A/n: Eh heh heh…Happy 2014 guys…um, I don't really have an excuse for being so late with an update (college is just slowly ruining my life) so I tried to make this a super long chapter to compensate. I'm so sorry everyone and I hope you guys are still interested in what's to come!

As always, questions, reviews and critiques are welcome!


The Witch House (12)


"Holy fuck," Pip muttered, the slightest trace of delirium in his tone, "So this is where the taxes go."

"You don't pay taxes, Captain," Seras was quick to point out, landing noiselessly on the Calamander wooded floor. Had she been able to take in the glass tables and crystalline vases and satin-laced curtains however, there would've been an easy point of agreement.

Despite the darkness, the room was illuminated by an enormous skyline window, which wrapped around the entire length of the front wall. A couple of leather sofas and velvet cushions were arranged tastefully in front of it, and the yellow and red lights of the city below flickered against their snowy surfaces. A blinking pattern of other people's lives.

Above, in the black expanse of night that hung over London, a huge and lonely moon gazed in upon them with white melancholy eyes.

Pip wondered what it meant if all he could really think about was how amazing it would be to get sloshed up here.

"It should be around somewhere," Seras murmured, obliviously brushing past him.

She bent over, searching around one of the sofas with great determination. The furrows of her brows deepened increasingly as she flung aside pillows and duvets, yanking out one of the seat cushions with a single impatient hand. Her fingers skittered and scraped across the framework like an albino spider.

Pip, completely unhelpful, stood to the side, too busy with the generous eyeful she was giving him to do much of anything.

"…What in God's name…?" she muttered beneath her breath, narrowing her eyes at the upturned sofa as if she actually saw it. After a moment, she straightened and backed up a step in dissatisfaction.

Shoulders slumping at the end of his viewing, Pip asked rather unenthusiastically, "What does it look like?"

"The same as the first one," Seras said, slipping the pin out to show it to him, the studded rubies and emeralds glimmering brightly. Pip's lips pulled slightly downwards. Damning evidence of government conspiracy aside, he had yet to be clued in on what exactly made the thing so important that they were risking their partially crippled asses for it.

"Didn't you say you knew where it was?"

"Well, I know its in here," she replied, thin eyebrows furrowing as she rubbed the rooster's crown with her thumb, "It's hard to describe. I was following a thread of energy linking the two pins together, but it's pointing over here, around this sofa."

"So look near the sofa."

"And there," Seras said flatly, pointing to the curtains, "And there." The coffee table.

Her head turned upwards. "And it's also made a loop through the ceiling."

Pip stared.

"Wonderful," he sighed, "So I suppose we're just going to be looking randomly then."

Seras didn't answer, already hurrying over to the immaculate stain-less steel kitchen. Pip sighed again, aimlessly surveying the room for a moment before deciding upon a stack of braided baskets sitting neatly near the bathroom.

Grabbing the top one, he pulled open the lid, tossing out crisp white towels and packaged soaps, wincing as throbbing pain shot through his temple. His right ear, for whatever reason, hadn't stopped hurting since their unpleasant air duct voyage, and had "settled" into a piercing, incessant ache.

Stubbornly, Pip lifted the lid of the second basket, ignoring the pain as best he could, while he sifted through the contents and felt the bottom of the container for anything wedged between its braids. He upended the next three in a similar fashion, finding nothing.

Before he could search the last one however, a stab of pain streaked brutally across the back of his skull. Pip's teeth clenched violently, hand dropping the basket to fly around his ear. The cartilage was warm and slightly wet and in no way normal.

Pip cursed viciously as the stars faded from his eye, his fingers twitching around the hook of the hearing aid, which was apparently trying to dig permanent grooves into his flesh. For all the time the doctor had spent poking and prodding his ears, he would think he'd have ordered something of at least the right goddamn size...though actually, did hearing aids even come in sizes? Or maybe it was something he needed to adjust on his own though there were only two buttons on the stupid thing, goddamnit he should've looked through the manual a little better, maybe studied the 'when your hearing aid starts trying to drive a nail through your ear canal' section in more arrest detail

Something small and cold landed on his shoulder.

