Once in the wooded area, I planned an ambush. If I could take him by surprise, kill him quickly, then free Simon and William, we just might make it out before the house burned down.

The tree nearest to me had a thick branch about ten feet off the ground. Silently, clenching the knife blade in my teeth and plunging the keys into my right boot so that I would not lose them, I climbed up.

I heard his footsteps. He was closer than I had thought. I eased further out on the branch.

He stood directly underneath me.

He had been my supervisor, my mentor. But now, as Mother's murderer, he had to die. Slowly, silently, I removed the knife from my mouth and clutched it hard.

I inched forward a bit more. Dropped.

But he stepped aside and spun around, aiming the revolver at me as I hit the ground painfully. I rolled sharply to one side just as the dirt exploded in the spot where I had been.

I stood and charged at him with the knife before he could fire again. But with frightening ease, he caught me and spun me against him, holding my body and my wrists in a vice grip. Before I could take another breath, he had taken my knife and placed it against my throat.

I struggled, but he held me too tight.

"It has come to this. This." He pressed the knife harder.

He seemed calm, calm even though I had killed the others, calm even though he was about to kill me now.

"You've created quite a mess for me, Abbie. Ruined so much of what I have worked for four hundred years to build. They are gone now."

It was a cool reproach, yet stern and controlled as if he lectured a child.

"You know, Abbie," he whispered softly, soothingly, in my ear, "I thought Caroline Westfield was extraordinary, that she wanted to do extraordinary things. But she disappointed me and turned out to be sadly ordinary."

"You ... "

"Hush, Abbie."

In that moment, I felt overwhelming panic. He had immobilized all of my limbs, had me locked against his body. I had come so close to surviving, to saving William and Simon. If I died now, they would both die, very soon, in the fire.

I almost choked as the vision washed over me. Julian Bartlett's touch, my emotions, must have triggered it. I saw my mother's face, as she stood in front of the Conclave in that meeting room-the same room where I had been. I saw the sharpness in her expression, her defiance. She had just refused the elixir.

The vision, a split-second lightning flash, left.

Mother's face had done it. I had to finish this.

With a crazed burst of energy, I threw Bartlett off me, s.n.a.t.c.hed the knife from him, and kicked him to the ground. I had knocked the wind out of him, but nonetheless, I placed my boot hard on his chest.

"No, Julian. Mother was extraordinary. You, on the other hand-"

I cut his throat.

"-Are just too old."

He died without another word, those unfathomable eyes finally lifeless.

When I reached the drawing room again, smoke had already poured down the stairs and through most of the first floor. It was hot, difficult to see. The smoke burned my nostrils, my throat. My fears rose for Simon and William. Covering my nose and mouth with one hand, I crouched low and hurried through the drawing room, careful as I stepped around Robert Buck's body.

The floor creaked above me. It could collapse at any moment. The fire had spread so quickly, and Montgomery Street was so empty, the house would likely be burnt to the ground by the time the fire department arrived.

I reached the large doors to the ritual room and pulled away the first bolt. My hand trembled as I tried five different keys in the lock. None worked. After ducking to the floor to gulp fresh air again, I stood, tried the next key, and thanked the G.o.ds of luck that it worked.

As I burst through the doors, I saw that although the room was smoky, the doors had sealed away most of it.

"Abbie!" William yelled. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, you're alive! I heard the gunfire, the yelling. Then the smoke came."

Smoke was now filling the room.

"I have the keys, but dammit, I have no idea which one-"

I screamed when I heard a ceiling collapse somewhere on the first floor.

"One of the keys is a bit shorter than the others, with a small notch on the top," Simon said coolly. "That's the one to the cuffs."

I found it.

"Thank you, Simon, you're amazing as always." I unlocked the cuffs.

"Hurry! Hurry !" I yelled, although I hardly had to say that. William grabbed me, pulling me hard out the doors, Simon just behind us.

The heat was unbearable now. My eyes burned, watered. I tasted ash. Fortunately, once we made it to the hallway, the front doors were immediately in front of us.

We broke through them, into the embrace of the early morning air.

Twenty-seven.

T.

he house burned quickly, to ashes, after we left. Because of the fast-moving flames, and because of the isolation of the street, the fire department in fact did not arrive until it was leveled. Simon, William, and I watched from the distance, just to make certain. In the end, even the hothouse was no more.

