December, year 1888...
Streets were dark and cold. Heavy snow was falling from grey sky. Streetlights gave yellow, hideous light. On sidewalk, near the Thames walked two young ladies in elegant and expensive coats trimmed with fur of rabbits. They whispered among themselves. They feared. London was plunged into mass hysteria.
Suddenly from a side street came out high (almost two meters tall), thin gentleman in a long black trench coat and hat. He had black cane with gold knob in the shape of a wolf's head. Fear has lured him here. Sweet, gentle fear of death. Human folly was very helpful.
"Do you want divination, sir?" said voice from other side street. "I can read the future in your hand"
Man froze and looked in that direction. On a barrel girl with gypsy beauty was sitting. She had lightly tanned skin, curled hair in color of dark chocolate, but her eyes were ocean blue. She wore a white shirt which bared arms, colored skirt with floral embroidery, golden jewellery with amethysts and ambers, and green scarf with sequins on her forehead. The cold didn't bother her.
"Maria" whispered the man in surprise.
"Why your clothes are always so... Pitch Black?" girl giggled as she came closer to him.
"Very funny" Boogeyman scolded. He didn't like such jokes.
"Oh, come on, Pitchy! I thought that Aster is grumpy one" Maria put her hand on his shoulder "Christmas soon; please, smile on!"
"No way, Sparkle Spirit" Pitch turned on his way. Then he felt cold between blade-bones. Maria threw snowball.
"I'm Light Spirit!" she shouted "Anyway, murderer is in city. But you already know that. Fear feeds you, yup?"
"Correct. But this whole rumpus in Whitechapel is not my fault. I can say, with pure conscience, that it was big surprise for me too" said spirit of fear. "You want protection?"
"Just for this night" Maria asked and showed him puppy eyes "Please?"
"Oh, for God's sake, woman!" Pitch had his head, but gave the lady his elbow and together they moved toward the Tower Bridge. Suddenly on dark sky appeared streams of golden dreamsand. "Sandman" hissed Black "Always Sandman. It's my district now!"
"Easy, Mr. Black" young woman on his side chuckled "London is big city. Everybody has enough space here"
"Guardians not" Pitch still was angry like wasp "They have no right to be in my territory!"
"And me? I'm Guardian. Partly"
Pitch rolled his eyes. He know Maria from 70 years, but sometimes it was just like few days. Suddenly her eyes flashed with joy and she pulled him toward the small pub. In the middle was a kind of dance party. Pitch tried to stop Maria, but she was too strong. After while, they were inside. Pitch caught a pillar. It didn't help. He couldn't avoid a dance with lady.
"What's that face is? You're good in this!" Maria tried outshout crowd.
"I've got mixed feelings about that" Pitch muttered.
It took several hours. Pitch with astonishment noticed that he even likes this fun. Thanks to wine, he and Maria were a merrier. They danced vigorously, and finally both ended up in a room on the second floor. No one disturbed them. Clothes were flying in all directions. Outside the window, snow and dreamsand slightly intertwined with each other.
The next morning, Maria woke up with a slight (to put it mildly) headache. Killer hangover arrived, God! She moaned softly. Suddenly she found it to be in bed alone. Startled, she sat up. It was the middle of the day. From the street came the screams of the workers, the women's sobs and police whistles. Pitch disappeared. Damn. On the coffee table lay a night bag of coins. The money to pay for the room. How nice.
Maria quickly get dressed and looked out the window. The constables brought the dead body to wain. Jack the Ripper killed someone again, practically around the corner! While she and Pitch...! Damn it!
Whitechapel, year 1891
Man in a tattered, cheap coat followed a high, feminine silhouette. She was dressed in a way that leaves no doubt as to her profession. Suddenly the woman turned into a narrow alley. The man smirked and took out his razor. Time for fun.
"Hello, gorgeous," he chortled.
"Hello, handsome," said the woman. Her voice was beyond doubt male. Something was wrong. Suddenly the figure began to blur. After a while before the killer was a tall man in a black trench coat. He was holding a sharp, Arabic knife. In the darkness gleamed golden eyes and sharp teeth.
"Pay time, Ripper" chuckled stranger. The victim didn't catch a scream. Blood splashed from his throat like water from a fountain in Dubrovnik. Pitch leaned over the body. Nasty guy, indeed. He wondered how he managed to avoid the police.
Black sighed. Human fear was delicious, but enough is enough. Pitch threw body onto his back and dragged it into the Thames. The current of the river will do the rest. London will breathe a sigh of relief.