A Stranger in the Garden Read Online Free PDF

All the souls of the men and women he’d eaten, that he had trapped in the bell jar. The power and purpose of blood.
    Through it all, Darwin seemed not at all afraid, only sad. He reached over Charles’s trembling fingers and unscrewed the bottle.
    “Drink the laudanum,” he said. “It will all be better soon.”
    With Darwin’s help, Charles managed to open his mouth and shake the dark liquid down his unwilling throat. Everything was coming apart. Everything.

     
    Charles woke in an unfamiliar bed. A balding old man was bending over him. He was a bit more spry than Darwin, and he peered at Charles through his wire-rimmed glasses with mild curiosity.
    “I am Dr. Gully,” he said. “Do you remember being brought here?”
    Charles shook his head.
    “Mr. Darwin seems to think you have the nervous dyspepsia caused by some sort of parasite.”
    Charles didn’t say anything as Dr. Gully pulled back the coverlet briskly.
    “Remove your shirt, please. I would like to palpate your abdomen.”
    Charles did so slowly. Sometimes it took the Grue a little longer to wake, and Charles suspected that if they’d been drugged a long time—for he didn’t remember getting here or how long it had taken—that he might be sluggish.
    His sides were hollow, but his stomach was bloated, like a pregnant woman just beginning to show. The Grue curled there. Charles had worn such clothing that the Grue could not be seen, but now his presence was plainly visible.
    Gully pressed on the spot tentatively. “That is more than a mere parasite, son.”
    Charles shrank from his touch. Not only was it painful, but the Grue was awake and felt the hands on Charles’s skin. The Grue swam toward the hands, as if he would burst from Charles’s skin. Charles cried out with the pain before the Grue silenced him. Gully stepped back, adjusting his glasses in disbelief.
    But the Grue could not break free of the prison of flesh. Both he and Charles knew this.
    Corinna had been right. Without magic, without blood, the Grue was vulnerable.
    “Have you any family?” Dr. Gully asked.
    “No.”
    Gully pulled out a strange device, a scope of some sort, and looked into Charles’s eyes. He inhaled a bit sharply, but otherwise gave no sign of what he’d seen. He touched the skin at Charles’s throat, testing his pulses.
    “I must consult my partners before I can offer you the proper course of treatment,” he finally said. He folded up his instruments and replaced them in his black leather medical satchel. “I may bring them in to observe you. Are you amenable to that?”
    Charles nodded. He had no other choice.
    Gully departed. Someone came to feed Charles a fishy broth, which he regurgitated not long after the nurse left. The stench was abominable.
    The next person who comes into this room will be utterly consumed, the Grue threatened.
    Charles just settled himself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He thought of Catherine. For once, the Grue couldn’t take his memories away, painful as they were. Something had changed.
    It was well after sunset, from what he could judge, when Dr. Gully returned with a girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, and a thin gentleman with elegant mustaches and a monocle perched on his angular cheekbone.
    “This is Francine Lark and Nigel Gaylord. They will assist me in developing your treatment regimen,” Gully said.
    The doctor pulled back the coverlet again but did not lift Charles’s shirt in Francine’s presence. The bulge of the Grue was obvious, though.
    Nigel unwound a long golden chain from his palm. An arrow-shaped pendulum swung at its end. Charles recognized this sort of thing from the charlatans who used to practice under the Vaunting Bridge. Mesmerists.
    His lip curled.
    “Rest easy, sir,” Gaylord said. “And watch the pendulum swing in the candlelight.”
    Francine moved closer on his other side. He turned his head to look at her. She licked her lips nervously.
    “Is this your idea of magic?” the