The sun was just coming over the horizon when we reached the Magdalene Asylum. Damon had an oversize rucksack on his back, in which he’d pack his explosives, his crossbow, his stakes, and my tiny pouch of hawthorn.
When we reached the Asylum, it was nearly seven. Our plan was to wait until the girls left to go to Mass, then sneak through the back and find the office Cora had described. We’d set our traps in the office, lie in wait, and then, when Samuel came in, we’d attack.
The church bells pealed and, as if on cue, the doors burst open and a line of girls trailed out behind Sister Benedict. I recognized several of them from the benefit. Their eyes darted from left to right, as if they were afraid Jack the Ripper would attack them at any moment. It was clear they were shaken by Cathy’s murder, but I doubted they remembered the incident in the basement at the benefit. Samuel would have made sure of that. I wondered if they thought Cora had met the same fate.
As soon as the line of girls turned the street corner, my brother and I looked at each other.
“It’s time,” Damon said tersely. We stole to the rear of the brick building and found a small, unused door that led to the basement. Damon pushed against it with his shoulder, and it burst open.
“Shhh!” I said, too late, as it banged against the wall. The iron-rich smell of blood wafted toward us from the passageway.
Together, we tiptoed down a set of rickety wooden steps and into the basement of the Asylum. The light streaming from a few tiny windows gave the hallway a grayish glow. A row of nondescript doors with glass windows lined the hallway. One of them must be Samuel’s office. I cocked my head, but I couldn’t make out any noise except for the dripping of water in the laundry at the end of the hall.
We crept closer, following each other’s movements in silence.
“Wait,” Damon whispered. He paused and rifled through the bag, finally pulling out a crossbow and a stake. He passed the stake over to me. “Just in case,” he said as he propped it on his shoulder.
We continued to creep down the hall until the sound of footsteps stopped our progress.
“Get ready!” Damon hissed.
What if it was one of the nuns or one of the girls? The last thing I wanted was for them to see the de Croix brothers creeping around the basement brandishing weapons. I hid the stake under my shirt, ready if I needed it, but hidden, just in case. Damon kept the crossbow raised, but sunk deeper into the shadows of the basement.
Just then, a large figure lumbered into view. He was wearing filthy clothes and looked like a giant in the cramped basement.
“Who are you?” he asked gruffly. He had grease stains on his clothes, and I wondered if he was a handyman for the Asylum.
“From the Magdalene Church,” I said. “Sister Agatha’s asked me to check on the building. There’s been a lot of structural damage due to rain. Want to make sure it won’t collapse,” I lied.
“All right,” the man said, scratching his head.
“I’m surprised Sister Agatha didn’t mention anything.”
“No, she didn’t tell me,” the man parroted. He was so tentative in his words and actions I thought he must be slow, and was relieved when he shuffled on down the hall.
Damon moved out of the shadows, shaking his head. “What was that idiot doing down here?”
“It was just an Asylum worker,” I said, hoping I was right.
“If he comes back, I’ll kill him,” Damon decided. “We can’t take any more chances.” He shot me a glance as though he expected me to disagree, but I nodded. He was right.
“Good,” Damon said.
We started up the hallway, trying the doors on either side as we passed. The fifth door led us into Samuel’s office. Damon glanced at me, triumphant. “Let’s get to work,” he said, rifling through his bag. He pulled out a pair of gloves and tossed them to me.
I pulled them on, then set about tying hawthorn needles dipped in vervain to a length of wire and stringing it around the office. Damon stood on a chair in the corner, rigging a gun loaded with wooden bullets to be triggered by the trip wire now lining the room.
We worked silently. Damon had been right—it was him or us. The traps were crude and makeshift, but I hoped they would be enough. They had to be.
Searching for anything else we could use against Samuel, I opened a drawer stuffed with yellowed papers. I rifled through them, glanced at the dates: 1888, 1865, 1780. Samuel clearly had at least a century on us. I wondered when and how he had been turned.
Just as I was about to put the papers back in the drawer, I spotted the word Atlanta in the old-fashioned, slanting script.
“Damon!” I hissed. He carefully picked his way around the traps. When he’d reached my side, I pointed to the date on the document in my hand: 1864.
“What is this?” Damon whispered roughly, clawing the letter out of my hands.
“Give it back,” I said.
Damon shook his head, holding the letter out of my grasp. He scanned it quickly, then sighed in despair. “It’s not from her,” he said, handing it back.
Dear Sir,
This is to inform you that your letter, received in Atlanta and addressed to a Miss Katherine Pierce, is being returned as undeliverable. The address listed was destroyed under Sherman’s siege, with no survivors.
It was signed by someone I could only assume was a long-dead postal clerk.
“Do you think she was trying to escape him?” I asked.
“She must have been,” Damon said, his mouth set in a tight line.
I nodded. In truth, who knew what Katherine and Samuel’s relationship had been? They were the only two who knew for sure, and Katherine was dead—and Samuel would be, imminently. But from the way Damon’s shoulders relaxed, I knew he needed to believe that what Samuel and Katherine had wasn’t a true love.
I pulled more papers from the drawer. While Damon was focused on our upcoming battle, I was intent on finding out more about Samuel. I knew it didn’t matter; he’d be dead in hours.
And then I saw it.
The paper was yellow and crumbling, but five words at the bottom said everything we needed to know.
With eternal love,
Your Katherine.
My eyes followed Damon as he double-checked our traps. He couldn’t know. I had saved my brother’s life several times since we reunited in London, but what I did next was perhaps the most I’d ever done to protect him. I took the paper and ripped it into dozens of pieces, letting them fall to the stone floor like snow.
Damon would spend eternity thinking Katherine had loved him. He couldn’t survive otherwise.
Several hours later, as Damon and I crouched in Samuel’s office, I was still thinking about Katherine. There hadn’t been any more letters from Katherine hidden in the desk, and I wondered if Samuel had deliberately destroyed or hidden Katherine’s other letters. I wondered when Katherine and Samuel had met, and how many decades they’d spent discovering every secret of their bodies and brains. I’d only known Katherine for several weeks, and her image was branded indelibly in my mind. What could it possibly have been like to know her for generations?
Just then, I heard a loud bang, different than the sounds we’d been listening to all day, of girls hurrying to and from the laundry room, of nuns clicking their rosary beads as they walked by, of the building settling into itself. This sounded like a clap of thunder.
“I’m going to investigate,” I said, stepping delicately over our cobweb of traps. Maybe it was time for us to move into our hiding spot—the tiny coat closet in the corner of the room—and wait for Samuel to enter.
I cracked open the door, peering into the hallway. It was empty. The nuns and the girls must have been well trained not to go near Samuel’s office. Except for the odd interaction we’d had with the handyman in the morning, we’d barely heard footsteps. I stepped out, but saw nothing that could’ve produced the noise. I was about to turn back, when I thought I saw movement in one of the other rooms.
“Damon!” I hissed, before creeping to the window and peering in. I blinked in surprise. There was Cora, alone and unprotected. She was sitting in the corner with her knees hugged to her chest. “Damon, it’s Cora!”
I pushed the door with all my might and heard the lock break, but the door itself barely cracked open.
Cora looked up in fear when she heard the commotion.
“It’s me, Stefan,” I whispered through the slim opening. Relief was evident on her face, and then I heard the clanking of chains. Cora was shackled to the wall, and it was impossible for her to stand completely upright. “I’m coming!” I hurled my weight against the door again.
“Violet brought me here,” Cora said miserably. “She brought me around the back, where a man took me and chained me up.”
“Stay there!” I instructed. “Damon, help get the door open. It’s just jammed,” I lied to Cora. I could sense something was holding the door shut. It wasn’t a lock—my vampire strength could pull through that. It was something stronger, more sinister. My stomach knotted as Damon joined me and we both shoved against the door with our hands. Still, it wouldn’t budge wider than a half inch.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Damon. No simple door should be a match for the two of us, even with my diet of animal blood.
Damon shook his head and picked up his crossbow. “I don’t know. We’ll help her later. He’ll be back soon.”
“Stefan, go. Help your brother,” Cora said, sliding back to the filthy floor in a heap. “He’s right. It won’t do any good if Samuel sees anything amiss. I’ll be fine.”
I gave Cora an encouraging smile before Damon and I retreated back into Samuel’s office. We jammed our bodies into the coat closet, not daring to speak. Damon had the crossbow at the ready. We weren’t particularly well hidden, and I knew we only had seconds to react when Samuel finally entered. The waiting was agony—and I could only imagine how hard it was for Cora. Who knew what torture she’d endured?
Suddenly, I heard someone whistling discordantly in the hallway. Damon glanced at me and nodded. Samuel was here.
The door clicked open. I braced myself, listening for the twang of the wire as it was tripped, but nothing happened. Instead, Samuel stood absolutely still in the doorway, sniffing the air.
Quick as a flash, he reached into his boot to pull out a stake. Damon used that moment to burst from our hiding spot and release a vervain-soaked bolt from the crossbow. It landed in Samuel’s gut, and he fell to the ground in a heap.
I leaped to my feet and raced toward Samuel, careful to avoid the trip wire. He lay on the ground, the crossbow bolt deep in his stomach, his face a mask of rage as he reached to pull it out. Damon appeared by my side, standing over Samuel with a candle in his hand.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” Damon said in a low voice. “And I knew revenge would be mine. I want you to burn before you get to hell,” Damon hissed, leaning down and allowing the flame to brush against the sleeve of Samuel’s shirt. The flames ripped through the starched white fabric. Samuel writhed in pain, but didn’t make a sound. For a second I wondered: Was he impervious to fire, too? But I could see a path of charred flesh where the fire had touched him. It just wasn’t enough to destroy him.
“Kill him!” I implored urgently as I rummaged through Damon’s rucksack for the hawthorn-tipped stake. I wanted to get Cora out of here as quickly as possible.
“Oh, I will, brother,” Damon cackled as I yanked the stake from the bag. “But first, I want to play a little game with Samuel. After all, he seems to love games,” Damon said, setting fire to the cuff of Samuel’s trouser leg. The flame sparked and danced up the hem of his pants. “Once you’re fully ablaze, I’ll let all of London know you were the Ripper. I have evidence. I have Cora, who’ll testify. I have the other girls from the Asylum. I’ll be a hero. And who knows, maybe I’ll even be the new London councilor,” Damon said, as he lit the other leg on fire.
“Damon, either I’m going to stake him or you will. But it’s time,” I said firmly. Damon ignored me and kept placing the candle to Samuel’s clothing.
“Damon, I’m going to stake him,” I warned, raising my arm high above my head, ready to drive the weapon into Samuel’s ancient flesh.
“What, you don’t have anything to say? And you were always so talkative,” Damon taunted. “Always so creative. Coming up with the Jack the Ripper plot, lying about Katherine … it’s a shame you’ve reached the end of your story,” Damon said, allowing the flame to brush Samuel’s neck.
I closed my eyes and, summoning all my strength, I plunged the stake toward Samuel.
All of a sudden, I heard a gunshot, then a shriek. I dropped the hawthorn stake in surprise. On the floor was Henry, a hole from the wooden bullet in his head, his eyes still wide open. Violet was crouched in the doorway, keening. Behind her, Cora stood with her hands to her mouth, looking on in horror.
Damon’s attention turned to Henry, a slight smile of satisfaction on his lips. Samuel was rolling around the ground, desperately trying to extinguish the flames consuming his body. “Kill him!” I yelled again as I picked up the stake and rushed toward Henry. If he wasn’t dead yet, he would be in seconds. I felt a searing sensation on my ankle—the hawthorn trip wire. Pain ran up my leg and through my body until it flooded my brain. The room swam in front of me.
“Cora!” I yelled. “Run!”
Cora took a step back. And that was when I saw it: two holes in her neck, as round and neat as shodding nails, still oozing blood. Could Violet have fed on her own sister?
“Run!” I yelled again, my voice ragged. I couldn’t have her standing near this room, amid traps that could go off at any moment. Whatever happened tonight, one thing was certain: Cora could not die.
Cora took off down the hallway, away from the fight. I stood above Henry, ready to stake him, when someone grabbed my shoulders from behind and flung me against the far wall. Violet leapt across the room and tried to wrestle me to the floor.
Having just fed, she was strong, but my age made me stronger. I pushed her back, pinning her to the floor. I watched in disgust as she writhed. How could she drink from her own sister? I may have turned Damon into a vampire, but I’d never hurt him intentionally. I just wanted us to be together, forever. Violet seemed to have lost any moral compass.
“Violet,” I whispered urgently, my face inches from hers. I remembered how in Ivinghoe, the only thing she had wanted was to die with a kiss. I wished that I could kiss her now and wake her from this nightmare, but I couldn’t. She was too far gone. All I could do was subdue her, and give Damon time to finish off Samuel and Henry. Our traps had served their purpose, and we’d severely wounded them both. Now all we had to do was use their weakness to our advantage.
“You hurt my brother, you answer to me!” Samuel’s voice jolted my attention away. The flames had gone out and although his skin was charred, he was already starting to heal. Samuel held Damon by his throat so tight that I knew one flick of his wrist could snap Damon’s neck. Sensing my distraction, Violet clawed at me, catching me off guard and flipping me onto my back.
