The Ripper

by L. J. Smith

  “So you find him. Then what?” he asked, steepling his fingers, then resting his chin against them.

  “Then I . . .” I floundered. Would I kill him? Bring him to the police?

  Damon looked at me with a bemused expression. “See? You used to think too much. Now you don’t think at all. I always thought it would do you good to be more impulsive, but your impulsivity is getting you nowhere. And you know why?” he asked, leaning in close toward me, so much so that I could smell rich, sweet blood on his breath. But was it Charlotte’s blood? Or Martha’s? Or could it be someone else’s entirely?

  “Why?” I asked. The scent of the blood was overwhelming.

  “Because you’re not doing it for yourself. You’re doing it for humanity. For the greater good,” Damon said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “But remember, we’re not part of humanity anymore.”

  “So then why are you constantly compelling yourself into social circles and playing stupid tricks on people? Why are you insistent on being Damon the duke, or Damon the viscount? If we’re not part of humanity, why don’t you remove yourself from society?” I asked. Despite my words, I wasn’t angry at him. Rather, I just wanted to understand what Damon was after.

  “Where would I go?” Damon asked, a faraway expression on his face. But all of a sudden, he grinned making his searching look seem to be nothing more than a trick of the light. “And I compel myself into social circles because I can. Because it intrigues me. And my pleasure is all that matters.”

  “Is that so?” I hissed. I noticed that he didn’t follow up that statement with how his other drive in life was to make mine a living hell, but I refrained from mentioning it.

  “Yes. Well, brother,” Damon said suddenly, draining his whiskey and smacking his lips. “This has been a diverting evening, but if you’ll forgive me, I have dinner plans.”

  “Fine,” I said, not wanting to hear what his evening plans entailed. As Damon stood up to leave the tavern, Violet sidled up to us.

  “Are you leaving already?” Violet asked, frowning.

  “I’m terribly sorry, but as I was saying to Stefan, I have a dinner appointment that I couldn’t possibly miss,” Damon said, standing and kissing her hand.

  “But it’s so late.” Violet pouted.

  “Yes, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Won’t I, dear?” Damon asked.

  “The dock party at Canary Wharf! Of course!” Violet smiled.

  The docks? Perhaps the runaway shadow from earlier would be there, if those invited included the undead.

  “It’ll be a party to die for,” Damon said with a knowing smile that caused my skin to crawl. That was the problem: When we were humans, Damon had his dark side, but he was always himself. Now, I had no idea where the real Damon was, or what I should believe.

  “We’ll be there,” Violet said firmly.

  “See you later, brother,” Damon said as he sauntered out the door without a backward glance.

  I stood up too, a wave of dizziness washing over me.

  “Let’s go, Violet,” I said.

  She nodded, not bothering to tell Alfred she was leaving. It didn’t matter. The tavern felt like an outpost of the police station. In fact, most of the patrons were now police officers, going through their notes and trudging upstairs to check on Martha. Occasionally they’d look over at me and scribble something in their notebooks. I couldn’t stay any longer.

  Violet hooked her arm in mine and we made our way back toward our hotel. Violet was silent and drawn, caught up in her own thoughts. I knew tonight’s events just reminded her of Cora, and I didn’t have the words to comfort her, not anymore.

  “Are you okay?” Violet asked in a small voice as we stepped onto the dark, plush carpet of the hotel. She was so sweet to be concerned about me at a time like this, I felt my heart almost break.

  I forced myself to smile.

  “I will be,” I said. But she knew I was lying. Death surrounded me, and it was only a matter of time before it caved in—or I broke free. Regardless, there would be blood.

  Chapter 12

  “The trouble with you, Stefan, is that you don’t understand death.”

  I was in the bare bedroom of the carriage house in Mystic Falls. Katherine was clad only in a nightshirt, her figure clearly visible beneath the gauzy fabric. Her dark hair was tied in a loose braid. I ached to touch the silky strands and yet hung back, afraid that once I allowed my hands to roam her body I would lose control. And I didn’t want to lose control. Not yet.

