I'll Be Damned Read online

  My feet stumble. Thankfully, Lizzie catches me before I fall. “But to what end?”

  “He must know who I am,” I say. My words run together like popcorn on a string at Christmas. “He must know I’m the Harker. And he’s protecting someone.” Or something.

  I am not entirely sure beyond that.

  “Let’s get ye ‘ome,” Lizzie says in a bad imitation of a Cockney accent.

  My laugh turns into a grimace before I can help it.

  2

  Hazel

  Mrs. Hudson throws open the door before Lizzie takes me up the steps to my family’s home on Baker Street.

  “Hazel Harker!” she cries, her hands flying to her mouth in horror at my sad state. “What on earth?”

  “She was injured, Mrs. Hudson,” Lizzie says. “Attacked, and then her attacker ran before I could catch him.”

  Mrs. Hudson inspects my shoulder, and I hiss in pain. The effects of the anesthetic have worn off a slight bit, but I’m still in a mental fog as dense as that on the Thames. She clucks her tongue in disapproval. “Really, Hazel, you should be more careful.”

  I give her a grim smile. “I will try, Mrs. Hudson.”

  “After what happened to your sister…” Mrs. Hudson’s voice trails off and I see her stricken expression. She smoothes the front of her apron while regaining her composure. “Well, you either have to be careful, Hazel, or maybe you should give up your nightly follies.”

  There would be no chance of that. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t give up my place as the Harker. There are too many vampires and would-be victims in London for me to quit. Catherine wouldn’t give up on them. Neither can I.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I lie, suddenly wanting nothing more than to curl up in my own bed and fall asleep. I feel heavy, like I need to sleep for a thousand years.

  I cry out as Mrs. Hudson slips underneath my hurt shoulder to help me up the steps. That is one thing about Mrs. Hudson: she will do anything to help me when I need it. Even if it hurts.

  “Mister Harker!” she roars as we enter the foyer of my home. “Mister Harker, your daughter needs you!”

  For a moment, nothing happens. Then the door to my father’s workshop opens, and Papa comes out with a cloud of smoke following behind him. His face is covered in soot, including the goggles that he wears to do his tinkering. He wipes his hands on his leather apron as his goggled gaze turns toward me.

  “Hazel?” he exclaims. He removes the goggles from around his eyes and puts them on top of his head. ”What happened to you?”

  “Got careless, Papa,” I say weakly. I feel as though there is a chasm between us that has been growing ever since Catherine died. Whenever Catherine came back injured from her hunts, Papa would be out front to meet her and to take care of her.

  Here, he stands away from me at arm’s length. I know that he blames me for her death. Feels that I could have prevented it.

  So do I.

  Now I feel the distance between us as much as this injury in my shoulder. It hurts like hell.

  “She got run through by a man with a sword,” Lizzie explains. “I got her home as quick as possible.”

  “Rather unfortunate,” Papa says, but he doesn’t move.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Mrs. Hudson huffs. “Come help, Mister Harker, before Hazel faints.”

  At her words, I realize that I am indeed close to fainting. The world is tilting on an unnatural axis right now.

  Mrs. Hudson’s words cut through Papa’s stoicism, and he starts to move to help me. And for a moment, there is a look of concern on his face as he reaches out for me. Like old times, when he saw me as his daughter and not as a failure.

  “Oh my! Hazel!” I glance over to the top of the stairs, where my younger sister, Margaret, stands in her nightgown, holding the neckline closed with one hand while she holds a candle with the other. Even in the dimmer light upstairs, I can see the concern on her face. She pads down the stairs, and I think she would have thrown her arms about me if not for Mrs. Hudson’s stern glance. “Hazel, what happened to you?”

  “She got acquainted with a sword,” Lizzie says blithely.

  Margaret, sweet Margaret, gives us a shocked expression. “A sword? Vampires carry swords now?”

