“Were you trying very hard the two times you’ve compared me to a prostitute today?”
He huffed and cleared his throat. “That was not my intention. I apologize.”
“It’s no matter, but perhaps it’s better if we discuss something less hazardous for the time being. Say something about the weather, or ask me about my day.”
He gazed out past the closed curtain. “The weather’s fine, and I already know how your day went. You searched at more shops and discovered nothing.”
Well, he was only somewhat correct. He didn’t know Mr. Kent and I had visited more science societies to find nothing, as well. He didn’t know that I hid tonight’s plans from Mr. Kent, the idea of mentioning it flipping my stomach over and over. And he didn’t know that I believed his wild stories now.
“I discovered something,” I replied. “I have the power to heal. Myself, at least.”
He gave me a withering stare. “Very funny.”
Did I really have to convince him that he had convinced me? “Mr. Braddock, I—well, I am quite sure. Though there wasn’t much grandeur for such a momentous occasion. No dramatic moment where I finally believed in myself and healed someone who was on the brink of death. I just cut my hand on that stupid teacup this morning, and it healed. So did the other cuts.”
Mr. Braddock studied me, daring to hope that I was not teasing him. “What other cuts?”
“I gave myself paper cuts—which still stung and bled, mind you—but after a few seconds, the wound would close and the mark would disappear.”
“That’s . . . remarkable,” Mr. Braddock said faintly, eyes wide with wonder.
“As the one who told me of this, you have no right to be shocked.”
“It’s just—still—hearing you describe it . . . it’s impressive. I had inklings, but I did not know exactly how it worked.”
“I was rather hoping you would be the one to tell me.”
“I’m still learning about these powers. The little I know has only come from others.”
“How many others are there?”
He shifted toward me, ensconcing me in the corner of the cab. I felt like it was just the two of us in all of London. “I couldn’t say. As far as I know, it’s rather rare—otherwise the public would have noticed it. I’ve met several others, and that is only because I knew a man who was studying this phenomenon.”
“Who is he?”
The carriage rumbled and creaked over a rocky road, and he steadied himself. “The originator of the saltation theory. And from the others, I learned that everyone who develops the power does so between the ages of fourteen and sixteen.”
“We started nursing when Rose was fourteen and I was fifteen. . . .”
“And when they do start to appear, it is a weaker, more haphazard form of the ability. I would guess it took longer for your patients to be healed when you first started.”
“We thought it was because Rose was still learning.”
“That is the period when the ability is still developing. It does not appear consistently, and when it does, it is weaker— not quite as noticeable. From that moment on, one develops their power consciously or, in your case, unconsciously until it levels off.”
I couldn’t help but stare at my hands. Two years. Two long years of treating nearly every person in Bramhurst, and neither of us realized it. “What about you?” I asked.
“It took me some time to realize it, as well,” he said vaguely and seemed to retreat into the corner of his seat.
“But what exactly is it? The power to locate missing sisters?” I asked with a smile.
He didn’t find the joke amusing. Or perhaps he didn’t find it at all. He blinked as if he were coming out of a dream. “No . . . it’s a sort of physical protection. I can take a person’s energy, put them to sleep.”
“Ah, from your scintillating conversation?”
He shook his head uncomfortably. “Direct contact. My presence, to some degree.”
“So that . . . sensation, it comes from you?”
“I had thought it was you,” he replied, looking at the ceiling. “Maybe it is both of us.”
“Who else is out there?” I asked. “What other sorts of powers have you seen?”
“Many of them are talents you might have even seen and not realized. It’s sometimes hard to tell. There’s Claude with his strength. Another who could not feel pain. One with an astonishingly quick mind for calculations. And two men, acquaintances, with gifted sight and hearing. They are the ones I spoke of before, who run the gambling den and make a living off the information they collect. They pointed me to the Argyll.”
“Then you’re convinced Rose is here,” I said.
His hand raked through his dark hair. “We should be prepared.”
“At this point, I might even be hoping it is her, just to be rid of this uncertainty. But if it is, I don’t know what I will even do.”
“If you’d like to wait outside while I speak with her—”
I interrupted. “I don’t need you to play hero and protect me.”