6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

S PRING-HEELED JACK SPOTTED AGAIN.

The declaration on the front page of The London Gazette was accompanied by a sketch of a young man running in terror from the cloaked and horned figure of Spring-Heeled Jack who leaped above him with claws outstretched, like a cat about to catch a mouse in the cage of its claws. Claws tipped with spikes, like that of a bear or wild lion. Claws that could rip apart flesh as simply as a razor through paper. Claws that had been covered in blood, but nowhere else.

Hugh stared at the drawing in fascination. Even in the simple artist rendering, his eyes seemed to burn with flame, as if they would consume the very paper they were drawn upon. Jack looked positively monstrous and terrifying, and with those claws, he could do major damage to anyone he encountered if he wanted to. And yet, Hugh had come face to face with him over a fresh corpse and walked away unscathed.

He scanned the story, which mentioned that several people had seen Spring-Heeled Jack in the vicinity of Bowery Lane the previous evening. That was where he had gone, and where Christopher had died. His mind wandered to the hunched shadow on the rooftop. Had the feeling of eyes on him been Spring-Heeled Jack after all? Could the white rose that fell from the sky to land at his feet actually be from Jack? What reason would Spring-Heeled Jack have to give him a rose?

Dr. Ledbetter had a report on Hugh’s desk when he arrived at work that afternoon. The red-haired boy’s name was Toby Kelly; he had been identified by one of the women who lived in the same building as he did. He lived with an older gentleman, but the man had been out of town for the last three weeks on business in France, so he couldn’t have been the one responsible for Toby’s death. The cause of death was listed as exsanguination from an injury to the throat, though what caused that injury was unlisted.

The alley where he had been found was behind Toby’s flat, so Hugh went to go look again early that evening to see if he could find any clues while it was a little lighter out. There was something on the ground in the place where he had found the body only days earlier. Hugh crouched down and found a single white rose lying on the ground, not unlike the way he had left the one for Christopher. Hugh felt a shiver run down his spine. He looked up at the building where Toby lived. What had the young man been doing in the alley? Obviously, he met someone and had been having relations with them. Was that the person who killed him? Or had that person fled when they had been attacked? There were still droplets of blood flecking the brick wall. Hugh shifted to lean his back lightly against it. Toby had been facing his attacker. Maybe coupling together, his leg up around the other man’s waist as they fucked in the dingy alleyway?

There was a soft rustling sound above his head. Hugh jumped and pushed quickly off the wall. Balanced precariously on the sill of a window two stories above his head was Spring-Heeled Jack. His cloak moved the light breeze like giant bat wings. He gazed down at Hugh with a smile. “Hello again,” he said, his voice that deep, musical rumble.

Hugh’s heart did a little tap dance in his chest. It was just because Jack had scared him, he thought, not because of how he had dreamed again last night about Jack pinning him against a wall in an alley not unlike this one. His hand automatically went to the truncheon at his hip. Jack held up his hands defensively. No blood on them this time, though the iron claws on his fingertips glinted in the setting sun’s light. “Please, that is not necessary.”

“What do you want?” Hugh asked, fingers hesitating on the smooth wood of the truncheon but not drawing it yet. Jack was gazing down at him with an expression that he was finding hard to read. It wasn’t cruel or mischievous. It almost seemed like curiosity.

Jack stepped off the windowsill and dropped onto the alley floor in front of him with barely a sound, landing as light as a cat. His cape billowed before settling around him again. They were closer than they had been a few nights ago, and Hugh could see him much clearer without the fog and darkness. Jack’s ears were long and pointed on the sides of his head. His eyes still glowed, though they were not as brilliant in the light as they had been in the dimness. “I wish to speak to you, Hugh Danbury.”

“That is the second time you’ve called me by my full name,” Hugh said, fingers curling around the truncheon handle. “How do you know who I am?”

Jack held up his hands again in what looked like a show of truce. “I am here for you.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Hugh asked warily.

Jack threw back his head and laughed. “Saints and serpents, no! Why would I do that?”

“You’ve been following me,” Hugh said, narrowing his eyes at Jack.

“Yes,” Jack replied.

“Why?”

Jack frowned thoughtfully. “There is a lot to explain, Hugh Danbury.”

“You can just call me Hugh.” The words came out before he thought about them. Why was he giving this spectre permission to call him by his first name instead of ‘Constable’ or ‘Mr. Danbury?’

“Hugh,” Jack said, rolling the word around in his mouth like it was a lump of sugar. “And you may call me Jack.”

“I would call you by your real name,” Hugh said. “Who are you?”

“I have actually become quite fond of Spring-Heeled Jack,” the man said, giving a slight bow of his horned head.

