by L. J. Smith
“I brought you here,” I said quickly. I knew exactly how she felt. It was a feeling I suffered from back in New York, when I was sure Klaus was near. I fumbled in my pocket. “And now, your Saint Stefan has one more thing for you. Take this,” I said, pressing a pendant into her hand. It was a vial of vervain on a gold chain.
“What is it?” she asked, swinging the pendant back and forth. It caught the flickering light of the candle on the table.
“A good luck charm,” I said. Vervain was poisonous to me, and I could still feel its effects through the glass barrier of the vial. But I carried it everywhere. So far, I’d never had to use it. And I only hoped that Violet wouldn’t have to, either.
“I need luck,” Violet said, clasping the pendant around her neck. As long as she had that, she couldn’t be compelled, not even by me. We now were fully bound to each other by trust alone.
“So do I,” I said.
And then, she stood up on her tiptoes and allowed her lips to graze my cheek. “To luck,” she whispered in my ear.
I grinned at her. Hell itself may have been hunting these streets, but at least I had a friend. And as I’d learned in my long life, that was no small thing.
Chapter 6
In the light of day, the winding London streets didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as they had during my wild run the night before. Carriages filled the roads, peddlers on the corners hawked everything from flowers to newspapers to tobacco, and a cacophony of languages made it impossible to pick out any distinct conversations. I walked east, following the flow of the Thames, the river that had become my North Star in orienting myself in London. The dark and murky water looked foreboding, as though it had secrets buried far beneath its surface. I wished I could just take Violet and leave this city. I could keep her safe for now, but how long would that last? All I could think of was the look of terror on Violet’s face, her small voice, the strength she had to leave her family in Ireland to follow her dream. She had a courageous streak that Rosalyn hadn’t, but her youthful innocence made me nostalgic for the time when I was her age. It was my fault she had lost her room and board and I wanted to protect her in any way I could.
People are our downfall. Interacting with them is what undoes us. Your heart is too soft. It had been something Lexi told me many times over the years. I’d always nod, but sometimes I’d question why. Because while it was easy enough to avoid humans when I was in the company of Lexi, I seemed to instinctively seek out their company when I was by myself. And why was that so wrong? Just because I was a monster didn’t mean that I no longer valued companionship.
So when will my heart harden? I’d asked, impatient.
She’d laughed. I hope it won’t. It’s the part of you that keeps you human. I suppose that’s your blessing and your curse.
As I walked to Whitechapel, I stopped midway in St. James Park, my thirst growing. I knew if I was heading back to the tavern, I would have to be at my strongest. Unlike the nightmarish Dutfield Park from last night, this field was sprawling and lush, full of ponds and trees and pedestrians enjoying impromptu picnics. It was vast; but at first glance still seemed smaller than Central Park in New York City, where I’d once spent several hungry weeks foraging for food.
Clouds had once again rolled into the sky, bathing the whole city in darkness. It was only noon, but there was no sign of the sun. The air felt wet and heavy with rain, despite the lack of actual drops. It was never like this in Ivinghoe. The weather there seemed more honest, somehow. When it looked like it would rain, it rained. Here, nothing was as it seemed.
I sniffed the air. Even though I couldn’t see them, I knew animals were everywhere, hiding under the brush or scampering in tunnels just beneath the grass. I headed toward a dense collection of trees, hoping I could capture a bird or a squirrel without anyone noticing.
A disturbance in the bushes caused me to stiffen. Without thinking, I used my vampire reflexes to reach into them, trapping a fat gray squirrel in my hands. Relying only on instinct, I sunk my teeth into the tiny creature’s neck and sucked out its blood, trying not to gag. City squirrels tasted different than country squirrels, and this one had watery, bitter-tasting blood. Still, it would have to do.
I threw the carcass into the bushes and wiped my mouth. Suddenly, I heard a rustle coming from the far end of the forest. I whirled around, half-expecting to see Klaus, ready for a fight. Nothing.
I sighed, my stomach finally quieting now that it was satiated.
