Contents

Cover

TitlePage

Preface

Chapter1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter5

Chapter6

Chapter7

Chapter8

Chapter9

Chapter10

Chapter11

Chapter12

Chapter13

Chapter14

Chapter15

Chapter16

Chapter17

Chapter18

Chapter19

EpilogueOtherBooksbyThisAuthorExcerptfromStefan’sDiaries#5:TheAsylum

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PrefaceAugust1888Howmuchcanchangeinayear.

It’soneof thosephrases that I’vecaught inconversation,one that rattles inmymind likeapebblealongaroad,avestigeofmypreviouslife.Onceuponatime,ayearwasweighty,substantial.Itwasfilled with possibilities: of meeting the love of your life, of having children, of dying. It was astepping-stoneonthepathoflife—apaththatInolongerwalk.

Ayearwasonething.Twentyyearsago,whenmyentireworldturnedupsidedown,wassomethingelseentirely.

Ayearago,IcametoEngland,alandsosteepedinhistoryitmakestheprospectofeternityseemlessoverwhelming.Andalthoughthesettinghadchanged,Istayedthesame.Istill lookedlikeIhadtheday I turned into a vampire, and the same thoughts—of Katherine, who turned me, of Damon, mybrother,ofthedeathanddestructionthatIcouldnever,everseemtoerase—stillhauntedmydreams.Timehadbeensteadily

gallopingforward,butIremainedasbefore,ademondesperateforredemption.

IfIwereahuman,I’dbecomfortablyinmiddleagebynow.I’dhaveawife,children,perhapsevenasonI’dpreparetotakeovermyfamilybusiness.

BeforetheSalvatorefamilybusinessbecamemurder.

It’s a legacy I’ve spent the past twenty years trying to correct, hoping that somehowan eternity ofgooddeedscouldmakeupforthemistakesIhavemade,thebloodIhaveshed.

Andinsomeways,ithas;Englandwasgoodforme.Now,I’manhonestman—orashonestasamancanbewhenhispastisaswretchedasmine.

Inolongerfeelguiltyfordrainingthebloodofwoodlandcreatures.Iam,afterall,avampire.ButIamnotamonster.Notanymore.

Still,timedoesnottouchmeasitdoeshumans,nordoeseachnewyearturnoverwiththebreathlessanticipationofthosewholive.AllIcanhopeisthateachyearwillcarrymefurtherandfurtherfromthedestructionofmyyouthwithnofreshpainonmyconscience.IfIcouldhavethat,itwouldbemysalvation.

Chapter1Sunlight dappled the rough-hewn beams of the expansive kitchen of Abbott Manor, where I wasemployedasagroundskeeper.IsighedincontentmentasIgazedoutthethickwindowsattheverdantrolingcountrysidesurroundingthehome.AlthoughmeticulouslykeptupbyMrs.

Duckworth,theAbbotts’devotedhousekeeper,Icouldseemotesofpolenfloatingthroughthebrightrays. The homey, comfortable setting reminded me of the Veritas Estate, where pol en from themagnoliatreeswoulddriftthroughtheopenwindowsandcoatanentireroominathinlayerofdust.

“Canyoupassmetheknife,Stefan?”Daisy,oneoftheyounghousemaids,askedassheflirtatiouslybattedhereyelashesatme.DaisywasalocalgirloccasionalyemployedbyMrs.Duckworthtocomeinandassistinthekitchenfortheday.Ashortgirlwithcurlybrownhairandasmatteringoffrecklesacross her upturned nose, she remindedme ofAmeliaHawke, one ofmy childhood friends fromMysticFals.AmeliawouldnowmostlikelyhavechildrenDaisy’sage,Irealized.

“Why, of course,Daisy darlin’,” I said inmy exaggerated Southern accent, bowing deeply to her.Daisyalways teasedmeabouthowAmerican I sounded, and I enjoyedour lightheartedexchanges.Theywereplayfulandinnocent,areminderthatwordsdidn’talwayscarryanulteriormotive.

Ipuledaknifefromadrawerandpassedittoherasshepluckedacucumberfromalargewoodenbowlandsetitdownonthetable,bitingherlipinconcentration.

“Ow!”Daisyyelped,yankingherfingerawayfromthecucumberandhastilybringingherhandtoherlips.Sheturnedtowardme,bloodoozingfromthewound.

Ifeltmyfangsbegintobulgefromunderneathmygums.Igulpedandsteppedaway,tryingtostopthetransformationwhileIstilhadthechance.

“Stefan,help!”Daisyimplored.

Istaggeredbackasthescentofbloodinvadedmynostrilsandseepedintomybrain.Icouldimaginehowsweettheliquidwouldtasteonmytongue.

Igrabbedanapkinandthrustittowardher.Isqueezedmyeyesshut,butifanything,itonlymadethemetalicscentofbloodmorepotent.

“Here!”Isaidroughly,blindlyshakingthenapkinather.Butshedidnottakeit,soIopenedoneeye,thentheother.Daisywasstandingthere,herarmoutstretched,butsomethingaboutherwasdifferent.Iblinked again. Itwasn’tmy imagination.Hermousy brown hair had transformed into a shiny redcopper,whileher fulcheekshadslimmed intoanangular face thathadonly the faintestdustingoffrecklesacrossthebridgeofhernose.

Somehow,Daisyhaddisappeared,andanewfigurestoodinherplace.

“Calie?”Icroaked,steadyingmyselfagainstthewoodentable.CalieGalagher—fiery,impetuous,fiercelyloyal,anddeadbyDamon’shand—

wasrightinfrontofme.Mymindwaswhirling.Whatifshehadn’trealydied?CouldshesomehowhaveescapedtoEnglandtostartover?Iknewitdidn’tmakesense,butshewasrightinfrontofme,aslovelyasever.

“Stefan...”shewhispered,tiltingherfacetowardme.

“Cal ie!” I smiled as my fangs receded. I felt a quickening in my chest, a shadow of the human

emotionsthatCaliehadhelpedmeremember.Ireachedouttowardher,brushingmyhandagainsthershoulder,alowingmynosetoinhaleherapple-and-hayscent.ButassoonasIblinkedagain,totakeheralin,everythingaboutherchanged.Herlipswerepartedtoowidely,herteethtoowhite,hereyesbloodshot.Alemon-and-gingerfragrancewaftedthroughtheair.

Iblinkedinhorror.Fearranthroughmyveinslikeice.Coulditbe...

ItwasKatherine.Katherine.ThefirstwomanIeverbelievedmyselftofalinlovewith.Thevampirewhostolemyheartonlyasameanstostealmysoul.“Leavemebe!”Icaledraggedly,scramblingbackwardsoquicklymyfootcaughtonthetableleg.Isteadiedmyself.IknewIhadtogetawayfromher. She was evil. She’d destroyed me. And yet, she looked so lovely. A mischievous expressiondancedacrossherface.

“Why,helo,Stefan,”shesaidinadulcettoneassheadvancedtowardme.“DidIscareyou?Youlookasifyou’veseenaghost!”

“You’redead,”Ispat,stilunabletobelieveshewasinfrontofme.

Shelaughed,asoundaswarmandenvelopingaswhiskeyonacoldwinternight.

“Wasn’t I always? It’s good to seeyou.You lookwel .Althoughmaybe a bit toopale,”Katherineadmonished.

“Howdidyougethere?”Iaskedfinaly.Herbodyhadbeenburned,buriedinaVirginiachurchanocean away.And yet, it was undeniable that shewas standing not two feet fromme in theAbbottkitchen.

“Ineededtoseeyou,”Katherinesaid,bitingherlowerlipwithherperfectlywhiteteeth.“I’mterriblysorry,Stefan.Ifeelwehadsomanymisunderstandings.Inevertrulyexplainedmyselformynaturetoyou.Doyouthinkyoucouldeverforgiveme?”sheasked.

Ifoundmyselfnodding,despitemyhatredforwhatshe’ddonetome.IknewIneededtoflee,butIcouldn’tlookawayfromKatherine’slargeeyes.Iwasn’tbeingcompeled.Itwasworse.Iwasbeingdrivenbylove.Itentativelyreachedoutandalowedmyfingerstograzeherskin.Itwassmooth,andinstantlyIwasconsumedwiththeneedtotouchheragainandagain.

“Sweet Stefan,”Katherine cooed, as she leaned towardme.Her petal-soft lips brushed againstmycheek. I leaned in, succumbing toher lemon-ginger scent.Mydesire, suppressed for twentyyears,wasunleashed.Ididn’tcareaboutthepast.Ididn’tcarewhatshe’ddonetomeormybrother.Iwantedher.Mylipshungrilyfoundhers,andIkissedher,sighingwithhappinessandcontentment.

Shepuledback,andmygazeliftedtoherface.Hereyeswerebulging,andherfangswereglintinginthesunlight.

“Katherine!”Igasped.ButIcouldn’tescape.Hericy-coldhandswerearoundmyneck,drawingmeinto her, and then I felt a searing pain atmy throat. I tried to turn away but the painwent deeper,fartherintomybodyuntilitreachedintothedepthsofmysoul....

Everythingaroundmewentdark.

AndthenIheardasharp,persistentknocking.

“Katherine?”IgropedaroundinconfusionasIrealizedIwasbathedinsweat.Iblinked.Abovemewastheslopedroofofmythatchedcottage.

Sunlightstreamedinthroughthecracksintheceiling.

Theknockingcontinued.

Iscrambledfrommybedandpuledonmybreechesandshirt.“Comein!”Icaled.

ThedoorswungopenandMrs.Duckworthbustledin,concernstampedonherround,redface.“Youalright,then?”Mrs.Duckworthasked.

“Fine.Justadream,”Isaid,shiftinguneasilyfromonefoottoanother.Wasitjustadream?Ihadn’tthoughtaboutherinages,butinmydream,Katherinehadseemedsoreal,soalive.

“Havinganightmare,youwas,”Mrs.Duckworthsaidknowledgeably,crossingherarmsacrossherexpansive,matronlychest.“Icouldhearyouyelingoutsidethedoor.Andyougavemearightfright,I’dthoughtyouwereattackedbyoneofthemfoxesfromthewoods.Mrs.Medlockupat theEvansfarmsaidonegotafewoftheirchickenstheotherday.Inbroaddaylight,too!”

“Anightmare...”Irepeated,asIsteadiedmyselfagainstthewoodenpostofmybed.Thesunwasjustbeginningitsdescentandtheforestoutsidemywindowwasblanketedinanamberlight.

“Yes,”Mrs.Duckworthrepliedpatiently.Shewaswearingastarchedwhiteapronoverherblue-and-white-stripeddress, andhergrayhairwaspuledback ina severebun.She’dbeena servantat theManor for over twenty years, and oversaw everything that went on in the house with a motherlyconcern.GeorgeAbbottalwaysjokedthatshe,nothim,wastrulyincharge.Seeinghercalmedme,areminderthat theeventswereal inmyhead,andthatIwassafehere.“I justhopethemissusdidn’thearyou.Wouldn’twanthertothinkyouwashaunted.”

“Notme,”Isaidimpatiently,pickingupmybedclothesandtossingthembackonthebed.Ididn’tlikethe implicationofMrs.Duckworth’s col oquialisms, or that shewasneverquite able toproduce agrammaticalycorrectsentence.“Youmeanthecabinishaunted.Whichit’snot,”Isaidquickly.

“No,Imeantyou’shaunted,”Mrs.Duckworthsaidsagely.“Youmusthavesomethinginyourmindthat’stroublingyou.Notlettingyourest.”Ilookeddownattherough,unevenfloorboards.Itwastrue.EventhoughIhadfledfromhome,Iwasstilhauntedbyvisionsfrommypast.

Sometimes, when I dreamt of Damon and myself as children, racing horses against each otherthroughtheVirginiawoods,thedreamscapeswerepleasant.Othertimes,theyremindedmethateventhoughIwasdestinedtoliveonEarthforeternity,apartofmewasalwaysinhel.

“Nomatter,”Mrs. Duckworth said, crisply brushing her hands together to create a loud clappingsound.“IwascomingtofetchyouforSundaysupper.Theboyscan’tstopaskingforyou,”shesaid,anaffectionatesmileonherfaceasshespokeofLukeandOliver,thetwoyoungAbbottboys.

“Ofcourse,”Isaid.I lovedSundaysuppers.Theywerecasualandnoisy,filedwithdeliciousfoodandgood-naturedbickeringbetweenLukeandOliver.Theirfather,George,wouldbouncefour-year-oldEmma, theyoungestAbbott,onhisknee,while theirmother,Gertrude,wouldsmileproudlyatherbrood.I’dsitatthefaredgeofthetable,thankfulthatI,too,waspartofthetableaux.Theywerejust a normal family, enjoying a typical Sunday. And to me, there was nothing—not the finestmansionsinSanFranciscoortheglittering,champagne-soakedbalsofNewYorkCity—thatcouldpossiblycompare.

WhenI’dcometoAbbottManorlastfal ,IhadonlytheshirtonmybackandahorseI’dwoninagame of cards at a portside bar just outside of Southampton. She’d been a black beauty who’dremindedmeofMezzanotte,myhorsefrommyVirginiachildhood. I’dnamedherSegreto, Italianforsecret,andwespentthemonthroamingthecountrysidebeforearrivinginIvinghoe,atownaboutfiftymilesoutsideofLondon.LookingforsomeonewhowouldpurchaseSegreto,I’dbeendirected

toGeorgeAbbott,who,uponhearingmycarefulycraftedtaleofwoe,hadofferedmeboththepriceofthehorseandajobascaretaker.

“Youbesthurryup,”Mrs.Duckworthsaid, interruptingmymemory.Shestrodeoutofmycottage,closingthedoorwithathud.

Iglancedhastilyatmyreflectioninthelookingglassthathungovermysimplechestofdrawers.Iquickly slickedmy brown hair back and ranmy tongue overmy gums.My fangs rarelymade anappearanceanymore,atleastnotinmywakinghours.I’deventakentohuntingmypreywithabowandarrow, thendrainingthebloodintoaglassanddrinkingitasIrelaxedbythefire.IrememberhowmyfriendLexihadtriedandtriedtogetmetotakegoat’sbloodtea,backwhenIwasayoungvampire,wreakinghavoconthecityofNewOrleans.Backthen,I’dresisted, thinkinggoat’sbloodwasanaffronttowhatbloodshouldtastelike—rich,sweet,human.

If only she could seemenow, I thought rueful y. I sometimeswished that shewas here, especial yduringthelong,darknights.Itwouldbenicetohavesomeonetotalkto,andLexiwasatruefriend.ButsheandIhadpartedwaysuponreachingBritain.She’ddecidedtogoontotheContinent,whileIchosetostayandseewhatthecountryhadtooffer.Itwasjustaswel.Althoughwe’dpartedongoodterms,Icouldsensesometimesshegrewimpatientwithmymelancholicdisposition.Ididn’tblameher.Igrewimpatientwithmyself,too,wishingthatIcouldsimplymoveon.IwishedIcouldflirtwithDaisywithout fearofmy fangsmakingan appearance. Iwished I coulddiscussmy former life inAmericawithGeorgewithoutlettingslipthatI’dbeenaliveduringtheCivilWar.AndIwished,morethananything,IcoulderaseDamonfrommymind.IfeltthatbeingbymyselfandonmyowntwofeetwaswhatIneededtomoveforward.Untilonenightmarewouldsendmebackintomymisery.

ButonlyifI let it. I’d learnedthatmemorieswerejust that—memories.Theyhadnopowertohurtme,unlessIletthem.IlearnedthatIcouldtrusthumans.Andlateatnight,mybodywarmedbybadgerbloodandlisteningtothesoundsoftheforestcometolife,Ifeltalmosthappy.

Therewaslittleexcitementandadventure.Whattherewas—andwhatIwasthankfulfor—wasroutine.The jobwasmuch likewhat I’d been doing inmy youth inVirginia, backwhen Father had beenprimingmetotakeoverVeritasEstate.Iboughtlivestock,oversawthehorses,andmendedanythingthatmightneedfixing.IknewGeorgeapprovedofmywork,andwewereevengoingintoLondontomorrowtodiscussthefinancesofthefarm,atruesignofhistrustinme.Infact,theentireAbbottfamilyseemedtolikeme,andIwassurprisedtofindhowmuchIlikedthem.IknewinafewyearsI’dhavetomoveon,sincethey’dsoonnoticethatIwasn’tagingastheywere.ButIcouldstilenjoythetimeIhadleft.

Hastily,Ipuledonamerino-wooljacket,oneofthemanyitemsofclothingGeorgehadgivenmeinthefewshortmonthsI’dbeenatAbbottManor.Indeed,heoftensaidhethoughtofmelikeason,asentimentwhichsimultaneouslywarmedandamusedme.Ifonlyheknewthathewasactualyafewyearsyoungerthanme.Hetookhispositionasafatherfigureseriously,andalthoughhecouldneverreplacemyrealfather,Iwelcomedthegesture.

Notbotheringtolockthedoortomycottage,Istrodeupthehil tothehouse,whistlinganamelesstune. Only as I got to the chorus did I realize its origin—it was “God Save the South,” one ofDamon’sfavorites.

Grimacing,Imashedmylipstogetherandpracticalyrantheremainingstepstothereardoorofthemanor.Aftertwentyyears,anyrecolectionofDamonwasassharpandabruptasaclapofthunderonadry,hotsummerday.Istil rememberedhim—hisbroodingblueeyes,his lopsidedsmile,andhis

sarcasm-tingedSouthernaccent—asvividlyasifI’donlyseenhimtenminutesago.Whoknewwherehewasnow?

Hecouldevenbedead.Thepossibilitysprangintomymindoutofnowhere.Iuneasilyshookoffthethought.

Arrivingatthehouse,Iswungopenthedoor.TheAbbottsneverkeptitlocked.Therewasnoneed.Thenexthousewasfivemilesdowntheroad,thetownanothertwobeyondthat.Eventhen,thetownonlyconsistedofapub,postoffice,andtrainstation.TherewasnowheresaferinalofEngland.

“Stefan,myboy!”Georgecaledeagerly, striding into the foyer from thesitting room.Giddyandalreadyalittledrunkonpre-suppersherry,Georgewasflushedandseemedevenmorerotundthanlastweek.

“Helo,sir!”Isaidenthusiasticaly,glancingdownathim.Hestoodatonlyalittlebitabovefivefeet,andhisbulkseemedtobehiswayofmakingupforhisshortstature.Indeed,sometimesIworriedforthehorseswhenitstruckGeorge’sfancytogoforarideinthewoods.

Buteventhoughtheotherservantsoccasionalymockedhimforhisunwieldybodyandfondnessfordrink,Isawinhimnothingbutfriendlinessandgoodwil.He’dtakenmeinwhenIhadnothing,andnot only had he given me a roof over my head, but he’d given me hope that I could findcompanionshipwithhumansagain.

“Spotofsherry?”Georgeasked,pulingmeoutofmyreverie.

“Ofcourse,” I saidamiably, as I settled intooneof thecomfortable redvelvetchairs in the sittingroom,asmalandhomeyspacewithOriental rugscovered indoghair.GertrudeAbbotthadasoftspotforthefarmdogs,andwouldlettheminsidetheManorwheneveritrained—whichwasnearlyeveryday.Thewal swerecoveredwithportraitsofAbbott relatives, identifiableby theirdimples.Thatmadealofthem,evenasternportraitofGreat-uncleMartin,whostoodwatchoverthebarinthecorner,seemalmostfriendly.

“Stefan!”Alispingvoiceshriekedas the twoAbbottboys tumbled into theroom.FirstcameLuke,deviousanddark-haired,withacowlickthatsimplywouldn’tbehavenomatterhowmuchhismotherpusheditdownagainsthisforehead.Oliverfolowed,aseven-year-oldwithstraw-coloredhairandskinnedknees.

IsmiledasOliverthrewhisarmsaroundmylegs.Astraypieceofhayfromthebarnwasstuckinhishair,andhisfreckledfacewassmudgedwithdirt.He’dmostlikelybeenoutinthewoodsforhours.

“I hunted a rabbit!Hewas this big!”Oliver said, breaking awayandholdinghis hands several feetapart.

“Thatbig?”Iasked,raisingmyeyebrows.“Areyousureitwasarabbit?Orwasitabear?”Oliver ’slighteyesgrewsaucerlikeatthepossibility,andIstifledasmile.

“Itwasn’tabear,Stefan!”Lukeinterjected.“Itwasarabbit,andIwastheonewhoshotit.Oliver ’sbuletonlyscaredit.”

“Didnot!”Oliversaidangrily.

“Daddy,telStefan!TelhimIshotit!”

“Now,boys!”Georgesaid,smilingfondlyathistwoyoungsons.Igrinnedaswel,despitethepangofregretIfeltstabbingintothecoreofmybeing.ItwassuchafamiliarscenethatIknewplayedout

inhousesalover theworld:Sons squabbled, rebeled,andgrewup,and then thecycle repeatedaloveragain.Exceptinthecaseofmeandmybrother.Aschildren,we’dbeenexactlylikeOliverandLuke.Wewererough-and-tumbleandunafraidtoknockeachotherdown,becauseweknewthatourfierce,undyingloyaltywouldspurustohelpeachotherbackupmomentslater.

BeforeKatherinehadcomebetweenusandchangedeverything.

“I’m sureStefandoesn’twant to hear youboys bickering,”George added, taking another swigofsherry.

“I don’t mind,” I said, ruffling Oliver ’s hair. “But I think I need to enlist you to help me with aproblem.Mrs.Duckworthsaidthere’safoxintheforestwho’sbeenstealingthechickensfromtheEvanses’coop,andIknowthatonly thebesthunter inalofEnglandwilbeable tobringdownthebeast,”Iinvented.

“Realy?”Oliverasked,hiseyesgrowingwide.

“Realy.”Inodded.“Theonlypersonwhocanpossiblytakehimdownissomeonesmalandquickandvery, very clever.” I saw interest flicker across Luke’s face. At nearly ten, hemost likely felt toogrown-uptotakepart,butIknewhewantedto.Damonhadbeensimilaratthatage—toosophisticatedtobecaughtenjoyingthegamesthatwe’dalplaydownbythecreek,yetterrifiedofmissingoutonanything.

“Andmaybewe’l take your brother,” I said in a stagewhisper,winking as I caughtGeorge’s eye.“ThethreeofuswilbethebesthuntingpartythissideofLondon.Thefoxwon’tstandachance.”

“Soundslikeafineadventure!”Georgesaidgrandlyashiswife,Gertrude,walkedin.Herredhairwaspuledback,emphasizingthewidow’speakonherfairforehead,andshewascarryingtheirfour-year-old daughter, Emma, on her hip. Emma had fine blond hair and enormous eyes, and oftenlookedmore like a fairyor a sprite thanahumanchild.She flashedmea largegrin and I smiledback,feelinghappinessradiatefromthecenterofmybeing.

“Wilyoucome,Daddy?”Oliverasked.“Iwantyoutoseemehunt.”

“Ah,youknowme,”Georgesaid,shakinghishead.“I’donlyscarethefoxintothebushes.He’dhearmecomingfromamileaway,”hesaid.

“Stefancouldteachyoutobequiet!”Oliverlisped.

“Stefan’salreadyteachingthisoldmantorunhisfarm,”Georgelaughedruefuly.

“Soundstomelikewe’realtelingstoriestonight,”Isaidgood-naturedly.Eventhoughtheworkwasdemanding,ItrulyenjoyedthetimeIspentonthefarmwithGeorge.ItwassodifferentfromhowI’dfeltatVeritas,workingundermyownfather.Backthen,I’dresentedbeingkeptonthefarm,insteadofbeingalowedtogototheUniversityofVirginia.I’dhatedfeelinglikemyfatherwasconstantlyjudgingandappraisingme,wonderingifIwasworthyoftakingovertheestate.ButwiththeAbbotts,IfeltlikeIwasappreciatedforthemanIwas.

Itookadeepsipofsherryandleanedbackintothechair,shakingoffthefinalunsettlingimagesfrommyearliernightmare.Katherinewasdead.Damonmightverywelbe,too.Thiswasmyrealitynow.

Chapter2Thenextmorning,GeorgeandIweresettledinalavishtraincaronourwaytoLondon.Ileanedbackintheplushchair,alowingwavesofnauseatorideoverme.Iknewfrompastexperiencesthatcitiescouldbetooloud,tooheavywiththescentofunwashedbodies,tootempting.Soinpreparation,I’ddrunkthebloodofaskunkandahare,andnowfeltsick.Butbettersickthanstarving,especialysinceIwantedtoputmybestfootforwardwhenwemetwithGeorge’ssolicitor.Iknewitwasanhonorforhimtoinvitemetomeethisassociate,amanwho’dlookoverthenumbersfromthefarmandadviseusiftherewasanythingweneededtododifferentlywhenitcametostaffingandpurchasing.

Andyet,Isimplycouldn’tshaketheimageofKatherinefrommynightmare.Soinsteadoftalking,ImerelynoddedasGeorgewonderedaloudwhetherornotweshouldleaseoutourhorsestothemineattheothersideofIvinghoe.Itwasimpossibletoshiftfromlifeanddeathtotheminutiaeofhumanexistence.Inanothertwentyyears—teneven—noneofitwouldmatter.

Thevelvetcurtainofourcompartmentopened,andaporterpoppedhisheadin.

“Tea or newspaper?” he asked, holding out a silver tray piled highwith scones and teacakes.Mr.Abbotteyedthemhungrilyastheporterplacedteaandtworaisinsconesonpristinechinaplatesandthenpassedonetoeachofus.

“Youcanhavemine,”Isaid,handingtheplateovertoMr.Abbott.“We’ltakethenewspaperaswel.”

“Right,sir.”TheporternoddedandpassedmeacopyoftheDailyTelegraph.

Immediately,IpuledoutthepagesIenjoyed,handingGeorgethefeatureshelovedwhileIkeptthesportsandsocietypagesformyself.Itwasanoddcombination,butithadbeenmyhabitforthepasttwentyyears,whenever I foundmyself inacity, to read thesocietynews. Iwanted to look foranymentionofCountDeSangue,thenamethatDamonhadusedinNewYork.Iwonderedifhe’dgivenuphisairsandgrandioseposturing.Ihopedso.ThelasttimeIsawhim,hisshowinesshadnearlyledtoourdemise.Itwasfarbetterforusbothtogoundertheradar.

BramStokerandHenryIrvingopennewplayattheLyceum...SirCharlesAinsleyinvitesgueststohisWestEndHouse...

SamuelMortimerrumoredtoberunningforLondonCouncillor...dashingCountDeSangueseenoutonthetownatthesupperclubtheJourneymanwithlovelyladyofthestageCharlotteDumont.

Ifeltmystomachclenchwithrecognition.ItwasexactlyasIexpected.Seeingthewordswasaclearsign that Damon was stil haunting me; a sign I couldn’t attribute to my dream, an overactiveimagination,ortoomuchsherrythenightbefore.BecauseeventhoughDamonhatedmemorethananything,itdidn’tchangethefactthatIwashisbrother.I’dknownhimmywholelife.Aschildren,Icould sense that he’d have a fight with Father even before it happened. There would be tensioncracklingintheair,asevidentascloudsbeforeastorm.Icouldtelwhenhewasangry,evenifhewassmilingatalourfriends,andIalwaysknewwhenhewasfrightened,eventhoughhe’dnever,eversayit. Even as vampires, something deepwithinmewas stil connected to hismoods.Andwhether heknewitornot,hewasintrouble.

Iscannedtherestofthecolumn,butthatwastheonlymentionofDamon.Therestwasaboutlordsanddukesandearls,whichmusthavebeenDamon’snewestset.NotthatIwassurprised.London,withitsendlesspartiesandcosmopolitanatmosphere,hadalwaysstruckmeasaplaceDamoncouldendup.Humanordemon,he’dalwayscutanimpressivefigure.AndwhetherIlikeditornot,hewasmy

brother.Thesamebloodranthroughourveins.IfIfeltapultowardEngland,wouldn’titmakesensethathewould,too?

Iglanceddownatthepaperagain.

WhowasCharlotteDumont?AndwherewastheJourneyman?Maybe,ifIhadtimeinLondonafterthesolicitor ’sappointment,I’dheadoutonmyowntofindit.Itwouldatleastlaymyuneasyfeelingstorest.Afteral ,IwassurehewasdrinkingCharlotteDumont’sblood,butifthatwastheextentofDamon’smisbehavior,whowasItosayanything?Andifhewasdoingsomethingworse,wel...I’dcrossthatbridgewhenIcametoit.

Acrossfromme,Georgewasstabbinghisknifeintothepatofbutter.Whathehadinwealthandland,helackedintablemanners.Butinsteadofrepulsingme,hisboorishbehavioryankedmeoutofmyhead.Oureyescaught,andIsensedGeorgeappraisingmygrass-stainedblueshirtandblackslacks.TheywerethenicestclothesIowned,butIknewtheymademelooklikealaborer.

“Ithinkwhilewe’reintown,Imighttakeyoutomytailor.Havesomesuitsmade,”Georgemused.

“Thankyou,sir,”Imumbled.Weweregettingclosertothecity,andthesceneryhadchangedfromwideexpansesofopenlandtoclustersoflow-roofedhouses.“ButI’dactualyliketoexplorethecityonmyownafterthemeeting.Yousee,IhavesomerelationsinLondon.Ifit’salrightwithyou,I’dliketotakeafewdaystoseethem.I’lbesuretomendthatfenceatthefarendofthepastureassoonas I return,” I lied. I’d never asked for days off. If George showed an ounce of hesitation, then Iwouldn’t go. But if he gaveme his blessing, it was almost as if Fatewas forcingme to findmybrother.

“Wel ,whydidn’tyousaysomethingearlier,boy?”Georgeboomed.“Iwasworriedaboutyou,alaloneintheworld.It’salwaysgoodtohaverelations,evenifyoudon’tgetonwiththem.Becauseattheendoftheday,youshareaname;youshareblood.It’sgoodtoknowwhatthey’reupto.”

“Isuppose,sir,”Isaidnervously.Weweretreadingintodangerousterritory.I’dnevergivenhimmyreallastname.Instead,heknewmeasStefanPine.I’dchosenPinenotonlybecauseofitssimplicity,butbecauseIprivatelylikedtheideaofcomparingmyself toapinetree:everunchanging.Itwasapersonalconcessiontomytruenature.Andso,Isuppose,wasDamon’spersonalchoiceofsobriquet.

“Takeaweek,”Georgesaid.

“Thankyou,butthatwon’tbenecessaryonanycount.I’monlyplanningtocalonmyrelativesfortea.Andthat’sonlyifIcanfindthem.ButIdothankyou,”Isaidawkwardly.

“I’ltelyouwhat,”Georgesaid,leaningintowardmeconspiratorialy.“I’lbringyoutomytailor,buyyousomesuits,andyoucanimpresstheheloutofyourrelatives.”

“No, th—” I stopped myself. “Yes, I’d like that,” I said firmly. After al , Damon was always soconcernedwithappearancesthatIwantedtobeathimathisowngame.Iwantedhimtoseemeasamanwho’dmadeaproudlife.Damoncouldlieandcheathiswayintoanysocialcircle,butittookhardworktodeveloptrustwithhumans,andIhaddonejustthat.MaybeIcouldevenserveasagoodexample,asubtleremindertoDamonthathedidn’thavetolivealifedevoidofmeaning.

“It’stheleastIcando,son,”Georgesaid,beforewelapsedagainintosilence.Theonlynoiseinourcabin was the rhythmic chugging of the train and the smacking of George’s lips. I sighed. I feltsuddenlyconstrainedinourcabin,andwishedIwereinthebarnontheedgeoftheManor,alonewithmythoughts.

“Quiettoday,aren’tyou?Youwerelastnight,too,”Georgesaid,breakingthesilence.Hewipedhismouthwithanapkinandpuledthenewspaperontohislap.

“IsupposeIam.Ihavealotonmymind,”Ibegan.Thatmightwelhavebeentheunderstatementoftheyear.Thismorning,alI’dbeenable to thinkaboutwasKatherine.Andnow, theideaofDamonbeingsoclosewasdrivingmetodistraction.

Georgenodded,anunderstandingexpressioninhiswateryblueeyes.

“Youdon’tneedtotelmeaboutit.Iknowalmenhavesecrets,butpleaseknowthatyouhaveafriendinme,”George said seriously.Although he knew only a skeleton ofmy history—that I’d leftmyfatherandAmericabecauseIdidn’twanttomarrythewomanhe’dchosenforme—

somethingabouthiscountenancemademewanttoopenuptohimalittlebitmorethanIhad.

“Of course, I’mnotpryingaboutyourpersonal affairs,”George said ashehastily rearranged thenewspaperonhislap.

“No, you’re not prying at al , sir. I thank you for your interest. The truth is, I have felt unsettledrecently,”Isaidfinaly,choosingmywordscarefuly.

“Unsettled?”Georgeaskedinconcern.“Isthejobnottoyourliking?Iknowthatit’sabitbelowyourformerstation inAmerica,butdoknowthat I’mwatchingyou,and I think thatyou realydohavepromise.Growintoyourself,getafewyearsunderyourbelt,andIcouldseeyougoingfar.

Perhapsyoucouldevenbuyapieceofpropertyyourself,”Georgemused.

Ishookmyheadquickly.“It’snotthejob,”Isaid.“I’mgratefulfortheopportunity,andampleasedtobeonthefarm.It’s...I’vebeenhavingnightmaresaboutmypast.Isometimeswonder...whetherornot I can ever truly leave that part of my life behind. I sometimes think of my father ’sdisappointment,”Iexplainednervously.ItwasthemostI’deveropeneduptoanyhumanexceptCalie.AndyetIfeltrelievedsayingthesentences,eventhoughtheydidn’tnearlyexplorethechasm-likedepthsofmyproblems.

“Growing pains.”Mr. Abbott nodded sagely. “I remember having them, too, whenmy father wasurgingmetofolowinhisfootsteps,eagertohavesomeonecarryonthename,hislegacy.HewastheonewhotoldmethatI’dmarryGertrudeandthatI’drunthefarm.Ididit,andIdon’tregretit.ButwhatIdoregretisthatIneverhadachoice.Factis, it’sthelifeIwouldhavechosen.ButI thinkalmenneedtofeelthey’remastersoftheirdecisions.”Atthis,Mr.Abbottsmiledwistfuly.“That’swhyI admire you, Stefan. Standing up for your principles and setting out on your own. This is aremarkable age. We’re no longer a society based on who we are, but rather what we do. AndeverythingI’veseenyoudohasbeenexemplary,”hesaid, takinga largebiteofhisscone,causingcrumbstoscatteraloverhisshirt.

“Thankyou,”Isaid,feelingbetterthanIhadinalongtime.Evenifhedidn’tknoweverythingaboutme, maybe there was truth in what George was saying—that what I chose to do was far moreimportantthanwhoIwasorwhoIhadbeen.AslongasIcontinuedtolivelikeaproductivememberof society, then my Power would continue to ebb, until it was a nearly inaudible thrum in thebackground of my being. Meanwhile, I’d have so many other things to concern myself with:livestock,property,industry,money.Asmalsmileplayedonmylips.

Thetrainlurchedforward,andteasplashedaloverthefrontofGeorge’sjacket.

“Ohblast!” hemurmured. “Would youmind holding this?” he asked, passingmehis pages of the

newspaperashepuledhishandkerchiefoutofhispockettodabatthestain.

Theboldfontandexclamationpointsprintedonthepageimmediatelycaughtmyeye.

Murder! screamed the headline. Underneath the text was a line drawing of a woman, her bodiceripped, blood seeping fromher throat, her eyes half-open.Even though itwas just a drawing, theimagewasgruesome.Ileanedinforacloserlook,asifcompeled.

“Isn’t that terrible?”Georgeasked,hisgaze fal ingon thepaper.“Makesmeglad to live farawayfrom London.” I nodded, barely listening. I took the paper, the grimy newsprint smearing onmyhandsasIhastilyscannedthearticle.

Woman of the night meets creature of darkness. The body of Mary Ann Nichols was found on thecobblestonesof theWhitechapelareaofLondon.Her throatwas tornoutandher innards removed.Couldbeconnectedtootherdeathsinthearea.

Moredetails,fromthosewhoknewthevictim.Page23.

Notevencaringabout thecuriouswayGeorgewaseyeingme, I turned to thepage, thenewspapershakinginmyhands.Yes,themurderwasgruesome,butitwasachinglyfamiliar.IstaredbackatthelinedrawingonthefrontpageofMaryAnn.Herblankfacewastiltedtowardthesky,unimaginablehorrorevidentinherunblinkingeyes.Thatwasn’ttheworkofajiltedloveroradesperatethief.

Itwastheworkofavampire.

Notonlythat,itwastheworkofabrutal,bloodthirstyvampire.Inalmyyears,Ihadn’tseenorheardofanymurdersogruesome—exceptfortwentyyearsago,whenLuciushadmassacredtheSutherlandfamily.Damonhadbeenthere,too.

Ashiveroffearranupmyspine.Wherevertherewerepeople,therewerevampires.Butmostkepttothemselves,andmost,iftheydrankhumanblood,didsoasquietlyaspossible:inshantytowns,fromdrunks on the street, simply compel ing their friends and neighbors so they could regularly feedwithoutanyonesensingathing.Butthen,thereweretheOriginals.Rumoredtobedescendeddirectlyfromhel,theOriginalshadneverhadasoul,andthushadnomemoriesofwhatitwasliketolive,tohope, to cry, to be human.What they did have was a relentless thirst for blood and a desire fordestruction.

AndifKlauswereherenow...Ishudderedtothinkofit,butjustasquicklybrushedtheideaoff.Itwasmyoveractiveimaginationatwork.Iwasalwaysassumingtheworst,alwaysassumingmysecretwassecondsawayfrombeingrevealed.AlwaysassumingIwasdoomed.No.More likely, thishadbeentheworkofablood-drunkDamonwhoneededtobetaughtalessonheshouldhavelearnedalongtimeago.

Afteral,Damonwasn’tonlybloodthirsty;hewasfamehungry.Helovedthesocietypages.Woulditbethatfarofaleapforhimtowanttosuddenlyappearinthecrimepages,too?

“Don’t let that storyscareyouoff fromLondon,”Georgesaid, laughingabit too loudly.“Thisaltookplaceintheslums.Wewon’tbeanywherenearthere.”

“Itwon’t,”Isaidfirmly,myjawset.Isetthepapernexttome.“Infact,IthinkIwiltakeyourofferandtaketheentireweekoff.”

“As youwish,”George said, leaning back into his chair, themurder story already off hismind. Iglancedbackdownatthepicture.Thelineilustrationwasgoryandgruesome,theilustratorhavingclearlygoneoutofhiswaytovividlydrawthe innardsfal ingoutof thegirl’sbody.Herfacehad

beencut,too,butIkeptglancingatherneck,wonderingiftwosmal,shoddingnail–sizeholeswerehiddenunderneaththegore.

ThetrainwhistledandIcouldseethevastexpanseofLondonoutthewindow.Wewereenteringthecity.IwantedthetraintoturnaroundandtakemebacktoAbbottManor.Iwantedtorunaway,backtoSanFranciscoorAustralia,orsomewherewhereinnocentpeopledidn’tgettheirthroatsrippedoutby demons.Aroundus, porters bustled to get trunks and suitcases from the overhead bins.Acrossfromme,Georgeplacedhishatonhishead,glancingdowntothepaper.

“Canyouimagine,thatpoorgirl...”Georgetrailedoff.

Thetroublewas,Icouldimagineitaltoowel.

