Chapter 46

It was the blackest of nights. One of those nights when it seemed as if the gates of Hell had opened in London, extinguishing the stars so that the demons could do their evil work under cover of complete darkness. It was drawing close to Fireworks Night and the air was filled with the faint smell of bonfires and yet here in Whitechapel no amount of wood burning could ever dampen the stench of decay and death that pervaded the fabric of the ground and buildings. I was starting to get used to it, however, and no longer wrinkled up my nose in distaste whenever I ventured out. I wondered if I now smelt the same. I often thought back to when I had just been turned and had detected the smell of death on Harper and instinctively knew he had probably always smelt like that, only the old Megan would never have realised it. And now, here I was, with the stench of Whitechapel engrained in my very bones and instead of repulsing me, it gave me a small sense of comfort to be connected to the dark hi