by Erin Hayes
Ironic, then, that I must do it again after my ship left me stranded. I steal only what I need to get by. Which is apparently eight beers at the local pub.
I’m at least trying to numb myself against this crushing feeling of loss. Beyond that, I can sleep on the streets and deal with life in that way. But I need a steady stream of alcohol to keep me from realizing just how shit my life is right now.
The worst part is, I’m not sure how I can fix it.
The barkeep eyes me before taking the coins off the counter, inspecting them.
“They’re real,” I slur.
He glares at me once more, and then takes the mug from in front of me and turns away to fill it up at the barrel behind him.
I sigh in relief. Success. I just need to keep it coming. Before I can figure out how to fix it.
“Jared?” a voice asks behind me, its familiar Irish lilt ricocheting through my addled brain. “‘Zat you?”
I spin around on my stool and grin at the first friendly face I’ve seen in a fortnight. Perhaps I have had too much to drink if I’m hallucinating. Still though, it’s welcome after everything I’ve been through.
“Rob? What are you doing here? I thought you’d be halfway across the Atlantic by now.”
If I look like I’m in dire straits, then Rob is in an even worse state. He’s wearing the same outfit that I last saw him in, and his face is smudged with dirt and shit and heaven knows what else.
But he at least looks glad to see me, even if he looks more mad than before.
“Jared,” he says as he embraces me, his voice a broken sob. “Jared, I’m so glad t’ see ye. Terrible things. So many terrible things.”
We hug and pat each other’s back, brothers in our predicament. I step back to both get a better look at him and to take a breath of fresh air, because whatever Rob has been up to since I last saw him has him smelling eye-wateringly bad.
A fact that doesn’t have the barkeep happy. “You,” he points to Rob as he sets my mug down on the counter, “out. Now.”
Rob’s face falls at the disgust in the barkeep’s tone. He’s had a rough go of things, whatever happened to him, so I put an arm about his shoulders as I down my beer with one gulp. “We’ll both leave, thank you kindly.”
I set the mug down, toss another coin on the counter, and leave without looking back. I’ll probably never be welcome in that pub ever again, but the barkeep is a brute anyway, and there are far more pubs in the city than I can ever get kicked out of.
I take Rob down an alley where we both sit on the curb of the street. Rob lets me lead him, like he’s a child in need of minding. His eyes are listless, and he keeps wringing his hands, like he’s mulling over his thoughts and not entirely present with me.
“Rob,” I say, harsh enough for him to look at me, “what happened to you? Why aren’t you on the Vermont?”
He shakes his head, and he mutters something that I can’t follow.
“Rob?”
“The ship left in a hurry,” he says. His hands have gone to his beard, where he’s plucking and twisting the strands. Yet he keeps shaking his head. “Something spooked the cap’n. Scared the living shit of him. He wanted out of London as quick as he could.”
“While some of his crew were still ashore?” I ask. Obviously, that did happen, or Rob and I wouldn’t be here. But this entire time, I’ve wondered if I had slept for a week or went mad for a time to confuse when the ship would leave port.
Yet if the captain left early on purpose, of his own volition, something had to have happened. Maybe he’s a wanted man. Or a creditor wanted to throw him in jail. I can’t imagine any other reason why he would abandon his crew and leave. The captain has always been a bit of a meek man, and I have no idea how he came to command a whole merchant ship, but I don’t think he would have left us behind if he could have done otherwise.
But Rob nods. “The crew pointed that out to him. And I left the ship to try to get ye, Jared. I left to find ye, to bring ye back before the cap’n left. But I was too late. Too late.”
“What spooked him like that?” I ask, trying to remember what happened that night. I spent it with Catherine, so I don’t know what happened on the ship or on the docks. Something specifically with the Vermont? Or more?
“There’s something ‘appening here, Jared,” Rob says. “Something bad.”
Aside from a level of depravity in the East End, I’m not certain what he is referring to. My life here has been a nightmare since I was left behind. Pickpocketing and sleeping on the streets or in flea-ridden beds if I find enough coins that day.
I can’t imagine much worse than that.
Rob starts crying openly, and I’m shocked at his response. He’s a grown man, terrified of something, yet he can’t comment on it.
“Don’t leave me here,” he says softly, rocking himself. “Don’t leave me out in these streets.”
“We’ll figure something out,” I assure him. If it takes me robbing a bank to get enough money for passage back to New York, I’ll do something to save us. And possibly throttle the captain if I ever see him again. There are things on his ship that I can never get back, my own identification and work papers, my life savings. Not much else, but my livelihood is on the Vermont.
Without it, I’m a lost man. And judging based on Rob’s demeanor, I need to do something.
“We’ll figure something out,” I promise him again.
I hope I’m not making a false promise.
15
Hazel
“I slapped him, Lizzie,” I tell my cousin, putting my head in my hands, pinching the bridge of my nose to ease the tension that’s building there. I’ve also managed to get rid of my tears, but only just. Only enough to be in public without scrutiny.
