Chapter 15
Crawshanks House, Whitechapel.
Ismooth down the front of my sister’s gown, admiring the way it clings to the newly restored curves of my body.
I’d snuck into her room while she slept and taken the dark forest green and black taffeta gown, a little stuffy for my tastes but certainly better than the old dusty ones hanging in my wardrobe.
Gowns I haven’t worn in more than a decade and never will again.
They’re nothing more than a reminder of a young girl who is long gone.
She’d believed in love only to be betrayed by the boy who’d promised her the world.
He’d taken our son and travelled back to his family in Ireland while I’d been committed to Crowscroft for my sins.
Isn’t that always the way of it. The men walk away with not even a smear on their reputation while the women pay the price.
I learned that lesson and learned it well.
The sweet words he’d whispered to me so that he could crawl between my thighs had been nothing but empty promises and lust. That was all I’d been worth.
At the time, I thought I couldn’t suffer more, but those first days in Dr Whyte’s care had thoroughly disabused me of that childish notion.
I’d thought I knew pain but I hadn’t, not until the day I met Ignatius Whyte.
My jaw begins to ache and I realise that I’ve been clenching it tightly.
Forcing the memories to the back of my mind, I run a hand through my long dark hair.
It feels so good to have it back and not just because they’d shaved it off before Cornelius freed me.
For years now, it has been a heavy, matted mess.
Now I can look at my reflection and once more see me. I know I’m considered beautiful. It’s not conceit, just fact. It is what has attracted these abusive men—or any men, really—to me, but my value is not in how I look. It gives me no pleasure.
I lift my hand, looking down at my upraised palm, and feel the power ripple through my veins. Smoke swirls around my fingers, which spark with purple lightning.
This is what I value.
Power.
Picking up a rather coarse-looking bag I found downstairs, which must belong to one of the servants, I sling it over my head and settle it diagonally across my body.
The book of Lala Khal is lying on the foot of my bed.
I pick it up, caressing the front cover lovingly.
Now that I have it back, I’m not letting it out of my sight.
Besides, I’m going to need it for what I have planned.
Slipping it into the bag sitting at my hip, I pick up the dark, heavy cloak I also appropriated. This, I believe, may belong to my brother. Draping it around my shoulders and fastening it at my chin, I press the material to my face and inhale.
Bergamot and something spicy. It’s definitely Cornelius’. The scent is comforting, and I’m glad of that small tether that will see me through what comes next.
I give my room one last glance, a room that hasn’t been mine in years. I won’t be coming back here. These last few days, even though I’ve been ill and lain abed, have shown me I don’t belong here anymore.
Not that I ever did.
This house belongs to Constance now. My path lies in a very different direction.
Taking note of the time on the small carriage clock, I cross the room and slip out of the door.
The household will begin to stir soon, so I hurry down the stairs, past the second floor and towards the foyer.
I’ve almost reached the last step when I hear Constance shouting, her voice filled with panic.
“Cornelius! Cordelia is gone! Cornelius!”
I quicken my pace to the door and from the corner of my eye see Cornelius and his lover spill from the study where they’ve obviously been all night.
“Cordelia!” he bellows, and there’s so much authority in his voice, I stop and turn to him.
He and Ichabod are staring at me, both rumpled but dressed. I ignore the redhead and focus on my brother, whose eyes widen on my glossy thick head of hair, my clear skin, and my full figure.
“What have you done!” He whispers the words, but I hear them as loud and as clear as a bell.
It only takes a second for his quick and agile mind to come to the correct conclusion.
“You have the book. I’ve searched for it for ten years, inspected this house from top to bottom. Where did you hide it?”
I smirk slowly and tut, just the way I did when we were children. “Do you really expect me to tell you all my secrets?”
His eyes flick over the cloak, the dress, the bag I carry, and my proximity to the door.
“What are you doing?”
I glance behind him and see Constance hurrying down the stairs in her nightgown and robe. Her eyes fill with worry as she comes to stand beside our brother.
I drag my gaze away from her and back to Cornelius. “Whyte will never let me go. He’s petitioned the courts and as soon as he has an order of incarceration, he’ll be knocking on our door to drag me back to Crowscroft. You said it yourself.”
“When did I…?” His brow furrows and he looks across to Ichabod, then to the door of the study. His eyes widen and his gaze snaps back to me.
“Yes,” I say quietly, knowing he can hear me. “We know each other’s secrets now.”
He stares at me silently for a moment.
“Cordie,” Constance says tearfully, “you’re not well. You have been through a terrible ordeal and must rest and heal. Where is it that you think you’re going?”
