VOL. 4: THE RIPPER
The Secret Circle novels
THE INITIATION AND THE CAPTIVE PART I
THE CAPTIVE PART II AND THE POWER
Excerpt from Stefan’s Diaries #5: The Asylum
Want More of Stefan’s Diaries?
Read on for a Sneak Peek of The Asylum
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could blot out the past and focus on the gentle swaying of the train car. My brother, Damon, was somewhere on the train, feeding on an unfortunate passenger or planning his revenge on Samuel once we arrived in London. Most likely, he was doing both. I glanced at Cora sitting next to me, a Bible still open on her lap. The cover was frayed and the pages were dotted with smudges. It had obviously been well read by someone. But there was nothing in the Bible that could help her—or any of us in this car of the damned.
In the distance, I heard footsteps marching down the aisle. My heartbeat quickened. I sat up, ready to defend myself against whoever came around the corner: Samuel, Henry, some other vampire minion I had yet to encounter. I could feel Cora tense beside me, her eyes growing wide with fear. I reached an arm across her, as if that could protect her from a demon with a thirst for blood. A hand reached around to pull the curtain of the carriage open. I recognized the ornate lapis lazuli ring that matched my own and breathed a sigh of relief.
Damon had come back.
“Look at this!” he sputtered, waving a newspaper in front of my face.
I grabbed the paper from his hand and gazed at the headline. JACK THE RIPPER IDENTIFIED BY EYEWITNESS. Below the block letters was an illustration of Damon, a sketch done by the police, but the features were remarkably familiar. I read the caption underneath: SOCIETY MAN DISCOVERED TO BE UNHOLY KILLER. The train lurched. We were like mice on our way into a snake pit. All of London now thought Damon had been committing the Jack the Ripper murders.
“May I see that?” Cora asked, holding out her hand expectantly. But Damon ignored her.
“They could have run a better picture of me, at the very least. That illustration doesn’t do me justice at all,” he said sulkily as he settled on the bench next to me and crumpled the paper up into a ball. But I could see his hands were shaking with the faintest of tremors, invisible to the human eye. This wasn’t the confident Damon I knew.
Next to us, Cora rifled through the papers that were lying next to our untouched breakfast trays.
“We’re only a few miles outside London,” I said nervously, looking at Damon. “What will we do when we get there?” After all, the quiet sanctity of the train was temporary. We were on the run, and for all we knew, we’d be found as soon as the train arrived in Paddington Station.
“Well,” Damon said, throwing the wadded newspaper to the ground and stomping on it for good measure. “I’ve heard that the British Museum is exquisite. I haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”
“This is serious, Damon. They’re looking for you. And once they find you . . .” I shuddered. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if the Metropolitan Police found Damon.
“I know it’s serious. But what am I supposed to do? Hide for eternity because I’m being framed for a crime I didn’t commit? Samuel needs to pay. Besides, I’m not afraid of the police. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“You’re in this paper, too,” Cora said quietly, holding up the front page of the London Gazette. This had no illustration, only a headline: JACK THE RIPPER DISCOVERED, STILL ON THE LOOSE.
Damon grabbed the paper and quickly scanned it. Then he turned to me. “I look like a pauper now. I don’t think anyone will recognize me,” he said, as though convincing himself. Lacing his fingers together, he smoothed back his hair, then rested his head in his palms as if he were a sunbather at the beach.
I glanced at Damon. It was true: He didn’t look at all like a member of London’s elite. His shirt was torn and blood-spattered. His eyes were tired, and he had a shadow of a beard covering his chin. But he still looked like Damon. His hair was dark and thick, falling in a wavy line over his strong eyebrows, and his mouth was set in his usual half sneer.
Noticing me observing him, Damon arched an eyebrow. “I know you’re thinking something. Why don’t you just say it?”
“We shouldn’t be going to London,” I stated flatly. After all, Damon was a wanted man in the city. He was weak, friendless, and we had no idea how many other vampires were in London. I knew Samuel’s brother, Henry, was one. We had no idea how far Samuel’s reach could be. He certainly had friends in high places to frame Damon to the media.
“Not go to London?” Damon spat. “And do what? Live in the forest and wait until we’re found? No. I need revenge. Aren’t you concerned about your little friend, Violet?” he added, knowing exactly why I was after Samuel in the first place.
I looked at Cora, who was still desperately rifling through the papers as though one of them contained a map with our path to safety. Her blue eyes were wide with fright, and I was impressed she’d been able to hold her head high after the events of last night. She’d been brave in the hours before sunrise, when we’d been hiding in the woods and waiting for the search party to pass, despite the fact that her sister had just been turned into a demon. Now I could only imagine the thoughts swimming in her head.
“I want to rescue Violet. I do,” I said, hoping that Cora could sense my sincerity. “But we need a plan that’s prudent. We don’t know what we’re up against.”
Even as I said it, I knew Damon would never agree. When he wanted something—romance, champagne, blood—he wanted it now. And of course the same applied to revenge.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cora set her jaw. “We have to go to Lo
ndon,” she said in a low voice. “Violet tried to save me. I need to save her,” Cora said, her voice rising on the word save. She folded the paper with a crisp smack and pointed at another illustration. I winced, expecting to see Damon. But instead it was a line drawing of Samuel, a profile shot with his chin held high, and his hand raised in a poised, political wave.