Author: Megan Shepherd

Biologists discovered new species all the time, but these seemed unnatural somehow. My thoughts were so consumed that I hardly noticed that the water had turned a dark tint like rust. The little creatures congregated on the other stream bank, leaping and chattering.

“What are you so excited about?” I muttered, wading over to them. The creatures scattered, revealing a mauled chunk of flesh and fur—one of the rabbits I’d set free. I jolted in surprise. It was ripped apart but uneaten. Blood still trickled into the stream.

A recent kill.

Something much bigger than the rat things had killed it. Maybe something with three claws, big enough to kill the islanders. I scurried to the opposite bank, tunneling into a thicket of bamboo to hide. The ratlike creatures vanished. The jungle filled with the trickling sound of water and the ever-present calls of birds. Slowly, I made out two voices.

Arguing.

The voices had a strange, rough lilt, like Balthasar’s. Thou shalt not crawl in the dirt, I remembered him saying. Thou shalt not kill other men. The voices of islanders, which meant they were likely loyal to my father and could take me to the compound. But something held me back. There was no proof the murderer was a wild animal. It wouldn’t be hard for a man to disguise knife wounds to look like claw marks.

I crept closer, silently.

“He says. Caesar,” one of them said.

“Shall not eat flesh. Shall not eat flesh. Nonsense,” another answered.

My chest pressed to the rotting leaves. Between the twisted roots, I made out two figures with their backs to me. Islanders for sure. They shuffled as they argued, making quick, awkward movements. The underbrush hid their bottom halves, so I couldn’t see if they were barefoot or count the number of toes.

Through the screen of leaves I could tell one of the men was about Balthasar’s size, perhaps even larger, with matted black hair and a canvas jacket like Montgomery’s. The other was smaller, with a dingy white shirt. His straw-colored hair was gathered messily at the nape of his neck. These men were even more malformed than the servants at the compound. I reached into my pocket for the shears, just in case.

“Shalt not eat flesh,” the large one grunted, motioning to something in the other’s hand. The rabbit’s head. A drop of sweat rolled down my face. Montgomery had said they didn’t eat meat, but ripping a rabbit in half didn’t sound like the actions of a vegetarian. “Shalt not kill,” he added.

These men were not my allies, that was clear. But it was too risky to creep back to the stream. All it took was one snap of a branch to give me away.

The blond one growled and waved the rabbit head around. “Nonsense! Nonsense!” He walked more gracefully than the other. His nimble, quick movements reminded me of the panther on the Curitiba, pacing, pacing, tensed to spring at any moment. The bigger man lumbered as if he wasn’t used to his own feet. They continued arguing.

As terrified as I was, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. One of Darwin’s books talked about a link between animals and humans, even suggested we came from some primordial animallike form. These men could be holdovers, evidence of Darwin’s theories. Yet I couldn’t forget the same odd twist of limb on Father’s operating table. So were they creatures from Darwin’s theories—or my father’s laboratory? The idea hit me with a stab of pain between the eyes. If my crazy idea was right, if Father was creating creatures out of the caged animals . . . No. Such things weren’t possible.

I felt a sharp prick on my leg and held in a gasp. An ant must have gotten under my skirt. Well, I’d just have to let it bite me. But then something larger moved—a lump the size of my fist, crawling up my leg, making the fabric roll like a wave. Something smooth, like a fleshy hand, brushed against the bare skin of my thigh.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I shook the skirt frantically until one of the little rat beasts fell out. It scurried away and disappeared under a rotting log. My hands were still shaking. Then I remembered the men and hugged the ground again. Ahead, the smaller man had turned and keenly watched my thicket.

My stomach leapt to my throat. I didn’t know if he’d seen me. In any case, I could clearly see their faces now, and they were horrible to look at. The dark-haired man had Balthasar’s same bearlike protruding jaw, though more slovenly, with a tooth the size of my thumb sticking out of his bottom lip.

The blond man’s face was equally strange, yet I couldn’t look away. His skin was covered in fine yellow hair with faint brown markings. His piercing eyes were set deep below a heavy brow. His nose was wide but flat, giving him a powerful, leonine look. Pointed incisors gleamed as he wrinkled his nose to sniff the air.

My breath caught. So this was what Montgomery had been so afraid of. The guns, the worried glances into the jungle. He and Father were frightened of these creatures.

The blond man looked directly toward my hiding spot. His companion snorted and began to speak, but the small one silenced him with a paw on his arm. He stared at me like a hunter, nose flaring, eyes narrowed. And then he grabbed the black-haired man’s jacket and pulled him sharply away into the trees. In a second, all trace of them had vanished.

It was some time before I could think clearly again. Dusk had fallen and the forest was shrouded with haze. The men might have looped back and be stalking me even now. If they were there, watching, waiting, there wasn’t anything I could do about it but keep moving. Shakily, I made my way to the stream. Finding a safe place to spend the night seemed impossible.

As I followed the stream deeper into the island, I heard the sound of falling water. A clearing opened ahead. Moonlight reflected on a waterfall tumbling into a deep pool. After I’d spent so long in the dark tunnel of the trees, the moonlight shone with a silver tint that made everything dreamlike. There was something odd about the waterfall, something extra luminous, as though it glowed from within. A rocky bank hugged the falls, and I carefully climbed it, feet slipping on the slick rocks. The roar of the water was deafening. I made it to an outcropping, balancing unsteadily on the pitched rock.

