These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(48)

“Of course,” I said, nodding.

She whirled to face me, the light from the window turning her into a silhouette.

“I’ve recently become aware of my healing ability,” I said. “Rose’s, as well.”

The smallest bit of tension seemed to leave her body. “I was afraid I would somehow have to prove your abilities,” she said with a slight laugh.

“No, there have been many chances for that over these last days.”

Again, her eyes filled with guilt. “I am so sorry, Evelyn.”

“It is not your fault!”

“When I saw the two of you healing patients, it was the first time I had seen someone using their gift for good. I felt the slightest bit of hope and clung to it. I made an effort to better understand my power. I kept a diary of my dreams to remember more details. I discovered that when I dream of someone who is sleeping, I enter their dreams instead. I even found I could sometimes control whom I dreamt of. But then I dreamt of him.

“The scientist. The one I dreaded most. Cold, empty, heartless. In my dreams he sought others with powers, convinced them to aid his experiments, and performed atrocious tests on them without remorse, all in the name of research. And in my dream, he was discussing Rose with his two partners: a giant and the murderer I’d seen in London.”

“Calvin Beck,” I said, strangled breath wrenching itself from me. “He . . . has a power? What is it?”

Miss Grey shook her head. “I never witnessed it. I dread the possibilities. Perhaps it is the lack of a conscience.”

My head felt cloudy, stormy. Not only did Claude have an abnormal amount of strength and the other man the ability to travel anywhere, but Dr. Beck had a mysterious advantage, as well.

“I tried to warn you,” Miss Grey continued, “but the caretakers refused to send my letters, and it was impossible to escape. Out of desperation I tried what I assumed was impossible. I entered your dream, Evelyn, and endeavored to speak to you. But I lacked the proper control.”

“No. You have been wonderful. I simply didn’t realize.” It was my turn to stand and pace, trying to push away thoughts of what if. “How did you come to me now?”

“I met Emily Kane. She was a young girl recently transferred to the ward. You see, the asylum itself held a number of gifted patients who were also deemed mad by their families. Emily and I were not friends—not exactly. She was almost as insane as they wished her to be. She was too scared to leave, no matter what I said, but she used her fascinating ability to help me, God bless her.”

“What did she do?”

“She could move objects without touching them. When one of the nurses fell asleep, Emily managed to acquire the keys to the gate and pass them to me. Unfortunately, they caught her. When they questioned the poor girl, she had a wild fit that nearly destroyed the entire building—fires, crumbled walls and ceilings, flooding. With the distraction, I was able to make my escape.” A long silence settled as Miss Grey collected herself. She wandered to the pianoforte in the corner, gently running her fingers along the ivory keys without pressing them. “Although it seems I’ve arrived too late to be of any help. I failed you and Rose,” she muttered.

I walked over to her and forcefully hugged her, as if to squeeze away that lingering guilt. Somehow I became the optimistic one. “Don’t say that. Heavens, you did everything possible, and you have been through too much.”

That did little to rest her spirits. Neither did telling her about my many mistakes over the past few days. The missed opportunities weighed heavy on both of us as we tried to find a solution.

Then the obvious answer hit me. “Miss Grey, could you not dream of Rose and find her?”

“I have tried,” she said, her shoulders slumping even more. “If I think of the specific person before I fall asleep, it sometimes works. But my perspective is limited. Rose would likely be confined to a room, and that is all I would see. Even when I dreamt of Dr. Beck, I rarely saw him leave his laboratory. I never learned where it was.”

“What about Claude or . . . that man who can create doors, what do we call him? The door man? My God, we don’t even know their names.”

“Gabriel Hale, I believe,” Miss Grey said. “But he often travels straight to his destination with his own doors.”

I felt a strange fear of breaking a fragile memory with too direct a question. “Can you remember anything else about them? Do they have homes or families?”

She shook her head, displacing stray wisps of hair. “I wish I had paid more mind. I cannot recall. My dreams are fragmented like anyone else’s, and it’s hard to remember details. All I have is my diary from the recent months, but I don’t know if it will be of any use.”

She handed me a small, ragged notebook from her reticule, and I skimmed through the delicate thing, finding the pages for Dr. Beck, Claude, and Mr. Hale. They were filled with brief, horrible memories and unfamiliar names. A couple of names were labeled as patients, but the unlabeled ones piqued my curiosity. Were they colleagues of Dr. Beck? Patrons? Camille had mentioned his funding last night. Surely Dr. Beck would need to meet with someone if he were moving to a new laboratory. Could this be our way of finding him?

“Miss Grey, do you know who these men are?” I asked, pointing at the names. A pang of guilt struck me when I looked up. She had taken several steps back, as if she did not wish to relive those memories with me.