Page 93 of The Business of Blood

“I’m so tired,” I whispered so he could not hear the tears tightening my throat.

“Of what, my dear?”

“Of blood. Of fear. Of all the terrible things people do to each other, and all the reasons and excuses they use to do them.”

“Sweet girl. You are right to be tired. And afraid.” He kissed my temple. “It takes a great deal of courage to see the world in all its tainted glory and to love it.”

“Are you still running away to Paris?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t call it running away…”

“I would.” I put my head on his shoulder. “Take me with you?” I was only half-joking.

“What areyourunning from?” he asked fondly.

“Jack the Ripper.”

He grasped my hand with the force of his shock. “Tell me he’s not after you.”

“No, but he did kill someone tonight. We’re sure of it, this time.”

“How devastating.”

“Not really.” I was more upset that he’d killed Comstock for me, than I was by the journalist’s actual death.

What did that say about me?

“Fiona!” Well, Oscar certainly disapproved.

“He killed a man this time,” I explained. “A bad man.”

“It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.Youare both, if you were wondering.” He took a sage drag 24of his cigarette.

“What about the Ripper?” I gasped. Surely,hewas considered evil to everyone.

“The Ripper is tedious, obviously, because he is predictable. Above that, what is charming about murdering whores? Nothing. You’re ridding the world of a lovely laborer, who provides a much-needed service to society. S’like—s’like why would one kill servants or wait staff for simply being who they are? Who, then, would bring you sustenance?”

I usually forgave Oscar for saying such silly things, especially when he smelled of absinthe. “Sex is hardly sustenance,” I pointed out.

“Is it not? Is it not the sustenance of humanity, itself? Is it not necessary for the hunger of the soul? The very mortar which holds the bricks of love together?”

“I wouldn’t know.” I rested my glum chin in my hand.

“That, my dear, is whyyouare tedious. Once your flower is well and truly plucked, you’ll have a better understanding of things. You should see tothatas soon as possible. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

I scowled at him. “I’m starting to believe my flower, as you call it, is what keeps me alive.”

“What could you possibly mean by that?”

“The Ripper wrote to me,” I confided. “He praised my innocence.”

Oscar made a comic sound of disgust. “I always maintain the reference to virginity as innocence is imbecilic at best. You are one of the least innocent women of my acquaintance.”

“I confess, I had a similar thought,” I agreed. “Of the many words I’d use to describe myself, innocent would never be among them.”

Oscar was silent for a moment. “If the Ripper knows you’re a virgin, he knows you.”

I nodded, having come to the same conclusion.