I couldn’t recall how I’d come to be perched on the edge of Thomas’s bed, huddling into a blanket, a mug of hot chocolate pressed into my bandaged hands. Nor could I focus on the hushed conversation happening across the room. My mind tortured me with images of flames and paper. Ash and destruction. Not one journal remained. Someone had ransacked my room. They’d burned the only evidence we had of Jack the Ripper. They’d torched what remained of my brother; no matter how conflicted I’d felt over his actions, it was like losing him all over again.
“… we’ll need to inform the police,” I heard Thomas saying as if he was part of a terrible dream. “They have to make a record of this.”
I didn’t bother dragging my focus away from the cup before me as I waited for Uncle’s reply. I didn’t need to see his face to know he was twisting his mustache.
“I’m afraid it won’t do us any good. What will we tell them? That we had newly discovered evidence regarding Jack the Ripper? That instead of turning it over straightaway, we’d kept it in a young woman’s bedchamber?” At this I shifted my attention to Uncle. “No one will believe us.”
“Someone has to,” Thomas argued.
“Did the general inspector you two spoke with seem keen on entertaining that notion?” Uncle asked. “Or what of Inspector Byrnes in New York? Did he strike you as the sort who’d take our word that Jack the Ripper was here?”
“So we’re to simply let it go, then?” Thomas looked appalled. “The world deserves to know everything about the Ripper.”
“I don’t disagree, Thomas. You’re free to do as you see fit, but I ask you to leave my name out of this mess.” Uncle shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when they wish to lock you in the asylum.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Thomas said, though he sounded uncertain. They had locked Uncle in an asylum during the original Ripper investigation. I shuddered at the memory of walking along the desolate corridors of Bedlam. They’d drugged and caged my uncle like an animal.
I set my mug down, wincing at my tender fingers. I thought about Frenchy Number One in New York, about how the police had fabricated evidence to lock him away. They were more concerned with preventing mass hysteria than they were with apprehending the real murderer. Finding the person who’d slain Miss Brown so brutally wasn’t their main goal. I recalled what the White City meant for not only Chicago but America as well. This was where dreams jumped out of imaginations and into reality. I had no doubt Uncle was right—General Inspector Hubbard would not hesitate to toss Thomas into an asylum, blaming his ravings on lunacy.
“He’s won,” I said, startling them both. “We don’t even know who he is and he’s stolen our only chance at solving the mystery.” I unwrapped the end of my bandage, then wound it back again. “Uncle’s right, Thomas. We can’t tell the police we had journals detailing the Ripper murders. They’d either think we were making it up or they’d think us mad. Without proof to back up our claims, we’ve got nothing. No one is interested in hearsay. They’ll want facts.”
“Then I’ll write the passages in a new journal myself.” Thomas met my gaze obstinately. “I recall enough of what they said. When we catch him, it will be his word against ours. Who will know the difference?”
“You will. I will.” I beckoned him to come closer and sit beside me. “We cannot sacrifice who we are in the pursuit of justice. If we fabricate these journals, we’ll be no better than the police who did that very thing to Frenchy Number One. We must search for another means of revealing him.”
Thomas dropped beside me, shoulders slumping. “That’s just the issue. Without those bits of evidence, there’s nothing that ties this murderer to the crimes in London.”
“We might convince him to confess,” I said, not believing it myself. Neither Thomas nor Uncle bothered calling out the unlikelihood of that occurring. A bit of hope fluttered in my chest. “He didn’t destroy one thing, probably the most important.”
“Oh? I was fairly certain he’d obliterated what was left of our dignity, Wadsworth.”
A smile ghosted over my lips. “He didn’t succeed in breaking our spirits. Look how we’re speaking: ‘when we catch him.’ We must not give up hope yet.”
Uncle walked to the door, his own countenance anything but hopeful. “Regardless of whether or not we catch him, or whether or not we can link these American crimes to England’s, one fact remains; he has found us.”
