by Christine Warren, Marjorie Liu, Caitlin Kittredge, Jenna Maclaine
As Ginny rang the bell, I paused in the shadow of the carriage. Pulling Michael’s head to mine, I kissed him quickly but thoroughly.
“What was that for, lass?” he asked.
“Just to remind you that I haven’t forgotten what’s been promised to me,” I said, trailing my fingers across his chest, then lower, smiling contentedly when the muscles of his stomach leapt to my touch.
The jingle of the shop’s bell drew my attention as Warren Little opened the door. A bachelor, he lived in the small apartment above his shop. It was apparent that he’d already settled in for the night. His dark hair was rather a mess and the buttons of his shirt were slightly askew, as if he’d dressed in a hurry.
“Miss Virginia!” he exclaimed, and then softer, “Ginny.”
I winked at Michael. “We’ll be back shortly,” I said, leaving him to mind the horses.
“Warren,” Ginny said, “this is my employer, Cin Craven.”
Warren looked startled, and why wouldn’t he be? Two women showing up on a bachelor’s doorstep in the middle of the night was highly improper, but time was of the essence. I couldn’t go out in the daylight and I knew what I was looking for. Coming to the shop tonight was the most efficient use of our time.
Warren finally regained his composure and bowed to me.
“Mrs. Craven,” he said, “won’t you both come in?”
I wasn’t prepared for the memories that assaulted me when I entered the shop. So much had changed in the world over the last century, but this shop was exactly the same. I closed my eyes and inhaled. It even smelled the same. I had played here when I was a little girl, my mother having also been a witch and a regular customer of this establishment. I knew there was a private room in the back of the store that sold anything a witch could want. I stared at the counter and the jar of peppermints that still sat there, the bright red and white candies beckoning me. Silently, I crossed the room and ran my fingers over the glass. Warren’s grandfather, Archie, had always given me one or two when Mother and I had come to shop. I looked up at the ceiling. Somewhere upstairs was the bedroom where I had woken the night I’d become a vampire. It was also the same room I’d sat in as I’d watched Archie Little take his last breath in this world.
“Is she all right?” Warren whispered to Ginny.
“She’s fine,” Ginny whispered back. Louder, she said, “Cin, may I introduce Mr. Warren Little?”
I reached up and brushed a tear from my cheek before turning back to them. Warren was the very image of his father and a more handsome version of his grandfather. He was a big man with dark hair and dark eyes. And, like his father and his grandfather before him, not the sort of man you’d expect to find behind the counter in an apothecary shop.
“Hello, Warren,” I said softly.
His eyes grew round and he backed up quickly, nearly upsetting a display of bath salts in the process. It occurred to me that, while I could see perfectly well outside at night, this was the first look he’d had of me in the light.
“I remember you,” he whispered.
I nodded. “I thought you might. You were just a boy the last time I was here. You were what? Ten years old?”
“I was eleven,” he said hollowly. “It was the night my grandfather died. You and a blonde woman came to see him.”
Warren walked slowly to me, staring as if he was seeing a ghost. His gaze flew over my face and the Craven Cross that hung from its gold chain around my neck. It was a large Celtic cross studded with rubies and diamonds, and not something that one would forget. When he was standing not a foot from me, he reached his hand out, but it wasn’t the cross he touched. It was the long lock of blood-red hair that fell over my shoulder. I stood very still as he ran his thumb and forefinger over that curl. Then he raised his dark eyes to mine.
“I’ll never forget the color of your hair. Grandfather used to tell us stories of vampires and demons, but I thought they were just tales meant to entertain a young boy,” he said.
I closed my eyes and pushed away my memories of Archie Little. One of the prices you pay for living forever is that the humans you love die all too quickly. I looked at Ginny, trying not to think of the day when I would lose her, too. It never gets easier, and yet I can’t seem to help but make those bonds.
