Shadow of Night(239)

“Bedlam isn’t in London, Hubbard,” Matthew said coldly. “You’re out of your bailiwick, and Kit is beyond your protection.”

“Christ, here we go again.” Gallowglass closed the door in Sleford’s stunned face. “Lock it!” he barked through the wood, punctuating his command with a thud of his fist.

Louisa sprang to her feet when the metal mechanism ground shut, the chains rattling around her ankles and wrists. One of them snapped, and I jumped as the broken length of metal chimed against the floor. A sympathetic banging of chains sounded along the corridor.

“Notmybloodnotmybloodnotmyblood,” Louisa chanted. She was as flat as possible against the far wall. When I met her eyes, she whimpered and turned away. “Begone, fantôme. I have already died once and have nothing to fear from ghosts like you.”

“Be quiet.” Matthew’s voice was low, but it cracked through the room with enough force that we all jumped.

“Thirsty,” Louisa croaked. “Please, Matthew.”

There was a regular splat of wetness against stone. With each splash Louisa’s body jerked. Someone had suspended a stag’s head by the antlers, its black eyes empty and staring. Blood fell, one drop at a time, from its severed neck and onto the floor just beyond the reach of Louisa’s chains.

“Stop torturing her!” I stepped forward, but Gallowglass’s hand held me back.

“I can’t let you interfere, Auntie,” he said firmly. “Matthew’s right: You don’t belong in the middle of this.”

“Gallowglass.” Matthew shook his head in warning. Gallowglass released my arm and watched his uncle warily.

“Let me answer your earlier question, Auntie, Matthew has had just enough of Kit’s blood to keep his blood rage burning. You may need this if you want to talk to him.” Gallowglass tossed me a knife. I made no move to catch it, and the blade clattered to the stones.

“You are more than this disease, Matthew.” I stepped over the blade. We stood so close that my skirts brushed against his boots. “Let Father Hubbard see to Kit.”

“No.” Matthew’s expression was unyielding.

“What would Jack think if he saw you this way?” I was willing to use guilt rather than steel to bring Matthew to his senses. “You’re his hero. Heroes do not torment their friends or family.”

“They tried to kill you!” Matthew’s roar reverberated through the small room.

“They were out of their minds with opiates and alcohol. Neither of them knew what they were doing,” I retorted. “Nor, may I add, do you in your present state.”

“Don’t fool yourself. Both of them knew exactly what they were doing. Kit was ridding himself of an obstacle to his happiness without a care for anyone else. Louisa was succumbing to the same cruel urges she’s indulged since the day she was made.” Matthew ran his fingers through his hair. “I know what I’m doing, too.”

“Yes—you’re punishing yourself. You’ve convinced yourself that biology is destiny, at least so far as your own blood rage is concerned. As a result you think you’re just like Louisa and Kit. Just another madman. I asked you to stop denying your instincts, Matthew, not to become a slave to them.”

This time, when I took a step toward Matthew’s sister, she sprang at me, spitting and snarling.

“And there’s your greatest fear for the future: that you will be reduced to an animal, chained up and waiting for the next punishment because it’s what you deserve.” I went back to him, gripping his shoulders. “You are not this man, Matthew. You never were.”

“I’ve told you before not to romanticize me,” he said shortly. He dragged his eyes away from mine, but not before I’d seen the desperation there.

“So this is for my benefit, too? You’re still trying to prove that you’re not worth loving?” His hands were clenched at his sides. I reached for them and forced them open, pulling them flat against my belly. “Hold our child, look me in the eye, and tell us that there’s no hope for a different ending to this story.”

As on the night I’d waited for him to take my vein, time stretched out to infinity while Matthew wrestled with himself. Now, as then, I could do nothing to speed the process or help him choose life over death. He had to grab hope’s fragile thread without any help from me.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Once I knew that love between a vampire and a witch was wrong. I was sure the four species were distinct. I accepted the deaths of witches if it meant that vampires and daemons survived.” Though his pupils still eclipsed his eyes, a bright sliver of green appeared. “I told myself that the madness among daemons and the weaknesses among vampires were relatively recent developments, but now that I see Louisa and Kit . . .”