Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the Shades of London series, but I'm sure Maureen Johnson will blow us away when she finishes the fourth book herself! Until then, I wrote my own!

Chapter 1: Rude Awakenings

Stephen's face looked so interesting in the sunlight. All sharp lines and angles, like a statue come to life. The trees rustled softly in the wind around us and I couldn't help but feel that this moment was perfect. For once, London was actually warm… which should have seemed odd to me, but on this perfect day, nothing could feel wrong.

"The mind is a funny thing," Stephen mumbled, reaching over to causally take my hand, a gesture that sent the butterflies soaring in my stomach.

"And what is it about the mind that has triggered your odd sense of humor," I inquired, leaning in to him a little.

"It's just… the things it remembers. Even memories you think you've forgotten can come back to you in the oddest moments. Nothing is ever really lost. Every happiness, every loss, every betrayal is stored away, waiting for the moment to make its reappearance."

The strange workings of the mind seemed like an odd conversation to have on this beautiful day as we walked through the sunlit trees, but Stephen was known for his odd conversations, so I let it go, content to simply be near him. But despite my happiness, something about this moment just didn't feel right.

"It's like déjà vu," Stephen continued, aloof to my worry. "Your mind recognizes that something is familiar, even if you cannot consciously remember why."

The wind blew forcefully for a moment, sending an array of bright green leaves to the ground at our feet… and that's when I knew. Green leaves. It was the beginning of January. What leaves were left clinging to their branches should have been a mottled brown. Green was the color of summer.

"Stephen," I whispered, pulling him to a stop and tightening my grip on his hand. "Where are we?"

"You know, I'm not sure."

We were surrounded by bright green canopies and the soil was oddly mushy under our feet. And as I noticed these things, the smells finally broke through my confusion. The slight musk of the swamp, the Cajun cooking in the air. Louisiana. My home.

"This isn't right. We shouldn't be here," I noted, but before I could work up to a full panic, Stephen's hand was light on my face, turning it towards him. His soft eyes were staring back into mine, rendering my mind a complete blank.

It was when his hand slipped under my shirt, settling on the small of my back, that I realized I wasn't breathing – wasn't even moving. His lips were so close and his London scent briefly blocked out the smells of home. My eyes slipped closed as I rose up on my toes, my heart speeding in my chest with anticipation.

"Rory," Stephen said, only his voice was wrong. A pitch higher, the accent off.

My eyes flew open in alarm, just in time to see his hair flutter in the breeze, shifting from darkest brown to a very light blond. He seemed slightly shorter now, and his lips had widened, turning up in a rueful smirk. As I stared back at him now, I felt as though I was choking… again.

"Remember, Rory," Sid ordered, for that was who stood before me now, his hand still softly caressing my face. His lips still close enough to kiss, even though I wanted to gag. "Your mind never lets go. Search for what you've forgotten."

His hair became such a bright blond that I was temporarily blinded, and then–

I was falling off my bed.

The jolt knocked the air from my lungs and had my knee throbbing. Gratefully, I sucked in the London air, my eyes roving greedily over the bare surroundings of my room. No pictures on the walls, plain white sheets on the bed, a sparse collection of books on the nightstand. It was all oddly comforting. As I waited for my breathing to regulate, I focused on the dream. This was the fourth one this week featuring Sid, the annoyingly blond twin who apparently couldn't be harmed in any way. The twins who had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth… after murdering the kindly bookstore clerk and his quiet employee. We'd been searching for them for weeks and the most boring New Year's ever hadn't exactly taken my mind off our problems.

Forcing myself off the floor, I stumbled my way to the kitchen, struggling to keep quiet so as to not wake Stephen or Callum. This flat was still fairly new and not really big enough for three people, even though there were three bedrooms.

Grabbing a water from the fridge, my eyes strayed to the clock on the microwave. Five in the morning. No wonder it was so quiet. Desperately, I wished there was someone I could talk to at this odd hour. Waking Stephen was out – the dream centered on him just felt too real, and Callum would take my head off. I could always text Boo or Jazza, but I had a feeling neither of them would take kindly to a five am wake up call.

And that left me alone with my thoughts.

Remember, Rory.

Sid's words reverberated through my head, insistent. That was what he always said in the dreams, something about remembering. Once there had been snow. You've walked through this before, haven't you? But I hadn't walked through snow that deep before. I was from sunny Louisiana. Do you remember the grass feeling this comfortable, he'd asked once as we'd reclined in a park… a park that did feel oddly familiar.

