These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(82)

He charged with the knife, and I staggered backward. Dear God, I could not survive this. I couldn’t even see the blur of his arm as he swiped, much less predict where he would attack. I wielded the microscope with its base facing out, hoping to block and divert his attacks. Rapid surges of pain cut across my hand and arm, and my grip on the weapon started to slip.

But Robert had stubbornly risen again from the fireplace, clutching a burning log with one hand and his wounded stomach with the other. He marched behind my attacker, and Dr. Beck turned, again anticipating him at the last second. Robert took a heavy, obvious swing and aimed the log at Dr. Beck’s head, while I found a burst of energy and leaped forward.

I swung the microscope into an empty space to the left of Dr. Beck’s head. He dodged the log flying at him but moved just where I had hoped. His eyes registered the mistake for the briefest moment before the base struck him square in the head with a crack. He fell back, dazed and bruised, and I swung again and again until he collapsed on the floor, nearly unconscious.

A sob escaped my throat, but I choked it down.

My hands shook ferociously, rifling through Dr. Beck’s front pockets as he struggled to breathe and clutched his bleeding head. “Miss . . . Wyndham . . . p-please don’t . . . I . . . just want to . . . help.”

My fingers found what I needed. As I pulled it out into his half-dazed view, a whimper even escaped his lips. “Please,” he whispered.

My grip tightened around the glass syringe—the syringe filled with a sedative meant for torturing me, torturing countless others, torturing Rose. I couldn’t let him get up again. He was far too dangerous. My sister’s face slid into my mind as easily as the needle slid into his arm. My thumb pushed the plunger, injecting the full contents into his bloodstream, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first time he’d ever feared his uncertain future.





PIECE BY PIECE, the burning house fell apart around us.

Robert exhausted his last reserves of strength to remain upright until I was close enough for him to collapse on. My shoulder took most of his weight as I guided him around a blazing table and stepped over shards of glass soaking in strange, discolored liquids ready to ignite.

Panic erupted inside me as my thoughts moved too quickly. I had to get him out. And Miss Grey. And Rose. It was too much. Smoke had already started to collect in the laboratory, leaving me choking and gasping for fresh air as the chemically fueled fire spread. Flames cracked overhead, and a wooden beam dislodged from the ceiling, swinging inches in front of my face. A mere pause and glance at Miss Grey’s unconscious body saved me.

I silently begged her: Please be safe. Just one minute and I’ll be back.

Robert and I dodged, staggered, and prayed along the edge of the room, passing everything of Dr. Beck’s going up in flames—his equipment, cabinets, samples, chemicals, and hundreds of pages of notes.

When we finally turned into the main hallway, a voice reached us from outside. “Evelyn!”

The hazy shape of Sebastian emerged out of the smoke by the front door, his face bloodied and begrimed. He fought his way to us and lightened my load, supporting Robert from the other side. “Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded fervently and hurried my pace. “Yes, but Rose is still upstairs and Miss Grey is in the laboratory and I don’t know how much time—”

“Take him somewhere safe. I’ll get Miss Rosamund and come back to help with Miss Grey.” He bounded down the hallway.

“Sebastian! Wait!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The roar of flames swallowed my words.

Chunks of falling bricks and crumbling plaster rained down upon us. I had to get Robert out now. I half-dragged him down the hallway, one heavy step after another. Acrid gases and smoke stung my eyes, rendering my vision a blurred mess of orange globules. My legs felt like lead, and Robert slipped down my shoulder, inch by inch. I reached to pull him closer, and a flame flared out, searing my hand. I nearly dropped him.

Ignore it. Keep going. It’ll heal.

Digging into his coat with my nails, I wrenched his body back up with aching fingers and forgot the pain. Through the entrance hall, out the front door, down the steps toward indistinct green masses. The crisp, cool air, fleeting heavenly relief. Robert collapsed down onto the grass, his body streaking my dress with bloodstains.

“Will you be all right?” I asked.

He mumbled something incomprehensible, and I hoped our contact had healed him enough for the time being. I sucked in a huge breath of air and rushed back inside, dodging floating flecks of fire and draperies burning to ash. Back down the hallway and into the laboratory, where the ceiling continued to collapse above me. Narrowly missing showers of debris, I threaded around tables, flew past the furnace, and skidded to a stop by the sink—where Miss Grey should have been lying.

A massive pile of fallen rocks and wood sat in her place, burying her underneath.

No, no, no. On my hands and knees, I dug furiously through the rubble. Burning wood and scorched stones piled on endlessly, the heat scalding my hands. Then I jumped at the sight of a boot—not under the debris, but to the side of it.

“I’m like a moth to the flame, Miss Wyndham!” a voice yelled.

I clambered to my feet and gazed through the stifling smog into the straining eyes of Mr. Kent—with Miss Grey hanging over his good shoulder, broken arm cradled against his chest. “It’s time we go,” he said.