Pip's heart rocketed into his throat, shattering his thoughts and (thankfully) strangling his yelp. His body made a mindless, abortive attempt to twist around, and he would've tripped over his own legs if not for the pale hand that snagged his sleeve and kept him upright.

Seras's white, gold-framed face came into view, her eyes just as startled and wide as his. She opened her mouth and Pip stared at her for a beat, before every drop of color leeched from his face.

Her thin, white lips creased and moved, but not a sound came out.

Merde, a voice murmured in his head. The memory of Seras's hand on his shin flashed before him, how it had forced him into several frustrating stops inside the air ducts, before he'd seen the brisk movements of black-clad legs through the grille. Footsteps and clattering guns that he had not heard.

Dread began pooling thick and heavy in his gut as he reached again for the adjusting knob of the hearing aid—spikes of agony shooting across his temple each time he turned it. Seras's eyebrows furrowed, the surprise fading away into concern. She spoke again. He heard nothing.

Pip wrenched the knob, ignoring the pulsing swell of pain the motion brought. This time, a faint voice rode in with it. The sounds of the world blurred into a vague focus and Pip would've slumped in relief if it hadn't still felt like thick cloth was stuffed deep into his ears.

Seras's lips kept moving—more rapidly, demanding. The worry was blatant on her face now as her hand reached for him. Pip still couldn't hear enough to understand a word, but he grabbed it, giving her no time to be startled by the suddenness before he dragged them both to their feet.

"Mignonette," he said, jaw strained, his own voice nothing but a blur of sounds, "I think…we might have to go now."

A flitter of confusion, surprise and increasingly mounting concern crossed her face. Her lips parted again, but snapped shut suddenly before they could form into words.

Pip blinked in surprise when Seras suddenly whirled toward the door, almost smacking him in the nose with her hair. Her whole frame stiffened into a board. The slight fingers over his tightened vice-like around him.

And all of a sudden, it was her dragging him towards the exit instead. Pip stumbled, nearly tripping over himself again, a squawk of protest on the tip of his tongue.

Inadvertently, he caught sight of the door and the thought vanished from his mind. Seras stopped abruptly a second later and Pip ran straight into her back. Neither of them noticed.

The doorknob was jiggling.

They stood there, almost dumbly, as it clicked open.

"...and I said there's nothing to be done up here, the action's all downsta..." the agent's voice died mid-word.

For a long beat, there was nothing but stupefying silence. Nobody moved, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

Then Seras's hand found the sofa and sent it hurling toward the doorway.


Alucard glided through the walls at an unhurried pace, avoiding human detection with bored ease. Having only a screaming tirade waiting for him at home, he wasn't particularly feeling the rush, working his way slowly across the sixth floor corridors, watching with mild fascination and amusement as the humans positioned themselves and re-checked their guns and whispered into their silly little radios.

It was doubtful any of these poor fools knew what kind of man they were working for (repulsive, filthy, daring to touch what was his). Even at the cusp of death, that puny, whimpering commandant had had no thoughts of Anguis running in his blood beyond fearful awe and admiration.

Mortals, it seemed, would never learn. Forever cursed to be led, to be strung along on puppet strings by the fingers of cruel, wicked souls. Like it was with Hitler, like Anguis...

Like you, an old voice whispered, and the glimmer of armor flashed before him. The marching beats of a thousand horses and men. A king stood above them, sword raised by a silver gauntlet, looking guiltlessly into the faces he was sending off to die. He roared, though no sound was heard.

Alucard scowled faintly, dispersing the memory with irritation. If there was ever a time for that nonsense, it wasn't now.

Good mood dampened, he slid silently past another three men at the corner and was about to head down the next hallway, when the scratch and fizzle of static from their radios gave him pause. A voice rose from it—frazzled and frustrated and distinctly English.

A dark, slender eyebrow arched. So, Scotland Yard was working with the French now. How quaint. Even Alucard saw the impossibility of burying this incident now. He supposed a few silver-laced bullets would be waiting for him after all.

One of the men unclipped the radio from his belt, quietly exchanging details through the mouthpiece, mostly information along the lines of 'no sign on the fourth, fifth or sixth floors,' 'nothing in the stairways,' 'What the Devil is going on?'

The two unoccupied men sent each other looks of faint unease. Alucard's grin widened.

While the initial plan had been to return later after getting everything a little more "bloody sorted," as his master always criticized, it seemed he would be spared the trip.

In hilarious retrospect, he'd flicked the pin at his fledgling on a complete whim, a half-attempt at a magic lesson (he couldn't help it if the mood grabbed him at inconvenient times). It hadn't occurred to him once that they wouldn't flee the hotel, especially since he had worded the task in such an optional way. Not that he was complaining in the slightest.

The trace of energy was faint and thin and Seras was shy a couple centuries before she could have a hope of detecting it from afar, meaning they could've only stumbled upon the actual thing. It was all impressively good luck.

"We'll be staying on the sixth floor," the frenchman holding the radio was muttering, "Though if your ATB could arrive with a little more haste…"

His two partners nodded ferociously in agreement. Alucard slinked past them and rounded a corner. Once he was clear from sight, he stepped fully into the hallway, the shadows of his portal rippling and reforming into his coat and hat. The incompetence it took to be outmaneuvered by a pair of half-blind, half-deaf fools was breathtaking, and he toyed with the idea of traumatizing those men on sheer principle. However, since he was feeling rather magnanimous, he decided to focus on other problems.

Mainly that he had no idea where they were either.

Tilting his head slightly, he gave the air an idle sniff, though the action proved futile.

All unique scents had been lost under the over-saturation of human activity and for some reason, obscene amounts of cologne. Eyebrows raising slightly, Alucard prodded at the mental link between him and Seras instead, trying to pinpoint his fledgling's location. To his growing annoyance, it remained thick and unclear, not even remotely as fluid and pliant as it was suppose to be, like water turned to blood.

Impressive magic, he had to admit, depriving him of voice even on a soundless plane. Too abstract for a vampire to perform without reducing itself to a bloodless husk. It made him wonder why it had never occurred to him the woman hadn't been one. The rotting face, the blunt teeth, she looked more ghoul than vampire, though she wasn't a ghoul either.

He didn't know what she was.

Alucard retreated his tendrils from the bond, right eyebrow ticking slightly. Come to think of it, despite nearly draining that little human dry, he still didn't know even the most basic facts about what he was dealing with. The puzzlement was a mixed feeling to be honest, of vague irritation and hysterical, inconceivable excitement.

Either way, he was certain that recovering the second pin from Seras would fill in some of the blanks. That is if he could just find the little idiot…

KABLAM

Almost on cue, a thunderous crash erupted from above Alucard's head. The men in the hallway let out startled yelps, instantly assuming half-crouched positions with their heads ducked down as the walls shuddered.

Alucard blinked, turning to stare at the ceiling for a moment, before his lips curved into a wolfish smile. My, hadn't that been convenient…

Nonchalantly, he slipped his hands into his pockets, about to saunter right by the three men still cowering in the hallway, when their radios suddenly screeched to life again.

"PENTHOUSE!" a nearly-shrill voice screamed from the speaker, "THEY'RE IN THE PENTHOUSE, GODDAMNIT! ALL UNITS TO THE FUCKING PENTHOUSE, YOU MORCEAUX DE MERDE!"

The men jumped slightly and the same agent as before fumbled for the radio.

"S..Signeur Anguis?" he stammered in surprise, but that was all he could say before the stairway doors slammed open.

A black river of DST agents and Scotland Yard officers came pouring in, the clatter of guns and hard-soled shoes quickly filling the hallway. Two commanding officers were in the front, one from Scotland Yard and one from the DST, both talking rapidly into separate earpieces.

"Levez-vous!" the latter barked at the three men, who scrambled to their feet and hurried into line.

Alucard edged slightly back into the shadows, though it did little to hide the glow of his wide, curious eyes, as he stared at the crowd rushing towards the isolated stairway door leading up to the penthouse.

Oh, no, he thought, his grin all teeth, We can't have that.

The 'bang' of the door slamming shut and locking left cracks in the wall plaster.

Alucard barely smothered a slightly deranged giggle as he heard the men yelp, reeling and cursing in shock. Quickly, he slipped back into the wall before stepping out into an empty suite.

Baskerville, he purred, his eyes beginning to faintly glow, Come here.

An echoing mass of tortured screams replied, contorting swiftly into a feral, alien growl. Alucard grinned, hands still in his pockets.

His shoulder turned pitch black and rippled as a large elongated shadow pried its way out of him. It spilled onto the white carpet, solidifying into a dark hulking form of muscle and sinew and fur. A pointed nose and muzzle stretched and formed, while a long shaggy tail flopped out from the shadows.

Eight blood-red eyes opened, staring.

Alucard looked on amusedly as the huge dog thudded down at his feet.

How about some fun, my pet?

Baskerville blinked once slowly, before turning his great head towards the door. Alucard's grin widened as his familiar looked back at him after a beat, tail beginning to wag with instant comprehension. Well, it was good to know at least someonecould still understand him.

No biting this time. Play a little game with them. Let's see how long you can keep them down here, hm?

The black dog rose, the muscles in its haunches coiled and eager, its eyes blazing. The great maw parted, revealing fine rows of glinting teeth.

Alucard chuckled, bowing with a gesture towards the door. After you then.

Baskerville sprang towards the exit, silent as the grave despite his massive paws. The door burst open and almost off its hinges as he neared it. A white channel of light poured into the darkened room as Alucard watched his dog land in the corridor. With blurring speed, the beast melted through the opposite wall.

Startled gunshots rang out in the hallway, bullets drilling coin-sized holes into the Stacy Garcia wallpaper. The officers snapped commands in a mess of English and French, before frantic footsteps began thundering away from the staircase.

Alucard's feet lifted idly off the ground. It was truly a pity, he thought, as the sound of several more doors exploded open in an intersecting hall, freezing the footsteps in their tracks.

His dog was having more fun than him these days.

A black portal formed on the ceiling, shadowy red-tinged tendrils reaching out to grab him. Alucard floated in and disappeared into the penthouse.


There was a gaping dent where part of the penthouse wall use to be. Huge and jagged, with plaster hanging loose along the edges, revealing the wooden frames underneath. A thick cloud of white dust hovered over the area, nearly concealing the pile of cushions, feathers and protruding metal that had been the Langham's two-thousand pound loveseat.

Somewhere buried beneath that mess were two guns. They'd been the only things taken out of the equation.

Pip gasped out a winded breath, as he crashed into the pile of baskets he'd been searching through earlier, feeling at least five different corners digging into his back and ribs. The agent who'd thrown him walked up after him, shoulders taut and ready for an attack. He said something, mouth moving angrily, though all Pip heard was a garble of unintelligible noises.

The mercenary sighed in irritation, ears stinging and temples pounding.

Looking back now, while Seras's casual free throw of a whale-sized sofa had been more badass than anything they'd done so far, it'd actually been a bit pointless.

Deftly, he freed the basket tangled around his arm and pegged it at the agent with all his strength.

His opponent fumbled to deflect it, stumbling a few steps backwards. It was all the pause Pip needed to spring to his feet and lay a brutal side kick to the left shin.

The man howled and crumpled, though only a scant minute later he was staggering to his feet again. Pip stared, before whistling lowly.

"You're pissing me off and restoring my faith all at once."

The man spat something at him—probably an outraged denouncement by the look in his eyes. Pip sighed again.

"Save your breath," he gestured at his hearing aid, "I've got a technical malfunction."

Or a flesh-eating parasite, a little voice muttered in his head as another wave of pain rippled through his ears.

The man's eyes widened when they landed on the hearing devices, only now truly seeing them; he froze completely, mouth opening slightly. Pip half-hoped he'd sink into one of those torturous moral dilemmas for beating on a deaf guy and give him enough time to punch his lights out.

