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We pushed ourselves, giving an extra burst of speed until the noise of the mob faded behind us. Finally, we reached the tunnel and jumped down. The air smelled dank, and drops of water oozed from the walls like blood from a wound. Still, I was relieved to be there.
Damon and I stared at each other, panting hard.
“Well, at least I worked up an appetite,” Damon said dully. He rose to his feet, and I could tell he was trying to hide the fact that he was still winded, sweat running down his face. “I’m going to find some food. Don’t wait for me.”
“Fine,” I said, still catching my breath.
A few minutes later, I heard a moan as Damon undoubtedly sunk his teeth into a nameless tunnel dweller. I felt my own stomach growl in protest as I turned my face to the wall and listened for the scrabble of a rat to at least quell my hunger. But there was nothing.
9
The next morning, I awoke early. Or perhaps I hadn’t fallen asleep. All I could think of was Cora, alone in the cold, unfriendly Asylum. But whenever I closed my eyes to conjure her face in my mind—her proud eyes and the spray of freckles on her nose—all I could imagine was Katherine.
In my vision, Katherine was smiling at me, her hair plaited in a long braid tossed over one bare shoulder.
“Can’t you smile, Stefan?” she asked, shaking her head at my morose condition.
I tossed and turned. I wanted to forget about Katherine. But it was impossible when I was with Damon. Faint light was coming through the opening to the tunnel. Without waking Damon, I scrambled up the ladder and into the early morning. It was wet and cold and the fog made the Thames difficult to see even from a few paces away.
I hurried to the Magdalene Asylum, hands jammed in my pockets, shuffling my feet and singing an ill-mannered drinking song that often broke out at pubs. I wanted anyone who saw me to assume I was just a drunk and leave me alone. Rain was falling softly from the dove-gray sky, and the cobblestones were slick.
Midway to the Asylum, I spotted a bakery with a red awning. It was the shop where Cora and I had gone before the park, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
On a whim, I entered.
“Six buns, please,” I said, holding the baker’s gaze until she nodded and brought me a white sack.
“Thank you,” I said, noticing the poster behind the counter. My stomach sank. Damon’s face was everywhere.
The woman followed my gaze. “He’s back in London,” she explained. “Nobody’s safe.” She squinted harder at me, and I took that as my cue to hurry away. The family resemblance between Damon and me was faint, but it was there, as indelible as ink. I couldn’t risk someone associating me with my brother, especially since we’d been spotted together at the tavern last night.
Treats in hand, I settled on an ivy-covered bench across the street from the Asylum. I pulled out my watch. Twenty minutes after six.
As expected, a side door opened a few minutes later, and two lines of girls filed out, as though they were soldiers on the march. There were about fifty in all, identically clad in gray smocks, their hair pulled back and covered by bonnets. Some of the girls looked no older than thirteen, while others seemed to be in their late twenties. I had to squint to tell them apart. It would be difficult to find Cora.
“Order!” Sister Benedict barked at the front of the line. “Now, think of the prayers you’ll offer to God!” She marched them through the gates and onto the street.
“Cora!” I hissed, disguising it as a cough. “Cora!”
I saw movement from the far line, and then Cora turned toward me and gave a quick smile. As the group turned a corner, she stole away.
“You made it,” Cora whispered, her back pressed against the sandstone building as she inched farther down the street and toward a tiny cobblestone-paved alley.
“Of course. I was worried about you. Are you all right?” I asked, following her lead and trying to shield her with my body. In the distance, the church bells pealed.
“Thankfully, yes,” Cora said urgently. “But other girls weren’t so lucky. I saw something last night,” she continued, sinking to sit on a concrete step. Here, in the alley, we were partially covered from the rain by the stone overhang of an abandoned building.
“What?” I asked, my imagination running wild, the bakery bag
in my lap all but forgotten.
“Samuel and Henry came to the Asylum in the middle of the night.”
“What? Why?” I asked.
“They’re drinking from the girls. I saw it with my own eyes. It was terrible. You have to stop it.” Silence hung in the air between us. I was afraid to stir. In the distance, a crow cawed and a police bell rang, all reminders that we were not alone.
“It took me ages to fall asleep last night, but I eventually nodded off,” Cora said, glancing up at the sky. “The next thing I knew, I was startled awake by a noise. I saw Samuel and Henry walk into the room. As soon as I saw them, I pulled my sheet over my head and lay on my side, pretending to be asleep, but the sheets are so thin that I still saw everything,” Cora said breathlessly. “They stopped by a few beds, silently waking the girls. One of them was Winnie, who was sleeping to the right of me. I stayed as rigid as I could and was just clutching my charm. Oh, Stefan, at one point, they were so close I felt Henry’s hand brush against my forehead. I heard Samuel say, ‘Fresh blood,’ and I almost stopped breathing, I was so frightened. But then they moved on to another girl. He didn’t recognize me, I’m sure of it,” she added with conviction.
