flesh-colored paint. “I offer
you
, a foundling, a boy with nobody and nothing … I give you protection, safety,
food
.” He cuffed the boy again, a brisk, smart snap. This time, a spurt of blood jumped from Bode’s mouth. “
This
is how you show your gratitude?”
“No.”
Eyes watering, Bode backhanded blood from his lips. “I’m only saying … there’s no call for you to—”
“Don’t!” Elizabeth’s fingers tightened about her spike of bone.
Come here, you; try that with me
. “It’s my fault. Here, I’m talking! Isn’t that what you want?”
This seemed to catch Kramer off his stride. “Yes. What am I thinking, wasting my time with this … this
whelp
?” Turning, Kramer crooked a finger. “Weber!”
No!
Cringing, her courage fleeing, Elizabeth pressed herself against cold brick. At the door, Battle still stood, impassive, hisgray eyes fixing her with a look of detached interest. Doyle only fidgeted. Meme—her very
good
friend—was useless.
“N-no tonics, no more t-teas.” That pressure in her chest was growing, unfurling in a hot, dark, menacing rose. Above her eyes, the
Other
was trying to claw its way out of her skull. “I promise, I’ll—” Her scalp gave a shout as Weber wrenched her hair with one huge paw.
“Open your mouth, Elizabeth.” Selecting a phial, Kramer withdrew a minute stopper. “Don’t make me force you.” When she still didn’t budge, Kramer sighed, then flicked a finger. “Weber? If you please?”
“Right,” Weber said, and pinched her nose shut with his free hand.
“Wait! You don’t need to
do
that!” Bode said.
No!
A bolt of panic ripped through her. Her right hand closed around the bone spike as she dug the nails of her left into Weber’s wrist. Her chest was already churning; she could feel her throat working, trying to get her to open her mouth and breathe,
breathe
!
“Don’t hurt her!” Bode tried shoving Weber to one side, but it was like trying to move a monument. “Let me, sir. I can get her to take it.”
“We’re managing, thank you,” Kramer said. “Open your mouth, Elizabeth.”
“Nuh.”
Parting her lips just enough to suck a breath through the gate of her teeth, she fought to twist away from the mouth of that small brown bottle of poison.
“NNN—”
She kicked and tried to bite as Kramer grabbed her face in one hand, but then he was straddling her, using his greater weight to crush her into her mattress. She heard the
tick
of glass against her teeth, and then she was coughing and choking against a thick, unctuous yellowliquid first seeping and then gushing into her convulsing throat. Rearing, she spat out what she could but knew: too late.
“Stop fighting.” A dribble of tonic and her spit trickled over Kramer’s tin cheek in a viscous yellow tear. Kramer studied her a moment, then nodded at Weber. “Open her mouth.”
“Nnnuhhh.”
But she could feel the drug working its black magic in her veins, and when the slow slide of it next moved over her tongue, she swallowed automatically.
From the door, Battle spoke up. “Is this really necessary, Doctor? The girl’s in a frenzy.”
Kramer’s face darkened. “Balls. Don’t tell me my bloody business,” he muttered, too low for anyone but her to hear. Pitching his voice a little louder: “She needs calming, Inspector. Agitation only fuels the
dédoublement de la personnalité
, the splits in her mind.”
“Yes.” Battle’s tone was dry. “My French is adequate, thank you.”
Kramer turned a look over his shoulder and said … something. She wasn’t sure what. All at once, everything outside her own head was beginning to rush away. It was the drug, she knew, dissolving the last of her resistance. She heard herself let go of a long sigh, and as she did, there came an even stranger sensation of something loosening, as if her mind was a fist and just now decided to relax.
No
. A muted clutch of fear in her throat.
Don’t. You can’t. I won’t
you
, a foundling, a boy with nobody and nothing … I give you protection, safety,
food
.” He cuffed the boy again, a brisk, smart snap. This time, a spurt of blood jumped from Bode’s mouth. “
This
is how you show your gratitude?”
“No.”
Eyes watering, Bode backhanded blood from his lips. “I’m only saying … there’s no call for you to—”
“Don’t!” Elizabeth’s fingers tightened about her spike of bone.
Come here, you; try that with me
. “It’s my fault. Here, I’m talking! Isn’t that what you want?”
This seemed to catch Kramer off his stride. “Yes. What am I thinking, wasting my time with this … this
whelp
?” Turning, Kramer crooked a finger. “Weber!”
No!
Cringing, her courage fleeing, Elizabeth pressed herself against cold brick. At the door, Battle still stood, impassive, hisgray eyes fixing her with a look of detached interest. Doyle only fidgeted. Meme—her very
good
friend—was useless.
“N-no tonics, no more t-teas.” That pressure in her chest was growing, unfurling in a hot, dark, menacing rose. Above her eyes, the
Other
was trying to claw its way out of her skull. “I promise, I’ll—” Her scalp gave a shout as Weber wrenched her hair with one huge paw.
“Open your mouth, Elizabeth.” Selecting a phial, Kramer withdrew a minute stopper. “Don’t make me force you.” When she still didn’t budge, Kramer sighed, then flicked a finger. “Weber? If you please?”
“Right,” Weber said, and pinched her nose shut with his free hand.
“Wait! You don’t need to
do
that!” Bode said.
No!
A bolt of panic ripped through her. Her right hand closed around the bone spike as she dug the nails of her left into Weber’s wrist. Her chest was already churning; she could feel her throat working, trying to get her to open her mouth and breathe,
breathe
!
“Don’t hurt her!” Bode tried shoving Weber to one side, but it was like trying to move a monument. “Let me, sir. I can get her to take it.”
“We’re managing, thank you,” Kramer said. “Open your mouth, Elizabeth.”
“Nuh.”
Parting her lips just enough to suck a breath through the gate of her teeth, she fought to twist away from the mouth of that small brown bottle of poison.
“NNN—”
She kicked and tried to bite as Kramer grabbed her face in one hand, but then he was straddling her, using his greater weight to crush her into her mattress. She heard the
tick
of glass against her teeth, and then she was coughing and choking against a thick, unctuous yellowliquid first seeping and then gushing into her convulsing throat. Rearing, she spat out what she could but knew: too late.
“Stop fighting.” A dribble of tonic and her spit trickled over Kramer’s tin cheek in a viscous yellow tear. Kramer studied her a moment, then nodded at Weber. “Open her mouth.”
“Nnnuhhh.”
But she could feel the drug working its black magic in her veins, and when the slow slide of it next moved over her tongue, she swallowed automatically.
From the door, Battle spoke up. “Is this really necessary, Doctor? The girl’s in a frenzy.”
Kramer’s face darkened. “Balls. Don’t tell me my bloody business,” he muttered, too low for anyone but her to hear. Pitching his voice a little louder: “She needs calming, Inspector. Agitation only fuels the
dédoublement de la personnalité
, the splits in her mind.”
“Yes.” Battle’s tone was dry. “My French is adequate, thank you.”
Kramer turned a look over his shoulder and said … something. She wasn’t sure what. All at once, everything outside her own head was beginning to rush away. It was the drug, she knew, dissolving the last of her resistance. She heard herself let go of a long sigh, and as she did, there came an even stranger sensation of something loosening, as if her mind was a fist and just now decided to relax.
No
. A muted clutch of fear in her throat.
Don’t. You can’t. I won’t
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