  Being the third daughter in the Harker family, she hasn’t been as exposed to vampire hunting as Catherine or me. In fact, among the four of us—Catherine, me, Thomas, and Margaret—my little sister has had the least amount of training. Even Thomas has had more training, but he could never be the Harker, as he’s a man. Even if he were the last of our line, he would never get the powers or the gift that comes from being the Harker and he wouldn’t pass it on to his own daughters.

  “He wasn’t a vampire,” I say through gritted teeth. “Just a human with a bit of steel.”

  Margaret stares at me. “Why would a human do such a thing?”

  “There are many, many dangerous people out there,” I tell her. “Not only vampires.” I grimace as everyone tries to help me upstairs to my bedroom. “Sometimes humans are more monstrous than vampires.”

  Not all vampires, though. I think about the Whitechapel Murderer who has ripped bodies apart in a violent fashion the likes of which I’ve never seen before. The Whitechapel Murderer isn’t a human.

  He’s the vampire that killed Catherine. And I haven’t been able to kill him yet.

  Our room is small, dark, and cramped, and I can’t help but worry about bloodying the sheets as Lizzie and Mrs. Hudson help me onto my bed. Margaret rushes to the washroom to get some towels and supplies to dress my shoulder.

  “Papa,” Margaret says, glancing at our father, “you should step out. Can you bring up some of your potions from the workshop?”

  Papa hesitates a little longer in the doorway before giving a curt nod and leaving. I feel a pang in my chest at his departure. He didn’t say anything about hoping I get well. Or even getting angry at me for being so careless.

  Any emotion from my father other than his impassive demeanor toward me. I would give anything for that.

  “You’ve gone and ruined your dress, Hazel,” Mrs. Hudson chides as she peels me out of my clothes and the strips that Lizzie used to wrap my shoulder, leaving my shoulders bare.

  “That’s not all she ruined,” Lizzie murmurs, and the entire room lets out a collective gasp at the wound in my shoulder.

  “This went all the way through,” Margaret says. She dips a washcloth into a bowl of water before dabbing it against my skin to clean the wound. “It must hurt.”

  “Yes,” I say. I close my eyes as I hiss at the pain that runs through my body. “At least it’s only a flesh wound.”

  Margaret scoffs at my understatement.

  “Next time, it could be more.” Lizzie produces a bottle of ointment from her satchel. “Margaret, be sure to rub this in.”

  My sister takes it from her, removes the stopper, and makes a face at the smell. “Oh, that’s foul.”

  Lizzie scoffs. “No one ever claimed that the art of healing smells like roses. Just use it.”

  Margaret presses some onto my shoulder, and I grimace at the sting from the ointment on the wound. “Sorry.”

  The next half-hour is spent cleaning and dressing my wound. Margaret works quickly and efficiently, her hands that are so talented with tinkering are just as agile with stitching wounds close. By the time my shoulder is wrapped, sleep grabs at the edges of my consciousness.

  “Lizzie, dear,” Mrs. Hudson fusses as she links her arm through my cousin’s, “I believe it is time for you to go home. Hazel looks like she is just about to fall asleep.”

  Lizzie stops for just a moment before throwing her arms around me, and I let out a little cry at the abrupt contact. She doesn’t seem to notice the pain that it causes me before she ducks out of my room.

  Mrs. Hudson leads her out the door and down the stairs, and the door shuts behind her, leaving Margaret and me alone in our room. It isn’t until now that I realize how much I want t
o have some peace and quiet.

  Margaret senses my relief.

  “You should rest, Hazel,” she says as she is silhouetted against the dim lamplight.

  “You should as well,” I murmur sleepily. I lay my head on my pillow. “What time is it anyway?”

  “Long past bedtime.”

  I let out a low laugh. “There are no bedtimes for the Harkers. You should know that.”

  “Well,” she says with a sigh as she sits on the edge of her own bed, “I was asleep until you came home, half alive from your hunt.”

  “Apologies,” I say, on the edge of sleep.

  Yet then, Margaret says something that rocks me out of my descent into sleep. “I may not be a Harker much longer.”

  I open my eyes and stare at her. “What?”

  She’s smiling at me, positively radiant. “You know Mister Holmes?”

  I give a slow nod, processing this turn of events. “Yes, I do.”

