Note: I wanted to thank you all for your kind reviews (they make my day) and wish you a happy new year. As always, apologies for any mistakes I try to reread myself as thoroughly as possible but some might elude me.

Ethan Chandler knocked on Vanessa's door and waited for a response. The woman had locked herself in the room hours before and had yet to resurface, a detail which had ignited Sir Malcom's worry and his own protectiveness towards the woman. Upon hearing nothing, he opened the door, peeking inside to find the daywalker engrossed in an old volume. She didn't seem to notice his presence and he cleared his throat to alert her.

"Mr. Chandler, my apologies I didn't hear you arrive."

"I can see that. Sir Malcom sent me to check on you and bring you lunch."

He gestured towards the tray he was holding, then placed it on a minute edge of the desk left unblemished by books and parchments.

"Thank you Mr. Chandler. I'm afraid I have lost track of time."

He glanced at the scrawny, compact lines of ink staining the pages with interest but found little answer as to what they meant.

"Catriona and Mr. Lyle have searched the archived of the London museum. It would appear that some information in regards to pre-Ottoman Dracula and to Brother Gregory's story has survived."

His expression darkened, unsure whether allowing Vanessa to dig further into the unfortunate's monk tale was a secure option.

"Vanessa what happened to him-"

"Is what happened to me. What will happen to me if I do not defeat the brothers."

There had been no happy ending for Brother Gregory, killed by his own brothers because possessed and there would be no happy ending for Vanessa either. Death was the only escape though that thought provided little solace. Vanessa found herself eager to live for the first time in many years, she was no longer willing to give herself up as a mean of escape from her own demons. Just a little while back she had believed it to be the best alternative to the inevitable darkness she had plunged the world in but the near death experience had pricked her survival instincts and chased such thoughts away for good. If she was going to die, she was going to do so in a fight and she would make sure to bring both cursed brothers down with her.

"We will defeat them. I'm sure of it."

There was a dense silence, then Ethan Chandler seemed to snap out of a trance as he gathered the now emptied tray and made his way to the door.

"Sir Malcom invited us to the theater tonight. From what I gather, Mr. Lyle and Ms. Hartdegen will be joining us."

"I shall gladly tag along then."

The past week had been hectic in terms of preparations, experiments and research in regards to the prophecy and the battles to come but surprisingly, there had been no incidents attributed to either the devil or his sibling. It was an event that called for celebration and some well deserved relaxation and the theater seemed like the perfect occasion to achieve both purposes.

"Our guests should be here shortly Miss Ives. I'll leave you to your studies."

"Thank you Mr. Chandler."

The American headed for the door and seemed stop and think as he turned around with a question he longed to ask burning on the tip of his tongue. He seemed to hesitate, looking unsure (an unusual thing for the normally outspoken, bold young man).

"Why do you trust Miss Hartdegen?"

"Should I not?"

"We hardly know anything about her. What ensures she isn't on the enemy's side?"

he masked his bitterness as concern. Jealousy wasn't one of his traits but Vanessa seemed to awaken the primal side if him and though he failed to understand the two women's relationship, he distrusted Catriona. The earlier he succeeded in ridding himself of her, the better.

"Mr. Lyle recommended her and she has proven multiple times that she is on our side. You of all people should know, she was there during the final battle if my memory serves me right. Besides Mr. Chandler, her knowledge about the fallen brothers is superior to that of any of us aside perhaps from Mr. Lyle."

He noticed Vanessa's uncharacteristic defensiveness and quietened down. Arguing now would do nothing but spoil the mood and put an end to the week of bliss the group had been plunged in.

"Very well, I shall have faith in your words."

There was no reply, the woman had immersed herself once more in her books.

For a few moments before their guests were due to arrive, Vanessa wondered if she would see Catriona in a more feminine attire, perhaps a dress thought she suspected it would be a rather minimalistic one in despite of the elegant, upper class setting they were due to attend. A smile came spontaneous when the red haired woman came into sight, sporting trousers and a shirt topped by waistcoat and cloth frock coat that no doubt gave her a sophisticated appearance. Had it been anyone else, Vanessa would have thought such masculine garnments to suffocate every crumb of femininity the individual possessed but when it came to the fencer, the opposite effect was achieved. It was the perfect blend of her characteristic rebellious sharpness and the grace and finesse of her gender. It was a bold move and one that would turn heads but Catriona didn't seem to mind. Had it been a more understanding society or had they been in the privacy of their home, Vanessa would have no doubt latched onto her partner's arm and allowed herself to be accompanied by Catriona the same way any other couple would, but theirs was an unforgiving society when it came to certain relations and the risk was too great compared to the reward. Instead, she allowed Sir Malcom to take the job. She felt much more at ease around him now days than she did around Mr. Chandler and she would rather seek his company than that of the American who was otherwise occupied with Mr. Lyle whose incessant chatter held him captive. Furtive glances were stolen in the carriage as the two women laid eyes upon each other with a knowing smile on their lips, too enigmatic for anyone else to understand and yet wonderfully clear for both parties involved.

"What play are we viewing Sir Malcom?"

"Twelfth Night. I took the liberty of choosing a comedy to brighten our moods. We have had some rather gloom days, I believe the moment has come for us to enjoy some laughter, at least for a couple of hours."

Vanessa had to stifle an amused chuckle. Twelfth Night seemed oddly apt given her circumstances though she doubted Sir Malcom would be able to catch the irony of it all. Catriona sported the same bemused expression though she hid it well beneath her usual charming smugness and Vanessa thought she saw a sparkle of understanding flash in Ferdinand Lyle's light eyes.

