by L. J. Smith
“Stefan Pine, and this is my friend, Violet,” I explained, taking Charlotte’s delicate hand and bringing it to my lips for a kiss.
“I’m an actress. From America,” Violet said, trying hard to put on an American accent as she sank into a deep curtsy.
“Are you?” Charlotte asked pointedly, a sharp edge to her tone as she tried to determine whether or not Violet was competition.
“Well, I’d like to be,” Violet demurred, clearly realizing that her statement was not the best way to get in Charlotte’s good graces. “So would my sister. Cora Burns. Do you know her?”
Charlotte’s expression softened slightly. “Cora . . . the name sounds familiar,” Charlotte said, tugging on Damon’s shirtsleeve. “Do we know a Cora, love?”
Damon rolled his eyes. “As if I could keep track of everyone we meet. That’s what the society pages are for, right? If they’re there, then I’ve met them. And if not, then I haven’t.”
“Well, if you meet her, please tell her that her sister is looking for her,” Violet said tentatively. I felt nothing but relief. Charlotte seemed somewhat familiar with Cora’s name. Maybe Cora simply had gone off with a theater producer.
“Doesn’t ring a bell, sweetheart, sorry.” Damon shrugged.
“It’s okay,” Violet said sadly. “Just so she knows I’m looking.”
“Speaking of looking,” Charlotte said brightly, breaking the silence, “I think I need another glass of champagne.” In the short conversation, she’d already drained her whole flute. “Would you like to come with me? And maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Mackintosh, the producer of our little show. Your sister’s not the only one who could be an actress.”
Violet’s eyes gleamed as the two girls walked away into the swirl of revelers. Damon watched with a bemused expression.
“Women!” he remarked once they were firmly out of earshot. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Am I right? The nagging, the compliments, the enthusiasm . . . no wonder humans age so quickly,” he said, throwing back his own glass of champagne.
“Well, it seems you have a steady source of nourishment,” I said darkly. Was Damon’s choice of women what ignited the wrath of Klaus? Or something else? Whatever it was, I’d play nice until I got to the bottom of it.
“Oh yes. She does well, although the blood is often rather alcoholic. Great before a big night out, but I have to be careful not to overindulge,” Damon said casually, as if he were reviewing a brand-new restaurant. “And you? Have you gone back to human blood in your middle age? Don’t tell me you’re still subsisting on squirrels and bunnies!” He guffawed.
“I’m not talking about Charlotte,” I said, ignoring his teasing. “And I’m here to stop you. You’re being stupid and careless, and you’re going to get hurt. What are you even doing here?”
“I’m here for the weather,” Damon parried back sarcastically. “Do I need a reason? Maybe I decided to see the sights. America felt too small. Here, there are all sorts of diversions.”
“What kind of diversions?” I asked pointedly.
Damon smiled again, revealing his ultra-white teeth. “You know, the usual ones that come with traveling abroad: meeting new people, trying new cuisines . . .”
“Trying your hand at murder?’’ I hissed, lowering my voice so that no one else could hear me.
Confusion crossed Damon’s face, followed by a long, hollow laugh.
“Oh, you mean the Jack the Ripper nonsense? Please. Don’t you know me better?” Damon asked when he finally stopped chuckling.
“I know you well enough,” I said, clenching my jaw. “And I know you love attention. This is bad news for you.”
“No news is bad news for me.” Damon yawned, as if the conversation bored him. “Well, then you know, brother, that I’ve always abhorred guessing games and I have no patience for hysteria. I’d much rather kill discreetly.”
“So you haven’t killed anyone recently?” I asked, my eyes darting around the room to make sure no one was listening. No one was. The partiers around us were far too busy drinking and laughing to think anything of our intense conversation in the shadows.
“No!” Damon said, annoyed. “I’m having far too much fun with my wicked lady of the stage. And let me tell you, she is wicked,” he said, suggestively waggling his eyebrows.
“Fine,” I said. I wouldn’t give Damon the satisfaction of listening to his exploits. “But the murders . . .”
