Mad Bride of the Ripper

by Lucas Thorn

  He took a few more steps away so the smell wasn’t so strong in his nostrils.

  Curls of fog tasted his shoes and he watched it wash past his laces until an older constable put a hand on his shoulder.

  They spoke.

  She couldn’t hear the words.

  And, while she could see him, he was a blur. A ghost. A ripple of energy surrounding the only solid thing she could see. His madness. Throbbing.

  She could squeeze it and reduce him to an insane gibbering mess. She knew she could. The heightened emotions surging in his veins only need a quick tap and he’d break.

  But she needed him.

  Needed him sane.

  Or, as sane as anyone could be in London.

  So many lights. Boiling and churning. Hot and wet. A heaving ocean of savagery and chaos chained beneath a thin veneer of civility. Easy to strip. Easy to penetrate.

  Just one push.

  One…

  “Mistress?”

  She blinked, shuddering as she pulled back again. Found herself on hands and knees, fingers clawing at the ground.

  Looked up at the Angel-maker. The old woman’s weathered face creased in concern.

  Renfield beside her. Studying her with an insect’s lack of emotion, though the grin remained bright.

  “I’m fine, Amelia,” she said. Brushed her white dress clean as she stood. “I’m hungry, I think. That’s all.”

  The old woman nodded. “I’ll get one for you, Mistress.”

  “Make it a fat one, Amelia. Fat and juicy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Her name’s Polly,” William said. He sat at a cramped table in the small pub. Hunched a little and elbows tucked in. Jonathan Harker opposite. The two men had mugs of beer beside their hands, but mostly untouched. “And she looks ripe, doesn’t she?”

  Harker’s eyes slid toward the girl again. Nodded with a soft whistle. “She does indeed.”

  “I’d do it myself, but I’m not as good with women as you are, Harker. Haven’t the patience for it. Or the pretty looks. And we don’t have time for fucking around.”

  “Good? I’m better than good, Sloper. I’ve got a gift with ladies, I tell you. A natural gift. Still, I thought you were sending me after some warty old maid. This? She’s beautiful.” Turned a sardonic gaze to the other man. “So, what’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s flighty. Runs away at confrontation. Nervous. I don’t think she’ll be easy.” Hunched over his mug. “But she’s the only chance I can think of to get a good idea of what’s inside the house. And, if we’re lucky, a key. Depending on how she goes, maybe she can help us with the two oafs at the doors. Slip something in their drinks or something like that. If we can get her on our side, it would make things a lot easier.”

  “Van Helsing was alright with it?”

  “He encouraged it.” William grinned. “Go get Harker, he told me. Harker can talk the girl out of her knickers and lift the key from her bodice.”

  Harker chuckled. But sobered. “I don’t know. Mina…”

  “Will understand. She knows you’re working to cure her.”

  “I spoke to her, Sloper. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “I suppose you think that was stupid. I suppose you think we should have destroyed her.”

  “There’s nothing personal in that, Harker.”

  “I know. I’d tell you the same.” He took a deep drink. “She said the most awful things.”

  “It’s the demon inside her. It’s not her. Not anymore.”

  “It knew things. Personal things. Would a demon have that kind of knowledge?”

  “It’s just her memory. You know all this. It’s not really her. Not anymore. It wears her skin like you or I wear a coat.”

  “Surely there’s some way to bring her back, then.”

  “I don’t honestly know. But if anyone could find a cure, it’d be Abraham. I’d trust no one else. He’s obsessed, and he won’t let it go. The only thing which will stop him is death. Even then, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t.”

  “Yes, you’re right. He’s a good man.”

  Silver bolt of rage shot up William’s spine, but he kept his face impassive. Lifted his cup to hide the grimace. “Best I’ve ever known.”

  “I’ll do it, then,” Harker said, as if there’d been doubt. His gaze had been striding lustful toward the girl more often than not. He set the mug down. Gave a sigh which he obviously hoped to convey his reluctance. “Wish me luck.”

