one on the other side of that chair!”
The sound of squealing beasts and gunshots was terrible, and I threw my hands over my ears. God help me, something about the chaos was thrilling, too. I could almost taste it, like the shock of first frost. Balthazar lumbered behind the cabinets, rifle in hand. I pulled Lucy deeper into the corner, brandishing the broken bottle, ready to slice a creature apart if one lunged for us. Montgomery fired again and his pistol clicked—empty.
“Damn!” he yelled, drawing his knife.
Lucy kept screaming, and the dying men moaned in pain, and the room filled with swirling smells. I caught sight of a letter opener that would make a much better weapon and staggered forward, when from out of nowhere Balthazar slammed into me and knocked me against the table. I cried out, and at the same time another gunshot went off. Balthazar collapsed behind the sofa, letting out an anguished cry.
“Balthazar!” Montgomery yelled.
Pain burst in my shoulder from where I’d collided with the table, making my vision spark, but I crawled to my knees and tried to find Balthazar. I saw glimpses of his back and meaty arms in the midst of a brawl behind the leather sofa, but by my count all the five creatures were dead. I must have forgotten one, missed one . . . I stumbled toward him with the letter opener in hand, ready to plunge it into the living flesh of a creature, when I crawled around the sofa and froze. Balthazar struggled not with a creature, but a man. A copper breastplate gleamed on his chest.
Inspector Newcastle was alive.
It all made sense to me in flashes. He’d shot at Balthazar. No—he’d shot at me, but Balthazar had shoved me aside. He’d taken the bullet in my place.
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?”