The Asylum (20 page)

A low-pitched moan echoed off the stone walls and caused my mind and my soul to snap back to the damp basement of the Magdalene Asylum, where our battle had come to its horrible end only moments before. The smell of Henry's burning flesh still clung to the room. There was blood pooled on the floor and spattered against the wall, as though the subterranean office had become an impromptu butcher shop. Which, I suppose, it had.

Standing in the corner, Cora moaned again, her hand clasped to her mouth. Cora was an innocent girl caught in a nightmare from which there was no waking. Only a fortnight ago, Samuel had turned her sister, Violet, into a vampire. Ever since then, Cora had been doing anything she could to try to save her, including infiltrating the Magdalene Asylum, of which Samuel was a well-known benefactor. We had hoped to get closer to Samuel, to discover his weaknesses, anything that could help us understand his relentless vendetta against us. Because the murders weren't committed for the blood. As vampires, we could kill quickly and cleanly if necessary—but we didn't need to kill for blood. Samuel especially didn't: As a benefactor to the Magdalene Asylum, he'd been able to drink his fill from its residents, compelling them to offer their necks to him, and then forget all about the encounter. So why was Samuel intent on brutally slaying and slicing open his victims? It didn't make sense.

In the process of our investigation, we'd lost Damon. And Cora was losing hope. Cora had desperately wanted to believe her sister could maintain her humanity. But that wasn't to be the case. Not only had Violet fought brutally against Damon and me moments earlier, but she'd hurt and fed off of Cora. I could only imagine the horrors Cora was reliving as she stood in the corner.

But I couldn't think of what had happened. I needed to think of the future—and I needed to save Damon.

“We can't stay here. Let's go home.” I punched my hand through a window, leaving a trail of blood as shards of glass fell to the floor. I grabbed Cora by the waist and effortlessly pulled her through the window, and together, the two of us raced from the Magdalene Asylum gates and out onto the rain-slicked streets of London. Our destination was the Underground tunnel where we'd spent our nights for the last week.

High above us, a few fireworks lit the night sky, and I remembered it was the evening before Guy Fawkes Day, the holiday during which the British celebrated victory over treason. Groups of drunken revelers roamed the streets with torches, singing songs as they rejoiced. A drunken man wavered by, singing, a pint of ale clutched unsteadily in one hand, and I caught one of the lyrics:

Last Guy Fawkes Day as I hear say,

The Devil about did roam.

I grimaced. Little did he know how apt his off-key drinking song was at describing the current situation in London. The sound of my footsteps echoed in my ears, and I could hear Cora's blood thumping double-time in her veins. I knew from the papers that policemen were hiding in every shadowy alley, on the lookout for the Ripper. I ran at vampire speed past them, pulling Cora with me, and they were oblivious to our presence.

Of course, the police presence was useless. While they were shivering on the streets, on guard for the Ripper's next attack, the murderer was comfortably ensconced at home in Lansdowne House, most likely plotting ways to destroy my brother.

I couldn't help but wonder whether Samuel was torturing Damon the way Damon had eventually killed Henry. Damon had stopped at nothing, including burning Henry's skin with a torch, to make him suffer. Had Samuel somehow upped the ante? Or had he simply slain him with a stake and thrown his lifeless body in the Thames? Torture or kill? It was a lose-lose situation, but I found myself hoping for torture as I pulled Cora around the corner toward the tunnel opening.

We were home. No one was chasing us. No one seemed to be here, perhaps put off by the signs that surrounded the work area, all clearly stating that trespassing was strictly prohibited by the Metropolitan Police.

I jumped down the opening, unfazed by the drop to the bottom of the tunnel. That was one of the advantages of being a vampire: I always knew I'd land on my feet.

I helped Cora down and the two of us faced each other. Despite the darkness, I could see everything, from the packed dirt walls to the pebbles scattered on the ground. Meanwhile, Cora blinked several times, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light.

Suddenly, a creature darted past our feet. It was a rat, almost the size of a small cat. Cora's eyes widened and I expected her to scramble away in surprise. But instead, she grabbed a large stone from the tunnel floor and threw it at the creature. The scuffling stopped.

