The Heartless City (11 page)

“I’ll see you both at dinner,” Andrew said, and he went on his way.

After a moment, Elliot turned to Cam and cleared his throat. “So, formal dinner tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, by the Lord Mayor’s decree.”

Aside from the nearly two hundred bedrooms for live-in servants and staff, Buckingham Palace had more than fifty royal living quarters, which were not only occupied by Cam and Elliot and their fathers, but also by the current families in the Lord Mayor’s favor. As Iris had said, there really was a sort of royal court―a household of people akin to the courtiers of King Henry XIII. Often, they ate and socialized in self-made, shifting groups, but when Cam’s father declared a formal dinner, they all attended.

“That’s the second one this week,” Elliot said, though he’d missed the first, feigning illness and drinking a bottle of wine in his room instead.

“He probably wants to discuss the upcoming season,” Cam replied, sliding his hands in his pockets and strolling toward the northern stairs. “It may have snowed last night, but it will be April first on Monday.”

Elliot fell into step beside him. “What’s there to discuss?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to lower the age of debut again.”

The London season used to begin when Parliament adjourned shortly after Easter Sunday, but now that there was no Parliament, it started around the first of April and ended around July. With no more opera, theatre, or annual art exhibitions, the season consisted entirely of private balls and parties, which Elliot found to be tedious, and Cam found extremely outdated. The season was, at heart, a marriage market for the wealthy―a chance for well-bred girls to make good matches with well-bred boys. Because of that, the girls could not attend until they “came out,” a transition that meant they were part of society and ready for marriage. Traditionally, a girl came out at seventeen or eighteen, but in recent years, the Lord Mayor had lowered the age to sixteen.

“The idea is ancient,” Cam went on as they walked down the hall together. “Did you know that outside London, there are these women called ‘Bachelor Girls’ who leave their parents without getting married? They live on their own and support themselves. The sailors told me about it.”

“But wait,” Elliot said, confused. “Why would he lower the age
again
?”

Cam didn’t slow his pace, but something cold ran through his veins, like an aftershock of the fear he felt before. “You’ve heard his speeches. He’s obsessed with getting the whole world married off and reproducing.”

It was true; the Lord Mayor often spoke about the importance of replenishing London’s dwindling population. Elliot had never understood the logic behind it, as there didn’t seem to be enough resources as it was. But then, he hadn’t known about the royal food reserve.

“Cam, did you know the rumors about the zoo being filled with dangerous, mutated animals aren’t true?

Cam stopped and furrowed his brow. As Elliot had guessed, he hadn’t known about it, either. He went on to explain everything he’d learned last night, and when Cam asked how he’d found it out, he told him about Iris―how she’d saved him in the cemetery and taken him to the zoo, but not the way he felt about her or the dreams she’d shared with him. His memory of the night felt closed and sacred to him now, like a folded piece of paper that belonged to them alone.

“Bloody hell,” Cam murmured, sitting down on the nearby stairs. “She jumped on a Hyde, slit its throat, and shot it with your gun?”

“And hit it over the head with a chunk of marble,” Elliot added, lowering onto the velvet step beside him.

Cam shook his head, his eyes still wide. “If we ever go back to
La Maison Des Fleurs
, remind me not to provoke her.”

Elliot laughed and a pocket of warmth broke open in his chest, calming his mind and alleviating his over-burdened heart. That was the power of laughter, he realized, and also the power of Cam. He possessed the rare capacity to create joy out of nothing, a quality as precious as it was miraculous.

And one of the many reasons Elliot couldn’t bear to lose him, which he knew he would if he ever found out he’d been spying on his feelings.

“But seriously,” Cam said. “When are you going to see her again?”

Elliot’s cheeks burned beneath his penetrating gaze. As he should have known, not mentioning his feelings didn’t mean they hadn’t shown up on his face. During his walk to the palace, he’d thought of nothing but seeing Iris again, but now that he was back, things seemed much more complicated.

“I don’t know if she’d want to see me,” he answered honestly. “There were times when I thought she might, but she…”
She hates everything and everyone that has to do with the palace, and I’m a pathetic coward with no future and nothing to offer.
“I wouldn’t know what to say,” he said, staring down at his shoes.

“Why don’t you give her a gift?”

Elliot lifted his head. “A gift?”

“Yes. I’ve been told that ladies can often see gifts as a sign of romantic intent.”

He smiled wryly, and Elliot couldn’t help but smile back. “What do you think I should give her?”

“Well, what is she interested in?”

Exotic birds. Seeing the world. Making new discoveries.

“I think I have an idea,” he said as one occurred to him. “Maybe I’ll go to
La Maison Des Fleurs
sometime this afternoon.”

“That’s my boy,” Cam replied, slapping him on the shoulder and sending a rush of affection through him. Then he pushed himself back onto his feet. “I’m going to get some rest. I was too excited about those records to sleep a wink last night.”

Elliot rose as well. “Have a good rest. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Cam began his ascent but turned around near the top of the stairs. “Do you remember what she said her last name was?” he asked.

“Of course,” Elliot answered. “Faye.”

Cam nodded, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “
Elle est un peu comme une fée, n’est-ce pas? D’un autre monde.
”

Elliot’s jaw nearly dropped. “Faye” sounded exactly like the French word for fairy―
fée―
and Cam had said, “She’s a bit like a fairy, no? Of another world.” But his insight wasn’t the only part of the statement that had stunned him. They’d both been tutored in French as children, as well as Latin and Greek, but as interested as he was in the world, Cam had never possessed the patience to learn another language. While Elliot was paying close attention and dreaming of Paris, Cam was drawing caricatures of their tutor’s mouse-like ears.

