He stood just inside the doorway between the incinerator and the skeleton corridor, giving me time to think. I needed to come up with a plan. And it needed to happen this instant. I knew the door in the room I’d woken up in was locked. There was no getting out of there. If he cornered me in that space… I refused to think in those terms. I was not prey, but predator.

“A devil mask is a bit theatrical,” I said, surprised to hear how smooth and unafraid my voice sounded. He canted his head to one side, seeming as surprised by my statement as I was. “I didn’t think you’d enjoy such things. But then I recalled your letters to Scotland Yard. You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic. The devil… I suppose I understand in theory why you chose it, but it seems a bit contrived.”

My taunt worked as well as I’d hoped it would. I’d been playing this game with Jack for too long now. He might believe he knew me, but I’d gotten well acquainted with him, too. His vanity would be his undoing. I was counting on it. If I could get him to talk about himself and his crimes, it might give me an opening to spring my own trap.

A skeleton that hadn’t yet been strung together lay in a heap near the door to the incinerator. If I could trick him back into that room, I could secure him inside by wedging the femur in the handle. It would purchase me time to work the grate off the wall. Then I could flee without him capturing me and making me into his latest prize.

“Is the concept of a devil truly far-fetched?” His voice was another part of his deception. It sounded pleasant. Charming. His conversational tone was meant to be disarming, and if I hadn’t known who he was, I, too, might have fallen for his façade. I’d learned, though, that fallen angels were beautiful creatures. Mephistopheles had reminded me to be wary of them. “You of all people should know that darkness walks among us. Satan might be a fantastical legend meant to frighten, but aren’t his acts real?”

“No,” I said. “Men are monsters who use fantasy to ease their minds. They find it easy to blame their actions on good and evil. It’s much harder to face the truth—that you enjoy the pain and fear you inflict, for no other purpose than your own wicked pleasure.”

“We are all wicked. More than flesh and blood, our very souls harbor evil. Don’t you see it in the bodies you carve? In the choices people make? The man who beats his wife is as terrible as the person spreading lies out of spite.”

I must have a made a disgusted noise, because he paused.

“No?” he asked. “Who sets the scales for what’s more evil? Why is physical violence deemed terrible, yet an assault on one’s mind or emotions less so? What of the person wounding you with their words? What of their desire to watch you bleed tears? They, too, guzzle your pain. Their hearts beat with hate. They gain pleasure by spreading their noxious negativity.” He shook his head. “Hatred. Jealousy. Vengeance. Evil is all around, Miss Wadsworth. There’s a devil in us all as much as an angel. Right now, which one is speaking to you?”

He glanced at the blade I slowly held up, no doubt recognizing the determination coursing through me. I hoped he might step backward. He knew I’d seize upon any opportunity to kill him. And how sweet that justice would be—having a woman use the very blade he’d slain so many other women with to end his cursed existence.

He didn’t move. And now I’d revealed my hand.

“Is your evil dressed up in righteous indignation?” he asked, taking a small step forward. “Do you walk that morally gray line of what’s ‘good’? If you thrust your blade in my heart, what lie will you tell yourself at night, what story will you spin, casting yourself as the hero?”

For a moment, my resolve faltered. I bit the inside of my cheek, regaining my senses. “By taking one life, how many others might be saved? How many have you murdered in this castle of horror alone?” I didn’t take my attention from him, but I motioned at the skeletons clattering around like a morbid audience. “One hundred? Two? How many more will you collect and kill and maim to satisfy your wretched hunger?”

He smiled. It was the sort of angelic look that convinced countless women to trust him, never remembering Lucifer had once been an angel, too. He prowled closer, yet was careful to stay out of reach. Here was one man who remembered my claws were also things to be feared.

My grip tightened on my found blade, which only seemed to delight him more. Thomas had been correct—he’d coveted me. He’d been savoring the idea of this encounter for months. He wanted to draw this out for as long as he could before his knives tasted my blood.

“You, my dear, may be more of a villain than I am. I accept my horns; I know the blackness in my soul. I was born with the devil in me. But so were you, Miss Wadsworth.”

“I do not believe in such nonsense as Heaven and Hell.”

“But you do fear your darkness.” I cringed and he smiled knowingly. “I recognized it in you the moment I first saw you. I wanted to help you, you know. Unleash the potential I knew was writhing in your soul. It was difficult, holding myself back.”

