Alice shrugged. “I tried. But when he caught me, he threatened to throw me back into the asylum from which he’d bought me. I knew too much to be allowed my freedom, and there were plenty of channels in the asylum who would be glad for a chance at fresh air. In the end, I found my own way out.”
By murdering him. But could Sam truly blame her when she couldn’t say she wouldn’t do the same thing, if that was the cost of freedom? Sam didn’t want to believe murder was the answer, that sometimes it was the only way out. But ten years in an asylum, simply for being a channel, followed by decades of abuse by a man who had sworn to love her until death...
And they called channels monstrous.
“So, should I get on my walking shoes?” Alice asked.
“No,” Sam said. She didn’t believe Alice was behind the attacks, even if she’d killed her husband. It would be impossible, even if she’d wanted to. There had been multiple witnesses to the Wild Hunt; she could hardly have poisoned them all. Like the separatists, resorting to poison meant she was unlikely to be behind something truly supernatural. “No, I’m sorry.”
Alice smiled. “I knew you’d understand. Come back anytime. I will help any way I can. And thank you for being so... understanding.”
Chapter Nineteen
Montpelier Hill, County Dublin (Cnoc Montpelier, Contae Bhaile Átha Cliath)
The Day Before Samhain
Sam thought about how to tell Hel and Van Helsing about the vision her Aunt Lucy had given her the entire walk back to the Shelbourne. But she kept coming back to the way Hel had turned on her in the wake of the Wild Hunt, after Sam had sent them away?—eyes narrowed, demanding to know what she’d done. What would Hel do if Sam told her she’d fed her blood to a ghost?
It was entirely unfair of Hel to risk herself with alchemy only to object to Sam doing the same with channeling. But she would, Sam was certain of it, and she couldn’t risk Hel stopping her, not when her grandfather was so close, not after so many years of searching for him.
Besides, it ought to be safe enough. Aunt Lucy had said channeling alone hadn’t been sufficient to turn her monstrous. Then again, Aunt Lucy had devoured children. She was, perhaps, not the most trustworthy judge of what did and did not constitute monstrous.
And something was wrong with Sam’s shadow.
“She didn’t do it,” Sam said when she returned to the Shelbourne. Van Helsing and Hel had been outside the dining room, waiting for her, Heathcliff peeking out of Hel’s pocket like a secret. Whatever they had been talking about, they ceased as she approached. It made Sam uneasy.
“What are you talking about?” Van Helsing said. “Nouns, please.”
Sam darted a look at Hel. It was another thing she’d caught from the woman, aside from her penchant for keeping secrets. “Alice Grey. She did kill her husband, but?—”
“And you didn’t arrest her?” Van Helsing interrupted.
“No, I didn’t,” Sam said, fury sparking in her as she remembered the scars on Alice’s arms, the oldest ones knotted and gnarled, as if they hadn’t healed properly. The way he’d threatened to throw her back into the asylum if she didn’t keep quiet and do exactly as he said. A fate that could have been Sam’s if she hadn’t had such understanding parents?—could still be hers, if Van Helsing or Hel found reason to turn on her.
Sam could never let them know about Aunt Lucy. About what she’d done.
“The things he did to her...” Sam’s voice flattened out. “He was the monster.”
“You can’t just murder people because you think they’re monstrous,” Van Helsing argued. “She could have gone to the civic guard.”
“You think they would believe her?” Sam asked, her voice heated. A woman’s credibility rarely survived an asylum, to say nothing of the mere fact of her gender. Murder had been her only way out. The alternative was unthinkable. “Besides, I couldn’t arrest her even if I wanted to. They’re both of them human. It’s not our jurisdiction.”
“It is if she used ghosts to murder her husband,” Hel said.
“Perhaps he was simply the first, imperfect murder, on which she honed her skills,” Van Helsing mused, as if she hadn’t spoken. “The first murder is often personal, in that case?—and shoddy. They’re still figuring out how to kill. If we can uncover how she did it, find evidence of the tattooing equipment?—”
“Iknowhow she did it,” Sam interrupted. “Datura seeds. They cause hallucinations in small doses, and death at higher doses. So unless you think there’s some way she could poison half of Dublin?—”
“The water supply,” Van Helsing said at once.
“Datura-derived honey,” Hel said.
“Tainted grain,” Van Helsing added thoughtfully.
“Gas lamps,” Hel added, then, when Sam and Van Helsing looked at her askance, she shrugged, as if it were obvious. “All parts of the datura plant are poisonous, whether ingested or inhaled. Add datura flowers inside the glass. Gas lamps require air flow to function, so when they’re lit at night, the flowers would burn, releasing toxic smoke. Anyone on the streets would be affected, and it would only occur at night.”
“You’re a little frightening sometimes,” Sam said. “You know that, right?”
