Evil is always possible. And goodness is eternally difficult.

~ANNE RICE, Interview with the Vampire


Eighth: Forewarned is forearmed

I have an interesting theory that the vampires' mind tricks had addled Gregson's and Hopkins' brains beyond any measure of idiocy. This theory was brought about by the fact that despite the alibis for Watson provided by what must have been half of St Bart's, parts of Fleet Street, and Inspectors Bradstreet and Lestrade, it still took them over four hours of paperwork to discern Watson's alibi, then another hour of paperwork, which I suspect was a delaying tactic, during which the sun inched ever closer to setting, before I was informed that Watson had already been retrieved by three men. In a rare flash of anger, I had told Lestrade that if Watson was not found, Scotland Yard may no longer expect my help.

"I was too late," I told Langtry later when I met him at the Diogenes. "they've taken him."

"I think I can discern what for," Langtry replied dryly, before he stepped aside to let me see another old man, with grey hair that was balding in several patches and holding a staff carved of dark oak, aiming it at me. "Mr Holmes, this is Ebenazar McCoy, my associate. Ebenazar, this is the friend of that person I was telling you about, Sherlock Holmes."

I kept quiet throughout this, knowing that if a wizard could get my true Name from my lips, he could quite possibly control me.

"I know, heard of him through the Strand," McCoy grumbled, shaking my hand as he put down the staff in his other. "You know, a person's head isn't exactly the best place for a Denarian to be, Artie?" he added to Langtry, who said nothing, though an interesting tick appeared near his brows.

"As long as the shadow remains in his head, there is little we can do," he reluctantly admitted. "Furthermore, I'd rather have a bait than not know when they're going to strike."

"I'm a bit lost here, could any of you care to tell me the sequence of events?" I ventured as McCoy scowled.

"We have a scourge of Black Court vampires, who at present would be subjecting your friend to some horrible sort of torture to get him to summon the coin out so that they wouldn't have to search everywhere for it," Langtry dully explained.

"After which, they'll take the coin and quite possibly kill him," McCoy added cheerfully. "They can't enthrall him since an act of free will is needed to get the coin out, so most likely they'll force him to summon it."

"Damn smart, too," Langtry grumbled. "They'll try to make Watson give up control of his body to the Fallen within, and then make a deal with or force into submission the literal devil. If they manage it, we're doomed."

"Why?" I asked. They looked at each other before looking at me with pity.

"Take the most vicious serial killer you know. Triple the strength, double the power, increase insanity by fifteen and intelligence by twenty, and take out any respect for the laws of physics, or any mortal law come to think of it, along with any moral compunction or respect for life. That'll be the rough idea of a Denarian," McCoy shrugged. "Now imagine the scenario given to you under the control of a group of monsters who see humans only as food."

"That...doesn't sound pleasant." I answered somewhat sceptically.

"That is a colossal understatement," McCoy dryly added.

"Then what do we do?" I was beginning to like the idea of whisky more and more.

"It is generally agreed that daytime is the best time to deal with vampires," Langtry said. "It is advised to wait. However, we are short on time; the vampires will rush to secure the coin as it could mean the difference between their life and death. The only silver lining is that they would have only started the torture recently. If we can find their nest, if we can find their numbers, if we can find where they are...we may be there in time. And if we are not..."

There was no need to say anything. We already knew the consequence.


Triangulation is an art that I consider necessary for any good detective looking for a career in finding missing people. I emphasis that it is an art, as inconsistent as the opposite talent of hiding was. I have guessed that in order to hide from sunlight, the vampire scourge's hiding place must be underground, and have ready prey that no one would miss at hand. That, of course, narrowed it pretty much to the East End of London. Unfortunately, despite having narrowed the search, the East End was a place filled with nooks and crannies that would take forever and a day to search through for one specific person.

As the cab rattled through the streets towards baker Street, I mentally plotted out the steps needed to flush the location out. The Irregulars would be a liability here; the vampires have already showed no hesitation in holding children hostage and I doubt that the age of their unlucky human acquaintances would matter to them if they were to decide to murder. It would be quite easy; if Matthews hadn't been so eager to gloat, I doubt that I would be breathing today.

That being said, I believe that the involvement of the official force was also not going to be useful. Mostly due to myself (and I lament the fact that my very agnosticism had had an impact on the Yarders that at this time was negative), most police officers were agnostic. Those that weren't wouldn't help in rescuing a wizard.

Hah. I thought wizard.

The cab stopped directly before the fateful street-light before Baker Street as I got out and paid the cabbie. "thanks, guv'nor!" the somewhat immature cabbie called as the cab rattled off.

