by Erin Hayes
Flames explode from my skin and wrap around Florence and me. The vampire screams as she’s ignited. She flails beneath me, struggling for a few seconds before she goes limp and her body turns to ash.
I get to my feet, and I barely know what I touch as I send my fire to the papers that are scattered through the room, destroying every available shred of evidence that Mister Holmes has used to create the serum.
There’s a shout, and I whip my head up just in time to see Adelia practically dragging Mister Holmes up the stairs. Away from the fire.
Anger surges within me and I move to stop them, but I stop to look back at Lizzie and the other vampire fighting. I have to stop him before Lizzie gets killed.
I turn to face them and see that Lizzie has gotten a few more weapons stuck in his body, and still he fights. She’s bleeding from gashes on her forehead and on her arms. It’s amazing that she’s been able to hold her own against such a monster this entire time.
I must stop it now.
I push past her and pin the vampire against the wall. “I judge you to be guilty as well,” I murmur to him, feeling a hint of pity in my veins before I unleash my new power on him. He thrashes against me, still fighting me, even as he’s burned alive.
Is there a heaven or a hell for the undead when they finally cross over? I’m not sure. In his case, I’m not sure which he would go to. After all, he’d been turned into a monster without his permission.
I hold him until he stops thrashing and what remains of him crumbles into ashes.
I step back and huff with the exertion. Finally. I killed him. Or at least one of the crazed vampires that the serum has turned. Who knows where the others are and how many still live.
That’s not my concern right now.
I glance over at Lizzie, who is breathing as heavily as I am.
“That would have been helpful months ago,” she mutters, shaking her head.
“It just came to me,” I tell her.
We stare at each other for a long moment before a wooden beam above us cracks from the flames licking at its structure.
“Let’s go,” I say, nodding with my head, “before we join them in being burned alive.”
We jog up the stairs before the fire creeps along them, too. I take the extra time to run up to the second story to grab the housekeeper from her slumber. She doesn’t awaken, doesn’t stir, and I don’t have time to try anymore, so I sling her over my shoulder and head out to the street where Lizzie is waiting for me.
“Adelia and Mister Holmes?” I ask her as I set down Mrs. Berry.
Lizzie shakes her head. “Haven’t seen them.”
So they ran away. And I’m too spent to chase them down and fight back.
I curse under my breath as I look back at the house. The fire inside it makes it glow with an orange color, as if it’s a living beast.
“I shall see if I can summon the fire brigade,” Lizzie murmurs to me before she takes off on a sprint down the street to find an urchin to run to the fire engine house.
I shake the porridge from my head as I lean Mrs. Berry up against a wall on the opposite end of the street, out of harm’s way. Neighbors spill out of nearby houses and passersby stop to stare at the spectacle of the burning house.
I just hope it doesn’t spread from the Holmes’s residence to other houses. It’s one thing to set it aflame to end Mister Holmes’s research. It’s another to bring down an entire city block.
“What happened?” a man in a top hat asks me, watching the house in wonder.
“I’m not sure,” I lie to him, although I must look a fright myself. I wince as I sit down next to Mrs. Berry as she snores soundly. I’m almost envious of her restful sleep.
I hold up my injured, broken hand and I tear a strip off my skirts and bind my wrist. I grit my teeth as I barely keep myself from crying out in pain.
Now would be a good time for my healing abilities to stitch my bones back together even faster.
“Dear me,” a woman says as she takes a place next to me. “Whatever happened here?”
I shake my head, knowing that this will be a question that I’ll hear much of tonight. “I’m not sure,” I say.
“At least their search for a cure for vampirism is done,” a man says, joining at her side. His voice is heavily accented Spanish, as if he’s from the Catalan region of Spain. I’ve been there a few times and can recognize it.
Then I realize what he said.
I blink at his words, surprised at what he said, and then look up at the couple that just joined me. She looks to be a proper woman, dressed up in the finest of fashions. However, I can tell that she is of African descent. Her smooth skin is dark ebony, contrasting with the white silk of her dress. Her dark hair is pinned up under her bonnet.
The gentleman she’s with is taller, with bronzed skin, and his dark hair is slicked from hair paste. The Spaniard.
But that’s not all that I realize. Upon looking at this, I realize that they aren’t human.
Vampires.
I stare at them in shock, wondering what I should be doing as I hear the bells from the fire brigade along the streets.
The woman grins at me. “Nice job, Harker.” She takes my good hand in a handshake and presses something into my palm. “I look forward to working with you.”
“Who are you?” I ask in astonishment.
“You can call me Hannah,” the woman says. She pats the man’s hand at her side. “And this is Alejandro. We’re part of what’s known as the Marrow. And we’re here to help you, Harker. For whenever you need us.”
I look between them for a long a moment, confused. Then I look down at what Hannah gave me. It’s a business card, finely embossed and pressed. There are just two words on it: The Marrow.
I look back up again, confused. “I’m sorry, what—?”
My question dies in my throat, as Hannah and Alejandro have gone. In astonishment, I look around at the crowd that has gathered on the street, trying to see where they are or if they joined the rest of the neighbors in looking at the burning house.
