30
James led her to a seat in the far corner of a café on Fourth called the Pickled Pig.
The walls were papered a stylish pink, and the ceiling was covered in copper. Members of both sexes sat at the tables, sipping from white mugs, and the whole place smelled of roasting coffee beans. Molly looked around for the other students but couldn’t find them.
“It’s just going to be us, if that’s all right.”
“They didn’t want to study with me, did they?” She felt herself deflate, sinking down into a smartly upholstered cane chair. The anatomy students still didn’t count her as one of their own. Her mind and her blade might be as quick as theirs, but somehow it was only her body they saw. In their world, a woman would only ever be on top of an operating table, not beside it.
“They’ll come around.” James offered a comforting smile.
She wanted to believe him. But perhaps Tom was right. Perhaps she’d always be nothing more than an amusement to them.
“The medical field is always changing, Molly, and anatomy is at the forefront. Once upon a time, everything was done by apprenticeship, and doctors weren’t men who knew anything about wielding a blade. Then the medical schools in America opened up.” He smirked. “Such as they are. But the real learning in this country is still done in private institutions, and LaValle’s is the best. As his students, we get to work on real bodies. And after we’ve proven ourselves with a few months of study, LaValle provides us the opportunity to assist with his patients at the free clinics.” He held her gaze. “If you want to earn a reputation that others can’t help but accept, regardless of your gender, this is the place to do it.”
She nodded, touched that he felt her capable.
“Now, where shall we begin?” Taking off his jacket, James pulled out his notes from a fashionable leather bag and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. A trio of young ladies at a nearby table began whispering, glancing at him appreciatively, but James seemed not to notice. The waiter appeared with two steaming mugs of coffee and a jar of cream.
Molly poured the heavy cream into her cup, watching the colors swirl together, and then sprinkled a bit of nutmeg, from the accompanying shaker, on top. She was growing quite fond of coffee. At the orphanage, only the priests had been allowed it.
People—mostly young—came and went. Women who looked like they’d stepped straight from the fashion catalogues, bankers on dinner break, and students from the nearby colleges mingled with local workers. There was an energy here not dissimilar to the Red Carousel, and Molly enjoyed her place in it, hidden by its busyness yet still drawing from the contentment everyone seemed to radiate. The unfashionable pinned-up braids she wore to keep the hair out of her eyes for anatomy lectures went unnoticed here, as did her new pants. For all anyone knew, she could be an artist or a suffragist. Amidst so many other people, she became simply a part of the crowd.
They studied for hours, both from their notes and from a new copy of the Transactions of the American Medical Society that James had brought. He was a good partner. Patient. Molly was grateful that he, at least, seemed willing to accept her as an equal.
The café was closing when they left. Molly clutched her new armful of notes to her chest.
James hesitated outside the omnibus stop. “Can I show you something?” he said.
She was rubbing her eyes, she was so tired. Worse, she still had work to do tonight. Ava had made that quite clear. “I’m afraid I don’t have time.”
“Twenty minutes,” James said, and there was a sudden shyness in his voice. “Besides, it’s not out of your way. Let me ride home with you. I promise you’ll want to see this.”
He’d been so kind to her . . .
“All right. But only for a moment.”
He grinned, helping her onto the bus.
Together, they got off at Ava’s stop. But rather than walking her to the front door, James led Molly around back to the church.
“James, really, it’s getting late. If there’s something at school, perhaps it can wait until tomorrow.”
Something had been niggling at her. She kept returning to the doctor’s lecture. The clean slice of LaValle’s knife as he removed the dog’s skin.
“Five minutes. Promise.”
“All right. Five minutes.” James had been the only one willing to study with her; it was the least she could do.
He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket.
“You have your own keys?” Molly felt a faint twinge of annoyance that Ava still hadn’t given Molly a set of her own.
James blushed. “No. The doctor gives me his keys in the mornings to set up the operating theater, and then I give them back. I just . . . held on to them for a few extra hours today.”
He pushed open the door.
Her pulse quickened as he led her past the aisles to the back. What could he possibly want to show her here? She thought she knew the space by heart, but reaching up to the church’s ceiling, James pulled open a door she’d never noticed. A hidden ladder descended.
