Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  I blinked the hallucination away, focusing on the man before me. His eyes were wild now, knowing the end was near. Nathaniel flashed into my mind again. Insistent. This time it was a memory of our childhood. I watched the two of us playing on the grounds of Thornbriar.

  I recalled the day vividly—he’d been teaching me methods of fighting off unwanted pursuers. The White City Devil let up on his stranglehold long enough to pull me back to the present. Apparently my death wouldn’t be delivered swiftly after all. He wanted to play cat and mouse.

  “Once I’m through with you, I’ll see to your intended. I’d like nothing more than to wipe him from existence. If he’s not already dead. He didn’t look—”

  With my last burst of energy, I brought my knee up into his groin as hard as I could manage. It was the move my brother had taught me all those years ago. He’d also told me to not hesitate to run away. I’d only have a few moments. I wrenched myself free as the devil howled in pain. I limped for the door, but my head spun so badly I couldn’t manage a straight path. As I neared the threshold, Holmes ripped me back by my hair, yanking a chunk out.

  My throat was too raw to scream anymore. Not fully recovered, but spitting mad, he pinned me to the ground with his body. His hands were vises around my neck again. This time his eyes were black. His pupils seemed to have swallowed the blue entirely. His rage was something I’d never encountered in the flesh before. In this moment, he was no longer human.

  Staring into those burning eyes, I knew my death was imminent. I scrambled to find something. A weapon. A prayer of a chance at leaving this place with my life. My fingers clawed through wet dirt. I bucked around, knowing I was losing more oxygen, but I had only one chance left. As the darkness swept in again, my hand closed over the handle of the gas can. With the strength of my will and that of the women who’d been slain before me, I smashed it into his skull.

  He tumbled off me, knocking into a switch. Hissing sounded from above. He’d put the gas on. He was still stumbling around, gripping his head, as blood blinded him. This was my chance. I limped toward the door, hoping he was sufficiently distracted so I could escape. I was almost to the corridor of skeletons when I heard a whoosh. A blast of heat swept over me. I half turned, unable to see what new horror was heading my way.

  While he’d been stumbling around, he’d somehow knocked the incinerator door aside. Flames and gasoline didn’t mix well. Unless creating a fire or explosion was the goal. I spun around, dragging my battered body to the door. I’d lock him in and never look back.

  I’d made it to the skeleton room, wrenched a femur from the victim he’d yet to string together, and slammed the door shut, sealing him in with the fire. I stared as smoke gathered and slipped out from the cracks around the threshold. It would be so easy to leave him here to burn. It was what he deserved. Police would think it was an accident. I would be free.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, wincing at the pain.

  He began screaming. I stared at the bone I held. Tell me, Miss Wadsworth, how many have you killed? he’d jeered. The satisfaction of making him pay for his crimes would be great, but if I became his judge and executioner, I’d be robbing the families of his victims of their right to see him stand trial for his crimes. Though it might be worth it just to feel him bleed.

  My choice should have been easy, but I’d be lying if I said it was. Through the darkness something Thomas had once said came back to me, a flickering beacon of light to cling to. I will not become a monster for you. I would not become Holmes’s monster, either.

  “I am my own monster.” And it was time to slay that wretched part once and for all.

  With a growl that tore at my throat again, I yanked the door open, coughing at the black, rancid smoke billowing out. Holmes was on the flooring, wheezing. I gritted my teeth and rushed to him, shoving my hands under his arms and pulling with strength I didn’t know I had.

  Our procession was long and the sweltering heat from the angry flames made it more difficult. I could scarcely breathe in the endless smoke. I managed to drag him into the room farthest from the incinerator and swiped the keys from the inside of his waistcoat. I fumbled until I found one that opened the lock. I glanced back at him, but he was no longer incapacitated by the smoke. He had rolled onto his side, his cold gaze locked onto me once more. I had seconds before he’d come for me again, and I would not survive another skirmish.

