I pulled a worn throw pillow into my lap. I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. Montgomery meant too much to me, despite everything. “We’re taking Montgomery and everyone else who has a human heart beating in their chest,” I said, and left it at that.
He didn’t press. “And your father?”
“He can stay here and rot with the rest of the animals.”
EDWARD AND I WHISPERED about escape whenever we could steal a moment alone. As the days passed, those times became scarcer. More islanders went missing. Edward was needed with the search party while I was left alone to think about the murders.
ABOUT JAGUAR.
One afternoon after the men returned and we’d finished eating a sullen meal, I found Mother’s crystal earring among the trinkets in the salon and held it to the light of the window, where it sent a spray of dancing rainbows over the walls. That was my mother—color and light and delicate as glass. She would have been repulsed by Father’s creations. Not drawn to them.
Balthasar passed on the portico outside, stealing my attention. Puck followed him, and then the rest of the servants, one by one, in their blue canvas shirts and pants. I pressed my face to the window. They gathered under a thatched sunscreen outside the bunkhouse. I put the earring back and pushed open the salon doors.
The islanders formed a loose line, chattering and shuffling their twisted feet. They looked at me curiously as I squeezed to the front between two hoglike men whose bristly hair made me cringe.
Montgomery stood on the other side of a worktable that held his medical bag and a half dozen cloudy glass bottles. He’d smoothed back his hair and put on a fresh shirt. He might have looked like a gentleman if it hadn’t been for the open button at his chest and the casual way he stood, as though he’d spent more of his life climbing trees and racing wild horses than walking.
“Come forward,” he said to one of the hog-men. The creature shuffled to the table, holding out his fat arm like a piece of meat. Montgomery filled a syringe with the cloudy liquid and tapped the man’s vein before inserting the needle. The man must have been twice my size, but he cringed like a little girl.
“You’re all done,” Montgomery said, drawing out the needle. “Next.”
I wandered to the other side of the table, watching over Montgomery’s shoulder. Another islander slipped to the front of the line. The python-woman from the village. She grinned at me, flashing the tips of thin fangs. Montgomery gave her an injection and checked her name off a roster. She waved as she left. Four fingers.
I picked up one of the vials, studying the cloudy liquid. “What are you giving them?” I asked.
“Something to restore the tissue’s balance.”
He waved a gangly-limbed man forward. “Come,” he ordered. The man shuffled to the table and extended his arm, covering his eyes while Montgomery found a vein.
The next, a man with a folded nose like a goat, approached with his sleeve already carefully rolled up.
I watched Montgomery administer the treatments. The islanders all walked away proudly rubbing their arms, like a child’s first trip to the physician. My hand drifted to the skin on the inside of my own elbow. I drew my thumb in a circle around the red mark from this morning’s injection, studying the vial in my other hand. The slight tint, the cloudiness of the compound—it looked remarkably similar to the treatment Father had designed for me. I sneaked a glance at the sheep-woman next to me, at her too-human eyes and the casual way she scratched an insect bite on her neck. I wondered how similar their treatment’s chemical makeup was to my own.
Montgomery watched me from the corner of his eye while he gave the next injection.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Mostly rabbit blood with hormones added.”
“How often do they need it?”
“Once a week for the villagers. Twice a week for Balthasar and the more advanced ones. Ajax used to need it daily.” He finished with Cymbeline, who squeezed his eyes shut during the entire injection.
“There now. That’s very good,” Montgomery said.
Cymbeline gave him a smile and took off like a wildcat. Montgomery cleaned the needle and repacked his medical bag, then reached for the vial in my hand, but I held it back.
He shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. And it’s nonsense.”
“What am I thinking?” I said, clutching the vial. It was a pale yellow color, like the pancreatic extracts I took, but thicker. He snatched it out of my hand.
“You’re wondering if your treatment is similar.”
“Is it?”
My bluntness caught him off guard. He clicked his bag shut. “No. It’s nothing at all the same.”
“No one’s ever heard of my treatment. The chemists look at me like I’m mad.”
“Your father designed it specifically for you. He tried to produce it for the public, but the medical board shut him down.” He picked up the bag and leaned closer. A strand of hair worked its way loose and fell in his eyes. Nothing about him could be tamed for long. “Your mind is racing,” he said softly, his voice caressing my worries. “You’re looking for problems where there are none. I’ve known you from the time you could barely walk. I’d know if there was something . . . unnatural.” His gaze shifted to something behind me in the courtyard. His jaw tensed.
Father strode toward us from the main building. I knew that anger on his face. But it was Montgomery he was after, not me. Still furious that Montgomery had lied about Ajax being alive.
My hand twisted into a fist. I leaned in to Montgomery and whispered before Father could hear. “Come to my room tonight. I need you to see something.” I slipped around the worktable just as my father stormed up with all the cold rage of a coiled snake.