Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  I’d need to become bait before I raked my claws over his throat.

  “I wanted to follow you home that night. Your brother…” He shrugged. “Let’s just say he wasn’t keen on the idea of you and I meeting. That’s why he sent you home with that annoying companion of his.” A smile flickered across his lips. “I don’t believe he ever fully trusted me. Wise of him. I hardly trust myself. I have these urges, you see. They’re like feral creatures. Do you know what it’s like, having something wild and untamed writhe about within you? To hunger for things that other men tremble from?”

  His hands fisted at his sides as if he were fighting off the unholy transformation this very moment. I swallowed hard, my sense of flight taking over. If I did not strike out at him, I would not leave this murder castle alive.

  “I yearn for blood the way most men yearn for wine and women. When I lie down at night, I imagine the ecstasy of witnessing life leave a person’s eyes. Being the one who decides who lives and dies is the most intoxicating feeling.”

  His lids fluttered shut and he tilted his head back as if in the throes of passion. A moan escaped him, and the sound made me freeze. My heart urged me to run, but my mind commanded me to hold my position. I thought of predators in the animal kingdom, how whether hungry or not, if a creature ran from them, their hunting instincts took over.

  For this hunter, my fear was his favorite perfume. He was doing all that he could to make me afraid. He needed my terror. And I would keep it from him out of spite.

  “You see, I feel so very little. I often wonder if I am human at all.”

  His gaze followed my slow procession, calculating and adjusting himself so I was never completely out of his reach. Though I was careful to not bump into the skeletons, the movement of my body was enough to disturb the space around them. Bones knocked together like macabre chimes. I gritted my teeth, refusing to be disturbed.

  “Should I plunge my knife through your chest this moment, Miss Wadsworth, I’d feel nothing aside from pleasure, watching you bleed out. It’s an incredible sensation—so at odds with itself. The warmth of blood flowing as the body cools. The flame of life being snuffed out by death. It’s all so short-lived, though. The satisfaction never remains for long before hunger strikes again.”

  “Is that why you killed so many so quickly in London?” I asked, hoping he’d admit his role as Jack the Ripper. I needed to hear him confirm it. “You strangled them and then carved them open, why?”

  He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing behind his mask. I wondered if he was growing bored of entertaining me. He was still shadowing my movements, like we were two magnets rotating around a small circle. Soon he’d be near the vault. Though I was now closer to the incinerator again. I’d have to be quick to reach him before he got too far from there.

  “Well?” I asked, letting impatience slip into my tone. “Why did you kill those women one way and begin murdering others here differently?”

  “Oh, I’ve found the method of killing isn’t what excites me. It’s death. Whether I strangle someone or flay them open, exposing their innermost secrets, or watch as they slowly asphyxiate behind a closed door, it’s their pain, their inability to conquer death, that thrills me.” He pushed past a skeleton, not nearly as careful as I was while weaving through them. “I wanted to be enthralled by the thought of using body parts to conquer death and reanimate them, but I couldn’t. It was your brother’s dream, not mine.”

  “What?” I whispered. I hadn’t been anticipating hearing about my brother just yet. My curiosity spun out of control. I needed to know how he was involved in all this.

  And Dr. Holmes knew it.

  A cruel smile touched his face. It was a calculated strike and it had hit its mark.

  “Your brother and I didn’t share the same vision or desire. I’d hoped he might join me, but then I watched you and there was no doubt of your nature. I wanted you to be mine. Tell me, Miss Wadsworth, how many have you killed and then lied about?”

  FIFTY-TWO

  HEAVEN OR HELL

  MURDER CASTLE

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  19 FEBRUARY 1889

  I could barely hear past the blood pounding through my ears. “I have never taken a life.” I snapped my mouth shut. He was testing for holes in my emotional armor, searching for another place to land a blow, to distract me. I had not murdered anyone, but I would kill him before this battle was through. I practically growled, “How did you know my brother?”

