by Anne Rooney
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Still sure?’
She opened the door.
And there he was.
The long coat was white with snow, a cracked cake of it over the shoulders. The dim light from the trailer fell on his face, making a pattern of deep shadows in which she could make out only his eyes, a twisting half-smile and a neat beard. A handsome face, she thought, but not attractive. A long blade glinted in one hand.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘This is a surprise, isn’t it? Hello, little vampire.’
Nine
Ava took a step back, but didn’t close the door.
‘Who are you? You don’t …’
‘I don’t smell?’ he said. ‘Well, I should hope not. I had a shower. Nor do you.’ But the man did not smile. Nor did he raise his knife. He looked past her into the room, to the jug on the table and the two shot glasses.
‘Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think you’d like it,’ Ava answered.
‘Oh, I think you’re wrong there,’ he said. ‘May I?’
His eyes gleamed with a desire that Ava was afraid to deny.
‘Pour him a drink, Ivan,’ she said. ‘Please. Do it.’
Ivan slipped from behind her and poured a double shot. The man downed it licked around his lips and his teeth. His pointy teeth.
‘You’re –’ Ava started.
‘Well spotted,’ he said. ‘Yes. One of your kind. I’m surprised you didn’t notice that he’ – he raised his knife to point at Ivan – ‘is not. He smells.’
‘And vampires don’t? I didn’t know,’ Ava said.
‘How are you liking it, little vampire?’
She said nothing. She wasn’t liking it one bit.
‘You’re not good. You leave a mess. Someone has to tidy it up. Tut tut.’ He waved his knife. ‘You can’t just leave them lying around, you know. They – turn. And we don’t want too many.’
‘Turn?’
‘Haven’t you read any vampire books? Seen any vampire films? Dracula? Twilight? Buffy? Cirque du Freak?’ He looked at Ivan. ‘Hasn’t your little wannabe-vampire told you anything?’
‘You mean,’ said Ava, ‘those people would become vampires?’
‘They could have done. But luckily for you, I was here to clear up the mess.’
‘You killed them?’ Ava didn’t want to hear the answer. But she already knew.
‘Don’t thank me. It was my pleasure.’ He bowed. ‘It makes a nice change from rare steaks and stray dogs.’
‘What are you doing here? Why are you following me?’ Ava asked at last.
The man pointed at Ivan with his knife. ‘I thought he might be your next snack. And someone has to clear up after you. Grazing – it’s not the done thing. Finish them off and make sure they don’t come back. I’m surprised Ignace didn’t tell you all that.’
‘Ignace?’ Ava said. ‘You know him?’
The man almost laughed, but it was more a shout of ‘Hah!’
‘Everyone knows Ignace. Even those outside his cosy group. Rogue vampires, as he calls us. He didn’t even tell you we existed, did he?’
Ava shook her head.
‘Ignace doesn’t know I’m a vampire,’ she said. ‘He thought I was immune.’
The man was suddenly interested.
‘Doesn’t, he now? Well, well.
‘Ignace is a fool,’ he said. ‘His huge vampire research centre hasn’t discovered what I’ve found out on my own – no one is immune. Sometimes it’s quick, and sometimes it’s slow. But they all turn. You have to kill them. Thoroughly. Every time.’
‘Who are you?’ Ava asked at last.
‘You want my name? Guess. And it’s not Rumpelstiltskin.’
‘I can’t,’ Ava said.
‘No. No one ever has. You like games, don’t you? You’ve been playing a game here, I see. Give me another drink.’
Ivan poured another shot and the man swallowed it, closed his eyes in pleasure, and sighed.
‘Time for a game. Let’s play my favourite. Hangman. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
‘NO!’ shouted Ivan. ‘A vampire can’t cross the threshold unless invited. And then he can come in whenever he wants. You’re NOT invited!’
The man gave his odd shout of laughter again.
‘Is it true?’ Ava asked him. He shrugged.
‘I’ve no idea. But it would be very rude of me to come in if you didn’t invite me. Bring the table. We can play right here in the doorway.’
Neither Ava nor Ivan moved.
‘I want to play a game and I’m the one with the sharpest knife. Bring the table.’
Ivan bristled. He didn’t want to take orders from a stranger in his own trailer.
‘Go on,’ whispered Ava. He’s dangerous, she thought, willing Ivan to read her mind.
Ten
Ivan dragged the table to the door, making the jug wobble. The man removed one of his leather gloves, dipped a finger in the jug and sucked it hungrily. He dipped again and drew on the table in blood:
_ _ _ _ / _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _ _
‘You can work together,’ he said. ‘It’s the name I’m known by, not my real name. You will have heard it, I’m sure.’
‘E,’ said Ivan. The stranger dipped his finger in the blood.
_ _ _ _ / _ _ E / _ _ _ _ E _
‘A’
_ A _ _ / _ _ E / _ _ _ _ E _
‘I’
_ A _ _ / _ _ E / _ I _ _ E _
‘O.’
The man drew a line in blood. ‘Do you have some wood? I prefer to build a real scaffold. There’s no point playing hangman if no one gets hanged.’
‘U?’ Ivan said.
The stranger drew another line at right angles to the first.
‘T,’ said Ava.
_ A _ _ / T _ E / _ I _ _ E _
‘S,’ Ivan said.
The stranger drew the top bar of a scaffold.
‘We can use a tree if you don’t have any wood,’ he said.
Ivan was visibly shaking, but Ava put a hand on his arm.
‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘We’re going to win. You just have to think. Which names are T space E?’
‘Tee, Tie, Toe, The. Nothing else,’ Ivan said.
‘H,’ Ava said.
The man dipped his finger in the blood, then filled in the H.