Molly felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. James lifted himself onto the ladder, and she watched him disappear into the dim hole. Throat dry, she caught hold of the lowest rung and crawled up after him.
She emerged in an attic room, the skeletons of dead moths clinging to its every surface, and spiderwebs lacing its corners.
“What is this place?”
Tall metal shelves full of glass jars and vials sat in the center. A single small window lit the room, filtering in a dirty light, so that it felt like they were underwater.
“Do you like it?” She felt James’s breath on her neck, very close, and spun, knocking against the shelf in the middle. They were, she realized, completely alone.
A rattling sounded as the jars shook.
“Careful,” he admonished, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her. “These specimens are priceless.” Gently, he spun her toward the light. “This is the doctor’s private collection.” His voice was filled with awe. “It’s considered one of the finest in the world.”
On the shelves, every kind of abomination imaginable swam like preserves inside murky jars. To her right was a glass full of what looked like worms, white bits of flesh swimming together in a fetid dance. Beneath each of the jars was a neat label in perfect cursive. She leaned closer to read one.
Peelings from a woman’s foot, collected by her over 40 years . . .
Gagging, she averted her eyes, but the next was no better. A creature that looked like something from one of the orphanage’s paintings of hell swam in and out of focus. Its body was that of a fish, but its face looked human. Except for the teeth—row upon row of knifelike spears protruded from a ghoulish mouth.
“Where does he get all these?” she asked.
“He finds some, buys others,” James said. “Used to buy a lot from the Tooth Fairy, but as you know, he and your aunt aren’t exactly on the best of terms now.”
Molly continued down the line, each jar’s contents more horrific than the last. She knew that preserving anomalies was important for science, but something about this particular collection felt wrong.
“Here.” James’s eyes shone with excitement. “Look at this.”
He held out a jar. Inside, a small bit of flesh, no bigger than a finger, floated.
Vestigial Tail from a 16-year-old girl . . .
Molly grabbed the jar. Kitty.
“Where did he get this?”
It was Kitty’s. It had to be.
James looked alarmed at her reaction. He reached gently for the jar, but she yanked it away.
“Careful, Molly.” He frowned. “That’s a very rare specimen.”
“She was a person, not a specimen.” Her eyes stung. Holding the jar to the light, she watched the stolen piece of Kitty whirl inside the liquid.
James’s face wrinkled in concern. “Molly, are you all right?”
“Where did the doctor get this?” She held up the jar. “This. This particular specimen.” She cringed at the word.
James considered. “I’m not certain.”
“Please.” She stepped closer, her eyes boring into his. “This is important. I want you to—”
But before she could finish, James leaned in to kiss her.
Molly shoved him angrily away.
“What the hell was that?” she said.
He ducked his head, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted me to. When you agreed to come here with me after the café—”
“Wanted you to?” Molly was so angry she was shaking. “I wanted you to treat me like a colleague. I just didn’t think I had to ask.”
“Molly, please. Wait!”
But she was already climbing down the ladder, clumsily clutching the jar with Kitty’s tail to her chest.
James started after her. “Wait! Please!”
“No. Leave me alone.” She heard him pause, then stop.
Jumping down from the ladder, Molly raced across the empty lecture room to the church’s door.
Outside, the sky was a corpse-eye blue. Feet crunching over the gravel, Molly hurried toward the house. She needed solitude. Time to make sense of what had just happened. Instead, she heard voices coming from the foyer.
“Thank you. This information is very helpful,” a man said.
“It’s also very delicate,” Ava whispered. “As I’m sure you know. I’m putting myself at risk by telling you anything at all.”
Molly peered around the corner to see a police officer standing across from her aunt. A distinguished white mustache framed the man’s lips, and his coat gleamed with polished brass buttons.
Gasping, Molly shoved the jar into her pocket and pressed herself against the wall.
“I give you my word as a gentleman no one will know it came from you.” The policeman’s voice boomed with authority. “Least of all him.”
“Thank you.” Despite speaking to a police officer amidst the center of her illegal empire, Ava sounded perfectly calm. “And I do hope you and your wife will be able to attend our upcoming party.”
There was the creak of a door opening. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The door slammed closed.
