by Lora Edwards
They returned to the townhouse quite late, and Teagan was surprised to be able to say she’d enjoyed the night. Now, the real work would begin.
Chapter 12
Teagan felt almost naked in the gentleman’s suit Victoria had brought her, almost missed the weight of the many layers of clothing she had worn during the day. Doing some practice kicks to make sure she could move easily, she made her way downstairs to meet up with Ovidia and Bran.
Teagan looked at her pocket watch, another plus of being dressed like a man. They would have to leave soon to get to Whitechapel before the event took place—how long could it possibly take Ovidia to put on breeches?
They would appear to be three high society gentlemen out for a night of carousing and whoring; it was not uncommon for the men of the upper class to look for their entertainment of a carnal nature in Whitechapel. For just a few coppers, they could get their needs met and then take a coach back to their part of town to drink at Whites or some other gentlemen’s establishment.
Teagan stood there tapping her foot, waiting for Ovidia yet again. Bran was in his study going over some of the Ripper details; he had asked Teagan to come get him when “the Valkyrie graced us with her presence.”
“Vid, you are supposed to look like a man! How long could that possibly take,” Teagan called up the stairs, hoping that would get her moving.
“I’m coming! First, I have to take off layers of clothes and undo my hair, and I cannot find the amulet to make my hair look like a man’s,” Ovidia called back.
Teagan touched her own short hair and looked in the hall mirror. Magic was a wonderful thing—the same glamour that kept her ears round, now, made her long hair look like that of a well-groomed man.
“I’m here, are you ready,” Ovidia asked, arms across her chest.
Teagan burst out laughing. “Vid is that you? I don’t think I’ve seen you not made up since we were like twelve,” Teagan said, grabbing her middle and trying to catch her breath as another wave of giggles overtook her.
“Laugh it up Teag.” Ovidia crossed the hall and rapped on the study door. “Bran, let’s get this bro-fest on the road. I’m ready to bag the killers!”
The study door opened and Bran grinned. “Let’s hunt.” The excitement of a new assignment shone bright in his eyes.
The streets of Whitechapel were loud, crowded, and strewn with every imaginable type of refuse—the smell took one’s breath away.
The trio walked casually down the road, observing the hustle and bustle of the people. Teagan pulled a map from her coat pocket. “I have a map of the East End here, the place where the body was found. It was down Buck’s Row, here.” Teagan pointed at the map. The trio debated but finally decided on a route through the twisting streets of the slums to get to their destination.
“There was also a—” Teagan did not get the rest out before a crack of thunder shook the air and a bright flash of lightning split the sky. The clouds broke open and rain began to pour down onto the unfortunates of Whitechapel. “Rainstorm,” Teagan finished, earning a glare from her two companions. Protecting the map with their jackets, they headed off in the direction it indicated would lead them to Buck’s Row. It was not an easy task as the alleys and streets of Whitechapel twisted and turned. To complicate matters further, the people rushing to get out of the rain were not friendly toward what looked like a trio of lost drunken gentlemen. As the minutes ticked closer and closer to the time of the murder, Teagan became more and more anxious.
They finally rounded the right bend and quickly made their way down the street of Buck’s Row. The rain still pounded down on them, the lack of street lights causing them to stop and raise a lantern to every prostitute they encountered; not one of them was Mary Ann Nichols.
“Teagan, look.”
Teagan looked toward the place Ovidia was pointing. There, next to a gate, was what looked to be a pile of rags. As Teagan moved closer, she felt her heart start to pound. The rag pile took on a human shape, and with a shaking hand, Teagan reached out and touched it. As she did, the body of Mary Ann Nichols rolled over, her dead eyes wide open, staring up at the rain, the deep red gash across her throat still weeping blood. Knowing it was pointless, Teagan reached down, checking for a pulse next to the large gash that had severed her neck. Teagan could see the white of bone through the cut and she knew the woman was dead, but she would have always wondered if she hadn’t checked.
Pressing two fingers to the still warm flesh, no pulse could be found, not even a flutter of life. Teagan stood looking down at the wide, staring eyes of the corpse. She felt as if the woman was looking at her, imploring her to help.
“She’s dead,” Teagan whispered. First one hand, then another came down on her shoulder as Bran and Ovidia attempted to comfort her.
“Dammit we are too late. The human ripper will be dead by morning and we have no clues about the man who assumes his mantle.” Bran paced away frustrated.
Teagan stood and in the alley just to the left something caught her eye.
“What is that?” She asked.
“What is what?” Ovidia replied.
Teagan pointed to a shape sticking out of the alley. The trio rushed over and there lay a man in a dark suit, his top hat lay next to him and his labored breathing could be heard.
Tegan leaned down and peering in to his face in the darkness.
“Oh my god it’s Montague Druitt, he was a lawyer and one of the ripper suspects.” Teagan explained.
“At your service.” The man laying on the ground replied along with a coughing fit that brought up great amounts of blood.
“What happened to you? Teagan asked him.
