She gracefully leapt over the trunk, but then collapsed.
“No!” I protested. I didn’t want Mezzanotte to die. I shifted and fell to the ground with a thud, alongside my dead horse…
I opened my eyes and found myself staring up at the inky black London sky. I looked down and saw raised vervain welts on my hands and arms.
“Final y. You’re up,” Damon said disgustedly, but I could see the relief in his face.
I blinked. We were on the lawn of a wel -kept house in a quiet square. The house was red brick and three stories tal , set back from the road and ringed by a black iron fence. Several large oak trees fil ed the smal front yard, giving the house even more privacy.
“Where are we?” The large trees brought to mind the graceful townhouses on the outskirts of New Orleans, while the three-story townhouse reminded me of some of the ones in New York. How long had we been running? I wondered if maybe we weren’t in London at al , and that somehow, everything had been a horrible dream.
“Bedford Square,” Damon said dismissively. “It’s rather smal . The Earl of Erne lived there, until the latest scandal stripped him of his title and home. He won’t be back for a while.”
I nodded. I knew Damon wanted me to be impressed by his acquisition, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Samuel and Mary Jane.
“It’s over,” I said slowly, the events coming back to me in hideous clarity. Mary Jane’s heart. Samuel’s triumph.
Lavinia’s spel and Lady Alice’s sorrow. “Either the witches wil kil us, or Samuel wil .”
“No. Samuel won a battle. He didn’t win the war. And this is war, brother.”
“So what are we going to do?” I asked.
“Whatever it takes,” Damon said. Angry red burn marks from the vervain crisscrossed his hands and face. I looked at my own skin. Compared to my mental anguish, these wounds were the equivalent of mosquito bites.
“Whatever it takes,” I repeated. I pushed my bruised, battered body to my feet and fol owed Damon to the door of the house. But I knew no change in location would make any damn bit of difference.
11
Damon opened the door and I staggered into the house in Bedford Square. It was warm, dark, and quiet. I found a smal guest room; the bed was made up with a thick wool blanket and I fel into it gladly.
I woke to the sun streaming through the window. Despite the cheerful surroundings, my stomach plummeted as I remembered the terrible night. But I gathered my courage.
Somehow, we would find a way to defeat Samuel and avenge Mary Jane’s death. We had to.
I quickly went to the closet and pul ed out a starched shirt and pair of trousers. For a stranger’s clothing, they fit fairly wel . I made my way down a curving oak staircase to the downstairs parlor. The house may have been smal for Damon’s taste, but it was elegantly decorated with antique cherrywood furniture and intricately woven oriental carpets.
The wal s were covered with ornate patterned wal paper and gilt mirrors, and delicate crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings. I’d frequently found myself in abandoned houses before—no matter where in the world we were, Lexi had a knack for discovering dilapidated houses and making them home—but this was in pristine condition.
Damon had done wel .
Downstairs, Cora was relaxing in a wingback chair. She was wearing a green velvet dress far too large for her tiny frame. Her copper hair was lustrous and she looked alert, but the dark shadows under her eyes betrayed her anxiety.
Damon must have told her about what had happened with Samuel. A newspaper was open in her lap, but her eyes were darting frantical y across the page, and I could tel she wasn’t reading so much as desperately scanning for anything about what had happened in the East End the night before.
“Look at this,” Cora said flatly, not bothering to say hel o.
She pointed to an article.
“Did you go outside by yourself to get that?” I asked hoarsely.
Cora didn’t answer, but pointed her finger at the article.
JACK THE RIPPER KILLS AGAIN!
I continued reading. Mary Jane’s discarded body had been found by a rent col ector in the Mil er’s Court flat. Of course, neither Samuel nor the witches were mentioned. I continued to read.
Dr. Thomas Bond and Dr. George Philips examined the body, and discovered that unlike the other Ripper victims, this one was missing a heart.
An inquest is being held in Shoreditch. Anyone who was in the vicinity of Miller’s Court the night of November 8th is urged to go to the police immediately with any information.
“This doesn’t say anything we don’t already know,” I said, pushing the paper away.
“Keep reading,” Cora said, pointing to a paragraph a third of the way down the page. I skimmed the text.
Sources are confident the killings were not the work of previous suspect Damon de Sangue.
Scotland Yard is now narrowing its focus on the Duke of Clarence, seen near several crime scenes and currently presumed missing. If anyone sees the Duke, or has any intelligence as to the Ripper’s identity, they are to immediately to speak with either Scotland Yard or the Metropolitan Police.
“At least Damon’s free now. But Samuel has Mary Jane’s heart,” Cora said in a smal voice. “How could the life of someone as innocent as Mary Jane lead to harm? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.” I thought of the brave way Mary Jane had faced Samuel. I thought of how she so easily befriended Damon and me, despite the fact that vampires and witches were supposed to be mortal enemies.
Maybe her stubbornness had been the weak spot that had kil ed her. She was one more victim to add to the far-too-long list of people whose deaths I’d been responsible for.