Cora bent down, scooped up the dead rodent, and held it out to me.

“You need to eat,” she urged. The rat's head hung limply off Cora's palm.

“Thank you.” I placed my mouth to its fur before piercing the thin skin with my fangs. The whole time, I was aware of Cora's unflinching gaze. But what did it matter? It wasn't like my drinking blood was a surprise to her. She'd seen me bare my fangs to feed, she'd seen me battle Henry and Samuel. The liquid tasted bitter and oily, and yet I felt it calm my body as it ran through my veins.

Once I'd drunk all I could, I threw the carcass to the ground, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and smiled tersely at Cora. Our friendship was one I'd never experienced with a human since I'd become a vampire. Even when Callie had discovered my identity back in New Orleans, I never fed in front of her. I hid my fangs and masked my yearnings, wanting her to only see the best in me. But Cora was different.

“Was that enough?” she asked, sliding into a seated position and crossing her legs under her gray dress, now spattered with dirt and blood. Dark shadows surrounded her eyes, and there were smudges of grime on her cheeks. Both made her freckles stand out, as though her skin were a map of a constellation-filled night sky. Her teeth were chattering. It was cold all over London as a languid October had turned into a bitter November. And it was especially frigid in the tunnel, where the walls were beaded with condensation and a misty gray fog swirled around the darkness.

“It was, thank you. How are you?” I asked, feeling stupid as soon as the words escaped my lips. She'd just killed a rodent in the tunnel of an all-but-abandoned construction site for the London Underground. She'd been betrayed by her vampire sister, and was on the run for her life. She'd witnessed friends dying, vampires torturing one another, and bodies burned to ashes. How did I think she'd feel?

“I'm alive,” Cora said. “I believe that counts for something.” She attempted a laugh, but it came out as a sputtery cough. I patted her on the back and was surprised when she leaned in and gave me a hug. I couldn't imagine why she'd want to get close to me after all she'd seen me do.

“I'm sorry I put you in danger,” I said hollowly. “I should have known that we couldn't reason with Violet. I should never have brought you to see her.” Before we'd gone to the Magdalene Asylum for our showdown with Samuel, a witch cast a locator spell to help Cora and I find Violet. When we went to see her, she hadn't listened to anything we'd said and had kidnapped Cora.

“You wouldn't have been able to keep me away from Violet,” Cora said firmly. “You told me she wouldn't be the same. But deep down I believed she'd still be my sister. Now I know I was wrong.” Cora shuddered. I nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“I was so
stupid,
Stefan,” Cora said, her face twisting into a mask of rage. “I thought I could get through to her. I thought she could change. But there was nothing of my sister left in her. She fed off of me, Stefan. She brought me to the Asylum, and asked a man named Seaver, the groundskeeper, to lock me into that room. I tried to escape, but Seaver started chanting, and suddenly, I was completely trapped.” Cora's lower lip wobbled as tears spilled down her cheeks. Almost immediately, she wiped them away with the back of her hand and set her mouth in a firm line.

“He must have put a spell on the room,” I said slowly. I remembered how small and helpless Cora had looked in that room in the Magdalene Asylum. Even though her arms and legs were free of any chains to bind her, she'd been utterly immobile. She must have been terrified.

“We need to see Ephraim,” I decided. The only thing I knew for certain was that if Samuel had witches on his side, he was capable of anything.

“No!” Cora yelped. “Not Ephraim. I had a bad feeling about him. How do we know that Ephraim isn't working for Samuel? If my own flesh and blood turned against me, no one can be trusted,” Cora said, setting her jaw. “We need to come up with another plan.”

“Ephraim isn't Seaver—he won't hurt you. We need someone who can perform magic on our side. Otherwise, Samuel will have the advantage over us,” I said. I stood up and paced back and forth, willing my mind to come up with a smart trap that would ensnare Samuel and free my brother. But I still felt weak and shaky and utterly unable to concentrate. The rat blood had only taken the edge off my hunger.

