I brought the spoon to my face, sniffing, though it was a pointless endeavor. Arsenic didn’t have a smell or taste. Without hesitation, I sipped the soup. I made sure I’d had enough before setting the tray aside. I glanced at the clock. Now it was time to wait.
An hour later I felt as fine as I had before the broth, so I gently cradled Thomas’s head, angling his face up, and managed to get a few spoonfuls down his throat. I kissed his forehead, leaving him to tend to Uncle. His skin looked slightly better than Thomas’s—a flush crept into his face, indicating a fever. I hoped it’d burn the toxins out.
I sat with Uncle for a little while longer, silently watching as he fidgeted less and fell into a deep, restorative sleep. Once I was certain he was all right, I slipped out of his room and returned to Thomas’s side.
I cracked his door open, hoping against impossible odds that he’d be awake. It was a fool’s dream. If anything, his skin appeared more ashen, as if the poison was drinking every bit of life from his body in greedy drabs.
“Abigail?” I called down the corridor, forgetting I could have rung the service bell in Thomas’s room.
Footsteps hurried up the stairs, followed by the maid. “Yes, miss?”
“I’d like more blankets for Thomas and my uncle,” I said. “And if the fires could be a bit warmer, that would help keep the chill from their chambers.”
With a quick nod, she ran off to accomplish the newly assigned tasks. That settled, I drifted back into Thomas’s room, mind churning. What I needed to do was construct a list of suspects, all with cause to harm us. I sat down carefully, minding both my leg and Thomas’s body, and settled against the headboard. In Chicago, General Inspector Hubbard wasn’t our biggest supporter. He made it clear he didn’t appreciate our inquiries and wished we’d be silent and enjoy the magic of the White City like the millions of other visitors.
Though I doubted he’d poison us, he could not be taken from the list.
Mr. Cigrande, the man who’d lost his daughter and believed demons roamed the earth, might be mad, but I couldn’t imagine him sneaking in and tainting our food. Unless his madness was feigned… but I couldn’t picture him accomplishing something quite so diabolical. Not without drawing attention to himself in the process.
Noah. Mephistopheles. They were aiding us. But it could be a ruse, especially where the ringmaster was concerned. I also couldn’t forget members of our temporary household. I knew nothing of them or their lives or who they were acquainted with. It was entirely possible they wished us harm for reasons I couldn’t explain. Perhaps they knew the man we hunted.
I sighed. Almost everything circled back to our case. People around the periphery were always suspect, based on the nature of their involvement, but I wanted the person at the center. If I could only piece together who Jack the Ripper was, I’d be able to stop him for good and reveal his wretched deeds to the world.
“R-rose.” Thomas thrashed about, having another fit. “C-cubes.”
My chest ached. “Thomas… I don’t—Rose cubes…?”
The gears in my mind clicked as the puzzle slowly started coming together. Cubes. Sugar cubes. The ones doused in rosewater. Thomas had also muttered “hotel” earlier. There was only one place we’d come across the scented sugar cubes during our investigation.
I wasn’t sure if it was an actual hotel, but Minnie’s husband rented out rooms above their pharmacy. The very place that sold rose-infused sugar cubes. The pharmacy across the street had been a ruse on Minnie’s husband’s part. My few interactions with him collided in my mind. He’d walked in on me and Minnie during tea, knowing I’d be far enough away when he broke in and burned Nathaniel’s journals. He also had a connection to Trudy, since he knew her through his wife. The tremble running down my spine confirmed their pharmacy was the place where the devil lived.
Soon, once I’d introduced him to my blades, it would be the place where he died.
Thomas retched and I grabbed a pail. Once he’d finished, I smoothed hair away from his brow in loving strokes and silently plotted murder.
Holmes’ “Castle”
FORTY-FIVE
MORE WICKED THAN HE
GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
16 FEBRUARY 1889
It was comforting in a sense, to finally understand the reason darkness existed in my soul.
