Christine Warren - Huntress

“Hello, Warren,” I said softly.

His eyes grew round and he backed up quickly, nearly upsetting a display of bath salts in the process. It occurred to me that, while I could see perfectly well outside at night, this was the first look he’d had of me in the light.

“I remember you,” he whispered.

I nodded. “I thought you might. You were just a boy the last time I was here. You were what? Ten years old?”

“I was eleven,” he said hollowly. “It was the night my grandfather died. You and a blonde woman came to see him.”

Warren walked slowly to me, staring as if he was seeing a ghost. His gaze flew over my face and the Craven Cross that hung from its gold chain around my neck. It was a large Celtic cross studded with rubies and diamonds, and not something that one would forget. When he was standing not a foot from me, he reached his hand out, but it wasn’t the cross he touched. It was the long lock of blood-red hair that fell over my shoulder. I stood very still as he ran his thumb and forefinger over that curl. Then he raised his dark eyes to mine.

“I’ll never forget the color of your hair. Grandfather used to tell us stories of vampires and demons, but I thought they were just tales meant to entertain a young boy,” he said.

I closed my eyes and pushed away my memories of Archie Little. One of the prices you pay for living forever is that the humans you love die all too quickly. I looked at Ginny, trying not to think of the day when I would lose her, too. It never gets easier, and yet I can’t seem to help but make those bonds.

“Mrs. Craven,” Warren said, snapping me out of my dark thoughts. “Why have you come?”

“I need some supplies for a spell, Warren,” I said. “I’m hoping that Little and Sons still sells the type of items I require?”

Warren smiled. “That we do. Just tell me what you need and I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

I felt slightly uncomfortable as I gave him a list of the ingredients I needed. This combination of herbs was innocent enough, but when I found the rest of the spell … well, what I intended to do with them was not exactly white magic. My mother definitely would not have approved. In fact, when I’d been a young witch, arrogant and unwilling to use any sort of magic that might be tainted with darkness, I had once balked at using this very binding spell. But many years ago I had been infected with black magic. It was a part of me and had been for almost as long as I’d been a vampire. I had made my peace with it and I was not so squeamish now about such things.

The front door burst open, causing the three of us to jump in surprise, and Michael rushed into the shop.

“Cin!” Michael yelled. “I saw him!”

“Who is that?” Warren asked as I rushed past him.

“Her husband,” I heard Ginny respond.

“Who?” I asked. “Who did you see?”

“The Ripper,” Michael replied.

“Jack the Ripper’s dead,” Warren announced. “Or so they say. There hasn’t been a Ripper murder in months.”

“That’s because he’s been killing vampires,” I informed him. “Michael, we don’t even know what he looks like now. How do you know it was him?”

“A man in a deerstalker hat stopped at the end of the block and stared at me for quite a long time,” he said.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I pointed out. People often stared at Michael, though usually it was women. He was just so damned beautiful. “It was undoubtedly just someone out for an evening stroll.”

“With glowing red eyes?” Michael asked smugly.

“Oh. Well, probably not.”

“Exactly,” he said, turning back to the door. “Let’s go.”

I rushed to catch up with him, grabbing his arm as he reached the door.

“And do what?” I asked. “Get ourselves killed? Let it go tonight, Michael. We’ll be much better prepared tomorrow.”

Michael glowered at me. I loved him more than anything in this world, but by the gods, he was hotheaded. He and Justine were like two peas in a pod that way and, more often than not, Devlin and I were the voices of reason that kept them alive.

“Cin?” Ginny called out, her voice thick with worry. “What’s happening?”

I turned back to her. “Absolutely nothing. Everything is fine.”

When I turned back around, Michael was striding out the door.

“Michael,” I yelled. “Michael, don’t!”

But he didn’t stop.

“Oh, bugger,” I cursed. I had no weapons other than my magic and I wasn’t dressed for fighting. I looked back at Warren and Ginny. “Warren, take her upstairs and don’t open that door until I come back. A vampire can enter this shop without an invitation, but not your apartment.”

He nodded to me and I gritted my teeth and strode from the shop. I paused as I closed the door, thinking about how the demon could take over any dead body it chose. Sticking my head back inside, I amended my order. “Actually, don’t come back down until morning.”

Both of their eyes grew wide at the implication, but I didn’t have time to worry about Ginny’s virtue. I rushed off after my husband, cursing with every step. The slushy snow was soaking into my cloak and the hem of my dress, and the dragging weight was an annoyance I did not need at the moment. Not to mention, my beautiful new slippers were undoubtedly ruined, and it was a good thing I wasn’t susceptible to frostbite. By the gods, I hate winter.

I caught up with Michael fairly quickly, which surprised me, considering he didn’t have sodden skirts and petticoats hampering his movement.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” I hissed as I came up alongside him.

Michael reached out and took my hand, his warm skin enveloping my cold fingers. Still, he didn’t take his eyes off the man walking down the sidewalk in the distance, and he didn’t slow his pace.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I’m not going to engage him. But it might be helpful to track him, don’t you think? He must call someplace home, and knowing his daytime resting place could undoubtedly be useful.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic. “All right,” I agreed. “We’ll follow him, but not for long. What if he waits until dawn to go home? I don’t fancy burning to ashes on the streets of London, thank you very much.”

“Let’s just see where he’s headed and then we’ll turn back. He’s not wandering, he’s walking with purpose. Wherever he’s going, it can’t be far or he would have taken a hack.”

I looked at the figure ahead of us. From the back he looked like any other well-dressed gentleman, but if Michael said his eyes had glowed red, I believed him. We trailed him for quite some time until he entered St. James’s Park. We were following at such a distance that by the time we entered the park, he had vanished into the shadows of the trees. Michael stopped, and I was grateful for it.

“Something isn’t right,” I said, a sense of unease gripping me.

“We’re not tracking him,” Michael said softly. “He’s baiting us.”

“Can we go back now?” I asked.

“Yes,” Michael replied. “And quickly.”

We turned to go, but it was too late. The Ripper was behind us, leaning negligently against one of the barren oaks, his features obscured by the shadows.

“How kind of you to come,” he said.

Michael opened his coat and pulled his sword. The Ripper smiled.

“I have one of those too,” he informed us, and his eyes flashed red as he drew his own blade. “This might be amusing.

I almost laughed. Demon or not, he was still limited by the confines of his human body. Or perhaps this body had once been a vampire. It didn’t matter. There was a reason they called Michael the Devil’s Archangel. He was merciless in battle and no one, except perhaps the High King of the Vampires, could match his skill with a blade. The Ripper would lose. But what then?