“No need,” James said airily. “You’ll pay me back in some way. In the future.”
With a parting glance, I left, following James’s directions to the boardinghouse, my heart thudding against my chest. I tried not to think about what Violet was doing with Cora, not allowing my imagination to go to the dark places that probably held the truth.
I stopped at a tall brick building with a ROOMS FOR RENT sign hanging in its entryway and knocked on the door.
“Come in. Door’s open,” a voice croaked. I pushed open the door. A wizened old man was sitting at a rickety desk, poring over a ledger book. I coughed. “I’m looking for… Damon de Croix,” I said as he looked up.
“Damon de Croix?” The man let out a harsh bark. “If you mean the half-crazed gentleman who paid me with a handful of foreign currency, then he’s in Room 411. Although God knows what he’s doing in there. By the stench of it, he’s a failed taxidermist.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Thank you,” I said, racing up the stairs to the fourth floor. I slammed against the cheap wood of the door, easily breaking the lock. There, in the filthy, dark room, was Damon, bending over an oversize flowerpot on the windowsill. It was amazing that anything could grow in the weak light coming through the dirty window glass. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a wooden crossbow propped against the cast-iron bed.
“Brother,” Damon said dully, glancing up from the windowsill, sounding neither surprised nor angry. It was as though he was expecting me. I wondered if James had given him an identical message. He may not have been a witch, but if James could get Damon and me to reconcile, then he certainly worked magic.
“What are you doing?” I asked. It was hard to concentrate with the scent of vervain everywhere. I imagined that was what was growing in the pots. I felt woozy and weak, and I wondered why Damon was inflicting this torture on himself.
“I’m dosing myself with vervain,” Damon explained. “If Samuel can do it, I can, too. And then, once I’m fully immune, I’ll dose the water supply. Prevent Samuel from feeding and compelling in this city. The details are fuzzy, but the plan will work.”
“You’re ingesting vervain?” I asked in disbelief as I looked at the six paltry vervain plants. All they were doing was torturing my brother.
“Sometimes, brother,” Damon began, rolling his eyes, “you need to understand an enemy to vanquish him. Plus, suffering only makes you stronger,” he said resolutely.
I took a seat on the bed. I hadn’t come here to fight. I needed help. But what I wanted was the in-charge, confident Damon, not the rambling, maniacal man in front of me. Despite his outburst on the night of the Ripper killings, I knew he cared about Cora. I only hoped the mention of her would bring him to his senses.
“Samuel has Cora.”
Damon stiffened and dropped a sprig of vervain to the ground. But then he shrugged. “Well, we knew that would happen, eventually, didn’t we?” he said bitterly.
“I need to get her back,” I said firmly. “And I need your help.”
“You need my help,” he mocked. “What about all the other times you’ve said that? Didn’t work out so well.” He stood and crossed over to me, so close that I could smell blood on his breath. The rich, smoky scent was obviously human, and I couldn’t help but wonder where his blood supply was coming from.
“You need my help, too,” I said firmly. “Like it or not, we’re in this together. And we need to fight together, not against one another. We’re on the same side.” The desperation in my voice was plain, and I was showing all my cards. I didn’t have a strategy, and I wasn’t trying to one-up him.
A flicker of something—doubt, anger, or acceptance, I wasn’t sure—crossed Damon’s face.
“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll help you. But this time, brother, we do it my way. You follow my directions in the fight. I’ve been doing research,” he said, gesturing to piles of musty books piled on the floor. Damon? Doing research? This was a side of him I’d never seen. He’d never been one for books, always preferring to trust his instincts. “I have everything. Wooden bullets, sand, stakes…”
“Sand?” I asked in confusion.
Damon shrugged. “Apparently it’s a deterrent. It wasn’t for me when I was in the Sahara, but James said it could slow down a vampire on the run. I figure it can’t hurt.” He paused. “In the end, Samuel will be destroyed. It will be bloody, and there may be unintended victims. If you can’t handle that, then get out now and leave me to do what needs to be done.”
“I’m all in,” I said calmly. “And Damon… I’m sorry.”
Damon nodded. “All right,” he said. In Damon’s vocabulary, “all right” was as good as “apology accepted.” I decided I’d take it. I had to.
“Samuel has an office in the Magdalene Asylum where he feeds on the girls and keeps some of his campaign papers. We can sneak in, wait for him, and then…” Damon trailed off. Then what? Kill him? Follow him? Beg for Cora’s life back? This was going to be tricky, and we couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
“It’s almost daylight. The girls will be going to Mass soon. We’ll sneak in then,” I said. “We can set traps with our supplies. If this is what we’re doing, we have to go now.”
“I have weapons,” Damon muttered. “I’ve been experimenting with explosives. Of course, I’d love to kill Samuel with my bare hands, but I wouldn’t mind watching his body burn.”