“Let me see that,” Damon snatched the paper from Cora’s grasp. “‘Samuel Mortimer, the hopeful for London councillor, vows to keep the City streets safe. “I’ll kill the Ripper with my bare hands if I have to,” Mortimer promises, to cheers of approval,’” Damon intoned, reading from the text. “I’d like to see him try.”
I winced. Samuel Mortimer, derived from the French word for dead. Of course. And neither I nor Damon realized it, even as Damon was so proud of calling himself Count de Sangue. Count of Blood. It had probably been Samuel’s first clue as to Damon’s true nature.
I wondered what other clues we’d missed. I shook my head. Hadn’t I fallen into Samuel’s trap, too? I’d believed Damon was the Ripper.
“Promise you won’t do anything until Violet’s safe,” Cora said. “And then, yes, kill him. Just promise that Violet won’t be a pawn.”
I didn’t want to give Cora a promise I couldn’t keep. I wasn’t even confident that Damon and I could defeat Samuel, and I knew Damon wouldn’t pass up any opportunity to try. I wanted to tell her to run away from all of this, as far as she could. To go to Paris, change her name, and try to forget the past. But she wouldn’t. Violet was her sister, and she was bound to her. Just like I was bound to my brother. Forever.