“I think you should drink real blood,” Cora said quietly. “Like your brother. Like Samuel. It would make you strong enough to fight him, right? It would make the fight even, like you said.” Her eyes glittered like diamonds in the darkness.

“I can't!” I exploded, unleashing all the tension I'd held during the day as my voice echoed off the walls of the tunnel, sending rodents skittering to unknown hiding spots. “I can't control myself. When Damon feeds, he's smarter and faster. When I feed, all I want is more blood. I can't think logically or rationally. All I can think of is the next kill. I'm a beast on blood, Cora.”

Cora opened her mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it. “All right. But Stefan,” she said, grabbing my wrist with a surprisingly strong grip, “this is a war, and I won't have you lose on principle.”

“What do you mean?” I yanked my wrist away as I continued to pace up and down the tunnel. A few nights before, I would've heard the far-off moans and heartbeats of other tunnel dwellers. Tonight, there were none, and I was glad they'd moved on. After a day like the one I'd had, the sound of blood rushing against veins would be far too tempting. “It's more than principle—it's survival. I don't drink human blood.”

“I know you don't. All I meant was that I'd do whatever it took to stop Samuel from taking more innocent lives. And I hope you'd do the same. Maybe drinking human blood would be different for you now. Maybe you could
try.”

“I can't,” I said sharply. “You don't know what blood does to me. And I don't want you to find out.”

Cora looked at me indignantly, but I didn't want to push the subject any further. “We should get some sleep,” I said. I settled on the hard ground on the opposite side of the tunnel. I heard her shaky breathing, but I couldn't tell if she was shivering or crying. I didn't ask.

I closed my eyes and pressed my hand to my forehead, a move that did nothing to ease the relentless pounding in my skull. Cora's suggestion echoed in my mind:
Drink human blood.

Could I? I hadn't in twenty years, not since I was in New Orleans, where I'd sometimes drank the blood of four, five, ten humans a day with little thought to the consequences. I often dreamt of it, the moment when I was bent over a victim, smelling the rushing liquid iron, knowing it was about to run down my throat. Sometimes the liquid was bitter, like strong, black coffee. Sometimes it was sweet, with traces of honey and oranges. It used to be a private, perverse game of mine: to guess the taste before the blood touched my tongue. But no matter what the flavor, the result was the same: With human blood in me, I was stronger, faster.

Ruthless.

And in a way, Cora was right. In the short term, blood could be the fuel to power me in our fight against Samuel. But in the long run, it would destroy me.

I reached across the darkness and allowed my hand to graze Cora's slim fingers. She gently squeezed my hand, and together, somehow, the two of us fell asleep.

G
lena Gilbert stepped onto a smooth expanse of grass, the spongy blades collapsing beneath her feet. Clusters of scarlet roses and violet delphiniums pushed up from the ground, while a giant canopy hung above her, twinkling with glowing lanterns. On the terrace in front of her stood two curving white marble fountains that shot sprays of water high into the air. Everything was beautiful, elegant, and somehow familiar.

This is Bloddeuwedd's palace,
a voice in her head said. But when she had been here last, the field had been crowded with laughing, dancing partygoers. They were gone now, although signs of their presence remained: empty glasses littered the tables set around the edges of the lawn; a silken shawl was tossed over a chair; a lone high-heeled shoe perched on the edge of a fountain.

Something else was odd, too. Before, the scene had been lit by the hellish red light that illuminated everything in the Dark Dimension, turning blues to purples, whites to pinks, and pinks to the velvety color of blood. Now a clear light shone over everything, and a full white moon sailed calmly overhead.

A whisper of movement came from behind her, and Elena realized with a start that she wasn't alone after all. A dark figure was suddenly
there,
approaching her.

Damon.

Of course it was Damon, Elena thought with a smile. If anyone was going to appear unexpectedly before her here, at what felt like the end of the world—or at least the hour after a good party had ended—it would be Damon. God, he was so beautiful. Black on black: soft black hair, eyes black as midnight, black jeans, and a smooth leather jacket.

As their eyes met, she was so glad to see him that she could hardly breathe. She threw herself into his embrace, clasping him around the neck, feeling the lithe, hard muscles in his arms and chest.