  I stumbled into the corridor, fighting tears as pain shot up my leg. I couldn’t stop moving, though. Tears slipped over my cheeks, each step more painful than the last. I had no idea if I was traveling in the right direction, but I hoped the stairwell led somewhere good.

  Pain pounded in my head and my leg, overriding my thoughts. All I could concentrate on was to keep moving, keep going. I swore I heard Holmes shuffling behind me, but I refused to turn. I saw a hint of light at the end of a corridor and used it as a guide.

  Life distilled into two all-consuming elements: pain and light. I had no idea how I made it outside. I wasn’t even sure if I exited from the pharmacy or if a hole had been gouged in a wall. One moment I was traversing through darkness; the next I was blinking at the setting sun. It was so jarring, I froze in place. I didn’t trust that this was real. Wind whipped smoke away.

  Flames roared behind me and the ground shook. I turned in time to see a wall collapse. Rubble scattered not ten paces from where I stood. If I’d been another minute behind, I would have been crushed. Dust flew into the space around me and I couldn’t stop from choking on it. Part of me wanted to curl up on the ground right there.

  In the distance, I heard sirens wail. My teeth began to chatter.

  “Wadsworth!”

  I shielded my eyes against the brightness of the sun and squinted through the thick covering of dust. It seemed winter had been banished while I traipsed through Hell. Or perhaps this was Heaven. And Thomas was coming to greet me at the pearly gates. My heart stopped for a moment—If I hadn’t died… Thomas was out of bed. He was well.

  I staggered forward, then stopped. Ash and soot rained around me, making it almost impossible to breathe. There was so much debris, I couldn’t see more than distant shapes and silhouettes. But I needed to get to that voice—that tether attached to my soul.

  “Audrey Rose!” Thomas shouted, running so hard and fast I almost jumped from his path. He broke through the smoke like an avenging angel and scooped me into his arms, tears streaming as he kissed me everywhere. “Are you all right? I thought—if he’d…” I nodded and he clutched me tightly to his chest, his heart pounding against me. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I went mad with fear, imagining all the ways you might have been harmed.” He ran his hands over me, as if convincing himself I was real. “The thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your voice or watching you elbows-deep in viscera—it nearly killed me. If he’d hurt you I would have—”

  He would have turned into the monsters we fought.

  “You’re alive!” I kissed him, long and deep. I poured each emotion into it, each flutter of longing and passion and apology. Each moment I thought I might never see him again. Never hold him near. Never thread my hands through his hair or feel his body mold itself perfectly against mine. I pulled him closer, and his grip on me tightened as if he might never let me go, so long as I wished to stay.

  I heard others join us, but society and propriety and everything else be damned. I didn’t care who saw me kissing the man I loved. Uncle barked orders to the police and Noah, drawing my attention briefly. “Grab Holmes. He’s crawling away.”

  Several men—including our friend—rushed to the murderer, who’d fallen to his knees, choking on the smoke. His murder castle was no more. He would never harm another young woman again. I didn’t end his life, but I had ended his life of murder. It was a victory I’d cherish.

  Noah glanced over at us and nodded, his expression mirroring the emotions I felt as he helped drag the murderer away.

  “Wadsworth?” Thomas to
uched my face as if he still couldn’t believe I was real. Before I could inquire about anything, his mouth claimed mine once more. We kissed as if our lives began and ended in that embrace. The devil hunted the White City no longer. I’d stopped him.

  I held tightly to Thomas, trembling as my actions finally caught up and shock wore off. Or perhaps my shudders were the result of it being winter in Chicago and I was only in a nightgown. Thomas swiftly removed his jacket and placed it around me.

  “I almost killed him,” I confessed, my voice breaking. “I almost became the evil we fight against. I…”

  Thomas placed his hands on either side of my face, his gaze straying to the gash in my head. I’d forgotten I was covered in my blood and Holmes’s.

  “But you didn’t,” Thomas said. “Were I in your position, I’m not sure I’d be able to lay the same claim. You are far stronger than I am, my love. Don’t doubt your actions now.”

