The Vines by Shelley Nolden (ebook and pdf reader .TXT) 📕

Canne removed a pouch of tobacco, examined it, and tossed it overboard.

Alfred helped Mary onto the pier and they hurried toward the shore.

O’Toole nudged the doctor.

“Miss Mallon,” Dr. Gettler called out, “return to your cottage at once. Your guests can wait for me at the staff house. If you cooperate, I’ll consider keeping this out of your file. But if there’s any more trouble, I’ll have the dispatcher connect me to Dr. Soper’s office immediately.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Mary said with a snarl. “I’m not sick, and I’ve never infected a soul. That eejit wants to cut out my gallbladder. I’m not some cow to be butchered.”

Shushing her, Alfred linked his arm through hers and led her to the path.

Seated on the pier, Helmut dangled his legs into high tide. “I’m not setting foot in that pesthouse. Or near that freak again,” he said with a growl. “When’s the next ferry?”

“In two hours.” Dr. Gettler said, not bothering to hide a smug smile. He turned to O’Toole. “Please help Miss McSorley. Quickly now, to my lab, before someone sees her.”

O’Toole offered a gloved hand to Cora. “Let’s get you dry.”

Even though she’d accepted the adage that nothing could kill an O’Toole, she still feared being the one to prove it wrong. Holding the sopping blanket around her waist, she shunned his outstretched hand and climbed onto the pier. “I’m sorry I put you in harm’s way.”

“You know that’s not possible.” O’Toole removed his gloves to emphasize his point. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters,” he said, rubbing an arrowhead that hung from a piece of twine around his neck.

It reminded her of the grayish-green slate bird stone tucked within her satchel. In 1905, O’Toole had found it at the excavation site for the nurses’ residence and had given it to her on her twenty-first birthday.

Could that talisman be the source of her oddities? Or the golden guinea? She’d left both behind when she’d boarded the boat. If either item were enchanted, it very well could mean that the germs still lurked within her.

The locked crucifix box from Emmett; could her strength have come from it? Or the cross pendant from the pastor? One of them seemed far more likely to possess a miracle power than relics related to ancient spirits or Revolutionary War ghosts. But, unlike the bird stone and coin, both the tin and the necklace had arrived on the island after her immune system had silenced the typhus and measles germs. Those Christian trinkets, however, could be keeping her from aging.

She hated not knowing what was happening within her body. The conflict beneath her own skin was no more visible to her than the current unrest in Russia.

But at least her blood samples and their impact on the mice would reveal the status of her monsters.

With the blanket wrapped around her, she let O’Toole escort her down the dock.

They reached the gravel path, and Dr. Gettler stepped in their way. “As soon as you reach the lab, draw four vials of blood, and collect a stool sample if possible. I want to study her white blood cell count before it’s had a chance to normalize.”

O’Toole nodded and steered her toward the lab.

“Once she’s rested and fed,” the doctor said, following them, “I’ll conduct another interview. Her extraordinary immune system may be dependent on this island; I need to reevaluate all environmental influences.”

Another interrogation, during which the doctor would demand that she “think harder!” Cora longed for a soak in a tub, both for its heat and the privacy it would provide.

Yet she had no choice but to cooperate. Unless Dr. Gettler completely deconstructed the mysterious workings of her cells, she would never hug her mother again. Her days, stretching into eternity, would be spent reading about the world rather than experiencing it firsthand. She would never ride the IRT, see a silent picture, or go to Coney Island.

The doctor darted ahead to open a side door for them.

O’Toole stooped to enter. His hulking figure receded, and Cora felt utterly alone.

“You’ve a brilliant mind, for a woman.” Dr. Gettler eyed her. “But perhaps I’ve overestimated your ability to act in the best interests of the common good.”

He must have assumed that she’d been bound for her tenement. Although her plan to head straight to Carnegie would make her seem far more responsible, he would never forgive that betrayal.

Rather than defending herself, she apologized by stepping over the threshold.

“You’ve sacrificed a lot, I know,” he said, reaching out but not touching her. “Just as Leeuwenhoek toiled all those years, studying the microscopic world through lenses he ground himself, just as Spallanzani refused to accept the notion of a vegetative force, I will find the cause of your abilities. That is my vow to you. In exchange, I expect you to follow my orders.”

Goose bumps formed on her damp neck, and she yearned to run from him, not stopping until her legs gave out.

Instead, she stalked toward his laboratory, where she would lose yet another piece of herself.

Summer 2007

August 7

ily finished another lap around the rooftop deck of the walk-up in Brooklyn Heights and peered north. A million city lights, and not one of them shining from North Brother. Even while there’d been daylight, she hadn’t been able to make out the small island that far up the strait.

Although Finn had told her not to contact Kristian unless he hadn’t returned by morning, she didn’t know if she could wait any longer. To keep herself from caving, she punched the speed dial button for Finn—the hundredth time that day.

On the fourth ring, the call connected.

Lily’s heart pounded.

“Hello,” said a raspy female voice.

Shocked, Lily hiccupped.

“Who is this?” the woman asked sharply.

“Who are you?” Lily fired back.

Husky breathing assaulted her eardrum. Filled with dread, she strained to hear Finn in the background.

“Coraline. McSorley,” the woman answered at last.

“Well, I’m Finn’s girlfriend,” Lily stated hostilely. “Why do you have his phone?”

“Do you plan to marry him?” Coraline asked softly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll