The Ripper (Page 40)

"Frightened? And you thought I was just little Henry. One of Damon’s foppish friends, of no importance and no interest to a big, strong American vampire like yourself. Aren’t I right, chum?" Henry asked sarcastical y, pul ing me closer. He was clearly going to try to break my neck, and from there, he’d be able to stake me or burn me, or do whatever he wanted. Or he could simply throw me off the train, where I’d be finished off soon enough. A dozen scenarios, each worse than the last, whirled through my mind.

"What? You’re not going to speak to me?" Henry asked, goading me. I stared at the ground whooshing below me, pul ing every ounce of strength from the corners of my being. I thought of Cal ie, the death I hadn’t avenged. I thought of Violet, about to be next.

"This ends now!" I yel ed, spinning around, fists ready. I was larger than him, but I knew from the pressure of his arm against my throat that he was stronger than me. I’d have to be faster and smarter.

"Is this the way you want to do this?" Henry half-growled, lunging toward me. I sidestepped him, and my foot began to slip off the train. I reached out, clinging to the steam pipe, as Henry swung his fist. Flesh connected to my temple and for a moment, al I saw were stars.

Henry’s low, smooth laugh yanked me out of my fog of pain.

I pretended to totter as though in danger of losing my grip. I wanted to catch Henry unaware. And then I reached back and swung.

Blood gushed from Henry’s lip and I stepped back, surveying my work in satisfaction.

"Not as easy as you thought it’d be, is it?" I asked in disgust. Damon had probably told his posse I always avoided conflict, even to my own peril.

Wel , not anymore. I was done with Damon’s games.

Henry retreated a few meters, rubbing his wound and attempting to regain his balance. The wound was fast disappearing, and I knew I needed to act quickly.

I bent my knees, hoping my instincts from decades of jumping with horses would help me. It was al about looking where you were going, and never, ever looking away. I glanced at a smal metal dent in the center of the car a few meters away, and jumped.

My body careened through space as I heard Henry growl below me. I didn’t look, concentrating on that tiny imperfection on the train’s exterior until my feet hit the metal with a thud. Then I whirled around and lunged, aiming toward his face, giving him a punch with as much strength as I could muster. My fist connected with his flesh. He stood, his body weaving on one leg, suspended in midair like a dancer awaiting his next cue, before he tumbled off the train. His body landed in a heap on the ground, growing smal er in my view as the train sped on.

"See you in hel ," I murmured. To anyone else, it would be a curse. But for me, it was a promise.

I climbed down the rickety ladder and stepped onto the caboose car, hoping against hope that no conductor or policeman would be waiting for me. I was weak and shaky, covered with blood and soot.

I picked my way back to the cabin, relieved that no one stopped me on my way. Violet was stil sleeping, her breathing shal ow and occasional y interrupted by a gasp, although whether or not that was from pain or a dream, only she knew.

I couldn’t sit. Instead, I paced like a wild animal, desperate to do something. So Damon had enlisted Henry to do his dirty work. The question was, were there others? I had the strength to fight off one, but could I fight off several? And would we be able to hide from them for long enough, at least to al ow Violet to die in peace?

The train whistle blew, and Violet stirred in my lap. We’d arrived at the tiny Ivinghoe station.

"Wake up," I said, gently rousing her. My temple throbbed, and the wound was slow to heal, a true sign that I was quickly losing strength.

"Stefan," she said sleepily before opening her eyes. "What happened?" She gasped as she took in my appearance.

"We’re being fol owed," I said tersely, glancing past Violet toward my reflection in the window. I looked awful. I looked like I’d been caught in a war. Which, I suppose was more or less what I’d found myself in. "By Henry," I clarified grimly.

"Henry!" Violet gasped again, her face turning pale. "What do you mean?

"He’s a vampire, too. Damon has a lot of very powerful friends. But I got rid of him," I explained. I knew it sounded like I’d kil ed him, and I fervently wished that had been the case. But I had a feeling I’d simply wounded him, and if so, I knew he’d be quick to return. The train whistle blew as we rol ed into the train station. "Come with me," I said brusquely.

Violet struggled to her feet and fol owed me down the narrow aisle of the train car.

"Sir?" a conductor cal ed from behind us. I whirled around, noticing the split second that it took him to see the blood on my hands, the grime and soot al over my clothes.

One more time, I said to myself, locking eyes with him. Just because compel ing had become routine over the past few days did not mean it took any less effort. I forced myself to stand stil . "You never saw us," I said as the train came to a stop, its brakes squealing.

Violet held my hand tightly and stepped behind me, as though she were a frightened animal being protected by a larger, stronger member of the pack.

I continued to look in the conductor’s watery, sleepy eyes. "We’re leaving now. And when you pass through the carriage, you won’t remember us," I said, walking down the three steps toward the platform. The conductor trailed behind us, leaning over the steps as if unsure whether or not to hop off the train and ask us more questions. I continued to stare.

"I never saw . . ." I heard the conductor agree, before the whistle blew and the train whirred away, heading deeper into the country.