Ihad to get Violet out of there, before the kiler came back to finish her off with his customary mutilation. I hastily lifted her up and heaved her over my shoulder. Her body grew colder every minute and the touch of her skin against mine sent a shiver down my spine. She was dead. And the kil er was nowhere to be found.
I glanced around wildly. The band had shifted into a waltz, and the front of the warehouse was crowded with couples dancing in the darkness. It looked gaudy, like an act from the two-bit carnival I'd worked at in New Orleans. The murderer was somewhere in that throng, bowing and weaving through couples.
My fangs throbbed, and my legs ached with the urge to run or fight. But I could do neither. I stood, frozen in place. Droplets of blood scattered across the bodice of her dress, and the kohl she'd used to line her eyes had run, making her face look like it was painted with tears.
I didn't feel sorrow. What I felt was deeper, more primal. I felt anger at whoever did this, as wel as despair. This would always keep happening, and more victims like Violet would perish. It wouldn't matter if I journeyed back to America or went to India or just traveled nomadical y throughout every land. How many deaths could I witness, al the while knowing death would never come to me?
I glanced back down at Violet's limp body and forced myself to stop thinking those thoughts. Instead, I thought of Violet's short life. Her wide grin when she'd put on one of her fine dresses, the way her happy face shone with tears at the end of the musical review, the way she truly believed that there was good in the world. I'd miss her. Violet had been spritely and passionate and alive. She'd also been stupid and trusting and so vulnerable.
And she'd given up her vervain to her sister. Of course, she hadn't known it to be anything but a good luck charm, but stil - if she'd had the vervain, she'd be alive now.
"'May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest,'" I said, quoting Shakespeare for lack of a prayer as I laid my hand against her cold brow and smoothed her loose curls off her forehead. The phrase echoed in my head, the words far more familiar to me than any of the sermons I'd sat through or psalms I'd heard when I was a human. I leaned down and grazed my lips against Violet's cheek.
Suddenly, she reared up, her body trembling al over, her eyes wide, her mouth frothing, as she lunged toward my hand.
Hastily, I fel backward, scrambling to my feet and retreating to the shadows.
"Stefan?" Violet cal ed in a high and reedy voice that sounded nothing like her Irish brogue. Her hand frantical y clawed at her throat, and her eyes widened in fright when she pul ed her hand back and saw it covered with blood. "Stefan?" she cal ed again, her eyes gazing wildly in al directions.
I watched in shock. I'd seen death countless times at this point, and I knew that Violet had been dead. Yet now she wasn't. This meant only one thing: She had been given vampire blood and then kil ed. She was in transition.
"Stefan?" she asked, grasping the air in front of her and gnashing her teeth against each other. Her breath was loud and raspy. She kept licking her lips, as though she were dying of thirst. "Help me!" she cal ed in a strangled voice.
Far off in the warehouse, I could make out the faintest sound of the band striking up another song. Everyone inside the party was blissful y unaware of the gruesome scene occurring in front of my eyes. I clenched my jaw. I wanted more than anything to be strong for Violet, but I was stil in shock.
I knew she wanted to feed. I remembered the agonizing hunger I'd felt when I'd woken up in transition. She was breathing in loud, staccato gasps as she rose to her knees, then her feet. I moved forward to help her.
"Shhh," I said, wrapping my arms around her body. "Shhh," I repeated, running my hands through her tangled hair, wet with sweat and blood.
"You're safe," I lied. Of course she wasn't.
A few yards away, on a neighboring dock, I saw a smal skiff, most likely used to transport cargo from one side of London to the other, bobbing in the gentle waves of the Thames. I had the wild thought to take it, to head as far as we could down the river, to just get away.
"What's happening to me?" Violet gasped each word, clutching her throat.
"You'l be okay, Violet. But please, tel me, who did this to you?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said, her face crumpling. Blood was running from her neck, drying into a pattern on the side of her dress that would have been almost pretty if one hadn't known how it was formed. Her face was white and chalky, and she kept licking her lips. "I was going to the bar. And then he pul ed me to him for a dance, and . . . that's al I can remember," Violet said, wringing her hands together and gazing imploringly at me.
"Who's 'he'?" I asked urgently.
"Damon," she said, hardly able to stifle her cries. A scene flitted into my mind: Violet, so excited to have Damon pay attention to her. Violet, al owing Damon to escort her to the bar and order her a drink. Violet, nervous and coquettish, waiting to hear what Damon had to say. And then Damon licking his lips, lunging, and drinking, leaving Violet behind for me to find.
You always help a damsel in distress. Damon's mocking phrase rang in my ears. He'd left her for me to find, just as if we were children playing hide-and-seek.
