The Asylum (The Vampire Diaries 18)

That night, a brilliant golden-orange sunset lit up the September sky, usually so thick with clouds. It was a beautiful evening, and along the Thames artists were sketching, lovers were walking hand in hand, and buskers were playing instruments and prodding visitors to give them money.

Damon and I blended into the crowd. We were dressed in black, monk robes that I’d procured from a local church. I hadn’t even bothered to compel—instead, I’d stolen them outright. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if I was in God’s good graces in the first place.

The Magdalene Asylum benefit was being held in the Lanesborough Hotel, opposite Hyde Park. Damon assured me he’d been to dozens of balls there. I couldn’t understand why he’d bother. Didn’t he tire of them? I’d only been to a few, but had found them all to be the same: too much champagne, too much perfume, too much dancing, and too much talking, none of it about anything of consequence. Of course, my solitary walks and endless thinking weren’t much better.

“The monk’s attire suits you. It’s too bad you are a creature of the night, or you might have had quite a career as a man of the cloth,” Damon said, taking in my dark robes.

“I already have a guilty conscience. I doubt I could listen to other people’s sins,” I said, swatting at his arm. But the move was more of a brotherly punch than the start of one of our former brutal fights.

“No drinking, no swearing, no overindulging, no killing … face it, you already live a monk’s life, brother. Aren’t you glad I saved you from the boredom?”

“No,” I shook my head. “Aren’t you glad I came to shake some sense into you?”

Damon paused, as if pretending to think it over. “No,” he said finally. “Sense and I don’t mix. You know that.”

“What do you think you’ll do after this?” I asked, as we turned onto the winding gravel path into the park.

“I don’t know,” Damon said, a faraway look in his eyes. “What do you do when you’ve been everywhere? You have to keep things exciting. Maybe someday they’ll invent a machine to bring me to another planet.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “Do you think you could create a life here?” I wanted something substantial, something that would allow me to know my brother as more than the monster he’d become in my mind.

“I don’t think I need to create my life. I live my life. That’s what you need to do, brother,” Damon said. I shrugged off his minimalist philosophy—it was devoid of mora

l structure, but I didn’t have time to argue it.

The entrance was lit up by large torches. Well-dressed servants lined the path, and coaches streamed down the cobblestone streets. The Magdalene Asylum seemed to be the most popular cause to support in London these days, and if we hadn’t been disguised as monks, our invitations would have been scrutinized closely. As it were, we were ushered through the large glass doors and into a vast ballroom without a backward glance. No one wanted to offend the Church, and everyone assumed we were simply there to offer support and prayers to the Asylum girls the benefit was allegedly honoring.

The walls and roof were all glass and reflected the whirling dancers already on the ballroom floor. Garlands of flowers wrapped around the columns dotting the perimeter of the room, and servers were circulating among the guests, their arms laden with platters of food. Scattered throughout the party in their familiar-looking gray smocks were the girls of the Magdalene Asylum. They were obviously there to remind patrons where all their money was going, but people were gawking at them as though they were performers at a circus. Most, however, were huddled in corners in groups, fearfully looking at the attendees as though they might bite. Which they might.

I squinted, trying to pick Cora out of the crowd. Finally, I saw her. She was engaged in a low, whispered conversation with a slight girl whose dark hair hung in two plaits down her back.

“There she is.” I elbowed Damon, and together, we made our way over to her, passing directly in the path of Sister Benedict’s hawklike stare. She waved us on without glancing at our faces.

“Cora!” I whispered. Cora glanced over, her expression instantly changing from confusion to recognition. She picked her way through the girls, who all began whispering among each other, wondering why she was the one chosen to have an audience with two monks.

“Why, hello, Brother. Don’t worry, I said my prayers yesterday,” she said, winking.

I smiled as I leaned in toward her, so my mouth was only inches from her ear. “You gave some to every girl?” I asked.

Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around and found myself eye to eye with Sister Benedict.

“Hello, Brother,” Sister Benedict said, her voice dripping with piety. “How are you finding the evening?”

“Bless you, Sister.” I bowed deeply, not giving her a chance to notice I shared a remarkable resemblance to one of the generous de Croix brothers. “The evening is a joy. I’d love to pay my respects to the organizer of tonight’s event. When will he be arriving?” I asked, hoping my anticipation wasn’t too evident in my question.

Sister Benedict’s face broke into a crooked smile. “When you ask, God provides. Look!” She gestured toward a balcony that overlooked the ballroom floor, lit by a bright gas lamp. A man I didn’t recognize stepped toward the balcony’s railing and looked down. The band stopped playing, and the man spread his arms wide as if in greeting.

“Welcome, friends, to the Magdalene Asylum Benefit Ball!” he said to a roar of applause and a few whistles. “And now for your host, Samuel Mortimer!”

I looked up along with the rest of the crowd as Samuel burst through the doors and onto the balcony to the roar of applause. His blond hair was slicked back behind his ears and curled right above his collar, making him look more lionlike than ever. And on his arm, with her face pale and her long hair piled on top of her head, was Violet. If possible, her eyes looked larger, and her mouth more red, although from this distance it was impossible to tell if it was makeup, a trick of the light, or a smudge of blood from her last feeding. Samuel stood close to her, but it didn’t look like she was being held against her will. If anything, whenever Samuel shifted away from her, she would pull him back, as if she had to have Samuel beside her at all times.

I heard murmurs ripple through the crowd. I could imagine what they were whispering. I’m sure they were wondering where she’d come from, why Samuel had chosen to escort her to the benefit. If only they’d known her less than a week ago, before she’d been forced to drink Oliver’s blood. If only they knew the man on her arm was evil incarnate. And if only they knew that vampires walked among them—and that some were capable of far more destruction than they could even imagine.

“Violet!” I heard a shriek as I saw Cora spring from her chair at the far end of the room and run toward her sister. Luckily, the band had resumed and the ballroom was abuzz with chattering, glass clinking, and footsteps. No one had heard her outburst except a few girls sitting nearby. But even that was too many. Any attention drawn to Cora, or to us, put our plan at risk.

“No!” Damon and I yelled at the same time, racing into the crush of bodies that separated us from Cora. But Damon was faster, and instantly, he was by her side. He seized her arm with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. “Be quiet!” he ordered, wrestling her back into her chair. Then, he leaned in front of her, his hands clasped in prayer.

“She’s hysterical,” he said, loudly enough so the girls and Sister Benedict could hear. “It sometimes happens when young women aren’t accustomed to large crowds. We’ll say an extra prayer for her,” Damon added as I joined him in front of Cora.