Chapter 7

REMAINS

As Troy and the detective inspector hurtled down Commercial Street, others of their kind joined them in the race to save Mary Kelly from the Ripper.

But Troy knew they were too late. He could sense it.

Another seer was dead.

Another one ripped.

Another soul lost to the darkness.

Four, now. Four ripped since the evil was freed a few months before. One more, and it would be five.

The perfect number. The pentagram. The five senses. The five fingers. The five wounds of Christ.

As he ran, he was in pain. Covered in blood and aching all over after the policeman attacked him, he was operating on adrenaline.

He looked over his shoulder. Eleven others accompanied him, all running silently. He thought, It could be any one of us— we could be the fifth.

“Wait,” he said and slowed down.

“Jonas, what are we stopping for?” said the detective inspector, out of breath.

“He’s killed her,” he said.

“You don’t know that,” said a black man.

“I know,” said Troy. “And you know, too—all of you.”

They did. He saw it in their eyes. He saw it in their souls.