It was all so simple. To stop the devil, I had to be more wicked than he. I closed my eyes, picturing each deed that needed to be done in preparation. If there was one lesson I’d learned from Thomas Cresswell, it was to give myself over to that terrible place completely. To disconnect from my mind and judgment and become the thing I feared the most.
I had to consider each of the killer’s moves before he did. I had to take on his wants, his desires. Each of his depraved fantasies would become my own, until I craved his blood the way he longed to spill mine. I visualized my blade tracing the lines of his body, glinting in a shaft of moonlight. A lone beam that illuminated my dark act.
Desire would course through my veins. Different from the craving I felt when lying entwined with Thomas, yet no less seductive or satisfying. I’d lay him out on a table, drugged but alive, so he might know what true horror felt like. Let him gaze upon me as tears slipped from his eyes.
Bloodlust. If it was his drug of choice, it would become mine. Tenfold.
The Ripper might have been practicing his dark arts these last few months, but so had I. I hadn’t sat idly by, waiting for him to sink his talons into someone else. While he honed his deadly seduction, I’d done the very same. He was a tool for murder, but I’d mastered ways to hunt monsters. I was no longer the naïve, lonely girl who’d snuck about the London streets those many months ago. I now knew monsters were never satisfied. Thomas had been right all along—one taste of warm blood was never enough.
Every case that had come before this was practice—lessons in confronting the ultimate villain and defeating him. I’d lost my innocence and refusal to see the truth of people during the first Ripper investigation. Studying in Dracula’s castle taught me to trust in myself, no matter how hard it was to see through distractions. While sailing on that cursed ocean liner, I’d played a role that convinced everyone, even Thomas, that my affections had shifted. I’d mastered emotional manipulation; I’d become a living sleight of hand.
Once upon a time, I’d sworn I’d be something better. That I’d never kill. That my work was only meant to help keep people alive. Now I’d seen enough of the world to know sometimes in order to fight darkness, you had to become a blade forged of heavenly fire.
The devil was a monster, but I would become his nightmare.
“If it’s a war you crave,” I whispered to the demon I couldn’t see, “I’ll bring the battle to you.”
Part of me worried I’d lose my nerve. One ounce of fear or show of mercy would cost me more than my own life. It would damn those I loved most. I’d lost my brother to this depraved creature; I’d set up a queendom in Hell if he dared to touch Thomas or Uncle again.
Now was the time to confront my own demons.
I searched my heart for weakness, finding none. I was going to end this. I’d be the one who’d stick a blade into the Ripper’s flesh, twisting until my hands were covered in his sins.
Thomas tossed back and forth, disturbed and feverish even in sleep. No matter how much I wanted him with me while I confronted Satan himself, I loved Thomas too much to involve him in this most treacherous pursuit. I was hunting the devil, and when I found him, I’d cut out his blackened heart.
“W-Wads—W-Wadsworth…”
I pressed my lips to his forehead, frowning at the dampness I found. His fever had finally broken. I pushed a few strands of hair back from his face, wishing I didn’t have to leave him in such a state. His eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment, but he slowly reached for me, a slight tremor going through his arm. He was still so terribly pale. I swallowed a wave of emotion down. It would only make him wor
ry if he read the fear in my face.
“Wadsworth? Are you really here?” He dropped his hand, his head rolling to the side. “I dreamed…”
“Shhh.” I smoothed his hair back. “I’m right here, Thomas.”
His chest rose and fell, his breaths jagged and uneven. I moved my hand down to his wrist, subtly checking his pulse. It was still too weak for my liking, though it was slightly improved. But not by much. Thomas was not free from death’s grasp yet.
“I dreamed you were trapped in a castle,” he said, his shallow breaths coming faster, “belowground. There were bodies and bats. Monsters. I saw… I saw the devil, Audrey Rose.”
I pressed my lips to his temple; his skin felt like flames. It ignited the blaze I needed to consume lingering fears. I would murder the man who’d harmed my family. I would not be merciful. “It’s only a memory, Thomas. An awful memory. We’re not in Bran Castle anymore. We’re in Chicago. Do you remember taking the train here? Or the Etruria?”
