Escaping From Houdini (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #3)

by Kerri Maniscalco

What morbid creatures we were, craving danger and mystery in place of happily-ever-afters.

“You have suffered a tragedy most could neither imagine, nor endure. Yet here you stand, breathing, living. Which is the most difficult thing to do. People often admire physical strength, but I believe it’s the simple things one does after a tragedy that defines them. There is no greater show of power than continuing to live when you’d like nothing more than to lie down and let the world fade.

“Truth is often compared to a blade,” I said. “I question those who marvel when it pricks.”

We women could be called creatures, if only the men who said such careless words accepted our claws were fearsome things when we decided to scratch.

There are many ways to assist people. Laughter and distraction are sometimes things people need in conjunction with medical diagnoses and treatments.”

I may only offer a few hours of distraction, but for some that is enough to press on through dark times. Hope is an invisible yet mighty force. Don’t dismiss its power.”

also longed to take my loved ones from this hell and shelter them from all the horrible things the world could bring forth. I wanted to bury my face in my pillows and scream until my throat felt raw and my tears had dried up.

I could see the molten core of her harden into steel. She might have bent a little, but she was too strong to break.

On a ship filled with devilish debauchery, hope seemed to be the deadliest sin of them all.

The crowd hopes for the impossible to become possible. It shows them dreams don’t belong only in our heads—with hope those fantasies can become real. Taking hope away is like taking life from someone. We all need to believe we can achieve the impossible.”

“Dreams are strange curiosities,” he said, eyes still on the balloon. “Sure, everyone possesses the ability to lay their heads down and imagine, but to do so without limitations or doubt? That is something else entirely. Dreams are boundless, shapeless things. Given strength and form from individual imaginations. They’re wishes.” He looked at me, then reached out and removed my hatpin. “All it takes is one shard of doubt to wedge itself into them”—he swiftly stuck the balloon with my pin, and the air whooshed out as it descended to the ground—“and they deflate. If you can dream without limits, you can soar to great heights. Let the magic of your imagination set you free.”

“They are the dregs of society—the throwaways and so-called freaks. When that’s beaten into you by others, you tend to stick to yourself and live by your own code. Who can you trust when the whole world turns so savagely on you? And in the name of what? Because we choose to live by our own rules? Because a young woman would prefer to cover herself in ink instead of silk? Or because there’s a person who enjoys swallowing flames in place of mucking out alleys in the East End?” His hands clenched at his sides. “I can no more blame them for biting the hand that feeds them than I can ignore the fact that society kicked them until they learned to strike back at anyone who dared to get close. We might band together, but we will always be apart, too. This carnival is home for now, but it won’t be forever for some. There’s always a grander dream, or larger goal, to achieve. This is the cost of dreaming without limits. This is the dark side of show business.”

nightmares often begin as dreams.”

You see, you create an escape for someone else, realizing at the last minute that you’ve trapped yourself in a cage of your own design. By then it’s too late—the show has taken on a legend of its own, and you are powerless to overcome those bars, so you submit to your art and allow the world to consume you, knowing the cost. Each performance siphons a bit more of your soul.”

“Society scorned them, turned them into freak shows and curiosities, and now they are only interested in cheering because of the glamour of those velvet curtains. The allure of magic and mysticism. Should they encounter those same performers on the street, they would not be so kind or accepting. It is a sad truth that we do not live in a world where differences are accepted. And until such a time, Miss Wadsworth, I will provide a home to the misfits and unwanteds, even if it means losing bits of my soul to that hungry, unsatisfied beast Mr. Barnum has called show business.”

They were a family of discarded souls, lost until they’d found a home with each other. It would destroy them if one of their own was the monster they so desperately tried to keep out of their reality.

Time had a strange way of distorting facts.

“Truth is a blade. Brutal and ice cold. It cuts. Sometimes when spoken carelessly it even scars.

around his mouth that belied his nonchalance. “Life, like the show, goes on whether we agree with it or not. If we stopped living, ceased to celebrate our existences in the face of death or tragedy, then we might as well tumble into our own graves.”

My hands are no more stained than the hands of those who are in supposed good standing in society. How many others have they killed, and yet they still walk free? How many lives destroyed by their whims?”

“You cannot take justice into your own hands,” Mephistopheles said. “You should have told the detective inspectors.” Andreas snorted. “If you believe they would investigate the death of a poor, sick flower girl from the slums, and put the rich men who killed her behind bars, then you’re as bad as they are. Justice is only given to the powerful, and that’s not really justice, is it?”

I’d fight for him until I drew in my last, shuddering breath. Even in death I’d never stop coming for those who threatened my family.

My entire life I’d wished for the bars of my gilded cage to disappear—all I’d ever wanted was to be set free. To choose my own path.

Freedom was both heady and terrifying. Now that it was in my grasp, I wanted to shove it back. I had no idea what to do with it or myself.

I was whole on my own. I did not need another person to complete me, and yet the way we were parting made me feel ill. It was not right, but I didn’t know how to make it so. Perhaps that was the ultimate lesson in letting go—accepting that which was out of our control. I could only do my best and my part; it was up to Thomas to meet me halfway or not at all.