Chapter 1

An Unexpected Friend

Katy gathered her things – make-up, cigarettes, the money on the table – and stuffed them into her purse. She took one careless look at the mirror, pinned up her flaxen hair into a loose bun and straightened her coat collar. The reflection that stared back at her was pale, lifeless, even with her freshly reapplied rouge. She did not like the way her mouth drooped at the corner when she was tired; right now she looked about ten years older than her twenty-two years. Sighing, she left, closing the door behind her. On the musty-smelling bed, the half-dressed man turned over in his sleep and murmured something about the wife.

It was a nice night, moonlit; the filthy backstreets of London looked shabbily romantic rather than decayed, dilapidated. It had just stopped raining; the cobblestones gleamed in the silver half-light.

Among the waste-heaps beside the back door of a diner, what appeared to be a heap of indescribably dirty rags rose, stretched itself and began sifting through the trash. He seemed strangely happy, eyes twinkling mildly in the dark – or perhaps that was the brandy – as he hummed to himself. Then he unearthed something fist-sized and mushy and tore ravenously into it, and Katy suddenly felt an upsurge of pity. She walked on briskly, the vagabond's forlorn humming echoing after her.

It was only a quarter of the way to where she was staying, but her journey was delayed by a lean, purposeful shadow that solidified and stepped into her path. He was young and sharp and dangerous. His breath smelt of cheap gin.

"What brings a pretty thing like you into a place like this?" A mocking voice, greasy and high-pitched.

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up." She stepped aside, and he did the same, blocking her way. From the darkness a thin silver weapon appeared.

"Is this the way you solicit business from a poor girl, Rag?" Her eyes widened with indignation in an effort to hide a dawning fear. "I thought we were friends."

"We were friends until your clients got richer and you started turning me away from your door," he spat. "Poor hungry Rag. Deserted by his friends because he stank, because they could finally afford cologne and he couldn't."

She refused to reply. Her face was stony.

"You didn't want 'em to think you was doing me too, didja?" he asked nastily. " 'Cause I looked diseased or dirty, like, and you had a reputation for being clean. Didn't want your regular blokes fearing gonorrhoea, didja."

Katy avoided his gaze, staring into the distance. "We all have a living to make, Rag. Now leave me alone and go rob someone else."

He laughed – a short humourless bark – and retreated. She had not walked three steps when his knife cut into her throat. She stifled a shriek.

"For Godssake, Rag – look, I'll give ya money, alright? Take that stupid thing off my neck and you can have a nice warm meal and a bed for th'night, how's that?"

"He's not having anything."

The strange, cultured voice was that of a deep growl. Rag's coming retort was cut off as he screamed – the stranger had twisted his wrist with one swift wrench. The blade clattered harmlessly onto the cobblestones.

"Wh-what was that for, man!" Rag gasped. "What did I ever do t'you – none o' your goddamn business…"

The dark figure grunted contemptuously and flung him into the nearest wall. Katy winced as she heard a rib crack. Whispering and cursing, Rag dragged himself away, close to collapsing.

She picked up her dropped purse. "Y'know, you coulda just knocked him out, Edward."

He grunted again. "Some thank-you."

She hurried after his hulking gait. "Where were you? I thought you was walking me back."

Edward shifted a muscular shoulder in a sort of shrug. "Had some business to take care of with my lawyer." From his trench coat pocket he fished out a cigar and lit it.

In the spark of light, his savage countenance was briefly illuminated. It was not so much ugly or deformed as terrifyingly brutal. His was like a normal face that had been twisted almost beyond recognition and infused with a coldness that could, with mercurial speed, light up like the fires of hell just before he smote a victim. Insofar there was none who met him that did not fear him, except for Katy.