IcouldimagineDamon,flirting,alowinghishandtograzethewoman’sbodice.IpicturedDamon,leaning in for a kiss as Mary Ann closed her eyes, ready for the brush of his lips. And then, Iimagined the attack, a scream, her desperately clawing toward safety. And final y, I saw Damon,blood-drunkandsated,grinninginthemoonlight.

“Stefan?”

“Yes?”Isaidgruffly,alreadyonedge.

Georgeeyedmecuriously.Theporterwasholdingopenthedoortoourcabin.

“I’mready,”Isaid,steadyingmyselfonthearmrestsasIstoodup.

“You’re shaking!” George said, laughing loudly. “But I promise you, London’s in no way asfrightening as the Ivinghoewoods. In fact, Iwouldn’t be surprised if you end up loving it.Brightlights,plentyofparties...why,ifIwereayoungermanwithoutresponsibilities,Iwouldn’tbeabletotearmyselfawayfromtheplace.”

“Right,”Isaid.Hiswordshadgivenmeanidea.UntilI’dfoundoutwho—orwhat—waslooseinthecity,LondonwaswhereIwasgoingtostay.

Nomatterwhatcame,beitmurderer,demon,orDamon,Iwasready.

Chapter3Afewhourslater,myfeetachedwhilemyheadkeptspinning.MysenseofdutykeptmewithGeorgeaswespentthemorningshuttlingbetweenappointmentsandtailorfittings.IwasnowwearinglinenpantsandawhiteshirtfromSavileRow,andhadseveralmorebagsonmyarms.

Despite his generosity, I was desperate to escape George. Al I could think about while trying onvariousclotheswasthegirl’sblood-soaked,rippedbodice.

“Can I give you a lift to your relatives?You never did saywhere they lived,”George said as hesteppedoffthestreetcornertonodhisheadatapassingcarriage.

“No,that’squitealright,”Isaid,cuttinghimoffasthecoachpuleduptothecurb.ThepastfewhourswithGeorgehadbeentorturous,plaguedwiththoughtsthatwouldmakehishairturnwhiteandstandonend.IblamedDamonforpoisoningwhatwassupposedtohavebeennothingmorethanadayofpleasantdiversions.

IglancedawaysoIwouldn’thavetoseeGeorge’sbewilderedexpression.Afewblocksaway,IcouldjustmakeoutSt.Paul’sCathedral.ItwasastructureIrememberedsketchingwhenIwasachildanddreamtofbeinganarchitect.I’dalwaysimagineditasbeingwhiteandgleaming,butinrealityitwasconstructedofadingygraylimestone.Theentirecityfeltdirty,athinlayerofgrimecoatedmybody,andthesunwascoveredbygrayclouds.

Justthen,theskyopenedupandfatdropsofrainlandedonthepavement,asifremindingmethiswasmynarrowchancetofolowmyinstinctsandfleefromGeorge.

“Sir?”thecoachdriveronthecurburgedimpatiently.

“I’lfindmyownwaythere,”Isaid,sensingGeorge’shesitationatleavingme.ThecoachmanmovedtoescortGeorgetothesleekblackcarriage.

“Enjoy yourself,” George said, clambering up the steps of the coach. The coachmanwhipped hishorse,andthecarriagetookoffdowntherain-soakedcobblestonestreets.

Iglancedaroundme.InthefewminutesthatGeorgeandIhadbeentalking,thestreetshadbecomealmostdeserted.Ishiveredinmyfineshirt.

Theweatherperfectlymatchedmymood.

Iraisedmyhandandhailedacoachofmyown.

“Whitechapel,” I said confidently, surprised as thewords leftmy lips. I’d thought of going to theJourneymantofindDamon.AndIwoulddothat,eventualy.Butfornow,Iwantedtoseeformyselfwherethemurderhadtakenplace.

“Ofcourse,”thecoachmansaid.Andinstantly,IwastrottedintothemazeofclaustrophobicLondonstreets.

Aftermuchbackandforthwiththecoachman,hedroppedmeonthecornerwheretheTowerBridgewasbeingconstructed.Glancingaround, I could see theTowerofLondon. Itwas smal er than I’dthoughtitwouldbe,andtheflagsonitsturretsdidn’twavesomuchasdroopintheconstanttrickleofrain.ButIwasn’theretosightsee.IturnedawayfromtheriverandontoClothierStreet,oneofthemanytwisting,dirty,dankaleysthatwebbedthroughthecity.

I quickly realized this part of town was vastly different than what I’d seen with George. Rotting

vegetablescluttered the rain-slickedcobblestones.Thin, slantedbuildingswere shoddily thrownupalmoston topofeachother.Thescentof ironwaseverywhere,althoughIcouldn’t telwhether theconcentrationofbloodwasfrommurderorsimplyfromthemassofpeopleforcedtoliveinsuchclosequarters.Pigeonshoppedalongthealeyways,butotherwisetheareawasdeserted.IfeltashiveroffearcreepupmyspineasIhurriedaroundtheparkandtowardatavern.

Iwalkedinsideandintonearlycompletedarkness.Onlyafewcandlesburnedonthericketytables.Asmal group of men were sitting along the bar. Meanwhile, several women were drinking in thecorner.Theirbrightlycoloreddressesandfestivehatswereatoddswiththegloomysurroundings,andgavethemthelookofcagedbirdsatthezoo.Nooneseemedtobetalking.Inervouslyadjustedthelapislazuliringonmyfinger,lookingattherainbowofrefractedlightthestonecreatedonthegrittyoakfloor.

Isidleduptothebarandperchedononeofthestools.Theairwasheavyanddamp.Iunbuttonedthetopbuttonofmyshirtandloosenedmytietocounterthestiflingatmosphere.Iwrinkledmynoseindisgust.Itwasn’tthetypeofestablishmentI’denvisionDamonfrequenting.

“Youoneofthemnewspaperboys?”

Iglancedupatthebarkeepinfrontofme.Oneofhisfrontteethwasgold,theotherwasmissing,andhishairstuckoutinwildgraytufts.Ishookmyhead.Ijusthaveatasteforblood.Thephrasepoppedintomymind. Itwas anoff-color joke thatDamonwouldhave cracked.His favorite gamewas toalmostgivehimselfaway,toseeifanyonenoticed.Ofcoursetheydidn’t.TheyweretoobusybeingdazzledbyDamon.

“Mate?”thebarkeepaskedcuriously,plunkingafilthyragonthebarashelookedatme.“Youoneofthemnewspaperboys?”herepeated.

“No. And I think I might not be in the right place. Is the Journeyman nearby?” I asked, alreadyknowingtheanswer.

“Ha!You ’avin’ a laugh?The Journeyman is that right proper supper club.Only admits the toffs.Ain’tourkind,andyouwon’tgetinneither,evenwiththatfancyshirt.Onlyoptionistodrownyoursorrowswithsomeale!”Helaughed,displayingoneofhisgoldmolarsinthebackofhismouth.

“SotheJourneymanclubisn’tclose?”Iasked.

“No,mate.ClosetotheStrand,nearalthemshows.Wherethefancyfolksgowhentheywanttogetwild.But they comeherewhen theywant to getwicked!”The barkeep laughed again as I glancedaway,annoyed.Iwasn’tgoingtofindDamonhere.Unless...

“Beer,please.Adarkale,”Isaid,suddenly inspired.MaybeIcouldget thebarkeepto talkandfindclues to who—or what—was responsible for Mary Ann’s death. Because if it was Damon, eitherdirectlyorindirectly,I’dfinalyteachhimthelessonheshouldhavelearnedlongago.Iwouldn’tkilhimorstakehim.ButifitcamedowntoitandIhadhimontheground,atmymercy,wouldIhurthim?

Yes.Iwasimmediatelycertainofmyanswer.

“What?”thebarkeepasked,andIrealizedI’dspokenoutloud.

“JustthatI’dlikethatale,”Isaid,forcingapleasantexpression.

“Alright,friend,”thebarkeepsaidamiablyasheshuffledtooneofthemanytapsthatlinedthebackofthebar.

“Hereyougo.”Thebarkeeppushedaglassoffrothybrewtowardme.

“Thankyou,”Isaid,tippingtheglasstowardmeasthoughIweredrinking.ButIjustbarelylettheliquidcrossmylips.Ineededtokeepmywits.

“Soyou’renot anewspaperboy,butyou’renot fromaroundhere, areyou?” thebartender asked,leaninghiselbowsonthebarandgazingatmecuriouslywithhisbloodshotgrayeyes.

Since I spoke to so few people, except for the Abbotts, I forgot that my Virginia accentinstantaneouslygavemeaway.“FromAmerica,”Isaidbriefly.

“And you came here? ToWhitechapel?” the barkeep asked incredulously. “You know we have amurdererontheloose!”

“IthinkIreadsomethingaboutthatinthepaper,”Isaid,tryingtosoundcasual.“Whodotheythinkitis?”Atthis,thebarkeepguffawed,slamminghisbeefyfistonthebarandalmostcausingmydrinktotipover.“Youhear that?”hecaled to themotleycrewofmenon theothersideof thebar,whoalseemed deep into their drinks. “He wants to know who the murderer is!” At this, the other menlaughed,too.

“I’msorry?”Iaskedinconfusion.

“I’mjusthavingalaugh,”thebarkeepsaidjovialy.“It’snotsomeblokewhopinchedapurse.Thisisanunholykiler.Ifanyofusknewwhoitwas,don’tyouthinkwe’dgostraighttoScotlandYardortheCityofLondonpolice and let themknow? It’sbad forbusiness!Thatmonsterhas al ourgirlshalf-terrified!”Heloweredhisvoiceandglancedattheclusterofwomeninthecorner.“Andbetweenyouandme,Idon’tthinkanyofusaresafe.

He’sgoingforthegirlsnow,butwho’stosayhewon’tgoforusnext?Hetakeshisknifeandlikethat,you’regone,”hesaid,drawinghisindexfingeracrosshisthroatforemphasis.

Itdoesn’thavetobeaknife,Iwantedtosay.Ikeptmygazelockedonthebarkeep.

“Buthedoesn’t start at theneck.Why,hecut thatgirl’s innards rightout.He likes to torture.He’slookingforblood,”hesaid.

Atthementionoftheword,mytongueautomaticalyslickedovermyteeth.Theywerestilshortandeven.Human.“Dotheyhaveanyleads?Themurdersoundsgruesome.”Igrimaced.

“Wel...”Thebarkeeploweredhisvoiceandraisedhiseyebrowatme.“Firstoff,youpromiseyouain’tfromoneofthosepapers?NottheGuardianorthemotherones?”

Ishookmyhead.

“Good.I’mAlfred,bytheway,”thebarkeepsaid,reachingouthishandtome.Ishookit,notofferingmynameinreturn.Hecontinued,hardlynoticing.“Iknowthelifeweliveheredoesn’tseemprimandproperlikewhatyoumightbeusedtoacrosstheocean,”hesaid,takinginmybrand-newSavileRowoutfit,whichmademewildlyoverdressedfor thisestablishment.“Butwelikeourwayof life.Andourwomen,”headded,wagglinghissalt-and-peppereyebrows.

“Thewomen. . .”Isaid.Irememberedthearticlehadsaidthatthevictimhadbeenawomanofthenight.JustthetypeofwomanDamonhadenjoyedatonepoint.Ishiveredindisgust.

“Yes,thewomen,”Alfredsaidgrimly.“Notthetypesofladiesyou’regoingtomeetatchurch,ifyouknowwhatImean.”

“But the typeofwomenyoupray tomeet inbed!”guffaweda ruddy-complexionedman two seatsdown,holdinguphiswhiskeyglassinamocktoast.

“Noneofthattalk!We’rearespectableestablishment!”thebarkeepsaid,awickedsparkinhiseye.Heturnedhisbacktomeandfiledtwoglasseswithseveralinchesofamberliquid.Hethenturnedandceremoniouslyplacedoneinfrontofme.

“Foryou.Liquidcourage.Youneeditaroundtheseparts,whatwiththemurdererwalkingthestreets,”Alfredsaid,clinkinghisglasswithmine.

“Althoughmybestadviceistostayhereuntilsunrise.Maybemeetanicelady.BetterthanmeetingtheRipper.”

“‘TheRipper ’?”

Alfredsmiled.“That’swhatthey’recalinghim.Becausehedoesn’tjustkil,hebutchers.I’mtelingyou,stayhereforyourownprotection.”

“Thanks,”Isaiduneasily.Iwasn’tsureifIwantedtostay.Thesmelofironhadn’tlessenedinmytimeinthebar,andIwasgrowingincreasinglysureitwasemanatingfromthewalsandfloor.Themaninthecornerkeptstaringatme,andIfoundmyselfstaringback,tryingtoseeanyglimpseoffangsorblood-fleckedchins.Icouldhearthewomenbehindmewhispering,andIwonderedwhattheywerediscussing.

“DidMaryAnn...themostrecentmurdervictim...didsheeverdrinkhere?”Iaskedhopefuly.IfIcouldn’tfindDamon,thenI’djustdothenextbestthingandfindoutalIcouldaboutDamon’svictim.

“Rest in peace,” the barkeep said reverential y. “Shewas a good girl.Came in from time to time,whenshehadenoughpenniesforgin.Thisain’tacharity,andthegirlsalknewtheyneededtopaytheproperfeeinordertospendtimehere.Itwasasystemthatworkedout.Thelocalsleftthegirlsalonewhiletheywereoutonthestreets,unlesstheywerestrikingabargain.Thegirlsrespectedtherulesofthebar.Andnow,everything’sfalenapart.IfIeverfindtheblokewhodidit,I’lriphisthroatout,”Alfredsaidsavagely,poundinghisfistagainstthetable.

“Butdidsheleavewithanyone,orwasthereeveramanyousawherwith?”Ipressed.

“Isawherwithalotofmenovertheyears.Butnonethatstoodout.Mostof’emweretheblokeswhoworkeddownbythedocks.Roughtypes,butnonethatwoulddothat.Thoseblokesaren’tlookingforanytrouble,justagoodpintandagoodgirl.Besides,sheleftbyherselfthatnight.

Sometimes, when there’s too many girls here, they go out to the streets. Less competition,” heexplained,noticingmyconfusedexpression.“Butbeforeshe left,she’dhadagoodnighthere.Shehadsomegin,a fewlaughs.Waswearinganewhatshewassoproudof.Felt like itdrewthemenovertoher.Thegoodkind,too,nottheoneswhoonlypretendtohavemoney.Iwishshe’dstayed,Godblessher,”Alfredsaid,raisinghiseyespiouslytotheceiling.

“Andherbody...”Iasked.

“Wel,now,thebodywasfoundinDutfieldPark.It’swheretheladiessometimesgowhentheycan’taffordaroom.Idon’tsaynothin’,whatevergoesonoutsidethepremisesain’tmybusiness.Butthat’swherehegotherandslitherthroat.”Inodded,mymindracingbacktooneofthemanyovergrownsquares of grass that dotted the area. The weeds, garbage, and peeling paint of the iron fencessurroundingtheparksalmadetheareaseemmoredismalthansimplecitysquares.

“Andifyouareoneof themnewspaperboys, thenIdidn’tsaynothing.What’syournameanyway,

boy?”Alfredasked.

“Stefan,”Isaid,takingahugeswigofwhiskey.Itdidnothingtocalmthedreadinmystomach.Asoulesskilerwasloose,andhewouldstopatnothing.

“Wel , Stefan,welcome toWhitechapel,” he said, raising his second glass. “And remember, betterwhiskeydownyourthroatthanthemurdereronit.”

IsmiledtightlyasIheldupaglasstomynewfriend.

“Here,here!”oneofthedrunkmenattheotherendofthebarsaid.Ismiledathim,ferventlyhopingthattoomanywhiskeysdrunkatthepubwouldn’tleadthemaltotheirdoom.

Thedevilyouknowisbetterthanthedevilyoudon’t.Thephrasefloatedintomymind.ItwasonethatLexiwouldoften invoke, and itwasone I’donly found tobemore andmore true as timepassed.Becauseashorridandsoulessasthecrimewas,ifDamonhaddoneit,atleastIwouldn’thaveanyothervampirestoworryabout.ButthelongerIstayedatthebar,themoreanotherthoughttuggedatmybrain:Whatifitwasn’tDamon,butanothervampire?

Down at the other end of the bar, Alfred had drifted into conversation with a few of the othercustomers.Rainpeltedagainstthewindows,andIwasremindedofthefoxdenatthefarsideoftheAbbotts’farm.Entirefamiliesofbeastshuddledthere,waitingforthemomentwhentheythoughtitwassafetoheadintotheforest.Theunluckyoneswouldbehitbyahunter ’sbulet.

Iglancedaroundagain.Awomaninalilacdressalowedherhandtoslidedownaman’sshoulder.Therealquestionwas,whowerethefoxesandwhowerethehunters?AlIcouldhopewasthatIwasahunter.

Chapter4ThelongerIspentatthepub,themorecrowdeditbecame—buttherewasnosignofDamon.ItoldmyselfIwasstayingtotrytofindmoreclues.

Butthetruthwas,Ididn’tknowwhatIcoulddo.Standoutsidethesupperclub?PlodupanddownthestreetsofLondonuntilIhappenedtorunintoDamon?SitinDutfieldParkmyselfuntilanotherattackhappened?ThelastwastheoneideaIkepttoyingwith.Butitwasludicrous.Forone,whywouldthemurdererstriketwiceatthesameplace?Foranother,whatwouldIdoifIsawthemurder?Scream?Cal the police? Find a stake and hope for the best?None of the options seemed ideal. And if themurdererwasn’tDamon...wel,thenIcouldbedealingwithafiendfromhel.Iwasstrong,butnotthatstrong.Ineededaplan.

Iwatchedascustomerspouredin.Eachseemedseedierthanthelast,butalwerereassuringlyhuman.Some men, the ones with cracked nails and dirty shirts, had obviously just gotten off theirconstructionjobs,whileothers,reekingofcologneandfurtivelyglancingatthewomenatthecornertables,wereclearly there toconsortwith ladiesof thenight.And indeed, Icouldn’thelpbutnoticeeachtimeagarishlygarbedwomansteppedintothetavern, thecrowdsurveyedherasif theyweregamblersattheracetracksizingupthehorses.

Thesewomenstoodinstarkcontrasttotheservinggirlwhoseemedinchargeoftheentireroom.Shecouldn’thavebeenolderthansixteenorseventeen,andskinnyasajaybird,buteverytimeIsawher,herarmswereladenwithplatesandpintglasses.Atonepoint,Iwatchedherhurrytowardthekitchen,butbeforeshegotthere,shepausedtocleartheplatesfromanearbytable.Althatremainedononeplatewere a few scrapsofmeat, somepotatoes, and ahalf-eaten rol .She staredhard at theplate,beforecautiouslygrabbingthemeatandslippingitintoherpocket.

Then,shecrammedtherol intohermouth,hercheekspuffinglikeachipmunk’s,beforescurryingbacktothekitchen.

Iclosedmyeyes. I’d longagogivenuppraying,andIdidn’t thinkanysortofGodwouldwant tohearmyrequests,but Ididwish thatnomatterwhathappened, that thishelplessseventeen-year-oldwouldstayfar,farawayfromDutfieldPark.Or,forthatmatter,anybloodthirstyvampire.

“Lookin’foragoodtime,love?”Awomanwithblondcurledhairandcrookedteethperchedonthewoodenseatoppositeme.Herwhitebosomwasoverflowingfromherbodice.

“No.Sorry,” I said roughly,wavingmyhandaway.AmemoryfromNewOrleans floodedback tome.Ithadbeeninmyfirstfewweeksasavampire,whenI’dbeenbloodthirstyandbulheaded,andhaddraggedDamontoahouseofilrepute.There,I’dfeastedonayounggirl,surethatnoonewouldnoticeorcarethatshe’ddisappeared.Icouldn’tevenrememberhernamenow,andIwonderedifI’deverevenbotheredtolearnitinthefirstplace.Itwasdetailslikethosethatwouldcausemetosinkintothedepthsofmisery,andhere,inthisdanktavern,Icouldn’tescapethesesplit-secondflashbacks.AlofthemwereremindersthatnomatterwhatIdid,andnomatterwhoIhelped,I’dneverdoenoughgood deeds towash away al the blood Iwas responsible for—andwould be for eternity—offmyhands.AlIcoulddowastry.AndIwoulddoanythingtoensurethatthesewomenwouldnotdieatthehandsofademon.

Iglancedbackdownat thepaper,nowcreasedandsmudged frommyhands. I couldalmost reciteeverywordofthearticle,andnoneofitseemedtomakesense.Whyhadthekilerjustleftherlikethat?Itwasalmostasifhe’dwantedhertobefound.Butifthekilerhadwantedhertobefound,he

hadtobevery,verycarefultocoverhisowntracks.

“Whatwouldyou like toeat, love?”a liltingvoiceasked. I lookedup tosee theskinny,wide-eyedservinggirl.Shewaswearingatatteredandstainedrose-coloreddressthatwascoveredbyafilthywhiteapron.Shehadwideblueeyesandlongauburnhairthathunginasinglebraiddownherback.Asmatteringoffrecklesdustedherangularface,andherskinwasassmoothandpaleasivory.Shekeptnervouslybitingherlips,ahabitthatremindedmeabitofRosalyn,myfiancéebackinVirginia.ButevenRosalyn’sextremecautionhadn’tpreventedherfromgettingkiledbyavampire.Myheartwentouttothisgirl.

“Whatever you recommend,” I said, putting down the paper. “Please,” I added. My stomach wasgrowling,butwhatImostwantedwasn’tonanymenu.

“Wel,alotofpeoplehaveorderedthefish...”shesaid,trailingoff.EvenfromwhereIwassitting,Icouldhearherheartbeating,asfastandlightlyasaswalow’s.

“Thatsoundsfine,”Isaid.Itriednottothinkofthedwindlingcoinsinmypocket.

“Yes,sir,”thegirlsaid,turningquicklyonherheel.

“Wait!”Icaled.

“Yes?”sheasked,concerninhereyes.ShelookedsomuchlikeOliverwhenhewasworriedthatMrs.Duckworthwould scold him. Therewas something about the deliberateway she spoke, her ultra-cautiousmovements,andthosewide,seekingeyesthatmademefeelshe’dseenorheardsomethinginconnectiontothemurder.Itwasmorethanjustanairofteenageself-consciousness.

Sheseemedhaunted.

“Yes?”sheaskedagain,hereyesfurrowing.“Youdon’thavetoorderthefishifyoudon’tlike.Wealsohavesteak-and-kidneypie...”

“No,fishisfine,”Isaid.“ButmayIaskyouaquestion?”

Sheglancedatthebar.OnceshesawAlfredwasdeepinconversationwithapatron,shetiptoedafewstepscloser.

“Sure.”

“DoyouknowCountDeSangue?”Iaskedsteadily.

“CountDeSangue?”sherepeated.“Wedon’tgetcountshere,no.”

“Oh,”Isaid,disappointed.Ofcoursetheydidn’t.ShekeptglancingbetweenmeandAlfred.

“Didyouknow...thegirlwhowasmurdered?”Iasked.IfeltlikeIwasatachurchsocialinMysticFals,wonderingwhichcousinofClementine’sknewwhichcousinofAmelia’s.

“MaryAnn?No.”Thegirlsethermouthinatightlineandtookastepawayfromme.“I’mnotlikethat.”

“Violet?”Alfredcaledfromthebar.

“Yes,sir!”Violetsqueaked.“Hedon’thavetoeatmyheadoff,”shemurmuredunderherbreath.Shepuledapadofpaperfromherpocketandhastilyscribbledonit,asifsheweretakingdownanorder.Then,sheputthepaperonthetableandhurriedaway.

Areyouthepolice?Mysisterisgone.CoraBurns.Pleasehelp.Ithinkshemayhavebeenkilled.

IshudderedasIreadthewords.

Momentslater,thegirlreemergedfromthekitchen,asteamingplateinherhand.

“Here’syourfood,sir,”shesaid,curtseyingassheplacedtheplateonthetable.Agrayishslaboffishwascoveredinheavygelatinouscream.

“I’mnotthepolice,”Isaid,staringintohereyes.

“Oh.Wel,Ithoughtyoumighthavebeen.Youwerejustaskingsomanyquestions,yousee,”thegirlsaid,colorappearinghighonhercheekbones.“I’msorry,Ishouldn’thavetroubledyou.”Shetookafewsuspiciousstepsawayfromme,andIrealizedsheprobablythoughtIwasjustliketheotherloutswhofrequentedthebar,whoonlyofferedinitialkindnessandinterestinordertohavetheirwaywithherlater.

“Wait!”Isaid.“Imightbeabletohelpyou.Butcanwetalk?”

“Idon’tknow,”shesaid.Hereyesdartednervouslyaroundthetavern.

“Haveaseat,”Isaid.

Nervously,sheperchedonthestool.Inudgedtheplateovertowardher.“Wouldyoulikeit?”Iasked,lockingeyeswithher.Icouldhearherheartbeatingfasteragainstherribcage.Shemusthavebeenstarving.“Here,”Iaddedencouragingly,pushingtheplateclosertoher.

“I don’t need charity,” she said insistently, a hint of pride in her voice. Stil , I noticed her eyescontinuetodartfrommydinnertome.

“Pleasetakeit.Youlookhungry,andI’dlikeyoutohaveit.”

Sheeyedtheplatesuspiciously.“Why?”

“BecauseI’mnothungryanymore.Anditsoundslikeyou’rehavingahardday,”Isaidgently.“Myname’sStefan.Andyouare...?”

“V-V-Violet,” she said final y. She picked up a fork and took one bite, then another, of the fish.Catching me staring, she picked up a napkin and shyly dabbed her mouth. “You’re a good man,Stefan.”

“Itrytobe.”IshruggedasIgaveherasmalsmile.ShewasquieterthanCaliehadbeen,buthadfarmorespunk thanRosalyndid. I’d inwardlycheeredwhenshe toldAlfredoffunderherbreath.Shehadpluck,andIjustknewthat,morethananythingelse,wouldsaveher.“SoaboutCora—”

“Shhh!”Violetinterruptedme.

IturnedovermyshoulderandsawAlfredstormoutfromaroundthebartowardourtable.BeforeIcouldreact,he’dgrabbedViolet’slonghairandyankedit,causinghertoyelp.

“What are you doing, girl?” he growled, his face showing none of the earlier jocularity he’d hadbehindthebar.“Beggingforfoodlikeamongrel?”

“No,sir, lethergo.I invitedhertodinewithme!”Isaid,quicklystandingup.IclenchedmyhandsintofistsandstaredintoAlfred’sbeadyeyes.

“She’snotgoodenoughtodinewithmycustomers.Outonthestreetiswhereyoubelong,”Alfredyel ed,hisvoice risingashe ignoredmyprotests. “You’reworse than them ladiesover there,”hesaid,juttinghischinatthetrioofwomenwhostilseemedtobesurveyingthecrowd.“Atleastthey’vegotsomethingtooffer,”hesaid,hisfaceturningred.

“Please, sir!” Violet said, her entire frame shaking. Alfred loosened his grip on her hair, but hismouthwasstilsetinafirmline.“I’ldoanything.

Pleasedon’ttakeawaymyjob.”

“Whatjob?Yoursisterdoesn’tcomein,soshesendsyou.You’retoosmaltoliftanythingandnotprettyenoughtokeepthecustomerscomingback.SoIgiveyouonetask.Taketheordersandbringthemtothecook.Andyoucan’tevendothat!”Alfredboomed.

“Please!”Iinterjecteddesperately,placingahandonhisarm.I’donlymeantforthegesturetostophimfromgrabbingVioletagain,but in themoment, I’d forgottenmystrength.Hisarmflewback,propelinghimawayfromViolet.

Iwatchedashestaggeredbackwardintothetable.Theplateoffishlandedupsidedownonthefloorwithaclatter.Violet looked terrifiedand I realized that thenormaldinhadquieted toachurchlikehush.Aleyeswereonus.

Alfredscowledatme,rubbinghisarm,asifdebatingwhetherornottostartafight.“Wel,”hesaid,clearinghisthroat.

“Iapologize,butshewasn’tdoinganythingwrong.Iaskedhertojoinme.Iofferedhermymeal,”Isaid inasmooth, lowvoice. Iwasfurious,but Ineeded tocontrolmy temper.“Doyouunderstandme?”Iasked.

“Yes,”Alfredsaid,jerkinghisgazeaway.HeturnedtowardViolet.

“Thattrue,girl?”heaskedroughly.

“Yes,”Violet said in a smalvoice. “And I saidno,butyou say the customer is always right, and Ithoughtthatyou’dwantmetodowhathesaid,so...”

Alfredraisedhishandtocutheroffandturnedtowardme.“NowIdon’tknowwhatyouweretryingtodo,butVioletisnotonoffer,”Alfredsaidstiffly,stilrubbinghisarm.“Ifyouwishtomeetalady,thereareonesI’dbedelightedtointroducetoyou.Iknowyou’renotfromaroundhere,butthisismybarandmyrules.Areweagreed?Nowyou,”hesaid,turningtoViolet.“Out!”Hepointedtowardthedoor.

“Love,Icankeepyouwarmtonight,ifyouknowwhatImean!”oneofthebarpatronsyeledashereachedtopinchherrearend.Anothermanfolowedsuit,pawingather.Butshestaredstraightahead,evenastearsfeldownhercheeks,andwalkedtowardthefrontdoor.

“It’sforthebest,”Alfredsaidroughly,crossinghisbeefyarmsoverhischestasthedoorclosedwithathud.“Youdon’trunthisbar.Ido.Andshewasbotheringyou.”

“Shewasn’tbothering me!” I said, angrily throwing a few shil ings on the table before steppingmenacingly toward him. A flicker of fear registered in Alfred’s face. I considered taking myfrustrationsoutonhim,butitwasnouse.Violetwasgone.Andeverysecondshewasoutsidemeantshewasindanger.

Istormedoutofthebarwithoutasecondglanceandwalkedintodarkness.Onlyafewstarspeekedthrough the tatteredgrayblanketof theLondonevening. Ipuledoutmypocketwatch,agift fromWinfieldSutherlandback inNewYork.Afteral thoseyears, it stilworked. Itwasnearlymidnight.Thewitchinghour.

Asliverofamoonhunghighinthesky,andalayeroffog,sothickIcouldfeeldewycondensation

on my skin, swirled around the dilapidated buildings surrounding me. I cocked my head like ahunting dog. I could hear laughter emanating from the tavern, but no matter how hard I tried, Icouldn’theartheba-da-bump,ba-da-bumpgalopofViolet’sheartbeat.

I’dlosther.

Iglancedaround,tryingtogetmybearings.Eventhoughthetavernhadbeenbustling,therestoftheareaseemeddesolate.ItremindedmeabitofsomeofthetownsI’dseenwhenI’dtakenatrainfromNewOrleanstoNewYorkCity—placessodecimatedbythewarthatnoonewasleft.

Iwalkedthroughthemazeofstreets,unsureofwhereIwasgoing.IwantedtofindViolet.Ihadsomemoneyfrommywages,andIwassureIcouldsettlethepriceofaroominghouseforher.ButhowcouldIfindherinanunfamiliarcitywithstreetsandaleysthatseemedtonumberinthemilions?Itwasimpossible.

Afterafewmoments,Icametoapark.Orrather,Icametoapatchofgreenerythatatonepointmighthave been a park.Now, the grasswas yel owed, the treeswere sickly, paintwas peeling from thewrought-ironbenches,andnoneofthegaslampswerelit.Ishivered.IfthiswasDutfieldPark,thenitwastheidealplaceforamurder.

Itiltedmyhead.Icouldhearheartbeats—ofrabbits,andsquirrels,andevenafox—butthenIheardit:ba-da-bump,ba-da-bump.

“Violet!” I cal ed, my voice cracking. I easily jumped over the peeling fence and ran toward thewoodsinthecenterofthepark.“Violet!”Icaledagain,theba-da-bumpgettingcloser.

Andthen,ashriekpiercedtheair,folowedbydeafeningsilence.

“Violet!”Iyeled,myfangsbulging.Ipeltedthroughthetreesasifmyfeetwererunningonair,notgravel, expecting to see Damon feasting onViolet’s neck. Damon, turning towardmewith blooddrippingdownhischin.Damonarchinghiseyebrowandgreetingmewiththeonewordthatmademybrainalmostexplodewithanger...

“Help!”agirl’svoicescreamed.

“Violet!”Icaled,tearingthroughthetrees,inonedirection,thenanother,listeningwildlyfortheba-da-bump,ba-da-bumpofherheart.AndthenIsawher,standingshakilynearadarkstreetlight.Herfacewasaswhiteasherapron,butshewasalive.Therewasnoblood.

“Violet?”Iasked,slowingdowntoawalk.Myfeetcrunchedagainstthedryunderbrush.Thepathinthewoodshadobviously,inhappiertimes,beendesignedforaSundayafternoonstrol.Asmalbrickbuilding,mostlikelyagroundskeeper ’scottage,longsinceabandoned,stoodatthecrestofagentlehil.Violetwasstaringatit,hermouthformedintoanOofhorror.

I folowedhergaze, the sliverof themoonproviding justenough light that I could see red letterswrittenonthesideofthebuilding,eachoxidizedcharacterstandingoutagainstthemutedbrickasifitwereiluminatedfrombehindbycandlelight:SALVATORE—ISHALLHAVEMYREVENGE

Iglancedatthewords,feelingasthoughthewindhadbeenknockedoutofme.Thiswasachalenge,asrealasifI’dbeendealtablowbyanunseenhand.Someonewasafterus.Andthatsomeonewasn’tDamon.Worsestil,whatifDamonwastheoneintrouble?Iwouldn’tputitpastmybrothertofindhimselfat thecenterofadeadlyvampiredisagreement.Afteral , that’swhathadhappened inNewYork.

Iblinked.I’donlyseenagruesomemessagelikethatonceinmyinfinitelifetime—attheSutherlands’

inNewYork,whenLucius,Klaus’sminion,wasfulfilingtheOriginal’sdesireforvengeanceagainstmeandmybrother.Twentyyearsago,we’djustnarrowlyescapedhim.Couldhebebackformore?

If Klaus had returned, I owed it to my brother to warn him. Suddenly everything—my terrifyingdreams,myunsettledfeelings—madesense.

Damonwasintrouble.Andlikeitornot,I’dheardthemessageandcomerunning.Nomatterwhat,myconnection to themurderwasno longer just ahunch—Iwas apart of this now.Therewasnogoingback.

“Help!Anyone!”Violetshrieked.Shewasstartingtopanic,hereyeswide.

Irantowardherandclappedmyhandoverhermouthtokeepherfromcryingoutagain.Imayhavebeen hunting Damon, but now I was being hunted. Together, we were just two foxes, desperatelydartingthroughthecity,unsurewhetherthehunterinchargeofourfateswasinfrontofusorbehindusorlyinginwait,readytostrikewhenweleastexpectedit.

Chapter5Inthatmoment,staringatthebloodymessage,timestoodstill.Orrather,timeflewbackward,backtwentyyearsandacrosstheocean,untilIwasintheformaldrawingroomoftheSutherlands’CentralParkmansion,surroundedbycarnage,gazingatasimilarlygarish,violentmessage.

Damonhadbeenbymysidebackthen,anditwasat thatmomentIrealizedthat thetwoofusweretrulyjustbabesinthewoods,boysmasqueradingasmonsters.Whenwesawthemessagewritten intheSutherlands’blood,we’dfinallygraspedthatevilbeyondourimaginationsexisted.

Andithadonlygottenworse.WhenLucius,theminionofKlaus,hadfoundandcapturedDamonandme,he’dentombedusinamausoleumasifwewereburiedalive,heedlessofourcries.KlausandhisilkwereOriginals,creaturesstraight fromhellwhodidn’tevenhave thesmallestmemoryofhumankindness,and,assuch,therewasnoendtotheirevil.Andnowoneofthemwasafterme.

Butforamoment,Ifeltsomethingelseinsideme.Itwasaflickeringsensation,sosubtleandforeignIbarelynoticedit.UntilIrealizedwhatitwas.Itwashope.

Thistime,Iwasn’tunprepared.Iwasolder,wiser,stronger.Icouldstopthem.

Iwouldmakesureofthat.

“Violet!” I said sharply,myhandstil firmagainsthermouth.She staredatmewithwild,unseeingeyes.

“I’mStefan.Fromthebar.Youcantrustme.Youhavetotrustme,”Isaidurgently.Theedgeoftheparkwasonlyahundredyardsaway.Itwouldonlytakeafewsecondstogetoutusingvampirespeed.Ifeltunsafehere.Ididn’tfeelmuchsaferinLondon’sclaustrophobicstreets,butatleastthere,withpedestrians nearby, the kil er would be less likely to strike. “We need to leave.” She took a deepbreath,butcontinuedtostruggleagainstmygrip.“Violet,listentome,”Isaid,summoningmyPower.IheardasnapofatwigintheforestandIjumped.Wehadnotime.Klauscouldbeanywhere.“Violet,trustme.Youwilbequiet,andyouwillistentome.Isthatunderstood?”

Ifeltmythoughtsreachhermind,andIsensedthemomentwhenherbrainseemedtoyield.Inoddedtotrytospeedtheprocess.

ThenIsawaflickerinhereyes.Iwasn’tsureifmycompulsionhadworkedorifitwasexhaustion,butIhadtobelieveit.Itookmyhandoffhermouthandsheblinkeddazedlyatme.

“You’lbesafewithme.Wehavetoleavethepark.I’lcarryyou,”IexplainedasIpickedVioletupanddrapedherovermyshoulders.Ispedoutofthewoodsanddartedintothestreets.Fasterandfaster,Iranontheunevencobblestones,alwaysfolowingtheThamesRiver,itsglassysurfacereflectingthemoonandthestars.Iranthroughaleysandbackstreetsuntilwereachedapartofthecitywithplentyofgaslampsandpedestrians.

Evenatthislatehour,theywerewalkingthestreetsasthoughitwerebroaddaylight.Ialowedmyselftostop,duckingunderanawning.Despitetheheatthatstilclungtothelate-summernight,thewomenhadfursdrapedovertheirbareshoulderswhilethemenwerewearingtophatsandthree-piecesuits.Dozensofmarqueeslitupeithersideofeverystreet.

IalowedViolet toslipoffmyshouldersand the twoofusstood, facingeachother,as throngsofpedestrianspassedoneithersideofus.

Immediately, Violet began to panic again, and I could tel she wanted to scream, with only my

compulsionholdingherback.

“Shhh!” I tried tocalmher.“Shhh!” I saidagain, rubbinghershoulders.Afewpassersby turned tostare.

“Listentome,”Iwhispered,hopingthatshe’dtakeahintfrommyloweredvoice.“You’resafe.I’myourfriend.”Shecontinuedtosniffle.Hereyeswerered-rimmed,andherhairwastangledinthickvinesaroundherfreckledface.“You’resafe,”Isaid,notbreakingeyecontact.Shenoddedslowly.

“Youhavetotrustme.Canyoudothat,Violet?Remember,I’magoodman.Yousaidsoyourself.”Ifishedinmypocketandpuledoutawhitehandkerchief,justpurchasedfromthetailor.Itseemedlikealifetimeago.

IhandedittoherandVioletwhimperednoisily.Thefewpassersbywho’dstoppedtowatchusonthestreetcontinuedwalking,obviouslysatisfiedthatnothinguntowardwashappeningbetweenus.

Iletgoofher,notwantingtocompelherforasecondlongerthannecessary.SheseemedsoinnocentthatIfeltguiltyfordoingit,eventhoughIknewitwasforherowngood.

