The Asylum

by L. J. Smith

  “Two whiskeys. Charge to Sir Stefan Pine,” I said, waiting for the sensation when my mind melded with his.

  But this time, something was wrong. It felt like the compulsion was hanging in the air between us, suspended and unclaimed. And that’s when I realized the barman was paying no attention to me. Instead, he was looking over my shoulder, at Damon, still reclining in the leather club chair. His ankle was crossed over his knee, his hair was flopping over his eyes, and his tie was undone.

  “Two whiskeys?” I prodded nervously. Damon was flipping through a newspaper, oblivious to my presence. But the barman didn’t turn, and I realized with horror that he wasn’t the only one focused on Damon. Two men had left off playing cards in the corner and directed their stares at my brother. They were glancing at a spot above the barman’s head, then back to Damon. I followed their gaze and saw what had arrested their attention. A broadsheet from the newspaper was affixed to the wall, just beside a shelf of dusty liquor bottles.

  JACK THE RIPPER! NO ONE IS SAFE!

  What was underneath the words caused my chest to seize in fear: a drawing of Damon. This time, the likeness between the image and Damon was undeniable.

  “Damon!” I hissed under my breath. “Run. They’ve recognized you.” I wouldn’t risk looking at him, lest suspicion fall on me, too. I focused on the pitted surface of the bar, as though I was patiently waiting for my whiskeys.

  I heard a commotion behind me and whirled around. Damon had shot up and was racing out of the bar at vampire speed, his tie falling to the floor as he ran. I watched him dash past me. I knew it was a risk to be associated with Damon, but I had to follow, to do what I could to protect him in the maze of London streets. I bolted after him.

  “Jack the Ripper!”

  “Call the police!”

  I heard the cacophony of voices behind us, each desperate yell spurring me to run harder and faster, blindly following Damon through the rain-soaked streets. The wide cobblestone thoroughfare of Fleet Street was crammed with carriages going in both directions. Following Damon’s lead, we took our chances dodging through the chaotic London traffic. Our footsteps thwacked against wet ground and blood rushed in my ears. I forgot about my hunger—all I cared about was Damon and me making it back to the tunnel.

  “Go, go, go!” I urged, although I couldn’t tell whether I was speaking to Damon or myself.

  “Stop them!”

  “Police!” There was now a crowd on our tail, and coachmen were jumping down from their carriages to join the fray. Behind us, I heard a lone shot, followed by glass shattering. And then, a figure leapt in front of me.

  I found myself face-to-face with a wild-eyed drunk. He was dressed in rags, and his breath smelled stale and rancid.

  “Got him!” he yelled, clamping his hand around my arm. I reflexively jerked my arm back, slamming the man’s body against the glass window of a storefront. The impact broke the glass behind him, and when the scent of blood filled the air, I knew he’d been cut.

  “That’s not the Ripper!” another man yelled, running up to me. I stayed still, hoping Damon was far enough away. More and more men were approaching, brandishing knives and broken bottles.

  “He was with him in the tavern!” I heard a voice shout from the back of the crowd, but it was far too late. In the commotion, I broke free, using my vampire speed to catch up to Damon, and the mob of fifty that was hot on Damon’s trail. In the far distance, I heard the ringing of police bells.

  I didn’t dare look behind me. It was as if my brother and I were back in the pasture at Veritas, racing against each other to get to the stables. Only now, we weren’t running for personal bragging rights. We were running for our lives.

  We pushed ourselves, giving an extra burst of speed until the noise of the mob faded behind us. Finally, we reached the tunnel and jumped down. The air smelled dank, and drops of water oozed from the walls like blood from a wound. Still, I was relieved to be there.

  Damon and I stared at each other, panting hard.

  “Well, at least I worked up an appetite,” Damon said dully. He rose to his feet, and I could tell he was trying to hide the fact that he was still winded, sweat running down his face. “I’m going to find some food. Don’t wait for me.”

  “Fine,” I said, still catching my breath.