“Don’t leave me.” He felt around for my hand, unable to open his eyes. “Please. Promise you won’t leave me.”
“Never.” I stared at the cloth and bottle of chloroform I’d uncorked and set on the nightstand an hour earlier. He was too weak for me to use it on him now. I wanted him to sleep, not die by my own wretched hand. He thrashed around, his nightshirt soaked through. I added another blanket to the bed, tucking him in as tightly as I could manage.
“Wadsworth. Wadsworth. You must promise. Don’t leave me.”
“Only in death.” I stroked his hair until his breathing calmed. “Even then I will not leave your side. I hope you don’t mind being haunted.”
His lips twitched, but a smile never fully formed on his troublesome mouth. I waited a few moments, not wanting to stop running my fingers through his soft hair.
“But there is something I must do,” I whispered as the slow, steady, rhythmic sounds of sleep drifted through the room, “and I have to leave you here. There’s one journey I must take on my own. When I return, I promise we will never be apart again. Not if God wills it.”
I waited a few more beats, watching and listening to his breathing. His sleep was deep now, and I doubted he’d wake until midday tomorrow. I memorized the shape of his face, the bone structure I’d been taken with from the moment I’d first set my attention on him.
In Uncle’s class, I’d thought he reminded me of a painting or sculpture done by da Vinci. All angles and lines; strong and sharp enough to carve a person’s heart out if they ventured too close. A smile started at the edges of my lips. I’d fought so hard against falling for him, never realizing I’d already been laid out on the ground, staring up into my future.
“I love you, Thomas Cresswell.” I kissed him gently, before straightening. I permitted myself another stolen moment alone with him, then forced myself to stand and leave his side. I needed to complete my task and be home before he awoke.
Because I would come home to him again.
I tiptoed out of his chamber, taking careful pains to mind each creak in the floor as I passed Uncle’s room. I paused at his door, hearing the same rhythmic breaths indicating deep sleep. Hopefully they’d both continue to mend. If I lost anyone else I cared for…
Vengeance settled around me like a demon on my shoulder. I slipped into my room and locked the door behind me, though I wasn’t sure who I was locking out. Abandoning my growing worry, I flung clothing around my trunk, searching for a small leather pouch. It had to be here somewhere; I never traveled without it.
After upending nearly all of my dresses and underthings from my trunk, I held up the item I’d been hunting. I quickly undid the buckles, laying my scalpel belt across my bed. It had been quite some time since I’d last slipped it over my leg. I set it aside and stepped into trousers that were easy to move about in, then picked it back up.
My fingers shook as I fastened the scalpel belt together. As much as I longed to eradicate my fear, it seemed it wasn’t quite ready to give me up. I took a few steadying breaths. I could not lose my nerve now. Not when so many lives depended on me.
I thought of Miss Nichols. And Miss Chapman. Miss Stride and Miss Eddowes. Miss Kelly, Miss Tabram, Miss Smith. Miss Jasper. Miss Van Tassel. And all the women we’d yet to connect to him.
I swept my hair up in a low knot, checked the weapon on my thigh, then grabbed my cane.
“I’m coming for you, Jack,” I whispered to myself in the looking glass. It might have been a trick of the lighting, but I swore my reflection shivered.
“Hello, have you come for one of Dr. Holmes’s famous tonics or are you interested in a room in the luxurious World’s Fair Hotel?”
The young woman standing beside the ornate cash register was undoubtedly another victim in waiting. I eyed her pale blond locks, her expertly painted lips, her youth. She was handsome in the way that seemed to matter to Henry or Harry or whoever this man was claiming to be. From what Minnie had mentioned during tea, outward appearances held the most value to him, though lives didn’t matter half as much; those he could toss away without a care.
“I am actually a friend of Dr. Holmes’s wife,” I said, noting the slight narrowing of her eyes at the word wife. Here was another secret he’d apparently kept. She needn’t worry. I was quite sure his new wife was dead. “I was hoping to speak with him. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Minnie and needed her sister’s address. Is he in?”
