The Vampire Diaries-14.

Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Preface
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Epilogue
OtherBooksbyThisAuthor
ExcerptfromStefan’sDiaries#5:TheAsylum
BackAds
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
Preface
August1888
Howmuchcanchangeinayear.
It’soneofthosephrasesthatI’vecaughtinconversation,onethatrattlesinmymindlikeapebblealongaroad,avestigeofmypreviouslife.Onceuponatime,ayearwasweighty,substantial.Itwasfilledwithpossibilities:ofmeetingtheloveofyourlife,ofhavingchildren,ofdying.Itwasastepping-stoneonthepathoflife—apaththatInolongerwalk.
Ayearwasonething.Twentyyearsago,whenmyentireworldturnedupsidedown,wassomethingelseentirely.
Ayearago,IcametoEngland,alandsosteepedinhistoryitmakestheprospectofeternityseemlessoverwhelming.Andalthoughthesettinghadchanged,Istayedthesame.IstilllookedlikeIhadthedayIturnedintoavampire,andthesamethoughts—ofKatherine,whoturnedme,ofDamon,mybrother,ofthedeathanddestructionthatIcouldnever,everseemtoerase—stillhauntedmydreams.Timehadbeensteadilygallopingforward,butIremainedasbefore,ademondesperateforredemption.
IfIwereahuman,I’dbecomfortablyinmiddleagebynow.I’dhaveawife,children,perhapsevenasonI’dpreparetotakeovermyfamilybusiness.
BeforetheSalvatorefamilybusinessbecamemurder.
It’salegacyI’vespentthepasttwentyyearstryingtocorrect,hopingthatsomehowaneternityofgooddeedscouldmakeupforthemistakesIhavemade,thebloodIhaveshed.
Andinsomeways,ithas;Englandwasgoodforme.Now,I’manhonestman—orashonestasamancanbewhenhispastisaswretchedasmine.
Inolongerfeelguiltyfordrainingthebloodofwoodlandcreatures.Iam,afterall,avampire.ButIamnotamonster.Notanymore.
Still,timedoesnottouchmeasitdoeshumans,nordoeseachnewyearturnoverwiththebreathlessanticipationofthosewholive.AllIcanhopeisthateachyearwillcarrymefurtherandfurtherfromthedestructionofmyyouthwithnofreshpainonmyconscience.IfIcouldhavethat,itwouldbemysalvation.
Chapter1
Sunlightdappledtherough-hewnbeamsoftheexpansivekitchenofAbbottManor,whereIwasemployedasagroundskeeper.IsighedincontentmentasIgazedoutthethickwindowsattheverdantrollingcountrysidesurroundingthehome.AlthoughmeticulouslykeptupbyMrs.Duckworth,theAbbotts’devotedhousekeeper,Icouldseemotesofpollenfloatingthroughthebrightrays.Thehomey,comfortablesettingremindedmeoftheVeritasEstate,wherepollenfromthemagnoliatreeswoulddriftthroughtheopenwindowsandcoatanentireroominathinlayerofdust.
“Canyoupassmetheknife,Stefan?”Daisy,oneoftheyounghousemaids,askedassheflirtatiouslybattedhereyelashesatme.DaisywasalocalgirloccasionallyemployedbyMrs.Duckworthtocomeinandassistinthekitchenfortheday.Ashortgirlwithcurlybrownhairandasmatteringoffrecklesacrossherupturnednose,sheremindedmeofAmeliaHawke,oneofmychildhoodfriendsfromMysticFalls.AmeliawouldnowmostlikelyhavechildrenDaisy’sage,Irealized
“Why,ofcourse,Daisydarlin’,”IsaidinmyexaggeratedSouthernaccent,bowingdeeplytoher.DaisyalwaysteasedmeabouthowAmericanIsounded,andIenjoyedourlightheartedexchanges.Theywereplayfulandinnocent,areminderthatwordsdidn’talwayscarryanulteriormotive.
Ipulledaknifefromadrawerandpassedittoherasshepluckedacucumberfromalargewoodenbowlandsetitdownonthetable,bitingherlipinconcentration.
“Ow!”Daisyyelped,yankingherfingerawayfromthecucumberandhastilybringingherhandtoherlips.Sheturnedtowardme,bloodoozingfromthewound.
Ifeltmyfangsbegintobulgefromunderneathmygums.Igulpedandsteppedaway,tryingtostopthetransformationwhileIstillhadthechance.
“Stefan,help!”Daisyimplored.
Istaggeredbackasthescentofbloodinvadedmynostrilsandseepedintomybrain.Icouldimaginehowsweettheliquidwouldtasteonmytongue.
Igrabbedanapkinandthrustittowardher.Isqueezedmyeyesshut,butifanything,itonlymadethemetallicscentofbloodmorepotent.
“Here!”Isaidroughly,blindlyshakingthenapkinather.Butshedidnottakeit,soIopenedoneeye,thentheother.Daisywasstandingthere,herarmoutstretched,butsomethingaboutherwasdifferent.Iblinkedagain.Itwasn’tmyimagination.Hermousybrownhairhadtransformedintoashinyredcopper,whileherfullcheekshadslimmedintoanangularfacethathadonlythefaintestdustingoffrecklesacrossthebridgeofhernose.
Somehow,Daisyhaddisappeared,andanewfigurestoodinherplace.
“Callie?”Icroaked,steadyingmyselfagainstthewoodentable.CallieGallagher—fiery,impetuous,fiercelyloyal,anddeadbyDamon’shand—wasrightinfrontofme.Mymindwaswhirling.Whatifshehadn’treallydied?CouldshesomehowhaveescapedtoEnglandtostartover?Iknewitdidn’tmakesense,butshewasrightinfrontofme,aslovelyasever.
“Stefan…”shewhispered,tiltingherfacetowardme.
“Callie!”Ismiledasmyfangsreceded.Ifeltaquickeninginmychest,ashadowofthehumanemotionsthatCalliehadhelpedmeremember.Ireachedouttowardher,brushingmyhandagainsthershoulder,allowingmynosetoinhaleherapple-and-hayscent.ButassoonasIblinkedagain,totakeherallin,everythingaboutherchanged.Herlipswerepartedtoowidely,herteethtoowhite,hereyesbloodshot.Alemon-and-gingerfragrancewaftedthroughtheair.
Iblinkedinhorror.Fearranthroughmyveinslikeice.Coulditbe…
ItwasKatherine.Katherine.ThefirstwomanIeverbelievedmyselftofallinlovewith.Thevampirewhostolemyheartonlyasameanstostealmysoul.“Leavemebe!”Icalledraggedly,scramblingbackwardsoquicklymyfootcaughtonthetableleg.Isteadiedmyself.IknewIhadtogetawayfromher.Shewasevil.She’ddestroyedme.Andyet,shelookedsolovely.Amischievousexpressiondancedacrossherface.
“Why,hello,Stefan,”shesaidinadulcettoneassheadvancedtowardme.“DidIscareyou?Youlookasifyou’veseenaghost!”
“You’redead,”Ispat,stillunabletobelieveshewasinfrontofme.
Shelaughed,asoundaswarmandenvelopingaswhiskeyonacoldwinternight.
“Wasn’tIalways?It’sgoodtoseeyou.Youlookwell.Althoughmaybeabittoopale,”Katherineadmonished.
“Howdidyougethere?”Iaskedfinally.Herbodyhadbeenburned,buriedinaVirginiachurchanoceanaway.Andyet,itwasundeniablethatshewasstandingnottwofeetfrommeintheAbbottkitchen.
“Ineededtoseeyou,”Katherinesaid,bitingherlowerlipwithherperfectlywhiteteeth.“I’mterriblysorry,Stefan.Ifeelwehadsomanymisunderstandings.Inevertrulyexplainedmyselformynaturetoyou.Doyouthinkyoucouldeverforgiveme?”sheasked.
Ifoundmyselfnodding,despitemyhatredforwhatshe’ddonetome.IknewIneededtoflee,butIcouldn’tlookawayfromKatherine’slargeeyes.Iwasn’tbeingcompelled.Itwasworse.Iwasbeingdrivenbylove.Itentativelyreachedoutandallowedmyfingerstograzeherskin.Itwassmooth,andinstantlyIwasconsumedwiththeneedtotouchheragainandagain.
“SweetStefan,”Katherinecooed,assheleanedtowardme.Herpetal-softlipsbrushedagainstmycheek.Ileanedin,succumbingtoherlemon-gingerscent.Mydesire,suppressedfortwentyyears,wasunleashed.Ididn’tcareaboutthepast.Ididn’tcarewhatshe’ddonetomeormybrother.Iwantedher.Mylipshungrilyfoundhers,andIkissedher,sighingwithhappinessandcontentment.
Shepulledback,andmygazeliftedtoherface.Hereyeswerebulging,andherfangswereglintinginthesunlight.
“Katherine!”Igasped.ButIcouldn’tescape.Hericy-coldhandswerearoundmyneck,drawingmeintoher,andthenIfeltasearingpainatmythroat.Itriedtoturnawaybutthepainwentdeeper,fartherintomybodyuntilitreachedintothedepthsofmysoul….
Everythingaroundmewentdark.
AndthenIheardasharp,persistentknocking.
“Katherine?”IgropedaroundinconfusionasIrealizedIwasbathedinsweat.Iblinked.Abovemewastheslopedroofofmythatchedcottage.Sunlightstreamedinthroughthecracksintheceiling.
Theknockingcontinued.
Iscrambledfrommybedandpulledonmybreechesandshirt.“Comein!”Icalled.
ThedoorswungopenandMrs.Duckworthbustledin,concernstampedonherround,redface.“Youallright,then?”Mrs.Duckworthasked.
“Fine.Justadream,”Isaid,shiftinguneasilyfromonefoottoanother.Wasitjustadream?Ihadn’tthoughtaboutherinages,butinmydream,Katherinehadseemedsoreal,soalive.
“Havinganightmare,youwas,”Mrs.Duckworthsaidknowledgeably,crossingherarmsacrossherexpansive,matronlychest.“Icouldhearyouyellingoutsidethedoor.Andyougavemearightfright,I’dthoughtyouwereattackedbyoneofthemfoxesfromthewoods.Mrs.MedlockupattheEvansfarmsaidonegotafewoftheirchickenstheotherday.Inbroaddaylight,too!”
“Anightmare…”Irepeated,asIsteadiedmyselfagainstthewoodenpostofmybed.Thesunwasjustbeginningitsdescentandtheforestoutsidemywindowwasblanketedinanamberlight.
“Yes,”Mrs.Duckworthrepliedpatiently.Shewaswearingastarchedwhiteapronoverherblue-and-white-stripeddress,andhergrayhairwaspulledbackinaseverebun.She’dbeenaservantattheManorforovertwentyyears,andoversaweverythingthatwentoninthehousewithamotherlyconcern.GeorgeAbbottalwaysjokedthatshe,nothim,wastrulyincharge.Seeinghercalmedme,areminderthattheeventswereallinmyhead,andthatIwassafehere.“Ijusthopethemissusdidn’thearyou.Wouldn’twanthertothinkyouwashaunted.”
“Notme,”Isaidimpatiently,pickingupmybedclothesandtossingthembackonthebed.Ididn’tliketheimplicationofMrs.Duckworth’scolloquialisms,orthatshewasneverquiteabletoproduceagrammaticallycorrectsentence.“Youmeanthecabinishaunted.Whichit’snot,”Isaidquickly.
“No,Imeantyou’shaunted,”Mrs.Duckworthsaidsagely.“Youmusthavesomethinginyourmindthat’stroublingyou.Notlettingyourest.”
Ilookeddownattherough,unevenfloorboards.Itwastrue.EventhoughIhadfledfromhome,Iwasstillhauntedbyvisionsfrommypast.Sometimes,whenIdreamtofDamonandmyselfaschildren,racinghorsesagainsteachotherthroughtheVirginiawoods,thedreamscapeswerepleasant.Othertimes,theyremindedmethateventhoughIwasdestinedtoliveonEarthforeternity,apartofmewasalwaysinhell.
“Nomatter,”Mrs.Duckworthsaid,crisplybrushingherhandstogethertocreatealoudclappingsound.“IwascomingtofetchyouforSundaysupper.Theboyscan’tstopaskingforyou,”shesaid,anaffectionatesmileonherfaceasshespokeofLukeandOliver,thetwoyoungAbbottboys.
“Ofcourse,”Isaid.IlovedSundaysuppers.Theywerecasualandnoisy,filledwithdeliciousfoodandgood-naturedbickeringbetweenLukeandOliver.Theirfather,George,wouldbouncefour-year-oldEmma,theyoungestAbbott,onhisknee,whiletheirmother,Gertrude,wouldsmileproudlyatherbrood.I’dsitatthefaredgeofthetable,thankfulthatI,too,waspartofthetableaux.Theywerejustanormalfamily,enjoyingatypicalSunday.Andtome,therewasnothing—notthefinestmansionsinSanFranciscoortheglittering,champagne-soakedballsofNewYorkCity—thatcouldpossiblycompare.
WhenI’dcometoAbbottManorlastfall,IhadonlytheshirtonmybackandahorseI’dwoninagameofcardsataportsidebarjustoutsideofSouthampton.She’dbeenablackbeautywho’dremindedmeofMezzanotte,myhorsefrommyVirginiachildhood.I’dnamedherSegreto,Italianforsecret,andwespentthemonthroamingthecountrysidebeforearrivinginIvinghoe,atownaboutfiftymilesoutsideofLondon.LookingforsomeonewhowouldpurchaseSegreto,I’dbeendirectedtoGeorgeAbbott,who,uponhearingmycarefullycraftedtaleofwoe,hadofferedmeboththepriceofthehorseandajobascaretaker.
“Youbesthurryup,”Mrs.Duckworthsaid,interruptingmymemory.Shestrodeoutofmycottage,closingthedoorwithathud.
Iglancedhastilyatmyreflectioninthelookingglassthathungovermysimplechestofdrawers.Iquicklyslickedmybrownhairbackandranmytongueovermygums.Myfangsrarelymadeanappearanceanymore,atleastnotinmywakinghours.I’deventakentohuntingmypreywithabowandarrow,thendrainingthebloodintoaglassanddrinkingitasIrelaxedbythefire.IrememberhowmyfriendLexihadtriedandtriedtogetmetotakegoat’sbloodtea,backwhenIwasayoungvampire,wreakinghavoconthecityofNewOrleans.Backthen,I’dresisted,thinkinggoat’sbloodwasanaffronttowhatbloodshouldtastelike—rich,sweet,human.
Ifonlyshecouldseemenow,Ithoughtruefully.Isometimeswishedthatshewashere,especiallyduringthelong,darknights.Itwouldbenicetohavesomeonetotalkto,andLexiwasatruefriend.ButsheandIhadpartedwaysuponreachingBritain.She’ddecidedtogoontotheContinent,whileIchosetostayandseewhatthecountryhadtooffer.Itwasjustaswell.Althoughwe’dpartedongoodterms,Icouldsensesometimesshegrewimpatientwithmymelancholicdisposition.Ididn’tblameher.Igrewimpatientwithmyself,too,wishingthatIcouldsimplymoveon.IwishedIcouldflirtwithDaisywithoutfearofmyfangsmakinganappearance.IwishedIcoulddiscussmyformerlifeinAmericawithGeorgewithoutlettingslipthatI’dbeenaliveduringtheCivilWar.AndIwished,morethananything,IcoulderaseDamonfrommymind.IfeltthatbeingbymyselfandonmyowntwofeetwaswhatIneededtomoveforward.Untilonenightmarewouldsendmebackintomymisery.
ButonlyifIletit.I’dlearnedthatmemorieswerejustthat—memories.Theyhadnopowertohurtme,unlessIletthem.IlearnedthatIcouldtrusthumans.Andlateatnight,mybodywarmedbybadgerbloodandlisteningtothesoundsoftheforestcometolife,Ifeltalmosthappy.
Therewaslittleexcitementandadventure.Whattherewas—andwhatIwasthankfulfor—wasroutine.ThejobwasmuchlikewhatI’dbeendoinginmyyouthinVirginia,backwhenFatherhadbeenprimingmetotakeoverVeritasEstate.Iboughtlivestock,oversawthehorses,andmendedanythingthatmightneedfixing.IknewGeorgeapprovedofmywork,andwewereevengoingintoLondontomorrowtodiscussthefinancesofthefarm,atruesignofhistrustinme.Infact,theentireAbbottfamilyseemedtolikeme,andIwassurprisedtofindhowmuchIlikedthem.IknewinafewyearsI’dhavetomoveon,sincethey’dsoonnoticethatIwasn’tagingastheywere.ButIcouldstillenjoythetimeIhadleft.
Hastily,Ipulledonamerino-wooljacket,oneofthemanyitemsofclothingGeorgehadgivenmeinthefewshortmonthsI’dbeenatAbbottManor.Indeed,heoftensaidhethoughtofmelikeason,asentimentwhichsimultaneouslywarmedandamusedme.Ifonlyheknewthathewasactuallyafewyearsyoungerthanme.Hetookhispositionasafatherfigureseriously,andalthoughhecouldneverreplacemyrealfather,Iwelcomedthegesture.
Notbotheringtolockthedoortomycottage,Istrodeupthehilltothehouse,whistlinganamelesstune.OnlyasIgottothechorusdidIrealizeitsorigin—itwas“GodSavetheSouth,”oneofDamon’sfavorites.
Grimacing,Imashedmylipstogetherandpracticallyrantheremainingstepstothereardoorofthemanor.Aftertwentyyears,anyrecollectionofDamonwasassharpandabruptasaclapofthunderonadry,hotsummerday.Istillrememberedhim—hisbroodingblueeyes,hislopsidedsmile,andhissarcasm-tingedSouthernaccent—asvividlyasifI’donlyseenhimtenminutesago.Whoknewwherehewasnow?
Hecouldevenbedead.Thepossibilitysprangintomymindoutofnowhere.Iuneasilyshookoffthethought.
Arrivingatthehouse,Iswungopenthedoor.TheAbbottsneverkeptitlocked.Therewasnoneed.Thenexthousewasfivemilesdowntheroad,thetownanothertwobeyondthat.Eventhen,thetownonlyconsistedofapub,postoffice,andtrainstation.TherewasnowheresaferinallofEngland.
“Stefan,myboy!”Georgecalledeagerly,stridingintothefoyerfromthesittingroom.Giddyandalreadyalittledrunkonpre-suppersherry,Georgewasflushedandseemedevenmorerotundthanlastweek.
“Hello,sir!”Isaidenthusiastically,glancingdownathim.Hestoodatonlyalittlebitabovefivefeet,andhisbulkseemedtobehiswayofmakingupforhisshortstature.Indeed,sometimesIworriedforthehorseswhenitstruckGeorge’sfancytogoforarideinthewoods.
Buteventhoughtheotherservantsoccasionallymockedhimforhisunwieldybodyandfondnessfordrink,Isawinhimnothingbutfriendlinessandgoodwill.He’dtakenmeinwhenIhadnothing,andnotonlyhadhegivenmearoofovermyhead,buthe’dgivenmehopethatIcouldfindcompanionshipwithhumansagain.
“Spotofsherry?”Georgeasked,pullingmeoutofmyreverie.
“Ofcourse,”Isaidamiably,asIsettledintooneofthecomfortableredvelvetchairsinthesittingroom,asmallandhomeyspacewithOrientalrugscoveredindoghair.GertrudeAbbotthadasoftspotforthefarmdogs,andwouldlettheminsidetheManorwheneveritrained—whichwasnearlyeveryday.ThewallswerecoveredwithportraitsofAbbottrelatives,identifiablebytheirdimples.Thatmadeallofthem,evenasternportraitofGreat-uncleMartin,whostoodwatchoverthebarinthecorner,seemalmostfriendly.
“Stefan!”AlispingvoiceshriekedasthetwoAbbottboystumbledintotheroom.FirstcameLuke,deviousanddark-haired,withacowlickthatsimplywouldn’tbehavenomatterhowmuchhismotherpusheditdownagainsthisforehead.Oliverfollowed,aseven-year-oldwithstraw-coloredhairandskinnedknees.
IsmiledasOliverthrewhisarmsaroundmylegs.Astraypieceofhayfromthebarnwasstuckinhishair,andhisfreckledfacewassmudgedwithdirt.He’dmostlikelybeenoutinthewoodsforhours.
“Ihuntedarabbit!Hewasthisbig!”Oliversaid,breakingawayandholdinghishandsseveralfeetapart.
“Thatbig?”Iasked,raisingmyeyebrows.“Areyousureitwasarabbit?Orwasitabear?”Oliver’slighteyesgrewsaucerlikeatthepossibility,andIstifledasmile.
“Itwasn’tabear,Stefan!”Lukeinterjected.“Itwasarabbit,andIwastheonewhoshotit.Oliver’sbulletonlyscaredit.”
“Didnot!”Oliversaidangrily.
“Daddy,tellStefan!TellhimIshotit!”
“Now,boys!”Georgesaid,smilingfondlyathistwoyoungsons.Igrinnedaswell,despitethepangofregretIfeltstabbingintothecoreofmybeing.ItwassuchafamiliarscenethatIknewplayedoutinhousesallovertheworld:Sonssquabbled,rebelled,andgrewup,andthenthecyclerepeatedalloveragain.Exceptinthecaseofmeandmybrother.Aschildren,we’dbeenexactlylikeOliverandLuke.Wewererough-and-tumbleandunafraidtoknockeachotherdown,becauseweknewthatourfierce,undyingloyaltywouldspurustohelpeachotherbackupmomentslater.BeforeKatherinehadcomebetweenusandchangedeverything.
“I’msureStefandoesn’twanttohearyouboysbickering,”Georgeadded,takinganotherswigofsherry.
“Idon’tmind,”Isaid,rufflingOliver’shair.“ButIthinkIneedtoenlistyoutohelpmewithaproblem.Mrs.Duckworthsaidthere’safoxintheforestwho’sbeenstealingthechickensfromtheEvanses’coop,andIknowthatonlythebesthunterinallofEnglandwillbeabletobringdownthebeast,”Iinvented.
“Really?”Oliverasked,hiseyesgrowingwide.
“Really.”Inodded.“Theonlypersonwhocanpossiblytakehimdownissomeonesmallandquickandvery,veryclever.”IsawinterestflickeracrossLuke’sface.Atnearlyten,hemostlikelyfelttoogrown-uptotakepart,butIknewhewantedto.Damonhadbeensimilaratthatage—toosophisticatedtobecaughtenjoyingthegamesthatwe’dallplaydownbythecreek,yetterrifiedofmissingoutonanything.
“Andmaybewe’lltakeyourbrother,”Isaidinastagewhisper,winkingasIcaughtGeorge’seye.“ThethreeofuswillbethebesthuntingpartythissideofLondon.Thefoxwon’tstandachance.”
“Soundslikeafineadventure!”Georgesaidgrandlyashiswife,Gertrude,walkedin.Herredhairwaspulledback,emphasizingthewidow’speakonherfairforehead,andshewascarryingtheirfour-year-olddaughter,Emma,onherhip.Emmahadfineblondhairandenormouseyes,andoftenlookedmorelikeafairyoraspritethanahumanchild.SheflashedmealargegrinandIsmiledback,feelinghappinessradiatefromthecenterofmybeing.
“Willyoucome,Daddy?”Oliverasked.“Iwantyoutoseemehunt.”
“Ah,youknowme,”Georgesaid,shakinghishead.“I’donlyscarethefoxintothebushes.He’dhearmecomingfromamileaway,”hesaid.
“Stefancouldteachyoutobequiet!”Oliverlisped.
“Stefan’salreadyteachingthisoldmantorunhisfarm,”Georgelaughedruefully.
“Soundstomelikewe’realltellingstoriestonight,”Isaidgood-naturedly.Eventhoughtheworkwasdemanding,ItrulyenjoyedthetimeIspentonthefarmwithGeorge.ItwassodifferentfromhowI’dfeltatVeritas,workingundermyownfather.Backthen,I’dresentedbeingkeptonthefarm,insteadofbeingallowedtogototheUniversityofVirginia.I’dhatedfeelinglikemyfatherwasconstantlyjudgingandappraisingme,wonderingifIwasworthyoftakingovertheestate.ButwiththeAbbotts,IfeltlikeIwasappreciatedforthemanIwas.
Itookadeepsipofsherryandleanedbackintothechair,shakingoffthefinalunsettlingimagesfrommyearliernightmare.Katherinewasdead.Damonmightverywellbe,too.Thiswasmyrealitynow.
Chapter2
Thenextmorning,GeorgeandIweresettledinalavishtraincaronourwaytoLondon.Ileanedbackintheplushchair,allowingwavesofnauseatorideoverme.Iknewfrompastexperiencesthatcitiescouldbetooloud,tooheavywiththescentofunwashedbodies,tootempting.Soinpreparation,I’ddrunkthebloodofaskunkandahare,andnowfeltsick.Butbettersickthanstarving,especiallysinceIwantedtoputmybestfootforwardwhenwemetwithGeorge’ssolicitor.Iknewitwasanhonorforhimtoinvitemetomeethisassociate,amanwho’dlookoverthenumbersfromthefarmandadviseusiftherewasanythingweneededtododifferentlywhenitcametostaffingandpurchasing.
Andyet,Isimplycouldn’tshaketheimageofKatherinefrommynightmare.Soinsteadoftalking,ImerelynoddedasGeorgewonderedaloudwhetherornotweshouldleaseoutourhorsestothemineattheothersideofIvinghoe.Itwasimpossibletoshiftfromlifeanddeathtotheminutiaeofhumanexistence.Inanothertwentyyears—teneven—noneofitwouldmatter.
Thevelvetcurtainofourcompartmentopened,andaporterpoppedhisheadin.
“Teaornewspaper?”heasked,holdingoutasilvertraypiledhighwithsconesandteacakes.Mr.Abbotteyedthemhungrilyastheporterplacedteaandtworaisinsconesonpristinechinaplatesandthenpassedonetoeachofus.
“Youcanhavemine,”Isaid,handingtheplateovertoMr.Abbott.“We’lltakethenewspaperaswell.”
“Right,sir.”TheporternoddedandpassedmeacopyoftheDailyTelegraph.
Immediately,IpulledoutthepagesIenjoyed,handingGeorgethefeatureshelovedwhileIkeptthesportsandsocietypagesformyself.Itwasanoddcombination,butithadbeenmyhabitforthepasttwentyyears,wheneverIfoundmyselfinacity,toreadthesocietynews.IwantedtolookforanymentionofCountDeSangue,thenamethatDamonhadusedinNewYork.Iwonderedifhe’dgivenuphisairsandgrandioseposturing.Ihopedso.ThelasttimeIsawhim,hisshowinesshadnearlyledtoourdemise.Itwasfarbetterforusbothtogoundertheradar.
BramStokerandHenryIrvingopennewplayattheLyceumSirCharlesAinsleyinvitesgueststohisWestEndHouseSamuelMortimerrumoredtoberunningforLondonCouncillordashingCountDeSangueseenoutonthetownatthesupperclubtheJourneymanwithlovelyladyofthestageCharlotteDumont.
Ifeltmystomachclenchwithrecognition.ItwasexactlyasIexpected.SeeingthewordswasaclearsignthatDamonwasstillhauntingme;asignIcouldn’tattributetomydream,anoveractiveimagination,ortoomuchsherrythenightbefore.BecauseeventhoughDamonhatedmemorethananything,itdidn’tchangethefactthatIwashisbrother.I’dknownhimmywholelife.Aschildren,Icouldsensethathe’dhaveafightwithFatherevenbeforeithappened.Therewouldbetensioncracklingintheair,asevidentascloudsbeforeastorm.Icouldtellwhenhewasangry,evenifhewassmilingatallourfriends,andIalwaysknewwhenhewasfrightened,eventhoughhe’dnever,eversayit.Evenasvampires,somethingdeepwithinmewasstillconnectedtohismoods.Andwhetherheknewitornot,hewasintrouble.
Iscannedtherestofthecolumn,butthatwastheonlymentionofDamon.Therestwasaboutlordsanddukesandearls,whichmusthavebeenDamon’snewestset.NotthatIwassurprised.London,withitsendlesspartiesandcosmopolitanatmosphere,hadalwaysstruckmeasaplaceDamoncouldendup.Humanordemon,he’dalwayscutanimpressivefigure.AndwhetherIlikeditornot,hewasmybrother.Thesamebloodranthroughourveins.IfIfeltapulltowardEngland,wouldn’titmakesensethathewould,too?
Iglanceddownatthepaperagain.
WhowasCharlotteDumont?AndwherewastheJourneyman?Maybe,ifIhadtimeinLondonafterthesolicitor’sappointment,I’dheadoutonmyowntofindit.Itwouldatleastlaymyuneasyfeelingstorest.Afterall,IwassurehewasdrinkingCharlotteDumont’sblood,butifthatwastheextentofDamon’smisbehavior,whowasItosayanything?Andifhewasdoingsomethingworse,well…I’dcrossthatbridgewhenIcametoit.
Acrossfromme,Georgewasstabbinghisknifeintothepatofbutter.Whathehadinwealthandland,helackedintablemanners.Butinsteadofrepulsingme,hisboorishbehavioryankedmeoutofmyhead.Oureyescaught,andIsensedGeorgeappraisingmygrass-stainedblueshirtandblackslacks.TheywerethenicestclothesIowned,butIknewtheymademelooklikealaborer.
“Ithinkwhilewe’reintown,Imighttakeyoutomytailor.Havesomesuitsmade,”Georgemused.
“Thankyou,sir,”Imumbled.Weweregettingclosertothecity,andthesceneryhadchangedfromwideexpansesofopenlandtoclustersoflow-roofedhouses.“ButI’dactuallyliketoexplorethecityonmyownafterthemeeting.Yousee,IhavesomerelationsinLondon.Ifit’sallrightwithyou,I’dliketotakeafewdaystoseethem.I’llbesuretomendthatfenceatthefarendofthepastureassoonasIreturn,”Ilied.I’dneveraskedfordaysoff.IfGeorgeshowedanounceofhesitation,thenIwouldn’tgo.Butifhegavemehisblessing,itwasalmostasifFatewasforcingmetofindmybrother.
“Well,whydidn’tyousaysomethingearlier,boy?”Georgeboomed.“Iwasworriedaboutyou,allaloneintheworld.It’salwaysgoodtohaverelations,evenifyoudon’tgetonwiththem.Becauseattheendoftheday,youshareaname;youshareblood.It’sgoodtoknowwhatthey’reupto.”
“Isuppose,sir,”Isaidnervously.Weweretreadingintodangerousterritory.I’dnevergivenhimmyreallastname.Instead,heknewmeasStefanPine.I’dchosenPinenotonlybecauseofitssimplicity,butbecauseIprivatelylikedtheideaofcomparingmyselftoapinetree:everunchanging.Itwasapersonalconcessiontomytruenature.Andso,Isuppose,wasDamon’spersonalchoiceofsobriquet.
“Takeaweek,”Georgesaid.
“Thankyou,butthatwon’tbenecessaryonanycount.I’monlyplanningtocallonmyrelativesfortea.Andthat’sonlyifIcanfindthem.ButIdothankyou,”Isaidawkwardly.
“I’lltellyouwhat,”Georgesaid,leaningintowardmeconspiratorially.“I’llbringyoutomytailor,buyyousomesuits,andyoucanimpressthehelloutofyourrelatives.”
“No,th—”Istoppedmyself.“Yes,I’dlikethat,”Isaidfirmly.Afterall,DamonwasalwayssoconcernedwithappearancesthatIwantedtobeathimathisowngame.Iwantedhimtoseemeasamanwho’dmadeaproudlife.Damoncouldlieandcheathiswayintoanysocialcircle,butittookhardworktodeveloptrustwithhumans,andIhaddonejustthat.MaybeIcouldevenserveasagoodexample,asubtleremindertoDamonthathedidn’thavetolivealifedevoidofmeaning.
“It’stheleastIcando,son,”Georgesaid,beforewelapsedagainintosilence.TheonlynoiseinourcabinwastherhythmicchuggingofthetrainandthesmackingofGeorge’slips.Isighed.Ifeltsuddenlyconstrainedinourcabin,andwishedIwereinthebarnontheedgeoftheManor,alonewithmythoughts.
“Quiettoday,aren’tyou?Youwerelastnight,too,”Georgesaid,breakingthesilence.Hewipedhismouthwithanapkinandpulledthenewspaperontohislap.
“IsupposeIam.Ihavealotonmymind,”Ibegan.Thatmightwellhavebeentheunderstatementoftheyear.Thismorning,allI’dbeenabletothinkaboutwasKatherine.Andnow,theideaofDamonbeingsoclosewasdrivingmetodistraction.
Georgenodded,anunderstandingexpressioninhiswateryblueeyes.
“Youdon’tneedtotellmeaboutit.Iknowallmenhavesecrets,butpleaseknowthatyouhaveafriendinme,”Georgesaidseriously.Althoughheknewonlyaskeletonofmyhistory—thatI’dleftmyfatherandAmericabecauseIdidn’twanttomarrythewomanhe’dchosenforme—somethingabouthiscountenancemademewanttoopenuptohimalittlebitmorethanIhad.
“Ofcourse,I’mnotpryingaboutyourpersonalaffairs,”Georgesaidashehastilyrearrangedthenewspaperonhislap.
“No,you’renotpryingatall,sir.Ithankyouforyourinterest.Thetruthis,Ihavefeltunsettledrecently,”Isaidfinally,choosingmywordscarefully
“Unsettled?”Georgeaskedinconcern.“Isthejobnottoyourliking?Iknowthatit’sabitbelowyourformerstationinAmerica,butdoknowthatI’mwatchingyou,andIthinkthatyoureallydohavepromise.Growintoyourself,getafewyearsunderyourbelt,andIcouldseeyougoingfar.Perhapsyoucouldevenbuyapieceofpropertyyourself,”Georgemused.
Ishookmyheadquickly.“It’snotthejob,”Isaid.“I’mgratefulfortheopportunity,andampleasedtobeonthefarm.It’s…I’vebeenhavingnightmaresaboutmypast.Isometimeswonder…whetherornotIcanevertrulyleavethatpartofmylifebehind.Isometimesthinkofmyfather’sdisappointment,”Iexplainednervously.ItwasthemostI’deveropeneduptoanyhumanexceptCallie.AndyetIfeltrelievedsayingthesentences,eventhoughtheydidn’tnearlyexplorethechasm-likedepthsofmyproblems.
“Growingpains.”Mr.Abbottnoddedsagely.“Irememberhavingthem,too,whenmyfatherwasurgingmetofollowinhisfootsteps,eagertohavesomeonecarryonthename,hislegacy.HewastheonewhotoldmethatI’dmarryGertrudeandthatI’drunthefarm.Ididit,andIdon’tregretit.ButwhatIdoregretisthatIneverhadachoice.Factis,it’sthelifeIwouldhavechosen.ButIthinkallmenneedtofeelthey’remastersoftheirdecisions.”Atthis,Mr.Abbottsmiledwistfully.“That’swhyIadmireyou,Stefan.Standingupforyourprinciplesandsettingoutonyourown.Thisisaremarkableage.We’renolongerasocietybasedonwhoweare,butratherwhatwedo.AndeverythingI’veseenyoudohasbeenexemplary,”hesaid,takingalargebiteofhisscone,causingcrumbstoscatteralloverhisshirt.
“Thankyou,”Isaid,feelingbetterthanIhadinalongtime.Evenifhedidn’tknoweverythingaboutme,maybetherewastruthinwhatGeorgewassaying—thatwhatIchosetodowasfarmoreimportantthanwhoIwasorwhoIhadbeen.AslongasIcontinuedtolivelikeaproductivememberofsociety,thenmyPowerwouldcontinuetoebb,untilitwasanearlyinaudiblethruminthebackgroundofmybeing.Meanwhile,I’dhavesomanyotherthingstoconcernmyselfwith:livestock,property,industry,money.Asmallsmileplayedonmylips.
Thetrainlurchedforward,andteasplashedalloverthefrontofGeorge’sjacket.
“Ohblast!”hemurmured.“Wouldyoumindholdingthis?”heasked,passingmehispagesofthenewspaperashepulledhishandkerchiefoutofhispockettodabatthestain.
Theboldfontandexclamationpointsprintedonthepageimmediatelycaughtmyeye.
Murder!screamedtheheadline.Underneaththetextwasalinedrawingofawoman,herbodiceripped,bloodseepingfromherthroat,hereyeshalf-open.Eventhoughitwasjustadrawing,theimagewasgruesome.Ileanedinforacloserlook,asifcompelled.
“Isn’tthatterrible?”Georgeasked,hisgazefallingonthepaper.“MakesmegladtolivefarawayfromLondon.”
Inodded,barelylistening.Itookthepaper,thegrimynewsprintsmearingonmyhandsasIhastilyscannedthearticle.
Womanofthenightmeetscreatureofdarkness.ThebodyofMaryAnnNicholswasfoundonthecobblestonesoftheWhitechapelareaofLondon.Herthroatwastornoutandherinnardsremoved.Couldbeconnectedtootherdeathsinthearea.Moredetails,fromthosewhoknewthevictim.Page23.
NotevencaringaboutthecuriouswayGeorgewaseyeingme,Iturnedtothepage,thenewspapershakinginmyhands.Yes,themurderwasgruesome,butitwasachinglyfamiliar.IstaredbackatthelinedrawingonthefrontpageofMaryAnn.Herblankfacewastiltedtowardthesky,unimaginablehorrorevidentinherunblinkingeyes.Thatwasn’ttheworkofajiltedloveroradesperatethief.
Itwastheworkofavampire.
Notonlythat,itwastheworkofabrutal,bloodthirstyvampire.Inallmyyears,Ihadn’tseenorheardofanymurdersogruesome—exceptfortwentyyearsago,whenLuciushadmassacredtheSutherlandfamily.Damonhadbeenthere,too.
Ashiveroffearranupmyspine.Wherevertherewerepeople,therewerevampires.Butmostkepttothemselves,andmost,iftheydrankhumanblood,didsoasquietlyaspossible:inshantytowns,fromdrunksonthestreet,simplycompellingtheirfriendsandneighborssotheycouldregularlyfeedwithoutanyonesensingathing.Butthen,thereweretheOriginals.Rumoredtobedescendeddirectlyfromhell,theOriginalshadneverhadasoul,andthushadnomemoriesofwhatitwasliketolive,tohope,tocry,tobehuman.Whattheydidhavewasarelentlessthirstforbloodandadesirefordestruction.
AndifKlauswereherenow…Ishudderedtothinkofit,butjustasquicklybrushedtheideaoff.Itwasmyoveractiveimaginationatwork.Iwasalwaysassumingtheworst,alwaysassumingmysecretwassecondsawayfrombeingrevealed.AlwaysassumingIwasdoomed.No.Morelikely,thishadbeentheworkofablood-drunkDamonwhoneededtobetaughtalessonheshouldhavelearnedalongtimeago.
Afterall,Damonwasn’tonlybloodthirsty;hewasfamehungry.Helovedthesocietypages.Woulditbethatfarofaleapforhimtowanttosuddenlyappearinthecrimepages,too?
“Don’tletthatstoryscareyouofffromLondon,”Georgesaid,laughingabittooloudly.“Thisalltookplaceintheslums.Wewon’tbeanywherenearthere.”
“Itwon’t,”Isaidfirmly,myjawset.Isetthepapernexttome.“Infact,IthinkIwilltakeyourofferandtaketheentireweekoff.”
“Asyouwish,”Georgesaid,leaningbackintohischair,themurderstoryalreadyoffhismind.Iglancedbackdownatthepicture.Thelineillustrationwasgoryandgruesome,theillustratorhavingclearlygoneoutofhiswaytovividlydrawtheinnardsfallingoutofthegirl’sbody.Herfacehadbeencut,too,butIkeptglancingatherneck,wonderingiftwosmall,shoddingnail–sizeholeswerehiddenunderneaththegore.
ThetrainwhistledandIcouldseethevastexpanseofLondonoutthewindow.Wewereenteringthecity.IwantedthetraintoturnaroundandtakemebacktoAbbottManor.Iwantedtorunaway,backtoSanFranciscoorAustralia,orsomewherewhereinnocentpeopledidn’tgettheirthroatsrippedoutbydemons.Aroundus,portersbustledtogettrunksandsuitcasesfromtheoverheadbins.Acrossfromme,Georgeplacedhishatonhishead,glancingdowntothepaper.
“Canyouimagine,thatpoorgirl…”Georgetrailedoff.
Thetroublewas,Icouldimagineitalltoowell.
