by L. J. Smith
The fresh air helped clear my head. I started to walk around the warehouse, looking for a familiar window or door. And then, as the wind picked up, I smelled it.
It was the scent of blood—warm, coursing, and close.
I gnashed my teeth together. The scent made me simultaneously eager to feed and nervous. The killer must be one of the revelers inside the party. But who was he? Or—and this was the thought that filled me with terror—had he already made his move, and the fragrance in the air was a fresh kill?
That possibility was what spurred me to race back inside the warehouse, tearing through the crowd, desperate to find the source of the scent. I didn’t have any time to waste. It was as if I’d lived through the same scenario far too many times, always coming to the scene half a second, half a minute, or half a day late. But this time would be different, I thought wildly as I pushed past a dancing couple, the man whirling a woman faster and faster on his arm. I was no longer a “baby vampire,” a term Lexi derisively used to use to describe me. I had wisdom, age, and blood behind me. This time, I would stop evil before it started.
The warehouse was deceptively large, and I was shocked that the space kept going and going, each inch of concrete floor filled with people laughing, smoking, and drinking as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
“Pardon me!” I yelled in frustration, elbowing my way through couples and treading on people’s shoes, only following the ever more pungent scent of iron—until I ran into a solid mass.
I looked up. It was Samuel. Instantly, I stood to my full height and gave him a tight smile. I knew that careening through the warehouse must have made me seem drunk or mad.
“Pardon you!” Samuel said jovially, tipping back his whiskey. “You seem to be in a hurry,” he added, a flicker of amusement on his face.
“I’m looking for a friend,” I muttered, my eyes darting from one side to the other. I realized I hadn’t seen Violet while I was running around. Now not only was I searching for a killer, but for an innocent girl as well. I had to make sure she was safe.
“Consider him here!” he said jovially, blocking my path.
“Not you,” I said, realizing only after the words left my mouth how rude they seemed. “I mean, I’m looking for Violet.”
“Violet!” His eyes lit up in recognition. “Of course. I thought I saw her over by the bar . . . would you like to go with me?”
I didn’t bother to be polite as I took off toward the bar, desperately scanning the crowd. It thinned out as I ran, and finally, I could stand without being bumped or jostled. I allowed my eyes to readjust to the dim light. The far side of the warehouse had two open doors that led to the docks, and, beyond that, the water. The doors had been propped open with several wooden milk crates, presumably to allow fresh air in. Still, while the rest of the warehouse was crammed, this part was unlit and deserted. I could smell cobwebs and mold.
And blood.
Outside, the clouds shifted, and a shaft of moonlight reflected through the filthy windows at one end of the warehouse. My eyes fell upon a crumpled heap in the corner. At first, I hoped it was nothing more than a discarded pile of fabric, pushed aside for the party. But it wasn’t. The material was bright green.
I blanched, already knowing what I’d see before I turned the figure over.
But when I did, I still couldn’t hold in my strangled cry.
It was Violet, her throat slit, her inquisitive blue eyes gazing, unblinking, at the throng of people dancing only yards away from her cold, white figure.
Chapter 13
I had to get Violet out of there, before the killer came back to finish her off with his customary mutilation. I hastily lifted her up and heaved her over my shoulder. Her body grew colder every minute and the touch of her skin against mine sent a shiver down my spine. She was dead. And the killer was nowhere to be found.
I glanced around wildly. The band had shifted into a waltz, and the front of the warehouse was crowded with couples dancing in the darkness. It looked gaudy, like an act from the two-bit carnival I’d worked at in New Orleans. The murderer was somewhere in that throng, bowing and weaving through couples.
My fangs throbbed, and my legs ached with the urge to run or fight. But I could do neither. I stood, frozen in place. Droplets of blood scattered across the bodice of her dress, and the kohl she’d used to line her eyes had run, making her face look like it was painted with tears.