  Wryly; “Luck.”

  William watched as Harker lifted himself from the chair and sauntered over to where Polly sat on her own. She’d already refused the seat to two others.

  But she wouldn’t refuse Jonathan.

  True to Sloper’s prediction, Harker gave a loose bow. Spoke softly.

  A gentleman in casual need of a chair, no doubt.

  Would she mind?

  She did, but didn’t refuse.

  Harker sat. Pretended indifference for long enough to order food and beer. Then, slow at first, began to talk.

  Didn’t take long and she was smiling.

  She had a beautiful smile, William thought. Her teeth so white. Mouth a little wide.

  Glorious teeth.

  Straight.

  Harker probably didn’t notice. His eyes were always pinned to the girl’s bodice.

  Van Helsing’s little protégé. Perhaps his successor one day. That’s what he thought himself. Nevermind that William had been with the old man a lot longer than the arrogant shit. But Harker had something William would never have.

  Money. Enough from his family to grant him a respectable status.

  Still, the Dracula mission should’ve been William’s.

  If it had been, the vampire would be destroyed. He had no doubt of it.

  His cursed Brides with him.

  But what about Lucy?

  His heart shrivelled at thought of her. She’d touched something inside him. Something which raged. He could feel it beating at the surface of his mind. Like a pulse in rapid rhythm. Hammering at his control.

  The mug in his hand.

  Was heavy.

  All he wanted to do was smash it into the back of Harker’s skull.

  Over and over.

  Turn his brain to mush.

  Instead, he sipped.

  “Get you anything more?” Bored maid with a towel over her arm.

  “Not right now, love,” he said.

  “Let me know.”

  “Will do.”

  Polly laughed. A genuine laugh. The sound set William’s teeth on edge. How did Harker do it? The young woman slapped the back of his hand playfully, and Harker quickly placed his own on top of hers.

  Leaned in close and whispered something which made her cheeks turn bright pink.

  A shade of pink William felt stirred an envious stew already at boil.

  Her eyes touched his.

  Just for a flash.

  Then they were back on Harker. Wide and hungry.

  The couple spoke for what seemed like an hour before she started making a fuss to leave. Had to, because he wasn’t letting her off the hook so easy.

  Pursued her outside.

  William followed them both.

  Keeping to the edge of the street. Slow walking with just a slight hint of stagger. Just a drunk on his way home. That’s all.

  Not that she ever looked back, but he always kept his character. Not just for her, but for anyone who might see him.

  When Harker said goodbye at the front of the Westenra townhouse, he tried for a kiss.

  Failed.

  But she laughed anyway and skipped up the path. Ducked her head to the heavy monstrosity of a man who leaned against the doorway. His face didn’t change as he opened the door for her.

  Polly, still flushed, turned and looked at Harker.

  Then grinned impishly and threw him a coltish wave.

  Which he took with exaggerated swoon and was still chu
ckling to himself when he headed back to where William waited.

  “Bloody Hell, Sloper,” he said. “What luck! She’s adorable. An absolute peach. Have you seen a girl like that in all your life?”

  “Mina?” Not quite sourly. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. You know what I meant.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said. Wiped the smile off but couldn’t resist looking over his shoulder. “Utterly adorable.”

  “Did she tell you anything useful?”

  “That all depends,” Harker said with a leer. “On what you think is useful.”

  William rolled his eyes and asked nothing more. He let the other man simmer in the echo of lust and smug self-satisfaction.

  Doctor Seward was waiting to open the door. The old doctor looked up and down the street. “You weren’t followed?”

  “No, Doctor,” Harker answered for them. “Should we have been?”

  “There’s been more policemen on the street than normal. At least five have wandered past just this morning.”

  “Well, they’re not knocking on doors.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Jonathan?” Van Helsing called from the study. “Come in, man. Don’t stand there drawing attention.”

  William tossed his hat on the hatstand and followed Harker out back.

