Penance could handle fear and she could endure running, but she was having a hard time abiding fear, running, and unadulterated panic all at once. She wasn't entirely sure she was breathing as she and Mary fled through the back alley, their boots stumbling over loose stones even as their chests bowed out, as if their thumping hearts were the only thing capable of leading them to safety. It was only when they reached the end of the alley, pausing for a second, that Penance realized she was the sole one of them who knew where they were going.

She cut down the main alleyway toward the buggy, the horses calmly waiting on them as if they had been calling on a friend and stayed for tea. Penance helped Mary inside and launched herself in after, losing her footing in the process and coming down hard on the seat ledge. She let out a grunt and dared a look behind her, allowing herself to hope she'd see Amalia running toward them. Instead, one of the masks rounded the corner from the back of the building, its paper bag face scarily calm even as its legs pounded toward them. Penance yanked the reigns and drove the horses as fast as she dared, taking corners too recklessly and fearing she would lose both the buggy and Mary. The horses no longer felt they were leaving a tea party.

Blocks and alleys passed in a blur and Penance found herself weaving around the back of the abandoned and half-collapsed building, the buggy skimming along the cobblestone lane parallel to the river. Its murky waters lolled calmly, concealing the furious current beneath the surface. Penance was going too fast to stay so comfortably near the river, and she careened down another cut-through filled with pedestrians and street vendors, and the sight of ordinary people doing ordinary things slowed her heart just a little. Penance was not traveling at an ordinary speed, however, and she pulled back on the reigns as they swerved around a parked carriage, the driver leaning out and shouting after them.

After another minute, she heard Mary's voice from behind her. "I don't think they're following us," she said, climbing up to sit next to Penance. Mary took the reigns from her and without the additional distraction of driving, Penance noticed her own face was in fact wet with tears. Mary rode quietly beside her. Penance knew she must be terrified, too, especially after her ordeal. But, she had no idea what to say to anyone in these circumstances, much less someone who could command the Touched with only her voice.

"When did you decide you wanted to do opera?" she tried, struggling with both conversation and breathing.

"We don't have to talk," Mary replied sympathetically.

Penance nodded gratefully, clasping her shaking hands in front of her. She blinked and saw Amalia as she yelled at her to go, the vehemence in her eyes.

Mary glanced at her. "We don't have to talk, but I do have to say thank you. Your partner, you said the is the woman at the opera?"

Penance nodded. "Amalia."

"Her turn is quite impressive. I've never seen anyone fight like that."

Penance recalled Amalia's hands, ruddy and scraped, much like that hidden, hurt part of her that she only bared sparingly. She sighed. "That's not her turn. That's just... her." Penance wiped a hand across her eyes, leaving a salty streak across her lips. "I'm just going to think out loud if that's all right?"

Mary nodded and Penance narrowed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to spill out of her. "Amalia was right. Maladie and Dr. Hague do know each other."

Mary glanced at her. "That must be the man that came to me? It was dark, but he had a beard."

Penance nodded. "Most likely.. I didn't see him myself. Did Maladie say why she came for you?"

Mary kept her eyes straight ahead, but her jaw tensed with thought. "I don't think she knows."

"But, Dr. Hague does. He isn't Touched, though. He couldn't have known about your song. None of us knew about your song. So why would he ask Maladie to come for you?"

"I don't think he knows, either."

"Well, that makes four of us," Penance muttered. "All of those mask people that work for him. Are they Touched?"

"I don't think so."

"And where are the other girls that they've taken?" Penance asked, horror settling in her at the thought of so many girls they'd failed to help. She looked over at Mary, each of them as clueless as the other. Penance took a long breath and tried to approach the problem like a scientist: methodical, evidence-based. Panic and conjecture would not help Mary nor Amalia. But nothing came to her except the blinding white of nothing.

"I'm afraid I can't be of much help to you," Mary said, apologetically. "I saw no one else other than the masks. I heard noises and footsteps, they were maddeningly everywhere. They used tunnels, but I don't know where they lead."

"Maladie didn't come back?"

Mary shook her head. "The man did, though, the doctor fellow. He asked me to sing, but I couldn't do it." She glanced at Penance. "It just comes, I can't summon it."

"Your song was lovely. Did you know you could do that in the first place?"

Mary shook her head and swallowed, staring ahead at the road. "I only knew that I sang it to myself. Whenever I was in that place, you know, that place of giving in to despair, that helpless feeling when you don't see a way forward."

Penance swallowed, feeling a bit of all of those things at that very moment.

Mary continued, her quiet resolve comforting. "It always helped me, so I took a chance. I wasn't sure it would affect Maladie at all. But I thought it might help us find peace even where there was none. "

"But it did affect Maladie."

"It did."

"Maybe we can go to Detective Mundy. He was there, after the opera. If those mask people aren't Touched, then chances are the police can take them."

Mary turned to her. "Detective Mundy cares only for going after Maladie. He has orders. He doesn't care for anyone in his way, especially anyone who may be Touched."

Penance glanced at her, surprised. "You know Detective Mundy?"

Mary nodded. "He helped me secure a few jobs, auditions. You know, opportunities specifically for the Touched at clubs here and there. Once Maladie started, the jobs dropped off." She shook off a memory with the brush of her shoulder. "I was naive."

Again, Penance was at a loss. "So my inclination to call the police may hurt the very person I wish to help, should she be in the way." She paused. "And she does have a habit of getting in the way. But if not the police, then who?"

They passed a parked carriage, its coachman leaning against it with a hat over his eyes, dozing as he waited for his passenger. And for the second time Penance felt the dreaded pull in the back of her stomach that had led her into the cellar in the first place. She turned to Mary and said quietly, "Make a right at the next street. I have a very bad idea."

Amalia's head bobbed as she opened her eyes and blinked several times, but eyes open or closed, the darkness was constant. A match was lit, its glow burgeoning in a small lantern, and a shadowy mask loomed in front of her. It was the last thing she wanted to see, as the masks were growing tiresome, and she instinctively raised her arms to land a satisfying punch. But her hands didn't move and she glanced up and saw with some despair that they were bound tightly above her.

