Chapter 17

The Manor was pitch-black, and there was no sign of anyone, not even Mrs. Duckworth, who often kept late hours knitting by candlelight. There wasn’t even a lantern lighting the porch, and I felt my stomach sink. Something was very, very wrong.

“Hello?” I called, my voice wavering. “Who’s here?” I called again, wishing I’d remembered to grab a gun before I’d run to the house. “Show yourself!” I yelled, louder than ever, my voice echoing off the stone entranceway.

Silence. Damon must have found us.

Then, I heard a slight cry. It was so faint, I thought I might be imagining things. I cocked my head again. Definitely a noise.

“I’m coming!” I called. If there was sound, it was a sign of life. I quickly sped through the labyrinth of rooms, my eyes adjusting to the dim light, until I came into the parlor.

There, the entire Abbott family was huddled in the corner, Luke as white as a ghost. George was clutching a poker, his eyes wild, and Gertrude had fainted on the floor. Emma, the source of the noise, was crying over her mother. But they were alive.

“I’m here. It’s Stefan. You’re safe,” I said to the family, even though my heart was pounding in terror against my chest. Damon could be anywhere. He was probably right behind me, laughing at me. He’d concocted this scene purely to frighten me, to show me that he wasn’t scared of Klaus because he’d become Klaus. He could commit horrific acts of bloodshed without blinking an eye.

“Stefan?” George said incredulously, his voice dripping with fear.

“Yes. You’ll be safe. I promise,” I said, my eyes darting around the room. The many portraits seemed to be leering down at me. But there was no sign of Damon.

Suddenly, I heard a noise and whirled around. As soon as my back was turned, George sprang up, lunging toward me with the poker. A crazed look was on his florid face.

“Traitor! You stole my son!” George yelled, swinging the iron poker wildly through the air as if it were a sword. I ducked easily, horror dawning on me as I took in the family. Where was Oliver?

“Sir! No! I was down at the farmhouse! It was my brother, Damon. Where is he? Did you see where he went?” I asked desperately as I continued to duck his blows.

I felt something jump on my back. I spun around and realized Luke had clamped himself to my shoulders and was kicking his legs into my lungs.

“You took my brother!” he shrieked, pummeling his feet into my back. I struggled against his grip. Emma was crying loudly now, tears streaming down her face.

“Fiend! You shall die!” George roared, lunging toward me in the darkness.

“It wasn’t me!” I yelled futilely. I shrugged Luke off my back. He fell to the floor with a sickening thump, and I used the moment George turned to tend to him to hurry out of the house and into the darkness, confident my vampire senses would give me a head start. But I knew I didn’t have much time. George would run to a neighboring farm for help, and soon there’d be an entire mob looking for me.

But right now, I couldn’t worry about that. Oliver was kidnapped. And a vampire was on the loose. I’d been set up, just like I had when Martha had been found in the alley behind the Ten Bells. Fear flooded my body as I realized the connection. Oliver had been taken for a reason, and I’d left Violet unattended and vulnerable. He was going to get to her and force the choice she’d fought so hard against. Oliver would be the sacrificial lamb. I was just a pawn in my brother’s game, and this time, he was truly playing for blood.

“Damon!” I yelled again into the darkness. I sniffed the air, feeling the urge to retch when I smelled the familiar iron scent all around, enveloping me. “Damon!” My feet flew toward my cabin, and I pushed against the door with all my might.

I blinked in horror.

In the center of the floor was Violet, leaning down over Oliver, taking large sips from a gaping wound on his neck. Blood was trickling onto the floor in a dark, deep pool.

“Oliver!” I called helplessly. Violet turned around, her newly formed fangs glistening with blood, a blank expression on her face. She leaned down, burying her face back in Oliver’s neck.

“No!” I lunged toward them and attempted to grab Oliver from her grasp. The little boy’s body was limp and lifeless, and I couldn’t hear a heartbeat. But his tiny body wasn’t entirely drained of blood. Not yet. Violet pulled him away from my hands and brought his neck to her lips.

Just then, I heard the door click shut. I turned, ready to fight my brother.

Only it wasn’t Damon. Framed in the doorway was Samuel, his hair blond and lionlike around his face, his white shirt and tan trousers impeccably pressed. I blinked. So Samuel was one of Damon’s foot soldiers as well. Of course. I felt the hatred for my brother deepening.

“Where is he?” I growled, my hands flexing into fists. I would make Samuel pay, but first, I needed him to lead me to Damon.

“So this is your country estate, Stefan,” Samuel said, unwinding his bow tie and draping it over the back of a chair and sitting down as if he were paying a simple social call.

“Where’s Damon?” I repeated.

“I don’t know.” Samuel shrugged, crossing one leg over his knee and leaning back on his chair. “And I don’t care. I came here looking for you. Our time in London was so rushed, I felt that you hardly got to know me at all,” he said, arching a blond eyebrow.

“You’re not here for Damon?”

“Your brother?” he asked lazily, licking his lips. “Not hardly. As I said, I have no idea where he is. Nor do I care. What really matters is where people think Damon is,” Samuel said, a small smile playing on his lips.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my head spinning. I couldn’t stop staring at the stone on his necklace, and the more I stared at it, the more bewitched I felt by it.

“I mean that Damon . . . or, I’m sorry, Count DeSangue, may soon have another soubriquet. I hope he likes the sound of ‘Jack the Ripper.’” Samuel rose and stalked toward Violet, who was still crouched over Oliver. She seemed unsure whether to dive back in and feed again. Samuel stood above them, and for a second, I wondered if Samuel would snap Violet’s neck, too, simply to show his power. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand rested gently on the top of Violet’s head.

“I think you could be useful,” he mused to himself. “Yes, I think you have what it takes. Hunger, certainly,” he said as Violet lowered her head to drink as if in a trance. Then he turned toward me.

“Where’s Damon?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Is he . . .”

“Dead?” Samuel let out a harsh laugh that sounded like a bark. “What would possibly be the fun in that? I can promise you, he’s not dead. I came up with another plan for him. Since I know how much he craves the spotlight, I found a way for him to be splashed all over the London papers. He’s about to be known as London’s most notorious killer. They’re receiving an eyewitness sketch of him as we speak. And that’s just the beginning. I think he’ll like that, don’t you?”

“You’re the Ripper,” I realized, everything clicking into place. Samuel had murdered Mary Ann and attacked Martha. And Samuel intended to frame Damon for the murders. Which meant that Samuel had written the warning message in the park.