“I never thought you listened,” Elliot said. “You hated French.”

Cam smiled, turned around, and headed up the stairs. “
Je peux être très
surprenant
.”

I can be very surprising.

Elliot grinned and turned to head in the opposite direction. He wasn’t tired, but his stomach was growling and sour from last night’s gin, and his fingernails were caked with dirt and grime from the cemetery. Before he could eat and bathe, however, he needed to find his father. It was Friday, which meant he would be in his lab instead of at St. Thomas’s, and though he wasn’t sure how, Elliot had to explain where he’d been.

One thing every school of medicine needed was fresh cadavers―bodies for students to study, dissect, and practice surgery on. Though London was certainly filled with corpses, they weren’t necessarily available for use. When graveyards became overcrowded shortly after the Hyde outbreak, citizens took to burning their dead as quickly as possible. It had been the fate of Elliot’s mother, whose body was now as absent from the earth as her spirit. But as bleak and harsh as their lives had become, Londoners still recoiled at the idea of medical students slicing open their loved one’s remains, so the only way to get whole, fresh cadavers was to steal them.

Once it became apparent that his son’s condition would not allow a career in medicine, Elliot’s father decided to make him St. Thomas’s body snatcher. In the early morning hours, after most of the Hydes were gone and the rest of the city had yet to emerge, he went out with Milo―the stable hand who had been Will’s older brother―and the two of them searched for bodies to transport to St. Thomas’s. Most of the time they found Hyde victims, less useful because of their missing hearts, but sometimes they got “lucky” and found a person who’d starved, frozen to death, or been killed by human hands.

Elliot detested the work, not only because of its gruesomeness but also because of the fact that it deprived people of their loved ones, but corpses didn’t feel, and he could usually handle Milo’s grief, and as wrong as it was, he was glad there was at least one thing he could do that didn’t disappoint his father.

Except for today, of course, when he was certain he’d done just that.

At the top of the southern stairs that led to his father’s basement lab, Elliot paused, as he often did, by his mother’s old studio. He brushed the knob with his fingertips and ran his thumb over the keyhole. The key was in a ceramic bowl on a shelf in his father’s room, which―unlike the lab since Elliot’s intrusion―he never locked. Elliot thought of his mother’s things collecting dust inside, and he longed to open the door, pick up a brush, and unravel a canvas. He knew exactly what he would paint: the vision he’d had of Iris as he fell asleep last night, her regal frame in a golden grove, watching wild geese fly overhead.

But then he shook his head and jerked his hand away from the door, swallowing the yearning that had risen in his throat. The few times he’d painted since his mother’s death had torn him in two, filling him with joy he knew she’d never feel again and making him feel alive while emphasizing she wasn’t.

The longing burned too fiercely, and the sorrow cut too deep, so he blocked them out by continuing down the stairs, as he always did.

A damp chill pervaded the air in the basement and Elliot shivered, but when he approached the door to the laboratory, he started to sweat. He didn’t want to feel his father’s anger and disappointment, but he knew he’d have to face him eventually, so he opened the door. As soon as he stepped inside, however, he froze with his hand on the doorknob.

He’d expected to find his father reading a journal or scribbling notes, feeling a bit of anxiety or some distant aggravation. Instead, he was pacing along the wall and staring up through the windows, his whole being drenched in glacial, stomach-churning fear. Elliot wondered what on earth his father could be so afraid of, but then he turned and saw him there and the fear evaporated, replaced by a flood of warm, elated relief.

It had been… for
him
?

“Elliot,” he snapped, marching over to the doorway. “When Milo said you never showed up this morning, I thought…” He looked away and cleared his throat, rubbing his sandy, grey beard. “I thought I could count on you,” he said, “to do this one simple task.”

His discomfort swelled and Elliot stared, still stunned that he had been more afraid than angry about his absence. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to frighten―”

“You didn’t.” He turned his back, strode over to his desk, and sat down behind it. “I was merely concerned that the students wouldn’t have a cadaver today. And they won’t, thanks to you and your thoughtless actions. What do you have to say?”

Elliot stared at the floor, but not out of shame for what he’d done. His father was the only one in the world who knew his secret, but instead of bringing them closer, it had pushed them further apart. Knowing his father’s feelings hadn’t helped Elliot understand him. If anything, it had made him even more of a mystery. He’d always assumed he was just as cold inside as he was out, but now he knew he was filled with warmth, longing, and even love. But he didn’t want to be, and what’s more, didn’t want anyone to know, and as a result, he avoided Elliot more than ever before. It used to hurt to think his father didn’t care about him, but knowing he did but didn’t
want
to was somehow even worse.

“I’m sorry,” Elliot said. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Good.” He picked up a pen and dipped it in ink. “Now go and take a bath. Your clothes are mess, and you smell like gin. It’s absolutely repulsive.”

But he wasn’t repulsed. Even from where he stood, Elliot felt his affection, so why was he pretending that he couldn’t stand to be near him, especially when he knew he’d be able to see through the blatant lie? Then he remembered that
was
the reason―he didn’t want him to know. So he turned and walked out the door, leaving his father alone with his feelings.