“St-St-Stefan...”shesaid,gaspingforbreath.“Theblood...andthewords...wasitthemurderer?”Hervoicebrokeintoanotherwail.Shewasborderingonhysteriaagain.

“Shhh,”Isaid, trying tomakemyvoicesound like thesoothingwhooshofwavesI’dheardon theboattoBritain.“Shhh,”Irepeated.

Violet sucked in her breath. “What if he hasmy sister? She’s beenmissing since yesterday, and Ihaven’theardfromher.AndIthought...”

“Hedoesn’t,”Isaidfirmly,wishingIknewthatweretrue.

“Ican’tgobacktothetavern,”Violetsaidinasmalvoice.

“There’snoneed,”Isaid,gentlyholdingherwristandpulinghertowardthesideofthestreet.Inthedimlightofagaslampshelookedpaleanddrawn,andIfeltasurgeofsympathytowardher.Rightnow,Iwasalshehad.“We’lfindyouaplacetosleep,”Idecided,turningmymindbacktothemattersathand.

“ButI’vegotnomoney,”shesaidworriedly,herhandssearchingthepocketsofherpinafore.

“Don’t worry. You’re with me,” I said, glancing around at the lights that cut through the fog,searchingforahotelortavernwherewecouldtakeourbearings.Asigndownthestreetcaughtmyeye:CUMBERLANDHOTEL.

“Let’sgothere,”IsuggestedasIledVioletacrossthestreet.Together,wemarcheduptheredcarpet–coveredmarblestepsandthroughthegilt-golddoors,heldopenbyabutlerinathree-piecesuit.WithLexi, I’d spent some time at some of the finest hotels in America, but I quickly realized that thisestablishmentwasonanentirelydifferentlevel.Fresh-cutflowerswereplacedinlargecrystalbowlsoneverypolished,gleamingsurface,andthechandelierswereheavygold.ThemanbehindthedeskglancedsuspiciouslyatVioletandme.

“MayIhelpyou,sir?”heasked,hisvoicebarelycontaininghisdisgustatherdisheveledappearance.Outofthecornerofmyeye,Isawawomaninasilverchiffongownwithatrainglideupthestairs,folowedby twoservants.At thecornerbar, twomen in tuxedosweredrainingcrystal tumblersofwhiskey.Ifeltmyshouldersrelax.Fornow,weweresafe.

“Sir?”themanbehindthedeskprompted.

“Yes.” I clearedmy throat. I needed topulmyself together to successfuly compelhim. Itwasonethingtocompelsomeonewhowashalf-starvedandhysterical,andentirelyanothertocompelamaninchargeofhiswits.

“Yes,youmayhelpme,”Isaid,confidentlysteppinguptothemarble-toppedcounterwhileaterrifiedViolettrailedbehindme.Thelightingintheold-fashionedlobbywasdim,withdozensofcandelabragivingtheroominanorangeglowthatcastlarge,hulkingshadowsonthewals.Everytimeoneoftheshadowsmoved,Iglancedovermyshoulder.

“WhatmayIdoforyou?”themanbehindthedeskpromptedpointedly.

Isquaredmyshouldersandlookedintohisbeady,grayeyes.Iconcentratedonthepupils,alowingmygazetocenterinuntiltheblacknesswasalIcouldsee.“Weneedaroom.”

“I’msorry.Wedon’thaveanyroomsavailablefortonight,”themansaid.

“Iknowit’sshortnotice,buttheremustbearoomreservedforwhenroyaltycometovisit.MywifeandIneedthatroom,”Isaid.

“ButStefan!”Violetsqueakedbehindme.Withoutbreakingeyecontact, Igentlyplacedmyfootontopofhersinwarning.I’dlearnedthetrickofaskingforaroomreservedforVIPguestsfromLexi.Italwaysworked.

“Thebestroom,”Iaddedforemphasis.

“Thebestroom,”hesaidslowly,shufflingsomepapers.“Ofcourse.TheQueenVictoriaSuite.She’sstayedthere,youknow,”hesaid.

“Good.WelthenIimagineweshalloveitjustasmuchasshedid,”Isaid,affectingabitofaBritishaccent.

“Idohopeso,Mr....um...”

“Pine,”Isaid,usingthefirstnamethatpoppedintomyhead.Hurryup,Ithoughtundermybreath.IknewIwasquicklylosingPower.Afteral,ithadbeenalmostadaysinceI’deatenproperly.“Ishalneedtheroomforatleastaweek,”Iadded,hopingthatI’dbefarawaybeforetheweekwasout.

Themanbehind thedesknodded,andIsmiled. Icouldstilcompel. I stilhadmyPower.AndIhadtwentyyearsofwisdomundermybelt.Ihadn’tbeenreadytofightKlausbackthen,butnowitwouldbedifferent.

“Theportershalshowyouyourroom,”themansaid.“Anddoyouandyourwifehaveanybags?”Ishookmyhead.Instantaneously,atal,morose-lookingbutlerwalkedaroundthedeskandheldouthisarmtoViolet.

“And sir?” I said, loweringmy voice so no one, not evenViolet, would hear. “Just put it onmyaccount.”

“Ofcourse,sir,”thedeskclerksaid,slidingaheavyironkeyacrossthecounter.“Enjoyyourstay.”IsmiledterselyandfolowedtheporterandVioletupthesweepingstaircase,windingpastfloorsuntilwestoppedinfrontofawhitedoor.Itwastheonlydoorontheentirelevel.

“Alowme,”theportersaid,takingthekeyfrommyhandandputtingitinthelock.Hegrandlyswungthe door open, then, placing a silver candleholder on a cherry-wood desk, quickly set to worklightingthevariouslampsintheroom.

“Oh!”Violettrembled,clappingherhandstohermouth.

“Thankyou.”Inoddedtotheporter,pulingashilingfrommythreadbarepocket.Hetookitinhispalmandeyedmecuriously.Ihadn’tcompeledhim,andIknewthefactwewerepracticalywearingrags,andwerewithoutluggage,piquedhiscuriosity.

ThedoorcreakedshutandIlockeditbehindhim.

“Stefan?” Violet asked tentatively, staring around the room in wonder. She walked in a circle,touchingtheheavyvelvetcurtains,theoakdesk,andthefloral-paperedwals,asifscarcelybelievinganyofitwasreal.

“We’reokaynow.It’slate,weshouldbothgetsomerest,”Isaid,gesturingtowardtheenormousbedinthecenterofthemainroom.“I’ljustbeinthenextroom.Wecantalkinthemorning.”

“Goodnight,Stefan.Andthankyou.”Shegavemeasmal,tiredsmileandsteppedtowardthebed.Iclosed thedoorwithaclickandsettledontoacouch in theadjacent room,whichwassetup likeasitting room.Andsit Idid.Mymindreeled,and Icouldn’tevenbegin topickapart thequestions Ineededtofocuson.WhatwasIgoingtodowithViolet?WhatcouldIdoaboutKlaus?OrLucius?PartofmesimplywantedtopickupandheadbacktoIvinghoe,wheretheonlythingIhadtoconcernmyselfwithwas a cow that had kicked over the pasture fence.But another part ofme knew Iwasbound toLondon. Iwas apart of this now.Until I solved themysteryof themurder,morepeoplewouldgetkiled.

Terrifying thoughtskept turning inmyheadasnight turned intoday.Belowme, thewel-litstreetslooked orderly and tidy: modern civilization at its finest. Even the rain-slicked surface lookedsomehowstately.ButIknewitwasalanilusion.Vampiresstruckanywhere,andjustbecausethisonehadchosenthebadpartoftowndidn’tmeanhewouldn’tcomeherenext.

Final y, the sun rose, burning off some of the thick clouds. The door creaked open, providing amuch-neededinterruptionfrommyendlesslycyclingthoughts.

“Helo?”Icaledhesitantly.Istilfeltonedge,andanynoisecausedatinglinginmygums,asubtlereminderthatIwasreadytofightatanymoment.

“Stefan?”Violetsaidshyly,steppingintotheroom.Herredhairwaspuledupinabunontopofherheadandherpinaforelookedbrighterthanithadlastnight,makingmeguessshe’drinsedit intheopulentwashroom.Hereyesweresparklingandherhair,Irealizednowinthelight,wasfleckedwithgold.

“Violet,”Isaid,risingunsteadilytomyfeet.Iignoredthehungerpangsinmystomach.

“Didyousleep?”Violetasked,settlingontothecouchandpulingherlegsunderneathher.Icrossedtheroomandperchedonthewoodendeskchairoppositeher.

Ishookmyhead.“Ihadalotonmymind,”Isaid,clenchingandunclenchingmyjaw.Everypartofmy body ached, althoughwhether itwas from the terror of last night or from our flight throughLondon,Icouldn’ttel.

“Idid,too,”Violetconfessed,sighingsadlyasshecradledherheadinherhands.“Mysister...I’msoworriedabouther,”shesaidfinaly.

“Whathappenedtoher?”Iasked.Justhoursago,IwashopingDamonwasn’tresponsibleforthesedeaths and disappearances. Now, I was hoping against hope he was. Damon had been known tocompelwomenforhisownamusement. Ifhe’ddoneit toCora,wel , thatwouldmeanshewasstil

alive.ButifKlausorLuciushadfoundher...Ishivered.

“That’stheverything.Ijustdon’tknow.ShewenttoworkattheTenBelstwonightsago,andthenshedidn’tcomehome.Thenthemurderhappened...andeveryonesaid...”Violet’slipstwistedintoagrimace,butsheforgedahead.“Theysaidthatmaybeshedidn’tcomehomebecauseshewenthomewithsomeoneelse.Thatshewenthomewithaman, likesomeofthegirlsat thetaverndo,”Violetsaid,acrimsonflushcrossingherface.“ButCoraisn’tlikethat.AndI’mnotlikethat.ItriedtelingAlfredandanofficerwhocameinthatCorawouldn’thavejustgoneoffwithsomeone,thatshewasmissing.Buttheydidn’tdoanything,”shesaidsadly,knittingherfingerstogetherasshestaredattheground.

“Whynot?”Iasked.IfeltangrythatnoonewastakingViolet’sconcernsseriously.Afteral,shewasjustaninnocentyounggirl,worriedabouthersister.

Violetshookherhead.“Thepolicesaidtheycan’tdoanythinguntiltheyfindabody.Theysaidshe’sagrownwomanandshecangowhereshepleases.I’mjustsoworried.”Violetsighed.

“ButifCorawerekiled...”Ibegan,tryingtoreassureherwiththeconclusionI’dcometolastnight,“surelyherbodywouldhavebeenfound.”

“Don’tsaythat!”Violetsaidsharply.“I’msorry,”sheaddedinstantly.“Ijusthatehearingit.Butyes,you’reright.Ifshewaskiled,theywouldhavefound...something,”shesaid,shuddering.Inodded,silentlyagreeing.“ButIhaven’theardanything.Noonehas.Andthat’s just the thing.Shewouldn’thaveleftwithouttelingme.Itisn’tlikeher.”

“Peoplechange,”Isaidhelplessly,unsurewhatIcouldsaytotrytocomfortViolet.

“ButCora ismysister,”Violet insisted. “Wecameoverhere together sixmonthsago.We’dneverleaveeachother.We’realwehaveintheworld.We’reblood.”

“Wheredidyoucomefrom?”Iasked,tryingnottocringeatthewordblood.

“Ireland,”Violetsaidwithafarawaygazeinhereyes.“JustatinytownnearDonegal.Alithasisachurch and a pub, andweboth knewwe couldn’t stay there.Our parents did, too.Our father usedeverythinghehadtosendusbothhere.Thoughtwe’dmarry,startfamilies,neverhavetoworryaboutgoinghungry...”Violetlaughedashort,harshbarkthatwassoatoddswithhersweetandinnocentpersonalitythatIflinched.Despiteheryouthfulappearance,she’dobviouslyledaroughlife.

“Andlifedidn’tworkoutasplanned,”Isaidslowly.Icouldrelatealtoowel.

Violetnodded,herexpressionbereft.“Wethoughtwe’dbecomeactressesorsingers.Wel,Idid.Coradiditmoreforalaugh.ButI thoughtI’dgetapart inthechorusofashow,”shesaidthoughtfuly.“Andwetried,butwejustgot laughedoutof theauditions.Thenwethoughtthatwecouldbecomeshopgirls.Butassoonasanyonesawourclothesandheardouraccents,theyturnedusaway.Wejustkeptwalkingandwalkingaroundthecity,talkingtoanyonewithanIrishaccent.Wefinalymetagirl,MaryFrancis,whowascousinswithaboyfromourtown.Sheworkedatthetavernandtoldusshe’dputaword inwithAlfred.Sowewent,andAlfred likedCora rightaway.Buthesaid I looked tooyoung.SoIwasputtoworkinthebackasasculerymaid.”

Imusthavegrimaced,becauseashadowofasmilecrossedViolet’sface.

“IfeltworseforCora.SheusedtohavetoflirtwithAlfred.Iknowthat’swhyhegavemeajob,andwhyheletusrentaroom.We’dgetintobedattheendofalongnightandteleachotherstoriesaboutourday.Shealwayssaid thatworking in the taverncouldmaybebehelpful formeoneday. It’sal

studyingcharactersandseeinghowtheyinteract.Shethoughtifwemadeenoughmoney,wecouldtryagaintobeactresses.Shenevergaveup.”

“Didyou?”Iaskedgently.

“Wel,atacertainpoint,yourealizedreamsarejustthat—dreams.IthinksometimesthatIshouldjustacceptit.DoyouknowthisistheclosestI’vegottentothetheatersinceI’vebeenhere?”sheasked,gazingoutthewindowatthemarqueesnearby.“AndCora...”Sheshookherhead.

“Where isshe?”shecried,buryingherface inher tinyhands.“Thingsaresodesperate thatIcan’tevenbegin to thinkabout them. I justkeephopingCora foundabetter life.Not inheaven. Imean,here.Abetterlifehere.Andmaybeshedidn’ttelmebecauseshedidn’twantmetobehurtorjealous?It’stheonlythingIcanthinkof,”Violetsaid,stilhidingherfacewithherhands.

“I knowCora’s safe.” Of course I didn’t know that at al , but as soon as I said it, I sawViolet’sshoulders relax. I felt sad for this girl,who trulydidn’t have a friend in theworld. Iwished that Icouldhelpher.Suddenly,Ihadanidea.

“Here’swhat I can do,” I said. “I can get you the job back, and I can also guaranteeAlfredwon’tbother you. I can’t promise the jobwil be ideal, but I can promise that itwil be better than itwasbefore,” I said, knowing I’d have to find somewhere to feed before Iwould be able to effectivelycompelAlfred.

“Thankyou,”Violetsaid.Aslightsmileplayedonherlips.“Inmycountry,onSaintStephen’sDaywehonor the saintwhoprotects thepoor,” she said. “And I think it’s comeearly forme thisyear.Thankyou,SaintStefan.”Ilookedaway,uncomfortablewithheradoration.Ifsheonlyknewmytruenature,she’dbeprayingtohersaintforprotectionfromme.“Don’tthankme.Juststayhereandrestup.I’lgoandspeakwithAlfredandfindoutwhatIcanaboutCora,”Isaid.

“Ishouldcome,”Violetsaiddefinitively,risingtoherfeet.

Ishookmyhead.“Itwon’tbesafe.”

“Butif it’snotsafe,thenwhataboutyou?”Violetaskedinasmalvoice.“Ishan’tforgivemyselfifanythinghappenedtoyouwhileyouwereoutonaccountofme.”

“Nothingwilhappentome,”Isaid,wishingthatweretrue.“I’mnotafraidtofight.ButIwon’thaveto.Everythingwilbefine.”

“It’sfunny,butIbelieveeverythingyousay,”Violetsaiddreamily.“ButIdon’tevenknowyou.Whoareyou?”

“I’mStefanSa—I’mStefan,”Isaid.Irefrainedfromsayingmylastname,worrieditmightscareherbecauseoflastnight’smessage.“I’mfromAmerica.AndIknowwhatit’sliketobealone.Ileftmyfamily.It’shard.”Violetnodded.“Doyoumissthem?”

“Sometimes.Iworryaboutthem,”Isaid.Thatwastrue.

“Wel , then I supposewe’rekindredspirits,”Violet said.“You trulysavedme. Idon’tknowwhat Iwouldhavedoneinthepark,there,bymyself.”

“Didyou. . .seeanyone?”Iasked.ItwasthequestionIhadn’taskedherlastnight.Butnow,inthelightofday,Ineededtoknow.

Sheshookherhead.“Idon’tthinkso.Itwassodark,andIcouldbarelyseeinfrontofme.ButIfeltthewindpickup,andthenIsawthetreesmoving.WhenIglancedover,Isawthatawfulmessage.And

Iknewitwaswritteninblood.Ifeltsomething.Ifelt...”Sheshuddered.

“Whatdidyoufeel?”Iaskedgently.

Violetsighed,distressobviousonherface.“IfeltlikeIwassurroundedbyevil.Somethingwasthere.IthoughtIwasgoingtobeattacked,andthenyoucameand—”

“Ibroughtyouhere,”Isaidquickly.Iknewexactlyhowshefelt.ItwasafeelingIsufferedfrombackinNewYork,whenIwassureKlauswasnear.

Ifumbledinmypocket.“Andnow,yourSaintStefanhasonemorethingforyou.Takethis,”Isaid,pressingapendantintoherhand.Itwasavialofvervainonagoldchain.

“What is it?” she asked, swinging the pendant back and forth. It caught the flickering light of thecandleonthetable.

“Agoodluckcharm,”Isaid.Vervainwaspoisonoustome,andIcouldstilfeelitseffectsthroughtheglassbarrierofthevial.ButIcarriediteverywhere.Sofar,I’dneverhadtouseit.AndIonlyhopedthatVioletwouldn’thaveto,either.

“Ineedluck,”Violetsaid,claspingthependantaroundherneck.Aslongasshehadthat,shecouldn’tbecompeled,notevenbyme.Wenowwerefulyboundtoeachotherbytrustalone.

“SodoI,”Isaid.

And then, she stood up on her tiptoes and al owed her lips to graze my cheek. “To luck,” shewhisperedinmyear.

Igrinnedather.Helitselfmayhavebeenhuntingthesestreets,butatleastIhadafriend.AndasI’dlearnedinmylonglife,thatwasnosmalthing.

Chapter6Inthelightofday,thewindingLondonstreetsdidn’tseemnearlyasintimidatingastheyhadduringmywildrunthenightbefore.Carriagesfiledtheroads,peddlersonthecornershawkedeverythingfromflowerstonewspaperstotobacco,andacacophonyoflanguagesmadeitimpossibletopickoutanydistinctconversations.Iwalkedeast,folowingtheflowoftheThames,theriverthathadbecomemy North Star in orienting myself in London. The dark and murky water looked foreboding, asthoughithadsecretsburiedfarbeneathitssurface.IwishedIcouldjusttakeVioletandleavethiscity.Icouldkeephersafefornow,buthowlongwouldthatlast?AlIcouldthinkofwasthelookofterroronViolet’s face, her smal voice, the strength she had to leave her family in Ireland to fol owherdream. She had a courageous streak that Rosalyn hadn’t, but her youthful innocence made menostalgic for the timewhen Iwas her age. Itwasmy fault she had lost her roomandboard and IwantedtoprotectherinanywayIcould.

Peopleareourdownfall.Interactingwiththemiswhatundoesus.Yourheartistoosoft.IthadbeensomethingLexitoldmemanytimesovertheyears.I’dalwaysnod,butsometimesI’dquestionwhy.BecausewhileitwaseasyenoughtoavoidhumanswhenIwasinthecompanyofLexi,IseemedtoinstinctivelyseekouttheircompanywhenIwasbymyself.Andwhywasthatsowrong?JustbecauseIwasamonsterdidn’tmeanthatInolongervaluedcompanionship.

Sowhenwillmyheartharden?I’dasked,impatient.

She’dlaughed.Ihopeitwon’t.It’sthepartofyouthatkeepsyouhuman.Isupposethat’syourblessingandyourcurse.

AsIwalkedtoWhitechapel,IstoppedmidwayinSt.JamesPark,mythirstgrowing.IknewifIwasheadingbacktothetavern,Iwouldhavetobeatmystrongest.UnlikethenightmarishDutfieldParkfrom last night, this fieldwas sprawling and lush, ful of ponds and trees andpedestrians enjoyingimpromptupicnics.Itwasvast;butatfirstglancestilseemedsmalerthanCentralParkinNewYorkCity,whereI’doncespentseveralhungryweeksforagingforfood.

Cloudshadonceagainroledintothesky,bathingthewholecityindarkness.Itwasonlynoon,buttherewasnosignofthesun.Theairfeltwetandheavywithrain,despitethelackofactualdrops.Itwasnever like this in Ivinghoe.Theweather there seemedmorehonest, somehow.When it lookedlikeitwouldrain,itrained.Here,nothingwasasitseemed.

Isniffedtheair.EventhoughIcouldn’tseethem,Iknewanimalswereeverywhere,hidingunderthebrushor scampering in tunnels justbeneath thegrass. I headed towardadensecol ectionof trees,hopingIcouldcaptureabirdorasquirrelwithoutanyonenoticing.

A disturbance in the bushes causedme to stiffen.Without thinking, I usedmy vampire reflexes toreachinto them, trappingafatgraysquirrel inmyhands.Relyingonlyoninstinct, Isunkmyteethintothetinycreature’sneckandsuckedoutitsblood,tryingnottogag.Citysquirrelstasteddifferentthancountrysquirrels,andthisonehadwatery,bitter-tastingblood.Stil,itwouldhavetodo.

Ithrewthecarcassintothebushesandwipedmymouth.Suddenly,Iheardarustlecomingfromthefarendoftheforest.Iwhirledaround,half-expectingtoseeKlaus,readyforafight.Nothing.

Isighed,mystomachfinalyquietingnowthatitwassatiated.

AndnowthatIwasprepared,IheadedtotheTenBelsTavern,readytocompelAlfredintogivingViolether jobback.Asexpected, theair smeledmustyandsharp, like thescentofalemixedwith

unwashedhumanbodies.

“Alfred?”Icaled,myeyesonceagainadjustingtothenearnighttimeblacknessofthebar.Iwasn’tlooking forward to speaking to him. He was loathsome, and even though my compel ing wouldensureVioletwouldbetreatedkindly,Ihatedthethoughtofherreturninghere.ButIknewitwasthebestthingforher.Becausethemoreshebecameinvolvedwithme,themoredangershe’dbein.ThatwassomethingIknewasclearlyasthemessagewritteninbloodonthewal.

“Alfred?” I cal ed again, just as he emerged from the kitchen,wiping his hands on his pants.Hischeekswereredandhiseyeswerebloodshot.

“Stefan.Violet’sbloke.Is’posenowyoudecidedyou’redonewithher?Wedon’tdorefunds,”hesaidflatly,leaninghismeatyarmsagainstthebar.

“She’s a friend,” I said. I stepped toward him, making sure to keep eye contact, and keeping myfingersandpalmsflexedtoavoidlashingout.Ihatedhim.“AndIhavesomethingIneedtodiscuss.”

“What?”heaskedsuspiciously.

“TakeVioletback,” I said levely. “She’s ahardworker, and sheneedsher joband room.”Alfrednodded,butdidn’topenhismouthtospeak.

“Justlikehersister.Takesoffwiththefirstmanwholooksathernicely.Bloodyfoolsifyouaskme.MaryAnn,nowshewasinthewrongplaceatthewrongtime,butViolet...”

“Wilyoudothat?”Iprompted.Iwantedtofolowhisconversationalthread,butIcouldn’tstopinthemiddleofcompeling.Inthepasttwenty-fourhours,I’dcompeledmorethanIhadinthepasttwentyyears,andIwasn’tasconfidentinmyPowerasIusedtobe.“Andwhenyoudo,youwon’tlayahandonher.You’lprotecther.JustbringVioletback.”

“BringVioletback,”hesaidslowly,asifinatrance.

“Yes,”Isaid,relievedbytheconfirmation.

Just then, thebelof the tavern tinkledanda largemanlurchedin,clearlystildrunkfromthenightbefore.Alfredlookedupatthecommotion,breakingthespelandruiningmychancetoaskquestions:WhatmanhadCoragoneoffwith?AndwhatelsedidAlfredknow?

“You’lseeViolettomorrownight,”IsaidtoAlfred’sretreatingback,asthoughwewerejusthavingachat.Ipuledupastooltothebar,waitingforwhenhe’dbefree.Thedooropenedagainandawomansauntered in,wearingan indigodress that clearly showed the expansivewhitenessofherbosom. Irecognizedherasthewomanwho’dcomeuptomelastnight.Thistime,Iwasgladtospeakwithher.Shehada largebeautymarkaboveher red-painted lips,andherhairhung inbrightblondringletsunderablack-feather-adornedhat.Shewasshortandsquat,butcarriedherselfwiththeconfidenceofawomanfarmorebeautiful.

Immediately,herbeadyeyes lockedonmine.“Helo, there,”shesaid,walkingunsteadilyuptome.“Mename’sEliza.”Sheheldoutherhandformetokiss.

Irecoiled.EventhoughI’djustfed,thethinsquirrelbloodwasnotenoughtosatisfymydeeperthirst,andherexposedfleshwasalmostmorethanIcouldbear.Icouldsmelherbloodandcouldalmostimagineitsrich,sugar-sweetflavorcoatingmytongue.Ipressedmylipstogetherandstaredat thedustycracksbetweenthefloorboards.

“Itriedtotalktoyoulastnight,”shecontinued,alowingherhandtofluttertomyshoulderasthough

dusting off an imaginary speck of lint. “But you only had eyes for that girl. I thought shewas solucky,speakingwithahandsomeyoungladlikeyou.Ihopeyouenjoyedher,”sheleered.

“Ididn’t.”Isteppedaway,hatingherinsinuation.“Violetisjustafriend,”Isaidcoldly.

“Wel,doyouneedsomeonewho’smorethanafriend?”sheasked,battingherdarkeyelashes.

“No!Ineedtoknow. . .”IglancedtowardAlfred,buthewasfardownat theotherendof thebar,busyplayingagameofdicewith thedrunkman.Stil , I loweredmyvoice. “Ineed toknowmoreaboutthemurderer.”

“Youoneofthemcoppers?”sheaskedsuspiciously.“BecauseItold’embefore,Idon’tdodiscountsandIdon’tgiveoutinformationonmefriendsneither.NotforalthegininChina.”

Ishookmyheadathermangledexpression.“I’mjustconcerned.Especialynow.Apparentlyanotherwomanismissing.DoyouknowCora?

Sheworkshere.”ForViolet’ssake,IonlyhopedthatCorawasalive.

“Cora?”Thewoman’sface transformedintoagrimace.“Why,shewas thebarmaid, right?Alwaysthoughtshewassouppityandbetterthanus,butLordknowsshewasdoingthesamethingwewas.Seemslikeshewasjustwaitingfortherightprice,”thewomansaidindignantly.

“Doyoumeansheleftwithaman?”Iaskedurgently.ItwasclearthatthiswomanhadbeenkeepingaverycloseeyeonCora,andIhopedthatwouldtranslateintoaclueastoherwhereabouts.

The woman nodded. “The same man who I’d been trying al night to be sweet on me. He washandsome. Said he was a producer or an actor at the Gaiety. One of them theater types. Funnysounding,though.Abitlikeyou,”sheaddeduncertainly.

“Hehadanaccent?”Iasked,unabletocontainmyexcitement.Ididn’twanttojumptoconclusions,but I doubted thereweremany frequenters of the TenBel swho had a Southern drawl likemine.MaybeDamonhadbeenhere.Andmaybe,justmaybe,heknewIwasintown.Maybethatwaswhythemessagehadbeenwrittenonthewal.Ithadn’tbeenKlausatal,onlyoneofDamon’sstupidtrapstoluremeintoacat-and-mousechase.

“Yougotmegoingalhoarse.Ifwe’regoingtotalkanymore,you’vegottogetmeadrink,”Elizasaid,yankingmefrommyreverie.“Doublegin,please,”shesaid,hereyesgleaminggreedily.

“Ofcourse,”Isaid. Iwent to thebarandcamebackwithaginandawhiskey.I lickedmylipsasIwatchedElizatakeaswig.Itookacarefulsipofmyowndrink.AlthoughIdidn’twanttogetdrunk,alcoholoccasionalytemperedmycravingsforblood.Ihopeditwouldthistime.IneededsomethingtodistractmefromEliza’sneck.Itookanotherlargegulpofwhiskey.

“There,that’sbetter.Nothingbeatsaspotofginintheafternoon,don’tyouagree,love?”sheasked,alreadyappearinginamuchbettermood.

“Wel,hewastalkin’funny.Notlikehebotheredtosaymuchtome,”sheaddeddarkly.“Hetalkedtoheralnight.Iwalkedbyacoupletimes.

Saidhe’dbringher to the theater, showher around.Maybeget her an audition.Men saywhateverpopsintheirheadstogetawomantogotobed,”Elizasaidindisgust.

“Doyourememberhisname?Didhehaveanydistinctivefeatures?Washeintimidatingher?”Iasked,barragingherwithquestionsasdreadrippledthroughmystomach.

“Idon’tknow!LikeIsaid,hedidn’tevenwanttotalktome!”shesaidindignantly.“AndIs’poseit’sagoodthing,especialywiththemmurdersgoingon.Maybeit’sbestwestickwiththeblokesweknow,evenif theystiffusforourmoneywhentheycan’t . . .”Shebrokeoffandglancedatme,hereyeschalengingmetogethersaltyinnuendo.

“Butwhatdidhelooklike?”Iasked,barelylisteningtowhatshewassaying.

Hereyescuttowardmesuspiciously.“Oh,you’restilthinkingabouthim?Idon’tknow.Elegant.Tal.Dirtyblondhair.But sinceCora’sbodydidn’t showup inaditchornothin’, they’reprobably justenjoyingeachother ’scompany,”sheaddeddarkly.

Dirtyblondhair? I frowned.Damon’shairwasdark. Itwas the firstclue thathadn’tbeenaperfectmatch.Ofcourse,itwasn’tasifElizawasnecessarilythemostreliableeyewitness.Idecidedtokeepfocusingonwhatelse shehad to say.“Ormaybehe realywasoneof thoseproducers shealwaystalkedabout.Wel , ladeedaforher.Thenshe’dalwaysbe thinkingshewasbetter thananyofus,”Elizaadded.

“WereyouclosewithMaryAnn?”Iasked,changingthesubjecttothemurdervictim.

Elizasighedandflickedhergazeawayfromme,towardthemotleycolectionofmenwho’dfiledthebarsincewe’dbeguntalking.SinceitwasclearIwasn’tinterestedinpropositioningher,shewasobviouslylookingforsomeonewhowould.Notseeinganytargets,sheglancedbackatme.

“MaryAnnwasmefriend.Atleastshewasbeforeshewentandgotherselfkiled,”Elizasaid,acloudofangercrossingherface.“Although,whatdoyouexpect?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked.

“Wel,shewasmefriend,andI’d’asaidthistoherfaceifI’dgottenthechance.Shewasoneofthemtypes.Tookrisks.Carousedwithbadmen.Idon’tevenrememberwhosheleftwith.Aftertheyfoundher,alcutupandkiled,thepolicecameinthetavern.Whodidshegowith,theyasked.Whatdidshesayasshewasleaving?Andtheanswerwas,wesawnothing,weheardnothing,andifshe’d’aonlytold us who she was going off with, wemight have been able to avoid him in the future!” Elizashuddered,andIcouldn’thelpnoticingherheavingbosom.Iglancedaway,butnotbeforeshecaughtmestaring.

Shesmiledlasciviously.“Areyousureyoudon’twanttocontinuethisconversationinprivate?”sheasked,suggestivelylickingherlowerlip.

“I’msure!”Isaidforcefuly,standingupsoquicklythericketychairbehindmetoppledover.“You’relovely,ofcourse,butIcan’t,”Isaid.

“Icangiveyouadeal.Foreigner ’sspecial!”shesaid,wigglinghereyebrows.

“Ihavetogo,”Isaidfirmly.Ireachedintomypocketandfoundafewflorins.“Theseareforyou.Pleasedon’tgooffwithanyone,”Isaid.Idroppedthecoinsintoherhand.

Hereyesgleamedasshetookthemoney.“YousureIcan’tgiveyoualittlesomething?”

“Thatwon’tbenecessary.”Iscrapedmychairbackandstrodeoutofthetavern.

AssoonasIwalkedout,Istumbled,andimmediatelyrealizedthewhiskeyhadgonetomyhead.ButIhadacluethatwouldleadmetoCoraandDamon.

“Youthere!”

Iwhirledaround.Thedrunkmanwho’dbeenatthebarwhenIcameinlurchedtowardme,thescentofstaleginonhisbreath.

“What?”Iasked.

“Iknowwhoyouare,”hesaid,swayingcloserandclosertowardme.“AndIhavemyeyeonyou!”Atthis,helaughedmaniacaly,thenstaggeredbackwardagainstabrickwal.

Fearbuzzedinmybrain.Ilookeddownathim,stillaughinginadrunkenheap.Whatdidhemean,heknewwho I was?Was it just the ramblings of a drunk, or was it another clue that my arrival inLondonhadn’tbeenunnoticed?

Chapter7Iknowwhoyouare.

Thewordsthuddedinmyconsciousness.WhowasI?IwasStefanSalvatoreonce.Damonknewthat.Sodidwhoeverwrotethemessageonthewal.Butwhoelse?

Hewasadrunk.Letitgo,IcommandedmyselfasIhastilypickedmywayoutoftheparkandtowardthehotel,stoppingalongthewaytopurchaseticketsforamusicalburlesqueattheGaietyTheatre.I’dgotten twobox tickets,eachonecostingmore thanaweek’spay.But I’dcompeled themfromthebewilderedmanattheboxoffice,justifyingitbyremindingmyselfitwouldalbeworthitiftheplayledtousfindingCora.

Withtheticketsinmybreastpocket,IwhistledtomyselfasIheadedbackintothehotel.

VioletjumpedupassoonasIopenedthedoor.

“Howwasyourday?”sheasked,soundinganxiousandtired.“DidyoufindCora?”

“IspoketoAlfred,andyoudon’thavetoworryaboutyourjob.AndIthinkIknowwherewecanfindCora,”Isaidslowly,belyingmyownexcitement.ThelastthingIwantedtodowasgiveVioletfalsehope.

“Realy?Where?How?”Violetclappedherhandstogether.“Oh,Stefan,you’rewonderful!”

“I’mnot,”Isaidgruffly.“AndIdon’tknowforafact,butIthinkshemighthavemetaproducerfromtheGaietyTheatre.”IbrieflyexplainedmyconversationwithEliza,althoughIleftoutthepartaboutthemanwiththeaccent.ButinViolet’smind,Corawasasgoodasfound.

“Real y?”Violet beamed. “Why, nowonder shewouldn’t have said anything!Because, see,Alfredwould have gotten jealous.And if he’d known she’d left her job, hewouldn’t al ow her back. SomaybeCorawasjustwaitinguntilshegotthetheaterjobbeforeshecametocolectme.Thatmakessense,doesn’tit?”

“Isupposeso,”Isaidslowly.Violet’scheekswereredandshewasstridingbackandforthacrosstheroom.Shewasexcitedandagitated,andIwantedtobelievethestoryshe’dspun.Itcouldbetrue.Butnogoodcouldcomeofusbothpacing likecagedanimals in thehotel room.Wehada fewhoursbeforetheshow,andVioletwasstilcladinherstainedpinaforefromlastnight.

“Let’sgoshopping,”Idecided,standingupandmakingmywaytothedoor.

“Realy?”Violetwrinkledhernose.“OfcourseIwantto,butI’venomoney...”

“Ihavealittlebitsaved.Please,it’stheleastIcandoaftereverythingthathappenedlastnight.”Violethesitated,thennodded,acceptingmyhelp.“Thankyou!”shesaid.“Ican’twaittoseeCora.Shewon’tbelieve that I hadmy own adventure.Why, I think shemight be jealous,” she continued giddily. Istartedtorelax.

Afteral,IcouldplayViolet’swhatifgame,too.Icouldpretendthedrunkoutsidethetavernhadbeenhalucinatingandhadmistakenmeforhislong-lostcousin.IcouldpretendIwasahuman.

Andthat’swherethegameended.BecauseIwasn’t,andasmuchasIwantedtobelieveit,noneoftherestwastrueeither.

“Weshouldgobeforethestorecloses,”Isaidawkwardly.WhatwasIdoing?WhydidIcarewhetherthisgirlorhersisterlivedordied?StefanPinewouldgobacktoIvinghoeandwakeuptomorrowto

milkthecows.StefanPinewouldstopreadingtheLondonpapers.AndStefanPinewouldn’tbetakingagirlfromthegutterandbuyingheradresstomakeupforthefactthathisbrotherwasmostlikelydrinkinghersister ’sblood.

ButIwasn’tStefanPine.IwasStefanSalvatore,andIwasintoodeeptoleave.Together,westrodeoutintothedarkafternoon.Iraisedmyhandtofetchacoach.

Immediately,acoachpuleduptous.“Whereto?”adriverasked,tippinghishat.

“Wherecanwegotogetadress?”Iaskedboldly.

“I’dbringyouovertoHydePark.Harrods.”

“Real y?”Violet clappedher hands in delight at thementionof the name. “That’swhere everyoneclassyshops!Ireadaboutit.I’veheardevenLilieLangtrygoesthere!”

“Let’s go,” I said grandly. I had no ideawhatVioletwas saying, but al I cared aboutwas that sheseemedhappy.

WetookoffthroughthestreetsofLondon.ComparedtoWhitechapel,thispartofthecitywaslovely.Thestreetswerewide,wel-dressedmenandwomenwerewalkingarminarmonthesidewalk,andeventhepigeonsseemedcleanandwel-behaved.Violetlookedbackandforth,asifunabletodecidewheretodirectherfocus.

Final y, the driver pul ed up at an imposingmarble building. “Here you are!” I paused. Should Icompelmywayintonotpayingfortheride?

“Thank you!”Violet hooked her arm inmine as she hopped out of the coach. The opportunity tocompelwaslostandIfelt throughmypockets,pul ingoutafewshil ingsandhandingthemtothedriver.

Hedroveaway,andVioletandIsteppedthroughthedoorwayintoavaultedhalwayfiledwiththecompeting scents of perfume and foods. The marble floors were so polished I could see ourreflection when we gazed down. Everyone spoke in a slightly raised whisper, as if we were in achurch.Andindeed,itseemedlikeaholyplace.

Violet sighed in ecstasy. “It sounds like a sin, butwhen Iwas little, ourpriest askedus to imagineheaven.Ialwaysthoughtitwouldlooklikethis.

Everythingshinyandnew,”shesaid,echoingmythoughtsaswewalkedthroughthewindingaislesofthedepartmentstore.Asectionselingstationerygavewaytooneselingtoys,whichopenedintoamassivefoodhal.Itwasasifanythinganyonecouldimaginewasunderoneroof.

Finaly,we reached thebackof thestore.Dressesofalcolorswerehangingon racks,andwomenweremilingaroundthedisplaysasiftheywereatacocktailparty.Saleswomenwerestandingbehindglasscases,readytohelpcustomers.

“Youcanhaveanythingyouwant,”Isaid,splayingmyhandsasiftoshowhertheextentofthewares.

ButVioletseemedsad.“IwishCorawerehere.Shewouldloveit.”

“We’lfindCora,”Isaidfirmly.

“MayIhelpyou?”awomaninadarkblackdressasked,glidinguptous.

