The Compelled Page 4

  Beneath her touch, my skin began to burn. I shifted uncomfortably. What was she doing?

  “I’m Stefan, and this is my friend Cora. We’re friends of Mary Jane’s. I saved her life last night.”

  “So I heard. The house isn’t exactly big. I know who you are. And how exactly do you plan to get us out of here? Will you lie? Compel? Kill a family, then steal their home?”

  “Jemima, stop it,” Mary Jane said sharply. “We owe him something.”

  “I don’t owe him anything,” Jemima said, keeping her steady gaze on me. “Mary Jane, you almost got killed. I know he saved you, but how do you know he has your best interests at heart? You know vampires don’t have beating hearts, let alone souls. That’s why…” She stopped short. “That’s why I need to ask him a few questions. Get him to reveal his intentions,” she said cryptically.

  “Go ahead, I have no secrets,” I said. The truth shall set you free. It had been one of my father’s favorite quotations and his motivation for naming our Virginia estate Veritas—Latin for “truth.” I hoped the wisdom applied equally to vampires and humans.

  “How many people have you killed?” Jemima asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

  I glanced around the room, knowing nobody would like my answers. Even Cora was gazing at me quizzically, a hardened expression in her eyes. In the semidarkness, surrounded by six pairs of glittering eyes, I felt like the witches could peer into my mind and know what I was thinking even before I said it. I had to tell the truth. But I wasn’t even sure if I knew it myself.

  I racked my brain, pulling memories from Mystic Falls and New Orleans as if turning back the pages of a book. I knew every painful detail of my first kill—my father. I remembered the sweet, smoky blood of Clementine Haverford, the fresh, lilac-scented blood of my victim on the train to New Orleans, as well as all the faceless humans who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time…

  “Can’t even remember, can you?” Jemima asked in disgust. “See, their destruction has no boundaries.”

  “I have killed, it’s true. More than I wish I had. But I haven’t in a long time, and I don’t feed on humans,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

  Jemima’s flinty gray eyes softened slightly, “That, at least, is the truth.”

  “It’s all I have,” I said. “I can’t change the past. But I want to change the future. And I don’t want Samuel to kill my brother.”

  “So is that how you see it?” Jemima asked, turning to the witches as if she were a lawyer speaking to a jury. “Because you saved Mary Jane’s life, we owe it to you to save your brother’s life?”

  “If that’s how you want to see it, yes.”

  I expected Jemima to argue. But instead, she merely laughed, a sharp snort that punctuated the tense silence that had fallen in the room.

  “You’re smart, vampire. You know better than to lie your way into my good graces. I think we might be able to work something out. Besides, I don’t like vampires, so I’m all for getting rid of one who’s been causing trouble.”

  “Thank you,” I said gratefully.

  Jemima held up her hand. “Don’t thank me till I’ve done something. Of course, the fact that you don’t feed on human blood comes with complications, doesn’t it? Vivian, we’re going to need some eleuthro. Actually, better find enough for the lot of us,” she said. Instantly, Vivian scrambled to her feet and raced down the stairs. Jemima leaned toward me. I flinched, sure she was about to touch me and set off the same burning sensation she had a moment ago. But she didn’t. Instead, she yanked a single hair from my head.

  “What’s eleuthro?” I asked, my tongue tripping over the unfamiliar word.

  “A potion,” Jemima said briefly. “But don’t you worry about that. First things first, let’s find where Samuel’s keeping your brother.” She dropped the strand of hair into the fire. “What’s his name?”

  “Damon. Damon Salvatore,” I said, picturing the classic half-smirk my brother wore when he introduced himself to beautiful women. But my thoughts were interrupted by Jemima’s chants.

  Two blood brothers, separated by land or sea

  With this lock bring him to thee.

  Show us Damon, not for game, or sport, or play

  But so from evil we can lift him away.

