by L. J. Smith
“Yes,” I replied. I had no doubt. I wanted good memories of Violet, wanted to remember the courageous resolve she’d shown even in the face of her own death. “You’re one in a million. And you’re someone I could never, ever forget.”
Gratitude gleamed in Violet’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said in a small voice. “May I ask you a favor?”
I nodded. I knew if I spoke, my voice would crack, and I didn’t want to cry in front of Violet. I didn’t want her to know how terrified I was.
“Could you . . . kiss me?” she whispered, embarrassed. “It’s just that I’ve never had a proper kiss. And I don’t want to die without ever being kissed. Please?”
Once again, I found my heart breaking for this girl. She had so much life left to live. I nodded, grasping her tiny, delicate hand and pulling her into me. I leaned down and allowed my lips to graze hers in a sweet, innocent kiss.
Violet broke the kiss and shyly met my gaze.
“Thank you,” she said. “That was perfect.”
“Don’t thank me,” I mumbled. In that moment, I felt something as close to peace as I’d felt in years.
I glanced at the sky to avoid looking at her. Clouds were rolling in toward the river down below, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before the heavens opened up.
I hurried Violet down the hill without a backward glance. The rain would come soon, causing the grounds to sparkle with condensation. I loved rainstorms, their ability to wash everything away and make everything smell clean and innocent. I only wished the rain could wash away my sins.
Chapter 16
When I was growing up, kissing was a game that we started to play when we found tag to be too childlike. It was a diversion, an amusement, and caused our hearts to race at an otherwise boring picnic. I’d shared kisses with Clementine Haverford, Amelia Hawke, Rosalyn Cartwright, and all my other childhood playmates. Kissing was pleasant, but never life-changing.
But then, I kissed Katherine Pierce, and nothing was ever the same. It was as if those other kisses were mere shadows of the ecstasy I felt when Katherine’s lips were near mine. When I was surrounded by her heady scent of lemon and ginger, I was guided purely by instinct. I would do anything for a kiss.
And, of course, it was that unquenchable desire that had changed my entire life. Katherine was like Helen of Troy, launching an eternity of destruction. And yet, I knew that if I ever did find myself close to death, I would close my eyes and imagine Katherine’s lips brushing mine.
Violet wanted something I couldn’t give her. She wanted love, and all I had was my affection. But maybe that was better than desire. Desire, after all, was the very thing that killed me.
In autumn, thick rain clouds often hung low in the Ivinghoe sky, casting the entire farm in a gloomy, dusklike fog no matter what the time of day. Today was no exception. The beautiful morning had given way to an evening heavy with the promise of rain and in the semidarkness of my cabin, I was watching Violet grow weaker and weaker. Here, it was just us and Death, a powerful third party in my vigil over Violet.
“Please, Stefan!” Violet said, thrashing from side to side as she woke. I hastily dipped a compress in water and held it against her forehead. My knees were stiff, and I knew I must have been sitting in the same position for hours, but I didn’t want to leave her side for even an instant. I couldn’t tell whether her screams were the result of a fever dream or a sign that she was returning to a hazy half-consciousness.
Violet’s eyes, when they opened, were cloudy as unshaken milk. She squinted, trying to focus on me.
“Stefan, please! Please just kill me. End it now,” she gasped, her breathing sounding like a rusty saw cutting against metal. Whitish froth had collected at the corners of her mouth and her arms were covered with scratches from when she’d clawed at her skin in her sleep, as if wanting to escape her own body. I’d stopped her as best I could, but she still looked like she’d run through a bramble patch. Now, she no longer had energy to thrash, and all she could focus on was blinking and breathing.
I shook my head dully. I wished I could do what she asked of me—to end her agony and bring her peace. But no matter how much she begged, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d promised to myself over and over again that I’d never kill another human. It was selfish, perhaps, but all I could do was try to make her comfortable in her last moments.
