“He’s smarter than you,” I said, seething. “He bested you at your own work.”
He lifted a hand to strike me, but his eyes caught on the paper littering the floor. He slid the file closer with his boot. “And what’s this?”
“I found the files,” I said. My words sounded so far away. “I know.”
“Know what exactly?”
I jerked my chin at the open file drawer. “Know that I’m one of them. An animal you’ve twisted and taught to speak like some sideshow attraction.” The chain rattled as I inched toward him, as close as I could, wishing I could strike. “And thank God for it. I’d rather be an animal than have your cursed blood flowing in my veins.”
His eyebrows rose. He picked up the folder and straightened the papers carefully on the desk. “You have quite an imagination.”
“Don’t lie to me.” I jerked the chain. “There’s a file with my name on it, just like the others.”
He flipped through the pages leisurely. “And what precisely did you find here? Diagrams of rabbits? Notes on how I turned a sheep into a girl and named her Juliet? Funny, I don’t see any of that.”
My fingers itched to claw the smirk off his face. “You named me after a character in one of your books, like them. You stick a needle in my vein, like them. It’s written right there.” I pointed a tense finger at the first page.
He followed my finger and tapped the word. Cervidae. “You’re mistaken,” he said. “I don’t give you the same treatment as them. I give them the same treatment as you.” He closed the file. “You were the first.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
BLACK RAIN FILLED MY vision, making me light-headed.
Father continued, “It’s not precisely identical to theirs, but it’s the same basic compound.” His fingers stretched and itched as though they missed the familiar clutch of a scalpel. “You see, when you were born—yes, born—your spine was deformed. The doctors said you would die within days. But your mother wouldn’t believe it. She begged me to fix you. Whatever it took.”
He leaned against the desk, his eyes wide as they delved into some long-ago memory. “And I did fix you. It’s all right here, in plain print, in your file. But the surgery was unconventional. By the time I was finished, you were missing several essential organs.” He brushed a hand over his chin. “The medical department always kept a few live specimens on hand for the zoology classes. There was a newborn deer—well, it served its purpose.”
My fingers prodded my rib cage, the taut line of my diaphragm, feeling for something unusual to verify his wild claim. But even if it was true, how would I know? My body was no different than it had always been.
“They said you would die, so I had nothing to lose. I did what any father would have done. Luckily, I was also England’s best surgeon.”
I dug my fingers into the soft place in my back just above my kidneys, feeling the lower edge of my ribs. “You can’t substitute a person’s organs with a deer’s. That’s impossible.”
“So is vivisecting a dog and a bear to make a man. At least that’s what they tell me. Perhaps they should ask Balthazar.” His eyes gleamed as though I were some fresh specimen on his operating table. “The injections are to keep your body from rejecting the foreign organ tissue. If you stop taking the serum, your organs will fail. You won’t regress like they do. You’ll die.”
“You’re mad,” I said. My eyes flickered to the glass cases, where a shadow slunk over the rows of jars.
“Don’t you see?” he continued. “They exist because of you. If you hadn’t almost died, if I hadn’t taken the risk of substituting animal flesh to save your life, I’d never have known it was possible. I’d still be in London teaching ignorant medical students how to dissect street dogs.”
I pressed my eyes closed. Even so, I could feel the shadow moving closer.
“I’d never have sliced open that first dog if it weren’t for you. I’d never have come to this island. Never rivaled God in his power to create. You’ve made everything possible, Juliet. You’re responsible for all of it.”
I wet my shaking lips, feeling faint. All those years of worry, all those sleepless nights, wondering if my father had unlocked some dark science that made him a monster. And it all came down to me. I was to blame for all the rumors, the scandal, even Montgomery’s years spent as a slave on a madman’s island.
It was my fault.
The wind blew the door half closed, dimming the light.
“So you see, you do share my blood. We’re more alike than you think.”
I balled my fists, practically feeling his poisoned blood coursing through me like a disease. That was the source of my dark inclinations. Him. I could never escape what flowed in my veins, not even if he was dead.