“Weneedagown,”Isaid,noddingtowardViolet.

“Ofcourse,”thewomansaid.ShegaveVioletaglancefromheadtotoe,butrefrainedfromsaying

anythingabouthershabbyclothes.Instead,shesmiled.

“Wehavesomethingsthatwildoverywel.Comewithme,”shesaid,motioningforViolettojoinher.

Sheturnedtowardme.“Youstayhere.WhenI’mthroughwithher,youwon’tevenrecognizeher.”Fora second, Ipaused. Ididn’twant to letVioletoutofmysight.Then I laughed tomyself. Iwasbeingparanoid.Wewere in thefinestdepartmentstore in theworld. Itwasn’tas if thesaleswomanwouldhurther.

“Alright,then?”Thesaleswomanarchedherblackeyebrowasifsensingmydiscomfort.

“Of course,” I said. I settled onto a plush peach-colored settee and glanced around. I felt likeWhitechapelwasinadifferentcountry.Coulditbepossiblejusttostayonthissideofthetownandforgetaboutthemurderer?Iwantedto,badly.

“Stefan?”

Iglancedupandgasped.Violetwasclad inanemerald-greendress thataccentuatedhersmalwaistandredhair.Eventhoughherfacewasstildrawnandthereweredarkshadowsunderherlargeeyes,shelookedbeautiful.

“Whatdoyouthink?”sheaskedshyly,twirlinginthemirror.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” the saleswomanmurmured. “We tried twoothers aswel , and yourwifelooksequalyexquisiteinalofthem.”

“She’snot...yes,”Isaidsimply.Itwassomucheasiertolie.“We’ltakethisdress.We’ltakealofthem,” I said,pul ingheraside tocompelher togiveus thepurchases for free.Theexpression inViolet’seyeswasworthit.

Insteadoftakingacoachbacktothehotel,wewalked.Everysooften,Icaughtherstealingglancesofherself in thewindows, twisting the skirtsofhernewemerald-greendress. Itwasnice that I couldmakesomeonehappy.

“IfearIwon’tbeabletorepayyou,”Violetsaidatonepoint.

“Noneed.”Ishookmyhead.“Yourfriendshipisrepaymentenough.”

“Thankyou.ButIfeellikeI’mnotbeingagoodfriend.AlIdoistalkaboutmyself.Ionlyknowyourname,andthatyou’refromAmerica.Areyouabusinessman?”

Ilaughed.“No,Iworkonafarm.I’mjustlikeyou.AndIknowwhatit’sliketoloseafamilymember.Mybrotheroncewentmissing.Iwasworriedsickabouthim.”

“Didheturnup?”sheasked,hereyeswide.

“Eventualy.AndIknowyou’l seeCorasoon.”Myheartwentout toVioletandhermissingsister.“Telmemoreabouther,”Isaid.

“Wel ,we fought of course.But al siblingsdo, don’t they?Shehad todo everything first.AndofcourseIwantedtobejustlikeher.Idon’tthinkthatIwouldhavemovedtoLondonwithouther.Andnowthatshe’snothere...”

“Youhavetofigureoutwhoyouare,”Imurmured.

“Yes,”Violetagreed.“Butit’shardtoknowwhoIamwithoutCora.We’rethatclose.Isthatwhatit’slikewithyouandyourbrother?

“No.”Ishookmyhead.

“Didyouhaveafaling-out?”

“Yes,butthat’slonginthepast.Rightnow,I’monlyfocusedonmyfuture,”Isaid,offeringthecrookofmyelbowforhertoloopherarmthrough.

“Wel,yourbrother ’smakingamistake,tofightwithyou,”shesaid.

“AndI’dneverfightwithyou,ifyouweremysister,”Isaid.Iwasenjoyingourcomfortableback-and-forth.

Westoppedbythehoteltodropoffourbagswiththebelhopandthencontinuedonourwaytothetheater.

“IfeellikethisisadreamandIdon’twanttowakeup,”Violetsaid,hereyesshiningasanusherledus to our seats. Being with Violet felt natural, and our easy banter reminded me of the way thatDamon,I,andtherestoftheboyswouldteasetheMysticFalsgirlsatbarbecuesandsocialfunctionsduringtheyear.

Suddenly,thetheaterwentdarkandthecurtainroseonthestage.

“Oh,Stefan!”Violetsaid,clappingherhandstogetherassheperchedontheveryedgeofthevelvet-covered chair and leaned her elbows on the railing of the box.Dozens of chorus girls came out,wearingflouncyskirtsandlargehats,andItriedtopayattentiontothesongtheyweresinging.ButIcouldn’t.Al I could think ofwasDamon.Whyhad he done this? It had taken years, but I’d foundpeace.Couldn’thedothesame?Hecouldfeedonwomenandhavehisfancypartiesalheliked.Ijustwantedhimtostopdestroyingotherpeople’s lives. Iwasconvinced thatwecouldboth liveand letlive.ButIcouldn’tliveifmybrotherwaskiling.

I saw Violet glance at me and I tried to look as if I were enjoying the show. But inside, I wasfrustrated. I hated the way everything always came back to Damon, and most likely would, foreternity.

“Ididn’tseeCora,”Violetsaidindisappointment.“Maybeshe’snotinthisshow.”

“Hmmm?”Iasked,realizingthecurtainhadgonedownandthunderousapplausewasemanatingfromalcornersofthetheaterhouse.

“Theshow!Thefirstactisover,”Violetsaid.“And,oh,Stefan,itwaseversolovely!”

“You liked it, then?” I askedmechanical y. IfCorawasn’t here, hadwe justwasted another night?MaybetheJourneymanwasstilopen.IwasabouttotelVioletourplanwhenInoticedtearsleakingfromthecornerofhereyes.

“Ifonly...”shebegan.

“Ifonlywhat?”Iasked.

“IfonlyCorawerehere.Everytimethecurtainopened,I’djustcrossmyfingersandsendaprayertoSt.Jude,but...ohwel.Istillikedtheshow.Thankyou,”shesaid,smilingwistfuly.

“Iunderstand,”Isaid,squeezingherhand.Ididunderstand.WhenDamonhadgoneawaytofightintheCivilWar, backwhenwewerehumans, I’d always felt ahalf secondof regretwhenever Iwasdoinganythingenjoyable,thinkinghowmuchbetteritwouldhavebeenifonlyhe’dbeentheretobepart of it. And even though I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Iwas now better offwithoutmy

brother,therewasstilavestigialpulthatwishedIcouldbewithhim.ThemoreIsawoftheworld,themore I realized thatnot alpeoplehadbonds likeminewith their siblings.Andmaybe thatwas farbetterthanwhatI’dhad,andwhatI’dlost.

Thecurtainopenedagainandanother act,moreopulent than the last, began. I tried towatch,but Icouldn’tkeeptrackofsomethingevensoelementaryaswhoplayedtheloverorthevilain,andthelyricsforthemusicalnumbersseemedsily,notcharming.SoIwatchedVioletinstead.Litupintheglowof thestage lights, she lookedabsolutelyentranced,and thehappiest I’deverseenher inourshorttimeofknowingeachother.

Asthecurtaincamedown,Istoodandclappedpolitelyalongwiththeaudience.

“Oh,Stefan,thankyou!”Violetsaid,spontaneouslythrowingherarmsaroundme.“Idon’twantthisnighttoend!”

“You’rewelcome,” Isaid,shiftingmyweight fromside toside impatiently. In frontofus, the leadactressstoodonstage,blowingkissestotheaudience,whilemembersofthefrontrowwerethrowingflowerstowardher.

Violetsighedtheatricaly,unabletotearhereyesawayfromthestage.“Corashouldhavebeeninthatplay,”shesaid,hervoiceadamantwithresolution.“CharlotteDumontdoesn’thaveanythingonher.”

“Who?”Iasked.Thenamesoundedfamiliar.

“Why,CharlotteDumont.Theactress.”

“Shewashere?”Iasked.CharlottewasthewomanwhoCountDeSanguewasconsortingwith.Maybethishadn’tbeensuchawasteoftime.

“Stef-an!” Violet said playful y. “She was the lead actress. Wasn’t she wonderful?” Violet’s eyesdanced,butIwasn’tpayingattention.Myeyeswerescanningthecrowdformybrother.

“Justonce,I’dliketostandout,”Violetcontinued,oblivioustomydistraction.“BackatTenBels,Ifeelinvisible.Iwanttofeelunique.LikeIdidwhenIwaslittle.Youknow,whenyourparentsthinkyou’re special, andyoubelieve them?”Violet saidwistfuly as shedaintilypickedupher skirts towalkdownthewindingstairsofthetheaterandontothestreet.Watchingherfromafewstepsback,Iwasamazedathowdifferentshelookedfromthesadbarmaidoflastnight.Inherfinery,shehadaltheconfidenceandairsofawomanwho’dgrownupinluxury.

“Youarespecial,”Isaid,meaningit.ShewascharmingandfunandIknewthatonceshebelievedinherself,she’dfindpeoplewhobelievedinher.

“Why,thankyou,”Violetsaidcoquettishly.Aroundus,peopleturnedtogazeather.Iwascertaintheyweregawkingbecausetheyweretryingtoplaceher—hadshebeenoneofthecomicingénuesthey’djustseenonstage?Violetsmiled,clearlybaskingintheattention.

“Whatshalwedonow?”Violetasked,hereyesshining.

We’dreachedthecoolstreetandIbreathedout,glancingaround.Eventhoughitwaslate,thestreetwascrowdedwithpassersby.Afewpacesdown,InoticedstreamsofpeoplewereenteringthesmalblackdoormarkedSTAGE.Imadeasplit-seconddecision.

“Ihaveanidea,”Isaid.“We’regoingtomeetCharlotte.”IpastedasmileonmyfaceasImarchedtowardthedoor.

“Name?”asmalmanwithslicked-backblackhairasked,glancingattheleather-boundbookclutched

inhishands.

“Name?”Irepeated,inmockconfusion,tryingtogethimtolookupatme.

“Yes,yourname,”themansaidwithexaggeratedpatience,finalyglancingupatme.“I’mafraidthepartyisguestlistonly.”

“SirStefanPine.Andmywife,LadyViolet,”IaddedasVioletgiggleddelightedlybesideme.Eventhoughhis jobwas to guard the door, the vague slurring of hiswordsmade it obvious he’d beentakingindrinksastheaudiencemembershadbeentakingintheperformance.Ididn’tsomuchhavetocompelhimasconfusehim.

“Yes,sir,”hesaid,barelyglancingbackdownathislistasheusheredusinside.

Violetwidenedhereyes,butImerelyplacedafingeronmylipsandfolowedthecrushofpeopleintothecavernousbackstage.

Weturnedintoabrightlylitroomthatwasalmostasbigasabalroom,alreadyfiledwithactorsinvariousstatesofcostumeaswelasaudiencemembers,whomIrecognizedasthewel-heeledfelowmembersofourbox.Weweredefinitelyintherightplace.Now,alwehadtodowasfindCharlotte.Itwasalmosttooeasy.

AndthenIfeltataponmyshoulder.

Iwhirledaround.

There,withawidesmile,thickdarkhair,andaninscrutableexpressioninhisbrightblueeyes,wasDamon.

“Helo,brother,”Damonsaid,flashingawidegrin.

Igrinnedback.I’dplaynice.Fornow.

Chapter8Thisisyourbrother?”Violetaskedcuriously,herliltingvoicerising.“Theonewho...”

“No!”Iwavedmyarminfrontofme,asthoughbattingawayanabsurdquestion.“Anoldfriend,”Ilied.Myheartthuddedagainstmyribcage.

EventhoughI’dbeenactivelyseekinghimoutalafternoon, itwasashocktobeface-to-faceagainafteraltheseyears.

“Ohyes,Stefan and I gowayback.”Damon leered. “In fact, sometimes I think I’d die for him.” Ishifted uneasily, appraisingmy brother, al too aware ofViolet standing next tome. I studied him,takingineachaspectofhisappearance.

Hehadn’taged. Itwasa ludicrousobservation,but itwas the firstone that struckme.Ofcourse, Ihadn’teither,butIwassousedtoseeingmyfaceintheglasseverymorningthatitwasn’tremarkable,justafactofmyexistence.ButseeingDamonasfresh-facedandwrinkle-freeashe’dbeenthenightwe’dbothdiedwasjarring.

But, on closer inspection, there was a difference. His eyes had changed. They seemed darker,somehow,fulofsecretsandhorrorsanddeaths.Whoknewwhathe’ddonethesepasttwentyyears?Ifitwasanythinglikewhathe’dbeendoinginLondon,thenhe’dbeenkeepinghimselfandlocallawenforcementagenciesquitebusy.

“You’relookinggood,”Damonremarked,asifwewereneighborswho’dmerelybumpedintoeachotherinatownsquare,notbrotherswho’dlastseeneachotheracrosstheoceandecadesago.

“Asareyou,”Ialowed.Hisdarkhairwasslickedbackandhewaswearinganexpensivesuitwithasilktieknottedaroundhisneck.

“Andwho’sthislovelylady?”Damonasked,extendinghishandtoViolet.

“She’snoneofyourconcern—”

“I’mVioletBurns,”Violetsaid,curtseyingandblushingasDamontookherhandandbroughtittohislipsforakiss.

“Charmed.DamonDeSangue,”Damonsaid.Igrimacedatthefamiliarwaythefalsenamedrippedoffhistongue.Ididnote,however,thathe’dlosttheaffectedItalianaccenthe’dinsistedonusingbackinNewYork.

“Andwhatarewedoinghere?”heasked.

“We’rejustleaving—”

“No!” Violet interjected. “Please, let us stay. Our hotel is ever so close, we’re right at theCumberland,”shesaid toDamon,battinghereyesas if tocharmhim.“Andwe’re lookingformysister,”sheadded,hervoicedrownedoutbyDamon’sshowydisplayofshockatourchoiceofhotel.

“TheCumberland!”Damonsaidasmystomachsank.ThelastthingIwantedwasforhimtoknowthenameofourhotel.“Aren’tyoumovingupintheworld,Stefan!”

Nomoregames,Isaidundermybreath.We’retoooldforthat.

Ineveroutgrewmyfondnessforgames,Damonreplied,notmovinghislips.

Justdon’thurther,Isaidthroughgrittedteeth.ButDamondidn’tsayanything,andonlyhalf-shook

hisheadinagesturethatwasimpossibleformetoread.

Violet continued to stare at him, her expression worshipful. Typical. Damon always commandedattentionfromwomen.Justthen,atal,beautifulwomanwearingamidnight-bluesilkdressandfalseeyelashesswanneduptohim,twoglassesofchampagneinherhands.Ispottedagold-threadedsilkscarf wrapped several times around her neck. I was sure if she unwrapped it, I’d see two smalpunctureholesonherneckfromDamon’sfangs.Damon,noticingmygaze,raisedhiseyebrowandsmirked.Violetletoutagasp.

“CharlotteDumont!” she squealed, clappingher handswith delight. I smiled at her, happy she’d atleast been paying attention to the show. I couldn’t believe I’d let such an obvious clue almost slipthroughmyfingers.

“Why,yes,that’smyname,”Charlottesaid,gigglingasshehandedachampagneflutetoDamon.“Ican’tleaveyouforamoment!”shesaidtoDamon,playfulyswattinghimonhisarm.“EverytimeIdo,Icomebacktoseeacrowdfawningoveryou.AndI’msupposedtobethestarofourtwosome!”Shepouted.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Damon said, placing his hand on her shoulder in a move so tender, itsurprisedme.Didheactualylikethiswoman,orwashejustusingherformoneyandstatus?“Thisismyoldfriend,Stefan...ifthat’swhatyou’regoingbynowadays?”

“StefanPine,andthisismyfriend,Violet,”Iexplained,takingCharlotte’sdelicatehandandbringingittomylipsforakiss.

“I’manactress.FromAmerica,”Violetsaid, tryinghard toputonanAmericanaccentasshesankintoadeepcurtsy.

“Areyou?”Charlotteaskedpointedly,asharpedgetohertoneasshetriedtodeterminewhetherornotVioletwascompetition.

“Wel,I’dliketobe,”Violetdemurred,clearlyrealizingthatherstatementwasnotthebestwaytogetinCharlotte’sgoodgraces.“Sowouldmysister.CoraBurns.Doyouknowher?”

Charlotte’sexpressionsoftenedslightly.“Cora...thenamesoundsfamiliar,”Charlottesaid,tuggingonDamon’sshirtsleeve.“DoweknowaCora,love?”

Damonroledhiseyes.“AsifIcouldkeeptrackofeveryonewemeet.That’swhatthesocietypagesarefor,right?Ifthey’rethere,thenI’vemetthem.Andifnot,thenIhaven’t.”

“Wel,ifyoumeether,pleasetelherthathersisterislookingforher,”Violetsaidtentatively.Ifeltnothingbut relief.Charlotte seemedsomewhat familiarwithCora’sname.MaybeCora simplyhadgoneoffwithatheaterproducer.

“Doesn’tringabel,sweetheart,sorry.”Damonshrugged.

“It’sokay,”Violetsaidsadly.“JustsosheknowsI’mlooking.”

“Speakingoflooking,”Charlottesaidbrightly,breakingthesilence,“IthinkIneedanotherglassofchampagne.” In the short conversation, she’d already drained herwhole flute. “Would you like tocomewithme?Andmaybeifyou’relucky,I’lintroduceyoutoMr.Mackintosh,theproducerofourlittleshow.Yoursister ’snottheonlyonewhocouldbeanactress.”

Violet’seyesgleamedasthetwogirlswalkedawayintotheswirlofrevelers.Damonwatchedwithabemusedexpression.

“Women!”heremarkedoncetheywerefirmlyoutofearshot.“Can’tlivewiththem,can’tlivewithoutthem. Am I right? The nagging, the compliments, the enthusiasm . . . no wonder humans age soquickly,”hesaid,throwingbackhisownglassofchampagne.

“Wel , it seems you have a steady source of nourishment,” I said darkly.WasDamon’s choice ofwomenwhatignitedthewrathofKlaus?Orsomethingelse?Whateveritwas,I’dplayniceuntilIgottothebottomofit.

“Ohyes.Shedoeswel,althoughthebloodisoftenratheralcoholic.Greatbeforeabignightout,butIhavetobecarefulnottooverindulge,”Damonsaidcasualy,asifhewerereviewingabrand-newrestaurant.“Andyou?Haveyougonebacktohumanbloodinyourmiddleage?Don’ttelmeyou’restilsubsistingonsquirrelsandbunnies!”Heguffawed.

“I’m not talking aboutCharlotte,” I said, ignoring his teasing. “And I’m here to stop you.You’rebeingstupidandcareless,andyou’regoingtogethurt.Whatareyouevendoinghere?”

“I’mherefortheweather,”Damonparriedbacksarcasticaly.“DoIneedareason?MaybeIdecidedtoseethesights.Americafelttoosmal.

Here,therearealsortsofdiversions.”

“Whatkindofdiversions?”Iaskedpointedly.

Damon smiled again, revealing his ultra-white teeth. “You know, the usual ones that come withtravelingabroad:meetingnewpeople,tryingnewcuisines...”

“Tryingyourhandatmurder?’’Ihissed,loweringmyvoicesothatnooneelsecouldhearme.

ConfusioncrossedDamon’sface,folowedbyalong,holowlaugh.

“Oh,youmeantheJacktheRippernonsense?Please.Don’tyouknowmebetter?”Damonaskedwhenhefinalystoppedchuckling.

“Iknowyouwelenough,”Isaid,clenchingmyjaw.“AndIknowyouloveattention.Thisisbadnewsforyou.”

“Nonews isbadnews forme.”Damonyawned,as if theconversationboredhim.“Wel , thenyouknow,brother,thatI’vealwaysabhorredguessinggamesandIhavenopatienceforhysteria.I’dmuchratherkildiscreetly.”

“Soyouhaven’tkiledanyonerecently?”Iasked,myeyesdartingaroundtheroomtomakesurenoonewas listening.Noonewas.Thepartiersarounduswere far toobusydrinkingand laughing tothinkanythingofourintenseconversationintheshadows.

“No!”Damonsaid,annoyed.“I’mhavingfartoomuchfunwithmywickedladyofthestage.Andletmetelyou,sheiswicked,”hesaid,suggestivelywagglinghiseyebrows.

“Fine,”Isaid.Iwouldn’tgiveDamonthesatisfactionoflisteningtohisexploits.“Butthemurders...”

“Arebeingdonebysomestupidhumanwho’lbecaughtsoonerorlater,”Damonsaid,shrugging.

“No.” I shook my head and briefly explained what I’d seen, the bloody SALVATORE—I SHALLHAVEMYREVENGEmessageinDutfieldPark.

“So?”Damonasked,barelyaflickercrossinghisface.

“IthinkitcouldbeKlaus,”Isnapped,frustratedathavingtospeloutwhatappearedsoobvioustome.

“Whoelsewritesbloodymessagesandknowsourname?”

Damon’seyeswidenedslightly,onlytoimmediatelygobacktohissatisfied,lazyexpression.“That’syourclue?”heasked. “Becauseanyonecouldwrite that.And Ihate tobruiseyourego,Stefan,butwe’re not exactly the only Salvatores in the world. It could even be the name of one of thoseWhitechapelgirls. I’mnotconcerned.Andofcourse themurderer,whoeverhewas,usedblood towrite.Inkandpaperjustdoesn’thavethesamehorrificeffect.”Hesighed,glancingovertothebar,whereVioletandCharlotteweretippingbacktheirglassesofchampagneandgiggling.

“Now, ifyou’l excuseme, Ineedadrink.Comewithme,brother.Let’scelebrateour reunion,”hesaid,pickinghiswaythroughthecrowd.Ifolowedhim,furious.HewasactinglikeI’dtoldhimajoke.Didn’thecarethatapsychoticvampirewasontheloose?Didn’titbotherhimthatwemightbethetargetofamurderer?

Apparently not.Every few steps, hewas stopped by various admirers: girls I recognized from thechorus,asmalmanwithanenormouswhitebushybeardwhoseemedtobethetheatertailor,andabarrel-chestedmanwithgoldcufflinksandatophatwhomIimaginedtobeoneoftheproducersforthecompany.ItriedtoaskhimlightquestionstoseeifhehadanyconnectiontoCora,butIknewthismanwasn’t the one. He had a thick British accent and dark hair. Nothing like Eliza’s description.Every time Damon was stopped, he laughed and smiled, clinking his glass and offering upcompliments.Ihadtohandittohim—onthesurface,Damonwasnothingbutaperfectgentleman.

“SeehowwelI’mbehaving?”Damonaskedafterwefinalygottothebarandthebartenderofferedustwoglassesofchampagne.

“Likearegularpriest,”Isaid.ItwasoddtobeatapartywithDamon.Onepartofmestilwantedittobelikeithadbeenbackwhenwewerehumans,whenwe’dalwaysanticipatewhattheotherwasgoingtodoorsay.Theother,wiserpartofmeknewIcouldnevertrustDamonasavampire—afteral,he’dkiledCalie,he’dhavekiledtheSutherlandsifKlausandhisminionshadn’tgottentothemfirst,andheleftLexiandItwentyyearsago,barelysayinggood-bye.

Andyet,inhismind,nothingwouldsettlethescorethatDamonthoughtexistedbetweenus.Afteral,Iwastheonewho’dturnedDamonintoavampire.He’dbeggedmenotto,butI’dforcedhimtodrinkblood,hadforcedhimtoliveoutthiseternity.He’dneverforgivenme.Overtime,eventhoughtherewasamountinglistofoffensesandwrongs thathe’ddoneme,Istilwoulderase themalfrommymindifitmeantwecouldbetruebrothers,likewe’dbeenbefore.Anditwasaltoopainfultorealizethatwouldnevercometopasswhen,eventooutsiders,weappearedtobethebestoffriends.Indeed,Damonwasconstantlyintroducingmetoawholehostofpeopleashis“oldfriendStefanfromtheStates,”andalIcoulddowassmile,nod,andwishIlivedinaworldwhereittrulywasthatsimple.

“Charlottewasbewitchingasalways,”Iheardavoicesayandglancedup.AtalblondgentlemanwasstandingnexttoDamon.Hewaswearingawhitesilkshirtbuttonedalthewaytothetopofhisneck,alongwithanelegantblacktopcoat.HisshoeswereItalianleather,anditwasimpossibletotelhisage—hecouldbeanywherefromtwenty-fivetoforty.

“Samuel!” Damon exclaimed, giving the man a hearty clap on the back. “This is Stefan, an oldfriend.”

“Helo,”Isaidstiffly,bowingmyheadslightly.IsensedSamuelappraisingmyroughhands,chappedandcutupfromweeksofhardphysicallabor,aswelasthefiveo’clockshadowformingonmyface.I’dfalenoutofthehabitofdailyshaveswhileatAbbottManor.

“Welcome,” Samuel said after a longmoment. “Any friend ofDamon’s is a friend ofmine.” Butbeforehecouldsayanythingelse,CharlotteandVioletwalkedtowardus,Violetclearlytipsy.

“This is themost exquisitedayofmy life!”Violet announced tonoone inparticular, flingingherchampagneglassupinatoastsoviolentlythattheliquidsprayedinaconstelation-likepatternonhersilkdress.

“Toimagine,Iwaslikethatonce,”Charlottesaidinmockhorror.“Idohopeyoutakeherhomeandteachhersomeofthefinerpointsofminglinginpolitesociety,”sheadded,lookingpointedlyatme.

“Wel ,unfortunately,Violetwilgetnoneof thatwithStefan,darling.Althoughshewilgeta lotoflessons.Stefanloveshearinghimselftalk.Why,Ithinkhe’stalkedmetodeathinthepast.”

“I almost love talking as much as Damon loves listening to himself,” I said, an undercurrent ofannoyanceevidentbeneathmyjoculartone.IneededtogetVioletbacktothehotel.Afteral,shehadtoworktomorrownight.ButIknewitwouldbeachalengetogethertowilinglyleavethisparty.Andwestilhadn’tfoundCora.

“Wel,Imustgo,butwilIseeyouandCharlottetomorrownearGroveHouse?”Samuelaskedafteramoment,glancingmeaningfulyatDamon.

“Ofcourse.”Damonnodded.

“Oneo’clock?Ithastobebeforemyshow,”Charlottesaid.

“Yes,”Samuelsaid.“And,Stefan?Wouldyouandyourfriendliketocome?Itcouldbeamusing,”hesaid dryly. I blinked at him. I felt everything he saidwas just on the edge of an insult, but it wasimpossibletopinpointwhatwassooffensiveaboutthewordsthemselves.

“Wanttocometoaparty,brother?”Damonasked,raisinghiseyebrows.

“Oh,please?”Violetasked,clappingherhandstogether.

“We’lsee,”Isaidstiffly.

“Violet, would you like to come?” Typical Damon. “Stefan wil if he can pencil it in between hismoralizing,Shakespearereading,anddetectivework.”

“Detectivework?”Charlotteaskedinconfusion.

“Nevermind,pet,”Damonsaid.“Insidejoke.”

“It’saboringstory,”Isaid.“FarmoreinterestingisDamon’sloveofdrama.Youshouldgethimtotalkabouttheactshe’spuledoff.”

“You’reanactor?”Violetasked.

“We’ltalkmoreattheparty!”Damonsaid,clearlyannoyed.Wel,good.Iftalkingincodeandgettingunderhisskinwasthewaytogethimtopayattentiontome,thenI’ddoit.

“Yes!”Violetsaideagerly.

“We should probably be going,” I said gently, taking Violet’s arm and escorting her through thethrongsofpeopleandoutthedoor.

Ibreathedasighofreliefasthecoolairhitmyface.Itwastheperfectantidotetothehot,crowded,tense atmosphere of the party. I didn’t think aboutDamon. I focused on the buzz of the gas lampsaboveandtheflutteroftheleavesandthestaccatostepsofpedestrians—aloftheeverydaynoisesI

heard,amplifiedbecauseofmysenses,butrarelyappreciated.

Oncewe got back to the room, I placedViolet on the bed, gently tucking the coverlet around herbody.Hereyeswerefulyshutbythetimeherheadhitthesilkpilowcase.

Itooklongertofalasleep.Outside,thestreetsofLondonwerestilbuzzing,andeverytimeIclosedmyeyes,IthoughtIcouldhearDamon’slaugh,waftingupfromthestreetsandintomymind.

Chapter9I ’ve always been a brother. It’s a thought that comes to me, unbidden, late at night or when I’mwalkingsilentlythroughtheforest,stalkingmyprey.Nomatterwhoknowsthataboutme,orwhetherornotIsharethatinformation,it’sapartofmethatIcanneverforget.

WhenIcamealong,ofcourse,Ihadmyparents,buttheywereolder,authoritarian,apresenceinthemorningandintheevening.ButDamonwasalwaysbymyside.HewaswhoIexploredtheworldwith,whoIrebelledagainst,whoIoccasionallyyearnedtobe.

Ontheotherhand,Damonwasnotalwaysabrother.Astheeldest,therewereyearswhereitwasjusthim,aloneintheworld.

He’dneverhad theconstant sense thathewasbeingcompared to someoneelse.He’dneverknownwhatitwasliketoalwaysbereachingforthesunwhilestandingintheshadowofanother.

Idon’tthinkheeverfeltthatwayaboutme.Hewasalwaystheolderbrother,alwaysshowingmehowthingsweredone,alwayscoaxingme torideahorseIwas frightenedof,orkissagirlwhomIwasworriedwouldn’tlikemeback.Iwatchedhim,wide-eyed,asheconqueredtheworld.

And even now, I couldn’t break free from him. I couldn’t stop being a younger brother, who wassimultaneouslyfearfulandinaweoftheuniqueforcethatwasDamonSalvatore.

“HowdoIlook?”IwoketoVioletprancingintotheroom,wearingalightbluedresswithacrinolineunderneaththatrustledwitheverystep.

“Youlooklovely,”IsaidasIsatupandstretchedmyarmsovermyhead.Icouldn’tbelieveIhadalowedmyselftosleeppastdawn;usualyIwaswideawakewelbeforethesunrose.Butdespitealmytroubledthoughts,thecomfortablecouchhadluledmeintoadeep,dreamlesssleep.

I wondered what was happening at the Abbott Manor, who was taking care of the chickens andlivestock.

IimaginedOliverglancingoutthewindow,waitingformetocomehometotakehimhunting.Itwasaworldaway.

“Whattimedoyouthinkweshouldleave?”Violetasked.

“Forwhat?”Iasked,deliberatelyplayingdumb.IhopedthatDamon’smentionoftheafternoonpartyhadbeenwashedfromViolet’smemorybytheriversofchampagneshe’dconsumedlastnight.

“Why,forthepartyyourfriendinvitedustoattend.Wearegoing,aren’twe?Itsoundslikefun.Plus,Charlottementionedherproducerwilbethere,whocouldn’tbetherelastnight.Maybehe’sthemanwhometwithCora,”shesaid,smoothinginvisiblefoldsofherdresswithhersmalhands.Violetwasdefinitelyprimingherself tobeawoman likeCharlotte,withaslewofeagermenready todoherbidding and compliment her at anymoment.And even thoughViolet’s preening should have beenexasperating,shewassowide-eyedandenthusiastic,likeachildplayingdress-up,thatitwasnothingmorethanadorable.“AreyousureIlookalright?Iwouldn’twantthemtothinkIwasaslatternfromtheslums.Afteral,ItoldthemthatIwasanactressfromAmerica.FromCal-eye-forn-ia,”shesaid,overemphasizingthesecondsylable.

“California,”Icorrected.“Andyouraccentsoundsgrand.”Itwasfunny.ThelongerVioletandIspenttogether, themorewe seemed to adopt each other ’s accents. She did sound half-convincing as anAmerican,althoughIwassurethatIsoundedpositivelyridiculoususingavagueIrishbrogue.

Violet nodded. “How do you knowDamon again?He kept cal ing you brother. Is it something alpeopleinAmericasay?”sheasked,furrowinghereyebrows.IknewifIansweredyes,she’daddthatphrasetoherrepertoire.She’daskedmethatlastnightaswel,asIwashalf-escorting,half-carryingherupthestairs,butIhadn’tanswered.

“No,mostpeopledon’tcaleachotherthatunlessthey’rebloodrelations,butit’ssomethingDamon’sbeencal ingmeeversince Ican remember. It’squitea longandboringstory, realy,” I lied.“I’veknownDamonforever, throughthegoodandthebad.Iknowhe’scharming,butdon’tlethimfoolyou.He’s sometimesnotwhatheappears.” I said the lastpart semicasualy,as if Iwasmentioningsomethingonlysomewhatscandalous,likeafondnessfordrinkoranotoriousfamily.Ionlyhopedshe’dtakemywarningseriously.

“I’msure,”shesaid,givingherselfonefinalglanceinthelookingglass.“Heseemslikeoneofthosemenwhomalwomenfalover.You’lbepleasedtoknowthatIamnottypical.”

“You’re not just saying that so I feel better about going to the party, are you?” I asked, trying toreclaimtheteasingtonewe’dhadyesterday.Butsomethingwasoff.

“Ijustthoughtitwouldbefun,”Violetsaid,turningtowardmeandbitingherlip.

“You’reright,”Idecided.WhetherIlikeditornot,DamonwasinLondon.AnduntilIwasabsolutelycertainKlauswasn’thereforrevenge,thenIwouldn’tbeabletogethimoutofmyhead.

“Thankyou...brother!”Violetexclaimed,kissingmeonthecheek.

“Ofcourse,”Imurmured.Wewerejustgoingtoapicnic.Itwouldbebroaddaylight.Violethadthevervain,gleamingattheholowofherthroat.

Nothingcouldhappen,right?

Anhourlater,VioletandIweretraipsingthroughthemanicuredlawnsofRegent’sPark.Ihadpuleda sheet from the bed andwas holding it overmy arm as an improvised blanket.My stomachwasgrowlingyetagain.Violetglancedatmefunnily,andIwonderedifshe’dheardittoo.Icoughedtomaskthesound.

Theparkwasdottedwithchildrenplaying,kites

flying,andseverallargemansionsrisingfromthegreenlawnslikeoversizedstatues.Iglancedatthesun.WeweresupposedtogotoGroveHouse,whichthefrontdeskporteratthehotelhadtoldmewasattheeasternendofthepark.

“Theretheyare!”Violetexclaimed,racingacrossthepark,herauburnhairflyingbehindher.

Islowlyfolowedher.AheadofmewasanenormouslimestonestructurewithGreciancolumns.Thelawnheldseveral tablescoveredwithwhite linen.Idroppedmysheeton theground.Thiswasn’tapicnic;thisseemedtobeafeast.Andvampireornot,I’dbeenactinglikeacountrybumpkinbytotingtheoversizedsheetalongwithme,asifthiswereoneofthechurchsocialsthatDamonandIusedtoattendasboys.

By the time I walked over, Violet was already sipping a glass of champagne as she gesturedanimatedlytoDamon.ShewastryingtoohardtodoherAmericanaccent,pronouncingmynameasStef-ain, andeven trying tocoaxay’alloutofher Irishbrogue, even though I’d toldhermultipletimesonthewayoverthatwasn’tacommonphraseintheAmericanlexiconatlarge.

“Brother,welcome,”Damon said grandly, as if hewere invitingme to his private home. For al I

knew,hewas.

“Areyoulivingherenow?”Iasked,glancingatthebuilding,whichseemedevenbiggerthansomeofthemuseumsI’dseenbackinNewYorkCity.

“No,” Damon scoffed. “He is,” he said, gesturing to the slight, cream-suited, ginger-haired manstandingnexttohim.

“LordAinsley,”themansaid,offeringhishand.

“Hel o,” I said, stil amazed at the vastness of the house. It was clear Damon was traveling in anincredibly powerful circle.Compared toDamon’s friends,GeorgeAbbottwould seem like a littleboyplayingmake-believe.

“ThisisanoldfriendfromtheStates,StefanSalvatore,”Damonsaidquickly.Istiffened.Hadn’theheardmelastnightintroducingmyselfasStefanPine?Ididn’twanttodragtheSalvatorenameintoanybusinessrelatingtomynature,especialynotnow.IknewthatnoonewouldknowtheSalvatorestory—itwasaminor footnoteeven inourhomestateofVirginia—but I stilwanted toprotect thename—andmyself—wheneverIcould.

“Stefan,it’snicetomeetyou.Areyouasteelman?Railroad?”LordAinsleyasked,givingmeaonce-over.

“Um...”Itwasagoodquestion.WhowasStefanSalvatore?Igaveapointedlookinmybrother ’sdirection,eagertohearwhathe’dcomeupwith.

“HehasafarmbackintheStates,”Damoninterjected.“He’svisitinghere.ImaginemyluckwhenIranintohimlastnightattheGaietyparty.”

“Afarm,”LordAinsleysaid,instantlylosinginterest.“Andhowlongwilyoustayinourfaircity?”

“Thatdepends,”Isaid,lockingeyeswithDamon.Butbeforehecouldsayanything,Samuelsidleduptous,aglassoflemonadeinhishands.

“Helo,”he said,hisvoicewelcoming. “I seeyouweren’t turnedoffbyusdegenerates.Late-nightparties,lotsofchampagne...that’swhyI’mgladLordAinsleyhadthispicnic.It’srefreshingtonotalwaysbeacreatureofthenight.Isn’tthatwhatyoualwayssay,Damon?”

“I do indeed,” Damon said, smirking at me. I fumed silently. Everything about Damon, from hiswaistcoattothetophatheinsistedonwearingtohisaffectedEuropeanaccent,annoyedme.Damonseemed determined to prove he was above everything—even bloody attacks that seemed to becommittedsolelyasawarningtowardhim.Didn’therememberwhatKlaushaddonetousbackinNewYork?Didn’thecare?Orwashesimplygoingto

distracthimselfwithsandwichesandchampagne,societygossipandwomen,untilitwasfartoolate?

“And,Stefan?”Samuelasked,staringdownhisaquilinenosetopeeratme.“Whatdidyouthinkoftheparty?Iimagineit’sachangefrom...

whereveryoucamefrom,”hesaid,barelyconcealingasnicker.

“Yes,weenjoyedtheparty.Violetwasespecialytakenbyit,”Isaid,forcingasmile.

“AndareyoutakenbytheyoungViolet?”Samuelaskedcuriously,settinghisemptycrystalglassononeofthewhitetables.Almostinstantly,theemptyonewaswhiskedawaybyawhite-suitedbutler.Itcould be easy to get used to this lifestyle. But I knew from experience that this type of existence

alwayscamewithaprice.

“Violet’stakenbythestage,”Iexplained.“Ihavenointerestinher,otherthanasafriend.Ionlywanttomakesureshe’ssafe.”

“Youonlywanttomakesureshe’ssafe,”Samuelrepeated.WasthereaslighttraceofmockeryinhistoneorwasIimaginingit?“That’sverynobleofyou.”

“EversinceI’veknownhim,Stefancan’tresistplayingtheherotoadamselindistress,”Damonsaidlanguorously.Ishothimalook,butheonlysmiledbackatme.Ishiftedfromonefoottotheotherandeyedhimsuspiciously.Here inLondon, it seemedeveryone,andDamonespecialy,neversaidexactlywhattheymeant.

“Wel ,you’l find that there’sno shortageofdistresseddamsels inourcity,”Samuel saidwryly. “Iassumeyou’veheardaboutourmurderer?”

“Themurderer?” I asked. I hoped it didn’t sound too eager.At the horrificword, several couplesturnedtostareatme.

