This is not a straight fic – but a transcript of a Role Play between myself and ‘givemeyourwings’. It is in progress and unedited lmao.

Helen Magnus: givemeyourwings
Nikola Tesla: ellymelly
Title:ROME
rated: M
Fandom: Sanctuary
Pairing: Helen/Nikola

ROME

Nikola wasn’t usually one for crowds and bustling streets – but he always made an exception for Rome in the spring – especially the decaying corners of Old Rome where ancient buildings crumbled around the growing flocks of pigeons, picking over the cobblestone pathways that trailed in and out of promising shops.

He wasn’t braving this onslaught of people for nothing – Nikola was busily hunting for a very particular artefact – and was quite startled when he caught sight of a distinctive leather jacket strolling down the opposite side of the narrow lane way – almost lost among the other shoppers.

Instinctively, he fell against a shopfront, trying to hide in its shadow.

It wasn’t as though Helen was simply doing the tourist thing, either. She’d been to Rome enough to have seen all the usual attractions long ago. No, the day found her among the throng of people dotting the streets with a more pressing purpose. If memory served correctly, there was an old book shop just nearby wherein one could find all manner of strange and wonderful texts. Helen happened to on a mission to that very place. Had the crowd been less dense, Tesla’s sudden movement across the way would’ve caught her attention. For now, she remained unaware of his nearness.

Nikola remained pressed up against the glass of the store, contemplating his escape until he was prodded sharply by a very displeased Italian.

“Move along MOVE ALONG!!!” the shop keeper all but shouted in a thick Italian accent.

Nikola obliged at once, leaping back into the crowd and straight into the oncoming path of one Dr Helen Magnus.

That’s one way to get her attention. Helen tried to shift her weight in time to avoid crashing into him, but to no avail. After the rough collision, she stepped back, brushing her hair form her line of sight. A polite ‘excuse me’ began to form on her lips, though the words stopped short when her eyes fixed on him.

Not the entrance he’d been trying to make… Nikola thought to himself, hoping she hadn’t noticed his suspiciously nervous appearance.

It was probably too late to duck past her and back into the crowd – Helen was one who usually gave chase in those cases and he certainly didn’t want to be chased unceremoniously through the streets of Rome.

Instead, he settled on a quiet, “Afternoon…” as he brushed a few smears of dust from his unseasonal suit.

The crowd continued to shove past them, knocking Helen and Nikola closer to the marble building towering above the street.

Not to worry. Helen’s more concerned with the fact that Tesla’s right there than his out-of-date attire or his less-than-smooth entrance. The push of the crowd jostled her where she stood, though she made no effort at all to move, only a little more to hide her surprise.

Oh, yes, she’s surprised to see him. While Helen’s able to mask just how surprised, a hint of the emotion colours her expression. Her head canted slightly to one side, brows lifting in an expectant sort of look. “Nikola,” muttered in greeting.

He gracefully recovered his dignity and looked her over – oh yes, definitely the one and only immortal Ms Magnus looking just as out of place as him and ever so slightly flustered.

“Curious…” Nikola said, nudging an annoying tourist out of his way. “I wasn’t aware you were travelling at the present time,” his tone may have been mocking but Nikola’s eyes betrayed his sincerity, “with the Cabal so keen for revenge.”

A single eyebrow lofted a bit higher, her gaze mostly impassive. “I wasn’t aware you were monitoring my movements,” she countered.

There was a dark flicker in his eye.

“You should know, better than anyone, someone’s always watching.”

His gaze continued to shift between the enormous library behind them and the curious store opposite he’d travelled halfway around the world to investigate. He had to get Helen as far away from that as possible, so he boldly reached forward and took her by the arm.

“There’s an exquisite little cafe inside – unless you’d rather stay out here with the dust?”

His other arm opened out, enticing her forward toward the library steps where two guards in full dress suit tried to keep still despite the heat.

“I would not have suspected you to be among those watching, Nikola,” she droned.

Her gaze lowered, lingering on the hand at her arm. Bold move, to be certain. She looked back in the direction she’d been moving, brows furrowing slightly. Telling him of her errand would likely only draw questions. It could wait.

“As you like,” uttered she with a noticeable measure of suspicion.

He led her up the steps – through the large oak doorway that had seen better eons and, after a brief nod at a wary gentleman behind the welcome desk, strolled into the gothic-themed cafe.

The rich smell of coffee wafted on the air – somehow making the room with its leather furnishings and enormous ceilings feel homely.

Several choice pieces on loan from the museum were scattered around the room in glass cases – the most beautiful of which was a four foot inscribed rock that shone proudly in the centre of the restaurateurs.

And – ah yes, what an interesting surprise. On the far side of the room, just out of reach, was a Cabal agent sipping coffee, entirely unaware that their ‘most wanteds’ had wandered through the door.

Nikola picked a private booth along one of the walls.

“So tell me – Rome, interesting choice, not your usual scene at all. Either you’ve got a new lover you haven’t told anyone about,” he paused for effect, “or you’re after something rather special.”

By ‘special’ of course, he meant rare and dangerous – not the kind of thing you wanted people to see you acquiring.

The odd thing about coffee: it smelled delicious, but tasted like (for lack of a better description) ass. Ever observant, Helen noticed the silent exchange between Tesla and the man at the welcome desk. Clearly, he’d been here before and left an impression on the man. With Telsa guiding her, Helen was free to take a cursory glance around the café.

She located possible exits should the need for escape arise. Her eyes swept over the assembled people, noting the seemingly innocuous agent on the far side of the room. Brilliant. Once seated, Helen turned her attention to her old colleague, a wan smile coming to her face.

“One could say the same of you,” Helen countered, skirting the issue of her purpose in the city. Yes, make the conversation about Tesla. He always seemed to be keen on being the centre of attention.

She didn’t miss a trick – honing in on every available escape route. Clever girl – she’ll probably need them.

“She’ll have the tea, Earl Grey – lemon,” Nikola hissed at the waiter and then added, “and I’ll have…that,” he pointed at the large inscribed rock in the case in front of him.

“The Traveller’s Stone?” the waiter’s eyebrows hit the roof.

“Relax, I’ll settle for a short black.”

The waiter made a hasty escape and Nikola returned his attention to the Helen.

“I have something for you,” he began ominously, “but you’re not going to like it.”

Helen’s brow arched at the order. Not only was she well and capable of ordering her own drink, but, really did he need to make a scene? Well, of course. He simply wouldn’t be Tesla without the unnecessary dramatics.

Her expression shifted from bland endurance to something with a touch more worry around the edges. “In which case you may keep it.”

“Oh Helen,” he rolled his eyes dramatically, once again nervously fixing his collar. He was thankful he could put the action down to OCD – even if it wasn’t. “You don’t mean that – besides, I’ve been carting it around for ages – just in case.”

He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small bundle of red silk. On the other side of the room, the Cabal agent’s eyes snapped up – not as blindly unaware as Nikola and Helen had thought him.

“I mean every word I say,” she warned. Her eyes darted from Tesla to the bundle, suspicion rising. Without hesitation, she reached across the table, wrapping her hands around his. “Whatever it is, I hardly think this is time or place for it.”

He couldn’t help it – he paused at her gesture, looking down at her hands over his and suddenly he wished that his weren’t perpetually cold. Finally, he lifted his eyes back to hers – but didn’t move.

Crockery hit the table as the waiter returned with their drinks.

Awkward.

That wasn’t quite what she had in mind. Helen gave a slight nudge to push whatever was in his hands back. Thankfully, the server returned with their drinks, a most welcome distraction. She pulled her hands back, reaching for the tea with a nod of thanks to the waiter.

Nikola looked at the silk sadly, returning it to his jacket. The Cabal agent let his coffee go cold as he watched the pair intently.

“There are only two reasons why Helen Magnus wanders the globe. Either she wants something or she’s about to steal something. If you’re going to steal from me, I’d advise strongly against it.”

Helen lofted a brow at him. What gall to make assumptions as such about her!

“There is an old book store in Rome with rare volumes amidst its shelves. I am acquainted with the proprietor who has found something of interest to me.” To be truthful, it’s a personal interest having nothing at all to do with her work.

“Acquainted… So only one of us will be doing the stealing on this occasion…” he grinned, laying his fingers on his cup. “Age old question,” Nikola lowered his voice, “fight or flight?”

The Cabal agent was talking into his sleeve and things were about to get nasty.

Helen sighed quietly into her cup, glancing toward the fidgety agent. “It’s far below you to steal when you’re quite capable of charming what you desire out of so many,” she chastised. “Is there at least time to finish my tea?”

Nikola sized the agent up.

“Plenty… I think this one’s actually afraid of us.” He twitched his freshly grown moustache. “You try charming a cranky, elderly ex-CIA agent – it is well beyond my skills although you might manage it…” he added.

Colour her mildly curious. “I’ll have no part in your schemes,” she reminded him. Well, it wasn’t as if they could have a leisurely afternoon. Helen gulped down a bit of her tea and looked expectantly toward Tesla. “At your leisure,” she murmured, indicating that she’s prepared to leave when he is.

He flexed his claws.

“This,” he pointed to the library beyond the cafe, “is an extremely old library. When we’re – done, go out the door, swing a left and head toward the large granite stairwell. On three – shall we?” Nikola counted down on his claws, then turned his head and snarled at the Cabal agent who realised, a second too late, that he was in trouble.

Oh, dear. Helen swept her gaze around once more. A clear route would be best and, of course, she had to be mindful of the bystanders. She sighed, knowing there was nothing else to do once Tesla set his mind to a plan. Tesla was more than enough to deal with one agent.

For her part, Helen grabbed to cup of tea in one hand, keeping the other free for her gun should it be needed, and bolted toward the door. Focused determination narrowed her eyes, keeping her alert for any more potential agents in whose faces she’d be tossing that hot tea. Tea garners far less attention than gunfire.

He watched her hurray away before he heard the definite click of a weapon loading right beside him. Nikola turned to see the waiter standing over his shoulder and under his folded napkin – the barrel of a gun.

“Very unwise,” Tesla snarled.

The other Cabal agent had risen and crossed halfway through the room in pursuit of Helen.

Nikola calmly stood up, stretching to his not-so-impressive height, laid his napkin on the table and then stepped forward until he felt the barrel of the weapon on his jacket.

“Shame, I really did love this suit.”

The restaurant fell into silence as the gunshot rang out. Then, one by one – the screaming started. So much for not making a scene.

So much, indeed. Helen turned back, flinging the still-hot drink into her pursuer’s face. As the liquid flew, she reached for her gun. A quick scan of the room separated those fleeing from those who were threats. Helen’s sights were trained, not on the waiter with the firearm, but the agent they’d initially identified. The gunman would deal with Tesla, a far worse fate than being on the receiving end of a bullet. As for her own tail, well, he’d be blind and flailing long enough for them to flee.

“Nikola!”

Nikola was busy grinning menacingly at the gunman who was more than shocked to find the bullet had no effect on Tesla.

“Ouch…” Nikola whispered, then threw the Cabal agent back against a table sending cups and plates shattering to the ground.

He looked down and frowned at the trail of blood dribbling onto his suit, staining it. Nikola! he heard Helen’s voice. She was lingering at the door with a traumatised Cabal agent clutching his tea-soaked face.

“Are you paying – or am I?” Nikola asked Helen, cocking his eyebrow.

Helen jerked her head toward the door, a clear indication for him to move. The sooner they left, the less likely they were to be identified by locals. Being hunted by the Cabal was one thing, having to pull strings to divert local authorities, that was another annoyance all together.

She stepped out through the door, following the instructions Tesla gave, whether he was behind her or not. Left out the toward the large, granite stairwell. Somehow, it seemed all her most recent encounters with Tesla led to violence and fleeing.

Never one to run, he strode quickly behind her, pointing up the impressive stairwell. No one was giving chase yet and the library staff seemed more concerned with the squealing mortals in the cafe.

Nikola led the way to the third floor of the library where he spied a ‘Restricted Access’ door. He winked at Helen.

“While we’re here…” he said, running one of his claws over the door which crackled with electricity and unlocked.”Might as well…” he disappeared into the dark room.

“Nikola!” Helen hissed in dismayed protest. She cast a glance back down the stairs and then followed him into the room. She pulled the door closed behind her to better cover their tracks and stalked after the man. “I don’t appreciate being dragged into your mess, yet again. What have you done now to earn their ire?”

The room was pitch black and smelt of dust and accumulated time.

He could see just fine – one of the perks of being part vampire. Truthfully, he hadn’t had the nerve to break into this place on his own.

“Be a dear and help me with this vault…” he knelt down in front of the locked, metal vault. Finally, all his notes from a past life, confiscated by the FBI, classified, lost, hidden, sold and now, after all this time he was so close to recovering them.

Technically he thought, it’s not stealing.

Helen glared in the direction from which his voice had come. “I’ve already told you that I’ll have no hand in whatever scheme you’re hatching.” Helen paced for a moment while waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, arms crossed over her chest.

“Oh come on, old time’s sake – it’s not like I’m stealing. I am merely reclaiming a few personal items and then we can go wherever you want… Uh oh…”

His claw slipped into the lock and twisted. It hurt a damn-site more than being shot.

“Never mind,” he grinned, as the vault opened. There was a pile of paper inside along with a rather worn diary. Nikola wasted no time stashing it inside his jacket which puffed his chest out like a pigeon.

“I’m done,” his teeth bared themselves in a grin. “Where to – m’lady?”

It’s just like him to suggest gallivanting about Rome with the Cabal hot on their tail. Her brows knit as she strained to stare at him in the dark. She stepped closer, eyes wide to better see.

“This was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?”

“Plan?” he inched closer. “No… eventual plot – perhaps.

That man never had much regard for personal space. Not that Helen could tell in the darkness. “Have you someplace safe we can go?”

“That depends entirely on your definition of ’safe’.”

He brushed past her on his way to the door, opening it a crack so that he could survey the stairwell for pursuers.

“My lab is nearby but I’m not sure yet if I trust you enough to give you the guided tour. For all I know, you could be in Rome on Watson’s request to corner me. However…” he opened the door a little more so that bright light gushed into the room, “if I had your word you would behave…”

If only he could see that incredulous look on Helen’s face. Yes, he may be able to see in the dark, but even Tesla couldn’t see behind him.

“If anyone is justified in having trust issues, it’s me.”

Trust issues? well, she did have a point there. The last time they had been in Rome he hadn’t been on his best behaviour.

“So we’re clear,” he turned to her, and continued in his best ‘honest’ voice, “I was not and would never kill you.”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he wanted ‘the great’ Helen Magnus snooping around his lair – all those things she could touch and break – it was enough to turn his pale skin pure white with fear. Besides, she was bound to disapprove of his latest experiment after having expressly told him not to undertake it.
That said – he didn’t like to leave her wandering aimlessly around Rome with the Cabal this eager.

“I need to know that you believe me before we go any further.”

No,” she asked, canting her head as she turned to face him. “Would you have tortured me instead as you did to John?” Helen pressed her lips together. No, he’d done little of late to earn her trust. Then again, there was the more distant past to consider. “I need to have a reason to believe you, Nikola.”

“Other than, I love you?” he nearly snapped back, then recovered. “We’ve all been alive a lot longer than nature intended. I admit that – for a brief time – I may have slipped into the realms of hostility but I never killed anyone in cold blood. Indeed – I think we can both safely say that Whitechapel is much improved since his experience.”

Her eyes narrowed, glaring balefully at him. “The ends do not justify the means.” There was, perhaps, a touch of hostility there, indignation perhaps on John’s behalf. Yes, Tesla may have helped him, but that certainly wasn’t his intent.

“There was a time when you would have taken me at my word – are things so different now?” he eyed her with his enormous dark eyes.

“I forgave you everything,” his voice was barely more than a whisper. Something else was slipping into his tone – betrayal?

Cue the curious, yet somewhat blank look. Helen racked her brain, but save for three bullets could think of nothing she’d down for which she’d need Tesla’s forgiveness.

Nikola looked unbelievably hurt.

“You don’t even remember – do you?” he answered her blank look with a fierce glare.

1952, she had left him in the Cabal’s hands for five months, trapped in a cage like an animal because Watson had uncovered evidence that ‘proved’ he’d been playing both sides. It was a straight forward set up and when Helen finally showed up for the rescue, Nikola had just nodded and forgiven her for believing the worst.

It was never Helen’s job to look after him. Honestly, if she had to recount every bit of trouble he’d dragged her into, well, her long memory would easily be filled.

“We are not all blessed with eidetic memory, Nikola,” retorted she. “You’ve manipulated, betrayed, tortured. You tried to kill me and have on numerous occasions wantonly put me in way of harm to further whatever game you’re playing.” Helen stepped closer, peering around him to see out of the door. “I ask again, what reason have I to trust you?”

“Trust me,” he stepped purposefully away from her, visibly unimpressed with her temper “or trust them…”

He could already hear a set of Cabal agents taking to the stairs – considerably more than before.

As a pair, they were good at escaping trouble but every decade the Cabal got faster and smarter. Capturing either Tesla or Magnus would be very bad but both at once? It would be a disaster and the Holy Grail of the Cabal.

“And for the record,” he added, “I don’t wantonly throw you in the path of danger. It’s your own over-ripened sense of curiosity that does that all by itself.”

Helen eyes him with great suspicion. However, at the sound of the approaching Cabal, she lifts a finger to hush him. The look she gave silently questioned how the genius of them planned to get them out of immediate danger.

Nikola’s eyes flickered with something that worried Helen. Before she had the chance to protest, he daringly slipped out of the room, strutted to the edge of the stairwell and peered down to see eight Cabal agents take to the stairs. A few of them looked up, saw him, and shouted.

Nikola bounced back from the stairwell.

“This could be fun,” he fixed his cufflink. “Or we could both die – personally I prefer the first one.”

Oh, how Helen glared at him, a look that accused him of trying to get them both killed. From under his breath, she muttered in frustration, “You’ve a twisted idea of fun!” Even as she spoke, Helen checked her ammunition. She would definitely be having words with him about informing his unwitting cohorts as to the plan before acting next time. If there was a next time. “You’re leading this dance,” she uttered, waiting for some indication of what he planned to do.

“It’s always a pleasure,” he watched Helen cock her weapon.

He, in turn, brought on his vampiric traits – the sharpening of his claws – darkening of his eyes and the ever so slight spiking of his dark hair.

“There – I see them!” a Cabal agent reached the final landing of the staircase.

“Yours…” said Nikola, inspecting his claw lazily.

Helen let out a breath, stepping into the doorway to fire at the first agent up the stairs. Two more shots rang out taking down the two immediately behind. She was careful to stay behind Tesla, allowing him to be the first line of defence should anyone come in close. However, if she could keep the agents at bay, a fight with Tesla, which would inevitably prove deadly, could be avoided.

A stray Cabal bullet clipped his arm, adding another hole and blood stain to his suit.

“Being your shield is not nearly as appealing as you think,” he growled at her, then laid his hand on the metal balustrade, shocking one of the Cabal agents pulling himself up the stairwell with it.

Another bullet from a persistent agent caught Nikola in the shoulder, sending a shower of blood over him, Helen and the floor. Nikola scowled.

“I’ve had enough of this party,” he said. “How’s your trust coming along, Helen? Because I’m walking this way,” Nikola began to head towards the lift.

Helen smirked, the expression perhaps a bit more triumphant than it need be. While he was busy electrocuting the hapless agents coming up the stairs, Helen peered down, taking aim and firing on those a level below them.

“It’s quite preferable to the alternative,” she teased. However, the splatter of blood across her face quickly ended her amusement. Yes, Tesla was difficult to kill, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the pain. Or suffer from the loss of blood. The woman nodded to him, following along and ready to cover their escape with a rain of bullets if need be.

The lift was regrettably old and small – one of those flimsy, early 1900’s models he remembered from the good old years – indeed, he doubted anyone had shown the poor thing any attention in its long life hauling bookworms between its levels.

Nikola pulled the iron grate shut manually, and then locked the second set of doors just as the remainder of agents caught on. A few of them fired at the elevator doors but their bullets resulted in nothing but sparks as they bounced off.

“Interested in a nice view of Rome?” he asked Helen, as he pressed the uppermost button with his claw.

Well, it could never be said that Tesla didn’t show her an exciting time when they were together. Despite all the danger they were facing, she gave him a charming smile and an agreeable tilt of her head. “Can you show me one I’ve not yet seen?” After all, she did spend a bit of time in Rome now and again.

He grinned, and, despite his rather bullet-strewn exterior, managed to look rather dashing.

The lift lurched into action, grinding its way up with a worrying rattle.

“I can show the lady many a thing she has yet to see,” he said cryptically.

This is what he missed, the constant danger – undeniable intrigue and just a touch of Helen Magnus.

“Such things you say,” Helen crooned in kind. “You may very well upset my delicate Victorian sensibilities.” Just in case it hadn’t been obvious that she was making light before, it certainly was after that.

“A bullet-ridden vampire is hardly a new sight for me,” Helen reminds him, glancing around at the unstable lift. How it takes her back to less modern times.

“Your ‘Victorian sensibilities’ – such as they are,” he openly mocked, “will remain intact.”

The lift shook and came to a stop at its pre-destined location. Once again, Nikola pried open the grates. He strolled out of the lift, over to the doors and pushed them open revealing the roof. At once the smell and sound of Rome poured in.

“Rome awaits…” he said, holding the door open for her.

It’s true, even in the Victorian era Helen was a far cry from the ideal Victorian woman. No, she was ahead of her time displaying qualities which would in the 1920s embody the New Woman.

After the chase through the old library, the smells of blood, books, sweat, and staleness gave way to the sweet outdoor air. All the scents of the city washed over her. The momentary distraction was enough to make her forget, for only a few seconds, that danger still lurked behind.

“We’ve not much time.” Already, pale eyes scanned the rooftop for a latter or an old fire escape. Any means by which to get to the ground and once more lost in the throng of people on the street.

But there was nothing – nothing but an expanse of concrete speckled with air-conditioning units spinning happily to themselves.

He could see the terracotta rooftops of the other buildings tessellated around them in an endless maze and – far beyond, the dark hills of Rome. The air was full of passing flocks of seagulls, squawking as they grazed by in a single white sheet and somewhere in the distance a siren wailed.

There were no safety railings around the tops of these old buildings. The sides of the roof simply ended in a low marble step with a sharp, slippery drop to the busy streets below.  This feature was haunted by a solitary pigeon, softly cooing as it bobbed its head and moved away from the pair of humans intruding on its territory.

Nikola closed the door behind them – for all the good it would do, and headed off toward the nearest edge. He strode the half-step onto it, and nestled himself right at its extremity with the toes of his shoes hovering over nothing while he fished around inside his jacket pocket.

“You always complain that I never keep in contact,” he said to her, against the wind.

Nikola withdrew the same silk bundle from before – only this time it was soaked in his own blood.

“I did try to give you this earlier,” he said, as a stunning amber stone fell out of the silk and into his other hand, “but now we’re going to use it.”

Helen followed behind him, close at his heels. Until, of course, he walked to the building’s edge. Her gaze drifted from the edge, to the ground, then back to Tesla. There’s no doubt he has some plan to escape. He’s not so foolish as to trap himself. Then again, being part vampire lends him a resilience Helen lacks. It’s very likely Tesla could fall or jump from such a height and still manage to walk away.

“Rightfully so,” Helen mused. “I usually see you on occasions such as these, then not again, not even a word of greeting, for decades.” Perhaps a touch of bitterness to the words? They’d been friends once upon a time, hadn’t they? Whatever insult she may have felt was quickly pushed aside when Tesla unwrapped the stone. Now it was pure curiosity that gripped her. Glancing back over her shoulder, pale blue eyes then drifted back to the stone, then up to Tesla’s face. “Make haste, Nikola.”

“Ah…” he sighed, “and now she’s curious.”

Nikola held the ruined silk out and then let it float down into the street, caught in several currents of air. The stone he kept safe, resting in the palm of his hand with the strong light piercing through it, scattering out the other side in waves of colour.

“This is one-half of a quantum pair,” he cast his eye over his shoulder at her as if he were some kind of professor. “Call it, a souvenir from Bhalasaam.”

He held his free hand out to Helen, inviting her to join him on the ledge.

Her eyes widened slightly at his words. Whether she was more amazed by what it was or form where it came, who could tell? Maybe it wasn’t what he said at all, but the offer of his hand, at which Helen now stared.

At length she stepped closer, reaching tentatively for his proffered hand. How had he come by such a trinket, she wondered silently. It wasn’t as if he’d give a clear explanation if she asked directly.

“Brilliant as the ancient vampires were,” he caught her hand firmly, “I doubt they completely understood its properties.”

Nikola helped her onto the ledge, keeping a determined grip on her as she wavered slightly against the strong wind.

“I spent many years with these relics – but this is no place to talk,” he observed, as the door behind them crashed open.

Not wanting to risk another bullet, Nikola pulled Helen towards him, capturing her in a sudden embrace – and then threw them both off the edge of the building.

Whatever thoughts or questions had been in her mind to voice fell away into a tumultuous and panicked cacophony of silent screams. Had she not been plummeting to what was likely an inevitable death, Helen would’ve noted the oddity of being held flush to someone with little body heat of which to speak.

As it was, Helen clung tightly to him as the shock lanced through her. Her fingers dug into his already ruined jacket, wrinkling the fabric in her white-knuckled grip. The wind deafened her as they fell, whipping her hair around her face and into her eyes. Oh, God, this could really be the end! And all she could think of was Ashley…

Nikola had been prepared for the fall – but not the strength of Helen’s desperate grasp on him which nearly squeezed the air from his lungs. Before taking the plunge he’d whispered something to the stone and now all that remained was to wait and trust that the ancient technology would not fail him as they fell toward the street in what would certainly be Helen’s end – if not his own.

They didn’t have long – the slanted calico of market stalls, sea of bustling people and very solid ground was approaching with haste.

A haze of dust kicked up into their faces. Nikola turned his head away and held Helen protectively so that if they hit the ground he would hit first.

Something was wrong – they were still falling.

Had he miscalculated the distance to the ground – the time it would take them to fall?

He had just closed his eyes in a final surge of panic when a flash of golden light enveloped them.

With a crack they were gone – literally vanished into thin air.

TESLA’S LAB

Helen gasped, nearly as much at the resounding crack in the air like a clap of thunder as the sudden thud onto the floor of… wherever they were. Of course, Tesla took the brunt of it, Helen was still jarred by the sudden stop in their descent. Equally jarring was lying there on the floor, on top of the inventor, clinging to him with all her might.

“If I had known you would be this easy,” Nikola managed, their noses almost touching, “I would have thrown you off a building sooner.”

He held her gaze for a few seconds too long before his countenance changed entirely. Pain washed over him and he threw his head back in a heavy groan. That fall had done nothing positive for his bullet holes – indeed, he could feel the warm crimson puddle forming beneath him, spreading across the stone floor of his underground lab.

Angered insult gave way to concern. Helen didn’t know how many shots had actually hit Tesla. She knew the last bullet to hit him in the library would’ve killed any human. Yes, he healed quickly, but even his vampiric body was far from perfect. He still could be injured, could bleed, and could feel the pain.

Helen sat up quickly, worry mounting over the sheer amount of blood he was losing and the pace at which he was losing it. With little regard for his already ruined clothes, she tore open the jacket and the shirt beneath to find the source of the major bleed. “Have you a first aid station?” She wouldn’t put it past Tesla to have neglected a safety station in his lab.

“I don’t need one,” he tried to bat her hands away.

She had made a right mess of his clothes – not that they were salvageable. He made a quiet note to never wear his best suit unless he was absolutely certain he wouldn’t encounter the legendary ‘Doctor’ Magnus. Nikola hadn’t worked out why, but circumstances always tended culminate in his ruined clothes and wayward bullets.

It was always a surprise to see the horrific injuries on his body and to know for certain that he would not die from them. Her worry though, was curious indeed.

“Quit your fussing – I just need a moment,” he glanced at the wounds on his bare chest, “or two … perhaps.”

“Nikola,” she insisted, batting at his hands as they tried to bat hers away. “This isn’t good, even for you. Especially for you.” Vampire short on blood? Not Helen’s idea of a good time.

“All right!” he finally gave in, letting her pin his hands away. “God, you’re persistent when you want to be. I believe there are some left over medical supplies over there from the last time…” ‘The last time’ meaning, when the famous Jack the Ripper had nearly found a way to kill him.

Nikola was pointing at a small cupboard pushed against the stone wall with a shaky hand.

The room itself was rather large and hummed with the cheerful drone of motors powering his various experiments – some of which he had not intended anyone to see. Despite his few homely touches – a leather armchair in the corner, a fine mahogany desk beside it and several slender work tables running the length of the lab, it still looked and felt like the catacomb it was.

Good, best that the scientist follow the doctor’s orders. Besides, this is mostly the rush of adrenaline from being flung off a building working itself out. Let the woman fuss over you, Tesla. It isn’t something that will often happen.

“Here,” she instructed, taking his hand and pressing it to the worst of the injuries. “Apply pressure for a moment.” That said, Helen moved to get the indicated medical supplies. Just something to help staunch the bleeding. In a worst-case scenario, Helen did have a tampon in her coat pocket… Those worked in a pinch to plug up bullet holes.

Nikola instinctively disobeyed orders – pulling his hand away as soon as Helen turned her back. He inspected the sticky red substance dribbling down his wrist – what a mess – and all over his lab.

“Don’t you go sneaking off,” he warned her.

With a sigh of effort, Nikola sat up, rocked himself forward and somehow made it to his feet. The remains of his jacket and shirt hung open around his chest and waist.  He shrugged off the jacket, folding it carefully and then laid it lovingly on a nearby bench.

Helen turned back, dismay coming over her features. Shoving a tampon in those bullet holes seemed more and more appealing by the moment. Fine, if he didn’t want her help. She stalked back over, a decisive set to her shoulders and that every present swish of her hips, pausing in front of Tesla.

“If you attack me, Nikola, by god I will end you.”

Is that a challenge or a threat? He wondered.

If it wasn’t for that pesky vow he’d be out hunting something innocent – but he had been true to his word for over a hundred years and he wasn’t about to break it, and certainly not on Helen.

“Where were we – ah yes,” he spied the quantum stone lying abandoned on the ground, “souvenirs…”

Nikola bent down and plucked the stone from the concrete floor. It took him a few goes to straighten back up, but when he finally did, it was with a triumphant grin.

Perhaps a bit of both?

Her eyes narrowed, flicking over him to access how bad the injuries were. It didn’t seem as if he’d need to have any bullets removed, they looked to have passed through cleanly. Not to worry, Tesla, she’s neither letting her gaze linger on bare skin nor on his inventions around the lab.

Not much… he eyed her accusingly, and then dodged her on the way to his desk.

Nikola set the stone down next to its partner, shuffled a few sensitive papers into a drawer – which he locked, and then spun back to face Helen. He let himself lean against the desk, half sitting – half perching on its edge.

He made an effort to re-button his shirt but found nothing but loose thread dangling where buttons had been. He cocked an eyebrow dramatically at her.

“Now who’s the one who knows how to get attention…”

She wasn’t exactly unscathed either.

“Rome’s very amicable – don’t you think?”

Dirty, frazzled, perhaps even grazed by a bullet. Helen, however, wasn’t the one gushing out blood. She crossed her arms over her chest, giving Tesla a hard gaze.

“It was more pleasant before bumping into you,” she retorted, eyes drifting once more to his wounds.

He definitely needed to be wearing more clothes with Helen eyeing him like some kind of snack.

“Never let it be said that I don’t show you a good time,” he winked – and then stumbled over to a coat cupboard where he hunted out a beautiful Victorian trench coat. He slipped it on and buttoned it up to his neck, concealing all injuries from chin to ankle.

“Welcome to my lair, Helen,” he said, finally remembering his manners. “It’s not much, but it’s home. Of course,” that playful tone that had gotten him into so much trouble in the past was back, “now that you’ve seen it I’ll simply have to kill you.”

Sadly, the jacket did little to improve his limp as he hobbled back to the desk. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he genuinely needed the extra support.

Not like a snack! Like a patient! A patient! There was no way her gaze was lingering on his pale skin because she was curious just how cold it was to the touch or anything like that! No way!

Helen rolled her eyes at his dramatic statement. “You sound like one of those cliché vampires one reads about in fiction you so loathe.”

“I’ve been alive for more than 100 years, I think it’s fair to say that I’ve read my share of fiction and, occasionally, found it tolerable.”

He’d been reading a lot of fiction of late – nearly all of it relating to vampires, their mythology and imaginary history. Nikola couldn’t help it if their tone had rubbed off on him. Indeed, a quick glance at the bookshelf behind the desk revealed this to the casual observer. Among the spines of books were some very rare texts he’d travelled far and wide to acquire.

Nikola folded his hands in front of him. He’d been alone in this lab for a long time – many, many years. Sure, he had thought about making contact with the others but the only member of The Five that he had any real intention of contacting was the most closely watched by the Cabal.

Still, here she was and he wasn’t sure what to do.

She canted her head slightly, worry still gnawing at the edges of her mind. Stiffness began to settle into her muscles from the fall. “Clearly,” she pointed out. “You’re beginning to live like one of them. If you manage to get a pipe organ here, I’ll be duly impressed.” Teasing? Yes, perhaps just a bit.

“Will you at least let me bandage your wounds?”

He subconsciously fiddled with his jacket – contemplating her request. It was true, he was still dripping and leaving smears over his furniture and as much as he tried to deny it, Helen had a point.

Besides, he really did love this jacket and didn’t want it completely ruined for the sake of ceremony.

“As it seems I’ll have no peace until you do…” he gave her his unique brand of approval. There were bandages enough in the cupboard for the task – and if she looked closely, a box of painkillers for her own inflamed joints.

There were few in this life who could refuse the great Helen Magnus. “Off with the coat,” she instructed, moving to fetch any antibiotic ointments he had in addition to bandages.

Nikola hesitated, his fingers brushing over the clasps of the jacket. Whatever battle he had going on inside his head, one side was eventually victorious and he proceeded to unclip each silver hook.

He wondered what she’d make of his interesting collection of medication. In addition to your average pharmaceuticals there were several rows of glass jars, stoppered with corks lurking in the back of the cabinet looking ominous. Most were.

Finally out of clasps, Nikola eased himself out of the heavy garment, draped it over the table and wondered if he should do the same with his ruined, ripped and rather destroyed shirt.

Certainly, being in his lair and all, Tesla had other shirts.

Helen’s eyes took note of the odd bottles with their archaic stoppers. For now, she could keep her curiosity at bay. There would be no answers to be had if the man bled himself into unconsciousness, blood frenzy, or worse.

The first aid items were placed on the desk against which he’d been leaning and Helen gave him a once over. “Shirt, too. Every bullet leaves two holes and exit wounds are the messier of the pair.” It isn’t as though Tesla didn’t know these things from first-hand experience. However, it helped to set Helen at ease to explain why she needed the vampire half-naked.

He obliged her, not that there was much left of the shirt to remove. For someone so particular about his appearance, it was difficult to accept just how much of a mess he was currently in.

“Prognosis, doctor?” he quipped. “Will I live?”

She breathed out heavily through her nose in amusement. “Anyone else would’ve been dead by now,” she offered. First things first, Helen looked over him thoroughly, front and back, to ensure all of the bullets had gone through. Pulling one out would just be messy. Additionally, in her once over, Helen checked to ensure he hadn’t been struck in his extremities, as well.

She dabbed antiseptic around each wound with her finger tips after wiping away the immediate blood with a sterile pad. One by one, each of the bullet holes was dressed until his torso was practically wrapped in bandages and gauze. “I can’t do much for your internal injuries, though, I’ve no doubt your preternatural healing will serve you well.” Honestly, after being torn into by John, quite literally, a few bullets passing through should seem as nothing.

Now that his blood was all over her hands, Helen glanced around the place for a sink at which to wash. “I wouldn’t recommend wearing any shirt of which you’re horribly fond. Those bandages will seep and need to be changed every hour, two at maximum.” The idea of Tesla trolling around in this cave in a sweatshirt to spare his wardrobe flicked through Helen’s mind and brought a smirk to her lips.

“I’m glad to be of amusement,” he caught the smirk as it crept over her lips. If it had been anyone else, he would have scowled.

Tesla had to give pause to think of a shirt he didn’t like or could hope to spare. In the end, he opted to return to his lucky jacket – the one piece of attire that put up with all the abuse and seemed to come out unscathed.

“Your skills have improved somewhat,” Nikola observed, as he pulled his jacket around his slightly larger girth. Her poking and prodding had hurt – yes, but he was never one to complain about female hands running lightly over his back and chest for the better part of half an hour.

“I’ve been practicing for the better part of a century. I should hope my skills improve after so much time.” Heaven knows she’s spent enough of the last two decades patching up Ashley. Only after washing her hands of any trace of Tesla left one them side she come over and clap him genially on the shoulder.

“You’ll live, Nikola,” she offered with wry smile. Her hand may have lingered for a second, possibly two before it fell away. As if to cover the gesture, Helen breathed out a sigh and rolled her shoulder before making a grab around Tesla for those pain killers.

“Ow…” he said softly, as she hit him playfully on the shoulder.

Nikola may have been injured but he was still faster than her. He swiped at the pain killers too – reaching them first and whisking them out of her reach.

A brow lifted, just slightly, bringing a look of incredulous questioning coming to her face. Unfortunately for Helen, Tesla’s a bit taller than she. In spite of that, she reaches for the tablets.

“Nikola.”

He raised it higher.

“My last bargaining chip,” he mused, twisting it to the artificial light, “as if it could be conquered so easily.”

Helen continued to give him an expectant glare. “Bargaining chip for what, pray tell? You threw me from a rooftop and would deny me some measure of relief from the resulting pain after I tended your wounds?”

“Charming as this city is,” he lowered the bottle just a touch, nearly letting it slip into her grasp before elevating it out of range. “I need to get out, but lately, every time I try…” his voice ambled off.

For some reason the Cabal were determined to capture him and planes – roads and boats proved opportune for such a task. He’d lost count of the close calls he’d escaped. ‘Travelling’ just wasn’t something he was able to achieve.

“I know you have the means,” he flicked the lid off the bottle with his thumb and tilted the bottle so that its pearly white pills tumbled to the rim – but not over it.

Her gaze fixed on the bottle of pills, the ache from being jostled so roughly seeming to settle deeper into her bones with each passing moment. Helen’s lips parted, eyes slightly wider than usual as the means to relief flicked into her sight.

With a blink, her eyes shifted to Tesla. “The means for what,” pressed she, a note of irritability creeping into her voice.

“…traffic me safely out of the country.”

Nikola let a single pill fall into her hand – it was a start, but it wouldn’t be enough to numb the pain.

“I’d of course need somewhere to stay – and a supply of vintage wine.”

Honestly, be rewarded like some sort of pet. Beyond insulting! Helen caught that single pill, tossing it back dry. What’s a little ibuprofen among friends?

Ever closer to her hairline that brow crept. Was he serious? He seemed to be. “Nikola, I came to Rome for a book. If that Cabal’s sources are clever enough to track you, they’re going to know I didn’t come here for a human-sized artefact…”

On the other hand, for the sake of their old friendship and sort of future alliance, Helen couldn’t outwardly decline. For a long moment she contemplated him, weighing the pros and cons of having him at the Sanctuary for a time.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

A steady stream of white objects rained down from the bottle into her hand. There were a dozen more bottles where it came from – more than he’d ever need. Without a smirk of his own, he tossed the empty container aside. It bounced across the floor and rolled into a corner adding to the mess.

His lab was ruined anyway – an adventure was just what he needed – a bit of time spent prowling around a change of scenery.

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you Madame,” he dipped into a shallow bow.

“I don’t need that many,” she pointed out. “Unlike you, these things still affect me rather pleasantly.” Though, Helen did pop a few more pills into her mouth before pocketing the rest.

“If you think you’re to be rid of me so easily, Nikola, you’re sorely mistaken.” Her eyes narrowed, a gleam of determination flashing in them. “I’ll not be leaving Rome until I get that for which I came.”

That sounded positively ominous.

Nikola matched her stare and raised her a slight, amused tilt of the head.

“And what would that be?”

Helen tilted her head slightly, a small grin quirking up one corner of her mouth. “If I’d known you were so easy to flabbergast, I’d have fallen on top of you ages ago,” she taunted. Check and mate. “I understand after all the excitement that you’ve forgotten since, of course, my purpose here is of little interest to you and your schemes.”

“Touché…” he let the word linger for a while.

Her taunting had him well and truly distracted. He tried to tell himself it was just the loss of blood affecting his usual indifference but it simply wasn’t true – Helen Magnus had always been his weakness – ever since the spring of 1880 when she’d sauntered into Oxford and given the exact same smile she was giving now.

“Your book,” his mind clicked back on, “ah yes – you were after a book.”

Helen smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek in a playful manner. “That’s the one with which you’re supposed to think.” That said, she pivoted on the ball of her foot, making her way across the room. Finally, she was sweeping her eyes around the lab, taking in the vampire’s lair. A bit gauche in her opinion.

“You will have one room at the Sanctuary. I will also supply you a lab of your own, but there will be conditions. You will not have access to my databases or our computer systems. For security purposes.” She moves over behind the desk, trailing her fingers over it before flopping into the leather chair. “However, those arrangements will be made on the successful retrieval of my book.” The implication of which was that Tesla was to help in that endeavour.

“Very generous…” he assured Helen.

She still didn’t trust him and that made him proud. Nikola had to spin around slowly to watch her flop into his favourite chair. The leather squeaked as she shifted around. He peered at her from the other side of the desk, resting both his hands on the wood and leaning halfway over it.

“You’re in my chair,” he cautioned her.

Helen nodded, as if to affirm his observation. “I wouldn’t want you to bleed on your fine leather.” Leaning back in the chair, she cast another look, a suspicious look, about the lab. When her eyes settled back on Tesla, they were impassive.

“I presume most, if not all, of this will need to be transported.” Even if whatever he was working on was simply for his own amusement, Helen dare not leave any of his work behind for others to find. “You know,” she added, a smug look touching her features, “I’m sure James has space at the UK Sanctuary. Been a while since you’ve been to London, hasn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he was now resting on his elbows, still lounged across the desk. “We both know that an arrangement like that would lead to an unfortunate murder – and since I can’t die – apparently…”

He wasn’t sure he liked the way her eyes wandered over the room – across all manner of incriminating research. He was not an entirely benevolent creature, and littered among the genuinely useful machinery was the occasional ‘world domination’ contraption – for his own amusement, of course.

“No indeed,” he corrected her. “I travel light – a briefcase should suffice.” The security on this lab put Helen’s Sanctuary to shame. All he would need was a change of clothes and a laptop. Yes, despite choice of attire, he was well in tune with the modern era. Only fair seeing as he had invented most of it.

The suitcase in question was already packed, sitting neatly beside the desk after his last attempt to escape the country.

Her brow lofted as if daring him to make another threat. “I never specified at which of my Sanctuaries you’d be hiding.” She leaned forward in the chair, resting her elbows on the desk, and contemplated him. It’s likely he’s seen to the safety and security of this location, hence his ability to remain settled in Rome for so long.

“With the Cabal watching you so closely, Nikola, I’ll have to insist you remain unseen for a time. I’m not certain we could fake your death again, not to them.” Helen reclined back into the chair, her gaze fixed on Tesla. “Have you a phone directory?”

“I am the master of discretion,” he whispered, undaunted by her sudden approach.

Nikola always stood his ground.

“Phone? Nothing so primitive,” he snipped. “Phones can be tapped, tracked, listened in on – no, phones outgrew their usefulness long ago.”

This time it was Nikola’s eyes that wandered slightly – most against his will and better judgement.

Oh, what a disbelieving look those words earned him. “Really? Is it that what you call attempting to sell your teleforce weapon during a time of war to nearly every Allied nation?” Well, at least he hadn’t offered it to the Nazis. That was a small blessing. “Or perhaps another show of discretion was in your approach last time we met in Rome?”

Helen’s look faded from incredulous to border-line annoyance. “I didn’t ask for a phone, Nikola, just a directory. They have addresses. If she noticed his wandering gaze, she made no sign of it.

