“Your rifle!” Montgomery yelled to Balthazar. “There’s one on the other side of that chair!”
The sound of squealing beasts and gunshots was terrible, and I threw my hands over my ears. God help me, something about the chaos was thrilling, too. I could almost taste it, like the shock of first frost. Balthazar lumbered behind the cabinets, rifle in hand. I pulled Lucy deeper into the corner, brandishing the broken bottle, ready to slice a creature apart if one lunged for us. Montgomery fired again and his pistol clicked—empty.
“Damn!” he yelled, drawing his knife.
Lucy kept screaming, and the dying men moaned in pain, and the room filled with swirling smells. I caught sight of a letter opener that would make a much better weapon and staggered forward, when from out of nowhere Balthazar slammed into me and knocked me against the table. I cried out, and at the same time another gunshot went off. Balthazar collapsed behind the sofa, letting out an anguished cry.
“Balthazar!” Montgomery yelled.
Pain burst in my shoulder from where I’d collided with the table, making my vision spark, but I crawled to my knees and tried to find Balthazar. I saw glimpses of his back and meaty arms in the midst of a brawl behind the leather sofa, but by my count all the five creatures were dead. I must have forgotten one, missed one . . . I stumbled toward him with the letter opener in hand, ready to plunge it into the living flesh of a creature, when I crawled around the sofa and froze. Balthazar struggled not with a creature, but a man. A copper breastplate gleamed on his chest.
Inspector Newcastle was alive.
It all made sense to me in flashes. He’d shot at Balthazar. No—he’d shot at me, but Balthazar had shoved me aside. He’d taken the bullet in my place.
My insides wrung like a washrag, and all I could think was Balthazar, Balthazar, Balthazar, that he’d taken a bullet for me, a rifle blast no less, a shot that would have killed me instantly.
“Montgomery, help!” I cried.
I stumbled forward on hands and knees, skirts tangled around my legs, as Montgomery leaped over a couch to reach us. Dr. Hastings’s body lay in my way, the life draining out of him, and I had to drag my skirts to crawl over his bloody chest. With his dying strength he grabbed my ankle but I kicked free, shrieking, and toppled onto the rug. In a way, the Beast had left him for me to kill—what terrible irony.
Newcastle lurched for the door just as I collapsed against Balthazar.
“Where are you hurt?” I cried.
He peeled back a meaty hand clutched against his ribcage to reveal a pulpy wound seeping blood. I gasped as Montgomery rushed to my side.
“He’s shot,” I said. “Newcastle aimed for me but Balthazar pushed me aside.” My stomach clenched. If Balthazar didn’t survive . . .
Lucy rushed over. “You can stop the bleeding, can’t you?”
“Perhaps,” Montgomery said, hurrying to remove his coat. “Newcastle’s a good shot. How did he even survive?”
“It’s the copper breastplate he wears,” I muttered, glancing at the door, dragging a bloodstained hand through my tangled hair. “That blasted armor protected him.”
Fury seethed in me as Balthazar lay bleeding, just as the professor had bled to death. A man as ambitious and highly connected as Newcastle wouldn’t stop because we’d exposed him. If he escaped, he’d concoct some new scheme, move to a new country and invent a new name, involve new patrons—there was certainly no shortage of wealthy, unscrupulous men in this world—and anyone who stood in his way would be murdered. Worse, he was the sole witness to the massacre tonight. He might tell Scotland Yard what we’d done, turn this around to blame it on us, absolve himself of any involvement. Montgomery and Balthazar and Lucy and I would hang for what we’d done.
No, not Lucy. He loved her enough to spare her the noose, but what would he demand in return? A lifetime of marriage under threat of prison if she ever left him?
Men like John Newcastle stopped at nothing.
It was up to me, then, to stop him.
MY FINGERS WENT TO Balthazar’s bloodstained coat pocket, digging for the sugar cubes he always kept there to feed insects. “Stay with him, Montgomery,” I choked. “I’m going after Newcastle.”
I raced for the door before he could answer. I skidded out into the hall, following the sounds of Newcastle’s footsteps. It was a maze in these hallways, but one I knew well. The exterior door on this level was always kept locked, so if he was headed north as his footsteps indicated, he’d have to circle around.
I could intercept him.
I hurried to search each of the rooms until I found a small supply closet filled with bottles and powders, and located a glass jar of nitric acid and another of standard ether, staples of any laboratory. I crushed the sugar cubes in one hand, turning them into a dissolvable powder, and then took a deep breath.
Did I truly want to do this?
On their own nitric acid and ether caused minor burns, but when mixed with a metal alloy and a reactive agent—the sugar—they would create an exothermic reaction strong enough to melt copper.
Dash it. I hadn’t a choice. As I ran to intercept Newcastle, I unscrewed the lid of the acid and added the sugar, then shook the mixture. It was dark in these hallways, with only the moonlight, and I was able to hide myself in the shadowy alcove of a doorway. I heard his footsteps approaching as he doubled back, each step as loud as the thumping of my heart.
I squeezed my eyes closed.
He killed the professor, I reminded myself. He shot Balthazar. He was aiming for you.
He turned the corner and his face fell into a beam of moonlight, just as he saw me.