"Craigwich will be good for you."
Sir Walter Giles's words still rang in Ripper's ears. He slouched against the cold stone of the mausoleum, staring sullenly around the oblivious teenagers who populated this backwater borough.
"Your Aunt Taffy has a knack for ancient languages, demonic and more. You can spend the summer studying, away from the...temptations of London." Ripper felt his knuckles tightening, remembering the way his father had refused to look at him. That refusal to acknowledge the sorts of places his father's spies had caught him frequenting. The secret London clubs where the clientele was more demon than human, where magic and drugs and sex mixed in a dazzling tapestry of forbidden pleasures. Watching his father sip delicately from the white china teacup while he no doubt contemplated the "temptation" he was saving Ripper from made him fume, a strange mixture of anger, embarrassment, and defiance. He had glared silently as his father continued prattling on about the particulars: when he was to leave, who would be escorting him. Because Ripper couldn't be trusted to make it there by himself. This was the last summer before he would be shipped off to the watcher factory, destined to be chained to a child warrior with a 4 year lifespan once her powers activated.
"Bloody Fuck!" The sudden exclamation of his compatriots roused Ripper from his musings. He stared over the flames. A boy a couple years his senior was jumping up and down, trying to stamp out the fire on his marshmallow.
Because that's how low he'd sunk.
The children in this town snuck into cemeteries in the middle of the night...to toast marshmallows. Ripper tried to contain a sneer of disgust. Granted, there was alcohol and weed, and a couple towards the edges of the fire were doing more than simple making out. But it was all harmless, experimental, teenage drivel. While the clubs in London had given him only the briefest glimpse into the dark underworld before his father's goons had found him and forcibly removed him, it left him with the conviction that dalliances of this nature were a pale copy of the decadent pleasures he could be sampling right now. The use of illicit drugs and vandalism of the graveyard were a pathetic substitute for the hell he could be raising right now.
He'd met this lot by frequenting the only pub that this village had to offer. The only good thing about being forced to spend his summer here was that Aunty Taffy was a cranky, doddering old woman who didn't remember Ripper was even there half the time, leaving him largely to his own devices. That suited him just fine, as he tended to spend most of this time at "McClaren's Pub." There he'd met Jack, a moderately attractive boy around his age. He looked just a little less clean-cut than everyone else Ripper's age, and a little more intelligent. The waitress at the bar had warned him that Jack was the leader of the local group of miscreants, (bloody Christ, she actually called them miscreants) and Ripper bought him a drink. Jack had smiled and, realizing Ripper was new in town, had introduced him to his friends as they showed up. They had all been impressed by Ripper; his name, his accent, his attitude. 'As well they should be,' he thought somewhat smugly. They were apparently the ones who knew where the weed and the parties were. For that reason and that reason alone, he tolerated their irritatingly oblivious, jubilant company.
Right now, he hated all of them.
Even Janice, the voluptuous sometimes girlfriend of Jack, who was right now gossiping with the less-attractive-but-still-worth-a-go blond Chrissy. Or Kirsty. Or something. He hated them both. He stared at them all from where he leaned against the mausoleum at his back. They were all pleasantly blitzed out on alcohol, drugs, and lust. Rolling Stones played loudly from someone's boombox off the the side. No fear of being caught because of the ridiculous size of this graveyard. That was why they had chosen this secluded place for their nighttime gathering. Morons.
Ripper remembered when Janice had mentioned it. She had been sitting across from him at the pub, leaning slightly forward in the low-cut black shirt that made Ripper less upset about being trapped here for the summer. She has smiled coyly, sucking delicately on her straw with thick, shiny, gloss slathered lips.
"Party tonight. You coming?" she asked in that sultry voice that suggested there was only one answer to the question. Glad that Jack was currently relieving himself, Ripper had shrugged noncommittally.
"Maybe. Where?" She had leaned back with the ghost of a pout, buying his bluff and put off by his feigned recalcitrance. She was far too used to being the hottest thing around, and Ripper had to hide a smile behind his pint, enjoying the way her ego deflated under his seeming indifference.
She rallied, tossing her luxurious silken hair over her shoulder with a sniff.
"Graveyard. The big one. At midnight."
Ripper had paused, pint halfway to his mouth. He'd looked around the table at the other teens, currently drinking and chatting. He glanced back at Janice, whose eyebrow was arched challengingly.
"Why there?" he asked, trying to sound casual as he placed his pint back on the table.
"It's huge," Jack said, sliding back into the booth next to Janice and sliding an arm possessively around her shoulder. He smiled easily at Ripper. He was an easygoing sort of guy. It was a part of his charm which drew the others to him, Ripper knew.
"We can be as loud and as careless as we want out there, no one can hear us," he continued, lighting a cigarette.
"Scream as loud as we want, no one can hear us?" Ripper asked quietly. Jack grinned at him, infectious and charming and delicious.
