Chapter 25
London England, 1889
The January wind was bitter and unforgiving, biting through the coats and scarves of the humans who quickly made their way from one building to the next, careful not to slip on the sheen of ice left in spots on the surface of the sidewalks and streets. The stars were out, and the sky was clear, but few of them lingered long enough to marvel at the wonder as they rushed to get out of the cold.
Aaron and Vicky had no such reason to take cover. Cold no longer affected them the same way once they had gone through the Transformation process. Aaron could easily stand outside in subzero temperatures without a coat for hours before he became even the slightest bit uncomfortable. Likewise, the summer sun was no longer a bother.
Tonight, he did wear a long coat, hat, and scarf—as did Vicky—not because they needed them for warmth but because otherwise, they might not quite fit in with their surrounding should any humans pay them any mind. Since they stuck mostly to the shadows and most of the people were in too big of a hurry to even survey their surroundings, it wasn’t much of a concern.
“I have a feeling we’re not going to have any luck tonight,” Vicky whispered, peering around her into the dark alleyway behind them. “No one wants to be out. Not even the undead.”
Aaron nodded in agreement, though it wasn’t the weather that had him convinced they were on yet another futile mission—it was the lack of any sort of trail to begin with. The Ripper—Jack, as the newspapers had taken to calling him after a letter bearing the entire pseudonym had allegedly shown up—was taunting them, as he had been since they first heard of him last September. Now, four months later, they had at least four new bodies to attribute to him, possibly more. Without more evidence or someone willing to talk, they had little to go on. Even manning the stations Ward had assigned to them did little to produce the results they desperately needed to stop the killer from striking again.
“The police may be doing us more harm than good,” Aaron mentioned as he reflected on the case. Scotland Yard and other involved agencies had done their best to attempt to establish who was responsible for each of the bodies that were discovered in Whitechapel, as they did elsewhere, but they had interviewed hundreds of witnesses and suspects, and the case had grown to a disproportionate degree, taking on a life of its own as the citizens shouted their fears of the Whitechapel slayer, and the press called for more action in the arrest of a suspect—any suspect—linked to Jack the Ripper.
“He is an enigma like none we’ve ever faced before,” Vicky agreed. The entire team agreed in a meeting earlier that week that they had never seen anything like this. Brutal slayings made to look like a human perpetrator, with only the keen eyes of their kind to distinguish the marks of the undead. The last victim the newspaper was attributing to the Ripper, Mary Kelly, who had died in December, was left a bloody, hacked up mess, not the typical MO of a Vampire, yet upon close inspection of the body, Ward had been assured this was the doing of the Ripper, who they had confirmed was, in fact, a bloodsucker of the most unusual variety.
“Let’s walk down here and see if we can’t find our friend,” Aaron finally suggested, and Vicky followed him down the dark alleyway without discussion. The street lamps didn’t reach the corners back here, and he absently wondered why anyone would traverse such a place unaccompanied late at night.
The Vampire who had given them their first tip several months ago had shown up two more times, each time insisting on speaking to Aaron and no one else, regardless of who he was partnered with. They could never tell when he might show up, but they’d had little luck finding him on their own. All they could do now was make themselves available.
The entire situation was quite frustrating for all of the team members. Jack left an almost untraceable scene time and again, and others seemed to be imitating him, though it was always hard to say which murders were his and which were not, and eventually Ward had brought in a doctor from the United States to carefully examine each victim and determine whether or not the bodies belonged to the Ripper or something else. While Aaron liked the kid, he was just that—barely twenty years old, inexperienced, and potentially capable of leading them in the wrong direction. Despite the doctor’s recommendations, Aaron always tried to draw his own conclusions.
They turned the corner and headed east up a broader alleyway that ran between one large building and the backs of several more. A few steps into their journey, Aaron began to get a familiar feeling in his gut, and he looked at Vicky, who was nodding. Letting her lead, and following her nose, he proceeded with caution.
At the next intersection, she stopped and turned, entering a very narrow path lined with garbage and other debris where a familiar outline stood several yards down the cobblestone corridor. Vicky stepped back, allowing Aaron to approach while she lingered several feet behind; she knew by now that the informant only trusted “blue eyes” as he called him.
“How are you, friend?” Aaron called halting a good three feet away from the shadow lurker. “Finding the cold weather a challenge?”
The Vampire laughed. “People do walk faster when they are freezing,” he agreed. “I make my way.” Then, as if a second thought, he added, “Not with no innocents, though.”
“Of course not,” Aaron offered, highly doubting that was always the case. “Got any word for us?”
“Not much,” he shrugged, removing his hat and running his hand through what appeared to be thinning light hair. “Even the Ripper ain’t out on a night like this.”
If that statement were true, Aaron and Vicky may as well go home. It seemed like this Vampire had more he wanted to say, though, so Aaron settled in with a line of questioning, hoping he’d finally get some clues so they could find the Ripper and put him away once and for all.
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