Lady Regina will demand the uniforms back, of course. I’ll have to mend the pocket Layton tore, or else she’ll make me pay for the damages. Well, she’s welcome to this stupid cap.
Despite my resolve, I have to bite back my dread as I step into the Lisles’ suite. Yet the explosion of scolding from Lady Regina I’m expecting doesn’t happen. The only person in the front room is Horne, who snaps, “Took you long enough. Miss Irene’s waiting.” Which is what she says every day I’m not there at dawn.
I can only stand there and blink. I ran out on the job and the only punishment is . . . nothing?
Finally I return to Miss Irene’s room. She’s sitting exactly where I left her, cheeks still flushed, breath still fast. Although she doesn’t look up from the floor when I come in, she recognizes me. “I told Mother I’d given you some errands to run. I didn’t explain what. If she asks, make something up.”
“Thank you, miss.” I’m less relieved than dismayed. I’ll do the work, in the hopes of getting the money, but I’m still in the center of this mess—and too close to Mikhail. The world’s largest ocean liner suddenly seems far too small.
To set aside my own fears, I study Irene for a few moments, taking in how distressed she looks. She’s always been thin, but I’ve had to take in the waistlines of her gowns two inches during the past month, and I have to tug her stays hard to get them tight enough for her corset not to hang loose on her body. For her to shout at Lady Regina as she did, something extraordinary must be wrong. As well as we get along, though, it’s beyond the bounds of the servant-employer relationship for me to ask Irene about it directly.
I try, “Are you sure you’re well, miss?”
“As well as can be expected.” She sighs. “Come on, Tess. Make me pretty. Dress me up like a doll so Mother can parade me around.”
An idea comes to me. It’s both so radical and so obvious that it’s startling. It will snarl Mikhail’s plans in a way he won’t discover until too late. It will give me some small measure of power in this terrifying mess.
But more than anything else—if I do this, I will help Alec. I will give him a chance to finally get the upper hand in his battle against the Brotherhood.
Is it worth committing a crime to help him? Worth risking my freedom, potentially even my life?
My practical nature says no. For the first time in a very long time, I ignore my practical side. What I feel for Alec—the depth of his desperation—moves me more than logic or caution or any thought of my own safety. Perhaps I should believe it has only made me insane, but down deep, I know: He has made me braver. Stronger. Someone who could do anything.
Someone who would do this.
Slowly, I say, “Shall I get you something fine from the great box, Miss Irene?”
“Sounds marvelous.” Irene, hardly glancing in my direction, tosses me the key.
So I unlock the box and choose a nice strand of pearls.
And I steal the Initiation Blade.
Chapter 16
IN THE FINAL HOUR BEFORE EVENING, I AM UNEXPECTEDLY freed from my duties. Irene’s dark mood this morning had, perhaps, been a sign of impending illness; she takes to her bed by late afternoon.
“Are you sure you won’t want to dress for dinner, miss?” I pat her foot to soothe her. Lord knows her mother won’t.
“I won’t.” Her face is turned into the pillow, so her voice is muffled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
By rights I ought to check with Horne before I go, but she’ll tell me to wait and see what Lady Regina says. Lady Regina will demand that Irene get ready for a formal dinner. But if I’m already gone, her Ladyship can’t make that demand. Leaving saves me and Irene both.
I know immediately what I need to take care of first. It’s what I swore to myself to do the moment I stole the Initiation Blade, but I hardly thought I’d get a chance so soon. But where do I go?
When I turn toward one of the portholes, I see the soft, pink light of the late afternoon. The final hour before sunset—the final hour of freedom. I know my destination.
I walk onto the first-class deck. In my uniform, I’m invisible among the glittering notables milling about. None of them would recognize me as the elegant girl from yesterday afternoon; some of the same ones who murmured admiring compliments my way now look straight through me. I move among them like the shadow amid the sunlight. The weight of the dagger in my pocket makes me feel strong, and I almost wish for Mikhail to challenge me. But he doesn’t appear. He’s still clinging to Layton like a leech, I suppose. I almost wish I could be there in New York when they open up that box and find the dagger missing, to see the smirk finally wiped off Mikhail’s face.