“They think he attacked again, last night. TheRipper iswhat al the papers cal him.They think hemightbeabutcher,thewayhecutsthebodiesup.”Charlottewrinkledhernoseasshestrodeovertousfromawilowtree,whereshe’dbeenholdingcourtinthecenterofagroupofwomen.Thegroupshuddered.Justthename—theRipper—hadtheeffectofastormcloudovertheidylicsummerday.Itfeltlikethetemperaturehaddroppedtwentydegrees.

The Ripper. I tried to catchDamon’s eye, but he avoidedmy gaze. Hewas at the party last night.Unless...mythoughtswerewhirling.

CharlottepossessivelyslippedherarmaroundDamon’swaist.“I’mgladIhavesomeonetoprotectme.It’ssoawful.”IglancedoveratViolet.Shewaslistening,rapt,thevervaincharmstilgleamingaroundherneck.Good.

“Whowasthevictim?”Iasked.

“Anotherprostitute.Noone, realy.”Abroad-shoulderedgirlsniffed,as if theentireaffairwasfartootorridtodiscuss.

Samuelpuledanewspaperoutofhiswaistcoatpocketandmadeabigshowofopening it.“Jane’sonlyupsetbecausethemurdererispushingheroffthepage.Suddenly,althesocietynewshasbeencutformurdercoverage,”Samuelsaid,smilingsarcasticalyatthewoman.

“Whatwashername?”Violetaskedtremulously.

“Thenameofthevictim?Whyshouldthatmatter?”Janeshruggedderisively.

“Anniesomething,”Samuelsaid,flickingthroughthestoryinthepaper.

Violet’sshoulderssaggedinrelief,andIclosedmyeyesinthanks.Corawasstilalive.Fornow.

“Whateverhernameis,it’squiteawful,isn’tit?”LordAinsleyshuddered,joiningourconversation.“ThankGodhe’satleastpickingofftheEastEnd.Oncehegetstoourkind,thenwe’lworry,”hesaidwithaloudguffaw.IshotalookatViolet,who’dsidleduptoCharlotte.HerdressandmannerismswerealmostindistinguishablefromCharlotte’s,andnoonewoulddreamthatshewasnotoneoftheirkind.Stil,LordAinsley’scasualflippancyaboutthelowerclass—Violet’sclass—mademystomachturn.

“HewrotealettertotheCourier,”Samuelsaid.“Letmefindit.”Samuelsatdownononeofthewhitechairsand,crossinghislegsattheknee,clearedhisthroatandbegantoread.

“Thereturnaddressreads‘Fromhel’...”heintoned.

ThewordsthuddedinmyearsandIstaggeredtofindaseat.Icouldn’tbreathe.Fromhell.Maybe itwassomesortofterribleprank,butIcouldn’thelpbutwonderif therewassometruthtoit.WasitKlaus—or someone evenworse? I held on to the edge of the table for support, and I could senseVioletturntostareatme.

“‘Fromhel’...butisthataworseaddressthan‘Whitechapel’?”Samuelsnorted.

“I’veneverbeenthere,”apretty,redheadedgirlsaidasshetookalargeswigofchampagne.“Isitasawfulaseveryonesays?”

“Worse!”Samuelsaid,amidlaughter.Heglancedbackatthepaper.“ScotlandYardandtheLondonpolice force have beenworking round the clock, but clues to the grislymurders are few and farbetween...”

Istoppedlisteningandtookafewstepsawayfromthegroup.Fromhere,theunfoldingscenelookedidylic:justagroupofwealthyandcarefreeyoungfriendsenjoyingtheirprivileges.Whatwouldtheydo if theyknew therewas amonster in theirmidst?Andnot theone theywere currently laughingabout?

Fromhell.Witheveryclue,Iwasmoresure thatKlauswas inLondon.Thebigquestionwas:Whydidn’tDamoncare?

Klauswasindeedfromhel—itwashis legacy.Themajorityofusvampireshadbeenturnedat thehandofanothervampire.Lexihadbeenturnedbyalover,DamonandIhadbeenturnedbyKatherine,andthereweremilionsofotherstories,justlikeours,withinthevampireworld.Butthen,thereweretheOriginals,fromhelitself.They’dneverexperiencedanyyearsasahuman.Theyhadnohumanitytotempertheirinstinctsand,assuch,theywerebrutalanddangerous.

Ishivered,eventhoughtheairwasstil,withnobreezerustlingtheelmtreesaboveus.

“Are you al right, sir?” a butler asked, stepping up to me, holding out a plate of cucumbersandwiches.

Itookone.ThecucumberwasslimygoingdownmythroatandIalmostgaggedatthesogginessofthebread.Thesandwichdidnothingtoquelmyhunger.Ofcourseitdidn’t.Butatthispoint,theideaofbloodsickenedme.

Iturnedonmyheelandwentbacktojointhepicnic,thesandwichsittinglikearockinmystomach.BythetimeI’dreturned, theconversationhaddriftedtolighterfare: theunusualyhotsummer, thefact that no one seemed inclined to go to their country homes for theweekend anymore, and therecentestablishmentofsecretpartiesdownattheCanaryWharfdocks.

“A word?” I asked, pul ing Damon from the group and walking a distance away, toward themanicured garden that surrounded the house. The scent of roseswas heady in the air, and for aninstant,IwastransportedbacktoourMysticFals labyrinth.IthadbeenwherethetwoofuswouldteasinglyfightforKatherine’sfavorwhileescortingheronafternoonwalks,beforewehadanyideawhatadangerousgamewewereplaying.

“Yes,brother?”Damonasked,sighingimpatiently.Iforcedmyselftolookintohisdarkeyes,nothingliketheeyesofmyhumanbrother.Damonwasdifferent.Iwasdifferent.Itwastimeformetostop

thinkingofthepast.

Aslowgrinbrokeontohisface,andIfolowedhisgazetothesheetI’dtossedasidewhenwe’dcomein.“Isthatyours?”Damonasked.“Aren’tyoufancy?That’sgenuineEgyptiancotton,fitforaking.”

“Itwasforthepicnic,”Isaid.“Ihadn’trealizeditwouldbesoformal.”

“StealinglinensfromtheCumberlandHotel.”Damonshookhishead.“Haveyoufinalydevelopedabitofawickedstreak?Thatwouldmakeyoualmostinteresting.”

“AndIsupposeifIwereyou,I’dbestealingthemaidsfromthehotelforblood,right?”Iasked.“I’mconcernedabouttheRipper,”Iadded.Itookabloomandsnappeditfromitsstem,feelingthevelvetysoftness of the rose’s pinkpetals.Despitemywishonly a second ago to forget the past,mymindflashedback to thepetal-pul inghe lovesme,he lovesmenotgame thatKatherinehad torturedmewith.

Ipluckedapetal.Itrusthim,Itrusthimnot,IthoughtasIdroppedeachsilkyflowerfragmenttothegrass.

“You’reconcernedabouttheRipper.”Damonsneered.“Why?Areyouawoman?Areyouawhore?Youknow those are his victims.You’re obsessed, brother!Find awoman to beobsessedwith, it’smorerewarding.”

“Yes, I’msure it’s rewarding to runandfetchchampagneateverysnapofCharlotte’s fingers.Thethingsyoudoforbloodareadmirable,brother.Iadmitit,”Isaid,pleasedIseemedtobeholdingmyownwhenitcametocuttingDamondown.EverytimeIdidthat,IfeltaslightincreaseinrespectfromDamon.Itwasn’talot,butitwassomething.AndiftherewasonethingI’dlearnedfromdealingwithDamon,itwasthatDamononlyplayedgamesbyhisrules.

“And I’m not obsessed, I’m concerned. And you knowwhy!” I said. I stil felt Damonwas hidingsomething.Orifhewasn’thidinganything, thenhecertainlywasn’tdoinganythingtoletmein.“IknowyouandIhaveahistorytogether.Anawful,bloodyhistory.ButIamraisingthewhiteflag.AlIwant,ifwecan’tbefriends,isforustonotbeenemies.Notwhenthere’stoomuchatstakeforbothofus.”

“Savethespeech.”Damonyawned.“I’veheardital.I’msoboredwithtalking!Talk,talk,talk.Anditneverchanges.Ihavehadthesameconversationswiththesametypesofpeopleoverandoveragain.I’mbored,brother,”hesaid,lookingatmestraightintheeye.

“Alrightthen,”Isaidfinaly.Itwasn’tanapologybyanystretchoftheimagination,butwhatIhopedDamonmeantwas thathewasboredofhisvow, thateven ifhehadno interest in resurrectingourbond,atleasthenolongerfelttheurgetocarryonafeud.“Solet’sfigurethisout.I’mworriedaboutJacktheRipperbecauseIthinkhecouldbeanOriginal.IthinkhecouldbeKlaus.Andhe’safterus.Or,more likely,he’safteryou.Hemustbe.Because thatnote, inblood . . .” I trailedoff, trying tosomehow get Damon to recognize the importance of it. “It’s not just a prank. It looked like themessageonthewalattheSutherlands’.Sowhatdoesthatmean?”

Damonwavedhishand in frontofhis faceas ifhewereswattinga fly.“Itmeansyou’revampire-obsessed,brother.WhywouldKlausonlykilonewomanatatimeifhecouldkildozens?Andwhywouldhetoywiththepressthatway?Italseemsveryhuman,”hesaidderisively.

“But‘Fromhel’...”Iprodded.

Damonroledhiseyes.“For someonewhoalwayshadhisnose inabook,you take things far too

literaly.Isuggestyoustopplayingdetective.

Whynothavefun?Youhavealovelygirl,you’reinanewcity...lightenup.”Damonlookedatmecriticaly.“Ormaybefillup.Whenwasthelasttimeyoufed?”

“Lastnight,”Isaidevasively.

“Butnotonyourgirl,”heremarked,squintingatViolet.Ifolowedhisgazetoherwhite,unmarkedneck.

“Ofcoursenot.”Ishookmyhead.“Idon’tfeedonhumans.”

“Wel , you should. It’l quiet yourmind. Think about it. You could forget about this nasty RippernonsenseandenterLondonsociety.Youcouldhavefun,morefunthanyou’veeverknown.”

Isighed,imaginingwhatitwouldbelike:endlessparties,endlesskisses,endlessyearsofamusement.ItwasthelifeDamonhadchosen.Ifeltaflickerofdoubt.CouldDamonberight?Wasthesecrettoeternalhappinessjustdoingwhatfeltgoodinthemoment?

“Telyouwhat,brother,”Damonsaid,sensingmyhesitation.“GotoParis.Takeyourselfawayfromthisnastybusiness. If it’sKlaus,he’l findyouwhereveryouare,andif it’sastupidhuman,he’lbecaughtwithinafewweeks.”

“Andifit’syou?”Iaskedpointedly.

“Ifit’sme,thenitwasclearlywhileIwasundertheinfluenceofcopiousamountsofalcohol-saturatedblood.”Damonroledhiseyes.“Comeon,brother.Givemesomecredit.WhywouldIcommitsuchmessymurdersinsuchanundesirablearea?”Inodded.Hehadapoint.Andhealsohadapointthatmaybethebestthingformetodoformyownpeaceofmindwassimplytogoaway.Butthatwasn’tpossible.Icouldn’tleaveLondonuntilIfeltVioletwassafe.AndVioletwouldn’tbesafeuntilJacktheRipperwasfound.Ishookmyhead.

“Violethastoworkatthetaverntonight.I’mgoingtoaccompanyher,toseeifIcanfindanymoreinformation.”Ipaused.“Comewithme.”

“Comewithyou?Tosomerat-infestedpub?Nothankyou.”

“You say you’re bored.You say it’s the same thing every time.Why not do something different?Besides...”Itookadeepbreath.“Youoweme.”

Callie.

I didn’t have to say her name. I saw something flicker inDamon’s eye. “Fine.But I’l be drinkingchampagne,andyou’rebuying.”Igrinned.“Nochampagne,brother.Justale.”

“Good God, do they know nothing about civilization in Whitechapel? Fine. I’l enjoy an ale.” Iblinked,surethatI’dheardwrong.ButDamonhadthesameslightsmilehe’dalwayshadlately,hisblueeyesreflectingmyfaceintheirinkypupils.

“Doesthatmeanyou’lcome?”Iasked,surpriseevidentinmyvoice.

“Sure.”Damonshrugged.Heturnedonhisheel,abouttorejointheparty,beforeheglancedbackatme.

“Thankyou,”Isaidafterabeat.“TheTenBels,inWhitechapel.Meetmeatten.Andbecareful.”

“‘Becareful,’”Damonmocked.“Why?IncaseImeetavampireonmyway?Adiversionwouldbewelcome.LikeIsaid,I’mboredtodeath.”Damonmovedbackintothecrowd.

Ifolowedhimslowly.Damonwasdoingmybidding.Ishouldhavebeenhappy.Sowhycouldn’tIignoretheknotinthepitofmystomach?

Chapter10Somehow, I got through the rest of the party. The only thing that saved me from my obsessivethoughts was Violet. She was enchanted by everything, and Damon’s friends seemed equal yenchanted by her. They thought her accent was bewitching, and Charlotte and her actress friendsenjoyedtheheroworshipthatVioletbestoweduponthem.Damon,forhispart,kepthisdistance,andspent the majority of the party smoking with Samuel on the sidelines. I sat apart from everyone,readingtheletterfromthekileroverandoveragain,hopingtherewassomeclueinthewords.TheRipperhadsenttheletteralongwithwhathe’dsaidwasakidneyofoneofhisvictims.Mystomachturned,butnotsomuchasitdidwhenIreadthelastlineofhisletter.

Catchmewhileyoucan.

Ithadbeenaddressedtoanewspaperreporter,sothekilerhadtohaveknownthattheletterwouldappearinthepaper.Wasitsomesortofcodedmessageforme,orDamon?Wasitachalenge?

AndwasIupforit?

That’swhat I didn’t know as I sat in the TenBel s that night. I’d escortedViolet to her shift, notwanting her to venture acrossLondon in the dark on her own.She’d insisted onwearing her newdresssoshe’dbepreparedifwereceivedalast-minuteinvitationtoapartyfromDamon.Buteventhoughshewaswearinganapron,thedresswasalreadycoveredinstainsfrombeerandwhiskey.Icouldtelshewasmiserable.Butatleastshewassafe.

Ishifteduneasilyinmychairandglareddarklytowardtheentrance.Everytimethebelwouldringannouncinganewclient I perkedup, sure itwasDamon,only to seeyet anotherdrunkbuilderoroverlyperfumedwomanstaggerin.Ofcoursehewasn’tgoingtocome.I’dbeenfoolishtobelievehim,andmorefoolishstiltohavesatwaitingforhimforthepastseveralhours.WhenwouldIstoptryingtodependonhim?

“Hi,Stefan.Wouldyou likeanything?”Violetaskedasshe trudged towardmytable,hershouldersslumpedmorosely.Herhairwassweatyandpuledback,her lipstickhadsmeared,andshe lookednothinglikeherglamorousAmericanactressalterego.Worsestil,sheknewit.

“Adarkale,please,”IsaidwhenIcaughthereye.Iofferedasmile,butitdidn’tmakeadifferenceinhermood.

Shenodded.“Ican’twait togetoutofhere,”shesaid,hervoicedropping toawhisper.“Before, IneverknewwhatIwasmissing,soitdidn’tseemsoterrible.Butnow,knowingeveryoneisdrinkinganddancingwhileI’mhere...”Shesighed,herpalepinklowerliptrembling.

“Althatglittersisnotgold,”Imurmured,pulingahalf-rememberedShakespearephrasefrommymemory.Somethingaboutthelanguagesoothedme,andIhopeditwouldsootheViolet.

“Althatglittersisnotgold,”Violetsaid,testingoutthephrase.Shesmiledwryly.“That’spretty,”shesaid,halftoherself.“Idon’tmeantocomplain,it’sjust...”

“Iknow,”Isaid.“Butthiswon’tlastforever.”

“Howdoyouknow?Stefan, this iswhoIam. Icanpretendanddressup,but that’s justplayacting.Thisisreal,”shesaidsadly.“I’lgetyourdrink,”shesaidassheturnedandwalkedoff.

Ithoughtofwhatshe’dsaid.Shewaswiseforherage.Wasn’tIstillearningthesamelesson?

I leanedbackinmychair.Aboutanhourago,whenVioletwasbusyservingalargegroupofmenplayingpoker,I’dstolenoutsidetohunt.JustontheedgeofDutfieldPark,I’dmanagedtokilafatpigeonbycatchingitunawaresasitpeckedonafilthycrustofbreadlodgedinthecobblestones.Thesourtastestucktomytastebuds.Thebloodhadbeencoldandthin,andI’dhadtoresisttheurgetogag,but itwas thesustenance Ineeded tomakemestopstaring longinglyat thesleeknecksof theladiescirculatingthetavern.

Overthedin,Iheardthebelsignalinganothercustomer ’sentrance.Ididn’tevenbothertolookup.Ofcourseitwouldn’tbeDamon.Hedidn’tcareaboutthekilings,anditwasclearhedidn’tcareaboutKlaus or any of the Originals. He was perfectly content getting drunk and feeding off Charlotte.Maybethatwasbetter...

“Murder!”Ared-facedmanstaggeredin,hisbulkpracticalyfalingagainstthebar.Hewasthesamedrunk from the other night who had claimed to knowme. I feltmy stomach clench as the tavernbecamequietasachurch.“Murder!”hecroakedagain.“Inthesquare!”Themancolapsed,womenshrieked, andbefore I could stopmyself, Iwasmovingat vampire speedoutof thebar, knockingoveroneofthetablesasIdidso.WhenIemergedonthestreet,thescentofironwaseverywhere,filingmynostrilsandcausingmychesttoburn.Thescentwascomingfromtheeast.Itookofftowardit,alreadyfeelingmyfangsbulge,pushingawayanyfearfrommybrain.

ThenIpuledupshortatthesightinfrontofme.There,justafewpacesaway,litbythemoonandcrumpledontheground,wasagirlinareddress.Herskirtswereaskew,herupturnedfacewaspale,andherblueeyeswerefixedtowardthesky.Irecognizedherasoneofthegirlswho’dbeeninthetaverntwonightsago.Isanktomykneesbyherside,relievedwhenIsawherchestrisingandfaling.

Ilickedmyfangsandleaneddown,eagertotastethewarm,richbloodtricklingfromherneckandmatting intoherhair.The trailglittered like liquid rubies, and Iwantedmore thananything to justhaveataste,asecondtoquenchmynever-endinghunger.

“No,”Isaidoutloud,wilingmyrationalbraintotakecontrolovermyinstincts.Ileanedbackonmyheels,thespelbetweenmynatureandherbloodbroken.IknewwhatIhadtodotosaveher.Withoutflinching,Ibroughtmywristtomymouthandrippedmyfleshwithmyfangs.Wincing,Ipressedthewoundtothegirl’spinklips.

“Drink,” I said,glancingup tosee if therewereanysignsofcommotion. I’dgotten to thegirl farfasterthananyonewouldhaveiftheyweretravelingatnormal,humanspeed,butitwouldn’tbelongbeforemorebystandersfromthetavernfoundus.AndIcouldn’thaveanyoneseewhatIwasdoing.Butwithoutmyblood,she’ddie.

Faroffinthedistance,Iheardtheloud,clangingbelsofapolicewagon.Ineededtoleavesoon.Ifthepolicesawme in thisposition, they’dassume that Iwas theattacker.“Drink,” I saidevenmoreforcefuly,pushingmywristupagainstthegirl’sopenmouth.

Thegirlcoughedbeforegreedilysuckingonmywrist.

‘‘Shhh,that’senough,”Isaid,pulingmyarmawayandhoistingherintoasittingposition.

Just then,Isawashadowhulkingbehindus.Iwhirledaround,fearicingmyveins.Brickbuildingssurroundedthealey,boxingusin.

“Whogoesthere?”Iasked,myvoiceechoingoffthewalsofthealey.

Then,Iheardalong,low,al-too-familiarlaugh,andDamonstroledaroundthecorner,alitcigarinhismouth.

“Savingthedayagain,”hesaid,abemusedgrinonhisface.Hedroppedthecigarontheground,andtheashesglintedinthedarkness.Nexttome,thegirlstirred,moaningandsighingasthoughshewereinthegripsofaterriblenightmare.

“He’shere,”Isaid,myvoicefalingtoawhisper.

“Who, the murderer?” Damon dropped to his knees and glanced at the girl. His fingers brushedagainstthewoundonherneck.“Thisisamateurwork.Justababyvampirewhodoesn’tknowbetter.Ifwefindhim,we’lstakehimforthepeskytroublehe’scausing.Buthe’snotathreat,”Damonsaid,smilingashewipedatrickleofbloodfromthesideofthegirl’smouth.

“More...”thegirlgasped,clawingtheemptyairinfrontofher.“More!”sheyeledinastrangledcry,beforecolapsingbackagainstthepavement.

“Mytypeofgirl.”Damonsmiled.“Sadly,nomore.Stefan’sdecidedyou’vehadenough,”hesaidinasingsongvoice.“Stefanalwayslikestocontrolpeople,”headdedcrypticaly.

Iglancedathiminsuspicion.Could thishavebeena trapsetupbyDamon?He’ddone itbefore—half-kiledagirl,onlytoensnaremeintorescuingher.ThathadbeenbackinNewYorkCity,shortlybeforeKlausandLuciushadbeatenDamonathisowngame,nearlykilingbothofusintheprocess.Iwasabouttoremindhimofthatwhenawaveringshadowcaughtmyeye.

Itwasthefigureofaman,wearingatophat,althewayatthefarendofthealey.Ishotup.

“Didyouseethat?”

Damonnodded,hiseyeswideningslightly.“Go.I’ltakecareofher.”

Imadeasplit-seconddecisiontotrustmybrother.HewasalIhad.

Ilungedtowardtheshadow,onlyseveralmetersawayfromwhereDamonandIwerecrouchedoverthegirl.

Theshadowboltedaswel ,stealingaround thecorner toward theriver. I tookoffafter it.Mylegswere pumping like pistons, and I was running faster and faster, my feet barely hitting thecobblestones.Stil,thefigurestayedeversoslightlyaheadofme,dartingthiswayandthat,closertotherushingThames.

Faster,Iwhisperedtomyself,wilingmyselftorun.Buildingswerepassingmeintheblinkofaneye,andIknewIwasgoingasfastIpossiblycould.Debrisblewinmyfaceandcausedmyeyestoburn,andwindwaswhistlingbymyears.Stil,nomatterhowfastIurgedmyselftorun,Icouldn’tcatchuptotheshadow’screator,atal,thinmanwhoInowknewwithoutadoubtwasnohuman.

Weran,fasterandfaster,towardtheriver.Icouldhearamobofpeoplefaroffinthedistance,butIdidn’tlookovermyshoulder.Almyattentionwasdirectedattheshadowyman,whowasspeedingupwitheverystep.Theriverwasnowinfulsight,themooncastingadulsheenonthepitchblackwater.Wewereonehundredyardsaway,thenfifty...wouldhejump?

“Stop!”Icaled,myvoiceringinglikeaclarionbelinthedarkness.Myfeethittheunevenboardsofadock,butthevampirehaddisappeared.

Anabandonedpierstoodononesideofme,awarehouseontheother,butnosignofthekiler.Policebelswereclangingfromthealeys.Igazedwildlyinaldirections.

“Showyourself!”Icaled.Mygazefixedonthewarehouse.Couldhehaveduckedinthere?Ipickedmywaytowardit,steppingonanoverturnedmilkcratetogetaviewinsideoneofthewindows.

Thewindowwasfrostedandfilthy.Isquinted,butevenwithmyheightenedsenses,Icouldn’tmakeoutanythingwithin,thoughIknewthevampirewasinthere.Hehadtobe.Ididn’twanttobreakinandfindmyselfinadeathtrap.AndIknewthatifIstayedhere,thepolicewouldsoonfindme—andthe vampire. A cornered vampire could easily take on the police, and that would lead to morebloodshed.ButIcouldn’tgointothewarehouseonmyown.TherewasnothingtodoexceptturnbackandgetDamontodeviseaplan.

Ikickedthesideofthewarehouseinfrustration,butthenIheardasound.Itwassosubtle,IthoughtitwasthewavesoftheriverlappingagainstthedockuntilIrealizedthatwasn’titatal.

Itwasthesoundoflaughter.

Turning,Itrudgedbacktothetavern.

Unlikeanhourearlier,asoberatmospherehadtakenoverattheTenBelswhenIreturned.Candleshadbeenlit,brandyhadbeenpoured,andalmosteverytablewasoccupiedbyapolicemantakingareport from thevarious revelerswho’dbeen in the tavernwhen thedrunkhadcome in screamingbloodymurder.

“Isawthegirl.Shewaslyinginherblood,”themankeptsaying,hisfacered.“Itoldyou,therewasnooneelse.”Elizawalkeduptome,holdingasnifterofbrandy.“Iwasworriedaboutyou!”shesaid.“Youranout,andIthought,thatbloke’sgoingtogethimselfkiled,heis.’Ow’sMarthadoing?”sheasked.

“I don’t know,” I said.Marthamust have been the girl. HadDamon brought her back? I caught aglimpseofViolet,filingbrandyglassesasquicklyasshecouldbehindthebar.Herfacewaswhitewithfright.

“Violet!”Icaled,relievedtoseeher.“Whereisthegirl?Isshealive?”Iaskedbrusquely.

“U-u-upstairs,” she stuttered, sounding scared and exhausted. “Damon took her up to my oldchambers.Thed-d-doctorissupposedtobehereanyminute,”sheexplained.

“Verygood,”Isaid.Iclaspedherhandandsheflinched,clearlyonedge.“I’msorry.Iwanttoletyouknow...”

“What?”Violetasked.

“Where’syourvervain?”Iasked,suddenlyinapanic.

“‘Vervain’?”sheparroted.

“Yes.ThecharmIgaveyou.”

“It’shere!”Violetsaid,pulingitoutofherpocket.“It’saroughcrowdhere,soIdon’tlikewearingjewelry.ButIdolikeit.”

“Good. Iwas afraidyou’d lost it,” I said. I leaneddownandplanted akiss onher forehead. “Staybrave,”Isaid.

“Okay,”Violetsaid,eyeswide,withoutanyideaofwhatshewasagreeingto.

Hurryingupstairs,IclamberedthewoodenstepstwoatatimeuntilIreachedadoorthatledtoatinyroomwithaslantedroof.Twothincast-ironbedswereonoppositesidesoftheroom,andasinglecandlewasburning inapewterholder thatwasprecariouslyplacedonanoverturnedorangecrate.Damonwasnowheretobefound.Inthemelee,everyoneseemedtohaveforgottenaboutMartha.She

waslyingaloneononeofthebeds.Althoughherneckhadbeenbandaged,bloodwasstilseepingoutofthewound,formingastickyredpuddlebyherear.

Iperchedontheedgeofthetatteredflannelcoverletandsmoothedmycrackedhandagainstthegirl’sforehead. It didn’t take a doctor to know that shewas stil deathly il .Her breathwould catch, thenshe’dgasp.AlIcouldhearwasaneversofaintthump-da-thumpcomingfromherchest.

I looked down at my wrist. Already, the wound I’d created less than an hour ago had faded. Butalthough themarkhadhealed, Istil feltdepleted,andIknewIhad tobeverycarefulwithmyownreservesofblood.Evenso,sheneededsomethingmorethanI’dgivenher.Ibroughtmyotherwristtomymouthanddugmyteethintomyflesh,flinchingasIfeltmymindgowoozy.

“Here,”Isaid,cradlingthebackofthegirl’sheadinmyhand.“Drink.”Iputmywristuptoherlips.

Guidedby instinct, thegirl tentativelybegan to suckuntil I pul edmywrist away.Herhead lol edback,andasmileofsleepysatisfactionplayedonherlips.

Justthenadooropenedandamanwearingawhitecoatwalkedin,carryingabasinofwater.

“Areyouafriend?”heaskedfirmly.

“I’m Stefan,” I said, puttingmy hand behindmy back and pressing it into the fabric of my coat,hopinghewouldn’tnoticemywound.“Ifoundher.”

“Verywel,”themansaid.“Youcanstayforamoment,butI’lneedsometimealonewiththepatient.”

“Yes,ofcourse,”Isaid,relievedhedidn’tfinditoddIwasuphere.Thegirlwasstartingtostir.She’dwakeupsoon.Ihungbackasheapproached,wantingtomakesureshewasalright.

Thedoctortookatowelanddippedit intothebasin,thenhelditagainstthegirl’sforehead.Ashereyessnappedopen,theylockedwithmine.

Then,herfeaturesfrozeandanunholyshriekemergedfromherlips.

“Murderer!”shescreamed.

Thedoctorpuledawayinshock,almostdroppingthebasin.Hiseyeswentimmediatelytothedoor,asifhewasconsideringyelingforhelp.

“Shhh,you’re safe,” Ihissed.“I’myour friend. I’mher friend!” Iaddeddesperately, turning to thedoctor.

“Murderer!”sheyeledagain,tearsspringingfromhereyes.“Help!”

“Shemustbeinshock,”Isaidtothedoctor,hopingtherewasamedicalexplanationforherbehavior,andnotwhatIfeared:thatshethoughtIwasherattacker.

The doctor nodded, although I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just agreeing to appease a suspectedcriminal.

Astarryblacknesswasformingattheedgeofmybrain,threateningtoovertakemeintoafaint,butIsummonedalmystrength.Sheneededtocalmdown.WhethershethoughtIwasthemurdererbecauseshe rememberedme kneeling by her side, saving her, orwhether she thought Iwas themurdererbecausesomeonehadcompeledhertothinkthatway,Ineededtocorrecther.

“Listen tome,” I said to the girl, forcingmyPower into thewords.She stoppedmid-scream.Theroomwassuddenlysoquietyoucouldhearapindrop.“I’myourfriend.I’mStefan.Ifoundyou.Isavedyou.You’resafenow.There’snomurdererhere.”IttookeverythingIhadtokeepmygazeon

thegirl.Thankfuly, herweakened statemade the compulsionpossible.Shenodded, then turned tolookatthedoctor.

“Goodgirl,”Imurmured.

“She’salyours,”Itoldthedoctor.IhadjustnarrowlyescapedthatoneandIdidn’twanttopushmyluckbystayingasecond longer.The lookonhis facemademe thinkcompel inghimwouldn’tbenecessary.Hewasstartingtorelaxandgetbacktohiswork.

Imarcheddownthestairsandintothetavern,whereIcaughtsightofmybrother,laughingasifhe’dneverbeenmoreamusedinhislife.

Chapter11Enteringthemainpartofthetavern,Iheadedtothebartogetadrinkandcolectmyself.HadMarthabeencompeledtobelieveI’dattackedher?

HadDamoncompeledher?Itwaspossible,andthemoreIthoughtaboutit,themoreitmadesense.She’dbarelyevenopenedhereyesbeforesheblamedme.Andshehadn’tlistenedtomeatfirst,she’dsimply screamed, as if she’d been primed to do so. There were only two people that could havecompeledhertothinkthatway:thevampireIchasedtothedocks,orDamon,afterI’dleftherwithhim.

Iorderedawhiskeyandturnedbacktothetables.Icouldquestiononesuspectrightnow.

“Hel o, brother!”Damon said pleasantly, holding his glass out tome as a form of greeting. “I’mafraidtheexcitementdistractedyoufromyourdutiesfortheevening.Ibelieveyouwereinchargeofthebartab?”heaskedexpectantly.“IhadafewmorewhiskeysthanI’dintended,butIthinkthey’rejustified,giventhecircumstances.”

“Whydidyoudoit?”IhissedasIslidintothechairoppositehim.Ikeptthinkingofthegirl’sthin,reedyscream.

“Dowhat?”Damonaskedinnocently,takinganothersipofhisdrink.

“YouknowwhatI’mtalkingabout,”Isaiddarkly.

“No,Idon’t,actualy.I’msorryifIwasunsatisfactoryinplayingnursemaidtosomeno-namegirl.Howwasyourkiler-catching?”hesaid,archinganeyebrow.

I’mnotplayinggames.AndIdon’tcareifyoudon’twanttohelp,butIknowthekillerisavampire,Isaidundermybreath,inavoicelowenoughthatonlyDamoncouldhear.Ifanything,IthoughtIsawavagueflickerofsurprisecrosshiseyes.Icouldn’tcatchhim.

Sowhat?Damonaskedafterapause.Inallyouryearsroamingyouneverencounteredanotheroneofus,exceptforthevampirefreakhouseyouandLexilivedindowninNewOrleans?Youalwaysseemsosurprised.Wekill,brother.It’snothingnovel.Orparticularlyinteresting.

Theonlythinginterestingaboutthisisseeingyoulearnthislesson,overandoveragain.Hasn’tthisfinallytaughtyounottomeddle?Nooneappreciatesit.Nothumans,andnotvampires,Damonsaid,stilsmiling.

Achil crept upmy spine.HadDamon framedme for themurders?Had thatbeen his grand plan?BecauseheknewthatI’dtrytohelp.Icouldn’tstopmyselffromgettingfartooinvolvedinhumanproblems.

Idon’tseekoutproblems,Isaidsimply.AndIdon’tcreatethem.

Well,maybeyoushould.Theycanbe fun.Ofcourse, thisproblemisstupidandcarelessandblood-drunk,leavingustocleanuphisdirtywork,Damonmused.“Butwhat’sthepoint?”Damonaskedinhisnormalvoice.

“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked.

“Soyoufindhim.Thenwhat?”heasked,steeplinghisfingers,thenrestinghischinagainstthem.

“ThenI...”Ifloundered.WouldIkilhim?Bringhimtothepolice?

Damonlookedatmewithabemusedexpression.“See?Youusedtothinktoomuch.Nowyoudon’tthink at al . I always thought itwould do you good to bemore impulsive, but your impulsivity isgettingyounowhere.Andyouknowwhy?”heasked,leaninginclosetowardme,somuchsothatIcouldsmelrich,sweetbloodonhisbreath.ButwasitCharlotte’sblood?OrMartha’s?Orcoulditbesomeoneelse’sentirely?

“Why?”Iasked.Thescentofthebloodwasoverwhelming.

“Because you’re not doing it for yourself. You’re doing it for humanity. For the greater good,”Damonsaid,sarcasmdrippingfromhisvoice.“Butremember,we’renotpartofhumanityanymore.”

“Sothenwhyareyouconstantlycompelingyourselfintosocialcirclesandplayingstupidtricksonpeople?WhyareyouinsistentonbeingDamontheduke,orDamontheviscount?Ifwe’renotpartofhumanity,whydon’tyouremoveyourselffromsociety?”Iasked.Despitemywords,Iwasn’tangryathim.Rather,IjustwantedtounderstandwhatDamonwasafter.

“WherewouldIgo?”Damonasked,afarawayexpressiononhisface.Butalofasudden,hegrinnedmakinghissearchinglookseemtobenothingmorethanatrickofthelight.“AndIcompelmyselfintosocialcirclesbecauseIcan.Becauseitintriguesme.Andmypleasureisalthatmatters.”

“Isthatso?”Ihissed.Inoticedthathedidn’tfolowupthatstatementwithhowhisotherdriveinlifewastomakeminealivinghel,butIrefrainedfrommentioningit.

“Yes.Wel , brother,”Damon said suddenly, draininghiswhiskey and smackinghis lips. “This hasbeenadivertingevening,butifyou’lforgiveme,Ihavedinnerplans.”

“Fine,”Isaid,notwantingtohearwhathiseveningplansentailed.AsDamonstooduptoleavethetavern,Violetsidleduptous.

“Areyouleavingalready?”Violetasked,frowning.

“I’mterriblysorry,butasIwassayingtoStefan,IhaveadinnerappointmentthatIcouldn’tpossiblymiss,”Damonsaid,standingandkissingherhand.

“Butit’ssolate.”Violetpouted.

“Yes,butI’lseeyoutomorrow.Won’tI,dear?”Damonasked.

“ThedockpartyatCanaryWharf!Ofcourse!”Violetsmiled.

Thedocks?Perhaps the runawayshadowfromearlierwouldbe there, if those invited included theundead.

“It’lbeapartytodiefor,”Damonsaidwithaknowingsmilethatcausedmyskintocrawl.Thatwastheproblem:Whenwewerehumans,Damonhadhisdarkside,buthewasalwayshimself.Now,IhadnoideawheretherealDamonwas,orwhatIshouldbelieve.

“We’lbethere,”Violetsaidfirmly.

“Seeyoulater,brother,”Damonsaidashesaunteredoutthedoorwithoutabackwardglance.

Istooduptoo,awaveofdizzinesswashingoverme.

“Let’sgo,Violet,”Isaid.

She nodded, not bothering to tel Alfred she was leaving. It didn’t matter. The tavern felt like anoutpost of the police station. In fact,most of the patronswere nowpolice officers, going throughtheir notes and trudging upstairs to check on Martha. Occasional y they’d look over at me and

scribblesomethingintheirnotebooks.Icouldn’tstayanylonger.

Violethookedherarm inmineandwemadeourwayback towardourhotel.Violetwassilentanddrawn,caughtupinherownthoughts.Iknewtonight’seventsjustremindedherofCora,andIdidn’thavethewordstocomforther,notanymore.

“Areyouokay?”Violetaskedinasmalvoiceaswesteppedontothedark,plushcarpetofthehotel.Shewassosweettobeconcernedaboutmeatatimelikethis,Ifeltmyheartalmostbreak.

Iforcedmyselftosmile.

“Iwilbe,”Isaid.ButsheknewIwaslying.Deathsurroundedme,anditwasonlyamatterof timebeforeitcavedin—orIbrokefree.

Regardless,therewouldbeblood.

Chapter12“Thetroublewithyou,Stefan,isthatyoudon’tunderstanddeath.”

I was in the bare bedroom of the carriage house in Mystic Fal s. Katherine was clad only in anightshirt,herfigureclearlyvisiblebeneaththegauzyfabric.Herdarkhairwastiedinaloosebraid.Iachedtotouchthesilkystrandsandyethungback,afraidthatonceIalowedmyhandstoroamherbodyIwouldlosecontrol.AndIdidn’twanttolosecontrol.Notyet.

“Telmewhatdeathisthen,”Isaid.Ithadbeeninthedaysaftermyfiancée,Rosalyn,haddied.TalkingwithKatherinehadalowedmetoforgetmyguiltandstepintoaworldinfusedwithalemon-gingerscentwherenothing—notmyfather,notDamon,notdeath—couldtouchus.Itwasaworldthatmademefeelsafe.Outsidethewindow,Icouldseethefulmoonreflectingonthepondattheedgeoftheestate.Al of the lightswere out in themain house. Therewasn’t a cloud in the sky. Thiswasmyheaven.

“Where do I begin?”Katherine asked, running her tongue over her pointed teeth. I automatical ybroughtmyhanduptomyneck.Itwasstiltendertothetouch,andajoltofpleasuremixedwithpainoccurredwheneverIappliedpressuretotheplacewhereKatherinehadsunkherfangs.

“Telmewhatyouknow,”Isaid,evertheeagerstudent.Ikeptmyeyesonherasshepacedbackandforthacrosstheroom,aslightonherheelsasacat.

“Wel,it’sintheeyeofthebeholder.TakeyourfairRosalyn,forexample,”Katherinesaid,cockingherheadandstaringatme.

“Whatdoyoumean?”I’dasked.IwantedtoknowhowKatherinehadevadeddeath.Ididn’tknowwhyshewas bringing upRosalyn. She knew Iwas supposed to stil be inmourning for the girlwho’dneverhavetheopportunitytobemywife.Andinmyownfashion,Ididmournforher.

