Catherine leaped at the Boar Man. Griping him with her hands and feet, as though she were still a puma holding onto her prey, she bit down on his ear. He roared with pain, plunging left and right, trying to shake her off. She held on tightly, but he grabbed her by one leg and threw her onto the floor. The Boar Man leaned over her and opened his mouth, aiming for her throat, trying to bite through it. She twisted and turned in his grasp, feeling his hot breath on her skin, smelling the stink of it.
And then she saw two hands reaching above her, grasping the Boar Man’s face, the thumbs over his eyes. She looked up and saw Beatrice, beautiful and grim. The Boar Man howled with pain. He stood and tried to shake Beatrice off as he had shaken Catherine, but now he was blind. His flailing arms found her and encircled her, as though in an embrace. He held on as tightly as he could, squeezing her around the chest. Beatrice struggled and gasped for air. “Help me!” she called faintly. Dodging around Catherine, still lying on the ground, Diana tried to find an opening, an opportunity. She waited for the right moment, waited, waited . . . then, she plunged her knife into the Boar Man’s back.
BEATRICE: How did you know the knife would not plunge into my back? We were circling round and round, that beast and I, as though we were dancing a waltz.
DIANA: I didn’t. In life, you sometimes have to take risks.
BEATRICE: Thank you . . . I think. At least you didn’t stab me. I suppose that is what matters.
The Boar Man roared and let Beatrice go, but the knife was too small to do much damage. He swung around, then turned toward Diana, following her smell. He lumbered in her direction, swinging his arms wildly. She backed away, but she was no longer near the door. In her effort to find an opening, Diana had circled around, and she was now backing into the corner. In a moment, she would be trapped. Suddenly, light glinted against the Boar Man’s throat. He fell to his knees, and then forward onto the floor. Behind him stood Hyde, with the scalpel in his hand.
“You must be Diana,” he said.
“Hullo, Dad,” said Diana. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”
“Traitor!” roared Adam. “Who took you in after you left England? When you were wandering around Europe, friendless, wanted by the police? Who gave you shelter and safety, a laboratory so you could continue your experiments? It was I! And this is how you repay me!”
“You’re mad, Adam,” said Hyde. The Boar man moaned once, then lay dead at Diana’s feet, the blood from his jugular draining onto the floor. “You told me we were coming to England so you could challenge the society that had expelled me and would not admit you as a member. Remember that? You wanted to punish Van Helsing and his faction. When you recruited Prendick and we started making Beast Men, I believed you. And then we started collecting the women—what for? More experiments, you said. When I told you Justine was alive, it became all about kidnaping her, bringing her to you. This was always about your personal desires. You disgust me!”
“How dare you! You rat, you ape, you piece of refuse that I took in! How dare you insult me!” Adam turned to the cage, now empty, except for one remaining Beast Man—the one in the shadows. “Come out!” he said. “Come out now!” He strode over to the cage and picked up what was hanging on the wall beside it: a long black whip. He swung it, hitting the bars so they clanged and rattled. The last Beast Man started toward the cage door.
Mary, who was still kneeling by Watson, attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his shoulder, cried out. An old poem, taught to her as a child by her nursemaid, who had later become the respectable Mrs. Poole, went through her head: Tyger, tyger, burning bright. The Tiger Man had started to undergo the process of transformation, but was still only half man, half tiger. His head was vaguely human, his paws beginning to resemble hands. He walked awkwardly on all fours, with no tail. The scars from a series of surgeries gleamed red and angry.
He growled low in his throat at Adam, but seeing the whip, he turned toward Holmes and crouched, ready to spring. Holmes raised his revolver. Suddenly, the room was silent, except for a low sobbing that Mary realized was coming from Renfield, still crouched in the corner by the cage, with the keys in his hand. Would a bullet stop the Tiger Man before he could crush the detective in his jaws?
Catherine stepped in front of Holmes. Would she spring at the Tiger Man? Surely that would mean her death! She was less than half his size, no match for the power of his animal body. Mary was about to cry “Stop!” when Catherine shrugged off Watson’s jacket, then pulled her nightgown over her head and stood naked in front of them all.
“Look at me,” she said. The Tiger Man crouched, still ready to spring but not moving, looking at her. Over her brown skin ran the seams of many scars, like the map to an unknown destination. “Smell me. I am like you, Brother. I too was transformed by a Master with a Whip. But do you know what I did, Brother? For all the pain I had endured, I killed him. That was what I did. I turned on him and bit him through the throat. He was not a god, only a man, and he died more easily than I thought possible. Do you understand me, Brother?”
The Tiger Man looked at her with great yellow eyes. Then he dipped his head, still barred with black stripes, almost as though nodding to her. With a roar, he turned and sprang on Adam.
Mary realized she had stopped breathing only when she started again. She had been so afraid the Tiger Man would attack Catherine. . . .
CATHERINE: I wasn’t afraid. He was my brother. And if he had attacked me, it would have been a fitting way to die.
DIANA: Oh, come off it. You always say stuff like that, as though you were in one of your own novels.
CATHERINE: Well, at any rate, I would have died so quickly that I wouldn’t have felt it! What else was I supposed to do? I acted out of instinct. If I’d thought about it for a moment, we might all be dead now.
The Tiger Man landed with his paws on Adam’s chest. Adam staggered back against the desk, but did not fall. The Tiger Man lunged for his face, but Adam hit him in the jaw with a fist—once, twice. With a roar, the Tiger Man fell to one side, landing heavily. He staggered and shook his head, disoriented. Where the paws had been on Adam’s chest, his shirt was torn and streaked with red. “Renfield, the keys!” shouted Adam.
“And you’ll give me lives? Many lives, Master?”
“Yes, as many as you want! Just throw me the keys, damn you!”
Renfield tossed the keys into the air. They arced, silver in the lamplight, then jangled as Adam caught them. He stepped behind the desk and pushed the chair aside.
“Watch out!” shouted Prendick. “There’s a gun in that drawer. We kept it locked because of the Beast Men.”
The Tiger Man shook himself once more, then put his front paws on the desk and jumped up so he was standing on top of the desk, between them and Adam. The desk was covered with piles of paper, probably receipts and bills of lading for Alderney Shipping. The piles slid and pieces of paper fluttered as the Tiger Man moved among them. He snarled and swatted Adam across the face. Adam’s head snapped back, and long red welts appeared along his cheek. The Tiger Man reared back to strike again.
“Diana! Give me your knife!” said Mary.