  “Tell me what death is then,” I said. It had been in the days after my fiancée, Rosalyn, had died. Talking with Katherine had allowed me to forget my guilt and step into a world infused with a lemon-ginger scent where nothing—not my father, not Damon, not death—could touch us. It was a world that made me feel safe. Outside the window, I could see the full moon reflecting on the pond at the edge of the estate. All of the lights were out in the main house. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. This was my heaven.

  “Where do I begin?” Katherine asked, running her tongue over her pointed teeth. I automatically brought my hand up to my neck. It was still tender to the touch, and a jolt of pleasure mixed with pain occurred whenever I applied pressure to the place where Katherine had sunk her fangs.

  “Tell me what you know,” I said, ever the eager student. I kept my eyes on her as she paced back and forth across the room, as light on her heels as a cat.

  “Well, it’s in the eye of the beholder. Take your fair Rosalyn, for example,” Katherine said, cocking her head and staring at me.

  “What do you mean?” I’d asked. I wanted to know how Katherine had evaded death. I didn’t know why she was bringing up Rosalyn. She knew I was supposed to still be in mourning for the girl who’d never have the opportunity to be my wife. And in my own fashion, I did mourn for her.

  “Well, you remember her, right? What she looked like and what she smelled like?” Katherine asked in a sing-song voice.

  “Of course I do,” I said, affronted.

  “So how is she dead if she lives in your mind?” Katherine asked, widening her brown eyes at me.

  I sighed at her existential meanderings. I stepped toward her, eager to stop talking.

  Thankfully, Katherine took my hint. She reached toward me and teasingly grazed her canines across my neck, just enough to leave a scratch.

  “That’s all I’m saying, Stefan. No matter what happens, in each other, we will live forever,” she said. She sank her teeth into my skin as I closed my eyes, the world fading to black as I gave myself to her.

  My eyes snapped open. I wasn’t entirely surprised I’d dreamt about Katherine. When my life was going well, it was as if all my memories of Katherine existed in an attic of my mind, one that I could go years without visiting. But when things were tough, she was everywhere. The question I still couldn’t answer was if I would ever escape her pull, or if she would always be there, lingering in the shadows.

  But now wasn’t the time to think about that. It was almost time to pick up Violet from the tavern and escort her to the dock party. I’d debated whether or not to let her come. I hoped the party would give me a chance to further explore where the vampire might be hiding, with a chance to fade back into the crowd should he be looking for me. And I didn’t want Violet to be where the killer could be. But then I realized that she possessed a fierce amount of determination, and would certainly attend whether or not I wanted her to.

  At least I knew she would be safe with me. By making sure that one life wasn’t snuffed out by evil, maybe her soul could be a grain of sand, a tiny weight to counterbalance the senseless death and destruction I’d enacted in my past.

  At least I could hope.

  I massaged my temples. I’d had a constant headache for the past few days, as persistent and buzzing as cicadas on a hot July day. It had only gotten worse the longer I’d been in London. I stood up and crossed over to the glass. My reflection looked pale and drawn, and my eyes were bloodshot. I looked sick, both
for a human and a vampire. Reflexively, I touched my fingers to my neck, my mind drifting back to my dream. The faint breeze rustling her white nightdress, the flicker of the lamp against the whitewashed walls, the exquisite pain of Katherine’s teeth sinking into my flesh . . . everything had seemed so real. But of course, beneath the pads of my fingers was nothing except smooth skin.

  Katherine had been dead—dead dead, not just mortally dead—for twenty years. Her body had been burned in a church. And yet she was everywhere, as much a part of me as Damon. She’d been right. And back then, I’d been such a fool that I hadn’t understood the implications of her words at all.

  I walked to the washbasin and splashed cold water on my face, shocked by how much grime and soot disappeared in the trickle of water. London was a filthy city. But washing the dirt from my face did nothing to scrub the blackness from my soul.

  Noticing the sun sinking fast, casting shadows on the wall, I quickly finished cleaning up and tied my tie. Hastily, I made the now-familiar trek across the city. I hated how on edge I felt, how I viewed every face that passed with suspicion.

