“So that’s what you did all night? And here I thought you might be coming up with a grand plan. Meanwhile, you were gorging yourself,” Cora said sternly. “I hope you catch a disease from one of these tunnel dwellers. It would serve you right.”
“I won’t, Miss Cora,” Damon said, shifting from one foot to the other. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if Stefan here made himself sick. I’m sure he’s told you all about subsisting on bunnies from the forest, but look where he landed: the same place as me, stuck underground, the target of a vampire who needs to be cut down to size. There are ways to feed on humans and still care about them,” Damon said pointedly.
I clenched my jaw and locked eyes with Cora. I wanted her to stand up for my beliefs and choices. I wanted her to remind Damon that not long ago, she’d been the one providing a blood supply to vampires. But instead, she merely looked disappointed.
I paced away from Damon, knowing the worst thing I could do was jump into a fight. The peace we’d brokered after he’d saved my life yesterday was fragile at best, and I knew from experience how one simple word said in anger could turn us back into enemies. And we already had one enemy to contend with.
I massaged my temples. The fetid, cloying dampness of the tunnel felt far too much like being entombed. “I think I need some fresh air. Cora?” I asked, offering my arm, knowing full well Damon couldn’t come with us when his face was in every major London newspaper.
“Enjoy yourselves. I think I’ll just continue to drink in the life down here,” Damon said, flashing me a crooked smile. He knew I was excluding him.
Cora glanced between us before moving to join me. Once we reached the ladder, I steadied her foot on my palm to boost her up. I followed behind, politely averting my eyes to avoid looking up her skirts. In the daylight, the ladder was much less intimidating than it had seemed the night before.
We emerged into the still-deserted construction site. I pulled my pocket watch from my trousers. A dent near the crown flashed me back to the moment when Samuel had shoved me against the wall of my cottage. Still, the watch ticked steadily. Unlike its original owner, Mr. Sutherland, it seemed to be indestructible.
Half past nine. Around us, the city was noisy and bustling. As we walked up the winding steps from the embankment, I noticed men in waistcoats hurrying in and out of the formidable stone buildings rising up on either side of us. The cobblestone streets were clogged with pedestrian traffic, and a man carrying a newspaper bumped into my shoulder but continued to walk without turning. No one paid any attention to Cora and me, and I was glad of that.
My shoulders sagged, and I realized the enormity of my relief. It was as if the tunnel had exacerbated all my nightmares and made me assume destruction was imminent. Yes, my brother and I were in grave danger, but London was the same as I remembered. Carriages rattled over cobblestone streets, peddlers were hawking flowers or nuts or newspapers, and men offered their arms to ladies. Nothing was different and yet…
“Read all about the latest murder!”
I whirled around. On the corner, a skinny boy was crowing the day’s shocking headlines, convincing the passersby of their need for a newspaper. His voice cracked with excitement every time he yelled the word murder.
My stomach tightened. Cora and I glanced at each other. “I should buy one,” I said, rummaging through my threadbare pocket for change. Finally, I found two pennies caught in folds of the fabric. I hadn’t thought of money as we were fleeing. Now, it was just another advantage Samuel had over us. He had access to riches that allowed him to effortlessly grease the wheels of the machines that ran London. Meanwhile, we would have to lie, compel, or sneak our way around the city.
I paid the newsboy and shoved the folded paper under my arm. I didn’t want to read it yet. I wanted to get away from the crowds, away from the tunnel.
Together, Cora and I drifted to the shady side of the street.
“Do you have a destination in mind?” Cora asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“I thought we’d go to the park. It’s a good place to … talk,” I said, my eyes darting suspiciously from left to right as if to see if anyone was following. No one seemed to be watching us.
“Good idea,” Cora said. “But first, I need breakfast. Shall we try that place?” She gestured toward a red awning of a bakery at the end of the block.
“Of course,” I said, shielding my eyes against the sun. We’d reached a calmer, more residential area of London. Townhouses lined the winding streets, and elm trees shaded the cobblestones. Far off in the distance, I could make out one of the lush green hills of Regent’s Park.
I opened the door of the bakery and was immediately overwhelmed by the yeasty smell of baking bread. My stomach turned. When I was hungry for blood, the scent of human food always made me feel slightly queasy.
“What can I do for you, dears?” A short, squat woman leaned over the counter and smiled welcomingly at us. Her arms were as large as Christmas hams, and for one second I imagined her warm, sweet blood on my tongue. My stomach growled as I locked eyes with her, concentrating on her dark pupils.
“We’d like you to give us a bag of buns. And a loaf of bread. Actually, two loaves,” I said. The less compelling I had to do, the better. If she could provide enough food to last Cora a few days, that would be ideal.
The woman nodded slightly as I felt my request seep into her mind, felt her will begin to bend to my suggestions.
“And a strawberry tart,” Cora piped up.
I repeated Cora’s request to the baker. She bustled around behind the counter, finally handing me a large paper sack, steam still rising from the loaf on top.