  I stared into his loving eyes. He was right. I couldn’t dwell on what could have been, on a temporary weakness. In the end, I remembered who I was. I buried my face in his chest, never wanting to leave his side again. “It’s finally over.”

  “And you went and had all the fun on your own again,” he said, feigning injury. “It really is quite inconsiderate of you.”

  “Not true, dear friend. You had the joy of being poisoned. Not many people can live to tell the tale.”

  “We both know you’re the hero.” He grinned. “It actually makes my dark heart race, seeing you take on the world.”

  “Are you suggesting you’re impressed?”

  “Let’s see, Wadsworth.” Thomas ticked off points on his fingers. “You’ve carved open dozens of bodies from London to Romania to America, been held at gunpoint beneath a castle once owned by Vlad the Impaler, got stabbed while defeating a deranged carnival, and have just captured the White City Devil. All before turning eighteen. I’m downright woozy with want. I beg you to ravish me now before I lose my mind.”

  “I love you, Thomas Cresswell.” I kissed him gently. “With my whole heart.”

  “Beyond life. Beyond death”—he nuzzled my neck, whispering—“my love for thee is eternal.”

  “I adore when you say that.” I smiled against his lips. “Tell me, though. How long have you been practicing it for this moment?”

  He nipped at my neck, eyes brimming with mirth. “Not nearly half as long as I’ve been plotting our next adventure, you delightfully cruel thing.”

  “Oh?” I raised my brows. “Where shall we adventure to next?”

  “Hmmm. There’s the issue of Miss Whitehall we still need to contend with.” He traced the line of my jaw, his expression suddenly serious. “However, I believe that trouble is behind us.”

  I tightened my grip on him, feeling the first buds of true hope sprout. “Don’t toy with my emotions, Cresswell! Why do you think it’s over?”

  “My father sent an extremely agitated telegram yesterday. Apparently he’d been at the palace, convinced he’d be getting the queen’s blessing for my nuptials with Miss Whitehall, when she wished you and me the best of happiness in our marriage. In front of a roomful of people, no less. So many witnesses. My father could hardly argue.”

  My heart near ceased. “The queen did that? How?”

  Thomas grinned. “Her telegram requested an audience with my father immediately upon his return to England. It simply said it was regarding the betrothal. He assumed she’d been speaking of Miss Whitehall since she’s the daughter of a marquess. Imagine his surprise when she announced our names in front of court.” He sighed dreamily. “I would’ve paid a large sum to witness the look on his face. He can’t go against the queen. Your grandmother is my new favorite person.”

  Excitement turned to worry. “But your inheritance and title…”

  Now his grin was that of a cat who’d swallowed a tasty bird whole. “In light of obtaining the queen’s favor, my father has removed all threats from both me and Daciana. He’s even offered me one of our country estates, Blackstone Manor, as a showing of goodwill.”

  I stared at him a moment, trying to absorb everything. “How did you manage to solve these issues? I’ve only been gone—”

  “For four horrendous days. If the poison wasn’t about to kill me, I swear the thought of losing you was.” He shuddered, then swept me into his arms. “Perhaps we should think of taking a holiday. No murders. No angry families. Just the two of us. And Sir Isaac.”

  “Mmm.” I smiled against his lips. “I rather fancy that idea.”

  “Where would you like to go next, Miss Wadsworth?”

  He placed me back on the ground. The sun gilded the tops of the buildings as it crawled behind them. In the distance I saw the gleaming White City, its magic glittering without darkness at last. If I could go anywhere on earth, there was truly only one place I longed to be in this moment. Somewhere Thomas and I could be alone. Fighting another grin, I turned to him.

  “I believe you mentioned something about a country estate. If I recall correctly, you made it sound as if we might send the staff away. Where—”

  Thomas swung me into his arms once again before I could finish my sentence. “I was hoping you’d say that, because I cleverly purchased two passages before we left New York. I’d been watching the way you stared at your ring. That determined set to your jaw. You know, that stubborn bit of chin lifting that indicates you’re about to wage war?” Completely unaware of my eye roll, he continued on. “If we hurry, we can make our ship by week’s end.”