Heart pounding, Molly stepped into the foyer.
“Molly?” Ava spun, a hand going to her chest. “My goodness, you startled me.”
“Why was there a police officer in our house?”
Her aunt’s face shifted. “I was taking care of some rather unpleasant business.”
“What was it?”
Ava sighed, considering. “I have it on good authority that the Tooth Fairy is the man plaguing this city,” she said finally. “The Knifeman, or whatever the papers are calling him.”
Molly blanched. “But that doesn’t make any sense. The body he left you was a natural death. And—”
“The actions of madmen rarely conform to our logic,” Ava said. “And it’s certainly not in our interest to try to fathom their reasons. Let the policemen do that.” She turned around to leave.
Molly’s mind was spinning so fast she felt the room tilt. “You said the Tooth Fairy was a nuisance. A spoiled child.”
She stopped. “I didn’t want to alarm you.”
“But who told you he was the Knifeman?”
Ava frowned. “I’d prefer not to disclose their name. Suffice it to say, I’m very close with the source.”
Molly felt the jar in her pocket. LaValle.
In the attic, she’d been nearly ready to accept him as the killer.
But James had said the Tooth Fairy sold anomalies to the doctor. If LaValle was in business with him, the doctor’s keen eye might easily have noted that too many of the man’s wares were unnaturally fresh. Like Kitty. A newly severed limb that had yet to set into rigor mortis had to have been harvested within ten hours of someone’s death, and not even the best grave robber was that consistently lucky.
Though it still didn’t explain how the Tooth Fairy might have found Kitty in the first place.
“Are they going to arrest him?”
Ava shook her head. “I don’t know. I suspect they’ll need to find their own proof, but I’ve done all I can.”
Molly’s mind felt like it had been scattered with buckshot, the information painfully peppering her brain. She’d waited so long to know the name of Kitty’s killer, but now that Ava was giving it to her, she felt none of the relief she’d expected. Only the awkward feeling of a mended bone that didn’t quite set.
“And you’re sure it’s him?”
A tender look flashed across her aunt’s eyes, and she pulled Molly into a fierce hug. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Molly.”
Her skin smelled of sweat and the delicate scent of her perfume—sweet orange blossom. It was the first time they’d shared such affection. Molly closed her eyes and let her head press against the rustling fabric of Ava’s dress. Through its thin layer, she could hear the quick, birdlike rhythm of Ava’s heart.
Her aunt pulled away. “Dinner’s waiting for you. I’ve had Maeve lay you a place. I’m afraid I have too much work planning for the party to join you tonight.”
With a curt nod, she disappeared up the stairs. Molly heard the click of her door as it opened and then the sigh of the wood as Ava shut herself inside.
Molly retreated to the empty kitchen. A fire burned in the hearth, keeping the stone walls warm. Perhaps Edgar had been telling one of the other boys about Kitty, and the news had somehow gotten back to the Tooth Fairy. If he sold anomalies to men like the doctor, then he’d certainly want anything so valuable. But something about it still didn’t sit right.
All this time, a piece of Kitty had been inside the very walls where Molly worked.
With shaking hands, Molly pulled the jar from her dress and set it on the table. Staring into the murky liquid, she tried and failed to understand why this should be worth so much more than Kitty’s life.
“Please,” she whispered. She’d give anything right now to have just one more chance to speak to her friend. One more chance to put things right and tell Kitty she was sorry for not truly listening to her that night.
But there was nothing left of Kitty. Just a lump of flesh.
Pushing back her chair, Molly stood, grabbing the jar.
“I’m sorry.”
With trembling fingers, she unscrewed the lid. And in a single quick motion she tossed Kitty’s tail into the flames.
The fire rose higher, burning brilliantly with the chemicals from the preservation fluid. The last bit of her friend burned, then disappeared.
The quiet of the empty kitchen was heightened by the heavy air outside, the windows shut tight against the winter wind. A smell of cooked meat and chemicals rapidly filled the room.
Molly ran to a window, trying to open it, but the swollen wood stayed stuck. Frustrated, she beat at the pane, pounding her palms like a trapped moth against the glass.
Then came the sound of footsteps—careful, quiet.