“She’s going after Whyte,” Ichabod mutters.
“You can’t be serious?” Constance gasps. “Why would you put yourself in that man’s power?”
“I have no intention of doing that.” I smile coldly. “This time he is going to know what it feels like to be powerless.”
“What–”
“She’s going to use magic to punish him,” Cornelius cuts Constance off before she can complete her sentence.
Constance’s expression hurts to look at. It’s been so long since I’ve had the care of another human being directed at me, and it touches some long dormant part buried deep inside me.
“I love you both,” I tell them sincerely. “I’ll always be grateful that you freed me from that hellhole, but I have to do this.”
“For vengeance?” Cornelius shakes his head.
“For justice,” I correct. “For karma, for all the others they tortured, abused, and murdered.”
“They?” Cornelius frowns.
“Do you really think Whyte was the only one who got to live out his sickest, most depraved desires in that place?”
“That’s what he has on all those other highly placed men, isn’t it?” Ichabod sucks in a sharp breath, glancing at Cornelius. “We wondered why he was so well protected. He allowed the others access to the asylum and the patients, and he kept their secrets.”
“Clever boy,” I croon to my brother’s lover.
“You will never take them all down, you will never stop them or be able to make them pay. The law won’t touch them.
They are the law. It goes higher than you can imagine, and if they think for one second you know their secret, they will come for you.
All of you.” I shift my gaze to my sister.
“And don’t think they’ll spare your daughter because she’s a child. Her age will make her very…valuable.”
The look of absolute horror on Constance’s face is enough to have Cornelius taking a step towards me.
“That’s not going to happen.” He scowls. “Do you really think I’d allow them to harm any of you? I also have friends in high places.”
“It won’t be enough,” I snap. “You don’t know Whyte the way I do. He won’t stop until he punishes my entire family for daring to take me from him.”
“Cordie.” Cornelius softens his tone. “I can keep you safe, I promise. You don’t have to do this.
Once you travel this path, there is no coming back.
Killing Whyte and any of his cohort will not erase what was done to you.
It will not ease your pain. It will leave a stain on your soul that will never wash clean. ”
“Oh, I not just going to kill him.” I smile. “Nothing so mundane. What I have planned for him will make him wish I’d ended him quickly. I will have him begging me to put him out of his torment, and the sound of his screams will be a symphony to my ears.”
“Cordie, please.” Cornelius moves toward me again, and I throw up my hand to halt his movements.
“Don’t,” I warn. “Be very careful, brother. My love for you will not spare you from my wrath should you stand in my way.”
“And my love for you will not allow you to turn into a monster.” He inches towards me slowly, Ichabod and Constance following his lead. As if the three of them will be able to somehow stop me from leaving.
But I will not be thwarted, least of all by my own blood. Especially not when what I have to do is as much for their protection as my vengeance.
I throw up my hands and my magic punches out in a burst of violet lightning, taking all three of them from their feet and throwing them backwards so they skid across the polished floor of the foyer.
“Stay out of my way,” I say calmly. “I cannot guarantee your safety should you interfere.”
I turn towards the front door, but as I do, a thunderous banging shakes it in its hinges.
“Police, open up! We have a warrant for Cordelia Crawshanks.”
The banging continues, the inelegant sound of a ham fist pounding against the wood.
Whyte certainly moves quickly, and it would seem I am out of time.
Unable to leave through the front door, there is only one option left to me.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I see my brother slowly climbing to his feet as Ichabod helps Constance up.
Holding Cornelius’ gaze, I reach for my magic.
A swirl of hazy purple witchsmoke winds around me and the foyer and its occupants disappear in a blur. When I rematerialise, I’m standing on a street corner in the pale rays of dawn.
Further down, I can see a police carriage waiting on the cobbles outside the house, easily identified by its heavily barred window and locks on the rear door. There are two police constables, one hammering on the door and the other stood beside a familiar figure.
I can’t help the smile of absolute glee when I see Whyte.
As elegantly dressed as usual with an expensive overcoat and top hat, his lower face is covered by the beginnings of a beard, which he’s obviously cultivating in order to hide the damage I did to his face.
But it really doesn’t hide a thing. His ruined mouth is misshapen and lopsided, fixed in a rictus grimace.
No longer pretty, his face at least now reflects the ugliness of his soul.
If he has one.
We’ll find out soon enough. But not yet. There are some other gentlemen who are further up the list than Whyte. I want him to sweat. I want him to feel the dread and impotent fear as each of his companions are picked off from the pack one by one. I want him to know death is coming for him.
I am coming for him.