Capturing the Devil Page 56

Thomas rolled to his side, moaning. I stood there helpless, feeling like I was twelve years old again, watching my mother’s life fade until all that was left was the ghost of her memories. I’d prayed then. Begged God to spare her, to grant one blessing for me and I’d forever dedicate myself to Him. I’d promised anything, anything He could want in exchange for her life. I would have even given mine. God hadn’t spared me a second thought when He’d taken my mother. I had little faith He’d listen to my pleas now.

Thomas began shivering so hard it seemed as if he were convulsing. I rushed to his side and tugged a quilt up to his chin, though it was quickly thrown off as he thrashed around. He was mumbling, his words too low and garbled to understand.

“Shhh.” I sat beside him, doing my best to soothe his fit. “I’m right here, Thomas. I’m right beside you.”

This fact only seemed to unsettle him more. He tossed his limbs about, their motions stilted and jerking. Arsenic attacked the nervous system, and I feared the poison had reached its intended target. He whispered something, over and over, his body becoming more agitated with each exhalation he made.

“Thomas… please, don’t worry. Whatever you need to tell me can wait.”

He coughed, his entire body trembling once again. “R-rose… r-r-rose.”

I clutched his hand to my heart, hoping he couldn’t feel it breaking. His skin was as clammy and cool as ice shards. “I’m here.”

“H-hotel.”

“We’re in the home on Grand Street,” I said gently. “The one you and Uncle and I are borrowing from Grandmama. It’s that large one that reminds you of storybooks. Remember? The sort where witches brew tonics for bad children?”

Thomas sputtered, his voice no longer audible as his lips moved. I prayed then. A few quick words to a God I was unsure of. “Please, Lord. I beg of You. Do not take him from me. Heal him. Or if You cannot, grant me the ability to tend to him myself. Please, please, do not let this be how our story ends.”

A knock on the door killed what remained of my prayers. “Come in.”

The maid held up a covered tray. “It’s plain broth, miss. The doctor said it might be good to try and get some in them both.”

The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. This was the same young woman who’d served us our tea and tarts earlier. I refused to trust anyone until I discovered who’d poisoned my loved ones. “Did you make the broth?”

“No, miss.” She shook her head vehemently. “The cook did. She’s got a light course prepared for you… she thought you might not be too keen on eating something heavy.”

“Have you tried the broth?” I asked.

“Of course not, miss. The cook doesn’t allow it.”

I took a deep breath. A dark, hateful piece of me wished to witness the cook take a spoonful, to be certain she wasn’t the one who’d slipped the arsenic into our tea. I forced myself to clear those thoughts, adopting a smile instead. I motioned for her to hand me the tray. “I’d like to try them both first.”

Looking a bit confused, she nodded, then went to fetch the second tray, meant for Uncle. Thomas groaned beside me. I balanced the tray on my lap, removed the lid, then dipped the spoon into the clear, rich-smelling broth. Green flakes of parsley floated around innocently.

I brought the spoon to my face, sniffing, though it was a pointless endeavor. Arsenic didn’t have a smell or taste. Without hesitation, I sipped the soup. I made sure I’d had enough before setting the tray aside. I glanced at the clock. Now it was time to wait.

An hour later I felt as fine as I had before the broth, so I gently cradled Thomas’s head, angling his face up, and managed to get a few spoonfuls down his throat. I kissed his forehead, leaving him to tend to Uncle. His skin looked slightly better than Thomas’s—a flush crept into his face, indicating a fever. I hoped it’d burn the toxins out.

I sat with Uncle for a little while longer, silently watching as he fidgeted less and fell into a deep, restorative sleep. Once I was certain he was all right, I slipped out of his room and returned to Thomas’s side.

I cracked his door open, hoping against impossible odds that he’d be awake. It was a fool’s dream. If anything, his skin appeared more ashen, as if the poison was drinking every bit of life from his body in greedy drabs.

“Abigail?” I called down the corridor, forgetting I could have rung the service bell in Thomas’s room.

Footsteps hurried up the stairs, followed by the maid. “Yes, miss?”

“I’d like more blankets for Thomas and my uncle,” I said. “And if the fires could be a bit warmer, that would help keep the chill from their chambers.”

