A Victorian Demon’s Guide to London, Love, and Being a Hero (Time for Monsters)

Jack

I’m full, for now. I sit and stare at the figure in the black dress with a ragged white apron and scuffed black shoes. Her bright golden hair is the only spot of color aside from her blue eyes and pink face.

By human or Flameheel standards—pretty.

I can see why Bunson (most filling) would want to claim her. But surely all the screaming and sobbing and running nasal cavities would spoil the beauty of her body?

Humans are very stupid at times. In the past year of hiding among them, I have met a few clever ones. Sometimes, I let the smart ones go. I can easily afford to, after all. The great majority are stupid and horrible to one another, and I dine well.

Anyway, her beauty won’t matter to me in a few minutes. I’ll let her lay the fire. It would be nice to be warm, not that I have a strong preference, but it will help her. She’s shivering. I prefer my meals warm when I can arrange it.

Not that it will matter to her. I’ll be nice and quick with the kill. Bunson deserved the butchering he received, squealing like a slaughtered pig as I tore off the best bits of his organs.

Yes, Bunson and his ilk earn my instant hatred.

But Polly... Somehow, she’s instantly interesting. I don’t know why. She doesn’t seem particularly clever—but she is very resilient.

Look at her. Nearly the victim of that odious little man, carried across several miles of London by rooftop, and she is resolutely laying the fire.

What a good girl.

Stop. She’s not a pet.

“Goodness, sir, I see why you were down our way late at night. Left you in a lurch, did your last girl?”

I blink and stir where I’ve been rooted, watching.

Polly is hanging a mass of clothes from the floor over the firescreen to air.

Some of them aren’t mine. They’re the “wrappings” my dinners came in over the past few weeks.

“My last girl—yes. She was gone without a trace.” I kick a dress behind me. It belonged to a common whore. Not pretty, but exuding sexuality and tasting like the hot, greasy batter that humans used to make their favorite things—fish and chips. She was very forward, petting me most indecently. I was rather relieved when she was dead and I could eat in peace.

I’ll burn the dress when she’s not looking—which means I’ll have to send her from the room.

Wait, I’ll just kill her, and then it won’t matter!

But I’m full.

It’s a waste. I won’t even get to enjoy her if I do that now. No. I think... I think she’ll be for dinner tomorrow night.

“Blimey, sir. These clothes are in a state. And the floor isn’t swept.” Polly winces and shakes her head. “I’ll start now, sir. May as well, now that the fire’s lit.”

“No! No, you... Your services are not needed here so urgently. Let me... Let me show you to your room.”

Yes, that’s a nice, soft death for her. I’ll take her. Lay her down... Maybe she’d like to be comforted, I could do that—and then after she’s asleep, a soft pressure on her neck, and she’ll be done. Won’t even know it happened.

Polly looks up at me, lit by the glow of the fire, like the fake human-like angels in pretty books, a cherub with blonde wisps flying into a little halo around her sweet face. “My own room?” Her eyes are wide. “Even when Mr. Bunson said I could sleep in the attic, I had to share with all the older girls!”

“I have no other staff at the present.”

“So you’ll want someone to see to the cleaning and the meals?” Polly nods, a serious look on her face.

She’s going to taste like wine and honey. She has to.

For a minute, I envy the vampires I’ve met in London. They live on blood alone. They don’t have to kill to feed, even though most do. I wish I could eat this one slowly, a little at a time.

I sniff the air, and for the first time ever—food smells good. Not even the cleanest humans have smelled like Polly does.

Ooooh. How could this work? Maybe just a nip here and there while I feed on others to keep full? She could be like a cordial, a little fine wine to end the meal. Could I do that?

Polly walks past me, and I almost lick her cheek to see if the usually loathsome skin will taste good, too. She stops and clucks her tongue as she stares at my unused kitchen. “I can see you haven’t had supper here, sir. Did you dine out? Shall I make something from the larder?”

“You really are eager to work. Very keen.”

Polly nodded again, earnest blue eyes piercing mine. “I am a good worker, sir. I worked as hard as two girls for Bunson. He had no right to... He had no right to want other services from me. I wasn’t any kept woman. I’m not much for reading and sums, but Mr. Bunson never asked me to do any of that. The children don’t bother with book learning at Bunson’s. Only trades for the boys and sewing, cleaning, and cooking for the girls. When they get old enough, they usually get put out to factories, and I expect most of the girls marry soon after.” Polly stood, twisting her hands, now in the door of a tiny room by the kitchen. “I don’t have any other references than Mr. Bunson.”

“He is hardly in a position to give them,” I smirk.

Polly looks down. “I should feel bad that he's dead. Makes me an awful Christian, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t say that. I believe Deuteronomy says that you shall put evil from you. Mr. Bunson was evil. He’s been put. I... I will go and see the police tomorrow and ensure all is explained. You don’t need to worry.” Why should you, if you die tomorrow?

“Oh, really, sir? Truly?” Polly steps forward, a timid tottering step, and then another. She suddenly reaches out and puts both of her hands around one of mine, eyes overflowing. “Thank you. I don’t know why you... I don’t know why God was so kind as to put an angel in my midst tonight.”

“I am far from an angel. I know my scriptures without any pretense of piety. In case you were in any doubt, I am not a good man. I feel no remorse for my actions.”

“I should say you couldn’t help it, sir. He was a horribly strong man, Mr. Bunson, for all that he was short and stout. I’ve seen him pick up two big lads and toss ‘em out when he wanted them gone.”

This woman! She is...

Well, she’s something. I scratch my head and see if her eyes follow my hand. In the dim light and with her innocent mortal eyes, Polly hasn’t noticed the small curling horns hiding among my black waves and white streaks. Her mind has probably found some way to erase the fact that we flew home. “I had a choice. I chose to kill him. I will, however, explain my reasoning to the police. He was attacking a young woman. I was protecting her.”

I was protecting my meal. I should stop this charade. I could grab her now, she’s so close...

But tomorrow.

“This is your room. I’m sorry it isn’t much, but it has a bed and linens. Sleep. Work in the morning.” I shut the door firmly in her face and hurry back to the sitting room.

I toss any clothes that are too obviously bloodstained or too big or small or feminine to be mine into the fire before sinking into the chair and waiting for sleep.

She’ll be such a delicious breakfast.