And now that I was prepared, I headed to the Ten Bells Tavern, ready to compel Alfred into giving Violet her job back. As expected, the air smelled musty and sharp, like the scent of ale mixed with unwashed human bodies.
“Alfred?” I called, my eyes once again adjusting to the near nighttime blackness of the bar. I wasn’t looking forward to speaking to him. He was loathsome, and even though my compelling would ensure Violet would be treated kindly, I hated the thought of her returning here. But I knew it was the best thing for her. Because the more she became involved with me, the more danger she’d be in. That was something I knew as clearly as the message written in blood on the wall.
“Alfred?” I called again, just as he emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pants. His cheeks were red and his eyes were bloodshot.
“Stefan. Violet’s bloke. I s’pose now you decided you’re done with her? We don’t do refunds,” he said flatly, leaning his meaty arms against the bar.
“She’s a friend,” I said. I stepped toward him, making sure to keep eye contact, and keeping my fingers and palms flexed to avoid lashing out. I hated him. “And I have something I need to discuss.”
“What?” he asked suspiciously.
“Take Violet back,” I said levelly. “She’s a hard worker, and she needs her job and room.”
Alfred nodded, but didn’t open his mouth to speak.
“Just like her sister. Takes off with the first man who looks at her nicely. Bloody fools if you ask me. Mary Ann, now she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Violet . . .”
“Will you do that?” I prompted. I wanted to follow his conversational thread, but I couldn’t stop in the middle of compelling. In the past twenty-four hours, I’d compelled more than I had in the past twenty years, and I wasn’t as confident in my Power as I used to be. “And when you do, you won’t lay a hand on her. You’ll protect her. Just bring Violet back.”
“Bring Violet back,” he said slowly, as if in a trance.
“Yes,” I said, relieved by the confirmation.
Just then, the bell of the tavern tinkled and a large man lurched in, clearly still drunk from the night before. Alfred looked up at the commotion, breaking the spell and ruining my chance to ask questions: What man had Cora gone off with? And what else did Alfred know?
“You’ll see Violet tomorrow night,” I said to Alfred’s retreating back, as though we were just having a chat. I pulled up a stool to the bar, waiting for when he’d be free. The door opened again and a woman sauntered in, wearing an indigo dress that clearly showed the expansive whiteness of her bosom. I recognized her as the woman who’d come up to me last night. This time, I was glad to speak with her. She had a large beauty mark above her red-painted lips, and her hair hung in bright blond ringlets under a black-feather-adorned hat. She was short and squat, but carried herself with the confidence of a woman far more beautiful.
Immediately, her beady eyes locked on mine. “Hello, there,” she said, walking unsteadily up to me. “Me name’s Eliza.” She held out her hand for me to kiss.
I recoiled. Even though I’d just fed, the thin squirrel blood was not enough to satisfy my deeper thirst, and her exposed flesh was almost more than I could bear. I could smell her blood and could almost imagine its rich, sugar-sweet flavor coating my tongue. I pressed my lips together and stared at the dusty cracks between the floorboards.
“I tried to talk to you last night,” she continued, allowing her hand to flutter to my shoulder as though dusting off an
imaginary speck of lint. “But you only had eyes for that girl. I thought she was so lucky, speaking with a handsome young lad like you. I hope you enjoyed her,” she leered.
“I didn’t.” I stepped away, hating her insinuation. “Violet is just a friend,” I said coldly.
“Well, do you need someone who’s more than a friend?” she asked, batting her dark eyelashes.
“No! I need to know . . .” I glanced toward Alfred, but he was far down at the other end of the bar, busy playing a game of dice with the drunk man. Still, I lowered my voice. “I need to know more about the murderer.”
“You one of them coppers?” she asked suspiciously. “Because I told ’em before, I don’t do discounts and I don’t give out information on me friends neither. Not for all the gin in China.”
I shook my head at her mangled expression. “I’m just concerned. Especially now. Apparently another woman is missing. Do you know Cora? She works here.” For Violet’s sake, I only hoped that Cora was alive.