“Do I look like I would keep a directory?” he reached forward with one hand and took hold of a small, rather scruffy looking book. It was no bigger than a common diary. “This, however, is something unique.”

He opened it with one hand and it became clear that it was no book. The pages were some kind of flexible display screen that flickered on after a moment. One of his more useful inventions.

“Ask it anything whatever you want and it will do its best do oblige you. And, if you must know, at the time I really did have honest intentions for the world and its squabbling rabble.”

“You don’t really want an answer to that,” she murmured. Helen took the little technological wonder and pulled it close. To its illuminated pages she softly whispered, “Why is Nikola Tesla such an arrogant egomaniac?”

Nikola Tesla rolled his eyes pushed off his desk in distress.

The page of the book, however, glowed slightly as several lines of text appeared.

“… and never in my life have I met someone as arrogant, disagreeable or intolerable as that Tesla. What an egomaniac – I shall destroy him just for the sake of it.” Thomas Edison, 1893

He dreaded what kind of an answer she was reading.

“It’s not a perfect piece of technology,” he said, as he strode over to the workbench where his ruined coat from earlier still lay in a mess. Nikola pulled at hit, extracting his life’s work from its various pockets. Sadly, most of it was soggy and rather blood stained. At least it was once again in his possession, where it belonged.

Helen couldn’t repress a chuckle. Saucy little book! Her gaze flicked over to Tesla, then back to the gadget. “It must rub you horribly that you don’t get credit for inventing Google.”

All jest aside, Helen was impressed by the book. She laid it flat on the desk to admire the workmanship of it. Very clever, as expected from the brilliant mind of Nikola Tesla. Running a finger over the luminescent page, Helen murmured the name of the book store in question, asking for its street address.

Nikola could tell by the look of satisfaction on Helen’s face that his book was answering whatever it was she had purred at it.

He took his time sauntering back to the main desk, keeping a respectable distance from her secrets.

Without a word he hauled his suitcase onto it, fiddled with the brass locks until they snapped open and then proceeded to fill it with his personal papers.

“These go where I go,” he said firmly – as did the ‘book’ under Helen’s hands.

Helen’s not muttering secrets to Nikola’s little black book! Blue eyes flicked up to him, watching him with a polite measure of detachment while he fusses with the case. “I can arrange for a fire-proof safe in which you can store them when you’re act the Sanctuary. No one will have access to them save you,” she assured.

At length, she slid the book across the table, the address she’d requested still on its pages. Helen was banking on Nikola’s eidetic memory to remember those numbers. “How well do you know Rome’s tunnels, Nikola?”

“Are these trick questions?” he glanced at the page and it set into his memory.

He knew the place – quaint little store. Amongst other things its range of historical documents was extraordinary.

The ‘book’ joined the rest of his things in the briefcase which he shut firmly, adjusting the brass locks.

“Hamish may have an unparalleled collection of books and trinkets,” said Nikola, taking his briefcase in hand before wandering around to each piece of machinery in the lab, switching it off. Switch by switch, the room went quiet – as if sleeping. “But he’s a nasty old man with a temper and will overcharge if he gets so much as a whiff of affluence,” he risked a glance over his shoulder at her, “which he will.”

The only door to the lab was to the right of his desk where Helen was still draped over his chair. Talk about sights he never thought he would see.

He makes it seem so scandalous! It isn’t as if she’s wearing a short skirt with her legs thrown over the arm of the chair revealing the lace of her stockings. Not at all! Helen’s just sitting as a normal person sits. Worry clung to the edges of her thoughts as she peered over at him. Was he ready to travel so soon after being made into man-shaped Swiss cheese?

“Hamish and I have a bit of history, Nikola. Being personable often has long-reaching rewards.” Was she preening? Just a bit. Helen knows just what the man has for her and he knows exactly what he’s going to get for it. She’s been known to reward handsomely for things she covets.

Nikola was not one to laugh out loud but he absolutely could not prevent a soft, amused snigger before it slipped out when he watched Helen run her fingers through her hair, unconsciously removing flecks of dirt. No amount of attention could possibly hide her ruffled state. What Helen needed was a hotel room and an ensuité.

“You seem to have a lot of history,” he accused her.

There was something else he felt – that undeniable flicker of jealousy that surfaced every time Helen paraded one of her conquests in front of him. Hamish though? Now he was really depressed.

Helen paused in the fluffing of her hair to contemplate Tesla for a moment. And then it happened. Realization dawned and a broad smile broke across her face. “Are you jealous, Nikola?” There was a note of laughter to those words, just barely restrained. “Of Hamish? You must be joking!”

“Jealous?” he scoffed, “what rubbish.”

Nikola all but stormed back to his desk, this time coming around the side of it where Helen was seated. He stopped abruptly in front of her – the edges of his elegant coat just drifting far enough forward to sweep over her.

“Pity – perhaps, for having to endure you.”

Helen tilted her head slightly, her lashes lifting slowly as her eyes raked over him. For a long moment Helen met and held his gaze, pale eyes searching for something unknown in him. Tension grew in the air, thick as a heavy fog, and palpable.

Finally, Helen stood, flipping her hair back over on her shoulder, her expression hardening. A flash of fire lit in the depths of her eyes. “There are some things about which even you are bad at lying,” she grated out in a low, measured voice. “I promise you, you’ll have no need to endure me any longer.” That said, Helen turned on her heel and stalked toward anything that resembled an exit. “Good luck leaving Rome, Tesla.”

Nikola wasn’t sure when he had stopped breathing, but as Helen peered through him, examining the secrets of his soul at her leisure, he suddenly gasped and she had her answer.

The tension swirled with her sudden fury, which Nikola realised was as much about current events as it was caught up in their past.

Impulsively, and quite without his consent, he reached for her – just managing to catch the sleeve of her jacket before she strutted out of reach.

At the touch of his hand, that impulsive, desperate clutch, Helen whirled around, insult and fury lining her face. Instinct pulled her arm away from him, but something else froze her in place. Cold, distant eyes fell on him once more and it was all Helen could do to remember to breathe. Like in that moment when she met John… In the heavy silence, those seconds that felt like eternity, Helen could hear only the throbbing her heart in her chest — surely Nikola could as well.

It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. Not the scientist, the genius engineer, eccentric inventor. All of those melted away under her intense scrutiny. No more did she see arrogance, obnoxiousness, or even a vampire. Under that stare, Helen saw him, Nikola Tesla, the man, for the first time.

There was something human in him still, something he denied and hid from others. Something he, whether by his own will or not, revealed to her now. Helen stared at the magnificence of it as if watching a flower burst into bloom. All his well-crafted masks fell away in that one, simple, and so very human gesture. It left Helen breathless. Colour touched her cheeks, her eyes darkened slightly, and her lips parted. In those few seconds, rather than pull away, Helen stepped forward, closing the distance that remained between them, so close he could feel her breath on his skin.

He was frozen by the revelation; after decades of teasing, taunting, warring and outright avoidance there was something real beneath it all – and it shone through now, as starkly as a desert sunrise.

Nothing else mattered. She was a breath away – and Nikola’s eyes fluttered closed when his lips crashed down on hers.

Shock ran through her as hot and jarring as live voltage would’ve been. His lips against hers drew a small, perhaps startled, sound from Helen. However, whatever anger had been there, whatever tension, and lingering adrenaline served only to fan the flames. Rage was nothing more than a passion in and of itself, after all.

Even Helen was surprised to find her hands reaching out, cupping Nikola’s face. Her lips parted beneath his in a silent invitation to pour out decades’ worth of repressed and denied feelings into one heated moment.

Their collision knocked him backwards until he ran into the edge of the desk – his free hand fumbling for it to steady them.

Passion – in its most pure, demanding form took control of him.

Nikola’s lips answered her silent requests, parting in turn as his hands roamed up to hers and then tangled in her hair. He pulled her, if possible, closer as if he were afraid she would vanish like one of his countless reveries.

No mind was paid to Nikola’s injuries nor to the logical part of Helen’s mind railing against this lapse in judgment. No, she simply moved with him, pushing him back even once his desk stopped their progress. Her hands slid from his face, one remaining poised against the side of his throat, the other threading through his hair.

Helen’s tongue moves to greet Nikola’s, deepening their heated kiss with fervour. For a few seconds — and God how they seemed to drag on forever! — there was nothing else in the world other than the taste of him filling her senses, his hands in her mess of hair (shocking, considering Nikola’s aversion to touching hair!), his body against hers… Or so she thought until a great pop sounded and the room went dark. First instinct was that it was one of those parlour tricks he so enjoyed. Helen pulled back slightly, panting softly against his lips.

“Have I short-circuited you?” teased she, in a breathless voice.

For once in his life, Nikola’s mind was completely blank.

The feeling of Helen against him, inside him and all around him was overwhelming. A century of desire coursed through his veins – his heart pounding so hard he was sure that she would be able to hear it, pressed up against him like this. Her hands were knotted in his hair and her lips – they were hovering on his as she spoke.

It wasn’t until she repeated herself that his eyes flicked open and he realised that the lab had been thrown into darkness.

His chest pained from the awkward angle Helen had him at – half laid over his desk. Still, he tilted his head and lowered it to the side of her neck and breathed back his response.

“It wasn’t me…” he said softly, revelling in her for just a few more stolen moments.

She made no effort to move away from him. Through the fog of angry passion, the weight of Nikola’s words settle over her. At length she blinked, a sudden chill gripping her that has nothing to do with the coldness of his skin.

“… Move! Now!” She insisted as she pulled away. “Get what you can, we have to go!”

He heard a pile of papers fall to the floor beside them, knocked by his hand as he pushed them off the desk.

It wasn’t him which meant it was someone else – and, save the woman trying to pull him out of the room, he had only enemies.

He fell to the floor – half-dragging Helen with him as he searched for his briefcase – discarded in their passion. Eventually he found it and scrambled to his feet.

“This way,” he said, taking her firmly by the hand as he led her through the pitch black room toward the only exit.

Nikola could see but only just as he ran his hand over the door, grasping at the handle and shuffling Helen out from in front of it.

“Tunnels,” he told her, as the lights in the lab momentarily flickered back on – as if someone was fighting for control of them. “Whatever happens, Helen,” he told her seriously, as the room returned to black. “Keep your free hand on the right-side wall. It’s a maze down here – but that will lead you out.”

There’s a slight groan from Helen as she’s nearly dragged to the floor with the inventor. Helen grasped at his sleeve with the same desperation he’d grabbed at hers before. She may not have had any great love for Tesla, but Helen certainly didn’t bear him enough ill will to leave him in the hands of enemies.

In the dark, she staggered behind him, her fingers curling around his if only to keep from being lost in the lab. Her eyes widened at his words, a hand already going for the wall. “Nikola, I’m not leaving you behind.”

He was quickly hatching an escape plan as they entered the tunnel. The door to his lab locked behind them. No-one else would be getting into it alive but the longer they stayed here, the less chance they had of getting out of this mess un-captured.

“Leave me behind?” he eyed her scornfully in very low light of the tunnel. It was almost an unnatural ambient glow, barely allowing a differentiation between the stone walls and dirt floor. “I’d be offended if you did. It’s just in case,” he added, releasing her hand for effect, “we get separated.”

Just for the effect, she takes his hand firmly in her own. It may be hard to see in the dim light, though if anyone could see the determination in her eyes, Nikola would be the one. “We won’t.”

He raises his eyebrow as she re-takes his hand firmly, working her fingers between his until Nikola has no choice but to take hold.

“And there go all my carefully laid plans to vanish for the next century,” he joked, starting off down the tunnel with an air of caution.

These networks of tombs under Rome were positively ancient. There was no sense at all in their haphazard, confused and ridiculously complex design – if anything, it seemed contrived solely to trap unwitting wanderers in an endless tomb. This, of course, worked in Nikola’s favour most of the time. Rome had been his home on and off for nearly sixty years which gave him a decided advantage over any pursuers.

Surprisingly, they continued on for a while without trouble – navigating the occasional semi-collapsed section of tunnel until the floor began to tilt upward as if they were heading to the surface.

Helen frowned, following Nikola’s lead through the catacombs. It wasn’t beyond reason that he’d acquaint himself with them while in Rome. Hadn’t she herself done the same thing with the closed off undergrounds during World War II?

“Should you vanish again for a century,” Helen warned in a very serious tone, “it will only be because I’m testing what precisely will succeed in killing you.” That’s her way of saying, ‘you’d better not!’

After the tease she’d just given him? For once he wasn’t in a hurry to retreat into the shadows.

“Wouldn’t want to be your enemy…” he observed, as they neared the end of the catacombs.

Whoever had been playing with the lights in his lab hadn’t managed to find them – with any luck they were lost, huddled like frightened rats in a corner somewhere.

“It would be a shame to depart Rome without your purpose for coming here,” he said, pausing to sniff out the way ahead. Her bookstore was not far from where these tunnels emerged.

It was by far his favourite escape route – coming up under the great Pantheon. From there it was a leisurely stroll through the cafe courtyard to Hamish’s alleyway.

There was  a set of heavy doors a dozen metres in front of them with three other passage ways meeting at their foot. He listened to the other tunnels carefully for any hint of life.

Helen simply gave him a stare, one of complete agreement. “I don’t intend to leave without my book.” The question is how angry will Nikola be when he realizes said book is a rare first publication of short stories by Ray Bradbury?

Must be some book, he mused. His heart was still beating irregularly. He had not forgotten those moments in his lab. They were surreal – utterly so. The only evidence that they had transpired was Helen’s hand in his and the slightest stain of red lipstick on his mouth.

They crossed the last tunnel together. Nikola pushed the door open and the ruckus of the Pantheon could be heard as a distant haze of noise. The late afternoon was peak tourist time in Rome – those few hours before sunset when the soft yellow light caressed the streets and the café’s became bars with their iron chairs and tables littered over the giant courtyards.

Helen and Nikola ascended the stone steps – the background noise rising as they came to a second door. This one was brand new and, as he opened it, a blur of people came into view along with the lofty dome of the beautiful ancient building.

They found themselves inside the Pantheon, emerging from a door labelled, ‘Fire Exit Only’.

Helen’s grip on Nikola’s hand never wavered as he manoeuvred the tunnels. Her eyes narrowed, adjusting to the brighter light as they depart the underground catacombs. Her free hand lifted to shield her eyes from the glare of afternoon. Blinking while her sight adjusts, Helen paused to peer at her surroundings.

Impressive, Helen thought. Nikola’s knowledge of the catacombs must’ve come from years of exploration. That photographic memory of his can’t have hurt the process. Nikola may have taken note of the slight in-take of breath at the sight before her while they moved away from the Pantheon.

“Hamish’s shop isn’t far,” Helen finally murmured at length. “I’ll check your bandages there.”

“Ah yes, the great and alluring Hamish,” he teased, wading through the sea of tourists.

Out in the safety of the streets they almost forgot the chaos of before. To any casual observer they were simply two travellers, hand in hand, wandering through the twilight of Rome.

And then there it was – the time-ravished shop front of the bookstore, huddled away in the gap between two buildings.

Nikola brought them to a natural stop and then turned to her with an amused smile. Without a word, he set his briefcase down and then reached forward, brushing a smudge of dirt from her cheek.

“First impressions are key,” said Nikola, before retrieving his case.

Helen smirked, tipping her head slightly away from the coolness of his fingertips. They felt so cold against her skin after their flight through the ancient tunnels.

“Whatever impression Hamish has of me was made long ago,” informed she. However, she did run her fingers through her tussled hair to shake free some of the dirt and dust. Then, she reached forward, her thumb gliding lightly over his lower lip to wipe away the tell-tale smear of lipstick lingering there.

He held her gaze through the small gesture, smiling against her finger as it lingered a fraction longer than was necessary.

“Clearly not the impression you’re after,” he joked.

Eventually his eyes drifted to the shopfront.

“We should probably…”

Helen simply gave him a smirk, turning her attention toward the shop. “I have a reputation to maintain, at the very least.”

Nikola kept his thoughts in check as he strode over to the doors and peaked through the dark windows. Ordinary one tried to make a shop look open and inviting but Hamish wasn’t like that – he preferred his clients brazen and curious.

“He’s open all right,” Nikola turned the large door knob and pulled the rickety thing toward him. An old bell tingled as he did so, strung from a nail on the back side of the door. “I’d say, ‘ladies first’ but you’d only scorn me.”

Instead, he ventured into the poorly lit shop, tilting his head up to the surprisingly tall tiers of bookshelves. They looked like throwbacks to ancient Rome with netting wired over them in case of earthquakes or passing thieves and dust, god the dust…

Just to keep Nikola’s suspicions up, as they she walked through the door she pulled a key that looked easily as old as they were from her pocket. “It doesn’t matter if the shop is open for business. Hamish’s doors are always open to me, Nikola.” Yes, now she’s just being cruel.

The way that Tesla winced as the dust danced in the last beams of afternoon sun making their way into the shop brought a small, nostalgic grin to Helen’s face. One had to wonder how the man managed to survive with his aversions and predilections before the modern era he did so much to usher in.

At the tinkling of the bell, the heavy footsteps of Hamish sounded from behind distant shelves. Helen put on a bright smile as he emerged from a cloud of dust. A quick embrace and a kiss to the cheeks served as greeting. “I’m here for my book,” she crooned as if there could possibly be some other reason she’d come to see this man.

Nikola knew that she was playing him but could do nothing but mind his manners and keep a safe distance as Hamish embraced Helen in welcome. The old man was very Italian, and went in for a second peck. Nikola’s eyes rolled at the exchange and he made no effort to acknowledge his presence.

He was infinitely more curious about Helen’s key. It is not common practice to bring keys to bookstores, especially decorative ones like hers that bared all the trappings of age – a dull sheen, hairline scratches and that distinctive layer of silver sulphide.

Helen smiled politely, pulling back from the man. There was no need to introduce Tesla. It was likely they were already acquainted and, if not, there was little point in doing so now. While Helen had no doubt that Hamish would protect them until the end, there was no sense in throwing one more person between them and the Cabal.

“I can’t stay long,” Helen added, a note of urgency in her tone. “Little bit of trouble managed to find me,” she intoned, giving a pointed stare to Nikola. the man nodded in understanding. He murmured something about finding the deposit to his account before waddling off to get Helen’s goods. A simple book wrapped in paper and neatly tied with a piece of twine. The woman perked up, clutching the volume in her hands. “Thank you.” For a few brief seconds, she basked in her glee before turning to her companion. “Let’s go, Nikola.”

Nikola’s eyes were on the parcel clutched in Helen’s hands. He made a non-committal sound and stepped aside, allowing her to step past him and lead the way to the door. They stopped just before opening it – but well out of earshot of Hamish, who had vanished into another corner of his store.

“I hope you have a plan,” Nikola said to her, quite seriously, “because I cannot return to my lab.”

He wasn’t one to beg for help, but he was tired of fleeing – being a shadow on the edge of civilisation. Nikola had being doing it longer than her and with more organisations on the hunt.

“I have nowhere left to go,” he admitted.

Helen nods, taking a quick look outside before stepping out of the shop. “Of course I do,” she assured him. “There is a safe house on the outskirts of Rome. We can stay there for the time it will take for my contacts to arrange the necessary paperwork. Two, three days at most. I’ve been staying at the local Sanctuary, but that would be the most likely place of refuge.” Hence why they’ll not be going there.

Helen paused outside the door of the shop, offering the parcel in her hands to Nikola. “Will this fit in your case?” As if she hadn’t missed a beat to make that query, she continued. “We’ll take a series of taxis to the house, but we must start our travel quickly before the Cabal finds us once more.” Helen paused, then, wondering on him with a mild expression. She knew it was difficult for him to step around his ego and ask for help, hence why it was only in the most dire of circumstances that he called upon her. She also understood that was simply his way and no amount of chastising or assuring it needn’t be so would change it.

Nikola took the parcel with a snippy comment, even though his curiosity was more than peaked.

“I am not you caddy,” he snarled, wrapping his elegant fingers around the parcel.

Nikola could feel through the paper that it was a slight book – at fifty pages with a heavy binding. Nevertheless, he knelt down the ground – careful not to actually touch it, as he opened his brief case and laid her book beside his notes.

He was not blind to Helen’s gesture. After a second shuffling his things around to accommodate the book, Nikola shut the lid, locked it and straightened.

Catching taxis in Rome wasn’t like catching them in London. Most streets were too narrow for anything but people and scooters so Helen and Nikola found themselves hurrying along between the buildings until they emerged on one of the few main streets.

A tide of people and cars were squeezed together in the open space and amongst them, a speckling of taxis.

Once on the main road, hailing a taxi didn’t prove a difficult feat. Once they shuffled into the vehicle, Helen instructed the driver to take them to some random tourist site on the opposite end of the city. From there, they’d transfer to another cab and head once more to another part of the city before switching to yet another and making their way to the edge of Rome.

“Our best option is tourists. Easy enough since neither of us are Italian. A commercial flight will be booked and we will travel economically.” As she’d told him before, it would take a few days to get papers in order allowing them to travel with less chance of being tracked.

He sighed heavily as the word, ‘economically’ left her lips. Clearly they would be trapped in baggage class. Helen really was cheap – always had been – probably always would be. Nikola wasn’t one to talk though, as he was perpetually impoverished despite his best efforts.

Nikola nodded in reluctant agreement, glancing at the window of the taxi as a stand of weary poplars blurred past.

“I hope you have wine…” he said, still watching Italy out the window.

NIGHT TIME TRAVEL

Spending two to three days in a confined space with Tesla could prove to be Helen’s end. She’d contented herself reading through several books she kept at the house (and the one for which she’d come to Rome) and working diligently from her PDA. After spending the first day laying the ground rules (which included limits on how much wine he was to drink in a day and discussion of staying in the house except in the most dire of emergencies), Helen was pleased to learn their papers were to soon arrive via a courier.

Once the parcel was delivered (along with their airline tickets for that evening), Helen couldn’t help her amusement once she’d looked over the documents. “Nikola,” she called to him from the sitting room. “I have news for you.”

Nikola set his last allotted glass of red down on the table and slinked toward the hallway. He lingered in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he observed Helen rustle through some papers.

“You called?” he said.

He was dressed in his only other change of clothes – a dark maroon vest over a black dress shirt with black trousers.

“Papers,” she stated, moving to hand him his needed documentation. If he flips through them, he’ll see a passport sporting his photo with the name ‘Milos Jovović’ printed on it, issued from the government of Serbia. It shows extensive travel through various parts of Europe. Among the documentation, he’ll find an IR green card, the type the spouse of a US citizen would have. The name listed as his sponsor reads as one Johanna Denton-Jovović, coincidentally, the name on Helen’s documents.

“It seems,” she droned on as if bored by the topic, “we’ve recently been married and have spent our honeymoon abroad. We’ll be flying back to the United States this evening.”

Nikola’s eyes languidly move from the papers in his hands to Helen’s bored look. He had read them twice, just to be sure.

“Maybe wine does affect me,” he said, slipping his passport into his buttoned pocket for safe keeping. “All I remember of Rome are bullets and mayhem … Mrs Jovović.”

Is he staring at her in a manner that he shouldn’t? Quite possibly. On occasion he can’t help it, especially when she purposely baits him by feigning disinterest in his existence.

For a long moment, Helen simply continued to look through her papers, completely impassive. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” she droned, the tone making it clear this little ruse was the closest he would ever get to her.

Finally, her gaze lifted to meet his, a flash of a startled look crossing her features. “Nikola, you’re leering.”

“So I am,” he acknowledge, snapping out of it. Nikola cracked into one of those smiles where it was impossible to tell if he’d been kidding or not. “I’m packed…” he nodded roughly in the direction of the front door where his briefcase stood next to her luggage. “And your driver is late.”

“I’ll thank you to refrain from staring at me like something into which you’d like to sink your teeth,” snapped Helen. She glanced over to the clock on the wall, mildly concerned by the time. “Only by five minutes. He could be stuck in traffic.”

Nikola pushed off the doorframe and gave her a lofty eyebrow.

“I don’t bite…” he snapped, and headed back to the lounge room to finish his glass of wine before it was snatched away.

Long plane flights – Nikola despised them – or was mildly wary of them.

He set the empty glass down and plucked a book from the desk at the corner of the room. It wasn’t his, but Nikola was not about to travel without something to distract from the precarious arrangement that was flight.

“Forgive me,” she offered almost instantly. That was not the best metaphor to use in the presence of a vampire. “I didn’t mean to imply that you would, Nikola.”

The sound of an approaching vehicle caught her attention. Helen peered out the window and watched as her driver pulled up to the house. “Our ride is here.”

“Pity doesn’t suit you, Helen,” said Nikola softly but sternly, as he retrieved his coat from the leather armchair and moved to navigate around her en route to the hallway.

He risked meeting her eyes with a brief glare, but it softened after a moment.

Her attention drifted from the approaching car to the direction from which Nikola’s voice sounded. “Pity insinuates I feel sorry for you. I do not,” Helen quipped, moving to get her own coat and her bag. Brushing past him to the door, Helen nudges his shoulder with hers. “Buck up, Milos. We’re newlyweds.”

Nikola’s shoulder jarred a little with the impact as he bent to pick up her bag as well as his.

“Yes darling…” he drawled for effect, “mustn’t keep them waiting.”

‘Newlyweds…’ she really did have a cruel sense of humour but wait – they had no rings. Anyone with half a brain would see through their ruse.

“Not to question your genius,” he said, laden with luggage as she opened the door, “but you forgot something…” Nikola looked pointedly at her bare hand.

“The letter that came with our papers, my love,” God, that just sounded so wrong, “informed me that our driver would be bringing that last small detail.” Then she grinned, sauntering out the door. “My genius is as great as yours.” Oh, yeah, she was teasing.

Nikola was forced to bite his tongue at that last comment of hers. Instead of detailing, at length, the many reasons why he outranked her in genius, he chose to follow her out of the house, frowning at the way she was enjoying the entire predicament.

The taxi waited on the gravel stretch between the house and the iron gates. The sky was beginning to darken and small specklings of light could be seen on the surrounding hills. Church bells rang out through the valley, marking the hour as they always did.

Their driver was leaning up against the taxi, having a smoke. He nodded in greeting as they approached.

“Dr Magnus,” said the driver respectfully, “Mr Tesla.”

Helen smiled to the driver, giving a nod of greeting. “Nice to see you again, Lucian,” she mused politely. Wide and varied were the contact of the great Helen Magnus. Walking to the back of the car, she pushed open the boot and turned to take the bags from Nikola. Once loaded, Helen closed the trunk and made her way back around to the driver.

“I believe you have something for us,” she stated, holding out her hand as the man pulled from his jacket a small envelope. From it, Helen dumped into her hand a pair of rings. “Platinum,” she mused with a frown as she inspected them. Far more expensive than she would’ve liked. Turning her attention back to Nikola, she held out the larger of the two to him. “Put this on.”

He hesitates. It was surreal at best. The white gold ring, beautifully worked but simple in its elegance, was nestled in her open palm.

Maybe this whole thing wasn’t such a good idea after all. He had not lied back in the catacombs on her last visit to Rome and this was worse than any form of torture he had endured.

Eventually reached out and, his fingers brushing lightly against her palm, took the ring. It fit perfectly as he slid it onto his finger, glistening against his pale skin. He hoped that she had not noticed the flash of emotion through his eyes. That was the last thing he needed – for Helen to see the pitiful, human side of him.

“Adequate,” he muttered, opening the taxi door for her.

Helen does notice his hesitation, the way his hand seemed to quiver every so slightly as he reached for the ring. She watched him intently, noting the way his lips moved and his strong, careless façade faltered. Once he finally put it on, Helen smiled gently.

“Good,” she mused to break the awkward silence settling between them. “I guessed right on the size.” Helen however simply closed her fingers around the remaining ring in her palm, not yet putting it on. “Shall we go?”

“Your carriage awaits,” he watched, waiting for her to disappear into the taxi before he closed the door firmly.

The driver gave Nikola a wink.

“Love is tough,” said the driver, then broke into one of his brief fits of laughter and coughing. He never ceased to be amused by the trouble Magnus got herself into.

Nikola ignored the driver, roamed around to the other side of the car, and shuffled in next to Helen. The metal on his finger was already warming as he pulled his own door shut and the taxi lurched into motion, turning out the drive and through the decorative gates.

“You should marry that thing instead,” said Nikola, pointing at the PDA in her hands.

It took a moment for Helen to hum in question. Another second before the she realized what he said. With a few decisive keystrokes, the PDA was tucked away into her shoulder bag and she peered over to Nikola.

“Oh, I will once it’s made legal for humans to marry inanimate, non-sentient objects.” Still coiled in her hands was that ring. The metal was warming to her own temperature, though her eyes lingered on Nikola. Ever since that moment in the lab, her mind had been wandering when there was time to spare. “You sound like a jealous husband already,” she quipped, holding out her fist to give him the other ring.

“Apparently,” he glanced at her outstretched hand, “I’m entitled to.”

His tone had lightened somewhat as the car continued to groan along the highway.

“Barely married two weeks and you’ve already found a better offer,” his lips twisted in amusement, still not taking the ring. “Not even wearing the ring…” Nikola withdrew the book he’d stolen from his coat and flipped it open lazily, skimming a random page.

She had played with him, and now he would return the favour. He wanted her to ask.

“Is that my volume of Yeats,” she asked, her brows furrowing slightly.

As if to draw more attention to it, Helen jiggled her hand in front of him. “Don’t be petulant. Do you want to put this on or not?”

Nikola’s will was not that strong. He gave in.

“Yes,” he answered, “to both questions.”

He let the book fall forgotten to his lap, extending his hand forward to hers and she dropped the ring into his grasp. It was lighter and smaller than his but adorned with a pair of perfectly cut diamonds. In every way it was more beautiful – as it should be.

He took her hand tenderly in one of his, brushing over her fingers deliberately until they parted. Finally, he singled one out as his other hand brought the ring to the tip of her finger, holding it there just shy of her skin as he lifted his eyes to hers.

Then, slowly, he slid it onto her finger until it sat snugly against her skin – his eyes never moving from hers.

“Now you’re Mrs Jovović,” he flashed her an honest smile.

Helen couldn’t repress the shiver that ran through her when his fingers brushed against hers. Suddenly, the metal she’d taken care to warm in her hand felt cool on her skin, like Nikola’s fingertips.

She faltered briefly, her lips parting to take in a sharp breath. Finally, her eyes darted to the book on his lap. Dark lashes fell closed as she recited her favourite of the author’s work (if only to distract from more personal thoughts).

“‘When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.’“

Nikola faltered, his hand, still holding hers, shaking slightly as he returned her whispered words.

“No, don’t approach me! I wish from a distance
to love and want your two eyes.
For happiness is sweet only while you wait for it,
while it’s giving only a hint of true self.

No, don’t approach me! There is more joy
in this sweet awe, waiting and fear.
Everything is more beautiful while you search for it,
while you only know its trace.

No, don’t approach me! Why and what for?
From this distance everything shines like a star;
From this distance only are we admire.
Ne, nek mi ne pridju oka tvoja dva”

Revel in the triumph of sending Helen Magnus into a moment of speechlessness. In Nikola’s hand, her fingers shook slightly. Dark lashes lifted, her eyes moving to meet his once more. That was completely unexpected.

“…Nikola…”

“I’d believe it,” said the jarring voice of the taxi driver. He had been watching the pair through his revision mirror the whole way.

Nikola broke away from her at once. He had not meant to do that. He had really not meant to do that. Reciting poetry from his home land – to her – while she looked at him like that, their hands resting together, shivering with… No, he had not meant to do that at all.

She was still starring. Even turned to the window, Nikola could feel her eyes settled on him – no doubt scornfully.

That was all the distraction she needed to pull her fast and hard back to the reality of the moment. Helen let her hand fall away from Nikola’s, the metal band still cool against her skin. She kicked the back of the seat, jostling the driver with a small glare.

Helen’s attention turned back to her bag, fishing out her PDA. Once more her fingers moved swiftly over the keys. “We’ll be landing in JFK. It appears we’ll be there two days before catching a small plane to Detroit. The day after, my private jet will come to collect us and take us to the Old City Sanctuary.”

His eyebrows lifted a little as she kicked the seat.

“A private jet?” he mused aloud. “This new century has been good to you I see. Shame we won’t be enjoying such comforts on the most arduous stretch of the trip.” Was it eighteen hours – twenty? He couldn’t remember – it had been so long since he’d flown. Nikola had caught a boat from the states to Rome.

“Tell me,” he continued, “do all Victorian women own their own planes?”

Ten hours across the sea by plane. Less than an hour to Detroit. Another three or four to Old City.

“The Sanctuary network has its needs and we’ve the funds to see to them,” she offered. “It is used in dire circumstances.” She glances up from the PDA and over to Nikola, trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks.

“I don’t know any other Victorian women,” she pointed out.

“Dire indeed,” he meets her eyes – sees Helen’s cheeks unnaturally flushed – and promptly looks away. Nikola is blissfully unaware that his own complexion looks positively normal – for a human. There is colour in his pale skin and it has something to do with his shaking hands.

“I do – just the one though,” Nikola continued. “She was never very good at being Victorian though, not even when the century called for it…” He was, of course, speaking of her.

“What an un-gentlemanly thing to say,” Helen quipped. Even if it was a true thing to say. She wasn’t the only bad Victorian in this taxi. For a long moment, Helen was silent, even the tones of PDA went quiet.

“Nikola… about before,” she began in a more subdued, uncomfortable tone.

His heart stopped for a moment. Was she going to torment him further? God, he was hoping she would just ignore him for the rest of the journey but her tone was clear that she would not.

Nikola made a non-committal noise somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. Finally, he turned back to her and saw how she was paused, waiting, her eyes focused solely on him.

No, she’s not trying! “Put it out of your mind,” she advised.

He eyed her incredulously. Even if he wanted to, it was technically impossible given his Eidetic memory. Lying though, he was better at.

“Put what out of my mind?” rhetorical, of course.

They were well within the confines of Rome now, skirting along the edge of the city on approach to the airport. On one side of the car was a dusty chasm – an immense excavation of the ancient city below with sad hollows of buildings and half crumbling pillars lit with spotlights against the night.

An aircraft coming into land roared above the sound of the traffic.

The taxi continued on until they reached the airport, even the driver noting the thick, heavy silence. He drove them to the drop-off pointed, where Helen removed their luggage from the car and paid the man for his time and his silence.

After the vehicle drove away, she peered over to Nikola an affected a pleasant smile. “Milos, shall I check your bag?” The implied question, of course, ‘do you want to carry this on the plane?’ Helen’s shoulder bag held the important items she would need should their luggage find itself lost.

He had one of her larger bags strung over his shoulder, making his lofty figure lopsided. Nikola’s briefcase however, was grasped firmly by his side.

“Secrets of the universe…” he reminded her, with a healthy lashing of sarcasm. His bag would be coming on board.

They made their way inside the airport, dodging as best they could the endless stream of bodies, piled up against each other, humming about in frantic patters across the airports tiled floor.

The length of the check-in queues elicited a groan from Nikola’s throat.

“We’ll be old and grey by the time we get through this,” he muttered, and then turned to her with a pointed look. “And that’s saying something.”

“If you’re very patient,” Helen crooned solicitously, “I’ll ask if we can upgrade to first-class since we’re on honeymoon.”

“I don’t think we should be drawing any undue attention to ourselves – considering the circumstance…” the line shuffled forward, as did Helen, Nikola and the luggage.

An Italian security guard gave the line a close pass, his black hat with gold braiding weaving around the tourists.

“Besides, I have grown used to being impoverished,” he flashed her a smile with an ever so slight hint of vampiric teeth.

Helen canted her head gently to one side, her look mild, but incredulous. “And yet such a taste for fine wine,” she pointed out as an aside. Playing to her role, Helen stepped closer to Nikola, reaching to brush her fingers against his. “Simply too much distance between us in those large first-class seats.”

“It rarely belongs to me…” he explained, then stopped as her fingers brushed against his again. “Oh yes,” Nikola picked up the end of her tone, “those first class seats are entirely too comfortable and spacious. Still – I will miss the complimentary beverages.”

His fingers moved against hers.

Awkward. Though Helen keeps the smile in place as the queue slowly shuffled forward. It seemed like months passed before they were at the counter. Bags were checked, their boarding passes assigned, and the happy couple wished-well.

As they wandered away with their carry-on bags, Helen sighed. “How are you healing?” she queried in quiet concern.

It was a much more pleasant stroll now that he was free of Helen’s surprisingly heavy baggage.

“Completely,” he replied, but amended it to, “mostly…”

Other than the occasional throb of pain through the worst of the bullet holes, there was nothing to show of their scuffle in the library.

Helen was wandering toward one of the many cafes that lined the terminal, but Nikola’s eyes kept drifting to the clock beside the departure board.

“We really don’t have time,” he cautioned her, pulling himself to a stop and backtracking to where she was lingering at a particularly excellent display of sweet pastries.

Helen smirked over at Tesla as he doubled back. “There’s always time for scones,” she informed. “I don’t know how often you fly, but airline food is a step above prison and hospital fare. It’s best we get something here to take on with us.”

She smiled at the girl at the counter and ordered three scones for herself and a cup of hot black tea. Then she turned to Nikola. “What would you like?”

His eyes flashed at her as he drawled, “Coffee… black, lots of it.”

Reluctantly, with both hers and his beverages in hand, he loitered around the nearby newsstand while Helen waited on her scones. A private smirk crept over him. Scones, a definite weakness o the great Helen Magnus.

His eyes tracked over the newspaper titles as the endless drone of boarding calls added to the general noise of the airport.

Oh, but this was interesting, He leant closer to a particular stand.

MONSTER SIGHTING IN OUTSKIRTS OF OLD CITY

Nikola wondered if it was one of Helen’s pets out for a wander.

It wasn’t long for the scones. The girl at the kiosk wrapped them neatly for take-away and Helen tucked them into her shoulder bag. Helen padded over to Nikola’s side, peering over his shoulder.

“Mmm,” she hums in his ear, reading the headlines. “This is why my trip was to be brief. We have some trouble on the home-front.”

He feels her long, dark hair fall over his jacket shoulder as she leans in to read over him.

“So it is one of yours then?”  Nikola moves slightly forward, freeing the paper and holding it up for them both to read. It is vague, as all news in the 21^st century was. “I think we’ll keep this,” he said finally, folding it in half and slipping it under his arm.

She was still resting on his shoulder, her chin lightly pressing on him for support. Nikola wasn’t sure if he should move or not – he was not used to being used in such a practical manner.

“Have I suddenly morphed into a lectern?” he asked her lightly, turning his head just a little in her direction though it was difficult to achieve without crashing into her.

She reaches around for her cup of tea and nod in the direction of the terminal. “We need to check in there, too,” Helen advises.

“It’s something we’ve been trying to find for a time. Chances are, if it’s causing a noticeable commotion something got too close to its territory. It’s usually a docile creature living in the old underground tunnels of Old City. Every now and again, some unwitting person or Abnormal strays there and… well, natural instincts.”

“This is supposed to comfort me?” he hands Helen her tea. “Your Sanctuaries are magnets for trouble,” Nikola continued, as they set off toward the second terminal – the now stolen paper still under his arm. “But part of me suspects that you enjoy the constant peril.”

The first boarding call for their flight was already ringing out above their heads. Nikola took the opportunity to depart a look of disdain in her direction.

“Tardiness is another thing you enjoy,” he commented. “I remember how your invitations always carried a different time to the rest of ours. It was the only way to ensure you presence.”

Helen lofts a brow at him as they bustle toward the terminal. “I dare say you attract a far more dangerous sort of trouble than I, darling. I suspect you enjoy it as it gives you an excuse to contact me once more.”

She sips her tea in an airy manner, nose turned up slightly as they meander through the queue to board the plane. “Have you flown over the sea before?”

He dipped his head at her, darkening is playful glare as they paced.

“Fair’s fair, on this occasion it was you who bumped into me.”

Nikola drained the entire coffee cup in one go, depositing it in a nearby bin.

“Of course I have flown,” he answered her question. “1942, friend of mine owned a plane. Long story short, it was not entirely pleasant.”

Helen couldn’t help but laugh, clapping Nikola on the shoulder. “Planes have changed a great deal since then.”

“I am sure this one will be perfectly –” they rounded a corner and entered the glass lined lounges were the planes could be seen, waiting eagerly for passengers.

One had a pack of brightly adorned engineers clambering over it, another was making a most unhealthy sound as it tested its engines and the one closest to them had a man suspended from a crane picking bits of debris out of its nose. “Satisfactory…” he finished, not looking so sure.

She watched him intently as his speech slowed unnaturally. After a few seconds, Helen took his hand and squeezed it gently. The band of metal on her finger, though warm from her skin, is still notably cooler.

“There is a greater chance of being struck dead by a meteor than dying in a plane crash. I dare say even that might not kill you.”

“I am very sure that you will be the death of me long before that transpires, Mrs Jovović,” despite the lightness of his tone, he makes no move to let go of her hand.

They checked in for the final time and, as they were already late, found themselves ushered down the small connecting tunnel and into the large plane. As they had expected, their boarding pass had them seated in a non-descript second toward the back of the plane, well within the confines of Economy.

Amazingly they found a pair of seats nestled next to a window awaiting them.

Under normal circumstances, such behaviour would’ve earned him a serving of scathing wit. As it was, Nikola seemed genuinely unnerved at the prospect of flying, as evidenced by his hand still gripping hers. Once settled into their seats, Helen turns to face him with an indulgent smile.

“You shall enjoy every moment you have with me,” she teased.

“Is that a promise?” he replied, turning to her. There was a hint of danger in his eyes – the same  that had been there in Rome, just before he threw her off the roof.

They were still holding hands – an action that played well with their cover though was not entirely necessary given nobody paid them more than a cursory glance. Nikola could feel her ring, cool on his skin. He hadn’t dared move his hand in case she remembered that he was still holding onto it.

Helen’s brows lifted as if in challenge for him to test her words. “Have I ever failed to show you a good time, Mr. Jovović?” she drawled with a note of amusement. She recognized that look in his eyes, her own daring him to try something in the confined space of the plane. She may not have her gun with her, but she could still make him suffer horribly for the next six to eight hours.

Helen’s free hand moved to rest over his, giving him a light, reassure pat. Despite all their snipping at one and other and their disagreements, she still sees Nikola as a friend.

“It’s going to be a long flight – I can tell…” he mused aloud, as she laid a second hand on him.

It was entirely impossible not to have flash backs to those moments (minutes?) in his lab, especially now that they were packed together so closely in these quite frankly, cheap arse seats. He could clearly see her giving him that daring look of hers – the one that said, ‘trouble’ like nothing else.

He must have been contemplating her – them unabashedly staring at each other – for a long while because the next thing he felt was his body pushed back in the seat and the plane take flight.

For his sake, Helen squeezed his hand more tightly as they plan took flight. She flew frequently and wasn’t horribly troubled by it. He on the other hand, seemed to have some trepidation.

Once they were at cruising altitude, Helen did retract her hands from his, digging through her bag for the book she’d picked up in Rome and a scone. Time passed in silence, Helen engrossed in her reading. It helped her ease the long hours of flight when she travelled.

Eventually Tesla put his memories of the shaky, hand-built aircraft of 1942 behind him and relaxed into the chair, staring out at the completely black porthole until an airhostess rudely snapped it shut. The divider between their seats was most irritating and by far the worst part of the flying experience. Nikola observed its construction quietly for a moment and then discovered that it could, indeed by lifted up out of the way – which he promptly did, removing the barrier between himself and Helen.

Then, he flicked open the newspaper he’d stolen earlier and began to read on about the strange creature sighted outside Old City. It sounded like some kind of extinct feline to him – perhaps some kind of rear wildcat imported illegally and then set free when it got too big and scary.

“Miracinonyx inexpectatus,” Helen droned at length. “Thought to be extinct. What it’s doing so far north, I’m not certain. We’re hoping to capture it and transport it to a Sanctuary closer to its native climate.” She closes the booking, shifting to look at Nikola. “Why did you lift the arm rest?”

