The Asylum (The Vampire Diaries 18)

“It grows everywhere back home. But here…” I remembered how hard it had been to try to cultivate vervain in the limestone-rich English soil. It wasn’t something that grew naturally. I’d nurtured a tiny patch on the grounds of Abbott Manor, but it had required near constant diligence. Back in the States, it had been awful to walk through a field only to suddenly feel dozens of stings around my ankles. The vervain I gave to Violet, which Cora now wore, was from San Francisco—crumbly and dried, like a pressed flower.

“We don’t need to grow it. Brother, you need to stop thinking like a farmer. We’re in London, where money can get you anything. We can still find it,” Damon said mysteriously.

“Where?” I asked.

“Wherever there’s a city of vampires, there are antidotes. Do you think the war between us and Samuel is the only one brewing in our world?” Damon asked with a twisted grin. “Come. We’re going to the Emporium,” Damon said. He pulled on a hat to disguise his face. Now that his angular cheekbones, shock of dark hair, and piercing eyes were covered, he didn’t look like the man on the broadsheet. He looked like just another Londoner shielding himself from the rain.

Without saying a word, I followed him.

Soon, I realized there were parts of London far worse than Whitechapel. Whitechapel had reminded me of some of the slums of New York City, communities we’d only passed through in a coach. But these areas were even more decrepit. Stray cats yowled in the alleyways, and boarded-up windows faced the streets below. It was impossible to tell whether any of the homes were inhabited. I hoped not.

“How do you know this part of town?” I asked. It was nothing like the elegant blocks Damon usually frequented.

“Unfortunately, I lived in this hellhole,” Damon said, grimacing. “You’re not the only one who’s had to slum it, brother.”

“You lived here?” I repeated in disbelief, picking my way over a pile of garbage and broken crates.

“You do what you have to do. Obviously, I prefer feather beds and champagne, but those aren’t always available. Besides, the darkness suits me. No one looks at you, no one cares if people go missing. It’s real life, brother,” Damon continued as we walked down the winding alleyway. The passage was so narrow that only one person could fit at a time.

“When did you arrive in London, anyway?” I asked. I realized I had no idea what Damon had done for the past twenty years. Of course, he had no idea what I’d done either, but I didn’t think he was particularly interested. Those twenty years had passed like a summer. Lexi and I had toured the country; we’d had long conversations and had occasionally taken odd jobs to pad our pockets. What had Damon seen?

“I’ve been here for a while. I knew the States couldn’t contain me. I had to seek adventure elsewhere,” Damon said cryptically. He stopped in front of the door of a house similar to all the other derelict residences on the streets.

He raised his fist and rapped three times.

“Who’s there?” A low, croaky voice called from the other side.

“Damon DeSangue,” Damon said in a flawless Italian accent.

The door creaked open and a tiny, wizened man stepped out. He was missing an eye, and the other was oozing a milky white substance. It was difficult to tell his age, or if he was even human.

“James!” Damon said warmly, reaching down to shake his hand.

“Damon! You’ve been gone far too long. I trust you’re not getting into trouble?” James asked, raising the white tufted eyebrow above his sightless eye socket. Suddenly, his remaining eye landed on me. “Who’s this?” he asked suspiciously.

“This is Stefan,” Damon said. “My brother. Also a vampire. Stefan, this is James, a friend to England’s creatures of the night.”

“Or anyone who pays,” James said, looking me up and down until his eyes finally settled on my lapis lazuli ring. He grinned wryly. “So what can I do for you boys? We have rhinoceros blood. It’s a treat for the discerning palate. And can I get you two a cup of goat’s blood tea?” he asked, hustling us inside the tiny, cluttered front room.

I startled when I heard mention of goat’s blood tea. Most vampires didn’t drink anything but human blood, and I’d thought goat’s blood was a delicacy only Lexi enjoyed. I wondered who James’s other customers were.

The thought drifted away as I stepped farther inside. I blinked in amazement at our surroundings. I’d thought I’d seen it all, or at least heard about things from Lexi. But now I realized there was so much I still had to learn. Frogs packed in jars were lined up against one wall. On another, purplish-red hearts pulsed, suspended in a filmy substance. And an entire shelf was crammed with bowls full of gemstones. Was this where Katherine had gotten the rings?

“You know, Damon, the offer still stands. I’ll be willing to put up a very pretty penny for that ring. I’ve had several inquiries. I know only the owner can benefit from its properties, but several of my kind would like to study it,” James said greedily.

“No, this has a certain … sentimental value attached to it.” Damon shook his head and pulled his arm inside his cloak. “And tea won’t be necessary for me. I’m still enjoying human blood. What I’m here for is vervain—a lot of it.”

“Vervain.” James smiled as he climbed on a stepstool and pulled down a few jars of the lilaclike flowers. “I don’t often get vampires looking for vervain. Witches, yes. But vampires tend to avoid the substances that harm them.”

Damon smiled tightly as James arranged the jars on the counter. I winced just looking at it.

“So, this will be … twenty pounds,” James said, pulling a number from thin air.

I pulled off my cuff links in frustration, hoping he would accept them in lieu of twenty pounds in hard cash. I doubted it. Twenty pounds was an astronomical sum. And it wasn’t as if we could compel James; running this shop, he’d obviously taken great lengths to protect himself. I could sense an impervious air around him.

“Sure,” Damon said smoothly, pulling a fistful of coins from deep within his

pockets.