“Mrs. Craven,” Warren said, snapping me out of my dark thoughts. “Why have you come?”
“I need some supplies for a spell, Warren,” I said. “I’m hoping that Little and Sons still sells the type of items I require?”
Warren smiled. “That we do. Just tell me what you need and I’ll be happy to get it for you.”
I felt slightly uncomfortable as I gave him a list of the ingredients I needed. This combination of herbs was innocent enough, but when I found the rest of the spell … well, what I intended to do with them was not exactly white magic. My mother definitely would not have approved. In fact, when I’d been a young witch, arrogant and unwilling to use any sort of magic that might be tainted with darkness, I had once balked at using this very binding spell. But many years ago I had been infected with black magic. It was a part of me and had been for almost as long as I’d been a vampire. I had made my peace with it and I was not so squeamish now about such things.
The front door burst open, causing the three of us to jump in surprise, and Michael rushed into the shop.
“Cin!” Michael yelled. “I saw him!”
“Who is that?” Warren asked as I rushed past him.
“Her husband,” I heard Ginny respond.
“Who?” I asked. “Who did you see?”
“The Ripper,” Michael replied.
“Jack the Ripper’s dead,” Warren announced. “Or so they say. There hasn’t been a Ripper murder in months.”
“That’s because he’s been killing vampires,” I informed him. “Michael, we don’t even know what he looks like now. How do you know it was him?”
“A man in a deerstalker hat stopped at the end of the block and stared at me for quite a long time,” he said.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I pointed out. People often stared at Michael, though usually it was women. He was just so damned beautiful. “It was undoubtedly just someone out for an evening stroll.”
“With glowing red eyes?” Michael asked smugly.
“Oh. Well, probably not.”
“Exactly,” he said, turning back to the door. “Let’s go.”
I rushed to catch up with him, grabbing his arm as he reached the door.
“And do what?” I asked. “Get ourselves killed? Let it go tonight, Michael. We’ll be much better prepared tomorrow.”
Michael glowered at me. I loved him more than anything in this world, but by the gods, he was hotheaded. He and Justine were like two peas in a pod that way and, more often than not, Devlin and I were the voices of reason that kept them alive.
“Cin?” Ginny called out, her voice thick with worry. “What’s happening?”
I turned back to her. “Absolutely nothing. Everything is fine.”
When I turned back around, Michael was striding out the door.
“Michael,” I yelled. “Michael, don’t!”
But he didn’t stop.
“Oh, bugger,” I cursed. I had no weapons other than my magic and I wasn’t dressed for fighting. I looked back at Warren and Ginny. “Warren, take her upstairs and don’t open that door until I come back. A vampire can enter this shop without an invitation, but not your apartment.”
He nodded to me and I gritted my teeth and strode from the shop. I paused as I closed the door, thinking about how the demon could take over any dead body it chose. Sticking my head back inside, I amended my order. “Actually, don’t come back down until morning.”
Both of their eyes grew wide at the implication, but I didn’t have time to worry about Ginny’s virtue. I rushed off after my husband, cursing with every step. The slushy snow was soaking into my cloak and the hem of my dress, and the dragging weight was an annoyance I did not need at the m
oment. Not to mention, my beautiful new slippers were undoubtedly ruined, and it was a good thing I wasn’t susceptible to frostbite. By the gods, I hate winter.
SEVEN
I caught up with Michael fairly quickly, which surprised me, considering he didn’t have sodden skirts and petticoats hampering his movement.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” I hissed as I came up alongside him.
Michael reached out and took my hand, his warm skin enveloping my cold fingers. Still, he didn’t take his eyes off the man walking down the sidewalk in the distance, and he didn’t slow his pace.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I’m not going to engage him. But it might be helpful to track him, don’t you think? He must call someplace home, and knowing his daytime resting place could undoubtedly be useful.”