Then I consider what would follow the smirk—homicidal rage. Let Layton deal with it.
As I walk toward the bow of the ship, where the sunlight is brightest, I see a long, lean figure silhouetted against the rail, unruly hair ruffled by the breeze. Alec. His suit is nighttime black, turning him into a kind of shadow himself. He is drinking in the sunlight, living his last hour of humanity to the fullest. Just as I knew he would be.
Slowly I step closer to him. Nobody is near us. Although I am silent, and my footsteps would surely be lost in the rushing of the wind, he hears me. Perhaps it is the wolf that hears me. “Tess,” he says without even turning.
“Alec.” I want to touch his shoulder, his back, but these final few inches between us feel like a distance I cannot yet cross.
“You asked my father if I was a murderer.”
“He says you don’t know if you are or not.”
Alec’s head droops. “No.”
The sound of children’s laughter makes us both look to the side, where a woman in a frothy white dress of lace is shepherding her three small daughters—all as lacy and beribboned as their mother—toward the railing, only a few steps away. I say, “Where can we speak?”
“Follow me.”
Alec leads me back into the ship, into a room with white, elaborately decorated walls and fine carpets on the floor; the shelves of leather-bound books available tell me this is the ship’s library. White Grecian columns give the room a kind of otherworldliness. The elegant, half-drawn drapes turn the late-day sunlight deeply golden. At this hour, so close to the evening entertainments, the library is deserted except for us. Alec and I are alone together again.
He paces the room, agitated, until he looks back at my face and stops himself. Perhaps he thinks he might frighten me. I slowly sit on the divan against the wall, gripping the damask-covered arm of the sofa with both hands.
“Gabrielle was the only true friend I had in Paris,” Alec says. “Sometimes I thought of her as the sister I’d never had. The wild one, the one who could dare to take to the stage and keep bad company and do all the things that would shock my father, and yet remain good at heart.” A rueful smile touches the corners of his mouth, as if he were thinking about an unruly little girl in pigtails instead of a sophisticated actress. “I used to think that if I could ever tell anyone besides Dad what had happened to me, it would be her. I wish I had. If I’d told Gabrielle the truth, she would have known to be afraid of me. She could have protected herself. She might still be alive.”
“This is why you had to return to America in such a hurry. You were afraid you would be connected to Gabrielle’s murder.”
“If they guillotined me, it would be no more than I deserve. And sometimes I think it would be easier to die than to go on, knowing what I probably did to her. But the scandal, the grief—it would destroy my father. He’s blameless in this. I keep finding new ways to ruin his life, and mine. All I could do was flee Paris, put aside our search for more information to use against the Brotherhood. All I could do was take myself away from humanity, as much as possible.”
I lean forward and speak very carefully. It’s important that I ask this in exactly the right way. “Do you remember killing her?”
Alec shakes his head no. “The wolf clouds my mind. I never remember much afterward
.”
“The Brotherhood could have—”
“Oh, Tess, do you think I haven’t asked myself that? Yes, it’s possible. But then why wouldn’t they have told me, to show me their power? That’s the kind of thing they do—lord it over you. It’s just as possible that I did it, and—I’ll never really know.”
“I know. You didn’t kill her.”
Alec stares at me, almost disbelieving, and he sits heavily on a nearby chair as if this revelation has stolen his strength. I drop to my knees beside him and take one of his hands in mine.
“That was the Brotherhood. They did to her what they tried to do to me—use her to make you feel guilty and afraid. That’s why they didn’t tell you, to make you doubt yourself! Mikhail thinks that if you commit a murder, you’ll need them to preserve your freedom, and you’ll undergo the initiation to keep yourself from ever being in a position like that again. So they killed Gabrielle and made you think you’d done it. When that didn’t work, they tried once more with me, and tried to make you kill me outright.”
