“What are you doing?” I called.
Damon whirled around. “To hell with planning and plotting. I’m going to do exactly what I should have done in the first place. You were right, brother. Vampires can’t be trusted.”
“No!” I lunged at him. His expression was one I’d seen countless times. It was the same look he’d worn when he killed Callie and when he announced his intention to kill the Sutherland clan. He was out for blood, and I knew that if he attacked Samuel now, he’d be the one to end up dead.
But before either of us could make another move, we were interrupted by the crash of a door slamming shut. A girl wearing a jewel-encrusted blue dress stumbled out, blinking confusedly. I sniffed the air. I could sense her blood was wine-heavy, hear her heart beating erratically.
She walked unsteadily toward the line of coaches arranged like children’s models around the vicinity of the property.
Damon let out a low whistle in the darkness. I grabbed his arm and dug my fingers into his flesh. What was he doing? Now was not the time for Damon to fulfill his urges.
The girl turned around, wavering on her feet as she looked around for the source of the noise.
“Sarah!” Damon called. “Over here!”
“Do you know her?” I muttered under my breath, not sure which answer would be worse.
“Just watch,” Damon whispered through gritted teeth.
The girl stumbled toward us, her hands smoothing her skirts over the curve of her hips. “Why, I’m not Sarah…” she said, trailing off as her gaze landed on Damon’s rich clothes. “Although I could be, depending on who’s asking. It’s dreadfully boring in there,” she pouted.
Damon bowed. As he righted himself, he swept his cloak around him with a flourish, masking his features. “Deeply sorry to misidentify you. I’m Lord Fox,” he invented. “And you are?”
“Beatrice!” she hiccupped.
“Of course. Beatrice,” Damon said in an exaggerated show of politeness. “You will forgive me, but in this light, you looked like Sarah de Haviland.”
“The actress?” Color rose in the girl’s chipmunklike cheeks. “Oh, I’m not, but she is inside, if you’d like me to get her. Or maybe you’d enjoy getting to know me just as well?” she asked boldly.
Damon winked, acting as if he and Beatrice were the only people in the world. I watched, transfixed. Damon had more tricks up his sleeve than simple compulsion.
“I’d love to get to know you. But first, let’s play a little game. I want to play a prank on my friend Henry, who’s inside right now. Will you do me a favor? Flirt with him, and get him to come outside with you? But make sure you don’t mention me—I want it to be a surprise.”
Beatrice smiled, revealing an unfortunate crooked incisor. “I love surprises!” she said, clapping her hands together. “I’ll get him right away.”
“Terrific. And once I return to the party, I’d be honored if you’d dance with me,” Damon said, taking Beatrice’s hand and giving it a kiss. She blushed even more deeply and quickly turned away, eager to do Damon’s bidding.
“Oh, and Beatrice?” Damon called.
“Yes?” The girl whirled around.
“My favorite dance is the waltz,” he said with a wink. “Remember that.” Beatrice practically skipped back into the estate.
“So now what’s the plan?” I asked impatiently. I’d last encountered Henry during our battle atop the train, and I had no desire ever to see him again.
“I guess you’ll find out,” Damon said, his fingers twitching as if he were craving a fight. I watched him nervously. Part of me wanted to tell him I wanted nothing to do with this half-baked scheme, wish him luck and then walk away. But I couldn’t. At this point, there was no turning back.
Before I could second-guess my commitment to Damon, Henry and Beatrice stumbled outside. Henry was trying to pull Beatrice in for a kiss. His red hair was neatly slicked back, but his shirt was coming untucked, a sign that he’d been enjoying the party. When I’d first met him, I imagined him to be eighteen, an oversize schoolboy on the lookout for fun. Knowing his true nature made his youthful appearance all the more disconcerting.
“Come on, sweetheart, just a little taste,” Henry said to Beatrice, oblivious to our presence.
Beatrice just laughed. “Sorry, my dance card for tonight is already full,” she teased as she slipped back into the party, giving Damon a parting flirtatious smile.
Just then, Damon flew toward Henry at vampire speed. He grabbed Henry by his broad shoulders and shoved him against the wall of what seemed to be an abandoned stable. Henry writhed in Damon’s grasp, his fangs growing and flashing in the moonlight.
“I need a stake!” Damon growled. I grabbed the first branch I could find on the ground and cracked it over my knee. It was willow, not nearly as substantial as I’d hoped, but it would do. It would have to do.
I charged toward them, the stake in my hand. In my mind’s eye, I remembered the way Henry had charged toward me during our bloody fight on board the train to Ivinghoe. I remembered the proprietary way he’d allowed his hands to roam down Violet’s curves during a party at the warehouse. I remembered the way he’d eagerly clapped Damon’s back at a park picnic, as though they were nothing but loyal friends. He had betrayed us.
“This ends now,” I hissed, holding the stake inches from the snow-white shirt that covered Henry’s chest. I imagined what the fabric would look like, pierced by the willow branch and stained with Henry’s blood. I’d never really staked a vampire before. At Gallagher’s circus, I’d once been forced to run a vervain-laced stick through Damon, but I’d deliberately missed his heart. This was different.