These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(38)

“Where is Miss Rosamund?” Mr. Braddock demanded—a darker, more potent anger emanating from him.

“She healed my sister yesterday,” the giant claimed, a horrible liar. “I have not seen her since.”

“Camille saw her locked in here,” I spat out, feeling like a pesky child as I bobbed behind Mr. Braddock’s shoulder, trying to glare at them.

Claude had no response, except a sidelong glance at the smaller man for their next lie.

“Where is she?” Mr. Braddock persisted. He took two steps closer to the scientist. It would have been intimidating, if Claude were not there.

The scientist attempted a soothing voice. “No need for any unpleasantness. I don’t want you breaking all of my doors.”

In the silence, the house creaked rhythmically above us. Footsteps. Claude’s gaze flickered upward for the briefest moment. I glanced back out of the laboratory, noticing another staircase to the third floor. Was my dream right about that, too?

Before I could take a step back, the scientist flashed me a courteous smile. “I don’t believe we have been properly introduced, and Mr. Braddock seems to have quite forgotten his manners. I’m Dr. Calvin Beck—”

Mr. Braddock interrupted with a growl and charged straight at Dr. Beck, who simply looked bored. Claude stepped between the two and caught Mr. Braddock’s tackle. The momentum sent the giant stumbling back, but he managed to stay on his feet, while Mr. Braddock took the chance to wrap himself around Claude. From behind, Mr. Braddock reached under Claude’s armpits and clasped his hands tightly together behind Claude’s head, like a wrestler, locking him in an uncomfortable hold.

Unable to break the tenacious grip, Claude spun around and forced Mr. Braddock backward, slamming him hard into the walls, crashing into bookcases, and finally, in a desperate move, throwing himself out the street window. A shrill, useless scream escaped from my throat as the glass shattered and the cold London air rushed in. The pair disappeared out the window. There was the briefest silence, a thud, and a rattling.

“No!” I rushed forward and could just glimpse Mr. Braddock below, rising to his feet to face his wheezing but uninjured enemy.

“Get yourself out!” Mr. Braddock yelled up at me.

Thank heavens. Still well enough to order me about. But Rose was here, and I would not leave without her.

Legs quivering and hands shaking with nerves, I stumbled past Dr. Beck, who called after me.

“Miss Wyndham! Don’t run away just yet. I wish to speak with you.”

Ignoring him, I made my way out of the room and up to the top of the stairs, where two doors faced me. One opened on a sparse bedroom with three empty beds, so I turned to the other, finding an unlatched padlock on the floor and the door half open. I heard shuffling and movement from within and shoved my way desperately inside to finally find her directly in front of me.

Rose.

It was her. Not some copy, not some actress. I knew it with every beat of my frantic heart. Then terror filled her eyes.

“Evelyn,” she gasped. “He’s in here—”

A hand appeared out of the shadows and clamped over her mouth. And she vanished.

“Rose!”

Without a second thought, I took a desperate lunge into the darkness, reaching for her, her captor, anything. My hand caught fabric—an arm. I squeezed tight and pulled with all my strength, but suddenly I was the one pulled right into the pitch black.

The cold ground hit me. Hard. Somehow I was outside again, lying on wet cobblestone. A blast of fishy air filled my lungs, and I gagged back waves of nausea as I pushed myself off the ground in the filthy alley to find a pale, wiry man clutching Rose tightly, his arm around her mouth.

He took a slow step back, then another. He couldn’t carry her and run away. I could catch him. With a gasp, I scrambled to my feet and charged. He dove out of the way, to his left, straight into the wall, into an opening that wasn’t there a moment ago and wasn’t there when I reached it a second later. I grasped and scratched and pounded and screamed at the brick wall, at the shadows, at nothing. The alley was completely empty and silent.

Gasping back sobs of frustration and pain, I hurried toward a streetlight in a daze. Where was I? And where in God’s name was Rose? The passage brought me to the main street, where glass shards, dirt, and blood littered the ground and Dr. Beck’s house loomed over me.

As I made my way back to the building’s entrance, Dr. Beck emerged and chuckled. “There you are. I was worried we wouldn’t get the chance to speak.”

“Where is she?” I screamed.

“Your sister? Why, she’s gone. My associate—no doubt you noticed, he’s very gifted—why, he has probably snapped her clean out of London by now. Let’s not worry about that. What’s more important is that you listen to me—”

Suddenly, a loud screech echoed down the street. I turned to see Mr. Braddock and wasn’t sure my eyesight was working so well. His fight with Claude had continued to where the cobblestones met the long wooden bridge over the river, and Mr. Braddock was crouched low to the ground, slowly circling his enemy and waiting for a chance to strike. But Claude rendered that nearly impossible, wielding a gas lamppost as a normal man might wield a mace. Upon Mr. Braddock’s every advance, the giant swung his massive weapon with unexpected quickness, always sending Mr. Braddock back in retreat.