The Ripper (The Vampire Diaries 17)

“Sure.” Damon shrugged. He turned on his heel, about to rejoin the party, before he

glanced back at me.

“Thank you,” I said after a beat. “The Ten Bells, in Whitechapel. Meet me at ten. And be careful.”

“‘Be careful,’” Damon mocked. “Why? In case I meet a vampire on my way? A diversion would be welcome. Like I said, I’m bored to death.” Damon moved back into the crowd.

I followed him slowly. Damon was doing my bidding. I should have been happy. So why couldn’t I ignore the knot in the pit of my stomach?

Chapter 10

Somehow, I got through the rest of the party. The only thing that saved me from my obsessive thoughts was Violet. She was enchanted by everything, and Damon’s friends seemed equally enchanted by her. They thought her accent was bewitching, and Charlotte and her actress friends enjoyed the hero worship that Violet bestowed upon them. Damon, for his part, kept his distance, and spent the majority of the party smoking with Samuel on the sidelines. I sat apart from everyone, reading the letter from the killer over and over again, hoping there was some clue in the words. The Ripper had sent the letter along with what he’d said was a kidney of one of his victims. My stomach turned, but not so much as it did when I read the last line of his letter.

Catch me while you can.

It had been addressed to a newspaper reporter, so the killer had to have known that the letter would appear in the paper. Was it some sort of coded message for me, or Damon? Was it a challenge?

And was I up for it?

That’s what I didn’t know as I sat in the Ten Bells that night. I’d escorted Violet to her shift, not wanting her to venture across London in the dark on her own. She’d insisted on wearing her new dress so she’d be prepared if we received a last-minute invitation to a party from Damon. But even though she was wearing an apron, the dress was already covered in stains from beer and whiskey. I could tell she was miserable. But at least she was safe.

I shifted uneasily in my chair and glared darkly toward the entrance. Every time the bell would ring announcing a new client I perked up, sure it was Damon, only to see yet another drunk builder or overly perfumed woman stagger in. Of course he wasn’t going to come. I’d been foolish to believe him, and more foolish still to have sat waiting for him for the past several hours. When would I stop trying to depend on him?

“Hi, Stefan. Would you like anything?” Violet asked as she trudged toward my table, her shoulders slumped morosely. Her hair was sweaty and pulled back, her lipstick had smeared, and she looked nothing like her glamorous American actress alter ego. Worse still, she knew it.

“A dark ale, please,” I said when I caught her eye. I offered a smile, but it didn’t make a difference in her mood.

She nodded. “I can’t wait to get out of here,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Before, I never knew what I was missing, so it didn’t seem so terrible. But now, knowing everyone is drinking and dancing while I’m here . . .” She sighed, her pale pink lower lip trembling.

“All that glitters is not gold,” I murmured, pulling a half-remembered Shakespeare phrase from my memory. Something about the language soothed me, and I hoped it would soothe Violet.

“All that glitters is not gold,” Violet said, testing out the phrase. She smiled wryly. “That’s pretty,” she said, half to herself. “I don’t mean to complain, it’s just . . .”

“I know,” I said. “But this won’t last forever.”

“How do you know? Stefan, this is who I am. I can pretend and dress up, but that’s just playacting. This is real,” she said sadly. “I’ll get your drink,” she said as she turned and walked off.

I thought of what she’d said. She was wise for her age. Wasn’t I still learning the same lesson?

I leaned back in my chair. About an hour ago, when Violet was busy serving a large group of men playing poker, I’d stolen outside to hunt. Just on the edge of Dutfield Park, I’d managed to kill a fat pigeon by catching it unawares as it pecked on a filthy crust of bread lodged in the cobblestones. The sour taste stuck to my taste buds. The blood had been cold and thin, and I’d had to resist the urge to gag, but it was the sustenance I needed to make me stop staring longingly at the sleek necks of the ladies circulating the tavern.

Over the din, I heard the bell signaling another customer’s entrance. I didn’t even bother to look up. Of course it wouldn’t be Damon. He didn’t care about the killings, and it was clear he didn’t care about Klaus or any of the Originals. He was perfectly content getting drunk and feeding off Charlotte. Maybe that was better . . .

“Murder!” A red-faced man staggered in, his bulk practically falling against the bar. He was the same drunk from the other night who had claimed to know me. I felt my stomach clench as the tavern became quiet as a church. “Murder!” he croaked again. “In the square!”

The man collapsed, women shrieked, and before I could stop myself, I was moving at vampire speed out of the bar, knocking over one of the tables as I did so. When I emerged on the street, the scent of iron was everywhere, filling my nostrils and causing my chest to burn. The scent was coming from the east. I took off toward it, already feeling my fangs bulge, pushing away any fear from my brain.

Then I pulled up short at the sight in front of me. There, just a few paces away, lit by the moon and crumpled on the ground, was a girl in a red dress. Her skirts were askew, her upturned face was pale, and her blue eyes were fixed toward the sky. I recognized her as one of the girls who’d been in the tavern two nights ago. I sank to my knees by her side, relieved when I saw her chest rising and falling.

I licked my fangs and leaned down, eager to taste the warm, rich blood trickling from her neck and matting into her hair. The trail glittered like liquid rubies, and I wanted more than anything to just have a taste, a second to quench my never-ending hunger.

“No,” I said out loud, willing my rational brain to take control over my instincts. I leaned back on my heels, the spell between my nature and her blood broken. I knew what I had to do to save her. Without flinching, I brought my wrist to my mouth and ripped my flesh with my fangs. Wincing, I pressed the wound to the girl’s pink lips.

“Drink,” I said, glancing up to see if there were any signs of commotion. I’d gotten to the girl far faster than anyone would have if they were traveling at normal, human speed, but it wouldn’t be long before more bystanders from the tavern found us. And I couldn’t have anyone see what I was doing. But without my blood, she’d die.

Far off in the distance, I heard the loud, clanging bells of a police wagon. I needed to leave soon. If the police saw me in this position, they’d assume that I was the attacker. “Drink,” I said even more forcefully, pushing my wrist up against the girl’s open mouth.

The girl coughed before greedily sucking on my wrist.