  Accepted Van Helsing’s raised eyebrow without a word. Shoved himself into a comfortable chair and threw his legs out.

  Knew he wasn’t welcome in the room. Their expectation had been for him to head to the basement to stow his gear. Or check the windows for sign of movement in the Westenra house.

  Van Helsing’s glance to Harker spoke volumes. They would talk later, it said. For now, their talk would be shallow. The time for sharing secrets would be later.

  He was obviously more at ease with Harker, William thought. One educated man to another.

  William was relegated to the category of muscle. Disposable and replaceable. A weapon to be used when their noble hands weren’t willing to get dirty.

  Sadness. Guilt. Anger. All warred inside him as he felt the thin veil slide from his eyes and saw exactly where his status lay within Van Helsing’s group of vampire hunters.

  How hadn’t he noticed it before?

  Still, he was going to make them tell him to leave. Tell him he wasn’t wanted. He wanted to hear it. And, so far, none dared say it to his face. He was still their best man on the street no matter what Harker thought of himself.

  “Abraham,” Harker said, giving the other man a pleasant shake of the hand. “Do you mind if I have some brandy? It’s been a long day. I’ve been talking my throat right out. Honestly, I’m parched.”

  “Didn’t look at all like you were enjoying it,” William said. Sarcasm oozing through every word.

  “Never said I wasn’t having a little fun,” Harker admitted.

  “Will she be useful?” Van Helsing took his own chair and sipped at a glass. “Will she assist, do you think? I mean, it’s not a waste of time, is it?”

  “Waste of time? No, I don’t think so.” He looked like he was pondering his experience. “She seems very eager to please, actually. Given time, I think I should be able to convince her to do anything.”

  William snorted. “Try to keep professional, Harker. If you can. We don’t need another Belfast, do we?”

  “There’s no call to be snide, William.” Van Helsing sounded like a stern grandfather ready to scold. A tone of voice which had always been in the German’s tongue. But for the first time, it put his teeth on edge. He crossed his arms across his chest instead of reaching for something to fling at the old man.

  “It’s alright,” Harker said. “I’m well used to William’s humour. Or lack of.”

  William fidgeted at a button on his shirt. Uncomfortable under Van Helsing’s stare. “I’m only thinking of the job. The job is to destroy a bloody vampire. Not to get in some poor girl’s knickers for your amusement, Harker.”

  “That’s all I was thinking, too. You don’t think I enjoy deceiving her, do you?”

  “Honestly?”

  “William,” Van Helsing cut in. “Have you heard from Mayberry?”

  “Yes.” Didn’t bother to hide the sourness. “He sent word ahead. He’ll be arriving tonight. He thinks before midnight, but there’s not much point waiting up if you ask me.”

  “Excellent.”

  “What do you want him for?” Harker gave a look of distaste. “He’s a disreputable rogue. Little more than a common criminal. Why, he’s even more of a ruffian than, er…”

  “Me?” William got to his feet and twisted his mouth into a snarl. Jabbed a finger. “Damn it, you always look down on me, Harker. You always have. You might have had money, and your tongue might be sweet enough to work its way round a whore or two, but you’re not as good as you think you are. You got trounced right out of Transylvania, didn’t you? Did you even manage to destroy a single vampire? No. So, before you cut that tone about Mayberry or myself, how about you pull your own fucking weight, first!”

  “William,” Van Helsing snapped. “That’s no way-”

  “Ah, forget it,” William growled. “I’m going out. I need to work the streets. Get my fingers in. Not all of us can sit here drinking cognac and reading dusty old books written by shams and charlatans who never faced a single vampire in their life. There’s evil out there. Evil everywhere. And you just sit around in your comfortable fucking chairs like it doesn’t matter. Congratulating each other on a job someone else is going to do for you. No, Abraham. I’ve had enough. Enough of these rich brats you keep bringing into the fold. Sure, their families have money we can use, but there’s not an ounce of intelligence among them and definitely no backbone they can share. Happy to jump into bed with girls, though. Or dream about finding a fresh young female vampire to consort with. Useless. The bloody lot of them. I’ve had enough. Enough, I tell you.”

