Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  Minnie assumed her spot behind the counter and ran her fingers over the ornate cash register. “Nothing extraordinary. Except…” She bit her lip. “Except Henry did have a few words with him about frightening me. He told him to cease any foul ideas he might have, and that we were to be married soon. He told me all about it; it was terribly romantic.”

  I thanked Minnie for her time and promised to stop by for tea the next afternoon. Once she’d written her address down, I followed Thomas outside. Snow decided to join us, falling in excited clumps. We stood under the striped awning of the pharmacy, inspecting the pharmacy across the street. No lights flickered behind the curtains, no gilded outlines to hint at someone being shut in tight. All was eerily still, like it was watching us back.

  Thomas tapped his fingers at his side, frowning. “If he’s taking the missing women and holding them prisoner, then it’s not unreasonable to think he could have some sort of… dungeon… in the basement.”

  “It would explain why he closed the pharmacy. He wouldn’t want anyone overhearing any cries for help,” I said. “Would he actually remain here, after being confronted by someone? If Henry noticed odd behavior and threatened him, he might have feared police involvement. Maybe he did slip into the night. He could be anywhere by now.”

  Thomas appraised the building, then shifted his attention to the alleyway beside it. “Someone’s still there; look at the rubbish bins. They’re overflowing.”

  “That doesn’t prove he’s the one who’s filled them, though.”

  “True enough. But the number painted on them matches the number above the door.” Thomas lifted his chin. “The rubbish bin beside it is also full, and matches the building to the left. While it is possible someone else took advantage and put their rubbish in his bin, it’s not probable. A simple glimpse inside it might give us a better answer.”

  Snowflakes quickly stuck to the cold cobblestones of the street. The sun was ready to set and it would only get colder and more dangerous to be out. Digging in someone’s rubbish hardly seemed like the sort of evening jaunt I’d care for with my beloved. I sighed. Wants and desires didn’t take precedence when there were missing women and a brutal murderer running amok.

  “Fine.” I swept my arm out. At least I hadn’t worn my favorite gloves today. “Let’s see what clues we can find in the trash.”

  Two hours later police swarmed like angry bees around a hive. Thomas leaned against the pharmacy, arms crossed as he watched them collect the bloodied bedsheet. He had the decency of not uttering anything close to “I told you so,” which was good for his health. I was cold and miserable, and my mood plummeted along with the temperature. I shivered under the horsehair blanket an officer offered me, teeth chattering as snow continued to fall in drifts. Winds whipped down the streets, lifting stray hairs and raising gooseflesh.

  General Inspector Hubbard exited the building, his expression more grim than when he’d first disappeared through the doors. I tried not to glare in his direction, though he was the reason I was standing outside in the freezing elements, instead of investigating the scene. Heaven forbid I witness a body in any sort of indecent state, such as dead.

  He motioned for the officers to gather around. “Put everything back where you found it. There’s no sign of any wrongdoing here.” He met my gaze briefly, though I wasn’t surprised it didn’t linger on me long. He addressed Thomas. “It appears to be a…” His attention wavered, and I rolled my eyes. “There’s a space in the basement that appears to have been used as an abortion chamber.”

  He puckered his lips, his entire expression turning sour. His tone implied it wasn’t the medical procedure but the women who’d seek such a service that bothered him. I immediately wished I could jab him with the tip of my cane.

  “There were medical tools and bloodstained sheets. No signs of murder. No bodies.” He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. A carriage clattered to a stop in front of us and he opened the door, ushering us in. “Perhaps it’s best if you stick to studying the bodies we discover from now on. It’s better to not waste either of our time. We won’t come on a fool’s errand again. Especially not for a pair who seem to only be after fame.”

  “Pardon me?” Thomas asked, sounding too confused to be angry.

  “Oh, I’ve heard of you two.” The general inspector sneered. “And that doctor you’re with. Thought you could come here and start that Jack the Ripper nonsense in my city, did you?” He jabbed his hand at the open carriage, his look free from any politeness. “I don’t want to see you making any further problems. Have I made myself clear? One more slipup, and I’ll have you both in custody.”

