I staggered forward, then stopped. Ash and soot rained around me, making it almost impossible to breathe. There was so much debris, I couldn’t see more than distant shapes and silhouettes. But I needed to get to that voice—that tether attached to my soul.

“Audrey Rose!” Thomas shouted, running so hard and fast I almost jumped from his path. He broke through the smoke like an avenging angel and scooped me into his arms, tears streaming as he kissed me everywhere. “Are you all right? I thought—if he’d…” I nodded and he clutched me tightly to his chest, his heart pounding against me. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I went mad with fear, imagining all the ways you might have been harmed.” He ran his hands over me, as if convincing himself I was real. “The thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your voice or watching you elbows-deep in viscera—it nearly killed me. If he’d hurt you I would have—”

He would have turned into the monsters we fought.

“You’re alive!” I kissed him, long and deep. I poured each emotion into it, each flutter of longing and passion and apology. Each moment I thought I might never see him again. Never hold him near. Never thread my hands through his hair or feel his body mold itself perfectly against mine. I pulled him closer, and his grip on me tightened as if he might never let me go, so long as I wished to stay.

I heard others join us, but society and propriety and everything else be damned. I didn’t care who saw me kissing the man I loved. Uncle barked orders to the police and Noah, drawing my attention briefly. “Grab Holmes. He’s crawling away.”

Several men—including our friend—rushed to the murderer, who’d fallen to his knees, choking on the smoke. His murder castle was no more. He would never harm another young woman again. I didn’t end his life, but I had ended his life of murder. It was a victory I’d cherish.

Noah glanced over at us and nodded, his expression mirroring the emotions I felt as he helped drag the murderer away.

“Wadsworth?” Thomas touched my face as if he still couldn’t believe I was real. Before I could inquire about anything, his mouth claimed mine once more. We kissed as if our lives began and ended in that embrace. The devil hunted the White City no longer. I’d stopped him.

I held tightly to Thomas, trembling as my actions finally caught up and shock wore off. Or perhaps my shudders were the result of it being winter in Chicago and I was only in a nightgown. Thomas swiftly removed his jacket and placed it around me.

“I almost killed him,” I confessed, my voice breaking. “I almost became the evil we fight against. I…”

Thomas placed his hands on either side of my face, his gaze straying to the gash in my head. I’d forgotten I was covered in my blood and Holmes’s.

“But you didn’t,” Thomas said. “Were I in your position, I’m not sure I’d be able to lay the same claim. You are far stronger than I am, my love. Don’t doubt your actions now.”

I stared into his loving eyes. He was right. I couldn’t dwell on what could have been, on a temporary weakness. In the end, I remembered who I was. I buried my face in his chest, never wanting to leave his side again. “It’s finally over.”

“And you went and had all the fun on your own again,” he said, feigning injury. “It really is quite inconsiderate of you.”

“Not true, dear friend. You had the joy of being poisoned. Not many people can live to tell the tale.”

“We both know you’re the hero.” He grinned. “It actually makes my dark heart race, seeing you take on the world.”

“Are you suggesting you’re impressed?”

“Let’s see, Wadsworth.” Thomas ticked off points on his fingers. “You’ve carved open dozens of bodies from London to Romania to America, been held at gunpoint beneath a castle once owned by Vlad the Impaler, got stabbed while defeating a deranged carnival, and have just captured the White City Devil. All before turning eighteen. I’m downright woozy with want. I beg you to ravish me now before I lose my mind.”

“I love you, Thomas Cresswell.” I kissed him gently. “With my whole heart.”

“Beyond life. Beyond death”—he nuzzled my neck, whispering—“my love for thee is eternal.”

“I adore when you say that.” I smiled against his lips. “Tell me, though. How long have you been practicing it for this moment?”

He nipped at my neck, eyes brimming with mirth. “Not nearly half as long as I’ve been plotting our next adventure, you delightfully cruel thing.”

“Oh?” I raised my brows. “Where shall we adventure to next?”

“Hmmm. There’s the issue of Miss Whitehall we still need to contend with.” He traced the line of my jaw, his expression suddenly serious. “However, I believe that trouble is behind us.”

I tightened my grip on him, feeling the first buds of true hope sprout. “Don’t toy with my emotions, Cresswell! Why do you think it’s over?”

