The Ripper

by L. J. Smith

  Violet shook her head. “I’m not safe,” she said, her voice low and faint. “I’m dying.” I saw her flinch and realized that the sun must be agonizing to her. Red splotches were dotting her arms and legs, and her face was slicked with sweat. I glanced helplessly at my lapis-lazuli ring, wishing there was something I could do. But I needed to be wearing the ring at all times.

  “Let’s go,” I said, hooking my arm in hers and crossing to the shady side of the street. It wasn’t much relief, but it was something. Then, together, we trudged up the winding path to Abbott Manor.

  Chapter 15

  By the time we reached the path that led to the Abbott’s back garden, my mind had cleared. The woods were beautiful, dark, wild, and mysterious. One of the local legends was that long ago, fairies had settled the land and made it their home, hiding in the ample oak tree trunks and looking out for the forest life. Of course, I didn’t believe the tale. I’d been through the woods and captured and killed enough animals to know there were no benevolent creatures protecting the forest. Or if there were, then they had better things to do than save an errant squirrel or rabbit that was caught in the clenches of a vampire’s fangs. Still, the story comforted me, if only because it proved that humans could still believe in good, even when so much evil lived in their midst.

  We walked toward the clearing, where the sprawling three-story brick manor house rose up on the crest of a hill.

  “Here we are,” I said, gesturing to the vast expanse, as if I were a king showing off my land to my subject.

  “It’s nice,” Violet said, a small smile creeping onto her pale lips. “Green. It reminds me of home.”

  I heard the dog bark and I startled. I knew that most likely Luke or Oliver would be nearby, and I didn’t want them to see Violet. There would be too many questions I didn’t think I could answer. Hastily, I swept Violet into my arms and into my tiny cottage. Safely inside, I had her sit at my rickety kitchen table. I quickly changed my shirt, washed my face, and ran water through my hair. In the mirror, I saw Violet eyeing me inquisitively.

  I turned around and she licked her lips.

  “I’m so thirsty,” Violet whimpered.

  “I know,” I said helplessly.

  Just then, the cabin door creaked open. I glanced around in a panic. Perhaps my cabin wasn’t as secluded as I needed it to be.

  “Stefan, you’re back!” Oliver came barreling inside, his tiny footsteps echoing on the floor. He threw his arms around my knees. “I thought I saw you. You came home early! Are we going hunting today?”

  “Not yet,” I said, ruffling his fine blond hair and trying to choke back my guilt. “I have a visitor. Oliver, this is Violet.”

  His eyes widened at the site of her, reminding me of the way Violet captivated the crowds at the theater. She did have something special about her.

  “She’s my cousin,” I lied as Violet sank to her knees and held out her hand.

  “Hello, little man,” she said, giving Oliver a big smile.

  But Oliver continued to stare at her, not moving a muscle. His face subtly changed from a sense of wonder to hesitation. Could he somehow sense her new nature? Back in Virginia, our horses would always become uneasy when Katherine was in their midst. But could the same apply to children?

  “Is she going hunting with us?” Oliver asked, not taking his eyes off Violet.

  “No, I’m sorry, she can’t,” I said briefly, hoping he wouldn’t push for an explanation.

  “Can you at least come to dinner? We’ve missed you, Stefan!”

  “Yes. Why don’t you run up and let Mrs. Duckworth know that Violet and I are here? We’ll see you soon.” Oliver nodded, but didn’t move.

  “Go on!” I urged. I hadn’t wanted the Abbotts to meet Violet. I’d wanted her to die in peace. But I didn’t want to arouse suspicion, and now we’d have to attend dinner and pretend that everything was in order. Already, Violet’s skin had taken on a ghastly pallor, a clear indication that death was working its way through her body. Who knew how much worse she’d be in an hour? Time was of the essence, and I felt terrible that I was making her spend her last few hours living a lie.

  “Yes, Stefan,” Oliver said, trudging out the door and up the stone walk to the house.