Her jacket was gone and her shirtsleeves had slipped down her arms, the coldness of the cellar chilling her. She glanced up, giving the ligatures an experimental tug, but they were connected to a chain looping over a pulley bolted at the ceiling. Clearly, Dr. Hague had done this before. She shifted and one foot slipped off the edge of a chair. She struggled to keep both feet beneath her, the chains mocking her as they clanged above her.

Dr. Hague's face appeared in the low light, and Amalia was pleased to note a dark bruise purpling his right eye. "This is a bit atypical," he said. "We've had quite a disturbance here, haven't we? The supplements business is never boring." He shifted on the balls of his feet and sighed. "But, I am left feeling a little frazzled because, you see, whoever accompanied you today took something of mine. Something I think may be very valuable."

Amalia looked down at him from the chair, annoyed with his endless talking. "Mary. Just say Mary. I know who you're talking about and your ambiguity doesn't make you more menacing."

"So you must know how hard I worked to find her."

"Seems as if Maladie did all of the heavy lifting."

"Yes," he agreed, nodding. "And do you know how hard it is to get her to follow directions?" He pursed one side of his mouth, as if commiserating about a small child. "She comes and goes. She is no longer a patient, officially, but we have a bit of a codependent relationship. Quite unhealthy."

"Keeping me here won't get Mary back. If you were looking to use me as a good bargaining chip, you've failed miserably."

"Does your self-loathing help you with the ladies?" He looked up at her, curious. "Or do they find it cloying?"

"Why did you ask Maladie to bring Mary here?"

"Well, I definitely didn't ask her to bring her here," he said with a shake of his head, as if offended she'd asked. "But again, she doesn't listen very well."

"Where then?" Amalia pressed, wondering how the quack doctor looking up at her had managed to stumble on someone as powerful as Mary. "Where was she supposed to take her? What do you want with Mary?"

Dr. Hague looked up at her, intrigued. "It must take a nearly diagnosable level of confidence for you to stand up there, chained no less, and interrogate me. Impressive. Christ-like in its delusion. But futile, of course." He straightened his shoulders and offered a small frown. "Now, I must apologize, for I have an engagement today that I just can't miss." Smiling, he rubbed his hands together as if about to reveal a secret. "New investors. But, I can't let an opportunity pass me by, so while you're here I'm going to collect a few simple readings from you." He turned his head and yelled over his shoulder to the masks lurking behind him. "Cart!"

One of the masks wheeled over a narrow rust-colored cart, one of the wheels shrieking as it turned. It caught on the dirt floor, tipping a little and the mask reached out to steady it before continuing, this time at an even slower pace, the wheel still squeaking.

"Jesus," Dr. Hague muttered, meeting him halfway and pulling the cart the rest of the way over. On top sat a small machine with a bouquet of round golden nodes poking out of what looked like a large compass, its needle wavering. "This wheel needs oil. Plenty of that on hand!" His jovial look disappeared as he looked at the mask. "Is the generator on or did you forget that?"

The mask raised its head and contemplated him for a moment, thinking unblinkingly. "It's on."

"Good!" Dr. Hague pressed a large round button on the machine and waited until it whirred to life. He turned back to Amalia, who swallowed but kept her gaze level, hoping whatever he was apt to do would involve her hands. They were going slightly numb despite her fidgeting.

"A galvanometer," he said. "Detects currents. Brainwaves. It's pretty novel, but this is an old prototype that I got second hand." He tapped the top of the machine. "In the old days, I'd have to pry off a section of your scull and probe around to detect electrical currents, but this little thing will detect it through the eye. So they say. Much less clean-up involved and easier on my arthritis."

Amalia weighed her options, wondering whether a kick across Dr. Hague's face would help or hinder her chances. Or if it would at the least make her feel better. "You're deranged."

"And you, my dear, are a bully." But, Dr. Hague seemed to pick up on the little quiver of fear that ran through her. "Just a few readings, that's all. The machine won't hurt a bit."

At that moment the machine in question sputtered and let out a small pop, a lone spark igniting from its side. It tottered and the wheel on the cart gave one last apologetic squeak before the whole of it went silent. Dr. Hague frowned, then pursed his lips. "Goddammit." He looked up at Amalia. "You are just all kinds of bad luck."

"You have no idea," she replied, relief pooling into her stomach. She tried to shift her hands to relieve some of the ache in her shoulders.

"There's that self loathing again." Dr. Hague put a hand to his temple, tapping it in contemplation. "Well, then. When technology fails us, we will resort to simple observation." He took a step closer to her and she braced herself, already leaning away from him. "There's a saying the American teenagers are using these days, oh what is it?" He thought, humming under his breath, and then snapped his fingers. "Aha! Hang out."

He kicked the chair out from under her and Amalia let out a garbled scream as she dropped, trying to grab the chains with her hands as gravity snatched her one of shoulders out of place. She scrambled to find purchase on the ground, but she was too high, having trouble concentrating on anything but the cutting pressure along her wrists.

"Now that's the part that will hurt," Dr. Hague said, wincing. "My observations show that those with psychologically induced turns tend to have a higher tolerance for physical stress. Something to do with perhaps the turn causing a deformity in the hypothalamic–pituitary–adrenal axis." He heaved a sigh of excitement. "Not to worry, we won't let you stay like this for too long because if I leave you for a prolonged amount of time your heart may stop." He turned to the mask next to him and cupped a hand around his mouth. "That may be fine, jury is still out, though. Can you grab a copy of the observation form and a clipboard? Follow procedure." He turned back to Amalia with a smile and a resounding clap. "Thank you for your contribution to science!"

And with that he was off and Amalia squinted her eyes shut and let the pain come, wondering how in the hell she was going to punch her way out of this one.

Penance wove her electric car through the afternoon chaos in the streets, her tolerance for meandering carriages very low at the moment. Lucy sat next to her, a hand on her hat, too quiet for Penance's liking. But, she knew she was worried, could tell by the way she kept gripping the elephant pendant hanging from her neck.