He let the weight of that statement settle around us. Thomas whipped around to face my uncle, his gaze wide. I’d been so caught up in the horrible discovery, I hadn’t yet been frightened by the fact he’d been in my room, gutting my things like they were his newest victims. Fear blew an icy breath down my neck, goose bumps rising at once. Jack the Ripper had been stalking us.
“He has crept into our home and destroyed evidence,” Uncle continued. “The staff heard nothing, despite the chaos and devastation in that room. Which means he waited until almost everyone was out of the house, doing errands, before he struck.” Uncle swallowed hard. “Do you know how he accomplished that?”
“By watching the house.” I shivered in place. “He had to have been watching us for quite some time.”
Thomas went very still beside me. “Stalking, not watching. He’s been toying with us all. But now he’s tiring of the game; he craves something more tangible than our fear.” He slowly rotated until we were face-to-face, his expression shuttering. “I guarantee it’s not me or the professor he’s after. Not when his targets have all been women.”
“Thomas,” I said slowly, “we don’t know that for certain.”
“No.” He swallowed hard. “But we soon will. It’s only a matter of when—I suspect he’s going to make his intentions clear in a dramatic showing.”
I searched my heart for the fear that ought to be present. For the terror that had coursed as readily as blood through my veins earlier. A violent murderer who’d slain more women than we probably knew thirsted for my blood. A tingle started in my center, slowly unfurling until tendrils reached my toes. Most worrisome was its cause. Determination—not fear—settled in my chest like a raging lion. I had been stalked and hunted and had escaped harm thus far.
I’d now be the one setting a trap for this monster. “He’s not the only one who tires of this game.” I pushed to my feet, jaw set, as Thomas handed me my cane. “Let him come for me.”
FORTY-ONE
AGAINST ONE’S NATURE
GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
15 FEBRUARY 1889
Back in London, what felt like ages ago, I’d sat in Hyde Park with my brother, watching birds fly across the pond, readying themselves for winter. They didn’t go against their nature, never ignored the voice inside them urging them to seek warmer lands. Their innate sense of preservation urged them to flee to warmth and safety.
At the time, I’d wondered why the women who’d found themselves at the end of Jack the Ripper’s blade hadn’t listened to their own innate warning systems—the ones that whispered of danger. Now, as I stared at the golden ram’s-head mask left to taunt me, I understood why.
I hated the way the horns twisted like serpents above goat-shaped ears. It looked like a devil’s mask from Eastern European folklore. One where goat and man had morphed into one terrible creature. In fact, I was almost certain I’d seen something similar during our stay at Bran Castle. I abruptly stopped thinking about the mask and went back to packing. Little bells of warning jingled in my mind, calling me a fool. But I’d had enough. I couldn’t stay in this house, waiting—no, hiding from my fate. I would not let fear make me its prisoner.
I shoved the last of my dresses into a trunk, sitting on it to shut it tight. Thomas knocked on my door, his attention immediately falling on my unruly luggage. His brows raised. “Are we leaving and I’m the last to know?”
“Not we. I.” I huffed as I reached down to fasten the locks with no luck. The bloody thing was a beast thanks to the bold designs Liza had
initially packed as part of a post-wedding surprise holiday. They were lovely, but highly impractical for travel. Thomas crossed his arms. His look promised a debate and I was tired of them already. “If I am on my own, he’s more likely to strike. You know that’s true, even if you don’t care for the idea of it. I’ll go rent a room somewhere near the fair, or see if Minnie has any rooms above the pharmacy left. I’ll wander the streets during the daytime. Eventually I’m bound to catch his notice.”
“Of course I don’t like the idea of it, Wadsworth. I can’t fathom anyone who would.”
“It’s a little reckless, but it’s also a good way to provoke him into action.”
