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In a sudden panic, I stumbled toward the corridor of bones, cursing wildly when I noticed what I’d tripped over—a dismembered torso. I’d interrupted him disposing of another victim. I fell to the ground, ignoring the pain that shot up my spine as I scrambled back, away from the White City Devil.
My fingers dug into the packed earth, my nails splintering as I searched for purchase. Something sliced my palm and I nearly cried out as warmth flowed down my hand. I bit my tongue instead, taking the blade with me as I moved backward. I didn’t dare glance at it, but it felt like a long, thin dinner knife. It was the exact weapon Uncle had described during that first lesson I’d attended about Jack the Ripper’s kills. I held on to it like it was my only salvation. I was almost certain he hadn’t seen me grab it. Since it was covered with dirt, he’d probably dropped it a long while ago and forgotten it was there.
He left his dark work and stalked after me. I was grateful for the dim light—it would make it hard for him to notice the trail of blood I knew I was leaving.
He was silent in his pursuit, taking steady, unhurried steps. I needed to become fearless, but it was hard when faced with my personal nightmare. I finally managed to heave myself into a standing position and stopped in the center of the bone corridor. My sudden halt made him pause. I didn’t think he was used to his prey growing their own claws and striking back.
He stood just inside the doorway between the incinerator and the skeleton corridor, giving me time to think. I needed to come up with a plan. And it needed to happen this instant. I knew the door in the room I’d woken up in was locked. There was no getting out of there. If he cornered me in that space… I refused to think in those terms. I was not prey, but predator.
“A devil mask is a bit theatrical,” I said, surprised to hear how smooth and unafraid my voice sounded. He canted his head to one side, seeming as surprised by my statement as I was. “I didn’t think you’d enjoy such things. But then I recalled your letters to Scotland Yard. You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. The devil… I suppose I understand in theory why you chose it, but it seems a bit contrived.”
My taunt worked as well as I’d hoped it would. I’d been playing this game with Jack for too long now. He might believe he knew me, but I’d gotten well acquainted with him, too. His vanity would be his undoing. I was counting on it. If I could get him to talk about himself and his crimes, it might give me an opening to spring my own trap.
A skeleton that hadn’t yet been strung together lay in a heap near the door to the incinerator. If I could trick him back into that room, I could secure him inside by wedging the femur in the handle. It would purchase me time to work the grate off the wall. Then I could flee without him capturing me and making me into his latest prize.
“Is the concept of a devil truly far-fetched?” His voice was another part of his deception. It sounded pleasant. Charming. His conversational tone was meant to be disarming, and if I hadn’t known who he was, I, too, might have fallen for his façade. I’d learned, though, that fallen angels were beautiful creatures. Mephistopheles had reminded me to be wary of them. “You of all people should know that darkness walks among us. Satan might be a fantastical legend meant to frighten, but aren’t his acts real?”
“No,” I said. “Men are monsters who use fantasy to ease their minds. They find it easy to blame their actions on good and evil. It’s much harder to face the truth—that you enjoy the pain and fear you inflict, for no other purpose than your own wicked pleasure.”
“We are all wicked. More than flesh and blood, our very souls harbor evil. Don’t you see it in the bodies you carve? In the choices people make? The man who beats his wife is as terrible as the person spreading lies out of spite.”
I must have a made a disgusted noise, because he paused.
“No?” he asked. “Who sets the scales for what’s more evil? Why is physical violence deemed terrible, yet an assault on one’s mind or emotions less so? What of the person wounding you with their words? What of their desire to watch you bleed tears? They, too, guzzle your pain. Their hearts beat with hate. They gain pleasure by spreading their noxious negativity.” He shook his head. “Hatred. Jealousy. Vengeance. Evil is all around, Miss Wadsworth. There’s a devil in us all as much as an angel. Right now, which one is speaking to you?”
He glanced at the blade I slowly held up, no doubt recognizing the determination coursing through me. I hoped he might step backward. He knew I’d seize upon any opportunity to kill him. And how sweet that justice would be—having a woman use the very blade he’d slain so many other women with to end his cursed existence.
He didn’t move. And now I’d revealed my hand.
“Is your evil dressed up in righteous indignation?” he asked, taking a small step forward. “Do you walk that morally gray line of what’s ‘good’? If you thrust your blade in my heart, what lie will you tell yourself at night, what story will you spin, casting yourself as the hero?”
For a moment, my resolve faltered. I bit the inside of my cheek, regaining my senses. “By taking one life, how many others might be saved? How many have you murdered in this castle of horror alone?” I didn’t take my attention from him, but I motioned at the skeletons clattering around like a morbid audience. “One hundred? Two? How many more will you collect and kill and maim to satisfy your wretched hunger?”
He smiled. It was the sort of angelic look that convinced countless women to trust him, never remembering Lucifer had once been an angel, too. He prowled closer, yet was careful to stay out of reach. Here was one man who remembered my claws were also things to be feared.
My grip tightened on my found blade, which only seemed to deli
ght him more. Thomas had been correct—he’d coveted me. He’d been savoring the idea of this encounter for months. He wanted to draw this out for as long as he could before his knives tasted my blood.
“You, my dear, may be more of a villain than I am. I accept my horns; I know the blackness in my soul. I was born with the devil in me. But so were you, Miss Wadsworth.”
“I do not believe in such nonsense as Heaven and Hell.”
“But you do fear your darkness.” I cringed and he smiled knowingly. “I recognized it in you the moment I first saw you. I wanted to help you, you know. Unleash the potential I knew was writhing in your soul. It was difficult, holding myself back.”
He was a cat batting a mouse around before it snapped its neck. I would not be toyed with. I lifted my blade, hand steady. “We’ve only just met in Chicago.”
“Have we?”
He shifted, his devil mask catching the light. Here, outside of the incinerator room, I saw it had been dusted with gold. It looked like metallic flames danced across his flesh. No matter how hard I tried, I could not contain the shiver that vibrated through me.
“Or did I first make your acquaintance in a London alley?” he asked. “For a moment, I was certain you’d seen me, lurking in the shadows we both love. You remember, don’t you? The finger of trepidation that slid down your spine, the shiver despite the summer heat.”
“You’re lying.” I glanced around the room, noticing a thick door I hadn’t spotted before, propped open on one side. It appeared to be a vault. It would take maneuvering, but if I could lead him to it, it might be even better to lock him in there than in the incinerating room. I’d have to weave through the hanging skeletons, though. I took a careful step back, my shoulder brushing into someone’s limb, and hoped he’d mirror my action.
He prowled in the opposite direction, stepping between the row of skeletons farthest from me. I’d not succeed in tricking him into a corner. He was an unsparing predator—a murderer with untold skill. If I was to beat him, I’d need to be more cunning, more ruthless.
I’d need to become bait before I raked my claws over his throat.
