The Heartless City (24 page)

“Gun holster buckle?” he asked.

Cam nodded and looked away.

“There are more in the back,” Andrew said. “We’ve already cleaned them and covered them up.”

Elliot swallowed and gestured toward the bruises. “What about these?”

“Boot,” Cam murmured, clenching his jaw.

Elliot gripped the headboard to steady himself against the shame.

“It’s the bruises we’re concerned about,” Andrew interjected. “That one there, it’s smaller but also darker than the others, and if he moves or breathes too deeply, it causes him terrible pain. I’m worried he’s broken a rib, or that something’s been punctured inside.”

“And if that’s the case,” Cam said, somehow managing a theatrical tone, “the ladies at the ball tomorrow will surely be disappointed.”

“Tomorrow?” Elliot asked. “The season’s first ball is set for tomorrow?”

“By the Lord Mayor’s decree.”

It seemed a minor point, but Elliot had asked because Cam’s injuries now made sense. The Lord Mayor hadn’t touched his face or neck because of the ball.

“Can you tell?” Andrew asked. “If something’s broken or injured internally?”

His fear was so thick that Elliot blinked, nearly blinded by it. “Let me look,” he said, and he knelt down over Cam. He’d been watching and helping his father for years, but he’d only just begun officially studying himself, and since his affliction, he hadn’t gone near the hospital, an injured person, or even a medical book. Still, he’d seen broken ribs and knew how to tell if a lung had been punctured.

“I need to listen to your chest,” he said to Cam. “Is that all right?”

“You know I never refuse a chance to cuddle with you, El.”

Elliot steeled himself and crawled up beside him on the bed, terrified to touch him but more scared of not checking the wound. After a breath, he lowered his head to Cam’s chest, but then he flinched. The shame wasn’t quite the same as when his father berated him, but it was just as painful, like the ache of a frightened child.

“What’s wrong?” Philomena asked, rising from her chair.

“Nothing,” Elliot said. “I just need quiet for a moment.”

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind like Iris taught him, concentrating on nothing but the task he had to complete. Soon, his pulse began to slow, and he lowered his head again, pressing his ear to Cam’s chest and ignoring the shame and pain. He listened closely, blocking out everything but the sound of his breathing. His lungs were expanding, and air was flowing through them like it should. Elliot opened his eyes and sat up, relief flooding his veins.

“Your lung isn’t punctured,” he said. “And your rib isn’t broken, either.”

“How can you tell?” Iris asked, stepping up beside the bed.

“If his lung were punctured, I wouldn’t be able to hear the air moving through it.” He moved to the side and showed her the bruise. “And if a rib were broken, his ribcage would look a little misshapen, indented by the broken frame. This bruise is bad, but the shape of his torso is perfectly intact.”

“My shape is perfect,” Cam echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t say I’m surprised.” He grinned at Philomena, who rolled her eyes at him but smiled.

The relief Elliot felt before spread through the rest of the room, except to Andrew, who still seemed hesitant.

“So what’s wrong with him then? Why does it hurt him to breathe?”

“I think the rib is cracked, not broken,” Elliot explained. “I just need to splint it―wrap it. If he keeps it bound, it should heal and be good as new in a couple of weeks.”

“What do you need to wrap it with?” Iris asked.

“Some strips of clean linen.”

Philomena walked to the bedroom door. “I’ll send Albert to get some.”

Elliot started to rise from the bed, but Cam gripped his hand and pulled him back, nearly stopping his heart with the force of his gratitude.

“Thank you, El,” he said, looking up into his eyes.

Elliot covered his hand with his own, wishing he could tell him that he didn’t need to say it.

“It’s nothing,” he replied. “And I’m sorry about the Victor.”

Cam released his hand and leaned back, letting out a breath. “At least I convinced him the Victor and records were only a one time thing. I suppose…” He glanced at his lap, his blood going cold. “It could have been worse.”