"Yeah, man. You got the idea." Ripper spared a thought for the pretty blush forming on Janice's indignant face as she no doubt misinterpreted what Ripper was asking. She really was innocent for all she talked a good game. But Ripper was more concerned with what Jack had just said.
The cemetery. Midnight. Away from all possible help. If ANYONE but affable, charming, boring, not terribly bright Jack had suggested the venue, Ripper would have suspected a trap. The perfect time and location for dark spells that often required sacrificial ingredients. But he had let a few comments slip, since he'd met this crew. And they'd all gone over their heads. The one time he had reached out with his senses to see if there was even a bit of magic power in any of them, he'd been convinced that this lot was as vanilla and oblivious to the darker side of things as humanly possible. So that meant that they'd be walking into a cemetery in the middle of the night, away from all help, and then get properly drunk and stoned. Ripper groaned internally.
"That sounds like a shite idea for a location," he said at last, sipping from his pint. Jack inhaled on his cig, seemingly unbothered.
"Oh yea?" he asked, not really sounding interested in Ripper's opinion but willing to entertain him.
"Yeah. More likely than not it's gonna start pissing rain. And you'll have to drag all your shit out there and then back. Seems like a lot of unnecessary effort to sit in the middle of the dark in the wet grass." Jack shrugged. It was a shrug that seemed to say, 'yeah, fine, but I'm not changing my plans just cuz you think they're stupid.' Jack was maddeningly nonchalant that way.
"I think it'll be rad. But if you think it'll be too much effort, you don't have to come," Janice said, pointedly grabbing the hand around her shoulder. Jack smiled at her fondly and took another drag. Ripper glared at her. Idiot girl was playing relationship games while he was trying to save them all from becoming vampire food. Because for all he hated them, he couldn't deny there was something inside him that at the very least didn't want to see them murdered horribly. Or worse, turned, and coming after him.
Which was how he'd wound up here.
Sitting across from the 15 or so idiots who had dragged themselves out to the middle of the graveyard to get wasted.
And he was completely. Fucking. Sober.
Because if there was one thing his father had pounded into his head, through repetition, and on a few heart pounding occasions through experience, it was that you do not make yourself vulnerable to vampires. To that end, Ripper had filled his whiskey flask with holy water, had several stakes tucked away in his leather jacket, a silver knife in his boot, and, in case things got very, very fucked up, a small satchel of magic which should daze any demonic enemy for at least a few seconds, if he had done it right. All of these items he tucked away, and then watched while his teenage associates (not his friends) proceeded to get fucked up and generally act like idiots.
He inhaled his cigarette. It was fucking boring. He glanced up at the sky, which was drizzling occasionally. (he had been right about the weather being shite)
Things seemed okay so far. No vampires, at least. No demons either. Ripper was starting to get the sense that this town was too boring even for the dead. The thought made him chuckle.
"Something funny, mate?" Ripper tamped down his need to jump in surprise. He glanced to the left, where the voice had come from and found himself looking up into a pair of smiling eyes that screamed mischief and mayhem, with a mouth that promised devilry. Ripper tried and failed to stop the answering grin.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked without heat. The boy's eyes sparked and he extended a hand. "Ethan." It was a nice hand. Long, slender fingers made for thieving. Ripper stared at it for a few seconds before taking it in his. He brushed his fingers against the wrist, trying unobtrusively to check for a pulse. He inhaled sharply as he felt a rush of energy travel up his hands when the pads of his fingers brushed gently along the skin covering the pulsing artery. He dropped the hand like it was on fire, staring at Ethan warily. All this the boy took in silently, grinning harder at Ripper's reaction.
Not a vampire, then. But definitely not one of the oblivious. He sat down next to Ripper, leaning against the stone. Ripper stiffened but did not move away.
"Haven't seen you around before," he said conversationally. Ripper could feel his eyes scrutinizing him, belying the casual nature of the inquiry. Ripper was doing his own scrutinizing. The boy (something about his nature led Ripper to keep thinking of him that way, instead of being a peer, or a man) looked to be about his age. His face was handsome, and somehow foxish. He wore a silky, short sleeved shirt that clung to his skin and made his nipples stand out obscenely in the cold air. But what really drew Ripper's attention was the golden amulet that nestled in the vee of his shirt.
"Haven't been around before," he answered casually. When his eyes went back to Ethan's, he noted that Ethan was staring at the stake that was partially visible beneath his jacket. Ripper shifted so that it was hidden once again.
"What about you?" Ethan blinked, his attention returning to Ripper's face.
"What about me what?"
"Haven't seen you either. Have you been around?" Ethan's grin returned, more muted but somehow also more smug.
"Oh, I'm around. Although I doubt we've been around the same places, if you're hanging with this lot." He gestured distastefully to the other revelers. Ripper considered being offended and then dismissed the notion.
"So where have you been?" he asked, taking another drag, surprised when Ethan plucked the cigarette from his hands when he'd finished. Ethan took a long, slow inhale and Ripper wondered vaguely why it was so distracting. He exhaled slowly and passed the cigarette, nearly done now, back to Ripper.