“I was doing my sacred duty killing the filth of this area, when I was attacked. He was dressed as a gentleman but his eyes glowed red, and he was so strong, so strong…” The man’s voice faded and his eyes became blank. It was then that Teagan noticed the large wound in his neck.
One more labored breath and the man was still.
“Dammit! He must have been the original ripper! So much for using him as bait. Ladies we need to leave, someone will come along soon and discover the body.”
Teagan knew Bran was right. They did not need any suspicion or extra attention on them, so she let Bran and Ovidia lead her through the, now, quiet streets of Whitechapel. The first blush of sunrise was showing on the horizon and the rain had slowed to a light sprinkling.
The trio was silent as they climbed into their carriage and traveled through the cobblestone streets back to the townhouse. Climbing out of the carriage, they silently went their separate ways.
Teagan lay in bed, staring up at the elaborate bed hangings. She scrubbed her skin until it was red, attempting to remove the stench of Whitechapel from her body, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, no matter how much she reddened her skin, the guilt remained, like a stain.
They should have been able to save her. They knew where and, within a reasonable time, when the murder happened. She had studied the Ripper killings for a good portion of her career. She had pored over reports, the lives of the women, and the few photos that existed of the bodies. She had read and reread the Ripper letters, and in the past few weeks, she had gone over and over the evidence preparing for this mission. Despite all of that, she had been unable to save Mary Ann Nichols.
She was no longer a name in a file or a body in a photo taken a century ago; she was a person, as were the other ladies. What were they doing now? None of them had any idea what fate had in store for them.
Teagan vowed to use her knowledge to prevent the next murder. They would catch the Ripper and spare the other women the horrible fate of Mary Ann Nichols. Jack the Ripper would only exist in an alternate past. The murder of one prostitute, though gruesome, would just be a brief headline and not the work of the world’s first serial killer. She would do everything in her power to make that reality come to pass.
Chapter 13
Teagan woke, reached over, and pulled the rope to summon Vic
toria. Her pocket watch told her she had slept far later than she’d wanted to.
The door opened and Victoria appeared. “Do you know if the others have gone down yet,” Teagan asked her.
“No, my lady. Miss Ovidia is in the process of getting dressed, and the master is doing the same. Cook held off breakfast until later this morning due to everyone returning so late.”
“Thank you, Victoria. You really are a lifesaver. Can you please help me dress? I feel bad asking but it is so much easier to get into these clothes with help.”
“It is my job and my pleasure, my lady. ”Victoria smiled as she pulled a pale green morning dress from the wardrobe.
Teagan eyed the pretty dress with a mix of delight and derision. It was a beautiful shimmery green with embroidered flowers and vines trailing down the bodice and skirt, but the derision came in when Victoria came toward her with the dreaded undergarments draped over her arms.
“Victoria, what do you do when there is not a Duke in residence,” Teagan asked as Victoria fixed her hair and helped her into her clothes.
“It is always very busy. There are ‘guests’ of the Duke that come fairly regularly, other travelers like yourself, here to observe some goings on or to take someone back with them. Miss Ovidia has been here many times, but this is the first where she has been able to reveal her identity as a lady. It has been my observation that past missions have required Miss Ovidia to enter places where only men are allowed, so she has always left the house as a male.”
Teagan thanked Victoria for the information and for helping her dress then made her way down the stairs. It was odd to think that Ovidia had done all of this before, had been there and run through the streets of London in pursuit of some other rogue supernatural.
Bran was seated at the table, sipping a coffee, looking over the morning post. From the grim look on his face, the news was not good.
“Good morning Bran,” Teagan said in the most cheerful voice she could muster. After filling her plate from the sideboard, she sat down.
Bran silently pushed the newspaper over to her, and she looked at the bold headline that screamed, BRUTAL MURDER IN WHITECHAPEL.
Teagan frowned. “They’re reporting on it already? In all my research, I could only find it in the papers after a few murders had taken place.”
“Apparently the man who found the body just happened to be a newspaper man,” Bran responded.
“That’s not right—she was found by a dock worker on his way home.”
“Teagan, our presence here is like ripples in a pond. History will take on slight variations because of the things we do.”
“Do you think it will change the times of the murders? If so, how will we ever track him?” Teagan asked.
“No, I think as long as we keep our presence quiet and he does not realize we are from the future, he will keep to his same pattern. You have to remember that he is from the future as well. He jumped back here to wreak havoc in a time where there were enough creature comforts that he would be comfortable but where forensics had not yet developed.”
“How does the institute not know his name, not know who he is,” Teagan asked.
“We do not have a list of every supernatural out there. The way we discovered that he was causing trouble here was because of the scholars at the institute that monitor the timeline, looking for ripples or changes that could only be caused by someone who can manipulate time. They saw this ripple and we were put on assignment.”
“If this is all new to the timeline, how was I able to study it years ago, because it did not exist years ago?” Teagan sat back in her chair and sipped her tea, the food on her plate forgotten.
“The timeline has changed, so the history you studied has changed. It is hard to grasp the concept, but what you currently know of the Ripper murders may turn out very differently after our mission. For now, we need to focus on the reason we are here: to stop him before he kills again.”