It was almost three o'clock in the morning, and still very dark, when we arrived at Christina's house. She had returned from New Hospital already, and we found her sitting in her parlor, Hugo at her feet. She was pale, ghost-white in fact, and I saw her hand tremble as she raised her steaming teacup to her lips.

"He was here. Wasn't he?" she asked.

I sat beside her on the sofa while William and Simon sat across the room.

I nodded.

"I just arrived and found her in the bed." Christina wiped a tear away from her eye. "She has no living family. No friends but us. We can bury her on our plot."

None of us said anything for quite a while. Then she finally looked up, focusing on us for the first time. I knew we looked a sight. All three of us had torn clothes; we were dirty, covered in ashes. The front of my dress had come open again, and I saw, in the firelight of Christina's parlor, that I had dried blood smeared across my dress and on my hands from the killings.

"How very rude of me," she said shakily, standing up. "You all look terrible and exhausted."

After she brought us tea, she expressed her regrets.

"I never really believed Gabriel's story of the Conclave. I should have said something when you began working at the hospital, William. But truly, I thought it was nonsense. You have been in such danger."

We immediately told her all that had happened. How they were all dead now except for Max. How, except for him, all evidence of the Conclave was now destroyed.

"And Polidori's papers?" Christina asked.

"Robert Buck took them from me just as he and John kidnapped us at gunpoint. I'm sure they burned with the rest of the house," William said.

"Mary and Scribby?" I asked him quickly. "Were you able to find them?"

William nodded. "Easily. I actually found them returning from somewhere, only blocks from Miller's Court. Max would have killed them, too, if they had come back any earlier. I convinced Scribby that he did not need to see the mutilated body of his sister; they should be on their way back to Ireland. They have a lot of unanswered questions for us, of course. But I convinced them to leave immediately-that Mary's life depended upon it."

I shuddered. The mess in that bed would be forever burned into my mind.

"And what about Max?" Christina asked.

"He told me that he had business to deal with." I told them about how the jellyfish aquarium had been on wheels, how of all the animals and birds were gone from the hothouse.

"They might have planned on moving abroad again," Christina suggested. "That was one of the ways they apparently kept their immortality secret. They've been in London now several decades without aging. It would have been about time to move on."

"I think it's likely that Max has left London, taking the animals somewhere," Simon said. "But when he hears about the loss of the elixir, of the deaths of the rest of the Conclave, he will be furious."

"But he's free. The Conclave is gone. He doesn't have to work for them anymore," William pointed out. "There's a chance he might move on, leave us alone."

"You're being naive, William. You're forgetting the minor detail of the elixir." Simon spoke irritably. "He hadn't had his ritual yet. He needs it every year to maintain his immortality. We just robbed him of that."

Simon was right.

"We don't know when Max might be back," I said quickly. "We'll have to stay on alert. And when he comes back, we'll deal with him. But I'm not going to live in fear."

"Neither am I," Christina said. "He might be back tomorrow. He might be back next year. We'll be prepared, but life has to go on."

She took another sip of tea, and I saw the quick glance she s.n.a.t.c.hed at the Polidori portrait. We sat in silence for several minutes, a heaviness weighting the air.

Christina lent me a dress and I cleaned up in preparation for returning to Kensington. There was no way I could return to Grandmother's with my dress torn open and blood smears everywhere. I dreaded the upcoming weeks with Grandmother; that morning, especially, new arguments over my plans to attend medical school and William and Christina's continuing presence in my life were battles that I did not feel like having. They would be best saved for after I had had at least a full night's sleep.

While Simon readied the carriage for us and Christina had Perdita's body taken away, I had a single stolen moment with William. As soon as we were alone in the parlor, I embraced him.

I was shocked when he pulled away.

"What happened between you and Simon in my absence?" he demanded.

At first I thought he was joking; then, I saw from the angry shine in his eyes that he was not.

I couldn't lie. "It doesn't matter. I had made you no promises."

Then I felt angry. Annoyed that after everything we had been through in the last day and night, this was his concern.

We stood for a few minutes in angry silence, alone in the parlor in front of the Polidori portrait. I felt frighteningly, deeply in love. But the realization that love was faulty smacked me hard. I knew Mother had loved me, but our relationship had had so many cracks, so many mysteries. Grandmother loved me, but she was still fierce, controlling. Annoying, in fact.

Why did I expect William to be flawless?

Still, I didn't have to tolerate his absurdities.

I sighed and shrugged, turning to leave the parlor.