They were a puzzle; a puzzle I hadn't told a single person about. I still wasn't sure why I was having them. Maybe fear. I was terrified of him. And of his sister. And their band of brain-washed followers, if they were even still alive. Or maybe it was simply because the twins were the focus of my entire day. Stephen, Callum, and Boo at least had day jobs and Freddie would soon have school to distract her, but reading up on the twins was my full time job. We'd brought all the books from their house and I'd been relentlessly reading through bit by boring bit. It made sense that I was slightly obsessed with them, but if that was the reason, why was Sadie never in the dreams? Why only Sid?

My phone buzzed as I walked back into my room, one quick jerk on my nightstand, and I couldn't help smiling down at the text.

U up?

It seemed Jerome and I both had trouble sleeping lately.

"This is your fault," he said, answering the phone on the first ring. "I was sleeping fine before you came into my life."

"Good morning to you too, Idiot."

"You think your wardens will let you out today? Just for an hour or so?"

His voice was so warm and familiar, it eased the last remnants of the dream from my head. "They're keeping me here for a reason, you know."

"Yes, of course. You're still a missing person. But you have different hair now and this early, no one will recognize you. You can't tell me you haven't been dying for a coffee."

Coffee was the magic word. It seemed people in England lived on tea. It was what they drank morning, noon, and night, and a Rory with no coffee is an unproductive Rory. My mouth was watering at the thought of its rich goodness.

"You knew you'd have me with coffee, huh?"

Jerome chuckled into the phone, bringing memories of holding hands in class and kisses in the library. "How about that shop on the corner? I'll buy."

"Meet you in twenty."

Twenty minutes was just enough time for a quick shower before I was sneaking through the living room with my hair still wet, scrawling a quick note on the pad by the phone. Technically, I'd made promises not to leave this flat without permission, but I was going crazy. Literally.

The coffee shop had clearly just opened and Jerome was waiting at one of the outdoor tables with two cups of dark wake-up juice.

"Why don't we do this every morning," Jerome inquired as I joined him at the table, which was thankfully out of view of the CCTV cameras.

"Because Stephen would handcuff me to the bed if we tried."

"That's a little intense." I nodded as I sipped my coffee. "Jazza says hi, but the way."

"She still at her parents," I inquired, fondly missing my trusty roommate.

"Yeah. Reading, lounging with the dogs. And I think she's terrified for you."

This brought on a long sigh. I hated that my friends were so scared. More, I hated that my parents probably felt even worse. "Tell her not to be. I'm fine. Really. Mostly just bored. Running away really isn't as fun as I thought it would be."

Jerome's face lit up with one of his easy smiles. His curls had grown down past his ears now that school was on break and it made him look friendly and dependable. "Well, I know we're not big on endearments, but… I miss you."

"I miss you too," I admitted, my hand briefly resting on his. His eyes held mine, lighting up in a way that used to signal the beginning of a kiss. Stephen's lips, the only ones I actually wanted to be kissing now, flashed through my head. "And Jazza."

"Yes, right," he mumbled, breaking the moment. His face looked slightly heartbroken. "So, any luck on finding Evil One and Evil Two?"

"Not yet. I'm sort of hoping they decided to move to the Cayman Islands for the rest of forever. Maybe start up a juice bar."

"Or they could be living it up in a mansion with their pet cats. Don't evil overlords always have cats?"

I nodded and smiled into my coffee. Making light of the situation was exactly what I needed. I hadn't missed the fact that Jerome's knee was brushing mine, or that he'd been leaning in closer as the conversation had gone on. The break-up had been before I'd told him the truth, but now that he knew everything, he seemed under the impression that things could go back to the way they were before. But there was one significant reason that could never happen.

And that reason was now standing just behind my chair.

"Good coffee," Stephen inquired, his voice holding a quiet fury.

Chancing a glance over my shoulder, I was met with his stern face and my heart froze in my chest as it did every time I saw him now. My eyes lingered on his chest, rising and falling with his breaths. He was alive and whatever came next I could handle.

"You should join us," I offered casually, but he didn't sit. Instead, he seemed to be focusing on the close proximity of my hand to Jerome's.

"Actually, I think we should be getting back," Stephen instructed, his eyes returning to my face. I could see the worry in them now.

"Why don't I come with you," Jerome insisted, standing from his chair. "I could help with the books and maybe–"

"No. You already know more than you should. Rory, we should go."

Jerome looked ready to argue, his hand extended to grab my arm, but I moved deftly to Stephen's side. "It's okay, Jer. I'll call you later, okay?"

As his eyes switched from Stephen's face to mine, I could see the unhappiness there, but he simply nodded. "Don't let him handcuff you to the bed."