IcouldimagineDamon,flirting,allowinghishandtograzethewoman’sbodice.IpicturedDamon,leaninginforakissasMaryAnnclosedhereyes,readyforthebrushofhislips.Andthen,Iimaginedtheattack,ascream,herdesperatelyclawingtowardsafety.Andfinally,IsawDamon,blood-drunkandsated,grinninginthemoonlight.
“Stefan?”
“Yes?”Isaidgruffly,alreadyonedge.
Georgeeyedmecuriously.Theporterwasholdingopenthedoortoourcabin.
“I’mready,”Isaid,steadyingmyselfonthearmrestsasIstoodup.
“You’reshaking!”Georgesaid,laughingloudly.“ButIpromiseyou,London’sinnowayasfrighteningastheIvinghoewoods.Infact,Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifyouenduplovingit.Brightlights,plentyofparties…why,ifIwereayoungermanwithoutresponsibilities,Iwouldn’tbeabletotearmyselfawayfromtheplace.”
“Right,”Isaid.Hiswordshadgivenmeanidea.UntilI’dfoundoutwho—orwhat—waslooseinthecity,LondonwaswhereIwasgoingtostay.
Nomatterwhatcame,beitmurderer,demon,orDamon,Iwasready.
Chapter3
Afewhourslater,myfeetachedwhilemyheadkeptspinning.MysenseofdutykeptmewithGeorgeaswespentthemorningshuttlingbetweenappointmentsandtailorfittings.IwasnowwearinglinenpantsandawhiteshirtfromSavileRow,andhadseveralmorebagsonmyarms.Despitehisgenerosity,IwasdesperatetoescapeGeorge.AllIcouldthinkaboutwhiletryingonvariousclotheswasthegirl’sblood-soaked,rippedbodice.
“CanIgiveyoualifttoyourrelatives?Youneverdidsaywheretheylived,”Georgesaidashesteppedoffthestreetcornertonodhisheadatapassingcarriage.
“No,that’squiteallright,”Isaid,cuttinghimoffasthecoachpulleduptothecurb.ThepastfewhourswithGeorgehadbeentorturous,plaguedwiththoughtsthatwouldmakehishairturnwhiteandstandonend.IblamedDamonforpoisoningwhatwassupposedtohavebeennothingmorethanadayofpleasantdiversions.
IglancedawaysoIwouldn’thavetoseeGeorge’sbewilderedexpression.Afewblocksaway,IcouldjustmakeoutSt.Paul’sCathedral.ItwasastructureIrememberedsketchingwhenIwasachildanddreamtofbeinganarchitect.I’dalwaysimagineditasbeingwhiteandgleaming,butinrealityitwasconstructedofadingygraylimestone.Theentirecityfeltdirty,athinlayerofgrimecoatedmybody,andthesunwascoveredbygrayclouds.
Justthen,theskyopenedupandfatdropsofrainlandedonthepavement,asifremindingmethiswasmynarrowchancetofollowmyinstinctsandfleefromGeorge.
“Sir?”thecoachdriveronthecurburgedimpatiently.
“I’llfindmyownwaythere,”Isaid,sensingGeorge’shesitationatleavingme.ThecoachmanmovedtoescortGeorgetothesleekblackcarriage.
“Enjoyyourself,”Georgesaid,clamberingupthestepsofthecoach.Thecoachmanwhippedhishorse,andthecarriagetookoffdowntherain-soakedcobblestonestreets.
Iglancedaroundme.InthefewminutesthatGeorgeandIhadbeentalking,thestreetshadbecomealmostdeserted.Ishiveredinmyfineshirt.Theweatherperfectlymatchedmymood.
Iraisedmyhandandhailedacoachofmyown.
“Whitechapel,”Isaidconfidently,surprisedasthewordsleftmylips.I’dthoughtofgoingtotheJourneymantofindDamon.AndIwoulddothat,eventually.Butfornow,Iwantedtoseeformyselfwherethemurderhadtakenplace.
“Ofcourse,”thecoachmansaid.Andinstantly,IwastrottedintothemazeofclaustrophobicLondonstreets.
Aftermuchbackandforthwiththecoachman,hedroppedmeonthecornerwheretheTowerBridgewasbeingconstructed.Glancingaround,IcouldseetheTowerofLondon.ItwassmallerthanI’dthoughtitwouldbe,andtheflagsonitsturretsdidn’twavesomuchasdroopintheconstanttrickleofrain.ButIwasn’theretosightsee.IturnedawayfromtheriverandontoClothierStreet,oneofthemanytwisting,dirty,dankalleysthatwebbedthroughthecity.
IquicklyrealizedthispartoftownwasvastlydifferentthanwhatI’dseenwithGeorge.Rottingvegetablesclutteredtherain-slickedcobblestones.Thin,slantedbuildingswereshoddilythrownupalmostontopofeachother.Thescentofironwaseverywhere,althoughIcouldn’ttellwhethertheconcentrationofbloodwasfrommurderorsimplyfromthemassofpeopleforcedtoliveinsuchclosequarters.Pigeonshoppedalongthealleyways,butotherwisetheareawasdeserted.IfeltashiveroffearcreepupmyspineasIhurriedaroundtheparkandtowardatavern.
Iwalkedinsideandintonearlycompletedarkness.Onlyafewcandlesburnedonthericketytables.Asmallgroupofmenweresittingalongthebar.Meanwhile,severalwomenweredrinkinginthecorner.Theirbrightlycoloreddressesandfestivehatswereatoddswiththegloomysurroundings,andgavethemthelookofcagedbirdsatthezoo.Nooneseemedtobetalking.Inervouslyadjustedthelapislazuliringonmyfinger,lookingattherainbowofrefractedlightthestonecreatedonthegrittyoakfloor.
Isidleduptothebarandperchedononeofthestools.Theairwasheavyanddamp.Iunbuttonedthetopbuttonofmyshirtandloosenedmytietocounterthestiflingatmosphere.Iwrinkledmynoseindisgust.Itwasn’tthetypeofestablishmentI’denvisionDamonfrequenting.
“Youoneofthemnewspaperboys?”
Iglancedupatthebarkeepinfrontofme.Oneofhisfrontteethwasgold,theotherwasmissing,andhishairstuckoutinwildgraytufts.Ishookmyhead.Ijusthaveatasteforblood.Thephrasepoppedintomymind.Itwasanoff-colorjokethatDamonwouldhavecracked.Hisfavoritegamewastoalmostgivehimselfaway,toseeifanyonenoticed.Ofcoursetheydidn’t.TheyweretoobusybeingdazzledbyDamon.
“Mate?”thebarkeepaskedcuriously,plunkingafilthyragonthebarashelookedatme.“Youoneofthemnewspaperboys?”herepeated.
“No.AndIthinkImightnotbeintherightplace.IstheJourneymannearby?”Iasked,alreadyknowingtheanswer.
“Ha!You’avin’alaugh?TheJourneymanisthatrightpropersupperclub.Onlyadmitsthetoffs.Ain’tourkind,andyouwon’tgetinneither,evenwiththatfancyshirt.Onlyoptionistodrownyoursorrowswithsomeale!”Helaughed,displayingoneofhisgoldmolarsinthebackofhismouth.
“SotheJourneymanclubisn’tclose?”Iasked.
“No,mate.ClosetotheStrand,nearallthemshows.Wherethefancyfolksgowhentheywanttogetwild.Buttheycomeherewhentheywanttogetwicked!”ThebarkeeplaughedagainasIglancedaway,annoyed.Iwasn’tgoingtofindDamonhere.Unless…
“Beer,please.Adarkale,”Isaid,suddenlyinspired.MaybeIcouldgetthebarkeeptotalkandfindcluestowho—orwhat—wasresponsibleforMaryAnn’sdeath.BecauseifitwasDamon,eitherdirectlyorindirectly,I’dfinallyteachhimthelessonheshouldhavelearnedlongago.Iwouldn’tkillhimorstakehim.ButifitcamedowntoitandIhadhimontheground,atmymercy,wouldIhurthim?
Yes.Iwasimmediatelycertainofmyanswer.
“What?”thebarkeepasked,andIrealizedI’dspokenoutloud.
“JustthatI’dlikethatale,”Isaid,forcingapleasantexpression.
“Allright,friend,”thebarkeepsaidamiablyasheshuffledtooneofthemanytapsthatlinedthebackofthebar.
“Hereyougo.”Thebarkeeppushedaglassoffrothybrewtowardme.
“Thankyou,”Isaid,tippingtheglasstowardmeasthoughIweredrinking.ButIjustbarelylettheliquidcrossmylips.Ineededtokeepmywits.
“Soyou’renotanewspaperboy,butyou’renotfromaroundhere,areyou?”thebartenderasked,leaninghiselbowsonthebarandgazingatmecuriouslywithhisbloodshotgrayeyes.
SinceIspoketosofewpeople,exceptfortheAbbotts,IforgotthatmyVirginiaaccentinstantaneouslygavemeaway.“FromAmerica,”Isaidbriefly.
“Andyoucamehere?ToWhitechapel?”thebarkeepaskedincredulously.“Youknowwehaveamurdererontheloose!”
“IthinkIreadsomethingaboutthatinthepaper,”Isaid,tryingtosoundcasual.“Whodotheythinkitis?”
Atthis,thebarkeepguffawed,slamminghisbeefyfistonthebarandalmostcausingmydrinktotipover.“Youhearthat?”hecalledtothemotleycrewofmenontheothersideofthebar,whoallseemeddeepintotheirdrinks.“Hewantstoknowwhothemurdereris!”
Atthis,theothermenlaughed,too.
“I’msorry?”Iaskedinconfusion.
“I’mjusthavingalaugh,”thebarkeepsaidjovially.“It’snotsomeblokewhopinchedapurse.Thisisanunholykiller.Ifanyofusknewwhoitwas,don’tyouthinkwe’dgostraighttoScotlandYardortheCityofLondonpoliceandletthemknow?It’sbadforbusiness!Thatmonsterhasallourgirlshalf-terrified!”Heloweredhisvoiceandglancedattheclusterofwomeninthecorner.“Andbetweenyouandme,Idon’tthinkanyofusaresafe.He’sgoingforthegirlsnow,butwho’stosayhewon’tgoforusnext?Hetakeshisknifeandlikethat,you’regone,”hesaid,drawinghisindexfingeracrosshisthroatforemphasis.
Itdoesn’thavetobeaknife,Iwantedtosay.Ikeptmygazelockedonthebarkeep.
“Buthedoesn’tstartattheneck.Why,hecutthatgirl’sinnardsrightout.Helikestotorture.He’slookingforblood,”hesaid.
Atthementionoftheword,mytongueautomaticallyslickedovermyteeth.Theywerestillshortandeven.Human.“Dotheyhaveanyleads?Themurdersoundsgruesome.”Igrimaced.
“Well…”Thebarkeeploweredhisvoiceandraisedhiseyebrowatme.“Firstoff,youpromiseyouain’tfromoneofthosepapers?NottheGuardianorthemotherones?”
Ishookmyhead.
“Good.I’mAlfred,bytheway,”thebarkeepsaid,reachingouthishandtome.Ishookit,notofferingmynameinreturn.Hecontinued,hardlynoticing.“Iknowthelifeweliveheredoesn’tseemprimandproperlikewhatyoumightbeusedtoacrosstheocean,”hesaid,takinginmybrand-newSavileRowoutfit,whichmademewildlyoverdressedforthisestablishment.“Butwelikeourwayoflife.Andourwomen,”headded,wagglinghissalt-and-peppereyebrows.
“Thewomen…”Isaid.Irememberedthearticlehadsaidthatthevictimhadbeenawomanofthenight.JustthetypeofwomanDamonhadenjoyedatonepoint.Ishiveredindisgust.
“Yes,thewomen,”Alfredsaidgrimly.“Notthetypesofladiesyou’regoingtomeetatchurch,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
“Butthetypeofwomenyoupraytomeetinbed!”guffawedaruddy-complexionedmantwoseatsdown,holdinguphiswhiskeyglassinamocktoast.
“Noneofthattalk!We’rearespectableestablishment!”thebarkeepsaid,awickedsparkinhiseye.Heturnedhisbacktomeandfilledtwoglasseswithseveralinchesofamberliquid.Hethenturnedandceremoniouslyplacedoneinfrontofme.
“Foryou.Liquidcourage.Youneeditaroundtheseparts,whatwiththemurdererwalkingthestreets,”Alfredsaid,clinkinghisglasswithmine.“Althoughmybestadviceistostayhereuntilsunrise.Maybemeetanicelady.BetterthanmeetingtheRipper.”
“‘TheRipper’?”
Alfredsmiled.“That’swhatthey’recallinghim.Becausehedoesn’tjustkill,hebutchers.I’mtellingyou,stayhereforyourownprotection.”
“Thanks,”Isaiduneasily.Iwasn’tsureifIwantedtostay.Thesmellofironhadn’tlessenedinmytimeinthebar,andIwasgrowingincreasinglysureitwasemanatingfromthewallsandfloor.Themaninthecornerkeptstaringatme,andIfoundmyselfstaringback,tryingtoseeanyglimpseoffangsorblood-fleckedchins.Icouldhearthewomenbehindmewhispering,andIwonderedwhattheywerediscussing.
“DidMaryAnn…themostrecentmurdervictim…didsheeverdrinkhere?”Iaskedhopefully.IfIcouldn’tfindDamon,thenI’djustdothenextbestthingandfindoutallIcouldaboutDamon’svictim.
“Restinpeace,”thebarkeepsaidreverentially.“Shewasagoodgirl.Cameinfromtimetotime,whenshehadenoughpenniesforgin.Thisain’tacharity,andthegirlsallknewtheyneededtopaytheproperfeeinordertospendtimehere.Itwasasystemthatworkedout.Thelocalsleftthegirlsalonewhiletheywereoutonthestreets,unlesstheywerestrikingabargain.Thegirlsrespectedtherulesofthebar.Andnow,everything’sfallenapart.IfIeverfindtheblokewhodidit,I’llriphisthroatout,”Alfredsaidsavagely,poundinghisfistagainstthetable.
“Butdidsheleavewithanyone,orwasthereeveramanyousawherwith?”Ipressed.
“Isawherwithalotofmenovertheyears.Butnonethatstoodout.Mostof’emweretheblokeswhoworkeddownbythedocks.Roughtypes,butnonethatwoulddothat.Thoseblokesaren’tlookingforanytrouble,justagoodpintandagoodgirl.Besides,sheleftbyherselfthatnight.Sometimes,whenthere’stoomanygirlshere,theygoouttothestreets.Lesscompetition,”heexplained,noticingmyconfusedexpression.“Butbeforesheleft,she’dhadagoodnighthere.Shehadsomegin,afewlaughs.Waswearinganewhatshewassoproudof.Feltlikeitdrewthemenovertoher.Thegoodkind,too,nottheoneswhoonlypretendtohavemoney.Iwishshe’dstayed,Godblessher,”Alfredsaid,raisinghiseyespiouslytotheceiling.
“Andherbody…”Iasked.
“Well,now,thebodywasfoundinDutfieldPark.It’swheretheladiessometimesgowhentheycan’taffordaroom.Idon’tsaynothin’,whatevergoesonoutsidethepremisesain’tmybusiness.Butthat’swherehegotherandslitherthroat.”
Inodded,mymindracingbacktooneofthemanyovergrownsquaresofgrassthatdottedthearea.Theweeds,garbage,andpeelingpaintoftheironfencessurroundingtheparksallmadetheareaseemmoredismalthansimplecitysquares.
“Andifyouareoneofthemnewspaperboys,thenIdidn’tsaynothing.What’syournameanyway,boy?”Alfredasked.
“Stefan,”Isaid,takingahugeswigofwhiskey.Itdidnothingtocalmthedreadinmystomach.Asoullesskillerwasloose,andhewouldstopatnothing.
“Well,Stefan,welcometoWhitechapel,”hesaid,raisinghissecondglass.“Andremember,betterwhiskeydownyourthroatthanthemurdereronit.”
IsmiledtightlyasIheldupaglasstomynewfriend.
“Here,here!”oneofthedrunkmenattheotherendofthebarsaid.Ismiledathim,ferventlyhopingthattoomanywhiskeysdrunkatthepubwouldn’tleadthemalltotheirdoom.
Thedevilyouknowisbetterthanthedevilyoudon’t.Thephrasefloatedintomymind.ItwasonethatLexiwouldofteninvoke,anditwasoneI’donlyfoundtobemoreandmoretrueastimepassed.Becauseashorridandsoullessasthecrimewas,ifDamonhaddoneit,atleastIwouldn’thaveanyothervampirestoworryabout.ButthelongerIstayedatthebar,themoreanotherthoughttuggedatmybrain:Whatifitwasn’tDamon,butanothervampire?
Downattheotherendofthebar,Alfredhaddriftedintoconversationwithafewoftheothercustomers.Rainpeltedagainstthewindows,andIwasremindedofthefoxdenatthefarsideoftheAbbotts’farm.Entirefamiliesofbeastshuddledthere,waitingforthemomentwhentheythoughtitwassafetoheadintotheforest.Theunluckyoneswouldbehitbyahunter’sbullet.
Iglancedaroundagain.Awomaninalilacdressallowedherhandtoslidedownaman’sshoulder.Therealquestionwas,whowerethefoxesandwhowerethehunters?AllIcouldhopewasthatIwasahunter.
Chapter4
ThelongerIspentatthepub,themorecrowdeditbecame—buttherewasnosignofDamon.ItoldmyselfIwasstayingtotrytofindmoreclues.Butthetruthwas,Ididn’tknowwhatIcoulddo.Standoutsidethesupperclub?PlodupanddownthestreetsofLondonuntilIhappenedtorunintoDamon?SitinDutfieldParkmyselfuntilanotherattackhappened?ThelastwastheoneideaIkepttoyingwith.Butitwasludicrous.Forone,whywouldthemurdererstriketwiceatthesameplace?Foranother,whatwouldIdoifIsawthemurder?Scream?Callthepolice?Findastakeandhopeforthebest?Noneoftheoptionsseemedideal.Andifthemurdererwasn’tDamon…well,thenIcouldbedealingwithafiendfromhell.Iwasstrong,butnotthatstrong.Ineededaplan.
Iwatchedascustomerspouredin.Eachseemedseedierthanthelast,butallwerereassuringlyhuman.Somemen,theoneswithcrackednailsanddirtyshirts,hadobviouslyjustgottenofftheirconstructionjobs,whileothers,reekingofcologneandfurtivelyglancingatthewomenatthecornertables,wereclearlytheretoconsortwithladiesofthenight.Andindeed,Icouldn’thelpbutnoticeeachtimeagarishlygarbedwomansteppedintothetavern,thecrowdsurveyedherasiftheyweregamblersattheracetracksizingupthehorses.
Thesewomenstoodinstarkcontrasttotheservinggirlwhoseemedinchargeoftheentireroom.Shecouldn’thavebeenolderthansixteenorseventeen,andskinnyasajaybird,buteverytimeIsawher,herarmswereladenwithplatesandpintglasses.Atonepoint,Iwatchedherhurrytowardthekitchen,butbeforeshegotthere,shepausedtocleartheplatesfromanearbytable.Allthatremainedononeplatewereafewscrapsofmeat,somepotatoes,andahalf-eatenroll.Shestaredhardattheplate,beforecautiouslygrabbingthemeatandslippingitintoherpocket.Then,shecrammedtherollintohermouth,hercheekspuffinglikeachipmunk’s,beforescurryingbacktothekitchen.
Iclosedmyeyes.I’dlongagogivenuppraying,andIdidn’tthinkanysortofGodwouldwanttohearmyrequests,butIdidwishthatnomatterwhathappened,thatthishelplessseventeen-year-oldwouldstayfar,farawayfromDutfieldPark.Or,forthatmatter,anybloodthirstyvampire.
“Lookin’foragoodtime,love?”Awomanwithblondcurledhairandcrookedteethperchedonthewoodenseatoppositeme.Herwhitebosomwasoverflowingfromherbodice.
“No.Sorry,”Isaidroughly,wavingmyhandaway.AmemoryfromNewOrleansfloodedbacktome.Ithadbeeninmyfirstfewweeksasavampire,whenI’dbeenbloodthirstyandbullheaded,andhaddraggedDamontoahouseofillrepute.There,I’dfeastedonayounggirl,surethatnoonewouldnoticeorcarethatshe’ddisappeared.Icouldn’tevenrememberhernamenow,andIwonderedifI’deverevenbotheredtolearnitinthefirstplace.Itwasdetailslikethosethatwouldcausemetosinkintothedepthsofmisery,andhere,inthisdanktavern,Icouldn’tescapethesesplit-secondflashbacks.AllofthemwereremindersthatnomatterwhatIdid,andnomatterwhoIhelped,I’dneverdoenoughgooddeedstowashawayallthebloodIwasresponsiblefor—andwouldbeforeternity—offmyhands.AllIcoulddowastry.AndIwoulddoanythingtoensurethatthesewomenwouldnotdieatthehandsofademon.
Iglancedbackdownatthepaper,nowcreasedandsmudgedfrommyhands.Icouldalmostreciteeverywordofthearticle,andnoneofitseemedtomakesense.Whyhadthekillerjustleftherlikethat?Itwasalmostasifhe’dwantedhertobefound.Butifthekillerhadwantedhertobefound,hehadtobevery,verycarefultocoverhisowntracks.
“Whatwouldyouliketoeat,love?”aliltingvoiceasked.Ilookeduptoseetheskinny,wide-eyedservinggirl.Shewaswearingatatteredandstainedrose-coloreddressthatwascoveredbyafilthywhiteapron.Shehadwideblueeyesandlongauburnhairthathunginasinglebraiddownherback.Asmatteringoffrecklesdustedherangularface,andherskinwasassmoothandpaleasivory.Shekeptnervouslybitingherlips,ahabitthatremindedmeabitofRosalyn,myfiancéebackinVirginia.ButevenRosalyn’sextremecautionhadn’tpreventedherfromgettingkilledbyavampire.Myheartwentouttothisgirl.
“Whateveryourecommend,”Isaid,puttingdownthepaper.“Please,”Iadded.Mystomachwasgrowling,butwhatImostwantedwasn’tonanymenu.
“Well,alotofpeoplehaveorderedthefish…”shesaid,trailingoff.EvenfromwhereIwassitting,Icouldhearherheartbeating,asfastandlightlyasaswallow’s.
“Thatsoundsfine,”Isaid.Itriednottothinkofthedwindlingcoinsinmypocket.
“Yes,sir,”thegirlsaid,turningquicklyonherheel.
“Wait!”Icalled.
“Yes?”sheasked,concerninhereyes.ShelookedsomuchlikeOliverwhenhewasworriedthatMrs.Duckworthwouldscoldhim.Therewassomethingaboutthedeliberatewayshespoke,herultra-cautiousmovements,andthosewide,seekingeyesthatmademefeelshe’dseenorheardsomethinginconnectiontothemurder.Itwasmorethanjustanairofteenageself-consciousness.
Sheseemedhaunted.
“Yes?”sheaskedagain,hereyesfurrowing.“Youdon’thavetoorderthefishifyoudon’tlike.Wealsohavesteak-and-kidneypie…”
“No,fishisfine,”Isaid.“ButmayIaskyouaquestion?”
Sheglancedatthebar.OnceshesawAlfredwasdeepinconversationwithapatron,shetiptoedafewstepscloser.
“Sure.”
“DoyouknowCountDeSangue?”Iaskedsteadily.
“CountDeSangue?”sherepeated.“Wedon’tgetcountshere,no.”
“Oh,”Isaid,disappointed.Ofcoursetheydidn’t.ShekeptglancingbetweenmeandAlfred.
“Didyouknow…thegirlwhowasmurdered?”Iasked.IfeltlikeIwasatachurchsocialinMysticFalls,wonderingwhichcousinofClementine’sknewwhichcousinofAmelia’s.
“MaryAnn?No.”Thegirlsethermouthinatightlineandtookastepawayfromme.“I’mnotlikethat.”
“Violet?”Alfredcalledfromthebar.
“Yes,sir!”Violetsqueaked.“Hedon’thavetoeatmyheadoff,”shemurmuredunderherbreath.Shepulledapadofpaperfromherpocketandhastilyscribbledonit,asifsheweretakingdownanorder.Then,sheputthepaperonthetableandhurriedaway.
Areyouthepolice?Mysisterisgone.CoraBurns.Pleasehelp.Ithinkshemayhavebeenkilled.
IshudderedasIreadthewords.
Momentslater,thegirlreemergedfromthekitchen,asteamingplateinherhand
“Here’syourfood,sir,”shesaid,curtseyingassheplacedtheplateonthetable.Agrayishslaboffishwascoveredinheavygelatinouscream.
“I’mnotthepolice,”Isaid,staringintohereyes.
“Oh.Well,Ithoughtyoumighthavebeen.Youwerejustaskingsomanyquestions,yousee,”thegirlsaid,colorappearinghighonhercheekbones.“I’msorry,Ishouldn’thavetroubledyou.”Shetookafewsuspiciousstepsawayfromme,andIrealizedsheprobablythoughtIwasjustliketheotherloutswhofrequentedthebar,whoonlyofferedinitialkindnessandinterestinordertohavetheirwaywithherlater.
“Wait!”Isaid.“Imightbeabletohelpyou.Butcanwetalk?”
“Idon’tknow,”shesaid.Hereyesdartednervouslyaroundthetavern.
“Haveaseat,”Isaid.
Nervously,sheperchedonthestool.Inudgedtheplateovertowardher.“Wouldyoulikeit?”Iasked,lockingeyeswithher.Icouldhearherheartbeatingfasteragainstherribcage.Shemusthavebeenstarving.“Here,”Iaddedencouragingly,pushingtheplateclosertoher.
“Idon’tneedcharity,”shesaidinsistently,ahintofprideinhervoice.Still,Inoticedhereyescontinuetodartfrommydinnertome.
“Pleasetakeit.Youlookhungry,andI’dlikeyoutohaveit.”
Sheeyedtheplatesuspiciously.“Why?”
“BecauseI’mnothungryanymore.Anditsoundslikeyou’rehavingahardday,”Isaidgently.“Myname’sStefan.Andyouare…?”
“V-V-Violet,”shesaidfinally.Shepickedupaforkandtookonebite,thenanother,ofthefish.Catchingmestaring,shepickedupanapkinandshylydabbedhermouth.“You’reagoodman,Stefan.”
“Itrytobe.”IshruggedasIgaveherasmallsmile.ShewasquieterthanCalliehadbeen,buthadfarmorespunkthanRosalyndid.I’dinwardlycheeredwhenshetoldAlfredoffunderherbreath.Shehadpluck,andIjustknewthat,morethananythingelse,wouldsaveher.“SoaboutCora—”
“Shhh!”Violetinterruptedme.
IturnedovermyshoulderandsawAlfredstormoutfromaroundthebartowardourtable.BeforeIcouldreact,he’dgrabbedViolet’slonghairandyankedit,causinghertoyelp.
“Whatareyoudoing,girl?”hegrowled,hisfaceshowingnoneoftheearlierjocularityhe’dhadbehindthebar.“Beggingforfoodlikeamongrel?”
“No,sir,lethergo.Iinvitedhertodinewithme!”Isaid,quicklystandingup.IclenchedmyhandsintofistsandstaredintoAlfred’sbeadyeyes.
“She’snotgoodenoughtodinewithmycustomers.Outonthestreetiswhereyoubelong,”Alfredyelled,hisvoicerisingasheignoredmyprotests.“You’reworsethanthemladiesoverthere,”hesaid,juttinghischinatthetrioofwomenwhostillseemedtobesurveyingthecrowd.“Atleastthey’vegotsomethingtooffer,”hesaid,hisfaceturningred.
“Please,sir!”Violetsaid,herentireframeshaking.Alfredloosenedhisgriponherhair,buthismouthwasstillsetinafirmline.“I’lldoanything.Pleasedon’ttakeawaymyjob.”
“Whatjob?Yoursisterdoesn’tcomein,soshesendsyou.You’retoosmalltoliftanythingandnotprettyenoughtokeepthecustomerscomingback.SoIgiveyouonetask.Taketheordersandbringthemtothecook.Andyoucan’tevendothat!”Alfredboomed.
“Please!”Iinterjecteddesperately,placingahandonhisarm.I’donlymeantforthegesturetostophimfromgrabbingVioletagain,butinthemoment,I’dforgottenmystrength.Hisarmflewback,propellinghimawayfromViolet.
Iwatchedashestaggeredbackwardintothetable.Theplateoffishlandedupsidedownonthefloorwithaclatter.VioletlookedterrifiedandIrealizedthatthenormaldinhadquietedtoachurchlikehush.Alleyeswereonus.
Alfredscowledatme,rubbinghisarm,asifdebatingwhetherornottostartafight.“Well,”hesaid,clearinghisthroat.
“Iapologize,butshewasn’tdoinganythingwrong.Iaskedhertojoinme.Iofferedhermymeal,”Isaidinasmooth,lowvoice.Iwasfurious,butIneededtocontrolmytemper.“Doyouunderstandme?”Iasked.
“Yes,”Alfredsaid,jerkinghisgazeaway.HeturnedtowardViolet.
“Thattrue,girl?”heaskedroughly.
“Yes,”Violetsaidinasmallvoice.“AndIsaidno,butyousaythecustomerisalwaysright,andIthoughtthatyou’dwantmetodowhathesaid,so…”
Alfredraisedhishandtocutheroffandturnedtowardme.“NowIdon’tknowwhatyouweretryingtodo,butVioletisnotonoffer,”Alfredsaidstiffly,stillrubbinghisarm.“Ifyouwishtomeetalady,thereareonesI’dbedelightedtointroducetoyou.Iknowyou’renotfromaroundhere,butthisismybarandmyrules.Areweagreed?Nowyou,”hesaid,turningtoViolet.“Out!”Hepointedtowardthedoor.
“Love,Icankeepyouwarmtonight,ifyouknowwhatImean!”oneofthebarpatronsyelledashereachedtopinchherrearend.Anothermanfollowedsuit,pawingather.Butshestaredstraightahead,evenastearsfelldownhercheeks,andwalkedtowardthefrontdoor.
“It’sforthebest,”Alfredsaidroughly,crossinghisbeefyarmsoverhischestasthedoorclosedwithathud.“Youdon’trunthisbar.Ido.Andshewasbotheringyou.”
“Shewasn’tbotheringme!”Isaid,angrilythrowingafewshillingsonthetablebeforesteppingmenacinglytowardhim.AflickeroffearregisteredinAlfred’sface.Iconsideredtakingmyfrustrationsoutonhim,butitwasnouse.Violetwasgone.Andeverysecondshewasoutsidemeantshewasindanger.
Istormedoutofthebarwithoutasecondglanceandwalkedintodarkness.OnlyafewstarspeekedthroughthetatteredgrayblanketoftheLondonevening.Ipulledoutmypocketwatch,agiftfromWinfieldSutherlandbackinNewYork.Afterallthoseyears,itstillworked.Itwasnearlymidnight.Thewitchinghour.
Asliverofamoonhunghighinthesky,andalayeroffog,sothickIcouldfeeldewycondensationonmyskin,swirledaroundthedilapidatedbuildingssurroundingme.Icockedmyheadlikeahuntingdog.Icouldhearlaughteremanatingfromthetavern,butnomatterhowhardItried,Icouldn’theartheba-da-bump,ba-da-bumpgallopofViolet’sheartbeat.
I’dlosther.
Iglancedaround,tryingtogetmybearings.Eventhoughthetavernhadbeenbustling,therestoftheareaseemeddesolate.ItremindedmeabitofsomeofthetownsI’dseenwhenI’dtakenatrainfromNewOrleanstoNewYorkCity—placessodecimatedbythewarthatnoonewasleft.
Iwalkedthroughthemazeofstreets,unsureofwhereIwasgoing.IwantedtofindViolet.Ihadsomemoneyfrommywages,andIwassureIcouldsettlethepriceofaroominghouseforher.ButhowcouldIfindherinanunfamiliarcitywithstreetsandalleysthatseemedtonumberinthemillions?Itwasimpossible.
Afterafewmoments,Icametoapark.Orrather,Icametoapatchofgreenerythatatonepointmighthavebeenapark.Now,thegrasswasyellowed,thetreesweresickly,paintwaspeelingfromthewrought-ironbenches,andnoneofthegaslampswerelit.Ishivered.IfthiswasDutfieldPark,thenitwastheidealplaceforamurder.
Itiltedmyhead.Icouldhearheartbeats—ofrabbits,andsquirrels,andevenafox—butthenIheardit:ba-da-bump,ba-da-bump.
“Violet!”Icalled,myvoicecracking.Ieasilyjumpedoverthepeelingfenceandrantowardthewoodsinthecenterofthepark.“Violet!”Icalledagain,theba-da-bumpgettingcloser.
Andthen,ashriekpiercedtheair,followedbydeafeningsilence.
“Violet!”Iyelled,myfangsbulging.Ipeltedthroughthetreesasifmyfeetwererunningonair,notgravel,expectingtoseeDamonfeastingonViolet’sneck.Damon,turningtowardmewithblooddrippingdownhischin.Damonarchinghiseyebrowandgreetingmewiththeonewordthatmademybrainalmostexplodewithanger…
“Help!”agirl’svoicescreamed.
“Violet!”Icalled,tearingthroughthetrees,inonedirection,thenanother,listeningwildlyfortheba-da-bump,ba-da-bumpofherheart.AndthenIsawher,standingshakilynearadarkstreetlight.Herfacewasaswhiteasherapron,butshewasalive.Therewasnoblood.
“Violet?”Iasked,slowingdowntoawalk.Myfeetcrunchedagainstthedryunderbrush.Thepathinthewoodshadobviously,inhappiertimes,beendesignedforaSundayafternoonstroll.Asmallbrickbuilding,mostlikelyagroundskeeper’scottage,longsinceabandoned,stoodatthecrestofagentlehill.Violetwasstaringatit,hermouthformedintoanOofhorror.
Ifollowedhergaze,thesliverofthemoonprovidingjustenoughlightthatIcouldseeredletterswrittenonthesideofthebuilding,eachoxidizedcharacterstandingoutagainstthemutedbrickasifitwereilluminatedfrombehindbycandlelight:
SALVATORE—ISHALLHAVEMYREVENGE
Iglancedatthewords,feelingasthoughthewindhadbeenknockedoutofme.Thiswasachallenge,asrealasifI’dbeendealtablowbyanunseenhand.Someonewasafterus.Andthatsomeonewasn’tDamon.Worsestill,whatifDamonwastheoneintrouble?Iwouldn’tputitpastmybrothertofindhimselfatthecenterofadeadlyvampiredisagreement.Afterall,that’swhathadhappenedinNewYork.
Iblinked.I’donlyseenagruesomemessagelikethatonceinmyinfinitelifetime—attheSutherlands’inNewYork,whenLucius,Klaus’sminion,wasfulfillingtheOriginal’sdesireforvengeanceagainstmeandmybrother.Twentyyearsago,we’djustnarrowlyescapedhim.Couldhebebackformore?
IfKlaushadreturned,Iowedittomybrothertowarnhim.Suddenlyeverything—myterrifyingdreams,myunsettledfeelings—madesense.Damonwasintrouble.Andlikeitornot,I’dheardthemessageandcomerunning.Nomatterwhat,myconnectiontothemurderwasnolongerjustahunch—Iwasapartofthisnow.Therewasnogoingback.
“Help!Anyone!”Violetshrieked.Shewasstartingtopanic,hereyeswide.
Irantowardherandclappedmyhandoverhermouthtokeepherfromcryingoutagain.ImayhavebeenhuntingDamon,butnowIwasbeinghunted.Together,wewerejusttwofoxes,desperatelydartingthroughthecity,unsurewhetherthehunterinchargeofourfateswasinfrontofusorbehindusorlyinginwait,readytostrikewhenweleastexpectedit.
Chapter5
Inthatmoment,staringatthebloodymessage,timestoodstill.Orrather,timeflewbackward,backtwentyyearsandacrosstheocean,untilIwasintheformaldrawingroomoftheSutherlands’CentralParkmansion,surroundedbycarnage,gazingatasimilarlygarish,violentmessage.Damonhadbeenbymysidebackthen,anditwasatthatmomentIrealizedthatthetwoofusweretrulyjustbabesinthewoods,boysmasqueradingasmonsters.WhenwesawthemessagewrittenintheSutherlands’blood,we’dfinallygraspedthatevilbeyondourimaginationsexisted.Andithadonlygottenworse.WhenLucius,theminionofKlaus,hadfoundandcapturedDamonandme,he’dentombedusinamausoleumasifwewereburiedalive,heedlessofourcries.KlausandhisilkwereOriginals,creaturesstraightfromhellwhodidn’tevenhavethesmallestmemoryofhumankindness,and,assuch,therewasnoendtotheirevil.Andnowoneofthemwasafterme.Butforamoment,Ifeltsomethingelseinsideme.Itwasaflickeringsensation,sosubtleandforeignIbarelynoticedit.UntilIrealizedwhatitwas.Itwashope.Thistime,Iwasn’tunprepared.Iwasolder,wiser,stronger.Icouldstopthem.Iwouldmakesureofthat.
“Violet!”Isaidsharply,myhandstillfirmagainsthermouth.Shestaredatmewithwild,unseeingeyes.
“I’mStefan.Fromthebar.Youcantrustme.Youhavetotrustme,”Isaidurgently.Theedgeoftheparkwasonlyahundredyardsaway.Itwouldonlytakeafewsecondstogetoutusingvampirespeed.Ifeltunsafehere.Ididn’tfeelmuchsaferinLondon’sclaustrophobicstreets,butatleastthere,withpedestriansnearby,thekillerwouldbelesslikelytostrike.“Weneedtoleave.”
Shetookadeepbreath,butcontinuedtostruggleagainstmygrip.“Violet,listentome,”Isaid,summoningmyPower.IheardasnapofatwigintheforestandIjumped.Wehadnotime.Klauscouldbeanywhere.“Violet,trustme.Youwillbequiet,andyouwilllistentome.Isthatunderstood?”
Ifeltmythoughtsreachhermind,andIsensedthemomentwhenherbrainseemedtoyield.Inoddedtotrytospeedtheprocess.
ThenIsawaflickerinhereyes.Iwasn’tsureifmycompulsionhadworkedorifitwasexhaustion,butIhadtobelieveit.Itookmyhandoffhermouthandsheblinkeddazedlyatme.
“You’llbesafewithme.Wehavetoleavethepark.I’llcarryyou,”IexplainedasIpickedVioletupanddrapedherovermyshoulders.Ispedoutofthewoodsanddartedintothestreets.Fasterandfaster,Iranontheunevencobblestones,alwaysfollowingtheThamesRiver,itsglassysurfacereflectingthemoonandthestars.Iranthroughalleysandbackstreetsuntilwereachedapartofthecitywithplentyofgaslampsandpedestrians.Evenatthislatehour,theywerewalkingthestreetsasthoughitwerebroaddaylight.Iallowedmyselftostop,duckingunderanawning.Despitetheheatthatstillclungtothelate-summernight,thewomenhadfursdrapedovertheirbareshoulderswhilethemenwerewearingtophatsandthree-piecesuits.Dozensofmarqueeslitupeithersideofeverystreet.
IallowedViolettoslipoffmyshouldersandthetwoofusstood,facingeachother,asthrongsofpedestrianspassedoneithersideofus.
Immediately,Violetbegantopanicagain,andIcouldtellshewantedtoscream,withonlymycompulsionholdingherback.
“Shhh!”Itriedtocalmher.“Shhh!”Isaidagain,rubbinghershoulders.Afewpassersbyturnedtostare.
“Listentome,”Iwhispered,hopingthatshe’dtakeahintfrommyloweredvoice.“You’resafe.I’myourfriend.”
Shecontinuedtosniffle.Hereyeswerered-rimmed,andherhairwastangledinthickvinesaroundherfreckledface.“You’resafe,”Isaid,notbreakingeyecontact.Shenoddedslowly.
“Youhavetotrustme.Canyoudothat,Violet?Remember,I’magoodman.Yousaidsoyourself.”Ifishedinmypocketandpulledoutawhitehandkerchief,justpurchasedfromthetailor.Itseemedlikealifetimeago.
IhandedittoherandVioletwhimperednoisily.Thefewpassersbywho’dstoppedtowatchusonthestreetcontinuedwalking,obviouslysatisfiedthatnothinguntowardwashappeningbetweenus.
Iletgoofher,notwantingtocompelherforasecondlongerthannecessary.SheseemedsoinnocentthatIfeltguiltyfordoingit,eventhoughIknewitwasforherowngood.
“St-St-Stefan…”shesaid,gaspingforbreath.“Theblood…andthewords…wasitthemurderer?”Hervoicebrokeintoanotherwail.Shewasborderingonhysteriaagain.