Albert returned with the strips of linen in only a matter of minutes, and Andrew and Elliot helped Cam off the bed and removed his shirt. Carefully, Elliot splinted his torso the way his father had taught him, keeping the wrapping tight and holding the cracked rib in its place. Once he was done, Cam confirmed that his side didn’t hurt as badly and that breathing was easier.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” Iris suddenly asked.

Andrew removed a pocket watch from his vest. “Half past four.”

Iris and Elliot exchanged stunned glances. They’d walked into his mother’s room at around eleven o’clock, and neither would have guessed that over four hours had passed inside.

“I have to go,” Iris said, and then to Cam, “I’ll be thinking of you.”

She turned and hurried out of the bedroom, and Elliot followed her.

“Where are you going?” he asked when he caught up to her in the hall.

Iris paused and sighed. “I was supposed to meet with these seamstresses in my room at four o’clock. They’re making alterations on a gown for me, for tomorrow.”

“Oh. For the ball, you mean.”

“Yes.” Her face flushed the slightest bit.

Elliot furrowed his brow.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “And I’m not invading, I mean―I can see on your face that you―”

“I know,” she said, sighing again. “It’s absolutely ridiculous given everything that’s going on, but I… I’m nervous about it.” She glanced at the floor. “I don’t know how to dance.”

Real embarrassment flooded her veins, and Elliot took a step closer.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Maybe after tomorrow’s session, Philomena could teach you. I could help, too―be the stand-in man and all that. You’ll pick it up.”

Iris smiled and took his hand, sharing her gratitude, and Elliot smiled back and let his happiness flow to her. She laughed and dropped his hand.

“You were wonderful back there,” she said.

“Only because you helped me.”

“I helped at first, but the rest you did yourself, and it was amazing.” She stepped a bit closer, looking up into his eyes. “You told me once that your empathy was the reason you would never be able to study medicine, but based on what I just saw in there, you’re as much of a doctor as you are a brilliant artist.”

Elliot glanced at the floor. “Iris, I didn’t do anything―”

“Yes, you did. You not only diagnosed and repaired Cambrian’s rib, you calmed him down and eased his mind―all of our minds. Don’t you see?” She let out a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he said, looking up.

“Why did you attempt to remove your empathy?”

Elliot’s heart stilled. All he’d ever told her about his affliction was that it was the result of an experiment. He’d never said what he’d been trying to do when he performed it.

“How did you―”

“I know you think your empathy is a curse, so it stands to reason you would never have wanted to do what you did. My guess is your experiment was supposed to do the opposite, to remove your empathy. Am I right?”

Elliot nodded, his mouth dry.

“But why?” she asked. “Why would you ever want to be like that? Look at the Lord Mayor, at what he did to his son today. Why would you want to be a man with no kindness or compassion?”

A lump rose in Elliot’s throat, as well as a wave of shame. “It’s a long story,” he said.

Iris took his hand again, startling him with the power of her confidence and trust.

“Those seamstresses have waited this long. They can wait a bit longer.”

Over the next few minutes, as they walked to Iris’s room, Elliot told her everything: how he’d watched a Hyde turn into Will, and then failed to execute him, how Will then killed Andrew’s father and sent his mother over the edge. Iris listened intently and didn’t speak until he’d finished. Then, just as they reached her bedroom door, she turned to face him.

“Let me ask you this,” she said. “Do you think if Andrew had been in your place, he would have acted differently?”

Elliot blinked; he’d never thought to ask himself that question. “I’m sure he would have done what was right.”

“You think he would have actually killed that sobbing, wretched boy? I’ve only known him for four days, and I don’t think he would. I don’t think Cambrian would have, either―no decent person could.”

“No
decent person
? Iris, he was a monster. The law demands―”

“The Lord Mayor made that law, and it’s wrong.”

Elliot parted his lips, but for a moment, no sound came out. “The Hydes are deadly, Iris. People have to be protected.”

