The Manor was pitch-black, and there was no sign of anyone, not even Mrs. Duckworth, who often kept late hours knitting by candlelight. There wasn't even a lantern lighting the porch, and I felt my stomach sink. Something was very, very wrong.
"Hel o?" I cal ed, my voice wavering. "Who's here?" I cal ed again, wishing I'd remembered to grab a gun before I'd run to the house. "Show yourself!" I yel ed, louder than ever, my voice echoing off the stone entranceway.
Silence. Damon must have found us.
Then, I heard a slight cry. It was so faint, I thought I might be imagining things. I cocked my head again. Definitely a noise.
"I'm coming!" I cal ed. If there was sound, it was a sign of life. I quickly sped through the labyrinth of rooms, my eyes adjusting to the dim light, until I came into the parlor.
There, the entire Abbott family was huddled in the corner, Luke as white as a ghost. George was clutching a poker, his eyes wild, and Gertrude had fainted on the floor. Emma, the source of the noise, was crying over her mother. But they were alive.
"I'm here. It's Stefan. You're safe," I said to the family, even though my heart was pounding in terror against my chest. Damon could be anywhere. He was probably right behind me, laughing at me. He'd concocted this scene purely to frighten me, to show me that he wasn't scared of Klaus because he'd become Klaus. He could commit horrific acts of bloodshed without blinking an eye.
"Stefan?" George said incredulously, his voice dripping with fear.
"Yes. You'l be safe. I promise," I said, my eyes darting around the room. The many portraits seemed to be leering down at me. But there was no sign of Damon.
Suddenly, I heard a noise and whirled around. As soon as my back was turned, George sprang up, lunging toward me with the poker. A crazed look was on his florid face.
"Traitor! You stole my son!" George yel ed, swinging the iron poker wildly through the air as if it were a sword. I ducked easily, horror dawning on me as I took in the family. Where was Oliver?
"Sir! No! I was down at the farmhouse! It was my brother, Damon. Where is he? Did you see where he went?" I asked desperately as I continued to duck his blows.
I felt something jump on my back. I spun around and realized Luke had clamped himself to my shoulders and was kicking his legs into my lungs.
"You took my brother!" he shrieked, pummeling his feet into my back. I struggled against his grip. Emma was crying loudly now, tears streaming down her face.
"Fiend! You shal die!" George roared, lunging toward me in the darkness.
"It wasn't me!" I yel ed futilely. I shrugged Luke off my back. He fel to the floor with a sickening thump, and I used the moment George turned to tend to him to hurry out of the house and into the darkness, confident my vampire senses would give me a head start. But I knew I didn't have much time. George would run to a neighboring farm for help, and soon there'd be an entire mob looking for me.
But right now, I couldn't worry about that. Oliver was kidnapped. And a vampire was on the loose. I'd been set up, just like I had when Martha had been found in the al ey behind the Ten Bel s. Fear flooded my body as I realized the connection. Oliver had been taken for a reason, and I'd left Violet unattended and vulnerable. He was going to get to her and force the choice she'd fought so hard against. Oliver would be the sacrificial lamb.
I was just a pawn in my brother's game, and this time, he was truly playing for blood.
"Damon!" I yel ed again into the darkness. I sniffed the air, feeling the urge to retch when I smel ed the familiar iron scent al around, enveloping me. "Damon!" My feet flew toward my cabin, and I pushed against the door with al my might.
I blinked in horror.
In the center of the floor was Violet, leaning down over Oliver, taking large sips from a gaping wound on his neck. Blood was trickling onto the floor in a dark, deep pool.
"Oliver!" I cal ed helplessly. Violet turned around, her newly formed fangs glistening with blood, a blank expression on her face. She leaned down, burying her face back in Oliver's neck.
"No!" I lunged toward them and attempted to grab Oliver from her grasp. The little boy's body was limp and lifeless, and I couldn't hear a heartbeat. But his tiny body wasn't entirely drained of blood. Not yet. Violet pul ed him away from my hands and brought his neck to her lips.
Just then, I heard the door click shut. I turned, ready to fight my brother.
Only it wasn't Damon. Framed in the doorway was Samuel, his hair blond and lionlike around his face, his white shirt and tan trousers impeccably pressed. I blinked. So Samuel was one of Damon's foot soldiers as wel . Of course. I felt the hatred for my brother deepening.
"Where is he?" I growled, my hands flexing into fists. I would make Samuel pay, but first, I needed him to lead me to Damon.
"So this is your country estate, Stefan," Samuel said, unwinding his bow tie and draping it over the back of a chair and sitting down as if he were paying a simple social cal .
"Where's Damon?" I repeated.
"I don't know." Samuel shrugged, crossing one leg over his knee and leaning back on his chair. "And I don't care. I came here looking for you.
