The Heartless City Page 8

  “The idea is ancient,” Cam went on as they walked down the hall together. “Did you know that outside London, there are these women called ‘Bachelor Girls’ who leave their parents without getting married? They live on their own and support themselves. The sailors told me about it.”

  “But wait,” Elliot said, confused. “Why would he lower the age again?”

  Cam didn’t slow his pace, but something cold ran through his veins, like an aftershock of the fear he felt before. “You’ve heard his speeches. He’s obsessed with getting the whole world married off and reproducing.”

  It was true; the Lord Mayor often spoke about the importance of replenishing London’s dwindling population. Elliot had never understood the logic behind it, as there didn’t seem to be enough resources as it was. But then, he hadn’t known about the royal food reserve.

  “Cam, did you know the rumors about the zoo being filled with dangerous, mutated animals aren’t true?

  Cam stopped and furrowed his brow. As Elliot had guessed, he hadn’t known about it, either. He went on to explain everything he’d learned last night, and when Cam asked how he’d found it out, he told him about Iris―how she’d saved him in the cemetery and taken him to the zoo, but not the way he felt about her or the dreams she’d shared with him. His memory of the night felt closed and sacred to him now, like a folded piece of paper that belonged to them alone.

  “Bloody hell,” Cam murmured, sitting down on the nearby stairs. “She jumped on a Hyde, slit its throat, and shot it with your gun?”

  “And hit it over the head with a chunk of marble,” Elliot added, lowering onto the velvet step beside him.

  Cam shook his head, his eyes still wide. “If we ever go back to La Maison Des Fleurs, remind me not to provoke her.”

  Elliot laughed and a pocket of warmth broke open in his chest, calming his mind and alleviating his over-burdened heart. That was the power of laughter, he realized, and also the power of Cam. He possessed the rare capacity to create joy out of nothing, a quality as precious as it was miraculous.

  And one of the many reasons Elliot couldn’t bear to lose him, which he knew he would if he ever found out he’d been spying on his feelings.

  “But seriously,” Cam said. “When are you going to see her again?”

  Elliot’s cheeks burned beneath his penetrating gaze. As he should have known, not mentioning his feelings didn’t mean they hadn’t shown up on his face. During his walk to the palace, he’d thought of nothing but seeing Iris again, but now that he was back, things seemed much more complicated.

  “I don’t know if she’d want to see me,” he answered honestly. “There were times when I thought she might, but she…” She hates everything and everyone that has to do with the palace, and I’m a pathetic coward with no future and nothing to offer. “I wouldn’t know what to say,” he said, staring down at his shoes.

  “Why don’t you give her a gift?”

  Elliot lifted his head. “A gift?”

  “Yes. I’ve been told that ladies can often see gifts as a sign of romantic intent.”

  He smiled wryly, and Elliot couldn’t help but smile back. “What do you think I should give her?”

  “Well, what is she interested in?”

  Exotic birds. Seeing the world. Making new discoveries.

  “I think I have an idea,” he said as one occurred to him. “Maybe I’ll go to La Maison Des Fleurs sometime this afternoon.”

  “That’s my boy,” Cam replied, slapping him on the shoulder and sending a rush of affection through him. Then he pushed himself back onto his feet. “I’m going to get some rest. I was too excited about those records to sleep a wink last night.”

  Elliot rose as well. “Have a good rest. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Cam began his ascent but turned around near the top of the stairs. “Do you remember what she said her last name was?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Elliot answered. “Faye.”

  Cam nodded, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Elle est un peu comme une fée, n’est-ce pas? D’un autre monde.”

  Elliot’s jaw nearly dropped. “Faye” sounded exactly like the French word for fairy―fée―and Cam had said, “She’s a bit like a fairy, no? Of another world.” But his insight wasn’t the only part of the statement that had stunned him. They’d both been tutored in French as children, as well as Latin and Greek, but as interested as he was in the world, Cam had never possessed the patience to learn another language. While Elliot was paying close attention and dreaming of Paris, Cam was drawing caricatures of their tutor’s mouse-like ears.

