Camille (9 page)

The floor and the room moved in a wavy
pattern. I hoped I would lose consciousness before hearing the
blade release. My mind froze and the memory of my father’s death
crawled up to make its last appearance before being blackened
forever. And through the blur, I saw my father’s face and a small
hand holding a pistol. Then I heard the noise, the guttural roar
I’d heard often before. I could no longer discern between real life
and my memories. There were yells of pain and someone screamed in
terror, but it had not come from my mouth. That much I could
sense.

Suddenly, my hands and hair were free, and I
collapsed forward. Two glowing eyes moved toward me. I rose to my
feet and stumbled backward as the blood began to return to my head.
Strong hands caught me but I no longer felt scared. Arms covered in
a sailor’s coat pulled me against a hard chest.

I cried into Strider’s shirt. Murmuring
voices filled the empty room. I lifted my face and saw the two men
lying unconscious on the floor across the room. I peered up at
Strider. His face was bloodless, his lips snow white. When he let
go of me, my heart sank low in my chest. He twisted back and looked
at the two men on the floor. One of them stirred. Then Strider’s
face whipped around, and his wild gaze held mine. His chest heaved
with breaths as he opened and shut his hands as if they pained him.
No doubt, the transformation from man to wolf must be
excruciating.

My feet felt weighted with bricks as I took a
step toward Strider. I placed my hand on his raised arm, but he
yanked it away, spun around, and plowed through the mystified
onlookers who were more than eager to get out of his way.

I did not light the fire in the hearth,
deciding the frigid air soothed my nausea. Dutch circled my legs
rubbing his face on my boots. I recalled little of what transpired
after leaving the wax museum. The sunlight had broken through the
clouds, and I remember shielding my eyes from the brightness as I
floated in a daze down the street path. Somehow, I’d managed to
find my way here to the safety of the marmalade room, but if
someone asked me to retrace my steps home, I could not. Dr. Bennett
had heard me come in, but did not leave his work to greet me, and
for that, I was grateful. The last thing I wanted was to have to
recount the events of the morning.

Dutch jumped into my lap and I startled. A
purr rumbled in his chest, reminding me of the sound I’d heard. The
transmutation was happening quickly. I rubbed my wrists remembering
how on our first meeting Strider had nearly crushed them with one
hand. Werewolves were powerful, but it had not been a fortnight,
and his strength seemed already without limits. The two barge men
had, no doubt, been hurled against the far wall.

Dr. Bennett stepped into the room. “You’re
back. How did you get along at Madame Tussauds?”

I shrugged. “Nothing new to report.” There
was no need to alarm him with my tale. He sat next to me on the
settee. “John, remember a few months ago when you told me about a
theory you had? You thought that different human characteristics
may well be transferred to the werewolf. You thought a very meek,
shy person may become a less virile werewolf and so on.”

“Yes, I believe so. In fact, I believe the
fish cart man may support my hypothesis.” He sat in the chair
across from me. His blue eyes were bloodshot from staring at
slides. “From what I read about the man, he was a quiet, reserved
sort of man. It was quite easy to destroy him.” He paused for a
moment and swallowed. “If he had been a more aggressive man, there
is no doubt he would have caught his prey that night, and young
Strider would have been a victim of a different sort.”

My shoulders curled forward, and I pushed the
cat from my lap. If only he had been, then I would not have known
him, and we would not be facing this prospect. “So someone full of
youth and energy, someone with an extreme lust for life--”

“If my theory is supported, they would be
extremely lethal as a werewolf.”

“Strider was there today, at the wax museum.”
My voice cracked.

“Did you talk to him? Will he come?”

I shook my head.

He leaned forward and patted my knee. “You
have tried your best, Cami. I’ll go out tomorrow and see if I can
convince him. A few pound notes ought to help.” He stood and walked
to the window.

“And if he refuses?” All my optimism had
vanished.

“Then we’ll wait until the next full moon,
and we will hunt him down.” His words sounded cold, but it was
obvious he wanted there to be no doubt in my mind.

I looked at him.

His face softened. “Camille, we’ll have no
other choice.”

My eyes ached but I had drained them of tears
for the day.

