by Dima Zales
"Careful of your step," Jacob said to me.
Slowly, the bedcovers lowered to reveal the disheveled head of Blunt. "Thank God you're here," he said. "Tell it to stop. I haven't gone to the girls dormitory, I haven't! Not since that first haunting. Tell it, tell it!"
"The spirit knows," I said. "But he's still not happy." I nodded at Jacob. He nodded back. "He's here because of the deaths you caused, Mr. Blunt. You and Tommy Finch."
"I, I … " He swallowed so hard I could hear his throat working from across the room. "I had nothing to do with that, I already told you."
"Don't lie to me," I said with a sigh. "I'm tired. I want to go home. The sooner you confess and give us Finch's address, the sooner Jacob will leave you be."
Blunt's gaze shifted to the door as if he knew someone was out there even though no sounds came from the corridor. "Why do you want me to confess? What good will it do?"
"It'll bring peace to the souls of the dead." It wasn't exactly a lie. I felt as if the spirits of the demon's victims were listening, waiting.
Blunt's lips pinched tightly together. "You won't hurt me."
"We are out of patience, Mr. Blunt. If we need to hurt you to extract information then we'll do it. Come now, give in," I said when he didn't answer. "Your little scheme to rob the houses of your victims has been exposed."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"We know everything, Mr. Blunt, and so do the police." It was a lie but a necessary one. Jacob nodded his approval. "I wouldn't be surprised if Finch lets you take all the blame either"
Why didn't Blunt already know about our encounter with Tommy? He may not have stayed to witness the end of events at Lord Preston's house but surely he saw enough to not be entirely surprised. He certainly seemed shocked by the information. His mouth slackened. He hesitated.
It was too much for Jacob. "This has gone on long enough." He picked up a knife from among the litter scattered on the bare floor.
Blunt scampered back against the bed's headboard. He tried to bat the blade away but Jacob was fast and dodged every move.
"Call George in," Jacob said to me. "I want him to witness Blunt's death so that it's known you're not to blame."
"Jacob, no!" I shouted.
He ignored me and stabbed the knife into Blunt's nightshirt, right over the heart.
Blunt screamed as the blade tore through the gray linen and pierced his skin. Blood stained his nightshirt and the sight of it only made him scream harder. He tried to scramble away but Jacob knelt on Blunt's feet and shoved him back up against the headboard. "All right!" Blunt shouted. "I did it. Now get it away from me!" His breathing came in ragged gasps, fluttering the wisps of his moustache. "Call your ghost off!"
Jacob kept the knife at Blunt's chest. George rushed in, pistol poised, but I held up a hand to stay him. His eyes widened at the sight of the blood.
"What did you do?" I asked Blunt. "Did you order those people killed?"
"No!" Blunt shook his head very fast, sending his beard into a frenzy. "I helped Finch summon the demon, that's all. I told Maree to steal the book from your friend Culvert there, then I gave it to Tommy Finch. He's the one directing the demon. Not me, him! I swear, it's the truth."
"But you knew about the murders and burglaries."
Blunt hesitated and Jacob shifted his weight onto the knife. Blunt ground his teeth together and nodded.
"I think his role was more than he's admitting to," Jacob said.
"You helped Finch decide who to attack next, didn't you?" I asked Blunt. "You chose the victims. They all worked in grand houses where you had recently placed a servant." As soon as I said it, I knew it must be true. It made sense. Blunt knew which upper servant to attack because he'd questioned the lower servant he'd placed in the household. They'd been his spies—perhaps reluctant ones—informing him of the potential victim's movements.
Again Blunt hesitated and again Jacob pressed on the knife. The bloodstain on Blunt's nightshirt bloomed.
"Yes!" Blunt said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Satisfied?"
Jacob eased back just as Mrs. White entered the room carrying a candle. She clutched a shawl over her nightgown and looked, well, white. "Oh my," she muttered. "Oh my, oh my, Mr. Blunt … " Her gaze fixed on the knife that Jacob still held and she promptly keeled over in a dead faint. I managed to catch her and lower her gently to the floor. The candle fared worse but extinguished itself on impact.