“Shhh,”Isaid,tryingtomakemyvoicesoundlikethesoothingwhooshofwavesI’dheardontheboattoBritain.“Shhh,”Irepeated.
Violetsuckedinherbreath.“Whatifhehasmysister?She’sbeenmissingsinceyesterday,andIhaven’theardfromher.AndIthought…”
“Hedoesn’t,”Isaidfirmly,wishingIknewthatweretrue.
“Ican’tgobacktothetavern,”Violetsaidinasmallvoice.
“There’snoneed,”Isaid,gentlyholdingherwristandpullinghertowardthesideofthestreet.Inthedimlightofagaslampshelookedpaleanddrawn,andIfeltasurgeofsympathytowardher.Rightnow,Iwasallshehad.“We’llfindyouaplacetosleep,”Idecided,turningmymindbacktothemattersathand.
“ButI’vegotnomoney,”shesaidworriedly,herhandssearchingthepocketsofherpinafore.
“Don’tworry.You’rewithme,”Isaid,glancingaroundatthelightsthatcutthroughthefog,searchingforahotelortavernwherewecouldtakeourbearings.Asigndownthestreetcaughtmyeye:CUMBERLANDHOTEL.
“Let’sgothere,”IsuggestedasIledVioletacrossthestreet.Together,wemarcheduptheredcarpet–coveredmarblestepsandthroughthegilt-golddoors,heldopenbyabutlerinathree-piecesuit.WithLexi,I’dspentsometimeatsomeofthefinesthotelsinAmerica,butIquicklyrealizedthatthisestablishmentwasonanentirelydifferentlevel.Fresh-cutflowerswereplacedinlargecrystalbowlsoneverypolished,gleamingsurface,andthechandelierswereheavygold.ThemanbehindthedeskglancedsuspiciouslyatVioletandme.
“MayIhelpyou,sir?”heasked,hisvoicebarelycontaininghisdisgustatherdisheveledappearance.Outofthecornerofmyeye,Isawawomaninasilverchiffongownwithatrainglideupthestairs,followedbytwoservants.Atthecornerbar,twomenintuxedosweredrainingcrystaltumblersofwhiskey.Ifeltmyshouldersrelax.Fornow,weweresafe.
“Sir?”themanbehindthedeskprompted.
“Yes.”Iclearedmythroat.Ineededtopullmyselftogethertosuccessfullycompelhim.Itwasonethingtocompelsomeonewhowashalf-starvedandhysterical,andentirelyanothertocompelamaninchargeofhiswits.
“Yes,youmayhelpme,”Isaid,confidentlysteppinguptothemarble-toppedcounterwhileaterrifiedViolettrailedbehindme.Thelightingintheold-fashionedlobbywasdim,withdozensofcandelabragivingtheroominanorangeglowthatcastlarge,hulkingshadowsonthewalls.Everytimeoneoftheshadowsmoved,Iglancedovermyshoulder.
“WhatmayIdoforyou?”themanbehindthedeskpromptedpointedly.
Isquaredmyshouldersandlookedintohisbeady,grayeyes.Iconcentratedonthepupils,allowingmygazetocenterinuntiltheblacknesswasallIcouldsee.“Weneedaroom.”
“I’msorry.Wedon’thaveanyroomsavailablefortonight,”themansaid.
“Iknowit’sshortnotice,buttheremustbearoomreservedforwhenroyaltycometovisit.MywifeandIneedthatroom,”Isaid.
“ButStefan!”Violetsqueakedbehindme.Withoutbreakingeyecontact,Igentlyplacedmyfootontopofhersinwarning.I’dlearnedthetrickofaskingforaroomreservedforVIPguestsfromLexi.Italwaysworked.
“Thebestroom,”Iaddedforemphasis.
“Thebestroom,”hesaidslowly,shufflingsomepapers.“Ofcourse.TheQueenVictoriaSuite.She’sstayedthere,youknow,”hesaid.
“Good.WellthenIimagineweshallloveitjustasmuchasshedid,”Isaid,affectingabitofaBritishaccent.
“Idohopeso,Mr….um…”
“Pine,”Isaid,usingthefirstnamethatpoppedintomyhead.Hurryup,Ithoughtundermybreath.IknewIwasquicklylosingPower.Afterall,ithadbeenalmostadaysinceI’deatenproperly.“Ishallneedtheroomforatleastaweek,”Iadded,hopingthatI’dbefarawaybeforetheweekwasout.
Themanbehindthedesknodded,andIsmiled.Icouldstillcompel.IstillhadmyPower.AndIhadtwentyyearsofwisdomundermybelt.Ihadn’tbeenreadytofightKlausbackthen,butnowitwouldbedifferent.
“Theportershallshowyouyourroom,”themansaid.“Anddoyouandyourwifehaveanybags?”
Ishookmyhead.Instantaneously,atall,morose-lookingbutlerwalkedaroundthedeskandheldouthisarmtoViolet.
“Andsir?”Isaid,loweringmyvoicesonoone,notevenViolet,wouldhear.“Justputitonmyaccount.”
“Ofcourse,sir,”thedeskclerksaid,slidingaheavyironkeyacrossthecounter.“Enjoyyourstay.”
IsmiledterselyandfollowedtheporterandVioletupthesweepingstaircase,windingpastfloorsuntilwestoppedinfrontofawhitedoor.Itwastheonlydoorontheentirelevel.
“Allowme,”theportersaid,takingthekeyfrommyhandandputtingitinthelock.Hegrandlyswungthedooropen,then,placingasilvercandleholderonacherry-wooddesk,quicklysettoworklightingthevariouslampsintheroom.
“Oh!”Violettrembled,clappingherhandstohermouth.
“Thankyou.”Inoddedtotheporter,pullingashillingfrommythreadbarepocket.Hetookitinhispalmandeyedmecuriously.Ihadn’tcompelledhim,andIknewthefactwewerepracticallywearingrags,andwerewithoutluggage,piquedhiscuriosity.
ThedoorcreakedshutandIlockeditbehindhim.
“Stefan?”Violetaskedtentatively,staringaroundtheroominwonder.Shewalkedinacircle,touchingtheheavyvelvetcurtains,theoakdesk,andthefloral-paperedwalls,asifscarcelybelievinganyofitwasreal.
“We’reokaynow.It’slate,weshouldbothgetsomerest,”Isaid,gesturingtowardtheenormousbedinthecenterofthemainroom.“I’lljustbeinthenextroom.Wecantalkinthemorning.”
“Goodnight,Stefan.Andthankyou.”Shegavemeasmall,tiredsmileandsteppedtowardthebed.Iclosedthedoorwithaclickandsettledontoacouchintheadjacentroom,whichwassetuplikeasittingroom.AndsitIdid.Mymindreeled,andIcouldn’tevenbegintopickapartthequestionsIneededtofocuson.WhatwasIgoingtodowithViolet?WhatcouldIdoaboutKlaus?OrLucius?PartofmesimplywantedtopickupandheadbacktoIvinghoe,wheretheonlythingIhadtoconcernmyselfwithwasacowthathadkickedoverthepasturefence.ButanotherpartofmeknewIwasboundtoLondon.Iwasapartofthisnow.UntilIsolvedthemysteryofthemurder,morepeoplewouldgetkilled.
Terrifyingthoughtskeptturninginmyheadasnightturnedintoday.Belowme,thewell-litstreetslookedorderlyandtidy:moderncivilizationatitsfinest.Eventherain-slickedsurfacelookedsomehowstately.ButIknewitwasallanillusion.Vampiresstruckanywhere,andjustbecausethisonehadchosenthebadpartoftowndidn’tmeanhewouldn’tcomeherenext.
Finally,thesunrose,burningoffsomeofthethickclouds.Thedoorcreakedopen,providingamuch-neededinterruptionfrommyendlesslycyclingthoughts.
“Hello?”Icalledhesitantly.Istillfeltonedge,andanynoisecausedatinglinginmygums,asubtlereminderthatIwasreadytofightatanymoment.
“Stefan?”Violetsaidshyly,steppingintotheroom.Herredhairwaspulledupinabunontopofherheadandherpinaforelookedbrighterthanithadlastnight,makingmeguessshe’drinseditintheopulentwashroom.Hereyesweresparklingandherhair,Irealizednowinthelight,wasfleckedwithgold.
“Violet,”Isaid,risingunsteadilytomyfeet.Iignoredthehungerpangsinmystomach.
“Didyousleep?”Violetasked,settlingontothecouchandpullingherlegsunderneathher.Icrossedtheroomandperchedonthewoodendeskchairoppositeher.
Ishookmyhead.“Ihadalotonmymind,”Isaid,clenchingandunclenchingmyjaw.Everypartofmybodyached,althoughwhetheritwasfromtheterroroflastnightorfromourflightthroughLondon,Icouldn’ttell.
“Idid,too,”Violetconfessed,sighingsadlyasshecradledherheadinherhands.“Mysister…I’msoworriedabouther,”shesaidfinally.
“Whathappenedtoher?”Iasked.Justhoursago,IwashopingDamonwasn’tresponsibleforthesedeathsanddisappearances.Now,Iwashopingagainsthopehewas.Damonhadbeenknowntocompelwomenforhisownamusement.Ifhe’ddoneittoCora,well,thatwouldmeanshewasstillalive.ButifKlausorLuciushadfoundher…Ishivered.
“That’stheverything.Ijustdon’tknow.ShewenttoworkattheTenBellstwonightsago,andthenshedidn’tcomehome.Thenthemurderhappened…andeveryonesaid…”Violet’slipstwistedintoagrimace,butsheforgedahead.“Theysaidthatmaybeshedidn’tcomehomebecauseshewenthomewithsomeoneelse.Thatshewenthomewithaman,likesomeofthegirlsatthetaverndo,”Violetsaid,acrimsonflushcrossingherface.“ButCoraisn’tlikethat.AndI’mnotlikethat.ItriedtellingAlfredandanofficerwhocameinthatCorawouldn’thavejustgoneoffwithsomeone,thatshewasmissing.Buttheydidn’tdoanything,”shesaidsadly,knittingherfingerstogetherasshestaredattheground.
“Whynot?”Iasked.IfeltangrythatnoonewastakingViolet’sconcernsseriously.Afterall,shewasjustaninnocentyounggirl,worriedabouthersister
Violetshookherhead.“Thepolicesaidtheycan’tdoanythinguntiltheyfindabody.Theysaidshe’sagrownwomanandshecangowhereshepleases.I’mjustsoworried.”Violetsighed.
“ButifCorawerekilled…”Ibegan,tryingtoreassureherwiththeconclusionI’dcometolastnight,“surelyherbodywouldhavebeenfound.”
“Don’tsaythat!”Violetsaidsharply.“I’msorry,”sheaddedinstantly.“Ijusthatehearingit.Butyes,you’reright.Ifshewaskilled,theywouldhavefound…something,”shesaid,shuddering.Inodded,silentlyagreeing.“ButIhaven’theardanything.Noonehas.Andthat’sjustthething.Shewouldn’thaveleftwithouttellingme.Itisn’tlikeher.”
“Peoplechange,”Isaidhelplessly,unsurewhatIcouldsaytotrytocomfortViolet.
“ButCoraismysister,”Violetinsisted.“Wecameoverheretogethersixmonthsago.We’dneverleaveeachother.We’reallwehaveintheworld.We’reblood.”
“Wheredidyoucomefrom?”Iasked,tryingnottocringeatthewordblood.
“Ireland,”Violetsaidwithafarawaygazeinhereyes.“JustatinytownnearDonegal.Allithasisachurchandapub,andwebothknewwecouldn’tstaythere.Ourparentsdid,too.Ourfatherusedeverythinghehadtosendusbothhere.Thoughtwe’dmarry,startfamilies,neverhavetoworryaboutgoinghungry…”Violetlaughedashort,harshbarkthatwassoatoddswithhersweetandinnocentpersonalitythatIflinched.Despiteheryouthfulappearance,she’dobviouslyledaroughlife.
“Andlifedidn’tworkoutasplanned,”Isaidslowly.Icouldrelatealltoowell.
Violetnodded,herexpressionbereft.“Wethoughtwe’dbecomeactressesorsingers.Well,Idid.Coradiditmoreforalaugh.ButIthoughtI’dgetapartinthechorusofashow,”shesaidthoughtfully.“Andwetried,butwejustgotlaughedoutoftheauditions.Thenwethoughtthatwecouldbecomeshopgirls.Butassoonasanyonesawourclothesandheardouraccents,theyturnedusaway.Wejustkeptwalkingandwalkingaroundthecity,talkingtoanyonewithanIrishaccent.Wefinallymetagirl,MaryFrancis,whowascousinswithaboyfromourtown.Sheworkedatthetavernandtoldusshe’dputawordinwithAlfred.Sowewent,andAlfredlikedCorarightaway.ButhesaidIlookedtooyoung.SoIwasputtoworkinthebackasascullerymaid.”
Imusthavegrimaced,becauseashadowofasmilecrossedViolet’sface.
“IfeltworseforCora.SheusedtohavetoflirtwithAlfred.Iknowthat’swhyhegavemeajob,andwhyheletusrentaroom.We’dgetintobedattheendofalongnightandtelleachotherstoriesaboutourday.Shealwayssaidthatworkinginthetaverncouldmaybebehelpfulformeoneday.It’sallstudyingcharactersandseeinghowtheyinteract.Shethoughtifwemadeenoughmoney,wecouldtryagaintobeactresses.Shenevergaveup.”
“Didyou?”Iaskedgently.
“Well,atacertainpoint,yourealizedreamsarejustthat—dreams.IthinksometimesthatIshouldjustacceptit.DoyouknowthisistheclosestI’vegottentothetheatersinceI’vebeenhere?”sheasked,gazingoutthewindowatthemarqueesnearby.“AndCora…”Sheshookherhead.“Whereisshe?”shecried,buryingherfaceinhertinyhands.“ThingsaresodesperatethatIcan’tevenbegintothinkaboutthem.IjustkeephopingCorafoundabetterlife.Notinheaven.Imean,here.Abetterlifehere.Andmaybeshedidn’ttellmebecauseshedidn’twantmetobehurtorjealous?It’stheonlythingIcanthinkof,”Violetsaid,stillhidingherfacewithherhands.
“IknowCora’ssafe.”OfcourseIdidn’tknowthatatall,butassoonasIsaidit,IsawViolet’sshouldersrelax.Ifeltsadforthisgirl,whotrulydidn’thaveafriendintheworld.IwishedthatIcouldhelpher.Suddenly,Ihadanidea.
“Here’swhatIcando,”Isaid.“Icangetyouthejobback,andIcanalsoguaranteeAlfredwon’tbotheryou.Ican’tpromisethejobwillbeideal,butIcanpromisethatitwillbebetterthanitwasbefore,”Isaid,knowingI’dhavetofindsomewheretofeedbeforeIwouldbeabletoeffectivelycompelAlfred.
“Thankyou,”Violetsaid.Aslightsmileplayedonherlips.“Inmycountry,onSaintStephen’sDaywehonorthesaintwhoprotectsthepoor,”shesaid.“AndIthinkit’scomeearlyformethisyear.Thankyou,SaintStefan.”
Ilookedaway,uncomfortablewithheradoration.Ifsheonlyknewmytruenature,she’dbeprayingtohersaintforprotectionfromme.“Don’tthankme.Juststayhereandrestup.I’llgoandspeakwithAlfredandfindoutwhatIcanaboutCora,”Isaid.
“Ishouldcome,”Violetsaiddefinitively,risingtoherfeet.
Ishookmyhead.“Itwon’tbesafe.”
“Butifit’snotsafe,thenwhataboutyou?”Violetaskedinasmallvoice.“Ishan’tforgivemyselfifanythinghappenedtoyouwhileyouwereoutonaccountofme.”
“Nothingwillhappentome,”Isaid,wishingthatweretrue.“I’mnotafraidtofight.ButIwon’thaveto.Everythingwillbefine.”
“It’sfunny,butIbelieveeverythingyousay,”Violetsaiddreamily.“ButIdon’tevenknowyou.Whoareyou?”
“I’mStefanSa—I’mStefan,”Isaid.Irefrainedfromsayingmylastname,worrieditmightscareherbecauseoflastnight’smessage.“I’mfromAmerica.AndIknowwhatit’sliketobealone.Ileftmyfamily.It’shard.”
Violetnodded.“Doyoumissthem?”
“Sometimes.Iworryaboutthem,”Isaid.Thatwastrue.
“Well,thenIsupposewe’rekindredspirits,”Violetsaid.“Youtrulysavedme.Idon’tknowwhatIwouldhavedoneinthepark,there,bymyself.”
“Didyou…seeanyone?”Iasked.ItwasthequestionIhadn’taskedherlastnight.Butnow,inthelightofday,Ineededtoknow.
Sheshookherhead.“Idon’tthinkso.Itwassodark,andIcouldbarelyseeinfrontofme.ButIfeltthewindpickup,andthenIsawthetreesmoving.WhenIglancedover,Isawthatawfulmessage.AndIknewitwaswritteninblood.Ifeltsomething.Ifelt…”Sheshuddered.
“Whatdidyoufeel?”Iaskedgently.
Violetsighed,distressobviousonherface.“IfeltlikeIwassurroundedbyevil.Somethingwasthere.IthoughtIwasgoingtobeattacked,andthenyoucameand—”
“Ibroughtyouhere,”Isaidquickly.Iknewexactlyhowshefelt.ItwasafeelingIsufferedfrombackinNewYork,whenIwassureKlauswasnear.Ifumbledinmypocket.“Andnow,yourSaintStefanhasonemorethingforyou.Takethis,”Isaid,pressingapendantintoherhand.Itwasavialofvervainonagoldchain.
“Whatisit?”sheasked,swingingthependantbackandforth.Itcaughttheflickeringlightofthecandleonthetable.
“Agoodluckcharm,”Isaid.Vervainwaspoisonoustome,andIcouldstillfeelitseffectsthroughtheglassbarrierofthevial.ButIcarriediteverywhere.Sofar,I’dneverhadtouseit.AndIonlyhopedthatVioletwouldn’thaveto,either.
“Ineedluck,”Violetsaid,claspingthependantaroundherneck.Aslongasshehadthat,shecouldn’tbecompelled,notevenbyme.Wenowwerefullyboundtoeachotherbytrustalone.
“SodoI,”Isaid.
Andthen,shestooduponhertiptoesandallowedherlipstograzemycheek.“Toluck,”shewhisperedinmyear.
Igrinnedather.Hellitselfmayhavebeenhuntingthesestreets,butatleastIhadafriend.AndasI’dlearnedinmylonglife,thatwasnosmallthing.
Chapter6
Inthelightofday,thewindingLondonstreetsdidn’tseemnearlyasintimidatingastheyhadduringmywildrunthenightbefore.Carriagesfilledtheroads,peddlersonthecornershawkedeverythingfromflowerstonewspaperstotobacco,andacacophonyoflanguagesmadeitimpossibletopickoutanydistinctconversations.Iwalkedeast,followingtheflowoftheThames,theriverthathadbecomemyNorthStarinorientingmyselfinLondon.Thedarkandmurkywaterlookedforeboding,asthoughithadsecretsburiedfarbeneathitssurface.IwishedIcouldjusttakeVioletandleavethiscity.Icouldkeephersafefornow,buthowlongwouldthatlast?AllIcouldthinkofwasthelookofterroronViolet’sface,hersmallvoice,thestrengthshehadtoleaveherfamilyinIrelandtofollowherdream.ShehadacourageousstreakthatRosalynhadn’t,butheryouthfulinnocencemademenostalgicforthetimewhenIwasherage.ItwasmyfaultshehadlostherroomandboardandIwantedtoprotectherinanywayIcould.
Peopleareourdownfall.Interactingwiththemiswhatundoesus.Yourheartistoosoft.IthadbeensomethingLexitoldmemanytimesovertheyears.I’dalwaysnod,butsometimesI’dquestionwhy.BecausewhileitwaseasyenoughtoavoidhumanswhenIwasinthecompanyofLexi,IseemedtoinstinctivelyseekouttheircompanywhenIwasbymyself.Andwhywasthatsowrong?JustbecauseIwasamonsterdidn’tmeanthatInolongervaluedcompanionship.
Sowhenwillmyheartharden?I’dasked,impatient.
She’dlaughed.Ihopeitwon’t.It’sthepartofyouthatkeepsyouhuman.Isupposethat’syourblessingandyourcurse.
AsIwalkedtoWhitechapel,IstoppedmidwayinSt.JamesPark,mythirstgrowing.IknewifIwasheadingbacktothetavern,Iwouldhavetobeatmystrongest.UnlikethenightmarishDutfieldParkfromlastnight,thisfieldwassprawlingandlush,fullofpondsandtreesandpedestriansenjoyingimpromptupicnics.Itwasvast;butatfirstglancestillseemedsmallerthanCentralParkinNewYorkCity,whereI’doncespentseveralhungryweeksforagingforfood.
Cloudshadonceagainrolledintothesky,bathingthewholecityindarkness.Itwasonlynoon,buttherewasnosignofthesun.Theairfeltwetandheavywithrain,despitethelackofactualdrops.ItwasneverlikethisinIvinghoe.Theweatherthereseemedmorehonest,somehow.Whenitlookedlikeitwouldrain,itrained.Here,nothingwasasitseemed.
Isniffedtheair.EventhoughIcouldn’tseethem,Iknewanimalswereeverywhere,hidingunderthebrushorscamperingintunnelsjustbeneaththegrass.Iheadedtowardadensecollectionoftrees,hopingIcouldcaptureabirdorasquirrelwithoutanyonenoticing.
Adisturbanceinthebushescausedmetostiffen.Withoutthinking,Iusedmyvampirereflexestoreachintothem,trappingafatgraysquirrelinmyhands.Relyingonlyoninstinct,Isunkmyteethintothetinycreature’sneckandsuckedoutitsblood,tryingnottogag.Citysquirrelstasteddifferentthancountrysquirrels,andthisonehadwatery,bitter-tastingblood.Still,itwouldhavetodo.
Ithrewthecarcassintothebushesandwipedmymouth.Suddenly,Iheardarustlecomingfromthefarendoftheforest.Iwhirledaround,half-expectingtoseeKlaus,readyforafight.Nothing.
Isighed,mystomachfinallyquietingnowthatitwassatiated.
AndnowthatIwasprepared,IheadedtotheTenBellsTavern,readytocompelAlfredintogivingVioletherjobback.Asexpected,theairsmelledmustyandsharp,likethescentofalemixedwithunwashedhumanbodies.
“Alfred?”Icalled,myeyesonceagainadjustingtothenearnighttimeblacknessofthebar.Iwasn’tlookingforwardtospeakingtohim.Hewasloathsome,andeventhoughmycompellingwouldensureVioletwouldbetreatedkindly,Ihatedthethoughtofherreturninghere.ButIknewitwasthebestthingforher.Becausethemoreshebecameinvolvedwithme,themoredangershe’dbein.ThatwassomethingIknewasclearlyasthemessagewritteninbloodonthewall.
“Alfred?”Icalledagain,justasheemergedfromthekitchen,wipinghishandsonhispants.Hischeekswereredandhiseyeswerebloodshot.
“Stefan.Violet’sbloke.Is’posenowyoudecidedyou’redonewithher?Wedon’tdorefunds,”hesaidflatly,leaninghismeatyarmsagainstthebar.
“She’safriend,”Isaid.Isteppedtowardhim,makingsuretokeepeyecontact,andkeepingmyfingersandpalmsflexedtoavoidlashingout.Ihatedhim.“AndIhavesomethingIneedtodiscuss.”
“What?”heaskedsuspiciously.
“TakeVioletback,”Isaidlevelly.“She’sahardworker,andsheneedsherjobandroom.”
Alfrednodded,butdidn’topenhismouthtospeak.
“Justlikehersister.Takesoffwiththefirstmanwholooksathernicely.Bloodyfoolsifyouaskme.MaryAnn,nowshewasinthewrongplaceatthewrongtime,butViolet…”
“Willyoudothat?”Iprompted.Iwantedtofollowhisconversationalthread,butIcouldn’tstopinthemiddleofcompelling.Inthepasttwenty-fourhours,I’dcompelledmorethanIhadinthepasttwentyyears,andIwasn’tasconfidentinmyPowerasIusedtobe.“Andwhenyoudo,youwon’tlayahandonher.You’llprotecther.JustbringVioletback.”
“BringVioletback,”hesaidslowly,asifinatrance.
“Yes,”Isaid,relievedbytheconfirmation.
Justthen,thebellofthetaverntinkledandalargemanlurchedin,clearlystilldrunkfromthenightbefore.Alfredlookedupatthecommotion,breakingthespellandruiningmychancetoaskquestions:WhatmanhadCoragoneoffwith?AndwhatelsedidAlfredknow?
“You’llseeViolettomorrownight,”IsaidtoAlfred’sretreatingback,asthoughwewerejusthavingachat.Ipulledupastooltothebar,waitingforwhenhe’dbefree.Thedooropenedagainandawomansaunteredin,wearinganindigodressthatclearlyshowedtheexpansivewhitenessofherbosom.Irecognizedherasthewomanwho’dcomeuptomelastnight.Thistime,Iwasgladtospeakwithher.Shehadalargebeautymarkaboveherred-paintedlips,andherhairhunginbrightblondringletsunderablack-feather-adornedhat.Shewasshortandsquat,butcarriedherselfwiththeconfidenceofawomanfarmorebeautiful
Immediately,herbeadyeyeslockedonmine.“Hello,there,”shesaid,walkingunsteadilyuptome.“Mename’sEliza.”Sheheldoutherhandformetokiss.
Irecoiled.EventhoughI’djustfed,thethinsquirrelbloodwasnotenoughtosatisfymydeeperthirst,andherexposedfleshwasalmostmorethanIcouldbear.Icouldsmellherbloodandcouldalmostimagineitsrich,sugar-sweetflavorcoatingmytongue.Ipressedmylipstogetherandstaredatthedustycracksbetweenthefloorboards.
“Itriedtotalktoyoulastnight,”shecontinued,allowingherhandtofluttertomyshoulderasthoughdustingoffanimaginaryspeckoflint.“Butyouonlyhadeyesforthatgirl.Ithoughtshewassolucky,speakingwithahandsomeyoungladlikeyou.Ihopeyouenjoyedher,”sheleered.
“Ididn’t.”Isteppedaway,hatingherinsinuation.“Violetisjustafriend,”Isaidcoldly.
“Well,doyouneedsomeonewho’smorethanafriend?”sheasked,battingherdarkeyelashes.
“No!Ineedtoknow…”IglancedtowardAlfred,buthewasfardownattheotherendofthebar,busyplayingagameofdicewiththedrunkman.Still,Iloweredmyvoice.“Ineedtoknowmoreaboutthemurderer.”
“Youoneofthemcoppers?”sheaskedsuspiciously.“BecauseItold’embefore,Idon’tdodiscountsandIdon’tgiveoutinformationonmefriendsneither.NotforallthegininChina.”
Ishookmyheadathermangledexpression.“I’mjustconcerned.Especiallynow.Apparentlyanotherwomanismissing.DoyouknowCora?Sheworkshere.”ForViolet’ssake,IonlyhopedthatCorawasalive.
“Cora?”Thewoman’sfacetransformedintoagrimace.“Why,shewasthebarmaid,right?Alwaysthoughtshewassouppityandbetterthanus,butLordknowsshewasdoingthesamethingwewas.Seemslikeshewasjustwaitingfortherightprice,”thewomansaidindignantly.
“Doyoumeansheleftwithaman?”Iaskedurgently.ItwasclearthatthiswomanhadbeenkeepingaverycloseeyeonCora,andIhopedthatwouldtranslateintoaclueastoherwhereabouts.
Thewomannodded.“ThesamemanwhoI’dbeentryingallnighttobesweetonme.Hewashandsome.SaidhewasaproduceroranactorattheGaiety.Oneofthemtheatertypes.Funnysounding,though.Abitlikeyou,”sheaddeduncertainly
“Hehadanaccent?”Iasked,unabletocontainmyexcitement.Ididn’twanttojumptoconclusions,butIdoubtedthereweremanyfrequentersoftheTenBellswhohadaSoutherndrawllikemine.MaybeDamonhadbeenhere.Andmaybe,justmaybe,heknewIwasintown.Maybethatwaswhythemessagehadbeenwrittenonthewall.Ithadn’tbeenKlausatall,onlyoneofDamon’sstupidtrapstoluremeintoacat-and-mousechase.
“Yougotmegoingallhoarse.Ifwe’regoingtotalkanymore,you’vegottogetmeadrink,”Elizasaid,yankingmefrommyreverie.“Doublegin,please,”shesaid,hereyesgleaminggreedily.
“Ofcourse,”Isaid.Iwenttothebarandcamebackwithaginandawhiskey.IlickedmylipsasIwatchedElizatakeaswig.Itookacarefulsipofmyowndrink.AlthoughIdidn’twanttogetdrunk,alcoholoccasionallytemperedmycravingsforblood.Ihopeditwouldthistime.IneededsomethingtodistractmefromEliza’sneck.Itookanotherlargegulpofwhiskey.
“There,that’sbetter.Nothingbeatsaspotofginintheafternoon,don’tyouagree,love?”sheasked,alreadyappearinginamuchbettermood.
“Well,hewastalkin’funny.Notlikehebotheredtosaymuchtome,”sheaddeddarkly.“Hetalkedtoherallnight.Iwalkedbyacoupletimes.Saidhe’dbringhertothetheater,showheraround.Maybegetheranaudition.Mensaywhateverpopsintheirheadstogetawomantogotobed,”Elizasaidindisgust.
“Doyourememberhisname?Didhehaveanydistinctivefeatures?Washeintimidatingher?”Iasked,barragingherwithquestionsasdreadrippledthroughmystomach.
“Idon’tknow!LikeIsaid,hedidn’tevenwanttotalktome!”shesaidindignantly.“AndIs’poseit’sagoodthing,especiallywiththemmurdersgoingon.Maybeit’sbestwestickwiththeblokesweknow,eveniftheystiffusforourmoneywhentheycan’t…”Shebrokeoffandglancedatme,hereyeschallengingmetogethersaltyinnuendo.
“Butwhatdidhelooklike?”Iasked,barelylisteningtowhatshewassaying.
Hereyescuttowardmesuspiciously.“Oh,you’restillthinkingabouthim?Idon’tknow.Elegant.Tall.Dirtyblondhair.ButsinceCora’sbodydidn’tshowupinaditchornothin’,they’reprobablyjustenjoyingeachother’scompany,”sheaddeddarkly.
Dirtyblondhair?Ifrowned.Damon’shairwasdark.Itwasthefirstcluethathadn’tbeenaperfectmatch.Ofcourse,itwasn’tasifElizawasnecessarilythemostreliableeyewitness.Idecidedtokeepfocusingonwhatelseshehadtosay.“Ormaybehereallywasoneofthoseproducersshealwaystalkedabout.Well,ladeedaforher.Thenshe’dalwaysbethinkingshewasbetterthananyofus,”Elizaadded.
“WereyouclosewithMaryAnn?”Iasked,changingthesubjecttothemurdervictim.
Elizasighedandflickedhergazeawayfromme,towardthemotleycollectionofmenwho’dfilledthebarsincewe’dbeguntalking.SinceitwasclearIwasn’tinterestedinpropositioningher,shewasobviouslylookingforsomeonewhowould.Notseeinganytargets,sheglancedbackatme.
“MaryAnnwasmefriend.Atleastshewasbeforeshewentandgotherselfkilled,”Elizasaid,acloudofangercrossingherface.“Although,whatdoyouexpect?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked.
“Well,shewasmefriend,andI’d’asaidthistoherfaceifI’dgottenthechance.Shewasoneofthemtypes.Tookrisks.Carousedwithbadmen.Idon’tevenrememberwhosheleftwith.Aftertheyfoundher,allcutupandkilled,thepolicecameinthetavern.Whodidshegowith,theyasked.Whatdidshesayasshewasleaving?Andtheanswerwas,wesawnothing,weheardnothing,andifshe’d’aonlytolduswhoshewasgoingoffwith,wemighthavebeenabletoavoidhiminthefuture!”Elizashuddered,andIcouldn’thelpnoticingherheavingbosom.Iglancedaway,butnotbeforeshecaughtmestaring.
Shesmiledlasciviously.“Areyousureyoudon’twanttocontinuethisconversationinprivate?”sheasked,suggestivelylickingherlowerlip.
“I’msure!”Isaidforcefully,standingupsoquicklythericketychairbehindmetoppledover.“You’relovely,ofcourse,butIcan’t,”Isaid.
“Icangiveyouadeal.Foreigner’sspecial!”shesaid,wigglinghereyebrows
“Ihavetogo,”Isaidfirmly.Ireachedintomypocketandfoundafewflorins.“Theseareforyou.Pleasedon’tgooffwithanyone,”Isaid.Idroppedthecoinsintoherhand.
Hereyesgleamedasshetookthemoney.“YousureIcan’tgiveyoualittlesomething?”
“Thatwon’tbenecessary.”Iscrapedmychairbackandstrodeoutofthetavern.
AssoonasIwalkedout,Istumbled,andimmediatelyrealizedthewhiskeyhadgonetomyhead.ButIhadacluethatwouldleadmetoCoraandDamon.
“Youthere!”
Iwhirledaround.Thedrunkmanwho’dbeenatthebarwhenIcameinlurchedtowardme,thescentofstaleginonhisbreath.
“What?”Iasked.
“Iknowwhoyouare,”hesaid,swayingcloserandclosertowardme.“AndIhavemyeyeonyou!”Atthis,helaughedmaniacally,thenstaggeredbackwardagainstabrickwall.
Fearbuzzedinmybrain.Ilookeddownathim,stilllaughinginadrunkenheap.Whatdidhemean,heknewwhoIwas?Wasitjusttheramblingsofadrunk,orwasitanothercluethatmyarrivalinLondonhadn’tbeenunnoticed?
Chapter7
Iknowwhoyouare.
Thewordsthuddedinmyconsciousness.WhowasI?IwasStefanSalvatoreonce.Damonknewthat.Sodidwhoeverwrotethemessageonthewall.Butwhoelse?
Hewasadrunk.Letitgo,IcommandedmyselfasIhastilypickedmywayoutoftheparkandtowardthehotel,stoppingalongthewaytopurchaseticketsforamusicalburlesqueattheGaietyTheatre.I’dgottentwoboxtickets,eachonecostingmorethanaweek’spay.ButI’dcompelledthemfromthebewilderedmanattheboxoffice,justifyingitbyremindingmyselfitwouldallbeworthitiftheplayledtousfindingCora.Withtheticketsinmybreastpocket,IwhistledtomyselfasIheadedbackintothehotel.
VioletjumpedupassoonasIopenedthedoor.
“Howwasyourday?”sheasked,soundinganxiousandtired.“DidyoufindCora?”
“IspoketoAlfred,andyoudon’thavetoworryaboutyourjob.AndIthinkIknowwherewecanfindCora,”Isaidslowly,belyingmyownexcitement.ThelastthingIwantedtodowasgiveVioletfalsehope.
“Really?Where?How?”Violetclappedherhandstogether.“Oh,Stefan,you’rewonderful!”
“I’mnot,”Isaidgruffly.“AndIdon’tknowforafact,butIthinkshemighthavemetaproducerfromtheGaietyTheatre.”IbrieflyexplainedmyconversationwithEliza,althoughIleftoutthepartaboutthemanwiththeaccent.ButinViolet’smind,Corawasasgoodasfound.
“Really?”Violetbeamed.“Why,nowondershewouldn’thavesaidanything!Because,see,Alfredwouldhavegottenjealous.Andifhe’dknownshe’dleftherjob,hewouldn’tallowherback.SomaybeCorawasjustwaitinguntilshegotthetheaterjobbeforeshecametocollectme.Thatmakessense,doesn’tit?”
“Isupposeso,”Isaidslowly.Violet’scheekswereredandshewasstridingbackandforthacrosstheroom.Shewasexcitedandagitated,andIwantedtobelievethestoryshe’dspun.Itcouldbetrue.Butnogoodcouldcomeofusbothpacinglikecagedanimalsinthehotelroom.Wehadafewhoursbeforetheshow,andVioletwasstillcladinherstainedpinaforefromlastnight.
“Let’sgoshopping,”Idecided,standingupandmakingmywaytothedoor.
“Really?”Violetwrinkledhernose.“OfcourseIwantto,butI’venomoney…”
“Ihavealittlebitsaved.Please,it’stheleastIcandoaftereverythingthathappenedlastnight.”
Violethesitated,thennodded,acceptingmyhelp.“Thankyou!”shesaid.“Ican’twaittoseeCora.Shewon’tbelievethatIhadmyownadventure.Why,Ithinkshemightbejealous,”shecontinuedgiddily.Istartedtorelax.
Afterall,IcouldplayViolet’swhatifgame,too.Icouldpretendthedrunkoutsidethetavernhadbeenhallucinatingandhadmistakenmeforhislong-lostcousin.IcouldpretendIwasahuman.
Andthat’swherethegameended.BecauseIwasn’t,andasmuchasIwantedtobelieveit,noneoftherestwastrueeither.
“Weshouldgobeforethestorecloses,”Isaidawkwardly.WhatwasIdoing?WhydidIcarewhetherthisgirlorhersisterlivedordied?StefanPinewouldgobacktoIvinghoeandwakeuptomorrowtomilkthecows.StefanPinewouldstopreadingtheLondonpapers.AndStefanPinewouldn’tbetakingagirlfromthegutterandbuyingheradresstomakeupforthefactthathisbrotherwasmostlikelydrinkinghersister’sblood.
ButIwasn’tStefanPine.IwasStefanSalvatore,andIwasintoodeeptoleave.Together,westrodeoutintothedarkafternoon.Iraisedmyhandtofetchacoach.
Immediately,acoachpulleduptous.“Whereto?”adriverasked,tippinghishat.
“Wherecanwegotogetadress?”Iaskedboldly.
“I’dbringyouovertoHydePark.Harrods.”
“Really?”Violetclappedherhandsindelightatthementionofthename.“That’swhereeveryoneclassyshops!Ireadaboutit.I’veheardevenLillieLangtrygoesthere!”
“Let’sgo,”Isaidgrandly.IhadnoideawhatVioletwassaying,butallIcaredaboutwasthatsheseemedhappy.
WetookoffthroughthestreetsofLondon.ComparedtoWhitechapel,thispartofthecitywaslovely.Thestreetswerewide,well-dressedmenandwomenwerewalkingarminarmonthesidewalk,andeventhepigeonsseemedcleanandwell-behaved.Violetlookedbackandforth,asifunabletodecidewheretodirectherfocus.
Finally,thedriverpulledupatanimposingmarblebuilding.“Hereyouare!”
Ipaused.ShouldIcompelmywayintonotpayingfortheride?
“Thankyou!”Violethookedherarminmineasshehoppedoutofthecoach.TheopportunitytocompelwaslostandIfeltthroughmypockets,pullingoutafewshillingsandhandingthemtothedriver.
Hedroveaway,andVioletandIsteppedthroughthedoorwayintoavaultedhallwayfilledwiththecompetingscentsofperfumeandfoods.ThemarblefloorsweresopolishedIcouldseeourreflectionwhenwegazeddown.Everyonespokeinaslightlyraisedwhisper,asifwewereinachurch.Andindeed,itseemedlikeaholyplace.
Violetsighedinecstasy.“Itsoundslikeasin,butwhenIwaslittle,ourpriestaskedustoimagineheaven.Ialwaysthoughtitwouldlooklikethis.Everythingshinyandnew,”shesaid,echoingmythoughtsaswewalkedthroughthewindingaislesofthedepartmentstore.Asectionsellingstationerygavewaytoonesellingtoys,whichopenedintoamassivefoodhall.Itwasasifanythinganyonecouldimaginewasunderoneroof.
Finally,wereachedthebackofthestore.Dressesofallcolorswerehangingonracks,andwomenweremillingaroundthedisplaysasiftheywereatacocktailparty.Saleswomenwerestandingbehindglasscases,readytohelpcustomers.
“Youcanhaveanythingyouwant,”Isaid,splayingmyhandsasiftoshowhertheextentofthewares.
ButVioletseemedsad.“IwishCorawerehere.Shewouldloveit.”
“We’llfindCora,”Isaidfirmly.
“MayIhelpyou?”awomaninadarkblackdressasked,glidinguptous.
“Weneedagown,”Isaid,noddingtowardViolet.
“Ofcourse,”thewomansaid.ShegaveVioletaglancefromheadtotoe,butrefrainedfromsayinganythingabouthershabbyclothes.Instead,shesmiled.
“Wehavesomethingsthatwilldoverywell.Comewithme,”shesaid,motioningforViolettojoinher.
