Her Dark Curiosity

Montgomery paced, considering this, but shook his head. “He’ll sense it’s a trap. He’ll smell Balthazar and me there.”

 

 

“Not if you stand downwind, outside the glass. You can see right through the walls. I’ll leave a door propped open, so you can rush in and capture him.” For an instant I felt as though I were giving him order in the same way Father used to, as though he were still a servant.

 

It’s not like with Father, I thought. He and I are partners in this.

 

“And take him where?” Montgomery asked.

 

“Here. There’s a stone cellar in the basement that is quite soundproof.”

 

“What do we tell Elizabeth?”

 

“Whatever we must. It doesn’t matter nearly as much as capturing Edward before they do. She’s a strong woman. She’ll be able to handle it.”

 

“I still don’t like it,” Montgomery said.

 

I rubbed the delicate bones on the back of my hand, which had started to grind together on their own accord. It was a terrible time for my illness to be setting in, so soon after the last bout, which had laid me out for three days. “We don’t have any other choices.”

 

Montgomery paced, back and forth, and at last gave a curse. “When?”

 

I swallowed. “Tonight.”

 

 

 

 

 

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

 

HarperCollins Publishers

 

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TWENTY-NINE

 

 

 

 

AT NIGHT, THE ROYAL Botanical greenhouse had lost its splendor. Sunlight no longer reflected off the thousands of glass panes. No glow of a lantern came from within. It was a fragile castle of shadows and frost, and it was the last place in the world I wanted to be.

 

I scaled the fence with my skirt hitched around my waist, as Montgomery and Balthazar circled the garden in the carriage to climb over from the opposite side. The row of stone gargoyles glowed white in the moonlight, sentry to the secrets within, as I raced through the gardens and pulled open the heavy door.

 

The warmth eased the stiffness from my joints. Boilers churned beneath my feet, pumping steam that obscured palms into dark lurking shapes. I heard nothing but the rustle of leaves, the babbling of the stream. I slid out the knife as sweat dripped down my temple.

 

The spiral staircase to the catwalk looked skeletal at night, a twisting iron hand reaching to the domed ceiling. I gripped the railing and started up the stairs, which swayed as I moved, and climbed onto the high catwalk that allowed me to see the entire greenhouse at once.

 

It was even warmer here, where the heat had risen. This high, I could look through the glass roof to see the lights of London. Somewhere out there Lucy dined with her parents, trying to hide the fact that she knew her father was a conspirator. Elizabeth slept soundly, unaware we’d snuck out of the house. Thousands of people who didn’t deserve to die did thousands of normal things.

 

I kept walking until a splash of white far below caught my eye, and I paused. It was a grotto, tucked behind a spray of ground palms, hidden from view among the pathways.

 

I gripped the catwalk railing and peered closer. The grotto was blanketed with little white flowers—Plumeria selva.

 

I ran back down the spiral stairs, footsteps echoing in the cavernous glass room. I hurried along the stone paths and pushed through the colorful sprays of birds-of-paradise until the grotto opened before me. My breath caught.

 

I was standing in the middle of a bed of Plumeria selva, the source of all of the blood-tinged flowers that had been the murder’s grisly calling card.

 

I had found the den of the Beast.

 

A twig snapped behind me. When I turned, Edward stood amid the palms.

 

THE EDWARD I KNEW was gone—slipping away like a fallen leaf taken by the babbling brook. But neither was the man in front of me the snarling monster who had clawed my shoulder. His eyes were cast with a yellowish tint, the hair on his arms darker. He was trapped somewhere between man and Beast, just as I was caught in my illness’s icy grip.

 

“Edward,” I whispered.

 

I glanced toward the glass wall, hoping for a glimpse of Montgomery. With luck he’d already be rushing for the door, ready to tackle Edward to the ground. Muscles ripping, Edward bent over to pick up heavy iron chains that made my stomach twist. I’d dreamed once of Edward freeing me from chains; now he was poised to trap me with them.

 

I raised the knife, but he shook his head.

 

“Don’t,” he said. “It’s hard enough to keep him at bay, with him whispering in my ear. The transformations are quick now. If you threaten me, I won’t be able to contain him.”