Jacob dropped the knife. George steadied his pistol and aimed it at Blunt's head. "Now what?"
"Now we find out where Finch is keeping the demon," Jacob said without taking his eyes off Blunt.
"Where can we find Tommy Finch?" I asked.
Blunt swallowed. George cocked the gun. The click sounded terribly loud. "There'll be records here somewhere," George said. "Records with Maree's last known address. I suspect we'll find her brother there or if we can't, we'll find someone who can tell us for the price of a few coins."
Well done, George! I raised an eyebrow at Blunt. He swallowed again then groaned. He fell back against the pillows, deflated. "Very well. You can find him in the eastern shadows of St. Mary's in Dwindling Lane." He started to laugh, a thin, high-pitched laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. "You'll need more than one of those in Dwindling Lane, Miss Chambers," he said, nodding at George's pistol. "And more than your pet ghost too."
Jacob picked up a broken chair leg and Blunt threw his hands over his head. He slunk down into the covers. "Call him off!" he shouted.
Jacob waved the piece of wood at Blunt's head. "Tell him he'd better leave London before sunrise or I'll haunt him until he does."
I repeated the order to Blunt adding, "And don't think you can intimidate or harm any of your charges again. I have contact with every ghost up there and they don't like people like you. They'll find you wherever you are, I can promise you that."
Blunt nodded quickly.
"Well done," Jacob said.
George pulled me aside. "Aren't we going to call the police?" he whispered. "We can't just leave him here, unpunished."
"No," I whispered back. "It's likely I'll be arrested, not him. Besides, I think the warning is punishment enough for his involvement, don't you? I doubt he'll try anything like this again."
George, his gaze on Blunt cowering on the bed, nodded.
Mrs. White moaned at our feet. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. George and I helped her into the kitchen where we explained everything. All of it. She needed a cup of tea before she could make a coherent sentence but she appeared to understand what we were saying, and, more importantly, accept it.
Jacob hadn't joined us. I had no idea if he was still at the school, in the Waiting Area or if he'd gone to find Finch. I prayed he hadn't. I didn't want to think about what could happen if the demon attacked him again. He might have held it off in Belgrave Square but could he do so again? The thought of the demon removing his soul … it made my bones cold and my heart sore.
When I finished telling Mrs. White all I could, I asked her the question I needed to ask. "Did you have anything to do with this business?"
She lowered her cup. It tilted too far and tea spilled over the side. She didn't seem to notice. She was too busy looking offended. "No, I did not. Miss Chambers, I've been here for five years now, longer than Blunt, longer than most of the children. I came here after my husband died and I've not regretted a day since. I have no children of my own, no family that need me. This school has been my life, my sanctuary those five years." Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she carefully put the cup down in the saucer. "I'm never idle here and I've always been valued, by the children as well as the other staff. I'd never risk what I've found at this school, not for anything."
I breathed a sigh. "I'm very glad to hear it, Mrs. White. I'm sorry but I had to ask." The woman who'd sold Celia the amulet remained a mystery. Perhaps I would never learn her identity.
George cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the door. I didn't nee
d to be told twice. With Mrs. White settled and promising to call the police if Mr. Blunt hadn't gone by the morning, George and I left.
Outside, he hopped up beside the driver. "Get in," he said to me. "I'm going to ride up here, keep watch." A glint of steel shone in the wan light. The pistol. It was our protection from whatever we might come up against in Whitechapel, both human and demonic.
I clamped down on my fear and climbed inside only to find Jacob seated on the far side, his arms crossed over his chest, his face in shadow. It wasn't a pose to invite me to sit close so I sat opposite. The separation didn't make me want him any less. He could have the most forbidding expression and I'd still want to be near him.
"Where did you go?" I asked, jolting as the carriage rolled forward.
"To Dwindling Lane to see if Finch is still there."
"And is he?"
