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

London

Eric Bunson fumed. When he returned to the home, he found a mutiny brewing. Spindles were silent. Faces were grim. The oldest boys had formed an unspeaking line, mostly composed of ragged and scrawny youths, but menacing.

“You ‘urt our Kate,” one growled. “She said you pushed ‘er into the stove and tipped the pan. Greg took ‘er to the vicar, and they’re going to have the law on you.”

Eric blinked in disbelief. “What? She’s a clumsy child! A club-footed little snot. She shouldn't have been in the kitchen!”

“We ‘ave to ‘elp in the kitchens since Polly left and there’s no matron, no cook, no nothin’!” One of the three ringleaders came forward, chin jerked upward in defiance. “Where does all this money we make for you go, eh? Not on ‘iring staff. Not on fixin’ the bleedin’ roof, or settin’ traps for the rats, or food, or blankets.”

One of the younger girls, hiding under a mop of string brown hair, dared to shout out, “We’ve only got enough to eat because of the meat that got dropped off, and it’ll all spoil soon.”

Another voice joined the disgruntled chorus. “Kate’ll be in ‘ospital. She’ll get better! She’ll ‘ave ugly scars on ‘er legs, and she’ll show the police! You’ll go to jail!”

“Oh?” Eric’s voice rose in a harsh shout, a bullying bluster that had always seen his brother through ugly times. “Who will pay for this hospital visit, hm? And let’s say the law does have me bunged up, then what’ll happen to all of you? There’s only money coming in, little as it is, because of the clients and contracts I have. You’ll all be put out in the street. Tarts and beggars, every one of you. No one is going to want you—you with the wonky leg and you with the staring eye, you dozy cow!” He shoved his way through the startled line of older boys, only kept on so long as they had been because they could do the heavy work. He shoved one of the little ones with a turned-in foot, another one with one eye staring. “The older boys acting so high and mighty? They can afford to talk like this. They’ll get snapped up by a factory, quick as you like. The older girls... You’ll be flat on your backs, on the game in no time. It’s the little ones that’ll suffer. Starve. The nights are still awfully cold, and there’s someone roaming about, killing. Ripping. Shredding little tykes like you.” Eric shoved one of the smallest to his backside and strode over him, almost crushing his fingers, just because he could. “Get rid of me if you like. It’s your own necks you’re putting in the noose.”

He kept walking, up to the room he now occupied, not letting them see how pale he was, nor how he was shaking.

Once inside, he sat on Robert’s bed, fingers laced under his chin.

The girl and the man must be Polly and her rich punter. Even on the game, she was acting as pure as the driven snow, using her cunt for charity.

What a laugh.

Her punter probably killed Robert to get ownership of that pretty face and those big tits.

And now I can’t even hunt her down properly, not with half the police in Pimlico looking for me. Why’d the old bitch have to scream so bloody loud?

But perhaps... Perhaps she’s as slow-witted as Robert always said. Perhaps she’ll be back, or she’ll send her demon lover over with a roasted pig this time, or a sheep on a spit.

And when he comes, I’ll do him in, nice and quick. And if she comes... I’ll do her in. Long and slow.

JACK SLUNG THE LONG burlap sack over his shoulder. Polly sat perched in one arm, her fingers stroking lightly over one of his horns.

“You mustn’t do that.”

“Why?” Polly asked, her hand dropping at once.

“Because when you do that, I want to stop, lift your skirts, bend you over, and slide into you until you can’t take another inch.” He smirked at her, pecking her lips. “I would say practice improves the depth and girth you accommodate. Our first night, you barely took half of me. After supper, you were so warm and ready, mewling like a cat, practically begging me—”

“Stop!” Polly admonished, gripping his horn in protest. “You’ve been so good.”

“I tell you, I haven’t been. I’ve been busy and fed. That’s not the same as good.”

“Good to me.” Her fist wrapped around his horn now, and she dared to return his smirk, stroking his length like a cock. “Why does this inflame you so?”

