"Are you al right, sir?" a butler asked, stepping up to me, holding out a plate of cucumber sandwiches.
I took one. The cucumber was slimy going down my throat and I almost gagged at the sogginess of the bread. The sandwich did nothing to quel my hunger. Of course it didn't. But at this point, the idea of blood sickened me.
I turned on my heel and went back to join the picnic, the sandwich sitting like a rock in my stomach. By the time I'd returned, the conversation had drifted to lighter fare: the unusual y hot summer, the fact that no one seemed inclined to go to their country homes for the weekend anymore, and the recent establishment of secret parties down at the Canary Wharf docks.
"A word?" I asked, pul ing Damon from the group and walking a distance away, toward the manicured garden that surrounded the house. The scent of roses was heady in the air, and for an instant, I was transported back to our Mystic Fal s labyrinth. It had been where the two of us would teasingly fight for Katherine's favor while escorting her on afternoon walks, before we had any idea what a dangerous game we were playing.
"Yes, brother?" Damon asked, sighing impatiently. I forced myself to look into his dark eyes, nothing like the eyes of my human brother. Damon was different. I was different. It was time for me to stop thinking of the past.
A slow grin broke onto his face, and I fol owed his gaze to the sheet I'd tossed aside when we'd come in. "Is that yours?" Damon asked. "Aren't you fancy? That's genuine Egyptian cotton, fit for a king."
"It was for the picnic," I said. "I hadn't realized it would be so formal."
"Stealing linens from the Cumberland Hotel." Damon shook his head. "Have you final y developed a bit of a wicked streak? That would make you almost interesting."
"And I suppose if I were you, I'd be stealing the maids from the hotel for blood, right?" I asked. "I'm concerned about the Ripper," I added. I took a bloom and snapped it from its stem, feeling the velvety softness of the rose's pink petals. Despite my wish only a second ago to forget the past, my mind flashed back to the petal-pul ing he loves me, he loves me not game that Katherine had tortured me with.
I plucked a petal. I trust him, I trust him not, I thought as I dropped each silky flower fragment to the grass.
"You're concerned about the Ripper." Damon sneered. "Why? Are you a woman? Are you a whore? You know those are his victims. You're obsessed, brother! Find a woman to be obsessed with, it's more rewarding."
"Yes, I'm sure it's rewarding to run and fetch champagne at every snap of Charlotte's fingers. The things you do for blood are admirable, brother. I admit it," I said, pleased I seemed to be holding my own when it came to cutting Damon down. Every time I did that, I felt a slight increase in respect from Damon. It wasn't a lot, but it was something. And if there was one thing I'd learned from dealing with Damon, it was that Damon only played games by his rules.
"And I'm not obsessed, I'm concerned. And you know why!" I said. I stil felt Damon was hiding something. Or if he wasn't hiding anything, then he certainly wasn't doing anything to let me in. "I know you and I have a history together. An awful, bloody history. But I am raising the white flag. Al I want, if we can't be friends, is for us to not be enemies. Not when there's too much at stake for both of us."
"Save the speech." Damon yawned. "I've heard it al . I'm so bored with talking! Talk, talk, talk. And it never changes. I have had the same conversations with the same types of people over and over again. I'm bored, brother," he said, looking at me straight in the eye.
"Al right then," I said final y. It wasn't an apology by any stretch of the imagination, but what I hoped Damon meant was that he was bored of his vow, that even if he had no interest in resurrecting our bond, at least he no longer felt the urge to carry on a feud. "So let's figure this out. I'm worried about Jack the Ripper because I think he could be an Original. I think he could be Klaus. And he's after us. Or, more likely, he's after you. He must be. Because that note, in blood . . ." I trailed off, trying to somehow get Damon to recognize the importance of it. "It's not just a prank. It looked like the message on the wal at the Sutherlands'. So what does that mean?"
Damon waved his hand in front of his face as if he were swatting a fly. "It means you're vampire-obsessed, brother. Why would Klaus only kil one woman at a time if he could kil dozens? And why would he toy with the press that way? It al seems very human," he said derisively.
"But 'From hel ' . . . " I prodded.
Damon rol ed his eyes. "For someone who always had his nose in a book, you take things far too literal y. I suggest you stop playing detective.
Why not have fun? You have a lovely girl, you're in a new city . . . lighten up." Damon looked at me critical y. "Or maybe fill up. When was the last time you fed?"
"Last night," I said evasively.
"But not on your girl," he remarked, squinting at Violet. I fol owed his gaze to her white, unmarked neck.
"Of course not." I shook my head. "I don't feed on humans."
"Wel , you should. It'l quiet your mind. Think about it. You could forget about this nasty Ripper nonsense and enter London society. You could have fun, more fun than you've ever known."
I sighed, imagining what it would be like: endless parties, endless kisses, endless years of amusement. It was the life Damon had chosen. I felt a flicker of doubt. Could Damon be right? Was the secret to eternal happiness just doing what felt good in the moment?
"Tel you what, brother," Damon said, sensing my hesitation. "Go to Paris. Take yourself away from this nasty business. If it's Klaus, he'l find you wherever you are, and if it's a stupid human, he'l be caught within a few weeks."