My pounding heart stole the words to reply to that.
He took my hand, kissing the knuckles gently, sending trails of fire along the length of my arm. “I’ve made you another batch of treatment. It’s in the lab.”
“But Father …”
“He left before dawn. He won’t be back for hours.”
EVEN WITHOUT MY FATHER’S overwhelming presence, the laboratory still gave me chills. I could hear the caged animals in the back pacing, their breathing heavy. It was my first time inside, and I could still feel the memories of that unholy operation. There was the wooden table where the thing had been thrashing, now cold and wiped clean of sin. There was the hardened wax on the floor from Father’s candles, now extinguished.
Montgomery lit a lantern in the windowless room. Dozens of glass specimen jars reflected the flame. I eyed them as we passed. Animal hearts. Fetuses. An organ I couldn’t identify. I peered closer. The fleshy shape in the water suddenly moved. It swam into the glass, shaking violently.
“What in God’s name is that?” I asked. The thing’s toothless mouth gaped like that of a dying fish.
Montgomery led me past Father’s desk, with its neat stacks of papers smelling of india ink and traces of chemicals. The tin walls made the room an oven, but it was so dark and still that it should have been underground, somewhere cold, somewhere forgotten.
Montgomery unlocked one of the cabinets lining the back wall. “You don’t want to know.”
He took out his medical bag and a wooden box. He set them on the desk and then nodded toward the operating table. “Sit. It’ll just take a moment.”
He took out a gleaming glass syringe and a large vial. I came to the table hesitantly. A tray of spotless steel surgical tools lay on top. The leather manacles were attached to chains as thick as my wrist soldered to the table.
Montgomery held the vial to the light. Cloudy. A yellow tint. “It’s a slightly different compound,” he said. “We don’t have unaltered cows for the pancreatic extract. I had to make do. But I think this will work. Tell me if you feel unusual.”
“Yes, Doctor,” I said, trying to sound playful. But the sharp edges of the laboratory swallowed the sound. I hugged my arms. It was cold in the room, or else it was my fever. Either way, I had gooseflesh.
Montgomery prepared the syringe and came to the table. “Do you want to or shall I?”
My whole body was shaking. Chances were I’d miss a vein and stab myself in the arm. I briefly wondered what he’d used to replace the cow pancreas.
You don’t want to know, I told myself.
“You do it,” I said.
“Give me your arm.”
I held it out. My fingers quaked like the lantern’s flame. Montgomery set down the needle and took my hand in his. He rubbed them together, letting the friction warm me. The warmth spread to my blood, carrying his heat to my heart, to my limbs, to my every pulsing vein.
“You’ll feel better soon,” he said. His voice was soft as a caress. Alice had been right. He was an exceptional doctor, if only for the way he calmed his patients. The specimen jars, the manacles, the sound of the pacing caged animals—they all faded into the background.
He picked up the syringe. My stomach knotted.
“Are you ready?”
I nodded. The cold metal tip pressed against the thin skin inside my elbow. I held my breath. He slid the needle under the skin and my breath caught. My eyes closed. The light was dim, but he found a vein immediately. And then a painful pressure filled my arm as he injected the liquid. I’d done it every day. The routine was familiar. But this was not—this feeling of slow, throbbing pain mixed with the thrilling pleasure of his proximity.
My lips parted. The new compound shot through me, making me light-headed. I gripped the edge of the table so hard the surgical instruments rattled. My eyes settled on a strand of hair falling over his jawline.
“Do you feel unusual at all?”
My throat tightened. I felt something, but it didn’t have to do with the new compound. It had to do with the light reflecting off his face. With his hand that held my wrist, checking my pulse.
“You have dirt on your collar,” I said. My voice was hoarse.
One side of his mouth tugged back in a handsome grin. “That’s normal.”
I brushed the dirt off with my thumb and forefinger. His head turned to my hand, instinctively, his lips grazing the inside of my wrist. I gasped with the sensation. How could such a simple touch electrify every inch of my body?