“Fire brigade is nearly here,” Lizzie says as she comes back to me. She frowns down at me. “Hazel? Are you all right?”
Numbly, I nod. “Did you see the gentleman and lady that were just here?”
Lizzie shakes her head. “No. No, I didn’t. Should I have?”
I look down at the business card and then pocket it, feeling like it is a secret that I should keep to myself. For the time being. “No, I suppose not,” I murmur.
She looks up just as the horse-drawn engine arrives. “They’re here.” She pats my shoulder. “What was that back there? With your fire magic?”
I give her a small smile. “I think I’ve finally grown into my Harker powers,” I tell her.
She grins. “Just in time, too.”
I look as the fire engine halts in front of the Holmes residence, and firemen prepare to put out the fire. “Yes,” I say with another nod. “Just in time.”
23
Hazel
“Mister Henry Holmes,” Detective Inspector Doyle says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I always thought he was a good man.”
I look down at my bandaged hand, and it hurts so bad, I doubt that I’ll get any sleep until it heals. It’s bound together, but I hope I set it correctly, so I won’t have a lame hand after this.
“He was a good man,” I say softly. “He was, but grief makes people do things they otherwise wouldn’t do.”
I think about Catherine and how grief over her death has impacted my family in the most profound of ways. Thomas moving out and becoming an opium addict. Papa growing cold and distant toward me. Margaret trying to maintain the façade of a normal household. And my own decision to try to conceive a child to protect them from the monsters.
We’ve all made extreme choices to reconcile our grief. Unfortunately for Mister Holmes, his decision is the most terrible. I try to imagine what it would be like, to be desperate enough to bring back the one
I love in any way possible.
To be honest, if I believed that I had any hope, I would have done the same to bring the ones I love back.
And that thought is terrifying.
“So Mister Holmes is behind the Whitechapel Murderer?” Doyle asks as he takes down my statement.
I shake my head. “Not directly,” I tell him. “I believe that the vampires of London are using him for their own ends.”
“For a cure?” Doyle asks.
I think about what Adelia and Florence said in the alley. “A world without pain, without death. A world where you can live without fear. Where you can live forever.” That doesn’t sound like the same goal as Mister Holmes.
“No,” I tell him. “For something else.”
“What kind of something else?”
“I’m not sure.” I meet his eyes. “But if we find Mister Holmes and his wife, then I think we can learn more about what the vampires are trying to accomplish.”
He nods as he writes down my statement. I tell him what Adelia looks like, what Mister Holmes looks like, and everything else I can think of. I do leave out mention of Hannah and Alejandro and keep their business card in my breast pocket. It feels like something that I should keep close for now.
“Anything else I should know?” Doyle asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
He gives me a long look before nodding. “Right. Well, thank you very much, Miss Harker.” He rises as I stand, and I shake his hand with my left, making for an awkward moment. “You’ll let me know if you learn anything else?”
I give him a tight smile. “Of course.”
It’s nearly sunrise when Lizzie and I step out from Scotland Yard, and London is cast in a dreary light.
“That was quite the night,” Lizzie says dramatically.
“Indeed.” I take a deep breath. “And I do believe that my morning is going to get even worse.” To be honest, I’m dreading it. I have to tell Margaret about her husband-to-be and his involvement with vampires. That his dead wife is still alive in a sense.
And I don’t believe any of that will go very well.
Lizzie sighs. “You have nothing to do with Mister Holmes being a manipulated worm of a man who is aiding vampires in killing innocents.” Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “He’s creating monsters, Hazel. Surely Margaret will come to her senses.”
“Which is why the truth will be hard for her to stomach,” I say, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be the easiest target for her wrath.”
This I know for certain. After all, I’m her older sister. She and I have the same temper.
The sun is nearly completely up by the time we make it back to Baker Street. As I ascend the steps to my house, I feel an overwhelming sense of wariness. I stand at the door for a moment, collecting myself, before I open it and step inside.
For a moment, the house is still, and I let out a breath as I look around. A part of me—a cowardly part—wants to run up to the bathroom and wash away the remnants of the night.
But I don’t.
“Margaret?” I call up the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson?” I don’t bother with Papa, as I don’t want to disturb him. I’m not sure what he’d contribute anyway.
I hear a door open upstairs, and Margaret appears on the landing, looking at me. “Oh, Hazel,” she breathes. “I was so worried about you. You left after our argument last night, and—”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. She’s apologizing for something that feels like it happened years ago. Was it only last night? When the worst offense I could do to Margaret was telling her that I slept with a sailor?
Hah.
Everything is about to get so much worse.
“How is Jared?” I venture.
Something akin to shame sparks in her eyes. “He’s alive,” she says. “I’ve used some of Lizzie’s potions and Mother’s spells. He’ll carry those scars for the rest of his life—and it remains to be seen if he’ll ever be able to speak properly again. But he’s alive.”
“Good,” I say. I glance at Lizzie, who stands idly at my side. She asks me a question in her gaze, and I give her a slight shake of my head.
