Author's Note: Racist language and profanity ahead.

London Police Station

8:00 PM

"So what was her problem? That couple are at a loss for what had happened…"

The cockney accent rang through Rayne's sore head like a hammer on a nail.

"From the look of her eyes, the little lass seems to have taken some drugs…"

The darkness was still there but life was slowly crawling back into Rayne's body.

"A druggie, at her age Mack?"

"Still the novice I see. Terry even children can take drugs. Speaking of which, in my experience, I believe she has taken opium."

God her sinuses ached, her joints ached, her whole body ached.

"So she's just some homeless kid?"

"Not from here, her accent is American."

The darkness began to lift from Rayne's eyes slowly.

"A bloody yankee girl here in London all by herself? How's that possible?"

"I'd hate to know mate, she was probably kidnapped by a triad. Those Orientals like their girls young you see. Probably gave her opium to make her dumb and meek…"

"I don't want to hear anymore, Mack. Please."

"Alright then, back to your duties Terry. Oh look, it appears Walter and Marvin have brought us a carnival…"

The darkness was gone and Rayne slowly got to her feet. She was sitting on a hard cot in a prison cell with dingy, soot stained brick walls whose only light source came from the gas lamp hanging on the wall adjacent to the bars that caged her in. Upon closer examination, she could see that she had neighbors. One man in a white nightgown was pacing his cell floor rather nervously, mumbling gibberish (the telltale sign that he wasn't quite right in the head), a man in the cell next door to the pacer was snoring loudly on his cot and he wasn't alone, a very pretty yet pale woman in scarlet clothing sat in there with a bored face, her only amusement being her cigarette from which she took long drawn out puffs from every few minutes from its black quellazaire*. There were probably more but Rayne didn't really care to know.

She heard the policeman's voice again. She could hear it even amongst the muffled din of traffic coming from the lobby. Its entrance stood out from the dark and dank prison hall with its bright warm light.

"Oh evein Miss Nadya."

"Hello constable Terry…"

The voice was of that of a woman, it wasn't British though, and it was an accent Rayne had never heard of before, even in the linguistically diverse city of New York. It was very exotic.

"I am very interested in the girl you have recently taken in…"

"What girl?"

"The red headed one Terry…" a hint of frustration was in the voice.

Rayne looked up in confusion and surprise. She was pretty sure she was the only red head in the jail right now and what did this person want with her? The chatter continued:

"What would Professor Trumain want with this child? She attacked two people out in the middle of the street tonight. She could be a lunatic for all we know…"

"Oh, God…" Rayne thought to herself with a shudder. She attacked people? This was horrible.

"Hush Terry, I will have none of it. The reason why I wish to acquire this girl is between the professor and me. And furthermore, I am not going to let her spend one night in this gaol. The beddings here probably haven't been changed since Jack the Ripper was on the prowl…"

There was a faint thump on a wooden surface.

"Now here is the money for her bail. It was a wild guess but I suppose 300 pound sterling aught to cover it."

There was some silence until Terry spoke again.

"I do believe your right Miss Nadya! Come along, right this way…"

Along came two figures that emerged from the doorway with the sounds of keys jingling like bells. Constable Terry was in a very fine police uniform and a woman who wore a pork pie hat, very light brown jacket, a black skirt and an apron as well as two dangling loop earrings. As they got closer, Rayne could see the woman's other physical features. She had dark reddish-brown skin, dark lips, jet black hair (which was in a ponytail) and crescent eyebrows that reminded Rayne of Arabian people, big, brown, hawk-like eyes that seemed to piece through Terry and Rayne. The woman was very beautiful.

"Ahh! Young miss, your awake!" said Terry as he unlocked the door. "Since she's awake, Miss Nadya, I think me and the boys should keep her overnight for questioning to see where she came from and all…"

"No Terry, I paid her bail. If you and this station have any complaints, talk to the professor."

And with that, the woman walked into Rayne's cell. Rayne hesitated at the woman's height. The lady looked down on Rayne and with a smile, she reached out her hand.

"Hello dear, my name is Nadya Trumain, you can just call me Nadya though. What's yours?"

Rayne instantly calmed down at the second she said a kind word.

"Rayne."

"Rayne? What a pretty name."

Nadya then lowered her head to Rayne's ear and whispered:

"I know what you did and what you are but you are safe. Don't worry."

Rayne's eyes got wide. "How do you…"

Rayne's words were caught off as the woman pulled her hand and lead her out of that dingy cell.

"Come along dear, I am taking you with me."