“Because it hurts,” he answered, matter-of-factly. It was true – it did hurt. No matter how he rearranged himself in the seat it always ended up prodding into the side of his ribcage.

Nikola gave her an innocent look which was, for once, actually innocent.

“You object?” he lowered the paper.

Helen peered beyond him to the third party sharing their group of seats. She slid her hand against his, twining fingers with him before she moved in close. It seemed as if she was going to whisper, but instead speaks loudly enough for the other to hear. “I hadn’t meant to be so rough with you.” Now, she just wants to watch Nikola go red in the face.

Nikola continued her motion, tilting his head slightly to the side to avoid colliding with her – instead brushing against her cheek en-route her ear.

Instead of leading on the poor, tortured passenger beside them, Nikola made sure that only she could hear as he whispered, “Not to worry…” His face is half buried in her hair, but he can still feel her reddening as he continued, “You know I like it rough darling.”

And how colour burst into bloom on her face, causing pale eyes to widen. A hand lifted to push him away, though stopped short against his shoulder. If his injuries were, in fact, still causing him pain she didn’t want to add to that. Plus, she’d be compromising their cover. Not to mention, Helen had opened that can of worms. She should’ve known better with Nikola and his quick, often sharp wit.

She hadn’t pushed him away – probably because she didn’t want to blow their cover, he reminded himself. Whatever the reason, Nikola snuck a quick, soft kiss to her exposed neck, lingering there before he withdrew and returned to reading his paper as if nothing had happened.

Oh yes, it was a small victory. Helen was practically scarlet.

Practically? Please! She could put a poinsettia to shame!

The portly gentleman beside Nikola grinned and gave him a little nudge with his elbow during the moments Helen remained completely flabbergasted. She huffed out a breath, letting her hand fall away from his shoulder in defeat.

Despite surprise and embarrassment, Helen couldn’t stop her thoughts from drifting back to that stolen moment in Nikola’s lab, that moment she’d almost left him to fend for himself against the Cabal. Still she could feel the cool press of his lips to her throat, a hand lifting to brush lightly to her lips. After a long, silent moment, Helen shifted in her seat, leaning into Nikola before blatantly resting her head against his shoulder.

Now it was Nikola’s turn to colour as Helen settled on him, nuzzling against him slightly as she got comfortable. Scandalous threats he could handle but this, Helen resting gently up against him – it played havoc with his carefully built resolve.

Lost for an appropriate reaction, Nikola did something he had always wanted to do. Carefully, and without disturbing her, Nikola freed his arm from between her and the seat. Next, he lifted his hand up until his fingers could reach the stray curl of hair that had fallen over Helen’s face. Nikola hooked one of his elegant fingers around it and moved the wild lock tenderly to the side.

Certainly the trip to Rome proved eventful, more than Helen anticipated. Even after bumping into Nikola, being shot at, flung from a building, harried through the catacombs of the ancient city once more… After all that in the security of the safe house, Helen still managed little sleep. The endless toiling of her mind saw to that. With literally nowhere to escape to busy herself, Helen’s exhaustion finally caught up with her.

Though she wasn’t fully asleep, she was fast on her way, lips parted and breathing slow where she nestled against his shoulder. The brush of cool fingers on her cheek did little to jar her. She simply tilted her head slightly into the soft touch, letting out a quiet sigh.

Nikola swallowed as Helen moved against his hand, turning – burying herself closer in the warmth of his jacket. Yes, he may be a vampire, but Nikola was still alive and even he had enough life to warm a jacket.

In truth, this was the reason he had left all those decades ago – vanished from the world and from her. He had always loved Helen, despite his protests and whining and scheming and – well, everything. Nikola had not lied about that. It was hard watching her with John back in Oxford, laughing and smiling with him when all along Nikola had known of John’s dark side. It was harder still when, after a hundred years Nikola could not stop the quickening pace of his heart and shortness of breath whenever she approached. It was impossible knowing that she would always belong to someone else.

But now here she was, hovering on the edge of sleep – trusting him and Nikola couldn’t keep his eyes from her.

It would be a terrible lie to say that Helen had no lovers since John. A woman has her needs after all. There’s only so much loneliness one can bear through the decades. She’d even had a handful since Ashley’s birth. Still, it was different to just lean into Nikola, to rest against him with such trust as few have earned from her. If he knew, he’d clearly see it’s a deeper sort of bond she extended to him than to most men she’d had in her life.

Which isn’t to say Helen would admit to or is even aware of the feelings she may or may not have for Tesla. Despite all they’ve been through, she would happily step up to help him when the need arises. Even if Nikola hadn’t vanished for six decades, Helen would’ve kept her distance, as she did with James. All the more reason to relish what time she had with him.

She nestled in closer, shifting in her seat to settle against him. One arm tucked up against her, laying lightly across her stomach while the other hand came to rest on his thigh. Though she was almost lost to sleep, there was a comfort to be had in knowing Nikola, her old friend, someone who understood her better than so many others, was right there.

Nikola exhaled deeply, deciding to finally give in and enjoy whatever this was that Helen was giving him. He moved a bit as she did. Oh, she’s comfortable with him all right – she always had been – since Oxford.

As Helen curled up to him, Nikola lowered one of his arms, lighting draping it down her shoulder and along her arm until his hand rested on top of hers, both rising and falling on her stomach in time with Helen’s sleepy breaths.

He let his head rest back into the seat until, as a pair, he and Helen were lounged as best they could in the confined space – and all the while Nikola tried desperately not to think about the hand she’d decided to leave on his thigh.

Helen sighed in content, the puff of air soft and warm against Nikola’s throat. To anyone walking by, they could very well be just what they were pretending: a couple very much in love. Helen, of course, being a Victorian woman put little stock in the endurance of romantic love and more in the ideas of trust and comfort in a kindred spirit. She’d always felt, as most Victorian women, that love came with time. John had been an exception to that rule, she was certain.

But Nikola claimed to have loved her for so long, despite everything. Time, distance, John, Ashley, even their own altercations. Whereas, despite the same things, Helen had always felt comfortable with him. Though others may doubt it, she knew beyond all doubt that he would be at her side should she need him.

Quite some time passed while Helen slept in Nikola’s arms, dreams of a peaceful life moving like shades and spectres through her mind. As pleasant as sleep was, she was too soon jarred back to reality by a particularly rough patch of turbulence the plane encountered. Blue eyes snapped open, wide, pale, and alert. Her fingers tensed against his leg, back straightening as consciousness was thrust upon her. A second, perhaps two, passed before Helen recalled they were travelling. One more before the realisation that she was snuggled against Nikola.

“Oh dear,” she murmured softly.

Nikola, roused from sleep, caught the end of her sentence, mumbling his reply through a thick haze of sleep.

“What is?” he said, his eyes slowly opening to the dim light of the cabin. It took a few moments for him to realise that he had been asleep – with Helen cuddled against him – on a plane – that was now bouncing through pockets of air.

It was a kind of artificial twilight inside the plane with most of the passengers sleeping, snoring in the near-darkness with only the occasional reading light casting halos of light over their owners.

At some point during the many hours they had apparently been sleeping blissfully, someone had thrown one of the complimentary blue blankets over them to stave off the inevitable chill of air-conditioning.

If he hadn’t been awake on the first jolt, the next once certainly did it. Nikola’s head rolled to the side then jerked up – properly alert as he felt Helen’s hand tense against his thigh and her body stir awake.

Helen let out a sleepy grunt, blinking away the lingering haze. A quick glance around the darkened plane brought the realisation that they weren’t yet landing. Her hand lifts from Nikola’s leg, rubbing at her eyes.

“How long did I sleep?” inquires she in a quiet voice.

The wrist with his watch was currently buried somewhere under the blanket covering them. That particular hand of his was still cupping hers – resting comfortably on her warm skin.

Nikola averted a yawn as he tried to speak.

“About as long as me,” he replied, most unhelpfully. Nikola never slept in public and he felt quiet disoriented waking up to an environment that had clearly been moving and changing while he wasn’t watching.

The turbulence was settling now – more than likely they had just cleared a mountain range.

Helen’s eyes blinked rapidly, a surprised look overtaking her features. “You… slept?” The awe wasn’t so much in the fact that he’d slept, but that he’d done so as they were fleeing the country and while in a mostly public place. Then she noticed the blanket, his arm around her and a slight heat came to her cheeks.

He frowned at her.

“Stranger things have happened,” he said, defiantly. “Besides,” he continued, his frown becoming a challenging smirk, “you slept too.”

Was she blushing again? He couldn’t tell in the half-light – it robbed all the colour from the world. Though, Nikola had to admit, it did little to calm the violent blue of the blanket thrown over them. It was just in its own little universe.

“What do you think,” he started, purposely glancing at the blanket, “worst blue you’ve ever seen?”

Nikola sleeping is rarer than her sleeping. “I’ve been shot at, chased, and thrown from a building in the last few days. I rather think I’m entitled to some rest.”

She’d never admit it, but she’s thankful for the change in topic. Peering down at the blanket still draped over them, Helen smiled lightly. “Even in the half-light it’s nearly blinding.”

And thoroughly kissed, he wanted to add to that list but didn’t. His thumb grazed over the back of her hand as he considered her – but they were interrupted by a sharp click.

All around them, the lights of the plane flickered on and the seat-belts signs flashed. A few people groaned in protest as the chime of the pilot’s intercom rang out.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. We are now beginning our descent … please return to your seats.”

There was a general shuffling of disapproval around them as people glared through the new light, gathering up their things and re-arranging themselves. As for the third passenger beside Nikola, he had been squished into the side of the plane but didn’t seem to mind.

They would have to untangle themselves – but that meant admitting that they were indeed, tangled up.

Helen joined in the collective groan. She was far too comfortable and not horribly inclined to move. Helen shifted in her seat, pressing closer to him before moving slightly back. The hand his fingers crushed against under the blanket moved to take hold of his.

“H-” he went to protest with her name, but amended it to, “Johanna…” as she continued to do the exact opposite of what they were supposed to be doing.

Somehow she was getting closer to him, something Nikola didn’t think possible after having the one and only Helen Magnus asleep in his arms. Her hand was threading through his and his objections were falling away with every millimetre she claimed.

Helen’s look was quizzical. She opened her mouth as if to speak. Maybe something more?

Alas, the moment was ruined when a stewardess came to snatch their blanket away and chide them for not sitting properly while the place descended.

“She certainly told us,” Nikola, now seated correctly with nothing but the myriad of creases in his good jacket to show for last few hours, pulled the armrest back down between them to avoid further scorn. “It’s a good thing that your Italian is rusty,” he assured her.

Helen pulled her hand back in silence. Once the arm rest was returned to its proper position, she glanced over to him with an awkward look. “We must’ve slept most of the way.”

Nikola’s eyes dropped to his mostly ruined coat as he said, “Evidently…”

Truth was, they both looked rather ruffled with his hair jutting out oddly at the side where he had been resting against the seat.

He couldn’t help a satisfied smirk on his lips as he looked at her.

Helen lifted her hands to smooth, then fluff out her hair. She brushes a few wrinkles from her shirt, the platinum band around her finger catch the light and drawing her eyes. For a brief moment, she simply peered at it, captivated, before she returned to preening.

Nikola kept catching her glancing at her ring but chose to say nothing.

“You look fine, he assured her, as she continued to flit about beside him.

He on the other hand, well, he looked like most people did after long haul flights.

“Where exactly are we?” he inquired, as he had not even checked his tickets.

Of course he‘d say that! She could roll around in mud and he’d still tell her she’s beautiful.

Helen pauses in her fussing blinking off the last remnants of sleep. “Uh… New York.”

Nikola frowned inexplicably and turned away.

He hadn’t been expecting that feeling upon realising that he was about to return to the city where most of his ‘life’ had been spent. So many memories – tragedies – friends and they were all gone. History had even forgotten him.

“Oh,” he said quietly, before his eyes returned to her, a little paler than before. “New York.”

The shift in his demeanour didn’t go unnoticed. “We won’t be here long,” she assured. “Our flight to Detroit leaves in the morning.”

“Plenty of time to get caught and killed then,” he mused aloud in a light tone, flicking off whatever that moment of quiet had been.

“My bet is that the Cabal travelled first class…”

Helen snorted at that. “You don’t think they’d have taken the opportunity in the sin hours in which we slept?” Why, was that a little stab at him for not staying awake?

Nikola gave her one of those, ‘like that was my fault’ looks.

“Maybe we played our roles a bit too well,” he teased, “and they simply passed us by.”

Neither Nikola or Helen could know that that was exactly what had happened on the flight – or that an innocent couple three seats behind them were about to be pulled up by security on arrival.

A good thing for contacts.

Helen turned to Nikola, lifting a hand to smooth over his hair on one side. It was standing up unnaturally from being slept upon. Her smile was soft, almost fond. Once done she took his hand and mused, “Welcome to America, Milos.”

“Worrying…” he observed her. “Whenever I see you with that look, trouble is never far behind.”

Nikola’s fingers slid from Helen’s, running over the back of her hand until they curled around her wrist, holding her in a gentle grasp. In a quick, simple movement he had flipped her hand over, exposing the base of the wrist where the palm met onto which he lowered his head and pressed a kiss into the delicate skin there.

It was worrying all right – worrying how easily they slipped back into this closeness – how the centuries apart were quickly forgot and the need to paw at each other won out. Each testing the other’s boundaries until someone tapped out. It was a dangerous game they used to play and Helen usually won.

“I am not sure America is ready for me,” he grinned, his breath warm on her skin.

Pawing! He makes it sound as if they’re randy teenager with no sense of propriety!

The touch of his lips to her skin took Helen by surprise, though she hid it well. A slight widening of her eyes, a quick, soft gasp for breath were her only betrayals. Nikola undoubtedly felt the speeding of her pulse at the touch.

“I’m not sure I am,” she murmured in reply.

The plane was landing. A slight bump as its wheels hit the tarmac was the first Nikola and Helen knew of it.

“I guess we’re going to find out,” he replied – let it linger – and then added, “because it appears we have arrived.”

The bump jarred her senses back, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced toward the front of the plane. It was barely a few seconds since they’d touched ground before Helen’s PDA was in her hands.

“A driver will be awaiting us. We’ll be staying in…” Helen stopped, a small frown pursing her lips. “We have a decadent room in Times Square.” Far more expensive than she would’ve liked, but it helped to keep up the appearance of a honeymooning couple.

The flight attendant swept past them as soon as the plane had come to a stop, leaving a trail of expletives at the sight of Helen’s PDA in use.

“She really doesn’t like us,” he grinned, rising from his seat behind Helen – his briefcase uppermost in his priorities.

There was a general shuffle as the passengers became a solid mass, funnelled through the plan and out into the terminal where they immediately began to disperse. They were almost at the baggage carousel when Nikola heard it – angered and confused voices coming from gate they had just departed. Without drawing attention, Nikola tilted his head and glanced over his shoulder through the crowds of people.

“Helen,” he said quietly, directing her attention to the airport security pulling up an innocent couple while a Cabal agent lost his temper.

She glanced back casually, one hand clutching her bag, the other his hand. Helen’s eyes didn’t linger long. “We need to hurry. Fortune is on our side for the time being.”

Though the last thing they needed was to draw more attention to themselves. She couldn’t shake the edge of nervousness as they gathered their luggage from the carousel and made their way to the car awaiting them.

NEW YORK

“Niiiiice…” he tilted his head up to the chandelier tangled high up in the ceiling.

The hotel was gorgeous – a vast improvement on the hovel he had occupied last time he had been in town. It was difficult not to let his eyes wander around the various art displays as they wandered toward the check-in desk.

“This is certainly the best escape plan I’ve ever been a part of,” he hissed under his breath.

Helen snorted a breath as she followed along beside him, her eyes trailing over the decor of the place. Far too ritzy. Helen was already dreading how much this was going to cost her.

“I rather preferred planning your funeral in ‘43,” she hissed back with a frown. “Can you at least fake an Eastern European accent for our check-in?” It would make their cover more plausible.

“I’ll try not to take that personally…” he drawled back in his best Croatian accent.

Oh yes, the stay here was going to take a stab at Helen’s bank account but unlike him, she was uncommonly apt at acquiring finance. Case and point – her castle-like residence.

“Ah yes…” Nikola said, as they approached the reception desk with a pretty, well kept girl tapping away at a computer behind it.

For her part, Helen played the role of the eager bride, fidgeting slightly while clinging onto Nikola’s free arm. She left the check-in process to him, only dropping the façade once they were alone in the room.

“Honestly,” exclaimed she as she paced through the decadent room. “As if my contacts couldn’t have found something more modest!” Helen didn’t fail to realise that this was the best cover. After all, surely the Cabal would expect that she’d hide out in a modest hotel. What better way to keep them off the trial than to travel economy then book the honeymoon suite of an opulent hotel in Times Square.

“I saw a deli just down the street. I’m going to get some supplies. Do you want anything?”

Nikola strolled through the lavish room and found himself a leather couch by the window. He folded himself into it, lounging back with his shoes on the graceful arm.

Instead of answering her, Nikola glanced over his shoulder at her with a look of disapproval. Satisfied that he had been left alone after the door closed firmly behind her; Nikola quickly spun around and hopped off the couch, taking the opportunity to inspect the room properly. Yes it was most certainly an expensive room. The enormous windows looked out over the city while the fashionable furnishings gave the room a clean but comfortable feel – something you could easily live in. (Or maybe he would always hold a soft spot for hotel rooms, given his history of residence in them?)

Finally his eyes rested on a false cupboard underneath the kitchen area. That was no cupboard… He wandered over to it – tapping its sheer surface lightly with his finger.

It was the mini bar…

Not only did she see a deli, but a drug store, too! Needless to say, between buying snacks to tide them over for the night and the next plane ride and purchasing some decent skin and hair care products, Helen was gone nearly an hour. Upon her return… Nikola pointedly wasn’t where she left him. She’d never admit to the flash of worry in her eyes as they scanned the area and found nothing.

Except an empty minibar.

Whatever concern she’d felt evaporated as she followed the trail of tiny, empty bottles to… the bedroom. Inside, Helen gave the man a blank look. Partly because the candles and rose petals were so… something (and clearly he either hadn’t seen the bottle of champagne or he was saving it), and partly because there was Nikola, draped out across the bed and the flowers, surrounded by those little bottles from the minifridge.

They were all empty – of course – hardly enough to keep him busy. Indeed, he had consumed the entirety of the minibar – one of the many reasons why it was unwise to leave Nikola Tesla alone in a hotel room.

Nikola heard a pair of feet pad into the room and draw to a halt at the door. His eyes fluttered open from the half-sleep he had been enjoying. As it turned out, beds were infinitely more comfortable than airplane seats. Languidly, he rolled off his back, onto his side to find Helen, shopping in hand, looking a little miffed. A few rose petals dislodged around him, tumbling over one another.

“Ah,” he sighed contentedly, “room service…” The way he accentuated the observation with a cocked eyebrow suggested he wasn’t after food.

Title: Once, There was Blood
Author: ellymelly
Pairing: predominately Snape/Lily
Chapters: | Trails by the Summer River | Albus Dumbledore | The Stolen Key | The Wand and the Owl |
Rating: T at the moment (may change in later chapters)
Summary: A Severus Snape story about his arrival at Hogwarts and descent into the alluring dark arts.
Standard Disclaimer: I do not own ANYTHING that you recognise from J.K.Rowling’s Harry Potter series. I am just borrowing these characters – please don’t sue me! It features Lily and Severus’s first year at Hogwarts and all the mischief they get up to while unraveling some of the school’s oldest secrets. Please note – this is not a depressing fic :) Bitter-sweet maybe…
Warnings (if any): Other than spoilers for all books, uh – not at present :)

1

TRAILS BY THE SUMMER RIVER

There was a time when Hogwarts had been a dream – something that lingered beyond the thick hedge of trees that covered the wild hills to the north of his home and heavy mists which lingered during the evening in sweet smelling tides.

The school crest and elegant words etched beneath it on the letter had become a sort of refuge for Severus Snape. He retreated back to that precious envelope, sliding his fingers over the heavy paper, tracing the ink with a sharp fingernail, in the hope that it would transform into a portkey and take him away from the hateful house around him.

It never happened. The years trailed on and his home became darker. Its walls, congealed with the remnants of past altercations, were scratched and mournful. He was sure that he could hear them sigh sadly as he slid past them on his way out into the last of the day.

Snape hated every inch of his life but was yet to give up on life itself. There were, he reasoned, beautiful things remaining in the world and he was confident that they lurked inside the mysterious, magical walls of Hogwarts.

He was surprised, then, to meet one of these things much sooner. It was an afternoon, late in summer when the trees had nearly given all of their green and drooped, exhausted, over the grass, when he heard the first shrill of laughter.

‘Stop it, Lily!’ protested another voice, as the laughter doubled and a swift whoosh through the air saw a small girl sail safely to her feet. ‘You’re not s’posed to!’

Snape paused in the middle of the neglected path snaking along the river’s edge. His thin, dark hair escaped from behind his ear and flapped about by his cheek leaving greasy lines there as he listened.

‘Oh Tuny…’ protested a second voice, skipping back to the swing which had slowed enough for her to snatch its chains from the air. ‘It’s fun.’

‘It’s wrong,’ replied Petunia, on the verge of tears. ‘Mum says it’s wrong!’

Lily perched on the swing’s seat and quickly started gaining height. Severus crept closer to the girls. He crouched behind a wretched hedge and peaked between its thorns and dead leaves. An elegant girl surveyed the river behind him with a set of fierce green eyes. She loved the wind rushing over her as the swing gained pace and, at its height, the chains flirted with the idea of flipping her right over the top.

Suddenly she was free. Lily leapt from the seat and stretched out into the air which she floated through, held there by some unnatural force. The other girl screamed and cried jealously before running off shouting, ‘I’m telling! I’m getting mum!’

Alone in the small patch of playground, Lily touched lightly down onto the asphalt. The wind kicked up and stole a cluster of leaves from an ancient plane tree. They rained down around her, crunching as their fragile stars rolled about.

Snape pulled apart the branches of his hedge so that he could see her better. He guessed that she was about his age – a bit taller than him with long, dark red hair and a light smattering of freckles across her nose from vacations spent far away by the sea. There was a definite similarity between her and the other girl who was headed across the weed-choked oval toward a line of houses and he guessed that they were siblings.

Whatever else this girl was, there was one thing for certain – she was a witch and he was a wizard.

“Hello,” she smiled, taking a few steps toward him.

Lily had to repeat her greeting several times before the boy hidden amongst the hedge startled and freed himself of its leaves and thorns. She paced around to its other side where she found him glancing nervously around, no doubt devising a manner of escape. He was shy, desperately shy. Lily’s grin only widened.

“What is your name?” she offered, hoping a question would be easier for him. Her accent was different from his – cleaner, more defined like the other muggles in the street whose families had lived in the town for many generations.

He was going to retreat – dart back down the road to the safety of the riverbank – escape her questioning eyes and curious tilt to her head as she inspected him, but for reasons he did not understand, he remained rooted to the spot.

“I – I,” he stammered, before mustering enough courage to continue, “I know what you are…” he said cryptically. “You’re a witch.”

Her smile vanished.

“A what?” she watched the boy return to his fidgeting; clearly wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. “That’s not a very nice thing to say…”

“No it’s – ” she was glaring at him now, with the same sense of repulse that he was used to seeing from living creatures. “I’m one too – a wizard, that is.”

Maybe she thought he was joking, perhaps she had decided he was a little bit crazy. Either way he didn’t mind because she was grinning again.

“Oh aye,” she mocked him gently.

“You are,” Snape pointed at the swings and she knew exactly what he meant. “It’s not a bad thing…” he added.

“LILY!”

Lilly spun around so quickly that her hair obscured Snape’s vision with a blur of red. The girl lifted herself onto tiptoes and quickly spied her mother and sister approaching, both with threatening looks. She was definitely in trouble now.

Snape saw them as well and had to fight his natural instinct to flee.

“I think they’re looking for you…”

“Probably,” she sighed, as the teary, red face of her sister became clearer. “You still didn’t tell me your name,” Lily insisted, not willing to give up the field.

He tugged self-consciously at the ugly yards of fabric around him, wishing he could transform them into proper robes.

“Sev – err –usss…” he half muttered, as if she had drawn this secret from him most unwillingly.

“Sev,” she flashed another dazzling smile, “it is then.”

And she was gone, traipsing back to her mother who wasted no time questioning her, prompted by her sister’s accusations. He wished that he knew proper magic so that he could hex them for her.

Weeks later, it was she who found him. He had escaped to the rubbish-strewn river, avoiding another violent row that was still underway. The raised voices and magical curses were carrying up the water accompanied, every now and then, by a colourful flash of light.

Snape had brought his letter this time. It was folded snugly inside his robes, kept safe for the day that was fast approaching. He didn’t know what he was going to do. With the school year approaching, he would need books, robes, an owl and a thousand other things that excited first years, but he doubted his parents would give him enough gold for even a modest quill.

“There you are,” Lily chirped, emerging from a stand of trees at the top of the small rise around the river. “You are not easy to find.”

He didn’t say anything, so she sat down beside him and picked at a sprig of clover.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” she continued, “about – you know – me being a witch.” The word was still quite unreal to her. Magic was in stories, fairytales and dreams. As her sister constantly reminded her, it was not real, it couldn’t be and yet, these last few years Lily thought that there was something different inside her.

“I’m not saying that I believe you,” she added quickly, as the boy finally met her eyes and began to open his mouth to speak. “But, let’s just pretend, if it were really real, what does it mean?”

“It is real,” Snape insisted, reaching inside his clothes for something. “And you are definitely a witch.”

The word still made Lily flinch. A witch, weren’t they evil? In stories the witches were the ones with warts on their hooked noses and half-eaten clothes which smelled of the terrible ingredients they used in their potions.

“You can do magic,” he said, “I’ve seen you. When you’re old enough, you can have a wand and –”

“Oh,” she interrupted, “and I suppose we ride on broomsticks too?”

“Yes,” Snape replied, quite seriously. “Some do.” He found what he’d been searching for. It was a crumpled envelope which had clearly been loved more than any of his possessions. She watched curiously as he unfolded it and then withdrew a card from within.

“Hogwarts,” he continued, allowing Lily to take the letter from him, “is a school for witches and wizards. Your letter will come, very soon most likely. Muggle-borns have to wait until just before school starts.”

“Muggle-borns,” she copied him, her eyes not believing the paper in her hands.

“People with no magic in them are called, ‘muggles’. Sometimes they have magical children, like you. Sometimes magical couples have non-magical children, they’re called, ‘squibs’.”

“And I’m going to get one of these letters…” she gave it back to him, disbelievingly.

“If you’re lucky,” his dark eyes seemed to shine, “it’ll come by owl.”

It did come by owl, three days after their talk by the river. The letter had not arrived at her mailbox, but straight to Lily’s bedroom window where the poor, scruffy looking creature had tapped and clawed at the glass until she opened the window and it swooped into her room, depositing the letter on her bed. The owl hooted proudly at its effort and proceeded to hop from her chair to the floor, inspecting its new surrounds.

Lily raced to her bed and took the letter in her shaking hands. It looked exactly the same as Sev’s, only less creased and the thick wax seal was still in place. She was so excited, she forgot to open it.

Lily Evans

2^nd Bedroom, Top Floor

11 Riverside Crescent

Spinner’s End

Durham

‘Lily!’ came her mother’s voice from downstairs. ‘What is all that racket about?’

“N – nothing…” she quickly lied, closing her bedroom door.

Inside the envelope was a letter, inviting her to the school. Her name was there, at the top of the card scratched in beautiful dark ink and old fashioned script. It looked awfully like her grandmother’s writing, with the long tails on the letters curled excessively. Accompanying this letter was a list of objects that she would require for the school year, but as she read through it, excitement turned to despair.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform

First year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves…

Those, at least, she thought that she could manage, until she read; dragon hide or similar.

The list only turned more and more impossible with extraordinary textbooks and finally the list of equipment beginning with, 1 wand and amended with the warning, ‘PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS’

She collapsed onto the bed in dismay, how would she find even half of these things?

Moving to the last scrap of paper, she found a note from the Headmaster of the school, Professor Dumbledore. It was not addressed to her, but to her parents.

She tried to shoo the owl out of her room, but it pecked irritably at her fingers, nipping one of them sharply before returning to its comfortable perch on the oversized door handle.

“Fine,” she mumbled at it, “stay there, but don’t come pecking at me when you starve.”

The owl twisted its head nearly all the way off and buried its beak inside the soft duffel under its wing, apparently not in the least bit concerned with her threat.

She read her letters over and over until her eyes fluttered closed and she fell sound asleep, still clutching them in one hand. Lily stayed like that until morning came and, just as the sun crept up over the curve of the earth and down their street, turning the pavement pink and orange, a loud knock at the door woke the house.

Lily knew it was for her. Already dressed, she darted out her door where she found her sister yawning in the corridor. Lily rushed past her and all but flew down the two sets of stairs to the foyer where her mother, dressed in a light gown, was opening the front door to a very strange looking old man with a set of half-moon spectacles perched upon his nose.

2

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

“Ah…” exhaled the old man merrily.

Ignoring the woman at the door, Professor Dumbledore craned his neck to take in the view of the sun rising over the dreary landscape of Spinner’s End. It was a sad district, a kind of nook in the world that even its inhabitants misunderstood. He adored it. Splendid place.

“Mrs Evans,” Dumbledore suddenly realised that he was standing in a doorway with its owner eyeing him scornfully. “What an excellent morning it is!” he remarked.

There were only two people that braved the streets at this hour – thieves and salesmen. Mrs Evans did not think that this peculiar man resembled either. He was entirely a mystery.

“Can I help you?” she asked coldly, but was very careful not to be outright impolite.

The man wore strange, floor length robes which shimmered several shades of purple while his white hair, trailing down over his shoulders and sprouting from his chin in a thick beard, still held a few flecks of grey. Presently, he was showing an unusual amount of interest in their cheap doorknob and simply could not restrain himself from fondling it.

“I presume you have been expecting me,” he continued, finally letting go of the object. “The letter that preceded me must have come as a surp-”

Lily’s heart skipped a beat. She was crouched at the bottom of the stairs, peering at the door through the old wooden railings, hanging on every word. The letter addressed to her parents was still clutched firmly in her fist, undelivered.

“Letter…” Mrs Evans’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Dumbledore entirely missed her meaning. “Precisely,” he continued, clearly astounded that this muggle had not tried to interrogate him. Most were quite anxious after hearing of the magical world – some were downright furious.

“I have received no letter…”

He stopped mid-sentence as the word ‘no’ sunk through his soft mane of hair into his mind. “No?” his curled eyebrows raised themselves as if by magic. “No letter?”

Mrs Evans’s head was slowly shaking.

“How extraordinary,” Dumbledore seemed more pleased by the thought, if that was at all possible. “Well well, what a morning this will be.”

The woman’s patience began to wear. She folded her arms crossly and fought back a yawn. It may have been summer but the sharp cold winds of Autumn were testing their luck down the street.

“Are you…” a small voice trembled next to Mrs Evans. Lily had crept up to the door, unnoticed by both her mother and the old man. She was holding a letter. “A wizard?” Lily finished, both terrified and excited. She could feel the magic around him. The very air was flickering and buzzing even though nobody else could see it.

“Goodness Lily,” her mother glanced down at her child, “you gave me a fright.”

Dumbledore though, owned a grin wider than the moon’s.

“But of course,” he replied, withdrawing a small, smooth looking stick from one of his gaping sleeves. He held the wand up and pointed it at the dried patch of dirt beside the door. He muttered a string of nonsensical words under his breath and suddenly a brilliant green vine erupted and climbed the wall beside the door, finishing with a spray of crimson roses.

Lily’s jaw dropped. That was real magic, she thought, as one of the roses let go of its petals and they tumbled down onto the man’s hair, and it was beautiful!

“Oh,” Dumbledore reached forward and slipped the letter out of her hand. He turned it over several times and then presented it to Mrs Evans, who stood, mouth agape like her daughter. “Your letter.”

*~*~*

It had not taken much persuasion to convince the Evans’s to allow their daughter to attend Hogwarts. The mother was, and remained for the duration of the interview, completely detached from the world. Shock as it was commonly known, was a most useful emotion.

The child now trailed him happily, skipping and bounding down the road beside him as if she were seeing the world around her for the first time. In some small way he was happy that Filius had been detained by a wayward charm as it gave him the opportunity to wander with muggles. A lone car cruised past them and Dumbledore became entranced by the turn of its wheels and the sleepy creature half-heartedly resting on the wheel. It was so primitive, but quite fantastic. Without magic humans had found a way to make do.

“Excuse me, sir.”

He felt his arm tugged down sharply. Upon further inspection, he found Miss Lily Evans waiting eagerly for his attention.

“Where are we going?”

“What an excellent question,” he replied, “one that has a most simple answer. We are on our way to retrieve another student and then, dear child, we are going shopping.”

Lily let go of his sleeve and resumed trailing him. That explained the small purse her father had slipped into her bag before they left.

It was not long before Lily realised that they were nearing the last of Spinner’s End. The avenue of trees had become further and further apart. Several had died leaving conspicuous gaps while the rest of the tortured plants were curled into themselves. Weeds and rubbish replaced manicured lawns and the terraces were squeezed impossibly close to each other.

They came to a stop at the most unloved house she had seen yet. It was the last one in the street and had a view over the dirty trail of river and expanse of factories.

The Professor raised his hand to the door to knock but it opened on its own. A small boy with greasy hair poked his head out, took one look at Dumbledore, and then hastily exited the house and closed the door.

“That was easy,” smiled Dumbledore, stepping aside to reveal Lily. “I believe you two have already met.”

Snape saw the girl’s bright eyes and ferocious grin. “I knew it,” he whispered in delight.

“Right – Miss Evans, Mr Snape,” Dumbledore led them away from the sinister looking house and out into the street which wasn’t much better. He quickly scanned the windows for early morning eyes but all was quiet and asleep as it should be. “Hold on tight now.”

Fascinated, they both did as instructed and the world they knew ripped away and vanished like a candle blown out by the wind.

*~*~*

The world resumed in a rather crowded, cobblestone street lined with all-day bars and odd shops spilling into the onslaught of people. Nobody seemed to notice the sudden appearance of a man and two children as they quickly got their bearings and joined the general flow of people.

Snape and Lily glanced at each other, often forgetting to watch where they were going. Twice Dumbledore had to rescue the boy when he was whisked out of reach by hurried groups of workers, tangled up in their briefcases.

“Careful now,” he said, as they finally came to a stop in front of a pub. It was, if possible, covered in more centimetres of dust and grime than any of the other buildings. The mortar could have fallen from between its stones and Dumbledore was quite certain that it would have no problem remaining upright. Remnants of repair spells and anti-muggle charms were smeared rather generously over it – the most recent of which was currently holding the cauldron on the sign in place.

The Leaky Cauldron’s doors opened and the three stepped inside.

“Albus,” a rather scruffy looking man in the nearest booth looked up from his butterbeer, “working already?”

“Alas this is not work, Olaus,” he diverted to his table with the two children in tow, both hiding behind him. “I expect we will being seeing you this year?”

“Yes Professor,” the man replied. He was a middle-aged wizard with a fabulous moustache curling theatrically up both sides of his cheeks framed by long, wavy hair that ended at his collar, all of which was a healthy brown.

“You’re looking younger and younger,” remarked Dumbledore, as the man finished his glass. “Found something I should know about in that cabinet of yours?”

“My secrets are not your secrets, Ablus,” the man replied lightly. “But I assure you, I shall be on time for the school year, just as I promised. Students…?” he spied two pairs of keen eyes.

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore had quite forgot his purpose for being in the Leaky Cauldron. “Merlin’s beard, I believe we’re late.”

And with that, Dumbledore hurried them through the bar and past its other shadowy inhabitants all of whom were dressed in curious long robes and the occasional pointy hat. They left through a door that had seen better centuries and found themselves in a depressing alleyway that made Spinner’s End look positively pleasant.

The Professor broke from the children and began counting bricks on a wall in front of them. Snape and Lily turned to each other with quizzical looks, neither sure of what to expect from the wall or the wizard.

“What is he doing?” whispered Lily, leaning closer to Snape.

“Something – magical – I guess,” he replied, as confused as she was. He had known of magic all his life but his parents had never taken him into the magical world. They always left him behind, alone in the house whenever affairs took them out of town. He only knew what he had scavenged from discarded newspapers and the odd book from his father’s study.

“There is it,” Dumbledore honed in on an average looking brick. “Nearly evaded me this time…” he confessed, for it was rare that Dumbledore entered Diagon Alley in this way, most inconvenient as it was. “Right,” he gathered the children beside him, “ready? Of course you are – look at those big round eyes, gaping in wonder.”

Actually, thought both Snape and Lily, they were gaping in scepticism.

“Aaaand…” Dumbledore touched the brick deliberately with his wand.

Nothing happened.

“He’s completely mad,” said Lily quietly.

“He’s our headmaster…” added Snape, more than slightly worried.

The unremarkable brick groaned and began to sink through the wall and then – at the last minute, folded away.

“Wait, waaaaaaaait!” the man that had been slouched boredly behind the bar fell out the back door into the alley beside them. “Prof-ess-or,” the crooked creature panted, scurrying to his feet. A large lump between his shoulder blades prevented him from straightening as he offered a small package in Dumbledore’s direction.

Professor Dumbledore turned his back on the folding wall which had all-but vanished to reveal an archway into a completely different street.

“Tom?” Dumbledore queried, taking a few elegant steps toward the Leaky Cauldron’s landlord.

“You for-got this.”

Dumbledore eyed the package, hesitant to take it. “I don’t believe I did…”

“Six months ago,” Tom shoved the round, brown paper wrapped object roughly into Dumbledore’s unwilling grip. “The Leaky Caul-dron is not an owlery.” With that, Tom dusted off his cloak and shuffled back into his bar leaving Professor Dumbledore to inspect his parcel.

“What’s in it?” asked Lily finally, unable to keep her curiosity at bay.

Dumbledore threw it up in the air as if to juggle, then caught it and buried it deep in one of his pockets.

“No idea,” he replied honestly. “Come on children,” he re-affirmed his grip on their arms as he led them to the archway in the brick wall. Diagon Alley stretched out before them in all its disordered glory. “Let’s shop.”

Severus dipped his free hand into his pocket where his fingers found a small silver key. Satisfied that it was safe, he allowed himself to enjoy the whoosh as the muggle world vanished and Diagon Alley begun.

3

THE STOLEN KEY

In the world of their new headmaster, they quickly learnt that ‘let’s go shopping!’ actually meant ‘you go shopping!’ for they were in Diagon Alley no more than a few moments when the silver-haired man decided he had other business to attend to.

“Mr Snape,” Dumbledore bent down so that his beard grazed over the stone surface of Diagon Alley.

There was a rush of people either side of them, scurrying every which way in and out of shop fronts. They all wore long robes and pointed hats and carried curious assortments of items in their arms or creatures screaming inside cages. Witches and wizards of every variety squabbled over dragon scales, newts eyes, purple-blade grass and an array of things Lily had never heard of.

“It would be most gentlemanly if you could accompany Miss Evans to Gringotts.”

Gringotts… thought Snape, wasn’t that a bank?

“Ah…” he opened his mouth to reply with I have no idea where that is, but Dumbledore brought the two children together and made sure they were holding hands before letting go of them. “Very kind, very kind,” he muttered absently, beginning to wander off. “I will meet you back at this very spot when you have finished acquiring your school supplies,” he added.

“Pr-professor!” Snape spoke up, rushing a few steps forward with Lily dragging behind him. Professor Dumbledore stopped slowly turned back to them, re-adjusting his glasses.

“How – how will you know what time to meet us?”

“I will know,” he replied calmly, and then vanished into the crowds.

It was only then that Snape realised that Lily’s grip on his hand was painfully firm. Her little knuckles had turned white and his fingers were a blushing pink where they were crunched together. He had never held a girl’s hand before and had no idea how to address the problem.

“He just left us here…” said Lily softly, in disbelief. “All alone, in the middle of the street – a street behind a brick wall – a brick wall that –”

“Lily,” Snape interrupted. She was becoming quite frantic and he could feel her heart pounding faster and faster through her grip. “Magic…” he reassured her.

“It takes some getting used to,” she admitted.

A small explosion shook the street and the pair jumped in fright. It was followed by a shower of brightly coloured feathers that flew out the shattered window of the shop on their right amid a trail of curses. Birds screeched in high pitched cries and a small trail of black smoke wafted after the feathers. Snape rose to tiptoes and thought he caught a hint of flame deep within the shop.

“Bloody phoenixes,” hissed a passerby, ducking to avoid the black smoke. “More trouble than they’re worth!”

The sign on top of the shop squeaked and fell to the ground with a crash.

Eeylops Owl Emporium

It was quickly restored to its lofty location by a tall witch. A purple spell poured from the tip of her wand, took hold of the sign and somehow stuck it back onto its metal cornice. Next she set herself to fixing the window. Lily and Snape watched in awe as every piece of fractured glass picked itself up and flew dutifully back to the window where it remelted and cooled in an instant leaving a perfect, unbroken shopfront.

“Oomprh!”

There was a collision in the middle of the street and Snape found himself sprawled over the smooth stones. A dozen feet whizzed past his face kicking dust up onto him which inevitably stuck to his greaser than usual hair. Lily ended up in a heap beside him, still clutching onto his hand.

“You fell-” she flicked her hair back off her face and hopped to her knees, pulling Severus up with her.

“Well spotted…” he automatically snapped, as they dusted each other down and he finally regained use of his hand. Technically, he hadn’t ‘fallen’ he’d been ‘pushed’ – an important distinction that the girl didn’t show the slightest bit of interest in.

Lily’s eyes fluttered back to the storefront where a beautiful red owl retook its place at the centre of a bronze perch. Its feathers had tips of gold that matched its enormous eyes which the creature used to survey the street and in particular, Lily as she inched closer to it.

“We have to go to the bank,” said Snape, snapping Lily out of her enamoured daze, “before we can buy anything. Did your parents give you money?”

Lily dug into her bag and pulled out a heavy purse. It jingled in the affirmative.

“Muggle money?” he asked. She was confused for a moment and then nodded. Of course, how stupid of him, how would she have anything else? “We have to change it into wizard money,” he explained. “I think that’s why the Professor wanted me to take you there but –”

“You don’t know where it is, do you?”

He found the confession of it unreasonably embarrassing so he settled on, “It can’t be hard to find. It is supposed to be the grandest building in all of – what?”

Lily pointed down to the far end of the street they were standing on with a satisfied smirk. In the distance several crooked pillars of white marble towered over the rest of the shops. They held up several layers of a snowy white building, gleaming in the sun. The building proudly owned a set of heavy wooden doors, encrusted with jewels and edged with gold.

“Just a guess,” she offered tentatively, “but is that it?”

“For a muggle,” Snape begrudgingly admitted, as they started out towards it, “you’re very observant.”

“For a wizard,” she saved him from another collision with a mad-looking witch with several feet of crazy hair, “you’re very not.”

Ordinarily he was but ever since meeting Lily Evans his accident count had greatly increased. She’d somehow destroyed his sense of balance – or maybe it was his vision that was blurry – he couldn’t tell because everywhere he looked, all he saw was the grinning redhead.

It took them ages to reach those doors. Every step they took towards them, the crowd nudged them backwards and it was only when Lily ducked and pulled him underneath the stream of bodies that they were able to escape from the crowd and join the line of people trailing into the bank.

When Lily saw her first goblin, she yelped and hopped behind Snape as she had Dumbledore. Snape looked back over his shoulder and found Lily peering out over it, watching closely as the goblin, white hair and bony arms poking out from its uniform, returned to a register and continued receiving business.

“Goblins,” whispered Snape over his shoulder.

They were even shorter than Snape and Lily – by at least a foot, and sported bright red jackets with golden buttons and trimmed sleeves. Their intelligence was frightening, you could feel it gazing up at you, piercing through your eyes and straight down into your soul, deciding whether or not you’re here to steal. Snape closed his mind and thought of nothing but a bubbling stream, taking a turn around a brown bank. The goblin broke its stare and returned to balancing galleons on a scale.