"Are we doing the right thing?" Penance asked her.

"That's the wrong question," Lucy replied simply. "Will it get us what we want?"

Penance pulled the car to a stop in front of a butcher shop and pulled out her trumpet, heaving into it and letting its horn rip through the passerby on the sidewalk. She blew again, and finally, a lad from the shop poked his head out, raising an annoyed hand at her. "What the devil are you doing?"

"I'm here for a quarter stone of liver, chopped," Penance called over to him, glancing at Lucy to ensure she got it right. Formulas, not street codes, were her strength. She struggled to morph her expression into one of confidence.

The lad sighed. "This ain't curb service. Pull around to the back." He glanced at Lucy and gave her a polite wave. "Hello, Ms. Best."

Penance pulled the car through the alley to the back of the butcher shop, her fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel. A tall man stood on the landing of a set of stairs and picked at his teeth with a dirty forefinger. He grunted a greeting at them that Penance couldn't understand, so she simply forged ahead.

"I've come with Mr. Orrun's motor carriage," she called up to him.

The man looked down at them, sizing up the electric car. "He can't fit in that, he'll look like an elephant in a circus car." He laughed, then looked nervously over his shoulder, as if expecting the Beggar King himself to come up behind him with a clapped fist.

"The motor carriage is down the block, ready for him. I'd like to speak with him first."

The man sighed, slowly descending the staircase with the pace of a weighted sloth, and Penance wondered if he had some genetic bent that allowed him to move so slowly. She tapped her foot in nervous anticipation. The man rounded a small landing and continued down the last of the stairs and Penance imagined ramming her car into the stairwell to knock him down more quickly.

Finally, Lucy yelled indelicately out to him. "Oh do hurry it up, then, Harold!"

The man's eyes brightened with a childish joy as he came up to them and leaned his hands on the edge of the car. "Ms. Best, always nice to see you. How's your cousin Chester?"

"The one eye does give him trouble sometimes. Headaches."

"There's an American fellow makes a good tincture for that. If you want the name-"

Lucy closed her hand atop Penance's drumming fingers, stilling them. "We're here for the King. It will be worth his while to see us."

Harold nodded, beckoning them to follow, and led them through a back door and down a set of stairs, the air cooling as they descended. Penance stopped hallway down. "Can we meet him above ground, perhaps?" she asked, swallowing.

Harold shook his head. "He likes the smell of meat."

Lucy took Penance's hand, steadying her, and they followed Harold through a small, cold room, its floor covered with rust-colored sawdust. Slabs of meat hung near a grate in the floor and tables covered with large blocks of ice displayed half chunks of prepared meat ready to fulfill orders from the shop upstairs. Through the corridor of meat Penance spied the Beggar King sitting at too small of a desk, a cigar hanging from his mouth. She was very cold, either from the ice or the ice cold fear that prickled her neck. He didn't look up.

"This is very fine meat you have," she said.

"Made from not so fine people," he answered, eyes still on the newspaper in his hand. Penance gagged slightly, covering it up with a cough.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "He's kiddin'."

Penance wished herself back in her workshop, surrounded by currents and energy that she could easily manipulate and understand. People were random. Chaos.

"Is my motor carriage outside?" the Beggar King asked. He licked his finger and turned a page.

"It's just up the block," Penance replied.

"Does it have one of those dangly things hanging from the back window?"

"Everything was made exactly to your specifications, as promised." Penance hesitated, glancing nervously at Lucy, who gave her an encouraging smile. If people could be random, then so could she. Her voice gained strength as she said, "But I need something from you first."

Now the Beggar King raised his head, his small eyes rakish. "No one talks to me that way."

"Quite right," Penance agreed, taking an unwitting step back, grateful that Lucy took the two short strides to his desk.

"Mrs. True has been taken."

The Beggar King looked slightly interested, as if hearing a bit of gossip. "I can't help you there. Lots of people wanting to take care of that one. Her head has made for a competitive market." He twitched his lips into what made for a smile. "Nice to see everyone come together sometimes."

"We know where she is," Penance said, coming to stand beside Lucy. "We just don't have the manpower to help her."

"You forget, I'm already helping Mrs. True with the information, exclusive, that she requested. This ain't a buy one get one free sale."

"Well, I can assure you, she needs that information no longer," Penance replied. "She has all of the exclusive knowledge she needs right now about who is taking the Touched. Consider that done if you just lend us a few men." She waved a hand at Lucy. "We're just a few ladies in need."

The Beggar King glanced at Lucy. "Ladies," he snorted, leaning back in his chair and appraising the two of them.

Penance continued, fingering the pocket watch that was still in her pocket. "We can make it worth your while beyond the motor carriage," she said, bringing out the watch and holding it up. She wound it, and then wound it again, hearing the Beggar King sigh impatiently behind her as she rotated it several more times. She would have to improve the igniter at some point. Suddenly she reared back as flame shot out of it and scorched the side of a hanging beef slab. She turned back to him and tossed the watch at him. "There's more where that came from."

The Beggar King stared at it, then looked up, sizing her up. "But does it tell time?"

Penance stopped herself from rolling her eyes, preferring to keep them safely in her head rather than on a butcher slab, and nodded. The Beggar King stared at the two of them for several moments, long enough that Penance wondered if he was thinking or merely taking a break from thinking. Finally, he spoke. "I'm not making any profit from whoever took your Mrs. True today and that does have me a bit poked up. If I do save your little pod snapper then I can sell her off to the next bloke looking for her head." He ran a finger over his throat. "Kind of a win-win."

Penance glanced at Lucy, who shrugged. For now, they didn't need to worry about the means, just the ends.

The Beggar King motioned Harold over and whispered into his ear before looking back at them. "I'll tell you what. I'll give you one my guys."

"One?" Lucy questioned before she caught herself.

"He's good with a gun."