“I slapped Thomas when all I was trying to do was help him. And he looked at me like I was a monster.”
“As I told you,” Lizzie says as she pours me another cup of tea, “it sounds like he deserved it.”
I shake my head. “No one deserves a slap. Especially one from me.”
“That is giving you too much credit, my dear.” She pours herself a cup. “Don’t trouble yourself over his indiscretions.” She picks up a scone and takes a bite out of it. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves, not to fret over perceived problems.”
We’re sitting in a tea room around the corner from Lizzie’s home, a little shop where we’ve been sitting for hours. After I showed up on her doorstep, sobbing about what happened at Newgate Prison, Lizzie took me here to cheer me up.
“We’re not going hunting,” Lizzie had told me as she grabbed her cloak. “We’re going to take the night off and have a good time.”
But here, sitting across from Lizzie, all I can think about is what I did wrong, how Thomas’s clothing hung from his too-thin frame. How I’ve managed to alienate everyone in my family.
“You did nothing wrong,” Lizzie says. “In fact, I would have left Thomas in there longer to think about his actions. At least there, you know he won’t be passed out drunk somewhere.”
“I couldn’t leave him there.” I sigh and clasp my hands in my lap. “After everything, I couldn’t leave Thomas there to rot.”
“And that,” Lizzie says as she holds up her cup, “is why you’re a far better sister than I ever would be.” She takes a dainty sip from her cup and purses her lips. “Needs another sugar cube, I think.” She spoons one into her cup. “Would you like one?”
“No, thank you.”
Lizzie smirks. “I think you like it bitter.”
“Perhaps.”
I look down at my hands, thinking about what happened even before I went with Detective Inspector Doyle to Newgate. My failed attempt at making a difference in Margaret’s life.
“There’s more, too,” I say, soft enough so that prying ears can’t hear.
There must be something on my face to indicate the severity of what I’m about to say, because Lizzie scoots forward and leans into me. “What is it, Haze
l?”
I wet my lips, trying to find the words. “I started my monthly bleed.” I meet her eyes. “It didn’t work.”
She processes this for a long pause before sitting back in her chair. “Maybe it’s a blessing, then.”
I cock my head, wondering if I heard her correctly. “A blessing? After everything I went through for...nothing?”
“You were devastated when you came home that day,” Lizzie explains. “And I know you are trying to protect Margaret, however, maybe this isn’t the right way.” She gives a surreptitious glance around the tea room. “This may be a good thing, Hazel.”
I think about Jared, his hands on my body, the way he made me unfurl within myself. Lizzie thinks I was devastated because of what I’d done—it’s more that I’m devastated at what I’m giving up.
I want to have that. I want to feel like someone loves me. And the man who made me feel that way is halfway to America by now.
To try it again, I’d have to find another sailor or man who will leave again. I groan at the thought. “I don’t think I can do that again. Not so soon.”
Lizzie gives me a sympathetic smile. “Let yourself recover.” She sits back. “Think on it. And then decide what you want to do beyond that. Margaret will be fine.”
“Unless something were to happen to me,” I say.
Lizzie winks. “That’s why you have me. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you. Now,” she pushes my saucer closer to me, “drink up and eat your scone. I’ll take you home before it gets too dark. The night is no place for a lady. Especially when we are only lightly armed.”
Lizzie, ever the pragmatist, is right.
I glance out the window and see the sky darkening with the sunset. I pick up my tea cup and take a tentative sip. “You’re correct,” I say, setting down the cup and picking up a teaspoon for the sugar. “It is too bitter.”
Lizzie smiles, and I feel marginally better. Bit by bit, and the longer that we’re at this tea room, the more I feel like a normal, everyday woman. Not the Harker. Not a woman who spends her nights hunting vampires.
We finish up our tea, and Lizzie is wonderful at taking my mind off the troubles I have at hand. By the time we’ve finished up our tea, I’m smiling again and laughing.
“There’s the Hazel that I know,” Lizzie says, patting my hand. “Good girl. Better?”
I nod. “Better.”
“Right.” Lizzie stands. “Then let’s go home.”
16
Jared
Despite the warm summer night air, Rob hasn’t stopped shivering since he found me in that pub.
I sit across from him in the alley, watching his hands shake as he sits and rocks himself against the wall. I haven’t been able to get much out of him since he told me what happened with the Vermont. It’s almost as though he has retreated into himself and is living in another realm.
I need to get him off the streets and into a hotel. Perhaps to a bath to clean him up. Maybe being clean will help him snap out of whatever is ailing him.
The problem is, I used the last few coins I had at that pub, planning on spending another night out on the streets. I hadn’t accounted for finding Rob here. I hadn’t planned on needing to get him into a warm bed.
He’s terrified out here, as if the very shadows around us will attack him. His eyes keep looking to any sign of movement.
With night coming on even darker, it’s imperative that I get him off the streets.
Which means more pickpocketing.
I’m dreading it.