_ A _ _ / T H E / _ I _ _ E _
‘N,’ Ivan guessed.
The stranger drew a crossbar to support the scaffold. ‘You’ll need a rope, too,’ he said. ‘Or a scarf. It would be a shame if a nice young boy like you hanged himself because he fell for a female serial killer, wouldn’t it?’ He grinned, his pointy teeth resting on his lower lip.
‘R,’ said Ava.
The stranger sniffed, dipped his finger, and added two Rs. ‘Getting warmer,’ he said.
_ A _ _ / T H E / R I _ _ E R
‘What words can we make that fit R-I-space-space-E-R?’asked Ivan.
Ava went white as it dawned on her. She didn’t want Ivan to see it, but how could he not?
‘I think we’ve had enough of this game,’ she said, looking the stranger in the eyes. Now he laughed properly.
‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Do you want to share with vampire boy?’
Ivan looked from one to the other.
‘Who is he?’ he asked Ava.
The man held out a hand.
‘Jack,’ he said. ‘And you are?’
‘Jack who?’
Eleven
The man dipped his finger in the jug and filled in the rest of the letters.
J A C K / T H E / R I P P E R
‘Slow, vampire boy, very slow.’ He completed the stick scaffold and drew a hanged man on it. Before Ivan could blink, Jack reached across the table and grabbed him by the neck, squeezing hard.
‘You’d be hanged if you didn’t have the clever girlfriend. Hanged and worse. Count yourself lucky. This time.’ He let go, and Ivan choked and gasped for breath
.
‘So – aren’t you going to bite him? I didn’t come only to play games, you know.’
‘No,’ Ava said. ‘I’m not going to bite him. And he’s mine – so keep off.’
Jack shrugged. ‘I will do absolutely whatever I wish to do,’ he said. ‘Do you think I am afraid of anyone?’
‘Ignace –’
‘Hah! Ignace? Two-bit dictator who fancies himself king of the world! And he doesn’t even know you’re here – you said so yourself. You’re with me now. And if you’re not with me …’ he drew a finger across his throat. ‘I’m pretty good at that, as you may recall. Whitechapel, London, 1888. The legend lives on. Plenty since, but I stopped showing off. It makes life – tricky.’
‘Are you going to kill me?’ Ava asked.
‘Good grief, no. You’re more fun alive. A beginner – fresh blood. I love it. And this –’ he pointed at Ivan again – ‘you want to keep it for a while? Fair enough. Just tell me when you’re sick of it and I’ll help with the necessary.’ He showed his teeth and leered at Ivan. ‘Or we could share it now …’
‘No!’ Ava grabbed a handful of Ivan’s jumper and pulled him closer to her.
‘Well, now I’ve introduced myself I’ll leave you in peace for the evening. I’m happy to go on tidying up for you. But you’ll attract Ignace’s attention. He has his spies, you know, even here. Let’s keep out of his way, shall we?’
‘There is no ‘we’!’ Ava said.
Jack smiled – a nasty, sly, confident smile.
‘I think you’ll find you’re mistaken, little vampire. You don’t have the ProVamp Ignace hands out to his vampires to control their hunger for blood. And you’ve already found that it doesn’t take many bitings to attract attention. They’re onto you, you know – not Ignace, the police.’
‘But I didn’t kill them!’ Ava shouted. ‘You did!’
‘They don’t know that. Someone remarkably like you was seen nearby … I’m good at slipping away unseen. Lots of practice, you see.
‘You need me. I’ll look after you, little vampire. Just like Ignace gives his vampires a mentor, a guardian – I’ll be yours. Juliette has Ignace, Finn has mad Lorenzo – you have Jack the Ripper!’
Ava gripped Ivan’s jumper. She felt sick, faint – how could this happen?
‘What’s your real name?’ Ivan asked suddenly. ‘When you’re not Jack?’
‘Do you want to play again?’ Jack asked.
‘No. Just tell me. Please.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because I know every way of harming a vampire and I want to know,’ Ivan said. Ava gripped his arm. His bravery frightened her.
Jack paused. ‘Origen Hobbs,’ he said at last.
‘Not one of the usual suspects?’ Ivan said.
‘Not a suspect at all. You’ll find no trace. I’m good. Very good. I’ll be seeing you – both. Later.’
Ava buried her face in Ivan’s chest as Jack the Ripper walked down the snowy steps and into the darkness, the knife glinting in his hand.
‘Well,’ Ava said as the snow blew into the caravan, ‘we’re going to have to find Ignace. Somehow.’
‘We?’
‘Yes.’ She took Ivan’s hand. ‘We. There is a ‘we’, isn’t there?’
He nodded, and leaned over to kiss her. Snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, and he brushed them away gently.
‘Yes. We will find Ignace. Whoever he is.’
About the Author
Anne Rooney does not eat meat, in case the taste of blood becomes too appealing.
When not writing books she haunts the cemeteries and catacombs of Paris and Venice and raises non-vampiric daughters and chickens in Cambridge. She studied at a haunted college and her first car was a haunted van; the undead hold no fears for her.
Copyright
by Anne Rooney
www.annerooney.co.uk
Published by Ransom Publishing Ltd.
Radley House, 8 St. Cross Road, Winchester, Hants.
SO23 9HX, UK
www.ransom.co.uk
ISBN 978 178127 179 7
First published in 2012
This ebook edition published 2013
Copyright © 2013 Ransom Publishing Ltd.
Text copyright © 2012 Anne Rooney
Images copyright © Ron Haviv/VII/Corbis, Marcus Lindström (cover); UteHil
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
The right of Anne Rooney to be identified as the author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