I didn’t feel sorrow. What I felt was deeper, more primal. I felt anger at whoever did this, as well as despair. This would always keep happening, and more victims like Violet would perish. It wouldn’t matter if I journeyed back to America or went to India or just traveled nomadically throughout every land. How many deaths could I witness, all the while knowing death would never come to me?
I glanced back down at Violet’s limp body and forced myself to stop thinking those thoughts. Instead, I thought of Violet’s short life. Her wide grin when she’d put on one of her fine dresses, the way her happy face shone with tears at the end of the musical review, the way she truly believed that there was good in the world. I’d miss her. Violet had been spritely and passionate and alive. She’d also been stupid and trusting and so vulnerable. And she’d given up her vervain to her sister. Of course, she hadn’t known it to be anything but a good luck charm, but still—if she’d had the vervain, she’d be alive now.
“‘May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest,’” I said, quoting Shakespeare for lack of a prayer as I laid my hand against her cold brow and smoothed her loose curls off her forehead. The phrase echoed in my head, the words far more familiar to me than any of the sermons I’d sat through or psalms I’d heard when I was a human. I leaned down and grazed my lips against Violet’s cheek.
Suddenly, she reared up, her body trembling all over, her eyes wide, her mouth frothing, as she lunged toward my hand.
Hastily, I fell backward, scrambling to my feet and retreating to the shadows.
“Stefan?” Violet called in a high and reedy voice that sounded nothing like her Irish brogue. Her hand frantically clawed at her throat, and her eyes widened in fright when she pulled her hand back and saw it covered with blood. “Stefan?” she called again, her eyes gazing wildly in all directions.
I watched in shock. I’d seen death countless times at this point, and I knew that Violet had been dead. Yet now she wasn’t. This meant only one thing: She had been given vampire blood and then killed. She was in transition.
“Stefan?” she asked, grasping the air in front of her and gnashing her teeth against each other. Her breath was loud and raspy. She kept licking her lips, as though she were dying of thirst. “Help me!” she called in a strangled voice.
Far off in the warehouse, I could make out the faintest sound of the band striking up another song. Everyone inside the party was blissfully unaware of the gruesome scene occurring in front of my eyes. I clenched my jaw. I wanted more than anything to be strong for Violet, but I was still in shock.
I knew she wanted to feed. I remembered the agonizing hunger I’d felt when I’d woken up in transition. She was breathing in loud, staccato gasps as she rose to her knees, then her feet. I moved forward to help her.
“Shhh,” I said, wrapping my arms around her body. “Shhh,” I repeated, running my hands through her tangled hair, wet with sweat and blood. “You’re safe,” I lied. Of course she wasn’t.
A few yards away, on a neighboring dock, I saw a small skiff, most likely used to transport cargo from one side of London to the other, bobbing in the gentle waves of the Thames. I had the wild thought to take it, to head as far as we could down the river, to just get away.
“What’s happening to me?” Violet gasped each word, clutching her throat.
“You’ll be okay, Violet. But please, tell me, who did this to you?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, her face crumpling. Blood was running from her neck, drying into a pattern on the side of her dress that would have been almost prett
y if one hadn’t known how it was formed. Her face was white and chalky, and she kept licking her lips. “I was going to the bar. And then he pulled me to him for a dance, and . . . that’s all I can remember,” Violet said, wringing her hands together and gazing imploringly at me.
“Who’s ‘he’?” I asked urgently.
“Damon,” she said, hardly able to stifle her cries. A scene flitted into my mind: Violet, so excited to have Damon pay attention to her. Violet, allowing Damon to escort her to the bar and order her a drink. Violet, nervous and coquettish, waiting to hear what Damon had to say. And then Damon licking his lips, lunging, and drinking, leaving Violet behind for me to find.
You always help a damsel in distress. Damon’s mocking phrase rang in my ears. He’d left her for me to find, just as if we were children playing hide-and-seek.
