CHAPTER 1

How could he have been such a fool? Those were the words, the thought, the burning question that plagued him as he wandered the familiar halls of the Alhambra, searching for him. He could practically hear Evie in his ear, sneering at his stupidity with sisterly grace. God, after the Attaway affair, how could he have not seen it coming? He cringed visibly, teeth grinding as he pressed his mask a little tighter to his skin and slipped into another throng of eager audience members.

They might as well be sheep. On and on they watched as Roth killed their fellows, oblivious to the truth behind their screams – that this was no show, not for them. No innocent little story with a beginning, middle and end. It was a message to Jacob; you can't hide from the dark forever.

"Jesus, Roth," Jacob murmured under his breath, watching helplessly as yet another person was murdered on stage.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Jacob?" Roth called across the theatre, his words meaningless to the men and women that stared on wide-eyed at such spectacular "special effects".

"Are your morals drift~iinngg?" he sang.

Another scream, another splash of blood. Jacob grit his teeth as he murdered yet another decoy, all the while using Roth's murderous display on stage as a distraction. What better way to hide a gargling, desperate last breath than with death? He hated himself for it all the same.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the crowd. No one heard him. No one could ever hear him. Not like Roth could. Why? He lamented. Why was it that every time he was finally understood – appreciated – praised… Why was it always the darkness that was smiling back?

He shook his head before he could distract himself much longer. Four decoys down. He just needed to free Roth's stage mechanic, and it'd be over. Then he could put this all behind him. Pretend like he hadn't fallen into another monster's bed. Pretend like he hadn't felt at home at Roth's table or in good company in Attaway's carriages.

Pretend like he hadn't felt as though, finally, he belonged.

"Finally, our esteemed guest appears to have graced us with his presence!" Roth howled suddenly, his dark voice crawling across the audience and captivating their attention. Jacob watched as he slowly made his way to the entrance back stage, his eyes on Roth as he dipped past ruffled shoulders and crisp lined suits.

"I hope you have enjoyed your evening thus far, ladies and gentlemen!" He said, raising a pint to the crowd. "I know I have. Now before our final act, I would like to toast all of you brave people who joined us tonight to celebrate life… and death. Go on. TOAST them!"

Jacob stopped. He watched, awestruck, as Roth gestured to his blighters to light his stage afire. Flames licked down into the gorgeous wood of the Alhambra like white hot tongues, burning and chewing away everything in its path. Like a disease it spread across the dark, warped trees that framed the stage. And at the Alhambra's center, panic bloomed like wildfire. All at once, people began to shove him, pressing past him towards the door. Jacob had to fight the tide to reach the backstage entrance – aching gently from the many elbows that had found their way into his sides and arms and back.

A Blighter saw him immediately, and as Jacob tried to breathe amongst the thickening smoke, he was sure the man would sound the alarm – that he'd have to fight his way to the mechanic's locked room. The moment hang between them, heavy, until finally the Blighter waved him away with wide eyes and stormed off – a curse of 'it ain't worth it' swallowed into the smoke.

Jacob didn't take the time to let out his bated breath. Instead, he launched himself up and over the railing, taking the last of the steps two at a time before picking the lock to the closet the mechanic was stuck in.

"Jesus, Roth," he said when the doorknob burnt his hand, "You bloody lunatic."

He shouldered his way inside and immediately found the mechanic – tied to a post at the back of the room. The second the mechanic noticed him and the lack of red in his attire, he began to wriggle against his bonds. His voice came across the room muffled and panicked as he no doubt begged for help from behind the gag digging into his mouth.

"Hold on," Jacob said, rushing to him. He deftly untied the knot and removed the gag. "Now I've helped you. I need you to help me." He pointed to the rafter above the stage. "Can you lower that?"

With a quick, terrified nod the mechanic disappeared. Not a moment later, Jacob could hear the creaking of ropes as the rafter lowered to an accessible height. It took seconds to climb the set backstage to reach it. Even less to locate the rope that kept a convenient sandbag suspended. A quick knife across its length had that sandbag flying to the ceiling, its other end wrapped around Roth's ankle and lifting him into the air with it. Roth let out that closest to an undignified yell that Jacob imagined he'd ever hear from the man before finally they were eye to eye again.

"Jacob," Roth said, his angry surprise quickly bleeding into a manic grin despite the way his face began to flush from the blood pooling in his head.

With a snarl, Jacob reached over the railing and pulled him down onto the rafter. The wooden catwalk shuddered alarmingly as he slammed Roth down into its floorboards – ropes groaning with their weight as he moved to straddle the man beneath him.

With one hand at Roth's collar to keep him down, he raised his other hand to release his hidden blade with a quiet, telling snick. It glimmered in the air above them, fire dancing in eerie reflections across its sharp edges.