Sheturnedtowardme.“Youstayhere.WhenI’mthroughwithher,youwon’tevenrecognizeher.”
Forasecond,Ipaused.Ididn’twanttoletVioletoutofmysight.ThenIlaughedtomyself.Iwasbeingparanoid.Wewereinthefinestdepartmentstoreintheworld.Itwasn’tasifthesaleswomanwouldhurther.
“Allright,then?”Thesaleswomanarchedherblackeyebrowasifsensingmydiscomfort.
“Ofcourse,”Isaid.Isettledontoaplushpeach-coloredsetteeandglancedaround.IfeltlikeWhitechapelwasinadifferentcountry.Coulditbepossiblejusttostayonthissideofthetownandforgetaboutthemurderer?Iwantedto,badly.
“Stefan?”
Iglancedupandgasped.Violetwascladinanemerald-greendressthataccentuatedhersmallwaistandredhair.Eventhoughherfacewasstilldrawnandthereweredarkshadowsunderherlargeeyes,shelookedbeautiful.
“Whatdoyouthink?”sheaskedshyly,twirlinginthemirror.
“She’slovely,isn’tshe?”thesaleswomanmurmured.“Wetriedtwoothersaswell,andyourwifelooksequallyexquisiteinallofthem.”
“She’snot…yes,”Isaidsimply.Itwassomucheasiertolie.“We’lltakethisdress.We’lltakeallofthem,”Isaid,pullingherasidetocompelhertogiveusthepurchasesforfree.TheexpressioninViolet’seyeswasworthit.
Insteadoftakingacoachbacktothehotel,wewalked.Everysooften,Icaughtherstealingglancesofherselfinthewindows,twistingtheskirtsofhernewemerald-greendress.ItwasnicethatIcouldmakesomeonehappy.
“IfearIwon’tbeabletorepayyou,”Violetsaidatonepoint.
“Noneed.”Ishookmyhead.“Yourfriendshipisrepaymentenough.”
“Thankyou.ButIfeellikeI’mnotbeingagoodfriend.AllIdoistalkaboutmyself.Ionlyknowyourname,andthatyou’refromAmerica.Areyouabusinessman?”
Ilaughed.“No,Iworkonafarm.I’mjustlikeyou.AndIknowwhatit’sliketoloseafamilymember.Mybrotheroncewentmissing.Iwasworriedsickabouthim.”
“Didheturnup?”sheasked,hereyeswide.
“Eventually.AndIknowyou’llseeCorasoon.”MyheartwentouttoVioletandhermissingsister.“Tellmemoreabouther,”Isaid.
“Well,wefoughtofcourse.Butallsiblingsdo,don’tthey?Shehadtodoeverythingfirst.AndofcourseIwantedtobejustlikeher.Idon’tthinkthatIwouldhavemovedtoLondonwithouther.Andnowthatshe’snothere…”
“Youhavetofigureoutwhoyouare,”Imurmured.
“Yes,”Violetagreed.“Butit’shardtoknowwhoIamwithoutCora.We’rethatclose.Isthatwhatit’slikewithyouandyourbrother?
“No.”Ishookmyhead.
“Didyouhaveafalling-out?”
“Yes,butthat’slonginthepast.Rightnow,I’monlyfocusedonmyfuture,”Isaid,offeringthecrookofmyelbowforhertoloopherarmthrough.
“Well,yourbrother’smakingamistake,tofightwithyou,”shesaid.
“AndI’dneverfightwithyou,ifyouweremysister,”Isaid.Iwasenjoyingourcomfortableback-and-forth.
Westoppedbythehoteltodropoffourbagswiththebellhopandthencontinuedonourwaytothetheater.
“IfeellikethisisadreamandIdon’twanttowakeup,”Violetsaid,hereyesshiningasanusherledustoourseats.BeingwithVioletfeltnatural,andoureasybanterremindedmeofthewaythatDamon,I,andtherestoftheboyswouldteasetheMysticFallsgirlsatbarbecuesandsocialfunctionsduringtheyear.
Suddenly,thetheaterwentdarkandthecurtainroseonthestage.
“Oh,Stefan!”Violetsaid,clappingherhandstogetherassheperchedontheveryedgeofthevelvet-coveredchairandleanedherelbowsontherailingofthebox.Dozensofchorusgirlscameout,wearingflouncyskirtsandlargehats,andItriedtopayattentiontothesongtheyweresinging.ButIcouldn’t.AllIcouldthinkofwasDamon.Whyhadhedonethis?Ithadtakenyears,butI’dfoundpeace.Couldn’thedothesame?Hecouldfeedonwomenandhavehisfancypartiesallheliked.Ijustwantedhimtostopdestroyingotherpeople’slives.Iwasconvincedthatwecouldbothliveandletlive.ButIcouldn’tliveifmybrotherwaskilling.
IsawVioletglanceatmeandItriedtolookasifIwereenjoyingtheshow.Butinside,Iwasfrustrated.IhatedthewayeverythingalwayscamebacktoDamon,andmostlikelywould,foreternity.
“Ididn’tseeCora,”Violetsaidindisappointment.“Maybeshe’snotinthisshow.”
“Hmmm?”Iasked,realizingthecurtainhadgonedownandthunderousapplausewasemanatingfromallcornersofthetheaterhouse.
“Theshow!Thefirstactisover,”Violetsaid.“And,oh,Stefan,itwaseversolovely!”
“Youlikedit,then?”Iaskedmechanically.IfCorawasn’there,hadwejustwastedanothernight?MaybetheJourneymanwasstillopen.IwasabouttotellVioletourplanwhenInoticedtearsleakingfromthecornerofhereyes.
“Ifonly…”shebegan.
“Ifonlywhat?”Iasked.
“IfonlyCorawerehere.Everytimethecurtainopened,I’djustcrossmyfingersandsendaprayertoSt.Jude,but…ohwell.Istilllikedtheshow.Thankyou,”shesaid,smilingwistfully.
“Iunderstand,”Isaid,squeezingherhand.Ididunderstand.WhenDamonhadgoneawaytofightintheCivilWar,backwhenwewerehumans,I’dalwaysfeltahalfsecondofregretwheneverIwasdoinganythingenjoyable,thinkinghowmuchbetteritwouldhavebeenifonlyhe’dbeentheretobepartofit.AndeventhoughIknewbeyondashadowofadoubtIwasnowbetteroffwithoutmybrother,therewasstillavestigialpullthatwishedIcouldbewithhim.ThemoreIsawoftheworld,themoreIrealizedthatnotallpeoplehadbondslikeminewiththeirsiblings.AndmaybethatwasfarbetterthanwhatI’dhad,andwhatI’dlost.
Thecurtainopenedagainandanotheract,moreopulentthanthelast,began.Itriedtowatch,butIcouldn’tkeeptrackofsomethingevensoelementaryaswhoplayedtheloverorthevillain,andthelyricsforthemusicalnumbersseemedsilly,notcharming.SoIwatchedVioletinstead.Litupintheglowofthestagelights,shelookedabsolutelyentranced,andthehappiestI’deverseenherinourshorttimeofknowingeachother.
Asthecurtaincamedown,Istoodandclappedpolitelyalongwiththeaudience.
“Oh,Stefan,thankyou!”Violetsaid,spontaneouslythrowingherarmsaroundme.“Idon’twantthisnighttoend!”
“You’rewelcome,”Isaid,shiftingmyweightfromsidetosideimpatiently.Infrontofus,theleadactressstoodonstage,blowingkissestotheaudience,whilemembersofthefrontrowwerethrowingflowerstowardher.
Violetsighedtheatrically,unabletotearhereyesawayfromthestage.“Corashouldhavebeeninthatplay,”shesaid,hervoiceadamantwithresolution.“CharlotteDumontdoesn’thaveanythingonher.”
“Who?”Iasked.Thenamesoundedfamiliar.
“Why,CharlotteDumont.Theactress.”
“Shewashere?”Iasked.CharlottewasthewomanwhoCountDeSanguewasconsortingwith.Maybethishadn’tbeensuchawasteoftime.
“Stef-an!”Violetsaidplayfully.“Shewastheleadactress.Wasn’tshewonderful?”Violet’seyesdanced,butIwasn’tpayingattention.Myeyeswerescanningthecrowdformybrother.
“Justonce,I’dliketostandout,”Violetcontinued,oblivioustomydistraction.“BackatTenBells,Ifeelinvisible.Iwanttofeelunique.LikeIdidwhenIwaslittle.Youknow,whenyourparentsthinkyou’respecial,andyoubelievethem?”Violetsaidwistfullyasshedaintilypickedupherskirtstowalkdownthewindingstairsofthetheaterandontothestreet.Watchingherfromafewstepsback,Iwasamazedathowdifferentshelookedfromthesadbarmaidoflastnight.Inherfinery,shehadalltheconfidenceandairsofawomanwho’dgrownupinluxury.
“Youarespecial,”Isaid,meaningit.ShewascharmingandfunandIknewthatonceshebelievedinherself,she’dfindpeoplewhobelievedinher.
“Why,thankyou,”Violetsaidcoquettishly.Aroundus,peopleturnedtogazeather.Iwascertaintheyweregawkingbecausetheyweretryingtoplaceher—hadshebeenoneofthecomicingénuesthey’djustseenonstage?Violetsmiled,clearlybaskingintheattention.
“Whatshallwedonow?”Violetasked,hereyesshining.
We’dreachedthecoolstreetandIbreathedout,glancingaround.Eventhoughitwaslate,thestreetwascrowdedwithpassersby.Afewpacesdown,InoticedstreamsofpeoplewereenteringthesmallblackdoormarkedSTAGE.Imadeasplit-seconddecision.
“Ihaveanidea,”Isaid.“We’regoingtomeetCharlotte.”IpastedasmileonmyfaceasImarchedtowardthedoor.
“Name?”asmallmanwithslicked-backblackhairasked,glancingattheleather-boundbookclutchedinhishands.
“Name?”Irepeated,inmockconfusion,tryingtogethimtolookupatme.
“Yes,yourname,”themansaidwithexaggeratedpatience,finallyglancingupatme.“I’mafraidthepartyisguestlistonly.”
“SirStefanPine.Andmywife,LadyViolet,”IaddedasVioletgiggleddelightedlybesideme.Eventhoughhisjobwastoguardthedoor,thevagueslurringofhiswordsmadeitobvioushe’dbeentakingindrinksastheaudiencemembershadbeentakingintheperformance.Ididn’tsomuchhavetocompelhimasconfusehim.
“Yes,sir,”hesaid,barelyglancingbackdownathislistasheusheredusinside.
Violetwidenedhereyes,butImerelyplacedafingeronmylipsandfollowedthecrushofpeopleintothecavernousbackstage.
Weturnedintoabrightlylitroomthatwasalmostasbigasaballroom,alreadyfilledwithactorsinvariousstatesofcostumeaswellasaudiencemembers,whomIrecognizedasthewell-heeledfellowmembersofourbox.Weweredefinitelyintherightplace.Now,allwehadtodowasfindCharlotte.Itwasalmosttooeasy.
AndthenIfeltataponmyshoulder.
Iwhirledaround.
There,withawidesmile,thickdarkhair,andaninscrutableexpressioninhisbrightblueeyes,wasDamon.
“Hello,brother,”Damonsaid,flashingawidegrin.
Igrinnedback.I’dplaynice.Fornow.
Chapter8
Thisisyourbrother?”Violetaskedcuriously,herliltingvoicerising.“Theonewho…”
“No!”Iwavedmyarminfrontofme,asthoughbattingawayanabsurdquestion.“Anoldfriend,”Ilied.Myheartthuddedagainstmyribcage.EventhoughI’dbeenactivelyseekinghimoutallafternoon,itwasashocktobeface-to-faceagainafteralltheseyears.
“Ohyes,StefanandIgowayback.”Damonleered.“Infact,sometimesIthinkI’ddieforhim.”
Ishifteduneasily,appraisingmybrother,alltooawareofVioletstandingnexttome.Istudiedhim,takingineachaspectofhisappearance.
Hehadn’taged.Itwasaludicrousobservation,butitwasthefirstonethatstruckme.Ofcourse,Ihadn’teither,butIwassousedtoseeingmyfaceintheglasseverymorningthatitwasn’tremarkable,justafactofmyexistence.ButseeingDamonasfresh-facedandwrinkle-freeashe’dbeenthenightwe’dbothdiedwasjarring.
But,oncloserinspection,therewasadifference.Hiseyeshadchanged.Theyseemeddarker,somehow,fullofsecretsandhorrorsanddeaths.Whoknewwhathe’ddonethesepasttwentyyears?Ifitwasanythinglikewhathe’dbeendoinginLondon,thenhe’dbeenkeepinghimselfandlocallawenforcementagenciesquitebusy.
“You’relookinggood,”Damonremarked,asifwewereneighborswho’dmerelybumpedintoeachotherinatownsquare,notbrotherswho’dlastseeneachotheracrosstheoceandecadesago.
“Asareyou,”Iallowed.Hisdarkhairwasslickedbackandhewaswearinganexpensivesuitwithasilktieknottedaroundhisneck.
“Andwho’sthislovelylady?”Damonasked,extendinghishandtoViolet.
“She’snoneofyourconcern—”
“I’mVioletBurns,”Violetsaid,curtseyingandblushingasDamontookherhandandbroughtittohislipsforakiss.
“Charmed.DamonDeSangue,”Damonsaid.Igrimacedatthefamiliarwaythefalsenamedrippedoffhistongue.Ididnote,however,thathe’dlosttheaffectedItalianaccenthe’dinsistedonusingbackinNewYork.
“Andwhatarewedoinghere?”heasked.
“We’rejustleaving—”
“No!”Violetinterjected.“Please,letusstay.Ourhoteliseversoclose,we’rerightattheCumberland,”shesaidtoDamon,battinghereyesasiftocharmhim.“Andwe’relookingformysister,”sheadded,hervoicedrownedoutbyDamon’sshowydisplayofshockatourchoiceofhotel.
“TheCumberland!”Damonsaidasmystomachsank.ThelastthingIwantedwasforhimtoknowthenameofourhotel.“Aren’tyoumovingupintheworld,Stefan!”
Nomoregames,Isaidundermybreath.We’retoooldforthat.
Ineveroutgrewmyfondnessforgames,Damonreplied,notmovinghislips.
Justdon’thurther,Isaidthroughgrittedteeth.ButDamondidn’tsayanything,andonlyhalf-shookhisheadinagesturethatwasimpossibleformetoread.Violetcontinuedtostareathim,herexpressionworshipful.Typical.Damonalwayscommandedattentionfromwomen.Justthen,atall,beautifulwomanwearingamidnight-bluesilkdressandfalseeyelashesswanneduptohim,twoglassesofchampagneinherhands.Ispottedagold-threadedsilkscarfwrappedseveraltimesaroundherneck.Iwassureifsheunwrappedit,I’dseetwosmallpunctureholesonherneckfromDamon’sfangs.Damon,noticingmygaze,raisedhiseyebrowandsmirked.Violetletoutagasp.
“CharlotteDumont!”shesquealed,clappingherhandswithdelight.Ismiledather,happyshe’datleastbeenpayingattentiontotheshow.Icouldn’tbelieveI’dletsuchanobviouscluealmostslipthroughmyfingers.
“Why,yes,that’smyname,”Charlottesaid,gigglingasshehandedachampagneflutetoDamon.“Ican’tleaveyouforamoment!”shesaidtoDamon,playfullyswattinghimonhisarm.“EverytimeIdo,Icomebacktoseeacrowdfawningoveryou.AndI’msupposedtobethestarofourtwosome!”Shepouted.
“Don’tworry,darling,”Damonsaid,placinghishandonhershoulderinamovesotender,itsurprisedme.Didheactuallylikethiswoman,orwashejustusingherformoneyandstatus?“Thisismyoldfriend,Stefan…ifthat’swhatyou’regoingbynowadays?”
“StefanPine,andthisismyfriend,Violet,”Iexplained,takingCharlotte’sdelicatehandandbringingittomylipsforakiss.
“I’manactress.FromAmerica,”Violetsaid,tryinghardtoputonanAmericanaccentasshesankintoadeepcurtsy.
“Areyou?”Charlotteaskedpointedly,asharpedgetohertoneasshetriedtodeterminewhetherornotVioletwascompetition.
“Well,I’dliketobe,”Violetdemurred,clearlyrealizingthatherstatementwasnotthebestwaytogetinCharlotte’sgoodgraces.“Sowouldmysister.CoraBurns.Doyouknowher?”
Charlotte’sexpressionsoftenedslightly.“Cora…thenamesoundsfamiliar,”Charlottesaid,tuggingonDamon’sshirtsleeve.“DoweknowaCora,love?”
Damonrolledhiseyes.“AsifIcouldkeeptrackofeveryonewemeet.That’swhatthesocietypagesarefor,right?Ifthey’rethere,thenI’vemetthem.Andifnot,thenIhaven’t.”
“Well,ifyoumeether,pleasetellherthathersisterislookingforher,”Violetsaidtentatively.Ifeltnothingbutrelief.CharlotteseemedsomewhatfamiliarwithCora’sname.MaybeCorasimplyhadgoneoffwithatheaterproducer.
“Doesn’tringabell,sweetheart,sorry.”Damonshrugged.
“It’sokay,”Violetsaidsadly.“JustsosheknowsI’mlooking.”
“Speakingoflooking,”Charlottesaidbrightly,breakingthesilence,“IthinkIneedanotherglassofchampagne.”Intheshortconversation,she’dalreadydrainedherwholeflute.“Wouldyouliketocomewithme?Andmaybeifyou’relucky,I’llintroduceyoutoMr.Mackintosh,theproducerofourlittleshow.Yoursister’snottheonlyonewhocouldbeanactress.”
Violet’seyesgleamedasthetwogirlswalkedawayintotheswirlofrevelers.Damonwatchedwithabemusedexpression.
“Women!”heremarkedoncetheywerefirmlyoutofearshot.“Can’tlivewiththem,can’tlivewithoutthem.AmIright?Thenagging,thecompliments,theenthusiasm…nowonderhumansagesoquickly,”hesaid,throwingbackhisownglassofchampagne.
“Well,itseemsyouhaveasteadysourceofnourishment,”Isaiddarkly.WasDamon’schoiceofwomenwhatignitedthewrathofKlaus?Orsomethingelse?Whateveritwas,I’dplayniceuntilIgottothebottomofit.
“Ohyes.Shedoeswell,althoughthebloodisoftenratheralcoholic.Greatbeforeabignightout,butIhavetobecarefulnottooverindulge,”Damonsaidcasually,asifhewerereviewingabrand-newrestaurant.“Andyou?Haveyougonebacktohumanbloodinyourmiddleage?Don’ttellmeyou’restillsubsistingonsquirrelsandbunnies!”Heguffawed.
“I’mnottalkingaboutCharlotte,”Isaid,ignoringhisteasing.“AndI’mheretostopyou.You’rebeingstupidandcareless,andyou’regoingtogethurt.Whatareyouevendoinghere?”
“I’mherefortheweather,”Damonparriedbacksarcastically.“DoIneedareason?MaybeIdecidedtoseethesights.Americafelttoosmall.Here,thereareallsortsofdiversions.”
“Whatkindofdiversions?”Iaskedpointedly.
Damonsmiledagain,revealinghisultra-whiteteeth.“Youknow,theusualonesthatcomewithtravelingabroad:meetingnewpeople,tryingnewcuisines…”
“Tryingyourhandatmurder?’’Ihissed,loweringmyvoicesothatnooneelsecouldhearme.
ConfusioncrossedDamon’sface,followedbyalong,hollowlaugh.
“Oh,youmeantheJacktheRippernonsense?Please.Don’tyouknowmebetter?”Damonaskedwhenhefinallystoppedchuckling.
“Iknowyouwellenough,”Isaid,clenchingmyjaw.“AndIknowyouloveattention.Thisisbadnewsforyou.”
“Nonewsisbadnewsforme.”Damonyawned,asiftheconversationboredhim.“Well,thenyouknow,brother,thatI’vealwaysabhorredguessinggamesandIhavenopatienceforhysteria.I’dmuchratherkilldiscreetly.”
“Soyouhaven’tkilledanyonerecently?”Iasked,myeyesdartingaroundtheroomtomakesurenoonewaslistening.Noonewas.Thepartiersarounduswerefartoobusydrinkingandlaughingtothinkanythingofourintenseconversationintheshadows.
“No!”Damonsaid,annoyed.“I’mhavingfartoomuchfunwithmywickedladyofthestage.Andletmetellyou,sheiswicked,”hesaid,suggestivelywagglinghiseyebrows.
“Fine,”Isaid.Iwouldn’tgiveDamonthesatisfactionoflisteningtohisexploits.“Butthemurders…”
“Arebeingdonebysomestupidhumanwho’llbecaughtsoonerorlater,”Damonsaid,shrugging.
“No.”IshookmyheadandbrieflyexplainedwhatI’dseen,thebloodySALVATORE—ISHALLHAVEMYREVENGEmessageinDutfieldPark.
“So?”Damonasked,barelyaflickercrossinghisface.
“IthinkitcouldbeKlaus,”Isnapped,frustratedathavingtospelloutwhatappearedsoobvioustome.“Whoelsewritesbloodymessagesandknowsourname?”
Damon’seyeswidenedslightly,onlytoimmediatelygobacktohissatisfied,lazyexpression.“That’syourclue?”heasked.“Becauseanyonecouldwritethat.AndIhatetobruiseyourego,Stefan,butwe’renotexactlytheonlySalvatoresintheworld.ItcouldevenbethenameofoneofthoseWhitechapelgirls.I’mnotconcerned.Andofcoursethemurderer,whoeverhewas,usedbloodtowrite.Inkandpaperjustdoesn’thavethesamehorrificeffect.”Hesighed,glancingovertothebar,whereVioletandCharlotteweretippingbacktheirglassesofchampagneandgiggling.
“Now,ifyou’llexcuseme,Ineedadrink.Comewithme,brother.Let’scelebrateourreunion,”hesaid,pickinghiswaythroughthecrowd.Ifollowedhim,furious.HewasactinglikeI’dtoldhimajoke.Didn’thecarethatapsychoticvampirewasontheloose?Didn’titbotherhimthatwemightbethetargetofamurderer?
Apparentlynot.Everyfewsteps,hewasstoppedbyvariousadmirers:girlsIrecognizedfromthechorus,asmallmanwithanenormouswhitebushybeardwhoseemedtobethetheatertailor,andabarrel-chestedmanwithgoldcufflinksandatophatwhomIimaginedtobeoneoftheproducersforthecompany.ItriedtoaskhimlightquestionstoseeifhehadanyconnectiontoCora,butIknewthismanwasn’ttheone.HehadathickBritishaccentanddarkhair.NothinglikeEliza’sdescription.EverytimeDamonwasstopped,helaughedandsmiled,clinkinghisglassandofferingupcompliments.Ihadtohandittohim—onthesurface,Damonwasnothingbutaperfectgentleman.
“SeehowwellI’mbehaving?”Damonaskedafterwefinallygottothebarandthebartenderofferedustwoglassesofchampagne.
“Likearegularpriest,”Isaid.ItwasoddtobeatapartywithDamon.Onepartofmestillwantedittobelikeithadbeenbackwhenwewerehumans,whenwe’dalwaysanticipatewhattheotherwasgoingtodoorsay.Theother,wiserpartofmeknewIcouldnevertrustDamonasavampire—afterall,he’dkilledCallie,he’dhavekilledtheSutherlandsifKlausandhisminionshadn’tgottentothemfirst,andheleftLexiandItwentyyearsago,barelysayinggood-bye
Andyet,inhismind,nothingwouldsettlethescorethatDamonthoughtexistedbetweenus.Afterall,Iwastheonewho’dturnedDamonintoavampire.He’dbeggedmenotto,butI’dforcedhimtodrinkblood,hadforcedhimtoliveoutthiseternity.He’dneverforgivenme.Overtime,eventhoughtherewasamountinglistofoffensesandwrongsthathe’ddoneme,Istillwoulderasethemallfrommymindifitmeantwecouldbetruebrothers,likewe’dbeenbefore.Anditwasalltoopainfultorealizethatwouldnevercometopasswhen,eventooutsiders,weappearedtobethebestoffriends.Indeed,Damonwasconstantlyintroducingmetoawholehostofpeopleashis“oldfriendStefanfromtheStates,”andallIcoulddowassmile,nod,andwishIlivedinaworldwhereittrulywasthatsimple.
“Charlottewasbewitchingasalways,”Iheardavoicesayandglancedup.AtallblondgentlemanwasstandingnexttoDamon.Hewaswearingawhitesilkshirtbuttonedallthewaytothetopofhisneck,alongwithanelegantblacktopcoat.HisshoeswereItalianleather,anditwasimpossibletotellhisage—hecouldbeanywherefromtwenty-fivetoforty.
“Samuel!”Damonexclaimed,givingthemanaheartyclapontheback.“ThisisStefan,anoldfriend.”
“Hello,”Isaidstiffly,bowingmyheadslightly.IsensedSamuelappraisingmyroughhands,chappedandcutupfromweeksofhardphysicallabor,aswellasthefiveo’clockshadowformingonmyface.I’dfallenoutofthehabitofdailyshaveswhileatAbbottManor.
“Welcome,”Samuelsaidafteralongmoment.“AnyfriendofDamon’sisafriendofmine.”Butbeforehecouldsayanythingelse,CharlotteandVioletwalkedtowardus,Violetclearlytipsy.
“Thisisthemostexquisitedayofmylife!”Violetannouncedtonooneinparticular,flingingherchampagneglassupinatoastsoviolentlythattheliquidsprayedinaconstellation-likepatternonhersilkdress.
“Toimagine,Iwaslikethatonce,”Charlottesaidinmockhorror.“Idohopeyoutakeherhomeandteachhersomeofthefinerpointsofminglinginpolitesociety,”sheadded,lookingpointedlyatme.
“Well,unfortunately,VioletwillgetnoneofthatwithStefan,darling.Althoughshewillgetalotoflessons.Stefanloveshearinghimselftalk.Why,Ithinkhe’stalkedmetodeathinthepast.”
“IalmostlovetalkingasmuchasDamonloveslisteningtohimself,”Isaid,anundercurrentofannoyanceevidentbeneathmyjoculartone.IneededtogetVioletbacktothehotel.Afterall,shehadtoworktomorrownight.ButIknewitwouldbeachallengetogethertowillinglyleavethisparty.Andwestillhadn’tfoundCora.
“Well,Imustgo,butwillIseeyouandCharlottetomorrownearGroveHouse?”Samuelaskedafteramoment,glancingmeaningfullyatDamon.
“Ofcourse.”Damonnodded.
“Oneo’clock?Ithastobebeforemyshow,”Charlottesaid.
“Yes,”Samuelsaid.“And,Stefan?Wouldyouandyourfriendliketocome?Itcouldbeamusing,”hesaiddryly.Iblinkedathim.Ifelteverythinghesaidwasjustontheedgeofaninsult,butitwasimpossibletopinpointwhatwassooffensiveaboutthewordsthemselves.
“Wanttocometoaparty,brother?”Damonasked,raisinghiseyebrows.
“Oh,please?”Violetasked,clappingherhandstogether.
“We’llsee,”Isaidstiffly.
“Violet,wouldyouliketocome?”TypicalDamon.“Stefanwillifhecanpencilitinbetweenhismoralizing,Shakespearereading,anddetectivework.”
“Detectivework?”Charlotteaskedinconfusion.
“Nevermind,pet,”Damonsaid.“Insidejoke.”
“It’saboringstory,”Isaid.“FarmoreinterestingisDamon’sloveofdrama.Youshouldgethimtotalkabouttheactshe’spulledoff.”
“You’reanactor?”Violetasked.
“We’lltalkmoreattheparty!”Damonsaid,clearlyannoyed.Well,good.Iftalkingincodeandgettingunderhisskinwasthewaytogethimtopayattentiontome,thenI’ddoit.
“Yes!”Violetsaideagerly.
“Weshouldprobablybegoing,”Isaidgently,takingViolet’sarmandescortingherthroughthethrongsofpeopleandoutthedoor.
Ibreathedasighofreliefasthecoolairhitmyface.Itwastheperfectantidotetothehot,crowded,tenseatmosphereoftheparty.Ididn’tthinkaboutDamon.Ifocusedonthebuzzofthegaslampsaboveandtheflutteroftheleavesandthestaccatostepsofpedestrians—alloftheeverydaynoisesIheard,amplifiedbecauseofmysenses,butrarelyappreciated.
Oncewegotbacktotheroom,IplacedVioletonthebed,gentlytuckingthecoverletaroundherbody.Hereyeswerefullyshutbythetimeherheadhitthesilkpillowcase.
Itooklongertofallasleep.Outside,thestreetsofLondonwerestillbuzzing,andeverytimeIclosedmyeyes,IthoughtIcouldhearDamon’slaugh,waftingupfromthestreetsandintomymind.
Chapter9
I’vealwaysbeenabrother.It’sathoughtthatcomestome,unbidden,lateatnightorwhenI’mwalkingsilentlythroughtheforest,stalkingmyprey.Nomatterwhoknowsthataboutme,orwhetherornotIsharethatinformation,it’sapartofmethatIcanneverforget.WhenIcamealong,ofcourse,Ihadmyparents,buttheywereolder,authoritarian,apresenceinthemorningandintheevening.ButDamonwasalwaysbymyside.HewaswhoIexploredtheworldwith,whoIrebelledagainst,whoIoccasionallyyearnedtobe.Ontheotherhand,Damonwasnotalwaysabrother.Astheeldest,therewereyearswhereitwasjusthim,aloneintheworld.He’dneverhadtheconstantsensethathewasbeingcomparedtosomeoneelse.He’dneverknownwhatitwasliketoalwaysbereachingforthesunwhilestandingintheshadowofanother.Idon’tthinkheeverfeltthatwayaboutme.Hewasalwaystheolderbrother,alwaysshowingmehowthingsweredone,alwayscoaxingmetorideahorseIwasfrightenedof,orkissagirlwhomIwasworriedwouldn’tlikemeback.Iwatchedhim,wide-eyed,asheconqueredtheworld.Andevennow,Icouldn’tbreakfreefromhim.Icouldn’tstopbeingayoungerbrother,whowassimultaneouslyfearfulandinaweoftheuniqueforcethatwasDamonSalvatore.
“HowdoIlook?”IwoketoVioletprancingintotheroom,wearingalightbluedresswithacrinolineunderneaththatrustledwitheverystep.
“Youlooklovely,”IsaidasIsatupandstretchedmyarmsovermyhead.Icouldn’tbelieveIhadallowedmyselftosleeppastdawn;usuallyIwaswideawakewellbeforethesunrose.Butdespiteallmytroubledthoughts,thecomfortablecouchhadlulledmeintoadeep,dreamlesssleep.
IwonderedwhatwashappeningattheAbbottManor,whowastakingcareofthechickensandlivestock.IimaginedOliverglancingoutthewindow,waitingformetocomehometotakehimhunting.Itwasaworldaway.
“Whattimedoyouthinkweshouldleave?”Violetasked.
“Forwhat?”Iasked,deliberatelyplayingdumb.IhopedthatDamon’smentionoftheafternoonpartyhadbeenwashedfromViolet’smemorybytheriversofchampagneshe’dconsumedlastnight.
“Why,forthepartyyourfriendinvitedustoattend.Wearegoing,aren’twe?Itsoundslikefun.Plus,Charlottementionedherproducerwillbethere,whocouldn’tbetherelastnight.Maybehe’sthemanwhometwithCora,”shesaid,smoothinginvisiblefoldsofherdresswithhersmallhands.VioletwasdefinitelyprimingherselftobeawomanlikeCharlotte,withaslewofeagermenreadytodoherbiddingandcomplimentheratanymoment.AndeventhoughViolet’spreeningshouldhavebeenexasperating,shewassowide-eyedandenthusiastic,likeachildplayingdress-up,thatitwasnothingmorethanadorable.“AreyousureIlookallright?Iwouldn’twantthemtothinkIwasaslatternfromtheslums.Afterall,ItoldthemthatIwasanactressfromAmerica.FromCal-eye-forn-ia,”shesaid,overemphasizingthesecondsyllable.
“California,”Icorrected.“Andyouraccentsoundsgrand.”Itwasfunny.ThelongerVioletandIspenttogether,themoreweseemedtoadopteachother’saccents.Shedidsoundhalf-convincingasanAmerican,althoughIwassurethatIsoundedpositivelyridiculoususingavagueIrishbrogue.
Violetnodded.“HowdoyouknowDamonagain?Hekeptcallingyoubrother.IsitsomethingallpeopleinAmericasay?”sheasked,furrowinghereyebrows.IknewifIansweredyes,she’daddthatphrasetoherrepertoire.She’daskedmethatlastnightaswell,asIwashalf-escorting,half-carryingherupthestairs,butIhadn’tanswered.
“No,mostpeopledon’tcalleachotherthatunlessthey’rebloodrelations,butit’ssomethingDamon’sbeencallingmeeversinceIcanremember.It’squitealongandboringstory,really,”Ilied.“I’veknownDamonforever,throughthegoodandthebad.Iknowhe’scharming,butdon’tlethimfoolyou.He’ssometimesnotwhatheappears.”Isaidthelastpartsemicasually,asifIwasmentioningsomethingonlysomewhatscandalous,likeafondnessfordrinkoranotoriousfamily.Ionlyhopedshe’dtakemywarningseriously.
“I’msure,”shesaid,givingherselfonefinalglanceinthelookingglass.“Heseemslikeoneofthosemenwhomallwomenfallover.You’llbepleasedtoknowthatIamnottypical.”
“You’renotjustsayingthatsoIfeelbetteraboutgoingtotheparty,areyou?”Iasked,tryingtoreclaimtheteasingtonewe’dhadyesterday.Butsomethingwasoff.
“Ijustthoughtitwouldbefun,”Violetsaid,turningtowardmeandbitingherlip.
“You’reright,”Idecided.WhetherIlikeditornot,DamonwasinLondon.AnduntilIwasabsolutelycertainKlauswasn’thereforrevenge,thenIwouldn’tbeabletogethimoutofmyhead.
“Thankyou…brother!”Violetexclaimed,kissingmeonthecheek.
“Ofcourse,”Imurmured.Wewerejustgoingtoapicnic.Itwouldbebroaddaylight.Violethadthevervain,gleamingatthehollowofherthroat.Nothingcouldhappen,right?
Anhourlater,VioletandIweretraipsingthroughthemanicuredlawnsofRegent’sPark.Ihadpulledasheetfromthebedandwasholdingitovermyarmasanimprovisedblanket.Mystomachwasgrowlingyetagain.Violetglancedatmefunnily,andIwonderedifshe’dheardittoo.Icoughedtomaskthesound.
Theparkwasdottedwithchildrenplaying,kitesflying,andseverallargemansionsrisingfromthegreenlawnslikeoversizedstatues.Iglancedatthesun.WeweresupposedtogotoGroveHouse,whichthefrontdeskporteratthehotelhadtoldmewasattheeasternendofthepark.
“Theretheyare!”Violetexclaimed,racingacrossthepark,herauburnhairflyingbehindher.
Islowlyfollowedher.AheadofmewasanenormouslimestonestructurewithGreciancolumns.Thelawnheldseveraltablescoveredwithwhitelinen.Idroppedmysheetontheground.Thiswasn’tapicnic;thisseemedtobeafeast.Andvampireornot,I’dbeenactinglikeacountrybumpkinbytotingtheoversizedsheetalongwithme,asifthiswereoneofthechurchsocialsthatDamonandIusedtoattendasboys.
BythetimeIwalkedover,VioletwasalreadysippingaglassofchampagneasshegesturedanimatedlytoDamon.ShewastryingtoohardtodoherAmericanaccent,pronouncingmynameasStef-ain,andeventryingtocoaxay’alloutofherIrishbrogue,eventhoughI’dtoldhermultipletimesonthewayoverthatwasn’tacommonphraseintheAmericanlexiconatlarge.
“Brother,welcome,”Damonsaidgrandly,asifhewereinvitingmetohisprivatehome.ForallIknew,hewas.
“Areyoulivingherenow?”Iasked,glancingatthebuilding,whichseemedevenbiggerthansomeofthemuseumsI’dseenbackinNewYorkCity.
“No,”Damonscoffed.“Heis,”hesaid,gesturingtotheslight,cream-suited,ginger-hairedmanstandingnexttohim.
“LordAinsley,”themansaid,offeringhishand.
“Hello,”Isaid,stillamazedatthevastnessofthehouse.ItwasclearDamonwastravelinginanincrediblypowerfulcircle.ComparedtoDamon’sfriends,GeorgeAbbottwouldseemlikealittleboyplayingmake-believe.
“ThisisanoldfriendfromtheStates,StefanSalvatore,”Damonsaidquickly.Istiffened.Hadn’theheardmelastnightintroducingmyselfasStefanPine?Ididn’twanttodragtheSalvatorenameintoanybusinessrelatingtomynature,especiallynotnow.IknewthatnoonewouldknowtheSalvatorestory—itwasaminorfootnoteeveninourhomestateofVirginia—butIstillwantedtoprotectthename—andmyself—wheneverIcould.
“Stefan,it’snicetomeetyou.Areyouasteelman?Railroad?”LordAinsleyasked,givingmeaonce-over.
“Um…”Itwasagoodquestion.WhowasStefanSalvatore?Igaveapointedlookinmybrother’sdirection,eagertohearwhathe’dcomeupwith.
“HehasafarmbackintheStates,”Damoninterjected.“He’svisitinghere.ImaginemyluckwhenIranintohimlastnightattheGaietyparty.”
“Afarm,”LordAinsleysaid,instantlylosinginterest.“Andhowlongwillyoustayinourfaircity?”
“Thatdepends,”Isaid,lockingeyeswithDamon.Butbeforehecouldsayanything,Samuelsidleduptous,aglassoflemonadeinhishands.
“Hello,”hesaid,hisvoicewelcoming.“Iseeyouweren’tturnedoffbyusdegenerates.Late-nightparties,lotsofchampagne…that’swhyI’mgladLordAinsleyhadthispicnic.It’srefreshingtonotalwaysbeacreatureofthenight.Isn’tthatwhatyoualwayssay,Damon?”
“Idoindeed,”Damonsaid,smirkingatme.Ifumedsilently.EverythingaboutDamon,fromhiswaistcoattothetophatheinsistedonwearingtohisaffectedEuropeanaccent,annoyedme.Damonseemeddeterminedtoprovehewasaboveeverything—evenbloodyattacksthatseemedtobecommittedsolelyasawarningtowardhim.Didn’therememberwhatKlaushaddonetousbackinNewYork?Didn’thecare?Orwashesimplygoingtodistracthimselfwithsandwichesandchampagne,societygossipandwomen,untilitwasfartoolate?
“And,Stefan?”Samuelasked,staringdownhisaquilinenosetopeeratme.“Whatdidyouthinkoftheparty?Iimagineit’sachangefrom…whereveryoucamefrom,”hesaid,barelyconcealingasnicker.
“Yes,weenjoyedtheparty.Violetwasespeciallytakenbyit,”Isaid,forcingasmile.
“AndareyoutakenbytheyoungViolet?”Samuelaskedcuriously,settinghisemptycrystalglassononeofthewhitetables.Almostinstantly,theemptyonewaswhiskedawaybyawhite-suitedbutler.Itcouldbeeasytogetusedtothislifestyle.ButIknewfromexperiencethatthistypeofexistencealwayscamewithaprice.
“Violet’stakenbythestage,”Iexplained.“Ihavenointerestinher,otherthanasafriend.Ionlywanttomakesureshe’ssafe.”
“Youonlywanttomakesureshe’ssafe,”Samuelrepeated.WasthereaslighttraceofmockeryinhistoneorwasIimaginingit?“That’sverynobleofyou.”
“EversinceI’veknownhim,Stefancan’tresistplayingtheherotoadamselindistress,”Damonsaidlanguorously.Ishothimalook,butheonlysmiledbackatme.Ishiftedfromonefoottotheotherandeyedhimsuspiciously.HereinLondon,itseemedeveryone,andDamonespecially,neversaidexactlywhattheymeant.
“Well,you’llfindthatthere’snoshortageofdistresseddamselsinourcity,”Samuelsaidwryly.“Iassumeyou’veheardaboutourmurderer?”
“Themurderer?”Iasked.Ihopeditdidn’tsoundtooeager.Atthehorrificword,severalcouplesturnedtostareatme.
“Theythinkheattackedagain,lastnight.TheRipperiswhatallthepaperscallhim.Theythinkhemightbeabutcher,thewayhecutsthebodiesup.”Charlottewrinkledhernoseasshestrodeovertousfromawillowtree,whereshe’dbeenholdingcourtinthecenterofagroupofwomen.Thegroupshuddered.Justthename—theRipper—hadtheeffectofastormcloudovertheidyllicsummerday.Itfeltlikethetemperaturehaddroppedtwentydegrees.