“Cora?” The woman’s face transformed into a grimace. “Why, she was the barmaid, right? Always thought she was so uppity and better than us, but Lord knows she was doing the same thing we was. Seems like she was just waiting for the right price,” the woman said indignantly.
“Do you mean she left with a man?” I asked urgently. It was clear that this woman had been keeping a very close eye on Cora, and I hoped that would translate into a clue as to her whereabouts.
The woman nodded. “The same man who I’d been trying all night to be sweet on me. He was handsome. Said he was a producer or an actor at the Gaiety. One of them theater types. Funny sounding, though. A bit like you,” she added uncertainly.
“He had an accent?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I doubted there were many frequenters of the Ten Bells who had a Southern drawl like mine. Maybe Damon had been here. And maybe, just maybe, he knew I was in town. Maybe that was why the message had been written on the wall. It hadn’t been Klaus at all, only one of Damon’s stupid traps to lure me into a cat-and-mouse chase.
“You got me going all hoarse. If we’re going to talk any more, you’ve got to get me a drink,” Eliza said, yanking me from my reverie. “Double gin, please,” she said, her eyes gleaming greedily.
“Of course,” I said. I went to the bar and came back with a gin and a whiskey. I licked my lips as I watched Eliza take a swig. I took a careful sip of my own drink. Although I didn’t want to get drunk, alcohol occasionally tempered my cravings for blood. I hoped it would this time. I needed something to distract me from Eliza’s neck. I took another large gulp of whiskey.
“There, that’s better. Nothing beats a spot of gin in the afternoon, don’t you agree, love?” she asked, already appearing in a much better mood.
“Well, he was talkin’ funny. Not like he bothered to say much to me,” she added darkly. “He talked to her all night. I walked by a couple times. Said he’d bring her to the theater, show her around. Maybe get her an audition. Men say whatever pops in their heads to get a woman to go to bed,” Eliza said in disgust.
“Do you remember his name? Did he have any distinctive features? Was he intimidating her?” I asked, barraging her with questions as dread rippled through my stomach.
“I don’t know! Like I said, he didn’t even want to talk to me!” she said indignantly. “And I s’pose it’s a good thing, especially with them murders going on. Maybe it’s best we stick with the blokes we know, even if they stiff us for our money when they can’t . . .” She broke off and glanced at me, her eyes challenging me to get her salty innuendo.
“But what did he look like?” I asked, barely listening to what she was saying.
Her eyes cut toward me suspiciously. “Oh, you’re still thinking about him? I don’t know. Elegant. Tall. Dirty blond hair. But since Cora’s body didn’t show up in a ditch or nothin’, they’re probably just enjoying each other’s company,” she added darkly.
Dirty blond hair? I frowned. Damon’s hair was dark. It was the first clue that hadn’t been a perfect match. Of course, it wasn’t as if Eliza was necessarily the most reliable eyewitness. I decided to keep focusing on what else she had to say. “Or maybe he really was one of those producers she always talked about. Well, la dee da for her. Then she’d always be thinking she was better than any of us,” Eliza added.
“Were you close with Mary Ann?” I asked, changing the subject to the murder victim.
Eliza sighed and flicked her gaze away from me, toward the motley collection of men who’d filled the bar since we’d begun talking. Since it was clear I wasn’t interested in propositioning her, she was obviously looking for someone who would. Not seeing any targets, she glanced back at me.
“Mary Ann was me friend. At least she was before she went and got herself killed,” Eliza said, a cloud of anger crossing her face. “Although, what do you expect?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, she was me friend, and I’d’a said this to her face if I’d gotten the chance. She was one of them types. Took risks. Caroused with bad men. I don’t even remember who she left with. After they found her, all cut up and killed, the police came in the tavern. Who did she go with, they asked. What did she say as she was leaving? And the answer was, we saw nothing, we heard nothing, and if she’d’a only told us who she was going off with, we might have been able to avoid him in the future!” Eliza shuddered, and I couldn’t help noticing her heaving bosom. I glanced away, but not before she caught me staring.