Our time in London was so rushed, I felt that you hardly got to know me at al ," he said, arching a blond eyebrow.
"You're not here for Damon?"
"Your brother?" he asked lazily, licking his lips. "Not hardly. As I said, I have no idea where he is. Nor do I care. What real y matters is where people think Damon is," Samuel said, a smal smile playing on his lips.
"What do you mean?" I asked, my head spinning. I couldn't stop staring at the stone on his necklace, and the more I stared at it, the more bewitched I felt by it.
"I mean that Damon . . . or, I'm sorry, Count DeSangue, may soon have another soubriquet. I hope he likes the sound of 'Jack the Ripper.'" Samuel rose and stalked toward Violet, who was stil crouched over Oliver. She seemed unsure whether to pe back in and feed again. Samuel stood above them, and for a second, I wondered if Samuel would snap Violet's neck, too, simply to show his power. But he didn't. Instead, his hand rested gently on the top of Violet's head.
"I think you could be useful," he mused to himself. "Yes, I think you have what it takes. Hunger, certainly," he said as Violet lowered her head to drink as if in a trance. Then he turned toward me.
"Where's Damon?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Is he . . ."
"Dead?" Samuel let out a harsh laugh that sounded like a bark. "What would possibly be the fun in that? I can promise you, he's not dead. I came up with another plan for him. Since I know how much he craves the spotlight, I found a way for him to be splashed al over the London papers.
He's about to be known as London's most notorious kil er. They're receiving an eyewitness sketch of him as we speak. And that's just the beginning. I think he'l like that, don't you?"
"You're the Ripper," I realized, everything clicking into place. Samuel had murdered Mary Ann and attacked Martha. And Samuel intended to frame Damon for the murders. Which meant that Samuel had written the warning message in the park.
I stepped back, my body slamming against the wal . I'd cornered myself.
"I want to destroy Damon. And death would be far too easy," Samuel hissed, stepping up to me and laying one hand on each shoulder. "So I wil make him pay first. I'l take him away from the London society he loves so much and ruin the image he enjoys maintaining. That was the plan, and that's what shal be carried out," Samuel explained, his face now inches away from mine. "When you came along, I didn't have quite as much time to plot your punishment. But I'm quite pleased by what I came up with. I ruined the family you loved so much and blamed it on you. I got your girl to come to the dark side . . . I think I did rather wel ," Samuel said, smiling.
"Why are you doing this to us? What have we ever done to you?" I asked, trying to placate him by not struggling. My mind was whirling. I could just hear the sound of shouting in the distance, and knew it wouldn't be long before an angry mob surrounded the cabin.
"You did enough. And I don't real y feel like giving you a history lesson. But speaking of brothers, I do know that you hurt mine. And I think that alone makes a rather strong case against us being friends, don't you agree?" he asked. His smile was dangerous, and I knew he was about to pounce. I closed my eyes, gathered my strength, and charged toward him, hoping the surprise of my action would catch him off guard.
But quicker than lightning, he wrestled me to the ground until I was pinned underneath him. With his face only inches from mine, I could smel human blood on his breath.
I twisted free and scrambled backward. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere al at once, and suddenly, I caught the whiff of something burning. Our scuffle had upset a table, and an overturned candle had started a fire, the flames licking the dry pine wal s. The light from the flames danced on Samuel's angular face. Our eyes locked for a moment, and a faint smile crossed Samuel's lips. Then he lunged toward me, catching me unaware as he pushed me toward the hearth. I fel onto my knees.
"Get out," Samuel barked to Violet, who ran toward the door, leaving Oliver's lifeless body on the ground.
"You've lived for far too long," he said, quickly grabbing a chair and snapping it over his knee as if it were a twig. He stood over me, each foot on either side of my waist, one hand holding a broken chair limb, ready for it to serve as a stake.
But instead of driving it into my chest, he glanced at me in disgust, then spit onto my face.
"You're not worth kil ing; that's too easy," Samuel muttered, almost to himself. "I want you to suffer. You deserve it. In fact, that's the only thing you deserve."
I closed my eyes, not bothering to fight. Instead, I al owed my mind to conjure up Cal ie. Sweet, fierce Cal ie, with red hair and freckled skin and mischievous eyes. I knew this would be the last time I saw her, even in my imagination. She was surely in heaven, and I would soon be bound for hel .
With Samuel's swift motion, pain was everywhere. The stake had driven through my chest, but missed my heart. Pain radiated from the wound to my hands, my feet, my brain.
"Enjoy hel ," Samuel said with a laugh. Then he swept out the door, leaving me in the fire-fil ed cabin, a precursor to what I knew was to be my final resting place.
