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I was unsure how Nathaniel had managed to do so, but he’d tricked Thomas with his lies as well. In my mind’s eye, I relived Thomas stumbling down those laboratory stairs, his expression frantic, until his attention landed on me. Back then I didn’t recognize the depth of his fear—how his own emotions had interfered.
I was both Thomas Cresswell’s weakness and his strength.
When he feared for my safety, his deductions were rushed, less razor-edged than when he had no emotional ties. He’d claimed cuts on Nathaniel’s fingertips had indicated he was the Ripper, but what if there was another reason for those? My brother had been handling sharp bits of metal, fusing them into his contraptions. Those actions could produce the same wounds. I opened my eyes, seeing the clues in an entirely new light.
“Dear God above.” Terror, I soon realized, had its own taste. It was sharp and coppery, much like blood. Each hair raised itself from my body as if it hoped to sprout wings and take flight. If Nathaniel had help with creating his laboratory, then any deficiencies in the design had most certainly been worked out. This house was a weapon itself, ready to destroy those who dared cross its threshold.
My home was the prototype. This was the grand masterpiece.
I glanced at the skulls and poor Minnie’s body, which had been partially skinned. If this chamber was located under the hotel—then I was only in one small portion of the underground maze. The hotel took up an entire city block. I almost sank to my knees. Getting out with my life would be nearly impossible. Maybe this was always how my story was suppos
ed to end, in this earthly version of Hell. Perhaps if I let him have me, his murderous rampage would come to a close.
I stopped looking at the mangled corpse that used to be the bright and cheerful Minnie. Would her fate soon be my own? A cadaver ripped apart into something hardly recognizable as human? A flash of Thomas’s body crumpled with poison battled against my fear. I promised I’d make it home to him. I would not let this murderous castle or its owner win.
This time when I scanned the chamber, I was searching for items to assist with my escape. Much to my surprise, my dragon cane lay against a barrel. I retrieved it, not looking any closer at the skeletal remains than was necessary.
For the sake of moving as stealthily as I could, I ripped my hemline into strips, then tied them about the bottom of my cane. Ignoring the ever-screaming corpse, I took a turn about the room, my breath catching at each muffled sound of my cane meeting the floor. It wasn’t the best, but it would make it harder for anyone to hear me moving around.
I crept over to the door, pressing my ear against the cool metal, listening for any movement on the other side. I stayed that way, doing my best impression of a statue, until my good leg prickled with needles. Not one sound stirred. Slowly, I reached out, trying the handle.
I winced as metal slid over metal, creating a sound much too loud for my liking in the oppressive quiet. I froze, waiting for the door to swing wide as Holmes came charging from the opposite side, knocking me backward, but no such force came.
Bolstered by my small victory, I leaned against the door, adding more of my weight, ready to rejoice at freedom—it was locked. Of course. Part of me wished to kick it, to beat it with my cane until either it or I surrendered to this fate.
“Be still,” I commanded myself as Liza had done after my ruined wedding. “Think.”
I turned around and pressed my back against the door, staring at the room from this perspective. A smaller doorway was tucked near a corner, almost hidden by the overflowing barrels of bones. Unlike the door I rested against, that one wasn’t closed.
With a quick reminder to be fearless, I crept toward my escape.
FIFTY
OF BLOOD AND BONE
MURDER CASTLE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
19 FEBRUARY 1889
As I stood in the small doorway leading out of my current nightmare, an even greater one greeted me. Suspended from hooks in the ceiling—reminding me much too closely of the butchers’ row in New York—hung rows of corpses and skeletons.
The objects of horror were evenly spaced on either side of the small room, leaving a narrow path between them. It was wide enough for a person to pass through, but only just. I barely noticed that this corridor of death opened to another chamber. The skeleton nearest me moved, and the sound of its bones chattering like teeth sent shivers along my spine.
I couldn’t tear my gaze from the skeletons. Some had been entirely stripped of flesh and bleached until their bones gleamed like the streets of the White City. Others hadn’t yet been fully treated. Metal wire glinted from the joints where the bones had been fastened together. The less-stripped skeletons had wire piercing rotting skin. The decaying tissues from flesh stained those bones and dripped to the floor. A slimy, greasy puddle saturated the ground beneath them. Maggots crawled about, their little milky bodies teeming with energy, enjoying their feast.
The stench was strong enough that my eyes watered and I could no longer hold back my nausea. I turned and vomited the pitiful contents of my stomach, thankful I hadn’t desecrated any other body. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, cringing at the sour taste of bile.
A lone bulb flickered above, sending shadows skittering. The room teemed with movement, though it was likely a trick of the light. I was not being watched by ghosts, even if a part of me wondered if spirits were haunting this murder castle, waiting for justice.
My stomach tightened again at the thought.
I closed my eyes against the image of a hundred pale faces emerging from darkness. No doubt the owners of these skeletons were seeking their revenge. Would they come for me, too? I thought of the many times my blade sank into flesh, the jolt of joy I’d tried unsuccessfully to tamp down. I delighted in my work, marveled at the secrets revealed to me. Perhaps the dead didn’t wish to tell me their troubles. Perhaps they thought I was as wicked as the man who’d strung them up, their bones rattling in the gentle breeze.
My mind latched onto that realization with ferocity. The breeze. There shouldn’t be any wind down here, unless… I spun in place, forcing myself to see beyond the forest of skeletons. My quick movement had them clattering together again, the sound setting my teeth on edge. I ignored the fear clawing up my spine and focused. There had to be—there! Wedged behind a trunk—its contents I refused to consider—was a large grate.
Hope rose from the ashes of my soul. It was small, but it wouldn’t be impossible for me to wedge myself into it and crawl to the outdoors. Air flowed in, meaning it most certainly flowed out. If I could only work the grate free from the—My excitement dwindled as I got closer.