"You couldn't have chosen a better one, I must say."

Next to her, the patriarch smiled before diverging his attention outside the carriage's window. The ride was brief and before long the frozen December wind had left place to the welcoming warmth of the theater, filled by waiting spectators belonging to the higher social classes of London. The group raised a few eyebrows (how could they not when Ethan Chandler still had his guns faithfully by his side and Catriona was not only dressed like no other woman was, but also proudly unaccompanied?) but the fact didn't bother them. It had happed far too many times already for such futile attention to cause any trouble. The thanatologist was clever in placing herself so that in the brief moment of disorganization that inevitably preceded their claiming the seats, Vanessa was able to sit next to her. There was no desire to be subtle in their intentions but such actions couldn't betray the truth of their relationship for after all, as far as anyone knew, the seats had been previously assigned and had undergone no manipulation. The lights fell, the curtains rose and the play begun. Truth to be told, Catriona cared little about what went on on stage. She had never been one to enjoy theater which, in her humble opinion, was much more frustrating than enjoyable. She was the type of individual born to move, being confined to a chair for several hours went against her very nature and had it not been for Vanessa's presence, she probably would have invented an excuse to avoid going altogether. But for the time being, the pale hand that had sneaked its way into Catriona's own made the discomfort worth it. The darkness allowed for more proximity than society would have otherwise tolerated: the subtle dance of entwining fingers, the almost indiscernible leaning of one woman towards the other, the furtive glances casted sideways gleaming with joy. They knew Mr. Lyle would criticize them later for their risk taking but caught in the moment, they cared little for what would come in the future. Enough subtlety was used to allow every gesture to be interpreted as nothing more than a sign of close friendship and Catriona doubted even Mr. Chandler (who due to jealousy no doubt, seemed so keen on exposing them) would notice.

She didn't know how much time had passed when a flimsy streak of white caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She thought she distinguished an all too familiar figure making its lurid way outside the room's door and with the wit that characterized her, Catriona gently released Vanessa's hand.

"Please excuse me for a moment, I will be right back."

Had she been further down the row she would have felt guilty for misplacing people but being nearest to the exit, her disappearing act was quick and quiet. She rushed outside, following the flash of paleness that preceded her into the narrow labyrinth of backstage and empty rooms until it disappeared. The room was dark, bathed in the kind of dim lighting that caused one's eyes to adjust only after a few, crucial minutes. The silence was deafening as she gazed around in an attempt to locate the creature. She knew Vanessa had found the beast's nest in a theater before and that did little to ease her mind, but if a Vampire really had led her there, she was sure as hell going to discover why and uncover his plans. Her hand rested on the pommel of her dagger for several heartbeats as she strained her senses to capture the softest of creaks, the faintest change in smell or the smallest breeze: anything at all that could betray someone else's presence in the space around her. There was nothing. Carefully, she turned to the door. She drew her sword as soon as the wood creaked. Metal met flesh and the telltale screech of pain that followed told her she had reached her target. Her eyes adjusted to the lighting enough to make out the crouched shadow of a young girl, no older than 15. Had it not been for the deathly pallor of her skin or the troubling opaqueness of her eyes, she could have passed for any regular girl. She recovered with a flash and things became nothing but a blur of flashing teeth, scraping nails and lashing daggers. Pain bloomed in Catriona's right arm just as she drove her blade into the creature's chest. She felt the sting of the wounds before she registered the warm, sticky liquid pouring down her limb as being blood and passed her dagger from her right to left hand, muttering a curse beneath her breath. The vampire hissed and growled but she kept it pinned down to the ground until its agonized twitches died out and it was left exhausted, spilling dark blood on the wooden floorboards.

"Where is your master?"

The low growl the question came out as masked the pain spreading rapidly in her upper body, radiating from the wound to her shoulder and proceeding down her left side in a blur of searing heat. The girl laughed: a bitter, mocking laugh that was enough to enlighten Catriona.

"With his brother."

The fencer pressed the blade further into the vampire's chest, causing the mad cackle to turn into a pathetic, spluttering sound.

"He will win. The master will have his bride and when he does darkness will rise and reclaim power. You won't be able to defeat him this time."

"Why are you here?"

"You're too late"

The enigmatic words died out and the creature wheezed one last time before becoming limp and lifeless. Catriona left it impaled on her dagger, in case that vermin had any tricks up its sleeve. Not that she mourned the loss of her blade, she had enough on her to fight off any other dangers lurking in the theater. She dashed outside, now fully understanding what the last words had meant. She had never been the target, Vanessa was. The vampire had done nothing but lure her out so as to leave Vanessa exposed to whatever it was the two cursed brothers had planned. The pain was becoming close to unbearable (only God knew what kind of filth the wound was infected with) but she did her best to ignore it. She found Sir Malcom and the rest of the company outside the theater's doors, gathered around Vanessa in what could only be described as a mixture of sheer terror and pure worry. It didn't take her long to figure out why: something had changed in her, her smile was the same sadistic grin she knew the devil had, her eyes had grown dark and soulless and the voice she muttered foreign words with was raspy beyond what any human could posses. In that instant, Catriona was certain of two elementary things: the battle had begun much earlier than expected and two, she had failed Vanessa. The knowledge of it all brought on a pain so intense that even the deep, ragged gashes on her arm couldn't equal.