  A few minutes later, I heard a moan as Damon undoubtedly sunk his teeth into a nameless tunnel dweller. I felt my own stomach growl in protest as I turned my face to the wall and listened for the scrabble of a rat to at least quell my hunger. But there was nothing.

  9

  The next morning, I awoke early. Or perhaps I hadn’t fallen asleep. All I could think of was Cora, alone in the cold, unfriendly Asylum. But whenever I closed my eyes to conjure her face in my mind—her proud eyes and the spray of freckles on her nose—all I could imagine was Katherine.

  In my vision, Katherine was smiling at me, her hair plaited in a long braid tossed over one bare shoulder.

  “Can’t you smile, Stefan?” she asked, shaking her head at my morose condition.

  I tossed and turned. I wanted to forget about Katherine. But it was impossible when I was with Damon. Faint light was coming through the opening to the tunnel. Without waking Damon, I scrambled up the ladder and into the early morning. It was wet and cold and the fog made the Thames difficult to see even from a few paces away.

  I hurried to the Magdalene Asylum, hands jammed in my pockets, shuffling my feet and singing an ill-mannered drinking song that often broke out at pubs. I wanted anyone who saw me to assume I was just a drunk and leave me alone. Rain was falling softly from the dove-gray sky, and the cobblestones were slick.

  Midway to the Asylum, I spotted a bakery with a red awning. It was the shop where Cora and I had gone before the park, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  On a whim, I entered.

  “Six buns, please,” I said, holding the baker’s gaze until she nodded and brought me a white sack.

  “Thank you,” I said, noticing the poster behind the counter. My stomach sank. Damon’s face was everywhere.

  The woman followed my gaze. “He’s back in London,” she explained. “Nobody’s safe.” She squinted harder at me, and I took that as my cue to hurry away. The family resemblance between Damon and me was faint, but it was there, as indelible as ink. I couldn’t risk someone associating me with my brother, especially since we’d been spotted together at the tavern last night.

  Treats in hand, I settled on an ivy-covered bench across the street from the Asylum. I pulled out my watch. Twenty minutes after six.

  As expected, a side door opened a few minutes later, and two lines of girls filed out, as though they were soldiers on the march. There were about fifty in all, identically clad in gray smocks, their hair pulled back and covered by bonnets. Some of the girls looked no older than thirteen, while others seemed to be in their late twenties. I had to squint to tell them apart. It would be difficult to find Cora.

  “Order!” Sister Benedict barked at the front of the line. “Now, think of the prayers you’ll offer to God!” She marched them through the gates and onto the street.

  “Cora!” I hissed, disguising it as a cough. “Cora!”

  I saw movement from the far line, and then Cora turned toward me and gave a quick smile. As the group turned a corner, she stole away.

  “You made it,” Cora whispered, her back pressed against the sandstone building as she inched farther down the street and toward a tiny cobblestone-paved alley.

  “Of course. I was worried about you. Are you all right?” I asked, following her lead and trying to shield her with my body. In the distance, the church bells pealed.

  “Thankfully, yes,” Cora said urgently. “But other girls weren’t so lucky. I saw something last night,” she continued, sinking to sit on a concrete step. Here, in the alley, we were partially covered from the rain by the stone overhang of an abandoned building.

  “What?” I asked, my imagination running wild, the bakery bag
in my lap all but forgotten.

  “Samuel and Henry came to the Asylum in the middle of the night.”

  “What? Why?” I asked.

  “They’re drinking from the girls. I saw it with my own eyes. It was terrible. You have to stop it.” Silence hung in the air between us. I was afraid to stir. In the distance, a crow cawed and a police bell rang, all reminders that we were not alone.

  “It took me ages to fall asleep last night, but I eventually nodded off,” Cora said, glancing up at the sky. “The next thing I knew, I was startled awake by a noise. I saw Samuel and Henry walk into the room. As soon as I saw them, I pulled my sheet over my head and lay on my side, pretending to be asleep, but the sheets are so thin that I still saw everything,” Cora said breathlessly. “They stopped by a few beds, silently waking the girls. One of them was Winnie, who was sleeping to the right of me. I stayed as rigid as I could and was just clutching my charm. Oh, Stefan, at one point, they were so close I felt Henry’s hand brush against my forehead. I heard Samuel say, ‘Fresh blood,’ and I almost stopped breathing, I was so frightened. But then they moved on to another girl. He didn’t recognize me, I’m sure of it,” she added with conviction.