“It’s sensitive. Like the pink pearl you hide between your legs.”

“So you want me to suck on it?”

Jack alighted on a rooftop, shuddering. “Polly!”

“What?” she asked innocently. “That’s what you do to me.”

“Hmm. Maybe if you kneel in my lap... Yes, my face buried between your soft pillows,” he ran a hand covetously over her breast, “and my cock deep inside one of your holes... Yes, with my head bowed, my horn just might meet your mouth.”

“Like this?” Polly tugged his strong jaw in her hand, bringing his head lower. A deft swipe of her tongue against the faint ridges and grooves sent him weak-kneed against a chimney.

“My wicked wife.”

“My loving husband.”

“I tell you, I’m n—” Jack stopped. “No, never mind. I cannot argue with that. Only love of your smile and wanting to ensure your happiness would see me carting twenty pairs of shoes across in a horrible fog like this.”

“It’s the warm weather and the damp,” Polly reassured him.

“I’m surprised the lamp boys can find their way in this. I can see in the dark, but they must be wandering about the streets by sense of smell.”

“And you make your own light.” She clung to him tightly.

“You know, most humans are afraid to fly, I think. The one I grabbed—I took her straight out of the house and up to the roof. If people would come running in, I didn’t want to be disturbed. I don’t know if she was screaming more because of me or because of heights.”

Polly gave him a long-suffering sigh. “You needn’t tell me how you fed. Not this time.”

They soared on in silence.

He would not apologize for killing the middle-aged woman in the dress shop. She was, although humans couldn’t necessarily see it, an unkind, belittling sort of person with a hard heart. He supposed he could be as well, but not towards Polly.

And perhaps that little wrinkled woman also had a person who softened her heart. Perhaps even the wicked ones do. She insulted Polly. She deserved to have her ugly tongue ripped out.

But Polly would have forgiven her. Polly would have thought about the other sister, the scared little thing that probably relied on the stronger one.

The way Polly relies on me.

A pang struck him as he thought of all the girls like Polly in the world, waiting for their lovers to return, all the Pollies who would remain lonely and waiting, for their men had been slain.

For the first time ever, his actions caused him pause, and then something like guilt.

“I loved the steak and kidney pie, pet. What will we have tomorrow night?”

“I thought you might like to try pork. Some nice, fat chops, sizzled up in the pan, with sprouts and potatoes?” Polly jumped into the conversation, her voice warm and eager.

“Ooh. That sounds delicious.”

“Would you—would you kill a pig for me, Jack? You could buy one cheap in the Smithfield market. It’d be nice and fresh, and we could take the rest—”

“To the little ones. Yes, I could do that. In fact, I imagine I would enjoy doing that, especially since you’d like it better, too.”

Polly’s hand returned to his horn, and she snuggled to his side. “You might like a diet of steak, kidneys, chops, and sausage. If it helps, I’ll keep you fed, Jack. In any way you fancy.” Her voice dropped into the seductive range that he seldom heard but was beginning to crave.

“That’s a dangerous bargain to make with a demon.”

“Ah, but you’re my demon, and you never lie to me. You have never tricked me, have you, Jack?”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Now, listen. I’ll take the shoes down, and you stay up here.”

Polly clutched him, her tender touch suddenly fearful as they stopped in a mix of smoke and fog over Whitechapel. “Up on the roof? Alone?”

Jack set her down lightly on the half-rotting roof. “I’ll be right back up. I don’t want Bunson to catch a glimpse of either of us.”

“He’ll catch me, full stop, when I crash through this roof.”

Jack groaned faintly. That would be the next thing his wife would want. How in the world would he steal a roof ?

Polly was tugging the bag from his grip. “I’ll slip it ‘round the back. Through the kitchen!”

“You can’t carry this lot, Polly, it must weigh fifty pounds.”

“I can carry that and more. I know the way to get in and not bungle it—and not be tempted to eat anyone if I do.”

Well. He couldn’t fault that particular bit of logic.