His plan proved unnecessary a half-second later as the body of the other agent suddenly went flying past his face in a large blur. There was a split second where his opponent's eyes grew to the size of ostrich eggs, before the two man collided into each other.

They sailed head-over-heels across the room, toppling the remaining couch and sofa, before crash-landing on the floor.

Pip had barely started to gape, his own eye becoming an impressive size as well, when a cold hand grabbed his bicep. Seras's face was pinched and urgent, and while he understood nothing that she was screaming at him, the idea was obvious enough.

"This way," he muttered, grabbing her hand and sprinting for the door. Seras paused at the exit to slam the door shut, breaking off the brass knob as if it were flimsy plastic.

Pip decided to not even think about it. His head hurt too much anyway.

"The staircase should be over there," he said, leading her along as they ran down the hallway, where a silver door eventually came into view.

Pip was just about to reach for it, already trying to plan out how they were going to escape down the rest of the hotel floors, when Seras suddenly yanked him backwards.

"Mignonette?" he asked, surprised, though a feeling of dread quickly began to grow when he turned to her.

Her mouth was gaping open in surprise, the slender tips of her fangs peeking out, as she stared at the door. Without a word, she pressed her ear to the surface only for her eyes to grow even wider.

Pip sucked in a breath through his teeth. "So, what are we talking here? A couple more of Anguis's people or small army?"

Seras winced and raised two fingers.

Pip grabbed her wrist without a word and began walking away from the staircase, not having the slightest clue of where they were suppose to go.

They took about nine steps, before Pip saw the penthouse door suddenly smash open. The two DST agents stumbled out, both of them gripping their shoulders in agony.

"What the fuck," Pip said blandly as Seras jumped at the noise.

They hadn't been spotted yet, but Pip backed up further anyway, pulling Seras with him. The two guns the men had apparently unearthed from the sofa wreckage glinted in their hands.

Pip cursed as they bumped into a wall. After a moment of reluctance, he reached into his jacket for his own gun. Some part of him was finding it horribly ironic that out of all three of them, he was going to be the only one to kill someone tonight.

Pip thumbed the safety and was about to pull the weapon out into the open, when something suddenly grabbed the end of his braid. A violent tug was given, sending searing, red-hot pain across what felt like half of his face.

A sharp yell escaped him before he could get his bearings and he fell backwards.


Seras had just begun to contemplate the merits of blindly throwing the first thing her hand came into contact with again when she felt it.

That cold, dark feeling, like ice grazing the barest centimeter away from skin. The big, long hand that landed on her shoulder.

There you are, came the sing-song voice in her head.

From beside her, Pip let out a pained squawk and everything went deathly silent for a moment as they were both yanked into the air. It ended with the roar of rooftop wind, as their feet hit the floor again, both of them stumbling as the hands holding them up promptly released.

"Mr. Alucard," Pip murmured, looking at the vampire wearily, as he cradled his ear.

Alucard simply grinned and walked right past them to stare curiously down at the growing number of flashing sirens gathering in front of the hotel.

For a long beat, Seras just stood there, flooded with a powerful mix of sheer relief and homicidal fury. While part of her wanted to thank him profusely for not abandoning them, the other part wanted to bash his face in for making them come to the hotel in the first place.

She was swiftly moving from the first to the second, before a small voice helpfully piped up.

Technically, you were the one who suggested it to him.

The single statement left her awkwardly stuck between the two feelings, so that when she finally spoke, her voice ended up sounding partially strangled.

"Master."

Alucard turned with an arched eyebrow at the tone, and utterly misinterpreting the reason, sauntered back to his fledgling with a wolfish smile.

Now police girl, I know it slightly kills you being apart from me all the time, but there are more important things to deal with at the moment than your little emotions.

Without warning, he bluntly reached into Seras's pocket and pulled out the rooster pin. His eyes widened slightly as he saw threads of energy immediately emerge from the object, a vividly bright green compared to the faint, wispy black he'd seen earlier.