After a moment a middle-aged man sauntered through the basement door, walking towards them with a hesitant smile. His hair was settled onto his head like a cap and he raised a hand in greeting. Penance noted with a sinking feeling that his hand had exactly two fingers.

"Don't worry," he said, catching her gaze. "This isn't me dominant hand."

Amalia awoke to a mask floating in front of her. Again. Its lips seemed to move, but she couldn't decipher any words and allowed her eyes to blink closed, apathy taking over fear. Then her brain fired a memory of her ripple, but before her flight response was triggered the mask came at her with a bucket and she felt the cold water from her ripples all over again. It acted like a cloth over her face and for several terrible seconds she could neither breathe nor see. Amalia heard a creak from the darkness and she began to be lowered until, mercifully, she felt her feet touch the ground, barely, but enough to take some of the pressure off her arms.

"That's better," came a satisfied voice from under the mask as its hand patted Amalia's cheek. The same hand then reached up and peeled off the mask, leaving Maladie grinning broadly back at her. She looked as she had at the opera, wearing the same dirty shift and the corset that had long ago lost half of its strings. A disheveled head piece sat on her nest of hair and her blacked out eyes looked as if they hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep in months.

Maladie's eyes ran up and down the length of Amalia. "You look good," she said with an appreciative nod. "Have you lost an X chromosome since I last saw you?" Her hand shot out and she roughly cupped Amalia through her trousers, letting her hand linger. Her eyes met Amalia's and she grinned. "Just checking."

Amalia recalled the iridescent glow of Maladie's eyes in the alley behind the opera and the flash pangs of her concussive head blows. Now she had an opportunity to let her eyes linger on Maladie's face and for the first time in a long while, she was frozen with a foreboding fear. She shivered, telling herself it was from the cold water and the chill of the cellar. Maladie pressed a smudged finger to Amalia's lips and floated closer to her, scars and cuts from their fight still visible.

"You remember?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly, but as if she didn't want to be disappointed by the answer, she railed back, pacing. "I remembered you right away. Glad to see you haven't lost your penchant for violence. Never did work through those anger issues."

Amalia swallowed, her throat tightening as both her suspicions and her fears coalesced in a frightening mirage in front of her. Her ripples may send her into the future, but Maladie had forcibly jerked her to the past and she tried to feel her way back to a calmer state. "Your name is a bit cheeky," she offered lowly, wondering if the two of them could still pry beneath the damage they had wrought.

Maladie turned to her with a conspiratorial grin. "It's good, isn't it? My bit for the woman's movement." She tittered her head, pleased. "Hysteria was a bit on the nose."

"Maladie is indeed more subtle." Amalia kept her eyes open locked on Maladie's, and for a moment they were both on even ground.

"You did always make me laugh." Maladie's eyes shifted and her scarred lip furrowed.

Amalia noted the subtle change. The ground had now become less even, and rather than fight it, she acknowledged it. "If you want to hurt me, go right ahead."

Maladie pondered the offer, scrunching her forehead in thought before rapidly slapping her open hand across Amalia's cheek, leaving a playful sting in its wake. It was a mockery of the violence she was capable of, a mere morsel of discontent. "Of course, I want to hurt you!" she yelled.

Maladie stepped back and bent forward with her hands on her knees, heaving as if she were going to vomit. She peered up at Amalia with glowing yellow eyes that sent a paralyzing vibration through Amalia. "You'd deserve it, wouldn't you?"

Amalia, dazed not from the slap but from her eyes, couldn't respond even if she had wanted to, but she knew Maladie well enough to know that placation did not go over well.

"Wouldn't you!" Maladie ran at Amalia and shoved her hard. Amalia lost her balance, but the chains caught her. Firecrackers of pain exploded, not in her arms or shoulders, which she she could no longer feel, but down her spine, as if the agony were determined to find a series of nerves with a still working pathway to her brain.
Maladie put her face right in front of Amalia's and repeated her question, this time quieter. "Wouldn't you?"

"Yes." Amalia could barely hear her own voice.

"And you'd also like it," Maladie replied, knowingly. "The pain. But, that's not fun." She pointed a thumb at her chest. "For meeeee." She raised a foot and twirled it, her movements as sudden as her shifts in temper. "I want to hurt you so that you feel it." Her eyes brightened with a thought. "They way she hurt you, that's how I want to hurt you."

Amalia's eyes flashed, but she kept her expression tame. As always, Maladie meant to distract. "Is Dr. Hague hurting you?" she asked.

Maladie laughed. "I could torture you." She raised her fingers and wiggled them. "Tickling. The worst. I hate tickling, always have. He tickled my brain and He said it would help me but He lies."

"Dr. Hague?"

"Dr. Hague, He, Him, Adam, they're all the same! They create holes and then they like to penetrate them and wiggle in them. If only I could only access the holes I could remember what I know."

"What do you know?"

"God," she said simply. "People don't want to know because the knowing hurts." She put a hand to her chest. "But I grind through it. Chew through the pain for all my meals, you know. Eating pain, living pain, breathing pain, organizing pain and putting it into tiny little drawers. In a little tiny dollhouse." She pointed at Amalia. "You and I know pain. You felt it, too much of it, and didn't know what to fucking do with it. I chewed it up for you and fed it to you like a mother bird." She stepped away and fluttered her hands. "Like a songbird." She turned then. "You stole the songbird from Adam. That was naughty."

"Why does Dr. Hague want Mary?" Amalia threw out the question like a stone in a pond, hoping its ripple would reach Maladie at some far distance and she would answer. When she didn't, Amalia tried a different tact. "You heard Mary's song at the opera."

"It was decent."

"You felt it," Amalia pried carefully. "You felt the song's power."

Maladie reeled, pointing an accusing finger at her. "There is is, that's your play. What do you want with her, ay?"

"I want to help her."

"Or use her," Maladie corrected. "Don't kid yourself, that's what you do, isn't it? Use people?"

"I think we need her. The Touched. You need her. To remember something other than pain."

Maladie scoffed. "What else is there?"

"Hope." Amalia was prying again, carefully watching and recalibrating, just as she always had.

