This Monstrous Thing(81)

I was stumbling more than walking by the time we crossed into France and rejoined the road. My shirt was soaked through with sweat and blood and snow, and I kept swiping at my nose and coming back with fistfuls of scarlet. Father had a tight hold on my arm to keep me up, though he wasn’t much steadier than I was.

Ornex was a tiny town, and with dawn just beginning to bleed across the sky, it was nearly as dark as the foothills. We staggered through the streets for a while before Father spotted the half-timbered boardinghouse painted bright blue, with Morand’s name on the hanging sign. “Just here,” I heard him murmur. “Come on, stay awake.” I wasn’t certain which of us he was talking to.

Father dragged me up onto the stoop beside him and unwrapped his hands from my coat so he could hammer on the door. As soon as he let me go, I started to sink. “Alasdair—” He grabbed me around the waist, but instead of him getting me back up I dragged him down as well. My knees connected hard with the stones.

And that was how we were, tangled on the ground like unstrung marionettes, when the door opened. The faint light from a fire beyond felt like staring into the sun, so bright it made my vision blur.

“Finch! God’s wounds, how did you get here?” That was Morand’s voice. I felt his metal hand pulling me up, but I couldn’t see straight enough to stand—everything was tipped and darkening. Father and Morand were both holding on to me, trying to get me on my feet, but then a wall of the warm, boozy air from inside hit me hard as a slap. All my strength surrendered, and I passed out cold.


This time, I had a sense of sleeping far longer than I should have. I knew there was something I had to do, some pressing reason for me to wake, but it was like being underwater with stones tied to my ankles. When I finally clawed my way up to the surface with a gasp, it took me a moment to make sense of my surroundings. I was in bed, in a tiny, bare room with no idea how I got there. I was still cold, but I wasn’t shaking anymore, and the pain in my shoulder had dropped into an ache. And sitting beside me, white hair glowing like sun-gilded snow, was—

“Clémence.” Her name left me in a breath.

“Good morning,” she said, and the corners of her mouth turned up. “You look gorgeous.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I blurted, “You’re alive.”

“So are you. That seems a bit more miraculous just now.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I thought I was dead too, if it’s any consolation.”

“Bleeding hell, I left you. I should have gone back. I thought—”

“Alasdair, calm down. It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not all right. I left you—”

“Alasdair, stop.” She put a hand on mine, and the feeling of her skin—of her, real and true and alive—stilled me. “It’s all right,” she said gently, the softest she’d ever spoken to me. Something inside my chest unclenched, and I slumped backward again with a shaky breath. Clémence dropped her hand with a smirk. “Look at that. You’ve only been awake a minute and you’ve already worn yourself out.”

“How did you get away?”

“Oliver came back for me while you were putting on your show for the police and he brought me here. You only missed him by a few hours.”

I didn’t know who to ask about first, my parents or Oliver, but then, like an answer, the door opened and Mum entered, Father on her heels. “God’s wounds, Alasdair!” She didn’t cry or make a fuss, but she put her hands on either side of my face and held on for a long moment, like she was making sure I was truly there.

Father stood behind her with his arms crossed. He didn’t look quite himself yet, but he was standing steadier than before and some of the color had come back to his face. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m all right.” I thought about sitting up as proof but decided that would be too exhausting, so I just stayed slumped against my pillow while he took my pulse and pressed a hand to my forehead.

“Your fever’s gone down. Do you think you could eat something?”

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked.

“Most of the day,” Clémence replied. “Happy Christmas.”

“Hell’s teeth.” I made a valiant attempt to sit up but barely made it to my elbow.

Father stopped me, but I wouldn’t have made it all the way if he hadn’t. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to go.”

“Alasdair, it’s all right,” Mum said. “We’re safe here for now, we don’t have to leave. As soon as you’re feeling—”

“No, I have to go. I have to find Mary.”

“Absolutely not. You’re not well,” Father said at the same time Clémence said, “What do you want with her?”

“It’s something I have to do. For . . .” I swallowed. “For Oliver.” Father didn’t say anything, and Mum looked at the floor. Father must have told her, but I wondered if she’d seen Oliver when he brought Clémence here. She didn’t say anything, but reached out for my hand, and I met her halfway. “Please, just trust me,” I said. “If I wait too long, I may not be able to find her again.”

Mum nodded, but Father kept his arms crossed and stared me down with his mouth set in a firm line. “You’ll be careful?”