  “We have to go to dinner,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Violet said. She looked drawn and overwhelmed, and guilt twisted in my stomach. Maybe she’d find some small comfort at the farmhouse. At least I could hope.

  “I’m going to tell them that you’re my second cousin,” I explained as I led her up the winding path toward the large brick manor house. “We met in London and I invited you to the country for a few days. Does that sound okay?”

  Violet nodded. She was still licking her lips and I couldn’t help but notice how large her pupils were becoming. She was well into the transition, cresting to the peak where her very being was fighting to survive in any way possible, even if that meant drinking blood.

  “Stefan!” George bellowed as we entered the foyer. It was clear Oliver had relayed my message, and he’d been expecting us. George’s paunch was straining against his waistcoat, and his face was redder than ever. “You’re here in time for dinner. And I was worried you’d be so caught up by the city that you’d never come back to the country. But I see you came home! And with company!” he added, his gaze flicking curiously toward Violet.

  “Sir,” I said quickly, my stomach twisting on the word home. “I invited my cousin, Violet, to explore our town. I am sorry for the short notice.”

  “I heard so much about this place and I felt I had to come,” Violet said, playing her part like the actress she was. She curtseyed prettily.

  “Cousin Violet,” George murmured. “Enchanted, my darling,” he said, bowing slightly at her.

  The three of us walked into the parlor. I could smell a roast being prepared in the kitchen, and I loved how familiar and simple my surroundings seemed. Luke and Oliver were on the floor, playing a game of dominos, Emma was rocking a doll in her arms, and Gertrude was working on her needlepoint, an exquisitely crafted flower scene. Nothing had changed here, and yet, for me, everything had.

  “How was London?” George boomed, catching my eye as he crossed over to the drink cart in the corner and poured a dark amber liquid into two glasses.

  “It was fine,” I said shortly. “Loud.”

  “I can imagine. And where did you stay? With your relations, the—”

  “Burnses,” Violet said quickly. “I’m Violet Burns.” I watched her. Were her eyes too bright, her face too pale? I couldn’t tell.

  “He wasn’t too much trouble, was he?” George teased.

  I grimaced internally. They had no idea that trouble followed me everywhere. “No, he was lovely,” Violet said finally, as if she’d been coached.

  A fond smile crossed George’s face. “Our Stefan has that effect on people. And I’m so happy you have relations nearby. A man shouldn’t have to fend for himself in the world,” he said, catching my eye as he raised his glass in the air. “To family,” he said, tipping it toward me.

  “To family,” I murmured, nursing my own drink. A silence fell in the room and I was all too relieved when Mrs. Duckworth came into the parlor to announce that the roast was ready.

  Violet licked her lips as she stood up and smoothed her skirts. She’d been doing it obsessively, and my heart went out to her. I knew that she was experiencing her first pangs of real, soul-crushing hunger that couldn’t be quenched with any mortal meal.

  “Violet, darling, sit here,” Gertrude said, guiding Violet to a seat next to her at the large cherrywood table. “You look half-starved, which is understandable. I’m sure the food they serve on those trains is appalling!” She clucked sympathetically.

  “I’m sorry,” Violet said distantly. “I don’t feel very well.”

  “Well, have a bite to eat, and then if you need to have a lie down, go ahead and do it. A good meal, some country air, and you
’ll be good as new,” Gertrude said in her loving, maternal way.

  We settled, and I watched as Mrs. Duckworth cut the roast. A trickle of blood oozed from the meat with each cut, and I saw Violet lean forward, her blue eyes shining.

  “Here you go, dear,” Mrs. Duckworth said, putting two slices on her plate. Without waiting for the rest of the family to be served, or helping herself to the potatoes, beans, and rolls set in heaping bowls on the table, Violet dug in. She barely used her utensils as she shoveled the meat into her mouth.

  “You must have been hungry,” Gertrude trilled as she stood up to help Luke cut his meat. Luke, perhaps taking a cue from Violet, was forgoing his knife in favor of stabbing his slice of meat with his fork.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” Violet said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. Her gaze was still on the meat. A silence hung in the room.