I struggled to break free of Violet’s grip. She was coursing with energy. I twisted, trying to free myself. There was no way Damon could hold his own against Samuel if he was at his full strength. I needed to help him. But Violet merely laughed at my attempts to escape.
“Violet, please,” I said, grabbing her hands and staring into her eyes. “I know you. You’re not like them. Come with us. Fight with us.” But even as I said it, I knew it was no good. There was nothing but hatred in her eyes.
“Samuel,” she called sharply. “I need a stake.”
Meanwhile, I realized with horror that Henry was sitting up. He was rubbing his temple, as though he were merely suffering a migraine.
We might die.
It was the first time I’d actually considered it a concrete possibility. I tried once more to break away. Samuel reached down with his free hand and picked one of Damon’s many pointed stakes off the floor.
“For you, my pet,” Samuel said, tossing it to Violet. “Do me proud.”
“I tried to save you,” I said, in a last, desperate attempt to get through to her. “You don’t owe me friendship, but if you kill me, you’ll regret it.”
“She won’t,” Samuel said, smiling. Now that his brother was none the worse for the wear and Damon and I were entirely at his mercy, he had no reason not to be happy. “In fact, I think she’ll look back on this as the day she truly came into her own.”
I kicked the air, my foot hitting Samuel in the shin. “Impudent,” he said, scowling down at me. “Both of you. You’re dying twenty years too late.”
Violet was deadly serious as she pulled the stake back. Her elbow was steady, and I felt a tremor of fear in my heart. Was this it?
“Think about what you’re doing,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “You went to the dark side. But you still have a choice. If you kill me, you’ll remember it for eternity. And trust me, you won’t be able to handle it. It will destroy you.”
For a fraction of a second, she seemed to hesitate. Summoning all my strength, I pushed her away, wrenching the stake from her hand and pinning her to the floor. I knew I had to push the stake deep into Violet’s heart now. She was too far gone, a lost cause. This was the only mercy I could give her.
But before I could strike, Henry blindsided me, knocking me sideways. He pushed my back against the wall, smiling and cackling maniacally.
“We meet again, Stefan,” he said. “I think, with our history, it’s only fair I kill you, not Violet. Don’t you agree?” I kicked at him, trying to escape.
“Damon, kill Henry!” I hissed urgently. In a rush of adrenaline and strength, Damon broke free from Samuel’s grasp, twisting Samuel’s wrist almost clear around in the process. Samuel staggered back in pain as his bones started to right themselves. Damon took those brief moments to rush over, a candle clutched in his hand. Without hesitation, Damon brought the candle down to Henry’s shirt. Already weakened from his previous brush with death, the flame took to his damaged flesh immediately, igniting him like a human torch. He stumbled back, trying to put out the fire that was steadily engulfing him.
“Get Cora!” Damon yelled sharply. “They might have accomplices!” I pushed past Henry and raced into the hallway, grabbing Cora and pulling her close to me. Now everyone, including Samuel and Violet, stood staring in horror at Henry. The flames were consuming him, seeming to grow exponentially with each of his pained cries.
“Help him!” Samuel shrieked, pushing Violet toward the flames, but it was too late. Henry fell to the ground, motionless, his body completely ablaze. Samuel must have known he was gone. I heard Damon’s long, low chuckle.
Samuel’s face contorted with grief and rage. He lunged at Damon, tackling him to the ground, and pulled the crossbow bolt from his abdomen. With a scream, he stabbed Damon in the chest. Cora clung to me while Violet approached Samuel and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off.
Before I could move, Samuel slung Damon over his shoulder and stalked past me. Damon was still breathing, but he was gravely injured.
In the hallway, Samuel turned.
“Because of you two, Henry is dead,” he said, each word slick with rage. His eyes were hollow and bloodshot, and each word sounded like a curse. “Your brother will suffer for this. And then he will die,” Samuel said, as though relaying a prophecy. “Mark my words.” He pulled one of the hawthorns off the wire and plunged it into my chest just an inch from my heart.
“Stake him,” Damon whispered, barely conscious. I grasped wildly for the stake Violet had dropped, struggling as I felt the effects of the hawthorn course through my veins.
But by the time I had the stake in my hand, Samuel was gone, with Damon and Violet in his grasp. I sank to the ground, left with Cora’s cries and the acrid stench of Henry’s burned body. In the distance, I heard Samuel release a ragged wail, mourning for his brother.
We were in this battle to the death. Either Damon and I would live, or Samuel would finish us both. There was no other option. Either he’d join Henry in hell, or we would.
I didn’t know how the next battle would play out. All I knew was that I had to get my brother back.