“Please!” she cried, her voice a half-shriek. An owl hooted in the distance. Nighttime was when the creatures of the forest came out. I could smell their blood and hear their heartbeats. And while Violet couldn’t hear them as profoundly as I did, I knew she could sense their presence as well.
“Soon you’ll be somewhere better,” I said, hoping upon hope that I was telling her the truth. “Soon you’ll be at peace. And it will be better than here or London—better than Ireland, even. It will be better than anywhere you or I could imagine.”
“Stefan, it hurts,” Violet said, thrashing against the bed frame and throwing the bedclothes on the floor. She opened her eyes again.
“Shhh—” I said, reaching toward her arm. But she yanked away from me, swung her feet down, and raced toward the door, a tangle of bedclothes mopping the floor behind her.
“Violet!” I sprang up, my chair falling behind me with a clatter. Quickly, Violet loosened the latch and fled into the night. The door slammed shut.
I immediately ran after her. I looked this way and that, my senses quickly acclimating to the outdoors. The air was pitch black, and the trees surrounding the cottage, usually so cozy, made me realize she could be anywhere.
I sniffed the air, suddenly sharp with the smell of blood, and raced toward the source.
“Violet!” I called into the night, aware and not caring that the Abbotts could hear me. I needed to find her. I hopped over the wire fence of the chicken coop.
There, kneeling, her dress, face, and hands spattered with blood, was Violet. A dead chicken was in her lap, its neck snapped, blood oozing from a gash on its throat. Blood was running down Violet’s face, and her teeth, still normal, gleamed in the moonlight.
Suddenly, she leaned over and began to retch. Her entire body was soaked in sweat, and I couldn’t tell if she was dying or reviving.
“I’m so sorry!” she said, her face stained with tears. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
Violet’s guilt was one I knew all too well. Wordlessly, I took her by the hand, pulled her up, and led her back to the cabin. I closed the door and turned toward her. Her body was perched on the edge of the bed, bloodstains in her hair and on the bodice of her dress, her expression miserable.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked in a tiny voice.
I shook my head silently and helped her lie down, tucking her under the crisp white linen sheets and opening the window, hoping that the fall air could provide some solace.
“I was so hungry,” she said in a small voice. “I still am.”
“I know,” I said. The chicken blood wouldn’t do anything. To turn, a vampire needed human blood. “I know it’s hard. And I know you’re suffering,” I said helplessly. She nodded, a drop of chicken blood still lingering on the corner of her mouth. “But remember, you’re going someplace better. I truly believe that. And I know it will be painful, but after pain comes peace.”
I suppose I also hoped that for my sake as well. After all, I had created this. My mind kept playing the same tug-of-war over and over again. The logical part of my brain told me that this could have happened whether or not I’d been involved. After all, if Violet and I had never met, she might have been kicked out to the street. She could have been found by anyone.
Or she might be on the brink of a long, happy life.
“Stefan, I . . .” Violet said, breathing heavily with every word.
“It’s all right. Go and find peace,” I said. It was the good-bye I’d never given Callie. Now, I knew that the best thing I could do was let Violet know it was okay to go.
“But . . . I . . .” Violet s
aid, her breath laboring with each word. I leaned in closer to hear, my ear just inches away from her mouth, when all of a sudden, I heard a terrible, otherworldly shriek piercing the night air.
But it wasn’t Violet. It was coming from the Manor.
I tore my gaze away from Violet and rushed up to the house, fearing the worst.
Chapter 17
The Manor was pitch-black, and there was no sign of anyone, not even Mrs. Duckworth, who often kept late hours knitting by candlelight. There wasn’t even a lantern lighting the porch, and I felt my stomach sink. Something was very, very wrong.
“Hello?” I called, my voice wavering. “Who’s here?” I called again, wishing I’d remembered to grab a gun before I’d run to the house. “Show yourself!” I yelled, louder than ever, my voice echoing off the stone entranceway.
Silence. Damon must have found us.
Then, I heard a slight cry. It was so faint, I thought I might be imagining things. I cocked my head again. Definitely a noise.