  “Now let’s hope it works,” she muttered as she stepped back, allowing Billy to stoke the fire. He circled the blaze in a counterclockwise motion, causing the room to fill with smoke. The grayish-white billows began to fan out. I blinked as a purple cloud formed directly above the flames. In its center was a hazy image of Damon. He was tied to a column, his eyes drooping, and his body trembling. He was clearly starving and wracked with pain. Ropes bound him to the scaffolding, and I knew from the enormous welts apparent in the vision that they must have been soaked with vervain.

  I squinted, trying to pick out some sort of clue in the background. In the distance, far beyond Damon’s shoulder, was a hulking edifice. But was that still part of the vision, or was it a trick of the light? I felt a painful pounding in my temple.

  “It looks like the Tower Bridge,” I murmured, walking closer and closer to the image. I could make out the foundation and the deck, with Damon’s body affixed to one of the girders. All of a sudden, I heard a loud sizzle. The image disappeared and I realized Jemima had poured a large bucket of water onto the fire. Sparks jumped around me.

  “Why did you do that?” I’d only begun to pick apart the vision for clues. Yes, it was the Bridge, but why? Where was Samuel? How long had Damon been there? And how long would he survive?

  “Saving you from yourself, vampire,” Jemima said, grimacing. “You were so close to the fire you were about to fall in. And then where would we be?”

  I took a few steps back, seating myself in a chair in the far corner of the room, trying to figure out how I could use what I had seen in the fire to rescue Damon.

  The door opened, and Vivian entered the room holding a tarnished silver pitcher. “I made the potion. I had plenty of the herb, but I had to guess the amounts of mugwort and dragonroot,” she fretted.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jemima said, but I saw her gaze nervously cut to Mary Jane. So far, all their spells seemed to have worked. But what happened when one didn’t?

  Vivian took a small sip, wiped her Cupid’s-bow mouth with the back of her hand, and passed the pitcher to Mary Jane, who followed suit.

  “Makes you stronger,” Mary Jane explained as she passed the pitcher to me.

  “Really?” I asked, looking dubiously at the liquid sloshing inside the container. The greenish color reminded me of sludge culled from the bottom of a pond. I sniffed it. It smelled like burning leaves.

  “You have nothing to lose, vampire,” Jemima said sharply.

  “True.” I took a large drink, as if to prove to her I wasn’t afraid of the potion—or her. The liquid bubbled down my throat. It tasted fetid and vile, as if it were made of the refuse filling the streets.

  “I’ll need some, too,” Cora said, plucking the pitcher from my hands and taking several deep gulps as though she were one of the tavern girls holding her own in a pint-drinking competition with dock laborers.

  “Good girl,” Jemima said, sounding impressed. The boys drank from the pitcher in turn. “And now that we’ve all drunk up, it’s time to go. Who knows how long he’ll be at the Bridge.”

  I felt stronger, and my throbbing headache had disappeared. The eleuthro was better than blood. It took the edge off my nerves and made me feel like I could take on anyone—or anything. I experimentally squeezed the arm of a nearby chair, thrilled to see the wood snap like a twig between my fingers.

  “Confident the potion works, vampire?” Jemima asked, her hands on her hips.

  “Yes,” I said testily. “And I’m sorry I broke the chair, but this makes a good stake. We need more weapons like this, just in case,” I said. It was true. The slim chair arm tapered into a sharp point that would easily pierce through skin. I hasti
ly turned to address all the witches. “Damon will most likely be tied up with vervain-soaked ropes. Vervain’s poisonous to me, so I can’t untie him. Could one of you set him free? The herb won’t hurt you.”

  “I will,” Billy volunteered, heading to the remains of the chair to create more makeshift stakes.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Jemima, are there any spells you can perform that could help?”

  “Are there any spells I can perform?” Jemima repeated sarcastically. I sucked in my breath, annoyed at the literal way she took my words but knowing far better than to say anything.

  “What spell do you think would be best?” I asked patiently.

  “Leave that to me, vampire,” Jemima said. “I’m not sharing all my secrets with you. I know you’re honest, but I still can’t trust you. And I won’t know what spell to perform until I see Samuel for myself.”

  “What can I do?” Gus asked, stepping up to me.