“Wel,yourememberher,right?Whatshelookedlikeandwhatshesmeledlike?”Katherineaskedinasing-songvoice.

“OfcourseIdo,”Isaid,affronted.

“Sohowisshedeadifshelivesinyourmind?”Katherineasked,wideningherbrowneyesatme.

Isighedatherexistentialmeanderings.Isteppedtowardher,eagertostoptalking.

Thankfuly,Katherinetookmyhint.Shereachedtowardmeandteasinglygrazedhercaninesacrossmyneck,justenoughtoleaveascratch.

“That’salI’msaying,Stefan.Nomatterwhathappens,ineachother,wewilliveforever,”shesaid.ShesankherteethintomyskinasIclosedmyeyes,theworldfadingtoblackasIgavemyselftoher.

My eyes snapped open. I wasn’t entirely surprised I’d dreamt about Katherine.Whenmy life wasgoingwel,itwasasifalmymemoriesofKatherineexistedinanatticofmymind,onethatIcouldgo years without visiting. But when things were tough, she was everywhere. The question I stilcouldn’tanswerwasifIwouldeverescapeherpul,orifshewouldalwaysbethere,lingeringintheshadows.

Butnowwasn’tthetimetothinkaboutthat.ItwasalmosttimetopickupVioletfromthetavernandescorthertothedockparty.I’ddebatedwhetherornottolethercome.Ihopedthepartywouldgivemeachancetofurtherexplorewherethevampiremightbehiding,withachancetofadebackintothe

crowdshouldhebelookingforme.AndIdidn’twantViolettobewherethekilercouldbe.ButthenIrealizedthatshepossessedafierceamountofdetermination,andwouldcertainlyattendwhetherornotIwantedherto.

AtleastIknewshewouldbesafewithme.Bymakingsurethatonelifewasn’tsnuffedoutbyevil,maybe her soul could be a grain of sand, a tinyweight to counterbalance the senseless death anddestructionI’denactedinmypast.

AtleastIcouldhope.

Imassagedmytemples.I’dhadaconstantheadacheforthepastfewdays,aspersistentandbuzzingascicadas on a hot July day. It had only gottenworse the longer I’d been inLondon. I stood up andcrossedovertotheglass.Myreflectionlookedpaleanddrawn,andmyeyeswerebloodshot.Ilookedsick,bothforahumanandavampire.Reflexively,Itouchedmyfingerstomyneck,myminddriftingbacktomydream.Thefaintbreezerustlingherwhitenightdress,theflickerofthelampagainstthewhitewashedwals, theexquisitepainofKatherine’s teethsinking intomyflesh . . .everythinghadseemedsoreal.Butofcourse,beneaththepadsofmyfingerswasnothingexceptsmoothskin.

Katherinehadbeendead—deaddead,notjustmortalydead—fortwentyyears.Herbodyhadbeenburnedinachurch.Andyetshewaseverywhere,asmuchapartofmeasDamon.She’dbeenright.Andbackthen,I’dbeensuchafoolthatIhadn’tunderstoodtheimplicationsofherwordsatal.

Iwalkedtothewashbasinandsplashedcoldwateronmyface,shockedbyhowmuchgrimeandsootdisappearedinthetrickleofwater.

Londonwasafilthycity.Butwashingthedirtfrommyfacedidnothingtoscrubtheblacknessfrommysoul.

Noticingthesunsinkingfast,castingshadowsonthewal,Iquicklyfinishedcleaningupandtiedmytie.Hastily, Imade the now-familiar trek across the city. I hated howon edge I felt, how I viewedeveryfacethatpassedwithsuspicion.

VioletwaswaitingatthedooroftheTenBels,wearingthesameemerald-greendressshe’dworntothetheateracoupleofnightsago.She’ddrawnkohllineraroundhereyes,andhermouthwaspaintedabrightred.Whilethedresshadlookedlovelythenightatthetheater,atthetavernitlookedalmostgarish,anditwouldbealtooeasyforhertobemistakenforoneoftheladiesofthenight.Orworse,theidealtargetforanunholykiler.

“Readytogo?”IaskedVioletasIapproached,offeringhermyarm.Shenoddedandtookit,telingmeaboutherdayatthetavernaswequicklymadeourwaythroughthecobblestonedstreetstowardthedock.OnourrouteseverallaborerswhistledatViolet.Iglaredatthem,cringinginternaly.Ifeltlikeweweremovingtargetsforanyoneinourpath.

Aswegrewcloser,musicdriftedupfromoneofthewarehouses.Itwascheerful,dancehalmusicandthe bustle surrounding the warehouse was at odds with the desolation I’d seen last night. Londonremindedmeofakaleidoscope,achild’stoyLexihadpickeduponce.Withonetwist,thepictureattheotherendofthetubechanged,andyoucouldneveranticipatewhatyou’dseenext.IjusthopedthattheunfoldingscenesforVioletandIwouldbepleasantandnotmacabre.

“Hereweare!Stefan,comeon!”Violetsaid,quickeningherstrideasshecaughtsightofatrioofwel-dressedmenwalkingtowardoneofthedimlylitwarehousesthatlinedthedock.

Iacceleratedmypaceuntilwewereeven,andthenlightlythreadedmyarmthroughhers,notwantingtolosesightofheronceweenteredtheparty.Severalboatswerebobbinginthewater,andthedock

wasascrowdedastheWestEndstreetsafterashowletout.Thebreezecarriedthesoundofmusicandlaughtertowardus.

Violetand I stoodoutside theboltedmetaldoorand,withaslyglancebackatme,Violetbrazenlyraisedherhandasiftoknock.Butbeforeshecould,thedoorslowlyopened.

“If it isn’tMissBurns!”asmoothvoicesaid,andIglancedup.Ontheothersideof thedoorstoodSamuel, wearing a white shirt buttoned to the top and a dark dinner coat hanging off his squareshoulders.

“Thankyoueversomuch.”VioletblushedandcurtseyedasSamuelofferedhisarmtoher.

“Helo,”IpolitelygreetedSamuel.AlthoughasfarasIcouldtel,I’dneverdoneanythingtooffendhim,Samuelalwaysseemeddistanttowardme.Iassumeditwasbecauseofmystationinlife,thathecouldseefrommycalusedhandsand thestubbleonmycheeks that Iwasnotused tohisworld. Isuppose I should have simply felt happy he didn’t apply that derision toViolet, but stil , the snubirritatedme.MaybeIdidunderstandabitwhyDamondesperatelywantedtobeacceptedbysociety.

“Stefan,”Samuelsaid,aslightsmilecrossinghisface.“Sogladyoucouldmakeit.”Ididn’tseemtobetheonlyoneforcingmyselftobepolitetonight.

The airwas thickwith the scent of competing perfumes and cigarette smoke.Candleholderswereprecariouslyperchedonanyflatsurface,anditwasamiraclethatnofireshadstarted.Stil,theentirewarehousewasdim,makingitimpossibletotelwhowaswhounlessyouwerestandingrightinfrontofthem.Inthecorner,abandwasplayingabrass-heavytuneIdidn’trecognizethatseemedtothumpinrhythmwithmyhead. I’dbeenwronginworryingaboutViolet’sdressbeing inappropriate.Themajorityofwomenwerewearingdresseswith low-cutbodices, theskirtscutting insnuglyat theirhips. Itwas amingling of two distinctLondonworlds, and it seemed that herewas a placewheresocialnicetiesanddecorumdidn’tmatter.

Suddenly,Iheardahigh-pitchedshriek.Iwhirledaround,myfangsbulging,readytoattack.

ButalIsawwasVioletatthecenteroftheroom,huggingatal,thingirlasifsheneverwantedtolethergo.

“Stefan!”Violetcaled,wavingmeover,hereyesshining.“See,Iwasright.Iknewshewasalive.ThisisCora!”shesaid.

“Cora?”Iaskedincredulously,takinginthegirlinfrontofme.Thecrowdhadpartedsomewhattowatchthedramaunfold.

Coranodded,herpaleblueeyesseeminghazyandunfocused.

“Yes,”shesaidsimply.“I’mCora.”Hervoiceseemedslowandsyrupy.Hadshebeencompeled?Ihadnoidea,nopointofreferenceforhowsheusualyacted.ButIfeltdeeplyunsettled.Somethingwasn’trightwiththisreunion.Itwastooconvenientaftersomuchsearching.

“Are you al right?Where have you been?” I asked, trying not to sound like a concerned father. Ididn’twanttofrightenher.Afteral,wewerecompletestrangers.ButIhadtoknow.

VioletseemedoblivioustomyquestionsandwasstrokingCora’shairasifshewereafavoritepet.“This is Stefan,” Violet explained. “My new best friend. I have somuch to tel you . . .” Violetspontaneously threw her arms around Cora’s neck. Cora, like Charlotte, waswearing a silk scarfknottedtightlyatthenapeofherneck.

“Wherewereyou?”Iaskedagain,myconcernreachingdesperation.Icouldn’tmakeoutDamoninthecrowdofrevelers,butIwassurehewasclose.

“WherewasI?”Coraasked,confusioninhervoice.Ifeltmystomachfree-fal.

“Whydoesitmatter?”Violetasked.“Themainthingis,Cora’ssafe,isn’tthattrue?”Violetreachedbehindherneckandunclaspedherpendant.

IwasabouttotelhertokeepitonwhenshehookeditaroundCora’sneck.Thegoldofthependantgleamedinthecandlelight.

“This isyourdon’t-go-awaypresent,youhearme?”Violetsaid,a filmof tearscoveringhereyes.Coranodded,but shedidn’t seem tobe listening.ShewasglancingoverViolet’s shoulder, clearlylooking for someone.Andwhile she seemedhappy to seeViolet, shewasn’t overjoyed anddidn’tseemtofulyrecognizethatshe’dbeenlost.

Shekeptblinkingandtuggingthechainaroundherneck.Iwatched,entranced.Hadshebeencompeled?

Justthen,Damonsaunteredup,carryingabottleofchampagneinonehandandchampagneflutesintheother.TrailinghimwereSamuelandatalmanwithshortblondhair,wearingatophatandsuit.

“I’veheardthat there’scauseforcelebration,”Damonsaidashesuavelypoppedthecorkfromthebottle.Itexplodedwithafestivefizzingsound,andhebeganpouringglasses.

“Thisismysister!”Violetexplained,nottearinghergazeoffofCora.

“Hownice,”Damonsaid,leering.“Familyreunionsarelovely.AndIknewIlikedsomethingaboutyou,” Damon said, draping his arm around Violet’s shoulder. “Cora joined our little group justrecentlyaswel,afriendofSamuel’sbrother.Nowitseemswe’rejustkeepingitalinthefamily!”

“ThisisCora,”Isaidangrily.“Remember?”

Damonshrugged.“LikeIsaid,notinthenewspaper,notinmymind.Mymemoryjustgetsworseandworsewithage!”heexclaimed.

“Shutup,”Igrowled.

“Isthatanywaytotalktoabrother?”Damonresponded,keepingasmileonhisface.

“Herehere!”Samuelsaid,raisinghisglassinatoast,unawarethatanythingwasamiss.“Tofamilies.Includingmyownbrother,Henry,”hesaid,gesturingtothepale,blondmanstandingnexttohim.Atfirstglance,heseemedtobeabouteighteenornineteen.

“Pleased tomeetyou,” I said,barelymanagingapolite tone.ButHenry’s facecracked intoawidesmile,andhepumpedmyhandenthusiasticaly.

“Pleasedtomeetyou,too,”hesaidinanaristocraticBritishaccentthatsoundedjustlikehisbrother ’s.ButhiswarmandalmostnaïveexpressionwasnothinglikeSamuel’s—andimmediatelyInoticedhimcastinghisgazeonViolet.

“Helo,”hesaidwarmly.

Violetturnedtohim,herupturnedfacefulofinterest.IknewwhatIwaswitnessingwasthelightning-quickpassageofemotionsthathumanstookforgranted—themomentsatwhichastrangerbecamesomething more, became someone a human could imagine growing old with. In the shadowydarkness, therewasnowayHenrycouldtelVioletwasawaitress.Violetwasspeakinginherwel-

modulated actress voice, andher newdressbetrayednoneof the stainsof theTenBel s.This is aremarkableage.JustlikeGeorgehadtoldme,maybeViolettrulycouldtranscendherclassandfindhappiness.Shedeservedit.

EventhoughCorahadbeenfoundandseemednonetheworseforthewear,IknewIcouldn’tleaveuntilIcrackedthemystery.WhywasDamonbeingsocagey?Therewasnowayhewasn’tsomehowinvolvedwiththemurders.Thequestionwas,whathadhedone?Andwhohadhedoneitwith?

I looked at Henry and Violet again. They were engaged in conversation, their heads bowed as ifthey’dknowneachother for years.At leastVioletwas preoccupied andwith someone safe,whichgaveme the chance I needed to search theparty for themysteriousvampirewho’d eludedme lastnight.

Movingthroughthecrowdedpartyprovedfruitless.Girlssodrunktheycouldhardlystandupwerepawing at me, and the noise of the band overloaded my senses. I stepped outside the warehouse,thinkingIwouldtrytofindthedoorheranthroughlastnight.Perhapshe’dleftsomethingbehind.

Thefreshairhelpedclearmyhead. Istarted towalkaround thewarehouse, lookingfora familiarwindowordoor.Andthen,asthewindpickedup,Ismeledit.

Itwasthescentofblood—warm,coursing,andclose.

Ignashedmyteethtogether.Thescentmademesimultaneouslyeagertofeedandnervous.Thekilermustbeoneoftherevelersinsidetheparty.Butwhowashe?Or—andthiswasthethoughtthatfiledmewithterror—hadhealreadymadehismove,andthefragranceintheairwasafreshkil?

Thatpossibilitywaswhatspurredmetoracebackinsidethewarehouse,tearingthroughthecrowd,desperatetofindthesourceofthescent.Ididn’thaveanytimetowaste.ItwasasifI’dlivedthroughthesamescenariofartoomanytimes,alwayscomingtothescenehalfasecond,halfaminute,orhalfadaylate.Butthistimewouldbedifferent,IthoughtwildlyasIpushedpastadancingcouple,themanwhirling a woman faster and faster on his arm. I was no longer a “baby vampire,” a term Lexiderisivelyusedtousetodescribeme.Ihadwisdom,age,andbloodbehindme.

Thistime,Iwouldstopevilbeforeitstarted.

Thewarehousewasdeceptively large,andIwasshockedthat thespacekeptgoingandgoing,eachinchofconcretefloorfiledwithpeoplelaughing,smoking,anddrinkingasiftheydidn’thaveacareintheworld.

“Pardonme!” I yel ed in frustration, elbowingmyway through couples and treading on people’sshoes,onlyfolowingtheevermorepungentscentofiron—untilIranintoasolidmass.

Ilookedup.ItwasSamuel.Instantly,Istoodtomyfulheightandgavehimatightsmile.Iknewthatcareeningthroughthewarehousemusthavemademeseemdrunkormad.

“Pardonyou!”Samuelsaidjovialy,tippingbackhiswhiskey.“Youseemtobeinahurry,”headded,aflickerofamusementonhisface.

“I’mlookingforafriend,”Imuttered,myeyesdartingfromonesidetotheother.IrealizedIhadn’tseenVioletwhileIwasrunningaround.NownotonlywasIsearchingforakiler,butforaninnocentgirlaswel.Ihadtomakesureshewassafe.

“Considerhimhere!”hesaidjovialy,blockingmypath.

“Notyou,”Isaid,realizingonlyafterthewordsleftmymouthhowrudetheyseemed.“Imean,I’m

lookingforViolet.”

“Violet!”Hiseyeslitupinrecognition.“Ofcourse.IthoughtIsawheroverbythebar...wouldyouliketogowithme?”Ididn’tbothertobepoliteasItookofftowardthebar,desperatelyscanningthecrowd.ItthinnedoutasIran,andfinaly,Icouldstandwithoutbeingbumpedorjostled.Ialowedmyeyes to readjust to thedim light.The far sideof thewarehousehad twoopendoors that led to thedocks, and, beyond that, the water. The doors had been propped open with several wooden milkcrates,presumablytoalowfreshairin.Stil,whiletherestofthewarehousewascrammed,thispartwasunlitanddeserted.Icouldsmelcobwebsandmold.

Andblood.

Outside,thecloudsshifted,andashaftofmoonlightreflectedthroughthefilthywindowsatoneendof thewarehouse.Myeyes feluponacrumpledheap in thecorner.At first, Ihoped itwasnothingmorethanadiscardedpileoffabric,pushedasidefortheparty.Butitwasn’t.Thematerialwasbrightgreen.

Iblanched,alreadyknowingwhatI’dseebeforeIturnedthefigureover.

ButwhenIdid,Istilcouldn’tholdinmystrangledcry.

It wasViolet, her throat slit, her inquisitive blue eyes gazing, unblinking, at the throng of peopledancingonlyyardsawayfromhercold,whitefigure.

Chapter13Ihad to get Violet out of there, before the kiler came back to finish her off with his customarymutilation. I hastily lifted her up and heaved her over my shoulder. Her body grew colder everyminuteandthetouchofherskinagainstminesentashiverdownmyspine.Shewasdead.Andthekilerwasnowheretobefound.

I glanced around wildly. The band had shifted into a waltz, and the front of the warehouse wascrowdedwithcouplesdancinginthedarkness.Itlookedgaudy,likeanactfromthetwo-bitcarnivalI’dworked at inNewOrleans.Themurdererwas somewhere in that throng, bowing andweavingthroughcouples.

Myfangsthrobbed,andmylegsachedwiththeurgetorunorfight.ButIcoulddoneither.Istood,frozeninplace.Dropletsofbloodscatteredacrossthebodiceofherdress,andthekohlshe’dusedtolinehereyeshadrun,makingherfacelooklikeitwaspaintedwithtears.

Ididn’tfeelsorrow.WhatIfeltwasdeeper,moreprimal.Ifeltangeratwhoeverdidthis,aswelasdespair.Thiswouldalwayskeephappening,andmorevictims likeVioletwouldperish. Itwouldn’tmatterifIjourneyedbacktoAmericaorwenttoIndiaorjusttravelednomadicalythroughouteveryland.HowmanydeathscouldIwitness,althewhileknowingdeathwouldnevercometome?

IglancedbackdownatViolet’slimpbodyandforcedmyselftostopthinkingthosethoughts.Instead,IthoughtofViolet’sshortlife.Herwidegrinwhenshe’dputononeofherfinedresses,thewayherhappyfaceshonewithtearsattheendofthemusicalreview,thewayshetrulybelievedthattherewasgood in theworld. I’dmissher.Violethadbeenspritelyandpassionateandalive.She’d alsobeenstupidandtrustingandsovulnerable.

Andshe’dgivenuphervervaintohersister.Ofcourse,shehadn’tknownittobeanythingbutagoodluckcharm,butstil—ifshe’dhadthevervain,she’dbealivenow.

“‘Mayflightsofangelssingtheetothyrest,’”Isaid,quotingShakespeareforlackofaprayerasIlaid my hand against her cold brow and smoothed her loose curls off her forehead. The phraseechoed inmyhead, thewords farmore familiar tome thananyof the sermons I’d sat throughorpsalmsI’dheardwhenIwasahuman.IleaneddownandgrazedmylipsagainstViolet’scheek.

Suddenly,sherearedup,herbodytremblingalover,hereyeswide,hermouthfrothing,asshelungedtowardmyhand.

Hastily,Ifelbackward,scramblingtomyfeetandretreatingtotheshadows.

“Stefan?”VioletcaledinahighandreedyvoicethatsoundednothinglikeherIrishbrogue.Herhandfranticalyclawedatherthroat,andhereyeswidenedinfrightwhenshepuledherhandbackandsawitcoveredwithblood.“Stefan?”shecaledagain,hereyesgazingwildlyinaldirections.

Iwatchedinshock.I’dseendeathcountlesstimesatthispoint,andIknewthatViolethadbeendead.Yetnowshewasn’t.Thismeantonlyone thing:Shehadbeengivenvampirebloodandthenkiled.Shewasintransition.

“Stefan?”sheasked,graspingtheair infrontofherandgnashingher teethagainsteachother.Herbreathwasloudandraspy.Shekeptlickingherlips,asthoughsheweredyingofthirst.“Helpme!”shecaledinastrangledvoice.

Faroff in thewarehouse, Icouldmakeout thefaintestsoundof thebandstrikingupanothersong.

Everyone inside thepartywasblissful yunawareof thegruesome sceneoccurring in front ofmyeyes.Iclenchedmyjaw.IwantedmorethananythingtobestrongforViolet,butIwasstilinshock.

I knew she wanted to feed. I remembered the agonizing hunger I’d felt when I’d woken up intransition.Shewasbreathinginloud,staccatogaspsassherosetoherknees,thenherfeet.Imovedforwardtohelpher.

“Shhh,”Isaid,wrappingmyarmsaroundherbody.“Shhh,”Irepeated,runningmyhandsthroughhertangledhair,wetwithsweatandblood.

“You’resafe,”Ilied.Ofcourseshewasn’t.

A fewyards away, on a neighboringdock, I sawa smal skiff,most likelyused to transport cargofromone side of London to the other, bobbing in the gentlewaves of theThames. I had thewildthoughttotakeit,toheadasfaraswecoulddowntheriver,tojustgetaway.

“What’shappeningtome?”Violetgaspedeachword,clutchingherthroat.

“You’lbeokay,Violet.Butplease,telme,whodidthistoyou?”Iasked.

“Idon’tknow,”shesaid,herfacecrumpling.Bloodwasrunningfromherneck,dryingintoapatternonthesideofherdressthatwouldhavebeenalmostprettyifonehadn’tknownhowitwasformed.Herfacewaswhiteandchalky,andshekeptlickingherlips.“Iwasgoingtothebar.Andthenhepuledmetohimforadance,and...that’salIcanremember,”Violetsaid,wringingherhandstogetherandgazingimploringlyatme.

“Who’s‘he’?”Iaskedurgently.

“Damon,”shesaid,hardlyabletostiflehercries.Asceneflittedintomymind:Violet,soexcitedtohaveDamonpayattention toher.Violet, al owingDamon to escorther to thebar andorderher adrink. Violet, nervous and coquettish, waiting to hear what Damon had to say. And then Damonlickinghislips,lunging,anddrinking,leavingVioletbehindformetofind.

Youalwayshelpadamselindistress.Damon’smockingphraseranginmyears.He’dleftherformetofind,justasifwewerechildrenplayinghide-and-seek.

“I’msothirsty,”Violetsaid,leaningovertheedgeofthedockandcuppingherhandstocapturesomeof thedirtywater flowing in theThames. Iwatchedassheputherhands tohermouth,andsawanexpressionofdisgustcrossherface.Sheknewsomethingwasterriblywrong.“Stefan...Idon’tfeelwel.IthinkIneedadoctor,”shesaid,cradlingherheadinherhandsandrockingsilentlybackandforth.

“Comewithme,”Isaid,pul ingViolet intoahug.Icouldfeelshiverswrackingherbody,andsawtearswerefalingfromherlargeeyes.Iknewshewasconfusedanddisoriented,andthisfilthydockwasnoplacetoexplaintoherwhatwashappening.

Ihoistedherupandwalkedustotheskiffthatwasrestinginthewater.Igentlyplacedheronitsfloor.Sheblinkedafewtimesandletoutashudderysigh.

“AmIdead?”sheasked,herhandreachingouttowardmine.Iclosedmyfingersoverhers.Itriedtorememberbacktomyowndeath.I’dfelthazyandconfusedaswel,coupledwiththegriefandguiltoflosingKatherine.Then,whenI’dmadethefultransition,I’dfeltfast,sharp.Inhuman.

“Yes,”Isaid.“You’redead.”

Violetfloppedbackdownandclosedhereyes.

“Ithurtssomuch,”shewhimperedassheslumpedagainstthesideoftheboatinexhaustion.Herbodycouldn’ttakethetransition.

Ifeltangerslicethroughmystomach.Damonneededtopayforthis.

Itookapieceofmuslin,mostlikelyusedtorepairsails,fromthesideoftheboatandpuleditoverherbodylikeablanket.Shewassleepingnow,andIknewshedidn’thavethestrengthtorunoff.ShesighedandburrowedintotheclothwhileIjumpedofftheskiffandtorebackintotheparty.

AssoonasIwalkedbackintothesmokywarehouse,Icouldhearmybrother ’svoiceabovethedin,laughingandmakingfunoftheridiculousexpeditionLordAinsleyhadplannedinIndia.Notcaringwhosawme,Iusedmyvampirespeedtoreachhim.HewaslaughingwithSamuelandHenry.Coraclungtohiseveryword.

“Youought togo to India, too,Damon.You’realwayscomplainingyou’vehadenoughofLondonsociety,” Henry said, raising his champagne toward Damon. “Maybe an adventure would do yougood.”

“Yes,youcouldtryyourluckatsnakecharming,”Samuelsuggested.“Youalreadyhaveprovenyourtalent for charmingwomen.”At this,Damon laughed appreciatively.Fury roseup insideme.Howdarehe laugh and joke onlyminutes after he’d attackedViolet and set her on the pathwe’d bothregrettedtaking.

“You,” I growled, draggingmy brother out by the arm and toward the al ey that led down to thedocks,emptyexceptforafar-offvagrantsleepingwithabottleofwhiskeyclutchedagainsthischest.

“Ah, a moonlit conversation by the waterfront. How picturesque. What’s the special occasion?”Damonasked,archingadarkeyebrow.

I recoiled. I hated everything about him. I hated his affected Virginia drawl that he put on in mypresenceasiftomakefunofourpoliteupbringing,thewayhetwistedwordsevenifhewastheonlyonewho’dgetthejoke,andthewayhemadeamockeryoutofeverything,includinghumanlife.

“You are dead to me,” I growled, grabbing him with al my might and throwing him toward theopposite wal , satisfied to hear his skul cracking against the concrete. He slumped, ragdol -like,beforestandingup,hiseyesflashinginthedarkness.Hetookaquicksteptowardme,thenstoppedandlaughedsoftly.

“Someone’s foundhisstrengthagain,”Damonsaid, stil rubbinghis temple.Thewoundhadclosedalmost instantaneously, leaving nothing but smooth, pale flesh. “Why so upset? Didn’t find themurdereryouwerelookingfor?”Damonmockedinalowvoice.

“Nomoregames.You’re thekiler!” I spat, rageboiling inmyveins. Iwanted tohurthim.But thetroublewas,nothingwould.

“I am, am I?” Damon asked nonchalantly. “Tel me, how did you reach that conclusion, DetectiveSalvatore?”Sothiswashowhe’ddecidedtotormentmenow.Nomoreblowsorfightsorbattles,justpsychologicaltorture.Wel,he’dsucceeded.

“Youframedmefortheattacktheotherday.AndyoukiledViolet,”Isaid,myvoiceclearasacrackofthunder.

A mil ion expressions—hate, anger, annoyance—flashed across Damon’s face before he lungedtowardme,pinningmeagainstthecoldconcretewal,hisfaceonlyinchesfrommine.Isquirmedtogetaway,butheonlyheldmeharder.

“I’vetriedtobepatientwithyou,brother,”Damonsaid,hatedrippingfromhisvoice.“Ithoughtthatmaybeafewdecadeshaddoneusbothgood.Butyou’rethesameasyou’vealwaysbeen.Alwaystheonetocomeintoasituationandthinkheknowshowtofix it.Alwaysthefoolishknight inshiningarmor. Always the one who takes responsibility for the whole world on his shoulders. But . . .”Damon’svoicedroppedtoawhisper,soonlyIcouldhear.“Youarenotinnocent.Youstartedalofthis. And death doesn’t begin and end withme. Get used to it, brother. People die, and you can’tchangeit.”Heletgoofmyneck,butnotbeforespittinginmyface.“Bewarned,nexttimeIshowupinyourlife,itwon’tbealpartiesandpicnics.Youcantrustmeonthat.”Damonturnedonhisheelandheadedbacktotheparty.

Iwatchedhim,fistsclenched,stilfulyawareoftheindentsonmyneckwhereDamonhadpinnedme.Hewasmuchstronger than Iwas,and Iknewhedidn’twantme to forget it.Mymind lingeredonDamon’sgleethatVioletwasdead.Ofcourse,hewouldneverchange.Hewouldforeverenjoyseeingmeinpain.HethoughtIhadwrongedhimandwouldcontinuetodestroyanyoneIcaredabout.Hewould keep kil ing, and for what? To settle a score against me that could never, ever be settled.Because while I may have turned him into a vampire, he was the one who turned himself into amonster.

ButnowVioletwastransitioningandtheonlythingIcoulddotomakeupformymistakeswastotrytohelpherthroughit.IhurriedasfastasIcouldbacktotheskiff,whereIsawslightmovementfromunderneaththemuslincloth.

“Violet!”Isaid,sinkingtomykneesnexttoher.

Hereyesflutteredopen,thepupilsenormousandcloudy.Ipuledhertightlyagainstmybody,wishingtherewassomethingIcoulddoforher.ButtheonlythingIcoulddowasgivehertheopportunitytoleavethisworldasshecameintoit—asahuman,withoutbloodonherhands.

“Stefan,”shecroaked,strugglingtositup.

“Weneedtogo,”Isaid,dragginghertoherfeet.Damonwouldbelookingforhernowtoensurehertransformationwascomplete.IknewIshoulddoublebackinandfindCora,butIcouldn’triskit. IhadtohopethevervainwashelpingCorawhenIcouldnot.

I couldn’t giveVioletmuch, but I could at least giveher a choice—and let her knowexactlywhatwouldhappenwitheitherpathshechose.Itwasanimpossible,monstrouschoice,butitwashers,andmight be the last one she’d ever make. She deserved to do it in peace. I needed to bring Violetsomewhereshecouldbesafe.

“Come on,” I said, helping her up and holding her close. I began to run, clumsily at first, until Igathered the speed Iwas accustomed towhen Iwas ful y in tunewithmyPower.Onceor twice, IthoughtIcaughtaglimpseofacurtainrustling,orashadowtootaltobemyown.IeventhoughtIheard a racing footstep behindme. It only galvanizedme to go faster, barely stopping beforewereachedthestreetinfrontofourhotel.Ipaused.

Damon knew where we were staying. It wasn’t safe there. I looked down at Violet, who was stildisorientedandgrowingweak.

“Theparty?”Violetasked,sittingupandholdingherhandtoherhead.“Thechampagne...didIgetdrunk?”sheasked.

Iwantedtosayyes.IwishedIcouldspareherthepainoftheupcominghours.Butshedeservedmorethanthat.Ihadn’tliedtoherwhenI’dfoundherandIwouldn’tlietohernow.Iwouldmakesureshe

knewthechoiceshefaced.ItwastheleastIcoulddo.I thoughtbacktothewayherfacehadshonewhenshesawtheGaietyTheatre,andanideaformedinmymind.

“Let’sgotothetheater,”Isaid.

“Thetheater?”Violetblinked,asthoughshedidn’tunderstandmyinvitation.Ididn’tblameher.Hersituationwasdire,evensheknewthat,andyetitsoundedlikeIwasaskinghertoachurchsocial.

I nodded and helped Violet to her feet. Together, we hobbled along the deserted cobblestonedsidewalks.Itwasnearlymorning.

The lights in frontof theGaietywereoff,but the stagedoorwith its rustedhingesdidn’t take toomuchstrengthtoforceopen.Oncewewereinthedarktheater,Isighed.Finaly,IfeltweweresafefromDamon.

“Is this another party? Because I don’t think I’m up for it.” My heart twisted at the innocentdisappointmentinViolet’svoice.

ImotionedforViolettositnexttomeononeofthecrushedredvelvetchairsfacingthestage.

“IbroughtyouherebecauseIknewhowmuchyoulovedit.AndwhatIhavetotelyouwon’tbeeasyto process,” I explained, blinking in the darkness. Itwas easier to have this conversationwhenweweren’tfacingeachother.

“Damon...”Violetsaid,thenshuddered.“Hewassonice.Heintroducedmetoalofhisfriends.Andthen...”

“Heattackedyou,”Isaidduly.

Shegrimaced,butdidn’trefutewhatI’dsaid.

“Irememberdrinkingchampagne.AndIwaslaughing,andthen...Idon’tknow.It’sasifmymindjustgoesblank,”shesaid,helplesslyshakingherhead.

Iroledmylapis-lazuliringaroundmyfinger.BackwhenIhadtransitioned,Katherine’smaid,Emily,hadexplainedwhatwashappeningtome.

She’dbeentheonetogivemethering.KatherinehadaskedhertogiveonetomeandonetoDamon.Emily’dbeencool,andcalm,andhadkeptherdistancewhileIsuffered.Icouldn’tdothat.

“Stefan?What’shappeningtome?”Violetasked,hervoicecracking.

IlacedViolet’sice-coldfingersthroughmine.“You’reintransition.Youwerekiledbyavampire,”Isaid.“Damon.”

“Vampires?”Violet said,hervoice trippingover theword.“That’s just fromstorybooks.Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

“Nothey’rereal.I’mavampire.AndsoisDamon.He’smybrother.Mytruebrother,”Isaid,staringstraightahead.IhatedwhatIwassaying,butknewitwouldbefarworsetokeepthetruthasecret.“Welookhuman.Once,wewerehuman.Wegrewuptogether, laughedtogether,andwereafamily.Butnotanymore.Wesurviveonlybecausewedrinkthebloodofothers.Ichooseanimals.Butmybrotherdoesn’t.”

“DoesthatmeanI’mavampirenow,too,then?”sheasked,hervoiceshaking.

I shookmyhead. “No,” I said firmly. “Damonkil edyourhumanbody,butgaveyou someofhisbloodfirst.Tocompletethetransitionandtofulybecomeavampire,youhavetodrinkhumanblood.

Ifyoudon’t,yourbodywildie,”Isaid.Thewalpaperedroomfeltlikeitwasclosinginonme.

“But, Stefan, I don’t understand. If there’s a way to live then why . . .” She trailed off, her voicesoundingsoinnocentandlostthatIfeltmystomachclench.

“Becauseit’snotthatsimple.Beingavampireisnotlikebeingalive.You’reconsumedbyyourdesireforblood,yourdesiretokil.Youbecomeacompletelydifferentperson...”ItrailedoffasVioletpressedherhandtomychest,gentlyatfirst,andthenmoreandmoreinsistently.Iresistedtheurgetopulaway.Itwasanintimategesture,oneyou’dimaginebetweenlovers.

“Idon’t...Ican’t...”shesaid,horrordawningonherfaceasshecontinuedtograzemychestwithherhands.“There’snoheartbeat,”sheexclaimed,nowunderstandingwhatI’dbeentryingtotelher.

“No,”Isaidpatiently.

“WhatifIwantto...turn?”sheasked.“WhatifIwanttobecomelikeyou?”

“Iwouldhelpyou.That’syourchoicetomake.Butit’ssomethingtothinkaboutseriouslybeforeyoudo. It’s not a real life. It’s not a blessing to live forever. Youwitness somany people dying, andyou’realwaysacreatureofdarkness.Youhavetoliveintheshadows,onlyemergingatnight.

And you shouldn’t have to live like that,” I said, squeezing her hand. “You belong in the light.”Violet’ssobsovertookher,andIknewshegraspedtherealityshefaced.

“I was just starting to live . . .” she said wistful y and rubbed her neck gently, as if she wererememberingalong-agocaressfromalover.Herhanddroppedbacktoherchest.Thenshelookedatme,tearsinhereyes.

“When?”sheasked.

“Soon,”Iadmitted.Myeyesdarted to thehalf-openstagedoor. Icouldsee that theskywasgettinglighter.Wecouldn’tstayhere.Violetneededtobesomewheresafe,andtherewasnowhereinLondonthatwassafefromDamon.

Violetsniffled,andIsawtwolargetearsroldownhercheeks.“Iwanttogohome,”shesaidinasmalvoice.“Iwanttobewithmymomandsisters.Idon’tbelonghere.IfIhavetodie...andIwanttodie,Idon’twanttobecomeamonster...thenIwanttodieasmyself.AsVioletBurns.Iwanttobehome.IwantCora.”

Iglancedatherasshestaredbravelyahead. Iwanted tocharteraship,or toswimacross thedarkIrishSeamyselftogiveherwhatshewanted.ButIcouldn’t.Andsheknewthat.

“I’mjustrabbitingon.Ijustwanttoseemysisteronelasttime.”

“Iknowyoudo,” I said. “But ifwe findher, then I thinkDamonwil findyou.ButCora’sal right.She’sprotected.Thecharmyougaveherisfiledwithvervain.It’sanherbthatprotectspeoplefromvampires.Ididn’ttelyoubecauseIdidn’twanttoscareyou,but...”Violetclawedattheholowofherneck.“Itwasmyfault,”sherealized.

“No.Yousavedyoursister.Whetherornotyouknewwhatthecharmwas,youknewitwasgoodluck,and you gave it to her. That’s love,” I said, smiling atViolet. Iwondered if I’d been in a similarsituation,ifI’dhavedonethesamethingforDamon.

“Wel , Ihopeshe thinksofmeevery timeshewears it,”Violetsaid.“AndmaybeIcanwriteheraletter.Andyoucandeliver it.Becausesheneedssomeonetolookoutforher,”Violetsaid,piecingeachsentencetogetherslowly.

“Ofcourse.I’llookafterCora,andIpromiseyou,shewilbesafe.AndIknowwhereIcantakeyou,”Idecided,pickingupherhand.IhopedtheAbbotts’farmwouldremindheroftherolingIrishhilsshe’d toldmeabout. Itwasa smalcomfort,no replacement for the real thing,but itwas thebest Icoulddo.

Violetnoddedmeekly.Ilookeddownatherinagony,atearthreateningtoescapemyeye.Iletitfal,watching it splash on Violet’s hair, wishing there was something I could do. Al I’d wanted thiseveningwasforViolettobesafe.Andhereshewasstilinmyarms—butfulofvampireblood.Ihadfailedher.

Chapter14TherehavebeentimesinmylifethatIfeltsomething,orsomeone,waswatchingoutforme.Becausehowelse could bothViolet and I havemade it toPaddingtonStationwithout being stoppedby thepoliceoraconcernedpasserby?Ithelpedthatwetookafewgarmentsfromatraveler ’sluggageastheywaitedfortheirtrain,andwerenolongerwearingbloodstainedclothes.Butstil,IhadtosupportVioletagainstmyside,andevenacasualobservercouldseeshewasclosetodeath.Andyet,noonehadnoticedus.

Ididn’tthinkofitasprovidence.MaybeIwouldhave,atonepoint.ButnowIonlyfeltitwasevidenceofmyinnateevil.Ifrightenedpeople.

Tonight,theonlyoneswhomightblockourpathwouldbemonsters.

Once we got to the train station, I used the last few coins inmy pocket to pay for our tickets toIvinghoe.Wecaughtthefirsttrainoutofthecity,andIshouldhavefeltrelief.ButIdidn’t.BecauseIhadnoideawhenVioletwasgoingtodie.AlIhopedwasthatIcouldgethersafelytomycabin.

“Stefan?”Violetaskedasherfingers,aslightasthebrushofahummingbird’swing,glidedacrossmyarm.

“Yes?”Ireplied,pulingmygazeawayfromthewindow.Insteadoflookinglikeshewasatdeath’sdoor,Violethadaflushinhercheeksandhereyeswerebright.We’dbeenonthetrainfornearlyanhour and were now on the outskirts of London’s sprawl. Even a touch of country air was doingwondersforViolet.Butitwouldn’tsaveher.

