Chapter 10
Crowscroft Asylum
It’s dark, not a single star in the sky tonight, only a full blood moon barely visible above the ever-present smog of the city. Every now and then, the freezing cold, heavily polluted air shifts and I catch a glimpse of it.
It seems fitting. A full circle.
I remember the last blood moon I saw staining the sky above this evil place. It had been the night they brought me here; my body still tender with pain from bringing my son into this world. My heart broken from the betrayal of my own blood.
I was dragged in through those very doors, kicking and screaming under the watchful eye of my cruel father. It was he who had me committed to this hellhole, who delivered me straight into the hands of Dr Ignatius Whyte.
I pull my cloak tighter and allow myself the memory.
I should never have been brought here. My only crime had been falling in love with a boy and bearing him a child out of wedlock.
It’s funny, but I no longer can bring to mind the face of the boy I’d once loved.
It was a lifetime ago. The girl I was is long gone—in fact, I can barely even recall her.
The second time I saw the outside of this place, I was broken and dying, carried out like a frail old woman. My saviour had been my brother, who’d thought he was rescuing me. But he was wrong. My body may have healed, but I cannot be saved, and after tonight, he’ll finally accept that.
All I care about is finishing what I started. It all ends tonight.
Dr Whyte thinks he’s escaped me. He hasn’t been at his private residence in weeks, not since Ishaan left him the judge’s eyes as a little gift. Instead, he’s been holed up in his precious asylum, as if the thick walls and his loyal staff will be enough to protect him from my justice.
How foolish.
A small smile curves my lips, and my stomach tightens in anticipation. I take a minute to savour it, then head towards the locked entrance. A casual flip of my hand throws the bolts, and the doors creak open.
Several pairs of eyes follow me as I walk into the lobby, mostly belonging to orderlies and nurses. All of them look stunned to see me stroll so brazenly into the hellhole nobody expected me to return to.
I head into the east wing, which is filled with rooms packed beyond capacity with patients. I’m barely halfway down the dimly lit corridor when I hear my name called in a sharp, authoritative tone. A tone with which I have heard too many times to count. Pausing, I turn around to a familiar sight.
Sister Agatha’s signature haughty expression meets my gaze, her high-necked deep blue dress and starched white apron as pristine as ever.
On either side of her are the two orderlies who never stray far from her side, Hobbs and Cooper.
I am very well acquainted with all three of them.
Hobbs and Cooper took great satisfaction in pinning me down.
Of having me helpless and at their mercy.
They drugged me, groped me, dunked me in ice cold baths, took perverse delight in my suffering.
And all this mistreatment happened under the steely-eyed gaze of Sister Agatha, who was absolutely loyal to Dr Whyte.
“Cordelia.” Sister Agatha’s voice is laced with icy authority. “I see you have returned to us. That will please Dr Whyte.” She pauses and looks me up and down, her eyes narrowing. “Although I believe some punishment is in order for the inconvenience and injury you have caused him.”
Hobbs grins beside her, his fists tightening on the buckled leather restraints he’s holding in his hands.
I stare at them dispassionately, my tone calm. “I think you’re mistaken at just who will be punished.”
Fortunately, I don’t need to look to know Ishaan is materialising behind me because I’m too busy enjoying the look of abject horror on their faces at the sight of my demon.
“Ishaan,” I purr in pleasure, “rip them apart.”
He surges forward and I continue walking. Their terrified and pain-filled screams echoing in the hallway behind me warm me right down to my bones. Of course, their agonised cries set off the patients, and a cacophony of hoots, screams, and door-rattling fills the air as I pass by.
Power floods my body, fed by the hysteria of my fellow prisoners. Maybe it’s time I give them back a little of their power too. After all, it would be selfish of me to keep all the vengeance for myself.
Spreading my arms wide, I let loose winding tendrils of deep purple smoke from my fingertips, unbolting rooms and loosening straitjackets and restraints as I go.
Doors slam open as the patients escape. All I can hear is the screams of the staff and the chaos left in my wake. The air is alive, pulsing with madness. I throw my head back and laugh as I head towards the office of Dr Ignatius Whyte.
When I finally reach it, I give the locked door a little nudge with my magic.
It clicks open and swings slowly inward.
Dr Whyte is rushing around his office, gathering papers and files and shoving them into a leather satchel.
At the sight of me, he pauses, his eyes widening and his disfigured mouth stretching grotesquely as he lets loose a growl.
I step over the threshold, smirking at the ruined face of the man who took deep pleasure in abusing me for years.
“Hello, Dr Whyte,” I say coldly. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”
The door slams shut, and he lunges for me, but I lift my hand and let my power loose before he can get near me. My magic catapults him backwards and pins him to the wall, causing the papers he’s been holding to flutter to the desk and floor.
As he struggles, I tighten his invisible bonds and slowly drag him up the wall until he’s suspended several feet above the ground.
“How?” His eyes are wide with fear, and drool spills from his misshapen mouth as he forces the words out. “How are you doing this?”