He was a cat batting a mouse around before it snapped its neck. I would not be toyed with. I lifted my blade, hand steady. “We’ve only just met in Chicago.”

“Have we?”

He shifted, his devil mask catching the light. Here, outside of the incinerator room, I saw it had been dusted with gold. It looked like metallic flames danced across his flesh. No matter how hard I tried, I could not contain the shiver that vibrated through me.

“Or did I first make your acquaintance in a London alley?” he asked. “For a moment, I was certain you’d seen me, lurking in the shadows we both love. You remember, don’t you? The finger of trepidation that slid down your spine, the shiver despite the summer heat.”

“You’re lying.” I glanced around the room, noticing a thick door I hadn’t spotted before, propped open on one side. It appeared to be a vault. It would take maneuvering, but if I could lead him to it, it might be even better to lock him in there than in the incinerating room. I’d have to weave through the hanging skeletons, though. I took a careful step back, my shoulder brushing into someone’s limb, and hoped he’d mirror my action.

He prowled in the opposite direction, stepping between the row of skeletons farthest from me. I’d not succeed in tricking him into a corner. He was an unsparing predator—a murderer with untold skill. If I was to beat him, I’d need to be more cunning, more ruthless.

I’d need to become bait before I raked my claws over his throat.

“I wanted to follow you home that night. Your brother…” He shrugged. “Let’s just say he wasn’t keen on the idea of you and I meeting. That’s why he sent you home with that annoying companion of his.” A smile flickered across his lips. “I don’t believe he ever fully trusted me. Wise of him. I hardly trust myself. I have these urges, you see. They’re like feral creatures. Do you know what it’s like, having something wild and untamed writhe about within you? To hunger for things that other men tremble from?”

His hands fisted at his sides as if he were fighting off the unholy transformation this very moment. I swallowed hard, my sense of flight taking over. If I did not strike out at him, I would not leave this murder castle alive.

“I yearn for blood the way most men yearn for wine and women. When I lie down at night, I imagine the ecstasy of witnessing life leave a person’s eyes. Being the one who decides who lives and dies is the most intoxicating feeling.”

His lids fluttered shut and he tilted his head back as if in the throes of passion. A moan escaped him, and the sound made me freeze. My heart urged me to run, but my mind commanded me to hold my position. I thought of predators in the animal kingdom, how whether hungry or not, if a creature ran from them, their hunting instincts took over.

For this hunter, my fear was his favorite perfume. He was doing all that he could to make me afraid. He needed my terror. And I would keep it from him out of spite.

“You see, I feel so very little. I often wonder if I am human at all.”

His gaze followed my slow procession, calculating and adjusting himself so I was never completely out of his reach. Though I was careful to not bump into the skeletons, the movement of my body was enough to disturb the space around them. Bones knocked together like macabre chimes. I gritted my teeth, refusing to be disturbed.

“Should I plunge my knife through your chest this moment, Miss Wadsworth, I’d feel nothing aside from pleasure, watching you bleed out. It’s an incredible sensation—so at odds with itself. The warmth of blood flowing as the body cools. The flame of life being snuffed out by death. It’s all so short-lived, though. The satisfaction never remains for long before hunger strikes again.”

“Is that why you killed so many so quickly in London?” I asked, hoping he’d admit his role as Jack the Ripper. I needed to hear him confirm it. “You strangled them and then carved them open, why?”

He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing behind his mask. I wondered if he was growing bored of entertaining me. He was still shadowing my movements, like we were two magnets rotating around a small circle. Soon he’d be near the vault. Though I was now closer to the incinerator again. I’d have to be quick to reach him before he got too far from there.

“Well?” I asked, letting impatience slip into my tone. “Why did you kill those women one way and begin murdering others here differently?”

“Oh, I’ve found the method of killing isn’t what excites me. It’s death. Whether I strangle someone or flay them open, exposing their innermost secrets, or watch as they slowly asphyxiate behind a closed door, it’s their pain, their inability to conquer death, that thrills me.” He pushed past a skeleton, not nearly as careful as I was while weaving through them. “I wanted to be enthralled by the thought of using body parts to conquer death and reanimate them, but I couldn’t. It was your brother’s dream, not mine.”