"From you or from Finch?" I snapped.
"Both of us! Damn it, don't you see?" He rubbed both his hands through his hair then drew them together at his chest, as if he were praying, or pleading. "What happened at my parents' house should have warned you that you need to stay away. It was dangerous for you there and Whitechapel will be ten times worse. Finch will be expecting us now and I...." He swallowed hard. It was dim in the cabin but the shadows around his eyes were darker than they should have been on a ghost. "I can't...be sure how I'll react."
I felt the heaviness of his words on my shoulders, my limbs, my heart. They dragged me down until I thought I'd fall through the floor onto the road below. "I'm going with you, Jacob," I said through my tight throat.
His body shuddered and he wrapped his arms around himself. "Please, Emily," he whispered, "I need you to stay away. Don't put me through that again."
"Through what?" I slipped closer along the seat and reached for him but he shrank back as if my touch would burn. I clasped my hands together to stop them shaking and tried to look as if his rejection hadn't shattered me. "I have to come, Jacob." The steadiness of my voice surprised me. I thought it would be as broken as I felt inside. "I'm the only one who knows the curse to send the demon back. You'll be too busy fighting the demon to snatch the amulet from Finch and George...well, I'm afraid George may not be all that helpful when the crucial moment arrives."
He turned to the window and stared out to the darkness beyond. He seemed calm, still, his shoulders relaxed, his profile smooth.
But then he let out a loud roar. The muscles in his cheek and jaw knotted, his hands clenched and he slammed a fist into the cushioned seat between us. If it had been made of wood or glass, he would have shattered it. I jumped and shrank back.
And then he disappeared.
I pressed a hand to my racing heart and sank into the seat. At least he'd given up trying to make me go home.
I was still thinking about Jacob's outburst when the carriage rolled to a stop. It tilted as George jumped down and opened the door for me. He juggled the pistol and lamp in one hand and helped me out with the other.
"All right, Weston?" he said to the driver.
Weston nodded grimly from his position on the box. Metal gleamed on his lap. Another pistol.