Her Dark Curiosity. Megan Shepherd
from Joyce about the murders and see what else I could find out about Scotland Yard’s investigation. But Lucy was narrowing her eyes at me, and I said, ‘All right. Though I can’t stay but a few minutes.’
‘We’ll see about that. And Clara, I came to tell you I’ve eaten all the gingerbread cakes and we need more.’
Lucy linked her arm in mine as she dragged me up the main staircase to the parlor. ‘Thank god the holidays will be over soon, else I’d put on a stone in weight. Oh, I’m so glad you arrived! Henry’s been boring my ears off and I’m desperate for some real conversation. At least he’s nice to look upon.’ She caught herself, and quickly added, ‘Though only in a certain light. Otherwise he’s an ogre.’
We reached the top of the stairs and I tried to brush my hair back and make myself look presentable, when all I could think about was a boy back from the dead.
We entered the parlor, a small but opulent room with a cheerful fire crackling in the ornate fireplace and tea service set out on the low table between the upholstered chairs. Lucy’s aunt, a rather stiff-lipped, dried-out woman, turned when we entered, eyebrows raised at my sudden appearance. Henry was sitting on the sofa with his back to us.
Lucy brushed an errant curl back. ‘Aunt Edith, Henry, I’d like to introduce you to a dear friend. This is Juliet Moreau.’
I dimly heard my name, but for some reason she sounded far away. Henry had turned at the sound of her voice and was staring at us. At me. Suddenly the room felt too small, as though the furniture was pressing in and the fire consuming all the oxygen. He stood slowly to greet us. I was vaguely aware of Lucy’s aunt standing as well, her mouth moving and sound coming out, but she was no more real than a dress shop mannequin. Everything seemed equally unreal, just vague suggestions of furniture and people.
Everything, that was, except for the young man whose gold-flecked eyes met mine.
‘Juliet,’ Lucy said, ‘may I introduce Mr Henry Jakyll.’
He stepped forward to shake my hand.
The faded scar on his right cheek. The face that was so achingly familiar.
The hand extended to me belonged to Edward Prince.
9
The fire stopped crackling. The steam froze in the air. Everything had drifted into a far-off place, shifting into a colorless world like a fading photograph.
Everything but Edward.
Jakyll, I thought. Another false name, just like the other name he’d created – Edward Prince, or rather Prince Edward, a name borrowed from the pages of Shakespeare. Edward didn’t have a given name since he’d never truly been born, but made in a laboratory out of a handful of animal parts. Fox. Heron. Jackal. Of course – that was the source of his false name, a testament to his darker animal side.
The jackal side.
He had changed in the months since I’d seen him. Though the scar under his left eye still marred his face, his features had sharpened in a way that gave him a dramatic, brooding look. His eyes seemed a darker shade of brown – very nearly black – as did his hair. The most shocking change, however, was his size. Never a large young man, he now stood several inches above me and seemed to have put on a stone of muscle.
No wonder Lucy was so taken with him.
I gradually became aware that the room had gone silent and that Aunt Edith and Lucy stared at me expectantly. Edward’s outstretched hand, no longer skeletal but strong, powerful, hiding six-inch-long claws, awaited my own.
I had to make a choice. I could scream. I could tell Lucy and her aunt everything, accuse Edward of being the Wolf of Whitechapel, throw the boiling tea in his face to blind him, and run him through with the poker.
But the hand extended to me wasn’t that of a monster. Edward was split into two selves that shared the same body: one a sharp-clawed monster, the other a tortured young man who wanted nothing more than to be free from his curse. I thought of the little white flower tinged with blood I’d pressed into my journal. A gift from this young man before me, who had once loved me madly.
Well, whatever Edward had felt, it didn’t matter. Everything had changed when I walked into this parlor to discover Edward had involved Lucy in this. He might not intend to harm her, but the Beast could have other plans.
Edward’s throat constricted as he swallowed. I wondered, fleetingly, if he was as thrown off balance by seeing me as I was seeing him.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Jakyll,’ I said at last.
Lucy flopped onto the sofa and reached for her tea. Aunt Edith might have greeted me; I wasn’t sure. If she had, it had been brief and normal, just as though today was any other day and this was any other tea. But it wasn’t any other day. And this wasn’t any young man.
Clara bustled in with a tray of gingerbread cakes. ‘Pardon me, miss,’ she said with a grin, shuffling around me.
I slowly sank onto the sofa next to Lucy, feeling it first with my hands to make sure I wouldn’t miss the seat. Edward sat directly across from me in a dark green velvet chair. My head couldn’t reconcile his presence with Clara’s smile, Lucy’s carefree posture, the sunlight pouring in from the window.
None of them knew they were having tea with the Wolf of Whitechapel.
‘Juliet’s traveled the world as well,’ Lucy said to Edward, throwing her arm casually on the sofa back. ‘Henry’s been all over, knows about practically every country in the world, but you’ll have to forgive him if his customs are strange. He’s from Finland, you know.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Finland.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t bear it,’ Aunt Edith said, brushing a crumb off her dress. ‘All that cold year-round.’
I stared at them as though they spoke a foreign language. Lucy reached for another gingerbread cake and Aunt Edith made a disapproving cough in her throat.
My eyes trailed back to Edward. The last time I’d seen him, blood was pooling beneath his head into fresh straw. Why had I stopped Montgomery from slicing his throat? I wasn’t sure, but it might have had something to do with the look on his face now, somehow innocent despite all his hands had done.
‘I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Henry,’ I said.
The accusation was heavy in my voice, and though the ladies didn’t seem to notice it, Edward did. His eyes searched mine, pleading for forgiveness. How could I forgive him for placing Lucy in danger? For making me care about him when everything had been a lie? For murder?
Edward stood and began to pace as though he needed to stretch his legs, but I recognized that nervous agitation. The Beast was there, lurking just below the surface. ‘Yes, I wondered when we might meet each other,’ he said quietly. ‘From what Lucy has said, we seem to have some interests in common.’
Lucy clapped her hands. ‘Oh yes, I forgot to tell you! Henry was interested in something about chemistry … that was it, wasn’t it? I told him you were much better at science than any boy I know.’
Edward’s haunted eyes stayed on me. They said everything his voice couldn’t. He hated his dark other half – the Beast – and the terrible things it led him to do. Even now, his eyes pleaded with me for help.
I couldn’t bear this, having tea with a murderer. All I could think about was the bodies in the morgue. Four people no longer breathed because of him. He’d killed people I cared about, like Alice. Innocent people. And yet, wasn’t I as good as a murderer myself? Father might still be alive if I hadn’t opened that door to his laboratory for Jaguar.
I clutched the sofa’s arm, rubbing my thumb against the rough upholstery seam to stay connected to the present.
Outside, the sun was past its