Holly’s throat burned when she thought of him turning that weapon against Mary now. And Holly would be an accomplice. She wanted to scream, rage against the iron bars at the cellar door. Those iron bars clattered now, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
The man she knew as Jack Talent walked in, only the moment he came closer, she realized it wasn’t him at all. He had the look of Talent, true, similar eyes and build, but he’d shifted again, revealing a face pitted with decay. He wore no shirt, only rough trousers, and his torso was as ravaged as his face. The true horror, however, was the center of his chest, where, beneath the exposed bones of his sternum and ribs, a shriveled and blackened heart beat weakly.
A ringing sounded in Holly’s ears, her head going both heavy and light.
“The lovely Miss Evernight,” he said with an evil smile, making the pockets of puckered raw flesh ooze pus. “Hard at work, I see. Excellent.”
The ringing grew louder, and her limbs numbed. “Who—who are you?”
“I am pleased you asked, my dear. You may call me Master.”
Something dangled in his hand and dripped upon the floor. He moved, holding his hand up higher as if allowing her to get a better look. Holly was sorry when she did. Several clockwork hearts, still attached to arteries, dangled in his grip. Blood oozed from golden gears, and a drop landed on the ground with a splat. “I have another assignment for you.”
Jack stood before the glossy black door to Mary’s flat. The large stone of regret that lay in his chest seemed to grow, pushing against his ribs and making each breath he took a painful effort. For a long moment, he simply stared, noting the fine striations the painter’s brush had left in the lacquer and the tiny rust spots at the edge of the brass NO.6 that hung on the door.
For years they had tried to make him beg, to plead for forgiveness. He could all but feel those long-ago grains of rice boring once more into his knees, and the shafts of agony driving through his flesh. Jack had never begged. Not even when they’d nearly killed him.
He swallowed hard, willing himself to move, to speak. This was different. This was necessary. He could do this. Because he had to. His hand shook only a little as he lifted it and knocked on the unforgiving iron-plated door. The sound echoed in the empty hall. Nothing stirred.
Blood rushed through his ears as he waited. But silence crushed down on his shoulders, and the stone within him grew heavier still. Jack cleared his throat, the sound over-loud to his senses.
“Mary.” He cleared his throat again. “Mary, open the door.”
Sweat bloomed over his skin as sharp pricks of sensation crawled down his neck. The memory of another door, the dark chasm of a hall at his back, threatened. His childish voice haunted him. “Mama, please.” Rough hands grasped his upper arms, yanking him back. And the door receding as they tugged him away. Don’t you be bothering the mistress anymore, boy.
Jack blinked, forcing his focus on Mary’s door. “Mary.” His fist slammed into the door, shaking it now. “Let me in. I made hash of it this morning. I should have explained.” He could smell her. He smashed his fist against the thick iron.
The empty hall pressed in upon him, his blows on the door rattling and mocking. “I know you’re there. I know…” Jack’s chest heaved as he braced his forearms on the door. “I can hear you.” Her heart ticked and whirred. So loudly it might have been right on the other side. “I can feel you, Mary.” His throat worked painfully, his mouth too dry. “I’ve always felt you…” His breath came out in a hard pant, his forehead pressing into the hard surface. “I always have. From the first.”
Still nothing. Only her scent and the feel of her vibrating around his soul. He traced a scar in the door as he spoke past the tightness in his throat. “I was a bastard. Worse than that. A despicable idiot. An ass.” He ground his forehead into the door until it hurt. “Whatever you want to call me, I agree.” His hands flattened on the cool lacquer. “I know I ought to slink away like the dog that I am. But I can’t. I… shit.” He ground his teeth and closed his eyes. It ought to be easy, saying the truth. It ought to be a balm to his soul. It wasn’t. It hurt like hell. “I need you. I don’t remotely deserve you but…”
He couldn’t say any more. No matter how much he wanted to, his mouth didn’t seem to obey. Wincing, he clenched his fists and tried again. “Mary. Please. Let me in. Let me protect you. Or provide some comfort. I know you are hurting. I can feel that too.”
She did not come. Something black, and hot, and sick welled within him. He tasted blood. His breath seared his throat. “Goddamn it! Open the bloody door, Mary!” His fists slammed into it. Again and again. The blows echoed around him. “I am not leaving, do you hear? I’m not going!”