  “I never thought you listened,” Elliot said. “You hated French.”

  Cam smiled, turned around, and headed up the stairs. “Je peux être très surprenant.”

  I can be very surprising.

  Elliot grinned and turned to head in the opposite direction. He wasn’t tired, but his stomach was growling and sour from last night’s gin, and his fingernails were caked with dirt and grime from the cemetery. Before he could eat and bathe, however, he needed to find his father. It was Friday, which meant he would be in his lab instead of at St. Thomas’s, and though he wasn’t sure how, Elliot had to explain where he’d been.

  One thing every school of medicine needed was fresh cadavers―bodies for students to study, dissect, and practice surgery on. Though London was certainly filled with corpses, they weren’t necessarily available for use. When graveyards became overcrowded shortly after the Hyde outbreak, citizens took to burning their dead as quickly as possible. It had been the fate of Elliot’s mother, whose body was now as absent from the earth as her spirit. But as bleak and harsh as their lives had become, Londoners still recoiled at the idea of medical students slicing open their loved one’s remains, so the only way to get whole, fresh cadavers was to steal them.

  Once it became apparent that his son’s condition would not allow a career in medicine, Elliot’s father decided to make him St. Thomas’s body snatcher. In the early morning hours, after most of the Hydes were gone and the rest of the city had yet to emerge, he went out with Milo―the stable hand who had been Will’s older brother―and the two of them searched for bodies to transport to St. Thomas’s. Most of the time they found Hyde victims, less useful because of their missing hearts, but sometimes they got “lucky” and found a person who’d starved, frozen to death, or been killed by human hands.

  Elliot detested the work, not only because of its gruesomeness but also because of the fact that it deprived people of their loved ones, but corpses didn’t feel, and he could usually handle Milo’s grief, and as wrong as it was, he was glad there was at least one thing he could do that didn’t disappoint his father.

  Except for today, of course, when he was certain he’d done just that.

  At the top of the southern stairs that led to his father’s basement lab, Elliot paused, as he often did, by his mother’s old studio. He brushed the knob with his fingertips and ran his thumb over the keyhole. The key was in a ceramic bowl on a shelf in his father’s room, which―unlike the lab since Elliot’s intrusion―he never locked. Elliot thought of his mother’s things collecting dust inside, and he longed to open the door, pick up a brush, and unravel a canvas. He knew exactly what he would paint: the vision he’d had of Iris as he fell asleep last night, her regal frame in a golden grove, watching wild geese fly overhead.

  But then he shook his head and jerked his hand away from the door, swallowing the yearning that had risen in his throat. The few times he’d painted since his mother’s death had torn him in two, filling him with joy he knew she’d never feel again and making him feel alive while emphasizing she wasn’t.

  The longing burned too fiercely, and the sorrow cut too deep, so he blocked them out by continuing down the stairs, as he always did.

  A damp chill pervaded the air in the basement and Elliot shivered, but when he approached the door to the laboratory, he started to sweat. He didn’t want to feel his father’s anger and di
sappointment, but he knew he’d have to face him eventually, so he opened the door. As soon as he stepped inside, however, he froze with his hand on the doorknob.

  He’d expected to find his father reading a journal or scribbling notes, feeling a bit of anxiety or some distant aggravation. Instead, he was pacing along the wall and staring up through the windows, his whole being drenched in glacial, stomach-churning fear. Elliot wondered what on earth his father could be so afraid of, but then he turned and saw him there and the fear evaporated, replaced by a flood of warm, elated relief.

  It had been… for him?

  “Elliot,” he snapped, marching over to the doorway. “When Milo said you never showed up this morning, I thought…” He looked away and cleared his throat, rubbing his sandy, grey beard. “I thought I could count on you,” he said, “to do this one simple task.”