“I’m so thirsty,” Violet said, leaning over the edge of the dock and cupping her hands to capture some of the dirty water flowing in the Thames. I watched as she put her hands to her mouth, and saw an expression of disgust cross her face. She knew something was terribly wrong. “Stefan . . . I don’t feel well. I think I need a doctor,” she said, cradling her head in her hands and rocking silently back and forth.
“Come with me,” I said, pulling Violet into a hug. I could feel shivers wracking her body, and saw tears were falling from her large eyes. I knew she was confused and disoriented, and this filthy dock was no place to explain to her what was happening.
I hoisted her up and walked us to the skiff that was resting in the water. I gently placed her on its floor. She blinked a few times and let out a shuddery sigh.
“Am I dead?” she asked, her hand reaching out toward mine. I closed my fingers over hers. I tried to remember back to my own death. I’d felt hazy and confused as well, coupled with the grief and guilt of losing Katherine. Then, when I’d made the full transition, I’d felt fast, sharp. Inhuman.
“Yes,” I said. “You’re dead.”
Violet flopped back down and closed her eyes.
“It hurts so much,” she whimpered as she slumped against the side of the boat in exhaustion. Her body couldn’t take the transition.
I felt anger slice through my stomach. Damon needed to pay for this.
I took a piece of muslin, most likely used to repair sails, from the side of the boat and pulled it over her body like a blanket. She was sleeping now, and I knew she didn’t have the strength to run off. She sighed and burrowed into the cloth while I jumped off the skiff and tore back into the party.
As soon as I walked back into the smoky warehouse, I could hear my brother’s voice above the din, laughing and making fun of the ridiculous expedition Lord Ainsley had planned in India. Not caring who saw me, I used my vampire speed to reach him. He was laughing with Samuel and Henry. Cora clung to his every word.
“You ought to go to India, too, Damon. You’re always complaining you’ve had enough of London society,” Henry said, raising his champagne toward Damon. “Maybe an adventure would do you good.”
“Yes, you could try your luck at snake charming,” Samuel suggested. “You already have proven your talent for charming women.”
At this, Damon laughed appreciatively. Fury rose up inside me. How dare he laugh and joke only minutes after he’d attacked Violet and set her on the path we’d both regretted taking.
“You,” I growled, dragging my brother out by the arm and toward the alley that led down to the docks, empty except for a far-off vagrant sleeping with a bottle of whiskey clutched against his chest.
“Ah, a moonlit conversation by the waterfront. How picturesque. What’s the special occasion?” Damon asked, arching a dark eyebrow.
I recoiled. I hated everything about him. I hated his affected Virginia drawl that he put on in my presence as if to make fun of our polite upbringing, the way he twisted words even if he was the only one who’d get the joke, and the way he made a mockery out of everything, including human life.
“You are dead to me,” I growled, grabbing him with all my might and throwing him toward the opposite wall, satisfied to hear his skull cracking against the concrete. He slumped, ragdoll-like, before standing up, his eyes flashing in the darkness. He took a quick step toward me, then stopped and laughed softly.
“Someone’s found his strength again,” Damon said, still rubbing his temple. The wound had closed almost instantaneously, leaving nothing but smooth, pale flesh. “Why so upset? Didn’t find the murderer you were looking for?” Damon mocked in a low voice.
“No more games. You’re the killer!” I spat, rage boiling in my veins. I wanted to hurt him. But the trouble was, nothing would.
“I am, am I?” Damon asked nonchalantly. “Tell me, how did you reach that conclusion, Detective Salvatore?”
So this was how he’d decided to torment me now. No more blows or fights or battles, just psychological torture. Well, he’d succeeded.
“You framed me for the attack the other day. And you killed Violet,” I said, my voice clear as a crack of thunder.
A million expressions—hate, anger, annoyance—flashed across Damon’s face before he lunged toward me, pinning me against the cold concrete wall, his face only inches from mine. I squirmed to get away, but he only held me harder.
