Dearly, Beloved (45 page)

“My eternal pleasure, Miss Roe.”

Under the table, my foot started tapping again, the sound audible. I reached out for my cocoa, if only to have something to use to hide part of my face. I wasn’t sure what to do now—if I ought to leave, or if politeness dictated that I stay and drink. “I heard your story earlier. Parts of it. I’m so sorry. I should have said that first. You don’t deserve to have to deal with my family, too.”

That was when I felt Lopez’s foot settling down on top of mine, pressing it gently to the floor and stilling it. I looked up in
surprise. “I’m sorry you had to hear it. Atticus—my brother—tried very hard to make people ignore it. I myself do not care. But I’d rather not speak about myself, if you don’t mind.” He let go of my foot. “I’d rather speak about you.”

“What about me?” I asked, wondering wildly.

“Have you actually been to a doctor?”

I looked at him in confusion. “No. Why would I? What for?”

“For your anxiety. For your panic attacks. For the pain in your chest? For the—dare I guess—nightmares?”

Staring at him, through him, it was a moment before I could produce a simple question. “How did you know all that?”

“I can see it, Miss Roe. I’ve commanded men in battle. I’ve seen it before. They call it posttraumatic stress now, although I prefer some of the old names.” He touched his chest, over his heart. “The pain, here, they used to call ‘soldier’s heart.’ Based on what little I know of you, I think that suits you well.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s frightening, isn’t it? It eats away at you. It won’t let you go. It won’t even let you sleep. You’re constantly waiting, wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. Everything is a threat. What isn’t a threat isn’t real.”

Tears escaped my eyes. I nodded.

“I
want
to help you deal with your family, Miss Roe. I know nothing about them, or you, but I do. You strike me as lovely, troubled people who could do without having to live next to a bombed-out shell of a building—but more than that, you strike me as survivors. And I have a soft spot for survivors. That is why I aided the zombies the night of the Siege.”

I had the craziest urge, in that instant, to move to his side of the booth. Like Nora, he had
heard me
.

“You take quite a lot on your shoulders, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I confessed. “I suppose that’s a bad thing.”

“No. It’d be a bad thing if you didn’t crave any responsibility. But sometimes you must save yourself before you can save others. You will be no good to your family if you ignore your own pain.”

I breathed out. “But I can’t go to a doctor. I haven’t told anyone, because they have so much to deal with. And I’ve
always
been anxious. I used to worry about whether Miss Dearly was doing her homework. I still do!”

“Perhaps if you told them, they might see that as incentive to get you to a place of calm and rest. Marblanco is miles from anywhere. Sell it that way. It’s a seventy thousand square foot fixer-upper luxury resort with an eccentric owner. Bring your entire extended family, for all I care!”

I laughed. “You shouldn’t offer that.”

“Honestly, I just wish someone would live there. I don’t like it empty, and I don’t like being there while it is. It was never meant to be.”

Lopez smiled. I found myself smiling back. For a blissful second the world was at peace.

He reached forward and hooked a finger around my cup, pulling it across the table. “Now, I think your cocoa is cold. As much as I am enjoying your company, that is probably your cue to leave.”

He was right. We rose and exchanged genuflections. With only a brief “Goodbye,” I turned and left the café, figuring out my way back to the front entrance by the storefronts we’d passed.

My heart was hammering. But now for a different reason entirely.

I could do this. I could get my family out of here.

Again.

My boots echoed on the floor as I approached Patient One’s cage around seven the next evening. I’d waited and waited for his guard to let up, but it never did. Papa had just stepped out, and I was running out of time.

“Do you mind if I read to him?” I asked one of the guards, once my toes were at the red line. I held up a book, one Renfield had grabbed from my bedside table in his haste to pack for me. I’d found it in the bottom of my valise, one of the first things he threw in. Underwear and books—the fellow clearly had his priorities straight.

The guard on the left nodded. “Do what you like, miss. Can’t hurt. I was here when he spoke before. The old dead gent was quoting the good book at him.”

“I don’t have the Bible memorized,” I said as I let my eyes fall on Patient One. He looked up. Encouraged, I went on, holding forth the little red First Victorian volume. “But this book is about a soldier—Brigadier Etienne Gerard. It’s written by the same man who created Sherlock Holmes. My father read it over and over to me when I was a little girl. Have you ever heard of it?”

I waited. Nothing.

Opening the book with a sigh, the pages waxy beneath my fingertips, I started reading. I was praying that something I read, something I said, might start Patient One talking again. Even if we were being watched, I’d take what I could get.

But when I got to the part where Gerard consigns himself to death at the hands of the enemy for the sake of his beloved Emperor Napoleon, I started to tear up. “ ‘It was a beautiful world to be leaving. Very beautiful it was, and very sad to leave; but there are things more beautiful than that. The death that is died for the sake of others, honor, and duty, and loyalty, and love—these are the beauties far brighter than any which the eye can see.’ ”

I looked up, only to find that Patient One was leaning close to me with his head resting against the metal of the cage. He curled his hand around one of the bars, his eyes full of longing.

“You know that, don’t you?” I said gently. The decrepit man nodded.

“Hey, finish the story,” one of the guards piped up.

“Hush, Stone.” The other guard looked at his pocket watch and sighed. “Relief is ten minutes late.”

I hadn’t noticed, but my heart picked up. Maybe this was it.

“Let’s go see. Maybe they’re out in the lab. That one lady scientist is …” Stone looked at me and cleared his throat. “Right, then.”

And just like that, they left me. I waited until I heard their footsteps land outside the door before beginning my interrogation. “Is your name Smoke? What do you remember?”

Patient One kept quiet. He continued to watch me, though, and with renewed interest.

“Tell me about the tigers.” Not a word.