“Are being done by some stupid human who’ll be caught sooner or later,” Damon said, shrugging.
“No.” I shook my head and briefly explained what I’d seen, the bloody SALVATORE—I SHALL HAVE MY REVENGE message in Dutfield Park.
“So?” Damon asked, barely a flicker crossing his face.
“I think it could be Klaus,” I snapped, frustrated at having to spell out what appeared so obvious to me. “Who else writes bloody messages and knows our name?”
Damon’s eyes widened slightly, only to immediately go back to his satisfied, lazy expression. “That’s your clue?” he asked. “Because anyone could write that. And I hate to bruise your ego, Stefan, but we’re not exactly the only Salvatores in the world. It could even be the name of one of those Whitechapel girls. I’m not concerned. And of course the murderer, whoever he was, used blood to write. Ink and paper just doesn’t have the same horrific effect.” He sighed, glancing over to the bar, where Violet and Charlotte were tipping back their glasses of champagne and giggling.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink. Come with me, brother. Let’s celebrate our reunion,” he said, picking his way through the crowd. I followed him, furious. He was acting like I’d told him a joke. Didn’t he care that a psychotic vampire was on the loose? Didn’t it bother him that we might be the target of a murderer?
Apparently not. Every few steps, he was stopped by various admirers: girls I recognized from the chorus, a small man with an enormous white bushy beard who seemed to be the theater tailor, and a barrel-chested man with gold cufflinks and a top hat whom I imagined to be one of the producers for the company. I tried to ask him light questions to see if he had any connection to Cora, but I knew this man wasn’t the one. He had a thick British accent and dark hair. Nothing like Eliza’s description. Every time Damon was stopped, he laughed and smiled, clinking his glass and offering up compliments. I had to hand it to him—on the surface, Damon was nothing but a perfect gentleman.
“See how well I’m behaving?” Damon asked after we finally got to the bar and the bartender offered us two glasses of champagne.
“Like a regular priest,” I said. It was odd to be at a party with Damon. One part of me still wanted it to be like it had been back when we were humans, when we’d always anticipate what the other was going to do or say. The other, wiser part of me knew I could never trust Damon as a vampire—after all, he’d killed Callie, he’d have killed the Sutherlands if Klaus and his minions hadn’t gotten to them first, and he left Lexi and I twenty years ago, barely saying good-bye.
And yet, in his mind, nothing would settle the score that Damon thought existed between us. After all, I was the one who’d turned Damon into a vampire. He’d begged me not to, but I’d forced him to drink blood, had forced him to live out this eternity. He’d never forgiven me. Over time, even though there was a mounting list of offenses and wrongs that he’d done me, I still would erase them all from my mind if it meant we could be true brothers, like we’d been before. And it was all too painful to realize that would never come to pass when, even to outsiders, we appeared to be the best of friends. Indeed, Damon was constantly introducing me to a whole host of people as his “old friend Stefan from the States,” and all I could do was smile, nod, and wish I lived in a world where it truly was that simple.
“Charlotte was bewitching as always,” I heard a voice say and glanced up. A tall blond gentleman was standing next to Damon. He was wearing a white silk shirt buttoned all the way to the top of his neck, along with an elegant black to
pcoat. His shoes were Italian leather, and it was impossible to tell his age—he could be anywhere from twenty-five to forty.
“Samuel!” Damon exclaimed, giving the man a hearty clap on the back. “This is Stefan, an old friend.”
“Hello,” I said stiffly, bowing my head slightly. I sensed Samuel appraising my rough hands, chapped and cut up from weeks of hard physical labor, as well as the five o’clock shadow forming on my face. I’d fallen out of the habit of daily shaves while at Abbott Manor.
“Welcome,” Samuel said after a long moment. “Any friend of Damon’s is a friend of mine.” But before he could say anything else, Charlotte and Violet walked toward us, Violet clearly tipsy.