“I’ve tried to be patient with you, brother,” Damon said, hate dripping from his voice. “I thought that maybe a few decades had done us both good. But you’re the same as you’ve always been. Always the one to come into a situation and think he knows how to fix it. Always the foolish knight in shining armor. Always the one who takes responsibility for the whole world on his shoulders. But . . .” Damon’s voice dropped to a whisper, so only I could hear. “You are not innocent. You started all of this. And death doesn’t begin and end with me. Get used to it, brother. People die, and you can’t change it.” He let go of my neck, but not before spitting in my face. “Be warned, next time I show up in your life, it won’t be all parties and picnics. You can trust me on that.” Damon turned on his heel and headed back to the party.
I watched him, fists clenched, still fully aware of the indents on my neck where Damon had pinned me. He was much stronger than I was, and I knew he didn’t want me to forget it. My mind lingered on Damon’s glee that Violet was dead. Of course, he would never change. He would forever enjoy seeing me in pain. He thought I had wronged him and would continue to destroy anyone I cared about. He would keep killing, 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 a monster.
But now Violet was transitioning and the only thing I could do to make up for my mistakes was to try to help her through it. I hurried as fast as I could back to the skiff, where I saw slight movement from underneath the muslin cloth.
“Violet!” I said, sinking to my knees next to her.
Her eyes fluttered open, the pupils enormous and cloudy. I pulled her tightly against my body, wishing there was something I could do for her. But the only thing I could do was give her the opportunity to leave this world as she came into it—as a human, without blood on her hands.
“Stefan,” she croaked, struggling to sit up.
“We need to go,” I said, dragging her to her feet. Damon would be looking for her now to ensure her transformation was complete. I knew I should double back in and find Cora, but I couldn’t risk it. I had to hope the vervain was helping Cora when I could not.
I couldn’t give Violet much, but I could at least give her a choice—and let her know exactly what would happen with either path she chose. It was an impossible, monstrous choice, but it was hers, and might be the last one she’d ever make. She deserved to do it in peace. I needed to bring Violet somewhere she could be safe.
“Come on,” I said, helping her up and holding her close. I began to run, clumsily at first, until I gathered the speed I was accustomed to when I was fully in tune with my Power. Once or twice, I thought I caught a glimpse of a curtain rus
tling, or a shadow too tall to be my own. I even thought I heard a racing footstep behind me. It only galvanized me to go faster, barely stopping before we reached the street in front of our hotel. I paused. Damon knew where we were staying. It wasn’t safe there. I looked down at Violet, who was still disoriented and growing weak.
“The party?” Violet asked, sitting up and holding her hand to her head. “The champagne . . . did I get drunk?” she asked.
I wanted to say yes. I wished I could spare her the pain of the upcoming hours. But she deserved more than that. I hadn’t lied to her when I’d found her and I wouldn’t lie to her now. I would make sure she knew the choice she faced. It was the least I could do. I thought back to the way her face had shone when she saw the Gaiety Theatre, and an idea formed in my mind.
“Let’s go to the theater,” I said.
“The theater?” Violet blinked, as though she didn’t understand my invitation. I didn’t blame her. Her situation was dire, even she knew that, and yet it sounded like I was asking her to a church social.
I nodded and helped Violet to her feet. Together, we hobbled along the deserted cobblestoned sidewalks. It was nearly morning.
The lights in front of the Gaiety were off, but the stage door with its rusted hinges didn’t take too much strength to force open. Once we were in the dark theater, I sighed. Finally, I felt we were safe from Damon.
“Is this another party? Because I don’t think I’m up for it.” My heart twisted at the innocent disappointment in Violet’s voice.
I motioned for Violet to sit next to me on one of the crushed red velvet chairs facing the stage.
“I brought you here because I knew how much you loved it. And what I have to tell you won’t be easy to process,” I explained, blinking in the darkness. It was easier to have this conversation when we weren’t facing each other.
“Damon . . .” Violet said, then shuddered. “He was so nice. He introduced me to all of his friends. And then . . .”
