These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(29)

“You cannot presume to tell me such a thing!” I spluttered. “Besides, you said it wasn’t a brothel. Why should I stay away?”

“It still has its share of . . . unsavory individuals. A woman like you does not belong there.”

“If it truly is my sister, our family will have far greater worries, I can assure you,” I said. “In any case, I will wear a mask, and no one will recognize me.”

“It is not only your reputation I am concerned about.” Mr. Braddock’s civil demeanor was beginning to crack.

“I have no care for your concerns,” I said. “This is the only way I will be convinced it’s her. I came to London against my parents’ wishes, and I am perfectly capable of doing this alone, as well.”

He crumpled the paper in his hands, registering how futile it was to argue. He returned to pacing the length of the small garden, shaking his head, and fussing with the seams of his cuffs.

“Very well,” he said. “Then I will be here this evening at seven.”

“Unnecessary. I shall be fine myself.”

“You will be eaten alive.” His voice rasped with scorn. “If you are going to be so foolhardy as to go through with this plan, then I will accompany you.”

“I don’t need a chap—” I automatically snapped, but the memory of the drunken men in the alley was too fresh. I stood up, unable to resist the wine any longer. I poured it into a teacup and ignored the snort behind me.

“Ah, so you know what to do when a man takes you for a doxy?”

Mortified, I felt my face flush, but somehow kept myself from spitting out the wine. “When a man takes me for a . . . doxy? So you see it as an inevitability—why, thank you.”

He prowled uneasily close to me, and I fumbled and dropped the cup. I only heard it shatter, unable to look away from the advancing oaf.

“Forgive me for sullying your innocent ears, but if you go to a dancing room unaccompanied, you will hear much worse. And you will inevitably be taken for that kind of woman even if you’re wearing a nun’s habit.”

“Ah, and you know this with all your infinite brothel experience.”

“Yes,” he said firmly, not acknowledging the insult. “Now, seven o’clock—I will be here. It’s no longer a question. Be ready and wear a plain, unadorned mask—the sort you might wear to a masquerade ball.”

Insufferable. I had nothing left to say to the obstinate man.“Fine,” I muttered. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better places to search this morning.”

“Very well. But let me help—” he said, leaning forward to assist with the cup’s sad remains.

I blocked his way. “I will be quite fine.”

He nodded and drew back gracefully. “Do try to stay out of trouble today.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. He buttoned up his coat and opened the door while I knelt to pick up the shards of porcelain with as much dignity as I could muster.

“You too. Try not to pick a fight with Tuffins as he lets you ou—!” But the final word became a yelp as a sharp ceramic edge drew a ragged cut over my palm, blood pooling up over the torn flesh.

Mr. Braddock was gone. I stared down at the glassy red coloring my hand, both nauseated and abstractly intrigued by the sight of my own blood. It welled into a small pool and dripped onto the wine-stained dirt below.

I carefully wrapped a handkerchief around my palm and headed upstairs to wash the cut clean. But when I took it off mere minutes later, only smooth, unbroken skin stared back up at me. I began to wonder exactly how much wine I had drunk. It could not have been enough for me to hallucinate, could it?

I hastened to my reticule, wildly grabbing a card—Mr. Kent’s, actually—and sliced at my finger, causing a stinging paper cut. Though the graze still smarted, I watched closely as my skin knit itself back together in a matter of seconds.

The room spun. The blood on the handkerchief was all I could see, mocking me. I could no longer ignore the evidence.

I truly had the ability to heal.





“I’M SORRY, MR. Braddock,” I forced out. “You were right. I believe you now.”

My reflection managed to keep a mostly straight face.

Close enough. It had taken at least fifty tries in front of the looking glass before I had steeled myself to the point where I wouldn’t gag during this. Though nothing could be done about the wince.

The only way I could even stomach an apology was by avoiding the fact that Mr. Braddock had been right and instead concentrating on my newfound powers. Powers. It still conjured up the same feelings it had hours ago—a sort of humbling awe at all the possibilities it opened up in the world. There was no word for it. It wasn’t just amazing. Spectacular did not fit, nor simply astonishing or fantastic. Everything seemed to be an understatement.

I stared down at my arm, holding it up to the light. If I were a normal girl, my arm would still be covered with all the small nicks and scrapes I had given myself throughout the morning. Instead, they had all closed up within seconds, my skin left as smooth as it had ever been. Not even the faintest scar.

In a daze, I peeked out of my bedroom window and concentrated on the street. There was no denying my body’s ability to repair itself, but it still felt wrong to think I had the power to heal others. That had always been Rose! Perhaps Miss Lodge had simply had a good day. But an irrepressible smile found its way to my face when I contemplated every detail. My hand ran along the chilly pane, the sturdy sill, and the soft drapes as I asked myself the same question I had been asking myself through the entire blur of a day.