Avalon Revamped by O. M. Grey Page A

it.
    “We could take the CAT,” Avalon said, “I’ve not been on one yet,”
    “Another time? It is such a lovely afternoon, and it’s already getting dark. We’ll be quite safe, don’t you think? Besides, it would be nice to have a stroll with your beauty on my arm.”
    She squeezed my arm and laid her head on my shoulder, breathing in the evening air. “Yes. I do like to be out for a change. Everything is so alive, and I’m so hungry, Arthur. Perhaps a stop at the butchers for some fresh blood?”
    “Excellent idea, sweetheart. Excellent! You were quite impressive in there.” She beamed up at me, thrilled at my approval, no doubt. But then, who wouldn’t be? “Great find, the blood beneath the statue. That definitely adds to the mystery. We should discuss it more over dinner. How are you feeling?”
    “Quite well, actually. The smell of the blood…as you well know. It is rather difficult to be among all these people. It’s as if I can hear their blood flowing, their hearts beating, calling to me.”
    “You get used to it.”
    A group of women marched down the street chanting and holding placards that read such things as WE ARE NOT UNCLEAN and OUR UTERI DON’T WANDER and other Women’s suffragette nonsense. The American movement had trickled across the pond, giving ladies here delusions of equality. Since I had so recently threatened Avalon with the very thing these women were protesting, I found it rather humorous, hoping Avalon wouldn’t go on a tirade. It had been a long day.
    To my great surprise and pleasure, she didn’t say a word as they passed by us.
    Good girl.
    A newsboy called out the headlines just on the other side of the street. “Police stumped at Aristocrat’s disappearance! Read all about it. Right here, right here, folks. Just two-p. Another ghastly murder in the East End—serial rapist and murderer on the move—third one this month! Hear ye! Hear ye! Only two-p. Right here, gents! Right here! Get all the gory details!”
    “How dreadful,” Avalon said. “Those poor women. How horrifying it must be for them to suffer such a fate, although, I suppose death after that horror would be a relief. I can’t imagine surviving rape. I think I would go mad.”
    “Indeed,” I said, then changed the subject, pointing. “What’s going on over there?”
    Just up ahead, a group of people gathered around a tall man in a bowler, standing atop overturned crates. On the wall behind him sat a wooden display case, the kind that could be closed up and carried from place to place. The man spoke over the chatterings of the crowd. American, from the sounds of it.
    It was a bloody an invasion.
    “Gather ‘round. Gather ‘round, folks. That’s it. Plenty of room for everyone. Now I know I’m pretty ma’am, but give me some breathing room. That’s it. That’s it. Welcome! One and all! My name is Roderick A. Jeffries, and I’m here to make your day. Winter sniffles got you down? Can’t keep those toes warm at night? Or are you just plain blue, feeling worn out? Well! This is your lucky day! One bottle of Doc Holliday’s Snake Oil, and all your ailments will be a thing of the past. That’s right! 100% pure rattlesnake oil from deep in the heart of Texas. Wrestled to the ground by our own cowboys, hired to ensure you have nothing but the best. Do you ail from headaches or toothaches? Melancholy? Hysteria? Sore chest-throat-joints-back-feet-hips? Doc Holliday’s Snake Oil cures it all, instantly.”
    “Balderdash.” A peep from inside the audience came. A single word, long drawn out in a southern drawl badly covered with a faux English accent, then silence.
    “Do I hear doubt?” the salesman sang, grinning wide.
    “I say it’s nonsense.” Same voice, same slow drawl. Several people in the crowd all looked down at something in the center of them. A haggard woman made her way to the front. Her creased face peeked through a long scarf draped over her head, and a wool shawl covered her