“A purebred witch?” I repeated dumbly. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a witch descended from the very first coven—the Original coven. Samuel and Seaver researched the blood-lines of purebred witches and discovered the last known descendant had been living in an East End orphanage. They believe you, Mary Jane, are the one they’ve been looking for.”
“It sounds like a load of nonsense, vampire,” Jemima said. “And I won’t have you saying things like that under my roof. Spreading lies and frightening everyone to death.”
“You don’t have to believe me.” Damon shrugged. “All I know is what I heard them say.”
Mary Jane’s face turned white. “But I don’t know who my family is. How could Samuel?”
“Vampires are craftier than you’d think,” Cora said. I glanced sharply at her. “And Samuel can be relentless when he wants something.”
“You’re right.” Jemima nodded tersely. “If there’s a vampire after our Mary Jane, we need to get out of here as soon as possible. I’m sure he knows where we live. Mary Jane, you need to hide. I’ll come with you.” She turned to me expectantly.
“We’ll head to the tunnel now. Will the others come?” I asked. It seemed the more witches we had, the easier it would be to protect Mary Jane from Samuel.
“No, it’s best if we split up,” Jemima said, then turned to the remaining witches. “You lot, stay behind and protect the house with vervain.”
“Vervain won’t work,” Damon said flatly. “He’s immune.”
Jemima nodded once. “All right then. I’ll leave it to you to come up with something else. Maybe the impervio spell. The protective spell,” she added for our benefit. “But if he’s after Mary Jane, I doubt he’ll stay around long once he realizes she’s not here.”
“I can do that spell,” Vivian said uncertainly, as though convincing herself. Her face had drained of color. Billy, on the other hand, had risen to his full height and pushed his shoulders back, as if to show his strength was a match for Samuel’s.
“I’ll come back each day to check in. I’m sure we’ll have a plan to defeat Samuel soon,” Jemima said matter-of-factly. A shiver ran up my spine. Involving the witches meant even more lives were at stake, and we were past the point where running away was an option. Soon, someone would be dead. And I only hoped it would be Samuel—not one of us.
We made our way out of the house and emerged into sunlight. I pulled out my pocket watch. It was two o’clock. We’d slept for hours.
Silently, we walked along the Thames toward the tunnel. The docks weren’t nearly as sinister in daylight as they were at night. Now, instead of being ghostly quiet, they were crammed with girls selling flowers, vendors hawking meat pies, and sailors jockeying for work. We easily blended in with the masses, and I was glad for it.
Cora fell into pace with Damon, and Mary Jane walked beside me, although none of us spoke. Jemima trailed behind us. All I could do was stare at the rippling water, w
ondering where Violet’s body had come to rest.
We got to the tunnel, and Cora hustled Mary Jane and Jemima over to start the fire for a cup of tea. I think Cora also sensed that Damon was holding back what he knew about Samuel’s quest for a purebred witch. With Mary Jane out of earshot, maybe he’d be more likely to talk.
“Are you sure Samuel wants Mary Jane? How would he know he had the right girl? The purebred witch could be anyone,” I said.
“He already made five mistakes,” Damon said, arching an eyebrow. “But somehow, I think Mary Jane’s heightened power is a pretty big clue, don’t you agree, brother?”
I ignored him and walked over to tend to the fire, using old newspapers that Cora and I had collected. One of the pages caught my attention.
RIPPER RESPITE? read the headline, written in bold capital letters. It was followed by a line drawing of Damon. I skimmed the article.
“I’m committed to finding the beast and killing him,” says Samuel Mortimer, a generous benefactor of East End charity initiatives and a frontrunner in the election for councilor for the City of London. “Or else, rest assured, the beast will kill us.” Mortimer is not alone in this sentiment. Scotland Yard, the Metropolitan Police Force, and the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee are all working around the clock to catch the killer.
I crumpled the paper and threw it onto the fire. I watched the flickering flames, wishing some sort of clue for how to fight Samuel would appear. But there was only smoke.
“I’ve been thinking,” Damon said, lowering his voice to a whisper more quiet than the crackling fire. “Should we speak to James?”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” I said, glancing meaningfully at Cora. Jemima was eyeing us suspiciously. “James is a merchant who sells to vampires and witches. We don’t know where his loyalties lie; he might not be trustworthy. Besides, last time he sent us to Ephraim, and we have witches of our own now.”
“Plus, with Ephraim, we had to pay a price,” Cora piped up, turning to us from the fire.
“I gave him my blood,” I admitted. Before he would tell us where Violet was staying, Ephraim had demanded a vial of my blood as payment. At the time, I’d been so desperate that I’d given it gladly, but now I feared I’d been too hasty. After all, if a witch’s heart was in such high demand, could it be possible that vampire blood also had its own nefarious purposes? I wasn’t sure, and I hoped that I wouldn’t come to regret having given mine to him.
“I turn my back on you for one week, and that’s what you do?” Damon asked, raising his voice. “We’re vampires, brother. We take blood. We aren’t supposed to give it away.”
Jemima cackled in the corner, but the laughter didn’t break the tension. “What would you have done?” I asked irritably.