Finally I tried, “Tell me about Allister.”

It was as if someone had attached a live wire to the zombie in the metal box. He rocketed to his feet and started bowing his
head back and forth, his eyes closing, his hands curling into bony fists. “No, no! Don’t put me out! I’m not dead!”

“What do you know?” I asked, surprised by the intensity of his reaction, but unwilling to give up. “Was it Allister’s tigers you saw?”

He started to strike his head repeatedly against the sides of the cage, hanging on to a corner joint, and I stepped forward and put my hands on the metal, afraid for him. I didn’t want him to bash his brains out, not before I could pick them clean of information. “Sir, please calm down! I need you to talk to me. I’m going to see Michael Allister, I need to know—”

Before I could complete my sentence, he went catatonic again. His pitted face was but inches from my own, and I stepped back, suddenly conscious of the fact that I’d almost touched him.

“Even tigers are afraid of the dead,” he ticked. “I didn’t know that before they put me out. I walked forever, and the tigers didn’t bother me. They were bright in the undergrowth, as bright as I ever made anything burn.”

By the devil, he’d really been in the preserve.

Patient One then tipped his head to the side and looked over my shoulder. “You have a visitor.”

I whirled around just in time to watch Coalhouse step through the doorway. He looked at me as he slammed the office door shut—and locked it. He was several yards away, but for some reason it felt like he was towering over me. Something in his face, his body, didn’t seem right. “Coalhouse? What are you doing here?”

“I’m not here to hurt you, Nora.” He removed a pistol from his waistband. “Move away from the prisoner. I just want him.”

Something didn’t seem right
thus turned into the understatement of the century. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. Nothing made sense. After a second I felt myself backing up to the red line, but I couldn’t have said I made myself do it.

“Why?” It seemed like it took me ten years to find the word.

“Because it’s the only way.” Coalhouse stepped closer, aiming his gun up at the ceiling after a few yards. “He’s a danger.”

“Danger?” I felt stupid. Like repetition was all I was remotely capable of. “Of course he’s a danger.”

Coalhouse came ever nearer. “Move, Nora.”

I did—backward. My skirt hit the edge of the cage and I stopped. I was far too close to the prisoner, and Coalhouse was closing the distance, his eye narrowing as he apparently realized he could take advantage of my fear. He stepped right up to me, almost touching me, and I instinctively backed up even farther, my hands brushing the metal. Patient One didn’t move.

Doing my best to channel my childhood hero, I told him, “You can’t be thinking of taking him out of here.”

“I’m not.” He lowered the gun again, aiming a little beyond me. “I have to kill him.”

What? My body acted before my mind could—I curled my hands around the bars. I froze as I heard Patient One shifting closer to me, ducking down. He was close enough to bite me, if he grabbed my hand or my hair. He had his muzzle on, but he could rip it off if he wanted. I was sure of that now. He was obviously intelligent. I’d been wrong.

That was why I had to save him.

“Tell me why,” I said to Coalhouse. “Because this is
insane
. Where have you been?”

“No, it’s not.” Coalhouse stopped, withdrawing his aim again. He didn’t seem to want to endanger me, which I naturally took to be a good sign. “Insanity is keeping him alive. I see that now. They have all the samples they could ever want from him. They can keep his body. I don’t care.”

“But I was just talking to him. He can tell us where he came from! He knows something about—”

“That doesn’t matter. I got Hagens to talk.” I went still, prepared to listen. “I just never expected to hear what she told me.”

“What?”

“He’s a danger to
everyone
. The living and the dead. The Changed are going to come after him, under her orders. They know where he is now. I had to tell them.”

I felt myself go cold at the idea. Papa. The others. “We can stop that. We can evacuate the boat. Take him somewhere else.”

“Where?”
Coalhouse shouted. “Because someone else wants him, too! Not the cops, not the army! And he can’t stay with the feds—someone’s been giving out information on Z-Comp! It was used to blackmail Hagens!”

That was new. New and terrifying. “You think a hacker got in somewhere? How do you even know she’s telling the—”

“No, listen. Hagens said they knew more than names and numbers. I think someone who worked with us has been talking.” He cocked his gun. “So Hagens can’t have him. Whoever’s been talking to her can’t have him. He’s not secure with the army, he’s not secure with the living, he’s not secure
anywhere
. Tom was right. He has to die. That will end this.”

Just then Patient One’s arm shot out. He shoved my shoulder.
“Go!”

My hands were still tight around the cage, and I ended up only bending forward. As I did, Coalhouse took a panicked, frightened shot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Patient One arch backward and crash into the rear of the cage. My body seemed to burn with empathetic pain, pain so monumental that it caused me to sway and tasted like iron in my mouth.

Coalhouse shouted my name.

The pain didn’t stop.

My ears ringing, my vision blurry, I looked to the side, to see that the right shoulder of my dress was swiftly turning into a morass
of blood. Slowly, I let go of the cage and reached over, grabbing whatever material my numb fingers could grip and pulling it downward. The soaked fabric of my dress and corset cover smeared red down my upper arm, trickled red onto my corset, the strap of my chemise.

It was just a flesh wound. The bullet had grazed me, leaving a surprisingly short furrow in my skin. It was raw and red and bleeding, the edges of it singed. But more than that …

It’d obliterated Bram’s bite marks.

It was that realization that caused me to fly at Coalhouse in a sudden seething rage and push him back with a soul-deep scream. Petite as I was, I caught him off guard as he was staring at me in horror. The gun went tumbling from his hand.

As I struck him again and again, ignoring the agony in my shoulder, I could hear someone pounding on the other side of the door, my father’s voice. Behind me, I could hear Patient One yelling. He wasn’t dead. Logic told me to run for the door, open it, let the showdown begin.