  He inhaled. It was the sort of sound that alluded to a long story about to be told. Or perhaps he was frustrated his attempt to rattle me had been in vain. I imagined he’d envisioned this meeting a million times and it wasn’t living up to his fantasy.

  What a pity that I should disappoint him so.

  “Nathaniel and I met at a pub. He was openly hostile, never afraid of shedding his mask. His convictions were strong enough to be appealing. I watched him watch the women plying their trade, his disgust practically vibrating off him. Here was a man barely leashing his rage. He loathed the way prostitutes spread diseases. You should’ve heard the way he’d rant about their destruction of good families and all the religious nonsense he associated with sin.”

  I had heard my brother speak of such wrong notions, and I knew how that hatred had started in him. After our mother died from scarlet fever, Nathaniel became obsessed with how disease spread. It was a fear my father had passed along to each of us, though I rallied against it by using science to refute his claims. Nathaniel’s solution had morphed from good intentions to a gnarled, ugly beast. He’d used that same fear to experiment, hoping to rid the world of death. He preyed on those he deemed to be the cause, and I would never condone what he’d done.

  “I did understand him, though,” Holmes continued. “I recognized a part of myself in him. I knew what it was like, trying to fight against the darker urges. Watching him, the seed of an idea was planted. You see, I couldn’t find a good reason to prevent that thought from flourishing. Not that I tried too hard to stop it.”

  He smiled, I assumed from recalling the imagery. If my hands weren’t otherwise occupied, I’d have curled them into fists. I wanted nothing more than to shred that smirk from his face. I all but forgot my purpose as I let the rage over my brother’s unfortunate encounter with this demon’s spawn consume me.

  As if sensing my fury, he continued his twisted tale. “It didn’t take much grooming on my part to make him my creature. He was only too willing to follow me, playing spy while I let my blade sing. Well, now, not my blade, exactly. Your brother always lent me his when the time came. He wanted to belong. I gave him that comfort.”

  Bile seared up my throat. “Did he… did he watch the murders?”

  He moved ever so slightly toward the vault, leaning against the wall. My breath caught. I had to move straightaway, but I couldn’t seem to. The desire to understand my brother’s role in this treachery warred with locking this villain in his own chambers. My hesitation cost me. Holmes stepped to the side, now closing in on where I stood near the incinerator room. My strategy was coming undone at the seams, all because of my cursed curiosity.

  “Turns out, he didn’t much have the stomach for murder. He had no such issue with accepting their organs for his science, though. Does that ease your mind, knowing his brand of devilry has limits?”

  “Of course it doesn’t.” I shook my head. “Instead of turning you over to Scotland Yard, he accepted gifts in the form of kidneys and ovaries and hearts. Had you not burned his journals, I’d have given them to the detective inspectors when I returned to London. You need to pay for what you’ve stolen. And so does my brother, deceased or not. He hated the women you killed. I saw that hatred in his heart and in the way he spoke of them the night he died. He was not innocent.”

  At that, a slow, malicious smile spread across his face. He held up a blade, a silver gleam in the flickering darkness, matching the glint in his eyes. It was as if I was standing in my laboratory watching N
athaniel do the same maneuver. The blade had been hidden up his sleeve, just as Thomas had deduced all those months ago. I was so caught by surprise at the clashing of memories, I could scarcely breathe. Nightmares and reality came together until I wanted to drop my knife and cane and cover my ears.

  “Do you know what the most dangerous weapon is, Miss Wadsworth?”

  Somehow, he must not have noticed the panic swirling about inside me. Through some miracle I’d kept my expression blank. My association with Thomas had proved most beneficial. Something he’d joked about a long while ago. I swallowed hard, never removing my attention from Holmes. I did not focus on the knife, recalling my time with the carnival. Sleight of hand was a dirty trick. It always made you look at the wrong target.

  “I suppose a pistol or a sword.” I lifted a shoulder. “It depends on the circumstances.”

  “Is that what you truly believe? That some tangible object is what’s to be feared most?” He exhaled, the sound laced with disappointment. “What of the human mind? That’s the most dangerous weapon. How many wars would be waged, swords drawn, cannons readied and fired, without that one weapon being deployed first?”