TheRipper.ItriedtocatchDamon’seye,butheavoidedmygaze.Hewasatthepartylastnight.Unless…mythoughtswerewhirling.
CharlottepossessivelyslippedherarmaroundDamon’swaist.“I’mgladIhavesomeonetoprotectme.It’ssoawful.”
IglancedoveratViolet.Shewaslistening,rapt,thevervaincharmstillgleamingaroundherneck.Good.
“Whowasthevictim?”Iasked.
“Anotherprostitute.Noone,really.”Abroad-shoulderedgirlsniffed,asiftheentireaffairwasfartootorridtodiscuss.
Samuelpulledanewspaperoutofhiswaistcoatpocketandmadeabigshowofopeningit.“Jane’sonlyupsetbecausethemurdererispushingheroffthepage.Suddenly,allthesocietynewshasbeencutformurdercoverage,”Samuelsaid,smilingsarcasticallyatthewoman.
“Whatwashername?”Violetaskedtremulously.
“Thenameofthevictim?Whyshouldthatmatter?”Janeshruggedderisively.
“Anniesomething,”Samuelsaid,flickingthroughthestoryinthepaper.
Violet’sshoulderssaggedinrelief,andIclosedmyeyesinthanks.Corawasstillalive.Fornow.
“Whateverhernameis,it’squiteawful,isn’tit?”LordAinsleyshuddered,joiningourconversation.“ThankGodhe’satleastpickingofftheEastEnd.Oncehegetstoourkind,thenwe’llworry,”hesaidwithaloudguffaw.IshotalookatViolet,who’dsidleduptoCharlotte.HerdressandmannerismswerealmostindistinguishablefromCharlotte’s,andnoonewoulddreamthatshewasnotoneoftheirkind.Still,LordAinsley’scasualflippancyaboutthelowerclass—Violet’sclass—mademystomachturn.
“HewrotealettertotheCourier,”Samuelsaid.“Letmefindit.”Samuelsatdownononeofthewhitechairsand,crossinghislegsattheknee,clearedhisthroatandbegantoread.
“Thereturnaddressreads‘Fromhell’…”heintoned.
ThewordsthuddedinmyearsandIstaggeredtofindaseat.Icouldn’tbreatheFromhell.Maybeitwassomesortofterribleprank,butIcouldn’thelpbutwonderiftherewassometruthtoit.WasitKlaus—orsomeoneevenworse?Iheldontotheedgeofthetableforsupport,andIcouldsenseVioletturntostareatme.
“‘Fromhell’…butisthataworseaddressthan‘Whitechapel’?”Samuelsnorted.
“I’veneverbeenthere,”apretty,redheadedgirlsaidasshetookalargeswigofchampagne.“Isitasawfulaseveryonesays?”
“Worse!”Samuelsaid,amidlaughter.Heglancedbackatthepaper.“ScotlandYardandtheLondonpoliceforcehavebeenworkingroundtheclock,butcluestothegrislymurdersarefewandfarbetween…”
Istoppedlisteningandtookafewstepsawayfromthegroup.Fromhere,theunfoldingscenelookedidyllic:justagroupofwealthyandcarefreeyoungfriendsenjoyingtheirprivileges.Whatwouldtheydoiftheyknewtherewasamonsterintheirmidst?Andnottheonetheywerecurrentlylaughingabout?
Fromhell.Witheveryclue,IwasmoresurethatKlauswasinLondon.Thebigquestionwas:Whydidn’tDamoncare?
Klauswasindeedfromhell—itwashislegacy.Themajorityofusvampireshadbeenturnedatthehandofanothervampire.Lexihadbeenturnedbyalover,DamonandIhadbeenturnedbyKatherine,andthereweremillionsofotherstories,justlikeours,withinthevampireworld.Butthen,thereweretheOriginals,fromhellitself.They’dneverexperiencedanyyearsasahuman.Theyhadnohumanitytotempertheirinstinctsand,assuch,theywerebrutalanddangerous.
Ishivered,eventhoughtheairwasstill,withnobreezerustlingtheelmtreesaboveus.
“Areyouallright,sir?”abutlerasked,steppinguptome,holdingoutaplateofcucumbersandwiches.
Itookone.ThecucumberwasslimygoingdownmythroatandIalmostgaggedatthesogginessofthebread.Thesandwichdidnothingtoquellmyhunger.Ofcourseitdidn’t.Butatthispoint,theideaofbloodsickenedme.
Iturnedonmyheelandwentbacktojointhepicnic,thesandwichsittinglikearockinmystomach.BythetimeI’dreturned,theconversationhaddriftedtolighterfare:theunusuallyhotsummer,thefactthatnooneseemedinclinedtogototheircountryhomesfortheweekendanymore,andtherecentestablishmentofsecretpartiesdownattheCanaryWharfdocks.
“Aword?”Iasked,pullingDamonfromthegroupandwalkingadistanceaway,towardthemanicuredgardenthatsurroundedthehouse.Thescentofroseswasheadyintheair,andforaninstant,IwastransportedbacktoourMysticFallslabyrinth.IthadbeenwherethetwoofuswouldteasinglyfightforKatherine’sfavorwhileescortingheronafternoonwalks,beforewehadanyideawhatadangerousgamewewereplaying.
“Yes,brother?”Damonasked,sighingimpatiently.Iforcedmyselftolookintohisdarkeyes,nothingliketheeyesofmyhumanbrother.Damonwasdifferent.Iwasdifferent.Itwastimeformetostopthinkingofthepast.
Aslowgrinbrokeontohisface,andIfollowedhisgazetothesheetI’dtossedasidewhenwe’dcomein.“Isthatyours?”Damonasked.“Aren’tyoufancy?That’sgenuineEgyptiancotton,fitforaking.”
“Itwasforthepicnic,”Isaid.“Ihadn’trealizeditwouldbesoformal.”
“StealinglinensfromtheCumberlandHotel.”Damonshookhishead.“Haveyoufinallydevelopedabitofawickedstreak?Thatwouldmakeyoualmostinteresting.”
“AndIsupposeifIwereyou,I’dbestealingthemaidsfromthehotelforblood,right?”Iasked.“I’mconcernedabouttheRipper,”Iadded.Itookabloomandsnappeditfromitsstem,feelingthevelvetysoftnessoftherose’spinkpetals.Despitemywishonlyasecondagotoforgetthepast,mymindflashedbacktothepetal-pullinghelovesme,helovesmenotgamethatKatherinehadtorturedmewith.
Ipluckedapetal.Itrusthim,Itrusthimnot,IthoughtasIdroppedeachsilkyflowerfragmenttothegrass.
“You’reconcernedabouttheRipper.”Damonsneered.“Why?Areyouawoman?Areyouawhore?Youknowthosearehisvictims.You’reobsessed,brother!Findawomantobeobsessedwith,it’smorerewarding.”
“Yes,I’msureit’srewardingtorunandfetchchampagneateverysnapofCharlotte’sfingers.Thethingsyoudoforbloodareadmirable,brother.Iadmitit,”Isaid,pleasedIseemedtobeholdingmyownwhenitcametocuttingDamondown.EverytimeIdidthat,IfeltaslightincreaseinrespectfromDamon.Itwasn’talot,butitwassomething.AndiftherewasonethingI’dlearnedfromdealingwithDamon,itwasthatDamononlyplayedgamesbyhisrules.
“AndI’mnotobsessed,I’mconcerned.Andyouknowwhy!”Isaid.IstillfeltDamonwashidingsomething.Orifhewasn’thidinganything,thenhecertainlywasn’tdoinganythingtoletmein.“IknowyouandIhaveahistorytogether.Anawful,bloodyhistory.ButIamraisingthewhiteflag.AllIwant,ifwecan’tbefriends,isforustonotbeenemies.Notwhenthere’stoomuchatstakeforbothofus.”
“Savethespeech.”Damonyawned.“I’vehearditall.I’msoboredwithtalking!Talk,talk,talk.Anditneverchanges.Ihavehadthesameconversationswiththesametypesofpeopleoverandoveragain.I’mbored,brother,”hesaid,lookingatmestraightintheeye.
“Allrightthen,”Isaidfinally.Itwasn’tanapologybyanystretchoftheimagination,butwhatIhopedDamonmeantwasthathewasboredofhisvow,thatevenifhehadnointerestinresurrectingourbond,atleasthenolongerfelttheurgetocarryonafeud.“Solet’sfigurethisout.I’mworriedaboutJacktheRipperbecauseIthinkhecouldbeanOriginal.IthinkhecouldbeKlaus.Andhe’safterus.Or,morelikely,he’safteryou.Hemustbe.Becausethatnote,inblood…”Itrailedoff,tryingtosomehowgetDamontorecognizetheimportanceofit.“It’snotjustaprank.ItlookedlikethemessageonthewallattheSutherlands’.Sowhatdoesthatmean?”
Damonwavedhishandinfrontofhisfaceasifhewereswattingafly.“Itmeansyou’revampire-obsessed,brother.WhywouldKlausonlykillonewomanatatimeifhecouldkilldozens?Andwhywouldhetoywiththepressthatway?Itallseemsveryhuman,”hesaidderisively.
“But‘Fromhell’”Iprodded.
Damonrolledhiseyes.“Forsomeonewhoalwayshadhisnoseinabook,youtakethingsfartooliterally.Isuggestyoustopplayingdetective.Whynothavefun?Youhavealovelygirl,you’reinanewcity…lightenup.”Damonlookedatmecritically.“Ormaybefillup.Whenwasthelasttimeyoufed?”
“Lastnight,”Isaidevasively.
“Butnotonyourgirl,”heremarked,squintingatViolet.Ifollowedhisgazetoherwhite,unmarkedneck.
“Ofcoursenot.”Ishookmyhead.“Idon’tfeedonhumans.”
“Well,youshould.It’llquietyourmind.Thinkaboutit.YoucouldforgetaboutthisnastyRippernonsenseandenterLondonsociety.Youcouldhavefun,morefunthanyou’veeverknown.”
Isighed,imaginingwhatitwouldbelike:endlessparties,endlesskisses,endlessyearsofamusement.ItwasthelifeDamonhadchosen.Ifeltaflickerofdoubt.CouldDamonberight?Wasthesecrettoeternalhappinessjustdoingwhatfeltgoodinthemoment?
“Tellyouwhat,brother,”Damonsaid,sensingmyhesitation.“GotoParis.Takeyourselfawayfromthisnastybusiness.Ifit’sKlaus,he’llfindyouwhereveryouare,andifit’sastupidhuman,he’llbecaughtwithinafewweeks.”
“Andifit’syou?”Iaskedpointedly.
“Ifit’sme,thenitwasclearlywhileIwasundertheinfluenceofcopiousamountsofalcohol-saturatedblood.”Damonrolledhiseyes.“Comeon,brother.Givemesomecredit.WhywouldIcommitsuchmessymurdersinsuchanundesirablearea?”
Inodded.Hehadapoint.Andhealsohadapointthatmaybethebestthingformetodoformyownpeaceofmindwassimplytogoaway.Butthatwasn’tpossible.Icouldn’tleaveLondonuntilIfeltVioletwassafe.AndVioletwouldn’tbesafeuntilJacktheRipperwasfound.Ishookmyhead.
“Violethastoworkatthetaverntonight.I’mgoingtoaccompanyher,toseeifIcanfindanymoreinformation.”Ipaused.“Comewithme.”
“Comewithyou?Tosomerat-infestedpub?Nothankyou.”
“Yousayyou’rebored.Yousayit’sthesamethingeverytime.Whynotdosomethingdifferent?Besides…”Itookadeepbreath.“Youoweme.”
Callie.
Ididn’thavetosayhername.IsawsomethingflickerinDamon’seye.“Fine.ButI’llbedrinkingchampagne,andyou’rebuying.”
Igrinned.“Nochampagne,brother.Justale.”
“GoodGod,dotheyknownothingaboutcivilizationinWhitechapel?Fine.I’llenjoyanale.”
Iblinked,surethatI’dheardwrong.ButDamonhadthesameslightsmilehe’dalwayshadlately,hisblueeyesreflectingmyfaceintheirinkypupils.
“Doesthatmeanyou’llcome?”Iasked,surpriseevidentinmyvoice.
“Sure.”Damonshrugged.Heturnedonhisheel,abouttorejointheparty,beforeheglancedbackatme.
“Thankyou,”Isaidafterabeat.“TheTenBells,inWhitechapel.Meetmeatten.Andbecareful.”
“‘Becareful,’”Damonmocked.“Why?IncaseImeetavampireonmyway?Adiversionwouldbewelcome.LikeIsaid,I’mboredtodeath.”Damonmovedbackintothecrowd.
Ifollowedhimslowly.Damonwasdoingmybidding.Ishouldhavebeenhappy.Sowhycouldn’tIignoretheknotinthepitofmystomach?
Chapter10
Somehow,Igotthroughtherestoftheparty.TheonlythingthatsavedmefrommyobsessivethoughtswasViolet.Shewasenchantedbyeverything,andDamon’sfriendsseemedequallyenchantedbyher.Theythoughtheraccentwasbewitching,andCharlotteandheractressfriendsenjoyedtheheroworshipthatVioletbestoweduponthem.Damon,forhispart,kepthisdistance,andspentthemajorityofthepartysmokingwithSamuelonthesidelines.Isatapartfromeveryone,readingtheletterfromthekilleroverandoveragain,hopingtherewassomeclueinthewords.TheRipperhadsenttheletteralongwithwhathe’dsaidwasakidneyofoneofhisvictims.Mystomachturned,butnotsomuchasitdidwhenIreadthelastlineofhisletter.
Catchmewhileyoucan.
Ithadbeenaddressedtoanewspaperreporter,sothekillerhadtohaveknownthattheletterwouldappearinthepaper.Wasitsomesortofcodedmessageforme,orDamon?Wasitachallenge?
AndwasIupforit?
That’swhatIdidn’tknowasIsatintheTenBellsthatnight.I’descortedViolettohershift,notwantinghertoventureacrossLondoninthedarkonherown.She’dinsistedonwearinghernewdresssoshe’dbepreparedifwereceivedalast-minuteinvitationtoapartyfromDamon.Buteventhoughshewaswearinganapron,thedresswasalreadycoveredinstainsfrombeerandwhiskey.Icouldtellshewasmiserable.Butatleastshewassafe.
Ishifteduneasilyinmychairandglareddarklytowardtheentrance.EverytimethebellwouldringannouncinganewclientIperkedup,sureitwasDamon,onlytoseeyetanotherdrunkbuilderoroverlyperfumedwomanstaggerin.Ofcoursehewasn’tgoingtocome.I’dbeenfoolishtobelievehim,andmorefoolishstilltohavesatwaitingforhimforthepastseveralhours.WhenwouldIstoptryingtodependonhim?
“Hi,Stefan.Wouldyoulikeanything?”Violetaskedasshetrudgedtowardmytable,hershouldersslumpedmorosely.Herhairwassweatyandpulledback,herlipstickhadsmeared,andshelookednothinglikeherglamorousAmericanactressalterego.Worsestill,sheknewit.
“Adarkale,please,”IsaidwhenIcaughthereye.Iofferedasmile,butitdidn’tmakeadifferenceinhermood.
Shenodded.“Ican’twaittogetoutofhere,”shesaid,hervoicedroppingtoawhisper.“Before,IneverknewwhatIwasmissing,soitdidn’tseemsoterrible.Butnow,knowingeveryoneisdrinkinganddancingwhileI’mhere…”Shesighed,herpalepinklowerliptrembling.
“Allthatglittersisnotgold,”Imurmured,pullingahalf-rememberedShakespearephrasefrommymemory.Somethingaboutthelanguagesoothedme,andIhopeditwouldsootheViolet.
“Allthatglittersisnotgold,”Violetsaid,testingoutthephrase.Shesmiledwryly.“That’spretty,”shesaid,halftoherself.“Idon’tmeantocomplain,it’sjust…”
“Iknow,”Isaid.“Butthiswon’tlastforever.”
“Howdoyouknow?Stefan,thisiswhoIam.Icanpretendanddressup,butthat’sjustplayacting.Thisisreal,”shesaidsadly.“I’llgetyourdrink,”shesaidassheturnedandwalkedoff.
Ithoughtofwhatshe’dsaid.Shewaswiseforherage.Wasn’tIstilllearningthesamelesson?
Ileanedbackinmychair.Aboutanhourago,whenVioletwasbusyservingalargegroupofmenplayingpoker,I’dstolenoutsidetohunt.JustontheedgeofDutfieldPark,I’dmanagedtokillafatpigeonbycatchingitunawaresasitpeckedonafilthycrustofbreadlodgedinthecobblestones.Thesourtastestucktomytastebuds.Thebloodhadbeencoldandthin,andI’dhadtoresisttheurgetogag,butitwasthesustenanceIneededtomakemestopstaringlonginglyatthesleeknecksoftheladiescirculatingthetavern.
Overthedin,Iheardthebellsignalinganothercustomer’sentrance.Ididn’tevenbothertolookup.Ofcourseitwouldn’tbeDamon.Hedidn’tcareaboutthekillings,anditwasclearhedidn’tcareaboutKlausoranyoftheOriginals.HewasperfectlycontentgettingdrunkandfeedingoffCharlotte.Maybethatwasbetter…
“Murder!”Ared-facedmanstaggeredin,hisbulkpracticallyfallingagainstthebar.Hewasthesamedrunkfromtheothernightwhohadclaimedtoknowme.Ifeltmystomachclenchasthetavernbecamequietasachurch.“Murder!”hecroakedagain.“Inthesquare!”
Themancollapsed,womenshrieked,andbeforeIcouldstopmyself,Iwasmovingatvampirespeedoutofthebar,knockingoveroneofthetablesasIdidso.WhenIemergedonthestreet,thescentofironwaseverywhere,fillingmynostrilsandcausingmychesttoburn.Thescentwascomingfromtheeast.Itookofftowardit,alreadyfeelingmyfangsbulge,pushingawayanyfearfrommybrain.
ThenIpulledupshortatthesightinfrontofme.There,justafewpacesaway,litbythemoonandcrumpledontheground,wasagirlinareddress.Herskirtswereaskew,herupturnedfacewaspale,andherblueeyeswerefixedtowardthesky.Irecognizedherasoneofthegirlswho’dbeeninthetaverntwonightsago.Isanktomykneesbyherside,relievedwhenIsawherchestrisingandfalling.
Ilickedmyfangsandleaneddown,eagertotastethewarm,richbloodtricklingfromherneckandmattingintoherhair.Thetrailglitteredlikeliquidrubies,andIwantedmorethananythingtojusthaveataste,asecondtoquenchmynever-endinghunger.
“No,”Isaidoutloud,willingmyrationalbraintotakecontrolovermyinstincts.Ileanedbackonmyheels,thespellbetweenmynatureandherbloodbroken.IknewwhatIhadtodotosaveher.Withoutflinching,Ibroughtmywristtomymouthandrippedmyfleshwithmyfangs.Wincing,Ipressedthewoundtothegirl’spinklips.
“Drink,”Isaid,glancinguptoseeiftherewereanysignsofcommotion.I’dgottentothegirlfarfasterthananyonewouldhaveiftheyweretravelingatnormal,humanspeed,butitwouldn’tbelongbeforemorebystandersfromthetavernfoundus.AndIcouldn’thaveanyoneseewhatIwasdoing.Butwithoutmyblood,she’ddie.
Faroffinthedistance,Iheardtheloud,clangingbellsofapolicewagon.Ineededtoleavesoon.Ifthepolicesawmeinthisposition,they’dassumethatIwastheattacker.“Drink,”Isaidevenmoreforcefully,pushingmywristupagainstthegirl’sopenmouth.
Thegirlcoughedbeforegreedilysuckingonmywrist.
‘‘Shhh,that’senough,”Isaid,pullingmyarmawayandhoistingherintoasittingposition.
Justthen,Isawashadowhulkingbehindus.Iwhirledaround,fearicingmyveins.Brickbuildingssurroundedthealley,boxingusin.
“Whogoesthere?”Iasked,myvoiceechoingoffthewallsofthealley.
Then,Iheardalong,low,all-too-familiarlaugh,andDamonstrolledaroundthecorner,alitcigarinhismouth.
“Savingthedayagain,”hesaid,abemusedgrinonhisface.Hedroppedthecigarontheground,andtheashesglintedinthedarkness.Nexttome,thegirlstirred,moaningandsighingasthoughshewereinthegripsofaterriblenightmare.
“He’shere,”Isaid,myvoicefallingtoawhisper.
“Who,themurderer?”Damondroppedtohiskneesandglancedatthegirl.Hisfingersbrushedagainstthewoundonherneck.“Thisisamateurwork.Justababyvampirewhodoesn’tknowbetter.Ifwefindhim,we’llstakehimforthepeskytroublehe’scausing.Buthe’snotathreat,”Damonsaid,smilingashewipedatrickleofbloodfromthesideofthegirl’smouth.
“More…”thegirlgasped,clawingtheemptyairinfrontofher.“More!”sheyelledinastrangledcry,beforecollapsingbackagainstthepavement.
“Mytypeofgirl.”Damonsmiled.“Sadly,nomore.Stefan’sdecidedyou’vehadenough,”hesaidinasingsongvoice.“Stefanalwayslikestocontrolpeople,”headdedcryptically.
Iglancedathiminsuspicion.CouldthishavebeenatrapsetupbyDamon?He’ddoneitbefore—half-killedagirl,onlytoensnaremeintorescuingher.ThathadbeenbackinNewYorkCity,shortlybeforeKlausandLuciushadbeatenDamonathisowngame,nearlykillingbothofusintheprocess.Iwasabouttoremindhimofthatwhenawaveringshadowcaughtmyeye.
Itwasthefigureofaman,wearingatophat,allthewayatthefarendofthealley.Ishotup.
“Didyouseethat?”
Damonnodded,hiseyeswideningslightly.“Go.I’lltakecareofher.”
Imadeasplit-seconddecisiontotrustmybrother.HewasallIhad.
Ilungedtowardtheshadow,onlyseveralmetersawayfromwhereDamonandIwerecrouchedoverthegirl.
Theshadowboltedaswell,stealingaroundthecornertowardtheriver.Itookoffafterit.Mylegswerepumpinglikepistons,andIwasrunningfasterandfaster,myfeetbarelyhittingthecobblestones.Still,thefigurestayedeversoslightlyaheadofme,dartingthiswayandthat,closertotherushingThames.
Faster,Iwhisperedtomyself,willingmyselftorun.Buildingswerepassingmeintheblinkofaneye,andIknewIwasgoingasfastIpossiblycould.Debrisblewinmyfaceandcausedmyeyestoburn,andwindwaswhistlingbymyears.Still,nomatterhowfastIurgedmyselftorun,Icouldn’tcatchuptotheshadow’screator,atall,thinmanwhoInowknewwithoutadoubtwasnohuman.
Weran,fasterandfaster,towardtheriver.Icouldhearamobofpeoplefaroffinthedistance,butIdidn’tlookovermyshoulder.Allmyattentionwasdirectedattheshadowyman,whowasspeedingupwitheverystep.Theriverwasnowinfullsight,themooncastingadullsheenonthepitchblackwater.Wewereonehundredyardsaway,thenfifty…wouldhejump?
“Stop!”Icalled,myvoiceringinglikeaclarionbellinthedarkness.Myfeethittheunevenboardsofadock,butthevampirehaddisappeared.Anabandonedpierstoodononesideofme,awarehouseontheother,butnosignofthekiller.Policebellswereclangingfromthealleys.Igazedwildlyinalldirections
“Showyourself!”Icalled.Mygazefixedonthewarehouse.Couldhehaveduckedinthere?Ipickedmywaytowardit,steppingonanoverturnedmilkcratetogetaviewinsideoneofthewindows.
Thewindowwasfrostedandfilthy.Isquinted,butevenwithmyheightenedsenses,Icouldn’tmakeoutanythingwithin,thoughIknewthevampirewasinthere.Hehadtobe.Ididn’twanttobreakinandfindmyselfinadeathtrap.AndIknewthatifIstayedhere,thepolicewouldsoonfindme—andthevampire.Acorneredvampirecouldeasilytakeonthepolice,andthatwouldleadtomorebloodshed.ButIcouldn’tgointothewarehouseonmyown.TherewasnothingtodoexceptturnbackandgetDamontodeviseaplan.
Ikickedthesideofthewarehouseinfrustration,butthenIheardasound.Itwassosubtle,IthoughtitwasthewavesoftheriverlappingagainstthedockuntilIrealizedthatwasn’titatall.
Itwasthesoundoflaughter.
Turning,Itrudgedbacktothetavern.
Unlikeanhourearlier,asoberatmospherehadtakenoverattheTenBellswhenIreturned.Candleshadbeenlit,brandyhadbeenpoured,andalmosteverytablewasoccupiedbyapolicemantakingareportfromthevariousrevelerswho’dbeeninthetavernwhenthedrunkhadcomeinscreamingbloodymurder.
“Isawthegirl.Shewaslyinginherblood,”themankeptsaying,hisfacered.“Itoldyou,therewasnooneelse.”
Elizawalkeduptome,holdingasnifterofbrandy.“Iwasworriedaboutyou!”shesaid.“Youranout,andIthought,thatbloke’sgoingtogethimselfkilled,heis.’Ow’sMarthadoing?”sheasked.
“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.Marthamusthavebeenthegirl.HadDamonbroughtherback?IcaughtaglimpseofViolet,fillingbrandyglassesasquicklyasshecouldbehindthebar.Herfacewaswhitewithfright.
“Violet!”Icalled,relievedtoseeher.“Whereisthegirl?Isshealive?”Iaskedbrusquely.
“U-u-upstairs,”shestuttered,soundingscaredandexhausted.“Damontookheruptomyoldchambers.Thed-d-doctorissupposedtobehereanyminute,”sheexplained.
“Verygood,”Isaid.Iclaspedherhandandsheflinched,clearlyonedge.“I’msorry.Iwanttoletyouknow…”
“What?”Violetasked.
“Where’syourvervain?”Iasked,suddenlyinapanic.
“‘Vervain’?”sheparroted.
“Yes.ThecharmIgaveyou.”
“It’shere!”Violetsaid,pullingitoutofherpocket.“It’saroughcrowdhere,soIdon’tlikewearingjewelry.ButIdolikeit.”
“Good.Iwasafraidyou’dlostit,”Isaid.Ileaneddownandplantedakissonherforehead.“Staybrave,”Isaid.
“Okay,”Violetsaid,eyeswide,withoutanyideaofwhatshewasagreeingto.
Hurryingupstairs,IclamberedthewoodenstepstwoatatimeuntilIreachedadoorthatledtoatinyroomwithaslantedroof.Twothincast-ironbedswereonoppositesidesoftheroom,andasinglecandlewasburninginapewterholderthatwasprecariouslyplacedonanoverturnedorangecrate.Damonwasnowheretobefound.Inthemelee,everyoneseemedtohaveforgottenaboutMartha.Shewaslyingaloneononeofthebeds.Althoughherneckhadbeenbandaged,bloodwasstillseepingoutofthewound,formingastickyredpuddlebyherear.
Iperchedontheedgeofthetatteredflannelcoverletandsmoothedmycrackedhandagainstthegirl’sforehead.Itdidn’ttakeadoctortoknowthatshewasstilldeathlyill.Herbreathwouldcatch,thenshe’dgasp.AllIcouldhearwasaneversofaintthump-da-thumpcomingfromherchest.
Ilookeddownatmywrist.Already,thewoundI’dcreatedlessthananhouragohadfaded.Butalthoughthemarkhadhealed,Istillfeltdepleted,andIknewIhadtobeverycarefulwithmyownreservesofblood.Evenso,sheneededsomethingmorethanI’dgivenher.Ibroughtmyotherwristtomymouthanddugmyteethintomyflesh,flinchingasIfeltmymindgowoozy.
“Here,”Isaid,cradlingthebackofthegirl’sheadinmyhand.“Drink.”Iputmywristuptoherlips.
Guidedbyinstinct,thegirltentativelybegantosuckuntilIpulledmywristaway.Herheadlolledback,andasmileofsleepysatisfactionplayedonherlips
Justthenadooropenedandamanwearingawhitecoatwalkedin,carryingabasinofwater.
“Areyouafriend?”heaskedfirmly.
“I’mStefan,”Isaid,puttingmyhandbehindmybackandpressingitintothefabricofmycoat,hopinghewouldn’tnoticemywound.“Ifoundher.”
“Verywell,”themansaid.“Youcanstayforamoment,butI’llneedsometimealonewiththepatient.”
“Yes,ofcourse,”Isaid,relievedhedidn’tfinditoddIwasuphere.Thegirlwasstartingtostir.She’dwakeupsoon.Ihungbackasheapproached,wantingtomakesureshewasallright.
Thedoctortookatowelanddippeditintothebasin,thenhelditagainstthegirl’sforehead.Ashereyessnappedopen,theylockedwithmine.Then,herfeaturesfrozeandanunholyshriekemergedfromherlips.
“Murderer!”shescreamed.
Thedoctorpulledawayinshock,almostdroppingthebasin.Hiseyeswentimmediatelytothedoor,asifhewasconsideringyellingforhelp.
“Shhh,you’resafe,”Ihissed.“I’myourfriend.I’mherfriend!”Iaddeddesperately,turningtothedoctor.
“Murderer!”sheyelledagain,tearsspringingfromhereyes.“Help!”
“Shemustbeinshock,”Isaidtothedoctor,hopingtherewasamedicalexplanationforherbehavior,andnotwhatIfeared:thatshethoughtIwasherattacker.
Thedoctornodded,althoughIcouldn’tbesurehewasn’tjustagreeingtoappeaseasuspectedcriminal.
Astarryblacknesswasformingattheedgeofmybrain,threateningtoovertakemeintoafaint,butIsummonedallmystrength.Sheneededtocalmdown.WhethershethoughtIwasthemurdererbecausesherememberedmekneelingbyherside,savingher,orwhethershethoughtIwasthemurdererbecausesomeonehadcompelledhertothinkthatway,Ineededtocorrecther.
“Listentome,”Isaidtothegirl,forcingmyPowerintothewords.Shestoppedmid-scream.Theroomwassuddenlysoquietyoucouldhearapindrop.“I’myourfriend.I’mStefan.Ifoundyou.Isavedyou.You’resafenow.There’snomurdererhere.”IttookeverythingIhadtokeepmygazeonthegirl.Thankfully,herweakenedstatemadethecompulsionpossible.Shenodded,thenturnedtolookatthedoctor.
“Goodgirl,”Imurmured.
“She’sallyours,”Itoldthedoctor.IhadjustnarrowlyescapedthatoneandIdidn’twanttopushmyluckbystayingasecondlonger.Thelookonhisfacemademethinkcompellinghimwouldn’tbenecessary.Hewasstartingtorelaxandgetbacktohiswork.
Imarcheddownthestairsandintothetavern,whereIcaughtsightofmybrother,laughingasifhe’dneverbeenmoreamusedinhislife.
Chapter11
Enteringthemainpartofthetavern,Iheadedtothebartogetadrinkandcollectmyself.HadMarthabeencompelledtobelieveI’dattackedher?HadDamoncompelledher?Itwaspossible,andthemoreIthoughtaboutit,themoreitmadesense.She’dbarelyevenopenedhereyesbeforesheblamedme.Andshehadn’tlistenedtomeatfirst,she’dsimplyscreamed,asifshe’dbeenprimedtodoso.Therewereonlytwopeoplethatcouldhavecompelledhertothinkthatway:thevampireIchasedtothedocks,orDamon,afterI’dleftherwithhim.
Iorderedawhiskeyandturnedbacktothetables.Icouldquestiononesuspectrightnow.
“Hello,brother!”Damonsaidpleasantly,holdinghisglassouttomeasaformofgreeting.“I’mafraidtheexcitementdistractedyoufromyourdutiesfortheevening.Ibelieveyouwereinchargeofthebartab?”heaskedexpectantly.“IhadafewmorewhiskeysthanI’dintended,butIthinkthey’rejustified,giventhecircumstances.”
“Whydidyoudoit?”IhissedasIslidintothechairoppositehim.Ikeptthinkingofthegirl’sthin,reedyscream.
“Dowhat?”Damonaskedinnocently,takinganothersipofhisdrink.
“YouknowwhatI’mtalkingabout,”Isaiddarkly.
“No,Idon’t,actually.I’msorryifIwasunsatisfactoryinplayingnursemaidtosomeno-namegirl.Howwasyourkiller-catching?”hesaid,archinganeyebrow.
I’mnotplayinggames.AndIdon’tcareifyoudon’twanttohelp,butIknowthekillerisavampire,Isaidundermybreath,inavoicelowenoughthatonlyDamoncouldhear.Ifanything,IthoughtIsawavagueflickerofsurprisecrosshiseyes.Icouldn’tcatchhim.
Sowhat?Damonaskedafterapause.Inallyouryearsroamingyouneverencounteredanotheroneofus,exceptforthevampirefreakhouseyouandLexilivedindowninNewOrleans?Youalwaysseemsosurprised.Wekill,brother.It’snothingnovel.Orparticularlyinteresting.Theonlythinginterestingaboutthisisseeingyoulearnthislesson,overandoveragain.Hasn’tthisfinallytaughtyounottomeddle?Nooneappreciatesit.Nothumans,andnotvampires,Damonsaid,stillsmiling.
Achillcreptupmyspine.HadDamonframedmeforthemurders?Hadthatbeenhisgrandplan?BecauseheknewthatI’dtrytohelp.Icouldn’tstopmyselffromgettingfartooinvolvedinhumanproblems.
Idon’tseekoutproblems,Isaidsimply.AndIdon’tcreatethem.
Well,maybeyoushould.Theycanbefun.Ofcourse,thisproblemisstupidandcarelessandblood-drunk,leavingustocleanuphisdirtywork,Damonmused.“Butwhat’sthepoint?”Damonaskedinhisnormalvoice.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked.
“Soyoufindhim.Thenwhat?”heasked,steeplinghisfingers,thenrestinghischinagainstthem.
“ThenI…”Ifloundered.WouldIkillhim?Bringhimtothepolice?
Damonlookedatmewithabemusedexpression.“See?Youusedtothinktoomuch.Nowyoudon’tthinkatall.Ialwaysthoughtitwoulddoyougoodtobemoreimpulsive,butyourimpulsivityisgettingyounowhere.Andyouknowwhy?”heasked,leaninginclosetowardme,somuchsothatIcouldsmellrich,sweetbloodonhisbreath.ButwasitCharlotte’sblood?OrMartha’s?Orcoulditbesomeoneelse’sentirely?
“Why?”Iasked.Thescentofthebloodwasoverwhelming.
“Becauseyou’renotdoingitforyourself.You’redoingitforhumanity.Forthegreatergood,”Damonsaid,sarcasmdrippingfromhisvoice.“Butremember,we’renotpartofhumanityanymore.”
“Sothenwhyareyouconstantlycompellingyourselfintosocialcirclesandplayingstupidtricksonpeople?WhyareyouinsistentonbeingDamontheduke,orDamontheviscount?Ifwe’renotpartofhumanity,whydon’tyouremoveyourselffromsociety?”Iasked.Despitemywords,Iwasn’tangryathim.Rather,IjustwantedtounderstandwhatDamonwasafter.
“WherewouldIgo?”Damonasked,afarawayexpressiononhisface.Butallofasudden,hegrinnedmakinghissearchinglookseemtobenothingmorethanatrickofthelight.“AndIcompelmyselfintosocialcirclesbecauseIcan.Becauseitintriguesme.Andmypleasureisallthatmatters.”
“Isthatso?”Ihissed.Inoticedthathedidn’tfollowupthatstatementwithhowhisotherdriveinlifewastomakeminealivinghell,butIrefrainedfrommentioningit.
“Yes.Well,brother,”Damonsaidsuddenly,draininghiswhiskeyandsmackinghislips.“Thishasbeenadivertingevening,butifyou’llforgiveme,Ihavedinnerplans.”
“Fine,”Isaid,notwantingtohearwhathiseveningplansentailed.AsDamonstooduptoleavethetavern,Violetsidleduptous.
“Areyouleavingalready?”Violetasked,frowning.
“I’mterriblysorry,butasIwassayingtoStefan,IhaveadinnerappointmentthatIcouldn’tpossiblymiss,”Damonsaid,standingandkissingherhand.
“Butit’ssolate.”Violetpouted.
“Yes,butI’llseeyoutomorrow.Won’tI,dear?”Damonasked.
“ThedockpartyatCanaryWharf!Ofcourse!”Violetsmiled.
Thedocks?Perhapstherunawayshadowfromearlierwouldbethere,ifthoseinvitedincludedtheundead.
“It’llbeapartytodiefor,”Damonsaidwithaknowingsmilethatcausedmyskintocrawl.Thatwastheproblem:Whenwewerehumans,Damonhadhisdarkside,buthewasalwayshimself.Now,IhadnoideawheretherealDamonwas,orwhatIshouldbelieve.
“We’llbethere,”Violetsaidfirmly.
“Seeyoulater,brother,”Damonsaidashesaunteredoutthedoorwithoutabackwardglance.
Istooduptoo,awaveofdizzinesswashingoverme.
“Let’sgo,Violet,”Isaid.
Shenodded,notbotheringtotellAlfredshewasleaving.Itdidn’tmatter.Thetavernfeltlikeanoutpostofthepolicestation.Infact,mostofthepatronswerenowpoliceofficers,goingthroughtheirnotesandtrudgingupstairstocheckonMartha.Occasionallythey’dlookoveratmeandscribblesomethingintheirnotebooks.Icouldn’tstayanylonger.
Violethookedherarminmineandwemadeourwaybacktowardourhotel.Violetwassilentanddrawn,caughtupinherownthoughts.Iknewtonight’seventsjustremindedherofCora,andIdidn’thavethewordstocomforther,notanymore.
“Areyouokay?”Violetaskedinasmallvoiceaswesteppedontothedark,plushcarpetofthehotel.Shewassosweettobeconcernedaboutmeatatimelikethis,Ifeltmyheartalmostbreak.
Iforcedmyselftosmile.
“Iwillbe,”Isaid.ButsheknewIwaslying.Deathsurroundedme,anditwasonlyamatteroftimebeforeitcavedin—orIbrokefree.Regardless,therewouldbeblood.
Chapter12
“Thetroublewithyou,Stefan,isthatyoudon’tunderstanddeath.”
IwasinthebarebedroomofthecarriagehouseinMysticFalls.Katherinewascladonlyinanightshirt,herfigureclearlyvisiblebeneaththegauzyfabric.Herdarkhairwastiedinaloosebraid.Iachedtotouchthesilkystrandsandyethungback,afraidthatonceIallowedmyhandstoroamherbodyIwouldlosecontrol.AndIdidn’twanttolosecontrol.Notyet.
“Tellmewhatdeathisthen,”Isaid.Ithadbeeninthedaysaftermyfiancée,Rosalyn,haddied.TalkingwithKatherinehadallowedmetoforgetmyguiltandstepintoaworldinfusedwithalemon-gingerscentwherenothing—notmyfather,notDamon,notdeath—couldtouchus.Itwasaworldthatmademefeelsafe.Outsidethewindow,Icouldseethefullmoonreflectingonthepondattheedgeoftheestate.Allofthelightswereoutinthemainhouse.Therewasn’tacloudinthesky.Thiswasmyheaven.
“WheredoIbegin?”Katherineasked,runninghertongueoverherpointedteeth.Iautomaticallybroughtmyhanduptomyneck.Itwasstilltendertothetouch,andajoltofpleasuremixedwithpainoccurredwheneverIappliedpressuretotheplacewhereKatherinehadsunkherfangs.
“Tellmewhatyouknow,”Isaid,evertheeagerstudent.Ikeptmyeyesonherasshepacedbackandforthacrosstheroom,aslightonherheelsasacat.
“Well,it’sintheeyeofthebeholder.TakeyourfairRosalyn,forexample,”Katherinesaid,cockingherheadandstaringatme.
“Whatdoyoumean?”I’dasked.IwantedtoknowhowKatherinehadevadeddeath.Ididn’tknowwhyshewasbringingupRosalyn.SheknewIwassupposedtostillbeinmourningforthegirlwho’dneverhavetheopportunitytobemywife.Andinmyownfashion,Ididmournforher.
“Well,yourememberher,right?Whatshelookedlikeandwhatshesmelledlike?”Katherineaskedinasing-songvoice.
“OfcourseIdo,”Isaid,affronted.
“Sohowisshedeadifshelivesinyourmind?”Katherineasked,wideningherbrowneyesatme.