By the time they reached one of the counters (and clambered onto the boxes presented), Lily was too afraid to speak and it was left to Snape to fumble her purse onto the counter.

“We would like change muggle money,” said Snape clearly, aware of the rumours surrounding Goblins and their poor hearing which they always used to their advantage.

“Exchange rates are on the board beside you,” it droned with disinterest. “Objections must be made prior to counting. Sign here please.”

He nudged a black feathered quill toward her. Lily looked at it but didn’t register it as a writing implement until Snape picked it up and dipped it in an ink well for her.

“Oh…” she gently took it from him as a drop of red ink hit the counter. The goblin flinched but made no comment. “I don’t have a signature,” she whispered nervously to Snape.

“I think you can just write your name and make it look – hard to read.”

She thought about it for a moment and then wrote, Lily Evans in perfect script before putting several decorative lines through it.

“I’d believe it…” Snape rubbed his hooked nose on his sleeve as she handed it back.

The goblin whose name appeared to be Gersward, didn’t seem to care what was scrawled on the paper as he immediately emptied Lily’s purse onto the table and prodded its contents with a long, sharp finger.

“Twenty-three galleons, fourteen sickles and eight knuts,” the goblin moved three neat piles of coins in her direction.

Lily didn’t think it looked like much considering the amount she’d handed over, but then again, the first one – galleons, they looked like actual gold.

“Th-thank you,” she slipped it all into her purse.

Thank you? Thought the goblin, muggles…

“Will there be anything else, young sir?” Gersward thoroughly hated this time of year. It was predictably flooded with unaccompanied eleven year olds staring, doe-eyed holding up proper procedure.

“I think he means you,” Lily nudged Snape gently.

The key, the key – the key… Snape burrowed his hand deep into his pockets and wrapped his fingers around the little silver key.

“I have this – a key,” he presented it for the goblin’s inspection. The key was tiny and light as a feather, delicately ornate with a serial number etched along its shaft.

“Zero-three-three-zero-six-two-nine,” the goblin sniffed the key to check its validity. “You are Snape’s child,” he assumed correctly.

Severus’s heart thudded unpleasantly. They couldn’t possibly know… not yet.

“He is,” Lily answered of him, when it became clear that Snape couldn’t.

The goblin hopped off its chair and completely vanished behind the desk. Snape and Lily instinctively leaned in, searching for the horrid creature that was already behind them, waiting. Gersward announced himself with a discreet cough.

“This way, if you please,” he beckoned them forward.

They followed him through the marble foyer and down a set of stairs to the left.

“There are many vaults in Gringotts,” Gersward explained as he reached the first locked door. He whispered something to the door in a language Snape and Lily couldn’t understand, and it swung open for them. “It would be a shame to steal from any of them.”

This time it was Snape that fell, ever so subtly, behind Lily.

“Thief, you have been warned, beware – of finding more than treasure there…” The goblin made a horrible rasping sound that may have, in a time long forgotten, passed as a laugh.

“Yes,” it continued, opening another door, this time with a key of its own, “a goblin always knows when treasure is unjustly on the move, the real question, the only one that matters,” he was talking to himself now, entirely forgetting the children behind him, “is whether or not he cares.”

They came to a stop in front of a wall full of keyholes. Vaults, thousands of them, sprawled out into the dark tunnel. These were not expensive vaults, they were the basic, standard, almost post-box like holes in Gringotts magical walls.

“Your vault, Master Snape,” the goblin pointed at a small square on the wall with a keyhole marked 0330629.

Snape swallowed hard.

He took exactly fifteen galleons from his father’s vault. No sickle more. Severus had prepared it all so carefully and determined the minimum amount he would need for a basic set of school supplies. Still, it made him sick inside to think what he was doing and what made it infinitely worse was his mind wondering endlessly why the goblin hadn’t stopped him.

4

THE WAND AND THE OWL

Diagon Alley had doubled its already bulging population by the time Snape and Lily spilled back out into it.

They began their hunt for school supplies with wands – it was always best to start there, if nothing else, at least you could make magic. That, and there was no way that either of them would be able to focus until they had one.

Shoe shop, thought Lily, upon entering Ollivanders. Every available wall (and ceiling) was covered by rows of rather ordinary looking boxes. Compared to the noise of the street outside, it was eerily silent inside the poorly lit shop. Nothing but a few straggly lanterns hung across the ceiling and their dreary glow was hardly sufficient to illuminate the deep, dark corners of the shop.

“Ribbet!”

Snape and Lily gasped in fright. Sitting on a pile of empty wand boxes beside them was an oversized toad keeping watch over the shop. It croaked again, unapologetically.

“Yes, yes, yes – my, my, my…” an old, crackled voice trailed off, far out of sight at the back of the shop. The wand boxes towering around Ollivander jiggled with excitement. One of them would be picked – one of them would be free.

“It’s,” started Lily, deciding whether or not it was safe to approach the frog, “cute – I guess.”

“Careful,” warned Snape, “it could be an Animagus – a wizard disguised as an animal.”

Lily frowned thoughtfully, “But what kind of a wizard would turn into a thing like that? Not very useful, is it?”

Snape was about to debate the issue when Ollivander stumbled in, buried under the weight of several dozen wand boxes which he deposited on the front counter. He waited for the young wizard and witch to approach. In all his long years selling wands, he had always found it best that way.

“Ex-excuse me, sir,” Snape approached the counter cautiously with Lily hopping up beside him. “Is this where we buy wands?”

The answer was obvious, but Ollivander smiled reassuringly, spread his arms and said, “But of course. I have been expecting you.”

‘Ex-pec-ting us?’ mouthed Lily.

“Mmm…” Ollivander thought, looking down at the wizard curiously. “You’ll be wanting one of the dark-woods, a rich mahogany perhaps…” he wandered off. There was a shuffling of boxes in the distance and a few more half-formed sentences before Ollivander returned with two wand boxes.

He placed them both in front of Severus and carefully removed their lids. Two chestnut red wands with perfectly straight forms gleamed in the low light.

“Go on,” Ollivander encouraged.

Snape stretched his fingers toward the first wand, inching closer and closer until they brushed over the smooth wood. Finally, he took it in his hand and lifted it from the box. It was solid, firm but for all intensive purposes – just a piece of wood.

Ollivander’s head fell to the side and a moment later he retrieved the wand from Snape and snatched both boxes away before Snape had the chance try the second one.

“Too young,” said Ollivander to himself, back up his ladder. “Much too young. You need something –” his pale, silvery eyes lingered on a dusty box in the far corner.

Ollivander was gone a long time.

“Is it always like this?” asked Lily. “I mean, can’t we just pick a wand we like the look of?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” replied Snape, made a little nervous by Ollivander’s long absence. “The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around. We have to wait for the right wand.”

“Oh,” her voice fell even softer. “But what if a wand doesn’t choose me?” Her eyes were round and green, full of sincere worry. He didn’t answer her.

Ollivander returned nearly an hour later with only one box. It was a long, slender box made from a softly patterned wood rather than cardboard like the others. The seal on its front was not that of Ollivander’s wand makers, but a mostly-faded trio of circles that gently spun around each other.

“If you please, young sir,” Ollivander pushed the box toward Snape, not daring to open it. It was clear that he was deeply curious, on the cusp of a mystery that had haunted him.

Snape reached for the box and as he did, it rattled. Ollivander’s eyes brightened.

“Yes,” he whispered, “open it.”

Snape picked up the box in one hand and instantly felt its contents shuffle about restlessly inside. The wand was waking up from a long slumber and now it was ready to work. Like a creature, it grew restless.

Eventually Snape lifted the lid of the box to reveal an ominous 12 inch wand.

It was beautiful – ethereal and never quite there no matter how he turned his head. Snape took the wand and left the box on the counter. It shivered under his fingers, responding to the slow movements of his hand.

“I did not make this wand,” confessed Ollivander, as he watched the boy wrap his fingers around the ancient wood. “Agathis – nearly fifty-thousand years old. Buried, dug up and reformed long before our time. Until this moment, it has never shown a spark of life.”

The wand, whose grain appeared silken, like clouds captured in wood, made the air around its tip crackle when Snape gripped it tighter.

“I was beginning to think it nothing but a pretty stick,” Ollivander smiled, “and I regret that I cannot tell you anymore about this wand. It was made, if it was made, in a time of different magic. Indeed, it is entirely possible that it has a core of Hydra-heart or Nosferatu hair.” He lowered his eyes to the empty box, which he closed and moved to the side. “As such, I cannot tell you where its talents will lie.”

“He’ll take it,” said Lily with a grin, as Severus seemed to be completely enamoured with the wand and unable to converse. “How much?”

Ollivander backed away with his palms up as if freeing himself of something.

“No charge,” he insisted. “It is dangerous practice to sell a wand that is not yours. I have merely been its keeper.”

Snape finally came to his senses and tucked his new wand away inside his robes where it would be safe.

“Oh,” Ollivander snapped back into action, “I have your wand!” He ducked under the bench, snatched another box, and handed it to a surprised Lily.

“Willow,” he said proudly, “10¼ inches, nice and swishy. It will do you well for Charm work.”

The wand took to her immediately – to the misfortune of the shop. No sooner had she tried its ‘swish’ when all the boxes flew off their shelves, toppling to the ground around them in a great hail.

“Oh!” she squeaked in fright, horrified. “I’m sorry!”

Ollivander grinned, swiped his own wand over the room and restored order in a flash.

“Your wand is a little over excited – no matter.”

This time, he did charge for the wand and it was quite steep – almost a third of Lily’s purse gone in the first store.

Their books and robes, quills and cauldrons were found much faster. They each pulled a trolley now, no longer able to struggle with their bags as they headed back down Diagon Alley towards where they had started. There was only one item left on their list – an owl, and they knew just where to find it.

Lily was scurrying impossibly fast ahead of him, dragging her trolley dangerously behind her. Snape wanted to say, ‘wait – Lily!’ but she wouldn’t have been able to hear him over the crowd of wizards doing their best to leap out of her way.

By the time he caught up to her (after a mishap with a dwarf and a quick retrieval of his books), he found her waiting outside Eeylops Owl Emporium. They navigated their trolleys into the shop and left them along a bare wall.

Their air was full of soft, duffle feathers, wafting calmly around them – forever kicked up off the ground by shoppers’ feet. A small crowd of people hunted around the shop’s cages, tapping at their bars. There were not just owls inside but a whole range of magical creatures which were claimed to be trained to ‘carry messages anywhere’ and were of course, ‘reliable and reasonably priced’.

But there was only one owl that Lily could see and it was the most majestic creature in the room, happily preening itself on its gilded perch at the window.

The other customers gave it a wide birth – mostly because of the sign hanging beneath it that read;

‘ATTENTION ALL CUSTOMERS – OWL NOT FOR SALE.  KNOWN TO PECK SHARPLY IF APPROACHED. DO NOT TOUCH!’

Do not touch – a warning that Lily had never quite gotten the hang of.

She stepped toward the creature slowly, whispering to it. Its crimson feathers ruffled, revealing their golden tips and for a few moments it looked a bit like a pom-pom. The owl seemed as interested in the young witch as she was in it, and allowed her to reach out and gently stroke its head.

Lily’s fingers slipped in between its soft feathers and the owl leant in toward her, trying to get her to scratch a little harder.

Snape wasn’t game to get any closer to the pair. While it was friendly enough toward Lily, it shot warning glares with its enormous eyes to anyone else that so much looked at it.

Suddenly, a small, stout sort of a man in overly long black robes raced across the room, scattering the crowd in his shop.

“You mustn’ touch!” he shouted, nearly toppling another wizard balancing a falcon on his arm. “Musn’ touch!” he cried again, taking hold of Lily and pulling her roughly back. She nearly fell.

“Hey!” Snape ran over to assist, but Lily easily wriggled out of the man’s hold.

“Very dangerous,” he continued. A silver plaque glued onto his robes read, ‘Assistant Manager’. “Mustn’ touch that owl,” he kept repeating, as if it were the most important instruction ever given to him.

Snape could see why. The owl, no longer looking friendly, had a sharp flicker of green its eyes that wasn’t there before. If possible, it was taller having straightened up to its full height of nearly three feet.

“Will rip you three ways apart,” continued the assistant manager, clearly terrified of the owl. There were nasty scratches across his forehead and neck, possibly from the same owl which was inspecting the assistant manager as if it held a grudge.

“Does it take mail?” asked Lily calmly, grinning at the owl.

The assistant manager was taken off guard.

“Uh – uh – I – it should, I mean, it’s trained – but…”

“I would like to buy this owl,” she said simply, moving to pat it again but this time it was Snape that caught her jacket.

“Lily…” he cautioned. “It looks dangerous.”

“Not for sale,” the assistant manager swallowed, perplexed by the idea of anybody wanting such a horrid creature. Then he pointed at the sign.

“But if it was for sale,” she continued, “how much would it cost?”

“Twelve galleons but –” he hadn’t meant to say that, “not for sale, too dangerous,” he repeated. “There’s a lovely owl over here, same colour, bit smaller, eleven galleons-”

Lily cut him off, “I want this owl.”

“I-” he protested.

“Yes?” she insisted.

“But…”

“Give me the owl…” she demanded.

“Not ‘supposed to-”

“Thirteen galleons…”

“I-” the wizard seemed to consider this, glancing back at the horrible owl that had been nothing but trouble since its previous owner threw it back into their shop in disgust. It would be good to be rid of it. “Fine…” he finally agreed. “If you can carry it, you can buy it for thirteen galleons.”

Snape let Lily’s coat slip through his fingers as she returned to the owl which seemed perfectly happy to let her stroke its feathers. She extended her arm and whispered to it again. Dutifully, the enormous owl hopped onto her arm, carful to keep its sharp claws in check.

The whole shop was watching now, following her as she paraded the owl through the room toward the counter where the witch that had fixed the window waited. The people at the counter scattered.

“Thirteen galleons,” said the witch, extending her hand into which Lily emptied her purse.

Lily’s face fell in dismay. She was short – two galleons.

The witch behind the counter raised her eyebrow at the pitiful pile of sickles and knuts that simply refused to add up to two galleons no matter how many times Lily counted them.

“Here…” whispered Snape, handing her two shiny gold coins from his pocket. His last galleons. Lily frowned at him.

“That’s all you have,” she said, “what about your owl?”

“My parents will lend me theirs,” he lied quickly. “Go on, I think it might kill everyone in the shop if you don’t buy it.”

The owl blinked in the affirmative.

“Well,” said Lily slowly, “if you’re sure…”

A short time later, they returned to the place where Professor Dumbledore had left them. They felt a bit silly, standing their ground in a random spot, apparently in the way of everybody else. The owl, still on Lily’s arm, spread its wings and knocked a few teenagers over in the process.

“I think Merlin likes being out,” she stroked it again. Snape was still terrified of the creature.

“You’re really going to call it Merlin?” he inquired, eyeing the owl. It didn’t look one bit like the pictures he’d seen of the great wizard.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I am. Finally-” Lily pointed at Dumbledore, working his way toward them. “I thought he had forgotten about us. Mum’ll be worried, we’ve been gone for ages.”

They had, it was almost dark. A sinking feeling crept over Snape – he had been dreading this moment all day.

Dumbledore looked positively odd – more so than usual. One side of his hair was now shorter – singed off at an angle accompanied by several burn marks on his robes. Still, it hadn’t affected his mood. He was as aloof as ever.

“Well done!” he exclaimed, seeing their haul of things. “All set then. Fine creature,” he commented, spying her owl. Dumbledore instantly went to stroke it but the owl retaliated, wasting no time stabbing the professor’s finger with its sharp beak. It drew blood but didn’t damage Dumbledore’s opinion of it, “Excellent!”

Dumbledore returned them to Spinner’s End, starting with Lily.

“That was wonderful,” she said, heading toward her front door with her trolley and owl. “I can’t believe school starts tomorrow!”

Snape waved as her door closed and she disappeared into the house.

“Now, for you,” Dumbledore turned to the small, dark haired boy.

“Sir…” Snape said quietly, “I don’t-”

“Have an owl, yes,” he pulled a wand from his robe, “it had caught my attention.”

Dumbledore pointed to the window on the top level of Lily’s house. Snape narrowed his eyes and quickly saw a small scruff of feathers launching itself at the window from the inside – trying but failing to escape from Lily’s room. Dumbledore flicked his wand and said, ‘Alohomora’.

The window clicked and slid open, freeing the creature which launched itself into the air and half-flew, half-fell to the ground beside Dumbledore and Snape.

“Mr Snape,” said Dumbledore, “meet my owl. He was kind enough to deliver a letter to your friend yesterday. As it happens, my need of his assistance has come to an end, therefore, from now on, he is yours.”

Snape’s eyes widened. The headmaster’s owl?

The owl seemed to understand and took to hopping along the ground beside the young boy.

“Now,” continued Dumbledore importantly, “the train leaves tomorrow. I have arranged with Mrs Evans for her to take you there with Lily early in the morning.”

Snape didn’t ask how Dumbledore had known that he couldn’t get to London.

“And now I bid you goodnight,” said the professor finally. “And welcome to Hogwarts.”

In a puff of smoke, he was gone and Snape was left all alone outside Lily’s house. He fought to hold a sob down – he could not go home again, not for a long time.

Hey everyone!

I have updated several of my major fanfics in the ‘Sanctuary’ category including the completion of, ‘People of the Sand’ which can also be downloaded as a .pdf file.

Its prequel, ‘Love in the Time of Science’ has entered its 18th chapter while the sequel, ‘Sanctuary of the Moon’ is now up to chapter 6.

Also, part of the same universe but set far into the future, ‘Red Dust Blue Blood’ now has 5 chapters. This fanfic is set on Mars where Helen must investigate a grisly murder whilst Ashley goes missing after an industrial accident.

All of these fanfics are rated M for adult themes and elements of horror. As a general disclaimer, I do NOT own or am affiliated with Sanctuary – I’m just borrowing them :D

UNTOLD SANCTUARY

RED DUST – BLUE BLOOD

by ellymelly

TABLE OF CONTENTS

01 Beautiful Chaos

02 Blood Relations

03 Lovers of the Past

04 Smoke and Sand

05 Accidents and Acquaintances

1

BEAUTIFUL CHAOS

18^th December, 3082

Helen watched the world escape beneath her, shrinking into a hazy ball of blue. Milk white clouds lulled by, apparently unaware of the seas shimmering beneath, plotting to transform their casual clusters into cyclones. It was always like this during the sun’s peak solar cycle – a beautiful catastrophe.

Another of the passengers roughly deposited a file into her lap. She startled, glancing up for the culprit but all she found was a bored looking bureaucrat doing the exact same thing to the next person. Raising an eyebrow, Helen Magnus flipped open the top sheet and started skimming.

It was a summary, detailing the purpose the team’s mission. She rolled her tied eyes and threw the folder onto the spare seat beside her, returning her gaze to the window. The shuttle skimmed out of the atmosphere and followed the curve of the Earth until it escaped the sun’s bombardment. In the shadow of her home planet, Helen saw the cities come alight, trailing along the coasts of continents like lonely stars.

She smiled, letting her eyelids fall closed. A moment later she was peaceful, finally asleep after a long day.

*~*~*

The man staggered backwards, holding onto the handle of the knife embedded in his stomach. Pain blurred his thoughts as his eyes searched feverishly around the room for the safe. He had dragged himself halfway through the building like this – gasping for air. Finally his hand found the keypad beside the silver box. He fumbled his pass code, slipping over the keys.

The door unlocked slowly, sliding across as the man coughed up another gush of blood. He was dying and knew it.

As soon as the safe was open, he reached into the small box and withdrew an old paper manuscript. There were footsteps coming down behind. They were tracking him, following the trail of blood straight towards him.

Panicked, the man threw the manuscript into the small, mesh wastepaper bin. He poured the remainder of his vodka over it and set the whole thing alight. The combination burned fiercely, blackening into ash as he watched.

“Found you…” announced a sinister voice, slipping into the small office behind the man. The pursuer carried a set of knives around his belt identical to the one in the man’s stomach. With an air of fascination, they withdrew another, slowly turning it between their fingers.

Flames reflected off the metal edge, dancing over the blade as it cut through the air.

The scientist, still on his feet, rested against his desk as he waited for the inevitable.

*~*~*

Mars wasn’t half as impressive as the brochures led you to believe. It wasn’t so much red, as pastel orange up close. Rust, by its very nature, was not particularly attractive. Neither was traipsing through it. There were reasons Helen rarely visited the new city and this topped them – miles and miles of sand getting into the air and over her skin. She couldn’t see what John and Ashley found so appealing.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said another member of the team, falling into step beside her. He was a young gentlemen dressed specifically for the walk rather than the orientation afterwards. Despite it all, he seemed to be enjoying himself as evidenced by the enormous grin hogging his face.

Helen didn’t respond. She shifted her shoulder bag, wondering if there’d be time to change when they reached the outer building.

“Really a marvellous feat,” the irritating man continued. “A terriformed planet, habitable to humans. Extraordinary.”

Hardly, thought Helen. Despite their best efforts, apart from breathable air, Mars was still the same lump of iron oxide it had always been. The ‘city’ held as the pride of the human race’s achievements was a smattering of buildings huddled together inside a small crater. In the beginning, when the promotional photos had been taken, they were stunning white pillars, capped in polished sheets of limestone. They glittered in the soft light, going pink at dawn and dusk. Granted, they had been beautiful then. Now the dust had got to them, reddening their edges and smudging into their facades.

Despite its three thousand permanent inhabitants, Prosperity appeared a ruin in the sand.

It was twilight before they reached the first building. The sun, a weak mew at best, had dipped behind the wall of the crater casting a shadow over the city.

The team of fourteen led by a tall man in green, filed into a squat building at the edge of the city. It was warm inside, a pleasant change from the freezing winds on the surface. Helen ditched her coat, stuffing it into her bag. She whipped her head forward, trying to shake her hair free of dust.

“Welcome to Mars,” said the leader of the group. His ginger hair was straight to his ears where it took on a light curl. “No time for sightseeing I’m afraid, we have a lot of work to do and no time to do it. Break into your teams and follow me.”

*~*~*

The scorched wreck was still smouldering when the first team approached. Level 4 of the Ecological sciences building had been badly damaged by the fire as it raged most of the night. A cloud of ash could still be seen on the horizon as the last of the light faded from the sky, revealing a glittering sky of stars. With no moon, it was their light that cast shadows after the sun was gone.

Helen was the last into the room, slinking around the burnt out doorway.

“Nice of you to join us, Magnus,” the team leader lifted his eyes to hers. Her inclusion on the team was not his choice. As far as Smith was concerned, Helen Magnus was nothing but a red flag for trouble. No-one knew anything about her except for ridiculous rumours.

The other five had lined themselves along where the windows had once been. Behind their feet was a sharp fall to the city streets. Helen joined them, waiting for the leader to continue.

“Two days ago this level was burnt to a shell. The forensic scientists have found a set of remains belonging to Dr. T. Edwards. He was of course, Mars’s chief climate engineer. This knife,” Smith withdrew a plastic bag with a blackened knife, “along with another like it, were found in the victim. It is your job, ladies and gentlemen, to find and bring this murderer to justice. Now, we have reason to believe that they are not working alone and that their ultimate goal is to destroy the terriforming equipment, making Mars uninhabitable. This must not happen. Work fast and diligently. Dismissed.”

Helen immediately made for the exit. She was stopped by a hand latching onto her coat sleeve.

“What are you doing? There’s work to do,” said Smith.

“I have contacts here,” replied Helen, tugging herself free. “You’ll have your answer inside the week.”

With that, Helen Magnus vanished out the door, descending the flight of stairs to the building’s foyer and out the double glass doors into the night.

*~*~*

Nikola adored this century.

It was a fresh, uncomplicated bed of corruption. He smiled, a thick moustache accentuating his grin. It was not so much that he loved corruption, more that all the major organisations were so busy watching each other that they left him in peace – a peace that he used to his advantage designing ever greater technology.

He sold patents whenever he needed money. Most of them ended up on space ships or Martian technologies and indeed, had he not blown the last wad of cash on this machine, he would be quite the wealthy gentlemen. Instead, he was as impoverished as he had ever been. But that was okay.

This was the main reason that he was surprised one night by the sound of the locks on his door thumping to the ground. There was another loud bang, bringing him to his feet just in time to see his door fly from its hinges and a group of people file in, covered from head to combat boot in black.

2

BLOOD RELATIONS

She ran her hand along the sand that lapped at the destroyed building’s edge. Helen felt the night through her coat – it was bitterly cold as if on the edge nothing. Martian life clung to existence by silken threads of atmosphere constantly ripped away by solar winds. The artificial magnetic shielding set up to protect the planet was fragile and in constant need of attention.

The street ahead of her led directly to a set of tall apartment buildings on the outskirts of the city. Behind them, the rim of the crater rose up, cutting a silhouette against the sky. Laneways criss-crossed in front of her, but they were all empty. She had to keep to the road as the footpaths had been consumed by unstable mounds of red sand, blown there in the recent storm. It was a constant battle against a planet that seemed set on burying them all.

More than a thousand years had passed since Oxford – since that night. It was a dream to her, a faint set of memories of times past and feelings lost to history. The only thing still sharp was the moment the needle had pierced her skin – it hurt, even now.

Helen spun silently, raising a sleek gun to the night air.

Something had darted behind her, rushing into the shadows. She eyed the parked cars nestled against the line of buildings. Helen could hear heavy breathing and the frantic heartbeats of the person cowering against a rise of sand.

“Come out if you want to live,” she took a step forward, backlit by an ocean of stars.

Whoever it was scurried around the cars and vanished into a side street.

“Or you could just run away,” Helen sighed, lowering her weapon. “Everybody else does…”

*~*~*

The black-clothed people in Tesla’s lab caught sight of the imposing scientist and froze, watching as Nikola buttoned his jacket calmly. There was an ever-present menacing air circling Nikola and the intruders could feel it tense.

“Do you have any idea,” began Nikola, his voice rising just shy of subdued fury, “whose Sanctuary you are breaking into?” He gave a cord dangling above his head a tug and the room was engulfed in a bright light which crackled, rife with scattered lightening.

Usually, this party trick was enough to startle would be thieves into leaving, but the team of whatever they were simply pulled a set of goggles over their eyes and converged on Nikola.

They were keen, he would give them that.

“I tried to be fair,” he sighed, sharpening his claws. Nikola’s eyes blackened into smooth domes as a set of sharp teeth grew from his jaw. He cocked his head, clicking several vertebras back into position as his vampirish form stirred.

The closest attacker quickly pulled out a small gun, aiming it at Tesla’s heart. Nikola raised his eyebrow. Would they ever learn?

He had expected the bullet to hurt – they always did, but this one was different. Instead of burning through his flesh, it was cold as ice, shocking his torn skin into uncontrollable shivers. He staggered backwards, inspecting the trivial hole in his coat before his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor in human form.

“Clever little birds…” he gasped.

Nikola was paralysed, hardly able to breathe as the unknown group began emptying his draws of documents into bags, smashing anything they could reach in the process. His masterpiece, a delicate system of copper disks, met its demise at the hand the group’s leader.

When they were finished, one of them strode over to Nikola. Seeing that the scientist was conscious, he knelt down.

Nikola’s eyes caught a flicker of silver where a set of ornate knives hid along their waist.

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you,” they said. One of the others had a bottle of flammable liquid and was busy splashing it over the room.

A moment later a match was struck and Nikola was left to watch as his life’s work caught alight and burnt furiously before him. Even though he couldn’t move, a tear slipped down his cheek and onto the dusty floorboards.

*~*~*

“By God, you look exactly the same.” John stepped aside, allowing Helen into the small apartment.

He didn’t. Time had taken its toll on John in the form of scars networked across his face and neck. His hair had started to silver in patches behind his ears whilst his nose was slightly larger and his eyebrows – a little longer. He was still alluring though, in ways Helen had always struggled to understand. All she knew was that she had missed him, these last years.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, still with a very British accent, as he closed the door gently.

They stood in silence, observing one another until John broke a shaky smile and said, “I called you, twelve years ago when I was back on Earth. You were in the papers again and I –”

“I know,” Helen cut him off. “We were very busy then.”

The silence returned. She didn’t mean to be harsh, there was just a lot of things that needed to be said – centuries to recover but as it so often turned out, she didn’t have the time.

“Is Ashley here?” she asked, catching sight of a female coat hanging on the back of the door. Ashley had been offered a job with a Martian security firm, so they shared an apartment.

“She went out earlier, hunting a petty thief. I shall tell her that you’re in town. Do you have a number that I can contact you on?”

“Ecological Science Building – Level 4. I’ll be there tomorrow morning. John?” John lifted his eyes from the floor, a place that they had chosen to settle to avoid Helen’s cold demeanour. “Is there anything that I need to know about the city?” she asked. “Nasty surprises that wouldn’t have been included in my briefing? I don’t have long for this job and I can’t afford diversions.”

He smiled, ever so slightly. This place has been his home for a long time, and he knew it well. He’s never grown particularly fond of it, but he can feel its blood rising and soul stirring with every new day.

“The food shipments have been delayed two months,” he began. “I help to distribute it, what little there is left. You might also want to keep an eye on the hydrogardens, they’re in poor condition after a rupture in the main water pipe. The firm Ashley works for suspects sabotage but I don’t know Helen, whoever did it lives here as well, and if the gardens go, then they’ll die like the rest of us.”

So basically, thought Helen, chaos as usual. He opened the door for her, and she slipped out, lingering in the hallway. “Give my love to Ashley,” she said, wanting to say more. “Tell her to write again.”

“No one writes any more, Helen,” he replied, closing the door.

*~*~*

She was knee deep in water and not happy about it. The thick pipe running along the roof of the tunnel took up most of the space leaving just enough room for her to walk below, scanning it for damage.

Ashley found cause of the problem a third of the way through the tunnel. The rivets holding each section of pipe together had been half unscrewed and then hit by something, smashing them back into the pipe at strange angles. Water leaked from each one in a process that would eventually flood the whole tunnel.

“Great,” she whispered, taking out her camera and snapping away for her employer. “All I need is sabotage…”

“Progress?” Her caddy, for lack of a better description, had finally made it to her position carrying the rest of her equipment. He was a young boy new to the concept of hormones, and seemed content in his job of trailing Ashley.

“Your father’s tunnel’s buggered,” she said, focusing her flashlight on the torrents of water pouring out. “He’ll have to turn the water off and replace the whole section unless he wants to start an underwater colony…”

“Was it like he said – on purpose?”

Ashley nodded. “I reckon so. Rivets don’t usually bash each other to pieces after a late night party. Not that you’ve ever been to one of those. Bad parenting tip.”

The boy took her camera from her and stowed it away. “It’s starting then, just like they said it would.”

“I hope not,” replied Ashley, sloshing through the water back toward the exit.

3

LOVERS OF THE PAST

It started with a ‘click’. A sharp, sudden snapping of metal as one of the rivets holding the pipe in place dislodged and hit the water. Ashley froze mid conversation when the pipe above her head groaned. She could hear the thousands of litres of water gushing through the pipe, swirling, trapped in endless currents. It was begging to be free and as a second ‘click’ rang out, it might just be about to get its chance.

Ashley closed her eyes as the entire line of rivets popped, flung out into the tunnel with the enormous force of the water pressure. She stumbled forward, taking the young boy with her as the pipe shuddered and cracked, unleashing a torrent of freezing water over them.

They plunged into the water, submerged by the pressure above them. The boy’s arms flailed wildly, his feet finding the bottom of the tunnel and kicking off, propelling him back toward the surface. He emerged in a nightmare of white spray.

“Ash!” he screamed, convulsing as water stuck in his throat. He coughed it out, treading water as he spun endlessly. The air was indiscernible from the water, heavy and thick in his lungs. His eyes stung, pierced by the saline edge of the unrefined liquid pumped out of the Martian crust. The lights above were blurred into a monotonous, disorienting glow.

He couldn’t see her. All he could hear was the great roar of the fractured pipe and the pounds of another series of rivets hitting the walls of the tunnel as they exploded from their holdings.

The water was rising around him, developing a current as it searched for an exit. He was no match for it, tugged and thrown about as the dark waters gathered speed. Eventually he slipped under, no longer able to fight the drag.

The boy opened his eyes in the water, madly searching for escape. He found a thousand tiny creatures, aglow in the murky water. Their limbs were delicate, notched by several joints and feelers. They drifted peacefully by him as the last of his breath bubbled away, rising in perfect spheres through the creatures.

*~*~*

Helen felt the city rumble beneath her. It was a soft shudder, rattling a tray of refreshments servicing the huddle of investigating officers. She hung back from them, strolling in and out of the morning light coming through broken windows.

“Five minutes…” Smith reminded her, pointing at his watch. The mysterious woman wouldn’t tell him what or whom she was waiting for, but he couldn’t keep the team waiting on her behalf – well, not for much longer anyway.

She nodded back, running a hand nervously through her hair. Helen had not seen her daughter for decades, ever since she moved to this horrid planet.

The building rumbled again, hard enough for the others to glance around in confusion. Mars was supposedly geologically dead. No plates, no continents grinding against one another – no reason at all to shiver its skin.

“What is that?” Helen asked Smith, as he joined her at the window. They kept back from the edge, out of reach of the wind kicking along the edge of the building.

“No idea,” he replied, as the trembling ceased. “But it feels like it’s right below us.”

Helen’s eyebrows furrowed, peaking out under a mass of unrestrained dark hair. “Do I need to worry?”

“Shouldn’t think so. Been here five times now and on every single occasion this place throws us a curve. You can’t get settled. She’s got life left in her yet, this world.”

“Are my five minutes up?” she craned her head to get a look at his watch.

“I can’t let you stay. The company wants you out examining the shield.”

“I know,” she folded her arms and turned back to the room. Two of the team had moved towards the door, waiting. Helen and Smith joined them with a sigh audible on her lips as she spied the red haired enthusiast from orientation.

*~*~*

“So beautiful,” he grinned. The wind buffeted his red hair as the dune buggy bounced and skidded over the sand hills. The dirt was coarse and slippery, falling away from the tires as the rickety piece of machinery navigated its way to a metal outcrop on the horizon.

There were eight shield generators placed equally around the rim of the dome-shaped enclose keeping the city safe from Mars’ vacuous atmosphere. This one was nestled between a low rise of ironstone, gnarled and ghastly as it poked through the ground in melted columns.

The buggy dipped over the last of the wandering dunes and found a gravelly expanse. It wasn’t like the rolled whitestone of estates back on Earth; this stuff was a razor sharp mixture of boulders and daggers from a mountain range that no-longer existed.

“God. Damn.” Helen gripped the metal bar over their heads harder, doing her best to remain inside the vehicle as it bounced again.

All of a sudden they were stopped. Smith swore, slamming the wheel with his hand in disgust. It wasn’t the wheel’s fault that the buggy had stopped, rather the exceedingly flat tire drooped over the gravel. He ordered everybody out and they went ahead on foot while he laid himself down on the painful gravel and began jacking the tire off.

As Helen had feared, the gingerbot was tracking her, striding up through the others so that he could not so subtly fall in step with her.

“Mike,” he introduced himself. Helen muttered her name half-heartedly at him. “Oh, I know,” Mike seemed amused. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

Helen couldn’t help but wonder if this was a trick question to get her attention.

“Most people say I look just like him – my grandfather.”

That made her take a second look.

Pale skin mottled with blemishes, thick eyebrows with loosely curled edges forming a permanent expression of wonder, scrawny disposition made worse by well-worn attire, disarming eyes – Helen tilted her head.

Maurice Newton. Through and through. How could she have not seen it?

“Now you see him,” he said. “The rumours about you are true I see.”

Her eyes snapped away defensibly.

“If it makes any difference at all, it was my grandfather who told me about you. He thought very highly of a Ms Helen Magnus, perhaps he was even a little in love.”

Helen picked up the pace, almost falling on the uneven ground.

“She couldn’t help her curiosity – that was half the thrill of a lifetime with Helen,” as his grandfather used to say with a sad smile. “He died a happy man because of you.”

Her breath caught. She swallowed a sob, brushing away the beginnings of a tear. Of course he was dead. She knew that. Hearing it though – having it confirmed as an absolute certainty, that was something else.

*~*~*

Nikola coughed. A thick layer of black smoke oozed around him full of singed paper. He couldn’t move, forced to lie there on the floor and wait for the encroaching flames. Vampires were hardly creatures with exceptional healing power, but even the most resilient of them could not survive an inferno. Nikola was only half-vampire, if that. He could see the end of his life coming – taste it in the smoke and for the first time since that night in Oxford he realised how much he wanted to live.

They had been young then, a thousand years ago hidden away in their ad-hoc laboratory. The terror he had felt then as the needle’s contents spilled into his veins had returned to him. He could see auras of red inside the smoke and feel fronts of heat creeping toward him. This is not how the great Nikola Tesla wanted to die – helpless and alone.

His work bench collapsed. He heard it slam into the ground and snap in half taking what remained of its contents with it.

“Not like this!” he screamed out.

*~*~*

“So this is the one of the famous shield generators,” she ignored Mike’s previous comment as they reached the metal cone. It stuck out from the ground, angrily pointing at the sky with its sharp tip.

“Clever little thing,” said Mike, kneeling down beside it. As it turned out, Mike was the shield specialist, taking after both his father and grandfather. Technology was in love with him, obeying his most gentle touch.

He traced his finger over the machine’s sinister tip, carving out an intricate pattern on its cone. It was a form of code – unlocking the outer shell of the device. Helen watched closely should she need to mimic him later.

“It really shouldn’t do that,” he commented, frowning in concern as the usually invisible shielding above them flickered.

Helen looked up, catching a ripple of purple ride along the roof of the dome, showing her its contours for the first time.

“Power fluctuations,” he said, inspecting a readout on the machine’s screen. “It’s been going on for months now. I’m not talking about slight changes in output,” he shook his head at her. “Just then we lost 87% of the power required to keep the roof up, the module shifted to its backup batteries to maintain the shield which is what caused the flicker.”

“How long do the batteries last?”

“A hour, maybe. It depends on how often they’re used.”

“But we’re back on mains now,” Helen looked up to where she knew the shield was. It was back to being an invisible curtain against the morning sky.

“Yes. For the moment we’re back on the main power supply but I hate to think what would happen if it failed for any great length of time.”

“It was only this unit that was affected,” Helen noted.

“On this occasion. I have a live feed back to my lab on Earth. Nearly every unit has reported similar power fluctuations. It’s why they called me. Why did they call you?”

Helen was taken aback for a moment. Mike wasn’t nearly as pleasant as she had summarised. “They need me,” she answered, “for all the things you can’t predict.”

“I thought it was because of him,” replied Mike. “They say that you’re the only one he listens to. The only one that can control him. No one would ensure this operation without you along to babysit.”

“What on –” she was about to say, ‘Earth’ but stopped herself. “What are you talking about?”

“Him. The man who built these this system in the first place. Nikola Tesla.”

Helen stopped dead. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“He should have been here to meet us,” said Mike. “As I was to understand it, the man’s never late.”

4

SMOKE AND SAND

“God, you’re an absolute mess. You’ll have to lose that moustache, singed to bloody oath.”

“Yes, thank you for your – ” Nikola rolled over, coughing violently. The smoke had worked its way deep within his lungs, blackening them. “Assistance…” he finished. Nikola’s long suffering neighbour had dragged him from the burning laboratory, down the stairs and out into the freezing snow.

Rome never changed. Millennia had passed it by calmly, as if wandering in and out of its marble streets while the rest of the world dug its feet in and battened down the hatches. Nikola buried his hands in the white powder. This was not the first time his life’s work had burned to the ground, reduced to a pile of smouldering rubble. It certainly wasn’t something that got easier to watch.

“Is there any good news?” he asked, ignoring the painful burns on his hand. They would heal.

His neighbour shook his head in amazement, “You really are an optimist.” Nikola assured him that he was just crazy. “Well, aside from the obvious fact that you’re alive – still. I swear I’ve known you for forty years and you never look any different. Yeah I know, don’t ask,” he caught himself, “the only other positive thing I can think of is the letter left for you this morning. I was on my way to deliver it to you when I found the whole place ablaze.”

“A letter?” Nikola lifted his head from the ground. Flecks of ash drifted over, spiralling with the snowflakes.

The neighbour eyed Nikola’s burnt hands, “Would you like me to open it?” Nikola glared, snatching the letter before growling, dropping it in the snow. “That’d be a yes then.” He unfolded the letter carefully, holding it up to the glow of the burning building.

“To Mr Tesla, owner of patent 3029A0,

Your presence is required for immediate repairs…”

“That’d be right,” hissed Nikola. “They never pay me for anything, skimp on materials, make drastic changes to design, and then want help when it breaks.”

“Are you going to be quiet so I can read this?”

*~*~*

The shuttle dropped him roughly in the desert, miles from anywhere. Nikola eyed the landscape. It was eerily quiet and choked by peripatetic dunes. Sol was at its brightest, shining high above but at this distance it was more like a light bulb than a star. Had it not been for the shield encapsulating the area he would have frozen to death very quickly in the faint milieu of light.

He waved sardonically at the awkward craft as it rose back into atmosphere with a storm of sand. The red particles embedded themselves in every nook of Nikola, staining him a general red. He hadn’t been on Mars five minutes before he decided against it.

“Horrid planet…” he muttered, attempting to dust himself off.

The rendezvous appeared to have failed as there was nothing to ‘rendezvous’ with other than a curious rock which Nikola approached, tilting his head in curiosity. It was a vaguely round protrusion, weathered on one side by the endless grinding of sand storms. Tesla had seen a lot of rocks in his time. During those few decades he’d spent seducing a geologist, identifying rocks had become an unwanted skill. This was no rock.

He got within a nose of it, rubbing away at its surface with the sleeve of his Victorian style jacket. Underneath all the grit was an ochre colour – naturally smooth. Nikola stretched out his tongue, resting its tip on the strange surface. Instantly he felt the pull as the surface tried to suck all the moisture in. Bone – a very large lump of ancient bone.

*~*~*

“These doors ain’t gonna hold the water,” an engineer hurried through the unground facility, upsetting piles of paper scattered over the office desks. “We closed them as soon as the pressure spiked but we’re losing integrity in the tunnel. It’s going to bleed out into the surrounding rock and when it can’t do that…” He came to a halt in front of the senior engineer. Professor Robert Hill was newly appointed after the sudden death of Dr. T. Edwards and currently having the worst possible day.

“We’re going to have a very pretty water feature in the middle of town…” Robert rubbed the vein between his eyebrows. By, ‘very pretty water feature’ he mean that the entire city would be drowned in thousands of litres of raw Martian water and they would lose the food gardens, essentially bringing an end to humankind’s attempts at colonisation. “What about the expert we sent in to assess the damage?”

“Ashley Magnus,” the engineer shook his head. “We had to close the tunnel doors. She didn’t make it.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Robert took a step closer to the rattled man. “Come on, I don’t have time to be subtle.”

“It’s the boss’s kid. Video footage shows him following Magnus into the tunnel just before the accident. He didn’t come out either.”

Robert felt ill. “The force of the artesian basin will eventually break our pumps. Get those drills working on an evacuation tunnel for the water – I don’t care how rough it is, as long as the water has another option. At least we won’t all drown.”

*~*~*

The dune buggy skidded over the sand in a crazy curve, nearly tipping over before coming to rest beside Tesla. Lowering their sunglasses, the driver eyed the man running his hands over a rock. It appeared that the rumours were true – the man was a complete nutter/eccentric –whatever.

“You Tesla?” the buzz-cut Major asked, well aware that the possibility of it being anybody else was slim.

Nikola spun around with his eyes agleam, “Did you know that there was life on Mars?”

The Major did away with his shades completely. “Yeah…” he replied slowly, as if it were the most obvious thing ever said. “Get in.”

“Fascinating,” said Nikola, as he slipped into the passenger seat.

“Someone wants you dead.” The Major shifted the car back into gear, racing down the side of the dune. They were headed for one of the shield generators on the outskirts of the liveable area, a good ten minute drive.

