I practically flew back to the tunnel, knocking into pedestrians and coachmen along the way. At one point I stopped, catching sight of a broadsheet posted outside a bank.
CRIMINAL MOST FOUL! proclaimed the headline above the now-familiar etching of Damon’s face. Soon, these posters would come down and Damon would be able to roam the streets of London as a free man. But for now, I was worried about him leaving the tunnel even for a moment.
“Bloody awful, don’t you think?” I turned to find a man standing next to me, staring at the broadsheet.
“I suppose so,” I said stiffly.
“Won’t be for long. We’ve got all of London looking for him. Thinks he’s a fancy man about town, but then gets his jollies from ripping apart them girls. Terrible.”
“I suppose no one is ever really what they seem,” I said uncomfortably. “If you’ll excuse me.” I backed away, picking up my pace until I lost sight of him.
I reached the tunnel and climbed down the ladder into the darkness. “Damon!” I called, not bothering to be cautious.
“Good day, brother,” Damon said, nodding at me from his perch on the ledge. He was playing a game of solitaire, slapping each card down violently. I knew he was angry about being stuck belowground. But that wasn’t my problem. I was sick of tiptoeing around Damon’s moods.
“I saw Cora,” I said.
“Oh? And how is she?” he asked politely, as though he were inquiring about a long-lost cousin.
“They’re using them for blood. Samuel and Henry are feeding on the girls,” I said. I swung myself onto the ledge so I was sitting next to my brother.
“Really?” Damon’s eyes widened. “That’s their blood supply. That’s brilliant,” he said.
“It’s awful!” I retorted.
“Right. Of course it is. But just think. No hunting, and so many girls available that they don’t feed enough to kill them. I hate to say it, but Samuel knows what he’s doing,” Damon said grudgingly. “If they weren’t trying to kill me, I would probably join them.”
I grimaced. I knew Damon wasn’t saying it to shock me—he actually would have.
“I think I have a plan to catch them,” I said quietly, almost afraid to voice the idea. I knew it could work. But I didn’t want to see Damon’s sneer or listen to him list all the reasons the plan wouldn’t work, all the ways it could go wrong.
“Really? Does it involve you sacrificing yourself? Now that’s a plan I could get behind,” Damon quipped.
“Vervain,” I said simply. “Cora can sneak some in, and she’ll dose the girls at breakfast. Then, when Samuel feeds, he’ll be poisoned, and we’ll be able to attack.”
“Vervain,” Damon repeated thoughtfully. “That’s not bad, brother.”
“It grows everywhere back home. But here…” I remembered how hard it had been to try to cultivate vervain in the limestone-rich English soil. It wasn’t something that grew naturally. I’d nurtured a tiny patch on the grounds of Abbott Manor, but it had required near constant diligence. Back in the States, it had been awful to walk through a field only to suddenly feel dozens of stings around my ankles. The vervain I gave to Violet, which Cora now wore, was from San Francisco—crumbly and dried, like a pressed flower.
“We don’t need to grow it. Brother, you need to stop thinking like a farmer. We’re in London, where money can get you anything. We can still find it,” Damon said mysteriously.
“Where?” I asked.
“Wherever there’s a city of vampires, there are antidotes. Do you think the war between us and Samuel is the only one brewing in our world?” Damon asked with a twisted grin. “Come. We’re going to the Emporium,” Damon said. He pulled on a hat to disguise his face. Now that his angular cheekbones, shock of dark hair, and piercing eyes were covered, he didn’t look like the man on the broadsheet. He looked like just another Londoner shielding himself from the rain.
Without saying a word, I followed him.
Soon, I realized there were parts of London far worse than Whitechapel. Whitechapel had reminded me of some of the slums of New York City, communities we’d only passed through in a coach. But these areas were even more decrepit. Stray cats yowled in the alleyways, and boarded-up windows faced the streets below. It was impossible to tell whether any of the homes were inhabited. I hoped not.
“How do you know this part of town?” I asked. It was nothing like the elegant blocks Damon usually frequented.
“Unfortunately, I lived in this hellhole,” Damon said, grimacing. “You’re not the only one who’s had to slum it, brother.”
“You lived here?” I repeated in disbelief, picking my way over a pile of garbage and broken crates.
“You do what you have to do. Obviously, I prefer feather beds and champagne, but those aren’t always available. Besides, the darkness suits me. No one looks at you, no one cares if people go missing. It’s real life, brother,” Damon continued as we walked down the winding alleyway. The passage was so narrow that only one person could fit at a time.
“When did you arrive in London, anyway?” I asked. I realized I had no idea what Damon had done for the past twenty years. Of course, he had no idea what I’d done either, but I didn’t think he was particularly interested. Those twenty years had passed like a summer. Lexi and I had toured the country; we’d had long conversations and had occasionally taken odd jobs to pad our pockets. What had Damon seen?
“I’ve been here for a while. I knew the States couldn’t contain me. I had to seek adventure elsewhere,” Damon said cryptically. He stopped in front of the door of a house similar to all the other derelict residences on the streets.
He raised his fist and rapped three times.
“Who’s there?” A low, croaky voice called from the other side.
“Damon DeSangue,” Damon said in a flawless Italian accent.
The door creaked open and a tiny, wizened man stepped out. He was missing an eye, and the other was oozing a milky white substance. It was difficult to tell his age, or if he was even human.