He’s not convinced. “I can see your reasoning. But the fact remains, I was free. I could have killed her. I knew where she lived. And as a wolf, I’m no different than they are.”
“Yes, you are! I keep thinking about that first night, when Mikhail threw me to you.” The steam and the heat fill my memory, and I see the red wolf even more clearly than I did then. “I’ve turned it all over in my mind time and time again, and I’m convinced—you could have killed me if you wanted to. But you didn’t. When I closed myself inside a door that could never have kept you out, you stood guard outside. When Mikhail changed into a wolf as well, and tried to attack me—Alec, you fought for me. I realize that now. Not as your prey; you fought to protectme. I believe you saved me that night. Had you been with Gabrielle on the evening when she died, I know in my heart that you would have saved her too.”
“You can’t be certain.” Alec shakes his head. In his eyes, pain wars with hope.
“I can be, and I am. Maybe you don’t remember who you are as a wolf—but as a wolf, you remember who you are as a man. You’re more than a beast.” I grip his hands tighter, hold them to my heart, kiss the knuckles, clutch both hands beneath my chin. “Your humanity can’t be taken away from you. Not by the Brotherhood or the curse or the moonlight. Your heart is stronger than all of that. Believe it. Because I do.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. Last night we were passionate, but this is different—more intense, and yet sweeter. As he opens my mouth with his own, I tilt my head back and slide my arms around his neck.
Alec pulls me up into the chair with him, almost in his lap. His embrace is warm. Through his suit I can feel the power in his muscles, sense the presence of the wolf beneath the surface, and yet I’m not afraid any longer. The wolf is part of the man. I accept them both. I want them both.
Against my cheek, Alec whispers, “I’m a danger to you. If not as a wolf, then—as long as the Brotherhood pursues me—”
“Mikhail’s been after me since before you and I met, remember? That’s why we met.” I caress his cheek as we curl together in the chair. “And besides, if I wasn’t in the thick of it before, I am now.” From my pocket, I pull out the Initiation Blade.
Alec’s eyes widen as he sees it. Shock swiftly turns to pride. “Tess, you’re—you’re—”
“Brave?”
“I was going to say audacious. But brave, and courageous, and wonderful.” He kisses me, even deeper this time. The dagger is heavy in my hand; my body feels warm and weak throughout every joint, every bone. But I keep my grip. Jewels press into my skin, and the metal loses its chill against my skin.
When we can think again, I rest my forehead against his chest and we study the Blade together. “It looks medieval to me,” he says. “Perhaps a thousand years old. How far back does the Brotherhood’s power reach?”
“It hardly matters anymore, does it? Because they can’t have your future.” How has this not occurred to him before? “Alec, this is what they use for the initiations, isn’t it? That means you can do it yourself. You can stop yourself from changing every night if you don’t want to, without having anything to do with the Brotherhood.”
The elation I expect doesn’t come. Alec looks grave as he traces around the hilt of the dagger, the curves of my fingers as I hold it. “It’s not that easy, Tess. The change requires more than a cut from the Blade. As I understand it, there’s old magic involved—old magic I don’t know.”
I sag against him, crushed. “This doesn’t help you at all?”
“What? No—this helps me enormously. More than anyone else has been able to help me since this insanity began.” Alec lifts my chin with one crooked finger. “I don’t know the magic, but there may be others outside the Brotherhood who do. There are rebel werewolves out there—former Brotherhood members who left, others who refused to join. I’ve even heard rumors of female werewolves who hide from them in secret packs. If I can find even one werewolf outside the Brotherhood who knows how to use this Initiation Blade, I can be free. I can free others.” He smiles at last. “This blade means everything. This blade means hope.”
We kiss again, but already my more practical side is kicking in. Alec’s the one with the grander tragedies and aspirations; I’m the one who knows how to make a goal and a plan. “We have to be doubly cautious during the rest of the trip. Mikhail mustn’t guess we’ve got it until after the Titanic makes dock. It’s only two more days, but Lord knows our first four days have been eventful enough.”