“Please. Don’t. You do realize what you’re asking of me, right? You’re asking me to stand by and wait for a cunning murderer to come for you. As if it might not break me to lose you.” He gripped the doorframe as if to keep himself from rushing to me. “I won’t ask you to stay. But I will ask you to consider how you’d feel if I was the one marching into death. Would you stand back and not fight for me?”
An image of him sacrificing himself as bait sent chills skittering along my body. I would sooner chain him to a laboratory table than permit him to do such a thing. He deserved credit for allowing me a choice when I’d rob him of his without second thought. “Thomas…”
I watched him swallow his fear down, saw the resolve set in. He wouldn’t stop me. He’d watch me walk out the door and disappear into the night. He would be terrified, but I knew him well enough now to know he’d keep his word. We’d been down this path together before. One where our ideas of how to proceed during a case diverged. That time, I’d chosen my own way over trusting in our partnership. It was a mistake. One I did not intend to make again. I slid off the trunk, deflated. A tear slipped down my cheek and I angrily swiped at it.
“I don’t know what else to do,” I confessed, holding my hands out. The scent of lavender wafted into the air, the oil healing and soothing my burns. “How do we catch someone who might as well be a demon born of another dimension?”
Thomas crossed the room in an instant, taking me in his arms. “By standing against him together, Wadsworth. We will solve this mystery and we will do it as a united front.”
“As touching and nauseating as this little scene may be,” Mephistopheles said from my doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, “I have some information that might assist in your endeavor.”
The ringmaster strode into my room and settled on the bed as if he were the high king of the Fairy claiming his throne. He set his top hat on the golden ram’s-head mask and kicked his boots up, the leather shining in the most annoying manner. “Cute mask. Do you wear it to set the mood, or…”
“You are completely ridiculous.”
“Is this the first time you’ve realized this?” Mephistopheles raised his brows. “And here I thought you were quite bright, my unrequited love.”
“Where have you been?” I asked, hints of my earlier suspicion returning. I couldn’t stop thinking about how talented career murderers were. They were friends, lovers, family members. All leading what seemed like regular lives, except for one monstrous secret. “Minnie has been looking for you.”
“She—”
“Let me guess,” I said, losing patience and cutting him off. His usual response always involved mention of his… charms. I was not in the mood for jokes. “She wouldn’t be the first woman or man to do so. Can you be serious for once?”
“What I was about to say, Miss Wadsworth,” he said, amusement in his dark eyes, “was she must not have been looking too hard. I haven’t been anywhere but my theater. In fact, I went to call on her today and her staff couldn’t find her. Maybe she couldn’t handle seeing a face this handsome again.”
He glanced over my shoulder to where Thomas now leaned against the wall looking bored. I shook a sense of foreboding from my heart. I’d seen Minnie a couple of hours ago and she seemed fine enough. If he’d visited her after, that meant he was the last person known to be at her home. Maybe she saw him arrive and asked her staff to send him away. Or maybe he’d taken her…
“I did, however, manage to gather some information you both may find interesting,” Mephistopheles continued, unaware of my growing worry.
“Oh, good. It has a purpose for crawling out from its hidey-hole at last.” Thomas smiled sweetly, his eyes flashing with delight as Mephistopheles’s jaw tightened.
“Weren’t you the groveling soul who inquired after my expertise?” he said. “What other tasks are you not measuring up to? Or”—a slick, antagonistic smile spread across his face—“might I ask Audrey Rose instead?”
“Enough!” I exclaimed. “You’re both infantile. Stop provoking each other and focus. What did you learn, Ayden?”
Perhaps it was the use of his true name, but I finally held the ringmaster’s full attention. “Very well, then.” He picked imaginary lint off his suit, his expression hurt. “There are two women and one child who were last seen in the Englewood neighborhood of 63rd and Wallace Streets. Some were known to be associated with a pharmacy there.”
Any excitement or hope I’d felt withered. This wasn’t anything new. We’d already visited the pharmacy and the police couldn’t find any signs of a crime. My shoulders slumped forward. I was suddenly exhausted. We didn’t even know for certain if Noah’s missing women were related to our case, though I still believed they were.