  Violet was waiting at the door of the Ten Bells, wearing the same emerald-green dress she’d worn to the theater a couple of nights ago. She’d drawn kohl liner around her eyes, and her mouth was painted a bright red. While the dress had looked lovely the night at the theater, at the tavern it looked almost garish, and it would be all too easy for her to be mistaken for one of the ladies of the night. Or worse, the ideal target for an unholy killer.

  “Ready to go?” I asked Violet as I approached, offering her my arm. She nodded and took it, telling me about her day at the tavern as we quickly made our way through the cobblestoned streets toward the dock. On our route several laborers whistled at Violet. I glared at them, cringing internally. I felt like we were moving targets for anyone in our path.

  As we grew closer, music drifted up from one of the warehouses. It was cheerful, dance hall music and the bustle surrounding the warehouse was at odds with the desolation I’d seen last night. London reminded me of a kaleidoscope, a child’s toy Lexi had picked up once. With one twist, the picture at the other end of the tube changed, and you could never anticipate what you’d see next. I just hoped that the unfolding scenes for Violet and I would be pleasant and not macabre.

  “Here we are! Stefan, come on!” Violet said, quickening her stride as she caught sight of a trio of well-dressed men walking toward one of the dimly lit warehouses that lined the dock.

  I accelerated my pace until we were even, and then lightly threaded my arm through hers, not wanting to lose sight of her once we entered the party. Several boats were bobbing in the water, and the dock was as crowded as the West End streets after a show let out. The breeze carried the sound of music and laughter toward us.

  Violet and I stood outside the bolted metal door and, with a sly glance back at me, Violet brazenly raised her hand as if to knock. But before she could, the door slowly opened.

  “If it isn’t Miss Burns!” a smooth voice said, and I glanced up. On the other side of the door stood Samuel, wearing a white shirt buttoned to the top and a dark dinner coat hanging off his square shoulders.

  “Thank you ever so much.” Violet blushed and curtseyed as Samuel offered his arm to her.

  “Hello,” I politely greeted Samuel. Although as far as I could tell, I’d never done anything to offend him, Samuel always seemed distant toward me. I assumed it was because of my station in life, that he could see from my callused hands and the stubble on my cheeks that I was not used to his world. I suppose I should have simply felt happy he didn’t apply that derision to Violet, but still, the snub irritated me. Maybe I did understand a bit why Damon desperately wanted to be accepted by society.

  “Stefan,” Samuel said, a slight smile crossing his face. “So glad you could make it.” I didn’t seem to be the only one forcing myself to be polite tonight.

  The air was thick with the scent of competing perfumes and cigarette smoke. Candleholders were precariously perched on any flat surface, and it was a miracle that no fires had started. Still, the entire warehouse was dim, making it impossible to tell who was who unless you were standing right in front of them. In the corner, a band was playing a brass-heavy tune I didn’t recognize that seemed to thump in rhythm with my head. I’d been wrong in worrying about Violet’s dress being inappropriate. The majority of women were wearing dresses with low-cut bodices, the skirts cutting in snugly at their hips. It was a mingling of two distinct London worlds, and it seemed that here was a place where social niceties and decorum didn’t matter.

  Suddenly, I heard a high-pitched shriek. I whirled around, my fangs bulging, ready to attack.

  But all I saw was Violet at the center of the room, hugging a tall, thin girl as if she never wanted to let her go.

  “Stefan!” Violet called, waving me over, her eyes shining. “See, I was right. I knew she was alive. This is Cora!” she said.

  “Cora?” I asked incredulously, taking in the girl in front of me. The crowd had parted somewhat to watch the drama unfold.

  Cora nodded, her pale blue eyes seeming hazy and unfocused.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “I’m Cora.” Her voice seemed slow and syrupy. Had she been compelled? I had no idea, no point of reference for how she usually acted. But I felt deeply unsettled. Something wasn’t right with this reunion. It was too convenient after so much searching.

  “Are you all right? Where have you been?” I asked, trying not to sound like a concerned father. I didn’t want to frighten her. After all, we were complete strangers. But I had to know.

