Her Dark Curiosity (The Madman’s Daughter #2)(58)
Author: Megan Shepherd

“Ah, seeing things differently now, are you, love? I know exactly what happened that night on the island. You thought me dead, but I was very much alive. I saw it with my own eyes. A girl aiding a monster to kill her own father. You did it to stop a greater evil from spreading. How is that any different from what I do?”

I could only stare at him, lost for words. I didn’t like what he was suggesting—that he and I were the same. I hadn’t killed my father because I’d hungered for blood. And yet the results were the same. What did motivation matter, when death was the result?

It was true that I hadn’t regretted it for a moment.

My mind scrambled to piece together an argument, a justification, a rationale for why we were different, yet the only words I could manage were, “What about the professor? He never did anything but help me!”

The Beast watched me closely, silent, as the boilers let out another burst of steam. I saw a flicker in his otherwise penetrating eyes. “That one was not me, love.”

“What are you talking about, not you?” I snapped. “I saw the body. I saw the wounds.”

He cocked his head, still eyeing me with that strange, too-human look. He was lying to me. He had to be. He would say anything to get what he wanted.

“You killed him,” I seethed. “Because you’re out of control.”

He raised an eyebrow at this. “Out of control? Yes, perhaps you are right. Nevertheless I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t anywhere near Highbury last night. Believe me or not, it’s the truth.”

I didn’t dignify him with an answer. Instead I paced among the ferns, mind fractured like a broken pane of glass, terrible memories of the professor’s dead body coming back to me. I pulled at my itchy collar.

“You know it’s unnatural,” he said softly, his insidious voice working its way into my ear. “Dressing up in stiff clothes and pinching shoes that one can barely walk in. Making small talk about holiday decorations when terrible things are happening in the city. You’ve never felt a part of this world, have you? We weren’t meant to live like this. We’re a different breed. I’ve watched you working away in that secret room you call a workshop, though we both know what it really is—a laboratory, laid out exactly like your father’s. I’ve seen you reading your father’s journal for hours on end, barely stopping to breathe. What do you tell yourself—that you have no choice but to read it? That you don’t enjoy reading through the scientific marvels he uncovered, how he revolutionized the world? Admit it. You loved reading it.”

“I was looking for a cure,” I whispered, though my lips were dry.

“Ah yes, the fabled cure. Don’t you realize why you haven’t cured yourself yet? Not because you can’t—because you don’t want to. You’ve always had that animal inside you, stirring, since you were an infant. It’s been more of a friend to you than any of those girls who titter behind their fans in church. You’re afraid that if you rid yourself of it, you’ll be hollow. A shell of a person content to let the days pass in boredom and chores, never really feeling, never truly living. Not like how I live.”

I could only stare at him. I wanted to tell myself there was no truth in what he was saying. I desperately wanted a cure—I’d die without one. Even now a stiffness spread up my arms to the pit of my elbow, and my head throbbed behind my left eye.

“Without a cure I’ll go into a coma.”

“Will you? You really have no idea what will happen, do you? All you have is your father’s speculation, and we both know his arrogance was far greater than his actual talent.” He grinned. “You’re dying of curiosity—that’s why some deep part of you is sabotaging any attempts for a cure. You’re desperate to know what you’ll become, and as far as Edward goes, let’s just come out with the truth, shall we? You don’t want to cure him, either, not deep down, because the one who fascinates you is me.”

I tried to shake my head, but my neck had gone stiff.

“Montgomery,” I whispered. “Montgomery will be here any moment.”

“I even saw you eyeing that hideous little dog,” he whispered as though I hadn’t even spoken. “You were thinking about it, weren’t you? Cutting him open, seeing what lays within.”

“No!” I shook my head violently. “I would never.”

“I’d wager your father made that same magnanimous claim a long time ago. You’ll change your mind just as he did. Haven’t you wondered why that fool Dr. Hastings isn’t dead yet? I’ve saved him for you, my love. You’ve dreamed about repaying his cruelty for months, and I couldn’t rob you of that joy. Consider him a gift.”

I remembered Hastings accusing those two students at King’s College of following him as a prank, and Edward telling me later the Beast had been stalking a doctor. It had been Hastings—and this is why the Beast hadn’t killed him.

For me.

“Nothing you’re saying is true,” I spat. “We aren’t anything alike, and the sooner Edward is rid of you the better.” I slapped my hand across his face, but he barely flinched. The chains rustled as he strained against them, jingling and clanking. To my horror, he pulled an arm free.

He grabbed my wrist before I could run.

The Beast smiled in the moonlight, and dislocated his shoulder.

HIS BODY CONTORTED AS one by one the chains fell to the ground, unbroken. He didn’t let go of my wrist for a moment.

I’d been wrong. I’d been so, so wrong.

“No!” I said, trying to pull away. “I put valerian in your tea only days ago; it should have lasted. And the padlock—you can’t break it.”

“Come, come, my love. You think I didn’t know about the tea?” He leaned closer until I could feel his warm breath. “And the chains, well. I’ve always been able to free myself of the chains.”

My hand went slack with shock. “But in the attic . . . you were contained. You didn’t kill for days.”

“Of course I did. I slipped my chains and hid the bodies so you wouldn’t find out. Don’t you see? It’s all been for you.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this!” I pulled the knife from my boot and slashed across his arm with all my force. He barely flinched, nearly impossible to hurt, but I was able to pull away. I scrambled over rocks, splashing into the creek, but a hand closed over my ankle. I clawed at the dirt, grabbed for the plants, but it was useless. The Beast’s hands found my calf, then my thigh, then my waist, and he spun me around, pinning me to the earth, laughing. Laughing, like this was a game.