I know who you are.
The words thudded in my consciousness. Who was I? I was Stefan Salvatore once. Damon knew that. So did whoever wrote the message on the wal . But who else?
He was a drunk. Let it go, I commanded myself as I hastily picked my way out of the park and toward the hotel, stopping along the way to purchase tickets for a musical burlesque at the Gaiety Theatre. I'd gotten two box tickets, each one costing more than a week's pay. But I'd compel ed them from the bewildered man at the box office, justifying it by reminding myself it would al be worth it if the play led to us finding Cora.
With the tickets in my breast pocket, I whistled to myself as I headed back into the hotel.
Violet jumped up as soon as I opened the door.
"How was your day?" she asked, sounding anxious and tired. "Did you find Cora?"
"I spoke to Alfred, and you don't have to worry about your job. And I think I know where we can find Cora," I said slowly, belying my own excitement. The last thing I wanted to do was give Violet false hope.
"Real y? Where? How?" Violet clapped her hands together. "Oh, Stefan, you're wonderful!"
"I'm not," I said gruffly. "And I don't know for a fact, but I think she might have met a producer from the Gaiety Theatre." I briefly explained my conversation with Eliza, although I left out the part about the man with the accent. But in Violet's mind, Cora was as good as found.
"Real y?" Violet beamed. "Why, no wonder she wouldn't have said anything! Because, see, Alfred would have gotten jealous. And if he'd known she'd left her job, he wouldn't al ow her back. So maybe Cora was just waiting until she got the theater job before she came to col ect me. That makes sense, doesn't it?"
"I suppose so," I said slowly. Violet's cheeks were red and she was striding back and forth across the room. She was excited and agitated, and I wanted to believe the story she'd spun. It could be true. But no good could come of us both pacing like caged animals in the hotel room. We had a few hours before the show, and Violet was stil clad in her stained pinafore from last night.
"Let's go shopping," I decided, standing up and making my way to the door.
"Real y?" Violet wrinkled her nose. "Of course I want to, but I've no money . . ."
"I have a little bit saved. Please, it's the least I can do after everything that happened last night." Violet hesitated, then nodded, accepting my help. "Thank you!" she said. "I can't wait to see Cora. She won't believe that I had my own adventure. Why, I think she might be jealous," she continued giddily. I started to relax.
After al , I could play Violet's what if game, too. I could pretend the drunk outside the tavern had been hal ucinating and had mistaken me for his long-lost cousin. I could pretend I was a human.
And that's where the game ended. Because I wasn't, and as much as I wanted to believe it, none of the rest was true either.
"We should go before the store closes," I said awkwardly. What was I doing? Why did I care whether this girl or her sister lived or died? Stefan Pine would go back to Ivinghoe and wake up tomorrow to milk the cows. Stefan Pine would stop reading the London papers. And Stefan Pine wouldn't be taking a girl from the gutter and buying her a dress to make up for the fact that his brother was most likely drinking her sister's blood.
But I wasn't Stefan Pine. I was Stefan Salvatore, and I was in too deep to leave. Together, we strode out into the dark afternoon. I raised my hand to fetch a coach.
Immediately, a coach pul ed up to us. "Where to?" a driver asked, tipping his hat.
"Where can we go to get a dress?" I asked boldly.
"I'd bring you over to Hyde Park. Harrods."
"Real y?" Violet clapped her hands in delight at the mention of the name. "That's where everyone classy shops! I read about it. I've heard even Lil ie Langtry goes there!"
"Let's go," I said grandly. I had no idea what Violet was saying, but al I cared about was that she seemed happy.
We took off through the streets of London. Compared to Whitechapel, this part of the city was lovely. The streets were wide, wel -dressed men and women were walking arm in arm on the sidewalk, and even the pigeons seemed clean and wel -behaved. Violet looked back and forth, as if unable to decide where to direct her focus.
Final y, the driver pul ed up at an imposing marble building. "Here you are!" I paused. Should I compel my way into not paying for the ride?
"Thank you!" Violet hooked her arm in mine as she hopped out of the coach. The opportunity to compel was lost and I felt through my pockets, pul ing out a few shil ings and handing them to the driver.
He drove away, and Violet and I stepped through the doorway into a vaulted hal way fil ed with the competing scents of perfume and foods. The marble floors were so polished I could see our reflection when we gazed down. Everyone spoke in a slightly raised whisper, as if we were in a church. And indeed, it seemed like a holy place.
Violet sighed in ecstasy. "It sounds like a sin, but when I was little, our priest asked us to imagine heaven. I always thought it would look like this.
Everything shiny and new," she said, echoing my thoughts as we walked through the winding aisles of the department store. A section sel ing stationery gave way to one sel ing toys, which opened into a massive food hal . It was as if anything anyone could imagine was under one roof.
Final y, we reached the back of the store. Dresses of al colors were hanging on racks, and women were mil ing around the displays as if they were at a cocktail party. Saleswomen were standing behind glass cases, ready to help customers.
"You can have anything you want," I said, splaying my hands as if to show her the extent of the wares.
But Violet seemed sad. "I wish Cora were here. She would love it."
"We'l find Cora," I said firmly.
"May I help you?" a woman in a dark black dress asked, gliding up to us.
"We need a gown," I said, nodding toward Violet.
"Of course," the woman said. She gave Violet a glance from head to toe, but refrained from saying anything about her shabby clothes. Instead, she smiled.
"We have some things that wil do very wel . Come with me," she said, motioning for Violet to join her.
She turned toward me. "You stay here. When I'm through with her, you won't even recognize her." For a second, I paused. I didn't want to let Violet out of my sight. Then I laughed to myself. I was being paranoid. We were in the finest department store in the world. It wasn't as if the saleswoman would hurt her.
"Al right, then?" The saleswoman arched her black eyebrow as if sensing my discomfort.
"Of course," I said. I settled onto a plush peach-colored settee and glanced around. I felt like Whitechapel was in a different country. Could it be possible just to stay on this side of the town and forget about the murderer? I wanted to, badly.
"Stefan?"
I glanced up and gasped. Violet was clad in an emerald-green dress that accentuated her smal waist and red hair. Even though her face was stil drawn and there were dark shadows under her large eyes, she looked beautiful.
"What do you think?" she asked shyly, twirling in the mirror.
"She's lovely, isn't she?" the saleswoman murmured. "We tried two others as wel , and your wife looks equal y exquisite in al of them."
"She's not . . . yes," I said simply. It was so much easier to lie. "We'l take this dress. We'l take al of them," I said, pul ing her aside to compel her to give us the purchases for free. The expression in Violet's eyes was worth it.
Instead of taking a coach back to the hotel, we walked. Every so often, I caught her stealing glances of herself in the windows, twisting the skirts of her new emerald-green dress. It was nice that I could make someone happy.
"I fear I won't be able to repay you," Violet said at one point.
"No need." I shook my head. "Your friendship is repayment enough."
"Thank you. But I feel like I'm not being a good friend. Al I do is talk about myself. I only know your name, and that you're from America. Are you a businessman?"