Isighedatherexistentialmeanderings.Isteppedtowardher,eagertostoptalking.
Thankfully,Katherinetookmyhint.Shereachedtowardmeandteasinglygrazedhercaninesacrossmyneck,justenoughtoleaveascratch.
“That’sallI’msaying,Stefan.Nomatterwhathappens,ineachother,wewillliveforever,”shesaid.ShesankherteethintomyskinasIclosedmyeyes,theworldfadingtoblackasIgavemyselftoher.
Myeyessnappedopen.Iwasn’tentirelysurprisedI’ddreamtaboutKatherine.Whenmylifewasgoingwell,itwasasifallmymemoriesofKatherineexistedinanatticofmymind,onethatIcouldgoyearswithoutvisiting.Butwhenthingsweretough,shewaseverywhere.ThequestionIstillcouldn’tanswerwasifIwouldeverescapeherpull,orifshewouldalwaysbethere,lingeringintheshadows.
Butnowwasn’tthetimetothinkaboutthat.ItwasalmosttimetopickupVioletfromthetavernandescorthertothedockparty.I’ddebatedwhetherornottolethercome.Ihopedthepartywouldgivemeachancetofurtherexplorewherethevampiremightbehiding,withachancetofadebackintothecrowdshouldhebelookingforme.AndIdidn’twantViolettobewherethekillercouldbe.ButthenIrealizedthatshepossessedafierceamountofdetermination,andwouldcertainlyattendwhetherornotIwantedherto.
AtleastIknewshewouldbesafewithme.Bymakingsurethatonelifewasn’tsnuffedoutbyevil,maybehersoulcouldbeagrainofsand,atinyweighttocounterbalancethesenselessdeathanddestructionI’denactedinmypast.
AtleastIcouldhope.
Imassagedmytemples.I’dhadaconstantheadacheforthepastfewdays,aspersistentandbuzzingascicadasonahotJulyday.IthadonlygottenworsethelongerI’dbeeninLondon.Istoodupandcrossedovertotheglass.Myreflectionlookedpaleanddrawn,andmyeyeswerebloodshot.Ilookedsick,bothforahumanandavampire.Reflexively,Itouchedmyfingerstomyneck,myminddriftingbacktomydream.Thefaintbreezerustlingherwhitenightdress,theflickerofthelampagainstthewhitewashedwalls,theexquisitepainofKatherine’steethsinkingintomyflesh…everythinghadseemedsoreal.Butofcourse,beneaththepadsofmyfingerswasnothingexceptsmoothskin.
Katherinehadbeendead—deaddead,notjustmortallydead—fortwentyyears.Herbodyhadbeenburnedinachurch.Andyetshewaseverywhere,asmuchapartofmeasDamon.She’dbeenright.Andbackthen,I’dbeensuchafoolthatIhadn’tunderstoodtheimplicationsofherwordsatall.
Iwalkedtothewashbasinandsplashedcoldwateronmyface,shockedbyhowmuchgrimeandsootdisappearedinthetrickleofwater.Londonwasafilthycity.Butwashingthedirtfrommyfacedidnothingtoscrubtheblacknessfrommysoul.
Noticingthesunsinkingfast,castingshadowsonthewall,Iquicklyfinishedcleaningupandtiedmytie.Hastily,Imadethenow-familiartrekacrossthecity.IhatedhowonedgeIfelt,howIviewedeveryfacethatpassedwithsuspicion.
VioletwaswaitingatthedooroftheTenBells,wearingthesameemerald-greendressshe’dworntothetheateracoupleofnightsago.She’ddrawnkohllineraroundhereyes,andhermouthwaspaintedabrightred.Whilethedresshadlookedlovelythenightatthetheater,atthetavernitlookedalmostgarish,anditwouldbealltooeasyforhertobemistakenforoneoftheladiesofthenight.Orworse,theidealtargetforanunholykiller.
“Readytogo?”IaskedVioletasIapproached,offeringhermyarm.Shenoddedandtookit,tellingmeaboutherdayatthetavernaswequicklymadeourwaythroughthecobblestonedstreetstowardthedock.OnourrouteseverallaborerswhistledatViolet.Iglaredatthem,cringinginternally.Ifeltlikeweweremovingtargetsforanyoneinourpath.
Aswegrewcloser,musicdriftedupfromoneofthewarehouses.Itwascheerful,dancehallmusicandthebustlesurroundingthewarehousewasatoddswiththedesolationI’dseenlastnight.Londonremindedmeofakaleidoscope,achild’stoyLexihadpickeduponce.Withonetwist,thepictureattheotherendofthetubechanged,andyoucouldneveranticipatewhatyou’dseenext.IjusthopedthattheunfoldingscenesforVioletandIwouldbepleasantandnotmacabre.
“Hereweare!Stefan,comeon!”Violetsaid,quickeningherstrideasshecaughtsightofatrioofwell-dressedmenwalkingtowardoneofthedimlylitwarehousesthatlinedthedock.
Iacceleratedmypaceuntilwewereeven,andthenlightlythreadedmyarmthroughhers,notwantingtolosesightofheronceweenteredtheparty.Severalboatswerebobbinginthewater,andthedockwasascrowdedastheWestEndstreetsafterashowletout.Thebreezecarriedthesoundofmusicandlaughtertowardus.
VioletandIstoodoutsidetheboltedmetaldoorand,withaslyglancebackatme,Violetbrazenlyraisedherhandasiftoknock.Butbeforeshecould,thedoorslowlyopened.
“Ifitisn’tMissBurns!”asmoothvoicesaid,andIglancedup.OntheothersideofthedoorstoodSamuel,wearingawhiteshirtbuttonedtothetopandadarkdinnercoathangingoffhissquareshoulders.
“Thankyoueversomuch.”VioletblushedandcurtseyedasSamuelofferedhisarmtoher.
“Hello,”IpolitelygreetedSamuel.AlthoughasfarasIcouldtell,I’dneverdoneanythingtooffendhim,Samuelalwaysseemeddistanttowardme.Iassumeditwasbecauseofmystationinlife,thathecouldseefrommycallusedhandsandthestubbleonmycheeksthatIwasnotusedtohisworld.IsupposeIshouldhavesimplyfelthappyhedidn’tapplythatderisiontoViolet,butstill,thesnubirritatedme.MaybeIdidunderstandabitwhyDamondesperatelywantedtobeacceptedbysociety.
“Stefan,”Samuelsaid,aslightsmilecrossinghisface.“Sogladyoucouldmakeit.”Ididn’tseemtobetheonlyoneforcingmyselftobepolitetonight.
Theairwasthickwiththescentofcompetingperfumesandcigarettesmoke.Candleholderswereprecariouslyperchedonanyflatsurface,anditwasamiraclethatnofireshadstarted.Still,theentirewarehousewasdim,makingitimpossibletotellwhowaswhounlessyouwerestandingrightinfrontofthem.Inthecorner,abandwasplayingabrass-heavytuneIdidn’trecognizethatseemedtothumpinrhythmwithmyhead.I’dbeenwronginworryingaboutViolet’sdressbeinginappropriate.Themajorityofwomenwerewearingdresseswithlow-cutbodices,theskirtscuttinginsnuglyattheirhips.ItwasaminglingoftwodistinctLondonworlds,anditseemedthatherewasaplacewheresocialnicetiesanddecorumdidn’tmatter.
Suddenly,Iheardahigh-pitchedshriek.Iwhirledaround,myfangsbulging,readytoattack.
ButallIsawwasVioletatthecenteroftheroom,huggingatall,thingirlasifsheneverwantedtolethergo.
“Stefan!”Violetcalled,wavingmeover,hereyesshining.“See,Iwasright.Iknewshewasalive.ThisisCora!”shesaid.
“Cora?”Iaskedincredulously,takinginthegirlinfrontofme.Thecrowdhadpartedsomewhattowatchthedramaunfold.
Coranodded,herpaleblueeyesseeminghazyandunfocused.
“Yes,”shesaidsimply.“I’mCora.”Hervoiceseemedslowandsyrupy.Hadshebeencompelled?Ihadnoidea,nopointofreferenceforhowsheusuallyacted.ButIfeltdeeplyunsettled.Somethingwasn’trightwiththisreunion.Itwastooconvenientaftersomuchsearching.
“Areyouallright?Wherehaveyoubeen?”Iasked,tryingnottosoundlikeaconcernedfather.Ididn’twanttofrightenher.Afterall,wewerecompletestrangers.ButIhadtoknow.
VioletseemedoblivioustomyquestionsandwasstrokingCora’shairasifshewereafavoritepet.“ThisisStefan,”Violetexplained.“Mynewbestfriend.Ihavesomuchtotellyou…”VioletspontaneouslythrewherarmsaroundCora’sneck.Cora,likeCharlotte,waswearingasilkscarfknottedtightlyatthenapeofherneck.
“Wherewereyou?”Iaskedagain,myconcernreachingdesperation.Icouldn’tmakeoutDamoninthecrowdofrevelers,butIwassurehewasclose.
“WherewasI?”Coraasked,confusioninhervoice.Ifeltmystomachfree-fall
“Whydoesitmatter?”Violetasked.“Themainthingis,Cora’ssafe,isn’tthattrue?”Violetreachedbehindherneckandunclaspedherpendant.IwasabouttotellhertokeepitonwhenshehookeditaroundCora’sneck.Thegoldofthependantgleamedinthecandlelight.
“Thisisyourdon’t-go-awaypresent,youhearme?”Violetsaid,afilmoftearscoveringhereyes.Coranodded,butshedidn’tseemtobelistening.ShewasglancingoverViolet’sshoulder,clearlylookingforsomeone.AndwhilesheseemedhappytoseeViolet,shewasn’toverjoyedanddidn’tseemtofullyrecognizethatshe’dbeenlost.
Shekeptblinkingandtuggingthechainaroundherneck.Iwatched,entranced.Hadshebeencompelled?
Justthen,Damonsaunteredup,carryingabottleofchampagneinonehandandchampagneflutesintheother.TrailinghimwereSamuelandatallmanwithshortblondhair,wearingatophatandsuit.
“I’veheardthatthere’scauseforcelebration,”Damonsaidashesuavelypoppedthecorkfromthebottle.Itexplodedwithafestivefizzingsound,andhebeganpouringglasses.
“Thisismysister!”Violetexplained,nottearinghergazeoffofCora.
“Hownice,”Damonsaid,leering.“Familyreunionsarelovely.AndIknewIlikedsomethingaboutyou,”Damonsaid,drapinghisarmaroundViolet’sshoulder.“Corajoinedourlittlegroupjustrecentlyaswell,afriendofSamuel’sbrother.Nowitseemswe’rejustkeepingitallinthefamily!”
“ThisisCora,”Isaidangrily.“Remember?”
Damonshrugged.“LikeIsaid,notinthenewspaper,notinmymind.Mymemoryjustgetsworseandworsewithage!”heexclaimed.
“Shutup,”Igrowled.
“Isthatanywaytotalktoabrother?”Damonresponded,keepingasmileonhisface.
“Herehere!”Samuelsaid,raisinghisglassinatoast,unawarethatanythingwasamiss.“Tofamilies.Includingmyownbrother,Henry,”hesaid,gesturingtothepale,blondmanstandingnexttohim.Atfirstglance,heseemedtobeabouteighteenornineteen.
“Pleasedtomeetyou,”Isaid,barelymanagingapolitetone.ButHenry’sfacecrackedintoawidesmile,andhepumpedmyhandenthusiastically.
“Pleasedtomeetyou,too,”hesaidinanaristocraticBritishaccentthatsoundedjustlikehisbrother’s.Buthiswarmandalmostna?veexpressionwasnothinglikeSamuel’s—andimmediatelyInoticedhimcastinghisgazeonViolet.
“Hello,”hesaidwarmly.
Violetturnedtohim,herupturnedfacefullofinterest.IknewwhatIwaswitnessingwasthelightning-quickpassageofemotionsthathumanstookforgranted—themomentsatwhichastrangerbecamesomethingmore,becamesomeoneahumancouldimaginegrowingoldwith.Intheshadowydarkness,therewasnowayHenrycouldtellVioletwasawaitress.Violetwasspeakinginherwell-modulatedactressvoice,andhernewdressbetrayednoneofthestainsoftheTenBells.Thisisaremarkableage.JustlikeGeorgehadtoldme,maybeViolettrulycouldtranscendherclassandfindhappiness.Shedeservedit.
EventhoughCorahadbeenfoundandseemednonetheworseforthewear,IknewIcouldn’tleaveuntilIcrackedthemystery.WhywasDamonbeingsocagey?Therewasnowayhewasn’tsomehowinvolvedwiththemurders.Thequestionwas,whathadhedone?Andwhohadhedoneitwith?
IlookedatHenryandVioletagain.Theywereengagedinconversation,theirheadsbowedasifthey’dknowneachotherforyears.AtleastVioletwaspreoccupiedandwithsomeonesafe,whichgavemethechanceIneededtosearchthepartyforthemysteriousvampirewho’deludedmelastnight.
Movingthroughthecrowdedpartyprovedfruitless.Girlssodrunktheycouldhardlystandupwerepawingatme,andthenoiseofthebandoverloadedmysenses.Isteppedoutsidethewarehouse,thinkingIwouldtrytofindthedoorheranthroughlastnight.Perhapshe’dleftsomethingbehind.
Thefreshairhelpedclearmyhead.Istartedtowalkaroundthewarehouse,lookingforafamiliarwindowordoor.Andthen,asthewindpickedup,Ismelledit
Itwasthescentofblood—warm,coursing,andclose.
Ignashedmyteethtogether.Thescentmademesimultaneouslyeagertofeedandnervous.Thekillermustbeoneoftherevelersinsidetheparty.Butwhowashe?Or—andthiswasthethoughtthatfilledmewithterror—hadhealreadymadehismove,andthefragranceintheairwasafreshkill?
Thatpossibilitywaswhatspurredmetoracebackinsidethewarehouse,tearingthroughthecrowd,desperatetofindthesourceofthescent.Ididn’thaveanytimetowaste.ItwasasifI’dlivedthroughthesamescenariofartoomanytimes,alwayscomingtothescenehalfasecond,halfaminute,orhalfadaylate.Butthistimewouldbedifferent,IthoughtwildlyasIpushedpastadancingcouple,themanwhirlingawomanfasterandfasteronhisarm.Iwasnolongera“babyvampire,”atermLexiderisivelyusedtousetodescribeme.Ihadwisdom,age,andbloodbehindme.Thistime,Iwouldstopevilbeforeitstarted.
Thewarehousewasdeceptivelylarge,andIwasshockedthatthespacekeptgoingandgoing,eachinchofconcretefloorfilledwithpeoplelaughing,smoking,anddrinkingasiftheydidn’thaveacareintheworld.
“Pardonme!”Iyelledinfrustration,elbowingmywaythroughcouplesandtreadingonpeople’sshoes,onlyfollowingtheevermorepungentscentofiron—untilIranintoasolidmass.
Ilookedup.ItwasSamuel.Instantly,Istoodtomyfullheightandgavehimatightsmile.Iknewthatcareeningthroughthewarehousemusthavemademeseemdrunkormad.
“Pardonyou!”Samuelsaidjovially,tippingbackhiswhiskey.“Youseemtobeinahurry,”headded,aflickerofamusementonhisface.
“I’mlookingforafriend,”Imuttered,myeyesdartingfromonesidetotheother.IrealizedIhadn’tseenVioletwhileIwasrunningaround.NownotonlywasIsearchingforakiller,butforaninnocentgirlaswell.Ihadtomakesureshewassafe.
“Considerhimhere!”hesaidjovially,blockingmypath.
“Notyou,”Isaid,realizingonlyafterthewordsleftmymouthhowrudetheyseemed.“Imean,I’mlookingforViolet.”
“Violet!”Hiseyeslitupinrecognition.“Ofcourse.IthoughtIsawheroverbythebar…wouldyouliketogowithme?”
Ididn’tbothertobepoliteasItookofftowardthebar,desperatelyscanningthecrowd.ItthinnedoutasIran,andfinally,Icouldstandwithoutbeingbumpedorjostled.Iallowedmyeyestoreadjusttothedimlight.Thefarsideofthewarehousehadtwoopendoorsthatledtothedocks,and,beyondthat,thewater.Thedoorshadbeenproppedopenwithseveralwoodenmilkcrates,presumablytoallowfreshairin.Still,whiletherestofthewarehousewascrammed,thispartwasunlitanddeserted.Icouldsmellcobwebsandmold.
Andblood.
Outside,thecloudsshifted,andashaftofmoonlightreflectedthroughthefilthywindowsatoneendofthewarehouse.Myeyesfelluponacrumpledheapinthecorner.Atfirst,Ihopeditwasnothingmorethanadiscardedpileoffabric,pushedasidefortheparty.Butitwasn’t.Thematerialwasbrightgreen.
Iblanched,alreadyknowingwhatI’dseebeforeIturnedthefigureover.
ButwhenIdid,Istillcouldn’tholdinmystrangledcry.
ItwasViolet,herthroatslit,herinquisitiveblueeyesgazing,unblinking,atthethrongofpeopledancingonlyyardsawayfromhercold,whitefigure.
Chapter13
IhadtogetVioletoutofthere,beforethekillercamebacktofinishheroffwithhiscustomarymutilation.Ihastilyliftedherupandheavedherovermyshoulder.Herbodygrewcoldereveryminuteandthetouchofherskinagainstminesentashiverdownmyspine.Shewasdead.Andthekillerwasnowheretobefound
Iglancedaroundwildly.Thebandhadshiftedintoawaltz,andthefrontofthewarehousewascrowdedwithcouplesdancinginthedarkness.Itlookedgaudy,likeanactfromthetwo-bitcarnivalI’dworkedatinNewOrleans.Themurdererwassomewhereinthatthrong,bowingandweavingthroughcouples.
Myfangsthrobbed,andmylegsachedwiththeurgetorunorfight.ButIcoulddoneither.Istood,frozeninplace.Dropletsofbloodscatteredacrossthebodiceofherdress,andthekohlshe’dusedtolinehereyeshadrun,makingherfacelooklikeitwaspaintedwithtears.
Ididn’tfeelsorrow.WhatIfeltwasdeeper,moreprimal.Ifeltangeratwhoeverdidthis,aswellasdespair.Thiswouldalwayskeephappening,andmorevictimslikeVioletwouldperish.Itwouldn’tmatterifIjourneyedbacktoAmericaorwenttoIndiaorjusttravelednomadicallythroughouteveryland.HowmanydeathscouldIwitness,allthewhileknowingdeathwouldnevercometome?
IglancedbackdownatViolet’slimpbodyandforcedmyselftostopthinkingthosethoughts.Instead,IthoughtofViolet’sshortlife.Herwidegrinwhenshe’dputononeofherfinedresses,thewayherhappyfaceshonewithtearsattheendofthemusicalreview,thewayshetrulybelievedthattherewasgoodintheworld.I’dmissher.Violethadbeenspritelyandpassionateandalive.She’dalsobeenstupidandtrustingandsovulnerable.Andshe’dgivenuphervervaintohersister.Ofcourse,shehadn’tknownittobeanythingbutagoodluckcharm,butstill—ifshe’dhadthevervain,she’dbealivenow.
“‘Mayflightsofangelssingtheetothyrest,’”Isaid,quotingShakespeareforlackofaprayerasIlaidmyhandagainsthercoldbrowandsmoothedherloosecurlsoffherforehead.Thephraseechoedinmyhead,thewordsfarmorefamiliartomethananyofthesermonsI’dsatthroughorpsalmsI’dheardwhenIwasahuman.IleaneddownandgrazedmylipsagainstViolet’scheek.
Suddenly,sherearedup,herbodytremblingallover,hereyeswide,hermouthfrothing,asshelungedtowardmyhand.
Hastily,Ifellbackward,scramblingtomyfeetandretreatingtotheshadows.
“Stefan?”VioletcalledinahighandreedyvoicethatsoundednothinglikeherIrishbrogue.Herhandfranticallyclawedatherthroat,andhereyeswidenedinfrightwhenshepulledherhandbackandsawitcoveredwithblood.“Stefan?”shecalledagain,hereyesgazingwildlyinalldirections.
Iwatchedinshock.I’dseendeathcountlesstimesatthispoint,andIknewthatViolethadbeendead.Yetnowshewasn’t.Thismeantonlyonething:Shehadbeengivenvampirebloodandthenkilled.Shewasintransition.
“Stefan?”sheasked,graspingtheairinfrontofherandgnashingherteethagainsteachother.Herbreathwasloudandraspy.Shekeptlickingherlips,asthoughsheweredyingofthirst.“Helpme!”shecalledinastrangledvoice.
Faroffinthewarehouse,Icouldmakeoutthefaintestsoundofthebandstrikingupanothersong.Everyoneinsidethepartywasblissfullyunawareofthegruesomesceneoccurringinfrontofmyeyes.Iclenchedmyjaw.IwantedmorethananythingtobestrongforViolet,butIwasstillinshock.
Iknewshewantedtofeed.IrememberedtheagonizinghungerI’dfeltwhenI’dwokenupintransition.Shewasbreathinginloud,staccatogaspsassherosetoherknees,thenherfeet.Imovedforwardtohelpher.
“Shhh,”Isaid,wrappingmyarmsaroundherbody.“Shhh,”Irepeated,runningmyhandsthroughhertangledhair,wetwithsweatandblood.“You’resafe,”Ilied.Ofcourseshewasn’t.
Afewyardsaway,onaneighboringdock,Isawasmallskiff,mostlikelyusedtotransportcargofromonesideofLondontotheother,bobbinginthegentlewavesoftheThames.Ihadthewildthoughttotakeit,toheadasfaraswecoulddowntheriver,tojustgetaway.
“What’shappeningtome?”Violetgaspedeachword,clutchingherthroat.
“You’llbeokay,Violet.Butplease,tellme,whodidthistoyou?”Iasked.
“Idon’tknow,”shesaid,herfacecrumpling.Bloodwasrunningfromherneck,dryingintoapatternonthesideofherdressthatwouldhavebeenalmostprettyifonehadn’tknownhowitwasformed.Herfacewaswhiteandchalky,andshekeptlickingherlips.“Iwasgoingtothebar.Andthenhepulledmetohimforadance,and…that’sallIcanremember,”Violetsaid,wringingherhandstogetherandgazingimploringlyatme.
“Who’s‘he’?”Iaskedurgently.
“Damon,”shesaid,hardlyabletostiflehercries.Asceneflittedintomymind:Violet,soexcitedtohaveDamonpayattentiontoher.Violet,allowingDamontoescorthertothebarandorderheradrink.Violet,nervousandcoquettish,waitingtohearwhatDamonhadtosay.AndthenDamonlickinghislips,lunging,anddrinking,leavingVioletbehindformetofind.
Youalwayshelpadamselindistress.Damon’smockingphraseranginmyears.He’dleftherformetofind,justasifwewerechildrenplayinghide-and-seek.
“I’msothirsty,”Violetsaid,leaningovertheedgeofthedockandcuppingherhandstocapturesomeofthedirtywaterflowingintheThames.Iwatchedassheputherhandstohermouth,andsawanexpressionofdisgustcrossherface.Sheknewsomethingwasterriblywrong.“Stefan…Idon’tfeelwell.IthinkIneedadoctor,”shesaid,cradlingherheadinherhandsandrockingsilentlybackandforth.
“Comewithme,”Isaid,pullingVioletintoahug.Icouldfeelshiverswrackingherbody,andsawtearswerefallingfromherlargeeyes.Iknewshewasconfusedanddisoriented,andthisfilthydockwasnoplacetoexplaintoherwhatwashappening.
Ihoistedherupandwalkedustotheskiffthatwasrestinginthewater.Igentlyplacedheronitsfloor.Sheblinkedafewtimesandletoutashudderysigh
“AmIdead?”sheasked,herhandreachingouttowardmine.Iclosedmyfingersoverhers.Itriedtorememberbacktomyowndeath.I’dfelthazyandconfusedaswell,coupledwiththegriefandguiltoflosingKatherine.Then,whenI’dmadethefulltransition,I’dfeltfast,sharp.Inhuman.
“Yes,”Isaid.“You’redead.”
Violetfloppedbackdownandclosedhereyes.
“Ithurtssomuch,”shewhimperedassheslumpedagainstthesideoftheboatinexhaustion.Herbodycouldn’ttakethetransition.
Ifeltangerslicethroughmystomach.Damonneededtopayforthis.
Itookapieceofmuslin,mostlikelyusedtorepairsails,fromthesideoftheboatandpulleditoverherbodylikeablanket.Shewassleepingnow,andIknewshedidn’thavethestrengthtorunoff.ShesighedandburrowedintotheclothwhileIjumpedofftheskiffandtorebackintotheparty.
AssoonasIwalkedbackintothesmokywarehouse,Icouldhearmybrother’svoiceabovethedin,laughingandmakingfunoftheridiculousexpeditionLordAinsleyhadplannedinIndia.Notcaringwhosawme,Iusedmyvampirespeedtoreachhim.HewaslaughingwithSamuelandHenry.Coraclungtohiseveryword.
“YououghttogotoIndia,too,Damon.You’realwayscomplainingyou’vehadenoughofLondonsociety,”Henrysaid,raisinghischampagnetowardDamon.“Maybeanadventurewoulddoyougood.”
“Yes,youcouldtryyourluckatsnakecharming,”Samuelsuggested.“Youalreadyhaveprovenyourtalentforcharmingwomen.”
Atthis,Damonlaughedappreciatively.Furyroseupinsideme.Howdarehelaughandjokeonlyminutesafterhe’dattackedVioletandsetheronthepathwe’dbothregrettedtaking.
“You,”Igrowled,draggingmybrotheroutbythearmandtowardthealleythatleddowntothedocks,emptyexceptforafar-offvagrantsleepingwithabottleofwhiskeyclutchedagainsthischest.
“Ah,amoonlitconversationbythewaterfront.Howpicturesque.What’sthespecialoccasion?”Damonasked,archingadarkeyebrow.
Irecoiled.Ihatedeverythingabouthim.IhatedhisaffectedVirginiadrawlthatheputoninmypresenceasiftomakefunofourpoliteupbringing,thewayhetwistedwordsevenifhewastheonlyonewho’dgetthejoke,andthewayhemadeamockeryoutofeverything,includinghumanlife.
“Youaredeadtome,”Igrowled,grabbinghimwithallmymightandthrowinghimtowardtheoppositewall,satisfiedtohearhisskullcrackingagainsttheconcrete.Heslumped,ragdoll-like,beforestandingup,hiseyesflashinginthedarkness.Hetookaquicksteptowardme,thenstoppedandlaughedsoftly.
“Someone’sfoundhisstrengthagain,”Damonsaid,stillrubbinghistemple.Thewoundhadclosedalmostinstantaneously,leavingnothingbutsmooth,paleflesh.“Whysoupset?Didn’tfindthemurdereryouwerelookingfor?”Damonmockedinalowvoice.
“Nomoregames.You’rethekiller!”Ispat,rageboilinginmyveins.Iwantedtohurthim.Butthetroublewas,nothingwould.
“Iam,amI?”Damonaskednonchalantly.“Tellme,howdidyoureachthatconclusion,DetectiveSalvatore?”
Sothiswashowhe’ddecidedtotormentmenow.Nomoreblowsorfightsorbattles,justpsychologicaltorture.Well,he’dsucceeded.
“Youframedmefortheattacktheotherday.AndyoukilledViolet,”Isaid,myvoiceclearasacrackofthunder.
Amillionexpressions—hate,anger,annoyance—flashedacrossDamon’sfacebeforehelungedtowardme,pinningmeagainstthecoldconcretewall,hisfaceonlyinchesfrommine.Isquirmedtogetaway,butheonlyheldmeharder.
“I’vetriedtobepatientwithyou,brother,”Damonsaid,hatedrippingfromhisvoice.“Ithoughtthatmaybeafewdecadeshaddoneusbothgood.Butyou’rethesameasyou’vealwaysbeen.Alwaystheonetocomeintoasituationandthinkheknowshowtofixit.Alwaysthefoolishknightinshiningarmor.Alwaystheonewhotakesresponsibilityforthewholeworldonhisshoulders.But…”Damon’svoicedroppedtoawhisper,soonlyIcouldhear.“Youarenotinnocent.Youstartedallofthis.Anddeathdoesn’tbeginandendwithme.Getusedtoit,brother.Peopledie,andyoucan’tchangeit.”Heletgoofmyneck,butnotbeforespittinginmyface.“Bewarned,nexttimeIshowupinyourlife,itwon’tbeallpartiesandpicnics.Youcantrustmeonthat.”Damonturnedonhisheelandheadedbacktotheparty.
Iwatchedhim,fistsclenched,stillfullyawareoftheindentsonmyneckwhereDamonhadpinnedme.HewasmuchstrongerthanIwas,andIknewhedidn’twantmetoforgetit.MymindlingeredonDamon’sgleethatVioletwasdead.Ofcourse,hewouldneverchange.Hewouldforeverenjoyseeingmeinpain.HethoughtIhadwrongedhimandwouldcontinuetodestroyanyoneIcaredabout.Hewouldkeepkilling,andforwhat?Tosettleascoreagainstmethatcouldnever,everbesettled.BecausewhileImayhaveturnedhimintoavampire,hewastheonewhoturnedhimselfintoamonster.
ButnowVioletwastransitioningandtheonlythingIcoulddotomakeupformymistakeswastotrytohelpherthroughit.IhurriedasfastasIcouldbacktotheskiff,whereIsawslightmovementfromunderneaththemuslincloth.
“Violet!”Isaid,sinkingtomykneesnexttoher.
Hereyesflutteredopen,thepupilsenormousandcloudy.Ipulledhertightlyagainstmybody,wishingtherewassomethingIcoulddoforher.ButtheonlythingIcoulddowasgivehertheopportunitytoleavethisworldasshecameintoit—asahuman,withoutbloodonherhands.
“Stefan,”shecroaked,strugglingtositup.
“Weneedtogo,”Isaid,dragginghertoherfeet.Damonwouldbelookingforhernowtoensurehertransformationwascomplete.IknewIshoulddoublebackinandfindCora,butIcouldn’triskit.IhadtohopethevervainwashelpingCorawhenIcouldnot.
Icouldn’tgiveVioletmuch,butIcouldatleastgiveherachoice—andletherknowexactlywhatwouldhappenwitheitherpathshechose.Itwasanimpossible,monstrouschoice,butitwashers,andmightbethelastoneshe’devermake.Shedeservedtodoitinpeace.IneededtobringVioletsomewhereshecouldbesafe.
“Comeon,”Isaid,helpingherupandholdingherclose.Ibegantorun,clumsilyatfirst,untilIgatheredthespeedIwasaccustomedtowhenIwasfullyintunewithmyPower.Onceortwice,IthoughtIcaughtaglimpseofacurtainrustling,orashadowtootalltobemyown.IeventhoughtIheardaracingfootstepbehindme.Itonlygalvanizedmetogofaster,barelystoppingbeforewereachedthestreetinfrontofourhotel.Ipaused.Damonknewwherewewerestaying.Itwasn’tsafethere.IlookeddownatViolet,whowasstilldisorientedandgrowingweak.
“Theparty?”Violetasked,sittingupandholdingherhandtoherhead.“Thechampagne…didIgetdrunk?”sheasked.
Iwantedtosayyes.IwishedIcouldspareherthepainoftheupcominghours.Butshedeservedmorethanthat.Ihadn’tliedtoherwhenI’dfoundherandIwouldn’tlietohernow.Iwouldmakesuresheknewthechoiceshefaced.ItwastheleastIcoulddo.IthoughtbacktothewayherfacehadshonewhenshesawtheGaietyTheatre,andanideaformedinmymind.
“Let’sgotothetheater,”Isaid.
“Thetheater?”Violetblinked,asthoughshedidn’tunderstandmyinvitation.Ididn’tblameher.Hersituationwasdire,evensheknewthat,andyetitsoundedlikeIwasaskinghertoachurchsocial.
InoddedandhelpedViolettoherfeet.Together,wehobbledalongthedesertedcobblestonedsidewalks.Itwasnearlymorning.
ThelightsinfrontoftheGaietywereoff,butthestagedoorwithitsrustedhingesdidn’ttaketoomuchstrengthtoforceopen.Oncewewereinthedarktheater,Isighed.Finally,IfeltweweresafefromDamon.
“Isthisanotherparty?BecauseIdon’tthinkI’mupforit.”MyhearttwistedattheinnocentdisappointmentinViolet’svoice.
ImotionedforViolettositnexttomeononeofthecrushedredvelvetchairsfacingthestage.
“IbroughtyouherebecauseIknewhowmuchyoulovedit.AndwhatIhavetotellyouwon’tbeeasytoprocess,”Iexplained,blinkinginthedarkness.Itwaseasiertohavethisconversationwhenweweren’tfacingeachother.
“Damon…”Violetsaid,thenshuddered.“Hewassonice.Heintroducedmetoallofhisfriends.Andthen…”
“Heattackedyou,”Isaiddully.
Shegrimaced,butdidn’trefutewhatI’dsaid.
“Irememberdrinkingchampagne.AndIwaslaughing,andthen…Idon’tknow.It’sasifmymindjustgoesblank,”shesaid,helplesslyshakingherhead.
Irolledmylapis-lazuliringaroundmyfinger.BackwhenIhadtransitioned,Katherine’smaid,Emily,hadexplainedwhatwashappeningtome.She’dbeentheonetogivemethering.KatherinehadaskedhertogiveonetomeandonetoDamon.Emily’dbeencool,andcalm,andhadkeptherdistancewhileIsuffered.Icouldn’tdothat.
“Stefan?What’shappeningtome?”Violetasked,hervoicecracking.
IlacedViolet’sice-coldfingersthroughmine.“You’reintransition.Youwerekilledbyavampire,”Isaid.“Damon.”
“Vampires?”Violetsaid,hervoicetrippingovertheword.“That’sjustfromstorybooks.Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Nothey’rereal.I’mavampire.AndsoisDamon.He’smybrother.Mytruebrother,”Isaid,staringstraightahead.IhatedwhatIwassaying,butknewitwouldbefarworsetokeepthetruthasecret.“Welookhuman.Once,wewerehuman.Wegrewuptogether,laughedtogether,andwereafamily.Butnotanymore.Wesurviveonlybecausewedrinkthebloodofothers.Ichooseanimals.Butmybrotherdoesn’t.”
“DoesthatmeanI’mavampirenow,too,then?”sheasked,hervoiceshaking.
Ishookmyhead.“No,”Isaidfirmly.“Damonkilledyourhumanbody,butgaveyousomeofhisbloodfirst.Tocompletethetransitionandtofullybecomeavampire,youhavetodrinkhumanblood.Ifyoudon’t,yourbodywilldie,”Isaid.Thewallpaperedroomfeltlikeitwasclosinginonme.
“But,Stefan,Idon’tunderstand.Ifthere’sawaytolivethenwhy…”Shetrailedoff,hervoicesoundingsoinnocentandlostthatIfeltmystomachclench.
“Becauseit’snotthatsimple.Beingavampireisnotlikebeingalive.You’reconsumedbyyourdesireforblood,yourdesiretokill.Youbecomeacompletelydifferentperson…”ItrailedoffasVioletpressedherhandtomychest,gentlyatfirst,andthenmoreandmoreinsistently.Iresistedtheurgetopullaway.Itwasanintimategesture,oneyou’dimaginebetweenlovers.
“Idon’t…Ican’t…”shesaid,horrordawningonherfaceasshecontinuedtograzemychestwithherhands.“There’snoheartbeat,”sheexclaimed,nowunderstandingwhatI’dbeentryingtotellher.
“No,”Isaidpatiently.
“WhatifIwantto…turn?”sheasked.“WhatifIwanttobecomelikeyou?”
“Iwouldhelpyou.That’syourchoicetomake.Butit’ssomethingtothinkaboutseriouslybeforeyoudo.It’snotareallife.It’snotablessingtoliveforever.Youwitnesssomanypeopledying,andyou’realwaysacreatureofdarkness.Youhavetoliveintheshadows,onlyemergingatnight.Andyoushouldn’thavetolivelikethat,”Isaid,squeezingherhand.“Youbelonginthelight.”
Violet’ssobsovertookher,andIknewshegraspedtherealityshefaced.
“Iwasjuststartingtolive…”shesaidwistfullyandrubbedherneckgently,asifshewererememberingalong-agocaressfromalover.Herhanddroppedbacktoherchest.Thenshelookedatme,tearsinhereyes.
“When?”sheasked.
“Soon,”Iadmitted.Myeyesdartedtothehalf-openstagedoor.Icouldseethattheskywasgettinglighter.Wecouldn’tstayhere.Violetneededtobesomewheresafe,andtherewasnowhereinLondonthatwassafefromDamon.
Violetsniffled,andIsawtwolargetearsrolldownhercheeks.“Iwanttogohome,”shesaidinasmallvoice.“Iwanttobewithmymomandsisters.Idon’tbelonghere.IfIhavetodie…andIwanttodie,Idon’twanttobecomeamonster…thenIwanttodieasmyself.AsVioletBurns.Iwanttobehome.IwantCora.”
Iglancedatherasshestaredbravelyahead.Iwantedtocharteraship,ortoswimacrossthedarkIrishSeamyselftogiveherwhatshewanted.ButIcouldn’t.Andsheknewthat.
“I’mjustrabbitingon.Ijustwanttoseemysisteronelasttime.”
“Iknowyoudo,”Isaid.“Butifwefindher,thenIthinkDamonwillfindyou.ButCora’sallright.She’sprotected.Thecharmyougaveherisfilledwithvervain.It’sanherbthatprotectspeoplefromvampires.Ididn’ttellyoubecauseIdidn’twanttoscareyou,but…”
Violetclawedatthehollowofherneck.“Itwasmyfault,”sherealized.
“No.Yousavedyoursister.Whetherornotyouknewwhatthecharmwas,youknewitwasgoodluck,andyougaveittoher.That’slove,”Isaid,smilingatViolet.IwonderedifI’dbeeninasimilarsituation,ifI’dhavedonethesamethingforDamon.
“Well,Ihopeshethinksofmeeverytimeshewearsit,”Violetsaid.“AndmaybeIcanwriteheraletter.Andyoucandeliverit.Becausesheneedssomeonetolookoutforher,”Violetsaid,piecingeachsentencetogetherslowly.
“Ofcourse.I’lllookafterCora,andIpromiseyou,shewillbesafe.AndIknowwhereIcantakeyou,”Idecided,pickingupherhand.IhopedtheAbbotts’farmwouldremindheroftherollingIrishhillsshe’dtoldmeabout.Itwasasmallcomfort,noreplacementfortherealthing,butitwasthebestIcoulddo.
Violetnoddedmeekly.Ilookeddownatherinagony,atearthreateningtoescapemyeye.Iletitfall,watchingitsplashonViolet’shair,wishingtherewassomethingIcoulddo.AllI’dwantedthiseveningwasforViolettobesafe.Andhereshewasstillinmyarms—butfullofvampireblood.Ihadfailedher.
Chapter14
TherehavebeentimesinmylifethatIfeltsomething,orsomeone,waswatchingoutforme.BecausehowelsecouldbothVioletandIhavemadeittoPaddingtonStationwithoutbeingstoppedbythepoliceoraconcernedpasserby?Ithelpedthatwetookafewgarmentsfromatraveler’sluggageastheywaitedfortheirtrain,andwerenolongerwearingbloodstainedclothes.Butstill,IhadtosupportVioletagainstmyside,andevenacasualobservercouldseeshewasclosetodeath.Andyet,noonehadnoticedus.
Ididn’tthinkofitasprovidence.MaybeIwouldhave,atonepoint.ButnowIonlyfeltitwasevidenceofmyinnateevil.Ifrightenedpeople.Tonight,theonlyoneswhomightblockourpathwouldbemonsters.
Oncewegottothetrainstation,IusedthelastfewcoinsinmypockettopayforourticketstoIvinghoe.Wecaughtthefirsttrainoutofthecity,andIshouldhavefeltrelief.ButIdidn’t.BecauseIhadnoideawhenVioletwasgoingtodie.AllIhopedwasthatIcouldgethersafelytomycabin.
“Stefan?”Violetaskedasherfingers,aslightasthebrushofahummingbird’swing,glidedacrossmyarm.
“Yes?”Ireplied,pullingmygazeawayfromthewindow.Insteadoflookinglikeshewasatdeath’sdoor,Violethadaflushinhercheeksandhereyeswerebright.We’dbeenonthetrainfornearlyanhourandwerenowontheoutskirtsofLondon’ssprawl.EvenatouchofcountryairwasdoingwondersforViolet.Butitwouldn’tsaveher.