  “Just the brisk country air,” Gertrude repeated, an edge to her voice. I knew that the Abbotts could sense something was wrong, but they couldn’t put their fingers on it. I desperately wanted them to like her, and for Violet to find the same type of peace on the farm that I’d found. But of course, Violet felt confused and famished. Damon or not, maybe it would have been better if she’d died surrounded by the marquee lights of the West End.

  “Have you always lived in London, dear?” Gertrude asked, obviously giving Violet the benefit of the doubt.

  “I’m originally from Ireland,” Violet said, her mouth full of food. Luke and Oliver were watching her with fascination.

  “Ireland.” George cleared his throat. “I thought your relations were from Italy, Stefan.”

  “They were on my father’s side. There’s some Irish blood on my mother’s side,” I lied. If Damon could reinvent himself as a count or a duke, I could invent some Irish relatives.

  “Ah,” George said, slicing into his own meat. “Well, in any case, it’s lovely to have you here, Violet. Consider our house your house.”

  “You’re too kind,” Violet murmured, her eyes frantically darting around the table, desperately looking for something to satiate her hunger. Even though there was nothing that could.

  Just then, Emma pulled timidly on the sleeve of Violet’s dress.

  Violet glanced down, her wary expression changing into a wide smile. “Why, hello there, little dear,” Violet said gently.

  “Hi,” Emma said, immediately putting her thumb in her mouth and looking away.

  “Now, Emma, can you properly introduce yourself to Miss Violet?”

  I watched Emma nervously. I was still wary of the way Oliver had stared at Violet. Was something apparent about Violet to the children that wasn’t to their parents?

  “I’m Emma,” she said solemnly, before sticking her thumb back in her mouth.

  Violet smiled, suddenly looking much stronger than she had before.

  “Hello, Emma. I’m Violet. And you’re very pretty. When I first saw you, do you know what I thought?”

  “No.” Emma shook her head.

  “I thought, that girl must be a fairy princess. There’s no way she could be a human. She’s far too lovely. Are you a princess?” Violet asked.

  Without saying anything, Emma clambered up on Violet’s lap. Violet bounced her up and down on her knee.

  “I think you found a new friend,” Gertrude said, clearly charmed by Emma’s worship of Violet.

  “I think I have, too, and I’m most thankful for it,” Violet said, her eyes shining. “I have a sister about her age back home; her name is Clare. I miss her very much. And then of course I have another sister, Cora. She’s in London,” Violet said, her eyes taking on a longing expression.

  “It must be hard to be so far away. What brought you to London?” George asked. Emma’s fondness had broken any ice, and now the Abbotts were behaving as if Violet was just one more slightly older member of their brood.

  “Well, I thought I’d be an actress,” Violet admitted.

  “Well, you still can. You’re how old? Seventeen?” Gertrude asked as she patted the corner of her mouth with her white linen napkin.

  Violet nodded. “Yes, I suppose I could be,” she said, sighing. Through the entire conversation, she’d been eating ravenously, almost faster than Mrs. Duckworth could refill her plate. Luke and Oliver were watching in admiration, clearly in awe of her appetite. After all, they’d often tried to have eating competitions in the past, only to be admonished by Mrs. Duckworth with a sharp rap to their knuckles.

  “Well, Stefan, your family is lovely, just like I’d imagine. It’s as my husband said, family truly is the most important thing in life,” Gertrude said, her intelligent blue eyes shining.

  “I agree,” I said thickly.

  Violet finally put down her fork and slumped over, resting her elbows on the table. Her eyes were glassy and her face was ghostly white.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Gertrude asked, pushing back her chair. Hurriedly, Mrs. Duckworth raced over to assist her.

  “She’s fine. She’s just had a long day. We left London quite early,” I said frantically, wondering if this was the beginning of the end.

  “Of course. Well, I can have the guest room prepared if . . .”

