Claude landed at the edge of the bridge and quickly spun around, once again keeping Mr. Braddock at bay with the lamppost. Breathing heavily, they both circled each other at a distance, ending up back where they started, locked in another stalemate. How much longer could Mr. Braddock keep this up?
“The greater good is all that matters.”
My stomach flipped. This scientist was rationalizing the pain and suffering he would inflict on Rose for his success.
“You’re mad,” I got out. “You’re all stark raving mad. She’s just a girl.”
“There are thousands of people out there every day, forced to watch their sisters and daughters die of diseases. And they’re saying the same thing.”
I turned to glare at Dr. Beck. “When I tell the police of this—”
“They will do nothing,” he interrupted, looking exasperated. “I have plenty of persuasive friends who are highly invested in my research. Not that it matters, as neither of you are leaving here alive anyway.”
The words sliced right through me—his matter-of-fact tone, as if our death were an inevitability I was too foolish to realize.
I tightened my fists and took a deep breath, holding back my tears of frustration. “Th-then what are you waiting for?”
He didn’t deign to respond. Instead, he just watched as Mr. Braddock dodged and Claude advanced, winding the lamppost back for another swing, digging his foot into the broken ground below him, and aiming a powerful and unexpected kick right in Mr. Braddock’s direction.
It happened in the blink of an eye. The cobblestone debris hit Mr. Braddock’s face and sent him tumbling down, his forehead smacking the wooden bridge as he landed. With the slightest hint of satisfaction, Claude balanced the lamppost on his shoulder and made his way across the bridge to Mr. Braddock. Get up, get up, get up, I pleaded.
He didn’t.
Claude raised the lamppost high above his head for one last blow, his grip crunching into the metal post.
“Wait!” The cry ripped itself from my chest. “Take me!”
Silence. Dr. Beck looked at me, incredulous. “I’m sorry?”
“I can heal, too! Please, just call your other man back and take me in Rose’s place.”
Dr. Beck narrowed his eyes skeptically as though I were the insane one. Without a word, he turned and headed for Claude and Mr. Braddock.
Somehow, I found the legs to follow. “And you must let Mr. Braddock go.”
Dr. Beck motioned to Claude, who obeyed and lowered the gas lamp as we drew closer. “If you can heal,” he said.
“I can,” I insisted. “I promise.”
Dr. Beck knelt beside Mr. Braddock. In one swift motion, he pulled a knife out of his jacket pocket and slashed a long, cruel cut into Mr. Braddock’s back as I screamed. “Then prove it.”
My stomach sank, along with the rest of my body, and before I knew it, I was on the ground pressing my hands over Mr. Braddock’s gushing wound, willing it to close, to fix this whole mess, to bring Rose back.
With Claude and Dr. Beck standing over me, I swallowed my fear, removed my blood-drenched hand, and found the open cut staring back at me. No.
Dr. Beck shook his head. “As I thought. Just because you’re siblings does not mean you and Miss Rosamund both have the same ability. I’ve found no such correlation in my research.”
“It’s t-true, I promise you, it’s true.” My voice was as broken as my newfound power, and tears fell fast down my cheeks.
“I hope this same sense of selflessness runs in your family. Then Miss Rosamund and I shall get along very well,” he said, turning to go. “Finish it!”
Claude’s heavy tread approached, the lamppost scraping and rattling along the wooden planks. Clutching Mr. Braddock to myself, I slid us backward, inch by inch, as if the extra step would somehow keep us from Claude.
Suddenly, Dr. Beck spun around, calling out urgently, “Claude, watch—”
A gunshot cracked through the silence, striking the railing near Claude. A carriage screeched behind me as the bridge started to vibrate. Claude froze, watching its approach, then turned to find Dr. Beck already backing away.
“Let’s go!”
Another gunshot rang through the air, and Claude retreated, not waiting to see if our savior’s aim would improve upon his approach. He disappeared down the street and into the distant darkness as the carriage rumbled close. Only when the horses whinnied to a stop and Mr. Kent leaped down next to us did my breath return in a gasp of relief.
“Miss Wyndham! Are you all right? What’s happened?” he asked, reaching out to calm me down. I wanted so badly to close my eyes, collapse in his arms, and sleep for days.
Instead I ignored his hand on mine, concentrating on the injured man in my lap. I forced back a wave of nausea as I stared down at the deathly pale face. The only color interrupting Mr. Braddock’s gray pallor was the sticky red blood still issuing from his forehead.
“I don’t know—Rose is gone—she’s gone—and he was protecting me from Claude,” I babbled. “We—we have to help him.”
I pressed my cheek against his, feeling his faint response tingle in my blood: weak, but it was there. A ragged breath scratched along his throat.