by LENOX, KIM
“That was the extent of my knowledge of you, Elena. I took license with all the rest.”
She nodded, her expression brave. “I went to the address of the man who was to have been my guardian, only to find he too had recently passed away. His stepdaughter wanted nothing to do with the expense of taking in a penniless stranger, and she sent me back to the streets. Without food, or a place to stay, I had no other choice but to take work in a factory. Mrs. Eddowes thought she remembered me from a Berner Street boardinghouse. That hovel was one of many such places where I spent my nights.”
Archer came close again, a silent, comforting presence. “You did what you had to do to survive, Elena.”
“Yes.” Her voice quieted to a whisper. “I cut shoe leather. Winslow was my foreman.”
Her mouth trembled. Again, Archer pulled her into his arms but did not interrupt.
“He abused so many girls. I managed to escape his notice until that night.” She pressed a hand against her mouth, remembering. “He forced me to . . . touch him . . . but you stopped him before he could . . .”
She swallowed hard, trying to calm herself. He pressed a kiss against her temple.
“I thought he had succeeded. I did not know differently until we made love.”
“We fell. He killed me—or almost did.”
“Yes.”
“You gave me a second chance.” She looked up into his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I loved you.” Archer stroked her hair and touched her face. “My beautiful Elena, I loved you even then.”
Elena was still sobbing an hour later. “And so your mother, even though she could have made herself immortal, killed herself upon learning of Antony’s death?”
She and Selene lay side by side on the countess’s bed, with every one of Selene’s serpents slithering and twisting either atop or beside them.
Selene nodded, completely dry-eyed. “She made Mark and me immortal instead. We were to be her revenge against Octavian—and the world—I suppose.”
Elena sniffled, “That’s the most tragic story I’ve ever heard.”
Selene rested back upon the pillows, her hands behind her head. “This is so lovely, us being here together and talking. I haven’t had a woman friend in so very long. Not since that mob flayed dear Hypatia to death.”
Elena dabbed a fresh handkerchief to her eyes. “Flayed. That sounds horrible.”
“Do you remember the first night when you found me in your room? The night I told you I needed a night rail?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t need anything to sleep in.”
“Why were you in my room?”
Selene rolled and grasped a jeweled box from beside her bed. She opened the lid and from inside pulled a crudely formed little doll. It appeared to be made of wax and boasted an unruly wad of pale hair on its head.
“What is that?”
“It’s you,” Selene giggled, waggling the doll. “Or the kolossoi I made with the hair I pulled out of your brush that night. And see these other little threads and scraps from your clothes?”
“Why would you make something like that?”
“I so wanted to stab a pin into your stomach, or cut off your head. I’m glad I didn’t. I really like you now, even if Archer does love you.”
“Surely I’m not the only woman he has cared for.”
Selene lay back, twirling the doll between her fingers. “He did love someone once, very long ago.”
“Tell me about her.”
“I don’t know much, and as you know, Archer isn’t the sort to share his feelings.” Selene shrugged lackadaisically. “From what I understand they were mad for each other, but her mother forbade the match.”
“What happened? How did things end?”
“From what I’ve been told, one afternoon she was in a field picking flowers, waiting to tryst with Archer, when a Transcended soul abducted and killed her.”
“That’s horrible,” Elena gasped.
“This was back when civilization first began to show signs of deterioration along its outer fringe. Long before my time. Even before the Primordials decided to close the Inner Realm off from human intrusion. That’s right. Mortals and Immortals once lived in peace alongside one another. Archer tracked the soul, of course, and cast it down into Tartarus.”
“Tartarus?”
Selene nodded. “The Eternal Pit of Darkness.”
“There’s an Eternal Pit of Darkness?”
“Oh, yes.” Selene’s eyes widened dramatically. “Very dark and very eternal. You wouldn’t want to be cast down there. That’s where the nastiest of souls are imprisoned. That’s where Reclaimed souls are interred forever, after we Reclaim them.”
