I nipped at his bottom lip and his eyes shifted to a molten chocolate that started a fire deep within me. He scooped me into his arms, knocking my cane over in his haste to exit the room and any possible interruptions from the footmen should they come to check on our dinner.
We were fortunate to have made it upstairs to my chambers before we expressed our love more thoroughly. I yanked his shirt open, buttons popping in all directions, and gave him an impish grin as he set me on the bed. He seemed anything but disturbed by my exuberance as he returned the favor and relieved me of my corset. Tonight he didn’t bother with slowly pulling its strings; he practically ripped it apart.
I traced the outline of his tattoo first with my fingertips and then with my lips, never tiring of the way he gasped beneath my careful touch.
If I lived to be one thousand years old, it would never feel like enough time with him.
“I love you, Audrey Rose. More than all the stars in the universe.”
Thomas erased all space between us and gazed down at me as if I were the most perfect person in existence. When he kissed me again, it was so sweet I nearly forgot my own name. It was a good thing he kept whispering it across my skin.
I lightly trailed my nails down his spine and back up, marveling at the goose bumps that rose, the sensation seeming to drive him as wild as it drove me. He repeated my name like an incantation, his tone as reverent as those praising gods. He worshipped my mind and body until I, too, became a believer. Then he brought us both to another realm—one where we were nothing more than love in its purest physical form.
Hours later, after we’d professed our adoration—and while I lay cradled in the safety of Thomas’s arms—the devil stood waiting for me. Silent and watchful as always, as he welcomed me back to his dominion of darkness.
THIRTY-NINE
STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE
1220 WRIGHTWOOD AVENUE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
15 FEBRUARY 1889
“Miss Wadsworth!” Minnie greeted me warmly at the door. “It’s so lovely of you to call on me. Tell me, have you heard from Mephistopheles? I haven’t been able to locate that scoundrel anywhere.”
It was quite an odd opening, but I handed my cloak to the maid and shook my head. “I’m afraid I haven’t spoken with him since I last saw him with you.” I studied her expression, the nibbling of her lower lip, the crease in her brow. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m sure it is. I just heard a rumor that my understudy hasn’t been seen for ages. It’s a bit strange, given how much she loved playing that role.” She brightened up again. “Come. Harry’s allowed me to decorate the parlor to my liking. Shall we take some tea and coffee there?”
I wished to return to the subject of yet another missing young woman, but something else caught my attention. “Harry?”
Minnie blinked slowly as if awakening from a dream. “Did I say Harry? Goodness me, Henry. My Henry is such a lovely man. Wait until you see this wallpaper. It’s from Paris!”
We situated ourselves in a lovely blue-and-white sitting room, the fabric as rich as any fine dessert. Gold thread shot through navy-and-cream stripes on our chairs. Little gold tassels tied back deep blue curtains that appeared to be made of velvet. A matching blue-and-white tea service was promptly brought out with a stack of freshly baked biscuits.
A proper household always boasted of polished silver, but Minnie took it even further. Crystals dripped off of shining candelabras and hothouse flowers bloomed fragrantly in vases nearly the size of a dog. It was quite a flashy show of excess.
“The flowers are lovely,” I said, motioning around the room. “Are they for a special occasion?”
“Henry is a man of fine refinement and taste.” Minnie poured me tea and herself coffee. “He enjoys beautiful things.”
Her smile seemed to freeze in place, like there was more she wasn’t saying aloud. I accepted my cup of tea, treading carefully. “Does that make you sad?”
“N-no, it’s not that.” She set her cup and saucer in her lap, staring down into the swirling cream. “It’s just… my sister said something rather unflattering the other day when I told her we’d married. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. I’m sure I’m simply being silly.” She glanced at the tea service again. “Sugar?”
“No, thank you.” I sipped my tea, enjoying the taste of vanilla and something richer. She added a few cubes to her coffee with silver tongs, seemingly lost in thought. “If you’d like to talk about what your sister said, I’m happy to listen.”
