I stepped closer to the window. My face almost pressed against the bars. I held the shears to my chest, ready to strike.
Lightning flashed again. There was nothing out there but the island, erratic and tumultuous. Yet I felt watched.
“Hello?” I called. My voice was hoarse. “Is someone there?”
“Miss, don’t!”
I turned toward the bed. The tip of Alice’s head peeked above the mattress, her eyes wide and glassy.
“Get down!” I breathed. Her head disappeared faster than a blink. I tightened my grip on the shears. Maybe the traces of Father’s madness in me had its uses—if it made me able to chop a rabbit’s head off and maim Dr. Hastings, it made me able to fight whatever was lurking outside.
I turned back to the window and forced myself to do what I feared most. Grabbed the iron bars.
“Hello?” I called again.
Only the howling wind answered. What lurked out there, watching?
I heard the scraping sound again, just outside the window. Inches away. My body went rigid. Something screamed inside me to run, but I gritted my teeth, ready to thrust the shears into those watching eyes. Hungry to do it.
Alice was forgotten. It was only me and the monster and the rolling thunder. Tap tap tap. Coming from so close. The thrill made my blood flow backward. I was ready. I squeezed the bars, knuckles white. In the pit of my stomach I knew that not even iron bars would keep us safe from the thing outside.
The wind howled, blowing cracks and wrinkles in the dark clouds. Faint moonlight broke through and glistened off three long, black claws on the other side of the bars.
Stretching close enough, almost, to graze my fingertips.
Thirty-one
A JOLT OF FEAR nailed my feet to the floor. The claws found the stone windowsill, grazing gently, scraping at the rusty bars. Then three slow, sinister taps. Tap, tap, tap. Asking for entrance.
My heart crashed and throbbed, trying to break free of my ribs, pulled toward that monster in the night like rivers to the sea. I was hopelessly bound to the thing outside.
I leaned even closer, my trembling fingers a hair away from the glistening claws. I felt a deep, pulsing need to know the nature of the beast still hidden in shadows.
Alice screamed. The spell broke. I blinked, looking at the claws that were even now reaching for me. I slammed the shears into the longest one. It split down the rigid seam, shattering at the point. I dug the shears harder until I wrenched it off. The beast howled. The claws were pulled back into the darkness, save for one that fell to the floor.
“Miss, get away from the window!”
I crawled over the bed, fast as I could, and collapsed beside her. The wind whistled, calling me back. I fought the urge and pulled Alice into my arms instead. “It’s gone,” I said.
“It’ll return!”
“It can’t get through the bars.” My chest heaved. I wanted to tell her we were safe, but the lie wouldn’t form. “Get back on the bed, Alice. Finish your needlepoint.”
“I can’t! Not with the monster out there!”
I cocked my head. Something about the way she said it: the monster. Not a monster. As if she had a certain one in mind. Jaguar had said the same thing. I gave her a sidelong look, wondering if she knew something more than she let on. “Try.”
She could tell I was serious. We climbed back onto the bed and I picked up my milk goat and stabbed it with the needle. The men should return soon. They had rifles. Horses. We just had to wait it out.
I kept stitching, stiffly, until she picked her needle up, too.
“You called it the monster,” I said slowly.
Her hands shook. She didn’t look up.
“Did you mean Jaguar? The one they called Ajax?”
She bit her bottom lip. Her needlepoint had apparently become endlessly fascinating.
“What aren’t you telling me, Alice?” The edge to my voice slapped her. The harshness of it startled even me—I sounded so much like Father.
“Not Ajax, miss,” she said softly. “Ajax was friends with Montgomery. They could have been brothers they way they went on. He used to tell me stories. I’d never be afraid of Ajax.”
My needlepoint fell into my lap, forgotten. If she wasn’t afraid of Ajax, then why was her voice shaking?
“Jaguar isn’t the one killing the islanders, is he?”
Her lips pressed together. It was enough of an answer.
I grabbed her wrist. “Then what is?” She shrank back. I hadn’t meant to scare her. I wanted to protect her, but I couldn’t do that without the truth.
“I can’t say, miss!”
“Why not?”
“It’s listening! It’s always listening. It’ll kill me if I tell.” Her eyes welled with tears. She was so young—a child, really. A kind person might have patted her hand and told her everything was all right. I dug my nails into her palm instead.
“What do you mean? What’s listening?”
“The monster!”
Something scrambled on the roof. Something big. Fast. Tiles crashed to the ground outside.
My breath froze. Alice cried out. I pulled her close, a finger against her lips. We both looked upward. It was right above our heads. The walls had to be twenty feet high. What kind of creature could scale a sheer wall? Another tile fell. Then came a thump in the courtyard. My head jerked toward the sound.
It was inside the compound.
I closed my eyes. My heart hammered wildly. The men were gone. The guns were across the compound in the barn. We hadn’t even any proper locks on the doors. All we had was my wits.
“Alice, I want you to crawl under the bed.” I knew, somehow, that hiding from it was useless. But at least she would feel safer.