"I'm so thirsty," Violet said, leaning over the edge of the dock and cupping her hands to capture some of the dirty water flowing in the Thames. I watched as she put her hands to her mouth, and saw an expression of disgust cross her face. She knew something was terribly wrong. "Stefan . . . I don't feel wel . I think I need a doctor," she said, cradling her head in her hands and rocking silently back and forth.
"Come with me," I said, pul ing Violet into a hug. I could feel shivers wracking her body, and saw tears were fal ing from her large eyes. I knew she was confused and disoriented, and this filthy dock was no place to explain to her what was happening.
I hoisted her up and walked us to the skiff that was resting in the water. I gently placed her on its floor. She blinked a few times and let out a shuddery sigh.
"Am I dead?" she asked, her hand reaching out toward mine. I closed my fingers over hers. I tried to remember back to my own death. I'd felt hazy and confused as wel , coupled with the grief and guilt of losing Katherine. Then, when I'd made the ful transition, I'd felt fast, sharp. Inhuman.
"Yes," I said. "You're dead."
Violet flopped back down and closed her eyes.
"It hurts so much," she whimpered as she slumped against the side of the boat in exhaustion. Her body couldn't take the transition.
I felt anger slice through my stomach. Damon needed to pay for this.
I took a piece of muslin, most likely used to repair sails, from the side of the boat and pul ed it over her body like a blanket. She was sleeping now, and I knew she didn't have the strength to run off. She sighed and burrowed into the cloth while I jumped off the skiff and tore back into the party.
As soon as I walked back into the smoky warehouse, I could hear my brother's voice above the din, laughing and making fun of the ridiculous expedition Lord Ainsley had planned in India. Not caring who saw me, I used my vampire speed to reach him. He was laughing with Samuel and Henry. Cora clung to his every word.
"You ought to go to India, too, Damon. You're always complaining you've had enough of London society," Henry said, raising his champagne toward Damon. "Maybe an adventure would do you good."
"Yes, you could try your luck at snake charming," Samuel suggested. "You already have proven your talent for charming women." At this, Damon laughed appreciatively. Fury rose up inside me. How dare he laugh and joke only minutes after he'd attacked Violet and set her on the path we'd both regretted taking.
"You," I growled, dragging my brother out by the arm and toward the al ey that led down to the docks, empty except for a far-off vagrant sleeping with a bottle of whiskey clutched against his chest.
"Ah, a moonlit conversation by the waterfront. How picturesque. What's the special occasion?" Damon asked, arching a dark eyebrow.
I recoiled. I hated everything about him. I hated his affected Virginia drawl that he put on in my presence as if to make fun of our polite upbringing, the way he twisted words even if he was the only one who'd get the joke, and the way he made a mockery out of everything, including human life.
"You are dead to me," I growled, grabbing him with al my might and throwing him toward the opposite wal , satisfied to hear his skul cracking against the concrete. He slumped, ragdol -like, before standing up, his eyes flashing in the darkness. He took a quick step toward me, then stopped and laughed softly.
"Someone's found his strength again," Damon said, stil rubbing his temple. The wound had closed almost instantaneously, leaving nothing but smooth, pale flesh. "Why so upset? Didn't find the murderer you were looking for?" Damon mocked in a low voice.
"No more games. You're the kil er!" I spat, rage boiling in my veins. I wanted to hurt him. But the trouble was, nothing would.
"I am, am I?" Damon asked nonchalantly. "Tel me, how did you reach that conclusion, Detective Salvatore?" So this was how he'd decided to torment me now. No more blows or fights or battles, just psychological torture. Wel , he'd succeeded.
"You framed me for the attack the other day. And you kil ed Violet," I said, my voice clear as a crack of thunder.
A mil ion expressions - hate, anger, annoyance - flashed across Damon's face before he lunged toward me, pinning me against the cold concrete wal , his face only inches from mine. I squirmed to get away, but he only held me harder.
"I've tried to be patient with you, brother," Damon said, hate dripping from his voice. "I thought that maybe a few decades had done us both good. But you're the same as you've always been. Always the one to come into a situation and think he knows how to fix it. Always the foolish knight in shining armor. Always the one who takes responsibility for the whole world on his shoulders. But . . ." Damon's voice dropped to a whisper, so only I could hear. "You are not innocent. You started al of this. And death doesn't begin and end with me. Get used to it, brother. People die, and you can't change it." He let go of my neck, but not before spitting in my face. "Be warned, next time I show up in your life, it won't be al parties and picnics. You can trust me on that." Damon turned on his heel and headed back to the party.