She gave me a grateful smile. “Sisters are wonderful, truly. No one in the world will hug you when you’re breaking and slap sense into you at the same moment.”
While I didn’t have a sister by blood, I thought of Liza and all of the ways that was true. There was no one who’d stand by your side and stare down demons with you as much as a sister would. She’d then kick you for being stupid and getting involved with demons after the fact, but a sister was always there when it counted. Images of Daciana and Ileana sprang to mind, too. I was elated to count them as my sisters as well, regardless of the ruined wedding.
“What did she say that upset you?”
Minnie drew in a deep breath. “I know I’m not… as I said before, Henry enjoys beautiful things. I know I’m plain. My hair is a dull brown; my eyes are utterly ordinary. I often wonder how I drew his attention, but when Anna said I was being foolish… that if he was as handsome and charming as I’d described—” She sniffled. “Well, she doesn’t think his intentions are very pure. You see, we have a small inheritance. And I started thinking about—”
Just then, a man in a bowler hat and matching brown suit stepped into the room. He started forward, then halted when he noticed me. I nearly dropped my tea when I recognized his striking blue eyes. He was the young man who’d given me directions to the pharmacy.
Those same eyes fixed on my face, widening ever so slightly before he blinked. Warmth flooded his features. “Minnie, my dear, I didn’t know you were entertaining. I’m sorry to barge in so rudely.” In a few strides he crossed the room, bending to kiss his new wife. He turned to me, a small grin starting. “Miss Wadsworth, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, impressed he’d recalled my name. “I apologize, but I don’t remember…”
“Please, call me Henry.” At Minnie’s confused expression, he explained. “I ran into Miss Wadsworth and her fiancé on their way to the pharmacy the other day.” He turned back to me, expression polite. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
The bloodstained bedsheet crossed my mind. It was alarming, almost, how I could envision such garish things with startling clarity and pretend them away. “No. I’m afraid we didn’t.” I narrowed my eyes a bit. “You didn’t mention owning the pharmacy.”
“Quite right. I don’t like boasting about my properties and businesses. I own several around Chicago alone. Well,” he said, his attention flicking to the clock on the mantel. “I must be off. I just wanted to give my wife a proper good-bye.”
He kissed the top of Minnie’s head, warmth returning to his features. I studied him, trying to find truth in what Minnie’s sister had worried about. To all outward appearances, he seemed to genuinely care for Minnie. The sparkle in his eyes didn’t appear fake. Though he wasn’t quite as perfect as she’d made him out to be. He was of average build and height, if not a bit on the short side. His face was wholly unremarkable except for his cunning blue gaze. That was shockingly magnetic. I imagined he’d get lost in a room full of men with similar builds.
“Don’t wait up, my dear,” he said. “I have a meeting all the way in the South Side tonight, and you know how that may go. If it gets too late, I may spend the evening in our rooms there.”
With another polite good-bye, he left us to our visit. Minnie’s demeanor had changed, her worry dissipated like morning dew in the sun. Her cheeks flushed pleasantly, and I wondered why she thought herself plain. When she looked at me, her whole face lit up
. “Well?”
“He’s very nice,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll both be exquisitely happy.” She sighed dreamily. I wanted to ask further regarding her sister’s worries about him being interested in her money but didn’t wish to upset her again. At any rate, he had several businesses, so it appeared he was doing quite well on his own. “You mentioned your understudy has not been heard from. Is that something she normally did? Disappear for a few days?”
“Oh, no. Trudy wanted that role too much. She’d been a patient understudy, but you can always see the longing, you know?” She rearranged her skirts. “She’d stare at the stage as though it was the very source of her life. The electricity machine Mephistopheles crafted—when she watched it, it was like she’d seen an angel. I can’t imagine her giving it up, not now. And I cannot understand why she’d leave without telling anyone.”
“Did she travel anywhere out of the ordinary?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Trudy never liked to go anywhere alone—she’d even have one of the other performers walk her to the streetcar after a show. She was always so cautious.”
