“You’ve changed so much,” she stammered. “You’ve certainly become a handsome man—if it isn’t too bold for me to say.”
“And you’ve blossomed into an incredible woman. In fact, you’re more beautiful than I could have imagined.” He reached for her hand again and brought it to his lips.
When she smiled, Dimitri could see the familiar attraction in her eyes. For the briefest of moments they were back in the flower-laden hills of Romania, lying in the tall, waving grass. Nostalgia nearly persuaded him to spill the truth: that the curse cast upon them in the graveyard had come true for him and Simona. But he didn’t want to scare her away.
Alba’s show of affection vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “You’re confusing me, Dimitri. You say you want to be friends, but I see more in your eyes.”
He made no reply as his internal debate continued.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she asked.
“Not at the moment.”
“It’s no matter.” Alba frowned. “Unfortunately, we can’t turn back the hands of time. Now we’re very different people with very different lives. I’m shocked to learn you’ve made London your home.”
Stabbed with rejection, he thought of Simona’s words. Use your powers to hypnotize Alba. But he quickly chased the thought away since she was too precious to him.
She withdrew her hand and stood. “It’s been lovely catching up with you, Dimitri, but I think it’s best if we distanced ourselves. You must understand that I have a new existence now.”
He surged to his feet. “I don’t want to complicate your life, Alba. I want to enhance it.”
“I left Romania for a reason,” she said firmly. “You’re part of a past I want to forget.”
His heart was breaking on the inside. “Please, Alba. I’m here to try and reverse the curse of the amulet.”
“The amulet.” She glowered. “You showed bravery in coming to London. After all, I might kill you at any given time.”
He looked away as his face flamed.
“I . . . I’m sorry I said that.”
“Please, Alba. I’ll take you back to your dormitory if you promise me one thing.”
She didn’t reply.
“Promise me you will have dinner with me Friday night.”
“Dimitri,” she said, “I just told you that I don’t want to see you again.”
“Please. In honor of our friendship. After our dinner, I promise to leave you alone.”
She hesitated.
“Please?” he repeated.
After a moment, she raised an eyebrow. “Agreed.”
“You make me a very happy man. I’ll send a hansom round for you at eight o’clock.”
Chapter Nine
Dimitri awoke the next night in the dim haze of the basement.
Removing the lid of the shipping crate, he climbed over its edge and pulled himself to his feet. Although he felt a mild sense of lethargy, gone was his insane urge to feed. He hadn’t meant to satiate himself with the vagabond behind McGroder’s Pub, but that was what happened. Devastated that he’d killed the unlucky fellow, Dimitri was determined to hypnotize his next victim into submission. That way he could take what he wanted and leave his subject alive—as Simona had suggested.
He bathed and dressed in a suit of gray twill accompanied by a silver silk tie. Completing the ensemble was his cloak filled with native soil. Of course, once he reached St. Bart’s he would change into less formal clothes and don his leather apron.
He was fortunate that his schedule allowed him to work at night. Even before he became a vampire, he’d grown accustomed to staying up late during medical school, and it was a good thing he had, for the worst of the hospital’s patients seemed to arrive in the middle of the night.
Alcoholics with ruptured livers.
Children with appendicitis.
Women delivering babies in the Cesarean manner.
Yet Dimitri loved his work. He liked the aspect of helping people—and his reward was curing their ailments. However, it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore all the blood. At the hospital, his temples pulsated at its smell, and that growing thirst pounded his brain.
Being a surgeon and a vampire is a paradox—a polar-opposite kind of existence.
Dimitri locked the front door of his mansion and walked to the awaiting hansom.
Thank God I lack the need to feed at the present time.
Just as Dimitri climbed into the hansom St. Bart’s had sent round for him, a dark figure emerged from the shadows across the street. A foreigner of medium height and build, the man gathered the collar of his frayed jacket around his throat.