“Ifeelbetter,”Violetwhisperedhopefuly,obviouslythinkingthesamethingthatIhad.“DoyouthinkImightlive?”

“No,”Isaidsadly.Ididn’twanttobecalous,butitwouldbeevencruelertofilherwithfalsehope.Nomatterhowshefeltorhowshelooked,Violet’sfatewassealed.

“Oh,” she said quietly, pressing her lips together and staring out at the greenery passing by thewindow.The compartmentwewere seated inwas identical to the one I had sat inwhen I came toLondon. A silver tea-service tray lay between us, with china plates piled high with scones andsandwiches. Itwas stil very early, and the trainwas almost deserted.Violet had alternated betweendozingandtakingdaintybitesofoneofthescones.I’dspentthemajorityofthejourneystaringoutthewindow.Thescenerywaslushandgreen,andtotalyatoddswiththedarknessofmymood.

“Oncethetransitionstarts,there’snocure,”Irepeatedpatiently.

“ExceptifIdrinkhumanblood,”Violetcorrected.

“That’snotacure,”Isaidgrimly.

“Iknow,”Violetsaidquietlybeforestaringfaroffintothedistance.

“IfIcouldgobackanddoitaloveragain,Iwouldhavechosendeath,”Isaid.Iputmyhandontopofherstocomforther.

“There’ssomuchIhaven’tseenandhaven’tdone,”Violetsaidsadly.“Iwasneveronstage,Ineverhadchildren...I’veneverevenbeeninlove.”Icontinuedtostrokehersmalhand.TherewasnothingIcouldsay.

Violetwhimperedandalowedherheadtorestagainstmyshoulder.“I’msocold,”shewhispered.

“Iknow.Iknow,”Isaid.Istrokedherhair,wishingIcouldmakeherdeatheasier.Itwouldbe,Itoldmyself.Oncewewerebackat theManorandawayfromdanger. Iwantedher to findsolace in thequietofmycabinandpeacefulyslipaway.She’dhadahardlife.Maybetheafterlifewouldbebetterforher.

Violet’sbreathingsteadied,andshefelasleep.Iglancedoutthewindow.TheskyseemedclearerthefartherwegotfromLondon.Iheardafaintnoise,butitwasn’tcomingfrommymind.Itwascomingfromoutside.

“Yes?”Icaledsharply,assumingitwasaporterarrivingwithmoresconesoranotherselectionofpapers.

Butnooneanswered.Thescratchingnoisewaspersistent,louderthanjustastowawayrat.

Iheardanothernoise,asifthetrainhadhitalargeanimal.Butthetrainkeptroling.Iglancedoutthewindowandalong,lowgrowlIdidn’tquiterecognizeasmyownescapedmylips.

There,peeringupsidedownthroughthewindow,wasSamuel’sbrother,Henry.Hisfacewaspressedtotheglass,andhisgolden-blondhairwasblowinginthewind.

We locked eyes, and for one wild moment I thought he’d come to see Violet, an eager beau’sovertures gone too far. But then I noticed his elongated canines, his bloodshot eyes, and I slowlyunderstood.Henrywasavampire.AndHenrywasn’teagerlylookingforViolet.Hewashunting

—forus.

Islammedthebluedamaskcurtainsofthewindowshutandlookedaroundmadlyforanyescape.Butofcoursetherewasnone.Ifeltmyheartharden.ThiswasDamon’sdoing.Ithadtobe.Becausewhyelse would Henry be here? Even as children, he’d goad the Giffin boys into throwing rocks at apassingtrainorlettingthechickenslooseduringabarbeque.Thatway,hewouldn’triskpunishment.Now,hewasdoingthesamething,exceptwithacadreofvampires.

IhadtoprotectViolet.Icouldn’tletHenrygrabVioletandforcehertofeed.Icouldn’thaveherturnintoavampireagainstherwishes.Ihastilystoletothecabooseandclimbedthericketyladdertothetopoftheirontrain.Thewindpelteddirtandpebblesintomyface,andthesootandfumeswhirlingaroundmyheadmadeitalmostimpossibletoseeanything.

“Henry!”Icaled,steadyingmyselfonthesteampipepokingfromthetopofthetrain.Icrouchedlow,readyforafight.

Nothing.Thetraincontinuedtochugforward.Asliverofdoubtcreptthroughmybrain.Haditbeensomesortofvision?Aparanoidhalucination?

Acryofoutragesoundedbehindme.

Before Icould turn, I feltaweightonmyback, folowedbycoldhandsslidingaroundmyneck. Igaspedandtriedtowrithefreefromthegrip.Iwaslockedinachokehold,Henry’sarmtightaroundmywindpipe.Igroaned,tryingtofighthimoffwhilekeepingmybalance.

“Areyoureadytodie?”Henrywhisperedinmyear.Hisimpeccableaccentwasperfectlymodulated,andhisbreathwashotagainstmyneck.

Onceagain,heappliedpressuretomythroat.

Die.Thewordechoedinmyhead.I’dforgottenwhatitwasliketobehunted.Butnow,Iwascaptured.AndifIdidn’tdosomething,Iwoulddie.

AndVioletwouldbeworsethandead.Ihadtodosomething.Ihadto...

Stay still. A voice—Lexi’s? My own?—screamed instruction in my head, even though it wascounterintuitivetomybeing’severyinstinct.MyarmtwitchedbeneathHenry’sgrasp.Staystill! thevoiceinsisted.

“Frightened? And you thought I was just little Henry. One of Damon’s foppish friends, of noimportanceandnointerest toabig,strongAmericanvampire likeyourself.Aren’tI right,chum?”Henryaskedsarcasticaly,pulingmecloser.Hewasclearlygoingtotrytobreakmyneck,andfromthere,he’dbeabletostakemeorburnme,ordowhateverhewanted.Orhecouldsimplythrowmeoff the train,where I’d be finished off soon enough.A dozen scenarios, eachworse than the last,whirledthroughmymind.

“What? You’re not going to speak to me?” Henry asked, goading me. I stared at the groundwhooshingbelowme,pulingeveryounceofstrengthfromthecornersofmybeing.IthoughtofCalie,thedeathIhadn’tavenged.IthoughtofViolet,abouttobenext.

“Thisendsnow!”Iyeled,spinningaround, fists ready. Iwas larger thanhim,but Iknewfromthepressureofhisarmagainstmythroatthathewasstrongerthanme.I’dhavetobefasterandsmarter.

“Isthisthewayyouwanttodothis?”Henryhalf-growled,lungingtowardme.Isidesteppedhim,andmyfootbegantoslipoffthetrain.Ireachedout,clingingtothesteampipe,asHenryswunghisfist.Fleshconnectedtomytempleandforamoment,alIsawwerestars.

Henry’slow,smoothlaughyankedmeoutofmyfogofpain.

Ipretendedtototterasthoughindangeroflosingmygrip.IwantedtocatchHenryunaware.AndthenIreachedbackandswung.

BloodgushedfromHenry’slipandIsteppedback,surveyingmyworkinsatisfaction.

“Notaseasyasyouthought it’dbe, is it?”Iaskedindisgust.Damonhadprobably toldhisposseIalwaysavoidedconflict,eventomyownperil.

Wel,notanymore.IwasdonewithDamon’sgames.

Henry retreateda fewmeters, rubbinghiswoundandattempting to regainhisbalance.Thewoundwasfastdisappearing,andIknewIneededtoactquickly.

Ibentmyknees,hopingmyinstinctsfromdecadesofjumpingwithhorseswouldhelpme.Itwasalaboutlookingwhereyouweregoing,andnever,everlookingaway.Iglancedatasmalmetaldentinthecenterofthecarafewmetersaway,andjumped.

MybodycareenedthroughspaceasIheardHenrygrowlbelowme.Ididn’tlook,concentratingonthat tiny imperfectionon the train’sexterioruntilmyfeethit themetalwitha thud.Then Iwhirledaround and lunged, aiming toward his face, giving him a punchwith asmuch strength as I couldmuster.Myfistconnectedwithhisflesh.Hestood,hisbodyweavingononeleg,suspendedinmidairlikeadancerawaitinghisnextcue,beforehetumbledoffthetrain.Hisbodylandedinaheapontheground,growingsmalerinmyviewasthetrainspedon.

“Seeyouinhel,”Imurmured.Toanyoneelse,itwouldbeacurse.Butforme,itwasapromise.

I climbed down the rickety ladder and stepped onto the caboose car, hoping against hope that noconductororpolicemanwouldbewaitingforme.Iwasweakandshaky,coveredwithbloodandsoot.

I picked my way back to the cabin, relieved that no one stopped me on my way. Violet was stil

sleeping,herbreathingshalowandoccasionalyinterruptedbyagasp,althoughwhetherornotthatwasfrompainoradream,onlysheknew.

Icouldn’tsit.Instead,Ipacedlikeawildanimal,desperatetodosomething.SoDamonhadenlistedHenrytodohisdirtywork.Thequestionwas,werethereothers?Ihadthestrengthtofightoffone,butcouldIfightoffseveral?Andwouldwebeabletohidefromthemforlongenough,atleasttoalowViolettodieinpeace?

Thetrainwhistleblew,andVioletstirredinmylap.We’darrivedatthetinyIvinghoestation.

“Wakeup,”Isaid,gentlyrousingher.Mytemple throbbed,and thewoundwasslowtoheal,a truesignthatIwasquicklylosingstrength.

“Stefan,”shesaidsleepilybeforeopeninghereyes.“Whathappened?”Shegaspedasshetookinmyappearance.

“We’re being fol owed,” I said tersely, glancingpastViolet towardmy reflection in thewindow. Ilooked awful. I looked like I’d been caught in awar.Which, I supposewasmore or lesswhat I’dfoundmyselfin.“ByHenry,”Iclarifiedgrimly.

“Henry!”Violetgaspedagain,herfaceturningpale.“Whatdoyoumean?

“He’savampire,too.Damonhasalotofverypowerfulfriends.ButIgotridofhim,”Iexplained.IknewitsoundedlikeI’dkiledhim,andIferventlywishedthathadbeenthecase.ButIhadafeelingI’dsimplywoundedhim,andifso,Iknewhe’dbequicktoreturn.Thetrainwhistleblewasweroledintothetrainstation.“Comewithme,”Isaidbrusquely.

Violetstruggledtoherfeetandfolowedmedownthenarrowaisleofthetraincar.

“Sir?”aconductorcaledfrombehindus.Iwhirledaround,noticingthesplitsecondthatittookhimtoseethebloodonmyhands,thegrimeandsootalovermyclothes.

Onemoretime,Isaidtomyself,lockingeyeswithhim.Justbecausecompelinghadbecomeroutineoverthepastfewdaysdidnotmeanittookanylesseffort.Iforcedmyselftostandstil.“Youneversawus,”Isaidasthetraincametoastop,itsbrakessquealing.

Violet heldmyhand tightly and steppedbehindme, as though shewere a frightened animal beingprotectedbyalarger,strongermemberofthepack.

Icontinuedtolookintheconductor ’swatery,sleepyeyes.“We’releavingnow.Andwhenyoupassthrough the carriage, you won’t remember us,” I said, walking down the three steps toward theplatform.Theconductortrailedbehindus,leaningoverthestepsasifunsurewhetherornottohopoffthetrainandaskusmorequestions.Icontinuedtostare.

“Inever saw . . .” Iheard theconductoragree,before thewhistleblewand the trainwhirredaway,headingdeeperintothecountry.

“Whathappened?”Violetasked,handsonherhipsasdustfromthedepartingtrainwhippedaroundus.Shestilseemedwoozyandwasstaggeringasthoughdrunk.

“It’sapowervampireshave.Icanmakepeopledomybidding.Idon’tliketodoit,butitcancomeinhandy.”IhopedIwouldn’thavetodoanycompelingonourthree-milejourneybacktothemanor.WhoknewifMrs.Toddat thepostofficeorMr.Evansat thegeneralstorewerepeekingoutfrombehind their curtains,wonderingwhatStefan thegroundskeeperwaspossiblydoingwith a crying,pale,sickgirl.“Butwe’rehere,inIvinghoe.You’resafe.”

Violetshookherhead.“I’mnotsafe,”shesaid,hervoicelowandfaint.“I’mdying.”Isawherflinchandrealizedthatthesunmustbeagonizingtoher.Redsplotchesweredottingherarmsandlegs,andher face was slicked with sweat. I glanced helplessly at my lapis-lazuli ring, wishing there wassomethingIcoulddo.ButIneededtobewearingtheringataltimes.

“Let’sgo,”Isaid,hookingmyarminhersandcrossingtotheshadysideofthestreet.Itwasn’tmuchrelief,butitwassomething.Then,together,wetrudgedupthewindingpathtoAbbottManor.

Chapter15BythetimewereachedthepaththatledtotheAbbott’sbackgarden,mymindhadcleared.Thewoodswerebeautiful,dark,wild,andmysterious.

Oneofthelocallegendswasthatlongago,fairieshadsettledthelandandmadeittheirhome,hidingintheampleoaktreetrunksandlookingoutfortheforestlife.Ofcourse,Ididn’tbelievethetale.I’dbeenthroughthewoodsandcapturedandkiledenoughanimals toknowtherewerenobenevolentcreaturesprotectingtheforest.Oriftherewere,thentheyhadbetterthingstodothansaveanerrantsquirrelorrabbitthatwascaughtintheclenchesofavampire’sfangs.Stil,thestorycomfortedme,ifonlybecauseitprovedthathumanscouldstilbelieveingood,evenwhensomuchevillivedintheirmidst.

Wewalked toward theclearing,where thesprawling three-storybrickmanorhouse roseupon thecrestofahil.

“Hereweare,”Isaid,gesturingtothevastexpanse,asifIwereakingshowingoffmylandtomysubject.

“It’snice,”Violetsaid,asmalsmilecreepingontoherpalelips.“Green.Itremindsmeofhome.”IheardthedogbarkandIstartled.IknewthatmostlikelyLukeorOliverwouldbenearby,andIdidn’twantthemtoseeViolet.TherewouldbetoomanyquestionsIdidn’tthinkIcouldanswer.Hastily,IsweptVioletintomyarmsandintomytinycottage.Safelyinside,Ihadhersitatmyricketykitchentable.Iquicklychangedmyshirt,washedmyface,andranwaterthroughmyhair.Inthemirror,IsawVioleteyeingmeinquisitively.

Iturnedaroundandshelickedherlips.

“I’msothirsty,”Violetwhimpered.

“Iknow,”Isaidhelplessly.

Just then, the cabin door creaked open. I glanced around in a panic. Perhaps my cabin wasn’t assecludedasIneededittobe.

“Stefan,you’reback!”Olivercamebarrelinginside,histinyfootstepsechoingonthefloor.Hethrewhisarmsaroundmyknees.“IthoughtIsawyou.Youcamehomeearly!Arewegoinghuntingtoday?”

“Not yet,” I said, ruffling his fine blond hair and trying to choke backmyguilt. “I have a visitor.Oliver,thisisViolet.”Hiseyeswidenedatthesiteofher,remindingmeofthewayVioletcaptivatedthecrowdsatthetheater.Shedidhavesomethingspecialabouther.

“She’smycousin,”IliedasVioletsanktoherkneesandheldoutherhand.

“Helo,littleman,”shesaid,givingOliverabigsmile.

ButOlivercontinuedtostareather,notmovingamuscle.Hisfacesubtlychangedfromasenseofwondertohesitation.Couldhesomehowsensehernewnature?BackinVirginia,ourhorseswouldalwaysbecomeuneasywhenKatherinewasintheirmidst.Butcouldthesameapplytochildren?

“Isshegoinghuntingwithus?”Oliverasked,nottakinghiseyesoffViolet.

“No,I’msorry,shecan’t,”Isaidbriefly,hopinghewouldn’tpushforanexplanation.

“Canyouatleastcometodinner?We’vemissedyou,Stefan!”

“Yes.Whydon’tyourunupandletMrs.DuckworthknowthatVioletandIarehere?We’lseeyousoon.”Olivernodded,butdidn’tmove.

“Goon!” I urged. I hadn’twanted theAbbotts tomeetViolet. I’dwantedher todie inpeace.But Ididn’twanttoarousesuspicion,andnowwe’dhavetoattenddinnerandpretendthateverythingwasin order. Already, Violet’s skin had taken on a ghastly pal or, a clear indication that death wasworkingitswaythroughherbody.Whoknewhowmuchworseshe’dbeinanhour?Timewasoftheessence,andIfeltterriblethatIwasmakingherspendherlastfewhourslivingalie.

“Yes,Stefan,”Oliversaid,trudgingoutthedoorandupthestonewalktothehouse.

“Wehavetogotodinner,”Isaid.“I’msorry.”

“No,that’sokay,”Violetsaid.Shelookeddrawnandoverwhelmed,andguilttwistedinmystomach.Maybeshe’dfindsomesmalcomfortatthefarmhouse.AtleastIcouldhope.

“I’mgoing to tel themthatyou’remysecondcousin,” Iexplainedas I ledherup thewindingpathtowardthelargebrickmanorhouse.“WemetinLondonandI invitedyoutothecountryforafewdays. Does that sound okay?”Violet nodded. Shewas stil licking her lips and I couldn’t help butnotice how large her pupils were becoming. She was wel into the transition, cresting to the peakwhereherverybeingwasfightingtosurviveinanywaypossible,evenifthatmeantdrinkingblood.

“Stefan!”Georgebelowedasweenteredthefoyer.ItwasclearOliverhadrelayedmymessage,andhe’dbeenexpectingus.George’spaunchwasstrainingagainsthiswaistcoat,andhisfacewasredderthanever.“You’rehereintimefordinner.AndIwasworriedyou’dbesocaughtupbythecitythatyou’dnevercomebacktothecountry.ButIseeyoucamehome!Andwithcompany!”headded,hisgazeflickingcuriouslytowardViolet.

“Sir,”Isaidquickly,mystomachtwistingonthewordhome.“Iinvitedmycousin,Violet,toexploreourtown.Iamsorryfortheshortnotice.”

“I heard somuch about this place and I felt I had to come,”Violet said, playing her part like theactressshewas.Shecurtseyedprettily.

“CousinViolet,”Georgemurmured.“Enchanted,mydarling,”hesaid,bowingslightlyather.

Thethreeofuswalkedintotheparlor.Icouldsmelaroastbeingpreparedinthekitchen,andIlovedhow familiar and simplemy surroundings seemed. Luke andOliver were on the floor, playing agame of dominos, Emma was rocking a dol in her arms, and Gertrude was working on herneedlepoint, an exquisitely crafted flower scene. Nothing had changed here, and yet, for me,everythinghad.

“HowwasLondon?”Georgeboomed, catchingmyeyeashecrossedover to thedrinkcart in thecornerandpouredadarkamberliquidintotwoglasses.

“Itwasfine,”Isaidshortly.“Loud.”

“Icanimagine.Andwheredidyoustay?Withyourrelations,the—”

“Burnses,”Violetsaidquickly.“I’mVioletBurns.”Iwatchedher.Werehereyestoobright,herfacetoopale?Icouldn’ttel.

“Hewasn’ttoomuchtrouble,washe?”Georgeteased.

Igrimacedinternaly.Theyhadnoideathat troublefolowedmeeverywhere.“No,hewaslovely,”Violetsaidfinaly,asifshe’dbeencoached.

Afond smile crossedGeorge’s face. “OurStefanhas that effectonpeople.And I’msohappyyouhaverelationsnearby.Amanshouldn’thavetofendforhimselfintheworld,”hesaid,catchingmyeyeasheraisedhisglassintheair.“Tofamily,”hesaid,tippingittowardme.

“Tofamily,”Imurmured,nursingmyowndrink.AsilencefelintheroomandIwasaltoorelievedwhenMrs.Duckworthcameintotheparlortoannouncethattheroastwasready.

Violetlickedherlipsasshestoodupandsmoothedherskirts.She’dbeendoingitobsessively,andmy heart went out to her. I knew that shewas experiencing her first pangs of real, soul-crushinghungerthatcouldn’tbequenchedwithanymortalmeal.

“Violet,darling,sithere,”Gertrudesaid,guidingViolettoaseatnexttoheratthelargecherrywoodtable.“Youlookhalf-starved,whichisunderstandable.I’msurethefoodtheyserveonthosetrainsisappaling!”Shecluckedsympatheticaly.

“I’msorry,”Violetsaiddistantly.“Idon’tfeelverywel.”

“Wel,haveabitetoeat,andthenifyouneedtohavealiedown,goaheadanddoit.Agoodmeal,somecountryair,andyou’lbegoodasnew,”Gertrudesaidinherloving,maternalway.

Wesettled,andIwatchedasMrs.Duckworthcut the roast.A trickleofbloodoozedfromthemeatwitheachcut,andIsawVioletleanforward,herblueeyesshining.

“Hereyougo,dear,”Mrs.Duckworthsaid,putting twoslicesonherplate.Withoutwaiting for therestofthefamilytobeserved,orhelpingherselftothepotatoes,beans,androlssetinheapingbowlsonthetable,Violetdugin.Shebarelyusedherutensilsassheshoveledthemeatintohermouth.

“Youmusthave been hungry,” Gertrude tril ed as she stood up to help Luke cut his meat. Luke,perhapstakingacuefromViolet,wasforgoinghisknifeinfavorofstabbinghissliceofmeatwithhisfork.

“Idon’tknowwhatcameoverme,”Violetsaid,dabbinghermouthwithhernapkin.Hergazewasstilonthemeat.Asilencehungintheroom.

“Just thebriskcountryair,”Gertrude repeated,anedge tohervoice. Iknew that theAbbottscouldsensesomethingwaswrong,buttheycouldn’tputtheirfingersonit.Idesperatelywantedthemtolikeher,andforViolettofindthesametypeofpeaceonthefarmthatI’dfound.Butofcourse,Violetfeltconfusedandfamished.Damonornot,maybeitwouldhavebeenbetterifshe’ddiedsurroundedbythemarqueelightsoftheWestEnd.

“HaveyoualwayslivedinLondon,dear?”Gertrudeasked,obviouslygivingVioletthebenefitofthedoubt.

“I’moriginalyfromIreland,”Violetsaid,hermouthfuloffood.LukeandOliverwerewatchingherwithfascination.

“Ireland.”Georgeclearedhisthroat.“IthoughtyourrelationswerefromItaly,Stefan.”

“Theywereonmy father ’s side.There’s some Irishbloodonmymother ’s side,” I lied. IfDamoncouldreinventhimselfasacountoraduke,IcouldinventsomeIrishrelatives.

“Ah,”Georgesaid,slicingintohisownmeat.“Wel,inanycase,it’slovelytohaveyouhere,Violet.Considerourhouseyourhouse.”

“You’re too kind,” Violet murmured, her eyes frantical y darting around the table, desperatelylookingforsomethingtosatiateherhunger.Eventhoughtherewasnothingthatcould.

Justthen,EmmapuledtimidlyonthesleeveofViolet’sdress.

Violetglanceddown,herwaryexpressionchangingintoawidesmile.“Why,helothere,littledear,”Violetsaidgently.

“Hi,”Emmasaid,immediatelyputtingherthumbinhermouthandlookingaway.

“Now,Emma,canyouproperlyintroduceyourselftoMissViolet?”

IwatchedEmmanervously. Iwas stilwaryof thewayOliver had stared atViolet.Was somethingapparentaboutViolettothechildrenthatwasn’ttotheirparents?

“I’mEmma,”shesaidsolemnly,beforestickingherthumbbackinhermouth.

Violetsmiled,suddenlylookingmuchstrongerthanshehadbefore.

“Hel o, Emma. I’m Violet. And you’re very pretty. When I first saw you, do you know what Ithought?”

“No.”Emmashookherhead.

“I thought, that girlmust be a fairy princess.There’s noway she couldbe a human.She’s far toolovely.Areyouaprincess?”Violetasked.

Withoutsayinganything,EmmaclambereduponViolet’slap.Violetbouncedherupanddownonherknee.

“Ithinkyoufoundanewfriend,”Gertrudesaid,clearlycharmedbyEmma’sworshipofViolet.

“IthinkIhave,too,andI’mmostthankfulforit,”Violetsaid,hereyesshining.“Ihaveasisteraboutheragebackhome;hernameisClare.Imissherverymuch.AndthenofcourseIhaveanothersister,Cora.She’sinLondon,”Violetsaid,hereyestakingonalongingexpression.

“Itmustbehardtobesofaraway.WhatbroughtyoutoLondon?”Georgeasked.Emma’sfondnesshadbrokenanyice,andnowtheAbbottswerebehavingasifVioletwasjustonemoreslightlyoldermemberoftheirbrood.

“Wel,IthoughtI’dbeanactress,”Violetadmitted.

“Wel , you stil can. You’re how old? Seventeen?”Gertrude asked as she patted the corner of hermouthwithherwhitelinennapkin.

Violetnodded.“Yes,IsupposeIcouldbe,”shesaid,sighing.Throughtheentireconversation,she’dbeen eating ravenously, almost faster thanMrs. Duckworth could refil her plate. Luke andOliverwerewatchinginadmiration,clearlyinaweofherappetite.Afteral,they’doftentriedtohaveeatingcompetitionsinthepast,onlytobeadmonishedbyMrs.Duckworthwithasharpraptotheirknuckles.

“Wel,Stefan,yourfamilyislovely,justlikeI’dimagine.It’sasmyhusbandsaid,familytrulyisthemostimportantthinginlife,”Gertrudesaid,herinteligentblueeyesshining.

“Iagree,”Isaidthickly.

Violet finalyputdownher forkandslumpedover, restingherelbowson the table.Hereyeswereglassyandherfacewasghostlywhite.

“Areyoualright,dear?”Gertrudeasked,pushingbackherchair.Hurriedly,Mrs.Duckworthracedovertoassisther.

“She’sfine.She’sjusthadalongday.WeleftLondonquiteearly,”Isaidfranticaly,wonderingifthis

wasthebeginningoftheend.

“Ofcourse.Wel,Icanhavetheguestroompreparedif...”

Violetsatupandtookafewdeepbreaths.Awarealeyeswereonher,shesmoothedbackherauburnhairandsatramrodstraight.Hersmilewasfrozenintoagrimace.Italmusthavebeenexcruciatingtoher.“Iapologize.I’mquitealright,thankyou,”shesaid,hervoicestrongandsteady.

Iplacedmyownnapkinnext tomyplate and stoodup tohelpViolet.Sheneeded tobealone, andquickly.

“Ithinkwe’lgoforawalk.Asyousaid,theairwildousgood,”Isaid,pulingViolet’schairbackandofferinghermyarm.Shewasabouttodie,andIcouldn’thavethathappenintheManor.I’dcomeupwith something to tel theAbbotts later—that she’d decided to head back to London to see herdoctor, and that she sent her regards. After twenty years of lying, I’d learned to think of al theeventualities.

Oliverstirredimpatientlyattheendofthetable.“Canwegohunting?Please?I’vebeenpracticingaldayandyoupromised.Violetcancomewithus!”

“Oliver!”Gertrudeadmonished.“Stefanwilbeentertaininghiscousin.”

“Anothertime,Oliver,”Isaid,pattinghishead.“Justkeepworkingonyouraimandyou’lbeabletoteachmesomethingwhenwegoout,”Isaid.

Violetsmiledslightly,andIfeltanotherheavydoseofregret.Accidentornot,I’dledhertoDamon.Becauseofme,Violetwouldneverhavea familyofherown.“Thankyouverymuchfora lovelymeal,”Isaid.IheldmyhandoutforVioletandthetwoofuswalkedintotheafternoonlight.

Therewasachilintheair,andIrealizedhowcloseweweretofal.ThelongerIlived,themoreIbecameawareofhowquicklytheseasonschanged.SometimesIfeltlikeonehadbarelybegunbeforewewere on to the next—so unlikewhen I was a human,when a summer seemed to stretch for alifetime.ItwasjustoneofthemilionsoftinylossesthatIendured,thatVioletwouldn’thaveto.

“Idon’tknowwhatcameovermeatdinner,”Violetconfessedas I ledherup therock-strewnpaththroughtheglen.IthoughtitwouldbenicetoheadtoIvinghoeBeacon.Itwasthetalestspotintheparish, talereven than the largewaterwheel thatchurned in theChilternRiver topower theminesdownbelow.

Wewalked companionably through the glittering green glen,which seemedmore alive than ever.Sparrowschirped,chipmunksandsquirrelsrattledinthedenseshrubbery,andIcouldhearthesoundofthebrookrushingtowardBilburyCreek.

Violetstoppedmid-step.

“Areyoual right?” Iaskeddelicately. It seemeda terriblequestion toask.Ofcourseshewasn’talright.

Violet shook her head. “I’lmiss everything,” she said, spreading her handswide as if to take thewholeviewin.

Isawhershouldersriseandfal,heardaslightgaspescapeherlips.Butshedidn’tcry.

Igrabbedherhand.TherewasnothingIcouldsay,sowecontinuedwalkingupthehil,untilthegrassturned rougher, the rocks larger, and the air slightly thinner.Wewalked throughadense forest ofevergreentreesuntil themomentIwaswaitingfor—whenthetreesclearedandalthatwasleftwas

blue skyabove, andEngland sprawlingdownbelow. Itwasoneofmy favorite spots in theworld,secondonlytothefaredgeofthepropertyofmychildhoodhomeinVirginiawherethepondmettheforest.

“Thankyoufortakingmehere,”shesaidfinaly.Sheputherhandonherheart.“Oh,Stefan!”shecaledoutinanguish.

“Shhh,” I said, pul ing her close. I wasn’t sure how else I could comfort her. Around us, birdscontinued to chirp and the autumn air ruffled her skirts. But inside, I knew she was weakening.“Shhh,”Isaidagain.

Sheburiedherfaceinherhandsagainstmychest.Iheldherasshesobbed,eachshudderofhersatwistinmyheart.Finaly,shepriedherfingersoffandlookedatmewithsuchapiercinggazethatIsteppedback.

“Whyme?”sheasked,hereyessearchingmyface.

“It’smyfault.Ifyouhadn’tmetme,thisneverwouldhavehappened,”Isaidmiserably.

Violetshookherhead.“OrmaybeI’dbedeadinaLondonditch.Youweremyfriend.Youshowedmetheworld.IfIhavetodie,atleastIhadthosedaysofmagic,”shesaidshyly.

“Thankyou,”Isaid.I thoughtbacktowhenwemet.TherewasnowayIwouldhaveeverforgivenmyselfifI’djustwalkedawaywhenAlfredyeledatherinthetavern.“That’sverykind.ButpleaseknowIonlydidwhatanyonewoulddo,Violet.”

“Idon’tbelievethat,”shesaidfirmly.“You’reatruefriend.”

“Andyouare,too.I’lalwaysrememberyou.”

AslowsmilecrossedViolet’sface.“You’lalwaysrememberme?Evenintwohundredyears?”

“Yes,” I replied. I had no doubt. I wanted good memories of Violet, wanted to remember thecourageous resolveshe’dshowneven in the faceofherowndeath.“You’reone inamil ion.Andyou’re someone I couldnever, ever forget.”Gratitudegleamed inViolet’s eyes. “Thankyou,” shesaidinasmalvoice.“MayIaskyouafavor?”Inodded.IknewifIspoke,myvoicewouldcrack,andIdidn’twanttocryinfrontofViolet.Ididn’twanthertoknowhowterrifiedIwas.

“Couldyou...kissme?”shewhispered,embarrassed.“It’sjustthatI’veneverhadaproperkiss.AndIdon’twanttodiewithouteverbeingkissed.Please?”

Once again, I foundmy heart breaking for this girl. She had so much life left to live. I nodded,graspinghertiny,delicatehandandpulingherintome.Ileaneddownandalowedmylipstograzehersinasweet,innocentkiss.

Violetbrokethekissandshylymetmygaze.

“Thankyou,”shesaid.“Thatwasperfect.”

“Don’tthankme,”Imumbled.Inthatmoment,IfeltsomethingasclosetopeaceasI’dfeltinyears.

Iglancedattheskytoavoidlookingather.Cloudswererolingintowardtheriverdownbelow,andIknewitwouldonlybeamatteroftimebeforetheheavensopenedup.

I hurriedViolet down the hilwithout a backward glance. The rainwould come soon, causing thegroundstosparklewithcondensation.Ilovedrainstorms,theirabilitytowasheverythingawayandmakeeverythingsmelcleanandinnocent.Ionlywishedtheraincouldwashawaymysins.

Chapter16When Iwas growingup, kissingwas a game thatwe started to playwhenwe found tag to be toochildlike. Itwas a diversion, anamusement, and caused our hearts to race at an otherwise boringpicnic.I’dsharedkisseswithClementineHaverford,AmeliaHawke,RosalynCartwright,andallmyotherchildhoodplaymates.Kissingwaspleasant,butneverlife-changing.

Butthen,IkissedKatherinePierce,andnothingwaseverthesame.ItwasasifthoseotherkissesweremereshadowsoftheecstasyI feltwhenKatherine’s lipswerenearmine.WhenIwassurroundedbyherheadyscentoflemonandginger,Iwasguidedpurelybyinstinct.Iwoulddoanythingforakiss.

And,ofcourse, itwas thatunquenchabledesire thathadchangedmyentire life.Katherinewas likeHelenofTroy,launchinganeternityofdestruction.Andyet,IknewthatifIeverdidfindmyselfclosetodeath,IwouldclosemyeyesandimagineKatherine’slipsbrushingmine.

Violet wanted something I couldn’t give her. Shewanted love, and all I hadwasmy affection. Butmaybethatwasbetterthandesire.Desire,afterall,wastheverythingthatkilledme.

Inautumn,thickraincloudsoftenhunglowintheIvinghoesky,castingtheentirefarminagloomy,dusklikefognomatterwhatthetimeofday.

Todaywasnoexception.Thebeautifulmorninghadgivenwaytoaneveningheavywiththepromiseofrainandinthesemidarknessofmycabin,IwaswatchingVioletgrowweakerandweaker.Here,itwasjustusandDeath,apowerfulthirdpartyinmyvigiloverViolet.

“Please,Stefan!”Violetsaid,thrashingfromsidetosideasshewoke.Ihastilydippedacompressinwaterandhelditagainstherforehead.Mykneeswerestiff,andIknewImusthavebeensittinginthesamepositionforhours,butIdidn’twanttoleavehersideforevenaninstant.Icouldn’ttelwhetherher screams were the result of a fever dream or a sign that she was returning to a hazy half-consciousness.

Violet’seyes,whentheyopened,werecloudyasunshakenmilk.Shesquinted,tryingtofocusonme.

“Stefan,please!Pleasejustkilme.Enditnow,”shegasped,herbreathingsoundinglikearustysawcutting againstmetal.Whitish froth had col ected at the corners of hermouth and her armswerecoveredwithscratchesfromwhenshe’dclawedatherskininhersleep,asifwantingtoescapeherownbody.I’dstoppedherasbestIcould,butshestillookedlikeshe’drunthroughabramblepatch.Now,shenolongerhadenergytothrash,andalshecouldfocusonwasblinkingandbreathing.

Ishookmyheadduly.IwishedIcoulddowhatsheaskedofme—toendheragonyandbringherpeace.Butnomatterhowmuchshebegged,Icouldn’tbringmyselftodoit.I’dpromisedtomyselfoverandoveragainthatI’dneverkilanotherhuman.Itwasselfish,perhaps,butalIcoulddowastrytomakehercomfortableinherlastmoments.

“Please!”shecried,hervoiceahalf-shriek.Anowlhootedin thedistance.Nighttimewaswhenthecreaturesoftheforestcameout.Icouldsmeltheirbloodandheartheirheartbeats.AndwhileVioletcouldn’thearthemasprofoundlyasIdid,Iknewshecouldsensetheirpresenceaswel.

“Soonyou’lbesomewherebetter,” I said,hopinguponhope that Iwas tel ingher the truth.“Soonyou’lbeatpeace.AnditwilbebetterthanhereorLondon—betterthanIreland,even.ItwilbebetterthananywhereyouorIcouldimagine.”

“Stefan, it hurts,”Violet said, thrashing against the bed frame and throwing the bedclothes on the

floor.Sheopenedhereyesagain.

“Shhh—”Isaid,reachingtowardherarm.Butsheyankedawayfromme,swungherfeetdown,andracedtowardthedoor,atangleofbedclothesmoppingthefloorbehindher.

“Violet!”Isprangup,mychairfalingbehindmewithaclatter.Quickly,Violetloosenedthelatchandfledintothenight.Thedoorslammedshut.

Iimmediatelyranafterher.Ilookedthiswayandthat,mysensesquicklyacclimatingtotheoutdoors.Theairwaspitchblack,andthetreessurroundingthecottage,usualysocozy,mademerealizeshecouldbeanywhere.

Isniffedtheair,suddenlysharpwiththesmelofblood,andracedtowardthesource.

“Violet!”Icaledintothenight,awareandnotcaringthattheAbbottscouldhearme.Ineededtofindher.Ihoppedoverthewirefenceofthechickencoop.

There,kneeling,herdress,face,andhandsspatteredwithblood,wasViolet.Adeadchickenwasinherlap,itsnecksnapped,bloodoozingfromagashonitsthroat.BloodwasrunningdownViolet’sface,andherteeth,stilnormal,gleamedinthemoonlight.

Suddenly,sheleanedoverandbegantoretch.Herentirebodywassoakedinsweat,andIcouldn’ttelifshewasdyingorreviving.

“I’msosorry!”shesaid,herfacestainedwithtears.“Ididn’tmeantodoit.”Violet’sguiltwasoneIknewaltoowel.Wordlessly,Itookherbythehand,puledherup,andledherbacktothecabin.Iclosedthedoorandturnedtowardher.Herbodywasperchedontheedgeofthebed,bloodstainsinherhairandonthebodiceofherdress,herexpressionmiserable.

“Areyoumadatme?”sheaskedinatinyvoice.

Ishookmyheadsilentlyandhelpedherliedown,tuckingherunderthecrispwhitelinensheetsandopeningthewindow,hopingthatthefalaircouldprovidesomesolace.

“Iwassohungry,”shesaidinasmalvoice.“Istilam.”

“Iknow,”Isaid.Thechickenbloodwouldn’tdoanything.Toturn,avampireneededhumanblood.“Iknowit’shard.AndIknowyou’resuffering,”Isaidhelplessly.Shenodded,adropofchickenbloodstil lingering on the corner of hermouth. “But remember, you’re going someplace better. I trulybelievethat.AndIknowitwilbepainful,butafterpaincomespeace.”

IsupposeIalsohopedthatformysakeaswel.Afteral,Ihadcreatedthis.Mymindkeptplayingthesame tug-of-war over and over again. The logical part of my brain told me that this could havehappenedwhetherornotI’dbeeninvolved.Afteral , ifVioletandIhadnevermet,shemighthavebeenkickedouttothestreet.Shecouldhavebeenfoundbyanyone.

Orshemightbeonthebrinkofalong,happylife.

“Stefan,I...”Violetsaid,breathingheavilywitheveryword.

“It’salright.Goandfindpeace,”Isaid.Itwasthegood-byeI’dnevergivenCalie.Now,IknewthatthebestthingIcoulddowasletVioletknowitwasokaytogo.

“But...I...”Violetsaid,herbreathlaboringwitheachword.Ileanedinclosertohear,myearjustinchesawayfromhermouth,whenalofasudden,Iheardaterrible,otherworldlyshriekpiercingthenightair.

Butitwasn’tViolet.ItwascomingfromtheManor.

ItoremygazeawayfromVioletandrusheduptothehouse,fearingtheworst.