“Ifeelbetter,”Violetwhisperedhopefully,obviouslythinkingthesamethingthatIhad.“DoyouthinkImightlive?”
“No,”Isaidsadly.Ididn’twanttobecallous,butitwouldbeevencruelertofillherwithfalsehope.Nomatterhowshefeltorhowshelooked,Violet’sfatewassealed.
“Oh,”shesaidquietly,pressingherlipstogetherandstaringoutatthegreenerypassingbythewindow.ThecompartmentwewereseatedinwasidenticaltotheoneIhadsatinwhenIcametoLondon.Asilvertea-servicetraylaybetweenus,withchinaplatespiledhighwithsconesandsandwiches.Itwasstillveryearly,andthetrainwasalmostdeserted.Violethadalternatedbetweendozingandtakingdaintybitesofoneofthescones.I’dspentthemajorityofthejourneystaringoutthewindow.Thescenerywaslushandgreen,andtotallyatoddswiththedarknessofmymood.
“Oncethetransitionstarts,there’snocure,”Irepeatedpatiently.
“ExceptifIdrinkhumanblood,”Violetcorrected.
“That’snotacure,”Isaidgrimly.
“Iknow,”Violetsaidquietlybeforestaringfaroffintothedistance.
“IfIcouldgobackanddoitalloveragain,Iwouldhavechosendeath,”Isaid.Iputmyhandontopofherstocomforther.
“There’ssomuchIhaven’tseenandhaven’tdone,”Violetsaidsadly.“Iwasneveronstage,Ineverhadchildren…I’veneverevenbeeninlove.”
Icontinuedtostrokehersmallhand.TherewasnothingIcouldsay.
Violetwhimperedandallowedherheadtorestagainstmyshoulder.“I’msocold,”shewhispered.
“Iknow.Iknow,”Isaid.Istrokedherhair,wishingIcouldmakeherdeatheasier.Itwouldbe,Itoldmyself.OncewewerebackattheManorandawayfromdanger.Iwantedhertofindsolaceinthequietofmycabinandpeacefullyslipaway.She’dhadahardlife.Maybetheafterlifewouldbebetterforher.
Violet’sbreathingsteadied,andshefellasleep.Iglancedoutthewindow.TheskyseemedclearerthefartherwegotfromLondon.Iheardafaintnoise,butitwasn’tcomingfrommymind.Itwascomingfromoutside.
“Yes?”Icalledsharply,assumingitwasaporterarrivingwithmoresconesoranotherselectionofpapers.
Butnooneanswered.Thescratchingnoisewaspersistent,louderthanjustastowawayrat.
Iheardanothernoise,asifthetrainhadhitalargeanimal.Butthetrainkeptrolling.Iglancedoutthewindowandalong,lowgrowlIdidn’tquiterecognizeasmyownescapedmylips.
There,peeringupsidedownthroughthewindow,wasSamuel’sbrother,Henry.Hisfacewaspressedtotheglass,andhisgolden-blondhairwasblowinginthewind.
Welockedeyes,andforonewildmomentIthoughthe’dcometoseeViolet,aneagerbeau’soverturesgonetoofar.ButthenInoticedhiselongatedcanines,hisbloodshoteyes,andIslowlyunderstood.Henrywasavampire.AndHenrywasn’teagerlylookingforViolet.Hewashunting—forus.
Islammedthebluedamaskcurtainsofthewindowshutandlookedaroundmadlyforanyescape.Butofcoursetherewasnone.Ifeltmyheartharden.ThiswasDamon’sdoing.Ithadtobe.BecausewhyelsewouldHenrybehere?Evenaschildren,he’dgoadtheGiffinboysintothrowingrocksatapassingtrainorlettingthechickenslooseduringabarbeque.Thatway,hewouldn’triskpunishment.Now,hewasdoingthesamething,exceptwithacadreofvampires.
IhadtoprotectViolet.Icouldn’tletHenrygrabVioletandforcehertofeed.Icouldn’thaveherturnintoavampireagainstherwishes.Ihastilystoletothecabooseandclimbedthericketyladdertothetopoftheirontrain.Thewindpelteddirtandpebblesintomyface,andthesootandfumeswhirlingaroundmyheadmadeitalmostimpossibletoseeanything.
“Henry!”Icalled,steadyingmyselfonthesteampipepokingfromthetopofthetrain.Icrouchedlow,readyforafight.
Nothing.Thetraincontinuedtochugforward.Asliverofdoubtcreptthroughmybrain.Haditbeensomesortofvision?Aparanoidhallucination?
Acryofoutragesoundedbehindme.
BeforeIcouldturn,Ifeltaweightonmyback,followedbycoldhandsslidingaroundmyneck.Igaspedandtriedtowrithefreefromthegrip.Iwaslockedinachokehold,Henry’sarmtightaroundmywindpipe.Igroaned,tryingtofighthimoffwhilekeepingmybalance.
“Areyoureadytodie?”Henrywhisperedinmyear.Hisimpeccableaccentwasperfectlymodulated,andhisbreathwashotagainstmyneck.Onceagain,heappliedpressuretomythroat.
Die.Thewordechoedinmyhead.I’dforgottenwhatitwasliketobehunted.Butnow,Iwascaptured.AndifIdidn’tdosomething,Iwoulddie.AndVioletwouldbeworsethandead.Ihadtodosomething.Ihadto…
Staystill.Avoice—Lexi’s?Myown?—screamedinstructioninmyhead,eventhoughitwascounterintuitivetomybeing’severyinstinct.MyarmtwitchedbeneathHenry’sgrasp.Staystill!thevoiceinsisted.
“Frightened?AndyouthoughtIwasjustlittleHenry.OneofDamon’sfoppishfriends,ofnoimportanceandnointeresttoabig,strongAmericanvampirelikeyourself.Aren’tIright,chum?”Henryaskedsarcastically,pullingmecloser.Hewasclearlygoingtotrytobreakmyneck,andfromthere,he’dbeabletostakemeorburnme,ordowhateverhewanted.Orhecouldsimplythrowmeoffthetrain,whereI’dbefinishedoffsoonenough.Adozenscenarios,eachworsethanthelast,whirledthroughmymind.
“What?You’renotgoingtospeaktome?”Henryasked,goadingme.Istaredatthegroundwhooshingbelowme,pullingeveryounceofstrengthfromthecornersofmybeing.IthoughtofCallie,thedeathIhadn’tavenged.IthoughtofViolet,abouttobenext.
“Thisendsnow!”Iyelled,spinningaround,fistsready.Iwaslargerthanhim,butIknewfromthepressureofhisarmagainstmythroatthathewasstrongerthanme.I’dhavetobefasterandsmarter.
“Isthisthewayyouwanttodothis?”Henryhalf-growled,lungingtowardme.Isidesteppedhim,andmyfootbegantoslipoffthetrain.Ireachedout,clingingtothesteampipe,asHenryswunghisfist.Fleshconnectedtomytempleandforamoment,allIsawwerestars.
Henry’slow,smoothlaughyankedmeoutofmyfogofpain.
Ipretendedtototterasthoughindangeroflosingmygrip.IwantedtocatchHenryunaware.AndthenIreachedbackandswung.
BloodgushedfromHenry’slipandIsteppedback,surveyingmyworkinsatisfaction.
“Notaseasyasyouthoughtit’dbe,isit?”Iaskedindisgust.DamonhadprobablytoldhisposseIalwaysavoidedconflict,eventomyownperil.Well,notanymore.IwasdonewithDamon’sgames.
Henryretreatedafewmeters,rubbinghiswoundandattemptingtoregainhisbalance.Thewoundwasfastdisappearing,andIknewIneededtoactquickly.
Ibentmyknees,hopingmyinstinctsfromdecadesofjumpingwithhorseswouldhelpme.Itwasallaboutlookingwhereyouweregoing,andnever,everlookingaway.Iglancedatasmallmetaldentinthecenterofthecarafewmetersaway,andjumped.
MybodycareenedthroughspaceasIheardHenrygrowlbelowme.Ididn’tlook,concentratingonthattinyimperfectiononthetrain’sexterioruntilmyfeethitthemetalwithathud.ThenIwhirledaroundandlunged,aimingtowardhisface,givinghimapunchwithasmuchstrengthasIcouldmuster.Myfistconnectedwithhisflesh.Hestood,hisbodyweavingononeleg,suspendedinmidairlikeadancerawaitinghisnextcue,beforehetumbledoffthetrain.Hisbodylandedinaheapontheground,growingsmallerinmyviewasthetrainspedon.
“Seeyouinhell,”Imurmured.Toanyoneelse,itwouldbeacurse.Butforme,itwasapromise.
Iclimbeddownthericketyladderandsteppedontothecaboosecar,hopingagainsthopethatnoconductororpolicemanwouldbewaitingforme.Iwasweakandshaky,coveredwithbloodandsoot.
Ipickedmywaybacktothecabin,relievedthatnoonestoppedmeonmyway.Violetwasstillsleeping,herbreathingshallowandoccasionallyinterruptedbyagasp,althoughwhetherornotthatwasfrompainoradream,onlysheknew.
Icouldn’tsit.Instead,Ipacedlikeawildanimal,desperatetodosomething.SoDamonhadenlistedHenrytodohisdirtywork.Thequestionwas,werethereothers?Ihadthestrengthtofightoffone,butcouldIfightoffseveral?Andwouldwebeabletohidefromthemforlongenough,atleasttoallowViolettodieinpeace?
Thetrainwhistleblew,andVioletstirredinmylap.We’darrivedatthetinyIvinghoestation.
“Wakeup,”Isaid,gentlyrousingher.Mytemplethrobbed,andthewoundwasslowtoheal,atruesignthatIwasquicklylosingstrength.
“Stefan,”shesaidsleepilybeforeopeninghereyes.“Whathappened?”Shegaspedasshetookinmyappearance.
“We’rebeingfollowed,”Isaidtersely,glancingpastViolettowardmyreflectioninthewindow.Ilookedawful.IlookedlikeI’dbeencaughtinawar.Which,IsupposewasmoreorlesswhatI’dfoundmyselfin.“ByHenry,”Iclarifiedgrimly.
“Henry!”Violetgaspedagain,herfaceturningpale.“Whatdoyoumean?
“He’savampire,too.Damonhasalotofverypowerfulfriends.ButIgotridofhim,”Iexplained.IknewitsoundedlikeI’dkilledhim,andIferventlywishedthathadbeenthecase.ButIhadafeelingI’dsimplywoundedhim,andifso,Iknewhe’dbequicktoreturn.Thetrainwhistleblewaswerolledintothetrainstation.“Comewithme,”Isaidbrusquely.
Violetstruggledtoherfeetandfollowedmedownthenarrowaisleofthetraincar.
“Sir?”aconductorcalledfrombehindus.Iwhirledaround,noticingthesplitsecondthatittookhimtoseethebloodonmyhands,thegrimeandsootallovermyclothes.
Onemoretime,Isaidtomyself,lockingeyeswithhim.Justbecausecompellinghadbecomeroutineoverthepastfewdaysdidnotmeanittookanylesseffort.Iforcedmyselftostandstill.“Youneversawus,”Isaidasthetraincametoastop,itsbrakessquealing.
Violetheldmyhandtightlyandsteppedbehindme,asthoughshewereafrightenedanimalbeingprotectedbyalarger,strongermemberofthepack.
Icontinuedtolookintheconductor’swatery,sleepyeyes.“We’releavingnow.Andwhenyoupassthroughthecarriage,youwon’trememberus,”Isaid,walkingdownthethreestepstowardtheplatform.Theconductortrailedbehindus,leaningoverthestepsasifunsurewhetherornottohopoffthetrainandaskusmorequestions.Icontinuedtostare.
“Ineversaw…”Iheardtheconductoragree,beforethewhistleblewandthetrainwhirredaway,headingdeeperintothecountry.
“Whathappened?”Violetasked,handsonherhipsasdustfromthedepartingtrainwhippedaroundus.Shestillseemedwoozyandwasstaggeringasthoughdrunk
“It’sapowervampireshave.Icanmakepeopledomybidding.Idon’tliketodoit,butitcancomeinhandy.”IhopedIwouldn’thavetodoanycompellingonourthree-milejourneybacktothemanor.WhoknewifMrs.ToddatthepostofficeorMr.Evansatthegeneralstorewerepeekingoutfrombehindtheircurtains,wonderingwhatStefanthegroundskeeperwaspossiblydoingwithacrying,pale,sickgirl.“Butwe’rehere,inIvinghoe.You’resafe.”
Violetshookherhead.“I’mnotsafe,”shesaid,hervoicelowandfaint.“I’mdying.”Isawherflinchandrealizedthatthesunmustbeagonizingtoher.Redsplotchesweredottingherarmsandlegs,andherfacewasslickedwithsweat.Iglancedhelplesslyatmylapis-lazuliring,wishingtherewassomethingIcoulddo.ButIneededtobewearingtheringatalltimes.
“Let’sgo,”Isaid,hookingmyarminhersandcrossingtotheshadysideofthestreet.Itwasn’tmuchrelief,butitwassomething.Then,together,wetrudgedupthewindingpathtoAbbottManor.
Chapter15
BythetimewereachedthepaththatledtotheAbbott’sbackgarden,mymindhadcleared.Thewoodswerebeautiful,dark,wild,andmysterious.Oneofthelocallegendswasthatlongago,fairieshadsettledthelandandmadeittheirhome,hidingintheampleoaktreetrunksandlookingoutfortheforestlife.Ofcourse,Ididn’tbelievethetale.I’dbeenthroughthewoodsandcapturedandkilledenoughanimalstoknowtherewerenobenevolentcreaturesprotectingtheforest.Oriftherewere,thentheyhadbetterthingstodothansaveanerrantsquirrelorrabbitthatwascaughtintheclenchesofavampire’sfangs.Still,thestorycomfortedme,ifonlybecauseitprovedthathumanscouldstillbelieveingood,evenwhensomuchevillivedintheirmidst.
Wewalkedtowardtheclearing,wherethesprawlingthree-storybrickmanorhouseroseuponthecrestofahill.
“Hereweare,”Isaid,gesturingtothevastexpanse,asifIwereakingshowingoffmylandtomysubject.
“It’snice,”Violetsaid,asmallsmilecreepingontoherpalelips.“Green.Itremindsmeofhome.”
IheardthedogbarkandIstartled.IknewthatmostlikelyLukeorOliverwouldbenearby,andIdidn’twantthemtoseeViolet.TherewouldbetoomanyquestionsIdidn’tthinkIcouldanswer.Hastily,IsweptVioletintomyarmsandintomytinycottage.Safelyinside,Ihadhersitatmyricketykitchentable.Iquicklychangedmyshirt,washedmyface,andranwaterthroughmyhair.Inthemirror,IsawVioleteyeingmeinquisitively.
Iturnedaroundandshelickedherlips.
“I’msothirsty,”Violetwhimpered.
“Iknow,”Isaidhelplessly.
Justthen,thecabindoorcreakedopen.Iglancedaroundinapanic.Perhapsmycabinwasn’tassecludedasIneededittobe.
“Stefan,you’reback!”Olivercamebarrelinginside,histinyfootstepsechoingonthefloor.Hethrewhisarmsaroundmyknees.“IthoughtIsawyou.Youcamehomeearly!Arewegoinghuntingtoday?”
“Notyet,”Isaid,rufflinghisfineblondhairandtryingtochokebackmyguilt.“Ihaveavisitor.Oliver,thisisViolet.”
Hiseyeswidenedatthesiteofher,remindingmeofthewayVioletcaptivatedthecrowdsatthetheater.Shedidhavesomethingspecialabouther.
“She’smycousin,”IliedasVioletsanktoherkneesandheldoutherhand.
“Hello,littleman,”shesaid,givingOliverabigsmile.
ButOlivercontinuedtostareather,notmovingamuscle.Hisfacesubtlychangedfromasenseofwondertohesitation.Couldhesomehowsensehernewnature?BackinVirginia,ourhorseswouldalwaysbecomeuneasywhenKatherinewasintheirmidst.Butcouldthesameapplytochildren?
“Isshegoinghuntingwithus?”Oliverasked,nottakinghiseyesoffViolet.
“No,I’msorry,shecan’t,”Isaidbriefly,hopinghewouldn’tpushforanexplanation.
“Canyouatleastcometodinner?We’vemissedyou,Stefan!”
“Yes.Whydon’tyourunupandletMrs.DuckworthknowthatVioletandIarehere?We’llseeyousoon.”Olivernodded,butdidn’tmove.
“Goon!”Iurged.Ihadn’twantedtheAbbottstomeetViolet.I’dwantedhertodieinpeace.ButIdidn’twanttoarousesuspicion,andnowwe’dhavetoattenddinnerandpretendthateverythingwasinorder.Already,Violet’sskinhadtakenonaghastlypallor,aclearindicationthatdeathwasworkingitswaythroughherbody.Whoknewhowmuchworseshe’dbeinanhour?Timewasoftheessence,andIfeltterriblethatIwasmakingherspendherlastfewhourslivingalie.
“Yes,Stefan,”Oliversaid,trudgingoutthedoorandupthestonewalktothehouse.
“Wehavetogotodinner,”Isaid.“I’msorry.”
“No,that’sokay,”Violetsaid.Shelookeddrawnandoverwhelmed,andguilttwistedinmystomach.Maybeshe’dfindsomesmallcomfortatthefarmhouse.AtleastIcouldhope.
“I’mgoingtotellthemthatyou’remysecondcousin,”IexplainedasIledherupthewindingpathtowardthelargebrickmanorhouse.“WemetinLondonandIinvitedyoutothecountryforafewdays.Doesthatsoundokay?”
Violetnodded.ShewasstilllickingherlipsandIcouldn’thelpbutnoticehowlargeherpupilswerebecoming.Shewaswellintothetransition,crestingtothepeakwhereherverybeingwasfightingtosurviveinanywaypossible,evenifthatmeantdrinkingblood.
“Stefan!”Georgebellowedasweenteredthefoyer.ItwasclearOliverhadrelayedmymessage,andhe’dbeenexpectingus.George’spaunchwasstrainingagainsthiswaistcoat,andhisfacewasredderthanever.“You’rehereintimefordinner.AndIwasworriedyou’dbesocaughtupbythecitythatyou’dnevercomebacktothecountry.ButIseeyoucamehome!Andwithcompany!”headded,hisgazeflickingcuriouslytowardViolet.
“Sir,”Isaidquickly,mystomachtwistingonthewordhome.“Iinvitedmycousin,Violet,toexploreourtown.Iamsorryfortheshortnotice.”
“IheardsomuchaboutthisplaceandIfeltIhadtocome,”Violetsaid,playingherpartliketheactressshewas.Shecurtseyedprettily.
“CousinViolet,”Georgemurmured.“Enchanted,mydarling,”hesaid,bowingslightlyather.
Thethreeofuswalkedintotheparlor.Icouldsmellaroastbeingpreparedinthekitchen,andIlovedhowfamiliarandsimplemysurroundingsseemed.LukeandOliverwereonthefloor,playingagameofdominos,Emmawasrockingadollinherarms,andGertrudewasworkingonherneedlepoint,anexquisitelycraftedflowerscene.Nothinghadchangedhere,andyet,forme,everythinghad.
“HowwasLondon?”Georgeboomed,catchingmyeyeashecrossedovertothedrinkcartinthecornerandpouredadarkamberliquidintotwoglasses.
“Itwasfine,”Isaidshortly.“Loud.”
“Icanimagine.Andwheredidyoustay?Withyourrelations,the—”
“Burnses,”Violetsaidquickly.“I’mVioletBurns.”Iwatchedher.Werehereyestoobright,herfacetoopale?Icouldn’ttell.
“Hewasn’ttoomuchtrouble,washe?”Georgeteased.
Igrimacedinternally.Theyhadnoideathattroublefollowedmeeverywhere.“No,hewaslovely,”Violetsaidfinally,asifshe’dbeencoached.
AfondsmilecrossedGeorge’sface.“OurStefanhasthateffectonpeople.AndI’msohappyyouhaverelationsnearby.Amanshouldn’thavetofendforhimselfintheworld,”hesaid,catchingmyeyeasheraisedhisglassintheair.“Tofamily,”hesaid,tippingittowardme.
“Tofamily,”Imurmured,nursingmyowndrink.AsilencefellintheroomandIwasalltoorelievedwhenMrs.Duckworthcameintotheparlortoannouncethattheroastwasready.
Violetlickedherlipsasshestoodupandsmoothedherskirts.She’dbeendoingitobsessively,andmyheartwentouttoher.Iknewthatshewasexperiencingherfirstpangsofreal,soul-crushinghungerthatcouldn’tbequenchedwithanymortalmeal.
“Violet,darling,sithere,”Gertrudesaid,guidingViolettoaseatnexttoheratthelargecherrywoodtable.“Youlookhalf-starved,whichisunderstandable.I’msurethefoodtheyserveonthosetrainsisappalling!”Shecluckedsympathetically.
“I’msorry,”Violetsaiddistantly.“Idon’tfeelverywell.”
“Well,haveabitetoeat,andthenifyouneedtohavealiedown,goaheadanddoit.Agoodmeal,somecountryair,andyou’llbegoodasnew,”Gertrudesaidinherloving,maternalway.
Wesettled,andIwatchedasMrs.Duckworthcuttheroast.Atrickleofbloodoozedfromthemeatwitheachcut,andIsawVioletleanforward,herblueeyesshining.
“Hereyougo,dear,”Mrs.Duckworthsaid,puttingtwoslicesonherplate.Withoutwaitingfortherestofthefamilytobeserved,orhelpingherselftothepotatoes,beans,androllssetinheapingbowlsonthetable,Violetdugin.Shebarelyusedherutensilsassheshoveledthemeatintohermouth.
“Youmusthavebeenhungry,”GertrudetrilledasshestooduptohelpLukecuthismeat.Luke,perhapstakingacuefromViolet,wasforgoinghisknifeinfavorofstabbinghissliceofmeatwithhisfork.
“Idon’tknowwhatcameoverme,”Violetsaid,dabbinghermouthwithhernapkin.Hergazewasstillonthemeat.Asilencehungintheroom.
“Justthebriskcountryair,”Gertruderepeated,anedgetohervoice.IknewthattheAbbottscouldsensesomethingwaswrong,buttheycouldn’tputtheirfingersonit.Idesperatelywantedthemtolikeher,andforViolettofindthesametypeofpeaceonthefarmthatI’dfound.Butofcourse,Violetfeltconfusedandfamished.Damonornot,maybeitwouldhavebeenbetterifshe’ddiedsurroundedbythemarqueelightsoftheWestEnd.
“HaveyoualwayslivedinLondon,dear?”Gertrudeasked,obviouslygivingVioletthebenefitofthedoubt.
“I’moriginallyfromIreland,”Violetsaid,hermouthfulloffood.LukeandOliverwerewatchingherwithfascination.
“Ireland.”Georgeclearedhisthroat.“IthoughtyourrelationswerefromItaly,Stefan.”
“Theywereonmyfather’sside.There’ssomeIrishbloodonmymother’sside,”Ilied.IfDamoncouldreinventhimselfasacountoraduke,IcouldinventsomeIrishrelatives.
“Ah,”Georgesaid,slicingintohisownmeat.“Well,inanycase,it’slovelytohaveyouhere,Violet.Considerourhouseyourhouse.”
“You’retookind,”Violetmurmured,hereyesfranticallydartingaroundthetable,desperatelylookingforsomethingtosatiateherhunger.Eventhoughtherewasnothingthatcould.
Justthen,EmmapulledtimidlyonthesleeveofViolet’sdress.
Violetglanceddown,herwaryexpressionchangingintoawidesmile.“Why,hellothere,littledear,”Violetsaidgently.
“Hi,”Emmasaid,immediatelyputtingherthumbinhermouthandlookingaway.
“Now,Emma,canyouproperlyintroduceyourselftoMissViolet?”
IwatchedEmmanervously.IwasstillwaryofthewayOliverhadstaredatViolet.WassomethingapparentaboutViolettothechildrenthatwasn’ttotheirparents?
“I’mEmma,”shesaidsolemnly,beforestickingherthumbbackinhermouth.
Violetsmiled,suddenlylookingmuchstrongerthanshehadbefore.
“Hello,Emma.I’mViolet.Andyou’reverypretty.WhenIfirstsawyou,doyouknowwhatIthought?”
“No.”Emmashookherhead.
“Ithought,thatgirlmustbeafairyprincess.There’snowayshecouldbeahuman.She’sfartoolovely.Areyouaprincess?”Violetasked.
Withoutsayinganything,EmmaclambereduponViolet’slap.Violetbouncedherupanddownonherknee.
“Ithinkyoufoundanewfriend,”Gertrudesaid,clearlycharmedbyEmma’sworshipofViolet.
“IthinkIhave,too,andI’mmostthankfulforit,”Violetsaid,hereyesshining.“Ihaveasisteraboutheragebackhome;hernameisClare.Imissherverymuch.AndthenofcourseIhaveanothersister,Cora.She’sinLondon,”Violetsaid,hereyestakingonalongingexpression.
“Itmustbehardtobesofaraway.WhatbroughtyoutoLondon?”Georgeasked.Emma’sfondnesshadbrokenanyice,andnowtheAbbottswerebehavingasifVioletwasjustonemoreslightlyoldermemberoftheirbrood.
“Well,IthoughtI’dbeanactress,”Violetadmitted.
“Well,youstillcan.You’rehowold?Seventeen?”Gertrudeaskedasshepattedthecornerofhermouthwithherwhitelinennapkin.
Violetnodded.“Yes,IsupposeIcouldbe,”shesaid,sighing.Throughtheentireconversation,she’dbeeneatingravenously,almostfasterthanMrs.Duckworthcouldrefillherplate.LukeandOliverwerewatchinginadmiration,clearlyinaweofherappetite.Afterall,they’doftentriedtohaveeatingcompetitionsinthepast,onlytobeadmonishedbyMrs.Duckworthwithasharpraptotheirknuckles.
“Well,Stefan,yourfamilyislovely,justlikeI’dimagine.It’sasmyhusbandsaid,familytrulyisthemostimportantthinginlife,”Gertrudesaid,herintelligentblueeyesshining.
“Iagree,”Isaidthickly.
Violetfinallyputdownherforkandslumpedover,restingherelbowsonthetable.Hereyeswereglassyandherfacewasghostlywhite.
“Areyouallright,dear?”Gertrudeasked,pushingbackherchair.Hurriedly,Mrs.Duckworthracedovertoassisther.
“She’sfine.She’sjusthadalongday.WeleftLondonquiteearly,”Isaidfrantically,wonderingifthiswasthebeginningoftheend.
“Ofcourse.Well,Icanhavetheguestroompreparedif…”
Violetsatupandtookafewdeepbreaths.Awarealleyeswereonher,shesmoothedbackherauburnhairandsatramrodstraight.Hersmilewasfrozenintoagrimace.Itallmusthavebeenexcruciatingtoher.“Iapologize.I’mquiteallright,thankyou,”shesaid,hervoicestrongandsteady.
IplacedmyownnapkinnexttomyplateandstooduptohelpViolet.Sheneededtobealone,andquickly.
“Ithinkwe’llgoforawalk.Asyousaid,theairwilldousgood,”Isaid,pullingViolet’schairbackandofferinghermyarm.Shewasabouttodie,andIcouldn’thavethathappenintheManor.I’dcomeupwithsomethingtotelltheAbbottslater—thatshe’ddecidedtoheadbacktoLondontoseeherdoctor,andthatshesentherregards.Aftertwentyyearsoflying,I’dlearnedtothinkofalltheeventualities.
Oliverstirredimpatientlyattheendofthetable.“Canwegohunting?Please?I’vebeenpracticingalldayandyoupromised.Violetcancomewithus!”
“Oliver!”Gertrudeadmonished.“Stefanwillbeentertaininghiscousin.”
“Anothertime,Oliver,”Isaid,pattinghishead.“Justkeepworkingonyouraimandyou’llbeabletoteachmesomethingwhenwegoout,”Isaid.Violetsmiledslightly,andIfeltanotherheavydoseofregret.Accidentornot,I’dledhertoDamon.Becauseofme,Violetwouldneverhaveafamilyofherown.“Thankyouverymuchforalovelymeal,”Isaid.IheldmyhandoutforVioletandthetwoofuswalkedintotheafternoonlight.
Therewasachillintheair,andIrealizedhowcloseweweretofall.ThelongerIlived,themoreIbecameawareofhowquicklytheseasonschanged.SometimesIfeltlikeonehadbarelybegunbeforewewereontothenext—sounlikewhenIwasahuman,whenasummerseemedtostretchforalifetime.ItwasjustoneofthemillionsoftinylossesthatIendured,thatVioletwouldn’thaveto.
“Idon’tknowwhatcameovermeatdinner,”VioletconfessedasIledheruptherock-strewnpaththroughtheglen.IthoughtitwouldbenicetoheadtoIvinghoeBeacon.Itwasthetallestspotintheparish,tallereventhanthelargewaterwheelthatchurnedintheChilternRivertopowertheminesdownbelow.
Wewalkedcompanionablythroughtheglitteringgreenglen,whichseemedmorealivethanever.Sparrowschirped,chipmunksandsquirrelsrattledinthedenseshrubbery,andIcouldhearthesoundofthebrookrushingtowardBilburyCreek.
Violetstoppedmid-step.
“Areyouallright?”Iaskeddelicately.Itseemedaterriblequestiontoask.Ofcourseshewasn’tallright.
Violetshookherhead.“I’llmisseverything,”shesaid,spreadingherhandswideasiftotakethewholeviewin.Isawhershouldersriseandfall,heardaslightgaspescapeherlips.Butshedidn’tcry.
Igrabbedherhand.TherewasnothingIcouldsay,sowecontinuedwalkingupthehill,untilthegrassturnedrougher,therockslarger,andtheairslightlythinner.WewalkedthroughadenseforestofevergreentreesuntilthemomentIwaswaitingfor—whenthetreesclearedandallthatwasleftwasblueskyabove,andEnglandsprawlingdownbelow.Itwasoneofmyfavoritespotsintheworld,secondonlytothefaredgeofthepropertyofmychildhoodhomeinVirginiawherethepondmettheforest.
“Thankyoufortakingmehere,”shesaidfinally.Sheputherhandonherheart.“Oh,Stefan!”shecalledoutinanguish.
“Shhh,”Isaid,pullingherclose.Iwasn’tsurehowelseIcouldcomforther.Aroundus,birdscontinuedtochirpandtheautumnairruffledherskirts.Butinside,Iknewshewasweakening.“Shhh,”Isaidagain.
Sheburiedherfaceinherhandsagainstmychest.Iheldherasshesobbed,eachshudderofhersatwistinmyheart.Finally,shepriedherfingersoffandlookedatmewithsuchapiercinggazethatIsteppedback.
“Whyme?”sheasked,hereyessearchingmyface.
“It’smyfault.Ifyouhadn’tmetme,thisneverwouldhavehappened,”Isaidmiserably.
Violetshookherhead.“OrmaybeI’dbedeadinaLondonditch.Youweremyfriend.Youshowedmetheworld.IfIhavetodie,atleastIhadthosedaysofmagic,”shesaidshyly.
“Thankyou,”Isaid.Ithoughtbacktowhenwemet.TherewasnowayIwouldhaveeverforgivenmyselfifI’djustwalkedawaywhenAlfredyelledatherinthetavern.“That’sverykind.ButpleaseknowIonlydidwhatanyonewoulddo,Violet.”
“Idon’tbelievethat,”shesaidfirmly.“You’reatruefriend.”
“Andyouare,too.I’llalwaysrememberyou.”
AslowsmilecrossedViolet’sface.“You’llalwaysrememberme?Evenintwohundredyears?”
“Yes,”Ireplied.Ihadnodoubt.IwantedgoodmemoriesofViolet,wantedtorememberthecourageousresolveshe’dshowneveninthefaceofherowndeath.“You’reoneinamillion.Andyou’resomeoneIcouldnever,everforget.”
GratitudegleamedinViolet’seyes.“Thankyou,”shesaidinasmallvoice.“MayIaskyouafavor?”
Inodded.IknewifIspoke,myvoicewouldcrack,andIdidn’twanttocryinfrontofViolet.Ididn’twanthertoknowhowterrifiedIwas.
“Couldyou…kissme?”shewhispered,embarrassed.“It’sjustthatI’veneverhadaproperkiss.AndIdon’twanttodiewithouteverbeingkissed.Please?”
Onceagain,Ifoundmyheartbreakingforthisgirl.Shehadsomuchlifelefttolive.Inodded,graspinghertiny,delicatehandandpullingherintome.Ileaneddownandallowedmylipstograzehersinasweet,innocentkiss.
Violetbrokethekissandshylymetmygaze.
“Thankyou,”shesaid.“Thatwasperfect.”
“Don’tthankme,”Imumbled.Inthatmoment,IfeltsomethingasclosetopeaceasI’dfeltinyears.
Iglancedattheskytoavoidlookingather.Cloudswererollingintowardtheriverdownbelow,andIknewitwouldonlybeamatteroftimebeforetheheavensopenedup.
IhurriedVioletdownthehillwithoutabackwardglance.Therainwouldcomesoon,causingthegroundstosparklewithcondensation.Ilovedrainstorms,theirabilitytowasheverythingawayandmakeeverythingsmellcleanandinnocent.Ionlywishedtheraincouldwashawaymysins.
Chapter16
WhenIwasgrowingup,kissingwasagamethatwestartedtoplaywhenwefoundtagtobetoochildlike.Itwasadiversion,anamusement,andcausedourheartstoraceatanotherwiseboringpicnic.I’dsharedkisseswithClementineHaverford,AmeliaHawke,RosalynCartwright,andallmyotherchildhoodplaymates.Kissingwaspleasant,butneverlife-changing.Butthen,IkissedKatherinePierce,andnothingwaseverthesame.ItwasasifthoseotherkissesweremereshadowsoftheecstasyIfeltwhenKatherine’slipswerenearmine.WhenIwassurroundedbyherheadyscentoflemonandginger,Iwasguidedpurelybyinstinct.Iwoulddoanythingforakiss.And,ofcourse,itwasthatunquenchabledesirethathadchangedmyentirelife.KatherinewaslikeHelenofTroy,launchinganeternityofdestruction.Andyet,IknewthatifIeverdidfindmyselfclosetodeath,IwouldclosemyeyesandimagineKatherine’slipsbrushingmine.VioletwantedsomethingIcouldn’tgiveher.Shewantedlove,andallIhadwasmyaffection.Butmaybethatwasbetterthandesire.Desire,afterall,wastheverythingthatkilledme.
Inautumn,thickraincloudsoftenhunglowintheIvinghoesky,castingtheentirefarminagloomy,dusklikefognomatterwhatthetimeofday.Todaywasnoexception.Thebeautifulmorninghadgivenwaytoaneveningheavywiththepromiseofrainandinthesemidarknessofmycabin,IwaswatchingVioletgrowweakerandweaker.Here,itwasjustusandDeath,apowerfulthirdpartyinmyvigiloverViolet.
“Please,Stefan!”Violetsaid,thrashingfromsidetosideasshewoke.Ihastilydippedacompressinwaterandhelditagainstherforehead.Mykneeswerestiff,andIknewImusthavebeensittinginthesamepositionforhours,butIdidn’twanttoleavehersideforevenaninstant.Icouldn’ttellwhetherherscreamsweretheresultofafeverdreamorasignthatshewasreturningtoahazyhalf-consciousness.
Violet’seyes,whentheyopened,werecloudyasunshakenmilk.Shesquinted,tryingtofocusonme.
“Stefan,please!Pleasejustkillme.Enditnow,”shegasped,herbreathingsoundinglikearustysawcuttingagainstmetal.Whitishfrothhadcollectedatthecornersofhermouthandherarmswerecoveredwithscratchesfromwhenshe’dclawedatherskininhersleep,asifwantingtoescapeherownbody.I’dstoppedherasbestIcould,butshestilllookedlikeshe’drunthroughabramblepatch.Now,shenolongerhadenergytothrash,andallshecouldfocusonwasblinkingandbreathing.
Ishookmyheaddully.IwishedIcoulddowhatsheaskedofme—toendheragonyandbringherpeace.Butnomatterhowmuchshebegged,Icouldn’tbringmyselftodoit.I’dpromisedtomyselfoverandoveragainthatI’dneverkillanotherhuman.Itwasselfish,perhaps,butallIcoulddowastrytomakehercomfortableinherlastmoments.
“Please!”shecried,hervoiceahalf-shriek.Anowlhootedinthedistance.Nighttimewaswhenthecreaturesoftheforestcameout.Icouldsmelltheirbloodandheartheirheartbeats.AndwhileVioletcouldn’thearthemasprofoundlyasIdid,Iknewshecouldsensetheirpresenceaswell.
“Soonyou’llbesomewherebetter,”Isaid,hopinguponhopethatIwastellingherthetruth.“Soonyou’llbeatpeace.AnditwillbebetterthanhereorLondon—betterthanIreland,even.ItwillbebetterthananywhereyouorIcouldimagine.”
“Stefan,ithurts,”Violetsaid,thrashingagainstthebedframeandthrowingthebedclothesonthefloor.Sheopenedhereyesagain.
“Shhh—”Isaid,reachingtowardherarm.Butsheyankedawayfromme,swungherfeetdown,andracedtowardthedoor,atangleofbedclothesmoppingthefloorbehindher.
“Violet!”Isprangup,mychairfallingbehindmewithaclatter.Quickly,Violetloosenedthelatchandfledintothenight.Thedoorslammedshut.
Iimmediatelyranafterher.Ilookedthiswayandthat,mysensesquicklyacclimatingtotheoutdoors.Theairwaspitchblack,andthetreessurroundingthecottage,usuallysocozy,mademerealizeshecouldbeanywhere.
Isniffedtheair,suddenlysharpwiththesmellofblood,andracedtowardthesource.
“Violet!”Icalledintothenight,awareandnotcaringthattheAbbottscouldhearme.Ineededtofindher.Ihoppedoverthewirefenceofthechickencoop
There,kneeling,herdress,face,andhandsspatteredwithblood,wasViolet.Adeadchickenwasinherlap,itsnecksnapped,bloodoozingfromagashonitsthroat.BloodwasrunningdownViolet’sface,andherteeth,stillnormal,gleamedinthemoonlight.
Suddenly,sheleanedoverandbegantoretch.Herentirebodywassoakedinsweat,andIcouldn’ttellifshewasdyingorreviving.
“I’msosorry!”shesaid,herfacestainedwithtears.“Ididn’tmeantodoit.”
Violet’sguiltwasoneIknewalltoowell.Wordlessly,Itookherbythehand,pulledherup,andledherbacktothecabin.Iclosedthedoorandturnedtowardher.Herbodywasperchedontheedgeofthebed,bloodstainsinherhairandonthebodiceofherdress,herexpressionmiserable.
“Areyoumadatme?”sheaskedinatinyvoice.
Ishookmyheadsilentlyandhelpedherliedown,tuckingherunderthecrispwhitelinensheetsandopeningthewindow,hopingthatthefallaircouldprovidesomesolace.
“Iwassohungry,”shesaidinasmallvoice.“Istillam.”
“Iknow,”Isaid.Thechickenbloodwouldn’tdoanything.Toturn,avampireneededhumanblood.“Iknowit’shard.AndIknowyou’resuffering,”Isaidhelplessly.Shenodded,adropofchickenbloodstilllingeringonthecornerofhermouth.“Butremember,you’regoingsomeplacebetter.Itrulybelievethat.AndIknowitwillbepainful,butafterpaincomespeace.”
IsupposeIalsohopedthatformysakeaswell.Afterall,Ihadcreatedthis.Mymindkeptplayingthesametug-of-waroverandoveragain.ThelogicalpartofmybraintoldmethatthiscouldhavehappenedwhetherornotI’dbeeninvolved.Afterall,ifVioletandIhadnevermet,shemighthavebeenkickedouttothestreet.Shecouldhavebeenfoundbyanyone.
Orshemightbeonthebrinkofalong,happylife.
“Stefan,I…”Violetsaid,breathingheavilywitheveryword.
“It’sallright.Goandfindpeace,”Isaid.Itwasthegood-byeI’dnevergivenCallie.Now,IknewthatthebestthingIcoulddowasletVioletknowitwasokaytogo.
“But…I…”Violetsaid,herbreathlaboringwitheachword.Ileanedinclosertohear,myearjustinchesawayfromhermouth,whenallofasudden,Iheardaterrible,otherworldlyshriekpiercingthenightair.
Butitwasn’tViolet.ItwascomingfromtheManor.
ItoremygazeawayfromVioletandrusheduptothehouse,fearingtheworst.