“I would be offended if they didn’t.”

“The government has taken extra precautions, changed most of your arrangements since the incident at your laboratory. We, your security, would prefer it if you didn’t lean out over the door like that whilst the vehicle is moving…” The Major grabbed the back of Tesla’s coat with one of his enormous hands and yanked the man back into his seat. “Appreciated.”

“You should be more worried,” said Tesla, preening himself, “about what you’ve already got in the car.”

That made him laugh. “They warned me you’d be trouble.” Nikola stretched out, resting his feet on the dash. “It’s a rough ride,” he cautioned.

“And so is life,” Nikola replied, closing his eyes.

*~*~*

Helen was not pleased by the news and had set to pacing around the shield generator as Mike sieved through its error log.

“I’m going to make a catastrophic error if you keep that up,” Mike lifted his eyes to the distressed woman. “They said that he was a colleague of yours – your reaction suggests that there is more to that story.”

“Got a thousand years?” she hissed back. Mike mistakenly took that as a joke.

“Oh, here he is now – or is that our car… no, it’s definitely him.” They both stood as the buggy approached with a red trail of dust swept up behind, stalking it.

As the car stuttered to stop, Helen couldn’t help but think about a similar scene back in Egypt, 1929. Humans may have moved to another planet, but they didn’t change.

“You’re going to regret this,” Helen whispered to Mike, as she caught sight of Nikola sporting a moustache.

*~*~*

John Druitt took the stairs three at a time, gliding down toward the depths of the Ecological Science Building. He was trailed by a security team two flights above, doing their best to catch him.

“Oy!” one of the grey-suited men yelled, puffing as turned and began the next set. “I said stop!”

He could see the final emergency door. John hit the landing and pushed into the engineer’s level. Half a dozen shocked scientists froze at the sight of the imposing man who was scanning the room.

“Where is she?” John growled.

One of the men, dressed in white pants and matching lab coat, shifted to the front. He was wearing a bright red hard hat, clutching a clipboard. “I am Professor Hill,” the man said.

The pursuing security team finally caught up, piling in through the door behind John in a grey blur. Several of them grasped onto John, pretending to have him captured.

“No, no…” Robert raised his hands, trying to calm the security detail. “Let him go. I was about to call him anyway.”

They did – but very reluctantly.

“Please, my office is this way.”

With the news Robert was about to deliver it wasn’t going to make a difference whether or not he had protection. Druitt was either going to help him – or kill him. It was as simple as that.

5

ACCIDENTS AND ACQUAINTANCES

The dust swirled in front of the buggy, temporarily enveloping it in a red blur which stung Helen’s eyes as its edges wafted out. She heard two doors slam. Mike straightened up beside her, wiping his greasy hands on his shirt as they both watched the dust.

A tall silhouette was the first to emerge. Like a slender shadow, it slinked toward them with a confident air. There was no mistaking that strut – the way each foot seemed to glide before landing or the rigid line of his shoulders greeting the world like a wall.

“Nikola Tesla,” said Helen, self-consciously fixing her hair.

A gentle wind kicked the dust away revealing Nikola, his escort and the buggy that was parked crookedly on the embankment. Helen had to do a double take – sporting a thick moustache and attired in an early 20th Century suit, he appeared as a distant reverie – a shadow from her past merging with the present. It was the same feeling others must experience upon seeing her.

“Did you know,” he announced as soon as he had come to a stop in front of them, “that there was life on Mars?” Nikola seemed genuinely taken with the concept, eagerly awaiting her answer.

Helen couldn’t quite believe it – three-hundred years and that was the first thing that he chose to say to her. She frowned and briefly looked away, running her eyes of the desolate border between the sky and dirt.

“Do you,” she inquired, whipping her head suddenly back with a storm of hair flying over her shoulder, “participate in television, newspapers, radio?”

Nikola ran a finger thoughtfully over his moustache. “You mean, other than inventing it?”

“It’s a worry…” Helen trailed off. Nikola took a few steps closer, dipping his head in.

“What is?” he asked, menacingly.

“You, Nikola.”

He went quiet. Yes, he was the first to admit that he led a solitary life, often cutting himself off from the rest of the world for exceptional lengths of time but he had always figured that that had something to do with the world ignoring him. Mutual apathy. Thus, the world’s events were often lost on him and the passage of time made trivial.

“But you still love me,” he ventured quietly, almost too privately for this very public meeting.

Helen couldn’t help it – she rolled her eyes dramatically and let a grin slip over her lips. “A thousand years,” she began, “and you think I’m going to admit to that in the middle of a god-awful Martian desert?”

He matched her grin with a line of sharp teeth. “It really is awful, isn’t it? I thought that Mars would be more pleasant, like a beach in the southern ocean.”

The far-too-cool-to-be-standing-here-ignored Major stepped forward and slapped Nikola on the back. “Introductions are over, time to work.”

Helen twinged, aware of Nikola’s dislike of physical contact. The military officer was just lucky that Nikola’s attention had already roamed to the field generator behind them.

“Look what they did to it…” Nikola exclaimed, pushing past Helen and Mike (whom he was yet to acknowledge). He ran his hands along the outer casings of the machine, stroking it like a favourite pet. “What a disaster.”

The rest of them assembled in a semicircle around him. “Can you fix it, Nikola?” Helen knelt beside him.

“I could re-design it,” he muttered. “But this needs to be put out of its misery.”

“We can’t do that, Nikola,” she replied. “The life support for the planet would fail – thousands of lives.”

“What did they do?” he asked himself out loud. “Scrounge up the cheapest, flippant excuse for an engineer and let him violate this beautiful design.”

Mike cleared his throat loudly. “That would be my grandfather.”

Tesla snapped his head up and narrowed his eyes madly at the scrawny, red haired individual. He looked vaguely familiar, like a bad scent that had embedded itself in the fabric. “You’re a Newton,” he hissed, as if the very words left a sour taste.

“Nikola…” Helen cautioned, sensing trouble. “Fate of the planet…”

Mike and Nikola took an instant, violent dislike of one another.

“Fine,” Nikola said at last. “It will take me a while to determine what’s wrong. You will have to leave me with it.”

Mike snarled, unhappy with the thought of his machine being left in the hands of this horrid person. “I don’t trust him.”

“Thank you,” snapped Nikola, “for the vote of confidence. I might just destroy it to spite you.”

*~*~*

“Please take a seat, Dr Druitt,” the Professor extended his arm in the direction of the minimalistic chair, half pulled out from the desk. Hill’s office was brightly lit and lined with one way glass . At its most basic, it was a corner of the lab that had been sectioned off, pretending to be an office but really, Robert Hill had only been here a few days and none of the items inside the room were his. Mostly he felt like a trespasser, borrowing his superior’s office.

John sidled into the office, ducking under the low doorway. The scientist ducked around the other side of the desk and sat awkwardly in the chair, hinting for him to do the same. John didn’t sit. He knew that something very serious had gone amiss and he was going to find out.

“As you wish,” said Robert, folding his hands nervously in his lap. “I have just been informed that the water pipes connecting the underground water with the gardens has ruptured. We are taking measures to avert damage to the city but we’re still not sure if we will succeed. The danger to the Martian colony is quite real.”

“The whole city felt the rumble,” said John simply.

“For some time now – several months, we have suspected foul play on our technologies. Someone has been sabotaging our basic services. The last case was anomalous damage to the water pipe. A Ms. Ashley Magnus was called in under contract to assess this damage.” The man opposite shifted uneasily as his dark eyes glossed in unsettled fear. “She was doing this when the first pipe ruptured. We waited, as long as we could,” Robert protested, as John turned and went to leave, already understanding that his daughter must be dead, “but we had to close the doors to save the city.”

Unchallenged, John raged out of the office and back up the stairs to the main building’s foyer. It was large and sleek, with granite walls and twisted columns with no purpose but honouring the early human architecture. The sun had risen high now – its pathetic light streamed in the heavy glass doors betraying the emptiness of the building. Everything seemed hollow on this planet. It had about every feature a loneliness. Though a few inhabitants tried to makes homes out of it, Mars had lost its life long ago and it spent its time in mourning, crying through its red tides.

As he pushed out the doors and into the street, John made a vow to the planet itself – he would find who was responsible for his daughter’s death, and he would make them suffer the unimaginable loss.

*~*~*

“Do you think he’ll be all right – out there alone?” Mike tried not to squash Helen into the opposing door of the vehicle as they turned the corner sharply. They hadn’t left Nikola entirely alone – the Major was there, watching over the landscape like some kind of predatory bird keeping its prey.

“You mean,” said Helen, over the noise of the engine, “do I think that your precious shield generator will be okay left alone in his company?” Mike shrugged in the affirmative. “Yes. You may not like him,” she continued, clinging onto the head rail for dear life as their driver came too near a protruding rock, “but there is no soul in the human race better at what he does.”

“Yet still I worry,” he sighed. “Is he really the man that –”

He was stopped by Helen’s vivid eyes, glaring at him. “Yes. But don’t say anything. There is one thing that the man’s ego doesn’t need, and that’s stroking.”

“I wanted to ask you something else –” Mike began, but he did not get to finish for the buggy was thrown sharply to the side where it reared up on two wheels and threw its two passengers onto the sand. After this, it flipped entirely with the driver still fighting the wheel. It careened along the side of a mound until burying its bonnet and pivoting upright. The driver toppled limply from his seat, snapped his back on the bars protecting the seats, and then hit the ground.

Helen stirred first. She had not lost consciousness, but her vision was blurring and several parts of her body throbbed with the impact. Something had happened, but she couldn’t recall anything but the frightening rush of sand next to her.

There was a black shuttle hastening toward them, gliding silently over the broken landscape. Helen lay there, watching it approach – unable to move.

UNTOLD SANCTUARY

SANCTUARY OF THE MOON

by ellymelly

TABLE OF CONTENTS

01 Nothing but Lies

02 Tracks in the Mud

03 Empty Tombs

04 Buried Citites

05 Lockdown

06 Room with Columns

1

NOTHING BUT LIES

It was a humid afternoon, clinging to the end of summer. Ashley ducked under the roar of the helicopter as it flung a fresh sheet of water over her face. The blades beat the surface of the nearby river, sending shallow waves onto the bank which was thick with weeds and unpleasant refuse from the last town before the rainforest.

Finally, the noisy machine lifted off the ground and headed toward the low lying mountains behind her. Dripping, she rang her pony tail onto the ground, flicking it over her shoulder before doing the same to her coat.

She waved at the pair of small children who had moved in for a closer look, half hiding behind a stand of shrubs. They had strayed from the village, following the black chopper as it sailed in close. The pair ventured out and waved back at the blonde woman, grinning with bright eyes against dark skin.

Ashley knelt onto the damp grass, slipping her backpack off. She dug through it, quickly finding her father’s journal. Flipping through the delicate pages, Ashley scanned each one until she caught sight of it – a map, roughly drawn by her grandmother and beside it a line of instructions. It didn’t look particularly forthright but if her grandfather could find the Sanctuary of the Moon using this, then so could she.

Turning it around so that the North symbol lined up with her compass, Ashley started searching for matching landmarks and soon found the Smouldering Match – a dark line of smoke leisurely trailing into the sky from a volcanic outcrop. An eagle soared over head, catching her eye as it enjoyed a warm air current. She wished that she could join it, play on the air for a while away from the world and all its trouble.

Instead, she gazed at the jungle in front. The knee length grass field that she was standing in ended fifty or so metres ahead. The dark green jungle loomed beyond, like a wave rearing up on the shore.

*~*~*

They relocated detective Joe Kavanaugh to one of the guest bedrooms where he happily fell into a deep sleep. His injuries were minor and not in any immediate need of attention. Helen closed his door and turned to John, Henry and Nikola who had been shadowing her through the corridor.

“Follow me,” she said sternly, though they didn’t need to be told. All of them could feel the air tensing around the brunette as she strode ahead, clearly upset by the turn of events.

She led them to the medical lab, ushering them into a line along the glass enclosure where Will sat on the edge of the hospital bed. When Helen had seen John and Tesla appear in her foyer, she had been inches from Will’s skin with the tip of the needle. Its contents would have killed him quickly and painlessly but her instinct told her to stop, that this couldn’t possibly be the end for him, and she had been right.

“I want you to tell me again,” she said to Nikola, who had broken the line and instead reclined against the desk containing print outs of all his files. He eyed one of the piles, folding his arms across his chest with disapproval.

“This one,” he nodded at Henry, “has parroted my research correctly. I have strong reason to believe that there is a small community of vampires living in the Peruvian rainforest. The closest civilisation is the water-locked city of Iquitos. If Ashley’s smart, she’ll stop there for a guide. Sadly, Ashley has the only map so once we get there, we’ll be wandering blind.”

“How did she get her hands on a – you gave it to her… If this is one of your desperate attempts to get your claws on vampire blood, Nikola, then I am going to kill you myself.”

“I assure you,” he replied, “that although it might be true that I’m making the best of the circumstance presented to me, I did nothing as advantageous as orchestrating it. It was your pet sand creature that attacked me in the middle of the night, remember?”

He had a point. “There are no copies of the map I presume…”

“None.”

“Helpful, Nikola.” Helen glanced at Will as he bent forward in pain. It was starting again. He didn’t have long. “You’re coming with us. Pack light everyone, we have a plane to catch. Not you Henry –” Helen caught his arm as he headed for the door with the others.

“But I’ve been researching this. Helen, I know the data. You might need someone with this information – you can’t just trust that man.”

“And you trust his research? For all you know Henry, he may have left that there for you to find. We have Nikola, and for the moment at least, our goals are the same. The fewer people we have with us, the faster we can move. I don’t want Ashley out there alone.”

“You know, ‘that man’ is standing right here…”

“Stay out of this, Nikola,” Helen glared at him. He bowed out of the room with a smirk.

“Helen, you’re going to need me,” pleaded Henry.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But Will needs you more.”

*~*~*

Ashley surveyed the river cutting through her path. There had been unseasonal rain, and now rivers were popping up that were not labelled on the map. This one was about three metres wide but gushing with a frightening velocity. If she missed the bank, Ashley would be washed in its current god knows how far off course.

There was no choice though, she would have to cross it.

Her backpack went first, flung across the gap where it landed safely on the other side.

“See, not so hard,” she said to herself. If her backpack could do it…

Ashley backtracked, taking a run up through a patch of clear, but muddy ground. She took one last look at the murky river as it raged past and then dug her heals in, launching herself at it in full run.

Her legs stretched out, striding through the air as her arms clawed forward until she hit the opposite bank. She landed on the ground hard and immediately started sliding down its inclined bank toward the river. The ground was covered in silty mud that was nearly impossible to get a grip on.

“Urgh, come on!” she hissed, as she felt water rushing over her boots.

*~*~*

Helen tightened her belt, drew her long, weatherproof coat around her and concealed an assortment of weapons on her body. John rested against the wall beside the front door, watching the large clock tick away the time as they waited for Nikola. Their bags were ready to go and the car was out front, prepped to take them to Helen’s private jet parked in a dark corner of the airport.

“What could possibly be keeping him?” Helen paced over the floor.

“He was never particularly reliable,” commented John, readjusting the tape Helen had strapped over his face where the creature’s claw marks cut deep.

“Will you two ever get over each other?” she shook her head. “Sometimes I think that this jealously was more about competition than actually loving me.”

Henry bounded into the room, kitted out in jeans and a jacket with heavy boots and a bundle of bags.

“Henry, we discussed this,” said Helen sternly, eyeing his travelling clothes.

“Mr. Tesla is gone,” he panted, out of breath from the run down the hall. “I checked all of the motion senses and security cameras. He disappeared into the library and never came back.”

“Typical,” grinned John.

“Don’t you dare enjoy this,” Helen instructed. “The reality is that without him, we’ve got no chance of finding Ashley – what is it Henry?”

Henry held up a bundle of papers. “I know where he’s going, Helen. I can do this. Will’s dead if we don’t leave now. Worse than dead.”

Helen shifted her gaze between the expectant Henry and the impatient John, who shrugged his approval.

“Ready to leave?” she nodded at Henry’s bags. “Let’s go then. Next time I see Nikola, he better have a bloody good explanation.”

*~*~*

Ashley looked like a mud monster that had crawled out of some festering swamp. She sniffed her arm where the mud was starting to dry into a shell and crack off. This was just like the old days, she thought, tracking abnormals in their native environment. The only difference here was that she knew that the abnormal in question was way smarter than her, worse still, she wasn’t just hunting it, she wanted to talk to it.

“Right map,” she held the book with slightly muddy hands. “A little help would be good.”

There was no path to speak of, only a trickle of water running over a twisting line of boulders cutting through the foliage. She clambered over each one, sliding on their rough surfaces until she reached their top and could stare out over the next fall of jungle.

Suddenly, the ground underneath her gave way. All she saw was the stunning view vanish to black as her body curved, freefalling. She held onto the journal, pulling it to her chest as she hit the soft ground. Ashley’s vision blurred, her thoughts fractured by the fall. Above was the bright hole where she had fallen through the weak earth. Tree roots dangled around her, one brushing over her face. She moved it aside, sitting up with a groan.

An avalanche of dirt drained off of her – not that she could get any more filthy…

“Urgh…” she rested her head on her knees, closing her eyes. “Ouch.”

It was a while before she located her torch and began inspecting her situation which couldn’t possibly be a good one. The ground which had given way was four – maybe five metres above her head. Initially, she thought that she might be able to climb up the sides of the hole, but the earth was too soft. The tree roots, though prevalent, pulled free every time she tested their strength.

With the obvious route of escape failing her, Ashley turned her attention to the ground level. The hole extended into the earth around her, almost like a cave. On closer inspection, she found that one of the side walls had been propped up by timber. It was soft and mostly rotten but at one stage it had definitely been a doorway of sorts. The inside of it was blocked by a recent fall of dirt from above, flowing out into the main room. Perhaps it would be possible to clear a space through that.

The rest of the floor was bare. There was nothing at all that she could use as leverage to climb up toward the hole at the top, not even a well placed bolder like the thousands that she had trampled over to get this far.

“I refuse to die in a hole,” she told herself firmly.

Returning her attention to the ominous doorway of wood, Ashley began to dig into it with her hands. She kept her torch off, conserving its battery unaware of the tunnel waiting beyond.

2

TRACKS IN THE MUD

Helen waited on the phone, impatiently tapping her fingers against the plane’s window until the tone rang out and Ashley’s message service clicked on. Helen ended the call; another message wouldn’t make any difference to the eighteen unread ones already in there – no doubt having a nice chat about why their intended recipient wasn’t answering.

“Her phone does work, doesn’t Henry?”

Henry was tucked into the chair opposite, watching the clouds waft past as Helen’s private jet skimmed in over the mountains. He had an unsightly blue rug scrunched up under his nose which he had to fold back to speak.

“Yes, like I said,” he mumbled, simultaneously hungry and sleepy after the sixteen hour flight. “She’s set up on the global roaming thing. If her phone’s not working it’s because she’s dropped it, or drowned it, or one of the many other new and interesting ways that Ashley Magnus had discovered to damage technology. I’m a particular fan of her work on the microwave.”

“Sorry Henry,” Helen realised that she’d been pestering everybody onboard for hours and it was starting to grate. “I’m just worried.”

The plane shook again, falling through an air pocket. Unstable weather went with the territory. High mountains created turbulence – at least it meant that they were getting close.

“Me as well, doc.” He didn’t admit to leaving a few of his own messages on Ashley’s phone. “But we’re gonna find her. We know where she’s headed –”

“Roughly…” added Helen, with an ever-so-slightly raised eyebrow.

“I can do a little better than ‘roughly’.” These days Henry was constantly in the presence of a large pile of paper. He had brought Tesla’s print outs with him – not all of them of course, only the ones that were difficult to acquire. At the moment they were neatly filed away in his shoulder bag. “As long as she doesn’t get lost, we should all end up at the same place and you can ground her then.”

Helen really hoped so, otherwise her daughter was out there alone, about to wander into the lair of the most dangerous Abnormal that ever lived.

*~*~*

Far from walking, Ashley found herself clawing forwards through the dirt – torch clenched between her teeth whilst she tried not to dribble all over it.

She was in a bit of a tight spot – lodged between a mound of dirt and the roof of the tunnel. The hole that she had dug for herself was on the small side and so she had to squeeze painfully through it, nearly getting stuck on the way.

“Come on hips,” she grunted.

Finally, she emerged, dusting herself down unnecessarily. They layers of mud and dirt on her were never going to leave her voluntarily.

She perched on the tunnel side of the mound, with her legs dangling over the rise of dirt in front. Prying the torch from her teeth, Ashley panned its light over the area in front. What she found was a narrow, half collapsed tunnel lined with the same trestles of wood as the entrance. Whatever this place had been, its previous life was long buried.

Ashley slid down the mound onto the semi-solid ground, landing in a puff of dust.

“Well, this is better,” she said to the tunnel. At least it showed promise – in other words, she couldn’t see the end of it which meant that it had to lead somewhere.

She progressed through it, slowly at first but soon her patience wore thin and Ashley entered a jog. The air got staler as the tunnel took her down further beneath the ground. Maybe she had been wrong, perhaps this was a mining tunnel and the exit was back the way she had come. What if it was an abandoned shaft, a hunting trap, some useless idea or any number of unhelpful things?

‘Always look before you leap…’ Wise words she usually chose to ignore. In her defence, it was more of a ‘fall’ than a ‘leap’.

Not ready to give up, she took a few more deep breaths and settled into a pace. She was mid-step when she felt it – the lower part of her ankle buckle and roll. Orthopaedics. She couldn’t count the number of times her mother had begged her to wear them yet still she insisted on going without. It was times like these, when she was trapped in a collision course with the eager ground, that she wished she’d listened to her mother.

“Ow…” she skidded to a halt, losing her grip on the torch as her hands spread out, taking the impact. “No, no, no –” Ashley watched as her torch began to roll away from her, catching the sharpening slope of the ground. “You get back here!”

She was on her feet, half-limping half-hopping in pursuit of the escaping torch, grimacing every time that she tried to put useful weight on her sore ankle. It wasn’t seriously injured, just refusing to co-operate with her. Her torch seemed content to continue this chase, gaining speed and distance from Ashley.

Soon Ashley couldn’t see the ground in front of her – only ahead where the torch’s light bounced, unhelpfully illuminating more walls of dirt.

“Don’t make me replace you with a Maglite,” she stumbled on.

It didn’t seem to care for her insults, vanishing from sight as it dropped over the edge of something that Ashley was yet to reach. Darkness, pure and black engulfed the tunnel around Ashley. She brought herself to a sudden stop, reaching out to the wall beside.

“Shit…” she whispered.

*~*~*

They took a boat upriver from Iquitos. Their petrol motor jutted and spluttered its protest at being picked for the trip, but Dr. Helen Magnus had paid good money for its services so their guide whacked the plastic cover with his stick and it quietened.

Henry sat up front, cross-legged on the bow of the small fibreglass boat. He gripped the pale blue bars, dislodging the old paint that had never really adhered in the first place. The wind was pleasant, whipping across his face in something that felt awfully like freedom.

The Amazon rainforest sprawled out ahead, climbing up a set of mountains in front of the river. Beside them, the last field of grass was swiftly running out. Farmers waved to them from the shore and packs of children gave playful chase along the bank.

Helen had her phrase-book out, doing her best to direct the guide to the place on the map they needed to be. It was slow going, like her father – Helen had always been mediocre when it came to foreign languages.

The guide was shaking his head at her last suggestion. At first she thought that it was her poor pronunciation, but the grey-haired man took the phrasebook from her and flipped it open to a page.

“No thank you,” he said. What he meant was that he would not take them past open field. The boat was already slowing, making a gentle curve toward the muddy bank thick with reeds and animal tracks.

John suddenly reached over and relieved the arguing pair of the map.

“We knew we’d be in for a walk,” he said, stoically. “Ashley will have done the same so our chances of tracking her are better if we start where she did.”

Henry’s sense of freedom soon took a turn when he found himself face to face with a sinister line of trees reaching out to him with sticky leaves. The boat had pulled up right on the edge, where the rainforest reared up at them.

“Buck up little one,” John’s hand startled Henry, as it landed on his shoulder. The tall – strange man shook Henry in a ‘friendly’ manner, no doubt his version of encouragement. “It’s not the trees you need to be afraid of.” He leant right down to Henry’s ear and lowered his voice to a whisper, “It’s me…”

Henry gave a small yelp and bounced away, finding himself in the shade of the rainforest. It was cool and surprisingly enticing after hours baking on the runabout. John gave a quiet chuckle, glancing over his shoulder as Helen came marching toward them.

“That’s the spirit Henry,” she said, striding past him and John.

*~*~*

Detective Joe Kavanaugh opened his eyes with a groan. The world hurt and his head most of all. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep in the strange room, but there was daylight creeping between the drapes as the smell of fried eggs swirling around the bed.

The blur of last night began to take shape as he sat up. Tunnels and creatures; gunshots and bickering voices – finally he remembered.

He stumbled across the dark room, took hold of the heavy folds of material and pulled them open, revealing a bright morning over the city. His eyes stung in the sudden light. Joe blinked furiously, turning his head away until he felt his skin warm.

There was a silver tray on the table beside the bed. Its contents were covered by an ornate lid with steam creeping around its sides. Breakfast.

*~*~*

“She never ever listens…”

Helen Magnus had her knees buried in a soft layer of mud beside an angry river. Rough tracks, half washed away led into the current.

“They continue over there,” John pointed to the opposite bank where a skid mark had dislodged a section of weed and leaf litter. “Give me your hands…” he stood between Helen and Henry with his palms outstretched.

They were both hesitant at first, but soon clasped tightly to John.

It was over in a flash. A sharp, dreadful moment as they teleported to the other side of the river. Henry fell over, clutching his head in pain. Helen shook it off, forcing her eyes to focus and not slip into the enticing darkness.

“That’s nasty…” Henry whimpered, clambering back to his feet. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“You would rather take your chances with the river?” said John.

“Yeah,” replied Henry, straightening, “that’s what I’m saying.”

Helen was frowning, twisting the map in every direction possible until she turned to the others. “This is the wrong way,” she said, holding the map up for them to see. “We should be further that way,” she pointed to their left, “up where that line of rocks starts.”

Henry leant backwards, trying to see around the large tree beside him. He didn’t know how Helen could find anything in this mess. There were trees, ferns, creepers, spiky plant things he didn’t know what to call, and general obstacles everywhere. He was struggling to find his own feet.

“It could be the map,” said Henry. “Ours is something that Mr. Tesla drew himself. Ashley has the original.”

“This,” began Helen unhappily, “is why I don’t trust that man.” That, and he had a habit of disappearing when he was needed most.

“Do we follow the map, or Ashley?”

Helen’s eyes flicked between Henry, John, the map and the tracks in the mud.

3

EMPTY TOMBS

“You are very late,” Tesla inspected his nails. He was seated on a large boulder, perched at its top high above the pair approaching through the undergrowth.

Helen stopped, panting as she lifted her head. Through the light covering of leaves she spied an individual who was soon to die.

“Nikola…” she whispered, narrowing her eyes at his preened form. He did not look like he’d spend hours trudging through muck but then again, Nikola had a talent for cleanliness.

Henry beat his way through the forest behind Helen, swearing at a particularly sticky plant that refused to let go of his arm. It suckered onto his skin, stuck fast.

“Nasty little good for nothing piece of ancient shru-” he ran into the back of Helen, nearly knocking them both to the ground. Helen stumbled forward.

“How many times, Henry,” she said, without taking her glare off Nikola. “Eyes up.”

Henry pealed the possessive frond off of his skin with a displeased grimace. He hated forests, trees, large wild cats, slippery rocks, humid air, insects – anything that crawled, really. It was only the two of them now; Helen had sent John off after Ashley’s tracks while they stuck to the map. Helen had wanted to go after Ashley herself, but Henry wouldn’t leave the map and she couldn’t trust John on his own with Henry. At least this way, John’s motivations were headed in the right direction – find Ashley.

“Oh great,” Henry’s mood deteriorated further when he saw that ‘Tesla person’ impossibly balanced on a boulder.

“I’m been here for whole hours,” Nikola gloated, pulling his knees up to his chest, enjoying the pleasant breeze and vantage over the jungle. They were at the summit of a small hill that wanted, ever so desperately, to be a mountain.

Helen fought through the remainder of the ferns and strode out into the clearing, planting herself at the base of Nikola’s rock. She tilted her head back to speak. “I’m going to need a very good reason not to kill you,” she said, unhooking her gun. Helen snapped off the safety and aimed it straight at him.

Harsh, thought Nikola. “Only one?” he challenged. “My dear Helen, I can give you many reasons to keep me alive but I dare say one will suffice.”

“I am still waiting for it,” Helen ignored Henry, who was trying to remind her that Nikola was useful and possibly better kept alive.

“Impatience? That’s a new one for you.”

A loud ‘crack’ startled hundreds of birds who took to the air in a great curve of white, screaming as they flapped away.

“You know, that hurts my feelings…” Nikola dusted flecks of limestone off his suit. Helen had made a sizable hole next to his leg.

“Whoops…” she muttered darkly. “I appear to have missed. Care to go again?”

“Ashley’s not here,” said Nikola. “Haven’t seen her and that’s a bad sign because she had a decent head start on us.”

“Where is she?” Helen’s gun lowered slightly as Nikola edged himself forward and slid off the rock. It was quite a distance to the ground and he landed rather ungracefully in a heap.

“Ow… Well, if we’re lucky she’s gotten a bit lost – you know what girls are like. Map reading isn’t their strongest attribute.” Helen’s gun re-aligned with him. “Or,” Nikola decided that being shot at point blank range wouldn’t be fun, “she’s already inside.”

“Inside what?”

Nikola’s arms stretched out, beckoning them forward. “The sanctuary,” he grinned. “This way…”

*~*~*

Joe checked his appearance in one of the full length mirrors scattered throughout the Sanctuary’s hallways. There was a nasty cut above his eye but the stitching was holding. It was very important that he looked normal. Airlines were picky these days.

Making short work of a flight of stairs, Joe turned the corner into Helen’s office, gently opening the door and slipping inside. He felt like a small child, breaking into the headmaster’s office as he crept over to Magnus’s desk, eying every shadow with suspicion.

The flowers on her desk were dying, dropping petals over her desk. One unopened bud wept, dipping down where it hung over a mournful statue. Joe was looking for something very specific, hidden amongst her records which she kept locked in the desk drawer. A small black granite figurine on her desk caught his attention. He reached for it, holding the object firmly as he smashed the lock on desk with one, quick blow.

There wasn’t time to waste now. Someone would have heard that.

Joe pulled the drawer open and shuffled through a pile of papers until he found a thick folder. He pulled it out and opened on the desk. Yes, this was it; information on a campsite in the desert dated three days ago. He took the whole file, folding it under his arm as he made his way to the window.

*~*~*

Nikola pulled his unhappy entourage to a halt.

“Four – hours – of torture,” Henry gulped from a water bottle and then continued. “And this is where you take us?”

There was an eerie layer of mist burying them from the waist down. Towering above, sheltering the forest world from the fading afternoon light was an imposing cliff face. Its black surface was smooth and shimmered, as if moving with a life of its own. It looked like black glass excised from the bowels of the earth.

Nikola reached out, touching one of the carvings which framed the entrance to the cave. It was a small white circle embedded like a jewel. There were hundreds more clustered along the vertical edges. Some of the markings were circles like the one he had beneath his fingertip, the others depicted stages of the crescent moon.

“It looks real,” remarked Helen, eyeing the cave’s entrance. “I’ll give you that.”

He lay against the rock, pressing his cheek and palms onto the cool surface. This felt like home, thought Nikola. His ancestors had found a measure of sanctuary within this cave, he wondered if it would bring the same peace to him.

Henry’s head had developed a worrying slant as he watched Nikola embrace the sinister looking façade. “He’s gone all strange and stuff on us…” he said.

“No,” Helen corrected him. “This is normal. Let’s go Nikola,” she plucked him from the wall and deposited him in front of the cave entrance. “Vampires first.”

“I could – I could just wait out here…” Henry hadn’t moved from his spot in the mist. Everything about this idea smelt bad. There was something sinister swirling around him – and it wasn’t the mist.

“There’s no point in remaining outside, Mr Foss,” Nikola straightened his coat, buttoning it all the way to his neck. “They know that we’re here.” He darkened his eyes so that he could see better in the half-light of the cave. Helen took a more practical approach, fishing out her torch as she stepped into the shadows.

Henry shivered involuntarily. “Well, that makes me feel much better about the whole, ‘let’s wander into a dark, scary cave’ thing.” He lost sight of the other two as they ventured into the cave. Suddenly alone, Henry’s feet kicked into action, propelling him in pursuit despite his commonsense telling him no.

*~*~*

Ashley curled her fingers over the mossy edge, gripping the delicate roots of dark-loving plants. The tunnel in front ended where the ground had been torn away. Her torch was far below, a tiny point of light glowing like a distant star.

“Shit…” she whispered, running her hands over every surface that she could reach. There had to be a way down and it wasn’t long until she found it – a damp strip of wood tied onto two lengths of rope. Moving her hands down further, she found more pieces of wood forming the basics of a ladder.

Ashley was eternally grateful that she couldn’t see this ‘ladder’. Given the way it felt in her hands, she never would have allowed herself to clamber over it, grimacing at every tremble and crack it gave in protest.

‘This is such a bad idea,’ she reminded herself halfway down. The ladder agreed, one of its boards snapping away from her foot. Ashley clung onto the ropes tighter, feeling for the next step as they groaned – squeaking and unravelling.

Eventually, her feet hit the ground and she was reunited with her torch. Ashley shined it back over to the ladder she had traversed. Damn, she wouldn’t be going back that way.

The ground beneath her was odd in that it bared no resemblance to the tunnel above. Down here she had to fight to find her footing on the smooth bed of river stones, polished by the small stream at the centre. It was clear that at some point the river had raged down here, filling the entire chasm.

She wanted to whistle her awe of the size of the place, but decided that the last thing she needed was a startled flock of bats freaking out. The water at her feet was running, trickling with distinct purpose over the white rocks. It had found a way out, Ashley was sure, so she followed it.

Ashley’s ears pricked up and she paused, turning slowly back toward the ladder. She listened carefully to every drip of water and shuffle of dirt. The more she concentrated on the silence, the louder the tunnel became but she didn’t hear it again – her name whispered in the darkness.

She avoided the water, clambering over the rocks and pebbles. Without sunlight, the cavern, cave, mine – or whatever this place preferred to call itself, was freezing. The water carried ice-crystals along in its current. Whenever she panned her torchlight over its surface, the beams scattered into shards of colour. There was something else in the water too – flecks of gold, tumbling over the stones and accumulating in pools around the edge of the river.

Rivers of Gold, that reminded her of something. She took a moment, seating herself on the rocky ground. Ashley pulled out her grandfather’s journal from her jacket, flipping through the damaged paper until she came to the map. There was nothing written on it about falling down large holes, which confirmed her suspicions that she was well and truly lost but a few pages on, she found an entry that peaked her curiosity. It was about the Seven Cities of Gold, searched in vain for by expeditions since 1150. Apparently her grandfather suspected its location to be in South America rather than North America but never had any success in finding it himself. Here it was, the part that she remembered, the cities sat by the edge of a golden river which carved out shimmering tracks across the land.

“Rivers of gold,” she whispered, eyeing the water. “Another day, perhaps.”

*~*~*

“Ash-leeeey!”

John extended his top half over the hole, careful not to let his weight tilt him over the edge. It was a long way down and from what he could see, someone had taken the plunge into its depths recently. Ashley’s tracks ended at this hole and he had scouted the area ahead to no avail.

He called her name again, but there was no reply from his daughter.

*~*~*

“Why haven’t you been here before?” Helen stayed a few paces behind Nikola as they explored the entrance of the cave. “You clearly knew how to find this place. I’m surprised you could resist visiting the homeland of your ancestors.”

Nikola lowered his eyes to the glittering floor but didn’t say anything.

“Don’t tell me,” continued Helen, with a look of satisfaction. “An army of vicious killers born from your blood no problem but one full blood vampire – you wouldn’t dare face them alone.”

He stopped, and whispered very quietly to her. “If you knew what you were really walking into,” he said, “you’d be afraid too. Now please, a little hush.”

“What did he say?!” shouted Henry from behind, dashing into the cave after them.

Nikola sighed.

*~*~*

The plane touched down twice. Its first landing was brief, a mere taste of the ground as it bounced from the gravelly airstrip back into the crosswind which nipped the plane’s wings. The second time, the pilot grounded the plane with such force that the passengers gripped their seats in alarm.

Bit rough, Joe looked out the window, checking that nothing had caught fire.

Travel was like that around these parts. You arrived and you had to be happy with that.

Joe stepped out into a desert wind, bracing himself against the funnels of sand burning his exposed skin. The rest of the passengers scurried away, ducking into waiting cars parked in the open by the airstrip. The terminal was dark inside its locked doors and broken windows bandaged with helpings of duct tape. It was a god awful place with nothing between it and the full force of the desert lurking just over the rise.

“Doctor Kavanaugh – of Oxford University?”

Joe hadn’t noticed the tall man approach from the side. Most of his body was covered with layers of cloth, a sensible idea. Joe waved and nodded.

“I am Professor Lierdly from the expedition. We spoke on the phone. My car is over there,” he pointed at the only vehicle still braving the dust. “This way please, there’s a storm coming.”

4

BURIED CITIES

The black mountain range stuck out from the sand like a set of knives. Its thousand faces of polished rock interlaced to form a sinister barrier – sometimes catching the sun in a blinding glare. Joe could see the remains of Magnus’s campsite nestled at the base of one this monstrosity. From what he could tell at this distance, there was nothing left but ruined tents and a makeshift airstrip, gradually disappearing beneath the sand.

“We told them,” said Lierdly, from the driver’s seat. He was barely holding the wheel as the car shook its way down the gravelled track, riding a ridge. There was a dune to their left, working its way toward the road in a surge of burning sand. The professor pointed at the speckling of tents obscured by a layer of ‘liquid-air’. It’s what they called the turbulent air hugging the ground which distorted anything further than arms reach. “We say, ‘nothing to find there but dirt and rock’. My associate even offered them a share in our site – we could use the extra funding, but that crazy woman wasn’t interested and now look, all that’s left of them. They abandoned less than a week ago. In a month there’ll be nothing.”

“Crazy indeed,” replied Joe. That sounded like the Helen Magnus he knew.

They pulled up at Lierdly’s archaeological site, framed by a tent city. White linen flapped in the breeze, snapping sharply like whips cracking in Joe’s ear. People hurried everywhere carting books or screaming instructions at their satellite phones. One man tripped in his haste, scattering a box of identification tags in front of Joe and Lierdly. He swore in Dutch and then set about plucking each one from the sand while at the same time hissing behind him at someone in a tent.

On this side of the mountain range to Magnus’s camp, Lierdly and his team had set up shop beneath a series of tunnels burrowed into the rock. There more than a dozen of them poking out in no particular arrangement.

“We thought they were tombs,” said Lierdly, pointing at several starting barely a foot off the ground. Each was just over a metre high and roughly made. They could have almost been mistaken for natural caves except the rock cleaved in hexagonal pieces, and these were circular holes. “But they just go on and on. I had one of the boys take a wander and he found nothing for kilometres. Whatever’s buried in there, if anything at all, it wasn’t mean to be found.”

“Superstitious?” Joe raised an eyebrow.

“No…” he averted his eyes to the sun, “You can’t do what I do for a living and give in to that kind of thinking.” Lierdly shifted, resting his hands on his slender hips. “I’d never have made it into my first tomb. Some of my workers, locals, they think that this place is cursed. It’s the same story wherever you go in this country. This is cursed. That is cursed. Don’t touch that, the sky will fall. Mostly, I think that they don’t want us sniffing around in case we find something about their past they don’t want to know. Perhaps that is the curse.”

“Do you mind if I have a look for myself?”

Lierdly shrugged. “Go ahead. Let me know if you get attacked by a mummy. Can make good money out of that sort of thing.”

Joe’s laugh turned into a shiver as he hopped up the rocks.

*~*~*

“Is it supposed to be doing that?” Henry backed away from the cave wall nervously, as another flicker of electricity sparked into life next to his ear. There was an ever-present crackle in the background getting louder as they progressed.

“You ask me,” said Nikola, sniffing out the darkness, eyeing it cautiously, “as if I do this kind of thing often…”

Helen had her gun raised, realigning it to every sound no matter how small. “It wouldn’t be a first, Nikola,” she said in a whisper, as she stepped behind him. “You’re always claiming an affinity with these creatures.”

“Ancestry,” he corrected her, shuddering as her hair tickled across the back of his neck. He hated that she did that – always on purpose, to unsettle him and remind him who was really in charge. “A different thing altogether.”

“If you like,” she grinned, as he ran his hands over the back of his collar.

“Seriously though,” Henry had stopped at one of the walls and was entranced watching the electricity flow along tiny tracks in the rock, almost like veins. “This is not normal.” He reached his hand out to the surface, lowering it slowly to the fluid patterns until – “Ow…” he shook his hand. “Ow, ow, ow…”

The spark had been quite spectacular, lighting Henry in a sudden flash.

“You once hand-picked this thing as a protégé?” Nikola widened his eyes in disbelief as Henry muttered something about, ‘being okay’.

Helen shook her head. “It was more like an adoption,” she confessed. “What do you know about real vampires?”

Nikola shrugged, “Not much. Their records are, regrettably, destroyed or lost.”

“But you have your suspicions,” Helen prompted.

“They were civilised,” he said, “but civilisation millennia ago is not what it is today.”

“You really are worried, aren’t you? Meeting our sand creature deepened your fears that vampires have a – how would you put it, viscous side?”

“They had a talent for survival in an age noted for its brutality. Yes, it worries me. As does this…” He pointed at the currents of electricity running over the walls.

“Nikola…” she reached out and grabbed his arm with her free hand. He stopped, turning to find her eyes wide, glistening in the torchlight. “Where’s Henry?”

*~*~*

Ashley stopped, balanced on the bank of pebbles to the right of the stream. The water ended at two giant doors which towered to the roof of the cavern, out of reach of her torchlight.

“Sheee-it…” she exhaled, taking a step back to take in the sight.

The doors were made of a heavy wood, intricately carved with a life-size freeze of the jungle stretching across them. Plants with their curled leaves protruded while hidden beneath them, creatures prowled. Carved trees stood at their real height, vanishing into an elaborate canopy. Two snarling jaguars faced each other in the middle, gnashing their curved teeth at each other mid-pounce. It was unlike any artwork she had seen. It was so real that Ashley hesitated to take her eyes off it in case the creatures came to life and leapt free.

The doors were not infallible though. Along their base, the water had cracked and discoloured the wood. Fragments of gold caught inside the fibrous surface making them look as if they had been dipped in liquid gold. It was like an embroidered curtain, sealing the cave. Ashley had never felt so small.

The water had not backed up at the door. Instead, it was running under it. Ashley stepped into the freezing water, grimacing as it sank through her boots and swelled around her ankles. Her skin reddened, burnt by the cold as she waded in deeper. The river’s depth had been deceiving. Soon it was up around her waist as she reached the centre of the door, holding her arms up above her head.

“Bad idea,” she grimaced as the cold became a stabbing pain. Her backpack was waterproof, and floated defiantly as she threw it into the water. It followed the current and hit the doors, bobbing against them.

There was a second current in the water. Ashley could feel its tug on her lower legs in the deep water, beckoning her forwards.

“Moment of truth,” she said, more to convince herself than the empty chamber. Ashley reached down under the water, following the line of the door. Her fingers slipped over the golden edge. A foot under the water, the door ended leaving a gap just big enough for her to slip under.

Ashley gripped onto her bag, forcing it down under the water. It fought against her but as soon as it crossed onto the other side, Ashley took a breath and submerged, following it through.

The cold was unbearable, piercing her with such force that she thought she must have fallen victim to an ancient death trap. She kept her eyes clenched shut as she hugged her backpack to her chest, letting it pull her up through the water.