“This is the most exquisite day of my life!” Violet announced to no one in particular, flinging her champagne glass up in a toast so violently that the liquid sprayed in a constellation-like pattern on her silk dress.
“To imagine, I was like that once,” Charlotte said in mock horror. “I do hope you take her home and teach her some of the finer points of mingling in polite society,” she added, looking pointedly at me.
“Well, unfortunately, Violet will get none of that with Stefan, darling. Although she will get a lot of lessons. Stefan loves hearing himself talk. Why, I think he’s talked me to death in the past.”
“I almost love talking as much as Damon loves listening to himself,” I said, an undercurrent of annoyance evident beneath my jocular tone. I needed to get Violet back to the hotel. After all, she had to work tomorrow night. But I knew it would be a challenge to get her to willingly leave this party. And we still hadn’t found Cora.
“Well, I must go, but will I see you and Charlotte tomorrow near Grove House?” Samuel asked after a moment, glancing meaningfully at Damon.
“Of course.” Damon nodded.
“One o’clock? It has to be before my show,” Charlotte said.
“Yes,” Samuel said. “And, Stefan? Would you and your friend like to come? It could be amusing,” he said dryly. I blinked at him. I felt everything he said was just on the edge of an insult, but it was impossible to pinpoint what was so offensive about the words themselves.
“Want to come to a party, brother?” Damon asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, please?” Violet asked, clapping her hands together.
“We’ll see,” I said stiffly.
“Violet, would you like to come?” Typical Damon. “Stefan will if he can pencil it in between his moralizing, Shakespeare reading, and detective work.”
“Detective work?” Charlotte asked in confusion.
“Never mind, pet,” Damon said. “Inside joke.”
“It’s a boring story,” I said. “Far more interesting is Damon’s love of drama. You should get him to talk about the acts he’s pulled off.”
“You’re an actor?” Violet asked.
“We’ll talk more at the party!” Damon said, clearly annoyed. Well, good. If talking in code and getting under his skin was the way to get him to pay attention to me, then I’d do it.
“Yes!” Violet said eagerly.
“We should probably be going,” I said gently, taking Violet’s arm and escorting her through the throngs of people and out the door.
I breathed a sigh of relief as the cool air hit my face. It was the perfect antidote to the hot, crowded, tense atmosphere of the party. I didn’t think about Damon. I focused on the buzz of the gas lamps above and the flutter of the leaves and the staccato steps of pedestrians—all of the everyday noises I heard, amplified because of my senses, but rarely appreciated.
Once we got back to the room, I placed Violet on the bed, gently tucking the coverlet around her body. Her eyes were fully shut by the time her head hit the silk pillowcase.
I took longer to fall asleep. Outside, the streets of London were still buzzing, and every time I closed my eyes, I thought I could hear Damon’s laugh, wafting up from the streets and into my mind.
Chapter 9
I’ve always been a brother. It’s a thought that comes to me, unbidden, late at night or when I’m walking silently through the forest, stalking my prey. No matter who knows that about me, or whether or not I share that information, it’s a part of me that I can never forget.
When I came along, of course, I had my parents, but they were older, authoritarian, a presence in the morning and in the evening. But Damon was always by my side. He was who I explored the world with, who I rebelled against, who I occasionally yearned to be.
On the other hand, Damon was not always a brother. As the eldest, there were years where it was just him, alone in the world. He’d never had the constant sense that he was being compared to someone else. He’d never known what it was like to always be reaching for the sun while standing in the shadow of another.
I don’t think he ever felt that way about me. He was always the older brother, always showing me how things were done, always coaxing me to ride a horse I was frightened of, or kiss a girl whom I was worried wouldn’t like me back. I watched him, wide-eyed, as he conquered the world.
And even now, I couldn’t break free from him. I couldn’t stop being a younger brother, who was simultaneously fearful and in awe of the unique force that was Damon Salvatore.
“How do I look?” I woke to Violet prancing into the room, wearing a light blue dress with a crinoline underneath that rustled with every step.