I had a quip ready, but Stephen was already pulling me along after him, his grip firm on my arm. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I'd be back before you woke up."

"And what if someone recognized you," he yelled once we were safely in our building, racing up to our second floor flat. He was pulling me along so fast now that I nearly tripped on the stairs.

"We were careful, and I was only going to be gone for a few minutes. I've left the house with you and Callum. What's the difference?"

"The difference is that Callum and I can protect you. He can't."

Once in the living room, he slammed the door behind us, his hands shaking. It had been a long time since I'd seen Stephen this mad. I noticed now that he was still in his pajamas, his hair an adorable mess on his head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just had a bad dream and wanted to talk to someone. He was awake anyway. We really were careful."

His eyes drifted to the floor now, his lips set in a firm line. "Why didn't you just wake me up? I was right down the hall."

"It was five in the morning. No one should be forced to wake up at five in the morning."

"I'm serious. You can wake me up if you need me."

But I didn't feel right waking him up for a bad dream. Since I'd brought him back, things had been awkward. He'd made it clear that what had happened in his father's flat would not be happening again and as happy as I was to have him back, it still hurt. Every day… every time I saw another side of him that I hadn't noticed before, I fell a little more in love with him. But knowing that he didn't want to be with me – or that he thought he couldn't, or whatever – it was like a fresh wound every single day. And I'd had enough wounds to last me a lifetime.

"I won't do it again. I promise." With that, I strode to the kitchen in search of breakfast, while Stephen put the kettle on for tea.

Unlike my dream last night, Stephen did not take my hand or softly caress my cheek. Instead, his every move seemed coordinated with the sole purpose of not touching me. Even when we both reached for the sugar at the same time, he was quick to yank his hand back, not meeting my eyes.

"Stephen," Callum called, rushing into the kitchen shirtless with his phone in his hand. That was a sight that woke you up! "We got to go. Thorpe just called, says Charlotte was spotted at a bank in West End."

"A bank," Stephen inquired, already moving towards his room.

"She just emptied all of Jane's bank accounts. I'm guessing she's the new errand girl for the Siamese freaks. Since they just killed all their old ones."

"I'm coming too," I shouted, tossing my still full plate of eggs in the sink.

Stephen whirled to face me. "Absolutely not!"

"Look, I'm sorry about this morning, but this is Charlotte. I need to be there. I need to try to convince her that Sid and Sadie are not the people to run around with."

"This morning," Callum asked, a smirk pulling up his lips. "The sun's hardly up and you've already done something nefarious? Isn't that a record?"

"Shut it, Callum," Stephen ordered, his eyes still boring into mine. "You're not coming, Rory. It isn't safe. Someone could recognize you and I still don't trust that Sid and Sadie wouldn't find you a valuable asset."

He rushed into his room before I could respond, but I followed him, determined now. I was just in time to see his shirt hit the floor. "If they wanted me, why didn't they take me with them before? It's not like we could have stopped them."

"I don't know. They'd just come back to life. They probably had other emergencies to take care of. You saw how fascinated they were with you. Until I know their plans, I don't want you out there where they could get to you."

He threw his uniform on the bed, shooting me a pointed look as his hands reached the hem of his pajama bottoms. With a sigh, I turned to face the wall, but didn't leave. "Why?"

"Why what," he inquired, but I could hear the wariness in his voice. He already knew what I was asking.

"Why are you so determined to protect me? Jane is dead; the Ripper isn't still trying to off me. You have more important things to worry about than my protection, and I could help. But instead you seem determined to keep me locked up here and uninvolved in the investigation. Why? Why is it so important for you to keep me safe?"

Silence. It was obvious my question had thrown him. The intense urge to turn and see the look on his face nearly overtook me, but I could still hear him pulling on his clothes. So I waited.

"Rory... You are involved in the investigation. You've been going through their books for weeks now. That helps."

"You didn't answer the question."

I waited some more while the sound of his police uniform sliding onto his body filled the air and he tied up his boots. Part of me knew I should take back the question; that I might not like the answer, but I just had to know. I just had to hear him say it.

"I care about you, Rory," he responded finally, and I couldn't hold back anymore. I whirled to face him… but the look on his face was not the one I was hoping for. It wasn't shy or blushing, unsure of how his words would be received. It was stern and serious, as though he were explaining this to a child.

"You are my responsibility," he continued. "You're too young to be a member of the squad and right now you are under my protection. I can't risk anything happening to you."

"Stephen," Callum called from down the hall. "We got to go. Boo's meeting us there."