  Margaret pulls her covers back and slips into her bed and turns on her side to look at me. “He said that he would come calling tomorrow, Hazel. That he has a particular question to ask me.”

  I startle. “Margaret, that’s wonderful news!”

  My little sister is grinning widely, her expression brighter than the lamp in our dim room. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Mister Henry Holmes has been courting Margaret for the past four months with Papa’s approval. In fact, I think that a lot of Margaret recovering from Catherine’s death has been from the attention of Mister Holmes.

  A tinkerer and a widower, Mister Holmes has made his intentions toward Margaret very clear to Papa from the outset. His wife, Adelia, passed away three years ago now, and he has had a respectable time to mourn her. As a tinkerer herself, I can’t think of a better match for Margaret, as he can challenge her intellectually and can provide a good home for her.

  Except, I can’t help but think about Margaret as my little sister. Pure and sweet. She’s my only sibling who has any hope of a caller. Catherine’s dead. Thomas is not interested in having a family, having moved out of the house to deal with his grief in his own...way.

  As for me...well, there’s not much here for any man to care about. After all, at twenty-five, I’m practically considered a spinster and too old to marry. I’d had one gentleman caller, William, when I was younger, but that was a long time ago, and we hadn’t been meant for each other.

  Not only that, I don’t think I can marry knowing what kind of future I’d set forth for my husband. My inevitable early death. Leaving him a widower. I think about Papa and how he’s distanced himself from me. I wouldn’t want that to happen to the husband and children I’d leave behind.

  There’s something comforting knowing that my little sister will be taken care of. Now if only I can assure that she won’t have to carry the Harker legacy once I’m gone.

  I swallow back the lump in my throat. “You’ll say yes?”

  She nods. “It’s a good match, isn’t it? I know he’s older and not the handsome prince of fairy tales, but...I think he’ll be good for me, Hazel.”

  I nod, feeling a weird sense of elation, coupled with sadness. “I think he will, too, Margaret. You deserve every happiness.”

  As she turns off the lamp, I realize that her news has me wide awake, and I lay in bed for a long time later, thinking through everything.

  I may not be as good a Harker as Catherine. But there’s nothing I won’t do to protect my family. We’ve scattered in the wake of our sister’s death, yet I will do what I can to keep them safe.

  Even put my own happiness on hold.

  Because, truly, what happiness is there for the Harker?

  3

  Hazel

  “You cannot be serious,” Lizzie tells me the next day. “Please tell me you are joshing me, Hazel.”

  I keep my injured arm in a sling as I slip on my fencing foil mask over my head to cover my bright red cheeks at my proclamation. I expected her reaction. What I hadn’t expected is my own reaction.

  “I am serious.” I pick up my foil. “En garde.”

  Lizzie shakes her head in disbelief as she puts on her own mask. “But...Hazel…”

  I grit my teeth. I know that my idea will be met with consternation and lectures, yet I spent last night thinking about the ins and outs of my plans. “Êtes-vous prêtes?” I ask, wanting to move forward with our fencing practice. Anything to keep Lizzie from asking more questions and chipping away at my resolve.

  Despite my injury from the night before, I refuse to spend the day in bed. As the Harker, I heal quickly with a preternatural ability, so in a few days, I should be as right as rain. Perhaps a scar where I was stabbed, but my body has many scars, inside and out.

  For now, though, we are in Lizzy’s family’s home practicing our fencing forms and abilities, and I welcome the chance for clearing my head.

  Lizzie assumes her starting position, yet she isn’t done with her questioning. She sighs, “Hazel…”

  “Allez,” I declare, and I lunge forward.

  Fortunately for Lizzie, she is one of the few people who can keep up with me, even in my injured state. She parries my attack, and our swords clash in a blur of steel. We both move in quick, precise movements, and I keep Lizzie on the defensive, not allowing her a moment to ask me any more questions.

  She merely needs to think on it longer, to realize that this is the only way forward for my family. And if fighting her like this keeps her mouth shut, then I can keep this up for as long as she’ll let me.