“You look lovely,” I said as I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. I couldn’t believe I had allowed myself to sleep past dawn; usually I was wide awake well before the sun rose. But despite all my troubled thoughts, the comfortable couch had lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I wondered what was happening at the Abbott Manor, who was taking care of the chickens and livestock.
I imagined Oliver glancing out the window, waiting for me to come home to take him hunting. It was a world away.
“What time do you think we should leave?” Violet asked.
“For what?” I asked, deliberately playing dumb. I hoped that Damon’s mention of the afternoon party had been washed from Violet’s memory by the rivers of champagne she’d consumed last night.
“Why, for the party your friend invited us to attend. We are going, aren’t we? It sounds like fun. Plus, Charlotte mentioned her producer will be there, who couldn’t be there last night. Maybe he’s the man who met with Cora,” she said, smoothing invisible folds of her dress with her small hands. Violet was definitely priming herself to be a woman like Charlotte, with a slew of eager men ready to do her bidding and compliment her at any moment. And even though Violet’s preening should have been exasperating, she was so wide-eyed and enthusiastic, like a child playing dress-up, that it was nothing more than adorable. “Are you sure I look all right? I wouldn’t want them to think I was a slattern from the slums. After all, I told them that I was an actress from America. From Cal-eye-forn-ia,” she said, overemphasizing the second syllable.
“California,” I corrected. “And your accent sounds grand.” It was funny. The longer Violet and I spent together, the more we seemed to adopt each other’s accents. She did sound half-convincing as an American, although I was sure that I sounded positively ridiculous using a vague Irish brogue.
Violet nodded. “How do you know Damon again? He kept calling you brother. Is it something all people in America say?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows. I knew if I answered yes, she’d add that phrase to her repertoire. She’d asked me that last night as well, as I was half-escorting, half-carrying her up the stairs, but I hadn’t answered.
“No, most people don’t call each other that unless they’re blood relations, but it’s something Damon’s been calling me ever since I can remember. It’s quite a long and boring story, really,” I lied. “I’ve known Damon forever, through the good and the bad. I know he’s charming, but don’t let him fool you. He’s sometimes not what he appears.” I said the last part semicasually, as if I was mentioning something only somewhat scandalous, like a fondness for drink or a notor
ious family. I only hoped she’d take my warning seriously.
“I’m sure,” she said, giving herself one final glance in the looking glass. “He seems like one of those men whom all women fall over. You’ll be pleased to know that I am not typical.”
“You’re not just saying that so I feel better about going to the party, are you?” I asked, trying to reclaim the teasing tone we’d had yesterday. But something was off.
“I just thought it would be fun,” Violet said, turning toward me and biting her lip.
“You’re right,” I decided. Whether I liked it or not, Damon was in London. And until I was absolutely certain Klaus wasn’t here for revenge, then I wouldn’t be able to get him out of my head.
“Thank you . . . brother!” Violet exclaimed, kissing me on the cheek.
“Of course,” I murmured. We were just going to a picnic. It would be broad daylight. Violet had the vervain, gleaming at the hollow of her throat. Nothing could happen, right?
An hour later, Violet and I were traipsing through the manicured lawns of Regent’s Park. I had pulled a sheet from the bed and was holding it over my arm as an improvised blanket. My stomach was growling yet again. Violet glanced at me funnily, and I wondered if she’d heard it too. I coughed to mask the sound.
The park was dotted with children playing, kites
flying, and several large mansions rising from the green lawns like oversized statues. I glanced at the sun. We were supposed to go to Grove House, which the front desk porter at the hotel had told me was at the eastern end of the park.
“There they are!” Violet exclaimed, racing across the park, her auburn hair flying behind her.
I slowly followed her. Ahead of me was an enormous limestone structure with Grecian columns. The lawn held several tables covered with white linen. I dropped my sheet on the ground. This wasn’t a picnic; this seemed to be a feast. And vampire or not, I’d been acting like a country bumpkin by toting the oversized sheet along with me, as if this were one of the church socials that Damon and I used to attend as boys.