But then he pulled me back, s.n.a.t.c.hed me to him. Kissed me. With his jealousy still present, the kiss was possessive as well as pa.s.sionate. All thunder and sharpness. And there, in Christina's parlor, amidst the faint odor of must and bird feathers, I embraced him back and eagerly returned the kiss.

"Abbie!" Grandmother shrieked angrily as Richard let Simon and me into the house. From the front hall, I saw breakfast still laid out in the dining room, only half-eaten. Amidst Grandmother's cries that I was "selfish," "rude," and "improper" for putting her through so much following a funeral, I felt my stomach growl and my mouth water at the smell of hot bread and bacon. My hunger nearly overwhelmed me in that moment. As I kept my eyes on Grandmother, I tried to ignore a small exchange between Simon and Richard-Simon silently pushed some banknotes into Richard's hand; Richard pushed Simon's hand and the money away and shook his head. My curiosity about Richard rose a bit. I would have to ask Simon about him later.

Meanwhile, Grandmother was still lecturing me so sharply that my ears rang. After the previous night, I had no fight left, so I merely continued with the apologies. Then I felt myself flush in frustration when Ellen arrived on the staircase landing to watch the scene.

It was only after his odd exchange with Richard that Simon finally stepped in, speaking to Grandmother in his most graceful voice. "It was an emergency, Lady Westfield. As I told you last evening, they were short-staffed and Christina was desperate for help. Abbie's generosity saved us last night, possibly saved patients' lives."

Grandmother could never resist Simon, and I felt myself smile. Simon was a smooth liar for a priest.

"Well ... " She stammered for a minute, obviously embarra.s.sed at her earlier rage. In spite of everything, I wasn't angry. The "mugger" attack upon me several weeks ago, and now Mariah's death and funeral, had been difficult for her. In spite of Simon's contrived excuse for my absence, I knew that she had dire fear of me being too far away from her. I was all she had left in the world.

With great effort, Grandmother forced herself into a more composed and polite state. "Simon, you must stay for breakfast. I insist."

He stayed. I had never appreciated a morning in Kensington so much. And I ate like a ravenous beast.

I went to bed early, in the afternoon in fact. The moment I got back to my room, I thought of my mother. I had experienced such complex feelings for her: Loyalty for her in the face of the Conclave. Frustration, anger even, that she had not prepared me to confront her past in London. She had known that Max would come for her one day, that the Conclave would likely draw me to them. Why had she not said anything? But as I lay there in bed, I thought long and hard about what she could have done. What she could have said that would have helped me, prepared me more for the Conclave. I had no answer.

I fell asleep quickly, and slept soundly and without nightmares. Still, at some point, I dreamt about a real occurrence from the summer I turned sixteen. It had been one of the hottest and driest Dublin summers ever; the entire summer, I had felt sweaty and sticky. In the dream, dust swirled through the street and I felt a coat of grit in my teeth and hair.

Surrounded by a crowd of youth, I was in an alley, knife-throwing at our wooden targets. I felt the handle, the blade. It was the last round of our compet.i.tion-if I made this shot, I won. I focused, inhaled. Every other noise from the alley, from the street, sank to nothingness in my head. I had practiced at home, practiced even in this alley, until calluses formed on my right palm.

The sling, the hit. And then I realized that I had hit the target. I had won. This was the last round in our compet.i.tion, and out of everyone, I had won. I felt elated. There was no real reward, other than added respect from my hard-to-win Dublin friends. But it was a great triumph for me. After the praise ceased and the hits on the back stopped, as the crowd dispersed and everyone went back to their parents' houses, I retrieved my knife and turned to leave the alley.

I saw Mother standing at the alley entrance.

The dusty, sun-streaked air made her appear hazy at first, and then clearer. She wore the prim governess dress that never quite seemed to suit her. A dark cloud cut through the sky above, shadowing her face as we stared at each other. I feared she was angry at me. I was late returning.

But an odd flash of contentment, then splendid approval, washed over her face.

"Time to go home, Abbie," was all that she said.

As I woke up, in the periwinkle glow of dawn, I knew Mother had done what was best-she had left me alone. The education she had given me was all that I needed before my return to London and subsequent fall into unknown waters. She had taught me to think critically and to be open to new ideas. The Conclave was like nothing I could expect or imagine, and my survival depended upon my learning and adapting along the way.

This wave of understanding washed over me, and I felt peaceful. Soon I fell back asleep and did not wake up until late morning.