Chapter17TheManorwaspitch-black,andtherewasnosignofanyone,notevenMrs.Duckworth,whooftenkeptlatehoursknittingbycandlelight.Therewasn’tevenalanternlightingtheporch,andIfeltmystomachsink.Somethingwasvery,verywrong.

“Helo?”Icaled,myvoicewavering.“Who’shere?”Icaledagain,wishingI’drememberedtograbagunbeforeI’druntothehouse.“Showyourself!”Iyeled,louderthanever,myvoiceechoingoffthestoneentranceway.

Silence.Damonmusthavefoundus.

Then, Iheardaslightcry. Itwasso faint, I thought Imightbe imagining things. Icockedmyheadagain.Definitelyanoise.

“I’mcoming!”Icaled.Iftherewassound,itwasasignoflife.Iquicklyspedthroughthelabyrinthofrooms,myeyesadjustingtothedimlight,untilIcameintotheparlor.

There, the entireAbbott familywas huddled in the corner, Luke aswhite as a ghost. Georgewasclutchingapoker,hiseyeswild,andGertrudehadfaintedonthefloor.Emma,thesourceofthenoise,wascryingoverhermother.Buttheywerealive.

“I’mhere.It’sStefan.You’resafe,”Isaidtothefamily,eventhoughmyheartwaspoundinginterroragainstmychest.Damoncouldbeanywhere.Hewasprobablyrightbehindme,laughingatme.He’dconcoctedthisscenepurelytofrightenme,toshowmethathewasn’tscaredofKlausbecausehe’dbecomeKlaus.Hecouldcommithorrificactsofbloodshedwithoutblinkinganeye.

“Stefan?”Georgesaidincredulously,hisvoicedrippingwithfear.

“Yes.You’lbesafe.Ipromise,”Isaid,myeyesdartingaroundtheroom.Themanyportraitsseemedtobeleeringdownatme.ButtherewasnosignofDamon.

Suddenly, Iheardanoiseandwhirledaround.Assoonasmybackwas turned,Georgesprangup,lungingtowardmewiththepoker.Acrazedlookwasonhisfloridface.

“Traitor!Youstolemyson!”Georgeyeled,swingingtheironpokerwildlythroughtheairasifitwereasword.Iduckedeasily,horrordawningonmeasItookinthefamily.WherewasOliver?

“Sir!No!Iwasdownatthefarmhouse!Itwasmybrother,Damon.Whereishe?Didyouseewherehewent?”IaskeddesperatelyasIcontinuedtoduckhisblows.

I felt something jump on my back. I spun around and realized Luke had clamped himself to myshouldersandwaskickinghislegsintomylungs.

“Youtookmybrother!”heshrieked,pummelinghisfeet intomyback.Istruggledagainsthisgrip.Emmawascryingloudlynow,tearsstreamingdownherface.

“Fiend!Youshaldie!”Georgeroared,lungingtowardmeinthedarkness.

“Itwasn’tme!” Iyeled futilely. I shruggedLukeoffmyback.He fel to the floorwitha sickeningthump, and Iused themomentGeorge turned to tend tohim tohurryoutof thehouseand into thedarkness, confidentmyvampire senseswouldgivemeahead start.But Iknew Ididn’thavemuchtime.Georgewouldruntoaneighboringfarmforhelp,andsoonthere’dbeanentiremoblookingforme.

Butrightnow,Icouldn’tworryaboutthat.Oliverwaskidnapped.Andavampirewasontheloose.I’d

beensetup,justlikeIhadwhenMarthahadbeenfoundinthealeybehindtheTenBels.Fearfloodedmy body as I realized the connection. Oliver had been taken for a reason, and I’d left Violetunattended and vulnerable. Hewas going to get to her and force the choice she’d fought so hardagainst.Oliverwouldbethesacrificiallamb.

Iwasjustapawninmybrother ’sgame,andthistime,hewastrulyplayingforblood.

“Damon!”Iyeledagainintothedarkness.Isniffedtheair,feelingtheurgetoretchwhenIsmeledthe familiar iron scent al around, envelopingme. “Damon!”My feet flew towardmy cabin, and Ipushedagainstthedoorwithalmymight.

Iblinkedinhorror.

In the center of the floor wasViolet, leaning down over Oliver, taking large sips from a gapingwoundonhisneck.Bloodwastricklingontothefloorinadark,deeppool.

“Oliver!”Icaledhelplessly.Violetturnedaround,hernewlyformedfangsglisteningwithblood,ablankexpressiononherface.Sheleaneddown,buryingherfacebackinOliver ’sneck.

“No!”IlungedtowardthemandattemptedtograbOliverfromhergrasp.Thelittleboy’sbodywaslimpandlifeless,andIcouldn’thearaheartbeat.Buthistinybodywasn’tentirelydrainedofblood.Notyet.Violetpuledhimawayfrommyhandsandbroughthisnecktoherlips.

Justthen,Iheardthedoorclickshut.Iturned,readytofightmybrother.

Only itwasn’tDamon.Framed in thedoorwaywasSamuel,hishairblondand lionlikearoundhisface,hiswhiteshirtandtantrousersimpeccablypressed.Iblinked.SoSamuelwasoneofDamon’sfootsoldiersaswel.Ofcourse.Ifeltthehatredformybrotherdeepening.

“Whereishe?”Igrowled,myhandsflexingintofists.IwouldmakeSamuelpay,butfirst,IneededhimtoleadmetoDamon.

“Sothisisyourcountryestate,Stefan,”Samuelsaid,unwindinghisbowtieanddrapingitoverthebackofachairandsittingdownasifhewerepayingasimplesocialcal.

“Where’sDamon?”Irepeated.

“Idon’tknow.”Samuelshrugged,crossingonelegoverhiskneeandleaningbackonhischair.“AndIdon’tcare.Icameherelookingforyou.

OurtimeinLondonwassorushed,Ifeltthatyouhardlygottoknowmeatal ,”hesaid,archingablondeyebrow.

“You’renothereforDamon?”

“Yourbrother?”heaskedlazily, lickinghis lips.“Nothardly.AsIsaid,Ihavenoideawhereheis.Nor do I care.What real y matters is where people thinkDamon is,” Samuel said, a smal smileplayingonhislips.

“Whatdoyoumean?”Iasked,myheadspinning.Icouldn’tstopstaringatthestoneonhisnecklace,andthemoreIstaredatit,themorebewitchedIfeltbyit.

“ImeanthatDamon...or,I’msorry,CountDeSangue,maysoonhaveanothersoubriquet.Ihopehelikesthesoundof‘JacktheRipper.’”SamuelroseandstalkedtowardViolet,whowasstilcrouchedoverOliver.Sheseemedunsurewhether todiveback inandfeedagain.Samuelstoodabove them,andforasecond,IwonderedifSamuelwouldsnapViolet’sneck,too,simplytoshowhispower.But

hedidn’t.Instead,hishandrestedgentlyonthetopofViolet’shead.

“I think you could be useful,” hemused to himself. “Yes, I think you havewhat it takes. Hunger,certainly,”hesaidasVioletloweredherheadtodrinkasifinatrance.Thenheturnedtowardme.

“Where’sDamon?”Iasked,myvoiceshaking.“Ishe...”

“Dead?”Samuel letoutaharsh laughthatsoundedlikeabark.“Whatwouldpossiblybe thefuninthat?Icanpromiseyou,he’snotdead.Icameupwithanotherplanforhim.SinceIknowhowmuchhecravesthespotlight,IfoundawayforhimtobesplashedalovertheLondonpapers.

He’sabouttobeknownasLondon’smostnotoriouskiler.They’rereceivinganeyewitnesssketchofhimaswespeak.Andthat’sjustthebeginning.Ithinkhe’llikethat,don’tyou?”

“You’retheRipper,”Irealized,everythingclickingintoplace.SamuelhadmurderedMaryAnnandattackedMartha.AndSamuelintendedtoframeDamonforthemurders.WhichmeantthatSamuelhadwrittenthewarningmessageinthepark.

Isteppedback,mybodyslammingagainstthewal.I’dcorneredmyself.

“IwanttodestroyDamon.Anddeathwouldbefartooeasy,”Samuelhissed,steppinguptomeandlayingonehandoneachshoulder.“SoIwilmakehimpayfirst.I’ltakehimawayfromtheLondonsocietyhelovessomuchandruintheimageheenjoysmaintaining.Thatwastheplan,andthat’swhatshalbecarriedout,”Samuelexplained,hisfacenowinchesawayfrommine.“Whenyoucamealong,Ididn’thavequiteasmuch time toplotyourpunishment.But I’mquitepleasedbywhat Icameupwith.Iruinedthefamilyyoulovedsomuchandblameditonyou.Igotyourgirltocometothedarkside...IthinkIdidratherwel,”Samuelsaid,smiling.

“Whyareyoudoingthistous?Whathaveweeverdonetoyou?”Iasked,tryingtoplacatehimbynotstruggling.Mymindwaswhirling.Icouldjusthearthesoundofshoutinginthedistance,andknewitwouldn’tbelongbeforeanangrymobsurroundedthecabin.

“Youdidenough.AndIdon’trealyfeellikegivingyouahistorylesson.Butspeakingofbrothers,Ido know that you hurt mine. And I think that alone makes a rather strong case against us beingfriends,don’tyouagree?”heasked.Hissmilewasdangerous,andIknewhewasabouttopounce.Iclosedmy eyes, gatheredmy strength, and charged toward him, hoping the surprise ofmy actionwouldcatchhimoffguard.

Butquickerthanlightning,hewrestledmetothegrounduntilIwaspinnedunderneathhim.Withhisfaceonlyinchesfrommine,Icouldsmelhumanbloodonhisbreath.

I twisted free and scrambled backward.He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere al at once, andsuddenly,Icaughtthewhiffofsomethingburning.Ourscufflehadupsetatable,andanoverturnedcandlehadstartedafire,theflameslickingthedrypinewals.ThelightfromtheflamesdancedonSamuel’sangularface.Oureyeslockedforamoment,andafaintsmilecrossedSamuel’slips.Thenhelungedtowardme,catchingmeunawareashepushedmetowardthehearth.Ifelontomyknees.

“Getout,”SamuelbarkedtoViolet,whorantowardthedoor, leavingOliver ’slifelessbodyontheground.

“You’velivedforfartoolong,”hesaid,quicklygrabbingachairandsnappingitoverhiskneeasifitwerea twig.Hestoodoverme,eachfootoneithersideofmywaist,onehandholdingabrokenchairlimb,readyforittoserveasastake.

Butinsteadofdrivingitintomychest,heglancedatmeindisgust,thenspitontomyface.

“You’renotworthkiling;that’stooeasy,”Samuelmuttered,almosttohimself.“Iwantyoutosuffer.Youdeserveit.Infact,that’stheonlythingyoudeserve.”

Iclosedmyeyes,notbotheringtofight.Instead,IalowedmymindtoconjureupCalie.Sweet,fierceCalie,withredhairandfreckledskinandmischievouseyes.IknewthiswouldbethelasttimeIsawher,eveninmyimagination.Shewassurelyinheaven,andIwouldsoonbeboundforhel.

WithSamuel’sswiftmotion,painwaseverywhere.Thestakehaddriventhroughmychest,butmissedmyheart.Painradiatedfromthewoundtomyhands,myfeet,mybrain.

“Enjoyhel,”Samuelsaidwithalaugh.Thenhesweptoutthedoor,leavingmeinthefire-filedcabin,aprecursortowhatIknewwastobemyfinalrestingplace.

Chapter18Whendeathisinevitable,thepassageoftimebothquickensandslows.IthadhappenedthefirsttimeIdied,whenIfeltabuletripthroughmybody,andIfeltitnow.Ifelttheheatfromtheflamesthatracedalongtheperimeterofthecabin.Ifeltpainpulsinginmygut.Ifelttrapped,unabletowigglethestakemorethanafewinchesinanydirection.ButwhatIalsofeltwasregret,anger,sorrow,andrelief.Ittrulywasasifalifetimewerepassingbeforemyeyes.

Orrather,bothmylifetimes.

Ihadn’taccomplishedverymuch,eitherasahumanoravampire.WhatI’daccomplishedwasdeath.AndasmuchasIfeltIwasbetterthanDamon,wasI,realy?Forintheend,wewerebothvampires.We both had a trail of destruction fol owing us. And Iwas so tired. I was tired of fightingwhennothing seemed to work out. I was tired of hurting. And I was tired of always being a puppet inDamon’sgames.Wewerenolongerchildren,thegameshadbeendeadlyforfartoolong,andmaybemydeathwastheonlythingthatwouldendourwar.Ifso,Iembracedit.Iwasreadytobeconsumedbyaneternityofflames.ThatwouldbemorepeacefulthanthelifeI’dbeenliving.

Thefirewastakingitstime,dancingalongtheseambetweenthewalandfloorboardsasifitwereacautiousbeauatabal . Iwatched,entranced.Theflamesweremadeupofredandblueandorangeand,fromadistance,theyremindedmeofthebriliantfalleavesthatwouldsoondotAbbottManor.I’dneverseethatagain.

Pleasedon’tkillthem,Ithought,thinkingoftherestoftheAbbottfamily,frightened,grieving,andsoterribly, terriblybetrayed. Itwasahabit, thinkingotherscould readmy thoughts. Ithad sometimesworkedwithDamonandme,butthathadonlybeenbecauseourclosenessasbrothersmeantweoftencouldguesswhatwasoneachothers’minds. IdoubtedSamuel and Iwereonany sortof familiarwavelengththatwouldalowhimtoreceiveamessagelikethatfromme.Notthatitmattered.Hearingitwouldonlyfurtherencouragehisthirstforblood.

Ididn’tcareaboutmyownlife,butIfeltatinytugofloyaltytowardViolet,whowasnowoffwithSamuel somewhere.Shewas a brand-newvampire, surely confused andoverwhelmed.Sheneededguidance.Andnotthekindacold-heartedkilerwouldgiveher.

Itriedtomovemyarm,desperatetopulthestakeout.Arenewedvigorsurgedthroughmylimbs.Iwasn’treadytodie.NotuntilIcouldsaveVioletfrombecomingamonster.Iowedherthatmuchaftershewasdeniedherchoice.Itriedtotearthestakefrommychestasflamescamecloserandclosertomybody.Iheardthesoundofthedoorcreak,andIarchedintothepain,readytoconfrontmyfate.

“He’sinhere!”Itwasagirl’svoice.

MyeyessnappedopenandIsawViolet’ssister,Cora,herredhairflamingaroundherfaceanddarkcirclesunderhereyes.Herpendantswungbackandforthfromherchest,momentarilymesmerizingme.Iclosedmyeyesagain.JustonemorepersonIprobablycouldn’tsave.WhenIwasdesperatetogetVioletoutofDamon’sclutches,IhadabandonedCora.

“I’msorry,”Iwhisperedtothedream-image.

Butthen,Ifeltlightnessinmychest,fromwherethechairleghadbeen.Myeyesflewopen.

“Youalmostgotyourselfkiled,brother,”Damonsaid.BeforeIevenfulycomprehendedwhatwashappening,I feltwarmliquidrushingdownmythroat. IgaggedasI realizedaredfurcarcasswasbeingshovedintomyface.Itwasthelimpbodyofafox.

“Drinkmore,”Damoninstructed impatiently,glancingnervouslybehindhisback.Theflameswerehighernow,havingcaughtontothewal.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iaskedasmorebloodtrickleddownmythroat.

“Savingyourlife,”Damonsaid,draggingmetomyfeetandpulingmeoutsideandintotheforest,justasmytinycabinexplodedintoflamesbehindus.“AfteryouleftthepartyIrealizedSamuelwastheonewhomusthavekiledViolet,”Damoncontinued.“Thebloodunderhisfingernailspracticalygleamed against his champagne glass. When I confronted him about it, he said he had a plan inmotion,forbothofus,andhetookoff.

Let’s just say Idecided tonot letyoudie, at leastnot today.Youcan thankme later,”Damonsaid,brusquelydepositingmeonthecoolforestfloor.

Farinthedistance,Iheardacacophonyofbels,screams,andthuddinghorsehooves.ItwasjustlikethesiegeFatherhadbeguninVirginia.Andonceagain,mybrotherandIweresidebyside,stickingtogether.

“We have to run!” I said raggedly. “Turn left.”We didn’t have time for a long explanation, but ifDamoncouldhavesomecompassioninhim,I thoughtwecouldescapeanything.Iknewtheforestbetterthananyone,andoncewegottothecenter,underneathtreessotaltheskywasn’tvisibleevenonaclearsummerday,we’dbealright.

DamonpickedCoraupandthrewheroverhisshoulderwithonehandwhilehalf-draggingmewithanother.Weranover thebrookandaroundaquarry,circlingthefarperimeterof theAbbottfarm,andfinaly,IbroughtthemtotheglenbelowtheChilternRiver.Itwasaplacethatwouldtakehumanshalfadaytoreach,butwithusrunningatvampirespeed,wehadreacheditinnotime.Weweresafe.Atleastfornow.

“I’m going to find Samuel,” Damon said, his face red from exertion. “He needs to know theconsequencesofhisactions.”

“Damon,doyouknowwhathe’sdone?He’sframedyoufortheJacktheRippermurders.Thepolicearegettingasketchofyouevennow.Youcan’tfolowhim;it’snotsafe,”Isaid.

“Iwon’tlethimgetawaywiththis,brother,”Damonsaidangrily.“Stayhere.I’mgoingtoseeifIcanfindhim.”Ididn’thavethestrengthtoarguewithhim.IcouldhardlybelieveIwasalive.Isatdownonarockandcradledmyheadinmyhands.ThenIheldmyhandovermywound.Itwasshrinking,butitstilhurt,andIfeltliketherewasatinyheartbeatingintimetomybreath.

“Areyoualright?”Coraaskedfinaly,breakingthesilence.Shewassittingonafalentreebranchoppositeme,nervouslybitingherfingernails.

IwonderedhowmuchsheknewaboutDamon’struenature.ButIhadnoenergytoaskquestions.Isank back upon the leaves as Cora sat beside me, eyeing me like a hawk. I could hear her heartthumping—ba-dump,ba-dump—andIsighedinrelief.IfIcouldhearherheart,thatmeantshehadn’tturned.Shewashuman. Iconcentratedon thenoise,as reassuringas the raindropsduringanAprilshower.

Ihadtotelherabouthersister.

“Violet...”Ibegan.

“Howisshe?”

Ishookmyhead.“Notwel,”Imanagedtosay.Cora’sheartspedup,butherbreathingcontinuedtobesteady.

“Issheavampire?”Coraasked,lockingeyeswithme.

Icouldn’tlie.

“Yes,sheturned,”Isaid.“Samuelforcedher.”

AflashofhopelitupCora’seyes.“Shedid?Soshe’snotdead.Wel,notdeaddead.But...wheredidshego?”sheaskedinconfusion.

“Samueltookher,”Isaid.“Shedidn’thaveachoice.Shemustbefrightened.”

“I’m sure she is,”Cora said in a smal voice, twisting her vervain charm around her index finger.“Whenwewerechildren,Violetused tohave to falasleepwithacandleburningalnight.Shewasalwaysafraidofmonsterscomingtogether.”

“She’lgetoverthatsoonenough,”Isaidwryly.Asavampire,thedarkwassoontobecomeViolet’sbiggestcomfort.

“Isupposeso,”Corasaid,staringintospace.

“Areyoualright?”Iasked.

Corashrugged.“Ihardlyknow.Iwasattheparty,andSamuelcameuptome,andIstartedshrieking.Ididn’tknowwherethesoundhadcomefrom.Ididn’tevenknowthatitwasme.Butheterrifiedme.Andthenyourbrotherfoundmeandmademetalk.Hebroughtmeonthetrain.IkeptprayingVioletwouldbealright,but...couldshebealright?”shesaidinasmalvoice.

Inodded.Ididn’twanttogiveherfalsehope.“She’lbedifferent.ButIcanteachher.Therearethingsthatmakebeingavampirelessterrible,”Isaid.

“Good.”We lapsed into silence.Thewound inmychestwas shrinking,and faraboveus I saw thefaintest signs of dawnbreaking through the inky night. I’d be al right. I’d live to see another day,anotherdecade,anothercentury.ButOliverwouldn’t.AndwherewasDamon?

“Damon’stakingalongtime,”Corasaid,echoingmyownthoughts.“Doyouthinkhe’lbesafe?”

“Yes,”Isaid.Intruth,Ididn’tknow.Iwasonlybeginningtobecomeawareofthedifferentandvastexpanseofvampireslivingintheworld.

Before, I’d thought I only needed to concernmyselfwithOriginals, likeKlaus.But therewere somanyotherstobeworriedabout,inwaysI’dneverconsidered.“Damon’sverygoodatlookingafterhimself,”Isaid.

Asilencefelbetweenus.

Suddenly, I heard a rustle in thewoods. I stiffened as the footsteps drew closer, and conversationcarriedthroughthetrees.

“Anything,men?Nothingoverinthosebushes?”

Iheardtheloudbarkingofseveraldogs.FootstepspassednearbyandIpushedmybackagainsttheroughbarkof a tree.Cora squeezedmyhand tightlyuntil thegroup left, spurredonby themanicbarkingofthedogs.

“They’re looking forme,” I said, dul y stating the obvious after the last footsteps had long since

passed.

“Wel,theydidn’tfindyou,didthey?That’sgoodnews,”Corasaidinherliltingbrogue,attemptingawaterysmile.

I smiledback. Itwasn’tmuch,but itwas true.Theyhadn’t foundus.Maybe Ineeded to learn tobethankfulforsmalmiracles.

Finaly,asthesun’searlyraysfelonus,Damonbrokethroughthebrush,Oliver ’slifelessbodyinhisarms.Hisfacewasdrawnandajaggedstreamofbloodtrickledfromhistemple.Hewasshoeless,hisclothesweretorn,andhelookednothinglikeanItaliancountorBritishmerchant.

Instead,helookedliketheDamonofourchildhoodwho’dspendhoursplayinginthewoods.Exceptthiswasagameoflifeanddeath.

“Icouldn’tfindSamuel,”Damonsaid,sinkingtoarockandsighing.“Itriedtorevivethechild,butIcouldn’t.”

“Iknow,”Isaid,pickingupOliver ’slifelessbody.I’dnevertakenhimhunting.Iwalkedafewpacesaway,towardagroveofoaktrees.Iglancedatthedarksky,prayingforOliver ’ssalvation.

Itenderlylaidthebodyontheforestfloorandwenttoworkcreatingasmal,shalowgrave.Then,IplacedOliverinside.

“HereliesthebesthunterinBritain,”Isaid,atearthreateningmyeye.Idroppedafewhandfulsofdirtinside,andcoveredthatwithtreebranches.Iturnedaway,notabletolookatthegraveanymore,andwalkedtowardCoraandDamon,huddledafewfeetaway.

“Whataboutmysister?”IheardCorawhisper.IsawDamonshrug.Iwonderediftherewasmoretothestorythanhewasteling.ButIwasn’treadytohearit.Notyet.

Ilaydownonthehardforestfloorafewyardsawayandclosedmyeyes,alowingsleeptoovertakeme.Evenasmyminddriftedtowardunconsciousness,Iknewthesleepwouldberoughandraw.ButIdeservedit.Ideservedeverythingthatwascomingtome.

Chapter19Iroled around on the hard ground, desperately trying to find a comfortable place to sleep. But Icouldn’t.Every inchofmybodyhurt,as thoughhotpokersweresticking intomyskin.Mymouthtastedlikesandpaper,andmylimbsfeltlikelead.

Inmyhalf-conscious state, I didn’t knowwhere Iwas, but I had the familiar feeling I’dbeenherebefore.Butwhere?IfIwasinhel,atleastitwasquiet.ButthenIblinked,andnoticedtwopointsoflightmovingtowardme.

“Wel ,helo there,”avoicesaid. Iblinkedagain,andrealized the twopointsof lightwerecomingfromtwolarge,inquisitiveeyes.

“Katherine,”Icroaked.

“Why,yes,”shesaid,asthoughweweremeetingeachotheronthedust-covereddirtroadtoVeritasEstate.

“Thisisadream,”Isaid,moretomyselfthantoher.

“Itcouldbe,”shesaid,hertoneofvoicelight,asifI’daskedifshethoughtitmightrainlaterthatday.“Butdoesitmatter?We’rebothhere.”

“Whyisthishappening?”

“Somepeoplecan’tletgo.Itcanbedifficult,can’tit?”Katherineaskedrhetoricaly.

Iglancedathereyes.Theywerewide,catlike,andmorebeautifulthanever.IrememberedthehoursIspentstaringintothem,backwhenIwaswilingtoriskitalforher.AndIhad.I’dlosteverything.Butstil,thoseeyesremindedmeofwhatitfeltliketobeyoungandbelievethatloveconqueredal.

Iwantedtoaskherwhyshe’dturnedme,whenshemusthaveknownthatmylifewouldbefiledwithsorrow.Iwantedtoknowhowshestoodit.IwantedtoknowwhatIwassupposedtodo,nowthatIhadlosteveryoneIcaredabout.AndIwantedtoknowwhyshecontinuedtohauntme.

“Scholarly Stefan,” Katherine said, a smile playing on her lips. “Always thinking too hard. Butremember,somethingscan’tbeunderstoodorexplained.Theyhavetobeexperienced.”

“Why?”Ishouted,butKatherinesimplyfadedintothedarkness.

“Weneedtogo,”Damonsaidbrusquely,pokingmyribswiththetipofhisboot.

“Now?” I struggled tomyelbowsbeforewiping sleep frommyeyes. Iknew from thedewon thegroundthatitwasonlyamatteroftimebeforetheskyfulyburstintomorning.

Damonnodded.Corastooda fewpacesaway,herbrowfurrowedandarmscrossedasshesilentlystudiedus.

“We’regoingbacktoLondon,”Damonsaidfirmly.“IneedtofindSamuelandteachhimalesson.NoonebestsDamonSalvatore.I’mgoingtobeathimathisowngame.”

“Wecan’tgobacktoLondon,”Isaid,myjawclenchedasIrosetomyfulheight,standingeyetoeyewithmybrother.“Don’tyouseethat?Weneedtostopfighting.Youusedtohateme;nowyouhateSamuel.It’ljustleadtomorebloodshed.Don’tyouunderstand?”

“Oh,Iunderstand,brother.Iunderstandyou’drathergetyourselfkiledthansaythankstothebrotherwhosavedyourlife.I’mgoingtoLondon.Ifyouwanttoliveindarknessandsurviveonsheepand

rabbits,goahead.”

“I’mgoing,too.IhavetofindViolet,”Corasaid,herfacepaleanddrawn.AglancepassedbetweenCoraandDamon,butIhadnoideawhatitmeant.Finaly,Damonnodded.

“I’l come,” I said. It wasn’t as if I could stay here. Violet was out on her own, and I had to doeverythingIcouldtohonorherdyingwish.Icouldn’tletherbecomeamonster.AndDamonneededme,whetherheknewitornot.Andrightnow,whenIhadnooneandnohome,asmuchasIhatedtoadmitit,Ineededhim.

Itookoff,leadingthewaythroughtheforesttothetrainstation.Inthedistance,Icouldhearawhistle.Freedomwasonlyafewpacesaway.Ispedup.

“And this time,noexcuses forwhoyouare,Stefan,”Damonsaid, catchingup tome,Coraonhisback.“You’reavampire.Whenwilyourealizethat?”

“IknowwhoIam,Damon,”Isaidcalmly.Itwasavariationofthesameargumentwealwayshad,butthistime,Iwasn’tgoingtofight.Icouldseethetrainchuggingintothestation.Wehadtobecareful.Iwas sure the entire parish was looking for us, and if we weren’t ready to compel at a moment’snotice,wecouldbecaughtunaware.“I’myourbrother.”

“Yes,”Damonsaidafterabeat.

Itwasn’tanywhereclosetoanapology,butIsensedsomethingbetweenusshift.IfwewantedtofindSamuel,weneededtoworktogether.

MaybefightingSamuelwasouronlychancetostopthebloodshedthatfolowedus.Ihadtobelieveit.Ihadtobelieveinsomething.

“DidyouknowthatSamuelwasavampire?”Iasked.Itwasasmalquestion,butoneI’dwonderedinmyfeverishsleep.HadDamonvoluntarilyfoundavampiresocietyinLondon?

“No,Ididn’tknow.”Damonshookhishead,hisdarkeyesglintinginanger.“ButIdoknowthatIwilneverbemadeafoolofagain.AndIalsoknowthatSamuel’sabouttogetalessonhe’lneverforget.”

“Whatifhe’sanOriginal?”Iasked,myvoicedroppingtoawhisper.

I castmy eyes to the sky, hoping that if therewas light and goodness anywhere in theworld, thatOliverwassomewheresafe,inaplacewherehecoulddoalthehuntinghewanted.

“‘Whatifhe’sanOriginal?’”Damonmocked,pulingmeoutofmyreverie.“Whatdoesitmatter?The only thing that matters is strength and determination. The Salvatore way,” he said, his voicedrippingwithsarcasm.“Ready?”heasked,turningtoCorawithahintofasparkinhiseye.

WithDamon,itwasimpossibletotelwhathewasthinking.

“Alaboard!”theconductorsaid,wavinguson.Itriednottoimaginewhathemustthinkofthethreeofus:Damonwithhisrippedshirt;mewithmychestwoundoozingthroughmyshirt;andCora,stilwearingherever-presentscarftiedinadaintybowaroundherneck,despiteherbloodstainedbodice.

“Tickets?”theconductoraskedsuspiciously.

Damonsmiled,hisshouldersrelaxing,clearlyinhiselement.

“London.You’vealreadyseenourtickets,soyou’lescortustoafirst-classcabin.Wewon’tseeyoufortherestofthetrip.Asfarasyouoranyoneelseisconcerned,we’renotthere.”

“Yes, sir, of course,” the conductor said, nodding andusheringus throughanarrowpathonto the

train.

I staredout thewindowas theverdant greenery rushedby. Iwonderedwhatwaswaiting for us inLondon.WouldSamuelgoonanotherkilingspree?DidVioletrealygowithhimwilingly,orhadshe simply been bewildered after her transformation? And could Damon and I ever real y worktogether?

Al I knewwas wewere two revenge-seeking vampires, and wewere about to bring on Samuel’sdestruction—nomatterwhatthecostmightbe.

EpilogueTwentyyearsago—almostalifetimeago—mybrotherandIescapedMysticFallsonatrainheadedforNewOrleans.Wewerebabyvampiresourselves then.Damonwasconfusedandsearching,andIwasblood-drunkandreadyforaction.

Nowourroleshadreversed.Andyet,whetherboundbyasharedhistoryorloyaltyorevenbyblood—thatmysterious,vexing,life-giving-

substance—weweretogether.

Wedidn’t trusteachother.Wedidn’t likeeachother.Butwewereeachother,reflectingourshadow,secretselvesintheother’sidentity.Wewererunningfromasmall-townmobthatwasafterme,towardanentirecitythatbelievedDamontobethedeadliestmurdererinhistory.Wewereinittogether.

Andwedeservedeachother.

Asmuch as I tried to hide it, I had a deadly dark side. And I saw, inDamon’s concerned glancestowardCoraandthegentlewayhe’dcradledOliver’sbodyashebroughthimtomeforburial, thatDamonhadadeeplyfeeling,humanside.Butcouldthetwoeverexistintandem?Andhowmanymorehumanswouldbekilledbeforewecouldliveinpeaceasvampires?

Ididn’tknowtheanswer.ButIknewtherewouldbemanymoredeaths.AllIcouldhopewasthattheywouldn’tbebymyownhand....

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ExcerptfromStefan’sDiaries#5:TheAsylum

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ReadonforaSneakPeekofTheAsylum

Isqueezedmyeyesshut,wishingIcouldblotoutthepastandfocusonthegentleswayingofthetraincar. My brother, Damon, was somewhere on the train, feeding on an unfortunate passenger orplanninghisrevengeonSamueloncewearrivedinLondon.Mostlikely,hewasdoingboth.IglancedatCora sitting next tome, aBible stil open on her lap.The coverwas frayed and the pagesweredottedwithsmudges.Ithadobviouslybeenwelreadbysomeone.ButtherewasnothingintheBiblethatcouldhelpher—oranyofusinthiscarofthedamned.

Inthedistance,Iheardfootstepsmarchingdowntheaisle.Myheartbeatquickened.Isatup,readytodefendmyselfagainstwhoevercamearoundthecorner:Samuel,Henry,someothervampireminionIhadyettoencounter.IcouldfeelCoratensebesideme,hereyesgrowingwidewithfear.Ireachedanarmacross her, as if that couldprotect her froma demonwith a thirst for blood.Ahand reachedaroundtopulthecurtainofthecarriageopen.Irecognizedtheornatelapislazuliringthatmatchedmyownandbreathedasighofrelief.

Damonhadcomeback.

“Lookatthis!”hesputtered,wavinganewspaperinfrontofmyface.

Igrabbed thepaperfromhishandandgazedat theheadline.JACKTHERIPPERIDENTIFIEDBYEYEWITNESS.BelowtheblockletterswasanilustrationofDamon,asketchdonebythepolice,butthefeatureswereremarkablyfamiliar.Ireadthecaptionunderneath:SOCIETYMANDISCOVERED

TOBEUNHOLYKILLER.Thetrainlurched.Wewerelikemiceonourwayintoasnakepit.AlofLondonnowthoughtDamonhadbeencommittingtheJacktheRippermurders.

“MayIseethat?”Coraasked,holdingoutherhandexpectantly.ButDamonignoredher.

“Theycouldhaverunabetterpictureofme,attheveryleast.Thatilustrationdoesn’tdomejusticeatal,”hesaidsulkilyashesettledonthebenchnexttomeandcrumpledthepaperupintoabal.ButIcouldseehishandswereshakingwiththefaintestoftremors,invisibletothehumaneye.Thiswasn’ttheconfidentDamonIknew.

Nexttous,Corarifledthroughthepapersthatwerelyingnexttoouruntouchedbreakfasttrays.

“We’reonlyafewmilesoutsideLondon,”Isaidnervously,lookingatDamon.“Whatwilwedowhenwegetthere?”Afteral,thequietsanctityofthetrainwastemporary.Wewereontherun,andforalweknew,we’dbefoundassoonasthetrainarrivedinPaddingtonStation.

“Wel ,”Damon said, throwing thewadded newspaper to the ground and stomping on it for goodmeasure.“I’veheardthattheBritishMuseumisexquisite.Ihaven’thadachancetoseeityet.”

“Thisisserious,Damon.They’relookingforyou.Andoncetheyfindyou...”Ishuddered.Ididn’twanttothinkaboutwhatwouldhappeniftheMetropolitanPolicefoundDamon.

“Iknowit’sserious.ButwhatamIsupposedtodo?HideforeternitybecauseI’mbeingframedforacrimeIdidn’tcommit?Samuelneedstopay.Besides,I’mnotafraidofthepolice.Ihaveafewtricksupmysleeve.”

“You’reinthispaper,too,”Corasaidquietly,holdingupthefrontpageoftheLondonGazette.Thishadnoilustration,onlyaheadline:JACKTHE

RIPPERDISCOVERED,STILLONTHELOOSE.

Damongrabbedthepaperandquicklyscannedit.Thenheturnedtome.“Ilooklikeapaupernow.Idon’t think anyone wil recognize me,” he said, as though convincing himself. Lacing his fingerstogether,hesmoothedbackhishair,thenrestedhisheadinhispalmsasifhewereasunbatheratthebeach.

IglancedatDamon.Itwastrue:Hedidn’tlookatallikeamemberofLondon’selite.Hisshirtwastornandblood-spattered.Hiseyesweretired,andhehadashadowofabeardcoveringhischin.Buthe stil looked like Damon. His hair was dark and thick, fal ing in a wavy line over his strongeyebrows,andhismouthwassetinhisusualhalfsneer.

Noticingmeobserving him,Damon arched an eyebrow. “I knowyou’re thinking something.Whydon’tyoujustsayit?”

“Weshouldn’tbegoingtoLondon,”Istatedflatly.Afteral,Damonwasawantedmaninthecity.Hewasweak,friendless,andwehadnoideahowmanyothervampireswereinLondon.IknewSamuel’sbrother,Henry,wasone.WehadnoideahowfarSamuel’sreachcouldbe.HecertainlyhadfriendsinhighplacestoframeDamontothemedia.

“NotgotoLondon?”Damonspat.“Anddowhat?Liveintheforestandwaituntilwe’refound?No.Ineedrevenge.Aren’tyouconcernedaboutyourlittlefriend,Violet?”headded,knowingexactlywhyIwasafterSamuelinthefirstplace.

IlookedatCora,whowasstildesperatelyriflingthroughthepapersasthoughoneofthemcontainedamapwithourpathtosafety.Herblueeyeswerewidewithfright,andIwasimpressedshe’dbeenabletoholdherheadhighaftertheeventsoflastnight.She’dbeenbraveinthehoursbeforesunrise,whenwe’dbeenhidinginthewoodsandwaitingforthesearchpartytopass,despitethefactthathersisterhad justbeen turned intoademon.NowI couldonly imagine the thoughts swimming inherhead.

“IwanttorescueViolet.Ido,”Isaid,hopingthatCoracouldsensemysincerity.“Butweneedaplanthat’sprudent.Wedon’tknowwhatwe’reupagainst.”

Even as I said it, I knew Damon would never agree. When he wanted something—romance,champagne,blood—hewanteditnow.Andofcoursethesameappliedtorevenge.

Outofthecornerofmyeye,IsawCorasetherjaw.“WehavetogotoLondon,”shesaidinalowvoice.“Violettriedtosaveme.Ineedtosaveher,”Corasaid,hervoicerisingonthewordsave.Shefolded the paperwith a crisp smack and pointed at another il ustration. Iwinced, expecting to seeDamon.But insteaditwasalinedrawingofSamuel,aprofileshotwithhischinheldhigh,andhishandraisedinapoised,politicalwave.

“Letmeseethat,”DamonsnatchedthepaperfromCora’sgrasp.“‘SamuelMortimer,thehopefulforLondoncouncilor,vowstokeeptheCitystreetssafe.“I’lkiltheRipperwithmybarehandsifIhaveto,”Mortimerpromises,tocheersofapproval,’”Damonintoned,readingfromthetext.

“I’dliketoseehimtry.”

Iwinced.SamuelMortimer, derived from theFrenchword for dead.Of course.Andneither I norDamonrealizedit,evenasDamonwassoproudofcalinghimselfCountdeSangue.CountofBlood.IthadprobablybeenSamuel’sfirstclueastoDamon’struenature.

Iwonderedwhatotherclueswe’dmissed.Ishookmyhead.Hadn’tIfalenintoSamuel’strap,too?I’d

believedDamonwastheRipper.

“Promiseyouwon’tdoanythinguntilViolet’ssafe,”Corasaid.“Andthen,yes,kilhim.JustpromisethatVioletwon’t be a pawn.” I didn’twant to giveCora a promise I couldn’t keep. Iwasn’t evenconfidentthatDamonandIcoulddefeatSamuel,andIknewDamonwouldn’tpassupanyopportunitytotry.Iwantedtotelhertorunawayfromalofthis,asfarasshecould.TogotoParis,changehername,andtrytoforgetthepast.Butshewouldn’t.Violetwashersister,andshewasboundtoher.JustlikeIwasboundtomybrother.Forever.

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TableofContentsChapter19

Chapter1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter5

Chapter6

Chapter7

Chapter8

Chapter9

Chapter10

Chapter11

Chapter12

Chapter13

Chapter14

Chapter15

Chapter16

Chapter17

Chapter18

Chapter19