There was a gap behind the falls, just wide enough for a person to slip through. I peered inside. The red glow of flames met me.

“Is that . . . fire?” I muttered. But two hands thrust from behind the waterfall, grabbed my shoulders, and pulled me through the screen of water.

Twenty-one

SPUTTERING, I FOUGHT MY attacker, but the rush of water blinded me. Then the water was gone, and I was in a shallow cave lit by a small fire.

“Edward!” I said. A gash ran up the side of his shirt and blood stained the knees of his trousers, but, even weary and spent, I threw my arms around him, not thinking, just needing to feel that he was real.

“I was afraid it had gotten you,” I said.

“I’m faster than that.”

My fingers curled around his dirty shirt, pulling at the fabric. I wished I could express how relieved I was to feel his arms around me.

His fingers found my waist, inching me closer, and for a moment I didn’t think about impropriety. The rules of society couldn’t reach us here beyond the falls. I pulled back to ask if he was all right, but the breathless desire written on his face stole my words. Before I could put together a coherent thought, he kissed me.

His lips were cold like in my dream. I was stunned, barely able to think as his hands pulled tighter on my waist. And then as quick as he’d kissed me, I pushed away and stumbled to the other side of the cave.

I’d felt a shiver from the touch of his lips that I hadn’t expected. A surprisingly welcome one.

“Juliet—” he said, half filled with apology, half with lingering desire. “I’m sorry. I thought—”

“Don’t say anything else,” I said. The rushing water was deafening. “Just forget it happened.”

He paced, somewhat frantically, as though he wanted to come closer but knew he shouldn’t. “I don’t want to forget.”

“Edward, please . . .” I slumped against the cold stone, eyes closed. Water had seeped into the inner layers of my clothes, giving me a rash of gooseflesh.

He stopped pacing. “It’s Montgomery, isn’t it? You like him.” The fire sent sparks dancing in his gold-flecked eyes as he waited for me to deny it, but I didn’t. I didn’t know how I felt about any of this. I needed time to think, to analyze. . . .

“You said he used to be your servant,” Edward interrupted my thoughts. “That there was nothing between you.”

“There isn’t. Not yet. God, I don’t know.”

Edward raised his voice above the roaring water. “He was in the laboratory, wasn’t he? Helping create those aberrations. He’s as bad as your father, Juliet! How can you love him?”

“I never said I loved him!”

My pulse quickened with all the boiling arguments forming in my head, but then I paused. Something Edward said didn’t settle right. “How do you know what they were doing in the laboratory? You said you didn’t see.”

A wave of guilt washed over his face and I knew, in that look, he’d been lying. Embers from the fire littered the ground, disturbed by my struggling. He knelt to rebuild it, avoiding my gaze.

I watched him sweep the embers together, jerking his hands back to keep from being burned. “How long have you known?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

He stood slowly, brushing his hands against his trousers. Firelight danced in his eyes. For a moment, we just looked at each other. He was gauging my reaction. Trying to decide how much to tell me.

“Since the Curitiba,” he said. “Since the first time Montgomery said the name Moreau.” He flexed his scarred knuckles nervously, starting to pace again. “My uncle was acquainted with one of the detectives at Scotland Yard who worked on that case. The King’s College Butchery, they called it. They kept it quiet, but they suspected your father was trying to stitch together animals to create something human—more or less. It used to give me nightmares as a boy. And when I saw Balthasar and the other islanders, I knew.” His eyes flashed. He was not just the naive young man everyone had first taken him for—but I’d known there was more to him. “Scotland Yard’s theory was right.”

“Balthasar’s my friend,” I shot. “He’s no creation of surgery.”

“Your friend? He’s a monster!”

I brushed the spray and tears and sweat off my face. Edward didn’t know Balthasar like I did. Balthasar might be malformed, but he wasn’t a monster.

“He’s not,” I said. “Cymbeline—he’s just a little boy. That scaly man . . .”

“Puck,” Edward said.

“Puck.” I kicked at a glowing coal. Like the name of the sprite in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. A fitting name, since his existence was as unbelievable as any fairy tale. “They’re not all monsters.”

“You’re making excuses for your father,” Edward said, his voice rising. We were shouting, but no longer because of the waterfall. “Trying to justify his work.”

“You knew the truth and didn’t tell me!” I hugged my arms around my chest, turning toward the falls, letting the rush of water drown my thoughts. Edward was wrong—I wasn’t defending my father. I was defending the part of me that knew what my father did was evil but was terribly proud that he’d accomplished it. My father’s blood flowed in my veins, too. Didn’t he understand that?

It stung. A stranger knew the truth I’d searched for my whole life. “You should have told me.”

“Why do you think I came here?” he yelled. “I could have stayed on the Curitiba. Did you think I was so afraid of that idiot captain? I came because you didn’t know what you were getting into! You were walking into a danger with your eyes closed, not wanting to see the evidence so clearly in front of you.”