“At least Archer punished the villain.”
Though the tragedy had taken place ages before, Elena had seen glimpses of pain hidden in the recesses of Archer’s eyes. Now she knew why. She said a prayer for the girl.
Selene reached out to lay the doll on the table beside her. “Can you believe her mother blamed Archer for everything? Centuries later, mortals put their own spin on the story and voilà. It’s his fault we’ve had terrible winters ever since. Her death is why Archer became the first of the Shadow Guards, so that no other Amaranthine would suffer the same loss.”
For the first time, emotion moistened Selene’s eyes. “I’m going to miss him.”
“Ooo-ooh!” Elena jerked.
“What is it?”
“Jezebel just went up my skirt.”
Elena sat up, careful not to crush any of the countess’s favored pets. She fished the serpent out from her underskirt and sent her slithering toward Selene.
“Where are you going?” Selene asked sharply.
“I just remembered something. . . .”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Selene leapt from the bed with the grace of a leopard. “Don’t even think of trying to escape. Archer left me responsible for you.”
“I’m not trying to escape. I’ve got a gift for you.”
“Really? A present?” Selene softened. “I love presents.”
“I hope you’ll love this one.” Elena went to a table beside the door where earlier, she’d laid the parcel. Returning to where Selene stood, she carefully tore off the paper. A musty scent struck her full in the face. Seeing the book for the first time herself, she read the title aloud.
“Le Morte d’Arthur.”
Selene gasped, reaching. Elena quickly delivered the tome into the countess’s greedy hands.
The countess held the book level to her nose, gently fanning the pages into her face. She inhaled deeply, and murmured, “Excellent bouquet.”
“You really like to eat . . . paper?” Elena inquired doubtfully. Hopefully.
“Not all paper. Just the interesting stuff. Once I eat the pages, I remember their contents.”
“That’s amazing.”
Selene drew her fingertip along the gilt-stamped border of the volume. “I’m quite the expert on many subjects. Don’t ask me to explain how it works, because I don’t know. It started as a nervous habit, I suppose, after the Royal Library of Alexandria burned. All that history and knowledge, so much of it lost forever. I started nibbling on what remained, and have never been able to stop. I crave finer selections such as this.”
“Then go on. Rip a strip,” Elena encouraged, slyly stealing a glance at the mantel clock.
“It’s too fine a gift. I couldn’t.” Selene bit her bottom lip; yet her eyes lit up, twin bonfires of desire.
Elena winked. “Please. You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t.”
“Perhaps just a taste off one of these blank pages at the back.”
Soon, Selene dropped to a nearby chaise.
“Mmmm.” She lay back, eyes glazed, and dropped several tangled strips between ravenous, parted lips. “So good.”
Elena quietly turned the doorknob and backed into the hall. After closing the door behind her, she raced to the far wing. From her wardrobe, she frantically
selected her shabby clothing, more appropriate for an evening at the Ten Bells. She quickly changed.
After snatching up her bag and a wide-brimmed black hat, she hurried back to Selene’s room and peered inside. Selene lay senseless and snoring on the chaise.
Satisfied her keeper would remain thusly incapacitated, Elena slipped downstairs. One final stop. She went to the study. Mark had told her she wouldn’t so much as see the Ripper, that she’d be safe. However, as he was a mercenary rake, she wasn’t about to take his word. No, she wasn’t an immortal Reclaimer, and no, her feeble attempts to defend herself would certainly fail in the face of a Transcended soul like the Ripper. Even so, she’d feel better carrying a weapon of some sort.
In the darkness she found the cases. She opened one. Two. Three. All empty. Four.
Daggers. So pale and beautiful. She’d never seen anything like them. She grasped them up by their hilts and tucked them securely into the band of her skirt. A moment later and she was racing over the night-darkened grass, toward the road. All she could think of was Archer, and pray Mark’s plan would work.