Your luck never fails to astound me. Alucard shook his head in mocking amusement and slipped the pin into his own pocket. There was more chance of you finding buried treasure than the other pin, you know. I honestly thought you were going to leave. I wouldn't have even been angry. And you forced your way to the penthouse too, with all the crashes I heard up there. How frightening. For all that grievance, some heads must have rolled, did they not?

Seras stared, still trying to process the first thing he'd said and whether or not to explode over it. "Wha—um, yes, I gue—I mean, no! No! MASTER!"

Alucard chuckled at her, grin widening. No, they didn't? Or no, they did?

"This isn't funny!" Seras screeched, nearly stomping her foot, "We broke all kinds of protocol just coming here, likely got caught on film thousands of times and now everyone thinks we're terrorists!"

"Oh, yeah," Pip commented regretfully, after having watched the exchange in bemused silence, "Damn, I forgot about that. I guess this means I'll need to stay away from the local pubs for a while. At least until the Boss can quiet everything down."

Seras's eyes bulged and Alucard scoffed.

Why is it even the Frenchman has things in better perspective than you do? The Council will do their little dance and bury it in whatever way it's done these days. It's what they're there for.

"I'd be impressed if they could completely hush up something like this," Seras retorted, remembering the sounds of hundreds of feet thundering through the staircase door, "It's international this time. You killed a French official."

For the last time, I didn't kill anyone. And I never said 'completely.' They'll be receiving grief for months and it's likely the end of whatever 'relations' there had actually been. But that's not my problem or yours, so what does it matter?

Seras almost snorted, feeling slightly hysterical. "It matters to Sir Integra."

There was a beat. Then Alucard shrugged noncommittally. I didn't think you would actually stay, so the terrorist business is more or less your own fault.

Seras sputtered, blind eyes widening with incoherent rage. Alucard gave her a lazy blink, before extending his hand expectantly.

So, hand it over then.

"Wha—hand what over?"

Alucard restrained a sigh. The second pin. The sooner you give it to me, the sooner we leave. Hurry up, don't dawdle.

It was Seras's turn to blink. "Oh, we don't have it."

Alucard stared. There was another beat. Then…

WHAT?

"Well we didn't exactly have time to search while we were busy being assaulted!" Seras snapped back, at her limit, "It's not like following a compass or anything. It was pointing all over the place! And what do you mean it's my fault?! You shot the telly—!"

We are going back.

Seras instantly forgot the rest of her sentence. "Wh..What?"

Alucard simply walked past without bothering to look at her. Come. Right now. We are going to find it. He will move it, if we don't.

"M-Master," Seras whimpered, all anger evaporating from her tone, "Wait, why is it—we can't—I mean…do we have to go back there now?"

Pip, who had decided to sit down in the meantime, rocketed to his feet again at the words.

"We're going back?!" he said, dread flooding him. His hand fell incredulously from his ear.

Instead of replying, Alucard and Seras suddenly froze, their heads snapping to him with startling speed.

Pip blinked, slightly taken aback. "W-What?"

Alucard gave him a long, strange look—crimson eyes lingering along the side of Pip's face.

Fine, his voice echoed in Seras's head after a pause, Not right now.

Seras nodded wordlessly, white eyes large and slightly dilated as she stared at the captain. Her nostrils were flared.

Increasingly unnerved, Pip's eye drifted down toward himself, searching for anything amiss. A second later, his face drained of all color.

In the moonlight, his hand was black and slick—wet and gleaming with blood.


Anguis stormed up the stairs to the penthouse, violently shoving aside anyone standing in his way. His features were icy and stiff, but the barely concealed fury was evident in the white-knuckled clench of his fists.

"What happened?" he snarled, near quivering with rage, "My order was to get to the penthouse. It was a simple instruction. There were forty-three men up here AND NOT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU COULD DO EVEN THAT?!"

Beside him, the young DST agent from before jumped.

"Je t'en supplie, monsigneur," he groveled, scrambling to keep up as he frantically scanned his clipboard, "B-But the officers wanted to report the possibility of more than two suspects."

"What do you mean 'more,' you con?" Anguis snapped, elbowing a startled agent aside.