“My father sent an extremely agitated telegram yesterday. Apparently he’d been at the palace, convinced he’d be getting the queen’s blessing for my nuptials with Miss Whitehall, when she wished you and me the best of happiness in our marriage. In front of a roomful of people, no less. So many witnesses. My father could hardly argue.”

My heart near ceased. “The queen did that? How?”

Thomas grinned. “Her telegram requested an audience with my father immediately upon his return to England. It simply said it was regarding the betrothal. He assumed she’d been speaking of Miss Whitehall since she’s the daughter of a marquess. Imagine his surprise when she announced our names in front of court.” He sighed dreamily. “I would’ve paid a large sum to witness the look on his face. He can’t go against the queen. Your grandmother is my new favorite person.”

Excitement turned to worry. “But your inheritance and title…”

Now his grin was that of a cat who’d swallowed a tasty bird whole. “In light of obtaining the queen’s favor, my father has removed all threats from both me and Daciana. He’s even offered me one of our country estates, Blackstone Manor, as a showing of goodwill.”

I stared at him a moment, trying to absorb everything. “How did you manage to solve these issues? I’ve only been gone—”

“For four horrendous days. If the poison wasn’t about to kill me, I swear the thought of losing you was.” He shuddered, then swept me into his arms. “Perhaps we should think of taking a holiday. No murders. No angry families. Just the two of us. And Sir Isaac.”

“Mmm.” I smiled against his lips. “I rather fancy that idea.”

“Where would you like to go next, Miss Wadsworth?”

He placed me back on the ground. The sun gilded the tops of the buildings as it crawled behind them. In the distance I saw the gleaming White City, its magic glittering without darkness at last. If I could go anywhere on earth, there was truly only one place I longed to be in this moment. Somewhere Thomas and I could be alone. Fighting another grin, I turned to him.

“I believe you mentioned something about a country estate. If I recall correctly, you made it sound as if we might send the staff away. Where—”

Thomas swung me into his arms once again before I could finish my sentence. “I was hoping you’d say that, because I cleverly purchased two passages before we left New York. I’d been watching the way you stared at your ring. That determined set to your jaw. You know, that stubborn bit of chin lifting that indicates you’re about to wage war?” Completely unaware of my eye roll, he continued on. “If we hurry, we can make our ship by week’s end.”

“Where, exactly, is the country estate?” I asked, looping my arms around his neck. “England? Romania?”

“That, my dear Wadsworth, is a surprise.”

He’d promised me a lifetime full of them, and it seemed Mr. Thomas Cresswell—the crown fiend and love of my life—delivered on his promises. We’d finally emerged from the darkness that had stalked us all these months. Night no longer held dominion over our souls.

I tipped my head back, closing my eyes against the last rays of the sun, excited for wherever we were headed to next. Like the stars shining madly above, the number of our future adventures was infinite. I had no idea what tomorrow had in store for us, but I knew one thing with utter certainty: no matter what new chapter awaited, Thomas and I would turn that page together.

H. H. Holmes, circa 1880s/Early 1890s

EPILOGUE

CRIME OF THE CENTURY

THOMAS’S FAMILY HOME

BUCHAREST, ROMANIA

ONE YEAR LATER

“H. H. Holmes didn’t confess to the murders in London, though he’s written an account of his crimes at his now-infamous murder castle from prison.” I all but snarled as I read a snippet of his words aloud to Thomas. “‘I was born with the very devil in me. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to song, nor the ambition of an intellectual man to be great. The inclination to murder came to me as naturally as the inspiration to do right comes to the majority of persons.’”

I closed the paper, wishing I could burn it with my fiery gaze. Even after all this time, Holmes still enjoyed the sound of his own voice. No matter that what he was saying was horrid.

“Who allowed him to publish such rubbish?” I tossed the paper on the bed. “He’s earning more now as an inmate than he did with all of his scheming. Don’t they realize they’re giving him everything he’s ever wanted? Fame. Fortune. It’s appalling.”

“His mustache is appalling, or… oh. Am I the only one who loathes the thing?” Thomas dodged the pillow I threw at him. “We could try again to prove his guilt over the Ripper murders, you know. Perhaps he’s not the only one who can write an account of the events that have transpired. Why not publish your own account? Some people might believe it’s fiction, but some people also believe strigoi walk amongst us. Though most know vampires aren’t real, I’m sure a large enough group would believe us. We can keep fighting until we win over the masses.”