Edward looked away. “It was impossible to hide the Beast for that long at sea. He emerged on Claggan’s ship and killed a few sailors. Claggan knew about Moreau’s work—he must have deduced that I was a creation.”
“Well, they’re trying to catch you. I’m not certain what their plans are yet, but they mentioned specimens, and I found a brain, of all things, in Mr. Radcliffe’s study. They said they needed to extract something from you. You can’t let yourself be caught.”
As he stepped closer, the golden flecks in his eyes caught in the light and almost glowed. He was Edward, but the Beast was bleeding through even now.
“Why are you warning me?” he asked.
A thousands reasons sprung to mind. That Edward and I weren’t so different. That I was at least in part responsible for his existence and thus his crimes. Guilt that I’d made love to him and then turned to Montgomery.
“We can’t afford for them to catch you,” I said at last, because it was the one reason that stood out from the tangled knot of my emotions. “They want to use you to re-create Father’s work.”
My voice faded, and the only sounds were Sharkey eating the canned ham and the wood in the small stove cracking. The chair by the hearth still bore the shape of my body. This place was an extension of myself, made of the same material as me. A place where I could have my secrets, like the boy looking at me now with simmering desire in his eyes.
“Is that the only reason?” he asked. His words were heavy with an implied question: Was this about father’s research—or the undeniable bond between us?
When I didn’t answer, he said softly, “Juliet, I can’t apologize enough.”
“Then don’t try,” I said quickly. “It wasn’t you anyway; it was the Beast.” I heard myself saying the words, and they sounded true enough, yet part of me still wondered where the line between the two of them truly lay. “Now that Montgomery is back, I shall try to convince him to help, though lord knows it won’t be an easy argument. He assisted Father in all the serums, so between the three of us, we’ll discover the missing ingredient. But you must give me time. Right now, he’s ready to sever your head if he sees you.”
I turned to go, but paused in the doorway and felt for a packet in my coat pocket. Sharkey barked, and Edward crouched down to rub his head. While his back was turned, I poured the packet of powdered valerian into his tea canister. I wished drugging him wasn’t my only option; and yet the Beast had taken over twice before Edward could chain him, and at least one person was dead because of it. Could I forgive myself if the Beast got free and hurt someone else?
I turned to go.
“Wait!” He picked up Sharkey and held him out to me. “Take him. He won’t leave my side, and I’m afraid one day soon I’ll transform before he can get away. The last thing I want is more innocent blood on my hands.” He paused. “I’ve grown quite fond of him.”
I hugged Sharkey to my chest and slipped out of the room. I paused on the landing, leaning my head against the wood paneling, struggling to tear myself away from the very tempting comforts of that dark attic.
I LEFT SHARKEY IN the professor’s garden overnight with a bowl of beef stew and an overturned box to keep him protected from the cold. As soon as I’d crawled back into my own bed, my knuckles started to swell and stiffen, heralding the fit that had been threatening for days. My whole body seemed to lock up, wracked with chills, as a headache behind my left eye sent shooting pain throughout my head. It was worse than any fit I’d ever had. Amid hallucinations of three-toed footprints on my ceiling, I recalled flashes of Montgomery injecting me with serums, and the professor’s worried eyes peering at me over his spectacles, and even Lucy’s face. But I couldn’t be certain which of those were real, and which were figments of my troubled sleep. In my grogginess, my mind kept going back to Father’s journal, the page that said fresh glycogen extracts were the most effective. But that meant animal vivisection, and the thought of strapping down Sharkey—or any living creature—made bitter bile crawl up my throat.
When I finally awoke, drenched in sweat and ignorant of what time it was or even the day of the week, Montgomery told me I’d been in and out of consciousness for three days. He pulled me to him, unwashed though I was, and pressed his lips to my temple. Over his shoulder I saw a fire burning in my bedroom’s fireplace, stacked in his signature way. Our argument from the night my illness struck had left a rift between us, but not one so deep it couldn’t be bridged in the face of desperate times. We loved each other, but he was right. Until Edward was no longer between us, we could never be together.