She thought about the dead woman they had encountered and realized Bran was right. They needed to stop Jack the Ripper. “Good news is that we have some time to investigate. The next murder did not occur until September 8th, which is a week away. We can explore Whitechapel more and gather more clues to the Ripper’s identity. You’re sure he was a member of the Ton,” Teagan asked.
“Yes, our research department has been able to gather at least that much. There was so much going on before we left that your grandfather was not able to discuss the journal he found and used to lure you to England.”
“That’s real? I thought he made it up to get me to London, and then once I was there, to get me to work for the institute.”
Bran leaned back in his chair, a slightly sheepish look on his face. “Well, that was part of it, and it was my doing. I am the one who suggested we use the journal to lure you there and then have your parents reveal things to you. We knew it would be harder for you to run away once you were here in London.”
“You were right about that. There is a good chance I would never have made the trip if that conversation with my parents had happened before I left, so it was a smart suggestion. Now about the journal, do you have it here?”
“We have a copy.”
Jumping from her seat, hands on hips, she glared at Bran. “You waited this long to tell me you have it here! Why? Gimme.” Teagan held out her hand, wiggling her fingers, fire in her eyes. “There could be so much information in there. What if it could have saved Mary Ann Nichols’ life? Why did you keep this from me?”
“It wouldn’t have helped. We have pored over it and there are not a lot of details about the crimes. Mostly they are just his musings about the killings and rants against the police. There is a reason I waited Teagan…you are mentioned in the journal.”
“Me? How do you know it’s me?”
“Do you know of any other Lady Draconus named Teagan,” he asked sarcastically. “You have been the only Lady Draconus—it’s not like I could pop into this time with a new wife every time. There is always only one heir to the Dukedom, and that it is why Ovidia could not pose as my sister during the times she was here with me before. She always had to pose as a man.”
“So, you knew I would accept this mission, that it had already in a sense happened, that I had already come here?”
“Yes, in a way, but you could have refused and the timeline would have changed again. It is good that you didn’t, because your expertise on the Ripper case is invaluable. He seems to…” Bran paused, looking down at his coffee cup. “Well, you will see when you read the journal entries. I think you are the key to capturing him. You need to be very careful. Do not go anywhere unless Ovidia or I are present.”
“Everyone keeps talking about Ovidia like she’s going to protect me. You have met her, right? I mean, I love her, but she’s not exactly the fighting type.”
“Teagan, some of the people you have always known are not what they seem, including Ovidia. She will be able to protect you, believe me.”
She very much doubted that Ovidia was the fighting type, even though she remembered Ovidia’s glowing sword vaguely from childhood, but she would take Bran’s word for it. Vid was pretty fierce when she was angry.
“Come with me, the journal is in my study. After you’ve read it, if you need to talk…just come find me.”
Reaching his study, he walked to the desk, opened a small drawer, and removed a leather-bound journal. “This is it. I think this journal and you are the keys to finding his identity. Please be careful, some of it is somewhat disturbing.”
Teagan took the book from him and left the study. Walking back toward her room, she heard an odd thrumming sound, so out of place in that Victorian time. It almost sounded like bass from modern music. Following the sound toward the back of the townhouse, she came to a closed door. The sound was louder there but still muffled, as if there was some kind of soundproofing material. The muffled bass pulsed against the door.
Knowing she probably shouldn’t, but wanting to see, she tu
rned the knob and opened the door. What she saw caused her mouth to drop open in shock.
The room looked look like the practice room back at the institute. Thick black mats covered the center of the floor, and weight benches and workout equipment lined the perimeter. Ovidia stood in the middle of the room, a long, glowing, jeweled sword in her hand. The blade looked like it was made of pure energy, a strip of blinding white light. As she watched, Ovidia swung the radiant weapon around, parried and thrust, just like the fencing competitions Teagan had seen at Duke. The hilt of the sword held a bright blue jewel that sparkled and flashed with each move Ovidia made, her gestures fluid like a dancer. The sword seemed to be an extension of her arm.
Teagan just stood there watching her friend’s graceful moves, and now had no doubt in her mind that Ovidia was as deadly as Bran had suggested.
The music throbbed to a close, and Ovidia’s posture went rigid when she turned to find Teagan standing in the doorway.
Ovidia looked like she had just stepped out of a fitness magazine in her black and white workout wear; at least there was still some hint of the friend she had always known in the swanky workout clothes. She stared at Teagan, a blank expression on her face, her body still as she waited for Teagan to say something.
“Leave it to you, Vid, to have a magical sword with bling and look like Kate Hudson while doing a sweaty workout.” Teagan smiled at her friend.
Ovidia relaxed her posture and laughed. “Who says a girl who is going to kick ass can’t look good while doing it,” Ovidia said with her usual sass.
Walking over, Teagan admired the glowing sword Ovidia had dropped to her side. It was made of a metal she had never seen before, and it blazed a bright white. Strange words and symbols were carved into the surface, and the sparkling blue jewel on the hilt pulsed as she looked at it.