13. LONDON

- - - GRANT WILLOUGHBY - - -

There's a reason why responsible parents don't allow their children to eat dessert before the main course at dinner. It's the same reason why cruise lines offer free weekend getaways, and why doctors often administer acetaminophen or codeine before prescribing morphine as a pain-reliever. Once we've had a taste of the good life, it's hard to go back to normal.

It had been four years since my ill-fated rendezvous with Coraline in New York, and I was still feeling the withdrawals. Fortunately, this wasn't the first time she had been abruptly pulled out of my life, and I had developed ways to cope with the void she left. Once her six-month punishment period with Philippe was over, she was allowed to roam the town again, and we could at least talk on the phone. She couldn't visit, though. The only time she ever left Italy was under close supervision, and after what happened in New York, we both felt it was too risky to try seeing each other in person. A long-distance relationship was all we could manage.

I did the best I could, but some days, it still wasn't enough. I missed her. I needed to be with her. My life simply wasn't right without her. It was on one of those days that I was sitting on the front porch of my home outside Toronto, trying to put enough attention into grading papers to get my mind off of Coraline, at least for a few minutes.

It wasn't working.

Thankfully, I had Harvey.

I could hear the signature sound of his Harley Davidson motorcycle roaring down the long, winding road to the house, exceeding safe operational speeds, as always. Harvey collected motorcycles the way I collected cars. He had six different classics parked in his own, separate garage (all Harley's), and he always had a new model that he would drive for a year and trade in. This particular time, he was driving his '79 model, and he was pushing it hard. The wide tires whined as he pulled the curves extra-fast, and in less time than I was used to, I saw his leather-clad figure swing around the last bend in the road, riding the red and chrome motorcycle like a comet. I caught his face as he pulled the bike to a stop, leaping off of it and continuing forward with one seamless motion. Something was wrong. Even with his dark, aviator-style sunglasses covering his eyes, I could see the look of frustration and concern in his forehead and mouth. Trying to remain calm, I laid the Botany essays down, and spoke without rising from my chair.

"Hey, Harv. What's going on?"

He was walking, but it was fast and determined. "I screwed up," he said, his voice betraying the anxiety behind the frustrated face. I let out a quiet sigh, as that sinking feeling started to form in my stomach. We had been doing well for so long that sometimes I forgot we were all killers, just one bad situation away from ending an innocent life. Or two. Or even more...

"How many, Harvey?" I asked, trying to keep the same calm, even tone my mother used to have in these types of situations. It wasn't easy, though. I thought back to the woman I had scented and almost killed back in Havana so many years ago, imagining what the scene would have looked like, had my brother not stepped in. I also remembered the aftermath of Harvey's newborn killing spree – covering his steps, cleaning up the emptied-out bodies. I knew whatever answer he gave me, I would still love and support him, but I was really hoping for a low number.

"How many what?" He asked, now sounding more frustrated.

"How many did you kill? Was it more than one?"

His eyebrows creased with indignation as he slowly took the final few steps to the porch. "I didn't kill anyone," he replied, a little offended that I suggested it. He removed the sunglasses to reveal his normal mahogany eyes, as if I might not otherwise believe him.

"Okay," I replied slowly, relieved that he hadn't killed anyone, but still apprehensive. What else would have him so upset? "So, what did you-"

"I saved somebody, I didn't kill anyone," he interrupted angrily, as if he were talking as much to himself as to me.

"Okay..." I'm guessing there's an explanation...

He sighed sharply, looking blankly at the ground as he explained. "We were at an apartment fire over on the southeast side. Dunn and Talbot were on point; Bruce and I went in second to check the lower levels. Talbot gave the all-clear upstairs, and he and Dunn left. I heard a small heartbeat – a kid – underneath some furniture. I knew I couldn't get to him without being super-human, so I left Bruce and went to pull the kid out. Stupid, stupid!" He digressed.

Ever since my visit to New York, Harvey had been inexplicably fascinated with fire. I caught him on several occasions breaking our strict "no fire" policy in the house, lighting candles, newspapers, tree limbs, and pretty much anything else flammable with the matches he wasn't supposed to have. Lucy and I both gave him stern speeches about the danger of playing with fire, but that only seemed to encourage his behavior. I figured it was the adventurous, daring side of him that enjoyed it so much. That was probably why he signed up as a volunteer firefighter at a local suburban fire station. He loved the thrill of cheating death. Somewhere inside, I think he loved saving lives, too. He didn't talk about it – none of us ever did – but I knew he still carried guilt for the lives he took in Havana, and quite possibly, for the countless ones he ended while working for the British special forces.

No amount of pleading or threatening by Lucy or myself could dissuade him from fighting fires, so we reluctantly accepted it. I didn't know how it played into this supposed failure he was trying to tell me about, but I was growing too nervous to wait for him to stumble to the conclusion of his story.

"Go on..." I said, still waiting for the punch-line, so to speak.

"Well, I got the kid out, no problem. I took off half my gear to make it easier to give him C-P-R. I was working on him for at least two or three minutes before I realized that Bruce was still inside. McDonald came over, and was chewing on me for it pretty bad. I told him it was my mistake, and that I'd go back in and get him. So, I ran back in through the side door, and I found him, but he was real messed up – ceiling caved in and pinned him down. The trusses overhead were gonna go at any minute, and then we'd both be toast, so, I reacted. It was stupid, I just... I got caught up in the moment."

"What exactly did you do?"

"I pulled him out, and the two of us busted through the wall to get outside."

"Well, that's not so bad. The walls may have been compromised with the heat. It's very plausible that-"

"It was a brick wall, Grant."

"Oh."

"It didn't even register with me until I saw the look on Tony's face. He and Talbot saw the whole thing, and they were gawking like they'd just seen superman or something."