She pursed her lips. After a moment of collecting herself, she offered me another polite smile. “I’m afraid you missed him by moments. He won’t return until very late, or possibly tomorrow morning. It’s only my first day working here, but Dr. Holmes seems to be very mysterious about his private affairs.”
Her blush hinted that he’d already begun weaving a silvery web for her to get trapped in. Little did she know he was a venomous spider and not a handsome prince.
“I’ll rent a room for the night, then.” I slipped her an extra coin, her eyes going wide. “I’d like you to let me know straightaway when he arrives. I have other more… urgent… news.”
She stared at the coin for a moment, hunger for it gleaming in her eyes. Holmes might be a decadent flirt, but apparently his generosity didn’t extend to his purse strings. I hoped the anger writhing up inside me didn’t show on my face. Her gaze slid behind me before she snatched the coin and stuck it in her bosom. She handed me a key with a brass tag that had the number 4 on it.
“I’ll show you to your room now, Miss…”
“Wadsworth,” I said, giving her a warm smile. “And you are?”
“Miss Agatha James.”
Apparently her hospitality was being tested. Her response was clipped, as if each word cost her. She motioned for me to follow her to the end of the counter of tonics and other apothecary items lining the shelves and walls. In the far corner of the store, a door opened onto a narrow staircase. My heart beat furiously, but I wouldn’t let fear stop me from what I’d set out to do. No matter if I was planning to murder a man who’d evaded police and had slain a countless number of women already.
“Will this be your first evening staying at the Castle?”
“Castle?” I asked, thoughts flashing back to the imposing fortress of Vlad the Impaler in Romania and the corridors that seemed to crave blood. A shiver started at the base of my neck, dancing down to my toes. In Thomas’s fever dream he’d spoken of Bran Castle. “I thought you said it was named the World’s Fair Hotel.”
“It is.”
She smiled demurely as she motioned for us to continue up the stairs. It was a dreadful little corridor. The walls were covered in a deep charcoal wallpaper, and I could have sworn they were closing in ever so slightly the farther up we went. I had the off-kilter sensation of being stuck in a carnival fun house. That impression grew when I noticed skulls carefully drawn into the design of the wallpaper. A peculiar choice for a hotel.
“Locals call it the Castle, though. It’s so large, with over one hundred rooms—did you know
it takes up an entire city block? Dr. Holmes is quite the businessman. Smart, too. He began construction on it right before they announced the World’s Fair would be held here. He’d already predicted it would be a lovely, safe home for the young women who came here to work. Isn’t that kind of him?”
I bit down on my immediate response to his kindness. This monster had grown tired of stalking women in the street. His new game was luring them into what they believed was a sanctuary, and then he unleashed his bloodiest desires.
After we crested the top of the staircase, I ran my hand against the wall of the long corridor, the other tightened on my cane, reassuring in its presence. Sconces were placed at uneven intervals, deepening that sense of unsteadiness that followed me up the stairs. It almost gave one the feeling of having had too much champagne.
Sweat beaded along my brow. I didn’t feel right. Vaguely, I heard the quiet hissing of snakes. I squinted toward the sconces; they’d been fashioned after cobras. The bulbs bulged where their bodies coiled, their fangs exposed. It was creepy décor, fitting enough for a murderer.
Despite using my cane for support, I stumbled forward. The young woman caught me before I hit the ground, her brow crinkled. “You don’t look well, Miss Wadsworth. Let’s get you to bed to rest for a bit.”
I dragged in a laborious breath, my chest burning.
“Why aren’t you…” My lids drooped, my mind going sluggish. I staggered against her. My vision blurred and panic set in, chittering and clicking along my spine. Drowsy, I slid my focus back to the hissing serpents. If I squinted, I could just make out faint traces of mist. Oh, no. I’d not planned on being exposed to an airborne contagion. My father’s worries came flooding back. “But I didn’t eat or drink anything here.”
I thought I’d been prepared for this confrontation, but he had created rules I’d never dreamed up before; Poison in the air. I stopped moving. I needed to get back to the stairs. My mind spun so quickly I had to put my head between my knees to keep from vomiting.
Capturing the Devil Page 32
