The Compelled Read Free Page A

despair.
    Darkness had fallen when I returned to the tunnel. Cora climbed out to join me, and the two of us headed toward the Asylum. We knew Samuel often stopped there at the end of the day. If we could catch a glimpse of him as he exited, then follow him, we hoped he’d lead us to Damon. We were armed with stakes, but they provided minimal comfort. My stake was jammed in the shaft of my boot and poked my skin every few steps. It didn’t make mefeel any safer. At this point, stakes were as commonplace to us as guns were to hunters heading into the woods. But having a gun didn’t guarantee a hunter couldn’t be killed.
    The crisp fall air smelled like burning leaves, and, unlike the East End, this part of town was filled with well-dressed men and women, strolling from dining clubs to the theater to their fancy hotels. I didn’t mind the crowds. Having to navigate through the masses and around horse-drawn carriages took my mind off the task at hand.
    Gradually, the crowds thinned out and the smell of illicit fires made with newspaper kindling replaced the aroma of roasted chestnuts. The streets were empty, but the slums surrounding them were full, and I could sense eyes watching us suspiciously behind plateglass windows as we walked up High Street, the main thoroughfare of Whitechapel. From there, we turned onto Crispin Street and soon arrived at the Magdalene Asylum. The stone edifice towered, churchlike, over the now-empty Spitalfields Market. Cora’s attention was focused on the padlock on the heavy iron gates surrounding the building. The only sign that anyone inhabited the Asylum was a lone candle flickering in an upper window. It was only a little past eight o’clock, but unlike the rest of London, the street and building were as quiet as a tomb. It was, after all, only two blocks away from Mitre Square, the location of Jack the Ripper’s most recent kills. Ever since then, theWhitechapel Vigilance Committee had urged residents of the East End to stay indoors. Clearly, they were taking the request seriously.
    “I hope they’re all right,” Cora said quietly, and I knew she was thinking of the girls she’d met when she’d infiltrated the Asylum. All young and down on their luck, they’d seen the organization as a chance to get back on their feet. When they’d entered the Asylum, how could they possibly have known their blood would be used to feed monsters or that their benefactor would handpick them to be slain on the streets?
    Behind us, I heard the sound of leaves crunching. I turned, ready to face whatever new danger was headed our way, but it was only a watchman, swinging his nightstick in one hand and holding a lantern in the other.
    Don’t come over here , I willed, focusing my Power on him. He moved toward me, and for half a second, our eyes locked. Turn. Go back where you came from. He paused, but didn’t shine the light our way. Instead, he pivoted on his heel and walked back in the opposite direction.
    “Did something happen?” Cora whispered sharply as she noticed my cocked head.
    “Shh!” I motioned for her to be quiet until the footfalls faded. Cora didn’t have the same ultra-honed senses I had and was oblivious to our near miss.
    Before I could explain what I’d seen, the front door ofthe Asylum opened and Samuel strode out into the darkness, an attaché case under his arm and a silk top hat on his head. I stiffened as Cora grabbed my arm. I pulled her up the street behind a hedgerow, but Samuel didn’t look toward us. To anyone passing him on the street, he was simply the future London councilor, out doing charity work for the poor. They would think him admirable, I reflected in disgust. He turned down the flint path toward the curb and up the street, in the direction of the barren Spitalfields Market. As soon as he did, a coach veered toward him. Clearly, the driver was confident he could collect a generous fare from this well-dressed man.
    “Here, sir! Happy to take you wherever