"Hope?" Maladie laughed. "The thing with the feathers?" she said, performing a mocking pirouette. She stopped, her smile disappearing and pointed a knowing finger at Amalia. "That was Sappho."

"Sappho did not write that."

"She did."

"She did not."

"Marquis de Sade then."

"It was Emily Dickinson."

Maladie rolled her eyes. "Same thing, pain. Whatever."

Amalia closed her eyes and saw the words on the page and mumbled softly.

"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me."

Maladie looked at her with the yearning of someone who had misplaced a memory, but could still feel its warmth. Amalia stared back, unblinking, looking for that memory, too. She had changed so much.

Maladie clapped slowly and lumbered close enough to press her pointer finger into Amalia's forehead, pushing. "You are delusional!"

"I'm trying to be less so," Amalia said quietly.

Maladie's lip twitched and her eyes started to glow. Amalia attempted to look away but Maladie firmly cupped her chin and made her meet her eyes. "I am the madness that was in her," she hissed softly, moving her lips to Amalia's ear. "The madness that thickened in her, the bile that sat and soured, seeping into her quiet moments. When she watched people laugh, when she touched you, I was the madness inside, whispering to her. I was the madness that was there at the very end." Maladie leaned back, her eyes still amber, as if the yellow bile she spoke of were pooling in them. She frowned. "How sad, to have only pain in the end."

Amalia heaved a silent, heavy breath that she didn't realize was a sob until the tears stung against the cut along her lip. She focused on the sting instead of the pressure in her chest that was causing her to cry openly. She knew Maladie would feel no sympathy towards her, but she would witness it, and at times in the past that had been enough.

Maladie stood, feet apart and hands on her hips, studying her carefully, as if she was able to follow Amalia's pain. Then, with a tilt of her head, she announced, "I want to play a game with the doctor. You in?"

Amalia attempted to shake her head, but her entire upper body wasn't working anymore, and she was disarmingly unalarmed by this. "I don't like games," she tried.

"I know, you're too competitive." Maladie pinched her cheek. "You were always so afraid to lose!" She stopped short, as if struck by something unseen. "I did wedge into you, didn't I, Molly?"

Amalia met her eyes, which were back to their usual sandy color. "Didn't I?" Maladie asked again. And there it was. In the swirl of confusion, pain, and holes that had eaten her up over the years, there was smallest pinprick of hope.

"Yes, Sarah," Amalia breathed. "You did."

Penance had tried to smuggle the Beggar King's two-fingered flunkey into her workshop without being seen, but the girls were curious and no amount of Lucy's promised jam could keep them from trying to pry their eyes through the crack in the workshop door.

Penance was piling her latest inventions, particularly those leveraging fire and forcefields, into a large black case. She dropped the shiny contraptions, all brilliant gold and chrome, on top of one another. They looked like mere play things compared to the large black shotguns that Two fingers wore strapped to his back. Penance shoved a half a dozen pocket watches into the top of the bag and wiped a hand across her wet eyes. She was crying again, but this time it came from a place of failure, not fear. She was ill equipped for this sort of danger and her naiveté would keep her from seeing Amalia again.

She couldn't do it.

She left Amalia and she couldn't do it.

Penance let a scream rip from her, all of her uncertainty geysering out of her until she was bent double over the black case. She screamed again until her voice was reduced to one low weeping gasp.

Two fingers looked at her with a pair of raised eyebrows. "That what you do to psyche yourself up? I just have a smoke."

Penance ignored him and slammed closed the case, motioning for him to follow her out of the lab, where the motor carriage was waiting just outside the door. The girls that had gathered outside stepped back to give her some space, including a woman that Penance hadn't seen before, with the kindest eyes and a sympathetic face.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at the small crowd gathered around her, each face silently imploring if she was okay. Failure crept back into her as she looked in turn at the scared eyes searching her own. The one thing she hadn't wanted to do was to frighten the girls, and here she was, being the very thing stoking their fear. Amalia would have never let them see her break. "Everything will be fine," she stammered. "Mrs. True is just a bit indisposed of at the moment and this fine gentleman-"

Two fingers waved and only Myrtle waved back.

"-is going to help me. Everything will be fine," Penance repeated, now mostly to herself as she shoved the case into the floor of the carriage, her inventions rattling inside. "I have fire and guns." She let out a shaky sigh. "I have fear and panic, all the things that are sure to help me keep a steady head." She turned and looked again at the new woman. "I'm Penance," she said. "I'm usually a lot more.. kept."

The woman nodded. "I'm Desiree," she said, then pointed a finger at the orphanage door and turned towards it. "I think I'lll just go-"

Penance grabbed her hand, hoping to erase the harm her meltdown had done. "Welcome, Desiree. We're pleased you're here. You are safe here, don't let my outburst make you think any different. Mrs. True- Amalia -runs the place and she's very good at keeping us all safe." Her voice broke. "She's a danger to herself, of course, which makes her incredibly hard to love, but I do it anyway because I can't seem to isolate the particular element that would allow me not to love her. It's a completely failed experiment, for which I've never been happier. And now my complete ineptitude at violence is going to cost me the one person I want most in the world."

Lucy spun towards Penance, breaking her grip on Desiree's hand and patting Penance's shoulder as she stood, eyes wide in stupor. "All right then girls, back inside with you. Miss Adair and the nice man here are hopefully going to bring Mrs. True safely back. And like an idiot, I'm going to go with them." She glanced at Desiree, stopping herself. "Do go on inside, dear."

Desiree nodded and scuttled away, the girls following her. Horatio let himself into the gate and walked towards them, eyes on the stranger and his mangled hand. "I'm a bit later than usual today," he said, uncertainty creasing his forehead. His eyes darted between the three of them, seeming to take in Amalia's absence. "What have I missed?"

"I'm hungry," Maladie said, rubbing her stomach with her knife as she looked at Amalia, who had gone quiet on her. "Fancy a bite? You got any money on you?" She came closer to Amalia and rummaged through one of her trouser pockets, then the other. She pulled out the cube and examined it. Amalia almost laughed at the absurdity of it, the cube representing something that seemed a lifetime ago. The darkness had played with her mind.