  “Where, exactly, is the country estate?” I asked, looping my arms around his neck. “England? Romania?”

  “That, my dear Wadsworth, is a surprise.”

  He’d promised me a lifetime full of them, and it seemed Mr. Thomas Cresswell—the crown fiend and love of my life—delivered on his promises. We’d finally emerged from the darkness that had stalked us all these months. Night no longer held dominion over our souls.

  I tipped my head back, closing my eyes against the last rays of the sun, excited for wherever we were headed to next. Like the stars shining madly above, the number of our future adventures was infinite. I had no idea what tomorrow had in store for us, but I knew one thing with utter certainty: no matter what new chapter awaited, Thomas and I would turn that page together.

  H. H. Holmes, circa 1880s/Early 1890s

  EPILOGUE

  CRIME OF THE CENTURY

  THOMAS’S FAMILY HOME

  BUCHAREST, ROMANIA

  ONE YEAR LATER

  “H. H. Holmes didn’t confess to the murders in London, though he’s written an account of his crimes at his now-infamous murder castle from prison.” I all but snarled as I read a snippet of his words aloud to Thomas. “‘I was born with the very devil in me. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to song, nor the ambition of an intellectual man to be great. The inclination to murder came to me as naturally as the inspiration to do right comes to the majority of persons.’”

  I closed the paper, wishing I could burn it with my fiery gaze. Even after all this time, Holmes still enjoyed the sound of his own voice. No matter that what he was saying was horrid.

  “Who allowed him to publish such rubbish?” I tossed the paper on the bed. “He’s earning more now as an inmate than he did with all of his scheming. Don’t they realize they’re giving him everything he’s ever wanted? Fame. Fortune. It’s appalling.”

  “His mustache is appalling, or… oh. Am I the only one who loathes the thing?” Thomas dodged the pillow I threw at him. “We could try again to prove his guilt over the Ripper murders, you know. Perhaps he’s not the only one who can write an account of the events that have transpired. Why not publish your own account? Some people might believe it’s fiction, but some people also believe strigoi walk amongst us. Though most know vampires aren’t real, I’m sure a large enough group would believe us. We can keep fighting until we win over the masses.”

  The thou
ght was tempting. It was always tempting. However, we’d traveled down that path and no one wanted to hear the truth. I understood, in a way, that without any evidence to support our outrageous claims, there was no proof that the charming American con man was also the notorious Jack the Ripper. He vehemently denied any connection to the crimes, and without a confession, there wasn’t much anyone could do. Ripper madness had died down in the hearts and minds of people, and it seemed no one wished to reopen those wounds. Apparently a few dead “whores” weren’t a top priority any more. Not compared to the crime of the century.

  When we returned to London, I’d even gone as far as telling Detective Inspector William Blackburn about my brother and his journals. I’d brought him to the laboratory in my family’s home, and he claimed all it proved was Nathaniel’s affinity for science. Something I ought to understand. I wondered if the detective inspector was being loyal to my father or if he truly couldn’t pursue that lead.

  Uncle tried pressing the issue of connecting the crimes—pointing out forensic similarities between the two murder sprees. He showed proof that Holmes was in London during the murders and was in America when they ended. He’d secured samples of Holmes’s handwriting—which was startlingly identical to the notes Jack the Ripper had taunted police with. No one in a position to do anything cared. His colleagues laughed or sneered at him. They thought he was a fame-monger, wishing to see his name back in the papers. Feeling so helpless was abysmal.

  Rumors began in upper-class circles that saw Thomas’s name swapped out for more salacious perpetrators: royals. No one spoke of the American killer, nor did they care he was in London during the Autumn of Terror.

  They didn’t care that he’d also left a few bodies on the Etruria when we crossed the Atlantic. Nor did they care about a drunken brute whose neck had been nearly sliced clean off in an alleyway behind the Jolly Jack public house. Those cases remained unsolved, begging for attention they wouldn’t get. They were unfortunate, terribly sad, indeed, but that’s the way life was. At least that’s what I’d been told.