I sucked in my breath as I placed a warning hand on Damon’s shoulder. I didn’t trust him not to try to surprise Samuel. But he stayed by my side silently. One by one, Samuel picked his victims and escorted them toward the back of the ballroom.
“It’s time,” I whispered to Cora.
She nodded, her large eyes shining. “Good luck.”
I smiled confidently. I didn’t need luck anymore. I had a foolproof plan and revenge-hungry Damon on my side. Now all we needed to do was fight for our freedom.
12
Damon and I hurried after Samuel, following him into the cavernous servant area across from the ballroom. Moss grew from crevices in the walls, and the hallway smelled damp—almost like a swamp. Samuel had ducked out of sight into one of the wooden doors dotting either side of the hall. I had no idea where he could be. I tested one of doorknobs. Locked.
I zigzagged farther down the corridor, putting my weight against each door until I heard a blood-curdling, otherworldly scream coming from the far end of the hall. It echoed in my bones and made me certain the plan had worked. Anticipation buzzed in my veins.
“Ready, brother?” Damon whispered. His eyes were red with anger. We ran, side by side, following the sound of the cry.
Damon used his brute strength to bust through the locked door. Inside, Samuel lay on the ground, writhing and clutching his gut as if his insides were on fire. Surrounding him were four terrified and bewildered Asylum girls. One girl was clutching her neck as blood seeped through her fingers, while the other three were gathered around her. The four whitewashed walls were empty except for a single wooden cross, and a lone candle burned on a wooden table, casting an eerie glow on the scene. We were far enough away from the party that no one could hear us, which I suppose was why Samuel had chosen this room in the first place. He’d probably brought girls here during every Magdalene Asylum fund-raising ball.
“Run!” I barked to the girls. They didn’t need any more urging. One by one, they took off down the corridor. I wondered what they would say to Sister Agatha, but brushed the thought away. We were on borrowed time, and I knew it was imperative we kill Samuel right away.
He was completely at our mercy, and we were ready to strike.
“Not so powerful now, are you?” Damon sneered, reaching into the folds of his cloak for a wooden cross he must have been planning to use as a stake. He let loose a low, demonic laugh and I stepped back. I may have been after Samuel’s life, but Damon seemed to be after something more. He wasn’t just intending to kill Samuel. He was intending to torture him.
“You think you can destroy me with that?” Samuel gasped, mustering a weak laugh.
Just as Damon reared back, ready to strike, Samuel lunged to his feet, pushing him against the wall. The cross clattered to the floor. I grabbed it, slashing at the air. But Samuel’s quick movement had extinguished the candle lighting the room, and as we were plunged into darkness, Samuel struck. I felt a searing pain below my knee and staggered onto my back, suddenly unable to move. A stake was jutting out from under my kneecap.
I couldn’t muster the strength to pull myself into a seated position to yank it out. I twisted, trying to get a view of the room. Samuel and Damon were circling each other. Damon’s jaw was clenched and blood was running down his face.
Kill him, I willed. No torture. Just strike. You don’t have time.
In my pain, I couldn’t be sure whether I was saying the words or merely thinking them. But I heard Damon’s low, mocking laugh.
“Ready to be revealed as a monster? What will Lord Ainsley think? Better call in all your political favors now,” Damon said. “Unless I just kill you. Take you off their hands.”
Just kill him, I thought desperately.
Samuel turned toward me—that time, I’d spoken aloud. “I’m afraid your brother won’t be killing me,” he said evenly as he pulled a glittering, jewel-encrusted knife from his jacket. The sound of sizzling flesh assaulted my ears; I could tell the knife had been dipped in vervain.
“Damon!” I yelled, but it was too late. Samuel took the knife and shoved it into Damon’s abdomen. Blood immediately seeped through his robes.
Samuel looked back and forth at us both, his eyes glittering in the darkness. I glared at him, still unable to move. He continued to laugh, a low, dangerous sound, as ominous as an earthquake.
“I have to hand it to you, boys,” he said, tapping his long fingers together and pacing the room. I wondered if this was when he’d strike, or if he’d hold out. “You tried valiantly. I didn’t think you had it in you. Spiking those little brats with vervain was admirable. But unfortunately, I have quite a bit of vervain in me. Started dosing myself with it years ago. Nasty and unpleasant, yes, but it does help build immunity.” He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “See, not so much the worse for wear.” He clapped his hands together, causing dried red flecks of blood to fall to the ground like rain.
“Which is more than I can say for your little friends,” he continued. “You think you’re the only ones who can spoil an evening? Jack the Ripper knows how it’s done. Now seems like the perfect time for him to head back to Whitechapel and strike again. The only question is, in a benefit full of whores, who will be the lucky lady?” Samuel’s mouth twisted into a sickening grin.
“No,” I said, as the horror of it invaded my imagination. I pictured one of the Asylum girls, ripped from the inside out. My leg was hurting badly, and I knew I’d lost a lot of blood. But my injuries were nothing compared to what Samuel would do to those girls. Cora was out there, alone…