  “How many girls did they take?” I asked. I imagined Samuel, debonair and fresh from a night out. He’d be wearing cologne and a tux, with his hair slicked back and his necklace tucked underneath his starched white shirt. I imagined him and Henry stealing into the girls’ dormitory and choosing the ones they were to feast on as if they were pastries at a buffet. I imagined the girls—sleepy and terrified, heavy-footed under the veil of compulsion, following them down the rickety stairs to the laundry and offering their necks, feeling pain radiate through their bodies as Henry and Samuel drank their fill. I shuddered.

  “Five. Maybe six. It was hard to tell.” Cora masked her face with her hands, as if even remembering the scene was far too much for her to bear. “They took Winnie and Evelyn, and Louise, and I think they took a little girl named Clare as well. She was Irish, so of course I was hoping to look out for her…” Cora trailed off. When she spoke next, it was in a tiny voice: “I followed them.”

  “You did?” I asked, impressed.

  Cora nodded. “I tried to be so quiet. I know how you and Damon hear things that normal humans don’t. I’ve noticed it,” she said, smiling to herself. “I notice a lot of things,” she added. “But they never looked back. They brought the girls down to a room next to the laundry. There are a lot of rooms down there, a long hallway of doors. I’m not sure where they lead.”

  I nodded, encouraging Cora to continue her story. I could feel the anticipation; we were onto something here, getting closer to Samuel. Despite the horrors she was describing, I was excited.

  “They took the girls into one of the rooms, what looked like an office, and they started feeding. But it wasn’t like the time you ate that rat. That seemed all right. This … they’d sink their teeth deep into the girl’s neck. I could see blood drip down their backs as they drank. At first I almost screamed. But then…”

  “What?” I asked. I laced my fingers in hers and gave her hand a small squeeze. It was so small and fragile, and made me feel as if I were holding a baby sparrow.

  “Samuel would lean down and whisper to them. Almost as if he were being sweet on them. But Henry…” Her face hardened. “Henry had no mercy. Would say that screaming wouldn’t do anything, and this was all they deserved. That no one would care if they died and he was doing them a favor. It was terrible to watch. Because all I could think was, what if he was had been doing that to my sister?”

  “He’s not. Violet’s a vampire. She can look out for herself now.” It was cold comfort, but it was something.

  Cora nodded. “I know. But I couldn’t watch anymore. I thought, it would be just my luck, and so stupid, if I were to get caught. I’d be no use to Violet after that.”

  I squeezed her hand again. That was the problem we all faced: We were in this together. And although death might be easier, we needed to survive, for each other.

  “This morning, the girls were back in their beds. I tried to talk to Clare at breakfast, but Sister Benedict yelled at me. She rapped my fingers. I hadn’t gotten that type of punishment since school,” Cora said wryly. She loosened my grasp and showed me the back of her hand. Indeed, a faint bluish bruise was spreading across the white skin. I winced.

  “It’s all right,” Cora said. “I’ve learned my lesson. We’re supposed to devote breakfast to silent prayer. And it’s not that bad. Some of the girls are nice. There’s one, Elizabeth, who used to work at a tavern even worse than the Ten Bells. And Cathy’s been kind enough to show me around. I’ll be all right, Stefan,” Cora said.

  I wanted so badly to believe her. No, I needed to believe her. I thought of Samuel, his ratlike face buried deep in the neck of one of these girls, and felt my stomach twist with a sense of renewed hatred. He would pay for his actions. He had to.

  Cora reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears. In that gesture, I noticed the chain of her vervain charm move, hidden beneath her dress. And suddenly, the kernel of a plan began to form in my mind.

  “So you all eat breakfast at the same time?” I asked.

  “Oh yes,” Cora said. “Sister Benedict makes us. We have fifteen minutes for meals, in between prayers and work.”