"What's this, a snuff box? Fancy. You always were a dandy."

"It's not snuff. It keeps me calm. You press the button and it glows."

Maladie pressed it and waited, tapping her foot. Nothing happened, which didn't altogether surprise Amalia, considering they were submerged underneath the building. She also needed it back inside her pocket and away from Maladie's hands.

"It's broken." Maladie offered a sympathetic glance, placing it back in Amalia's pocket and giving it a loving tap. "That's poignant, isn't it?" She thoughtfully moved her hands up Amalia's suspenders. "I hate these." She pulled one out and let it snap back, then slipped her hands them inside Amalia's shirt, where they just stopped, resting on her skin as if trying to sense her organs through her fingertips.

Amalia noted with annoyance that her hands were warm compared to the cold cellar, but she looked squarely at her. "Don't do that."

Maladie pulled away with a scoff. "Still playing at being cured, yeah?" She pointed the knife at her. "That's a silly way to live, just to fit into socieeeeeeeeeety." Her voice trailed into a low dismissal. She tapped the knife against her own temple. "We should be going, though, our time is almost up here." She glanced up at Amalia's chains. "I don't have the key," she mumbled. Then she moved fast, like a snake striking out, and raised the knife to one of Amalia's wrists.

Amalia shifted back with a garbled yelp. "Wait," she pleaded. "You must know where he keeps the key."

"I don't," Maladie said simply, gripping Amalia's hand.

Amalia tried again, a note of desperation in her voice that she struggled to turn into reason. "Just pick the fucking lock!"

Maladie's face brightened as she leaned back and gently let go of her hand. "Ah, yes. Just like old times, then. I like it." She tapped the knife against Amalia's temple this time. "Your brain is constantly whirring. I can hear it."

She reached a hand to her brambled hair. "I am sure I have a bobby pin here somewhere." She felt around for a moment, her eyes never leaving Amalia's. Then she gave up, reaching to Amalia's hair and rummaging her fingers through it. "You ever do any reading up on phrenology? It's a bore."

She plucked a bobby pin from the side of Amalia's hair near ear. Maladie reached up and tested the chains, smelling irritatingly of the oils upstairs: patchouli, black pepper, and oak moss. "Are you wearing his oils?" Amalia asked her, but Maladie didn't respond, her attention solely on the locks.

Amalia wished for a ripple, or any instinct that would tell her what she was supposed to do next. But nothing came. The click of the lock springing open was loud compared to the sound of their breathing. Amalia felt her full weight on her feet and legs, but felt nearly nothing at her chest and arms.

Maladie had both arms around her and moved with her to sit on the ground. Amalia tried to move her hands, but they were nothing, mere phantoms. She felt Maladie's breath at her neck, a slight tickling that made her nauseous. She tried to get to her feet, but Maladie pulled her closer, the knife now at her neck. Amalia felt herself being pulled into a darkness that was all too familiar, a place that she once thought of as numbingly comfortable.

"There, there," Maladie whispered, pulling Amalia closer. Her touch was a mere suggestion, and because Amalia couldn't feel it, she watched as Maladie's hand gently move up and down her right arm.

"Why did you leave me?" Maladie whispered. "We ate each other's pain, that was the deal. You filled me with all of yours, all of her, and you left me with all of it."

Amalia felt everything that she had ever shared flood back to her and she closed her eyes to the grief she had tried so hard to leave behind. Maladie moved the knife away from her neck and Amalia watched it move down to press into her arm. She kicked out, on reflex, but Maladie's legs were wrapped around her own, holding her down.

"You cannot feel it, can you?" Maladie asked, edging the knife upwards. "You want to because feeling it would almost lessen the pain, wouldn't it? But now you have to feel it all up here." She drummed her fingers against Amalia's head. "Weird."

Amalia felt Maladie's fingers scrape over her eyes, wiping her tears, her nose, all of the ways that grief had begun to leak out of her. Again, she willed a ripple to come over, if only to take her away from the billowing parachute of memory blooming in her mind. Maladie spoke again. "Here's a ditty you may know from your lover Emily D.:

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not."

Maladie shifted behind her, and Amalia felt herself being pushed forward, then supported again. "Well, that was a mistake, wasn't it?" Maladie asked, looking down at the blood pooling on the ground. "Can't very well take you to a pub looking like this, can I? At least the doctor won't think we got very far." She got to her feet, pulling one of Amalia's bloodied arms around her. "Come on, then."

Amalia let Maladie lead her through the scorched door and up the cellar stairs. It was dark outside now, and it looked as if they were going to walk out into nothing. Amalia tried to get her bearings, tried to remember the path she'd taken earlier in the day, but her mind was washed out, everything shadowed and gray. The color of taupe.

"Can you get the box from my pocket?" she asked. "Try it again, I want to show you. It is quite grand when it works."

She felt Maladie fish around in her pocket again and then she held it up, eyes assessing it. "Might as well be calm when I stitch you up. I'm horrid with a needle." She pressed the button.

Amalia braced herself and kicked out a foot, jostling them enough to cast another, stronger kick against the back of Maladie's knee. When she went down on all fours, Amalia looked down at her. "I'm sorry," she said, and slammed the toe of her boot against Maladie's jaw, sprawling her onto her back. The knife clattered to the ground and Amalia kicked it away, sliding it into the darkness. The cube was at her feet and she bent and tried to pick it up, but her arms were as useless two hollow tree limbs. Determined, she glanced at Maladie still prone behind her, and she kicked the cube along with her as she tried to make a run for it, but her steps were slow and weaving. The ground rose and fell beneath her and she put a hand out against the wall, annoyed with herself and with the darkness that was clouding her vision. She made it to a corner before she was too lightheaded to continue, and slid down a wall. The moon was now visible, startling bright and peeking out at her from between a break in the buildings. Her blurred vision appeared to make it move. The cube also glowed next to her, and Amalia had never been so happy to see its dreary, appalling color.