He nodded.
"Good," I said. "We'll sort—."
"There's no 'we'. You're going home."
Jacob certainly had a lot more to learn about me if he thought I'd leave he and George to go on alone. "It would seem the carriage is heading towards Whitechapel, not Chelsea."
"Tell George to take you home."
I crossed my arms. "No. I know you think it's the best thing for me—."
"It is the best thing for you, Emily, I don't even need to think about it. Go home. It's too dangerous for you."
"It's just as dangerous for you, Jacob," I said quietly.
He leaned forward and stared at my mouth as if he wanted to kiss it, or bite it. It was hard to tell what mood he was in. "I'm already dead." His words hummed across my skin like a caress. If he was trying to addle my wits in an attempt to gain some sort of control then it was working. Almost.
"But you still have a soul worth losing," I said.
He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "Are you sure about that?"
I switched sides to sit next to him. I felt rather than saw him stiffen. "Jacob, what happened tonight? At your parents' place? Tell me what was going through your mind."
He tilted his head back and blinked rapidly up at the padded ceiling. "I can't," he choked out. "God, Emily, stop being so stubborn for once and listen to me. Go home. Stay away."
"From you or from Finch?" I snapped.
"Both of us! Damn it, don't you see?" He rubbed both his hands through his hair then drew them together at his chest, as if he were praying, or pleading. "What happened at my parents' house should have warned you that you need to stay away. It was dangerous for you there and Whitechapel will be ten times worse. Finch will be expecting us now and I … ." He swallowed hard. It was dim in the cabin but the shadows around his eyes were darker than they should have been on a ghost. "I can't … be sure how I'll react."
I felt the heaviness of his words on my shoulders, my limbs, my heart. They dragged me down until I thought I'd fall through the floor onto the road below. "I'm going with you, Jacob," I said through my tight throat.
His body shuddered and he wrapped his arms around himself. "Please, Emily," he whispered, "I need you to stay away. Don't put me through that again."
"Through what?" I slipped closer along the seat and reached for him but he shrank back as if my touch would burn. I clasped my hands together to stop them shaking and tried to look as if his rejection hadn't shattered me. "I have to come, Jacob." The steadiness of my voice surprised me. I thought it would be as broken as I felt inside. "I'm the only one who knows the curse to send the demon back. You'll be too busy fighting the demon to snatch the amulet from Finch and George … well, I'm afraid George may not be all that helpful when the crucial moment arrives."
He turned to the window and stared out to the darkness beyond. He seemed calm, still, his shoulders relaxed, his profile smooth.
But then he let out a loud roar. The muscles in his cheek and jaw knotted, his hands clenched and he slammed a fist into the cushioned seat between us. If it had been made of wood or glass, he would have shattered it. I jumped and shrank back.
And then he disappeared.
I pressed a hand to my racing heart and sank into the seat. At least he'd given up trying to make me go home.
I was still thinking about Jacob's outburst when the carriage rolled to a stop. It tilted as George jumped down and opened the door for me. He juggled the pistol and lamp in one hand and helped me out with the other.
"All right, Weston?" he said to the driver.
Weston nodded grimly from his position on the box. Metal gleamed on his lap. Another pistol.
George lifted the lamp high. The opening to a narrow lane yawned between two crumbling brick buildings nearby. Of course it would have to be a narrow lane. A thief with a demon at his disposal would hardly live anywhere else, like a well-lit, broad street for example.
"Perhaps you should remain here with the carriage," George said. He let go of me so he could hold the lamp in one hand and the pistol in the other.
"I'm not sure the carriage is any safer," I said, glancing around. It was too foggy to see very far ahead but I had the feeling we were being watched by dozens of pairs of eyes. "Let's go."
Just as I said it, a loud crash came from the lane. Someone shouted, another scream followed it, and four small people ran out of the lane. They were children, barefoot and dressed in little more than rags that hung from their thin bodies. They took one look at George and his pistol, screamed again, and ran off.