  I appraised the skinny boy, then glanced at Jemima. She nodded at me, as if giving me permission to speak. “Why don’t you watch out for Cora,” I decided.

  “I don’t need looking out for,” Cora retorted.

  “I know. But if Samuel and Violet are on the scene, then—”

  “Then I want to fight them,” Cora said, cutting me off.

  “And aren’t you forgetting something, vampire?” Jemima smirked.

  “What?” I asked. We had stakes, we had spells…

  “How do you plan to carry this off at Tower Bridge? There are always people around. You really need a blocking spell, so no one walks in on us.”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed. Despite Jemima’s sarcasm, her suggestion proved she was listening and ready to help.

  “Vampires just don’t think about details,” Jemima muttered. “Gus and Mary Jane, can you do a simple circle spell when we get to the Bridge? Don’t want any mortals getting caught in the ruckus.”

  “Thank you,” I said meaningfully, locking eyes with Jemima.

  Jemima didn’t respond, but the corners of her mouth twisted into a small smile.

  And with all the witches on board, we streamed toward the door, ready to free my brother.

  “Damon, I’m coming,” I whispered under my breath. But the only response was the ominous sound of rain pelting the roof.

  5

  Together, stakes concealed under our clothing, our motley group traipsed through the back alleys of London’s East End. What had been a cloudy day had turned into a bitterly cold and rainy evening. Cora shivered beside me.

  As we walked past a public house where a few men hunched over their pints of ale, Mary Jane hurried to catch up with me. I forced myself to take slow, measured steps, but it was hard to walk at human speed with the eleuthro surging through my veins. All of my senses were heightened, and I breathed in the stench of rotting garbage in the gutter. As pungent as the scent was, it was a poor distraction from the sound of blood pumping around me. While it may have taken the edge off my nerves, the eleuthro hadn’t assuaged my craving. If anything, it had intensified it.

  “The first rule we have when performing magic is to not draw any attention to ourselves,” Mary Jane said, pulling me back to the conversation. I hadn’t been paying attention. I was so distracted by the thought of blood that I could almost taste it on my tongue. I knew it was simply because we were in the East End, which was packed with residents. The more humans, the greater concentration of blood. That was one of the many reasons I’d preferred my life in a quaint village where neighbors were few and far between. It was easier to ignore the call of blood.

  “I was saying, we try to blend in to our surroundings,” Mary Jane said patiently, when she saw I wasn’t exactly focused. “The second rule is, no magic in public, unless we’re threatened by death. Of course, we’ll use magic to free your brother, but we must maintain a low profile. If any one of us is exposed, we’re immediately kicked out of the house. It’s Jemima’s rule, and she means it. The third rule is no talking about magic, for the same reason as not performing it.”

  “Can all of you do the same magic?” Cora asked.

  “Not quite.” Mary Jane wrinkled her forehead in concentration. “Some are good at spells, others more at finding herbs, and I’m good with animals. I suppose we all work better when we’re together. We protect one another. Anyway, as soon as Jemima and I realized we were different, we ran away from the orphanage and didn’t look back. Once we all found one another, we didn’t need to wait around for someone to adopt us. Adoptions never seemed to happen. People would always come in and say we were precious, or say we were special, but then they never came back to bring us home,” Mary Jane said sadly. “That’s why it was better for us to form our own family.”

  “Shh!” Jemima hissed, whirling around. She took the hood of my cloak and pulled it over my head. “Try to be inconspicuous, please.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Rule number four. We stick together. Once we get there, there’s no running off, and there’s no leaving anyone behind, even if it’s dangerous. Are we clear?” I nodded.

  We walked onto the pier. The Thames was crowded with cargo ships ready to make their early morning deliveries at ports dotting the country, while smaller passenger ships weaved around them.

  “We’ll go by river,” Jemima decided, nodding to a small skiff floating in the water. The name Goodspeed was written on its side. I decided to take that as a good sign. “A boat gives us an automatic escape route. Climb on,” she said grandly as we all jumped over the edge and into our stolen boat.

