These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(84)

Nothing.

I checked with my other hand to make sure I was not mad. I ran them both over her chest. No heartbeat. The same lingering nothing. I grasped her hand and squeezed hard. “Rose,” I whispered in her ear. No response. Her hand fell limply by her side.

“Sebastian, she—she—” I could not get the words out.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“She cannot heal!” I cried. “She does not have th-that ability! Dr. Beck said it was a mistake.” I looked to him for a counter, a retort to prove me wrong, to solve everything.

But he only stared down at Rose, examined his gloved hands and stood up, a sickening look of horror and realization paling his face. His deep green eyes sank into mine.

“I—I only held her for a—it was—I thought I felt—” He moved to grab my shoulders, but I flinched at the suddenness. He put his hands down and stumbled back. “Please heal her.” His voice faltered as he turned. Twigs cracked. Grass crushed beneath his boot.

And he ran.

He ran until he was out of sight.

I kept my hands on Rose, pushing against her skin, trying to revive her, heal her wounds, bring her back, do one goddamn single useful thing in my pathetic existence.

“Rose, I can heal you. It’ll be fine.” I held her hands in my own, shutting my eyes, waiting for a sudden revival, a rapid pulse, a steady heartbeat. She couldn’t die here. No one ever died. The patient always recovered. That was how it worked every single time.

Police whistles rang from the streets, onlookers yelled, and carriages bustled, rushing to the building to help or crowd or simply gawk at something much greater than them. I hauled my sister into my arms and peered at Dr. Beck’s laboratory, overcome with rage. It was him. He did this, not Sebastian. He deserved to burn forever. My sister was supposed to be alive, smiling and relieved to go home. We were supposed to laugh about our adventure, go on walks, heal the sick, and figure out our lives. She wasn’t supposed to be lying here, withered in my arms.

I pressed my cheek to Rose’s, my hands down over her heart, refusing to let go. For God’s sake, why won’t it start beating?

But wait. My healing always took a few minutes to take effect. This was perfectly natural. Sebastian was far enough away now. This was how it worked with Miss Lodge. Patience and faith: That’s all I needed. The minutes rolled by slowly, achingly, as I endeavored to pour my own life into Rose. Whatever would keep her alive, I had to give to her. All of it. I shut my eyes tight and prepared to be pleasantly surprised when I opened them. Rose would be alive and well and smiling that reassuring grin.

Nothing happened. Everything was still except for the faint rustling of her golden hair and the stray ashes settling on her face. She refused to stir. It was no longer Rose, just an abandoned body.

“Come back,” I whimpered, shaking her slightly, then harder and harder, a strange hollow pain settling through my body. “Please. You can’t leave. Rose. Rose. Rose, please, I need you to come back.”

But all that came was the storm. Torrents mercilessly poured down, extinguishing the fire, depositing rivulets of chemicals into the dirt, and washing everything else into the gutter. The rain made no exceptions, sweeping away every lingering remnant of hope, and I was left alone.





THEY TOOK ROSE away.

The police always took her away in my dreams. No matter how much I pleaded with them, they wouldn’t listen. Even after I’d explain I only needed ten minutes more, that serious illnesses and injuries always required more time, they’d pry my fingers, my arms, my entire body off, load her in the police carriage, and take her to a cold, white room somewhere to be declared dead.

But this time, this dream, as they were carrying her away, something finally stopped them.

She woke up.

Like an angel, she rose from the stretcher and seemed to float past everyone, their faces frozen in awe. The storm left her untouched, and sunlight spilled through the clouds as if the heavens were parting solely for her. She stopped in front of my mud-covered person and her warm voice drifted through the rain shower.

“Oh, Ev, don’t look so surprised,” she said with a smile. “Isn’t this what you were waiting for?”

In a daze, I climbed to my feet on the unsteady ground. It was true. I’d been waiting for this for weeks, and now that she stood before me, there was so much to say that barely anything made it out.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, refusing my apology. “You musn’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

She raised her eyebrows and gave me that look reserved for my most ridiculous comments. “Trying to bring me back as you sleep. The constant dreaming.”

The rain only fell harder. She stood mere inches away from me. I dared not hug her or touch her or even move for that matter, afraid of making her vanish. I struggled to keep my words coherent, my voice steady. “Then . . . what should I be doing?”

Her eyes practically glowed, excited by the possibilities. It was as if we were back in our library. “If I were you, I’d be running around London healing everyone, whether they liked it or not.”

“Oh, so now I have to take on your responsibility of healing all of England, then?”

“To start, yes,” she said with a giggle.

“They’d all just eventually fall sick from something else.”