Tears streamed down Alistair's face as she ran. That thing was still chasing her, growling in dark delight. The girl bolted down alley-ways as though propelled by some unseen force. And she was. Magic gave her the added momentum to run at such a great speed. Still, the monster wasn't tiring and was only a few paces behind her.

Turning a corner, she called on one of the sylphs that followed her. She hummed a few notes and sent it on its way, sending up a silent prayer that it could deliver her cry for help in time. She knew there wasn't much left.

The beast hunting her was a dark earth elemental, a troll to be specific. These dark creatures thrived in cities like London. Such beasts enjoyed the filth and pollution that can be found in the city, places where they could fester and cause misery. Whitechapel was teeming with the monsters.

Alistair cursed herself for walking so carelessly into that hellhole. Everyone knew earth and air didn't get along under normal circumstances. Of course there were those few that could work side-by-side, and the antagonistic elements weren't as bad as fire and water, but still. And to make the situation worse, she was an inexperienced air mage. Walking through that dangerous area was like throwing a mouse into a room full of starving cats. She wasn't able to hide from the troll. The blasted thing had sensed her protective shields the minute she set foot in Whitechapel.

Her pace slowed despite her effort. Alistair was exhausted from running. How many sylphs had she sent for help? She couldn't remember. Seemed none of them had been able to deliver her plea for aid. While she wasn't surprised, she wasn't angry. Air elemental, at least the lesser ones, were notorious for being flighty and easily distracted. Since it really couldn't be helped, what was the point in being upset?

The little air mage stumbled, falling to the ground in a heap of fabric and metal. The ribbing in her corset bruised her skin and jabbed her in the side. Clawed hands lifted her with as little effort as lifting a doll. The troll drew her close as though it were going to embrace her and, in a sick way, it was. Alistair knew very well what it was going to do; it was going to absorb her.

Screaming in terror, the girl struggled and was able to shift her body enough so that her shoulder pressed against the beast's body. Her limb sank into the troll's belly as though sinking into wet mud. Pain shot through her as her shoulder and arm began breaking down in the monster's gut. An idea blossomed in her mind. If she could hold off long enough (without anything vital being absorbed), she could try and get someone to help.

With renewed vigor, Alistair began screaming at the top of her lungs. She couldn't help but wonder if her cries might be mistaken for that of a banshee instead of a person in need.

A loud crack resounded from behind the troll, followed by its howl of pain. Releasing Alistair's trembling body, it whipped around to face the one who disrupted its meal. Standing there, looking very much like the devil himself, was a young man no more than twenty and one years of age. A malicious grin settled on his face and dark eyes glinted from under his black hair. Had Alistair not been as light-headed or frightened she might have thought him rather handsome.

"What are ye doing to that pretty gel, hm?" the dark man asked the creature, raising a pistol and aiming for its head. Everything began to blur and darken, her thoughts of escaping dissipating as unconsciousness took hold.

Jack Dandy sat next to his guest's bed as she rested, waiting for her to wake. A quick call to Finely the night before had her and the little Irish girl at his house attending to the poor girl. Emily and Finely hadn't known what to think when they gazed at the raven-haired girl, her arm a bloody stump at the shoulder. Jack thought it better to lie about what happened after the two fixed up his guest. It had taken most of the night for Emily to fit the poor thing with a metal arm, and then he'd had to explain how he'd happened upon her.

There wasn't a chance that he'd say he'd been lead to her by a sylph, let alone that he'd rescued her from a troll. As far as Jack Dandy was concerned, he wasn't ever going to tell them what really happened. Finely nor her friends, save for her pretty rich-boy, showed any sign of being "sensitive". He himself was able to see the different elementals and even communicate with them, but he wielded no magic whatsoever.

Yawning, Dandy moved to stand and retire for the day when he glimpsed movement. His guest was beginning to stir.

"Good to see ye ' had me finkin' ye was dead." Blue eyes opened and met his gaze. The minute her gaze turned to her arm, a scream blasted throughout the house, nearly deafening Jack.