Upon reaching the prison lobby, Rayne could see it was going to be crowded tonight. Besides the policeman going in and out, there were visitors and the new prisoners that consisted of drunkards, who slurred their speech and stunk of alcohol, prostitutes whose faces were slathered with so much plaster thick make-up, that they looked like cheap porcelain dolls, thieves whose eyes darted between the cheap jewelry of the hookers to the pockets and wallets of visitors and policemen, and wife beaters, who glared angrily at nothing and everyone, cheeks red, fists clenched, ready to strike again. They cursed under their breath, cursing their women folk for turning them in and whining about how "unappreciated" they are by them, probably promising themselves to hit harder next time. The din was broken by shouts from one of the convicts.

"Oy, what's that gypsy whore doing with that little girl?!"

Rayne and Nadya turned to see that it was red-faced man with greasy hair yelling at them. Rayne saw that the man had a fake right arm. It was an uncomfortable looking contraption that was strapped around his shoulder and the small remains of his arm and it finished at a sinister looking hook hand. And even creepier, both the hook and his real hand had dried blood on them. He looked like a scary man.

"Winston, leave those women alone." Came Terry's voice.

"Shut up! Can't any you fools see that pickey** is taking that girl away to be sold?"

"What?" Rayne was getting nervous.

"Its okay dear." Nadya was being very calm despite the racial slurs that Winston was throwing at her.

"Winston, would you please shut up! I'm trying to sleep!" It was from one of the prostitutes, she was leaning on a fellow hooker with a jacket draped over her like a blanket. Winston then turned to her and yelled.

"Shut your cock sucking mouth you stupid whore!"

The policeman called for his fellow officers to escort Winston to his cell.

"You lock an honest, hardworking man like me, but you allow this gyp to walk off with a child! You should arrest her, and my stupid, useless, Pollock wife as well!"

A policeman spoke up.

"First off Winston, your wife is in a hospital because of you, and second, you have been on the dole*** since you lost your arm in the Great War, so shut up and lets go! Nice and easy now..."

But Winston wasn't finished. The man suddenly escaped the grasps of the officers. Despite being in cuffs, he charged Nadya. But as the man got closer, Nadya swung out her left arm in a perfect swinging uppercut to Winston's chin. The sound of bone cracking and teeth being broken rang in Rayne's ears.

The man crumbled on to his knees in pain as officers swarmed him. Rayne looked at Nadya in amazement to see her so calm. Surly that strike had to have hurt her hand but, to Rayne's astonishment, her hand was gone! The hand was instead lying on the hard wooden floor; the glove covering it had specks of blood and saliva on it. Letting go of Rayne's hand, Nadya bent down and casually picked it up, as if it was everyday that her hand dropped off. It was obviously a fake but still…

Quickly reattaching the limb to her arm, Nadya and Rayne briskly walked out of the station. It was late at night and it was windy and flurrying, but the winter air refreshed Rayne's body and mind. The two went to a black car parked in front. Nadya opened the door and gestured Rayne in. Rayne slid onto the clean, smooth leather seats that smelled of polish and Nadya soon followed.

"Lets go home Geoffrey."

"Yes mam."

Soon the car sped off. Rayne looked out the window and saw London decorated for the Christmas season. Shop windows glistening with amber light, displaying their wares of clothes, toys, and holiday cakes to all who had the spirit. The cakes made Rayne hungry, and as if she could read her mind, Nadya reached into one of her coat pockets and pulled out something wrapped in newspaper. Underneath that warm paper, was a meat pie. Rayne, who hadn't eaten any proper food or blood in four days, devoured the pie within seconds. She was licking off the buttery crumbs from her fingers when she saw the wide-eyed look of her rescuer.

"Sorry," she said, putting her hands down in shame, "I was just really hungry…"

Nadya smiled. "I know…"

Then Rayne remembered what Nadya had whispered to her in the jail. Upon asking what she had meant by it, Nadya simply responded by gently rubbing the girl's head. The soothing fingers relaxed Rayne and soon her eyelids began to grow heavy with sleep. As she tucked herself in with her head on Nadya's lap, she could hear Nadya's soothing voice.

"That's right, sleep little Rayne. Your questions will all be answered in the morning…"

Rayne did as told and she closed her eyes. Soon, Nadya began to sing a lullaby in a strange language that Rayne had never heard of before. And soon, she was fast asleep.

* Cigarette holder

** Racial slur against the Romani. Originated in England.

*** Welfare.

In the next chapter, Rayne will meet Professor Trumain and a few of her half-siblings. Things are finally looking up for our budding heroine!