“Was she afraid of being followed?”
Minnie lifted a shoulder. “I’m not sure why she insisted on being escorted to and from her boardinghouse. I imagined it was because her family’s beliefs of a woman being unaccompanied was a sin. I guessed there were some rules she didn’t want to break.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“A few days ago, when I was married,” Minnie said. “She came to the courthouse to be my witness.”
I mulled the information over. It was hard to ignore that if she was actually missing, she was yet another young woman connected to Mephistopheles’s show. We’d cleared the Moonlight Carnival of wrongdoing on the Etruria, but this coincidence was a bit much. As well as him being present on the ship, in New York, and now in Chicago, where the succession of crimes was occurring—that was a coincidence as well. And I knew precisely what Uncle said about there being no coincidences when it came to murder.
I started thinking of the enigmatic ringmaster and his stage name, of how it was based on Faust. In that legend, Mephistopheles was a demon in the devil’s employ, sent to steal souls. That character used trickery and deceit to get what he wanted, manipulating everything in his favor. Much like the ringmaster did with his midnight bargains. Could Thomas have been correct about his fears? Was Ayden truly a devil hiding in plain view?
And if Mephistopheles wasn’t the White City Devil, was there a chance he knew who was and aided him? There had been a circus in London during the Ripper murders; my brother and I had attended it. Chills ran icy fingers down my spine. It wasn’t such a stretch of the imagination to think the ringmaster had been present there, too.
“Audrey Rose?” Minnie waved her hand near my face, brow crinkled. “You appear as if you’ve seen a ghost. Should I ready the carriage for you?”
FORTY
INFERNO
GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
15 FEBRUARY 1889
“Mr. Cresswell left this for you, miss.”
“Is my uncle in?” I asked the maid as she assisted me out of my cloak.
“No, miss. He and Mr. Cresswell both stepped out. Would you like some coffee?”
“Tea, please. I’ll take it in the library.”
Americans drank coffee the way the English indulged in our tea. Thomas was thrilled, guzzling nearly three cups per day. Sometimes more when I wasn’t around. The extra caffeine was the last thing he needed, though his buzzing about was a nuisance I adored. I smiled, recalling the way he’d used to smoke to get that jolt. Thank goodness he’d given that habit up.
I peeled my gloves off, then headed for the library, reading the note written in his hurried scrawl. He and Uncle were meeting with a coroner to consult on a case. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, perhaps a death caused by being exposed to the elements. They’d return soon.
Lost in my own thoughts, I swore I felt a frostbitten kiss along my spine as I traveled the length of the corridor. It was dreadfully chilly at this end of the house.
When I got to the library door, I reached for the handle and hesitated. The iron knob felt like a block of carved ice. Trepidation entered my senses. Even if a fire hadn’t been lit, the handle was much too cold for being indoors. Before I lost my nerve, I pushed the door open. I held fast to my cane, ready to wield it at whatever lurked inside the room.
Sheer curtains fluttered toward me, two pale arms reminding me of phantoms searching for their next victim to haunt. Panic seized me in its grip. Someone had broken into Grandmama’s home! I bet they’d—I shut my eyes. My imagination was at it again, no doubt.
Gathering my wits, I glanced around, noticing the freshly polished wood, and a stick that was likely used to beat dust from the rugs sitting against the wall. Bits of the mystery unwound. No malicious entity or murderer had entered our home. This room was simply cleaned. The window had been cracked to let the scent of cleanser and mustiness out. Nothing more.
I exhaled, my puff of breath like a storm cloud as I closed the window and drew the curtains. One day I’d harness my wild imagination. I flicked the curtain back, staring down into the street. Night had fully fallen, cloaking the city in shadows. Lamps offered orbs of warmth, though I couldn’t help thinking of them as glowing eyes, ever watchful, waiting for me. A pale face shimmered before me, two horns twisting above its head. A demon.