“I’m coming!” I called. If there was sound, it was a sign of life. I quickly sped through the labyrinth of rooms, my eyes adjusting to the dim light, until I came into the parlor.
There, the entire Abbott family was huddled in the corner, Luke as white as a ghost. George was clutching a poker, his eyes wild, and Gertrude had fainted on the floor. Emma, the source of the noise, was crying over her mother. But they were alive.
“I’m here. It’s Stefan. You’re safe,” I said to the family, even though my heart was pounding in terror against my chest. Damon could be anywhere. He was probably right behind me, laughing at me. He’d concocted this scene purely to frighten me, to show me that he wasn’t scared of Klaus because he’d become Klaus. He could commit horrific acts of bloodshed without blinking an eye.
“Stefan?” George said incredulously, his voice dripping with fear.
“Yes. You’ll be safe. I promise,” I said, my eyes darting around the room. The many portraits seemed to be leering down at me. But there was no sign of Damon.
Suddenly, I heard a noise and whirled around. As soon as my back was turned, George sprang up, lunging toward me with the poker. A crazed look was on his florid face.
“Traitor! You stole my son!” George yelled, swinging the iron poker wildly through the air as if it were a sword. I ducked easily, horror dawning on me as I took in the family. Where was Oliver?
“Sir! No! I was down at the farmhouse! It was my brother, Damon. Where is he? Did you see where he went?” I asked desperately as I continued to duck his blows.
I felt something jump on my back. I spun around and realized Luke had clamped himself to my shoulders and was kicking his legs into my lungs.
“You took my brother!” he shrieked, pummeling his feet into my back. I struggled against his grip. Emma was crying loudly now, tears streaming down her face.
“Fiend! You shall die!” George roared, lunging toward me in the darkness.
“It wasn’t me!” I yelled futilely. I shrugged Luke off my back. He fell to the floor with a sickening thump, and I used the moment George turned to tend to him to hurry out of the house and into the darkness, confident my vampire senses would give me a head start. But I knew I didn’t have much time. George would run to a neighboring farm for help, and soon there’d be an entire mob looking for me.
But right now, I couldn’t worry about that. Oliver was kidnapped. And a vampire was on the loose. I’d been set up, just like I had when Martha had been found in the alley behind the Ten Bells. Fear flooded my body as I realized the connection. Oliver had been taken for a reason, and I’d left Violet unattended and vulnerable. He was going to get to her and force the choice she’d fought so hard against. Oliver would be the sacrificial lamb. I was just a pawn in my brother’s game, and this time, he was truly playing for blood.
“Damon!” I yelled again into the darkness. I sniffed the air, feeling the urge to retch when I smelled the familiar iron scent all around, enveloping me. “Damon!” My feet flew toward my cabin, and I pushed against the door with all my might.
I blinked in horror.
In the center of the floor was Violet, leaning down over Oliver, taking large sips from a gaping wound on his neck. Blood was trickling onto the floor in a dark, deep pool.
“Oliver!” I called helplessly. Violet turned around, her newly formed fangs glistening with blood, a blank expression on her face. She leaned down, burying her face back in Oliver’s neck.
“No!” I lunged toward them and attempted to grab Oliver from her grasp. The little boy’s body was limp and lifeless, and I couldn’t hear a heartbeat. But his tiny body wasn’t entirely drained of blood. Not yet. Violet pulled him away from my hands and brought his neck to her lips.
Just then, I heard the door click shut. I turned, ready to fight my brother.
Only it wasn’t Damon. Framed in the doorway was Samuel, his hair blond and lionlike around his face, his white shirt and tan trousers impeccably pressed. I blinked. So Samuel was one of Damon’s foot soldiers as well. Of course. I felt the hatred for my brother deepening.
“Where is he?” I growled, my hands flexing into fists. I would make Samuel pay, but first, I needed him to lead me to Damon.
“So this is your country estate, Stefan,” Samuel said, unwinding his bow tie and draping it over the back of a chair and sitting down as if he were paying a simple social call.