  His discomfort swelled and Elliot stared, still stunned that he had been more afraid than angry about his absence. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to frighten―”

  “You didn’t.” He turned his back, strode over to his desk, and sat down behind it. “I was merely concerned that the students wouldn’t have a cadaver today. And they won’t, thanks to you and your thoughtless actions. What do you have to say?”

  Elliot stared at the floor, but not out of shame for what he’d done. His father was the only one in the world who knew his secret, but instead of bringing them closer, it had pushed them further apart. Knowing his father’s feelings hadn’t helped Elliot understand him. If anything, it had made him even more of a mystery. He’d always assumed he was just as cold inside as he was out, but now he knew he was filled with warmth, longing, and even love. But he didn’t want to be, and what’s more, didn’t want anyone to know, and as a result, he avoided Elliot more than ever before. It used to hurt to think his father didn’t care about him, but knowing he did but didn’t want to was somehow even worse.

  “I’m sorry,” Elliot said. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “Good.” He picked up a pen and dipped it in ink. “Now go and take a bath. Your clothes are mess, and you smell like gin. It’s absolutely repulsive.”

  But he wasn’t repulsed. Even from where he stood, Elliot felt his affection, so why was he pretending that he couldn’t stand to be near him, especially when he knew he’d be able to see through the blatant lie? Then he remembered that was the reason―he didn’t want him to know. So he turned and walked out the door, leaving his father alone with his feelings.

  Elliot did bathe, and after he was clean and in new clothes, he grabbed a bacon sandwich from the kitchen and started off. While talking to Cam, he’d thought of the perfect gift to give to Iris, but in order to get it, he had to walk two miles to Mansion House.

  The redundant name belonged to the former residence of the Lord Mayor. Back when Buckingham Palace housed the actual royal family, the mayor lived in a building in the old financial district, and during the year before the quarantine, Elliot lived there, too. The three-story mansion contained a façade with six Corinthian columns, a vast collection of famous art, and even a dungeon-like basement complete with eleven holding cells, as the residence had once served as an official court of law. It also possessed a small but quite prolific library, and Elliot hoped the gift he had in mind could still be found there.

  Even though he lived at the palace, Cam’s father still conducted some business at Mansion House, which was why a handful of guards were always patrolling the grounds around it. Since most of them knew who Elliot was, he got past them easily, saying his father had sent him there on business for the Lord Mayor. Once inside, he climbed the winding stairs to the second floor, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the library unlocked.

  The wide, oaken room looked just as it did thirteen years ago, so much so Elliot wondered if it had even been touched since then, though the absence of dust suggested the staff still cleaned it regularly. He closed the door and made his way across the polished floor, his pulse leaping every time a board creaked beneath his feet. It wasn’t as though he’d ever been forbidden to visit Mansion House, and he wasn’t certain anyone else was even in the building, but he was about to take―and not return―a piece of property, and he wasn’t sure just how he would explain his thievery.

  But his worries subsided as soon as he reached the farthest northern wall. When he and Cam found out they would be moving to Buckingham Palace, Cam decided the two of them should leave their mark on the house. They’d carved their initials into the outer rim of the lowest shelf, and there, above an etched E. M. and C. B., was the book he had come for.

  He’d remembered it because of the vivid gold of its lettering, which stood out even more brilliantly against its ebony spine. His heart pounding, he pulled it out and slid his hand over the cover, smiling as he read the words: An Anthology of Birds. When he flipped it open he saw the vibrant pages he remembered―hundreds of descriptions of both common and exotic birds, accompanied by brilliant, detailed, color illustrations. Even though the book was thick, it was also short and compact, so he snapped it shut and tucked it away in the pocket of his coat.

  She was going to love it.

  His feet felt lighter as he hurried out into the hall, but then he heard the sound of someone ascending the eastern stairs. He turned around and sprinted in the opposite direction, making it to the western steps just before the person emerged. Sweating, he stumbled down the flight and into a corridor, heading toward a door that led to the gardens in the back. He reached it, but the moment he gripped the knob a hunger rose in his throat, searing his veins and closing his lungs.