They broke the surface together. Ashley coughed, wiping the water from her face before opening her eyes. She was swimming now with the water deepening beneath her. Ashley brought her torch above the water. As with the previous room, there were banks of rock on either side. Ashley swam, forcing her stiff arms to stroke their way toward the shore.

*~*~*

They turned around together but neither could see any sign of Henry.

“Henry?” whispered Helen, about to backtrack before Nikola caught the back of her coat.

“No, no… wait,” he said. Nikola tilted Helen’s torch, pointing it up toward the ceiling of the cave. There was nothing but a small flock of napping bats, swaying in their sleep. “I think this is a mistake,” he said, not letting go of her coat. Helen wasn’t sure if it was for her own safety or his.

“Where’s Henry?” Helen demanded.

“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully. “But nothing got past us, I am sure of it, which means that whatever it was didn’t have to.”

“Teleporting? Like John?”

“It wasn’t John,” said Nikola. “Stay close, I mean it.” He didn’t just mean ‘within an arms distance’. Nikola wouldn’t let Helen stray any further than their shoulders touching. They stepped in time with each other, following the cave as it sloped downward.

“There is something down here,” she said, blinking at the darkness. Helen could hear movement, subtle but quick as it changed positions. “I think that you should say something.”

“Like what?” he had morphed slightly further towards his vampire form. Nikola was a ghastly combination of pale skin, sharp teeth and large, black eyes that Helen hated to see.

“Anything. Otherwise whatever’s home is going to think that we’re trying to sneak in…” Nikola was silent, trying to work out how that differed from what they were actually doing. “All I know,” continued Helen, “is that when things sneak into my house – it doesn’t end well for the ‘things’.”

“Well you say something then!”

“This is your idea!” she prodded him sharply. He buckled temporarily, curling his claws.

“Fine. Tell me what to say and I’ll say it.”

“God, you are such a child.”

*~*~*

The desert light was absorbed by the tunnel until it was nothing more than a bright circle in the distance. Joe had to duck, crouching his body to fit inside the tunnel. It smelt stale which was no surprise given the fragile bones of desert creatures he continuously crushed under his shoes. They had curled up and died all over the place, hiding from a sandstorm and forgotten to leave.

Lierdly had given him a small amount of supplies including a strong flashlight and tent pole, ‘for the cobwebs’. Joe could think of other uses for a length of wood. He gripped the stick with one hand, aiming it at the tunnel like a prehistoric caveman might have done.

The tunnel worked its way into the mountain, sometimes constricting into a space barely big enough to crawl through and at other times intersecting with several tunnels in large, domed spaces. Joe left himself messages in the sand floor so that he wouldn’t end up walking in circles. The deeper he progressed, the more well-worn the tracks became almost like he had been skirting through the side streets and only now finding the highway.

Eventually he found himself in a tunnel tall enough for him to stand with three others beside him. He was not the first to venture down these catacombs. Many kilometres inside, the air became putrid. Joe buried his nose in his sleeve as he closed in on the source of the smell, fighting the urge to by physically sick.

A skeleton, partially decomposed had reclined against the wall. It was difficult to know how long it had been there. With dry desert air and few scavengers, his decomposition might have been greatly slowed. His clothes were native to the area and he looked peaceful, like the remains of the animals.

Joe did not linger, pushing past the horrible sight before a mysterious urge to sleep befell him.

*~*~*

Ashley sat on the bank with her knees pulled to her chest, shivering. Her body had the slightest tinge of gold from the water and she could still taste its metallic edge. If Henry had been here, he would have made a quip about that James Bond film.

This room was different to the last. Instead of a rough cave surface, she found perfectly cut stones stacked tightly together to form smooth walls. She couldn’t comment on the ceiling because it hung well out of reach of the torchlight.

Instead of a river, there was a deep pool of water filling the cave edged by a low wall, maybe half a foot tall at best. On the top of this barrier was a trail of crescent shaped lights embedded in the stone. They did not shine brightly but like glow-worms, their collective light gave the water which they encapsulated a soft aura.

As her eyes adjusted to the softer light, Ashley saw the first hint of structure emerge from the far side of the underground lake. There were buildings, several stories high, packed tightly together in a crowded facade. Her torched flickered. She hit and cursed it until its light reappeared. She may as well have held a candle to the room. There was city down here, buried away from the world. It was silent – abandoned long ago.

This, Ashley presumed, was all that remained of the Sanctuary of the Moon.

5

LOCKDOWN

“Neat…” whispered Ashley.

She probably should have gone for something a little more epic, but as she clambered over the low wall of lights and onto the paved streets of the city, words refused to form in her throat.

The Sanctuary of the Moon was empty, deserted long ago by whatever creatures had chosen to make their homes here in this underground world. There were, however, remnants of them. Ashley had stumbled across a pile of bleached bones cluttered in a corner where two buildings didn’t quite meet. The sad skeleton was the first of many as she progressed up the main street.

There was a steady trail of rats ambling along the gutter, scratching against the stone floor as they headed toward the pool of water Ashley had climbed out of earlier. She avoided them, keeping to the centre of the road where her torchlight mingled with the occasional glowing shapes on the dwellings.

It was more like a hive than a city, with its buildings scrunched together, rising and falling with the uneven floor underneath the sinister dome of the cave. Some of these had crumbled, bleeding onto the streets with rivers of rubble and dust.

Very soon, she found her eye drawn to claw marks etched into the walls and ripped bodies with scattered weapons. The procession of time could not conceal the violence of their deaths.

Ashley stopped at three intertwined remains, tilting her head from side to side as she circled them like some wandering bird of prey that had missed the feast.

“Unpleasant,” she commented, nudging one of the outlying bones with her boot. The trio had killed each other in some kind of brutal fever. Bony fingers could still be seen clasped around the neck of one, locked in an embrace even through death while the victim had plunged a short dagger through the chest of a hacked skeleton which, to her surprise, sported a sizable tail.

The extra limb was a collection of naturally duplicated vertebra, tapering toward a softly curved tip. The last few bones had been pulled out of line, no doubt by hungry rats.

Ashley retrieved her gun and then secured the backpack around her waist with several of its buckles. This place gave her the creeps and it was a long, lonely walk through it to the back wall. She didn’t know quite what she would find up there, but all the roads trailed off in that direction – it was the rats fleeing from it that made her worry.

*~*~*

Bigfoot’s gentle breathing was interrupted by a snore. Not quite stirred from sleep, he rolled over on the uncomfortable lab floor and curled into his coat. He couldn’t see Will, crouched at the glass in front of him, deciding how best to escape from the glass cage.

The restraints that had held him to the bed were now lying, chewed through, on the floor. His transformation into a sand creature was complete. When Will looked down at his skin he saw it ripple with uncertainty as it adjusted to the changing background. There was a strange dryness to the back of his throat that made it difficult to do anything but grunt at things while the lights of the room glowed especially bright. The details of the world had become intense; feeling – smell, touch – everything was a thousand times stronger.

Will sized up the sleeping creature on the other side of the glass. He rocked forward and touched the glass with an extended finger. The surface was cool – fragile even…

Bigfoot woke to the sound of shattered glass raining over him. He opened his eyes and saw a thousand scatterings of light reflected off the tumbling beads of glass as the window of the observation room fell forward with Will flying through its centre. Bigfoot had just enough time to roll before the larger shards of glass stabbed into the floor around him.

“Argh!” he groaned, as two jagged pieces cut through his fur.

Will hit the ground with the glass. Sensing the first whiff of freedom, he straightened and surveyed the room with golden eyes slit through the middle. His original abnormality – the gift of observation, had now become a serious weapon. Will could pick out every tiny detail of an environment in one turn of his head. Possible escapes leapt out at him while he kept a watchful eye on the figure writhing in pain on the ground.

“Will…” said Bigfoot, trying to stand. He clasped his paw over his arm to stop the bleeding, but the brilliant red dribbled around his fingers and onto the floor. “Will,” he repeated, pleading at the creature who was presently eyeing the door to the lab.

Will’s lips curled into a sinister grin as his body flickered in and out of camouflage.

“Listen to me,” continued Bigfoot, stumbling to his feet. He made it three laboured steps before he had to fall against one of the tables for support. “You’ve got to fight it.”

Will felt that he should know this hairy creature struggling to stand so he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think. There was a flicker of something. A memory? A thought – he didn’t know. He wanted to be free and that desire overwhelmed everything else.

Instead of finishing off the creature, Will simply turned and pushed through the lab doors – throwing his head back in the sudden escape.

Bigfoot let himself crumble back to the floor where he crawled through the scattered glass to the other side of the room. He pried open the cabinet and dug out a set of bandages, wrapping several layers of them tightly around his arm until he could feel neither the pain nor the seeping of sticky blood.

He had to warn the detective sleeping down the hallway before Will got to him and somehow protect the other Abnormals but first, he had to lock the Sanctuary down and prevent Will from escaping into the city where he would no doubt begin picking out prey.

The computer in the lab did not have security access, so Bigfoot injected himself with a large dose of painkillers and made for the door. He paused at their ajar surfaces, sniffing the air for any sign of Will before gently pushing them open.

The hallway was empty save for a broken vase that had been knocked off a hallway table. Bigfoot, barely able to walk, threw himself at the opposite wall of the hallway, fumbling for the door to Ashley’s office. As someone mostly unaware of their office, she had not bothered to lock it.

It was a room neglected, ignored by its reluctant owner and left to sit in solitude most of the year. Its desk was bare save a lamp and computer with a wandering screensaver. The bookshelf on the opposing wall was not Ashley’s but her mother’s, built to house a special collection of bound letters written by her many associates over the years.

Bigfoot woke the computer, which, overjoyed by the attention, jolted into life with a cheerful beep.

A few minutes later, Bigfoot heard the bars on the windows clang shut and the double bolts on the doors lock firmly into place. Steel doors were sliding over the larger areas and coded doors between levels locking into place. The Sanctuary had turned itself into a prison, with him and Will locked inside.

Will, already on the ground floor, dropped to all fours and hurtled along the ground toward the main entrance. The carpet beneath him folded and slid off to the side as he rounded the corner and ploughed into the solid door as the large steel bolt slipped into place. The door shook with the impact, but remained resolutely closed.

Trapped, Will snarled, baring several rows of razor teeth to the security camera above. Bigfoot watched on, busily wrapping his wounds tighter.

*~*~*

“Do you trust me?” whispered Nikola, taking her free hand within his clawed paw. His skin was freezing, sending unpleasant shivers over her skin whenever his claws grazed her.

“Is that a trick question,” she replied softly, still holding her gun firmly to the darkness in front.

“Whatever happened to us, Helen?” he said, as they edged very slowly deeper into the cave. The light of the entrance behind them had almost vanished and now it was his torch and the electrical currents over the walls that lit the way. “You used to like me.”

“I do like you,” she hissed back. “I would have shot you already if I felt anything less than affection – as perverted as it may be. Incidentally,” she continued, “I believe it was you who last tried to kill me. This little expedition of yours may well end both of us.”

“Oh please… this wasn’t my idea. You have that ‘detective’ to thank for all this.”

That caused Helen to come to an abrupt halt, ripping her hand away from him. “What on earth are you going on about?”

Nikola’s black eyes gleamed in the torchlight which he pointed directly at her. She ducked away from the glare.

“Seriously?” he said, almost unable to grasp Helen’s naivety. “You don’t see it? Vampires – even that bastardised sand creature you tried to keep as a pet, are not animals. They are highly intelligent beings that don’t waste time. If the detective was bait, then he had already served his purpose. I for instance, would have killed him once I reached the tunnels but instead, what do we find? He is safe and well after half the night spent alone with it. There was a reason for that, Helen.”

“He wouldn’t…” but, she realised, then again Joe had more to gain than any from the sand creature. This was personal for him. He spoke ancient Egyptian, he was not afraid of the creature and after she had refused to disclose the location of the tomb, he had become especially curious. “I,” she sighed heartily, truly unimpressed with herself, “never learn.”

“An endearing quality,” Nikola grinned. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“For the sake of argument, then,” she flinched as he took her sharply by the arm, anticipating her answer.

“Close your eyes…” he said darkly, leaning toward her.

For the last five minutes, Nikola had sensed a presence hunting them through the caves, scant feet from them at any given moment. Despite his considerable observation skills, he was yet to catch a glimpse of his pursuer. Something had changed though. The assailant had gone from observer to assassin, more than once he had felt something brush over the back of his neck, considering how to sever his spine. Nikola Tesla may be hard to kill, but he had a sneaking suspicion that ‘beheading’ might just do it.

He didn’t want her to see what had to happen next.

With considerable force, Nikola knocked Helen to the ground. She stayed down, flattened against the cave floor perfectly still with her eyes slammed shut.

Nikola’s ears twitched as he heard fabric swish to his right and a shadow turn out of sight. He reached out with his clawed hand and ripped a strip free – the first tangible proof that there was, indeed, something else with them.

The rippling of electricity intensified, flickering and flashing in the air accompanied by a continuous crackle.

He bowed his head, and when he lifted it, his transformation into ‘vampire’ was absolute. Barely recognisable as this creature of the myths and fear, he leapt up to the roof, lingering on the cold rock amidst a few sleeping bats, before falling on top of a tall, slender figure.

Nikola had not expected the frailness. The creature crumbled beneath him, groaning as Nikola’s hands tightened around their body. Layers of cloak and a muddle of movement rolled down the slight incline of the cave until they hit a wall in a huge flash of light. Electricity poured from the cave wall through them in a shower of light.

Helen, unable to resist, opened her eyes a crack to see two heads glare at each other, encircled by shards of artificial lightning. One was Nikola as she remembered him – true and frightening in his vampire form. The other was an older man with twisted features and a permanent snarl. As she looked closer Helen saw that the other man’s features had sunk toward his bones in a horrid venture between life and death.

The two vampires rolled off the wall and the cave fell back into darkness. For a moment, Nikola though he had the pursuer beat.

“We don’t want to –” he started to say, but found himself thrown off in a sudden surge of power. Nikola yelped as he slammed into the wall next to Helen and hit the ground in a shower of glittering dust. “Hurt you…” he finished to himself.

“Look out…” whispered Helen, as she saw the other creature straighten and turn to face them.

Nikola pealed himself off the ground.

“You should not be here…” the creature hissed. Its voice was cluttered with age, scratching through his throat. The ancient vampire blinked its sharp eyes and then disappeared from sight.

Nikola swore.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” said Helen, moving to get up.

“Stay down,” he snapped sharply. “The only reason I’m not dead is because he’s curious.”

Swirls of dust kept kicking in the air, disturbed by the vampire’s feet as he teleported from corner to corner to unsettle his uninvited guests.

Maybe, thought Nikola, it was time that he tried Helen’s approach. “This is a Sanctuary?” he asked the darkness, not sure if he should expect a reply. “We come here only to search for a missing friend. We mean you no harm.”

Silence. More crackling from the walls.

“We know what you are,” Nikola continued. “We desire your help. This isn’t working…” he shot at Helen.

Helen sat up, but didn’t go so far as to stand. “For your help we can trade information on the history of your people.”

Though they couldn’t see it, the vampire’s interest peaked.

“And what of them?” said the disembodied voice, bouncing off the uneven surface of the cave.

“Grant us safe passage, and we will tell you all we know.”

“Safe passage?” the voice scratched and died off with amusement. “You have intruded into sacred ground, we are now negotiating the manner of your demise.”

“Please,” Helen said, “a friend of ours has inadvertently trespassed. We are here only to find them and return safely home. We mean you no harm.”

“Harm?” the vampire hissed darkly. “Do not speak to me of harm.” In the cave ahead, they saw a faint outline of movement as the ancient vampire slowly paced toward them. “For thousands of years I have watched my people die – cut down, tortured,” it paused to take another laboured breath, “hacked apart in fields as they fled. You cannot know what it’s like to watch children burn, smouldering into the dusk while the skeleton of your empire blackens.” They could see the creature now, standing tall with its full length cloak dragging on the ground. “You may forgive me then, if I grow wary of human promises.”

A tear steadied in Helen’s eye. “I have seen such carnage,” she replied. “But please, she is my daughter.”

This seemed to stir a memory – and a distant smile. Not so long ago there had been another like herself bravely venturing into this cave. “There was a man here once before, on behalf of his daughter. You remind me of him…”

6

ROOM WITH COLUMNS

Joe’s body froze mid-step. The catacombs had come to an abrupt end – miles of narrow tunnels culminated in an empty, circular room which was bare of everything except its sandy floor.

“Impossible…” he hissed, turning in endless circles.

He had been so sure, absolutely positive that this would lead him to the tomb of the Priests of Amun, lost for thousands of years. They were not tombs for sleeping bodies dreaming of dead worlds, but crypts to keep monsters in – monsters who were very much alive at their time of imprisonment. If he was ever to find his father, it would be amongst the angry faces of its prisoners.

The walls were painted in ochre colours and scrawls of ancient writing marched up and down it, raving stories about underworlds and gods that now lay quiet. Joe advanced, stepping carefully through the sand, holding his torch aloft.

“Urgh!” he cried, as Joe felt the sand beneath him fall away. His stomach lurched and his arms flailed wildly as he was sucked through the floor into darkness. He had just enough time to gasp a breath of air in the light and catch site of one of the wall murals laughing silently at him.

Then, the only proof of his existence was a torch half buried in the sand in the empty room, with its light gradually yellowing. Eventually it clicked off, and the room returned to its sinister peace.

*~*~*

The ancient vampire’s eyes were black like Nikola’s, but in the depths of their pits were hints of red. These blood-stained flecks ran over Helen, inspecting every inch of her as she spoke. The tiniest beads of sweat on her skin wreaked in the vampire’s nostrils while the grazes on her cheek and neck gave way to trickles of blood. Every minute that this breathing creature survived was a testament to the vampire’s strength of will.

“Quiet now…” the vampire curled his lips into a snarl. “My manners have slipped in these long centuries alone. If you wish to leave this place, you must do so now. Leave me be.” His voice cracked like the electric currents behind him – deceptively fragile in its fluctuations.

Helen and Nikola glanced at each other.

“I cannot leave,” insisted Helen, “until I find my daughter and the man that was with us before.”

“You cannot stay!” it screeched, vanishing and reappearing at the far wall where electricity swelled around it. Its plea echoed over the walls in horrid waves of agony. The vampire hid his dripping fangs behind his cloak which he raised over his head, blocking his guests from view. “You cannot stay…” he whispered to himself. The oaths of peace he took long ago were brittle now. Hunger and despair had weakened him and now he could feel the clawing of his nature begging him to kill.

Nikola recognised the symptoms and took Helen by the arm. She resisted but he lifted her toward him and growled into her ear, “Don’t…” He dragged her from the cave and led Helen back out into the mist-laden clearing. A few birds called bravely, piercing the air in short stabs.

The cave entrance was still within sight, leering at them from the cliff face.

As soon as he let go of her, Helen raised her hand and clouted him hard across his face. This time, he did not react. His vampiric form made him stronger than her, though he usually chose not to show it.

“Helen,” he said, gradually fading back to the Nikola of old. “He was going to kill you. Me as well, I suspect.”

“I don’t care…” she replied, turning and heading back to the cave. He shook his head and caught her jacket, clutching the leather firmly. Helen whipped around, striking him again and with her other hand, raising a knife to his throat. “Out of my way,” she warned.

The cold blade on his neck was a familiar touch. It was not the first time that Helen had threatened his life, and he doubted that it would be the last.

“You will have to use it,” he assured her.

“I’ve lost two people in there,” Helen steadied herself, pressing the metal harder onto him, “and I am not leaving them to die!”

“I hear you,” Nikola replied, if anything, gripping more tightly. “There other ways into this Sanctuary, I am convinced of it. He,” Nikola referred to the vampire, “had not seen Ashley or Henry. His thoughts were loud enough for me to hear fragments of them. He is an old creature, tormented by the world and he will not let us pass.”

“Where are these other entrances?” she said, loosening her hold on the knife. It caught a beam of sunlight, blinding him with the brightness.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Though I believe our only course of action is to return to Ashley’s tracks and proceed from there. The Sanctuary of the Moon runs deep through these hills, tunnelled out beneath the ground. It is possible that she has inadvertently found a way in.”

*~*~*

Although Will could no longer speak, he managed an unmistakable nod at the security camera. I am coming for you it said.

Bigfoot set the computer to monitor all cameras for motion so that he could detect Will’s progress through the mansion. He could no longer see him on the screens though, as Will has mastered the art of camouflage and torn off his clothes rendering him all but invisible.

He was more creature than human now, Bigfoot could feel it, and this hybrid species seemed always hunting for revenge. Bigfoot couldn’t stay in this room, though. There was no way to defend himself or capture Will amongst the computer, empty desk and lone bookshelf.

Taking a calm breath, Bigfoot opened the door and peered out into the corridor. It was too late to seek out the detective. Will was fast now, and it wouldn’t be long until he returned to this level. The great, hairy man swung around to the right and returned to the medical room where he gathered a large amount of sedatives, several needles and three rolls of bandages. He was about to go for the tranquiliser gun – locked high in the cabinets above the main work desk, when he heard the door at the end of the corridor slam.

With no choice, Bigfoot clambered toward the small, side door which led into the storage area of the level. In five steps he was in front of the equipment lift. Bigfoot slid open the door to the small enclosure and crammed himself painfully inside. As a space meant for trays of testubes, it groaned angrily at Bigfoot’s imposition.

Will, in a strange disturbance of light, rounded the corner and caught sight of Bigfoot forcing down the door of the lift amidst a tirade of curses.

“Come on…” growled Bigfoot, bashing the metal shell as Will raced towards him, claws digging into the polished floor.

Just when Bigfoot had begun to entertain the prospect of being ripped apart, the door shifted and the lift shuddered into action, taking its heavy load down toward the basement.

Will pulled up short as the door slammed near his nose. His sharp eyes flicked to the gage on the wall beside, betraying the destination of the lift.

Bigfoot knew that he would reach the basement first – there was no doubt of that. As fast as this new Will was, he couldn’t fall through the levels of the floor like John. That said, there would not be enough time to achieve anything before his inevitable arrival.

He clutched the lift control protectively to his chest, whispering and coaxing to it as the lift slowed towards its destination. When the final thump of motion sent painful ripples through his fur, Bigfoot hit the button for the top floor. The deceit would buy him some time. Not much, granted, but he hoped that it would be enough to save both Will and the Sanctuary from destruction.

When it released him on the library level, Bigfoot stumbled as fast as he could up the corridor toward the marble staircase. He left a nasty streak of blood behind him where it trickled down his leg. It was no good, he thought, knowing that a child would have no trouble hunting him, let alone an instinctual killer.

*~*~*

Joe grimaced and rolled onto his side.

He had expected darkness – the deep, constricting blackness of the world beneath the earth. Instead, he found the gentle din of a hundred wall lamps lit along the side of a great chamber. Their soft glows provided tiny halos of light against the immense stone walls that spread high above him and deep below the pile of sand beneath.

It was like the debris from a giant hourglass and he had been poured through it, landing at its peak.

He could feel a bruise spreading over his chest where he had hit the sand. It burned under his shirt as he sat himself up and took in the spread of the underground room. It was lined with red pillars, three stories high that were severed several times with ornate gold bands. Around their girths were painted figures cowering from the sun or drowning themselves in the blue hint of Nile.

Joe peered forward in search of their bases, but the floor of the room was difficult to make out in the faint light. With nowhere to go, Joe shifted himself forward on the pile of sand until he started to slide.

Just as a great sheet of sand dislodged itself around him, accelerating his motion into an unstoppable fall, Joe caught sight of several silver bullet casings tumbling along with him. He reached out and caught one of these heavy pellets as it hurtled past, staring at it curiously as the ground below approached.

“Where did you say that you were from again?” Will eyed the short-haired blonde suspiciously. She was taller than him, quite brunt in her approach to conversation and determined on breaking the very delicate electronic device on Henry’s desk.

“I didn’t,” Samantha Carter replied,recoiling as the object let off a series of sparks and began to smoke. “Crap.”

“Please don’t touch anything. Technology’s very sensitive about its feelings around here.” Will re-opened the folder that she had given him, skimming over the fine print. It looked decidedly like a poorly written cover up.

That was exactly what it was – an excuse for Colonel Samantha Carter to sniff around this so called ‘Sanctuary’ for their missing Goa’uld that had been running amok in the city.

“Listen,” Sam took a few steps forward, more than invading Will’s comfort zone. “You don’t have to like me, you just have to show me around a bit. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s that I don’t trust you. That, and my boss isn’t keen on me giving the grand tour to unnamed military personal.”

“I’m a doctor,” Sam corrected him. “Military’s a hobby. Now tell me once and for all, do you, or do you not have an Abnormal with glowing eyes and nasty temper?”

Will was about to reply when Sam pulled a zat gun from her within her coat and fired it just shy of his head. He turned in time to see their newly acquired (and supposedly safely secured) Abnormal buckle and fall to the ground, eyes aglow.

“Never mind,” said Sam with a satisfied grin. “Found him.”

“You know,” said Will, “you remind me of someone.”

UNTOLD SANCTUARY

LOVE IN THE TIME OF SCIENCE

by ellymelly

TABLE OF CONTENTS

01             Storms and Lecture Notes

02             Universe in the Lake

03             The Start of Something

04             Breaking In

05             Taking a Turn

06             The World’s an Experiment

07             Vivisection

08             Secrets, Lies and Stolen Truths

09             Sanguine Vampiris

10             Child of the Storm

11             Unbreakable

12             Rats to the Slaughter

13             First Impressions

14             The Invisible Man

15             Dampier’s Notes

16             Haunting Immortals

17             Sherlock

18             Missing Time

19             Dreamscapes of the Insane

20             The Age of Light

21             Bloody Nights in London

22             Watson’s Meetings

23             In the Attic

24             Ruffle of Feathers

25             Nikola and John

26             Modus Operandi

27             In league with Thieves

28             The Promise

29             The Five

30             Diamonds and Stars

31             Revenge at its Cruellest

32             Revelations of Love

33             A Father’s Return

34             It Ends Here Tonight

1

STORMS AND LECTURE NOTES

A ruffle of wings settled on the window. Their blur of white faded from the air as the creature turned its elegant head and nestled its beak between the layers of feathers, knocking droplets of water free.

The storm over Oxford hadn’t decided what to do, so instead it loomed, slowly grazing over the twinkling gas-lit streets. The glow of the city was just enough to light the underside of the storm in the absence of starlight. One day the city would be brighter than the moon itself, even if it was only a faint smudge at the present.

A pair of bright eyes watched the sky, scanning the clouds as they rolled through each other. He could feel their friction and smell the droplets of water tumbling – ripping electrons free. It was a scene alive with expectancy, like two lovers drawn apart, desperate to rejoin in what could only be beautiful disaster.

He breathed in the energy, waiting for -

A river of light cut through the heavens and dove into the earth with perfect silence.

The air around it burnt.

Expanded.

And began reverberating through the sky towards his window.

He felt the world shudder.

The shutters rattled and the pigeon hopped onto his outstretched arm in a frightened flutter.

“Sh…” he cooed, tracing a finger down the back of its neck. It nipped him affectionately. “This is the best part.”

“You’ll catch something from that thing,” Helen climbed into the university’s attic, sitting on the floorboards before swinging her legs up through the hole.

“I thought I told you not to come up here?” he replied, still patting the bird.

“You say that every day, but you never mean it,” she closed the hatch and strolled over to the window, keeping her distance from the stray bird scaling Nikola’s shoulder. There was a storm raging over the city but it had not reached them yet. She could feel its cool wind kicking through the open window onto their faces. “We’ve got evening class.”

Tesla lifted an eyebrow. “You’re here because?”

Helen shook her head, turning her back on the window. Nikola had transformed the attic into a dorm. He had a bed pushed against the far side of the misshapen room – meticulously made, and had then proceeded to fill the rest of the room with whatever he could scavenge from the engineering laboratories. Mostly it was a concoction of wire – bundles and bundles of it.

“I’m here because I was the only one the professor could convince to come and get you.”

“Come here…”

She frowned. “Not if you-” but she realised her mistake, Nikola was talking to the pigeon. He cupped the creature in his hands and knelt down onto the floor, as if hiding from something.

A moment later Helen screamed but no-one heard it above the roar that shattered the windows. She fell to the ground, holding her ears and slamming her eyes shut as the small room became a beacon of light. The thunder pounded through her very soul until she thought it would break.

Suddenly, there was nothing.

She opened her eyes to see a glowing ball of light, spinning slowly in the centre of the room. It shimmered with what looked like shards of lightning branching off in quiet rumbles. Helen thought that she heard it hum. The ball-lightning didn’t stay suspended for long, and Helen had to leap out of the way as it rolled through the air straight into the solid wall where it dissipated and vanished.

The room returned to darkness and Helen turned her head to Nikola’s quiet laugh. He opened his palms and the pigeon flew out into the storm just as the first sheet of rain hit the walls.

“Can we go now?” Helen hissed, clearly frightened by his little show.

Nikola nodded. “I’m done…”

“You’ll be well and truly done when the professor finds out you put a lightning rod on the roof!”

*~*~*

Night class was easily the most poorly attended of all the physical science classes. A quick turn about the room made its avoidance plain.

The professor, stunted and balanced on a high stool at the front of the room, slanted over the black board scratching illegible diagrams in-between a series of annotations that lacked internal consistency.

By default, the front bench was left empty.

It wasn’t that the few students that bothered to show disliked being close to the board, or feared looking too keen – indeed, in different circumstances the front would be an ideal seat if only to have a fair chance at deciphering the board… In this case though, the stench leaching out of the professor’s jacket was almost visible on the air. Like a noxious gas, it kept students at a safe distance.

A rumble of thunder woke Nigel Griffin. Snorting, he rubbed a hooked nose on his sleeve and nestled head back in the warm ditch of his arm. Several of his books were considering a leap of faith from the desk but there was one book the world would never take from him; his diary. Not because he kept secrets in it – he was not a particularly secretive person – no, this book contained a detailed list of all his appointments and lesson times. In his first year, he’d misplaced this book, spent the day wandering around in a lost state and finally ended up locked in a cupboard. Not something he was keen to repeat.

At the back stage-right corner was the rigid figure of James. Unlike the others who were either asleep or scribbling madly, James Watson narrowed his eyes and observed his peers. Every so often he tilted his head, changing subjects. The lecture board continued to fill but he didn’t feel the need to lift his feathered pen for there were far more interesting things afoot than the eternal motion of the planets.

The twin doors of the lecture room flew open with a gush of wind, startling those that had been napping. A young woman with a dishevelled mop of golden hair dragged a wiry gentleman behind her, depositing him in the nearest seat. She nodded at the professor and then collapsed next to Tesla, opening her book where she quickly set to work copying the board.

Nikola rolled his eyes, spun around so that he was lying lengthways across the bench, and promptly went to sleep with his head irritatingly in her lap. Helen ignored him, brushing her hair out of the way.

“Mr Tesla?” the professor had stopped writing to stare expectantly at the empty section of bench hiding Tesla.

“Yes, sir?” came the half muffled, mostly bored response.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a bolt of lightning hitting the south end of the building, would you?” his very large, white eyebrows furrowed. The professor knew that the young boy was fascinated by the sheer intrigue of raw current – with good reason. He had what could only be described as affection for it. A relationship that was proving dangerous for the integrity of the building.

There was a long silence in response. The professor shook his head slowly and returned to the board.

“Let me know if you remember…” he muttered, picking a new piece of chalk.

Nikola, blissfully looking forward to his sleep, shut his eyes and started planning frictionless power systems. He’d just managed a smile when all the air was forced out of his lungs by the sudden impact of a heavy book on his chest. Coughing, he sat up with a start.

“What the…” there was a sizable text book in his lap.

“Niiice of you to join us,” a deep voice rolled over the air. It belonged to a tall, strong-cut face with a square chin and deep brown eyes. The eyes trailed to Helen, hovered there for a moment, and then returned to the shocked Nikola.

“And who are you?” Nikola dusted off the book and laid it on the bench. He coughed again and then groaned, feeling his skin burn from the impact.

“I’m new,” replied John. “Well, not that new. This is my fourth class but the first one that you’ve attended since I started. Helen said that I should return your textbook and thank you for its use.”

Nikola opened the cover and saw that it was, indeed, his. Not that he’d opened it. His name was written in Helen’s careful handwriting.

“Thank you John,” whispered Helen, risking a glance.

“You leant him my book?” Nikola frowned, lowering his voice so that the ominous student couldn’t hear.

“Don’t worry, I relocated the spiders nesting on it,” she smirked. “It’s not like you missed it, Nikola. Now quiet, I have to get all this down.”

“It’s rubbish anyway,” Tesla shifted the book to the side as he scanned the board. “There’s a new theory about to be published that shows the earth is much older than that.”

“Maybe, but right now I need you to stop speaking.” She prodded him with the tip of her quill, which hurt quite a bit more than she meant it to.

It worked though. For at least two minutes Nikola didn’t say a word.

“Helen?”

“Sh…”

“Can I plagiarise your assignment on Inheritance and Mendal?” he inched in a bit, rocking ever so slightly until Helen flicked her damp hair over her shoulder and glared. “That’d be a no then,” he sighed, making the bench back into a bed.

*~*~*

Helen’s essay on Inheritance and Mendal mysteriously made its way into Tesla’s attic accommodation several days later where it was promptly skimmed, re-worded and presented in class where it received a B-.

According to the professor, Nikola had been marked on his ability to acquire answers.

James Watson, a creature who Nikola rarely spoke to except to taunt, held his own paper up so that it’s A was glaringly obvious.

“Your motor still bursting into flames?” inquired Tesla, ripping his own assignment into a thousand pieces.

James seldom bothered with more than one word, “Presently.”

“Excellent news. Let me know when your life goes up in smoke.” He tipped his hat and headed out the main doors to the garden.

Watson watched the strange man vanish into the morning. “Indeed…” He was about to waltz off down to the dining hall when something beautiful caught his eye. Ms Magnus, daughter of the currently discredited but once well-thought-of physician, was making her way toward him. At first he thought he must have been inadvertently standing in the way of her target but every time he took a subtle step she realigned her trajectory.

“’scuse me,” she started, quite out of breath.

He’d never spoken to her before now, except when handing out things in class and that one time they’d said an awkward, ‘hello’ in the corridor. James tried to look as pleasant as he could, shaking off his usual icy disposition and general dislike of conversation.

“Yes?” he managed, slipping his brass glasses into a more stable position, higher up the bridge of his nose.

Helen’s hands settled on her hips as she caught her breath. “I’m not wanting to disturb you,” she began, albeit a little suspiciously, “but – I was – wondering. You’re good at anatomy, if I remember?”

Not the first question he thought he’d be asked by the daughter of a doctor. “Presumably.”

“Would I be able to borrow you, for a little while? No more than an hour or so. If you’ve got time, of course.”

James clasped his gloved hands behind his back and nodded, curiosity getting the better of him.

2

UNIVERSE IN THE LAKE

James Watson crossed his legs, collecting his things into a neat pile beside the library table.

The university library was a conglomerate of too many years spent tacking buildings onto one another without the slightest nod to style. This haphazard maze was divided into two main sections known to the students colourfully as, ‘old’ and ‘new’. Anything vulgar built within the last fifty years fell into the latter category.

The old section was where James preferred to spend his precious time. He liked the sandstone walls, tinted green from centuries of rain and moss – it wasn’t attractive but they brimmed with character. Gothic chandeliers were strung between the towering bookshelves where a single librarian sorted through a trolley of books, painstakingly ordering them onto the shelves. Its aisles were cave like, dwarfed by thousands of books recording a history of human thought.

Today, however, he had been dragged to the new section of the library. It was bustling with near-sighted students snerching books from the shelves and piling them into towers on their friends’ arms. James raised his nose. The smell of varnish and ink permeated the air and tested his patience as he waited for Ms Magnus to return from the cabinet housing recently published papers.

“Still alive,” he made the observation of himself, when she finally returned.

Helen Magnus held several folders tied together with green and gold ribbon.

“They don’t like us borrowing these,” she began, sliding them onto the dark wood table before taking her seat opposite. “New publications except for this one,” her finger tapped the folder on top, “unpublished work by one of the university patrons. We’re especially not allowed to borrow this.”

His eyes tracked over the name on the cover, ‘Karl Landsteiner – On Red Blood Cells’ James had never borrowed anything from the library before, so this restriction did not concern him.

Helen undid the ribbon and gently spread the folder’s contents into a fan as you would a pack of cards. They were roughly printed on fine tissue-like paper with sketchy diagrams and hand-written annotations scattered throughout the text. Hesitantly, she folded her arms onto the table and leant toward James, searching him for something.

He stared curiously back with mellowed-brown eyes. A casual passer would not guess their sharpness but Helen was no casual bystander.

“I’ve been working on something for a while,” she said softly, “but I am wise enough to recognise my limits. The subject which intrigues me is young to the world and so the information I have been able to acquire is either scattered, incomplete or contradictory. Truth is, I need someone who has spent time on their own investigation of the subject matter.”

He wondered how she had known.

“Like me?” he replied, his voice softening to silk.

“Exactly like you.”

Helen Magnus had surprised James Watson already. His private obsession into the workings of the human body was not public knowledge.

“You intrigue me, Ms Magnus.”

“Helen, please,” she corrected him.

“Helen, then. You have my attention but not my trust. Frontiers of science are often a viper pit and my good sense is telling me that you are a very cunning participant in the workings of the world.” James paused. “However,” he added with a smile when he saw that she did not flinch at the accusation, “there are worse partners to be had. I’d like to know one thing before I agree to help you. How did you find out about me?”

Her eyes shone.

“That was easy my dear Watson. Someone had been borrowing the campus’s supply of glassware – that, and I cornered your dorm mate in the corridor.”

“Secrets do not become him,” said Watson of poor Nigel. The universe had entrusted him with the awful burden of honesty and no way to hide it.

*~*~*

Nikola found himself hovering over a small stream trickling its way around the rocks at the front of the university. He followed it through hedges and encroaching lawns all the way around the side of the building and out into the rear gardens where it ended in a freezing pond.

The back of the university looked like a long, blonde-stone rectangle lounging on the iridescent green slope. Several floors high, the university was dominated by a library at its centre with sweeping iron windows and Juliet balconies.

The garden was hemmed in by the city on all sides whose noise and dirt was kept at bay by a cast iron fence too tall to scale and capped in fleur-de-lis. A planting of Plane Trees hid most of the city in the warm seasons with their dense branches of soft foliage. It was nothing like home, but Tesla preferred it to the building.

He glanced back at the rock prison with a grin when he saw the shattered windows and singed stone from the lightning strike. It would take them some time to dismantle the lightning rod adhered to the roof above his room.

Nikola Tesla knelt down to the eerie pond. The creek fed into it in a gentle, metre wide channel with a steady current at its centre and slow water lulling by the banks. Croaking in the long grass Tesla could hear his prey – namely smallish green frogs. He would need at least four for his next experiment and he had just the thing to acquire them.

*~*~*

James shook his head to quiet Helen’s constant stream of hushed questions.

“It is not safe, in my experience, to mix the blood of species,” James flipped through Landsteiner’s notes. “This explains why it is even dangerous to attempt transfusions between humans. The success rate is a little under half – not a mortality rate that appeals to me.”

“Damn,” Helen whispered, defeated. She had read the same thing a thousand times but she had been really hoping that the papers had been mistaken. She was about to pack up everything and vanish when James withdrew one of the folders and spun it around to face her.

“With an exception,” he said, enjoying the way her bright hair slid over her shoulders as her head snapped up. “I have found a measure of success in swine. It is an undocumented phenomenon drawn from principles in this report.”

“Could you show me?” her elbows took the brunt of her mass as she bridged the distance between them.

“Of course. I highly doubt that your motivations are sheer curiosity and I guarantee that you’ll find nothing further but mysteries until you start asking honest questions.”

Helen frowned. James Watson would not be as easily manipulated as she had hoped.

“Show me this experiment and I’ll let you in.”

Two great minds sized each other up and settled upon a joint disquiet.

“Tonight then,” he said. “My lab is prepped. If you can stand the disorder, you are welcome to join me.”

*~*~*

Tesla’s frogs croaked to themselves, hopping around the woven basket that he had borrowed/stolen from Helen.

He lay on the grass, staring into the black water with an absent set of eyes. He thought about the rocks of the building grinding into dust, melting and being remade into mountains only to be pulverised at the end of the world. Then they would be a swirling cloud of particles, wandering into energy until even that dissipated – stretched to infinity. As far as he could determine, nothing was permanent in this existence. A life, memory and even the very soul is gone in the whisper of a breath.

Except for this.

Nikola sat by the edge of the stream, watching the eddy currents swirl along the bank like tiny galaxies following the tide. He imagined the speckles of dust on the waters’ surface as the endless bank of stars sliding by and the ripples of the insects touching its tension as the endless propagation of gravity waves.  Suddenly, what no man could ever hope to see was before him. Nikola looked at it and smiled casually, blowing a leaf across the water.

The scene was spoilt by a splash.

A muddy ball bobbed in the pond, destroying the subtle patterns of the water with a series of concentric waves. Tesla fished it out, taking hold of a nearby tree and stretching over the water until his cuff dipped into it.

“Urgh…” he muttered, dragging the ball back to the bank where he found a short, untidy student rubbing their nose in expectation. Tesla held the ball up to the snivelling creature who moved to take it, but Tesla withdrew, holding it well out of reach. “And who are you?” he asked.

The boy was visibly out of breath. Behind him, a line of others were assembling at the top of the hill, clearly waiting for the ball.

“Ni-gel,” he puffed, reaching again for the ball. “Com’on, give us the ball back.”

Tesla, who was both slender and tall, had no imminent desire to oblige him.

“I know you,” he said. “Aren’t you the one that snores through late class?”

“Hey man,” Nigel Griffin replied, “at least I bother to attend.”

Tesla considered this, but was sure that there was little difference between absence and snoozing. Bored of this creature, Tesla threw the ball over his head, back up to where the others were waiting.

“Run along now,” Tesla shooed the student away from his presence. When he was gone, Nikola sat back on the bank only to notice a trio of frogs hopping happily to freedom. His basket had been knocked open by the ball. “Wonderful…” he growled.

“What is?” A flurry of black lace and blonde hair settled on the grass next to him. Helen lifted her hand out of the path of an escaping frog and soon found her basket upturned and suspiciously empty. “Did you steal my basket?” she raised her accusing eyes at Nikola, but he was engrossed in the stream bubbling along at their feet. “I’m going to pretend that you gave me an eloquent apology and really good excuse,” she picked up her possession, dusting the grass of its lid.

As usual, Nikola had not said a word to her. She liked that. His silence was approval. Had he wanted her gone, Nikola would have made her keenly aware of it.

“You’ll have to find your own way to class tonight,” she continued. “In my opinion, you should make an effort to be there. It’s the least you can do after causing damage to campus property.”

Nikola lost interest in the water and instead, lay back onto the grass, staring at the grey bank of clouds rolling over them. He felt a fleck of rain on his cheek as Helen joined him, stretching onto the lawn.

“Good,” Helen sighed.

*~*~*

The night was thick. Instead of raining, the clouds had fallen to the ground in a cold mist that hid everything but the uppermost level of the university.

Helen rested against the window, seeing nothing but a grey blur from the ground floor. The clock behind her ticked loudly and then chimed. Evening class was starting but Helen had no intention of attending. Instead, she waited by the window for James Watson.

3

THE START OF SOMETHING

He stood behind, watching her for several minutes. James couldn’t explain it or even reason why, but there was something distinctly sinister about Helen’s silhouette against the arching window that made him hesitate.

“Oh,” Helen was startled when she found James leaning on a doorway. “I worried that you wouldn’t come.”

“I am a man of my word,” he said, offering her his arm in a gentlemanly manner.

He led her up the double marble staircase and around to the main student living quarters. Helen had never been allowed here partly because she was a young lady in Victorian England but largely because she still lived at home with an overprotective father.

“There is nothing to concern yourself with,” James assured her. “The dormitories are as dull as any level.”