Shivering against the cutting October breeze that would have blown his short hair about if it weren’t for his deerstalker cap, the man crossed to Dimitri’s mansion. He would wait for the doctor to return, and if he was lucky, he’d be able to remain by the gate undisturbed in this affluent neighborhood of London.
Sitting on the cobbled sidewalk, the homeless man folded his arms over the bump of his knees and lowered his head for a long nap.
Dimitri panicked during his shift. An appendix removal took much longer than he had anticipated. He sewed up his patient as hastily but as expertly as he could. It was five o’clock in the morning, and the sun would rise in just one hour. Dawn’s cresting meant that he would lose all his strength, and worse, he’d be burned by the bright rays of the sun as he made his way home.
When the hansom deposited him in front of his home, he swung out of the carriage and spotted a ragged-looking man slumped by the gate. The man was barring the way to his home.
“Excuse me, sir,” Dimitri called out in a hurry.
The figure didn’t move.
He reached over and shook the thinly clad man by the shoulder. The degenerate roused in a bleary state. The stranger looked up and Dimitri raised an eyebrow. It was Jochen, the son of Dr. Rhessa—the physician who’d given him his start! He hadn’t seen Jochen since the young man unexpectedly dropped out of the Royal College of Physicians in Edinburgh after their first year of study. Dimitri had lost contact with him after that.
“Jochen! What the devil are you doing here?” he said, offering a hand to help him stand.
“My old friend.” Jochen spoke in his native Romanian. “It’s so good to see you.”
Dimitri pulled away from the man’s embrace. His friend smelled worse than a pile of rubbish left out in the sun. “I say, you look downtrodden.”
“I’ve come upon hard times, Dimitri.”
“Indeed.” A brief paused passed. “Where are my manners? Please. Come in. I’ll pour us some brandy and we can sit by a warm fire.”
Jochen looked surprised. “You are inviting me in?”
“Of course.” Dimitri smiled. “It is the least I can do for an old friend.” He stole a look at the gray haze of dawn. In his estimation, he had thirty minutes or so before the sun rose. “After you.”
Jochen grasped Dimitri’s arm in a sign of gratitude and they escaped out of the autumn chill and into the parlor. An eerie wind began to screech against the windows. Jochen took a seat in front of the hearth while Dimitri set fire to the coal scuttle. After Jochen extended his hands toward the rising flames, he eagerly accepted a snifter of brandy and downed the entire glass before Dimitri could sit in the matching armchair.
“I’m embarrassed to say I have no food in the house,” Dimitri said. “I’ve only been in London for a few weeks and haven’t had a chance to hire any servants.”
Jochen shook his head. “I’m grateful for the drink.” His eyes darted about the place and seemed to take in every detail.
“I’d like nothing more than to catch up.” Dimitri tried to disguise a yawn. “But I just completed a long shift at the hospital. I need some sleep.”
“I’ll go, then.” Jochen started to push himself out of the chair.
Dimitri put up a hand in protest. “You may rest here by the fire. I’m so tired that I might sl
eep until evening, but when I awaken we will chat some more.”
Jochen nodded. Dimitri left the room and stole down to the basement. As he climbed inside his makeshift coffin, yesterday’s newspaper headline came to mind:
MAN IN DEERSTALKER CAP PLACED AT SCENE OF RIPPER KILLINGS
Dimitri pitied his old friend, but at the same time, he wondered if Jochen could be the stocky man the article had gone on to describe. The possibility that Jochen Rhessa had a hand in the gruesome “Leather Apron” mutilations seized him with alarm. Yet all he could do was hope he’d be safe during his deep sleep.
Dimitri rose when dusk materialized. After he bathed, shaved, and dressed, he found Jochen in the parlor where he’d left him. His friend had prepared tea and laid out a small tray of food.
“What a nice surprise,” Dimitri said warmly. “But where did you get—”
“I went out in the late afternoon and spent my last shilling on some pastries.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Jochen,” Dimitri said.
“I wanted to.”
“Unfortunately I never eat before I go to the hospital, but I’ll have some tea.” Dimitri smiled and pretended to drink the steaming liquid. Then he studied his friend in the rekindled firelight.
