"You like the tropics, don't you? Yeah..." Henry grinned. "I wouldn't want to spend all my time in arctic water either I don't care what Helen says about your native habitat," he adjusted the dial, spinning it up a degree or two.

The heaters in the mermaid's tank spun into action. She swished her tail, distancing herself from the huge outlets riddled with bubbles.

Will was 'seated' at the desk in the centre of the room. Well – more correctly, he was balanced precariously on the back wheel of the office chair which looked as if it would slip at any moment and vomit him onto the concrete.

"Is it wise to play with that?" snapped Will, nose deep in a folder. He hadn't been with the Magnus household long but he presumed that there were rules against tinkering.

Henry stroked the glass. "What she doesn't know can't get me into trouble."

"I may not be aware of the planet's imminent destruction – doesn't mean it won't be trouble. What's the deal with you and the mermaid? You're always over there, whispering..."

"I don't whisper," replied Henry defensibly. "We talk. She gets lonely."

Will suspected that it was something a little more than compassion. "If you don't want to tell me that's fine, I'll just ask Helen when you're not here."

Henry smiled softly at the shimmering face in the water. She smiled back and then turned, vanishing into the depths of the tank. "Speaking of Helen, how's she going with our friendly sand monster?"

Will dragged his eyes off the report to glance at one of the surveillance screens mounted over the desk. His face froze in a look of shock when he saw her crumpled against the back wall, a trail of blood beneath her.

A high pitched yelp preceded a thunderous crash as Will's chair overturned.

"That good, eh?" Henry half-hopped, half-paced across the room with an extensive set of keys jingling on his belt.

Will pressed a hand to his head and felt something hot and sticky. He kicked the chair off and rolled forward onto his knees, taking a moment to rest his head on the savagely hard ground.

"Oh..." Henry paused, seeing a dribble of blood down the side of Will's face. "Hey, you look awful."

The injured Will glared back. "Thanks Henry," he said, hauling himself to his feet. "We need guns."

"Guns I can do," he chirped. "But you'll have to bulk bill the rest," he pointed at Will's pretty head. "I want it known that I was opposed to the whole 'adoption' thing from the start. Some abnormals were just never meant for captivity."

*~*~*

The house was pitch. Lamps at each hallway had burnt down hours ago, their bitter smell sinking with the cold which snaked its way through open windows. All of the curtains were drawn against the full moon, though they billowed occasionally, caught by the evening breeze. As they parted, cracked rivers of light flashed over the floor, lingered for a moment and then vanished as the house returned to darkness.

Ashley stepped forward, her ears pricked in horror. Each footstep was like the earth shattering so she timed them with the 'tick' of the grandfather clock. After twenty minutes of this, she fell into a rhythm – step, breathe, wait, step.

Creeping up the centre of the hallway, she snapped a flame into life from her lighter. In the back end of the house, the snores of the Magnus household grew louder until she could pinpoint each sleeping body behind the closed doors lining the hallway. She wished that this was a different house – or if not, that she didn't know one of the residents so well. Her mother's hearing was as sharp as the knife under her sleeve.

Ashley's delicate flame flickered as another gust of wind kicked the curtain at the end of the narrow hall behind her wide open. Suddenly ever surface glowed with moonlight, layers of dust scattering the light into halos. Relived, she caught sight of the attic door.

Holding her breath, she crossed past her mother's door. A few more feet and she was slipping her fingers around the brass handle of the attic door, pushing it open. It revealed a darkened stairwell. Ashley extended her lighter in front of her but couldn't see past the first flight of bare wooden stairs. She left the door not-quite shut and took hold of the banister, thankful that every step took her further away from detection.

Just when she thought the narrow stairway would go on forever, her head smacked into a low lying beam and she found herself slouching in under the roof. She could hardly see anything with her tiny flame – just the occasional outline of a shelf or an unlit lamp hanging dangerously low from its hook.

She took hold of the nearest lantern and held her lighter to it. In a rush of light, the room lit up and Ashley realised that she wasn't just standing in an attic; she was standing in a laboratory. Lighting a few more lanterns on her way toward the main desk, she couldn't help but notice the precariously stacked bookcases lining every wall, blocking out the windows behind them. Instead of books, most were filled with piles of notes. Ill-bound files with crumpled and stained edges threatened to teeter over lopsided shelves while several fragments of bone and teeth posed as 'bookends'.

A series of desks, some merely overturned travel trunks, set the stage of a major experimental operation. Ashley recognised the familiar stench of formaldehyde and quickly discovered a row of glass displays filled with shrivelled forms. She held her hand over her mouth, trying not to look into their glassy eyes as she slipped behind the main desk.