She rolled her eyes, far from threatened as he pulled up at his room. He knocked first, but as he expected, Nigel was downstairs, nodding off happily in the lecture.

*~*~*

John was surprised by the entrance of Nikola Tesla, gracing the lecture with his presence halfway through. What surprised him more was the absence of Helen.

“Damages to the structure of the university tower have been deducted from your account,” the lecturer informed Tesla as he took his seat. “And the engineering lab would like their coil of copper wire returned as soon as you’ve untangled it from the roof.”

Nikola ignored the professor, instead flipping open a journal. Much to the astonishment of the room, he diligently began copying the contents of the board in a tidy font.

John found his eyes glancing at the door throughout the lecture but Helen never showed. There was another conspicuous gap in the bench belonging to an ever observant, rarely spoken James Watson. John narrowed his eyes, no-one had dared to take up Watson’s seat. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

*~*~*

Helen held a handkerchief over her mouth and nose as she stepped into James’s room.

There was a bitter smell on the air that slipped down her throat, sticking halfway down where it became pure vile. She gagged, bending over in shock as she simultaneously struggled for breath and tried to avoid it.

“You get used to it,” said James, closing the door behind them. He slipped a hand around Helen’s waist and lifted her back to her feet, holding her until she regained composure. “Please, this way.”

The room was a long rectangle, more like a tunnel reaching for the small window at its far end than a proper dormitory. Someone had jammed a cloth in the window’s frame, sealing out all light and air – or maybe, Helen reconsidered, sealing the terrible stench inside.

Two beds, one immaculate and the other a mess of blankets and notes, were pushed as far as possible toward the door in such a way that she had hit her leg on one as she followed James deeper into the room. A line of oil lamps burnt along the right hand wall, sitting along a narrow shelf. Each one had a bulb of oil beneath them, glowing in the firelight. She could smell the citronella now. Helen followed a black trail of smoke with her eyes and saw that along the ceiling were a series of black circles to match each lamp.

Four desks hugged the back and side walls in a U shape. A single line of glassware spanned them. Beakers, tubes, flasks, burners, heat mats, distillers, stirring devices and scaffolding were joined in a fragile arrangement. Liquids of different colours bubbled, cooled or trickled in their respective containers.

Rats. Filthy, wild, black street rats scurried about in cages stored beneath the desks. She could hear their claws on the soiled newspapers and their teeth testing the strength of the wire. Beside them was a roughly made wooden box open at the top. Helen approached it cautiously, half kneeling on the dusty ground. It was full of hay which, to her great worry, was moving.

“Our lucky winner for today,” said James, sliding the crate out into the open. Something small and pink was moseying about inside, trying to forage for a stray piece of carrot. “Hold this please.”

James handed Helen a slender knife so sharp that it cut through the air as she took it from him. He pushed her back gently as he reached into the box, his hands disappearing into the dried the grass.

“Come on,” he muttered, as the animal slipped out of his grip with a high pitched squeal, thrashing its chubby legs. Watson expertly wrestled it onto the nearest table, holding it down with one hand whilst waving Helen over with the other. He clicked his fingers at her, not lifting his eyes from the piglet.

Helen realised that he was after the knife, so she placed it in his outstretched hand, turning her head sharply when he cut down into the creature.

*~*~*

Paler than usual, Helen moved quietly through the empty corridors of the university. It was almost eleven and far too late to return home. Her father wouldn’t be pleased but he expected it – Helen was often absent on Thursdays after late class. Usually Nikola would drag her back to the attic to bear witness to his latest show. He wasn’t one to enjoy the company of people, but he still needed someone to share the world which he discovered with – someone other than the snowy pigeon that haunted his window sill.

Her stomach was still turning, but she could not deny the excitement she had felt as the first real science began to unfold. This was it, she was doing something of worth, Discovering, investigating and it thrilled her in a terrifying sense.

Helen found a small notebook at the foot of Tesla’s attic but no Tesla. That was odd. She had never known him to be anywhere but here outside of class – or perhaps the roof though he always left the stairs down in case she dropped by. Not that he’d ever admit to it.

“You’re drenched!” Helen exclaimed in a whisper, as a decidedly drenched Nikola traipsed down the corridor toward her half an hour later, seemingly caught up in his own mind. He didn’t notice her concerned frown until Helen put a hand to his head to check his temperature. He was freezing.

“Did you know that the university has a pool?” he said, louder than was acceptable for the hour.

“No I didn’t,” she eyed him with great concern. “Don’t tell me you went swimming in the middle of the night! Of all the things to do…”

He fished around with a hook for the latch to the attic. Finally he caught the ring and pulled hard, bringing the ladder-like stairs folding from the ceiling in a loud groan. Without a word, he scaled the stairs leaving a trail of water behind him. Helen hitched up her lace skirt and followed him, carrying the book under her arm.

“This yours?” she held the leather bound item aloft as soon as she reached the attic. Nikola was busy lighting oil lamps – most of which were scattered over the floor. The book looked like a possession of Tesla’s – immaculate and generally unused, but the handwriting was conspicuously tidy. Out of curiosity, she gave some of the pages a quick read and found that they were lecture notes. Very un-Tesla indeed.

He continued to ignore her, strolling straight over to a tangle of wires she presumed to be his latest experiment, dripping all the way as a stream trickled from his woollen trench coat. Helen shook her head, put the book on the floor along with her bag, and came up behind him. Before he had the chance to protest, Helen had slipped the coat off of his shoulders and hung it by the window to dry. He was left in a white collared and cuffed shirt which stuck to his wet skin. Semi transparent, hints of muscle and skin were visible as he crouched down. His silk tie – blood red with gold oriental patterns, was still snuggling around his neck – all be it a little damp.

Helen’s own clothes hung around her ankles as her full length embroidered skirt caught a gust of cold wind sneaking in through the now glassless window. Taking a bundle of pins from her bag, she tacked her ringlets out of the way and changed into a spare pair of rubber boots that Nikola left in the corner. It was a necessary precaution when in Nikola’s presence to insulate one’s self form the ground should he take a fancy to a passing electric current. It wasn’t particularly ladylike, but then Helen had never been a typical lady.

Nikola began handing her things as soon as she sat down on the floor as if she were an extension of him. He didn’t ask her where she had been for half the night, but she felt the need to explain herself.

“I’ve got a little project of my own,” she began, though he didn’t stop to listen. “Of a different kind to yours. More in biological sciences – Watson is –”

“Not worth your time,” he interrupted, “and not as clever as he lets on.”

“Yes, I am aware that the two of you disapprove of one another. Do you want to hear my story or not?” she reached out and touched his hand, trying to get his attention. A light jolt of electricity jumped through her skin, dissipating down her wrist.

“Sorry…” he muttered, moving his hands away from her. “It does that. When you’re on the floor the boots don’t –” He had a habit of not finishing sentences.

“I’m going to go,” she said quietly, putting the experiment gently on the floor. “You’re busy and you don’t need me disturbing you with senseless chatter. Goodnight Nikola.”

Nikola felt the layers of her dress ruffle past him, dancing over his skin. The flames of his lanterns dimmed as she walked by them, striding through the room. He stared down at coil of wire in his hands, closed his eyes, and then put it down.

“Stay,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. “Please.”

Helen stopped, halfway through changing her shoes. “You don’t need me,” she said. “And you never wanted me here in the first place. I should have left a long time ago.”

Nikola got to his feet. In the moon and lamp light, still drenched, he looked strangely off guard. He was more alive when he had a brilliant idea, she could see it in his eyes – that glint of something she wanted so desperately to see. A truth on the horizon, revealed in an instant. It was what she searched for, why she wanted to be a scientist and what excited her about Nikola.

“I need you to hold this…” he pointed at an object on the ground but kept his eyes on her. The truth was that Nikola didn’t require anyone to help him, but he needed her. Ever since she had found him at the beginning of the year, staring out from his attic window, he had needed her. “Your experiment, tell me about it,” he offered.

Helen eyed him for quite some time before finally rolling her eyes, deciding to stay.

“Later,” she said, returning to his side. They sat down together, their eyes occasionally flicking to each other but never at the same time.

“Don’t leave me,” he said softly, not daring to look at her in case she disapproved.

Helen didn’t leave. She stayed there all night by his side as he created a motor with a new kind of electricity, one more powerful than any the world had seen. By the time he was finished, Helen was asleep on the floor beside to him, resting her head in her hands which still clutched onto the useless piece of wire he had given her to hold. He smiled – something he would not let her see him do.

Finished, he picked her up gently and carried her to the small bed in the corner of the attic, laying her on it. He found a warm blanket and placed it over her, then blew out all the lamps, and reclined against the floorboards for the few hours remaining before day broke.

*~*~*

Helen returned home before breakfast, depositing various items in the foyer before staggering upstairs to change. Her father, Dr. Gregory Magnus, was waiting for her at the breakfast table, reading through the newspaper. He didn’t say anything, but Helen could feel his disapproval glaring at her through the print.

“I have to leave in an hour,” he announced, as Helen sipped a cold cup of tea. “Will you be back this evening?”

“Will you?” Like father like daughter. Gregory was often missing, out on expeditions or simply gone without explanation.

Gregory sighed, folding his paper. “You’re too much like me,” he muttered.

4

BREAKING IN

The latch on the front door of the Magnus apartment dropped, crashing into the lock. Shortly after, her father’s shadow tracked over the leadlight windows in the morning glow. A horse drawn cart rattled over the cobblestones, skidding on the dew. An old man with a curved spin hushed the gas streetlights and a trio of feral dogs sniffed the curb, hunting a long vanished mouse.

Helen finished her tea, calmly draining the china cup. Her heart was beating fast and a shiver working its way across her skin. Finally, she thought, now that she was alone with the house.

Helen’s hand hovered over the brass handle leading to her father’s study. Hesitation – something she was known for. The door would be locked. Her father always locked his study door, mainly to keep prying eyes like hers at bay. Sure enough, upon trying the handle Helen found it stuck firm.

Undeterred, she slipped her fingers into her hair, pulling out one of the pins still nesting amongst her curls. With practised ease, she fed it into the lock, turning it slowly until one of its bent ends hooked over the locking mechanism.

She leant against the door, pushing it open despite the angry squeal unleashed. It was like trespassing on sacred ground – crossing Gregory’s office. Helen did it quickly, heading straight for his desk. She skirted around the side of it to the front section, nudging his leather chair out of the way. There were three beautifully carved draws along its front. Helen picked the one in the centre, jiggling it open. The old wood was damp and stuck to the tracks but she wrestled with it until her eyes fell over its contents.

A dozen or so letters were scattered on top. Digging through them, Helen’s fingers expertly hunted for the silver key hidden at the back of the draw. She held it up to the light and smiled. It was attached to a gold-thread tassel which would hold its own against any respectable treasure.

*~*~*

Watson reclined against the cool brick wall behind his bed. He was seated on top of the covers, fully clothed with his feet hanging over the edge and a silk scarf around his nose to dull the stench. He liked to consider himself an early riser, never wasting a moment of the day, but Nigel Griffin put him to shame, up well before the sun even considered peaking over the cloud banks.

With half an hour before breakfast, James kept himself busy reading through the folders Helen had been so kind as to point out to him in the ‘new’ library. He borrowed them, in the more loose sense of the word. Nikola would call it ‘acquiring’ and Helen might go so far as ‘stealing’ but Watson considered it a necessity for the greater good of knowledge. Besides, he would return them well before anyone noticed their absence.

Helen had been right. The information on the subject was a mess of internal contradictions held back by the technology of the time. Several writers expressed frustration at their equipment while others had spent a good portion of their research time building more sensitive equipment rather than running tests. Work was going slowly. Helen was interested in knowledge at the very edge of the horizon, perhaps even beyond it.

“Awake already?” Nigel Griffin had opened the door tacitly, slipping into the room unnoticed. He headed for his makeshift wardrobe, ducking into it, searching for his overcoat.

“Of course,” James replied, choosing the last folder.

Nigel slung the coat over his shoulders, retrieved a satchel – checking specially for his diary, and then returned to the door frame.

“We need to open that window,” he said, resisting the urge to hurl. After the fresh air of sports field, his dormitory was almost unbearable except for – he sniffed again, more carefully this time. There was a new scent wading through the usual putrid haze. It was a faint perfume – oddly familiar. “Someone’s been in here…” he said accusingly, wrapping his fingers around the door. “That blonde woman – you haven’t…”

James lifted his eyes from the file. Their meaning was clear, but he backed them up with a stern, “Of course not.”

His dormitory companion raised a scruffy eyebrow. “Right…” he decided to leave the subject alone. “Well, four of us are going into town after breakfast to replace our quills. We’ll divert to the river if we can. I’d invite you along to join us but your default answer in cases such as these seems to be an irritated, ‘no’.”

James’s silence confirmed Nigel’s assumption.

The silence was too silent.

Their room was usually a quiet ruckus of animals, buried in crates and cages along the far wall yet all Nigel could hear were the rats chewing at the bars.

“What happened to the George?” he asked, worried.

“Can you obtain a new pig whilst you are in town?”

Nigel had his answer, and he was not happy about it. George was a pet, though apparently not to James who seemed to lack affection for anything alive. “I’m no errand boy,” he glared, forever sensitive of his less than privileged upbringing.

Perhaps he should have asked first, thought Watson, but he had not been aware of Nigel’s attachment to the creature. “But you can?”

“Of course I can,” muttered Nigel, slamming the door shut.

*~*~*

Helen climbed the stairs to the attic, ducking under an ill-placed beam. She struck a match and the dark landing flickered into light. With her spare hand, Helen slipped the key into the lock and entered the attic. Before anything, she lit one of the hanging oil lamps.

The attic was not your typical laboratory. It had a makeshift feel about it, accentuated by the overturned trunks posing as desks and the tightly packed crates lining the wall in a bookshelf of sorts.

She breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of knowledge. It was a heady mix of parchment, ink and burning oil. Helen thought that it was beautiful, in a forbidden manner. Her father never brought her up here. When she was eleven years old she assembled the courage to ask about the room at the top of the stairs. He told her that it was empty. Helen Magnus learnt two important lessons that day. One; Gregory Magnus was an accomplished liar and two; there was something of great value hidden away in the attic.

It was another three years before she found herself standing in exactly the same place, staring out at the room with a flame working its way down her match.

“Ouch…” she dropped the match. It burnt itself out before hitting the floor.

Helen stepped over it, striding to the largest of the trunk-desks. In the low light, she skimmed over its chaos of objects. Her father had never been neat, but this place was an exceptional mess, even by his standards.

It was odd then, she thought, when she saw a cleared segment of desk with an envelope laid out with its writing facing the attic door – opposite to the rest of the items. She bent down toward it, struggling to read its address in the waning light.

‘Helen’, it read.

She jerked backwards, glancing nervously at the door behind to make sure that she was alone. Helen checked the writing on the envelope again. It was definitely addressed to her. She looked more carefully at the way it was presented on the desk and it became clear, it was left there for her to find.

Predicting that she was already going to be in trouble, Helen lifted the letter up, turned it over and then slid her nail under the wax sealing it. It snapped off and letter unfolded.

‘To my dearest Helen,

‘Time was short for us. I imagine that I have become one of your father’s stories by now, woven about in that restless imagination of his. You enjoy his stories I’m sure as it gives him pleasure to tell them well. It was my hope that one day he would tell you our story – maybe that day has past. It is difficult, addressing a time that will not come for so long and for me, never at all.

‘It was my instruction that he keep one story in particular from you for as long as possible. If he has given you this letter, then you have already begun to notice the subtle changes within yourself – they said that in time you would.

‘Helen, you have a gift. Do not let anybody tell you otherwise. It is precious, unique and it is yours alone.

‘When you were fourteen months old you crawled onto a window sill and fell, three floors to the street. Against all expectations, you lived – unharmed save a scar behind your left ear. Indeed your injuries were mild and what little of them you had, you recovered from in days rather than months. The doctors did not know what to think, and so abandoned your case, putting it down to an act of God but your father and I watched you very carefully from then on.

‘You never got ill, Helen.

‘Your father studies, or I should say, has an interest in the extremities of humanity. He has seen variations on our form which test the very definition of what it is to be human. Some of his creatures are beautiful, others frightening.

‘He learnt that a small percentage of us have an abnormality. In all of his creative genius, he called these people, ‘Abnormals’ and began to devote a great deal of time and money studying them. Soon he discovered that he was not the first to cross this path, and together we uncovered a history of human diversity through antiquity documents up until the present day.

‘It became clear, like a flash of light across an evening sky, that you too, are one of them.

‘Time for you, will be an endless walk. It is your gift to move through its ages, free of the fear mortality brings.

‘Forgive me, for not being there with you.

‘Your mother.’

*~*~*

Helen stood in front of the small oval mirror. She lifted her hair away from her ear, and turned her head to the side. A thin red line curved across her skin. Her fingers hovered over it. Was it even possible? To live forever – Helen refused to believe a word of it.

5

TAKING A TURN

She stacked her notebooks calmly, tying them together before slipping them inside her father’s leather satchel. Nothing had changed. It was only a letter. A letter from the past which meant nothing. Helen Magnus repeated her thoughts, wanting more than anything to believe them.

The tears on her cheeks had gone cold. She wiped them off, unsure of how they had gotten there without her approval.

It was mid-morning and the city was thick with bodies trying to reach their respective destinations. The university was within walking distance, visible where it rose above the other buildings. She could see its two spires, reaching up toward the sky with their tops stained darker sandstone, almost like the smoky peaks of mountains.

The sight of its steadfast walls drew her in. She had never felt an attachment to the place that she’d had to fight to step into and even harder to stay, but all of a sudden there was no place that she’d rather be than inside its hostile walls.

Helen joined the crowd of students trailing in through the gates. Aside from the wives of professors taking a turn around the gardens, she was the only lady making her way toward the building. The men noticed this, turning their heads ever so slightly as she walked past them. Most averted their eyes, returning to their conversations, maybe even throwing in an aside about the outrage of allowing a woman to study. It was a select few that greeted her with a smile, tipping their hats.

The truth was, the university had never officially allowed her to study within its walls. She was neither enrolled, nor on any attendance lists. She was just a woman that happened to sit inside the lecture rooms, furiously taking notes and handing in assignments for the interest of the professors who read them, not out of duty but curiosity.

“Helen,” a friendly voice approached. It belonged to Mr. Druitt, the mysterious student she had met several weeks ago, lurking in the hallway outside night class.

“Still lost?” she raised her eyebrow challengingly. They were both supposed to be in class already.

“Would your opinion of me lower if I confessed to it?” he smiled, a few strands of soft hair falling over his eyes. It made her return the smile with a slight flutter in her stomach.

“It would make me suspect of your directional skills,” she confessed, climbing the steps in front of the main doors to meet him. John was hiding in the shade of the overhang, watching the crowds scurry by. It was a favourite past time of his.

“Truth hurts,” he offered her his arm, which she took, wrapping her fingers gently around the stiff fabric of his coat.

Helen rolled her eyes, letting John escort her around the passageway which hugged the edge of the building protected by an overhang of ornately carved wood. “This is not the way to class,” she noted, to his amusement.

“No it’s not,” he admitted. “But I could not resist taking the long way.”

They did not say anything else, content to walk quietly in each others’ company.

*~*~*

Nikola kept a vigil by his attic window, brushing the remainders of the glass from its frame. He didn’t care that the shards tumbled over the roof tiles and onto the passersby below. She hadn’t come to class and he could not understand why it bothered him so much.

He had been alone all of his life, ever since the horse had reared up and pounded his brother from this life. Every time he closed his eyes he heard those hooves and saw his frightened sibling scream, reaching towards him. That had been his life until Helen had appeared, slipping into the back row of night class.

Now, when he closed his eyes, sometimes he saw her smile.

Nikola’s bony elbows dug into the corners of the window, propping his head up as he stared out at the city beyond the university’s gates. A few pigeons played on the breeze, soaring high above, hunting scraps. He watched them wistfully.

One broke from the flock to cruise by his window, buffeting his face with the flap of its wings.

“Not now,” he whispered to it, waving the attentions of the beautiful creature away.

*~*~*

They sat on the seat beneath one of the ancient plane trees. Its limbs spread out over the lawn, decorating it with shadows that shimmered in the breeze, rearranging themselves in an endless tessellation.

Helen’s arm was still locked beneath John’s, kept safe. He wanted to say, ‘You’re very beautiful…’ but didn’t dare. This woman’s reputation preceded her by two city blocks and screams of genuine terror so he settled for, “It’s a beautiful day.”

She agreed, stretching her free arm along the edge of the bench. Neither of them cared about the class going on inside the building. It was a sacrifice worth enduring and it was completely unintentional.

“Oh my,” Helen half-jumped at the chiming of the clock tower as it rang out over the university garden. “I should have been in the library hours ago.” Poor Watson, he would be waiting for her. “I really must go,” she said, freeing herself from John.

He stood with her, still smiling at the way she fussed.

“Would you like company on your long journey?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied quickly. “I find the walk reasonably short under normal circumstances. There has been enough diversion for one day.”

“Harsh,” John stepped back, allowing her passage.

She gave him a little wink, “The truth always is.”

*~*~*

James Watson had forgotten all about Helen Magnus.

His nose inched further and further toward the bindings of his latest find – the published journal of Claude Bernard. It was in French, which suited James. Languages were like songs to him. He learnt their rhythm until their lyrics unfolded and he could hum along in tune.

‘Medicine, like any other form of science, can be reduced to its mathematical base. Quantifiable principles, natural laws, predictable results – all of these should be applicable to the natural sciences as readily as to the mechanical world. It is only that the laws of natural things outweigh their counterparts in complexity that we are yet to discover their detail.’

Watson trailed his finger over the lines of text. He agreed. The world around him was full of detail, some of it too small for him to make out. There had to be laws to govern it otherwise the world he knew would fall to chaos.

‘It is possible to observe the crossings of these two worlds. Inside the human body are systems not unlike machinery. Their processes are quantifiable – especially those of the heart and blood. Like a machine, the heart pumps the life source around the body in accordance with a set of laws detailed in the following. Vivisections reveal these internal movements of the body. Pealing back the layers of a living organism such as a frog allows us to study these mechanical phenomena in great detail.’

Watson would copy these experiments, cruel as they were. He had to know about the world – every detail he could pry from its claws. His hunger for it would not rest. The secrets of life, more than anything, satisfied his ravenous curiosity and allowed him nights of peaceful sleep in a world he would one day be able to explain.

“Splendid, you are still here.”

Helen dragged a heavy chair halfway across the floor in a loud screech. The librarian glared viciously at the blonde, but Helen Magnus wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. She pulled her seat beside the window that James had chosen to occupy and collapsed into it, digging through her bag for a notepad.

The dreadful noise of old wood grinding against polished floors shattered the world he had retreated into. James looked up.

“I apologise for the –” she checked the clock hung above the desk where the librarian was stamping a pile of books with more force than was necessary. “It really is getting quite late,” she realised.

“It depends upon the length of your day,” replied James, returning his nose to the pages.

Helen was not used to being ignored, which was exactly what James did every time his head sagged toward the pages of a book. He had more interest in the writings of dead men than her bright eyes and curious mind. This realisation did not distress her, if anything, it intrigued her. Being taken for granted was refreshing.

Without a word, Helen produced a small, loosely bound book and balanced it atop her notepads. She made certain that its title was concealed as she began to read, giving her best impression of intrigue.

It took half an hour before James could bare the secret no more.

“I must know what you’re reading,” he said, attempting to lift the cover. Helen slid her hand over it, pinning it down.

“Nothing that would interest you,” she replied, flicking the page over.

“You are a tease, Ms Magnus,” James closed his own document, holding its cover up for her inspection. “I see that we will have to learn to share if we are to get on.”

She did the same with hers, and the pair exchanged documents.

“How very generous of you, Mr Watson,” she opened the new book dramatically. Her victorious smile shrivelled when she realised that the book was in French. Too embarrassed to confess, she suffered, skimming for equations and trying to make sense out of the few words she could understand.

“Are you unwell?” James touched her hand gently, catching Helen’s attention. She looked pale, though her cheeks had flushed bright pink. The combination made her eyes more blue than any he had seen.

The world blurred a little and Helen realised that she was not well at all. Her head was light, tasting the edges of sleep while her limbs dragged, feeling heavy.

“I don’t,” she stammered, raising a hand to her head as her books slid down her dress to the floor. “I don’t know…”

James lunged forward in time to catch the young woman as she tilted, falling from her chair.

6

THE WORLD’S AN EXPERIMENT

The students at the table opposite looked up, quills hovering over their pages dripping ink as they watched the woman collapse into the waiting arms of a young man.

Blonde ringlets scattered over James’ shoulder as her head settled on his coat. He was on one knee, easing Helen out of the chair and fully into his arms so that he could lift her. Although Helen was a slender thing, her dress and adornments with their yards of fabric tested James’ strength as he carried her through the library, curled over his shoulder.

Helen wandered in and out of consciousness, sometimes opening her eyes a crack to see the hallway flood past in a haze.

He did not delay, turning and making short work of the staircase leading to the top floor of the university. She mumbled something that he couldn’t make out as he reached the end of the stairwell, reshuffling her in his arms as she began to slip.

James arrived in the narrow corridor, barely wide enough for him to carry Helen through. There was an arched window at the far end, dusty and scratched from centuries of neglect. Above him there was a square opening in the ceiling, blocked by a folded set of stairs. With Helen still in his arms, James wrestled with a hooked rod, stretching it up to the ceiling where its sharp end caught the hoop of metal. He yanked it down and the stairs unfolded, revealing the entrance to Tesla’s attic.

“What in the…”

Watson heard a voice above startle.

“Mr Tesla, your assistance please,” James called out, moving Helen to his shoulder so that he could climb the ladder, albeit awkwardly.

Tesla tripped and fell at the sound of his stairs unfurling. Someone heavy was climbing them, about to peak in through the hole in the floor. Nikola picked himself up and raced over, sticking his head through the attic where he found James heaving an unconscious Helen toward him.

“We cannot both come through. Can you reach her waist?”

Nikola was caught off guard by the intrusion, muttering and spluttering that he could. He reached down and took hold of Helen. Seated at the hole’s edge, together Nikola and James managed to navigate her into the attic. She ended up in Nikola’s lap, laid across him.

“Move your legs, Mr Tesla,” James shoved the dangling legs to the side as he tackled the last few steps of the ladder. He was out of breath but far from broken. “Come on, we need to lay her down properly.”

Nikola stared at Helen’s limp body, struck dumb. He didn’t notice the gentle rise and fall of her chest, or the pink flushing beneath her cheeks – all he saw was her still form, dead in his arms.

“It’s Helen…” he whispered, not able to tear his eyes away.

“Well spotted. Now bring her over to the bed. Today, please!” James added sharply, when the young man refused to move.

Staggering to his feet, Nikola made his way to the bed, laying her onto the unmade mess of sheets. James knelt down beside Helen, taking hold of her wrist. Nikola sat on the floor next to James, leaning in toward Helen with a frightened look. He had never seen anyone faint before. Its similarity to death alarmed him.

“She will be fine,” said James, moving to her forehead. She was hot, but not worryingly so. “Do not fuss,” he waved Nikola’s hands away from the sheets he was trying to clear. “She needs air, not panic.”

“What happened?”

“I have no idea,” admitted James. “We were in the library talking and she collapsed. It is not an uncommon condition amongst women – there is probably nothing wrong except it being a particularly warm day.”

Nikola shook his head. “She’s not like that,” he insisted.

“Well,” said James, “she is today. Bring me some water.”

That disgruntled Nikola. He was not used to being treated like a common servant but for Helen’s sake, he obliged the brusque man. James took the glass from him and roused Helen with a splash of water. She sat up with a start, gasping for air.

“Steady on,” James tried to calm her as she clung onto his arm with such force he thought it might break.

“Urg…” she coughed, rasping for air as if it wouldn’t go in. James supported her back with his free arm, pushing her ever so slightly forwards.

“Nikola,” he hissed in the young man’s direction. “Take her other hand.”

Nikola’s eyes wandered to Helen’s flailing hand. He reached out and she caught it.

*~*~*

Helen sipped the glass of water, wrapped in an unused blanket Nikola excavated from the cupboard. She had stopped shaking but still looked unwell. James was over by Nikola’s experiment, kneeling down for a closer look at the unfinished motor. Ordinarily, Nikola would have shrieked and chased him off, afraid of intellectual theft but on this occasion all he did was give a disapproving glance in the other man’s direction.

“Where were you?” he asked Helen, taking the glass from her as she finished. She didn’t seem to understand the question so he asked it again.

“Oh,” she had forgotten about John and their time spent in the garden. “I decided not to come. I was running late as it was and I didn’t want to disturb the others.” It was a bold lie, and Nikola wasn’t fooled. He had lost count of the amount of times Helen had pulled him through the doors of late class with no regard toward the other students.

“This motor will never work,” observed James from in front of the small, metal and wooden object. It looked nothing at all like his own project which, incidentally, had a habit of catching on fire.

“Yes it does,” Nikola snapped over his shoulder. “It’s finished – has been for some time now.”

“Impossible.”

“A certainty, I assure you.”

“Show me.”

“Never.” Nikola was on his feet, about to pace over to James and remove him from the presence of his precious motor. “That is the future,” he declared. “Careful you don’t tread on it.”

“It is a school project,” James corrected. “And just like the rest of us, the professor will grade it and send you on your way.”

“Leave it, Nikola…” Helen had reached up and caught hold of Nikola’s coat. “He is just playing with you. James – enough. Nikola is not one for your games.”

Though neither Helen nor Nikola caught it, James had smiled, satisfied. He had proved something about Nikola that he had always suspected. The world was an experiment to James. He showed no distinction between places and people, if there was something worth learning, James would find a way to learn it regardless of the social consequences.

“And what about your little project?” Tesla tilted his head in a bird like manner. He asked Helen, not James.

He was interested now, thought Helen. Jealousy did that to Nikola.

“It’s not your cup of tea, Nikola,” she replied, letting go of him. “Wishy-washy voodoo, I believed you called the science once.”

“Well, now I am interested,” he was speaking to Helen, but glaring at James, following the man’s every movement as he paced around his floor-bound lab. Nikola just knew that he was going to step on something important. Some people had no respect for other people’s property or the delicacies of –

“I can hear you thinking, Nikola.” Helen scorned. Sometimes Nikola’s eyes betrayed his thoughts more loudly than his lips. “You know, if the two of you could get over whatever it was that set you against each other in the beginning, you’d be the best of friends.”

“An event that will never come to pass,” Nikola assured her. James agreed, accidentally crushing a small coil of wire with his boot.

“All right,” Helen spilled out to avert disaster as James kicked the object aside, “we’re investigating blood compatibility amongst species.”

Nikola spun around, running a wandering finger through his moustache. “Why?” That sounded like a perfectly horrid thing to do.

“Why anything…” she retorted, getting a little snappy herself. He was always like this with anything she did, as if she didn’t have as much right as him to possess curiosity. “The topic was raised in one our assignments and –”

“We did an assignment on blood?”

“No Nikola, you didn’t, but the rest of us did. As I was saying, my father helped me a great deal with the research – it’s a passion of his.”

“Blood is a passion of your father’s… now I really am worried.”

Helen shook her head in frustration. “You can be cruel, when you want to.”

*~*~*

“Remind me what he’s doing here…” James stood in front of his dormitory door, unwilling to open it with Nikola so close by. It was night, ten minutes before their lecture but instead of assembling in the corridor they had decided to carry on with last night’s experiment. Helen’s idea, though she had hidden it well, prompting James into the suggesting through a series of calculated questions. He had forgotten though, how he had agreed to have Tesla present.

“He’s going to have a look at your equipment – see if he can fix that electrical system so that we can carry on with the experiment. Remember? It didn’t work last time.”

Nikola grinned menacingly from behind Helen’s shoulder. No doubt the medic had it all wired backwards. Nikola wasn’t thrilled about spending more time in James’ company but he was curious to take a look at what these little Frankensteins had been up to.

“Well, you are responsible for it at all times,” James eyed Helen sternly, unlocking the door.

*~*~*

The professor was somewhat dismayed. He was used to empty seats. It didn’t bother him that students dragged their bored bodies into his lecture at all hours, hobbling and grumbling as they took their seats. He accepted the empty front row as a compromise between knowledge and social standing. Their lack of interest in the natural world would evolve and one day they would all become decent scientists.

He sighed, turning to face what remained of his room. There were four seats in particular that he didn’t like to see empty yet there they were, abandoned. It wasn’t what they were missing that worried him, it was what they were up to. Even though they didn’t know it yet, the professor could already see that the absent four possessed the streak of curiosity at the heart of brilliance – a dangerous thing to leave alone.

John Druitt had been racing to keep pace with the writing on the board when the professor threw a piece of chalk at him.

“Check your hearing,” the professor said, before adding in his soft, wafting voice, “Would you mind finding the others?”

John frowned, “Find who?”

The professor flicked his eyes to the empty seats. “Off with you,” he turned back to the board, picking a new piece of chalk.

John blinked dumbly, waiting in vain for further instruction. He closed his text book and packed away his things. Find all of them?

*~*~*

“You’re late…” Nigel folded his newspaper, throwing it off to the side as the door to the dormitory opened. His eyes widened when a young woman followed James in who in turn was trailed by the horrible man from the pond.

“Urgh…” Nikola held his nose, “It smells ghastly in here.”

“It passes,” said Helen, stepping between the beds as she followed James toward the laboratory end of the room.

Nigel waited for them to settle in front of the desk at the far end.

“I’m not gonna name this one,” said Nigel, pointing at the box of hay.

“Probably wise,” replied James.

Nikola eyed the box, catching sight of a hint of pale pink flesh. “Why aren’t we naming the pig?” he asked, but found no answer amongst the scientists.

7

VIVISECTION

“Ouch…” Nikola shook off a large spark that snapped over his skin. It left a nasty scorch mark which he attempted to rub off on his jacket to no avail. “There,” he declared finally, as the tangle of equipment spluttered into life. The room was brighter now, baking under the glow of the arclight. “All it takes is a little bit of love.”

“He’s not bad, Helen,” James muttered, nudging the young Nikola out of the way. “I’ll give you that.”

The four of them closed in on the large experiment table which sprawled along the end of the room. It was creaking under the weight of the new equipment Nigel had been busy setting up for their experiment. Despite his manners and clumsily large hands closer in nature to paws, Nigel was a perfectionist when it came to science. His rough approach yielded reliable results, much to the frustration of James.

“Shall we?” James beckoned Helen closer. She came to his side, followed instinctively by Nikola who squeezed himself in next to her.

Soon, all four of them had arranged themselves into a crowded line either side of James, staring intently as Nigel produced a basket. He reached inside and withdrew a startled creature. Nigel passed over the squirming frog, holding it steady as James wrapped his fingers tightly around it like a clamp. Nikola smiled at the frog, peering back into its dark slit eyes. It was a beautiful creature with two oversized yellow orbs for eyes and extremely long legs which it was using to bat at James’ hand leaving trails of sticky liquid on him.

James flinched, appalled by the creature.

“The book, Helen…”

Helen knelt to a large pile of books on the side wall, scanning down their spines until she dug her fingers between them and extracted her desired victim. She laid the book open on the experiment table next to James.

Nigel unrolled a leather satchel to reveal a sinister arrangement of implements tucked inside its pockets. Nikola’s breath caught as he scanned the faces of James and Nigel nervously.

“What kind of experiment are we doing, exactly…” he asked. Helen was packed in tight beside him, staring on eagerly as Nigel loosened the buckles holding the metal objects in place. The look that laced her eyes frightened Nikola – he had never seen that grin upon her lips before.

James tipped the frog onto its back as Nigel selected four long, tapered needles – holding their slender shafts up to the light.

“Good quality,” commented James, as he unfolded one of the frog’s legs, holding its squirming appendage to the table.

“Only the best,” Nigel replied, threading the sharp metal through the frog’s skin, nailing it to the wood beneath. The creature croaked in protest. Panic rippled through its body as Nigel selected another needle.

Helen gasped quietly, finding Nikola’s hand. He barely noticed the brush of fingers over his skin as he stood transfixed, watching as each of the frog’s legs were secured. Next, James selected a medical scalpel and cut a shallow slit down the centre of its chest. Nigel pulled the skin open, pinning it out of the way to reveal its inner workings.

“Oh my god!” Nikola’s throat clenched over. His stomach lurched as the little creature’s heart beat steady, pumping the lifeforce through its splayed body. It was still alive.

“Now,” said James indifferently, “we inject the sample.”

Nikola’s body convulsed. He broke away from Helen, stumbling halfway through the room before hurling his lunch over the floor.

Nigel’s nose tweaked. “Nice,” he muttered over his shoulder. “Do us a favour Helen, don’t bring your friends along for the show next time.”

“He’s not like us,” she snapped, before venturing toward Nikola who was coughing and shuddering. “Calm down,” she whispered, placing a hand on his back.

“This is wrong,” he rasped, pushing her off. “What are you doing here Helen? God…” Nikola fell to his knees, cradling his head. Helen caught him. Her arms slid to his waist and she held Nikola tightly from behind.

“Get him out of here,” hissed James, trying to ignore the distraction. According to the book, they didn’t have long to complete this experiment before the frog gave up the last of its life.

No one had noticed the door to the dormitory creak open. John, with his hand still clutched around the door’s frame, was taken aback by the scene. The stench of the room was unbelievable, toxic and nauseating as he breathed it in. Helen was over by the wall, clutching a very ill Tesla. His pale face was the first to spot John. Nigel and James stood with their backs to the door, leaning over some kind of table immersed in the bright glow of the electric light.

“What…” John opened his mouth, but no more words came out.

Nigel’s eyes rolled dramatically as he swivelled around, turning to face the confused figure lingering in their doorway. “Another friend of yours?” he accused Helen, clearly displeased by the constant interruptions.

John stepped forward, dodging the beds cluttered in the walkway. There was something struggling on the table. Something small –

“It’s a living creature,” he said in horror, when he saw the tortured body of the frog breathe. Half a dozen elegant needles held it in place, quivering. A set of organs were nestled in its open body on display for the room. “This is the work of demons,” he growled at them, before striding over to Helen. “Come on,” he grabbed her sharply, pulling her away from Nikola. “We’re leaving.”

“John!” she struggled, trying to free herself as she was dragged unceremoniously through the room.

“Take him too, if it’s not too much trouble,” James pointed at Nikola, who had managed to stumble to his feet.

“Let – me – go!” Helen wriggled free, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. “What are you doing here John?”

“What am I doing? Our lecturer sent me to find you. I’ve searched half the university and where do I find the elusive Miss Magnus? In the men’s dormitory with these three!” He pointed at them, angrily.

“That’s not fair,” she replied. “What we’re doing is important.”

John shook his head. “This is not what science is about. That poor creature – what good will it do you other than a passing curiosity? What does its suffering buy you, Helen?”

“I can show you, John,” she said calmly, offering him her hand. “If you’ll let me.”

*~*~*

The carriage rattled to a halt. Its two passengers alighted, stepping into a torrent of rain which had buried the footpath beneath a sheet of rancid water. There was no thunder or lightning in tow, just clouds choked with moisture, alleviating themselves on the city of Oxford.

Helen hid under a hooded jacket, dodging a stray dog as she opened the ornate door to the townhouse and disappeared inside followed closely by John. Dripping, she turned up the gas lights. The hallway flickered into view. John undid his soggy coat and hung it on the hallstand.

“Come on,” she beckoned him down the corridor toward a set of stairs leading up toward the ceiling.

“My father is more than a doctor,” she confessed, taking the steps carefully. Helen held a lamp aloft in one hand and gripped the fragile railing with her other. She ducked under a stray beam of wood at the landing. John only ducked lower, already slouching his tall figure. “His passion for the workings of the human body led him to startling discoveries…”

He watched her slide a silver and gold key into the lock. Its beauty put the old door to shame. Helen turned the key until it clicked. “He likes keys,” she added, “something about the unlocking of secrets.”

“And treasure,” added John, as the door creaked open revealing a dark expanse.

After lighting the hanging lamps, Helen rifled through one of the upturned desks until she found a leather diary.

“My father’s life work,” she said, running her thumb lovingly over the book’s spine. “Treatments and cures to all manner of afflictions. The deeper he dug into the intricacies of humanity, the more disturbed he became. John, we’re not divine beings – humanity is greater than that, more diverse.”

“This is not good for you,” John approached, but she stepped away, opening the journal to reveal a detailed sketch of a frightening form. It was a creature, hunched with hardened skin, cracked like scales with spines of bone along its back.

“What he found shocked him,” she continued. “A world full of monsters.”

“There are more things in this life than we should know,” he replied. John’s voice was low and steady, as if trying to coax a wild animal out of its den. Helen was not one to be lured. “Just leave this,” he said softly, “and come with me.”

“You don’t understand,” Helen replied firmly. “They were not monsters – what my father found. They were people born with anomalous conditions. There is so much to learn – how can I ignore it?”

They made their way back downstairs and seated themselves in Helen’s modest lounge room. The room was dim, lit by the hallway behind. The rain outside fell harder, pounding into the glass windows with such force that Helen could feel each drop pounding through the air. John edged forward beside her.

“Listen to me,” he eyed her sternly, cupping her tiny hands in his. “There is something higher than science –” she was about to groan, “and that is morality. Before every step ask yourself not, ‘is this progress’ but ‘is this right’. That is the mark of a true scientist, something your friends have yet to grasp. You have talent. Do not waste it on these digressions.”

“Hardly a digression,” she protested. “This is the work of lifetimes.”

“But not yours,” John’s hand moved to her cheek, tenderly stroking it. Amidst her vehement defence, a tear had slid down her cheek and was going cold when he brushed it away. “Find a better way to study them, these anomalous conditions. You are brilliant,” he grinned, and she finally smiled. “So prove it.”

Eventually she nodded.

“Will you help me?”

They stood up together. He let go of her and allowed himself to be led to the front door.

“Nothing would please me more,” he admitted, collecting his coat and stepping back out into the storm. He descended the first of the three steps from the door, levelling his height off so that he could stare directly at her. He lingered, a breath shy of her lips. Helen blushed and retreated into the house, ducking behind the door.

*~*~*

It was no easy thing to sell benevolence to the others…

“Absolute absurdity – the woman’s gone mad – women in general,” James had said, snapping his book shut before finally relinquishing it.

“We’re returning this one to the library,” Helen replied sternly.

Eventually they came around. Helen’s talents extended beyond science into the realm of persuasion. As for Nikola, he seemed content as long as they weren’t torturing frogs. They set a regular date to meet and explore the world of science beyond their lectures – every Thursday evening. The unnamed pig became a pet, saved from an unpleasant fate.

Helen set about organising the dormitory into a proper laboratory. She pilfered whatever she could from the old man in charge of the university’s supplies, stockpiling it along the walls of the dorm. The library suffered heavy losses with all of its lost books ending up safely piled in Nikola’s attic except for one casualty, sacrificed in the name of science or as Nikola often insisted, ‘a completely accidental accident’.

Their collective name also came about via accident. As they made their daily strut from the lunch rooms to the garden, one student set to calling, ‘them five!’ as they passed. They travelled in a pack now, and the name stuck. James tweaked it a bit of course, improving on its grammar.

‘The Five’ made them feel like they were part of something. They weren’t really but that didn’t matter.

Nikola’s opinion of Nigel improved, if only because he found the strange man particularly skilled at acquiring equipment. Honestly, Nikola had never had so much wire to play with which resulted in weekly direct hits to the building by cruising lightning storms. Helen had less luck with Nigel, choosing to keep out of his way. He made no secret of his dislike of her; often neglecting to greet her is she arrived in a group of flat insulting her intelligence at every opportunity. James and John – now there was a curious bond. They were never particularly fond of one another, but their intellects delighted in the challenge. Deconstructing the other was an entertainment that they could sustain happily for hours and whenever they got bored with that, they returned to their other favourite past time, a shared dislike of Nikola.

*~*~*

It was another late night. Helen was tucked into a chair, half asleep as she read through a stolen library journal. A loud ‘crash’ startled her when the front door flew open and her father hurried in, slamming and locking it behind him. Gregory Magnus went directly to his study where he collapsed into his chair and began furiously writing a letter.