"W-Well, the units were nearly at the staircase door when it was suddenly locked from the other side. A-and then the doors of the suites reportedly began opening and shutting at random. No one has actually been foundin any of the suites yet, but—"

"What are you saying then?" Anguis cut in frostily, stopping and whirling at him, "That a person could somehow reach the sixth floor during lockdown, sneak into all fifty-five rooms and then out again without being seen by even the cameras?"

The young man gripped his clipboard nervously, holding it in front of him like a shield.

"…Some of the men also reported glimpsing a large black dog—"

"THEY'RE ALL FIRED!" Anguis roared, green eyes aflame, "Every single one! Blacklist them! The government doesn't need any more worthless idiots!"

His subordinate visibly jumped again and nodded hurriedly, scribbling it down on his clipboard, "Y-Yes, monsigneur."

Anguis breathed once deeply, collecting himself, before continuing to stride down the hallway. Truthfully, he had a good idea of what had been behind this entire mess. But as none around him even knew of the true purpose behind the meeting in the first place, he refrained. Better the fall of others than the disgrace of his family's name.

Anguis gritted his teeth, chills of rage and terror had been riddling his spine since that encounter in the hallway.

He had been too arrogant, too confident in his diplomatic skills and the control he had over most of those greedy council buffoons. His lies had been weak—an unprepared attempt at scapegoating when his repeated monetary offers had been rejected. And then to be actually played for a fool and tricked with his own words!

Anguis cursed himself again for losing his composure. He had revealed far more than he had learned in return.

The rooster on that creature's neck was scorched into his mind. It was definitely her sign, but…

The vampire had clearly been able to see and hear. And there was no knowledge of whether the creature could even speak in the first place. Also why? Why was it there on the throat? It was always over the chest…

Anguis's nails dug further into his palms at all of the unanswered questions tearing through his head. That Hellsing woman knew something. He didn't know how much, but the fact that she had even connected the rooster to the Witch House had made his hair stand on end. Somewhere, there had been a leak and he needed to plug it before that little salope found out any more.

"Where is Commandant Petit?" he demanded, as they neared the penthouse door. For that pathetic worm to suddenly vanish when he needed him most, he was going to wring that fat, oily neck…

"Oh, well…" the agent's eyes drifted downward, somehow looking even more uncomfortable, "Actually, monsigneur, I was about to…to tell you that we foun—Mon Dieu!"

The penthouse appeared as if a tornado had smashed through it. Every single piece of unbolted furniture had been upturned and massive cracks marred the walls, spider-webbing across the room and over the ceiling. Silverware from the kitchen was spilled across the floor and near the threshold was the wrecked remains of a 2-meter length sofa.

Anguis stood perfectly still, staring.

"Monsigneur," a voice hurriedly called, as three DST agents that had been in a corner of the room rushed over.

The one that had spoken bowed his head immediately. "Please forgive me, monsigneur, my subordinates did what they could but were unable to apprehend the suspects. H…However they were able to obtain clear profiles, so we can work with Scotland Yard and begin the search immediately."

Anguis spared the man a minute look, before glancing behind him at the two others. Their faces were black and blue, with one of them sporting a vicious black eye and the other clearly favoring his right leg. They stared at the ground in silent shame.

Anguis's lip curled. "I'll have your heads for this," he hissed, and then walked briskly towards the bathroom, barely restraining the urge to run.

He dropped to his knees in front of the pile of baskets, violently tossing aside the overturned ones. That Hellsing creature had been here. He just knew it. That salope had sent her monster to investigate him.

Anguis's sweat began to run ice cold as he threw aside the fifth basket, all of them empty. His subordinates hesitantly called his name, but he ignored them, yanking over the last one with near trembling fingers.

They could not have found it. It was all over if they had found it. Why had he not kept it with him as he always did?

He upended the basket of its folded towels and soap boxes, feeling hurriedly around the bottom. His heart was almost at the back of his mouth, when he suddenly felt it. With a shuddering, all-encompassing sigh of relief, he pried up one of the basket's braids.

The red gems of a rooster's crown glinted back at him.