After leaving the hills of Pennsylvania for New York City when I was thirteen, I’d lived on the streets, as part of an unruly gang of pickpockets. I had run-ins with the police, scuffles with rival gangs, nearly lost my life a few times. It wasn’t until I joined the merchant ships that I scraped a different life for myself.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t steal again. Yet, here I am, resorting to that very thing for our own health and sanity.
“Rob,” I whisper to him. “Rob.”
My companion doesn’t say anything, other than mumbles.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise him. “And then, we’ll get ourselves a nice room where you can rest. All right?”
It just requires me finding an unsuspecting passerby to steal from. Although I’m not certain as to who will be outside at this time at night. Most likely those who I don’t want to encounter. But encounter, I must.
I get to my feet and stick my hands in my pockets, attempting to look like I’m going for a simple, leisurely stroll at night. Not intimidating at all. Any more leisurely, and I would be whistling, but that would be pushing it too far. Damn, I wish I had tobacco for a cigarette, so I could have something to do with my lips, because I’m damn nervous. It’s one thing to be stealing for yourself.
It’s another entirely when someone is depending on you. If I’m caught, I may be thrown into prison, and Rob will be none the wiser, if he even survives on his own after this.
I cannot get caught. I won’t get caught.
I leave the relatively sheltered area of the alley and head out onto the cobblestone street. Most of the windows are dark, and the only light comes from the gas lamps that dot the street. Damn, I should have tried this earlier when there were more people out and about, yet I had been so concerned for Rob’s wellbeing, I hadn’t realized how late it was getting.
He just declined steadily since I found him, like he had been holding everything together long enough to find me. And now that he’s with me, he finally broke like fine china falling off a table.
But now the streets are nearly empty. It’s going to be hard to get close to another person without them being suspicious. I hope that I can do it successfully.
If worse comes to worst, I’ll have to grab their wallet and run, drawing attention away from Rob until the coast is clear and I can come back for him.
Two options. Two ways to go about it.
And I keep my eyes open for it.
There.
I see two women walking along the street on the opposite side, dressed like two proper genteel ladies and chatting with each other. I loiter a little longer, watching as they walk to read their alertness, the way they move, looking for any sort of clue as to their dispositions.
Completely unaware, completely absorbed in their conversation, these ladies seem to be unconcerned with their surroundings. Even better, I see a handbag.
Easy prey.
I give one last glance around the street to see if there is anyone to sound the alarm.
No one.
This should be easier than I initially thought.
I cross the street, meaning to intercept the two ladies. My gait takes a lackadaisical approach, almost stumbling. I need to let these ladies think that I’m a drunk on my way home from the pub, just another, harmless man. Because when I bump into them, I’m going to have to act confused and apologize profusely as I hand back the purse.
Minus any money inside. And they’ll be none the wiser after it.
I near them, close enough to where I can see the fine embroidery of their clothes, the bounce of their bustles. I can do this.
Just a bump and then…
One of the women turns around before I can reach her. Like she could hear me the entire way. She’s stunning, her skin flawless and her blond, almost silver, hair pinned back. Her eyes alight with mischief as her blood red lips part in a wide smile.
“Hello, love,” she purrs. “This should be a bit of fun.”
Then I see the fangs just before she strikes.
17
Hazel
We’re near home on our walk back from the tea room when I hear the scream. A man’s scream cut abruptly short, as though a knife sliced through it.
Men don’t scream like that, not unless they’re in mortal danger or terrified beyond all compare. I’ve heard it many times in my life.
I know the urgency that it needs in order to save that man.
I glance at Lizzie, te
lling her without words to hurry. She gulps nervously—hell, I’m nervous, too—because we’re caught with the barest minimum of weapons.
We hadn’t expected to see vampires tonight. Not when I simply wanted to feel better and enjoy my night.
Yet we must meet this danger head-on. It’s our duty to the innocent of London.
It’s our purpose.
I flick my left hand out to the side and call my sword to my palm while I hike up my skirts with my other hand and take off in a run in the direction of the scream. Lizzie is just behind me as I run across the street and down an alley. I skid to a halt at the corner and peer over the corner to get a peek at what we’re dealing with.
There are two vampires in the alley with their backs to me. That’s all I see, not the source of the scream. Not the man who made it.
“This one is handsome, is he not, Florence?” the blond vampire asks, although I can’t see what or who she considers to be handsome. She moves with the grace of a predator, her movements fluid. Like a cat preying upon a mouse.
There’s something about her that I recognize, although I can’t quite place it. Something that I feel like I should know, something important.
“Yes, he is,” the other vampire croons.
The blond puts her hands on her hips. “You can share, can’t you?”
The vampire, Florence, snarls. I realize that her mouth and neck are dark with blood. “No, Adelia,” she snarls. “He is mine. And I doubt there’s enough blood left to be of use”
I blink in surprise.
Adelia. I know that name.
But before I can place it, I see the victim they are referring to, a man draped across Florence’s lap. I hadn’t noticed him earlier because his black-and-brown attire blended into the shadows of the alley. Yet, now that I see him, I wonder how I could have missed him. His neck is a ruined mess, and there’s blood everywhere.