I drew back, screeching as I felt hot flesh behind me. I whirled, coming face-to-face with the specter from the window.
“Miss!” The maid dropped the tray with a clatter, her eyes as wide as the saucers she’d broken. “Are you all right?”
I stared at my trembling hands. It was no demon. There were no horns. I’d simply seen her reflection in the glass—the cap she wore casting the odd shape. Memories of being haunted by delusions sprang forth, taunting me. It was happening all over again.
Realizing she was still waiting there, her expression tight with worry, I pulled myself together. “I’m a bit jumpy this evening,” I said. “I’m dreadfully sorry I frightened you. And caused such a mess.” I felt the beginnings of hysteria creeping in around the edges. “I… I’m going to my room for a nap. Please,” I interrupted before she could offer to assist me, “I’ll be quite all right on my own.”
I rushed from the room, hobbling down the corridor, chills my constant companions as they raced along my body. The house seemed to delight in my terror. Sconces flickered as I hurried past, as if clapping flame-coated hands. I drew in breath after breath, my stomach twisting. Why now? Why were these hauntings assaulting me when I’d done nothing to evoke their rage? I climbed the stairs, mind churning. Had I ingested something hallucinogenic? There had to be a reason… I couldn’t—
I halted in my doorway. “God have mercy.”
Chairs were broken, their limbs tossed around. Clothing and jewelry were strewn on the floor. Shards of the shattered looking glass covered most of the Turkish rug; a thousand small versions of me stared back, horrified at what I saw on my bed through a haze of swirling snowflakes.
I bit my knuckle to stop from screaming at the golden-horned half-ram, half-man mask propped against my headboard. It was garish—evoking images of Shakespearean plays with nasty creatures playing vicious tricks. Distantly, I heard the roar of a fire but couldn’t drag my gaze away from the trickle of red dripping down my nightstand.
“This isn’t real,” I whispered, closing my eyes. It couldn’t be real. I pinched the inside of my arm, wincing as pain lashed up my limb. I knew I wasn’t conjuring the scene up. I slumped against the doorframe, knees buckling while old fears sprang forth, torturing me.
Thomas was out with Uncle. He was safe. My uncle was safe. We’d left Sir Isaac at my grandmother’s in New York, so he was safe. It was not the blood of my loved ones. I silently repeated that assurance until my pulse steadied. I forced myself to glance at the pool of red once more. It
looked like blood. But—I’d left my cup of hibiscus tea mostly untouched this morning, and now the rug was stained red where it had spilled.
Slightly reassured, I closed my eyes, granting myself a moment to become the scientist I was. When I inspected the room again, I did so as if it were a mutilated corpse I’d come upon. The description was chillingly fitting. My chaise had been ripped open like a wound.
Slices of the fabric were clean and precise, much like the blade work of the man I knew as Jack the Ripper. Cotton innards were yanked out, left dangling from the frame. Someone had torn my room apart searching for God knew what.
At first I’d been too shocked to notice the scent of burnt leather, or understand that the soft grayish-white particles dancing in the breeze weren’t snow, but ash. As these details slowly registered, a sense of dread weighted my limbs.
“No.” I limped to the fireplace, hardly feeling the jolt of pain that lanced through my leg as I dropped to my good knee. “No. No. No!”
I stuck my hands into the flames, screaming as I drew them back, empty. Footsteps clamored up the stairs and down the hall.
“Wadsworth?” Thomas shouted.
“Here!” I called, bolstering my nerve to snatch the evidence once more. I thrust my hands in again, hissing as the embers singed my flesh.
Thomas threw his arms around me, jerking me away from the fireplace. “Are you mad?”
“It’s over.” I buried my face in his chest, unable to stop the tears from soaking his shirt. “They’re gone. All of them.”
He rocked me, his hands stroking my back in even intervals. Once I’d stopped sobbing, he asked, “What’s gone?”
“Nathaniel’s journals,” I said, feeling my emotions overtaking me once more. “They’ve all been burned.”
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