Tossing aside useless pages, she rifled through until she found an unopened letter. Slipping it inside of her jacket, Ashley turned to her right and eyed the wall. As her father had said, one of the 'bookshelves' was covered in a wire-frame mesh, originally to protect against earthquakes in its native Italy. Now, it simply obscured the titles of the medical books squeezed inside.

Sliding a knife blade between the doors, she pried the latch free. They fell open with a drawn out cry and puff of dust. Waving the air clean she pulled out the books on the bottom shelf in threes and placed them gently on the floor. Halfway across the shelf, she found what she was looking for.

A small wooden cabinet with glass doors was slotted into the shelf, hidden by the books. She quickly slid the remaining books aside and examined her find. Ashley pulled the heavy item free of the shelf and carried it back over to the table where there was more light. It was a well used object, no doubt with many lives lived, none as obscure as its current one.

One of the cut glass panels fell out in her hand as she set it down on the desk. The contents behind rattled – not used to disruption. Ashley's breath caught. At least a dozen vials of blood were lined up in a purpose built rack. She had been so sure that it was a lie – that everything her father had told her was poisonous rubbish – but he was right and here was the proof he had promised.

Shaken by the discovery, she hadn't heard the hesitant footsteps or noticed the pair of horrified eyes watching her remove one of the vials and slosh the liquid around under the lamp. It wasn't until Dr. Magnus gathered the courage to speak that Ashley realised that he was there, metres from the desk with a lamp in hand.

"Put it back," was all he said at first. Ashley froze, staring back at him blankly. He continued, "What you have taken has no worth to anybody but me. You can have anything in this house, except that."

Guilt crept in from nowhere – unlike anything she had experienced before. She could feel any chance of a relationship with her grandfather slipping off into the night like smoke, torn apart by the air. It hurt her to do this but for once, her father had a point.

"No," she backed away from the desk non-threateningly. "I don't want to hurt you. Let me leave and I swear I –"

"You cannot have what you have taken," he interrupted, passion rising in his voice. "I will not let you take it. Return it and be on your way."

Ashley shook her head, on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching into the waist band of her pants where she found an antique gun. Study desk, third draw –anther thing John had known. She held it at her grandfather but made a point to aim slightly off so that should accident befall, he would not be hit. This was strictly for show. With her other hand, she hid the vials safely in a padded pocket.

Dr. Magnus recognised his gun but did not enquire. His hands trembled as his mind settled into a quiet kind of peace. There was something about the barrel of a gun which brought clarity.

He stepped to the side until he was able to touch a low table. He trailed his fingers over it, moving towards a silver letter opener.

"Stop!" said Ashley, barely breaking a whisper.

His fingers paused, scant inches from the ornate handle. "Young lady, I already know that you're not going to shoot me," he said, changing his hand's direction until it slipped under a pile of paper, withdrawing a journal. It was a small book, frayed around the edges. Deep scars formed the only pattern on its leather cover. "You want treasure?" he raised the book. "It's yours but I must insist you return that sample." He threw the book at her. It landed on the desk but she didn't move to claim it.

She shook her head. "I can't give it to you," each word forced its way out against her will.

"Don't be so ridiculous," he raised his voice. "I am offering you wealth that you will never see again and you are willing to give it up for something you can't possibly use?" Her grandfather approached her, step by step over the squeaking floorboards.

Ashley forced herself to bring the weapon in line with his sparkling eyes.

"Ashley... Being different doesn't mean that you have to hate – it doesn't matter I guess. It is clear you made your choices long ago."

"What are you talking about?" Ashley took a step back as he grew closer. Her blurred eyes were hot and the back of her throat caught on every breath.

"Isn't this quaint..."

Both Ashley and her grandfather startled as John appeared in the room. He was beside her grandfather, pacing with his gloved hands clasped out of sight behind his back.

Dr. Magnus forgot all about Ashley at the sight of his former 'patient'. "Mr. Druitt, what are you doing here and how did you get here?"

"It's alright doctor, I just want to have a nice, friendly word with your granddaughter..."

Dr. Magnus turned back to Ashley, "What-arr,"

Before either of them could move, John was behind Dr. Magnus with one hand under his chin, tilting his head painfully toward the roof while the other brandished a long, slender blade which he pressed to the doctor's neck.

Ashley stepped forward at once, gun centred between her father's eyes.

"Let him go!" she shouted, not caring who heard. This was out of control. "I said, let him go. I've got what you asked for, just leave him."

"She's a bit rough around the edges," sneered John into the doctor's ear. "That bit's from me. Look a little harder," he bent the doctor forward so that he could see Ashley better. "Recognise those eyes?"