  He watched me with the eyes of a shark, emotionless yet predatory. I couldn’t help but feel as if I was wading in waters much too rough to survive. I refused to be afraid as I stepped into the incinerator room.

  Heat licked at my calves. Our time together was coming to an end. Only one of us would leave this murder castle alive. I pictured Thomas standing at the altar. Uncle instructing us in his laboratory. My father’s glistening eyes as he set me free. My aunt and cousin and Daciana and Ileana—the two other sisters I’d come to love as if they were my own blood. Mrs. Harvey and her traveling tonics and warmth. I had much to fight for, aside from avenging the women he’d brutalized. I would not be an easy target.

  “A mind is a powerful weapon, but it doesn’t have to be used wickedly,” I said. “That’s a choice.”

  He roughly parted the sea of skeletons before him, no longer patient with our game. He strode toward me, leaving them chattering loudly in warning. They needn’t have bothered. I knew the monster was about to emerge. Running was no longer an option. It was time to fight.

  “We are all wicked. More than mortal flesh and blood, our very souls harbor evil. It knows no beginning or ending.”

  He paused on the threshold of the room and I silently prayed he’d take one final step inside. All I needed was to complete our dance. One last circle around until I could lock him in here with his latest victim. Anticipation coursed through me.

  I spied a stool off to the side with a gas can. I’d try throwing it at him and run. Or I could swing the metal can at him—it seemed hefty enough to stun him for a moment. He stepped forward and I immediately moved back, edging farther into the blazing room.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead. Soon it would soak through my nightgown. I shivered at the thought of this man undressing me. He smiled as if he knew my thoughts.

  “Your soul longs for the very things mine does. Don’t trick yourself into thinking you’re better because you haven’t crossed that line yet, Miss Wadsworth. I see your desire to end me. It’s so strong I can practically taste it. Like a fine berry wine, your darkness is sweet.”

  Silence had many roles. It could be either a villain or a hero depending on when it was called to service. I decided to keep my mouth shut. Let him entertain himself with his lies. I might desire to kill him, but not for the reasons he believed.

  “Have you nothing more to say? That’s a shame. I was enjoying our chat together.”

  When I slowly swept around the outer edge of the room, he didn’t shadow me like he’d done before. He remained where he was and I knew it was only a matter of moments before the rest of my plan joined him in Hell. I braced myself for whatever was coming next.

  “I saw you in New York, you know. I’d gotten to hold you a moment. I wanted to slice your throat then and there.” He smiled shyly. I searched my memory, unable to locate—I swallowed hard. I had bumped into him. He’d been the clumsy young man I’d chided Liza for being rude to. “Delayed gratification is the basis of euphoria.”

  I sensed the charge in the air—an invisible building of pressure before lightning struck. I hoped I was strong enough to finish this. I squeezed my cane in one hand and my knife in the other. I’d use them both in any fashion I needed to. As I eased up the pressure on my dragon’s-head knob, I heard the softest swoosh of a stiletto blade sliding free. My heart stuttered.

  Thomas. My brilliant, cunning, prepared man. I’d forgotten that he’d had a weapon built into the end of this cane. His gifts were beautiful and practical. Had he deduced my need for this before either of us understood just how important it would be? I didn’t have time to ponder it.

  The devil had been coiled like a rattlesnake, and while I was expecting his attack, when he sprang at me, I flinched. It was a costly mistake. He grabbed a skull from the pile just outside the door and in one fluid motion was across the room, smashing it against my head.

  A loud, sickening crack echoed around me. My vision swam.

  Dark glitter tinged in red flashed across my eyes. It was different from when I’d lost consciousness on the Etruria. Then I’d gotten swept into that in-between state of wake and sleep because of blood loss. It was an odd combination of white spots fighting the encroaching darkness. This was like pain exploded in my brain, all-consuming and terrible.

  Warmth trickled down my forehead and into my eyes.

