“Right,” I shot back. “And if no one bruises Damon’s fragile ego, we’ll be best friends.”
Cora opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. She glanced between the two of us. “Fine. But if you keep fighting, then I’m leaving. And I’m not sure any of us would survive on our own.”
Without another word, she swept off into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving Damon and me alone.
The firelight flickered on the dirt wall, making our shadows loom large and ghostly over us.
“Katherine was the one for me,” Damon said petulantly, lost in his own world. “Why can’t you accept that?”
“She didn’t love either of us,” I said flatly.
“Maybe she compelled you,” Damon said. “But with me…”
“Stop it!” I exploded, springing up and shaking his shoulders. I stared into my brother’s eyes. The whites were bloodshot, but the irises were dark and huge in the light from the fire, the pupils dilated. I held on to his shoulders even as I sensed Damon’s muscles twitching beneath my grasp. But he didn’t try to break free.
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Stop what? Stop telling the truth?”
I roughly pushed him away. “Stop bringing up the past,” I said, balling up my fists. “It’s pointless. Katherine is dead. And you will be, too, if you don’t give up this ridiculous vendetta. Cora’s right—we need to worry about the vampires that are still alive. We need to save Violet, and then leave London. Can we at least agree on that?”
“Whatever you say, brother,” Damon bit back, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to feed.”
Once his footsteps had faded, I lay down quietly to sleep.
7
All in, brother,” Damon advised, clapping his hand on my shoulder.
I was back in Mystic Falls, deep in the woods, where we always went in our youth when we were up to no good. We’d tie our horses to a tree and stay up all night, drinking slugs of whiskey, playing cards, and talking about girls. There was a heavy mist over the pine needle-covered ground and a sharp chill in the air. It was fall, and I was fifteen, eager to be a man in any situation.
Surrounding me were the Giffin brothers, Matthew Hartnett, Nathan Layman, and Damon. A few years older, Damon had been skipping out on our gatherings in the woods lately in favor of nights at the Tavern.
“He ain’t allowed to have a coach! Stefan’s gotta play for himself, or else I ain’t interested,” Ethan Giffin called, swigging from his flask. With his curly red hair and round face, Ethan reminded me of an overfed toddler.
“I’m not coaching, I’m just giving some brotherly advice. Do you have a problem with that?” Damon challenged.
“Fine,” Ethan said, sitting back on the log. His brother, Calvin, glared at us angrily.
“Besides, Stefan doesn’t need my advice. He’s smarter than me,” Damon said, glancing at his own cards. A few crumpled bills were thrown in a pile, along with a belt buckle, a cigarette lighter, and Clementine Haverford’s handkerchief. (“Straight from her bosom!” Ethan Giffin had assured us with a cackle.) The winner would take it all—or lose everything.
“All in,” I said, throwing a five-dollar bill on the pile. It was my own small fortune.
One by one, everyone displayed their cards. My heart pounded more and more with each reveal. My hand was better than the two jacks that Calvin presented, and better than Nathan’s three queens. Finally, I showed my own hand—a straight flush of hearts.
I scooped up my prizes, beaming at Damon in victory.
“Rise and shine!” I was startled awake by the voice. Disoriented, I blinked up at Damon, his outburst from the night before apparently forgotten. Seeing him now, just after he’d appeared in my dream, was surprising. He was so similar in appearance to the brother of my youth and yet such a profoundly different person. Back then, it had been easy. We knew our strengths complemented each other’s, and we were generous with our mutual admiration. He was confident and daring, while I was smart and cautious. Now, we viewed each other with suspicion.
The shadow of a beard covered the lower half of his face. I’d never seen Damon with a beard before, but it suited the air of menace he projected.
I had to look twice when Cora appeared. True to her word, she’d taken the preparations for today seriously. She was wearing the tattered, stained dress she’d worn two days prior. Her hair was mussed so it stuck up in odd angles around her face, and she’d rubbed dirt on her cheeks and forehead. She looked the part of a fallen woman. Which was exactly the point.
“All in,” I murmured.
“All in?” Damon glanced at me curiously, but I didn’t explain and he didn’t press. I didn’t want him to ruin what was still an untarnished memory.
Once we got aboveground, we turned in the opposite direction of Lansdowne House. According to Cora, the Magdalene Asylum was just on the edge of Whitechapel, the site of Samuel’s Ripper murders. Would anyone recognize Damon? He was wearing his cloak with the hood pulled far over his forehead. Combined with the beard, he looked nothing like the dashing, debonair suspect the newspapers had described. I allowed my shoulders to relax.
Finally, we reached a decrepit brick building at the far end of an alleyway. It was enclosed by an iron fence, and the solid black doors of the entrance looked ominous. It didn’t seem the type of place to save women. Rather, it looked like a sort of prison: a place where wayward women could be locked away and forgotten. I glanced at Cora, worried, but she stared resolutely ahead.