Inspector Lestrade stepped out of the shadows, his hat in his hands. "I...trust that you've found the doctor, Mr Holmes?" he asked, meekly. Maybe I've been a bit too harsh on the poor man.

"His whereabouts elude me, Lestrade," I sighed wearily, part of my (regrettably) over-active imagination telling me of the various methods of torture my Watson could be going through now. "The last I saw, he was being led away by Gregson and Hopkins to Scotland Yard in relation with the Shoreditch Stakings, the aforementioned inspectors I strongly suspect of having been hypnotised." And I accuse Watson of sensationalism. I will never do so again.

At least, Lestrade had the grace to look sympathetic. "I see. Gregson and Hopkins hypnotised. No wonder they've taken over my investigation, what with all the disappearances in Blackfriars and all that they're supposed to look into..."

Blackfriars.

On the East End.

Where people disappear everyday.

"Lestrade," I found myself speaking, hoping against hope that this was it, "where are the disappearances concentrated?"


"You'd think," McCoy growled, thumping his staff onto Mrs Hudson's carpet in the sitting room, now a temporary War Room, "that those vampires would grow a brain now. It's common sense not to hunt in one's backyard."

"I highly doubt that doing so was due to common sense, but rather convenience," I pointed out. "It is, after all, convenient to spirit away a snack just wandering by at any time one likes than have to go somewhere else to hunt. Furthermore, if the disappearances are noticed, what then? People disappear in the East End all the time. The wolves have been hiding unaware in a herd of sheep that do not even believe they exist, much less notice them."

"And so, why this building by the canals?" Langtry grumbled. Sometimes I believe it nature's prerogative that the wielders of its forces are prone to times of crankiness. Watson tells me that this is brought on by lack of sleep. If I had to see as many horrors of the night that Watson undoubtedly had seen, and possibly worse, that no one would believe, I think I would be grumpy as well.

Of course, it could also be due to the fact that Watson's corner where he performed small miracles bordering between science and magic that had once allowed me to sneak in and out of Bow Street unnoticed was pretty cold. Hence the grumpiness.

But I digress. "From what I could glean from speed-reading Dracula, most vampires would quickly drain their victims. The resulting bodies would no doubt take up space that would have to be cleared sooner or later. Since the...scourge is not looking for the attention of mortal authorities, they must get rid of the bodies a little at a time. We have established that the West End is not a good body disposal, neither is it possible to set up a nest there due to Mr Langtry's presence. Furthermore, the Venatori, whoever they are, have killed here," I pointed out on the map I had sneaked out of Bow Street, "and here, and here, which puts out central London, since no sane man would set up living quarters in central London, given that the elusive Venatori would easily come and exterminate them. The only safe hunting and disposal ground would therefore be the East End, where most save the natives would fear to tread, and near the river, from which the police fish out bodies regularly."

"Hmph," the two wizards grumbled at me. "Wise-ass."

"And why this particular building, since any other building by the river would do?" Langtry asked.

I felt myself nervous for once as I related: "This particular building's basement holds the Charity Clinic of St Giles, which, as I recall, operates at all times. If I were a vampire, I'd think I would want a place that was not only filled with weakened prey, but would also provide the cover anonymity if men were to enter and leave at all times. It is also an admittedly convenient disposal ground; people die in clinic s and hospitals all the time. Who would notice if some of those bodies..."

"Were drained of blood." McCoy disgustedly finished for me. "Clinics like those hardly have enough personnel to check every dead, they would've simply sold the unclaimed corpses to some medical school after preserving the body."

"Mr Holmes, I am glad that you are not a vampire," Langtry said to me, just as a polite knock sounded, not on the door, but the window.


"This is the first time I've ever received a messenger at the window," McCoy muttered as we looked down at the albeit spectacular sight of what looked to be a man standing on solid air.

"Greetings, wizards and human," the...vampire (that I had no problems associating with the thing in front of me) said in a somewhat normal, if slightly commonplace, half bowing. "I come bearing a message from the leader of our scourge. He sends his regards to Mr Holmes, adds that he is a fan of the doctor's work in the Strand, and kindly bids Mr Holmes to surrender the coin our scourge so desperately needs to ensure our continued survival in London."

"Mitton, eh?" Langtry said to the vampire. "Why does he want the thing?"

"I do not know, I am merely bearing a message from our leader," the vampire smoothly replied, before his voice abruptly shifted to one that was all rasp and sandpaper, filled with some sort of malignant influence that I can only describe, to this day, as evil.