With a nod, Stephen rushed past me towards the door, but just as he reached my shoulder, he stopped. "Rory… I do care about you."

He was out of the room, grabbing his keys and strolling out the front door when I finally got the words past my tight throat.

"But I love you."

~SoL~

The book struck the wall with a resounding thud, echoing my frustration. It was only eleven in the morning and it was already obvious that reading through these books were pointless. Sid and Sadie had collected various works from all over the world. Most all had been translated into English, but I might as well have been reading Sanskrit for all the sense it made. Most contained theories about the dead or dark rituals to reanimate a corpse. A lot of it was rubbish.

Grabbing another book off the stack by the couch, I skimmed through the first few pages, noting the same myths I'd read in countless others. On page ninety-seven I came across a picture of a painting. I'd already seen similar paintings in three of the other books, all by the same artist. Edward Kennish. Of course, I'd researched him, as I had nothing better to do than beat a dead horse repeatedly for hours at a time. Edward Kennish lived from 1609 to 1654. He constantly spoke of communing with the spirits of the dead and was excommunicated from the church before finally being murdered by his Catholic brother, who accused him of practicing witchcraft.

His history was interesting, but the paintings were terrible. It was no wonder he never became one of the famous artists of his time. Each one consisted of various lines and brushstrokes that created absolutely nothing. No matter how long I stared at it, I could not conceive what the picture was supposed to be. The caption claimed it to be a painting of a spirit, though Edward Kennish himself had named it The Artifact.

I was just about to toss this book across the room as well when I was plunged into darkness.

Everything had clicked off, not just the lights. The coffee pot, the microwave, even the heat was no longer blowing faithfully out of the vents.

"Great. Like I know where a breaker box is in an English flat."

Thorpe had gotten us this place, claiming that Sid and Sadie most likely knew the location of Stephen and Callum's old flat, since Jane and her cronies had known. This building had only two apartments and Thorpe had rented them both, with the plan to turn the downstairs into a practical office space. My best bet for the breaker box would probably be in the master bedroom, which was Stephen's. Although it was possible that English flats didn't have breaker boxes and I'd be wondering around in the cold dark for the rest of the day.

I was just getting off the couch when I heard the drip.

Most likely the sink was leaking and I was only just now noticing it because everything had gotten so quiet, but it didn't sound like it was coming from the kitchen. Grabbing my phone, I clicked on the flashlight app and made my way cautiously into the hall. The dripping grew louder, and then I saw it.

I could make out the dark outline of a puddle on the hardwood floors. It had rained last night, so I was guessing this was water leaking down from the attic. Apparently our new place was prone to power cuts and a leaking roof.

But as I moved closer, I realized that the puddle in the floor was too viscous to be water.

And it was red.

My heart was suddenly trying to break free of my chest and I was frozen. Completely frozen. It couldn't be blood. Why would our ceiling be leaking blood?! No, it was not blood. There was a solid explanation for this, I was sure of it.

Part of me wanted to run from the room screaming and immediately call Stephen's phone. But wouldn't it just look stupid when he climbed up in the attic and found that it was merely a can of paint that had tipped over. I had just been arguing why I needed to be a more productive member of the team and calling for help every time some tiny little thing happened was not proving my point.

My face set with determination, I maneuvered carefully around the growing puddle to where the attic door was in the ceiling, just before Stephen's room at the end of the hall. The pull rope was too short for me to reach and I had to jump up and down several times before I finally managed to snag it. Yanking the door down was another matter, as a set of heavy wooden steps was attached to it, but once I finally had it open, the stench hit me like a brick.

It was foul and rotten, nothing at all like old paint, and it was pitch dark at the top of the stairs.

Slowly, as though my feet were made of lead, I ascended the stairs, shining the light of my phone across the dark room. There was probably a switch or something. It was clearly a large space meant for storing all sorts of various crap, but my hands were shaking too much for me to search for the light.

Creeping along inch by inch, my phone illuminating the floor, I finally saw a large lump lying just where I thought the drip was coming from. It seemed formless, with a mess of string tangled at one end. The sight was a confusion until I was right over it…

…and saw that under the string, was a face. A human face… on a human body.

There was so much blood streaking the body that at first I didn't notice that the hair was naturally red. My knees were shaking so bad I wasn't sure how I was still standing and the part of my brain that wasn't having a panic attack noted that Stephen, Callum, and Boo probably wouldn't have any luck locating Charlotte.

Because she was lying at my feet.

A/N: Just wanted to point out that the SoL stands for Shades of London (in case that wasn't incredibly obvious.) I am extremely computer illiterate and can never seem to properly put in my page breaks.