The Ripper (The Vampire Diaries 17)

“And I’d never fight with you, if you were my sister,” I said. I was enjoying our comfortable back-and-forth.

We stopped by the hotel to drop off our bags with the bellhop and then continued on our way to the theater.

“I feel like this is a dream and I don’t want to wake up,” Violet said, her eyes shining as an usher led us to our seats. Being with Violet felt natural, and our easy banter reminded me of the way that Damon, I, and the rest of the boys would tease the Mystic Falls girls at barbecues and social functions during the year.

Suddenly, the theater went dark and the curtain rose on the stage.

“Oh, Stefan!” Violet said, clapping her hands together as she perched on the very edge of the velvet-covered chair and leaned her elbows on the railing of the box. Dozens of chorus girls came out, wearing flouncy skirts and large hats, and I tried to pay attention to the song they were singing. But I couldn’t. All I could think of was Damon. Why had he done this? It had taken years, but I’d found peace. Couldn’t he do the same? He could feed on women and have his fancy parties all he liked. I just wanted him to stop destroying other people’s lives. I was convinced that we could both live and let live. But I couldn’t live if my brother was killing.

I saw Violet glance at me and I tried to look as if I were enjoying the show. But inside, I was frustrated. I hated the way everything always came back to Damon, and most likely would, for eternity.

“I didn’t see Cora,” Violet said in disappointment. “Maybe she’s not in this show.”

“Hmmm?” I asked, realizing the curtain had gone down and thunderous applause was emanating from all corners of the theater house.

“The show! The first act is over,” Violet said. “And, oh, Stefan, it was ever so lovely!”

“You liked it, then?” I asked mechanically. If Cora wasn’t here, had we just wasted another night? Maybe the Journeyman was still open. I was about to tell Violet our plan when I noticed tears leaking from the corner of her eyes.

“If only . . .” she began.

“If only what?” I asked.

“If only Cora were here. Every time the curtain opened, I’d just cross my fingers and send a prayer to St. Jude, but . . . oh well. I still liked the show. Thank you,” she said, smiling wistfully.

“I understand,” I said, squeezing her hand. I did understand. When Damon had gone away to fight in the Civil War, back when we were humans, I’d always felt a half second of regret whenever I was doing anything enjoyable, thinking how much better it would have been if only he’d been there to be part of it. And even though I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I was now better off without my brother, there was still a vestigial pull that wished I could be with him. The more I saw of the world, the more I realized that not all people had bonds like mine with their siblings. And maybe that was far better than what I’d had, and what I’d lost.

The curtain opened again and another act, more opulent than the last, began. I tried to watch, but I couldn’t keep track of something even so elementary as who played the lover or the villain, and the lyrics for the musical numbers seemed silly, not charming. So I watched Violet instead. Lit up in the glow of the stage lights, she looked absolutely entranced, and the happiest I’d ever seen her in our short time of knowing each other.

As the curtain came down, I stood and clapped politely along with the audience.

“Oh, Stefan, thank you!” Violet said, spontaneously throwing her arms around me. “I don’t want this night to end!”

“You’re welcome,” I said, shifting my weight from side to side impatiently. In front of us, the lead actress stood on stage, blowing kisses to the audience, while members of the front row were throwing flowers toward her.

Violet sighed theatrically, unable to tear her eyes away from the stage. “Cora should have been in that play,” she said, her voice adamant with resolution. “Charlotte Dumont doesn’t have anything on her.”

“Who?” I asked. The name sounded familiar.

“Why, Charlotte Dumont. The actress.”

“She was here?” I asked. Charlotte was the woman who Count DeSangue was consorting with. Maybe this hadn’t been such a waste of time.

“Stef-an!” Violet said playfully. “She was the lead actress. Wasn’t she wonderful?” Violet’s eyes danced, but I wasn’t paying attention. My eyes were scanning the crowd for my brother.

“Just once, I’d like to stand out,” Violet continued, oblivious to my distraction. “Back at Ten Bells, I feel invisible. I want to feel unique. Like I did when I was little. You know, when your parents think you’re special, and you believe them?” Violet said wistfully as she daintily picked up her skirts to walk down the winding stairs of the theater and onto the street. Watching her from a few steps back, I was amazed at how different she looked from the sad barmaid of last night. In her finery, she had all the confidence and airs of a woman who’d grown up in luxury.

“You are special,” I said, meaning it. She was charming and fun and I knew that once she believed in herself, she’d find people who believed in her.

“Why, thank you,” Violet said coquettishly. Around us, people turned to gaze at her. I was certain they were gawking because they were trying to place her—had she been one of the comic ingénues they’d just seen onstage? Violet smiled, clearly basking in the attention.

“What shall we do now?” Violet asked, her eyes shining.

We’d reached the cool street and I breathed out, glancing around. Even though it was late, the street was crowded with passersby. A few paces down, I noticed streams of people were entering the small black door marked STAGE. I made a split-second decision.

“I have an idea,” I said. “We’re going to meet Charlotte.” I pasted a smile on my face as I marched toward the door.

“Name?” a small man with slicked-back black hair asked, glancing at the leather-bound book clutched in his hands.