“Where’s Damon?” I repeated.
“I don’t know.” Samuel shrugged, crossing one leg over his knee and leaning back on his chair. “And I don’t care. I came here looking for you. Our time in London was so rushed, I felt that you hardly got to know me at all,” he said, arching a blond eyebrow.
“You’re not here for Damon?”
“Your brother?” he asked lazily, licking his lips. “Not hardly. As I said, I have no idea where he is. Nor do I care. What really matters is where people think Damon is,” Samuel said, a small smile playing on his lips.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my head spinning. I couldn’t stop staring at the stone on his necklace, and the more I stared at it, the more bewitched I felt by it.
“I mean that Damon . . . or, I’m sorry, Count DeSangue, may soon have another soubriquet. I hope he likes the sound of ‘Jack the Ripper.’” Samuel rose and stalked toward Violet, who was still crouched over Oliver. She seemed unsure whether to dive back in and feed again. Samuel stood above them, and for a second, I wondered if Samuel would snap Violet’s neck, too, simply to show his power. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand rested gently on the top of Violet’s head.
“I think you could be useful,” he mused to himself. “Yes, I think you have what it takes. Hunger, certainly,” he said as Violet lowered her head to drink as if in a trance. Then he turned toward me.
“Where’s Damon?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Is he . . .”
“Dead?” Samuel let out a harsh laugh that sounded like a bark. “What would possibly be the fun in that? I can promise you, he’s not dead. I came up with another plan for him. Since I know how much he craves the spotlight, I found a way for him to be splashed all over the London papers. He’s about to be known as London’s most notorious killer. They’re receiving an eyewitness sketch of him as we speak. And that’s just the beginning. I think he’ll like that, don’t you?”
“You’re the Ripper,” I realized, everything clicking into place. Samuel had murdered Mary Ann and attacked Martha. And Samuel intended to frame Damon for the murders. Which meant that Samuel had written the warning message in the park.
I stepped back, my body slamming against the wall. I’d cornered myself.
“I want to destroy Damon. And death would be far too easy,” Samuel hissed, stepping up to me and laying one hand on each shoulder. “So I will make him pay first. I’ll take him away from the London society he loves so much and ruin the image he enjoys maintaining. That was the plan, and that’s what shall be carried out,” Samuel explained, his face now inches away from mine. “When you ca
me along, I didn’t have quite as much time to plot your punishment. But I’m quite pleased by what I came up with. I ruined the family you loved so much and blamed it on you. I got your girl to come to the dark side . . . I think I did rather well,” Samuel said, smiling.
“Why are you doing this to us? What have we ever done to you?” I asked, trying to placate him by not struggling. My mind was whirling. I could just hear the sound of shouting in the distance, and knew it wouldn’t be long before an angry mob surrounded the cabin.
“You did enough. And I don’t really feel like giving you a history lesson. But speaking of brothers, I do know that you hurt mine. And I think that alone makes a rather strong case against us being friends, don’t you agree?” he asked. His smile was dangerous, and I knew he was about to pounce. I closed my eyes, gathered my strength, and charged toward him, hoping the surprise of my action would catch him off guard.
But quicker than lightning, he wrestled me to the ground until I was pinned underneath him. With his face only inches from mine, I could smell human blood on his breath.
I twisted free and scrambled backward. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once, and suddenly, I caught the whiff of something burning. Our scuffle had upset a table, and an overturned candle had started a fire, the flames licking the dry pine walls. The light from the flames danced on Samuel’s angular face. Our eyes locked for a moment, and a faint smile crossed Samuel’s lips. Then he lunged toward me, catching me unaware as he pushed me toward the hearth. I fell onto my knees.
“Get out,” Samuel barked to Violet, who ran toward the door, leaving Oliver’s lifeless body on the ground.
“You’ve lived for far too long,” he said, quickly grabbing a chair and snapping it over his knee as if it were a twig. He stood over me, each foot on either side of my waist, one hand holding a broken chair limb, ready for it to serve as a stake.