I couldn’t argue with his logic. “All right,” I agreed. “We’ll follow him, but not for long. What if he waits until dawn to go home? I don’t fancy burning to ashes on the streets of London, thank you very much.”
“Let’s just see where he’s headed and then we’ll turn back. He’s not wandering, he’s walking with purpose. Wherever he’s going, it can’t be far or he would have taken a hack.”
I looked at the figure ahead of us. From the back he looked like any other well-dressed gentleman, but if Michael said his eyes had glowed red, I believed him. We trailed him for quite some time until he entered St. James’s Park. We were following at such a distance that by the time we entered the park, he had vanished into the shadows of the trees. Michael stopped, and I was grateful for it.
“Something isn’t right,” I said, a sense of unease gripping me.
“We’re not tracking him,” Michael said softly. “He’s baiting us.”
“Can we go back now?” I asked.
“Yes,” Michael replied. “And quickly.”
We turned to go, but it was too late. The Ripper was behind us, leaning negligently against one of the barren oaks, his features obscured by the shadows.
“How kind of you to come,” he said.
Michael opened his coat and pulled his sword. The Ripper smiled.
“I have one of those too,” he informed us, and his eyes flashed red as he drew his own blade. “This might be amusing.
I almost laughed. Demon or not, he was still limited by the confines of his human body. Or perhaps this body had once been a vampire. It didn’t matter. There was a reason they called Michael the Devil’s Archangel. He was merciless in battle and no one, except perhaps the High King of the Vampires, could match his skill with a blade. The Ripper would lose. But what then?
“Cin, run,” Michael said, as if he had already thought through the answer to my unspoken question.
“I won’t leave you,” I argued.
Almost painfully he grabbed my arm, never taking his eyes from the demon slowly advancing toward us. “I was a fool to allow you to come with me. If he takes your body, we’re all doomed.”
The Ripper paused and looked at me. Now that he was out from under the cover of the trees, I could see his face clearly. Whoever’s body he was wearing, the man had been handsome. Nothing out of the ordinary, but he had pleasant enough features, with thick brown hair and green eyes. It was his eyes that caught my attention. There was nothing behind them. Despite his words, there was no sense of anticipation to be found there. No excitement. No fear. Nothing. He cocked his head in my direction, and for the briefest moment I thought I saw curiosity in his eyes. His gaze raked over me in an impersonal, almost scientific, assessment of my worth, and then that eerie blankness fell back in place and he turned his attention back to Michael.
“Run,” Michael said again, “and don’t stop until you get home.” He shoved me away as the Ripper raised his sword and the battle began.
I stumbled backward, but I didn’t run. Michael was right, of course. Were the demon to invade my body and take control of my magic, nothing would stop him. I knew well the terrifying extent of my powers, the things that I could do, but would not. I should run. I was endangering hundreds, if not millions, of lives by staying. Yet I could not leave Michael.
What I did do was move to the far edge of the field, so that my continued presence wouldn’t distract Michael, and watch as they circled each other, blades clashing. Michael was by far the better swordsman, but the demon was so strong, stronger even than a vampire. Every time their swords collided I could see the force of it reverberate through Michael’s body. How long could he take that punishment before he ended it and took the Ripper’s head? And when that happened, would the Ripper take my husband’s body as he had taken the Chief Warden’s?
Frantically, I tried to think of some sort of magic that would incapacitate him long enough for us to get away, but not kill him outright. Without knowing whose body he was in, it was a dicey decision. Fire would kill a human slowly enough for us to run, but vampires were much more combustible. It was too risky. But perhaps I could freeze him, make him immobile just long enough for Michael and me to get to safety.
I made an effort to clear my head and concentrate on what I wished to accomplish. Calling up my magic, I let it build within me, like bringing a pot to boiling. I waited far longer than I normally did to set it free, hoping the magic would be that much stronger. When it felt as though I could no longer hold all that power within my own skin, I raised my hands and focused on the demon.
Freeze, I thought. Be still.