Penance was inside the carriage, handing items over to Lucy. Two fingers sat next to her, but his attention was fixed on the electric coachman, a puzzled look on his face.

"She's going to be in the cellar," Penance said, then had the fearful thought that perhaps Amalia had been moved to another tunnel. "I think." Averting another meltdown and occupying herself with something useful, she slipped her cube out of her pocket and pressed the button.

Static peppered the voice that came out of it, but Penance could make out Horatio's words. "I'm in the carriage at the corner just past the doctor's building," he said. "Can you hear me?" She heard his voice trail off. "How does this godforsaken thing work…"

"I can hear you," she answered him. "Just wait and listen for us. Someone here is bound to need a doctor." Penance looked at Lucy with a sadness that demanded Lucy lie to her. "What if we're too late?"

Two fingers looked at her, cutting in. "We could get a bite to eat."

Lucy pegged him with a dirty look. "We're not too late." Her eyes gave a determination that helped her edge into the next moment. And back into the cellar.

The cube glowed in Penance's lap and beeped. She picked it up and spoke into it. "Horatio, you can't keep accidentally pressing the button, I need the charge to last." She didn't hear anything and tapped the cube against her palm, placing it to her ear. She didn't want it to lose its charge yet. "Horatio?"

A low moan came from the cube and Penance's stomach was no longer where it should have been, but instead someplace near her knees. "Amalia?"

Lucy's eyes locked onto hers and Penance beckoned for her to stop the carriage. Wherever Amalia was, she was in range. Which meant she was not in the cellar, blessed be, but was most likely very near the damned cellar. And Penance wasn't sure how much of a reprieve she had to find her.

"Amalia, where are you?"

She got nothing but low gasps and avoided Lucy's pressing stare, trying to concentrate. "Amalia, are you by the cellar door? What do you see?"

Amalia's voice was faint, almost nonexistent, and Penance could barely catch it. "A ball of light?" she asked, unsure if she had heard correctly. She looked at Lucy as if she could translate, but Lucy just gave her flummoxed look. "Maybe she's by a street lamp?"

Penance rocked in her chair, jumping out of the carriage and stepping onto the driver's box, searching for any semblance of light on the dark street. But this wasn't the type of neighborhood frequented by lamplighters and she saw nothing but dark blue sky. The carriage had stopped outside of Dr. Hague's building, but the inside was dark and quiet. The street was as empty as it had been that afternoon. Exasperated, Penance looked up at the sky and her stomach leaped back to its rightful place.

"Where's the moon?" she asked, jumping down and seeing Lucy and Two fingers stare back at her as they climbed out from the carriage.

Two fingers stared dumbly at her. "That a trick question?"

"You can't see it from every vantage point, the buildings hide it. Go down the alleys, find a view of the moon." She slipped down the first alley she came to, cutting the corner along the back. She was enveloped between buildings, not even stars visible to her, but she kept her head angled up to the sky as she ran.

Her cube buzzed again and she yelled into it. "Amalia?"

Horatio's voice slipped out. "No, but this fucking thing just beeped. I heard her. Have you found her?"

At a dip in one of the buildings, the moon appeared above Penance, big and hugely bright. She let out a yelp of relief, which was highly misplaced considering she hadn't yet found Amalia. But she stared down the alley, feeling something like hope. She caught sight of a lump alongside a wall. Penance ran.

"I've got her!" she yelled, to the cube and to Lucy and to the sky and the moon. "I've got her!" she yelled again, but she trailed off and her voice lost its power, reduced to shivers. She pulled Amalia's head into her lap, and her hope faded from her. This wasn't the Amalia she wanted to find, not this version. She grabbed her wrists and held them to her, keeping time with the low pulse beneath her fingers, each one bridging her from one second to the next.

"Horatio!" she screamed.

Lucy bounded around the corner and took the cube from Penance, speaking into it. "We're behind Number 238. There's a lot of blood."

The two-fingered man hustled down the alley, stopping at them and panting to catch his breath. He looked down at them. "That it, then?"

The workshop was quiet, the usual whirs of turning gears and the low hum of the furnace eerily silent. Penance sat on a low stool, elbows on her knees as she watched Amalia, who lay on the cot stored in the corner. It was usually a place where Penance collapsed for a few hours of sleep after working through the night, but with all of the blood and a wish not to worry the girls, they had brought Amalia here. Penance had watched as her lab, a place of invention and creation, was now a place of resurrection. She could do little but follow Horatio's directions, helping when she could and wringing her hands when she couldn't. And now Amalia was as still as Penance's equipment, her usual vibrant current frustratingly out of reach.

Horatio wiped a hand over his eyes, but the exhaustion was still there as he glanced down at Penance. "The transfusion worked," he said. "Just give her some time." He gave her a sympathetic touch on the shoulder. "If I know her at all, she won't wake up while you're giving her that doleful stare. Why don't you get some rest?"
"I will," Penance replied quietly.

"I'm going to check in at home and I'll be back in a couple of hours. The two-fingered gentleman is staying on for the night." He shook his head. "I don't know if that's a good idea, but good ideas are scarce these days." He squeezed her shoulder lightly, a quiet goodbye as he walked out of the workshop.

Penance's head was heavy and the thought of letting its weight pull itself down on a pillow was tempting. She lay down on the cot, teetering precariously on its edge, but it was worth it to drape her hand lightly around Amalia's wrist and feel her pulse. Penance closed her eyes and dozed restlessly, waking and then fading out again to the steady beat beneath her fingers. Then something shifted against her bare foot and her eyes shot open.

Amalia's eyes were glassy as they snagged on Penance. "Matilda?" she breathed, her unfocused eyes drooping in a long, slow blink.

Penance looked down at her with relief and bewilderment, thinking perhaps she was referring to Mary. Her relief won over, though, and she propped herself on her elbow, careful of Amalia's prone arms.