She looked at him, her golden eyes alight with a sudden fire. “There are other ways to protect them―humane ways. The first night I met you, you and Cambrian mentioned Lady Cullum. She found a way to help the infected and still keep London safe.”

“But it didn’t work; she was killed in one of those shelters,
because
of her mercy.”

Iris didn’t flinch or blink, but the rage and sorrow that sprouted in her heart nearly knocked him backward. He opened his mouth, but then the door behind her suddenly opened.

“There you are,” a woman exclaimed as she burst out of Iris’s room. “We thought we heard voices out here. Come along, we have other fittings to do today, Miss Faye.”

“I’ll be right there,” she said. “Please, just give me one more moment.”

The woman’s exacerbation swelled, but she nodded and stepped back inside.

“I’m sorry,” Iris said once she was gone. “I have to go.”

“Iris, what you felt just now, that anger and pain―”

“Elliot, I promise I… I’ll explain everything eventually. I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you let it go for now?”

He let out a breath and nodded. “Of course. You can tell me whenever you’re ready.”

The door behind her began to open again, so she rushed toward it. “I’m coming!” she called inside, and then she ran back to Elliot and kissed his lips, blinding him with a double dose of bliss. “See?” she whispered, smiling up at him. “It
is
a gift.”

She hurried back to the door and stepped inside, and Elliot grinned, turning around and walking away like a giddy little boy. When he passed the stairway, however, thoughts of Cam came rushing back, so he climbed the steps to the second floor to check on him again. He slipped through the door to his sitting room, which was still a terrible mess, but just before he reached the door to the bedroom, he stopped in his tracks.

He was standing exactly where he’d stood the night he watched the Lord Mayor smash the hand crème Cam gave to Jennie, and like that night, he couldn’t yet see anyone inside. The emotions beyond the door, however, were so potent and overwhelming they sucked the breath from his lungs. Cam’s grief and shame were still present, as well as a touch of someone’s fear, but there was also affection so strong his temperature started to climb. Could Philomena still be inside, and could he have been right about Cam having feelings for her? He knew he should back away, that what was inside was none of his business, but curiosity drew him to the edge of the slightly cracked door.

Cam was standing beside the bed, but Philomena was gone. The only other person left inside the room was Andrew, who was guiding Cam’s arms through the sleeves of his shirt and pulling it over his shoulders. Once the shirt was on, he reached down and started to button it up, but then he stopped and laid his hand against Cam’s splinted torso. Sorrow and shame, but also yearning and tenderness, swelled in the room, so dense and pervasive, Elliot couldn’t tell whose feelings were whose. Andrew raised his gaze to Cam’s, and Cam swallowed and looked away, his muscles tensing up as if the glance caused him physical pain. But Andrew didn’t pull back; instead, he slid his hand to Cam’s shoulder, exposing the bandaged gash from the Lord Mayor’s gun holster buckle. He paused a moment, and then bent down and placed his lips on the wound. Cam shuddered and closed his eyes, causing a single tear to slip down the side of his rigid face.

“Andrew.”

The word came out in a rasp, like a desperate, audible ache, and Andrew lifted his head and placed his hand against Cam’s cheek. He brushed the tear away with his thumb, and Cam opened his eyes, which were filled with even more helplessness and longing than his voice. They looked at each other, not breathing

And then Andrew leaned forward and kissed him.

The world ground to a halt. Elliot wanted to blink, to move, to breathe, but he couldn’t do anything, and―at first―Cam seemed equally stunned and paralyzed. After a moment, however, a cry erupted from deep in his throat, and he gripped Andrew’s face and kissed him back as if he would die if he didn’t. The passion and joy that burst in both their hearts stopped Elliot’s, and he turned around and dashed out into the hall, unable to breath.

Once he had gotten a few feet away from the door, he managed to take a breath, but then he started to shake so hard he thought he might collapse. Before that could happen, he bolted down the stairs and toward his room, running as though he could physically escape what he’d just seen.