  In the distance, the chapel bell began to chime. One, two…

  “I should…” Cora said, her eyes flicking to the church in concern. The service would be getting out soon, and Cora needed to rejoin the line of the girls back without anyone realizing she’d been missing.

  “I brought this for you,” I said, holding out the still-warm bag of pastries.

  “Oh, Stefan!” Cora said, her face breaking into a wide smile. She was so pleased at such a small gesture that I felt ashamed I hadn’t done more. She deserved gold and diamonds for what she was doing. And instead, she was exclaiming over a bit of bread as though it were the greatest of treasures. Once we vanquished Samuel, I’d get her anything her heart desired. That was a promise.

  “Would you like one?” she said, offering the bag to me.

  I picked one out and took a small bite. The bread stuck to the roof of my mouth like glue, tasteless. I had no enjoyment for human food, but I wanted to have a small moment of normalcy with Cora.

  “Mmm,” Cora said contentedly. “They feed us gruel. This is good. Thanks for thinking of me.”

  “Of course,” I said. Then, hesitantly: “You’re all I’ve been thinking of.” In a different world, the sentence would have been a precursor to a declaration of love. Instead, I hurried on. “Listen, I have a plan. You know your necklace?”

  “Of course,” Cora said, reaching into her smock and pulling it out. It glinted in the sun: a tiny ray of hope amid a swirl of darkness.

  “The vervain works in a few ways. First, it makes it impossible for vampires to compel you, but it does more than that. It’s poisonous and burns us. Even touching the charm is hard for me.” The pealing of the bells stopped, and I knew I had only minutes to refine my idea.

  “But the worst is when vervain catches a vampire unawares. When I was a human, my father dosed me with vervain. I didn’t know. I was in love with a girl…”

  “Katherine?” Cora asked pointedly.

  “Yes,” I said. Cora certainly did notice everything. “And Katherine was a vampire. My father was suspicious of her, so he decided to create a test. He slipped vervain into my drink. And as soon as Katherine sank her teeth into me, she sprang back in agony. She was writhing on the floor and foaming at the mouth. And then…”

  “He knew,” Cora said simply.

  “Yes. And so did everyone else. But what’s important was her reaction. She was in agony. Vervain is like poison— it renders us helpless. So if we could only dose some of the girls with vervain, and wait for Samuel to drink, then…”

  “You and Damon will be able to attack,” Cora said quietly, twisting the necklace back and forth in her fingers
. In the distance, I could hear Sister Benedict’s voice.

  “No talking!” she was saying. “Contemplate what you learned in church.”

  “You need to go. Damon and I will find more vervain and come up with a way for you to distribute it. Same time tomorrow?” I asked.

  Cora nodded, clutching at the charm.

  “Good. Stay safe. And know that I’m thinking about you,” I said, brushing my lips gently against her cheek. Her skin felt ice cold.

  “Good-bye!” Cora said, rushing toward the street so she could slip back in line. She had a high flush in her cheeks, and I knew our plan had galvanized her. And it would work. It had to. After all, if it had worked against Katherine, then it would certainly work on such a bloodthirsty duo as Henry and Samuel.

  I stood up and stretched. The rain showed no signs of relenting, but the gloomy weather no longer matched my mood. Instead, I felt alive and ready to take on anyone. And that included vampires.

  10

  I practically flew back to the tunnel, knocking into pedestrians and coachmen along the way. At one point I stopped, catching sight of a broadsheet posted outside a bank.

  CRIMINAL MOST FOUL! proclaimed the headline above the now-familiar etching of Damon’s face. Soon, these posters would come down and Damon would be able to roam the streets of London as a free man. But for now, I was worried about him leaving the tunnel even for a moment.

  “Bloody awful, don’t you think?” I turned to find a man standing next to me, staring at the broadsheet.

  “I suppose so,” I said stiffly.

  “Won’t be for long. We’ve got all of London looking for him. Thinks he’s a fancy man about town, but then gets his jollies from ripping apart them girls. Terrible.”