Alec weighs this carefully. “Will he look for it before then?”
“Layton said something about them making a deal once they were ashore. So it sounds like we have time.” I take one of Alec’s hands in mine and firmly place the Initiation Blade in his palm, then wrap his fingers around it. “You should be the one to keep it. Do you have a safe in your quarters, too?” He nods, but obviously wants to argue this part with me. My finger presses against his lips to silence his protest. “That makes your room a much safer place to keep this than mine. Besides, we already know Mikhail won’t kill you or your father for it; it’s the Marlowe Steele money and influence they want, isn’t it? They need you alive for that.”
“Yes. But Mikhail would kill you for it,” Alec says. “And I’m not happy about the danger this leaves you in.”
“That makes two of us, but what else is there to do? I’ve managed to remain around people or in safe areas so far, and Mikhail’s backed off me the past day or so. As long as he thinks he can charm that dagger from Layton, that’s where he’ll focus his attention.”
“Perhaps. Sometimes when he takes a step back, it’s just a sign that he’s biding his time. Changing his strategy.” Alec’s fingers comb through the few gold curls loose at the nape of my neck. Have we been kissing each other all this time while I’m still wearing my stupid linen cap? Not exactly the romantic image I’d hoped for. But the light in Alec’s eyes tells me that he thinks I’m beautiful, cap or no cap. “Listen. You’re right about hiding this from Mikhail if we can. But if he confronts you—Tess, if he threatens you and you can’t get to me or to my father—you must tell him you hid the Blade.”
“And make him even angrier?”
“It will. But if he believes you’re the only one who knows where it is, he’ll leave you alive. And that gives me time to get to you.” Alec frames my face in his hands. “No matter what, Tess, I promise you—if you’re in danger, no matter what, I’ll find you.”
“I told you before,” I whisper. “I believe in you.”
The kiss that follows seems to last forever, and I never want to let go.
But sunset is coming.
When I walk Alec belowdecks for his confinement, we don’t go to the Turkish bath. “Turns out they’re being opened tonight at the request of one of the especially illustrious passengers,” he says as we walk out of the elevator onto D deck. His thumb brushes against my knuckles; his little finger draws a shape on
my palm. I’d never realized merely holding hands could be so intoxicating. “I’m not sure exactly who, but I’d wager on Benjamin Guggenheim.”
When we reach our destination—the squash court, of all things—I see that Howard Marlowe is already standing at the door. Although I expect Alec to drop my hand, he doesn’t. Instead he turns to explain—as though I were the one who had a right to an explanation, and his father was the newcomer. “This location isn’t as secure as the Turkish bath. And Mikhail interfered with that once, so who knows what he might try here? Dad will keep guard tonight.”
“Good evening.” Mr. Marlowe says this as politely as he would to Lady Regina—perhaps even more politely, come to think of it. “Alec, I realize you’ve been pleasantly occupied elsewhere, but time is short.”
“I know. I’m going.” Alec gives me a look that makes me melt, but we’re not alone any longer. To my surprise, he kisses me, right there in front of his father—just a quick touch of the lips, but so much more than I expected. “Good night, Tess.”
“Good night.” But what a ridiculous thing to say to someone who will spend the night in torment. I add, “Remember what I told you. About who you truly are.”
About the beast retaining the goodness of the man. Alec’s face lights in a smile. “I remember.” Then he goes through the squash court door, and Mr. Marlowe and I are alone.
Mr. Marlowe doesn’t immediately speak to me, and I realize from the dark circles beneath his eyes that he’s exhausted. His son’s changes take a toll on him, too. “You’ll stay here all night, sir?”
“It’s for the best,” Mr. Marlowe says. “I had to get this key from a very senior officer, so I think not even Mikhail can enter. But we can’t take any chances.”
“If it would help you, sir, I could stay here for the first few hours. You could get a nap, and I could keep watch.”