  With that, he stomped from the room. His head was glittering. He could feel the light pulsing inside his mind.

  Could feel her. Leaking into his brain.

  Could taste her humour as she enjoyed his rage.

  And instead of frightening him, it excited him.

  He wanted to give her more.

  More anger.

  More violence.

  A constant flow of chaos.

  So, didn’t hear Van Helsing call him to come back. Didn’t hear Jonathan Harker’s stammers and protests. Nor the petulant rebuttals.

  Just heard her.

  Laughing.

  And that made him smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Polly couldn’t think straight.

  The man had called himself George. He didn’t look like a George, though. Nothing at all like one. A George should be a calm man with a passive personality. Not this roguish man with crude humour.

  Still, he seemed pleasant even if there was no doubt in her mind that he was uninterested in her as a person. He never asked questions about her life. Avoided it completely.

  Seemed more interested in telling her about his life.

  He was a man of means, he told her. Father owned a Shipping Company. He was in London to visit a friend. But was bored.

  Very bored.

  All his friends were only interested in drinking, he said.

  But he wanted something more meaningful.

  Meaningful?

  She smirked a little as she skipped up the stairs. More like something casual. The thought should offend her, but she felt teased instead. It could be nice to let her hair down for a brief time.

  Once inside her room, she locked the door and went straight to the mirror. Studied her face. Noting the colour of her cheeks. The set of her mouth.

  Had he really thought her pretty?

  She wondered if he’d gone running back to the pub in search of someone else.

  And it pleased her to think he’d instead gone home to fling himself on his bed and write terrible poetry dedicated to her smile. A frenzy of colourful emotions pinned to
gether in ghastly lines which made normal folk cringe.

  She hoped he’d read her one.

  Hesitant knock on the door. “Miss?”

  “Yes, Kipper?”

  He made no effort to open the door. Just spoke through it like it wasn’t there. “Mistress Lucy asked if you’d be about tonight?”

  “I’m unsure. Would she like me to be?”

  “She invited you to dinner.”

  “Really?” Polly frowned. Tucked her lip under her front teeth. Suddenly concerned. “But she never eats. Well, hardly.”

  “She said to be waiting for her in the dining room after sunset.”

  “Of course.” She hurried to the door and pulled it open. Only a little. Hardly more than a crack. “Kipper? Have I done something wrong? Did I do something which displeased her?”

  “What? No, I don’t think so, Miss Polly.” He let his mouth fall into a crooked grin. “How could someone as pretty as you ever do anything wrong?”

  Two in one night.

  The attention was intoxicating. Her pleasure showed in the flushing of her cheeks. “Now, Mister Kipper, that’s no way to talk to a lady, even if it does sound very flowery.”

  “Flowery, is it?” He scratched at his forehead. “Ain’t no one ever said that about anything I ever said.”

  “Tell Mistress Lucy I’ll be happy to be there.”

  He nodded, turning away. Shrugged his broad shoulders and ambled back to the front of Lucy’s door. Where he leaned against the side.

  Nothing would get past him.

  Not even a flea.

  She closed her own door quietly. While she accepted his compliments, the big man frightened her. She wasn’t as stupid as he thought she was. She knew what he was. Knew he wasn’t as pleasant as he pretended.

  His eyes belonged to a wild beast kept on a feeble leash. Violence burned inside them, trying to get out.

  The afternoon was spent cleaning. She cleaned the library. Dusting and wiping every surface. Polished the desk. Worked her way through every room except Miss Westenra’s and Miss Havelock’s.

  In the early evening before sunset, she went down to see the cook.

  Molly Winthrop. An older woman with greying hair and a wide ruddy face a little too big for her thin body. The old cook was working with a couple of small pots.