“He lied. To protect me.”
Realization came over Percival’s face. “Your ability… You…”
He took his hands from Elswyth’s.
She nodded, tears flowing freely. “I was going to die. That’s what the doctors said. It was hopeless. But my mother wouldn’t give up. She stayed with me all through that night, caring for me. I kept falling asleep, and she would wake me, beg me to come back, and then…”
“And then what?” Percival said.
“I fell asleep for the last time. When I woke, it was to her voice. Screaming my name. And there was something flowing into me, something like lightning. I remember how much it hurt, like it was burning my insides. Burning all the sick out of me… Her hands were over my heart, and something hot was rushing out of her. It was her vitæ. I was draining it.”
Percival’s face dropped, paling. His eyes grew distant.
“I watched her die. I watched the life leave her eyes. And I killed her, Percival. I—” Elswyth’s voice was a small, shattered thing. “I killed my own mother.”
Her mother’s face flashed before her eyes. Her gray skin. Her eyes, yellowed and sunken. The weight of her dead body on top of Elswyth. And more than that, how good it felt, that first breath after days of choking for air. And her father, barging through the doors, seeing his dead wife and his now-healthy daughter, whispering:You monster… what have you done?
Percival said nothing, but the words kept coming out of Elswyth,a secret she’d kept for a decade, even from Persephone. “It’s how I got this scar,” she said. “The vitæ I took from her. It was too much. It burned through me. And now I’ll always look like the monster that I am.”
Percival stood and took two steps backward. “No. No, I do not believe it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Elswyth said. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even know I had the ability. I was just so frightened, Uncle.”
He shook his head. “Cerise… my sister… she loved you, Elswyth.”
“I know,” Elswyth said. “I know, and I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt her. But now you see. Now you see why I cannot kill, why I will not. Never again, Uncle. I promised myself, promised my father. I will never take another life. If the Reaper comes for me again, I will fight, but I will do so without killing. Next time, I’ll be ready. I’ll be better.”
Percival stopped, burying his head in his hands. When he spoke, Elswyth could see that he had started to cry. “There will not be a next time, Elswyth,” he said.
Elswyth wiped her eyes. “What do you mean? You just said that he would try and have me killed again.”
“He would try that, if he could. If you were still a threat to him. Still investigating. But you will not be—you are to leave London as soon as you are able.”
Elswyth sat frozen. Memories of the conversation she’d overheard between Percival and Kehinde surfaced. She’d half-thought they were a dream. “But—but—this attack, Uncle, it means I’m close—”
Percival looked away. “You can save yourself, Elswyth. If you continue down this path, then you will surely die. And I will not let that happen. Not when I have already lost your sister.”
Elswyth began to stutter. “Is this… is this because of what I’ve told you? Is this because of my mother—”
Percival put up a hand to silence her. His face was stone cold. “As soon as you are able,” he said.
Elswyth lay there, too weak to argue, a dumbstruck expression on her face. All of it, all her hard work, and she was to be sent home. Persephone was never to be found, or avenged.
Percival approached her. He lay a hand on her shoulder, but the motion felt distant. It seemed he could scarcely look at her. “I know that this is difficult for you. You may hate me. But now, at least, you will have a long life in which to forgive me.”
Percival turned from her and moved toward the door. Not for the first time, Elswyth thought he’d grown older in the past few months. He moved more slowly, his limp more pronounced, and he relied more on his cane. He seemed almost broken. Did he despise her now, as her father did? Was she a monster to him, too?
Percival half-turned as he left the room, giving her a sad smile, and closed the door behind him. Elswyth heard the distinctclickof the lock engaging.
And she was alone.
Days passed in the house. The door to Elswyth’s chambers remained locked except when she was being watched over. She took her meals abed, and Mrs. Rose came and doted on her every day. She read the letters Elswyth had received from the few sympathetic ladies who had written her with half-hearted invitations to tea when she was feeling better. But the season was slowly coming to a close. Day by day, important events ticked on, and Elswyth was trapped in a bruised body, in a locked room.
Her body was healing quickly, though, that was true. Every day the scars grew fainter, and the bruises less pronounced, fading from black to blue to green, and finally to a sickly yellow. She moved about the room with less pain. Dr. Gall came almost daily to check the bandages and apply his salves, and each time he was more and more surprised. She didn’t tell him exactly how she had healed so quickly—how she could still feel Mr. Clipper’s vitæ swimming through her body, feeding into her wounds. How she’d killed another so that she might live.
Monster, her father had said.What have you done?
Dr. Gall did pry, unable to deny his own natural curiosity. Elswyth even considered telling him the truth. But what would become of her then? Would he still respect her as a scientist, or would she become just another specimen, something to be studied? No—no one could know the secrets of her ability. No one could see her as she truly was.