“The weather has been nice today.” Dr.
Bennett pulled back the curtain and looked out the window. “Hold,
Cami, what have we here? Come see.”

There was not much outside that could
interest me, but I pushed out of the chair and plodded to the
window.

Dr. Bennett pointed. “There, on our front
stoop.”

My gaze followed his finger. Nathaniel
Strider sat on our steps with his arms crossed tightly around
him.

My fingers clutched Dr. Bennett’s sleeve.
“You go. I don’t want to scare him away.”

The tiny crinkles around his eyes deepened as
he smiled. Dr. Bennett was not always astute when it came to my
emotions, but my agitation was obvious. He took hold of my
trembling hand and squeezed it. “I’ll go and invite him inside
before he changes his mind.”Two deep voices were muffled by the
window pane as I paced the rug in the sitting room. Strider’s face
kept flashing through my thoughts. The terror in his eyes had shown
he was not ready for this. But now, surely, he believed what I’d
been telling him. I could not imagine what it felt like emotionally
and physically to come to the realization that your human soul was
slipping away.

The front door creaked open. I raced to the
window and smacked the glass with my forehead. No sign of Strider.
Dr. Bennett had convinced him to come inside. My stomach cramped
with twitching nerves. I fell back into my favorite chair and
tucked my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking. I
sucked in a deep breath, held it, and marveled at my own
transformation into a ridiculous ninny.

Dutch’s tail shot straight up in the air, and
the hair on the cat’s back bristled. Its amber eyes bulged with
fury.

Footsteps descended the steps to the kitchen.
I stacked the books on the table in alphabetical order by author
and added coal to the grate for a fire. After ten minutes, I’d run
out of tasks to keep busy. I could stand it no longer. I checked my
reflection in the glass of the mantle clock. The white strand had
come loose from the ribbon at the back of my head. I tucked it
behind my ear, pinched my cheeks, and headed to the kitchen.

Soundlessly, I descended the stairs to the
kitchen and poked my head into the room.

Strider sat on the same stool, his elbows on
the table, and his forehead resting on his hands. Dr. Bennett stood
behind him with a hand on his shoulder. Sensing my presence, he
looked up.

“Ah, Camille,” Dr. Bennett said.

At the sound of my name, Strider’s head shot
up. He hopped off the stool, knocking it sideways. He stared at me
as if I was on fire.

“Camille,” Dr. Bennett continued as if there
had been no reaction to my presence, “Mr. Strider needs our help,
and we haven’t a moment to waste.”

I walked into the room. Strider moved back a
step.

“Camille is my scientist’s assistant and a
very good cook.” Dr. Bennett winked at me. “I think we should start
with a warm meal. And I’m sure Mr. Strider would relish a hot
bath.”

The look on Strider’s face conveyed anything
but relish. My presence seemed to make him terribly uncomfortable.
I fathomed it had to do with the incident at the museum. I had seen
him in the early stages of transformation and he knew it. Or
perhaps, he just didn’t care for me. This thought depressed me as I
trudged back upstairs to start a bath.

I’d spent twenty minutes chopping carrots and
potatoes for a stew when Dr. Bennett called me upstairs. He stood
outside the bathing room door holding a pair of trousers and a
white linen shirt. “I know these are not the most fashionable for a
young man, but do you think they will fit him?”

“You are both tall and thin. I suppose
they’ll fit,” I answered. “You might bring out his clothes, and
I’ll throw them in the copper to wash.”

“Good thought,” he said and rapped lightly on
the door before opening it.

I had no right to but I glanced inside.
Strider’s black hair stuck wet to his shoulders. He leaned forward
and I saw was his broad, bare back. It was scarred with strap
marks. My hand flew to my mouth, and I tumbled out of the doorway
and down the hall.

I returned to the kitchen and lit a fire
under the huge copper pot hardly paying attention to my task. On
the first night, he was merely a common thief, but as the many
facets of Nathaniel Strider were revealed, it became obvious that
he was much more. No doubt, he’d survived some of the worst life
offered. And none of it compared to what he faced now.