"Or, we will get the coin the hard way," that voice hissed. "You could not stop us fifty years ago, you will not stop us not, magelings. Surrender the coin, and I might just let the captive mageling free. If not, I will simply have to get it another way..." I could feel goosebumps forming on the back of my neck.

"One of the Blackened Denarii is bad enough," a familiar German accent spoke, clear and loud, ringing with an authority that would be associated forever in my mind with the Old Testament, "But having it in the hands of vampires would be worse. Begone, unnatural thing!"

A flash of white light and the vampire screamed, not unlike my violin when in between cases, now that I have heard it. Watson was right; it did sound like a laryngitic cat being strangled.

Father Emile Strauss bore down on the vampire from the roof (how did he manage to get up there I have no idea; he certainly didn't use a ladder in broad daylight) and somehow, the large sword he was holding cut through the vampire, eliciting a fresh bout of screaming. I strongly suspect that the very fact that 221 Baker Street being my place of residence and thus the site of many unexplainable noises and explosions has resulted in the surrounding residences' ignorance of the fact that a bloodthirsty creature of the night was screaming outside my house. After all, if a place had such noises regularly, after a while the neighbours' curiosity would wane, and they would ignore it.

The sword must have been sharp, for Father Strauss had easily decapitated the vampire as it tried to escape. Sighing at it, he then looked up and asked: "Is there an easier way to get rid of the body than lugging it somewhere?"

"How did you...?"

"I called in a favour and took a Way here," Father Strauss explained. "It's a long story, and apparently we don't have time. Arthur, Ebenazar, nice to see you again. Do you have your...paraphernalia? Mr Holmes, could you please dress yourself as that disreputable tramp that Doctor Watson comments on in the Strand, get a bottle of chloroform, and injure yourself? I'll explain on the way there."


"I did not know that Rome provided such transport," I commented, studying the drapes on the carriage, which were of superior quality than most other cabs. Of course, it also meant that I had blood dripping on fine upholstery. Too bad.

"They don't," Father Strauss replied, cleaning his sword in the roomy confines of the carriage. "I borrowed this from a friend. Another will be here once we've finished."

"Finished?" I questioned.

"Yes. You see, when someone is kidnapped by the Black Court, it is necessary to retrieve them as soon as possible before..." Father Strauss shivered visibly, "before...the Renfield. So...we go in at day-break, but we would have to carry out reconnaissance. That is where you, Mr Holmes, should specialise in. We have..." here, he checked an originally good-quality, but with so many dents and nicks that came with time pocket-watch produced from his voluminous black robes "three hours before sunrise. Mr Holmes, try to get in, and out in an hour, so that we can gather a plan and a contingency. Ebenazar...divert the attention of any constables, the last thing we need is a hostage situation with someone...who cannot deal with everything. Arthur, I need you to prepare a defensive ward around the building and trigger it should any vampire try to escape."

"By running water? At sunrise?" Langtry's voice rose. "Do you have any idea...?"

"I imagine it would be possible for the youngest ever member of the Senior Council," Father Strauss replied gently. If it is any comfort, there is a confluence of ley lines directly below..."

"I'll be fine," Langtry put up his hands in surrender.

"Excellent. Within an hour, Mr Holmes you should be out of the building. I need you to check how many corpses at least dead for over a century there are, that's the estimated age of the remaining vampires. I would also need you to find out how many people there are in the building, how many innocents, how many guards, and so on, any information you can glean that can help. After which," and here he lowered his voice: "you must knock out the driver and take the reins. I trust that you can drive the long rein?"

"Yes."

"Godspeed then. I and Ebenazar would move in at sunrise, retrieve Doctor Watson, and move out. You will wait here with Langtry. There is no back door in this building, only one proper means of egress. The moment we get into the cab, drive like our lives depend on it to Pall Mall."

There were several mistakes I noted with this ridiculously simple plan, but I asked "Would the Renfields not give chase? Or what if there are more vampires than first thought?"

"That, Mr Holmes, is what you would ascertain. Arthur and Ebenazar are too recognisable to be able to do such a thing. I would be killed if I so much as stepped into the place. You, as a human disassociated with most supernatural beings, would fit right in, and you have the added advantage of being underestimated by the vampires because of your very humanity. You will be our armourer, praemonitus, praemunitus."

In a world of the supernatural, where monsters wander the night preying on unsuspecting humans, the world where Watson had to live now...finally, I had a part to play. In all those times, Watson had protected me, had rescued me from the most dangerous of situations.

It is time to return the favour.

They have made a mistake in warning us. For having forewarned us of the danger, they have forearmed us.

God help them.


I have endeavoured to portray some subtext here as practice. The end is nigh!

LLS