“It would appear… and I do not say this lightly, lest it besmirch my reputation… it would appear that your niece took the man’s vitæ from him. Drained him of it. He is in an advanced stage of decay. My friend in the coroner’s office assumed he had been dead for weeks rather than hours.”
“How is that possible? I am no floromancer, and yet I know that floromancers can only take vitæ from plants.”
“That is precisely the question. But here we are. If I were to speculate, I would think that somehow, Elswyth is using the man’s vitæ to heal herself. How, I cannot say. But I assure you, the healing I’ve seen in the last few days is nothing short of miraculous. No… we are in uncharted territory here, Percy.”
“Thank you, Dr. Gall. And thank you for your… discretion. It would be best if no one learned about this for the time being.”
“I suppose I understand your desire for privacy, but I feel I could do better work if I had her in my hospital.”
“I think, in light of recent events, she will be safest here where Kehinde and I can guard her.”
“If you do not mind my asking, have you found who sent this man, or why?” Dr. Gall asked. “Why would anyone want to hurt Elswyth?”
“We do not know. But then again, we do not know why someone would hurt Persephone, either. But for now, we must simply be grateful that she will live.”
“Of course, of course. And if you reconsider my offer, do let me know. There is always room for her at Bedlam.”
“We appreciate your help, Oleander. Truly. We will call for you the moment she wakes.”
Their conversation faded. Darkness came over her again, a stone pulling her deeper beneath the waves. When she reached the bottom, the dreams were waiting for her again.
When she woke the second time, it was to Kehinde’s voice.
“We cannot make that decision for her,” he said. He sounded almost angry, so different from his usual calm, careful way of speaking.
“Like hell I can’t!” Percival said. “She is here as a guest in my house. And I would send her back to her father this instant if she were able.”
“So you would stop her from seeking her sister? Stop her from seeking any kind of justice?”
Percival made a brittle, broken sound. “Persephone is dead. I’ve humored Elswyth’s search for long enough. If there is even a chance that this pursuit could cost us Elswyth as well as Persephone, how could I forgive myself?”
“And if it were me? If I were the one who was taken, and someone told you that you could not avenge me. What wouldyoudo, Percy?”
“Don’t say that,” Percival said. Then his voice broke. He began to sob. “She nearly died, Kehinde, right under my roof. Just like her sister. I am a failure, a fool…”
Kehinde tutted. Elswyth cracked her eyes open and saw him move over to Percival, then gently kiss his head. Percival continued to weep, sitting in a chair by Elswyth’s bedside. He wrapped his arms around Kehinde’s legs and buried his face in the fabric of his coat.
“You are not a failure,” Kehinde said. He crouched, takingPercival’s face in his hands. “You are not a fool. You are the one my heart chooses. Let us postpone this talk for now. When Elswyth wakes, we will decide when she will leave London.”
Leave London?Elswyth thought. The words were hazy in her mind, opaque and distant. She closed her eyes again, and the darkness swallowed her once more. Kehinde and Percival washed away in a tide of dreams, still locked in their embrace.
When Elswyth woke for the third time, her room was empty. She opened her eyes fully, taking in the morning: the shades had been drawn and the balcony doors bolted shut. Late summer sunlight still crept through, illuminating the bed before her. The sheets were clean and white, and she wore a fresh nightgown. A sponge bath sat by the side of the bed along with a silver bell. A small handwritten note said “Ring us when you wake.”
Elswyth pushed herself up, but her insides screamed, making her arms shiver and go slack. She collapsed back to the bed. A flood of memory washed over her—a dark room, a man with blue lips and violet teeth. A silver blade, pain, and then… nothing.
Elswyth pushed herself up once more, groaning as she did. She fumbled with the front buttons on her nightgown, undoing them, revealing what lay beneath: white bandages, wrapped around her torso. She picked at them for a moment, pressing softly on the place where the wounds were. Pain still soared through her body at the slightest touch, but she didn’t fall back into unconsciousness. Instead, she crawled out of bed, inch by agonizing inch.
She sturdied herself with the corner post and then shuffled toward the full-body mirror by her vanity. She saw herself: pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her hair a bramble of red. Sheseemed thinner than she remembered. Her cheekbones looked sunken, and her collarbones protruded beneath her gown.
There, in the glass of the mirror, she took a skeletal hand and began to unwrap the bandages. They were stuck to her skin with some kind of ointment, and it stung slightly when she peeled them away from her torso.
Beneath, the skin of her belly was ghostly pale except for two dark green bruises, one on either side of her abdomen. At the center of each was a thin seam of scar tissue that looked older than she thought possible. She gently traced one of the scars with a finger. There were traces of sutures, but otherwise it seemed as though they were nearly healed. She tried to remember what she’d read about stomach wounds—if the patient lived at all, it could take months to completely heal. How long had she been asleep?
Elswyth crept toward the door of her room, then into the hall. She made her slow way down the staircase and into the dining room. There, at the long table, was Mrs. Rose. She sat penning letters next to two small sympathy bouquets, signing her name with a flourish.
Elswyth cleared her throat.
Mrs. Rose looked up, blinked, and then screamed, “She’s awake! She’s awake!”
