“You shouldn’t have,” I said dryly.
He ignored me and opened the box, removing a carefully crafted arm. Wood patiently smoothed out and glazed so that it was soft to the touch. I ran my fingers over it, admiring the mix of red and dark oak that no doubt hours had gone into. Even nails were carefully drawn into the tips of fingers. This would have taken him endless hours of labor.
Lifting my eyes to his, I saw one of my oldest friends. A man I’d hunted down after hearing stories of his brilliant mind that was being wasted beneath the weight of grief. There was never a doubt in my mind that Emille would have continued to shine in the medical world if it weren’t for the death of his wife and child.
“Thank you,” I said, voice dry.
Emotion I never asked for clogged the words I should have said to him. He deserved more than just a simple thank you.
Emille’s bright smile crinkled at the sides of his eyes, and it was easy to understand the way he easily soothed his patients. I doubted there was a better doctor in the world.
“It was my pleasure, now if you will allow me.”
I held out my broken arm, and he carefully slid the piece onto the scarred remainder of my arm. A divot at the center allowed it to follow up to my elbow. With adept fingers, Emille hitched a small hook to a metal ring at the end and then another on the back before placing a thin black rope over my opposite shoulder.
It was a clever design and made it so that the weight of the piece didn’t dig into my shoulder. I took in a breath and moved it all around, noting how it stayed in place and the patting was protected from friction against my healed skin.
“Emille, you’ve outdone even yourself. Any chance you can make the fingers functional enough to hold a pistol?” I tried to chuckle, but it came out hoarse.
“Not a pistol, but-” Emille reached for the wooden hand and twisted once, then twice.
He pulled at the hand, and it came away smoothly, leaving a small, round cutout of wood at the end. Reaching into his bag, he withdrew a wooden base attached to a glinting silver hook. I smiled up at him, recognizing his genius. He slid it on and locked it into place.
I reached out and hooked it into my jacket, which caught easily, but more importantly, the piece on my arm held steady. It was significantly more functional.
“Very clever,” I said.
Emille dipped his head. “I’m happy you’re back.”
A normal person would have said they were happy to be back, but it was more complicated than that. I imagined this was how a fish out of water felt. Its entire life’s purpose stripped within moments.
Emille nodded and began to turn, but paused halfway. “She did a lot of things that will haunt her to get you back. You know, a wise man once told me that we could carry the dead without burying ourselves, but I’ve always wondered if he believed it.”
The words cut just as he intended to, as sharp as any scalpel.
“They were words you needed to hear,” I said.
“Aye, I did, and now I’m saying them to you.”
The door shut behind him, and I considered walking back to London and locking myself up. Oscar was free, the boy was free, and Rose was safe with her family. It was all neatly tied into a bow except for those damning words.I made a deal with Edmonds. Meet me tomorrow night- Val knows where to bring you.
Intentionally vague, so I wouldn’t be able to decipher her intention. Her mind was intoxicating, but also incredibly frustrating. However, if I saw her, it would be difficult to give her up once more. Distance was the only cure for obsession.
I eyed the silver hook at the end of my arm. She would never truly be safe until James Allan was no longer a threat. A large ball of fur leapt onto the desk and narrowed its green eyes at me. For a moment, I was reminded of Edmond’s icy blue eyes and how unworldly they were.
“Sorry to disappoint you that I came back,” I said.
The creature let loose a low growl and sat, swooping its bushy tail around it. Blackbeard looked to the hook and then up to me, judgment crawling over his face.
“You could go live with her, you know, she’d make you a proper fat cat living in a manor with your own servants,” I said.
It was a first, negotiating with grumpy felines, but when he turned his back on me and flicked his tail in my face, I knew he was not interested in bargaining.
“Excellent,” I said.
An angry cat, a foreign crew, a fake arm, and a scheming aristocrat, whom I just happened to be obsessed with.
What could go wrong?
