Free The Asylum by L. J. Smith Page B

that?” Damon challenged.
    â€œFine,” Ethan said, sitting back on the log. His brother, Calvin, glared at us angrily.
    â€œBesides, Stefan doesn’t need my advice. He’s smarter than me,” Damon said, glancing at his own cards. A few crumpled bills were thrown in a pile, along with a belt buckle, a cigarette lighter, and Clementine Haverford’s handkerchief. (“Straight from her bosom!” Ethan Giffin had assured us with a cackle.) The winner would take it all—or lose everything.
    â€œAll in,” I said, throwing a five-dollar bill on the pile. It was my own small fortune.
    One by one, everyone displayed their cards. My heart pounded more and more with each reveal. My hand was better than the two jacks that Calvin presented, and better than Nathan’s three queens. Finally, I showed my own hand—a straight flush of hearts.
    I scooped up my prizes, beaming at Damon in victory.
    â€œRise and shine!” I was startled awake by the voice. Disoriented, I blinked up at Damon, his outburst from the night before apparently forgotten. Seeing him now, just after he’d appeared in my dream, was surprising. He was so similar in appearance to the brother of my youth and yet such a profoundly different person. Back then, it had been easy. We knew our strengths complemented each other’s, and we were generous with our mutual admiration. He was confident and daring, while I was smart and cautious. Now, we viewed each other with suspicion.
    The shadow of a beard covered the lower half of his face. I’d never seen Damon with a beard before, but it suited the air of menace he projected.
    I had to look twice when Cora appeared. True to her word, she’d taken the preparations for today seriously. She was wearing the tattered, stained dress she’d worn two days prior. Her hair was mussed so it stuck up in odd angles around her face, and she’d rubbed dirt on her cheeks and forehead. She looked the part of a fallen woman. Which was exactly the point.
    â€œAll in,” I murmured.
    â€œAll in?” Damon glanced at me curiously, but I didn’t explain and he didn’t press. I didn’t want him to ruin what was still an untarnished memory.
    Once we got aboveground, we turned in the opposite direction of Lansdowne House. According to Cora, the Magdalene Asylum was just on the edge of Whitechapel, the site of Samuel’s Ripper murders. Would anyone recognize Damon? He was wearing his cloak with the hood pulled far over his forehead. Combined with the beard, he looked nothing like the dashing, debonair suspect the newspapers had described. I allowed my shoulders to relax.
    Finally, we reached a decrepit brick building at the far end of an alleyway. It was enclosed by an iron fence, and the solid black doors of the entrance looked ominous. It didn’t seem the type of place to save women. Rather, it looked like a sort of prison: a place where wayward women could be locked away and forgotten. I glanced at Cora, worried, but she stared resolutely ahead.
    â€œAt least you’ll have a roof over your head. More than we have, at any rate,” Damon said, breaking the silence.
    I shot an annoyed glance at Damon, but Cora broke out into nervous giggles. “It is awful, isn’t it?” she said. “And yet, if I had to choose between here, Whitechapel, or the tunnel, I suppose I’d choose here. At least I know they’ll offer meals that aren’t rat’s blood or Alfred’s horrible Ten Bells fish special. Don’t be too jealous, lads.” She flashed a smile, but I could tell she was uneasy.
    I was, too. “I’ll come visit every day. We both will,” I said as I steeled my courage and rapped sharply on the door. The three of us stood in anticipation as it slowly creaked open.
    An enormously tall man wearing a priest’s robe opened the door and stared down at us. A crucifix hung from his neck, swinging back and