  Thomas and I glanced at each other. There was no point in arguing with this man—he’d already made up his mind about who we were, no matter that it couldn’t be further from the truth. With nothing left to say, Thomas helped me into the carriage.

  It seemed we now had one more complication to add to our never-ending tally.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  BE MINE

  GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  14 FEBRUARY 1889

  I was in such a miserable state after our encounter with the general inspector that I hardly noticed the food on my plate. I stabbed at my vegetables, lost in my darkening mood. Thomas and I sat alone in the large dining room while Uncle sequestered himself away in his new makeshift basement laboratory, setting up his tools in a manner that pleased him.

  We’d offered our assistance, but the feral look in his eyes had us back up the stairs in an instant. It was best to leave him to his work, lest he start tossing scalpels and bone saws about, disturbed by the intrusion.

  I brought the fork to my mouth, still no closer to paying attention to my meal. I grabbed for my wineglass instead, taking a small sip and hoping my expression didn’t turn as sour as the drink. Thomas sighed from across the table. I flicked my attention to him, not quite understanding the look on his face.

  “Are you well?” I asked, unable to discern if he was sad or ill. Perhaps he was both. I looked at him, really looked, and saw smudges of darkness under his eyes. A haggardness that edged his beautiful features. I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been sleeping well. “What is it?”

  He set his cutlery down, then folded his hands together as if in prayer. Perhaps he was requesting assistance from our Heavenly Father. “I hate when you’re upset, Wadsworth. It makes me…” He wrinkled his nose. “It makes me feel quite foul, too. It’s abominable.”

  I raised my brows—I could tell there was more. His eyes didn’t hold that usual glimmer of excitement when he teased me.

  “I hate feeling out of control,” I said, hoping by admitting my fears it might encourage him to do the same. I sipped from my wine, no longer bothered by its tartness. “The general inspector believes we’re overreacting or fame-mongers chasing headlines. We haven’t been able to assist Noah in his endeavors. Then”—I stumbled over our personal drama, unable to think or speak of the failed marriage more than I already did—“there’s Nathaniel’s confession and his journals. Which only add to my confusion and feeling of spinning helplessly, wildly out of control.”

  I inhaled a sharp breath. There was more to my growing anxiety. Things I hadn’t wanted to share with him or admit to myself. I stared at the delicate lace on the table runner. It was so beautiful it made me want to slash it with my knife.

  “Then there are my nightmares,” I whispered, not meeting his gaze. “At night, I see a man with curved horns. Always in silhouette. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He stands there in the shadows, as if he’s… waiting for me.” A chill ran along each of my vertebrae. I finally worked up the nerve to look at Thomas. His face was a study of worry—worse than it had been moments ago. He nodded for me to continue. “He comes for me every night, stealing into my most private moments. I-I know it’s not real, but it’s hard to not think—”

  I snapped my mouth shut, suddenly unsure I wanted to be quite so vulnerable. I
knew Thomas wouldn’t accuse me of madness, but I did not want to add to his growing worries by admitting the full truth. I wondered if the devil in my dreams wasn’t haunting me, but waiting for me to willingly come to him. To accept my role as his mistress of darkness. The silent command emanating from him was simple: Surrender, he seemed to say without speaking. Part of me feared I’d set this inevitable path into motion the moment I decided to follow my own desires.

  Thomas might be Dracula’s heir, but I was the one who craved blood. I was the one who enjoyed sinking my blades into dead flesh more than I had any right to. Sometimes, if I gave in to my secret fears, I worried there was something gnarled and twisted in me. Perhaps our wedding had fallen apart because my true companion was Satan and I was destined for treacherous things.

  Thomas moved swiftly around the table and sat beside me, taking me into his arms. He cradled me there, against his pounding heart, as if he could keep my demons at bay through the sheer force of his will. “How long have the nightmares been happening?”