  Violet seemed oblivious to my questions and was stroking Cora’s hair as if she were a favorite pet. “This is Stefan,” Violet explained. “My new best friend. I have so much to tell you . . .” Violet spontaneously threw her arms around Cora’s neck. Cora, like Charlotte, was wearing a silk scarf knotted tightly at the nape of her neck.

  “Where were you?” I asked again, my concern reaching desperation. I couldn’t make out Damon in the crowd of revelers, but I was sure he was close.

  “Where was I?” Cora asked, confusion in her voice. I felt my stomach free-fall.

  “Why does it matter?” Violet asked. “The main thing is, Cora’s safe, isn’t that true?” Violet reached behind her neck and unclasped her pendant. I was about to tell her to keep it on when she hooked it around Cora’s neck. The gold of the pendant gleamed in the candlelight.

  “This is your don’t-go-away present, you hear me?” Violet said, a film of tears covering her eyes. Cora nodded, but she didn’t seem to be listening. She was glancing over Violet’s shoulder, clearly looking for someone. And while she seemed happy to see Violet, she wasn’t overjoyed and didn’t seem to fully recognize that she’d been lost.

  She kept blinking and tugging the chain around her neck. I watched, entranced. Had she been compelled?

  Just then, Damon sauntered up, carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and champagne flutes in the other. Trailing him were Samuel and a tall man with short blond hair, wearing a top hat and suit.

  “I’ve heard that there’s cause for celebration,” Damon said as he suavely popped the cork from the bottle. It exploded with a festive fizzing sound, and he began pouring glasses.

  “This is my sister!” Violet explained, not tearing her gaze off of Cora.

  “How nice,” Damon said, leering. “Family reunions are lovely. And I knew I liked something about you,” Damon said, draping his arm around Violet’s shoulder. “Cora joined our little group just recently as well, a friend of Samuel’s brother. Now it seems we’re just keeping it all in the family!”

  “This is Cora,” I said angrily. “Remember?”

  Damon shrugged. “Like I said, not in the newspaper, not in my mind. My memory just gets worse and worse with age!” he exclaimed.

  “Shut up,” I growled.

  “Is that any way to talk to a brother?” Damon responded, keeping a smile on his face.

&nbs
p; “Here here!” Samuel said, raising his glass in a toast, unaware that anything was amiss. “To families. Including my own brother, Henry,” he said, gesturing to the pale, blond man standing next to him. At first glance, he seemed to be about eighteen or nineteen.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said, barely managing a polite tone. But Henry’s face cracked into a wide smile, and he pumped my hand enthusiastically.

  “Pleased to meet you, too,” he said in an aristocratic British accent that sounded just like his brother’s. But his warm and almost naïve expression was nothing like Samuel’s—and immediately I noticed him casting his gaze on Violet.

  “Hello,” he said warmly.

  Violet turned to him, her upturned face full of interest. I knew what I was witnessing was the lightning-quick passage of emotions that humans took for granted—the moments at which a stranger became something more, became someone a human could imagine growing old with. In the shadowy darkness, there was no way Henry could tell Violet was a waitress. Violet was speaking in her well-modulated actress voice, and her new dress betrayed none of the stains of the Ten Bells. This is a remarkable age. Just like George had told me, maybe Violet truly could transcend her class and find happiness. She deserved it.

  Even though Cora had been found and seemed none the worse for the wear, I knew I couldn’t leave until I cracked the mystery. Why was Damon being so cagey? There was no way he wasn’t somehow involved with the murders. The question was, what had he done? And who had he done it with?

  I looked at Henry and Violet again. They were engaged in conversation, their heads bowed as if they’d known each other for years. At least Violet was preoccupied and with someone safe, which gave me the chance I needed to search the party for the mysterious vampire who’d eluded me last night.

  Moving through the crowded party proved fruitless. Girls so drunk they could hardly stand up were pawing at me, and the noise of the band overloaded my senses. I stepped outside the warehouse, thinking I would try to find the door he ran through last night. Perhaps he’d left something behind.