  The hunger of a Hyde.

  He spun around and reached for his gun, but no one else was there; both the hallway and the rooms beyond it were utterly silent. His lungs began to expand, but the hunger didn’t abate, so he pressed his ear to the door and listened for movement in the garden. Hydes possessed no stealth or cunning―they hunted like wild dogs―but he heard no pounding feet, snapping branches, or shouting guards. Could he possibly be imagining the fire in his chest?

  But now that he thought about it, the feeling wasn’t quite the same. Last night, he’d felt as if the flames would rip right through his skin, but even though the heat seemed just as close, the sensation felt muffled. After a moment, he lowered himself down onto the marble floor. Was it coming from beneath him?

  “Elliot, what are you doing?”

  He shot back up, panic flooding his veins and drowning the hunger. Harlan Branch, the Lord Mayor of London, was slowly strolling toward him.

  “I―I thought I dropped something, sir,” he choked. “But I was wrong.”

  Branch stepped closer, and Elliot’s stomach crawled up into his throat. He’d always been afraid of Cam’s father, even though he’d never seen him touch anyone other than Cam. They shared the same piercing, ice blue eyes, but only on Branch’s face did the color seem hard and cold. He scratched the side of his silvery jet-black beard as he approached, and Elliot knit his brow, because he wasn’t feeling angry. A cool breeze of pleasant satisfaction was flowing from him, as if he were not only confident and content but… entertained.

  “I meant, what are you doing here,” he said. “At Mansion House. The guards informed me you’d come here on some business of the palace.”

  Elliot swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I lied to them,” he admitted, knowing Branch would see the truth on his face if he tried to hide it. “I wanted to go to the library. To find a book.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “A book? You couldn’t find one at the palace?”

  “Not this particular book,” he said, pulling it from his coat. “I remembered it from when we used to lived here, and I just… I really wanted to read it again.”

  Branch took the book from his hands and read the title with disdain.

  “An Anthology of Birds.” He raised his head. “You wanted to read this?”

  “Sure,” he answered, wishing he could melt into the marble. “Birds are…
fascinating.”

  Branch studied his face, and though he didn’t seem to believe a word, he tossed the book into his hands. “Dinner’s at eight o’clock.”

  The statement was a dismissal, and Elliot took advantage of it, murmuring “Thank you, sir,” and hurrying out the garden door.

  he noonday sun was unusually bright outside La Maison Des Fleurs, which made the smoky darkness inside more jarring when Elliot entered. He was grateful to find the hall less packed with people than the night before, but his heart still thumped against his ribs, as he hadn’t been wholly sober near a crowd since before his affliction. After leaving Mansion House, he’d considered buying a bottle of gin, but he didn’t want to be slow and slovenly in front of Iris. Besides, he wanted to feel her spirit. The pain of the others was worth it.

  A flash of petal-pink and tension flew by him, but it wasn’t her. He squinted through the smoke and caught sight of the manager named Eddie, who was doling out coins to a cluster of dancers down by the edge of the stage. Elliot waited until the girls had dispersed and then approached him.

  “Hello,” he began, clearing his throat as the man’s anxiety stung his chest. “My name is Elliot Morrissey. I was here last night with―”

  “Yes, I know. What can I do for you, sir?”

  “I was wondering if Iris was here and if I could speak to her.”

  His anxiety grew. “Why? Was she discourteous to you or to the Lord Mayor’s―”

  “No, not at all! I just wanted to speak with her. It will only take a moment.”

  Mildly suspicious, Eddie rubbed his whiskered chin. “She’s probably still in the kitchen. She just got here a minute ago.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Elliot turned and walked away even though he wasn’t entirely sure where the kitchen was. Soon, however, he spotted a young boy carrying mugs and plates and followed him through a narrow doorway just beside the bar. They traveled down a short corridor and arrived at a second door. The boy went in, but Elliot paused and peeked his head inside.