And then he paused, breathing deeply overtop the man that had brought him to this point. Jacob could feel the animalistic way in which his lips had pulled back from his bared teeth. He could feel the angry creasing at his brow and hear the furious whistling of his breath. He shook violently, humming with anticipated violence – and yet…

The absolute wonder in Roth's face stopped him. The look in his eyes, Jacob just couldn't fathom it. Roth wasn't looking at horror upon the final visage of his murderer. No… He was looking at him as though he were some force of nature to be reckoned with, yes, but also as if he were something to be admired; a moment to be carefully preserved. Roth laid beneath him like a man might stand outside to watch lightning. Mesmerized; willing to take the risk to see it happen.

"Oh Jacob," Roth breathed at last, his words oddly loud in comparison to the fire crackling around them. "Oh Darling, what a night."

And when he spoke, it was if it were a great game – and Jacob won. He felt an odd pang in his chest at that. His voice was soft and desperate and pleading when finally he spoke.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, praying that for once, Roth would answer. "All of it?"

Roth calmed suddenly, an odd glint to his eye.

"What? Snap a baby crow's neck between my thumb and forefinger? Slice to bits the ones you deem innocent? Keep the world in its divine, manic state? For the same reason I do anything."

He lunged up suddenly, with more strength than Jacob anticipated; and Jacob found himself reacting on instinct. He lurched forward to deliver the final blow only to jerk, stunned, when one large hand grabbed his bicep and deftly stilled his hidden blade mid-air between them. That handclenched and Jacob cried out, bones creaking. His blade retracted.

How? Jacob thought desperately. A flash of red in Roth's eyes, and then there were lips at his ear, the edges of a mustache at his jaw, a sly voice in his head.

"Why not?"

Jacob blinked, his training going haywire as something registered as distinctly not right – but not soon enough. He tried to pull back only to find Roth's other hand at the back of his neck, curling into his smoke-greased hair and pulling him closer.

"Roth!" He exclaimed, confused and wild when the man suddenly buried his face in the soft, vulnerable flesh of his neck. Jacob's view was suddenly consumed with the fire that burned below them – thick smoke rising to meet them as Roth nuzzled him gently, savoring the moment as a lover might. In all the odd things that had happened during his time in London – and thanks to Dickens, there had been many – this took the cake. He struggled weakly in Roth's grasp, bewildered and panicked by his strength and loss of senses.

"Do not worry, my dear," Roth said against his skin. "I shall set you free."

"What are you—Aaaah!"

Teeth. Sudden and blinding pain in his neck. God, they went so deep – how were they so deep? Jacob blinked, the fire in his neck cooling quickly and becoming numb as though he had been dosed with something. His eyelids fluttered, and weakly he pressed his hands against Roth's chest to free himself – only for Roth to suddenly suck.

An embarrassing moan slipped through his lips at that, and Jacob stupidly felt his face heat at the sound of it. His eyes rolled, pleasure coursing through his veins as Roth took one large swallow from his veins, a second, a third; and then he let him go.

Jacob pulled upright too quickly, vision swaying as he lurched in his straddle above Roth. With shaking fingers, he checked his throat only to find it wet – his fingers quickly covered in warm, thick blood. There was red in Roth's mustache, his eyes gleaming curiously crimson in the firelight, and –Jesus – he looked high as he licked the last of Jacob's blood from his lips.

"Oh Jacob," he said, his voice smoother somehow, "I knew you'd be amazing."

Something odd flared in Jacob's chest – a twisted sense of pleasure at being praised. He smothered the feeling just as somewhere, a rope snapped. To their left, a part of the stage background crumbled to the heat of the fires Roth had started. It raised a huge cloud of smoke at its collapse, catching in Jacob's throat and making it even harder for him to breathe. He felt lightheaded, the need to bolt burning in his thighs as 'run, run, run'blasted in his mind in a voice that sounded suspiciously like his sister. He tried to act upon it, but Roth's bite had sucked the vigor from his bones. He lurched to stand only to find himself tipping. The world twisted and he couldn't quite keep up with it. The last thing he saw was Roth's face – 'cat-that-caught-the-canary' pleasure quickly giving way to terror – as Jacob slipped from beneath the rafter's railings and fell to the stage below.

Wood crumbled around him at impact. Something pierced his side. He screamed, but couldn't hear it among the fire's roar. The flames were brighter now, and closer. His clothing felt oppressive and stuck to his skin. He was going to die here – and suddenly, he was hit gut deep with a wrenching, childish fear.

'Oh God,'he whimpered; maybe aloud, he didn't know. 'I'm going to die here.'And even to his ears, he sounded like the little boy who used to slip into his sister's bed during thunderstorms – so lost in fear. For a man who delivered death daily, he had never understood it like he did at that moment, buried in those floorboards; ruined and bleeding. Fiercely he wished for his sister. To tell him it'd be okay. To clean up his mess like she always did. To make it right.

Instead, a shadow fell from the rafter above him, and smoke consumed Jacob and the Alhambra.