No. I’m the one who has to do this. I must be the one to tell Margaret.
“Margaret,” I say at length. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
Margaret hesitates and frowns. “Hazel?”
I think she knows what I’m about to speak to her about.
“Please Margaret,” I tell her. I look up as Mrs. Hudson comes out of her room, still in her nightgown. “Mrs. Hudson, can you make us some morning tea?”
She doesn’t protest or say something about the state of my dress. She nods. “Of course, Hazel.” And she ducks into the kitchen to go about preparing the tea.
“Why don’t you help her, Lizzie?” I ask, nodding to the kitchen. This is something that I want to speak with Margaret about alone.
Thankfully, Lizzie doesn’t say anything else, and she follows the older woman into the kitchen. Margaret, however, is staring at me with wide eyes, looking more frightened than I’ve ever seen her.
“Hazel? What is going on?” She places a hand on her collarbone. “You’re frightening me.”
I let out a long sigh and gesture to the sitting room. “Please, Margaret. Take a seat.”
She follows me in there, giving me a wide berth, as if I’m going to attack her myself. We both sit across from each other, and Margaret doesn’t take her eyes off me once. I cross my ankles, and look down at my hands, unable to meet my little sister’s gaze.
“It’s Mister Holmes—” I start.
Margaret sits forward in her seat. “Is he all right? What happened to him?”
My hesitation says enough, and she covers her mouth with her hands. “Please,” she whispers. “Tell me. Hazel, tell me.”
“He’s alive,” I say. “He’s alive, and...so is his wife.”
Margaret’s face falls into confusion, then consternation. And then horror. “What?”
Shit, I’m messing this up terribly. Then again, how does one say that your fiancé is not what he seems?
“Your betrothed’s dead wife,” I say, “is a vampire. And Mister Holmes knows, and he is trying to cure her.”
Margaret shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“He got close to you to get to me,” I tell her. “He wants my blood to use as an ingredient in the serum that he’s concocting for his wife.”
Something akin to fury rears its head in Margaret’s face. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie about that?”
“Because.” She fumbles for excuses, although she looks conflicted and hurt. “Because you’re jealous that I’ve managed to find a nice gentleman to marry. That you’ve resorted to having sex with strange men to get a baby.” Her bottom lip trembles as tears fill her eyes. “That you’re a miserable excuse for a human being.”
Her words, even though they’re fueled by anger, each feel like a blow against me. I close my eyes. “Margaret—”
“Where is Henry?” she demands. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
She gets to her feet. “I’ve got to go see him. I’ve got to—”
“There is no longer a house, Margaret,” I tell her. “It burned down to the ground this morning.”
She stops and stares at me. “It...burned...to the...?”
I sigh. “I set fire to it.” I’m too tired to deny it or say otherwise. I might as well tell her everything. “To stop a monster from killing Lizzie and me, I had to—”
“You set fire to it?” She huffs angrily. “Why, Hazel. Why?”
“Because Mister Holmes—”
“My fiancé, Hazel, remember that,” she says. “He is my fiancé, and he’s going to give me a nice home and provide for me, so I don’t have to deal with you anymore!”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I’m surprised at how hurt I am at her words. I understand her grief. I understand that she�
��s hearing things that she wouldn’t want to hear.
But I don’t understand why she’s saying something that she’ll regret later.
“Can you please let me finish?” I whisper. “Can you stop this folly?”
“No,” she says shaking her head. “No, I can’t. I can’t, Hazel.”
And with that, she leaves me alone in the sitting room. A lone tear runs down my cheek and I wipe it away.
“Hazel?” I turn to the doorway of the room. Lizzie stands there, looking at me sympathetically.
“That could have gone better,” I murmur to her. Both Lizzie and I wince as the front door slams, signaling to us that Margaret has left the house. Probably to go to where Mister Holmes’s house used to be.
“I may…” I lick my lips. “I may stay with you for a while if that’s all right.”
To give Margaret her space. To allow her time to heal. And if she doesn’t forgive me, then that’s possibly for the best.
“Of course it is,” Lizzie says. She hesitates. “What about the American upstairs?”
Right. Jared.
I groan and rub my temples. “I don’t want to leave him here.” And leave Margaret to nurse him back to help. I think after everything, she would hold that against me.
Take him to a boarding house, perhaps? I know of a few people who owe me favors after saving their lives. I could pay for a nurse to look after him.
And then?
Well, I’m not sure. But for now…
“I’m going to take a bath,” I say with a groan, getting to my feet. To get the rot and stink off me from last night and to bring me back to feeling somewhat human.
I’d figure out everything in time. Just not now.
24
Hazel
I checked in on the man sleeping in the guest room before my bath. True to Margaret’s word, he seems to be sleeping soundly. One would think he is merely tired after a long night drinking, not recovering from a grave injury.
I stand in the doorway, watching him for a long moment, at the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyelashes look like lace against his cheeks. There’s something about him that I cannot quite place. Like his destiny is entwined with my own somehow.
