"And if it's you?" I asked pointedly.
"If it's me, then it was clearly while I was under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol-saturated blood." Damon rol ed his eyes. "Come on, brother. Give me some credit. Why would I commit such messy murders in such an undesirable area?" I nodded. He had a point. And he also had a point that maybe the best thing for me to do for my own peace of mind was simply to go away. But that wasn't possible. I couldn't leave London until I felt Violet was safe. And Violet wouldn't be safe until Jack the Ripper was found. I shook my head.
"Violet has to work at the tavern tonight. I'm going to accompany her, to see if I can find any more information." I paused. "Come with me."
"Come with you? To some rat-infested pub? No thank you."
"You say you're bored. You say it's the same thing every time. Why not do something different? Besides . . ." I took a deep breath. "You owe me."
Callie.
I didn't have to say her name. I saw something flicker in Damon's eye. "Fine. But I'l be drinking champagne, and you're buying." I grinned. "No champagne, brother. Just ale."
"Good God, do they know nothing about civilization in Whitechapel? Fine. I'l enjoy an ale." I blinked, sure that I'd heard wrong. But Damon had the same slight smile he'd always had lately, his blue eyes reflecting my face in their inky pupils.
"Does that mean you'l come?" I asked, surprise evident in my voice.
"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 Bel s, in Whitechapel. Meet me at ten. And be careful."
"'Be careful,'" Damon mocked. "Why? In case I meet a vampire on my way? A persion would be welcome. Like I said, I'm bored to death." Damon moved back into the crowd.
I fol owed 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 Ten
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 equal y 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 kil er 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 kil er 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 chal enge?
And was I up for it?
That's what I didn't know as I sat in the Ten Bel s 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 tel she was miserable. But at least she was safe.
I shifted uneasily in my chair and glared darkly toward the entrance. Every time the bel 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 stil 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 pul ed back, her lipstick had smeared, and she looked nothing like her glamorous American actress alter ego. Worse stil , 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.
"Al that glitters is not gold," I murmured, pul ing a half-remembered Shakespeare phrase from my memory. Something about the language soothed me, and I hoped it would soothe Violet.
"Al 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'l 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 stil 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 kil 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.