She smiled lasciviously. “Are you sure you don’t want to continue this conversation in private?” she asked, suggestively licking her lower lip.
“I’m sure!” I said forcefully, standing up so quickly the rickety chair behind me toppled over. “You’re lovely, of course, but I can’t,” I said.
“I can give you a deal. Foreigner’s special!” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“I have to go,” I said firmly. I reached into my pocket and found a few florins. “These are for you. Please don’t go off with anyone,” I said. I dropped the coins into her hand.
Her eyes gleamed as she took the money. “You sure I can’t give you a little something?”
“That won’t be necessary.” I scraped my chair back and strode out of the tavern.
As soon as I walked out, I stumbled, and immediately realized the whiskey had gone to my head. But I had a clue that would lead me to Cora and Damon.
“You there!”
I whirled around. The drunk man who’d been at the bar when I came in lurched toward me, the scent of stale gin on his breath.
“What?” I asked.
“I know who you are,” he said, swaying closer and closer toward me. “And I have my eye on you!” At this, he laughed maniacally, then staggered backward against a brick wall.
Fear buzzed in my brain. I looked down at him, still laughing in a drunken heap. What did he mean, he knew who I was? Was it just the ramblings of a drunk, or was it another clue that my arrival in London hadn’t been unnoticed?
Chapter 7
I know who you are.
The words thudded in my consciousness. Who was I? I was Stefan Salvatore once. Damon knew that. So did whoever wrote the message on the wall. But who else?
He was a drunk. Let it go, I commanded myself as I hastily picked my way out of the park and toward the hotel, stopping along the way to purchase tickets for a musical burlesque at the Gaiety Theatre. I’d gotten two box tickets, each one costing more than a week’s pay. But I’d compelled them from the bewildered man at the box office, justifying it by reminding myself it would all be worth it if the play led to us finding Cora. With the tickets in my breast pocket, I whistled to myself as I headed back into the hotel.
Violet jumped up as soon as I opened the door.
“How was your day?” she asked, sounding anxious and tired. “Did you find Cora?”
“I spoke to Alfred, and you don’t have to worry about your
job. And I think I know where we can find Cora,” I said slowly, belying my own excitement. The last thing I wanted to do was give Violet false hope.
“Really? Where? How?” Violet clapped her hands together. “Oh, Stefan, you’re wonderful!”
“I’m not,” I said gruffly. “And I don’t know for a fact, but I think she might have met a producer from the Gaiety Theatre.” I briefly explained my conversation with Eliza, although I left out the part about the man with the accent. But in Violet’s mind, Cora was as good as found.
“Really?” Violet beamed. “Why, no wonder she wouldn’t have said anything! Because, see, Alfred would have gotten jealous. And if he’d known she’d left her job, he wouldn’t allow her back. So maybe Cora was just waiting until she got the theater job before she came to collect me. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” I said slowly. Violet’s cheeks were red and she was striding back and forth across the room. She was excited and agitated, and I wanted to believe the story she’d spun. It could be true. But no good could come of us both pacing like caged animals in the hotel room. We had a few hours before the show, and Violet was still clad in her stained pinafore from last night.
“Let’s go shopping,” I decided, standing up and making my way to the door.
“Really?” Violet wrinkled her nose. “Of course I want to, but I’ve no money . . .”
“I have a little bit saved. Please, it’s the least I can do after everything that happened last night.”
Violet hesitated, then nodded, accepting my help. “Thank you!” she said. “I can’t wait to see Cora. She won’t believe that I had my own adventure. Why, I think she might be jealous,” she continued giddily. I started to relax.
After all, I could play Violet’s what if game, too. I could pretend the drunk outside the tavern had been hallucinating and had mistaken me for his long-lost cousin. I could pretend I was a human.
And that’s where the game ended. Because I wasn’t, and as much as I wanted to believe it, none of the rest was true either.