  When I blinked, I saw blood. Our battle had begun and I was already losing.

  FIFTY-THREE

  CAPTURING THE DEVIL

  MURDER CASTLE

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  19 FEBRUARY 1889

  I would not go quietly into the darkness.

  Pain shifted from my tormentor into my ally. I used it to fuel my rage. Each drop of my blood was my sister-in-arms. I licked it from my lips, the throbbing of my pulse pumping it out in torrents. What a sight I must be, drinking the very blood he spilled to terrify me.

  I thought again of Miss Eddowes. Miss Stride. Miss Smith. Miss Chapman. Miss Kelly. Miss Nichols. Miss Tabram. Minnie. Julie Smythe and her daughter, Pearl. The names of countless others he’d maimed becoming a silent refrain urging me on. I was not alone in this room with this monster. I was surrounded by his victims.

  I’d been wrong before—they did not wish to attack me. They wished to join me as I delivered their justice. I didn’t know what happened after death, if anything, but I believed they’d be waiting to greet him as he stepped from this world into theirs.

  It was time to send him where he belonged.

  I lifted my head, teeth bared, and an almost inhuman snarl ripped itself from my throat. I don’t know where it came from, but the devil hadn’t been expecting it. He took a startled step back and it was enough. More than enough. If he wished to taste my darkness, I hoped he recalled poison could also be sweet.

  I dropped my knife and grabbed my cane with both hands, swinging it blade first in his direction as hard and fast as I could manage. I heard the satisfying sound of it hitting its mark. Fabric ripped and I felt the edge catch in his flesh as I followed through.

  A warm mist hit my face. His blood, I realized.

  He screamed and scrambled back, holding one hand against his side. Blood continued flowing warmly down my face; distantly I knew I ought to worry. Eventually I’d become weak. But at present, I’d never felt more alive.

  “A mind is the best weapon.” I smiled with bloodstained teeth. “And Thomas Cresswell wields it well. He made this for me, you know.”

  I slashed my cane in an arc toward his throat, missing by inches. I screamed in frustration, the sound shrill enough to tear my throat. He threw himself backward, toppling the stool. The smell of gasoline filled the air. I didn’t need to glance down to see he’d spilled the can. Liquid spread long fingers, pointing to the demon I needed to destroy.

  I scented his blood in t
he air, my focus falling on the crimson slash that smiled from my first strike. His body trembled at my approach. His fear was intoxicating.

  Perhaps his assessment had been correct—perhaps he and I were alike. The thrill of his retreat vibrated in time with my pulse. I’d let the demon out of me and there was no locking it away again. Except maybe I’d never been born with the devil in me as he suggested. Maybe my monster was more vampiric in nature. I did not crave death; I craved blood. His blood.

  “This is for Miss Nichols.” I jabbed him in the leg with my blade, unable to control my bloodlust. I was a shark in the water, circling my prey as I scented its life-force leaking out. I struck again as he turned his own knife on me. I felt blood splatter onto my nightgown and wanted more. “And Miss Chapman.”

  I flung my arms back, intent on ending him at once. His hand struck out, as quick as a cobra, and wrested my cane from me. In a matter of seconds, he’d disarmed me and had his hands around my throat. It had happened too fast to avoid. I struggled against him, digging my fingers into his eye sockets. I managed to knock his mask off and stared into those electric-blue eyes that would haunt me, should I survive.

  “Intoxicating, isn’t it?” he whispered against my jaw. “The power. The control.” I wheezed as the pressure on my throat grew impossibly tighter. It wouldn’t be long before the blood vessels in my eyes burst. “Have you known pleasures of the flesh, Miss Wadsworth?”

  He practically purred. Black spots crackled around the edges of my vision. I clawed at his hands, nails breaking. Suddenly, Nathaniel fluttered in and out of my thoughts. He screamed in warning. I lost all sense of my surroundings, focusing solely on my dead brother. His lips moved but I couldn’t hear him. Strange I would think of him before death. Though maybe he was coming to fetch me.

  “This is better than even that.”