With a quick nod, she ran off to accomplish the newly assigned tasks. That settled, I drifted back into Thomas’s room, mind churning. What I needed to do was construct a list of suspects, all with cause to harm us. I sat down carefully, minding both my leg and Thomas’s body, and settled against the headboard. In Chicago, General Inspector Hubbard wasn’t our biggest supporter. He made it clear he didn’t appreciate our inquiries and wished we’d be silent and enjoy the magic of the White City like the millions of other visitors.

Though I doubted he’d poison us, he could not be taken from the list.

Mr. Cigrande, the man who’d lost his daughter and believed demons roamed the earth, might be mad, but I couldn’t imagine him sneaking in and tainting our food. Unless his madness was feigned… but I couldn’t picture him accomplishing something quite so diabolical. Not without drawing attention to himself in the process.

Noah. Mephistopheles. They were aiding us. But it could be a ruse, especially where the ringmaster was concerned. I also couldn’t forget members of our temporary household. I knew nothing of them or their lives or who they were acquainted with. It was entirely possible they wished us harm for reasons I couldn’t explain. Perhaps they knew the man we hunted.

I sighed. Almost everything circled back to our case. People around the periphery were always suspect, based on the nature of their involvement, but I wanted the person at the center. If I could only piece together who Jack the Ripper was, I’d be able to stop him for good and reveal his wretched deeds to the world.

“R-rose.” Thomas thrashed about, having another fit. “C-cubes.”

My chest ached. “Thomas… I don’t—Rose cubes…?”

The gears in my mind clicked as the puzzle slowly started coming together. Cubes. Sugar cubes. The ones doused in rosewater. Thomas had also muttered “hotel” earlier. There was only one place we’d come across the scented sugar cubes during our investigation.

I wasn’t sure if it was an actual hotel, but Minnie’s husband rented out rooms above their pharmacy. The very place that sold rose-infused sugar cubes. The pharmacy across the street had been a ruse on Minnie’s husband’s part. My few interactions with him collided in my mind. He’d walked in on me and Minnie during tea, knowing I’d be far enough away when he broke in and burned Nathaniel’s journals. He also had a connection to Trudy, since he knew her through his wife. The tremble running down my spine confirmed their pharmacy was the place where the devil lived.

Soon, once I’d introduced him to my blades, it would be the place where he died.

Thomas retched and I grabbed a pail. Once he’d finished, I smoothed hair away from his brow in loving strokes and silently plotted murder.

Holmes’ “Castle”

FORTY-FIVE

MORE WICKED THAN HE

GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

16 FEBRUARY 1889

It was comforting in a sense, to finally understand the reason darkness existed in my soul.

It was all so simple. To stop the devil, I had to be more wicked than he. I closed my eyes, picturing each deed that needed to be done in preparation. If there was one lesson I’d learned from Thomas Cresswell, it was to give myself over to that terrible place completely. To disconnect from my mind and judgment and become the thing I feared the most.

I had to consider each of the killer’s moves before he did. I had to take on his wants, his desires. Each of his depraved fantasies would become my own, until I craved his blood the way he longed to spill mine. I visualized my blade tracing the lines of his body, glinting in a shaft of moonlight. A lone beam that illuminated my dark act.

Desire would course through my veins. Different from the craving I felt when lying entwined with Thomas, yet no less seductive or satisfying. I’d lay him out on a table, drugged but alive, so he might know what true horror felt like. Let him gaze upon me as tears slipped from his eyes.

Bloodlust. If it was his drug of choice, it would become mine. Tenfold.

The Ripper might have been practicing his dark arts these last few months, but so had I. I hadn’t sat idly by, waiting for him to sink his talons into someone else. While he honed his deadly seduction, I’d done the very same. He was a tool for murder, but I’d mastered ways to hunt monsters. I was no longer the naïve, lonely girl who’d snuck about the London streets those many months ago. I now knew monsters were never satisfied. Thomas had been right all along—one taste of warm blood was never enough.

Every case that had come before this was practice—lessons in confronting the ultimate villain and defeating him. I’d lost my innocence and refusal to see the truth of people during the first Ripper investigation. Studying in Dracula’s castle taught me to trust in myself, no matter how hard it was to see through distractions. While sailing on that cursed ocean liner, I’d played a role that convinced everyone, even Thomas, that my affections had shifted. I’d mastered emotional manipulation; I’d become a living sleight of hand.

Once upon a time, I’d sworn I’d be something better. That I’d never kill. That my work was only meant to help keep people alive. Now I’d seen enough of the world to know sometimes in order to fight darkness, you had to become a blade forged of heavenly fire.