"Even the most wholesome of hamlets have dark corners, if you know where to look," he said enigmatically. Ripper reached over and dug a finger underneath the chain of Ethan's amulet, pulling out from his chest. He was careful not to touch the pendant, a sinister looking key.
"And you're the sort who knows where to look. Although, you're a little young to be an Acolyte of Epimethius, aren't you?" Ethan's smile faltered for a moment, and then returned with greater intensity.
"I'm that good," he whispered. Ripper dropped the amulet with a snort. He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out against the ground between them. When he looked up Ethan was reaching across his chest; clever, long hands reaching into his jacket. Ripper grabbed his wrist harshly and glared at him. Ethan looked back unrepentantly, extending a single finger to tap against the hidden stake.
"What're you then? Because I'm sure you're happy to see me, but that is most definitely a stake in your pocket." Ripper continued to glare, but his lips twitched at the innuendo, noting how close this position had brought Ethan's face to his. He released his wrist and shove him away.
"I'm a guy who hangs out with idiots, apparently," he said ruefully. Janice and Jack were snogging shamelessly. The others seemed to be attempting to dance, but were much too intoxicated to pull it off.
"Leave them, then." Ethan whispered in his ear. "I'll show you all the pleasure, the power, to be found in those deep, dark corners." Ripper did not move, did nothing to draw attention to the shiver those words evoked. He glanced at Ethan, who was watching him hungrily. He ignored the curl of heat in his stomach for the moment.
"What were you doing out here," he asked quietly, curiously. Ethan's eyes sparked again.
"There are some spell ingredients that you can only find in a cemetery, on a particular night at a particular time. I was...procuring them." Ripper blinked at that, imagining what sorts of spell ingredients he was after, what he wasn't saying. And he knew what sorts of spells they were for. He made a sudden connection in his head and couldn't stop the next words from tumbling out of his mouth.
"Have you ever been to London, Ethan?" he asked, eyes darting to Jack, who had his hand under Janice's skirt as she moaned up to the cloudy skies.
Ethan inhaled and blew out a stream of hot air against Ripper's ear.
"Yessssssssssssss..."
Ripper swallowed. Everything within him was tilted towards Ethan, who was suddenly much closer, much hotter against him, than he'd realized. He hadn't noticed when Ethan's hand had landed on his thigh but it was scorching him now.
"If I leave them alone," he said, his voice gravelly and dark, "they'll be helpless. I didn't tell them what was out here."
Ethan shrugged.
"Would they have believed you?" he asked, still talking softly, directly into Ripper's ear. His hand flexed minutely on Ripper's inner thigh.
"No," he murmured, the confirmation unnecessary but better than the silence. Janice was straddling Jack's lap now, his hand still up her skirt.
"And you told them it was a bad idea, didn't you?" he asked. Some part of Ripper that wasn't focused on the sensation of Ethan's hand on his leg was aware that the surety of his voice as he asked that question should have troubled him.
"Yes."
"They've been over there, all night, drinking, getting high, lusting after each other, while you've been sitting here watching out for them. Keeping vigil. Tell me, did any of them ask why you aren't drinking, why you're sitting here, alone and sober, while they're all spiraling downward in the throws of teenage hedonism?" Ripper didn't answer, still staring straight ahead, as Ethan's hand grazed his denim covered cock. Ripper swallowed hard but didn't answer. None of them had even noticed he wasn't drinking.
Suddenly, Ethan's hand was gone and he was moving away. Ripper blinked up at him, confused but not wanting to lose his cool in front of Ethan.
"I'm off. Time grows short and I've got mischief to work, far more entertaining than this wholesome teenage lovefest." He took a step backwards. "When I saw you sitting here, I knew you'd be fun to have along. You can come with me, and abandon your friends to their fate-although there really aren't that many vampires in this part of country. Too boring-or you can stay here all night, playing valiant protector to the ignorant masses who are too stupid to ever acknowledge the debt they owe you." He quirked an eyebrow. "What's it gonna be, mate?"
Ripper looked at the others. Dancing, grinding on each other, lost in their own pleasures, and completely oblivious to the danger they were in. Oblivious to the protection Ripper had offered them. Oblivious to him. It was his destiny to protect these sheep, one he likely couldn't escape. What was the harm in letting go, just this one night? Ethan's promises (and he was promising things, regardless of the words exchanged, he'd made a promise tonight and Ripper would make sure he delivered) were more enticing than Janice's vague teasing, and Jack's absentminded camaraderie. He didn't owe them anything after all.
As all this finished flitting through his head, he realized that he had already rolled to his feet and was following after Ethan, who was sauntering away from him with a confident sway in his hips that said he thought his triumph was assured. Ripper grinned.
"My name's Ripper, by the way," he said, catching up to walk beside Ethan. Ethan glanced at him, smirking.
"It suits you."
"I'm glad you approve. You'll be screaming it before the night is through."