Helen closed the book on her lap and crept to her father’s study. She hung in the doorway, watching him tilt a candle over the folded letter, letting its wax drip. He pushed a seal into it and sighed heavily, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

Her father was filthy. His clothing had been torn and soaked in mud. There were scratches across his forehead, some of them bleeding, and a deep gash over his hand which he’d covered with a piece of fabric torn from his shirt. She could smell the remnants of a peat bog and an overpowering dose of kerosene in the air.

“Father,” she whispered, catching Gregory’s attention. He looked up at Helen as if he’d forgotten all about her existence.

“Helen – go to your room at once and lock the door,” he instructed. Gregory undid the lid on one of the crystal vessels containing scotch. He did not bother with a glass, swigging directly from the bottle. “Quickly!” he hurried her, when she failed to move.

Helen hadn’t seen her father in weeks and now he turned up, looking like he’d spent that time crawling through sewers.

“Why?” she asked, stepping into the room. Gregory would have none of this, flaring into a rage uncharacteristic of him.

“This is no time for, ‘why’!” he yelled, swiping the letter off the desk and burying it in his coat. “Do as I say and I’ll come back for you.” Gregory fled toward her, snatching the metal poker from beside the fire on his way. “I am sorry,” he said, calming enough to kiss his daughter on the head. “But you must hide. Promise you will do that for me. Take this,” he added, withdrawing a small package wrapped in damp brown paper and fastened with string. “Hide it. Keep it safe.”

There was a terror in his eyes that halted her questions. Helen simply nodded and let her father vanish back onto the streets, consumed by the night.

8

SECRETS, LIES AND STOLEN TRUTHS

Helen turned and took the corridor at a run, flinging the door to her bedroom open, not caring as it slammed against the wall. She held the mysterious parcel tightly as her eyes searched the room. Shelves, trunk, lamp-lit desk – all too obvious. Her heart pounded. She had never seen her father afraid before – fearful, yes, before any new experiment his eyes would widen, darken with the wonderful dread that the unknown provoked but tonight he had been truly afraid.

She caught the door as it bounced back and locked it, sliding down its surface until she hit the ground.

“Think…” she eyed the room until a smile flicked across her lips. Cedar drawers; well loved in this and their previous life. Helen crawled over to them, sliding the bottom one open. She buried the parcel deep in the back, concealed by veils of lace and garters where no self-respecting thief would dare follow.

Helen had intended to stay put – hidden safely away as her father had instructed, but as the seconds itched on she couldn’t bare it. Helen unlatched the door and returned to the foyer where she pulled a jacket from the hallstand and wrapped it around herself.

The trees, sparsely placed along the avenue, shivered. Their wet leaves glistened like a thousand mirrors to the moonlight until they broke loose and fell away just as fickly, blanketing the ground. A wind kicked over Helen as she dodged soggy newspapers, tumbling over each other. She stepped between the soft circles of light beneath each lamp post. Her father was ahead, paused at the crossroad, unable to choose between the cracked veneers of stone walls.

Few people had the courage to venture into the streets after dark. Thieves swarmed like rats over the city, driven to desperation by an uncompromising age of enterprise. Even Oxford, the city of dreaming spires, could not escape the modern age with its silent class, rippling through the evening, flickering and dying. Helen knew that she hovered only just beyond their reach, only a few pounds from poverty.

Gregory Magnus chose the side street on his left. Helen closed in, bringing herself to a stop at the corner where she found a shadow and sunk into it. Archways and barred windows leaned over the street, boxing her and her father into a tunnel. The public lighting ended halfway down the cobble stone road leaving a sweeping shadow cutting off the remainder from existence. Beyond that curtain of darkness lurked all kind of street creature. Gregory approached it, tentatively walking along the dark edge.

Helen stepped back, making sure that she was hidden as the forms of several men emerged out of the shadows in front of her father. First, they appeared as a series of ghostly faces but gradually they grew into a set of well dressed businessmen. Her father turned to face them, drifting backwards cautiously, drawing his company out into the light.

“Doctor,” said one of them in greeting, slinking ahead of the others. He was a tall man with a leg that threatened to buckle with every step. He leant heavily on his cane as he spoke, “Trying to escape?”

Gregory chuckled nervously, checking the buttons on his coat before wiping a smear of mud off his neck with a handkerchief. “Of course not,” he replied. “I was – was looking for you.”

The remainder of the ‘pack’ waited behind, never quite making it into view. Helen stretched herself along the wall, inching closer. She was able to make out most of the conversation even though all parties kept their voices hushed.

“I am curious to see what our money had bought,” the man continued.

“You lied to me,” Gregory pointed sharply, white handkerchief still in hand. “I have done some of my own research – run into a few old friends. The Cabal may be a private research organisation but you are also in partnership with one of the most evil businesses this side of the century.” A train rattled past in the distance, screeching to a halt at Oxford’s new station. “You think that people won’t learn what you’re doing? The money that you paid me was no better than blood.”

The man glanced down at the pavement, lowering his voice into a harsh drone that broke intermittently as if his veneer of civility was cracking with it. “Enough of this time wasting.” His eyes returned to Magnus. “Where are the samples?”

“I destroyed them.”

He laughed. “That is your plan, Doctor?” he sneered, with an air of disbelief. “Poorly execute a lie and then expect me to simply let you go? You are a man of science, Magnus. I know what that means. Those samples are too important to your personal agenda to simply destroy. If you hand them over now, I may even let you keep one – as a gesture of good faith for our future business dealings.”

“I already told you, I destroyed them. Our arrangement is finished.”

There was a subtle tap of his cane on the ground. The others jumped forward, taking Gregory by the arms. They flung him against one of the walls so hard that he groaned, jarring in pain. The man rubbed his face, tired of people who fought the inevitable. Progress didn’t pretend to be pretty – it was brutal.

“One more time, Doctor,”

This time, a curl lingered on Gregory’s lips as his weatherworn face grinned at the night. “You will never find them…” he whispered in defiance.

The man reached into his coat and brought out a gun, cocking it with a sinister click. Helen gasped loudly, covering her mouth too late to stop the noise reaching the huddle of gentlemen. They heard it, snapping their heads around to see a blonde woman hiding on the corner of the street, watching events unfold with more than a passing interest. Gregory saw her too and his heart sank.

“Bring her…” muttered the man.

Helen turned, hitched up her skirt, and bolted through the street, narrowly avoiding the hooves a a passing night-carriage which skidded to a halt behind her in a cloud of dust. The two men to follow navigated around the whining horse as it reared up.

“Whoa, whoa…” the coachman hushed, as the carriage tilted dangerously.

The park wall’s sandstone ripped her skirt as she half-jumped, half-fell over it, leaving tattered ends of lace flapping in the wind. Her pursuers cleared the wall easily, hitting the grass at a run as they searched and quickly found her not far ahead.

At night, the park was pitch black, protected by walls of trees keeping it well out of reach of the street lights. There were people moving about within it; lovers hiding away from the world, beggars curled up against the cold with animals stealing scraps from the grass beside them.

The ground was soft under her feet, and though Helen was a strong runner, her dress tangled and caught under her feet. Soon she was tumbling down a gentle hill with her arms flailing as wet mud coated her. She was headed for a shallow pond which lay under the only gap in the trees. A perfect reflection of the moon was disturbed by a drifting duck, leaving a wake behind its furry form.

Helen’s world was a blur of cold, pain and blackness until the men plucked her from the ground and held her until she could stand.

“A little ‘thank you’ would be nice,” said one of them, still panting. Helen was trying to scratch her way free of them, shouting to anyone who would listen. “Water that cold, you might be dead.”

They dragged her back to the alleyway where the leader had been prompting Gregory for information, as evidenced by the fresh bruises.

“Claim’s she’s a working girl…” they said in unison. Helen looked the part with filthy, torn clothes, and ratty hair limply blowing in the wind. Her father didn’t dare look at her.

“Bring her with us?” it was a question posed by one of the men that had stayed behind. His knuckles were red.

The leader waved them off. “She’s cheap.”

“So what do we do with her, leave her here?”

Helen averted her eyes as the leader left her father and hobbled toward her, leaning heavily on his stick. “What did you see, sweetie?” he asked her, suggestively.

“Nothin’,” Helen mumbled, wincing as the two beside her tightened their grip.

“We better be sure,” he whispered back, leaning over her. She didn’t see his free hand raised above her head, about to come down sharply.

“Wait,” Gregory pushed off from the wall, stumbling forwards. “Wait,” he repeated. “Let her go – I’ll get your samples back.”

“Back?” the tall man withdrew his hand and eyed Gregory curiously.

“I scattered them so that you would never be able to locate them should precisely this happen.”

“But, if I let this working girl go – you’ll get them for me? Why?”

“That is my business,” said Gregory. “I need two weeks.”

“You try my patience, Doctor. I’ll give you one week and if you don’t present with the samples you promised and we paid for, then our next meeting will be less pleasant.” The man flicked his eyes up and his company threw Helen unceremoniously to the ground.

*~*~*

Helen and Gregory sat opposite each other, staring across Magnus’s desk in silence for a long time. She realised now that the secrets she thought that she knew about her father were pitiful in comparison with the truth.

He had taken hold of his quill, running the white feather through his fingers in an endless pattern. Gregory had no idea how to begin an explanation for his actions – his entire life. He tried several times but none of these attempts reached beyond a small clearing of his throat.

The firelight flickered behind them. Helen could not take her eyes off of her father. She decided to approach the issue from the side, step carefully around elephant.

“The Cabal, they are a private research facility – research into what exactly?”

This is the conversation that Gregory had spent his life avoiding, ever since the death of his wife Patricia, all those years ago in South America. “I am not certain,” he replied. “Though I suspect their interests are similar to mine.”

“Which are…” he was being intentionally cryptic, and Helen was sick of all the secrets.

“Helen,” he replaced the beautiful quill in its holder. “You have tremendous potential as a scientist. The lecturers must agree, otherwise they would have chased you off long ago –”

Helen stood from her chair, pacing away from the table in frustration. Slowly she turned, approaching once again but this time with an expression somewhere between tears and desperation.

“You,” she started, placing her hands on the table, “are the most talented medical researcher I have ever known and yet you keep your most important work hidden from the world. From me.”

Gregory didn’t know how to respond. Somewhere along the way his daughter had grown up, changed from a little girl with a fascination of the world into a scientist as driven as him. Her questions had simmered for a decade and now they burnt their way past him. He looked away as she continued, unable to face her sharp eyes.

“If you truly believe that I have potential father,” Helen leant even closer, resolute in her plea, “please help me achieve it.”

He had sworn never to do this but he had never been able to refuse his daughter anything. She was intelligent, a little too much so for her own good. If he didn’t share with her his secrets, she would hunt them out anyway. Without guidance – Gregory shuddered to think what she could become.

Gregory took his daughter’s hand. He led her to the far back corner of his office to a door that she had never been through.

“The attic you know about by now,” he said plainly. “I admit, I let it happen but it is nothing but a storehouse for old notes and relatively benign research.”

Helen couldn’t explain why, but she felt betrayed.

“This,” he continued, as he unlocked the door revealing a staircase leading down to an underground level, “is the reason the university will no longer let me step inside its walls. Do you remember, when you were a small child the two men who came to visit me on your fourteenth birthday?”

“They were afraid of you,” said Helen. She remembered the argument.

He nodded. “Maybe. I told them that they had limited their imagination. In truth, I think it was their wallets whose limits I had reached. The board at the university could no longer endorse my research and so I was forced to look for financial assistance elsewhere. The Cabal offered me a grant that I could not turn down. There was no money, Helen. It was the only way that I could continue.”

“I still don’t understand what it was that was so terrible.”

Gregory led Helen down the stairs. She held a kerosene lantern in her hand, lighting the way for both of them. Her father switched keys and unlocked the final door but stopped shy of opening it. Helen thought she heard scratching and crying from behind the door, not unlike the sounds of James’s room that first night.

He handed her the key. “Once you enter this door, you are on a path that cannot be reversed.”

9

SANGUINE VAMPIRIS

Helen raised the lantern, extending it into the room. Yards of heavy fabric lined the walls, tacked on to the ceiling and left to hang all the way to the dusty floor. Occasionally there was an outcrop of shelves made of solid, dark wood. Some of them had fine-netted wire nailed across the compartment and locks through their handles. As she stepped toward them, she realised why; rat-like creatures scattered away from her light, huddling in the corners of the bookshelf amongst scraps of food.

She panned the lantern across the laboratory where it caught the edges of a table. It was a bare thing, lonely at the heart of the room. There were networks of grooves carved into it which led to a tin bucket on the ground where dark patterns of a mysterious liquid were layered in stains.

In the far corner, the light picked out a pair of golden eyes which opened slowly, staring back at her. Helen stepped closer, slipping from her father’s grasp. She had gone this far – Gregory could not stop her. All of his secrets were now hers to share.

Two curved horns, half a foot long, tapered into sharp summits. They protruded from scarlet fur, bunched tightly together in uneven tufts. Like a cat’s pelt, it had two layers – a harsh, needle-like exterior with yellow tips and a second, downy coat which kept the creature warm. Except – it wasn’t fur, but feathers.

Gregory lit two of the lamps hanging from the ceiling and the room flickered into light. Helen raised her hand to her mouth to cover a gasp. A pair of wings – fragile sheets of skin, were folded onto the creature’s back. She could see two enormous paws as big as tea-saucers which it used to rest its head on while a tail curled around its body, twitching as Gregory whispered thing to it.

Helen thought that it looked just like a –

“Dragon, yes,” Gregory whispered. “At least, that’s the conclusion I have come to. I found this poor thing four months ago while I was in London. It was, well, smaller then, but how could I leave it in alley? My guess is that it was dumped by a black market animal trader – they swarm around the Cabal, making their pickings on capturing and selling Abnormal creatures.”

“No,” she whispered, unable to get over the ‘dragon’ part of her father’s sentence.

“It is an Abnormal, Helen.” He took his daughter’s hand, resting beside her as she continued to watch the creature. It eventually grew bored of the intrusion, closing its golden eyes and returning to sleep. “The cornerstone of monster stories since man picked up a pen. This,” he pointed in particular at the dragon, “is a species of reptile yet sadly I do not know where to return it. I doubt that it was born in London’s streets… There are hundreds of creatures like him, hidden away or captured by agencies like the Cabal for private research. They – they torture them and destroy whatever’s left. I can’t keep him forever, though,” Gregory added, frowning as he lowered his eyes.

Helen read her father’s journals but this – this was beyond what she could have dreamed. Worlds were unlocking, secrets unravelling and she found her heart pounding against her lungs.

“Helen, the blood samples that I acquired are from an Abnormal that not even I believed could exist. I stumbled across them once, many years ago now and decided that they were too dangerous to approach again. Vrykolakas, strigoi,upír, impundulu, Sanguine Vampiris,” Gregory rolled the words, hushing them as if each syllable was fear enough. “Vampires…” he whispered to her, like a bedtime nightmare crawling into a corner.

“Their blood is one of the most powerful substances on Earth and the Cabal would like nothing better than to get their claws onto it. They paid me exceptionally well to collect samples. You, have one of them.”

Helen guessed it to be the mysterious package her father had left in her care earlier that night.

“I entrust you to study and learn from it in my absence, while I hide the remaining two where the Cabal will never find them. All of this,” he waved his arms over the room, “is in your care. Now, listen carefully, these are resourceful people. They are going to come looking for me after the week is up – but you are a woman, my daughter. Use that, feign frivolity, make them believe that you know nothing more than needlepoint and they will leave you alone.”

She nodded very slowly. That night, her father was gone. He left a half-dried bundle of petals, shrivelled but alive as they clung to the vine creeping out from the pot. The wild rose had suffered from its journey, but its tortured form perked as Helen drizzled water over it.

*~*~*

James and John were displeased with each other after a minor disagreement over the origin of Vampires.

The five of them had found themselves an abandoned corner of the library – the old side, of course, as it was James’s turn to pick a nook for their weekly discussion. He paced in small circles between the shelves, a book resting open in his hand as he read the lines of text aloud to his audience.

Helen was listening, but with an air of discontent. They were mocking her, all of them in their own subtle ways, ever since she had told them of her father’s research. Nikola was at her feet, apparently preferring the floor. He was asleep and snoring quietly with his head balanced uncomfortably between two encyclopaedias of ancient history.

It was John who took the greatest interest in James’s speech. He was reclined in one of the library chairs which they had stolen from the main room and stowed in their private corner. Over the hour, his feet had stretched out on top of the table allowing him to balance a book on his knees which he glanced at several times, awaiting his turn to rebuff James’s argument.

“And as softly thou art sleeping

To thee shall I come creeping

And thy life’s blood drain away.”

James was enjoying this, far more than was reasonable. He had always be a showman, albeit only to a select few. He traced the lines with an outstretched finger –

“And so shalt thou be trembling

For thus shall-”

“Really,” interrupted John, aware of the poem’s conclusion. “Is this appropriate, considering our company.” He deliberately kept his eye away from Helen, knowing that her frown had twisted into scowl. James ignored him.

“For thus shall I be kissing

And death’s threshold thou’ it be crossing

With fear, in my cold arms.”

The book snapped shut, waking Nikola.

“You get the general idea,” Watson laid the book on the table beside John. “And that, my dear John, is the beginning of the Vampire in Literature. Case closed.”

John sighed heavily.

“There are no such things as ‘vampires’ – except perhaps in farm boys’ drunkin’ stupors.” Nigel squeezed between two shelves with a fresh arm of books. “And perhaps your literature,” he conceded, handing James another book.

“I don’t know,” James inspected the man on the floor beside Helen, as Nikola yawned at the room. “Nikola’s pale enough to be one, especially with those sharp teeth he likes to flash.”

“Excuse me?” Nikola replied, sleepily. “Did I provoke you in some way?”

“Your existence provokes me.”

“Your reading bores me,” he retaliated.

“I agree with Nikola, for once,” John added, flipping through the pages of his own book. Stirring the room was the pastime he liked best.

“Enough. Enough. Enough.” Helen rolled her eyes and fell against the wall of books, sliding down it in defeat. She landed beside Nikola in a swirl of dust. He flinched in alarm, holding his breath.

James was not finished with Nikola yet. “I particularly enjoyed cruising through your latest work of poetry-” he said, slipping a scrap of crumpled paper from his coat. Nikola recognised it at once, and coughed in panic, stumbling to his feet – an action which failed as one of his legs had fallen asleep.

“My – what?” Nikola grunted as pain constricted his leg muscle, rendering him useless as James straightened the paper. “How did you – where did you get that from?”

“It was just lying on your floor last time you invited us to that spectacle of yours.” James’s finger still hurt, burnt by an ‘accidental’ passing of current which Nikola had spent hours making certain that it would do precisely that.

“That is private,” Nikola hissed.

James began to read. It was a scant few lines of scattered birds and thunder storms, beautiful enough in construction. Nikola clawed his way back to his feet, his cheeks reddening with every word falling from James’s lips.

He lunged once, but James dodged him easily. John threw his head back in a silent laugh, delight ripping the corners of his mouth into a broad smile. Nigel turned away. It wasn’t that he liked Tesla – more that he didn’t hate him.

“Fine,” Nikola’s voice wavered, his usual pride shaken. “Keep it.”

He left, sidling out between the rows of books and back into the main library where he finally vanished from their sight.

“Excellent,” Helen curled her knees up to her chest, pinning her skirt down beneath her arms. It billowed uncomfortably around her. “Look what the two of you have accomplished – not very clever considering neither can coax a current from a coil… You realise, Nikola was going to help you. He wrote up the notes on his motor, they were in his pocket.” Helen returned to her feet and collected her things from the table beside John. He shifted his feet as she approached. “Enjoy your spoils, gentlemen.”

Before leaving, she approached a stunned James and took the paper from between his fingers.

Nigel had kept quiet, his arms still laden with books. Often, especially at times like these, he liked to think of the other four as elements of nature – as strong in their opposition as their passion. They did not mix but could not keep apart either. It was an impossible system that would eventually destroy itself. Nigel could see that day approaching but he hindered its arrival as best he could by keeping the shaky peace.

*~*~*

Their way of apology was to entertain Helen’s ‘vampire’ tale as truth. Nigel’s idea.

“We’ll have to get a look at it,” James said, lowering his voice though the four of them were alone in the dormitory. “See if this sample really contains special properties.”

Helen had not forgiven them, but was nonetheless keen for their help.

“I won’t move it,” she replied. “The Cabal could be watching the house – you would have to come to it.”

“It is not as if you live in India,” smirked Nigel, hinting that the others should show more enthusiasm. They did, eventually acknowledging that they could probably meet in two day’s time.

“What about Nikola?” asked James, feeding the pig rooting around its box.

“I will speak with him,” said Helen sternly. “It’s been almost four hours; maybe he’ll have forgotten your joke.”

Helen doubted it, but she went to the hallway where Nikola’s attic lived anyway. The stairs were up, pulled well out of her reach.

“Nikola…” she called, loud enough for him to hear. It was afternoon and last classes of the day were drawing to their end. All but one room in his hallway was empty, and it was far enough away not to be troubled by her efforts to catch Nikola’s attention.

He didn’t respond, but she knew that he was up there.

“If you proceed with this, I will be forced to climb out the window and up into your room the hard way,” she threatened, casting her eye over the window to gauge whether it was possible to carry out the threat. To her amusement, it seemed that it was. A latch, not a lock, secured the window and when open, it would be big enough for her to scramble through.

“Nikola?” she tried again.

*~*~*

“Will he come?”

John was packing his things, preparing to leave. It was a decent ride to the inn which he was calling ‘home’ until the university approved his residency.

“Why are you asking me?” John paused, turning to Nigel. “I guess, Helen will probably convince him – she usually does. Tomorrow?” he changed the subject. “The meeting’s on the grass by the oak tree. I’m hoping for a fine day.”

*~*~*

She heard the footsteps first – light and quick across the ceiling. Helen turned as the hatch to the attic rattled, opening out into the hallway. A set of stairs slid down to her. She couldn’t see Nikola anywhere above. Usually, he waited for her with a smile, or outstretched hand beckoning her up.

Nikola was located by the window, brushing fragments of broken glass of the sill. He had been doing that for weeks, but there always seemed to be more of it.

“There you are,” she said, approaching cautiously.

10

CHILD OF THE STORM

The first soft flecks of rain hit Nikola’s cheeks, lingering for a moment on his pale skin before sliding along the contours of his face. They dripped onto the window sill as Helen paced slowly along the opposite wall, carefully unfurling the scrap of paper with Nikola’s poetry. She placed it on the floor beside his bed before making her way to the window.

“Leave…” he said coldly, staring out at the city. It was growing dark now. The thick clouds quickened the hours, sending Oxford into premature night. For once, he didn’t want the storm. His experiment was not ready, left as an unfinished heap of metal on the roof.

She was going to tell him that the others were sorry but there was little point – it was not true and he would certainly not believe it.

“I know that you need help,” she said instead, “and I already promised.”

Sometimes he hated her memory.

“It’s too late,” he said, staring at the swirling clouds. “The rain is here and next – the lightning.” If it attracted a stray shard of electricity before he could fix it, then there’d be a great smouldering mess on the roof to contend with.

“When did a little rain hurt anybody…” she smiled, crossing the room.

To his confusion and distress, Helen nudged him away from the window and quickly climbed out of it, ignoring Nikola’s protests.

“Helen!” he said, in distress, as she clung to the wooden joins and searched for three stones protruding from the building’s facade. She had seen him use them a dozen times to climb the short distance to the roof. The light drizzle was cold and made the rocks slippery but her grip was firm and in a flash, Nikola was left with an empty window. “Mad, mad woman,” he muttered, stepping onto the sill in pursuit, forgetting his anger.

*~*~*

“Hypothetically,” said Nigel, pulling another blanket around his back. Their room was always cold despite the dozen or so lamps they kept lit. “If this sample of blood really is what Helen says, how are we going to test it?”

James tapped the nib of his quill on the edge of the ink bottle. He was seated at a desk shoved unkindly against one of the walls near their beds, scratching out a late assignment.

“Really, Nigel,” he said, with a measured voice, “I didn’t think that I would need to remind you of Doctor Magnus’s reputation.”

“I don’t follow,” replied Nigel, even though he did. Tales of Helen’s father were colourful and abundant, but he was interested to know James’s take.

That was enough to distract James. He set the feather down and turned up the lamp next to him so that its flame flickered brightly.

“Doctor Magnus,” he began, with a theatrical air, “was head of the medical board here – until four years ago. He drove several colleagues to resign their post and a further to be transferred. Word was that his experiments made the money men squeamish – not an easy thing to accomplish. Officially, he retired into obscurity but a man of his standing and position should have been enjoying his glory years. No one in the industry would touch him after that. Most think that he lost his mind, myself included.”

“You’re a harsh judge of character. Still, I’m curious – hypothetically of course… Is it possible that there could be a shred of truth? Doctor Magnus may have been insane but Helen –”

James shrugged. “If this blood of hers is real, we would have to test it on a living thing.”

“Good luck getting that idea past John, he has a tight grip over Helen these days and Nikola will probably hurl again.”

“I thought that rats might be an acceptable halfway point to all parties.”

“Inject a rat with ‘vampire’ blood. Now there’s a notion for your fiction books.”

“You are enjoying this…” James couldn’t help but smile. Nigel rarely found pleasure in life, so to see his lip curl in wicked plotting was a welcome change. “I guess we shall find out.”

*~*~*

It was higher up that she had expected. The university’s roof sloped sharply and Helen found that she had to slip her hands between the terracotta tiles to steady herself against the wind as she worked her way toward a contraption of wire mounted on a relatively flat rise ahead.

Nikola had been right about the storm. From up here, she could clearly see it brewing over the city – churning into a dark mass of vapour. Every now and then it rumbled.

“Careful,” Nikola muttered behind her, scampering across the roof. He had done this a thousand times and navigated the slippery tiles easily.

“They just let you leave all of this up here?” she said, pointing at his experiment. Helen regretted letting go of the roof, stumbling before Nikola caught her hand and led her to the relative safety of the platform.

“Strictly? No…” he admitted. “But I think that one of the professors is curious so they let it go.”

“Our professor? Maybe he just wants a decent excuse to have you expelled,” she lifted an eyebrow curiously, as she stepped onto the platform with the experiment.

“I am undecided,” Nikola grinned. He handed her several wires and balanced a long antenna on her lap while he dug through his experiment, connecting bits of it. “You’re no help at all,” he said to her, when he tried to retrieve the antenna. Helen had the wires twisted around it in infinite loops which he struggled to undo.

Nikola worked frantically, with the rain getting heavier. She hadn’t meant to, but Helen found the sight of Nikola in a full suit, perched on the roof like a curious bird – dripping wet and tangled up in cords to be highly amusing, especially when he overbalanced. She stifled a giggle, dodging his glare as cold wind made the rain more unpleasant.

Soaked through, they finished setting the experiment. Helen and Nikola took a step back, staring for a moment at the fragile thing reaching up toward the crazy expanse of sky. It was hard not to feel the enormity of the world behind the city – to see civilisation as a small scramble on the landscape sheltering under a sky to which humanity could lay no claim.

“I see why,” she started, “you spend your time up here.”

*~*~*

James jolted, smearing ink over his page as the thunder continued to roll on outside their window.

“That was close,” he said. The walls of the building were vibrating softly, rippling with the thunder. “I don’t think that James is going to get his meeting outside tomorrow.”

“Must be a beautiful show,” Nigel pointed to the only window in their dormitory which remained blocked by cloth and wood. “A shame – I think I may go and watch the storm for a while.”

James shrugged, attempting to salvage the page. “As you please,” he said. “Would you mind,” he nodded at the pile of paper beside Nigel’s bed, “if I skimmed through your notes?”

*~*~*

Three rivers of light appeared from the cloud above and snaked their way in jagged steps toward the ground. Their light cut through the heavy rain as they intertwined, crossed each other and flashed several times in silence.

Nigel watched the shards of light, waiting for the inevitable lashing of air which always coupled the beauty. He held onto his notes tightly, not daring to leave them unattended in James’s company.

*~*~*

After the light, Helen could barely make out the dark lines of the roof. She blinked the rain from her eyes and turned to Nikola.

“Can you hear that?” he said, staring out into nowhere. Helen frowned, all she could hear was the rain lashing at their faces and the occasional gasp of thunder as the lightening approached. “That sound…” Nikola seemed lost to the world as he raised a hand up to the storm, moving it through the rain. He could hear hooves pounding into the wet earth – a distant cry as a horse rose up on a child.

“Nikola!” screamed Helen, as he tilted dangerously forward.

Nikola snapped out of the memory as another flash of light strangled the darkness from the sky.

“We should go,” he said, fearing that he had waited too long. The storm was here and they were still balanced precariously on the roof next to a lightning conductor.

*~*~*

Nigel was on the ground floor, pacing along the protected walkway of the eastern wing of the building. He thought he heard a woman’s voice cry over the thunder of the storm. Frowning, he edged toward one of the archways, leaning into the rain enough to see the opposing rooftop.

He saw two shadows make their way across the rooftop. They looked so fragile, scampering in the face of such a storm.

Helen and Nikola, it could be no-one else. Nigel shook his head as they neared the edge of the roof. Then, from nowhere, a stream of light ripped through the air and blinded him. Thunder, so heavy that Nigel felt his soul take shelter as it beat against his body. He dropped to the ground in a scatter of paper, holding his ears as the ground shook.

*~*~*

The tiles on the roof shattered beneath them. Helen fell first, grasping desperately as she began to slide toward the edge. The world was so bright – she could not see. The air splitting beside her was so violent that the end of all things may have only been a step behind. She couldn’t hear Nikola, falling behind her, his hands forgetting the roof and reaching only for her.

Suddenly there was nothing beneath her. The light vanished leaving only the violent reverberations and the sound of tiles plunging four stories to the ground, exploding on the pavement below.

Her body jerked as Nikola caught her arm. The sudden weight pulled him over the edge with her until he wedged his hand between the guttering and brought them to a stop. They hung there in the rain, swinging gently.

Out of a daze, Helen realised that she would soon hit the ground far below them. Nikola had caught onto her sleeve and fabric was stretching, beginning to rip away from its seams.

There was nothing Nikola could do except grimace through the pain as the sharp gutter edge cut into him.

The rain beat down harder as another wave of thunder brushed over them.

Helen tried to reach the wall with her other hand, but she was too far out to do anything but graze the cold rocks with her fingertips.

Now the gutter protested, snapping two of its bolts sending Helen and Nikola two feet closer to the ground. Nikola hung on, but Helen’s sleeve ripped open. She reached up with her other hand just before Nikola lost his grip.

There was blood trickling down Nikola’s wrist. Even with two hands, Helen could not hold on. Another gust of wind would be enough to knock her free.

“Nikola!” she shouted over the noise.

Nikola swallowed, feeling her slip further. “Helen…” he whispered, as she fell from his hold.

11

UNBREAKABLE

Nigel vaulted over the low stone wall and out into the storm leaving a volley of papers churning behind him.

Every echo of thunder made his body shudder as it continued to rumble in the sky above. The ancient gods were at each others’ throats, tossing bolts of light and snarling into the dark. He could hear their violence – the clashing of swords and procession of Grecian boots through the clouds.

The lawn was partly submerged and Nigel struggled to cross its muddy expanse. Once he stumbled, landing on his knees amidst a blur of water. That’s when he saw it again – a horrible image that he could not shake. Nigel grunted and made it back to his feet.  He pushed forward, heading toward the other wing of the building where he had seen a shadow fall.

He raised his arm against the weather, inhaling more water than air. Nigel couldn’t understand why the world moved so slowly or how it was possible to count the heartbeats out of step with his breath while the droplets of rain hesitated, lingering for a moment before striking his face. Whatever tempo the world was supposed to dance to, it had been offset since that lightning strike.

Nigel found her almost at once, laid awkwardly on the cement pathway surrounded by broken roof tiles. The sky flashed again and again, vanishing the world in an eerie light. Nigel paused, water streaming over his eyelashes. Helen’s blond hair had scattered around her head, glistening in the rain as if full of jewels. Beneath this carpet was a dark puddle, diluted by the rain into a general crimson aura.

She must be dead. It was all he could think. Her stillness held back his breath as he bent down to Helen and placed his fingers lightly beneath her chin.

He waited, ignoring another dart of light above as he searched for a faint glimmer of life.

“Oh gods…” Nigel startled, as Helen opened her lips and took a gasp of air. He whipped his hand away when her eyes slowly opened, staring blankly into the night.

“Nikola?” Helen whispered. Her vision was a muddle of indistinct forms but she could sense someone leaning over her, shaking.

“Nigel,” he corrected Helen, reaching behind her head. He wove his fingers through her blood stained hair until he cupped her skull gently and eased her off the ground with his other arm around her shoulders. He searched for the wound responsible for the bloody mess on the pavement but found nothing except an acute tenderness to his touch.

She flinched away from him.

“I feel – strange,” she said, as he forced her to sit.

“I am amazed that you feel anything at all,” he commented, glancing up at the roof of the university. It was a long way up to the damaged pipe, jutting out from the rest of the gutter. Beneath Helen was a sea of blood from a so far phantom wound. He had to get her somewhere safe and dry and inspect her more closely. A fall that large – there had to be repercussions.

“Wait,” she protested, as he lifted her from the ground. It was a struggle for Nigel. He had never been a strong man but in this he was determined. “Nikola…”

Nigel searched the dark walls of the university but the pathways were empty. “He’s not here,” he said, heading for the main gates where the occasional coach hurried past with a crash of hooves.

Helen turned her head, gazing over Nigel’s shoulder back at the silhouette of the building. There was no light in Nikola’s room. She remembered his hand, trembling with her weight as she swung from the building.

“He was…” she started, but Nigel had reached the road. He waved a one of the coaches over and bundled Helen inside of it.

*~*~*

He took her home.

Nigel set Helen onto one of the wooden chairs in the dining room and quickly fetched a basic medical kit from Doctor Magnus’s cupboard by the stairs. He returned to find her inspecting a ringlet of hair, curiously gazing at the red tinge that it had taken on.

“Let me,” he said, pulling a chair next to her. Nigel held a warm washer to her forehead, wiping the mixture of mud and blood off her porcelain complexion. For the first time, he noticed her beauty. He’d always thought of Helen, perhaps unfairly, as a vindictive woman manipulating men to her causes via her obvious charm. John thought that he was crazy, but Nigel held firm to his belief that there was a sinister edge to Lady Magnus. He often saw glimpses of it in the corners of her eyes when James slit his way through another test subject. She had even swayed the impersonal Tesla, coaxing some form of affection from him however reserved it might be.

Nigel wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was entranced by her, as the others were, but maybe he could admit to being just a little curious.

“How perplexing,” he said, running the washer down her neck following a trail of blood. “You appear to be unharmed.”

“Maybe it’s not my blood?” she offered, catching his hand as it dipped a touch too low on her neckline. She would never guess that it had been an honest accident.

“It’s yours all right,” Nigel discarded the cloth in the tray, “but search me as to how.”

They were both soaked and starting to feel the cold. Nigel was the first to rise, unbuttoning his coat as he headed to the fireplace. He busied himself lighting it, preferring to keep occupied as the awkward silence continued between them. Though they had spent many hours in each other’s company, they had never spoken alone and found themselves completely at a loss as to how to behave.

Finally, a flame flickered up through the logs and the first radiations of warmth spread into the room.

“You should change your clothes,” he mumbled at her. She nodded and vanished out the door. He heard her footsteps trail down the corridor until a door creaked open.

So this was the house of the great Robert Magnus? Nigel had already picked out several unusual ornaments hanging from the opposite wall. He hovered overed the fire, drying his shirt and pants until she returned to the dining room looking more like he was used to.

“Thank you,” she said, not taking that last step into the room, “for your help. I shall be fine now.”

“Helen, you are about as far from ‘fine’ as is possible.” Another silence. Nigel stifled a cough with his fist, turning back to the flames. His nose wanted to run, a curse from his childhood that led people to believe him perpetually in ill-health. “Now that I’m here,” he spoke to the fire, forcing Helen to venture into the room to understand him. “Would it be possible to see this mysterious sample of yours? I admit to being curious.”

Distraction – she welcomed it. “Certainly.”

Helen led him through her father’s office and down the stone steps to the basement. She caught him linger at the sight of the lab door, running his eyes over the solid planks of wood sealing its contents away from the world. They both held lanterns to the darkness as she unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The door revealed a black hole not unlike the gaping mouth of a cave. Nigel’s nose tweaked at the musty smell, heavily laden with mould spores. Helen dashed in front of him, wasting no time lighting several lanterns. The room now revealed certainly looked the part of a mad scientist’s den. As James had described Robert Magnus, this scene suited him well – mysterious curtains, hanging lamps and equipment he didn’t want to know about. He’d almost accepted this as quite respectable – until a creature in the corner of the room growled.

“Holy – you did not mention that,” he raised his lantern in the direction of the frightening creature.

“When I said, ‘Abnormal creatures’,” said Helen, with a smile he had seen used on unwitting victims of hers before, “what exactly did you think that I meant?”

She had him there. In truth, he’d never really taken her stories seriously. “Honestly Helen, what is that?”

Eventually Nigel got over the dragon – even daring to stroke its feathered coat. Finally Helen presented the sample of blood and even his untrained eyes could see that it was special with its silken liquid swirling gracefully, its colour more rich than pure ink and its viscosity something between mercury and honey.

“I – wanted to apologise,” he offered, brushing his fingers over the glass holding the sample. “We did not have the best start.”

Helen nodded, but did not offer an apology of her own.

*~*~*

It was late afternoon of the following day when three gentlemen met in a dormitory, exhausted.

“Did you find him?” said John to the others, holding his side. It pained from running circles around the hundreds of intertwined corridors, ducking into every door in search of the missing man.

James and Nigel shook their heads, equally dishevelled.

“He’s not here,” James folded his arms, “or if he is, he’s lost a good deal of weight. I asked everyone I could find. Granted,” his hidden hand couldn’t help but dip into his coat pocket where a small gold watch nestled. “Most of them had no idea who Nikola was in the first instance…”

“I called him the ‘mad one’,” quipped Nigel. “Mostly they just shrugged. If they did see him, they apparently don’t remember. It’s like he’s completely invisible to other humans.”

“I think that we should try to take this seriously…” James frowned in Nigel’s direction.

“What is there to do?” Nigel retaliated. “He is gone and short of searching all of Oxfordshire –”

“Helen’s not going to be happy,” John sighed, interrupting Nigel. “We’ll never hear the peace of it if he doesn’t show tonight.”

*~*~*

John arrived at Helen’s door first, just on the edge of dusk. The streets were full of business men making their way home from work and small children frisking pockets with nimble hands. The gas-lighters had started their rounds, cruising between the lamp posts with a taper as the smoke of the factories sank back to the earth, tarnishing Oxford’s air with a bitter taste.

The city’s forest of spires prodded at the darkening sky. Their sandstone had blackened in the relentless weather which chose to rain most of the time making them appear sinister against the skyline.

“Did you find him?” was Helen’s first question, as she let John step past her into the house. He shook his head.

“Helen, I am sure that he is fine,” he tried to reassure her.

“You clearly don’t know Nikola,” she replied sharply. “He is never fine.”

“Tomorrow I will speak with the university heads myself if he does not arrive within the hour.”

She seemed to be satisfied with this – for the moment.

“Helen,” he reached down for her hand, which he took gently in his own. “There was something that I have been meaning to discuss with you…” he trailed off, glancing nervously at the floor rather than her confused expression. “Before all of this.”

His skin warming beneath her palm distracted her from John’s words. She found it difficult to focus on anything other than the slightest movement of his fingers and his quickening pulse.

“When I heard about what happened yesterday – I – I realised something – important that,” he ventured a glance at her, regretting it almost immediately as his throat closed over. He coughed, swallowed and tried to continue. “And my timing is – well – regrettable but – James?”

Mr Watson strolled into Helen’s foyer with an air of importance. He had changed his waistcoat, apparently reverting back to his wealthy upbringing outside the university walls. This particular item of clothing was a luxurious shade of red, edged in golden thread.

His sudden arrival caused Helen and John to part, retreating to opposing walls of the entrance hallway.

James tipped his hat at them before removing it entirely.

“Afternoon,” he said in greeting – fully aware that he had just disturbed the pair. “Nigel will be here shortly. Are you certain that you are well?” James tilted his head slightly at Helen. She was paler than usual except for a bright flash of pink through her cheeks.

“Not you as well,” she turned away. “Honestly, I am surrounded by three old women.”

“Only two at the present,” James winked.

12

RATS TO THE SLAUGHTER

They waited the full hour but Nikola did not show. With the evening well underway and the moon striding above the city, the four young scientists descended the stairs to the underground laboratory.

Settled into various locations around the room – John by the door, Nigel knelt beside the dragon, James in front of the wire-faced bookshelves and Helen leaning on the central table – James theatrically spread his arms as if introducing some great Shakespearean work to his audience.

“I give you,” he bowed low, to the others’ amusement, “Exhibit A.” James Watson lifted the lid of the heavy wooden box by his feet. His surprise was a collection of furry creatures running from wall to wall of the box in a messy clamber.

“Rats…” Helen eyed James warily, leaning over the box with her mouth turned down in repulsion. “You brought me rats?”

James did not understand her dejected tone until Helen held a light to the shelves beside them where five well fed rats, significantly higher in class, were busy devising their escape. He merely waved her off and said, “The more the merrier.”

He rounded hers into his box and placed them on the experiment table. The scratching and squeaking intensified until John had his doubts that the box would hold.

“I still don’t like this,” muttered John, watching Nigel prepare the metal needles and Helen walk the sample of blood over. James dipped the needle carefully into the enticing liquid, slowly drawing it up.

“Rats are a menace,” said James, tapping the shaft of the needle, “the city will be well rid of them.”

There was a rose leaning over the lips of a vase, slowly dying in the softly lit laboratory. It had dropped several petals on the main table but its perfume remained heavy, sweet and intoxicating. It masked the sour smell of the air and had not been there the last time Nigel had called.

John smiled at the wild rose, admiring its fragile and fading beauty. He wanted to hold the delicate thing in his hands but he knew that the slightest touch would destroy it.

Nigel held the squirming rat securely in his hands. It lashed out at him with sharp teeth and knife-like claws, but he expertly clamped down, rendering it still as James pierced its side. The creature screeched unhappily, kicking its toes as James injected a small amount of the source blood into it. Once finished, Nigel carried the rat to an empty compartment on the bookshelf and locked it inside.

The four scientists closed in, observing the shocked creature for several minutes. To their surprise, the rat did nothing – absolutely nothing of interest except clean its ear with a flexible paw.

“That was anti-climatic,” remarked Watson, still brandishing a full needle of blood. “Shall we do the others?”

“Of course,” replied Helen. “One subject is hardly a balanced test. We shall do them all.”

John closed his eyes and rested back against the closed door. He heard them repeat the process again and again with all seven remaining rats and set them in the cage together. When John finally roamed over to the others, he found the rats seated quietly on their back legs, sniffing the air.

“Those are the most docile rats I have ever seen,” he said, staring through the wire. The rats didn’t even notice him trace his hands over their enclosure or feel his warm breath on the air. “Are they in shock?”

“Quite possibly,” said James, handing the empty needle to Nigel who wiped it, wrapped it in cloth and tucked it back in the medical bag.

“Give it time,” Nigel said, joining them. “When we administer medication to animals on my parent’s property it can take up to – did you hear that?”

The others looked at him curiously.

“Hear what?” queried Helen. Her blond hair was hitched out of the way, fastened by dozens of soft metal pins. Every now and then the lamp light caught one, making it flicker.

“Could have sworn I heard some kind of banging.”

It dawned on them as a collective.

“The Cabal?” whispered John, as Helen moved toward the door.

“They watch the house,” replied Helen. “A man in a brown suit, topper and cane stands at the corner in the mornings and late afternoon.”

“Was he there today?” John handed her one of the lanterns