"Amalia," she tried, then raised her voice. "Horatio isn't here to berate you if you want to wake up… and you can have all the jam and brandy you want... within reason..." she trailed off, waiting as Amalia's eyes blinked back, still glassy but a bit more alert.

Amalia rolled her eyes to the side, taking in the familiar workings of the workshop. "Are you experimenting on me?" she mumbled.

"I should," Penance answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Amalia tried to shift to a sitting position, but her arms were like two anesthetized elephant trunks, thwarting her. One of them was held across her stomach by a cloth sling, which implied she might be in some pain once she did regain feeling, and was left feeling grateful the numbness hadn't abated yet. Penance was next to her, eyes alert but exhausted, and even her blond curls looked tired. Amalia glanced down at her free arm and saw the faint outlines of recently glowed stitches travel up to the inside of her elbow. She didn't have to look to know there was an identical one on her other arm. She silently blessed Horatio and his uncanny ability to minimize scars.

"Maladie did this," she said, looking up at Penance and needing her to know something that she didn't yet want to share. "I didn't do this."

Alarm dawned in Penance's eyes. "Maladie was with you?"

Amalia nodded. "She got me out of the cellar."

"She rescued you?" Penance asked, both affronted and confused.

"I would hardly call it that," Amalia replied. "I did the rest. It didn't end well." She smiled tiredly. "Or I should say, you did the rest. Taupe is my new favorite color." She moved to take Penance's hand, but her fingers were clumsy and lumbering and she gave up, letting them fall to the bed.

"Is she going to come for you?" Penance asked, so tired of being scared.

"No."

"How do you know that?" Penance shifted, wondering if perhaps they should leave, not wanting Maladie to appear anywhere inside the orphanage gates.

"I just know," Amalia replied. Penance didn't ask any questions, although Amalia knew she must have them. "Penance, you haven't kissed me yet and it's giving me a complex."

Penance listened, keeping thoughts of Maladie at bay as she leaned down and kissed Amalia softly but fervidly, all of her anguish resulting in a kiss that seemed to renew itself over gain for several moments. She pulled back and Amalia looked up at her.

"You were right," she said. "You saved Mary."

Penance beamed unexpectedly, a certain pride in her actions that day, including the impromptu meltdown. She had done the best she could, and for now, that was enough.

"I had the upmost confidence in you the whole time," Amalia continued.

"You're re-writing history a bit," Penance reminded her, kissing the side of her lip.

"Tell me about your day," Amalia requested. She felt Penance's stare and smiled. "I haven't seen you all day, and it's been quite a day. I'm curious." Amalia felt the weight of Maladie's presence threatening the light that was slowly dawning with Penance near her. "I just want to hear your voice for a bit."

Penance leaned on her elbow and regaled her with the carriage ride, her the deal with the Beggar King, who was now two in the hole when it came to actually helping them. Talking about it, hearing Amalia's gasps and exclamations, calmed her.

"You and Lucy with the Beggar King," Amalia breathed, impressed. "I would have paid good money to see that show."

"I was terrified most of the time," Penance replied. "I definitely didn't handle it like you would have."

"Well, that's a godsend."

Penance lay her head down again. "Does this hurt?"

"It doesn't anything, at the moment," Amalia assured her.

"Before you ask, Mary is fine. She's here at the orphanage, we thought it safer to keep her here." Penance let a finger drift up Amalia's arm. "Horatio says you should get back to normal within a day or two. Maybe a bit longer for your shoulder. The nerves in your arms and hands are a bit shot at the moment, but luckily the cuts weren't too deep. He gave you a blood transfusion."

"Where did he get the blood?" Amalia asked, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer.

"Butcher shop." Penance hid a smile. "Kidding." She reached behind her and held the massage device up. "I've been using this."

Amalia raised an empowering eyebrow. "Good for you."

Penance rolled her eyes and flicked it on, pressing it against Amalia's arm. "On the pressure points in your arms and hands," she clarified. "It may help get them back to normal a bit faster. I know how much you like to talk with your hands."

"I can think of something to do that doesn't involve my hands, but it would make you blush." Amalia let her eyes close and laughed, a bit too cheerily for someone so close to death such a short time ago. When her laugh faded into a tired sigh, she opened her eyes again and Penance could see a tacit apology in them. For what, she wasn't sure, but she wouldn't ask tonight. Amalia reached for her hand, or at least tried to, unsuccessfully, and Penance closed her own hand around it and squeezed.

"Is the new girl still here? Desiree? God, that seems ages ago. I was a bit rude to her."

Penance let out a long, labored sigh. "Yes, we met, and remind me to tell you about that in the morning." She yawned. "You should sleep. I imagine we'll be getting some visitors in the morning."

Amalia nodded. "I won't be waiting for them to come to me." A restlessness swam through her, a sense that she was missing something obvious. "Can you help me up?"

Penance's face fell as she sat up and flicked off the nerve stimulator. "It's the middle of the night. You can't even move."

"I know," Amalia said, irritation finding its way into her voice despite her best efforts to remind herself that for once, perhaps, she should just stay put. "My legs work, don't they?"

Penance sighed, knowing all too well where Amalia was headed and no idea what pulled her there. She saw the inquietude tensing Amalia's jaw and was at a loss for how to help her. But that feeling came to her again, something other than her brain guiding her, what she assumed laypersons called a "gut feeling." She took a chance and lay her head down on Amalia's stomach, wrapping a hand around her hips to avoid her arms. "Can you please just stay tonight? Just this once?"

Amalia felt Penance's lips briefly brush her hip. She could feel the familiar tug inside her, an insatiable itch that she had forgotten something about herself she had once known. She had no idea what it was, but Mary's song had made her feel a tremor of it. The cold, hard floor in the girl's room had made her feel connected to it. Still, she couldn't put her finger on what the intangible thing was, only that it was a state that made her feel whole and right. Penance's cheek was warm against her and Amalia concentrated on the way her curls brushed the skin on her stomach. She closed her eyes and listened to just their breathing, allowing herself to find that place in Penance, at least for the night.