“I promise, if I need to drink blood, I will. You have my word.”
Relief flickered in her large eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
I didn’t fall asleep for a long time after that. I could sense from Cora’s slow, deep breathing that the evening of terror had taken its toll. She was resting, exhausted, her face in calm repose. Meanwhile, my brain was reeling.
Damon, I whispered into the darkness.
Nothing.
2
The next day, I left the tunnel, telling Cora I needed to do some errands. Cora didn’t offer to join me, and I wondered if she thought I was off to hunt human blood. If so, I let her believe it. But instead, all I did was joylessly kill a squirrel, feeling weak even as the blood hit my tongue. Human blood would make me feel sharp, alive. This only made me feel more despair.
Darkness had fallen when I returned to the tunnel. Cora climbed out to join me, and the two of us headed toward the Asylum. We knew Samuel often stopped there at the end of the day. If we could catch a glimpse of him as he exited, then follow him, we hoped he’d lead us to Damon. We were armed with stakes, but they provided minimal comfort. My stake was jammed in the shaft of my boot and poked my skin every few steps. It didn’t make me feel any safer. At this point, stakes were as commonplace to us as guns were to hunters heading into the woods. But having a gun didn’t guarantee a hunter couldn’t be killed.
The crisp fall air smelled like burning leaves, and, unlike the East End, this part of town was filled with well-dressed men and women, strolling from dining clubs to the theater to their fancy hotels. I didn’t mind the crowds. Having to navigate through the masses and around horse-drawn carriages took my mind off the task at hand.
Gradually, the crowds thinned out and the smell of illicit fires made with newspaper kindling replaced the aroma of roasted chestnuts. The streets were empty, but the slums surrounding them were full, and I could sense eyes watching us suspiciously behind plateglass windows as we walked up High Street, the main thoroughfare of Whitechapel. From there, we turned onto Crispin Street and soon arrived at the Magdalene Asylum. The stone edifice towered, churchlike, over the now-empty Spitalfields Market. Cora’s attention was focused on the padlock on the heavy iron gates surrounding the building. The only sign that anyone inhabited the Asylum was a lone candle flickering in an upper window. It was only a little past eight o’clock, but unlike the rest of London, the street and building were as quiet as a tomb. It was, after all, only two blocks away from Mitre Square, the location of Jack the Ripper’s most recent kills. Ever since then, the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee had urged residents of the East End to stay indoors. Clearly, they were taking the request seriously.
“I hope they’re all right,” Cora said quietly, and I knew she was thinking of the girls she’d met when she’d infiltrated the Asylum. All young and down on their luck, they’d seen the organization as a chance to get back on their feet. When they’d entered the Asylum, how could they possibly have known their blood would be used to feed monsters or that their benefactor would handpick them to be slain on the streets?
Behind us, I heard the sound of leaves crunching. I turned, ready to face whatever new danger was headed our way, but it was only a watchman, swinging his nightstick in one hand and holding a lantern in the other.
Don’t come over here, I willed, focusing my Power on him. He moved toward me, and for half a second, our eyes locked. Turn. Go back where you came from. He paused, but didn’t shine the light our way. Instead, he pivoted on his heel and walked back in the opposite direction.
“Did something happen?” Cora whispered sharply as she noticed my cocked head.
“Shh!” I motioned for her to be quiet until the footfalls faded. Cora didn’t have the same ultra-honed senses I had and was oblivious to our near miss.
Before I could explain what I’d seen, the front door of the Asylum opened and Samuel strode out into the darkness, an attaché case under his arm and a silk top hat on his head. I stiffened as Cora grabbed my arm. I pulled her up the street behind a hedgerow, but Samuel didn’t look toward us. To anyone passing him on the street, he was simply the future London councilor, out doing charity work for the poor. They would think him admirable, I reflected in disgust. He turned down the flint path toward the curb and up the street, in the direction of the barren Spitalfields Market. As soon as he did, a coach veered toward him. Clearly, the driver was confident he could collect a generous fare from this well-dressed man.
“Here, sir! Happy to take you wherever you want!” the cab driver called across the square. Samuel nodded once, then hopped into the cab.
“Let’s go,” I hissed to Cora, grabbing her arm and breaking into a run. Together we sprinted behind the coach as it clopped its way through the stalls surrounding the seedy market, heading deeper into Whitechapel. I was ten feet away, then five, and was about to catch up when I realized Cora was no longer on my arm.
I turned around and saw her doubled over, her hands on her knees, in front of the Lamb and Sickle public house. She had attracted the attention of a few patrons lurking in the doorway, who’d stopped their round of singing to gape at her.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t run anymore,” Cora panted, her face red and slicked with sweat. “You go on ahead.”
“No need to run, girl,” one man said as he lecherously stumbled toward her. “You can relax in my arms.”
I turned to him and bared my fangs menacingly. He let go of Cora and backed away, his face white with fright.
“All right, no need to get nasty. J
ust having a bit of fun,” he said slowly, holding up his hands and walking away.
“Go on! I’ll meet you later. I know the barman here. He’ll take care of me. I’ll be fine,” Cora urged with the same fierceness I’d seen last night.
“Are you sure?” I didn’t want to leave Cora, but I couldn’t lose Samuel. I glanced around. The Ten Bells was nearby. Cora did know the area, and she had a stake hidden in the folds of her skirt. I knew as well as she did that a stake would also do a perfectly fine job incapacitating a human threat. Still…
“Yes!” Cora hissed. “I’ll meet you back at the tunnel.”
I nodded and surged ahead at vampire speed, but the busy street beyond the market was crowded with coaches, and I no longer knew which one held Samuel.
I was about to cut my losses and head back to the pub to collect Cora when I spotted a figure stealing down a dark alley. I narrowed my eyes. The form was moving far more quickly than any human. Samuel. And worse, he was carrying a girl in his arms. The girl was clawing at Samuel’s shoulder, forcing him to stop and adjust his hold every few feet. I couldn’t believe she was still conscious. Many of Samuel’s victims fainted from fright, or were killed immediately. But now, he seemed to be taking care not to jostle the girl, holding her as carefully as a wolf would bring its prey back to the pack.
My heart clenched and I broke into a run when I realized he was headed for the warehouses near the Thames. I hadn’t been there since the terrible night when Samuel had turned Violet into a vampire. Why was he taking a human girl there now? He had Damon; he didn’t need to frame him for any more Jack the Ripper murders. He had a steady supply of blood from the girls in the Asylum. So what could he possibly want with this girl?