“Thank you for—”
“I have people—let’s call them information specialists—who also mentioned something about the World’s Fair.”
“How original.” Thomas crossed his arms. “Who isn’t talking about it?”
“The better question to ask yourselves is not who, but what. What aren’t they saying about the fair? What do they worry about when those pretty little lights dim? It couldn’t possibly be the blood they found near the docks. Or the bloody handkerchief outside the great, impressive Court of Honor.”
Mephistopheles lifted his hat from the ram’s-head mask, tumbled it down his arm, and stuck it on his head with a carnival-inspired flourish. It was hard to tell where the showman ended and the real young man underneath the sequined suits began. He might not be wearing a visible mask, but that did not mean he was without one now.
“Rumor has it… there’s a body. They’ve got it locked up tight in the morgue near Lake Michigan. The Columbian Guard stands outside the door, day and night.” He grinned at our stunned expressions. “Seems strange, doesn’t it? A police force created entirely for the fair to be guarding a body in a morgue. Especially if she’s a nobody.”
“Speaking of bodies.” I eyed him suspiciously. “Minnie mentioned her understudy is missing. What have you heard about that?”
He hopped off my bed as gracefully as a panther and stalked close. “I’ve heard that body in the morgue might be hers. Now I need you to tell me for sure.”
I frowned at him. “You wouldn’t have come here if you wouldn’t benefit from the information, would you?” His answering smirk told me everything I needed to know about his motivations. “Don’t you ever do things out of decency?”
An ancient sadness filled his gaze for a moment, stretching far beyond what his nineteen years should know. Little hairs rose along my arms.
Then Mephistopheles blinked and his eyes were once again filled with mirth. I must be in need of more rest than I thought. My nightmares were bleeding into my waking hours.
“I tried decency once.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.”
“I thought that was just defeat,” Thomas added, trying and failing to not look smug. “I’ve heard that’s not so pleasant, either. Not that I’d know.”
With a seemingly great amount of restraint, Mephistopheles turned to me, taking my hand in his. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to my knuckles, his gaze locked on mine.
“I do hope you’re happy, Miss Wadsworth. And while I’d love to stay and be entertained by your court fool�
��—he flashed his teeth in what was supposed to be a smile at Thomas—“it’s time for me to go.”
I had a strange premonition that once he waltzed out that door, it would be the last time I set eyes on him. “You’re leaving for good, aren’t you? I thought the Moonlight Carnival only just arrived.”
“Have we, though… only just arrived?” A secret danced in his eyes, one he had no intention of sharing. His expression turned serious again. “Once blood starts flowing, even the most angelic of places loses its appeal, Miss Wadsworth.” His focus darted behind me. “Beware of trusting beautiful creatures. They hide the most wicked surprises.”
Thomas stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me as I shivered in place. I tried to ignore the effect Mephistopheles’s words had on my growingly superstitious mind, but I couldn’t help but feel as if he spoke of the future. One he’d seen as clear as a cloudless day when the rest of us were stumbling in the fog.
“What about Trudy?” I asked, desperately casting about for a reason to make him stay. “Don’t you wish to discover if she’s the body in the morgue?”
“I trust you’ll sort it out the way you do best.”
He tipped his bullion-trimmed top hat, then vanished one last time. I could only hope we hadn’t just allowed a murderer to roam free once more.
Vintage Post Mortem Tools
FORTY-TWO
WHITE CITY STAINED RED
WORLD’S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
16 FEBRUARY 1889
One would never guess while walking through the heavenly city above that underneath it lay labyrinthine tunnels used by workers and laborers servicing the fair. It made sense, though. In order to keep the illusion alive and well, fairgoers couldn’t be bothered with mundane things such as rubbish being carted and loos cleaned.
Capturing the Devil Page 29