“James!” Damon said warmly, reaching down to shake his hand.
“Damon! You’ve been gone far too long. I trust you’re not getting into trouble?” James asked, raising the white tufted eyebrow above his sightless eye socket. Suddenly, his remaining eye landed on me. “Who’s this?” he asked suspiciously.
“This is Stefan,” Damon said. “My brother. Also a vampire. Stefan, this is James, a friend to England’s creatures of the night.”
“Or anyone who pays,” James said, looking me up and down until his eyes finally settled on my lapis lazuli ring. He grinned wryly. “So what can I do for you boys? We have rhinoceros blood. It’s a treat for the discerning palate. And can I get you two a cup of goat’s blood tea?” he asked, hustling us inside the tiny, cluttered front room.
I startled when I heard mention of goat’s blood tea. Most vampires didn’t drink anything but human blood, and I’d thought goat’s blood was a delicacy only Lexi enjoyed. I wondered who James’s other customers were.
The thought drifted away as I stepped farther inside. I blinked in amazement at our surroundings. I’d thought I’d seen it all, or at least heard about things from Lexi. But now I realized there was so much I still had to learn. Frogs packed in jars were lined up against one wall. On another, purplish-red hearts pulsed, suspended in a filmy substance. And an entire shelf was crammed with bowls full of gemstones. Was this where Katherine had gotten the rings?
“You know, Damon, the offer still stands. I’ll be willing to put up a very pretty penny for that ring. I’ve had several inquiries. I know only the owner can benefit from its properties, but several of my kind would like to study it,” James said greedily.
“No, this has a certain … sentimental value attached to it.” Damon shook his head and pulled his arm inside his cloak. “And tea won’t be necessary for me. I’m still enjoying human blood. What I’m here for is vervain—a lot of it.”
“Vervain.” James smiled as he climbed on a stepstool and pulled down a few jars of the lilaclike flowers. “I don’t often get vampires looking for vervain. Witches, yes. But vampires tend to avoid the substances that harm them.”
Damon smiled tightly as James arranged the jars on the counter. I winced just looking at it.
“So, this will be … twenty pounds,” James said, pulling a number from thin air.
I pulled off my cuff links in frustration, hoping he would accept them in lieu of twenty pounds in hard cash. I doubted it. Twenty pounds was an astronomical sum. And it wasn’t as if we could compel James; running this shop, he’d obviously taken great lengths to protect himself. I could sense an impervious air around him.
“Sure,” Damon said smoothly, pulling a fistful of coins from deep within his pockets.
I blinked in amazement. In the flickering candlelight, the golds and silvers blurred together. The coins were round, square, and octagonal, and looked like they came from all over the globe. Where had he amassed such a fortune? And why hadn’t he offered it up before now, forcing me to rely on compulsion to get us everything from clothing to cakes?
James’s eyes glinted greedily. “Why, thank you, Damon. Of course, we welcome various currencies, but if you’re going to be paying in anything that’s not sterling, there is a … processing fee.”
“Take it,” Damon said cavalierly, pushing the mountain of coins across the dirty counter.
James took a heavy-looking square coin and squinted at it, causing more liquid to ooze from his eye. “Africa, eh? You don’t see many from there. How was it?”
“Hot,” Damon said shortly, obviously not interested in having a conversation.
Africa? I blinked at my brother. He was definitely unpredictable.
“Well, here’s enough vervain to take down an army of vampires. Although don’t outright kill ’em—it’d be bad for business!” James said, laughing and pounding the counter at the hilarity of his joke.
“Thank you,” Damon said, watching impassively as James put the jars of vervain into a large burlap sack.
“Now, can I help you with anything else? I have the blood of a Bengal tiger. It’s supposed to help with strength and temperament!” James said hopefully, his gaze flicking between me and Damon.
My stomach grumbled. I needed to find a pigeon or a squirrel before my hunger got any worse. Or, I could take the drink James was offering. “All right,” I said. Let Damon pay for it. He could certainly afford it.
“Two glasses?” James asked, glancing at Damon.
“No. Tiger blood isn’t in my diet,” Damon said disdain fully as James passed me a tin cup filled with a liquid as black as coffee. I took a small sip. The blood was rich and buttery tasting. After two decades of drinking watery blood from rabbits, this was heaven. I drained the glass, enjoying the warmth of the meal coursing through my veins.
James smiled. “Glad you enjoyed that. And there’s more where that came from.”
“Here you go,” Damon said, flipping a hexagonal coin onto the counter as payment for my drink.
We bid James good-bye and walked out of the store. I blinked at the sunlight, wondering whether there were more stores like that, hidden all around the world. My mind drifted back to Mystic Falls. A mother-daughter vampire pair had run the apothecary in town, but no one had known they were vampires at the time, and they’d only sold cures for human ailments: herbs for headaches, poultices for wounds. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine them having jars of live hearts pumping in their back rooms. But maybe they did.
“It’s always good to have friends of various talents, don’t you agree, brother? Although I could have bought an elephant for that amount of money. I was tempted to, once, back in India. But then what would I have done with it?” Damon asked, as we walked through the deserted streets. Damon led us in the direction of St. James Park. We walked in silence. I was enjoying the sunshine, while Damon still had to remain cloaked. To outsiders, we were just two men, perhaps playing hooky from work. And for once, I desperately wanted to believe the ruse. Sadly, that would never be the case.