I nod and pour the carbolic acid over the wounds on the bottoms of Phin’s feet. The wounds sizzle. Steam rises from the table, scaring all of us. We check Phin’s reaction. He twitches but otherwise stays blissfully unaware. I don’t ask Thomas about his experience with such deep lacerations on the bottom of his feet. If these cuts were placed by a switch or whip, as I suspect, I don’t want the details. The worst wounds cover the soles of his feet, so I wrap them in the yellow curtains I ripped from the windows.
“He’s back! He’s back!” Roy’s feet leave the ground as he flies into the kitchen. “Two carriages turned onto the driveway from the road. One of them is the doctor’s!”
“Did he see you?”
I pause my stitching, tying off the last stitch in a knot. Pushing sheets into Thomas’s arms, I wordlessly command him to moisten them at the manual pump. My arm sweeps Leopold’s surgery equipment into a large bowl I had hoped to use tosoak bandages. Ruth secures the cap on the disinfectant and places the bottle into the bowl with a clink.
“No,” Roy says with a smirk. “We fly too high. Raymond watches him. I came inside to warn you. Shall we distract him?”
“Too much risk,” I say, grabbing random items from my kitchen drawers. “Make sure everyone is out of the house. Go out the backdoor and disappear. We will meet you at the swamp.”
“Hairy,” Phin moans.
“No, no, no,” I mumble. “You can’t wake now. This is going to hurt, so if you can hear me, go back to your happy place.”
“Hairy,” he moans again, fighting to awaken. He thrashes his head from side to side, threatening my stitches. Wounds with fragile scabs on his face break open. I grab the nearest strip of cloth and wind it around his forehead. Ripping the sheets from Thomas’s hands, I wrap his body as tight as possible. He resembles a mummy more than a monster. “Hairy reads stories to hatchlings on the raft life.”
“What?”
“He wants his storybook for the hatchlings,” Ruth translates.
“We’ve got to go now,” Thomas whispers.
“He doesn’twant to leave without the book our mothers read,” Ruth snaps.
I don’t have time for their arguing when I know where the book is. As long as the storybook is the same book as on the nursery floor just inside the terrible room where I received Phin’s eggs, I can grab it before the end of their bickering.
“I’ll get the book,” I blurt out, thrusting my bowl of stolen supplies at Ruth. “Thomas, you and Ruth carry Phin to the swamp. Find the group making our escape raft like the one in Phin’s stories. I’ll meet you there.”
My heart pounds until they nod.
Phin moans my name as Thomas lifts him off the table. Ruth throws open the door to the mud room to escape the way we came. The pool of blood left behind on the kitchen table is unmistakable. I fight the urge to wipe it clean as I tear up the stairs. The sooner I leave this house, the sooner my eggs will be safe. While the puddle will tip off Leopold that something’s amiss if he sees it, he may never enter the kitchen.
That’s a woman’s domain.
With any luck, he will host his visitors in the parlor like a gentleman. He will rush to my rooms to collect me to serve them…and to parade my egg sack for their examination. However, knowing Leopold, he will want to take them to his lab post-haste to show off his creatures. If that’s the case, I’ll be trapped in the breeding room—or worse, the nursery—until they move onto another part of the house.
As I pass the hall window upstairs, the carriage approaches the front door…
I’m out of time.
Chapter 12
No time for stealth. My riding boots thunder on the aged hardwood floors. I explode into the breeding room with a crash of the door and the clatter of instruments falling off the walls. They ring as they ping off the floor. I can’t believe I didn’t know this room existed. While the door is concealed as part of the wall, the noises within aren’t dampened. I kick myself for not questioning anything. Why did I waste so much attention on moping?
The door to the nursery is locked on my side. My fingers shake as I turn the locks. What will I find? A small creature, previously kept in a cage? Another sentient hybrid child? Another woman? I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the fear and pull. My nose is met with the musty odor of a sealed room and molding softfurnishings.
I fight against my lady’s training to gather the pillows and rugs to air them out. Oh, to run the blankets, towels, and tiny baby things through my modern washing machine! The books could use an afternoon in the summer sunshine as well. My hatchlings would love this room once I spruced it up. I creep inside to get a closer look inside the cradle.
Luckily, it’s empty.
My eggs shift, sending a jolt of love and affection to my heart as I rub my belly. If it weren’t for the rest of the house—and its diabolical owner—this would be a cozy place to raise a baby. Once they grew into a toddler, they would need fresh air, sunshine, and room to play…did Phin get those things when he was a toddler? Did he get to explore the outdoors with the security of his mother watching over him before he was abandoned outside to live in the swamp? How long was he caged in this room?
I push sentimental musings from my mind to focus on the pile of picture books on the floor. Gathering each one in my arms, I’m tempted to take them all. Will the weight slow me down? Can I open the doors one-handed? What if I drop one?
Harriett, stop being silly and move!
No, wait! The book on the rocking chair seat is thicker than a child’s book. On the cover is a picture of a princess, knight, and dragon, but the title has worn off. This is Phin’s storybook—I feel it in my bones. I dump the picture books onto the chair toclaim the precious book. My hands feverishly grab anything close that may benefit my hatchlings. A few nappies, a receiving blanket, and a stuffed frog join the book in my arms as I flee the room.