I tut slowly. “Dr Whyte, you were so caught up in your bright, shiny toy called science, so eager to experiment on the unfortunate inmates of Crowscroft, that you didn’t realise there is a power far older.
” I curl my fingers into a fist and he begins to choke, making a pathetic sound in a desperate attempt to draw oxygen in. “Magic, Doctor.”
I uncurl my fingers and he drags in an uneven breath. “What did you do to the others?”
My mouth curves. “Oh, we’ll get to the subject of your friends and associates.
” I draw my hand closer and he detaches from the wall.
His feet drag over the surface of his desk, scattering more papers, until he hangs midair in front of me.
“Now,” I say coldly. “Shall we begin with what you did to my daughter?”
“I-I didn’t do anything to her.” His damaged lower lip makes it impossible for him to speak without spitting and slurring. “She’s alive, I swear.”
I draw my fingers in and tighten the invisible force around his throat again. “Where. Is. She?”
“Sister Agatha took her to an orphanage in Trafalgar Square so she couldn’t be directly traced back to Crowscroft,” he gasps out.
My eyes narrow. “Which orphanage?”
“It’s run by the sisters of St Martin in the Fields.”
My next question makes me sick to even contemplate, but I need to know. “How can I trust that you didn’t give her to the members of your Demon Club?”
“I didn’t, I swear. She was my blood.”
“Do you think you have earned some kind of consideration because of that?” Hate fills every part of me as I stare at him.
“Cordelia, please. Mercy.”
“Mercy?” I whisper. “You think you deserve mercy? After the pain and suffering you’ve forced upon those under your care? Pain that you not only caused but revelled in? No, Doctor. I have something very special planned for you.” I tilt my head, my gaze hardening. “Kneel.”
I bring my hand down sharply and slam him to the floor, his legs folding beneath him in a sickening crunch of bones. An agonised scream is torn from his mouth.
“That’s better,” I croon. My magic holds him in a kneeling position, but I make sure to force his body weight to press down on his crushed legs.
“Now, I know you have an absolute fascination with a certain type of creature. You would whisper it in my ear while you were forcing yourself on me. You even named your little club after it.”
I look down at him distastefully. He pants through the pain, sweat dripping from his clammy forehead to the floorboards.
“Say the word.”
“Please,” he whispers.
“SAY IT,” I snap.
“Demon,” he hisses out grudgingly.
“That’s right.” I smile. “You do find demons intriguing, don’t you? Well, this is your lucky night, Dr Whyte. It is my pleasure to introduce you to a real one.”
He looks up at me in pain and confusion.
“Ishaan.” At my murmured summoning, a thick, dark smoke tunnels under the closed door and swirls around the room before coalescing into a form.
Made of writhing smoke snapping with flames, the form grows taller and wider, causing Dr Whyte’s eyes to widen and what’s left of his mouth to fall open.
Once it reaches the ceiling, it begins to bend but continues to grow.
When the smoke at last parts, Ishaan stands in his true form.
Fourteen feet tall and with eight arms, each ending in cruelly hooked, needle-like talons.
His eyes are blood red, his skin pale blue, and a crown of flowers adorns his head just above his pointed ears.
A slow, malicious smile splits his mouth as he stares at Dr Whyte, rows of sharply pointed teeth coming into view.
“Ishaan,” I calmly instruct. “Would you be so good as to flay the good doctor alive.”
Ishaan’s grin widens and he flexes his claws. The sound of Dr Whyte’s answering screams is like music to my ears, and I savour each agonising moment as I watch. It takes shockingly little time to divest the man of every inch of his skin. After that, I allow Ishaan to get creative.
I’ll give it to Dr Whyte. He survives longer than I thought he would.
The office looks like a slaughterhouse by the time my demon is done, but the scent of blood is eclipsed by the acrid smell of burning. I open the door to a blast of heat and find the corridor awash with flames.
It seems the patients of Crowscroft have decided to burn this place to the ground. Not that I can blame them. I was, after all, planning on doing the same. They’ve just saved me the effort.
“I think it’s time to leave,” I mutter to Ishaan, and I smoke out of the building to rematerialise a safe distance away. Ishaan has shrunk down to his more human form and stands beside me as we watch the asylum burn.
Some of the patients mill around in the street outside, and several police constables have appeared, along with the fire brigade.
I watch while they pump water from their horse-drawn carts.
It’s pointless. They are well aware that their limited machinery cannot save Crowscroft.
Instead, they concentrate on preventing the fire from jumping to nearby buildings.
Losing interest, I turn to Ishaan and see his eyes widen in shock. He folds forward, clutching his chest. Several glowing brands appear on his skin, and he lets loose a howl of fury, his eyes blazing with anger. He reaches for me but is yanked backwards and disappears.
There is only one person who could be responsible for trying to curtail my demon, and as I smoke out in pursuit, his name is a curse upon my lips.
Cornelius.