Jochen glanced nervously about the room, as he’d done when he arrived.
“Now, tell me,” Dimitri urged, “how on earth did you find me?”
Jochen rubbed his bloodshot eyes. His lips seemed painfully dry. “I was in a brawl a few weeks past. Got pretty roughed up. My friends took me to St. Bart’s. While I was there, you were being shown around by a staff member. You were dressed in a fine suit and when I inquired about you, a pretty nurse told me that your name was Drake Griffin.” He paused. “But the name and your clothing could not fool me. I knew it was you.”
“What a coincidence—for our paths to cross in London, I mean.”
Jochen nestled his head between the wings of the chair and closed his eyes. “It’s a small world, is it not?”
As his friend spoke, Dimitri eyed the dirt caked beneath his fingernails and the soot that soiled his clothes. A nasty gash marred Jochen’s left cheek and it was obvious that he’d either lost the bandage the hospital had supplied him with or he’d simply yanked it away.
“I understand why you were at St. Bart’s,” Dimitri said. “But why are you here in London?”
“A girl,” Jochen answered in a state of delusion. “A lousy girl coaxed me here and now she’s up and left me.”
From the sight of the full glass Jochen held in his hands, he’d helped himself to more brandy during the day. Dimitri’s friend raised it now to accentuate his point and the amber liquid sloshed over the brim and onto the carpet. “Never do that. Never allow a female to dictate your life, Dimitri. Females . . . lousy lot.”
“I beg to differ.” Dimitri frowned. “Being with an intelligent, beautiful female is the joy of life. In fact, I came to London for the same reason you did: to pursue the woman of my dreams. Do you remember Miss Alba Zpda?”
“How could I forget that name?” Jochen gave a crooked, yellow smile. “She’s all you talked about in medical school.”
“Now I see!” Dimitri let out a hearty laugh. “Is that why you dropped out and found another roommate?”
Jochen’s eyes darkened and Dimitri assumed his joke hadn’t been appreciated. He rubbed his chin. “I’m sorry. After all these years it’s none of my business.”
“I found another roommate because I could hardly measure up to you.” Jochen’s voice was solemn. “You got better grades than I and you were far more focused and handsome.”
Sitting in a mesmerized state before the hearth, the down-and-out man fell silent.
Dimitri’s brow shot up. Jochen was as odd as he remembered, but he was to be dealt with compassionately nonetheless. The kindness Jochen’s father had showed Dimitri flooded his mind. So far he’d been unable to repay the good doctor for setting him on his career path, but this could be his opportunity to set things straight.
He set his teacup down. “What’s passed is past, Jochen. But now that you have shown up here, I want to repay your father for all that he did for me.”
Jochen stared at him with a blank expression.
Dimitri’s heart sank. “How is your father, by the way?”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
“I’m very sorry.” Dimitri cleared his throat in order to keep his composure. “Still, I feel that he would like you to stay with me. As I told you, I’ve yet to hire any servants. Would you like to work here as my butler?”
Jochen hesitated while his bushy mustache twitched.
“You make outstanding tea, after all.” Dimitri grinned.
This made Jochen smile, and the look, however fleeting, reminded Dimitri of their jovial schooldays . . . before Jochen had sunk into a depression over his failing grades. It wouldn’t be easy for Dimitri to have someone in the house, but if he explained nothing and made Jochen promise not to ask any questions, it might work.
The stocky man stood and pressed his palm into Dimitri’s. “I will gladly work for you, my friend. And I shall never forget your kindness.”
Dimitri nodded. “Splendid. But first I must warn you that I keep very odd hours. And very odd habits. You’ll find I have no mirrors in the house. It is a personal quirk of mine. Furthermore, I’ve been sleeping in the basement since I haven’t had time to install curtains over the windows. You see, I’m very sensitive to light.” He paused. “The basement is a place you needn’t clean.”