  As Billy pushed the Goodspeed away from the dock, I looked toward the inky horizon. The skiff was moving of its own volition, cutting a V-shaped path through the water.

  I could sense Jemima’s eyes on the back of my neck. I turned around. Sure enough, she was staring at me, an inscrutable expression on her face.

  “What?” I asked irritably. I had a sense she knew more than she was letting on.

  “Just trying to figure out how hungry you are, vampire.”

  “I fed on a squirrel today. I’m not thinking of drinking human blood, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Not that kind of hunger,” Jemima said cryptically. She nodded toward something behind me and I whirled around, seeing the imposing Tower Bridge now only a hundred feet in front of us. It stood several stories off the ground, and was surrounded by wooden scaffolding. The deck of the bridge came to an abrupt end a quarter of the way across the river; across the Thames, a similar setup was in place. A gap of forty feet separating the two structures. I was surprised that no watchmen were guarding the area. Instead, all was silent, except for the sound of ragged breathing. It was Damon. It had to be.

  “Pull over to the dock!” I called. Immediately, without anyone steering, the skiff turned toward the nearest pier. I jumped onto the dock before the boat stopped. Clutching my stake to my side, I ran toward the bridge. The closer I got, the more I was sure I was being watched.

  I glanced up and gasped.

  Instead of seeing Damon, I saw Samuel clinging like a spider to the underside of the bridge. He jumped down on top of me, throwing me off balance. I landed on my back with a thud.

  “And so we meet again,” Samuel said, standing over me, his face a blank mask that betrayed no emotion. Our eyes locked, and for a fraction of a second it was as if time stood still. Then, Violet emerged from behind a pillar, smiling maniacally, her white fangs glittering. Violet was a completely different creature than the frightened girl I’d rescued a month earlier. In a white fur coat with her red curls piled on top of her head and her lips painted a deep crimson, she looked like a painting come to life. She wasn’t the innocent Irish barmaid I’d met at the Ten Bells Tavern. She wasn’t the giddy show-off who’d blushed and twirled when I’d given her a new dress at Harrods. And she certainly wasn’t the human girl who’d looked at me with tears in her eyes as she transitioned into a vampire, begging me to kill her rather than allow her to live a life of destruct
ion. That Violet was dead. The fiend in front of me was all vampire.

  Samuel shifted, and I used the momentary movement to spring to my feet and lunge, surprised at how fast the eleuthro had made me. Grabbing his shoulders, I wrestled him to the ground. Samuel twisted free and I hurled myself at him again, smiling when his head smacked against the concrete bridge with a satisfying crack.

  “Stefan!”

  I whipped my head around at the sound of my name. Damon was fixed to the scaffolding by vervain-soaked ropes as if he were a sacrificial figure primed for an ancient ritual. He exhaled in wet gasps, and blood-tinged foam frothed at the corners of his mouth. The veins around his temples were bulging and were an unnatural bright blue color. He looked minutes away from death.

  “Help him!” I called toward the witches. I couldn’t save him right now, not with Samuel here and Damon covered in vervain. Billy raced past me with a knife held aloft, ready to cut Damon loose from the ropes that bound him.

  I gripped my stake and reared back, about to strike, when suddenly I was hit from behind. Violet must have caught up with us. I landed on my chest, my body only millimeters away from falling on the stake. I struggled to a sitting position, but Violet threw herself on top of me, pinning my shoulders to the ground as she groped for the stake.

  I heard a splash. Samuel had thrown Vivian and Gus into the cold water. They were sputtering while Jemima and Mary Jane were fighting Samuel off with the repel spell. It was almost working. But not well enough.

  I knew Violet was out for blood, and if she couldn’t get mine, she’d think nothing of taking her sister’s. With a surge of effort, I wriggled out of Violet’s hold and managed to pin her hands to the ground above her shoulders. “Samuel will die tonight. I’ll make sure of it. But I’m giving you one last chance,” I said, searching for any trace of humanity in her bloodshot eyes. But all Violet did was laugh in response.