Suddenly, her feet flew out from under her. She stumbled. The daggers. She fell hard, but managed not to impale herself. Slowly, carefully, she stood, brushing the grass from her skirts.
Selene shouted, “What the hell is going on?”
Towering above Elena, the countess advanced.
“I was . . .” Why lie? Her intent was obvious. The confession spilled from her lips. “I was going to try and save Archer.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Now you are lying,” the tall Reclaimer hissed. “The paper used to wrap that book was the same paper I used to wrap the scroll at the museum—believe you me, I know my paper. It came from Mark’s room at the Savoy. What has he convinced you to do?”
Selene snapped the reins. Elena clenched the leather bench beneath her, holding on as they raced along the narrow avenue toward the Ten Bells Pub. Obviously the details of Mary Kelly’s horrific murder had spread. The streets were mostly abandoned, leaving their way free and clear.
Elena grasped Selene’s arm. “Look out. There’s someone in the road.”
“It’s just a girl. I’ll go around her.”
Elena squinted, her eyes narrowing. Lizzy stood in the center of the road, waving her hands for them to stop.
“Turn the carriage around.”
“I’ll just go around her.”
“Turn the carriage around,” Elena screamed, reaching for the reins.
Selene elbowed her away and steered the vehicle down a side street, lined with tall, dark buildings. Scowling, she demanded, “Why did you do that?”
Elena twisted, looking over her shoulder. “He’s here.”
Metal and wood crashed.
The night sky tilted wildly.
The force of the Victoria overturning hurled Elena to the road. Dazed, she lay for a long moment, her palms bleeding, and her skirts tangled around her knees. Her shoulder ached and her head throbbed.
The Ripper.
Elena pushed herself up from the ground. Standing, she struggled to regain her bearings. She saw Selene on the far side of the overturned carriage, laboring to rise from her hands and knees. Snorting and neighing, the horses righted themselves, then raced down the street, their harnesses jangling along behind them.
Then she heard a sound—a horrible, low laughter, laughter she’d heard before, from the bottom of a dark pit. Something shadowy raced along the edge of her vision. She whirled, following its course. The shadow leapt onto Selene.
Blood thundered in Elena’s ears. The Ripper crouched over Selene, his mantle flowing out like bat wings on a nonexistent wind. His tall top hat shone darkly in the night.
His powerful arm swung up, a small blade gleaming in his fist. Without hesitation, Elena clenched her hands around the dagger hilts at her waist, and she yanked them free. She raced toward the two grappling figures, raising the blades high.
She plunged them into Jack’s back and felt the revolting reverberation of the blades as they tore through muscle and bone.
He screamed, an inhuman, high-pitched sound, and with a blow of his arm, cast Elena across the pavement. She landed just beside the carriage, so close she almost struck her head upon it.
“Run,” commanded a voice. It was Selene, slowly arising from the pavement.
The Ripper crouched nearby, raging in a language Elena did not understand. Two silver hilts jutted out from each shoulder. He reached behind his head, gripping one in his black glove.
“Do as I say, Elena,” Selene ordered. Her eyes glittered, never leaving the Ripper. Her hair had fallen from its elegant style, and her bodice sagged, slightly torn, to reveal the lace edge of her chemise. She jerked the bodice up and straightened her shoulders imperiously.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
Having ripped one blade free, the Ripper unfolded again to his full height.
“He’ll only use you against me,” Selene hissed, eyeing him like a ravenous jaguar, inhaling deeply as if she prepared for attack.
Elena exhaled in frustration, realizing the truth of Selene’s words. Grasping her skirts, she raced along the sidewalk, away from the Ripper. He materialized in front of her.
She screamed and veered into an open doorway. Just as she slammed the door shut, a Valkyrie’s battle scream pierced her ears. A huge, rattling crash shook the door and the wall of the tenement. Dust and fragments jarred loose to litter the air and floor of the dark, interior room where she’d taken shelter.