  Violet sat up and took a few deep breaths. Aware all eyes were on her, she smoothed back her auburn hair and sat ramrod straight. Her smile was frozen into a grimace. It all must have been excruciating to her. “I apologize. I’m quite all right, thank you,” she said, her voice strong and steady.

  I placed my own napkin next to my plate and stood up to help Violet. She needed to be alone, and quickly.

  “I think we’ll go for a walk. As you said, the air will do us good,” I said, pulling Violet’s chair back and offering her my arm. She was about to die, and I couldn’t have that happen in the Manor. I’d come up with something to tell the Abbotts later—that she’d decided to head back to London to see her doctor, and that she sent her regards. After twenty years of lying, I’d learned to think of all the eventualities.

  Oliver stirred impatiently at the end of the table. “Can we go hunting? Please? I’ve been practicing all day and you promised. Violet can come with us!”

  “Oliver!” Gertrude admonished. “Stefan will be entertaining his cousin.”

  “Another time, Oliver,” I said, patting his head. “Just keep working on your aim and you’ll be able to teach me something when we go out,” I said. Violet smiled slightly, and I felt another heavy dose of regret. Accident or not, I’d led her to Damon. Because of me, Violet would never have a family of her own. “Thank you very much for a lovely meal,” I said. I held my hand out for Violet and the two of us walked into the afternoon light.

  There was a chill in the air, and I realized how close we were to fall. The longer I lived, the more I became aware of how quickly the seasons changed. Sometimes I felt like one had barely begun before we were on to the next—so unlike when I was a human, when a summer seemed to stretch for a lifetime. It was just one of the millions of tiny losses that I endured, that Violet wouldn’t have to.

  “I don’t know what came over me at dinner,” Violet confessed as I led her up the rock-strewn path through the glen. I thought it would be nice to head to Ivinghoe Beacon. It was the tallest spot in the parish, taller even than the large waterwheel that churned in the Chiltern River to power the mines down below.

  We walked companionably through the glittering green glen, which seemed more alive than ever. Sparrows chirped, chipmunks and squirrels rattled in the dense shrubbery, and I could hear the sound of the brook rushing toward Bilbury Creek.

  Violet stopped mid-step.

  “Are you all right?” I asked delicately. It seemed a terrible question to ask. Of course she wasn’t all right.

  Violet shook her head. “I’ll miss everything,” she said, spreading her hands wide as if to take the whole view in.

  I saw her shoulders rise and fall, heard a slight gasp escape her lips. But she didn’t cry.

  I grabbed her hand. There wa
s nothing I could say, so we continued walking up the hill, until the grass turned rougher, the rocks larger, and the air slightly thinner. We walked through a dense forest of evergreen trees until the moment I was waiting for—when the trees cleared and all that was left was blue sky above, and England sprawling down below. It was one of my favorite spots in the world, second only to the far edge of the property of my childhood home in Virginia where the pond met the forest.

  “Thank you for taking me here,” she said finally. She put her hand on her heart. “Oh, Stefan!” she called out in anguish.

  “Shhh,” I said, pulling her close. I wasn’t sure how else I could comfort her. Around us, birds continued to chirp and the autumn air ruffled her skirts. But inside, I knew she was weakening. “Shhh,” I said again.

  She buried her face in her hands against my chest. I held her as she sobbed, each shudder of hers a twist in my heart. Finally, she pried her fingers off and looked at me with such a piercing gaze that I stepped back.

  “Why me?” she asked, her eyes searching my face.

  “It’s my fault. If you hadn’t met me, this never would have happened,” I said miserably.

  Violet shook her head. “Or maybe I’d be dead in a London ditch. You were my friend. You showed me the world. If I have to die, at least I had those days of magic,” she said shyly.

  “Thank you,” I said. I thought back to when we met. There was no way I would have ever forgiven myself if I’d just walked away when Alfred yelled at her in the tavern. “That’s very kind. But please know I only did what anyone would do, Violet.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she said firmly. “You’re a true friend.”

  “And you are, too. I’ll always remember you.”

  A slow smile crossed Violet’s face. “You’ll always remember me? Even in two hundred years?”