Hugh frowned. He could admit that Spring-Heeled Jack was an appropriate name for this spectre. And right now, Jack’s identity was less important than his intent. His eyes drifted to the metallic-looking claws on the ends of Jack’s hands, razor sharp. The kind that could have cut into Christopher O’Malley like a knife through butter. “Did you kill Toby Kelly?” he asked, gesturing to the area where the white rose lay, where Toby’s body had been.

“No,” Jack said. He lifted his chin and said, quite grandly, “I give you my word, Hugh Dan- Hugh, I did not kill that man, nor any other on these London streets.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Mm, that is a question with a surprisingly long answer,” Jack said. “Would you care to join me for some tea, and we can discuss it? That is how people generally discuss things, is it not?”

Hugh raised a brow. “You might have murdered someone, and you’re asking me to join you for tea?”

Jack gave him a pointed look. “Apparently tea is very important in the conversational process. And I did not kill that young man, or the other one on Bowery Lane. I swear it on Plato’s pinwheel.”

“How do you know about Christopher O’Malley on Bowery?” Hugh asked.

Jack lifted his head and smiled again, and Hugh realized that Jack did indeed have very sharp teeth, sharper than any regular human’s. Had he filed his teeth down to those severe points? Or was he wearing some sort of covering? His speech was clear, not like he had a mouthful of wax. “I first saw you when you were there investigating his death. And last night, you went back there.” He gestured his arm to the side, indicating the white rose that lay on the ground a few paces away. “What use the dead have for flowers, I do not understand.”

“Were you the one who dropped the rose last night?”

“Yes. Do you not like roses?” Jack asked. “I can get you something else.”

Hugh blinked. “I… like roses just fine,” he said. “But, why?”

“Why?” Jack repeated blankly, tipping his head curiously.

“Why did you drop a rose for me?”

“It was a gift,” Jack replied.

“That doesn’t explain why,” Hugh said with a frown.

“Aren’t flowers part of the courting ritual?” Jack asked.

Hugh felt his jaw drop. “The what?”

“The courting ritual,” Jack repeated, a little slower, as if that was why Hugh had not understood him the first time.

“Are… are you trying to court me?” Hugh asked.

“Oh yes. Well, in a manner,” Jack said, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin with his hand. “Is that a no to discussing it over tea then?”

Hugh held up his hands. “Wait, wait. You need to explain this right now.”

“Ah, well. The short answer without tea is that I am your soulmate here to help you,” Jack replied. “There is much more to tell you, but I don’t think this is an ideal place to go into it.”

“You’re my what?” Hugh asked with a frown.

“Your soulmate,” Jack repeated.

Hugh tried to process the words, but they might as well have been Chinese for all the sense he was able to make of them at the moment. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mmm, shall I show you instead?” Jack suddenly moved in close, and Hugh could feel warmth envelope him, like he had stepped up to a fireplace in winter. Jack was much taller than him, even without the extra height from his horns. Jack reached up his hand. Hugh sucked in a sharp breath as the iron claws came close to his face, tensing for them to rake across his flesh. But Jack turned his palm away and gently ran the back of his hand down Hugh’s cheek in a sweet caress. Hugh stared up into Jack’s eyes. It was his dream all over again, Jack’s hips pressed to his, the rough brick at his back, their mingled warmth.

Jack leaned in, and Hugh inhaled softly. Was Spring-Heeled Jack trying to kiss him? He knew that should make him feel panicked, even frightened, but instead he only watched the man’s face come closer to his. His chin tipped upwards without him realizing he had done it, giving Jack better access to his mouth. Jack’s lips were only inches away…

“What’s going on?” came a shout from nearby. Hugh turned his head to see a man standing a little way away, squinting at him and Jack in the dim light.

“Drat. Some other time then,” Jack said, pulling back and giving Hugh a quick smile before he suddenly gave a great leap. In a flash of horns and black cape, he had leaped up to the roof of the building and vanished over the top of it.

Hugh stared at where he had gone, his heart hammering in his chest. Had Spring-Heeled Jack really just tried to kiss him? He quickly brought himself back to the reality that was this stinking alley. The man had come a few steps closer, staring at him expectantly. “Wh… what?” he asked, his mouth suddenly gone very dry.

“Are you all right, sir?” the man repeated. “That looked like Spring-Heeled Jack!”

“Oh, yes, it… it was,” Hugh replied.

“He ain’t hurt you, did he?” the man asked, giving him a long once-over look.

Hugh shook his head. “No. No, I am just fine.” He straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “Thank you for your assistance.”

The man nodded. Hugh hurried out of the alley before he could think too much longer about the fact that Spring-Heeled Jack, the terror of London, had tried to kiss him, or that he had been perfectly willing to let him do it.