"I think the demon's still here," George said without moving.
"And Jacob has already found it. Come on." I wanted to run but the lack of light meant I had to keep near George and his lamp. But he was so slow, and Jacob could be …
The stench at the mouth of the lane made me recoil. The stink of urine, excrement and degradation cloyed at my throat. I coughed into my hand. George retched and buried the lower half of his face in his arm.
"God," he said, "how can anyone live here?"
Another crash had me moving again. The fog hung in misty tendrils but through the veil I could just make out the shape of two people fighting. "Jacob," I said to George. "Come on."
But he caught my arm and pulled me back. "Where's Finch?"
I squinted into the farthest shadows and could just make out the figure of someone sitting on a crate, his back against one of the high brick walls looming up on either side of the lane. "There. Chanting probably."
"Giving the demon the advantage in the fight," he murmured. "Fascinating."
"This is not the time to be scholarly, George."
"Right. Of course. So … "
I took the lamp off him and turned down the gas. "Follow me."
I counted on the fog and darkness covering us, and Finch having his attention on the fight and not the entrance to the lane so that we could sneak up and knock him out. I didn't want to use the pistol. Taking a life was not something I ever wanted to do. Although I knew the dead still existed elsewhere, I’d spoken to enough souls troubled by their death to know I didn’t want to send one to the Waiting Area. The pistol would be a last resort.
My plan of stealth would have worked if the demon hadn't landed a punch to Jacob's stomach, sending him careening into the brick wall. I gasped. Finch spun round, spotted us, but didn't stop his mutterings, merely intensified them. The demon responded. It leapt onto Jacob while he was still down and slammed its big fist against his chest. Jacob grunted in pain.
"Get him, George!" I shouted. "Stop Finch!"
George didn't move. Jacob roared again and I could just make out his hands clutching the demon's fist, trying to push it away from him. But the demon was so much bigger, a giant in comparison, and Jacob was in an awkward position to defend himself from such an attack. Oh God, no! No!
I turned to George. Even in the darkness I could see he'd turned white. A light sheen of sweat slicked his forehead. He pointed the pistol at Finch but his hand shook so violently the bullet could have gone anywhere.
"Forget the gun," I urged him. My voice sounded shrill. "Good Lord
, George, attack Finch with your fists."
"My … um … "
There was no time to convince him to be manly and fight. I ran at Finch myself, the lamp raised to use as a weapon to knock him out. If I could only get him to stop chanting, Jacob might be in with a chance against the demon. A scream tore from him and I dared not look lest I see my worst fears realized—Jacob gone, his existence extinguished forever.
I no longer cared how I was going to stop Finch, I only knew I had to do it NOW. "Stop!" I shouted at him. I raised the lamp.
He suddenly stood and thrust something at me. The glint of steel was visible in the small circle of light cast by my lamp. A knife. "Back," he said. It was all he said. His chant came fast, the strange words tumbling out of his mouth. He glanced between the fight and me.
But it wasn't a fight anymore. Jacob was still holding the demon's human hand, stopping it from digging into his chest but only just. Now that I was closer I could see his face distorted with pain and exertion, his teeth bared as he used all his strength.
He couldn't last.
"No closer," Finch said to me.
I backed back to George. He still held the pistol but it wasn't even pointed at Finch anymore, but down at the ground.
"Give up," I shouted at Finch. "It's over. Blunt told us everything and the police have him now." It was an outright lie but if it was enough to get him wondering, pausing in his chants, it was worth it.
The news seemed to have little effect on him. "Blunt?" he said, barely breaking his rhythm. "You think he … ?" He never finished the sentence but laughed as he continued controlling the demon.
There was only one option left. "Fire!" I yelled at George.
"I can't," he whispered. "It's murder."
"The demon's going to take Jacob's soul if we don't."
George swiped at his sweaty brow and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "He's already dead."
I stared at him in horror. "He may not be alive but he exists. He has thoughts and feelings just as if he were alive. If the demon extracts his soul he'll be nothing."