  I hesitated. Not because I couldn’t recall, but because I wasn’t sure I should admit they’d begun the same night we’d spent our first evening together. Right before our failed wedding. I didn’t want him internalizing anything, thinking my subconscious was damning me for our desires of the flesh. I feared he’d stay far from my bedchamber forever, blaming himself no matter how wrong that was. And while I shouldn’t miss his presence in my bed since he was promised to another, I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to him yet.

  “A few weeks.”

  He sucked in a breath. I could practically hear the gears of his mind cranking over the information. “How can I make them go away?” he asked, his mouth against my hair. “Tell me how to help you, Audrey Rose.”

  My first reaction was to pretend I could handle it on my own, but my mind was churning with negativity. I could not take the constant bombardment without a bit of respite. I wrapped my arms around him, uncaring that it wasn’t the most comfortable position, sitting crookedly in our stiff dining room chairs.

  “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” Recalling something he’d said during one of our former adventures when things had gotten a little too serious for his taste, I added, “Make it scandalous, too.”

  He grinned against my neck before planting a chaste kiss there. No doubt he was recalling when he’d said that to me—we were tucked behind the fern fronds in his family’s estate in Bucharest. He ran his hand along my spine, soothing and gentle.

  “Before I met you, I was convinced love was both a weakness and a hazard. Only a fool would allow himself to be swept up in someone’s eyes, pen sonnets dedicated to them, and dream of the floral fragrance of their hair.” He paused, but only briefly. “The night we met I’d gotten into a fight with my father. He was livid with me for ruining another potential match.”

  His tone was bitter now, and I remembered him telling me earlier their argument had been over Miss Whitehall. He instinctually held me tighter.

  “My father called me a monster,” he admitted. “The worst part was I believed him, that I was less than human, unable to feel things as others do. I accepted his appraisal of me, which made me harbor all the more animosity toward love. Why long for something that would never be mine? If I didn’t believe in it, I could avoid the crushing disappointment that would inevitably follow if I ever did fall. Surely no one would truly want me, the monster. More obsessed with death than living.”

  I wanted to twist in my seat, to see his face, but realized because I couldn’t study him it was easier for him to confess. I sat very still, hoping to not break the spell of the moment.

  “You’re not a monster, Thomas. You’re one of the most incredible people I know. If anything, you care too much for those around you. Even strangers.”

  He drew in a shaky breath and waited a minute before responding. “Thank you, my love. It’s one thing for someone else to tell you you’re good, but when you don’t believe it yourself…” He shrugged. “For a long while I thought I was a monster. I’d heard the whispers around London. The way people mocked my behavior and accused me of being Jack the Ripper. Sometimes I wondered if they were right, if one day I might wake up and find blood on my hands with no recollection of how it got there.”

  My fingers curled into his lapels, gripping them tightly. I remembered those rumors, too. I’d encountered a bit of that animosity during an afternoon tea I’d hosted what felt like ages ago instead of mere months. I’d only just met Thomas—and couldn’t stand him most of the time—and yet I’d defended him instead of sitting back and quietly agreeing, much to my aunt’s dismay.

  I loathed the way the people of so-called noble birth spread rumors of him like a plague. When they’d discovered Miss Eddowes, one of the Ripper victims, had a small tattoo that read TC, they went wild with theories. They were cruel and inaccurate. Thomas could never harm anyone. If they’d only given him a chance, they’d have seen what I did…

  “Anyway, that night I made a vow to the heavens. I swore I would only marry science. I refused to surrender my heart or my mind to anyone. No one can think you’re a monster if they don’t know you. And those who already thought it? Why should I care? They didn’t mean anything. I refused to let them.”

  He dropped a kiss on my neck, drawing a lovely tingling sensation on my skin there.

