What would he do when they were all of them dead?—make a castle of their bones and live in it like some fell king? He sounded, Sam thought, like the Wild Hunt. Only instead of the souls of men, he rode for the souls of monsters.
Before Sam could tell him so, Hel laughed.
“Destroy the Wild Hunt?” Hel said. Sam forced herself to draw in a deep breath. It was dangerous, the way she’d begun to overlook the sound of Van Helsing’s spurs. It made her reckless. Made her forget what he was: a hunter. “Do you know how many unforgiven dead there are in Ireland?”
“How could I possibly know something like that?” Van Helsing said.
“They are legion.Uncountable,” Hel said. “Even you cannot murder them all. It would take your whole life, even should you scythe through them like wheat, and that’s if they didn’t consume you first.”
Van Helsing waved a hand. “I don’t need to kill all of them. Just their leader. Cut the head off the monster, and it will fall.”
“Unless it’s a Hydra,” Hel drawled.
“Or Detective Lynch is correct,” Sam pointed out, “and they’re not acting of their own volition.”
“Does it matter?” Van Helsing frowned. “They’re monsters. The solution is always the same.”
“Of course it matters,” Sam said. “If it’s not their will, they will keep hunting no matter which or how many of them you slay?—if it is even possible to do so, which I must remind you, we have no evidence that itis.”
Van Helsing crossed his arms. “And why do you think there’s someone behind it? They’re monsters. They need no reason to kill?—it’s what they do.”
“Because in Ireland, the Wild Hunt is an opportunistic predator,” Hel said. “They take those they come across in their wild rides, those whose attachment to this world is worn and threadbare. Unless these men were foolish enough to call them down by name, they ought to have been safe. Someone is targeting them, marking them days in advance.”
“Marking them days in advance?” Van Helsing scoffed. “How could you possibly know that?”
Sam could hold it in no longer. “Because I’m next.”
“What,” Van Helsing said flatly.
Hel spread the photographs atop the books. Sam watched Van Helsing’s face as he took in the ghosts haunting the Viscount, the Duke, Mr. Enfield... and Sam. His eyes widening as he recognized the ghost who had attacked Sam the night before.
“Her?”Van Helsing sounded cross, and it took her a minute to realize he was talking about Sam and not the ghost that had tried to kill her. “But she doesn’t fit the profile.”
“She doesn’t have to, does she?” Hel said. “They took the Viscount and the Duke for their interference.”
“Because they were athreat,” Van Helsing said, and it struck Sam then that he was actually jealous. Jealous because the Wild Hunt wasn’t afterhim, that he wasn’t marked for death! God save them from the man’s pride. “It’s that damned camera, isn’t it? Give it to me.” He reached out for the box camera.
“It’s not,” Sam said, pulling the camera close. Though she did harbor doubts about Miss Shinagh, they weren’t the sort of thing she felt comfortable expressing to a man who considered himself judge, jury, and executioner of the Otherworldly. “The ghost haunting the Viscount was different. If it was the camera, they would be the same.”
“You cannot remain here,” Van Helsing said. “Surely even you can see that. You?—Miss Moriarty. Make sure nothing happens to her. I’ll contact Mr. Wright. We’ll get her on the first boat back to England.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hel said. “Let her go back to England, and you’ll have no way of knowing if the threat follows her. Besides, we have three days before the ghost re-forms. She should be safe until then.”
“Three days for a common specter, not a creature powerful enough to make the paintingsbleed,” Van Helsing said. “She goes home. This is not up for debate.”
“You’re right,” Hel said. “It’s not. Until Mr. Wright orders her home, it’sherdecision.”
“We don’t even know if I’m actually next,” Sam pointed out. “All we know is that I’ve been marked.”
Van Helsing scowled. “Fine. We’ll take shifts outside Miss Harker’s room at night. The moment the ghost stitches itself back together, all we need do is?—wait.” Van Helsing swept the photographs aside, leaving one staring up at them: the jagged crenellations of a Gothic castle surrounded by a thicket of tangled blackthorns.
Van Helsing swore, Sam’s safety forgotten. “I knew he was hiding something.”
“Who?” Sam asked. As far as she could tell, that was a castle.
“I was there this morning.” Van Helsing stabbed at the photograph with his finger. “When I came for him, Lord Lusk had already checked out, and so I was forced to go afield. Reception at the Shelbourne directed me there. To Castle Lusk.”
Which was to say, the primary residence of Lord Lusk.