The Ripper stumbled and turned his head to me. Michael took advantage of that moment of distraction and shoved his sword into the demon’s chest. That got his attention. His sword came up, slicing at Michael’s head. Michael moved just quickly enough to avoid most of the arc, the tip of the blade slicing along one cheek. Michael didn’t flinch. He spun away from the sword and came up directly in front of the Ripper. Blocking the demon’s sword arm with his left hand, Michael pulled his sword from the Ripper’s chest and swiftly stepped out of range.
Meanwhile, I stood well back from the fray, completely dumbfounded. What had just happened? Other than my magic not working, obviously. It was inconceivable. The clash of steel once again broke the stillness of the night and I shook my head, unable to dwell on the matter any longer. Somehow he was immune to my magic, but I was certain the bastard wasn’t immune to fire.
Holding my hand out, I conjured a ball of fire a few inches above my palm. It was a frightening bit of magic and one that I’d only done a couple times. Fire is not a vampire’s friend, after all.
“Michael, get as far away from him as you can!” I shouted.
Having fought by my side for so many decades, Michael instinctively moved away from both the demon and the sound of my voice. It only takes getting in the crossfire of my magic and its intended target once to learn that lesson.
I pulled my hand out from under the ball of fire and, focusing on the Ripper’s dark form, I used my power to hurl it in his direction. Like a comet streaking through the night sky, it flew from me and hit the demon with enough force to knock him to the ground.
“Come on, Michael!” I called to him, holding out my hand. “Now!”
Without looking back, he ran to me. As I waited for him to cross the field I watched the demon burn. I’d seen vampires burn before. There was always thrashing and screaming, but the demon did neither. He lay there for a moment and then he slowly got to his feet. Like a straw man burned in effigy, he simply stood there, ablaze and unmoving. And then it happened.
Just as Grady had described, the demon broke loose from the body it had stolen. The creature that emerged from the burning corpse pulsed with an eerie blue light. It was essentially human in form, though its long limbs and body were shapeless and genderless. It had to find a new body, and quickly. It couldn’t survive in this realm without one. Its red eyes glowed like burning coals … and they were looking directly at me. Seeing the panic on my face, Michael turned to look behind him. He was between me and the demon, but it didn’t want him. It came directly at me.
“Michael! No!” I shouted and ran forward.
Just as I reached him, he raised his head and looked at me. I skidded to a halt. His blue eyes were now demon-red.
“Michael?” I whispered.
He looked down at himself, at the sword he still held in his hand, then his gaze moved back to me. I stood, unable to move, as he came toward me with that graceful predator’s stride I knew so well. My head was telling me to run, that the demon now had control of my husband’s body, but my heart could not accept it.
“Witch,” Michael said. “He told me you would come.”
Before I could ask what he meant, the man I loved raised his sword and plunged it into my chest. I staggered back, falling to the ground. Gripping the sword, I blinked up at him in disbelief. He knelt before me, balancing on the balls of his feet.
“The sword does not hurt that much,” he said, as if he were impartially observing the outcome of some experiment. “Yet there is such pain in your eyes. How interesting.”
Whatever reply I might have come up with was forestalled by the sound of running footsteps. Michael, or rather the demon who now occupied his body, and I turned to see Warren Little dashing across the field toward us.
“Warren,” I gasped, pain radiating through my chest, as he came to kneel by my side. “Get out of here.”
“Mrs. Craven,” he said aghast, ignoring me. “You’ve been stabbed.” Turning to Michael he snapped, “What have you done?”
The demon stood and I looked up at him. His eyes were now Michael’s own blue but briefly they flashed red in anger. Actually, I wasn’t sure if he could even register such an emotion as anger or annoyance, or if he’d done it just because he could. Whatever the case, it had the desired effect. Warren finally understood that something had gone terribly wrong.
“I’ve grown weary of killing humans,” the demon said. “But I will make an exception for you.”