  “When I walked into your uncle’s laboratory, I’d been so consumed with the surgical procedure we were about to perform. It was the perfect distraction from my black mood. I hadn’t initially noticed you. Then I did.” He breathed in deeply as if preparing to reveal the secret I craved. “You were standing there, scalpel in hand, apron splattered in blood. Of course I noticed your beauty, but that wasn’t what caught me off guard. It was the look in your eyes. The way you held that blade aloft, like you might stick me with it.” He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I was so startled at the odd surge of my pulse, I almost fell face-first into the open cadaver. It was a horrifying mental image. I was even more disturbed when I realized it mattered—what you’d think of that. Of me.”

  He gently stroked my hair for a few beats.

  “I hadn’t had a physical response to anyone before,” he said, voice shy. “I’d never found myself intrigued by anyone, either. And there you were, within an hour of my declaration against love, as if mocking my resolve. I wanted to shout, ‘I will not become a monster for you!’ Because a foreign piece of me wanted to snatch you away and keep you all to myself forever. It was downright animalistic. I wanted to loathe you but found it impossible.”

  I snorted at that. “Yes, you certainly seemed bewitched by me. What with that icy reception. You didn’t even speak to me.”

  “Do you know why?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “Because I knew, straightaway, there was only one reason behind my treacherous heartbeat. I thought if I could fight it, pretend the feeling away, freeze it, if necessary, I might win the battle against love.” He shifted behind me, gently turning my face to his. This time, he wished to confess to me. “I knew from the moment I set eyes upon you there could be something special here. I wanted to forget the surgery and don an apron, too. I wanted to cast you under the same spell that you’d cast over me. Of course that wasn’t logical. I needed to remember who I was—the monster, incapable of being loved. My coolness was directed entirely at myself. The more time we spent together, the harder it became to deny the change in my emotions. I couldn’t pretend away my feelings, nor could I blame them on some strange illness.”

  I rolled my eyes at that. “How exceptionally sentimental. Believing your affection for me was nothing more than an infection.”

  His laugh erased my remaining worry with its warmth. I all but forgot about the maelstrom in my head. “I had an inclination that you might feel that way. Which is why I penned this for you instead.”

  I stared at him for a moment, pulse pounding. “You wrote something for me?”

  He pulled a small cream envelope from h
is pocket, his expression bordering on bashful as he handed it to me. My name was written with care—the script more beautiful than his usual hurried writing. A lovely flush crept up his collar.

  Curious as to what would bring about such an unusual emotion in him, I quickly opened it and read.

  My dearest Audrey Rose,

  Poems and sonnets are meant to rhyme, but I find myself unable to pen anything other than the deepest longing of my soul. My world had been dark. I was so used to it that I’d grown accustomed to traversing through the lonely stretches of desolate land.

  When you entered my life, you shone brighter than the sun and stars combined. You warmed the frozen parts of me I’d feared were incapable of thawing. I’d been convinced I had a heart carved from ice until you smiled… and then it began to beat wildly. I cannot imagine my world without you in it now, because you are my entire universe.

  Happy Valentine’s Day, Wadsworth. You are and will forever remain my truest and only love. I hope, though I have no right to, that you will be mine. As I will always be

  Yours forever,

  Thomas

  My eyes brimmed with unshed tears and I clamped my jaws together to keep from crying. I didn’t think the proper way of thanking him for his thoughtfulness was to snot all over his suit. Horror washed into Thomas’s features. I tensed, unsure what had brought on his sudden shift.

  “I-I didn’t mean… you don’t have to—” He ran a hand through his hair, tousling his dark locks. “It’s all right if you don’t want to be mine. I-I understand our circumstances aren’t ideal. It’s—”

  Relief sluiced through me. He’d misunderstood the source of my tears. It was incredible that his powers of deduction were so lost when it came to reading my emotions. I touched his face gently, my hand fitting around the curve of his cheek, and brought his lips to mine. Showing him, without words, how much he meant to me.

  Thomas needed no further explanation. He deepened our kiss, his hands gripping me tighter—but not uncomfortably so—as he closed the space between us. Whenever he held me like that, with his body molded so perfectly against mine, I swore I lost my senses. The world and all its problems settled into a corner far away. There were only the two of us.