Chapter17
TheManorwaspitch-black,andtherewasnosignofanyone,notevenMrs.Duckworth,whooftenkeptlatehoursknittingbycandlelight.Therewasn’tevenalanternlightingtheporch,andIfeltmystomachsink.Somethingwasvery,verywrong.
“Hello?”Icalled,myvoicewavering.“Who’shere?”Icalledagain,wishingI’drememberedtograbagunbeforeI’druntothehouse.“Showyourself!”Iyelled,louderthanever,myvoiceechoingoffthestoneentranceway.
Silence.Damonmusthavefoundus.
Then,Iheardaslightcry.Itwassofaint,IthoughtImightbeimaginingthings.Icockedmyheadagain.Definitelyanoise.
“I’mcoming!”Icalled.Iftherewassound,itwasasignoflife.Iquicklyspedthroughthelabyrinthofrooms,myeyesadjustingtothedimlight,untilIcameintotheparlor.
There,theentireAbbottfamilywashuddledinthecorner,Lukeaswhiteasaghost.Georgewasclutchingapoker,hiseyeswild,andGertrudehadfaintedonthefloor.Emma,thesourceofthenoise,wascryingoverhermother.Buttheywerealive.
“I’mhere.It’sStefan.You’resafe,”Isaidtothefamily,eventhoughmyheartwaspoundinginterroragainstmychest.Damoncouldbeanywhere.Hewasprobablyrightbehindme,laughingatme.He’dconcoctedthisscenepurelytofrightenme,toshowmethathewasn’tscaredofKlausbecausehe’dbecomeKlaus.Hecouldcommithorrificactsofbloodshedwithoutblinkinganeye.
“Stefan?”Georgesaidincredulously,hisvoicedrippingwithfear.
“Yes.You’llbesafe.Ipromise,”Isaid,myeyesdartingaroundtheroom.Themanyportraitsseemedtobeleeringdownatme.ButtherewasnosignofDamon
Suddenly,Iheardanoiseandwhirledaround.Assoonasmybackwasturned,Georgesprangup,lungingtowardmewiththepoker.Acrazedlookwasonhisfloridface.
“Traitor!Youstolemyson!”Georgeyelled,swingingtheironpokerwildlythroughtheairasifitwereasword.Iduckedeasily,horrordawningonmeasItookinthefamily.WherewasOliver?
“Sir!No!Iwasdownatthefarmhouse!Itwasmybrother,Damon.Whereishe?Didyouseewherehewent?”IaskeddesperatelyasIcontinuedtoduckhisblows.
Ifeltsomethingjumponmyback.IspunaroundandrealizedLukehadclampedhimselftomyshouldersandwaskickinghislegsintomylungs.
“Youtookmybrother!”heshrieked,pummelinghisfeetintomyback.Istruggledagainsthisgrip.Emmawascryingloudlynow,tearsstreamingdownherface.
“Fiend!Youshalldie!”Georgeroared,lungingtowardmeinthedarkness.
“Itwasn’tme!”Iyelledfutilely.IshruggedLukeoffmyback.Hefelltothefloorwithasickeningthump,andIusedthemomentGeorgeturnedtotendtohimtohurryoutofthehouseandintothedarkness,confidentmyvampiresenseswouldgivemeaheadstart.ButIknewIdidn’thavemuchtime.Georgewouldruntoaneighboringfarmforhelp,andsoonthere’dbeanentiremoblookingforme.
Butrightnow,Icouldn’tworryaboutthat.Oliverwaskidnapped.Andavampirewasontheloose.I’dbeensetup,justlikeIhadwhenMarthahadbeenfoundinthealleybehindtheTenBells.FearfloodedmybodyasIrealizedtheconnection.Oliverhadbeentakenforareason,andI’dleftVioletunattendedandvulnerable.Hewasgoingtogettoherandforcethechoiceshe’dfoughtsohardagainst.Oliverwouldbethesacrificiallamb.Iwasjustapawninmybrother’sgame,andthistime,hewastrulyplayingforblood.
“Damon!”Iyelledagainintothedarkness.Isniffedtheair,feelingtheurgetoretchwhenIsmelledthefamiliarironscentallaround,envelopingme.“Damon!”Myfeetflewtowardmycabin,andIpushedagainstthedoorwithallmymight.
Iblinkedinhorror.
InthecenterofthefloorwasViolet,leaningdownoverOliver,takinglargesipsfromagapingwoundonhisneck.Bloodwastricklingontothefloorinadark,deeppool.
“Oliver!”Icalledhelplessly.Violetturnedaround,hernewlyformedfangsglisteningwithblood,ablankexpressiononherface.Sheleaneddown,buryingherfacebackinOliver’sneck.
“No!”IlungedtowardthemandattemptedtograbOliverfromhergrasp.Thelittleboy’sbodywaslimpandlifeless,andIcouldn’thearaheartbeat.Buthistinybodywasn’tentirelydrainedofblood.Notyet.Violetpulledhimawayfrommyhandsandbroughthisnecktoherlips.
Justthen,Iheardthedoorclickshut.Iturned,readytofightmybrother.
Onlyitwasn’tDamon.FramedinthedoorwaywasSamuel,hishairblondandlionlikearoundhisface,hiswhiteshirtandtantrousersimpeccablypressed.Iblinked.SoSamuelwasoneofDamon’sfootsoldiersaswell.Ofcourse.Ifeltthehatredformybrotherdeepening.
“Whereishe?”Igrowled,myhandsflexingintofists.IwouldmakeSamuelpay,butfirst,IneededhimtoleadmetoDamon.
“Sothisisyourcountryestate,Stefan,”Samuelsaid,unwindinghisbowtieanddrapingitoverthebackofachairandsittingdownasifhewerepayingasimplesocialcall.
“Where’sDamon?”Irepeated.
“Idon’tknow.”Samuelshrugged,crossingonelegoverhiskneeandleaningbackonhischair.“AndIdon’tcare.Icameherelookingforyou.OurtimeinLondonwassorushed,Ifeltthatyouhardlygottoknowmeatall,”hesaid,archingablondeyebrow.
“You’renothereforDamon?”
“Yourbrother?”heaskedlazily,lickinghislips.“Nothardly.AsIsaid,Ihavenoideawhereheis.NordoIcare.WhatreallymattersiswherepeoplethinkDamonis,”Samuelsaid,asmallsmileplayingonhislips.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked,myheadspinning.Icouldn’tstopstaringatthestoneonhisnecklace,andthemoreIstaredatit,themorebewitchedIfeltbyit.
“ImeanthatDamon…or,I’msorry,CountDeSangue,maysoonhaveanothersoubriquet.Ihopehelikesthesoundof‘JacktheRipper.’”SamuelroseandstalkedtowardViolet,whowasstillcrouchedoverOliver.Sheseemedunsurewhethertodivebackinandfeedagain.Samuelstoodabovethem,andforasecond,IwonderedifSamuelwouldsnapViolet’sneck,too,simplytoshowhispower.Buthedidn’t.Instead,hishandrestedgentlyonthetopofViolet’shead.
“Ithinkyoucouldbeuseful,”hemusedtohimself.“Yes,Ithinkyouhavewhatittakes.Hunger,certainly,”hesaidasVioletloweredherheadtodrinkasifinatrance.Thenheturnedtowardme.
“Where’sDamon?”Iasked,myvoiceshaking.“Ishe…”
“Dead?”Samuelletoutaharshlaughthatsoundedlikeabark.“Whatwouldpossiblybethefuninthat?Icanpromiseyou,he’snotdead.Icameupwithanotherplanforhim.SinceIknowhowmuchhecravesthespotlight,IfoundawayforhimtobesplashedallovertheLondonpapers.He’sabouttobeknownasLondon’smostnotoriouskiller.They’rereceivinganeyewitnesssketchofhimaswespeak.Andthat’sjustthebeginning.Ithinkhe’lllikethat,don’tyou?”
“You’retheRipper,”Irealized,everythingclickingintoplace.SamuelhadmurderedMaryAnnandattackedMartha.AndSamuelintendedtoframeDamonforthemurders.WhichmeantthatSamuelhadwrittenthewarningmessageinthepark.
Isteppedback,mybodyslammingagainstthewall.I’dcorneredmyself.
“IwanttodestroyDamon.Anddeathwouldbefartooeasy,”Samuelhissed,steppinguptomeandlayingonehandoneachshoulder.“SoIwillmakehimpayfirst.I’lltakehimawayfromtheLondonsocietyhelovessomuchandruintheimageheenjoysmaintaining.Thatwastheplan,andthat’swhatshallbecarriedout,”Samuelexplained,hisfacenowinchesawayfrommine.“Whenyoucamealong,Ididn’thavequiteasmuchtimetoplotyourpunishment.ButI’mquitepleasedbywhatIcameupwith.Iruinedthefamilyyoulovedsomuchandblameditonyou.Igotyourgirltocometothedarkside…IthinkIdidratherwell,”Samuelsaid,smiling.
“Whyareyoudoingthistous?Whathaveweeverdonetoyou?”Iasked,tryingtoplacatehimbynotstruggling.Mymindwaswhirling.Icouldjusthearthesoundofshoutinginthedistance,andknewitwouldn’tbelongbeforeanangrymobsurroundedthecabin.
“Youdidenough.AndIdon’treallyfeellikegivingyouahistorylesson.Butspeakingofbrothers,Idoknowthatyouhurtmine.AndIthinkthatalonemakesaratherstrongcaseagainstusbeingfriends,don’tyouagree?”heasked.Hissmilewasdangerous,andIknewhewasabouttopounce.Iclosedmyeyes,gatheredmystrength,andchargedtowardhim,hopingthesurpriseofmyactionwouldcatchhimoffguard.
Butquickerthanlightning,hewrestledmetothegrounduntilIwaspinnedunderneathhim.Withhisfaceonlyinchesfrommine,Icouldsmellhumanbloodonhisbreath.
Itwistedfreeandscrambledbackward.Heseemedtobeeverywhereandnowhereallatonce,andsuddenly,Icaughtthewhiffofsomethingburning.Ourscufflehadupsetatable,andanoverturnedcandlehadstartedafire,theflameslickingthedrypinewalls.ThelightfromtheflamesdancedonSamuel’sangularface.Oureyeslockedforamoment,andafaintsmilecrossedSamuel’slips.Thenhelungedtowardme,catchingmeunawareashepushedmetowardthehearth.Ifellontomyknees.
“Getout,”SamuelbarkedtoViolet,whorantowardthedoor,leavingOliver’slifelessbodyontheground.
“You’velivedforfartoolong,”hesaid,quicklygrabbingachairandsnappingitoverhiskneeasifitwereatwig.Hestoodoverme,eachfootoneithersideofmywaist,onehandholdingabrokenchairlimb,readyforittoserveasastake.
Butinsteadofdrivingitintomychest,heglancedatmeindisgust,thenspitontomyface.
“You’renotworthkilling;that’stooeasy,”Samuelmuttered,almosttohimself.“Iwantyoutosuffer.Youdeserveit.Infact,that’stheonlythingyoudeserve.”
Iclosedmyeyes,notbotheringtofight.Instead,IallowedmymindtoconjureupCallie.Sweet,fierceCallie,withredhairandfreckledskinandmischievouseyes.IknewthiswouldbethelasttimeIsawher,eveninmyimagination.Shewassurelyinheaven,andIwouldsoonbeboundforhell.
WithSamuel’sswiftmotion,painwaseverywhere.Thestakehaddriventhroughmychest,butmissedmyheart.Painradiatedfromthewoundtomyhands,myfeet,mybrain.
“Enjoyhell,”Samuelsaidwithalaugh.Thenhesweptoutthedoor,leavingmeinthefire-filledcabin,aprecursortowhatIknewwastobemyfinalrestingplace.
Chapter18
Whendeathisinevitable,thepassageoftimebothquickensandslows.IthadhappenedthefirsttimeIdied,whenIfeltabulletripthroughmybody,andIfeltitnow.Ifelttheheatfromtheflamesthatracedalongtheperimeterofthecabin.Ifeltpainpulsinginmygut.Ifelttrapped,unabletowigglethestakemorethanafewinchesinanydirection.ButwhatIalsofeltwasregret,anger,sorrow,andrelief.Ittrulywasasifalifetimewerepassingbeforemyeyes.
Orrather,bothmylifetimes.
Ihadn’taccomplishedverymuch,eitherasahumanoravampire.WhatI’daccomplishedwasdeath.AndasmuchasIfeltIwasbetterthanDamon,wasI,really?Forintheend,wewerebothvampires.Webothhadatrailofdestructionfollowingus.AndIwassotired.Iwastiredoffightingwhennothingseemedtoworkout.Iwastiredofhurting.AndIwastiredofalwaysbeingapuppetinDamon’sgames.Wewerenolongerchildren,thegameshadbeendeadlyforfartoolong,andmaybemydeathwastheonlythingthatwouldendourwar.Ifso,Iembracedit.Iwasreadytobeconsumedbyaneternityofflames.ThatwouldbemorepeacefulthanthelifeI’dbeenliving.
Thefirewastakingitstime,dancingalongtheseambetweenthewallandfloorboardsasifitwereacautiousbeauataball.Iwatched,entranced.Theflamesweremadeupofredandblueandorangeand,fromadistance,theyremindedmeofthebrilliantfallleavesthatwouldsoondotAbbottManor.I’dneverseethatagain.
Pleasedon’tkillthem,Ithought,thinkingoftherestoftheAbbottfamily,frightened,grieving,andsoterribly,terriblybetrayed.Itwasahabit,thinkingotherscouldreadmythoughts.IthadsometimesworkedwithDamonandme,butthathadonlybeenbecauseourclosenessasbrothersmeantweoftencouldguesswhatwasoneachothers’minds.IdoubtedSamuelandIwereonanysortoffamiliarwavelengththatwouldallowhimtoreceiveamessagelikethatfromme.Notthatitmattered.Hearingitwouldonlyfurtherencouragehisthirstforblood.
Ididn’tcareaboutmyownlife,butIfeltatinytugofloyaltytowardViolet,whowasnowoffwithSamuelsomewhere.Shewasabrand-newvampire,surelyconfusedandoverwhelmed.Sheneededguidance.Andnotthekindacold-heartedkillerwouldgiveher.
Itriedtomovemyarm,desperatetopullthestakeout.Arenewedvigorsurgedthroughmylimbs.Iwasn’treadytodie.NotuntilIcouldsaveVioletfrombecomingamonster.Iowedherthatmuchaftershewasdeniedherchoice.Itriedtotearthestakefrommychestasflamescamecloserandclosertomybody.Iheardthesoundofthedoorcreak,andIarchedintothepain,readytoconfrontmyfate.
“He’sinhere!”Itwasagirl’svoice.
MyeyessnappedopenandIsawViolet’ssister,Cora,herredhairflamingaroundherfaceanddarkcirclesunderhereyes.Herpendantswungbackandforthfromherchest,momentarilymesmerizingme.Iclosedmyeyesagain.JustonemorepersonIprobablycouldn’tsave.WhenIwasdesperatetogetVioletoutofDamon’sclutches,IhadabandonedCora.
“I’msorry,”Iwhisperedtothedream-image.
Butthen,Ifeltlightnessinmychest,fromwherethechairleghadbeen.Myeyesflewopen.
“Youalmostgotyourselfkilled,brother,”Damonsaid.BeforeIevenfullycomprehendedwhatwashappening,Ifeltwarmliquidrushingdownmythroat.IgaggedasIrealizedaredfurcarcasswasbeingshovedintomyface.Itwasthelimpbodyofafox.
“Drinkmore,”Damoninstructedimpatiently,glancingnervouslybehindhisback.Theflameswerehighernow,havingcaughtontothewall.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iaskedasmorebloodtrickleddownmythroat.
“Savingyourlife,”Damonsaid,draggingmetomyfeetandpullingmeoutsideandintotheforest,justasmytinycabinexplodedintoflamesbehindus.“AfteryouleftthepartyIrealizedSamuelwastheonewhomusthavekilledViolet,”Damoncontinued.“Thebloodunderhisfingernailspracticallygleamedagainsthischampagneglass.WhenIconfrontedhimaboutit,hesaidhehadaplaninmotion,forbothofus,andhetookoff.Let’sjustsayIdecidedtonotletyoudie,atleastnottoday.Youcanthankmelater,”Damonsaid,brusquelydepositingmeonthecoolforestfloor.Farinthedistance,Iheardacacophonyofbells,screams,andthuddinghorsehooves.ItwasjustlikethesiegeFatherhadbeguninVirginia.Andonceagain,mybrotherandIweresidebyside,stickingtogether.
“Wehavetorun!”Isaidraggedly.“Turnleft.”Wedidn’thavetimeforalongexplanation,butifDamoncouldhavesomecompassioninhim,Ithoughtwecouldescapeanything.Iknewtheforestbetterthananyone,andoncewegottothecenter,underneathtreessotalltheskywasn’tvisibleevenonaclearsummerday,we’dbeallright.
DamonpickedCoraupandthrewheroverhisshoulderwithonehandwhilehalf-draggingmewithanother.Weranoverthebrookandaroundaquarry,circlingthefarperimeteroftheAbbottfarm,andfinally,IbroughtthemtotheglenbelowtheChilternRiver.Itwasaplacethatwouldtakehumanshalfadaytoreach,butwithusrunningatvampirespeed,wehadreacheditinnotime.Weweresafe.Atleastfornow.
“I’mgoingtofindSamuel,”Damonsaid,hisfaceredfromexertion.“Heneedstoknowtheconsequencesofhisactions.”
“Damon,doyouknowwhathe’sdone?He’sframedyoufortheJacktheRippermurders.Thepolicearegettingasketchofyouevennow.Youcan’tfollowhim;it’snotsafe,”Isaid.
“Iwon’tlethimgetawaywiththis,brother,”Damonsaidangrily.“Stayhere.I’mgoingtoseeifIcanfindhim.”
Ididn’thavethestrengthtoarguewithhim.IcouldhardlybelieveIwasalive.Isatdownonarockandcradledmyheadinmyhands.ThenIheldmyhandovermywound.Itwasshrinking,butitstillhurt,andIfeltliketherewasatinyheartbeatingintimetomybreath.
“Areyouallright?”Coraaskedfinally,breakingthesilence.Shewassittingonafallentreebranchoppositeme,nervouslybitingherfingernails.IwonderedhowmuchsheknewaboutDamon’struenature.ButIhadnoenergytoaskquestions.IsankbackupontheleavesasCorasatbesideme,eyeingmelikeahawk.Icouldhearherheartthumping—ba-dump,ba-dump—andIsighedinrelief.IfIcouldhearherheart,thatmeantshehadn’tturned.Shewashuman.Iconcentratedonthenoise,asreassuringastheraindropsduringanAprilshower.
Ihadtotellherabouthersister.
“Violet…”Ibegan.
“Howisshe?”
Ishookmyhead.“Notwell,”Imanagedtosay.Cora’sheartspedup,butherbreathingcontinuedtobesteady.
“Issheavampire?”Coraasked,lockingeyeswithme.
Icouldn’tlie.
“Yes,sheturned,”Isaid.“Samuelforcedher.”
AflashofhopelitupCora’seyes.“Shedid?Soshe’snotdead.Well,notdeaddead.But…wheredidshego?”sheaskedinconfusion.
“Samueltookher,”Isaid.“Shedidn’thaveachoice.Shemustbefrightened.”
“I’msuresheis,”Corasaidinasmallvoice,twistinghervervaincharmaroundherindexfinger.“Whenwewerechildren,Violetusedtohavetofallasleepwithacandleburningallnight.Shewasalwaysafraidofmonsterscomingtogether.”
“She’llgetoverthatsoonenough,”Isaidwryly.Asavampire,thedarkwassoontobecomeViolet’sbiggestcomfort.
“Isupposeso,”Corasaid,staringintospace.
“Areyouallright?”Iasked.
Corashrugged.“Ihardlyknow.Iwasattheparty,andSamuelcameuptome,andIstartedshrieking.Ididn’tknowwherethesoundhadcomefrom.Ididn’tevenknowthatitwasme.Butheterrifiedme.Andthenyourbrotherfoundmeandmademetalk.Hebroughtmeonthetrain.IkeptprayingVioletwouldbeallright,but…couldshebeallright?”shesaidinasmallvoice.
Inodded.Ididn’twanttogiveherfalsehope.“She’llbedifferent.ButIcanteachher.Therearethingsthatmakebeingavampirelessterrible,”Isaid
“Good.”Welapsedintosilence.Thewoundinmychestwasshrinking,andfaraboveusIsawthefaintestsignsofdawnbreakingthroughtheinkynight.I’dbeallright.I’dlivetoseeanotherday,anotherdecade,anothercentury.ButOliverwouldn’t.AndwherewasDamon?
“Damon’stakingalongtime,”Corasaid,echoingmyownthoughts.“Doyouthinkhe’llbesafe?”
“Yes,”Isaid.Intruth,Ididn’tknow.Iwasonlybeginningtobecomeawareofthedifferentandvastexpanseofvampireslivingintheworld.Before,I’dthoughtIonlyneededtoconcernmyselfwithOriginals,likeKlaus.Butthereweresomanyotherstobeworriedabout,inwaysI’dneverconsidered.“Damon’sverygoodatlookingafterhimself,”Isaid.
Asilencefellbetweenus.
Suddenly,Iheardarustleinthewoods.Istiffenedasthefootstepsdrewcloser,andconversationcarriedthroughthetrees.
“Anything,men?Nothingoverinthosebushes?”
Iheardtheloudbarkingofseveraldogs.FootstepspassednearbyandIpushedmybackagainsttheroughbarkofatree.Corasqueezedmyhandtightlyuntilthegroupleft,spurredonbythemanicbarkingofthedogs.
“They’relookingforme,”Isaid,dullystatingtheobviousafterthelastfootstepshadlongsincepassed.
“Well,theydidn’tfindyou,didthey?That’sgoodnews,”Corasaidinherliltingbrogue,attemptingawaterysmile.
Ismiledback.Itwasn’tmuch,butitwastrue.Theyhadn’tfoundus.MaybeIneededtolearntobethankfulforsmallmiracles.
Finally,asthesun’searlyraysfellonus,Damonbrokethroughthebrush,Oliver’slifelessbodyinhisarms.Hisfacewasdrawnandajaggedstreamofbloodtrickledfromhistemple.Hewasshoeless,hisclothesweretorn,andhelookednothinglikeanItaliancountorBritishmerchant.Instead,helookedliketheDamonofourchildhoodwho’dspendhoursplayinginthewoods.Exceptthiswasagameoflifeanddeath.
“Icouldn’tfindSamuel,”Damonsaid,sinkingtoarockandsighing.“Itriedtorevivethechild,butIcouldn’t.”
“Iknow,”Isaid,pickingupOliver’slifelessbody.I’dnevertakenhimhunting.Iwalkedafewpacesaway,towardagroveofoaktrees.Iglancedatthedarksky,prayingforOliver’ssalvation.
Itenderlylaidthebodyontheforestfloorandwenttoworkcreatingasmall,shallowgrave.Then,IplacedOliverinside.
“HereliesthebesthunterinBritain,”Isaid,atearthreateningmyeye.Idroppedafewhandfulsofdirtinside,andcoveredthatwithtreebranches.Iturnedaway,notabletolookatthegraveanymore,andwalkedtowardCoraandDamon,huddledafewfeetaway.
“Whataboutmysister?”IheardCorawhisper.IsawDamonshrug.Iwonderediftherewasmoretothestorythanhewastelling.ButIwasn’treadytohearit.Notyet.
Ilaydownonthehardforestfloorafewyardsawayandclosedmyeyes,allowingsleeptoovertakeme.Evenasmyminddriftedtowardunconsciousness,Iknewthesleepwouldberoughandraw.ButIdeservedit.Ideservedeverythingthatwascomingtome.
Chapter19
Irolledaroundonthehardground,desperatelytryingtofindacomfortableplacetosleep.ButIcouldn’t.Everyinchofmybodyhurt,asthoughhotpokerswerestickingintomyskin.Mymouthtastedlikesandpaper,andmylimbsfeltlikelead.
Inmyhalf-consciousstate,Ididn’tknowwhereIwas,butIhadthefamiliarfeelingI’dbeenherebefore.Butwhere?IfIwasinhell,atleastitwasquiet.ButthenIblinked,andnoticedtwopointsoflightmovingtowardme.
“Well,hellothere,”avoicesaid.Iblinkedagain,andrealizedthetwopointsoflightwerecomingfromtwolarge,inquisitiveeyes.
“Katherine,”Icroaked.
“Why,yes,”shesaid,asthoughweweremeetingeachotheronthedust-covereddirtroadtoVeritasEstate.
“Thisisadream,”Isaid,moretomyselfthantoher.
“Itcouldbe,”shesaid,hertoneofvoicelight,asifI’daskedifshethoughtitmightrainlaterthatday.“Butdoesitmatter?We’rebothhere.”
“Whyisthishappening?”
“Somepeoplecan’tletgo.Itcanbedifficult,can’tit?”Katherineaskedrhetorically.
Iglancedathereyes.Theywerewide,catlike,andmorebeautifulthanever.IrememberedthehoursIspentstaringintothem,backwhenIwaswillingtoriskitallforher.AndIhad.I’dlosteverything.Butstill,thoseeyesremindedmeofwhatitfeltliketobeyoungandbelievethatloveconqueredall.
Iwantedtoaskherwhyshe’dturnedme,whenshemusthaveknownthatmylifewouldbefilledwithsorrow.Iwantedtoknowhowshestoodit.IwantedtoknowwhatIwassupposedtodo,nowthatIhadlosteveryoneIcaredabout.AndIwantedtoknowwhyshecontinuedtohauntme.
“ScholarlyStefan,”Katherinesaid,asmileplayingonherlips.“Alwaysthinkingtoohard.Butremember,somethingscan’tbeunderstoodorexplained.Theyhavetobeexperienced.”
“Why?”Ishouted,butKatherinesimplyfadedintothedarkness.
“Weneedtogo,”Damonsaidbrusquely,pokingmyribswiththetipofhisboot
“Now?”Istruggledtomyelbowsbeforewipingsleepfrommyeyes.Iknewfromthedewonthegroundthatitwasonlyamatteroftimebeforetheskyfullyburstintomorning.
Damonnodded.Corastoodafewpacesaway,herbrowfurrowedandarmscrossedasshesilentlystudiedus.
“We’regoingbacktoLondon,”Damonsaidfirmly.“IneedtofindSamuelandteachhimalesson.NoonebestsDamonSalvatore.I’mgoingtobeathimathisowngame.”
“Wecan’tgobacktoLondon,”Isaid,myjawclenchedasIrosetomyfullheight,standingeyetoeyewithmybrother.“Don’tyouseethat?Weneedtostopfighting.Youusedtohateme;nowyouhateSamuel.It’lljustleadtomorebloodshed.Don’tyouunderstand?”
“Oh,Iunderstand,brother.Iunderstandyou’drathergetyourselfkilledthansaythankstothebrotherwhosavedyourlife.I’mgoingtoLondon.Ifyouwanttoliveindarknessandsurviveonsheepandrabbits,goahead.”
“I’mgoing,too.IhavetofindViolet,”Corasaid,herfacepaleanddrawn.AglancepassedbetweenCoraandDamon,butIhadnoideawhatitmeant.Finally,Damonnodded.
“I’llcome,”Isaid.Itwasn’tasifIcouldstayhere.Violetwasoutonherown,andIhadtodoeverythingIcouldtohonorherdyingwish.Icouldn’tletherbecomeamonster.AndDamonneededme,whetherheknewitornot.Andrightnow,whenIhadnooneandnohome,asmuchasIhatedtoadmitit,Ineededhim.
Itookoff,leadingthewaythroughtheforesttothetrainstation.Inthedistance,Icouldhearawhistle.Freedomwasonlyafewpacesaway.Ispedup.
“Andthistime,noexcusesforwhoyouare,Stefan,”Damonsaid,catchinguptome,Coraonhisback.“You’reavampire.Whenwillyourealizethat?”
“IknowwhoIam,Damon,”Isaidcalmly.Itwasavariationofthesameargumentwealwayshad,butthistime,Iwasn’tgoingtofight.Icouldseethetrainchuggingintothestation.Wehadtobecareful.Iwassuretheentireparishwaslookingforus,andifweweren’treadytocompelatamoment’snotice,wecouldbecaughtunaware.“I’myourbrother.”
“Yes,”Damonsaidafterabeat.
Itwasn’tanywhereclosetoanapology,butIsensedsomethingbetweenusshift.IfwewantedtofindSamuel,weneededtoworktogether.MaybefightingSamuelwasouronlychancetostopthebloodshedthatfollowedus.Ihadtobelieveit.Ihadtobelieveinsomething.
“DidyouknowthatSamuelwasavampire?”Iasked.Itwasasmallquestion,butoneI’dwonderedinmyfeverishsleep.HadDamonvoluntarilyfoundavampiresocietyinLondon?
“No,Ididn’tknow.”Damonshookhishead,hisdarkeyesglintinginanger.“ButIdoknowthatIwillneverbemadeafoolofagain.AndIalsoknowthatSamuel’sabouttogetalessonhe’llneverforget.”
“Whatifhe’sanOriginal?”Iasked,myvoicedroppingtoawhisper.
Icastmyeyestothesky,hopingthatiftherewaslightandgoodnessanywhereintheworld,thatOliverwassomewheresafe,inaplacewherehecoulddoallthehuntinghewanted.
“‘Whatifhe’sanOriginal?’”Damonmocked,pullingmeoutofmyreverie.“Whatdoesitmatter?Theonlythingthatmattersisstrengthanddetermination.TheSalvatoreway,”hesaid,hisvoicedrippingwithsarcasm.“Ready?”heasked,turningtoCorawithahintofasparkinhiseye.WithDamon,itwasimpossibletotellwhathewasthinking.
“Allaboard!”theconductorsaid,wavinguson.Itriednottoimaginewhathemustthinkofthethreeofus:Damonwithhisrippedshirt;mewithmychestwoundoozingthroughmyshirt;andCora,stillwearingherever-presentscarftiedinadaintybowaroundherneck,despiteherbloodstainedbodice.
“Tickets?”theconductoraskedsuspiciously.
Damonsmiled,hisshouldersrelaxing,clearlyinhiselement.
“London.You’vealreadyseenourtickets,soyou’llescortustoafirst-classcabin.Wewon’tseeyoufortherestofthetrip.Asfarasyouoranyoneelseisconcerned,we’renotthere.”
“Yes,sir,ofcourse,”theconductorsaid,noddingandusheringusthroughanarrowpathontothetrain.
Istaredoutthewindowastheverdantgreeneryrushedby.IwonderedwhatwaswaitingforusinLondon.WouldSamuelgoonanotherkillingspree?DidVioletreallygowithhimwillingly,orhadshesimplybeenbewilderedafterhertransformation?AndcouldDamonandIeverreallyworktogether?
AllIknewwasweweretworevenge-seekingvampires,andwewereabouttobringonSamuel’sdestruction—nomatterwhatthecostmightbe.
Epilogue
Twentyyearsago—almostalifetimeago—mybrotherandIescapedMysticFallsonatrainheadedforNewOrleans.Wewerebabyvampiresourselvesthen.Damonwasconfusedandsearching,andIwasblood-drunkandreadyforaction.
Nowourroleshadreversed.Andyet,whetherboundbyasharedhistoryorloyaltyorevenbyblood—thatmysterious,vexing,life-givingsubstance—weweretogether.
Wedidn’ttrusteachother.Wedidn’tlikeeachother.Butwewereeachother,reflectingourshadow,secretselvesintheother’sidentity.Wewererunningfromasmall-townmobthatwasafterme,towardanentirecitythatbelievedDamontobethedeadliestmurdererinhistory.Wewereinittogether.
Andwedeservedeachother.
AsmuchasItriedtohideit,Ihadadeadlydarkside.AndIsaw,inDamon’sconcernedglancestowardCoraandthegentlewayhe’dcradledOliver’sbodyashebroughthimtomeforburial,thatDamonhadadeeplyfeeling,humanside.Butcouldthetwoeverexistintandem?Andhowmanymorehumanswouldbekilledbeforewecouldliveinpeaceasvampires?
Ididn’tknowtheanswer.ButIknewtherewouldbemanymoredeaths.AllIcouldhopewasthattheywouldn’tbebymyownhand….
OtherBooksbyThisAuthor
TheVampireDiariesnovels
VOL.I:THEAWAKENING
VOL.II:THESTRUGGLE
VOL.III:THEFURY
VOL.IV:DARKREUNION
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THERETURNVOL.3:MIDNIGHT
THEHUNTERSVOL.1:PHANTOM
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VOL.2:BLOODLUST
VOL.3:THECRAVING
VOL.4:THERIPPER
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ExcerptfromStefan’sDiaries#5:TheAsylum
WantMoreofStefan’sDiaries?ReadonforaSneakPeekofTheAsylum
Isqueezedmyeyesshut,wishingIcouldblotoutthepastandfocusonthegentleswayingofthetraincar.Mybrother,Damon,wassomewhereonthetrain,feedingonanunfortunatepassengerorplanninghisrevengeonSamueloncewearrivedinLondon.Mostlikely,hewasdoingboth.IglancedatCorasittingnexttome,aBiblestillopenonherlap.Thecoverwasfrayedandthepagesweredottedwithsmudges.Ithadobviouslybeenwellreadbysomeone.ButtherewasnothingintheBiblethatcouldhelpher—oranyofusinthiscarofthedamned.
Inthedistance,Iheardfootstepsmarchingdowntheaisle.Myheartbeatquickened.Isatup,readytodefendmyselfagainstwhoevercamearoundthecorner:Samuel,Henry,someothervampireminionIhadyettoencounter.IcouldfeelCoratensebesideme,hereyesgrowingwidewithfear.Ireachedanarmacrossher,asifthatcouldprotectherfromademonwithathirstforblood.Ahandreachedaroundtopullthecurtainofthecarriageopen.Irecognizedtheornatelapislazuliringthatmatchedmyownandbreathedasighofrelief.
Damonhadcomeback.
“Lookatthis!”hesputtered,wavinganewspaperinfrontofmyface.
Igrabbedthepaperfromhishandandgazedattheheadline.JACKTHERIPPERIDENTIFIEDBYEYEWITNESS.BelowtheblockletterswasanillustrationofDamon,asketchdonebythepolice,butthefeatureswereremarkablyfamiliar.Ireadthecaptionunderneath:SOCIETYMANDISCOVEREDTOBEUNHOLYKILLER.Thetrainlurched.Wewerelikemiceonourwayintoasnakepit.AllofLondonnowthoughtDamonhadbeencommittingtheJacktheRippermurders.
“MayIseethat?”Coraasked,holdingoutherhandexpectantly.ButDamonignoredher.
“Theycouldhaverunabetterpictureofme,attheveryleast.Thatillustrationdoesn’tdomejusticeatall,”hesaidsulkilyashesettledonthebenchnexttomeandcrumpledthepaperupintoaball.ButIcouldseehishandswereshakingwiththefaintestoftremors,invisibletothehumaneye.Thiswasn’ttheconfidentDamonIknew.
Nexttous,Corarifledthroughthepapersthatwerelyingnexttoouruntouchedbreakfasttrays.
“We’reonlyafewmilesoutsideLondon,”Isaidnervously,lookingatDamon.“Whatwillwedowhenwegetthere?”Afterall,thequietsanctityofthetrainwastemporary.Wewereontherun,andforallweknew,we’dbefoundassoonasthetrainarrivedinPaddingtonStation.
“Well,”Damonsaid,throwingthewaddednewspapertothegroundandstompingonitforgoodmeasure.“I’veheardthattheBritishMuseumisexquisite.Ihaven’thadachancetoseeityet.”
“Thisisserious,Damon.They’relookingforyou.Andoncetheyfindyou…”Ishuddered.Ididn’twanttothinkaboutwhatwouldhappeniftheMetropolitanPolicefoundDamon.
“Iknowit’sserious.ButwhatamIsupposedtodo?HideforeternitybecauseI’mbeingframedforacrimeIdidn’tcommit?Samuelneedstopay.Besides,I’mnotafraidofthepolice.Ihaveafewtricksupmysleeve.”
“You’reinthispaper,too,”Corasaidquietly,holdingupthefrontpageoftheLondonGazette.Thishadnoillustration,onlyaheadline:JACKTHERIPPERDISCOVERED,STILLONTHELOOSE.
Damongrabbedthepaperandquicklyscannedit.Thenheturnedtome.“Ilooklikeapaupernow.Idon’tthinkanyonewillrecognizeme,”hesaid,asthoughconvincinghimself.Lacinghisfingerstogether,hesmoothedbackhishair,thenrestedhisheadinhispalmsasifhewereasunbatheratthebeach.
IglancedatDamon.Itwastrue:Hedidn’tlookatalllikeamemberofLondon’selite.Hisshirtwastornandblood-spattered.Hiseyesweretired,andhehadashadowofabeardcoveringhischin.ButhestilllookedlikeDamon.Hishairwasdarkandthick,fallinginawavylineoverhisstrongeyebrows,andhismouthwassetinhisusualhalfsneer.
Noticingmeobservinghim,Damonarchedaneyebrow.“Iknowyou’rethinkingsomething.Whydon’tyoujustsayit?”
“Weshouldn’tbegoingtoLondon,”Istatedflatly.Afterall,Damonwasawantedmaninthecity.Hewasweak,friendless,andwehadnoideahowmanyothervampireswereinLondon.IknewSamuel’sbrother,Henry,wasone.WehadnoideahowfarSamuel’sreachcouldbe.HecertainlyhadfriendsinhighplacestoframeDamontothemedia.
“NotgotoLondon?”Damonspat.“Anddowhat?Liveintheforestandwaituntilwe’refound?No.Ineedrevenge.Aren’tyouconcernedaboutyourlittlefriend,Violet?”headded,knowingexactlywhyIwasafterSamuelinthefirstplace.
IlookedatCora,whowasstilldesperatelyriflingthroughthepapersasthoughoneofthemcontainedamapwithourpathtosafety.Herblueeyeswerewidewithfright,andIwasimpressedshe’dbeenabletoholdherheadhighaftertheeventsoflastnight.She’dbeenbraveinthehoursbeforesunrise,whenwe’dbeenhidinginthewoodsandwaitingforthesearchpartytopass,despitethefactthathersisterhadjustbeenturnedintoademon.NowIcouldonlyimaginethethoughtsswimminginherhead.
“IwanttorescueViolet.Ido,”Isaid,hopingthatCoracouldsensemysincerity.“Butweneedaplanthat’sprudent.Wedon’tknowwhatwe’reupagainst.”
EvenasIsaidit,IknewDamonwouldneveragree.Whenhewantedsomething—romance,champagne,blood—hewanteditnow.Andofcoursethesameappliedtorevenge.
Outofthecornerofmyeye,IsawCorasetherjaw.“WehavetogotoLondon,”shesaidinalowvoice.“Violettriedtosaveme.Ineedtosaveher,”Corasaid,hervoicerisingonthewordsave.Shefoldedthepaperwithacrispsmackandpointedatanotherillustration.Iwinced,expectingtoseeDamon.ButinsteaditwasalinedrawingofSamuel,aprofileshotwithhischinheldhigh,andhishandraisedinapoised,politicalwave.
“Letmeseethat,”DamonsnatchedthepaperfromCora’sgrasp.“‘SamuelMortimer,thehopefulforLondoncouncillor,vowstokeeptheCitystreetssafe.“I’llkilltheRipperwithmybarehandsifIhaveto,”Mortimerpromises,tocheersofapproval,’”Damonintoned,readingfromthetext.“I’dliketoseehimtry.”
Iwinced.SamuelMortimer,derivedfromtheFrenchwordfordead.Ofcourse.AndneitherInorDamonrealizedit,evenasDamonwassoproudofcallinghimselfCountdeSangue.CountofBlood.IthadprobablybeenSamuel’sfirstclueastoDamon’struenature.
Iwonderedwhatotherclueswe’dmissed.Ishookmyhead.Hadn’tIfallenintoSamuel’strap,too?I’dbelievedDamonwastheRipper.
“Promiseyouwon’tdoanythinguntilViolet’ssafe,”Corasaid.“Andthen,yes,killhim.JustpromisethatVioletwon’tbeapawn.”
Ididn’twanttogiveCoraapromiseIcouldn’tkeep.Iwasn’tevenconfidentthatDamonandIcoulddefeatSamuel,andIknewDamonwouldn’tpassupanyopportunitytotry.Iwantedtotellhertorunawayfromallofthis,asfarasshecould.TogotoParis,changehername,andtrytoforgetthepast.Butshewouldn’t.Violetwashersister,andshewasboundtoher.JustlikeIwasboundtomybrother.Forever.
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