“He would not part with the coat but here’s
the rest.” Dr. Bennett held the dirty pile of clothing at arm’s
length as he crossed the room to the kettle and plunged them into
the water. He returned to the cooking table and stared down at my
work for a moment. “Those potatoes look fresh. They should be quite
tasty in a stew.” The light tone in his voice sounded forced. He
pulled up the stool and sat down. “My God, Cami, I hope we don’t
regret this.” Out came the solemn tone he’d been hiding.

I swept up the pile of vegetables into my
apron and threw them into a pot on the stove. Hot water splashed
the front of my apron. “Blasted.” I dropped the lid on with a
clamor. “Too late for regrets, John. Like it or not, this has
begun.” I scooped some flour from the crock and half of the powder
slipped to the floor. “Bloody hell,” I cursed and threw the rest of
it to the ground, scoop and all. “This is entirely the Queen’s
fault.”

Dr. Bennett lifted a brow. “Cami, we can
hardly blame Her Majesty for your clumsiness.”

My foot plowed through the powdery mess on
the floor, and it covered my shoe. “Not this. I mean him.” I
pointed upstairs. “If the monarchy would take care to feed all its
people, then Strider would not have been robbing a corpse, and he
would not have been bitten, and he would not be sitting upstairs in
our bath.”

Dr. Bennett smiled. “I admire your logic,
convoluted as it is. You do have a point. Unfortunately, it does
not help our situation. He is an interesting young man. And though
he’s lived in the streets for a good portion of his life, he is a
charming lad with a great deal of thought in his head. Which, of
course, makes this all the more difficult.”

Footsteps echoed in the stairwell. We both
stood. He had donned his dirty coat over the crisp trousers and
shirt. His hair still dripped and dark stubble shadowed his jaw,
but he cleaned up splendidly. So splendidly in fact, I had a hard
time not staring.

“Sup will be on the table soon,” I said to
break the silence.

Strider nodded with a shy grin. “Hope you’re
not going to too much trouble on my account.”

“Trouble? Nonsense.” I lifted the pot lid and
stirred. “I make this stew three times a week at least.”

Dr. Bennett tore off a chunk from the loaf of
bread sitting on the table. “You must be hungry, Mr. Strider. What
time was your last meal?” He handed the bread to him.

“I think it was around noon—Tuesday
last.”

My stirring spoon splashed into the stew pot
with a clang. “Tuesday?” I asked.

“Aye, Tuesday.” His answer was plain and
matter of fact with no edge of self-pity, although I felt plenty of
sorrow, especially when I thought how hollow my stomach felt if I
skipped just one meal. I couldn’t imagine the pain and weakness
that would accompany such a lack of food. How does one sleep with
such emptiness?

Dr. Bennett placed his hand on my arm, a
silent signal telling me not to pry any further.

“Mr. Strider, why don’t we head to the
sitting room and wait for supper.”

Strider nodded and followed him to the
stairs. His foot on the first step, he looked at me over his
shoulder for a moment, then turned back. Once they’d left, I sat
down hard on the stool and stared at the pot on the stove. The lid
vibrated over the fragrant steam.

Suddenly, Dutch scrambled down the steps
hissing wildly before scurrying under the kitchen table like a
field mouse hiding in its burrow. I reached under to stroke the
animal, but it swiped at me with an angry paw. A claw snagged my
palm. I yanked my hand away and pressed it against me to stop the
blood. Dutch’s hiss subsided into a low growl. The copper with
Strider’s clothes had begun to rattle with heat. Nothing would be
the same now. What had we done?

I carried in a plate piled high with steaming
stew for our guest. The marmalade room was strangely silent as I
walked in to place the food on the table.

“Camille, why did you not tell me about your
encounter at the wax museum?”

I glanced at Strider and then peered up at
Dr. Bennett. “It was nothing really. I did not see the need to
worry you.”

“Forgive me,” Strider spoke. “I was sure
you’d told him. Especially with…”

I pulled a fork from my apron and laid it
next to his plate. “If the incident was the cause of you coming
here today, then I’m pleased it happened.”

Strider did not reply but stared at his plate
for a long moment before picking up the fork. For a person who had
not eaten in three days, he ate with a great deal of composure.
“This is a plateful, to be sure,” he said between bites. “Tis very
good.”