Jochen nodded his head. “Understood. You will never know I am here, except when I am needed.”
“I shall pay you bimonthly,” Dimitri said, looking into his friend’s rough-hewn face. Jochen’s eyes were beady and his jowls sagged over the corners of his thin lips, but he saw determination there. Determination, Dimitri hoped, that would lead to Jochen turning his life around.
Jochen set his brandy snifter down and tugged on the edge of his jacket. He followed Dimitri into the foyer.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Dimitri said. “It has an adjoining washroom. Clean up and I will lay out a nightshirt and a change of clothes. You may buy a new wardrobe and get a shave and haircut tomorrow with the advance I’ll give you.”
“Thank you again for your generosity,” he heard Jochen say as they ascended the main staircase.
Dimitri turned around with a smile. “It’s the least I can do in your father’s honor.”
Chapter Ten
Damn Dimitri.
As Alba sat at her desk at Gray’s Inn, she doodled his name on a piece of paper like a schoolgirl. Glancing dreamily out the window, her gaze reached the archways of the Royal Courts of Justice. Harold Rollingsworth had been due there ten minutes ago, but he was too busy bellowing about a late-paying client in the other room.
Of course, Alba wasn’t one to judge. Productivity had escaped her today as well—thanks to thoughts of Sunday night. When Dimitri had caressed her with his eyes in the park, she’d felt adored and completely prized. Teddy showered her with attention, but she was starting to realize that his affections couldn’t compare.
Her brows drew together. What exactly does Dimitri want with me? She sensed there were things he wanted to tell her. What were they?
While Dimitri claimed he only wanted to be her friend, his body language said otherwise. To complicate things further, the way he made Alba feel left her to wonder if she could keep her own feelings at bay.
Letting out a sigh, she squared her shoulders and forced her thoughts back to the Crowe murder case. Mr. Rollingsworth was defending Greta Crowe, a woman accused of slowly poisoning her husband. Hefty and red-faced, Greta was prone to long bouts of crying, and during their witness rehearsals, Alba found it difficult to interject her questions between displays of the woman’s highly strung demeanor. Needless to say, Alba needed to be detailed in her research in Greta’s case. The evidence agai
nst the middle-aged wife of Seymour Crowe was daunting. The prosecuting barrister possessed proof that Mrs. Crowe had purchased strychnine at a nearby apothecary. Allegedly, Greta brought it home in a brown-wrapped package and kept it under the washstand where several friends had seen it.
The drawn-out poisoning took place over the course of the next few months. Nervous Greta insisted her mother-in-law, the charmingly fragile Tabitha Crowe, had killed Seymour. The elderly woman’s motive? Greta claimed that Tabitha had been treated cruelly in her old age by Seymour, her down-and-out son.
Alba faced a challenge by putting Tabitha Crowe on the witness stand. Who wouldn’t believe the ninety-year-old lady with the sparkling periwinkle eyes and softly powdered face over her brambly daughter-in-law?
Exhausted, Alba was still mulling over the case when she returned to the Bloomsbury dormitory. Her glance shifted to the clock on the kitchen wall.
Seven-thirty. Time to change for my dinner with Dimitri.
After donning a shrimp-pink dress with a basque front, she secured its cravat bow and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She looked as breathless as a young girl about to get her first kiss. Should she apply blush and lip stain? Would it seem that she was trying too hard?
Pinching her cheeks instead of applying rouge, she proceeded to pile her long mane on top of her head in the latest style. Satisfied with her appearance, Alba sat on her bed and waited.
At precisely eight sharp, a hansom rumbled to a stop below her window. Her heart bounced inside her rib cage.
It was a short ride to Dimitri’s Park Lane home. In the rich darkness of night, the hansom pulled to the curb of the impressive house and Alba heard the driver jump down from his box. While she waited for him to open the door, she studied the house before her. The three-story, square-set structure boasted a beautiful Georgian façade and rows of Ionic columns. Designed in a C shape, the mansion was centered by a lush courtyard framed with ornate gates.
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