“Cora!” I called to her. Her face broke into a forced smile.
“Stefan! I’m glad you’re here. Do you have the vervain?” Cora asked.
I held up the vials in response.
“Good,” she said, relieved. “They came again last night. This time they took Cathy and Elizabeth. They’re my friends, and…” She shook her head. “We have to stop them.” Cora’s lower lip trembled. It was the first time I’d seen her acting anything other than strong, and it caught me off guard.
“Don’t worry. Damon and I came up with a plan.” I handed her the vials. The glass glinted in the sunlight. “I need you to put some in every girl’s drink before the benefit tonight. It only needs to be a drop. Can you do that?”
Cora nodded solemnly.
“It will be fine,” I assured her, standing up and planting a kiss on the top of her head as I put the bag of treats next to her. “I’ll see you tonight. This will all be over soon,” I promised.
“I hope so,” Cora said.
“It will be,” I repeated. “You just have to believe it will.”
Cora gave me a soft smile in return, but I could tell her mind was spinning in her own, private way.
“I should get going,” I said, standing up and leaving her to her thoughts. Before I continued down the alley, I gave her shoulder a light squeeze. Somehow, I would make sure she was okay.
That night, a brilliant golden-orange sunset lit up the September sky, usually so thick with clouds. It was a beautiful evening, and along the Thames artists were sketching, lovers were walking hand in hand, and buskers were playing instruments and prodding visitors to give them money.
Damon and I blended into the crowd. We were dressed in black, monk robes that I’d procured from a local church. I hadn’t even bothered to compel—instead, I’d stolen them outright. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if I was in God’s good graces in the first place.
The Magdalene Asylum benefit was being held in the Lanesborough Hotel, opposite Hyde Park. Damon assured me he’d been to dozens of balls there. I couldn’t understand why he’d bother. Didn’t he tire of them? I’d only been to a few, but had found them all to be the same: too much champagne, too much perfume, too much dancing, and too much talking, none of it about anything of consequence. Of course, my solitary walks and endless thinking weren’t much better.
“The monk’s attire suits you. It’s too bad you are a creature of the night, or you might have had quite a career as a man of the cloth,” Damon said, taking in my dark robes.
“I already have a guilty conscience. I doubt I could listen to other people’s sins,” I said, swatting at his arm. But the move was more of a brotherly punch than the start of one of our former brutal fights.
“No drinking, no swearing, no overindulging, no killing … face it, you already live a monk’s life, brother. Aren’t you glad I saved you from the boredom?”
“No,” I shook my head. “Aren’t you glad I came to shake some sense into you?”
Damon paused, as if pretending to think it over. “No,” he said finally. “Sense and I don’t mix. You know that.”
“What do you think you’ll do after this?” I asked, as we turned onto the winding gravel path into the park.
“I don’t know,” Damon said, a faraway look in his eyes. “What do you do when you’ve been everywhere? You have to keep things exciting. Maybe someday they’ll invent a machine to bring me to another planet.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “Do you think you could create a life here?” I wanted something substantial, something that would allow me to know my brother as more than the monster he’d become in my mind.
“I don’t think I need to create my life. I live my life. That’s what you need to do, brother,” Damon said. I shrugged off his minimalist philosophy—it was devoid of moral structure, but I didn’t have time to argue it.
The entrance was lit up by large torches. Well-dressed servants lined the path, and coaches streamed down the cobblestone streets. The Magdalene Asylum seemed to be the most popular cause to support in London these days, and if we hadn’t been disguised as monks, our invitations would have been scrutinized closely. As it were, we were ushered through the large glass doors and into a vast ballroom without a backward glance. No one wanted to offend the Church, and everyone assumed we were simply there to offer support and prayers to the Asylum girls the benefit was allegedly honoring.
The walls and roof were all glass and reflected the whirling dancers already on the ballroom floor. Garlands of flowers wrapped around the columns dotting the perimeter of the room, and servers were circulating among the guests, their arms laden with platters of food. Scattered throughout the party in their familiar-looking gray smocks were the girls of the Magdalene Asylum. They were obviously there to remind patrons where all their money was going, but people were gawking at them as though they were performers at a circus. Most, however, were huddled in corners in groups, fearfully looking at the attendees as though they might bite. Which they might.
I squinted, trying to pick Cora out of the crowd. Finally, I saw her. She was engaged in a low, whispered conversation with a slight girl whose dark hair hung in two plaits down her back.
“There she is.” I elbowed Damon, and together, we made our way over to her, passing directly in the path of Sister Benedict’s hawklike stare. She waved us on without glancing at our faces.