Summer in London, the city streets and alleys were filled with the ne'er-do-wells and the innocent, sharing the same muggy air and stinking to high heaven. As the tall man with the face of an angel strolled by, people couldn't help but notice. The whores and the sisters all couldn't help but notice him in his dapper clothes and with his curling dark hair worn so much longer than was the style these days. "Excuse me sister," he said with a devilish Irish brogue that made the handmaiden of the lord's heart flutter in her breast. "Would you know the way to White Chapel?" He ducked his head down so that he could hear the sound of the blood in her veins as she looked up at him with soft green eyes.
"The way to Whitechapel?" she let out a deep breath. "Oh sir, a fine gentlemen like yourself wouldn't want to be goin' there." Her voice was so much like his Drusilla's that he found himself missing the little lunatic. He had to wonder what she and her toy, Spike, were up to. He was letting them have some time alone, so that William could learn to be a man before he brought him to heel showing him just who was the boss. "There's been a horrible murder."
"I've heard," Angelus almost smiled, but managed to just a small grin. He slipped the nun a few pounds to buy food and clothing for the orphans of the coalmines, and headed off into the night in the right direction this time. He'd been reading the stories about him, the man they called the Ripper, and he had to find him. The bastard was stealing Angelus' claim to fame as the Scourge of Europe, and he didn't much like that at all.
In was 1888; the Ripper had killed at least four prostitutes in the East End, two on September 30th in a most gruesome fashion. The press was calling him a monster, and Angelus needed to know if he was man or beast. The closer he got to Whitechapel, the emptier the streets got, only the most desperate of the poor were out so late at night. Eyes filled with suspicion flicked his way. He came to the scene of the last killing, a dark corner of Mitre Square. Even above the filth of the unwashed that choked the city, his keen noise could pick up the smell of blood. He could see the dark stain where she'd been lying, and knew from the newspaper stories that she'd been ripped open after having her throat slit.
"So much blood," he shook his head. "And all gone to waste." Angelus crouched low to the ground, letting his dark eyes shift as his face changed calling in the beast that lived within him letting his senses sharpen even more. He caught the scent then, the scent of a man who wore death on him like a cloak.
It took Angelus most of the night to follow the trail, but it grew stronger as his feet flew over the miles. Along the way, he had his fill of a rundown trollop, who was more than eager to pull up her skirts for him, and was even smiling when he buried his fangs in her throat and left her dried husk behind to rot in the alley. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and then had a shot of whiskey from a silver flask to wash the taste of her from his tongue.
He was close now, to finding him, he could smell the Ripper with each breath he took. Dressed now in his handsome human form, he stepped into the pub where he knew the man was waiting and watching the next victim to catch his eye. Angelus took a table nearby, and sipped at a pint. The man was quite normal looking, although dressed a bit better than the folk that filled the Pub. Whores were plying their trade in doors for fear of facing the Ripper on the streets. "Can I buy you a drink?" Angelus said as he moved over to share the killer's table.
"No thank you," the Ripper said, his voice was cut glass perfect. The man didn't belong there in the East End anymore than the spoiled vampire prince did. He looked at Angelus with eyes the color of the ocean before a storm. They were cool and hard. Angelus saw no light in them, except perhaps a small glint of madness when those steely eyes would flicker towards one of the girls flirting across the way.
"Is she your woman?" the vampire asked not taking the hint to depart. "Or just your next victim?"