Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(117)

I spied a stool off to the side with a gas can. I’d try throwing it at him and run. Or I could swing the metal can at him—it seemed hefty enough to stun him for a moment. He stepped forward and I immediately moved back, edging farther into the blazing room.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. Soon it would soak through my nightgown. I shivered at the thought of this man undressing me. He smiled as if he knew my thoughts.

“Your soul longs for the very things mine does. Don’t trick yourself into thinking you’re better because you haven’t crossed that line yet, Miss Wadsworth. I see your desire to end me. It’s so strong I can practically taste it.

Like a fine berry wine, your darkness is sweet.”

Silence had many roles. It could be either a villain or a hero depending on when it was called to service. I decided to keep my mouth shut. Let him entertain himself with his lies. I might desire to kill him, but not for the reasons he believed.

“Have you nothing more to say? That’s a shame. I was enjoying our chat together.”

When I slowly swept around the outer edge of the room, he didn’t shadow me like he’d done before. He remained where he was and I knew it was only a matter of moments before the rest of my plan joined him in Hell. I braced myself for whatever was coming next.

“I saw you in New York, you know. I’d gotten to hold you a moment. I wanted to slice your throat then and there.” He smiled shyly. I searched my memory, unable to locate—I swallowed hard. I had bumped into him. He’d been the clumsy young man I’d chided Liza for being rude to. “Delayed gratification is the basis of euphoria.”

I sensed the charge in the air—an invisible building of pressure before lightning struck. I hoped I was strong enough to finish this. I squeezed my cane in one hand and my knife in the other. I’d use them both in any fashion I needed to. As I eased up the pressure on my dragon’s-head knob, I heard the softest swoosh of a stiletto blade sliding free. My heart stuttered.

Thomas. My brilliant, cunning, prepared man. I’d forgotten that he’d had a

weapon built into the end of this cane. His gifts were beautiful and practical. Had he deduced my need for this before either of us understood just how important it would be? I didn’t have time to ponder it.

The devil had been coiled like a rattlesnake, and while I was expecting his attack, when he sprang at me, I flinched. It was a costly mistake. He grabbed a skull from the pile just outside the door and in one fluid motion was across the room, smashing it against my head.

A loud, sickening crack echoed around me. My vision swam.

Dark glitter tinged in red flashed across my eyes. It was different from when I’d lost consciousness on the Etruria. Then I’d gotten swept into that in-between state of wake and sleep because of blood loss. It was an odd combination of white spots fighting the encroaching darkness. This was like pain exploded in my brain, all-consuming and terrible.

Warmth trickled down my forehead and into my eyes.

When I blinked, I saw blood. Our battle had begun and I was already losing.





FIFTY-THREE

CAPTURING THE DEVIL

MURDER CASTLE

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS





19 FEBRUARY 1889


I would not go quietly into the darkness.

Pain shifted from my tormentor into my ally. I used it to fuel my rage. Each drop of my blood was my sister-in-arms. I licked it from my lips, the throbbing of my pulse pumping it out in torrents. What a sight I must be, drinking the very blood he spilled to terrify me.

I thought again of Miss Eddowes. Miss Stride. Miss Smith. Miss Chapman.

Miss Kelly. Miss Nichols. Miss Tabram. Minnie. Julie Smythe and her daughter, Pearl. The names of countless others he’d maimed becoming a silent refrain urging me on. I was not alone in this room with this monster. I was surrounded by his victims.

I’d been wrong before—they did not wish to attack me. They wished to join me as I delivered their justice. I didn’t know what happened after death, if anything, but I believed they’d be waiting to greet him as he stepped from this world into theirs.

It was time to send him where he belonged.

I lifted my head, teeth bared, and an almost inhuman snarl ripped itself from my throat. I don’t know where it came from, but the devil hadn’t been expecting it. He took a startled step back and it was enough. More than enough. If he wished to taste my darkness, I hoped he recalled poison could also be sweet.

I dropped my knife and grabbed my cane with both hands, swinging it blade

first in his direction as hard and fast as I could manage. I heard the satisfying sound of it hitting its mark. Fabric ripped and I felt the edge catch in his flesh as I followed through.

A warm mist hit my face. His blood, I realized.

He screamed and scrambled back, holding one hand against his side. Blood continued flowing warmly down my face; distantly I knew I ought to worry.

Eventually I’d become weak. But at present, I’d never felt more alive.

“A mind is the best weapon.” I smiled with bloodstained teeth. “And Thomas Cresswell wields it well. He made this for me, you know.”

I slashed my cane in an arc toward his throat, missing by inches. I screamed in frustration, the sound shrill enough to tear my throat. He threw himself backward, toppling the stool. The smell of gasoline filled the air. I didn’t need to glance down to see he’d spilled the can. Liquid spread long fingers, pointing to the demon I needed to destroy.