I massaged my temples. I’d had a constant headache for the past few days, as persistent and buzzing as cicadas on a hot July day. It had only gotten worse the longer I’d been in London. I stood up and crossed over to the glass. My reflection looked pale and drawn, and my eyes were bloodshot. I looked sick, both
for a human and a vampire. Reflexively, I touched my fingers to my neck, my mind drifting back to my dream. The faint breeze rustling her white nightdress, the flicker of the lamp against the whitewashed walls, the exquisite pain of Katherine’s teeth sinking into my flesh . . . everything had seemed so real. But of course, beneath the pads of my fingers was nothing except smooth skin.
Katherine had been dead—dead dead, not just mortally dead—for twenty years. Her body had been burned in a church. And yet she was everywhere, as much a part of me as Damon. She’d been right. And back then, I’d been such a fool that I hadn’t understood the implications of her words at all.
I walked to the washbasin and splashed cold water on my face, shocked by how much grime and soot disappeared in the trickle of water. London was a filthy city. But washing the dirt from my face did nothing to scrub the blackness from my soul.
Noticing the sun sinking fast, casting shadows on the wall, I quickly finished cleaning up and tied my tie. Hastily, I made the now-familiar trek across the city. I hated how on edge I felt, how I viewed every face that passed with suspicion.
Violet was waiting at the door of the Ten Bells, wearing the same emerald-green dress she’d worn to the theater a couple of nights ago. She’d drawn kohl liner around her eyes, and her mouth was painted a bright red. While the dress had looked lovely the night at the theater, at the tavern it looked almost garish, and it would be all too easy for her to be mistaken for one of the ladies of the night. Or worse, the ideal target for an unholy killer.
“Ready to go?” I asked Violet as I approached, offering her my arm. She nodded and took it, telling me about her day at the tavern as we quickly made our way through the cobblestoned streets toward the dock. On our route several laborers whistled at Violet. I glared at them, cringing internally. I felt like we were moving targets for anyone in our path.
As we grew closer, music drifted up from one of the warehouses. It was cheerful, dance hall music and the bustle surrounding the warehouse was at odds with the desolation I’d seen last night. London reminded me of a kaleidoscope, a child’s toy Lexi had picked up once. With one twist, the picture at the other end of the tube changed, and you could never anticipate what you’d see next. I just hoped that the unfolding scenes for Violet and I would be pleasant and not macabre.
“Here we are! Stefan, come on!” Violet said, quickening her stride as she caught sight of a trio of well-dressed men walking toward one of the dimly lit warehouses that lined the dock.
I accelerated my pace until we were even, and then lightly threaded my arm through hers, not wanting to lose sight of her once we entered the party. Several boats were bobbing in the water, and the dock was as crowded as the West End streets after a show let out. The breeze carried the sound of music and laughter toward us.
Violet and I stood outside the bolted metal door and, with a sly glance back at me, Violet brazenly raised her hand as if to knock. But before she could, the door slowly opened.
“If it isn’t Miss Burns!” a smooth voice said, and I glanced up. On the other side of the door stood Samuel, wearing a white shirt buttoned to the top and a dark dinner coat hanging off his square shoulders.
“Thank you ever so much.” Violet blushed and curtseyed as Samuel offered his arm to her.
“Hello,” I politely greeted Samuel. Although as far as I could tell, I’d never done anything to offend him, Samuel always seemed distant toward me. I assumed it was because of my station in life, that he could see from my callused hands and the stubble on my cheeks that I was not used to his world. I suppose I should have simply felt happy he didn’t apply that derision to Violet, but still, the snub irritated me. Maybe I did understand a bit why Damon desperately wanted to be accepted by society.
“Stefan,” Samuel said, a slight smile crossing his face. “So glad you could make it.” I didn’t seem to be the only one forcing myself to be polite tonight.
The air was thick with the scent of competing perfumes and cigarette smoke. Candleholders were precariously perched on any flat surface, and it was a miracle that no fires had started. Still, the entire warehouse was dim, making it impossible to tell who was who unless you were standing right in front of them. In the corner, a band was playing a brass-heavy tune I didn’t recognize that seemed to thump in rhythm with my head. I’d been wrong in worrying about Violet’s dress being inappropriate. The majority of women were wearing dresses with low-cut bodices, the skirts cutting in snugly at their hips. It was a mingling of two distinct London worlds, and it seemed that here was a place where social niceties and decorum didn’t matter.
Suddenly, I heard a high-pitched shriek. I whirled around, my fangs bulging, ready to attack.
But all I saw was Violet at the center of the room, hugging a tall, thin girl as if she never wanted to let her go.
“Stefan!” Violet called, waving me over, her eyes shining. “See, I was right. I knew she was alive. This is Cora!” she said.
“Cora?” I asked incredulously, taking in the girl in front of me. The crowd had parted somewhat to watch the drama unfold.
Cora nodded, her pale blue eyes seeming hazy and unfocused.
“Yes,” she said simply. “I’m Cora.” Her voice seemed slow and syrupy. Had she been compelled? I had no idea, no point of reference for how she usually acted. But I felt deeply unsettled. Something wasn’t right with this reunion. It was too convenient after so much searching.
“Are you all right? Where have you been?” I asked, trying not to sound like a concerned father. I didn’t want to frighten her. After all, we were complete strangers. But I had to know.
Violet seemed oblivious to my questions and was stroking Cora’s hair as if she were a favorite pet. “This is Stefan,” Violet explained. “My new best friend. I have so much to tell you . . .” Violet spontaneously threw her arms around Cora’s neck. Cora, like Charlotte, was wearing a silk scarf knotted tightly at the nape of her neck.
“Where were you?” I asked again, my concern reaching desperation. I couldn’t make out Damon in the crowd of revelers, but I was sure he was close.
“Where was I?” Cora asked, confusion in her voice. I felt my stomach free-fall.
“Why does it matter?” Violet asked. “The main thing is, Cora’s safe, isn’t that true?” Violet reached behind her neck and unclasped her pendant. I was about to tell her to keep it on when she hooked it around Cora’s neck. The gold of the pendant gleamed in the candlelight.
“This is your don’t-go-away present, you hear me?” Violet said, a film of tears covering her eyes. Cora nodded, but she didn’t seem to be listening. She was glancing over Violet’s shoulder, clearly looking for someone. And while she seemed happy to see Violet, she wasn’t overjoyed and didn’t seem to fully recognize that she’d been lost.
She kept blinking and tugging the chain around her neck. I watched, entranced. Had she been compelled?
Just then, Damon sauntered up, carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and champagne flutes in the other. Trailing him were Samuel and a tall man with short blond hair, wearing a top hat and suit.