A Dark Heart by Margaret Foxe Read Free Book Online Page A

on its large
metal wheels.
    "I don't need a damned chaperone, Constable," Elijah said
tersely over the roar of the engine as he climbed into the passenger
compartment behind a simpering Parminter. "If I want a bloody ride, I'll
ask for it."
    "If you say so, guv," Matthews said with a shrug, seemingly
acquiescent, though Elijah knew the man would do as he pleased. Matthews had
been with him from his early days on the force, when Elijah was still just a
half-crippled neophyte and Matthews was nothing more than a street-tough
ex-prizefighter looking for honest work. Matthews had been the brawn and Elijah
the brains, and their partnership had worked well.
    As Elijah could rip out the constable's throat in less than three seconds
these days, Matthews' usefulness as a bodyguard was over. But Matthews had
remained his loyal lieutenant, God only knew why. Elijah had been trying to
drive him away for months now, without any success.
    Matthews powered the steamcart forward at a reckless speed, plowing
through the thinning crowd with relish before making a sharp right onto another
dismal street. Elijah clutched the leather strap dangling from the roof of the
vehicle to keep from falling out and groaned, his head spinning. Damned
morphine.
    Which reminded him. "Drop me off at St. Mary's, Constable, I've an
errand to run."
    Both Parminter and Matthews gave him an exasperated look, knowing exactly
what he planned to do at the hospital. But mingled with their exasperation was
a worry with which he was becoming far too familiar. He wanted to scream at the
pair of them sometimes. They knew what he was, that he needed the drug.
    They knew what his fate would soon be, and their bloody concern wouldn’t do a damned thing to stop it.

2
     
    AFTER replenishing
his supply of morphine from the hospital – covertly and illegally, of
course – Elijah had Matthews drop Percy at Lord Montague's before continuing
on to Llewellyn House. When they arrived, Matthews deposited him on the
sidewalk and trundled back to Scotland Yard in the steamcart like the dutiful constable
he'd become.
    Elijah himself had no time to stop by the Yard today, which would earn
him the usual hell from his superiors, but he'd ceased caring about his career
as an Inspector years ago. Before he'd been turned, though, solving cases and
rising up in the ranks had been all that he'd cared about. His late foster
father, Edmund Drexler, had been a Deputy Chief Inspector, and Elijah had tried
hard to follow in the man's footsteps. But it was difficult to remember those
days, and the young, driven, almost ordinary man he'd been. He’d not exactly been
happy, not with the dark past he’d carried inside him, but he’d not been quite
as hopeless as he was now.
    Now he lived only for his revenge. He had no future for which to strive,
no need to impress anyone at the Yard, and no need to follow the rules, unless
it suited him to do so. The only reason he hadn't been sacked was because he
got results, when he bothered to show up to work.
    It didn't hurt that he'd brought in the damned Ripper for them either. Of
course, it had been a corpse – a corpse with no head, since the Ripper
had turned out to be a vampire, as Elijah had learned the hard way. Most of his
colleagues, who were oblivious to the true forces haunting London’s slums after
dark, had been doubtful he'd even found the right man. The headless part had
been difficult to explain away as well, but when the murders had stopped, most
had accepted his story, albeit grudgingly.
    He was still sliding by on the notoriety of that case, but only just. It
hardly mattered, though. He'd be dead before Scotland Yard decided they'd had
enough of him.
    Elijah glared up at the familiar marble edifice of Llewellyn House,
dreading the upcoming interrogation. For he knew that was what it would be.
    Bloody toffs. Bloody Elders. Sometimes he wished anyone but the old Earl
had been the one to take him in after the fire. So much would have