She shoved her back to the door and clasped her hands against the sides of her head, trying to think. Staring into the black darkness around her, she made out the shapes of shredded mattresses and destroyed furniture. Another crash. She braced herself. Near her feet she found the bar to the door. Retrieving it, she quickly forced the bolt into place—knowing it would not save her if the Ripper turned his attention to her.
Elena took to the sagging stairs, careful to keep to the sturdier edges. She quickly maneuvered up the five flights. Once on the roof, she raced to the edge and crouched to peer down on the street.
Unease trickled through her. There was no one below.
Chapter Nineteen
Elena’s mind produced an image of Selene, slashed to ribbons below.
Something creaked and slammed.
A door.
She whirled, scanned the rooftop, but saw no one. Had there been a door at the top of the stairs? Her blood surged through her heart so fast and hard that she could scarcely catch a breath.
Moving closer she saw that yes, there was indeed a door—and someone had shut it. Fear rippled beneath her skin. Someone likely watched her from the shadows even now.
Sensing something malevolent behind her, she spun around.
A tall, thin man wearing a cape stood close enough to have seized her if he had so wished.
“Good evening, Miss Whitney.”
She backed away, almost stumbling.
“I hadn’t expected you here tonight. I’d rather thought we’d had our bit of fun.” He stepped toward her, his feet crunching against the tar paper. “You shouldn’t have stabbed me with those awful blades. You hurt me. And now I shall have to hurt you.”
“What are you?” She veered backward, never taking her eyes from him.
She could not, for the life of her, make out his face. Yes, there were eyes. Yes, there was a mouth. She could discern no distinguishing features beyond those. She saw his teeth gleam as his lips spread into a wide smile.
“What are you?” she shouted.
“I am the first of many. I am brotoi.”
“Get away from her,” a voice commanded ferociously.
Elena covered her mouth with her hand to silence a sob. Archer stood on the ledge, a shadow transitioning into immortal hunter, as beautiful and deadly as the night she’d first seen him on the roof of the Spitalfields tenement.
His black-silver gaze touched upon h
er only fleetingly.
As he flung his arms to his sides, heavy twin blades slashed out. He hissed a spate of words in a language she did not understand.
Suddenly his skin began to alter, and his black eyes flickered bronze.
Oh, God. She knew what was happening. He was Transcending.
Desperation and grief seized her; she knew he gave his immortal existence to save her and to stop the Ripper.
“Too late, Reclaimer. You’re too late to stop me.” Jack lunged, shoving Elena to the ground. He raced across the rooftop to the ledge, from where he leapt, cloak spread, into the night—
Only to be hurled back.
He crashed down against the weakened boards. Wood splintered; bricks flew. His hat rolled to the side.
Mark veered out of the darkness, his eyes gleaming bronze. He clenched a sword with a wickedly curved blade.
Instantly, Archer ceased the process of his Transcension. The poison beneath his skin ebbed.
Of Mark he demanded, “What have you done?”
“And to think I expected a thank-you,” Mark responded in a hollow, dead-sounding voice.
Jack scrambled over the boards, an attempt at escape.
Bronze eyes turned on him with almost leisurely malice. “Where do you think you’re going, little man?” Mark tapped the flat of his sword across the back of Jack’s head. Jack keened in pain.
“Elena’s been cut.”
Archer pivoted to find Selene rushing from the ledge toward Elena, who clasped both hands against her bodice. His soul caved in, seeing the blood.
“I’m all right,” she whispered, her eyes glazed.
She swayed and sagged. Archer lunged, catching her in his arms.
The Ripper’s laughter echoed in the night, a wicked, inhuman sound. “I got you. I got you before you could get me. She’ll die. Too bad, though, I couldn’t cut her more. I am a son of Tantalus. Others will follow me. They already hear my call. Can you imagine? Soon there will be thousands—thousands upon thousands of banished souls wanting revenge on you and your kind.”
