“All right, you’ve piqued my curiosity,” Damon said, sitting expectantly at the table as Cora scooped spoonfuls of the mixture onto a large baking sheet.
“Samuel’s next target is the prime minister’s house, and presumably, the prime minister himself. We’re going to bring these vervain-laced cookies to the guards at Downing Street, to protect them from compulsion, and ask them to deliver more cookies to everyone inside. After that, we’ll wait for Samuel and then make our move.”
“I’ll go with you,” Damon said, surprising me with his willingness. “In case things start to go sour, I’ll be there to compel whomever necessary.”
“All right, then. That’s why I’m glad you’re here,” Cora said sweetly as she pushed the baking sheet into the oven. Soon, the air was filled with the sweet scent of cookies. The plan could have been brilliant, or it could have been desperate. None of us had any idea how it would play out. But no matter what, we were all in it together.
The next afternoon, we followed Cora toward the prime minister’s house. She was carrying a basket of cookies. Above us, the sun was sinking low in the sky, but the air was warmer than it had been lately. I hoped the fine weather was a good omen. I needed something to believe in.
As we approached 10 Downing Street, I saw two fur-hatted guards standing at attention next to a simple gate. I glanced up, expecting to see a castlelike structure. But the prime minister’s home was a modest brick building even smaller than the Bedford Square house we’d taken residence in.
We paused behind a tree on the opposite side of the street.
“Are we clear on the plan?” I asked.
Cora nodded, and I noticed her fingers holding the basket handle were trembling. At least Damon would be going with her.
“All right. Good luck,” I said. My heart was pounding, even though we weren’t doing anything near as dangerous as we had in Miller’s Court.
“Hello there!” Cora called across the lawn, swinging her basket as though she were Little Red Riding Hood from the fairy tale. Only our tale was far more horrific. I shook my head. Focus, Stefan.
The guards stood at attention. “Yes, miss?” His gaze cut toward Damon suspiciously.
“I brought you cookies, something to say thank you for your service,” Cora said sweetly, trying to distract their attention from Damon.
“That’s very nice of you, miss,” said one of the guards. “But I’m afraid we can’t accept gifts. I’m sure you understand.”
Damon smoothly stepped in front of Cora, ready to compel. “My sister baked cookies for Mr. Cecil and his staff. She would be most obliged if you would take them, eat what you’d like, and then distribute the rest.”
“All right,” the guard said slowly, reaching toward the basket. “If you insist.”
“Wait!” a tall guard called from across the lawn, marching toward the front door. “Can’t just take anything that’s given. It’s orders to refuse it all. Can’t be too careful.”
Damon swiveled toward this guard, locking eyes. “Take one,” Damon snapped. He was losing his patience. I hoped he would keep it together long enough to get Cora out of there safely.
“Of course. As you were!” The guard saluted his colleagues and turned to take the basket.
“Thank you!” Cora curtsied as the basket was lifted from her hands. The guard took a large bite, a vacant expression on his face as he stared into the distance and chewed.
“Give my regards to the prime minister!” Cora called over her shoulder. The guard nodded as crumbs rained down into his bushy black beard.
Damon and Cora nodded to each other, partners in crime, as they turned to meet me back behind the tree. We weren’t especially hidden, but the street was crowded, and the guards seemed busier posing for delighted tourists’ entertainment than protecting the door.
“It worked,” Cora breathed.
“Not yet.” Damon set his jaw. “That’s our insurance policy. But we need a main event so we can cash in. We need Samuel to come so we can end this once and for all.”
I slid to the base of the tree and continued to watch the house from a hole in the bushes.
We didn’t have to wait long. As soon as the sun had set and every streaky orange ray had disappeared from the sky, an elegant carriage rode up to the entrance, pulled by two pitch-black horses. Samuel’s coach.
The driver jumped down and set a stool alongside the edge of the passenger car. In a moment, two women stepped out, followed by Lord Ainsley and Samuel. The two women were well dressed, but I didn’t recognize them from the party the night before. I wondered whether they were down-on-their-luck girls from the East End or noblewomen, and then realized it didn’t matter. They were vampires, and vampires crossed all class lines.
“Are you a good girl, Molly?” Samuel asked, caressing the neck of one of the girls.
“I am your good girl,” Molly responded in a singsong voice. She hungrily licked her lips, a clear sign she was ready to feed on anything or anyone.
“And what about you, Josephine?” he asked the other girl lecherously. He was showing off for Lord Ainsley, but I also sensed he enjoyed the act of compelling. That was a difference that made him truly inhuman.