  I’ve trained in fencing my whole life, as well as Eastern martial arts, archery, swordsmanship, knife-throwing, wrestling—truly any sort of combat that can prepare me for battling vampires.

  It’s Lizzie who gives up first. After a bout that lasts at least fifteen minutes, she finally holds her foil out to the side and allows my foil to touch her jacket.

  “Again,” I pant, dropping into my starting position again. “En garde.”

  “No,” Lizzie says, and she takes off her mask. She’s red in the face and sweaty already. I hadn’t realized that we’d been sparring that long. “No, Hazel, I’m not doing this anymore. Not until you tell me what you are thinking.”

  I look at her for a long moment before sighing and taking off my mask. “Fine. Speak your mind.”

  She stares at me. “You cannot have a child out of wedlock. Not merely to have another person in line for the role of the Harker.”

  Hearing it out loud, it sounds horrible. Yet…

  I heave a great sigh. Apparently, I’m sweaty and out of breath myself. “I’ve been thinking about it, Lizzie. And I do not see any other way around it.”

  “You’re still mourning, Hazel.” Lizzie steps forward, imploring me with her gaze. “You need to allow yourself time before you make any rash decisions.”

  I grin mirthlessly at her. “I’m twenty-five, Lizzie. Soon, no one will be interested in an old maid like me. I scare men away already.”

  Lizzie presses her lips together, because she knows I’m right. While there may still be the odd gentleman who comes calling, I am running out of options.

  “Margaret will be getting engaged soon,” I say. “I can’t, in good conscience, leave the role of the Harker for her and her children.” Both Lizzie and I know that Margaret wouldn’t be able to survive as the Harker. She is of my blood, but she’s not a hunter like Catherine or me. Or even our mother.

  Lizzie knows this. And despite her protests, she knows that Margaret can’t replace the Harker.

  Yet it runs in our blood. And the most able-bodied female in my family will be Harker after me.

  “What about Thomas?” Lizzie asks, searching for another answer. “Thomas can still find a wife. Can still get married. Can still have girls to be the Harker after you.”

  I shake my head. “I doubt that Thomas will be interested in marriage any time soon.”

  Catherine’s death hit my younger brother in a deep, unexpected way. We’ve all been grieving in our o
wn ways, but Thomas is the one who moved out of our house into a room in St. George’s-in-the-East where I suspect that his nightly entertainment is of the opium and prostitute variety.

  A pained look crosses Lizzie’s face. “Surely, there’s another way, Hazel.”

  “I’ve thought long and hard about it,” I explain. “No one wants a wife like me. I will do anything I can to protect my family. All I need to do is find a strong man, who won’t care that he fathered a child, to give me his seed and I’ll train up my daughter to be a better, more prepared Harker. So that when I am killed—” I swallow uncomfortably saying it out loud as an eventuality, “—she can be the Harker instead of anyone on Margaret’s or Thomas’s line. Because they won’t be capable of carrying on the legacy. They simply don’t have the demeanor.”

  “But what would the neighbors say?” Lizzie asks.

  I let out a harsh laugh, thinking about the various families that live near my home. A child out of wedlock. The neighbors will surely talk, and society will shun me. But that has been my reality my whole life.

  “The Middletons have already tried having me committed for hysteria. And I doubt that anything I do will change their perception of me.”

  Everyone around my family always considered me to be a strange woman, outside of societal norms. It’s to be expected since I spend my nights hunting vampires, yet it does hurt that I fall under their scrutiny.

  Lizzie throws her hands up helplessly. “But, what will you do?”

  I smirk. “I plan on visiting the London docks and finding a foreign sailor—someone who will be in another country for the rest of his life—to give me a child.” I suppress a shiver that wants to run its way down my spine.

  Lizzie’s expression falls. “So you’re giving up on...on marriage? On your happiness.”

  I shrug. “I haven’t been happy for a long while, Lizzie. I’ve never been a proper woman. Let me do this and protect Margaret and Thomas. Let me save them.”

  She swallows uncomfortably. “But what about your daughter?”