"Did you try explaining?"

"What's there to explain? I ran into a burning building, without all my gear, and came back out by turning a brick wall into dust. There's really no explaining that."

"Damn. Who else knows?"

"Well, McDonald, for starters. And everyone will believe him. I heard the guys whispering about it. They all think I'm some kind of freak. McDonald's gonna have to call it in – he probably already has. I'm totally blown. My cover is blown."

By this point, Harvey was pacing in a small circle, running his fingers through his hair and exhaling sharply through tight lips. The stress he was under was painfully visible. I felt it too, I just tried to disguise it. The last thing he needed was a panicked older brother.

"It's not a problem, Harv," I lied, trying to calm him down. "We knew this day would come sooner or later. Let's just take a deep breath and think about this. Do the other firemen know where we live?"

"Yeah. Of course. I brought Bruce and Tony over here a few months ago, remember?"

"You're right. Well, that won't give us much time, then."

"What are we gonna do? Can we find a way to wipe their minds, or something? Maybe we can call Persephone..."

"No, it's too late for that," I replied, coming to the unfortunate conclusion as I talked through it. "Too many people know. By now, the witnesses will have told others. It's a newsworthy story."

"What'll we do, then?"

"Move. We pack up everything and leave town as soon as possible."

"Crap. Crap! I am so sorry..."

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Harv. We all make mistakes."

"But Lucy's just now really settled and enjoying things. And what about her practice? It took her six months just to get it off the ground. I don't want to make her toss all that work in the garbage."

"We'll rebuild. If we did it once, we can do it again. Does she know yet?" She was out at a church function at the time.

"No. I came straight here from the fire."

"Alright. Here's what we're going to do. You take your bike and go pick up Lucy. I'll go commandeer a tractor-trailer, and we'll load up everything we can tonight. We can come back for the cars and motorcycles later."

"Grant... I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Harvey. Go get Lucy, and we'll be out of town in less than two hours."

"Where are we gonna go?"

"Let me call the Cullens – maybe they'll let us lie low for a while until we get things sorted out."

"Thanks, man," he said, looking me in the eyes before reaching out to give me a back-slapping hug. "You're a good brother."

"So are you, Harv. Now, get going."

My plan wasn't much of a plan at all, just a jumble of quick decisions, but it got us safely out of town before the public came looking for us. I called the Cullens to ask if we could stay with them, and Esme informed me that they would be greatly offended if we didn't come, so we took our tractor-trailer (for which I paid $90,000 cash to a thrilled trucker) and brought our movable possessions down to New York for a while. It was hard, leaving our life in Toronto on such short notice. Jasper and Emmett helped us sneak back up and retrieve our vehicles, but we had to leave the house and many of our possessions behind, as well as Lucy's medical practice and our Mortuary business. Harvey took it quite hard, but in time, he was able to forgive himself, and we moved on.

The time we spent with the Cullens was somewhere between summer vacation and a childhood sleep-over, which was very therapeutic for the three of us. Harvey and Emmet were like long-lost buddies, playing every competitive game imaginable, and turning just about everything neutral into some sort of competition. Carlisle brought me into the hospital for a few special 'consultations,' and I learned a great deal from him about the practice of medicine. Lucy and Alice designed an entire spring wardrobe for Rosalie, who modeled it for a professional-type fashion portfolio. And of course, the whole group got out to play baseball at every sign of inclement weather. As nice as it was to be with friends, though, it wasn't a permanent solution to our problem. We needed a new place to live.

I went back to my old list of potential cities, checking up on whatever information I could gather about current vampire occupation, and came up with a few workable solutions. Lucy didn't like any of them, though. She had her sights set on London, and nothing else lived up. Harvey was soon on her side, and they were practically insistent on moving the family to their own idea of heaven-on-earth (at least, from a vampire's perspective). Carlisle cautioned us strongly against going, informing us that London had always been a violent and lawless town for vampires, and one not welcoming to outsiders. Esme offered to build onto the house and have us stay with them indefinitely. Even I campaigned against it, but Harvey and Lucy were dead-set on moving to London, so to London we went.

When I agreed to go along with the move, I was expecting us to find a nice, secluded spot out of town, within reasonable commuting distance, much as we always had before. What I soon learned, as we arrived in town to search for our new house, was that Harvey and Lucy's dream scenario was to live right in the middle of town. I grew tired of fighting against it, so I turned the house-search over to them, focusing instead on buying out a suitable mortuary for our blood supply.

Within three days, I had accomplished my task, and they had accomplished theirs – a sprawling, 4-bedroom loft apartment in Knightsbridge, one of the most sought-after housing areas in all of London. The rent alone was nearly 6,000 pounds per month, but we had the money, so we purchased all-new furniture and accessories, and moved into our chic new living quarters. We spent the rest of our first week in town decorating the loft with all the finest modern touches and updating our wardrobes to match the dressy, upper-class attire of the region. It was all a bit ostentatious, really – I should have known it would lead to trouble.

On the evening of our sixth day in London, Harvey, Lucy and I were on our way back to the loft, arms laden with shopping bags, when I smelled that all-too-familiar sweet fragrance coming from the apartment building. It seemed the local vampires, who had, up until that point, remained out of sight, had come to pay us a visit.

We climbed the stairs to our 18th floor loft with trepidation, unsure of whether this was a friendly visit or a... less than friendly one. As soon as we opened the door, we realized it was the latter. The entire living room had been ransacked – furniture overturned, papers scattered across the floor, drawers and cupboards emptied out.

Walking around the corner to meet us with a slow, deliberate swagger were three tall, lanky vampires, all dressed in finely tailored suits. It had been a while since I had been outside of my sheltered vampire-bubble – I had forgotten just how bright-red one's eyes could get when they were fed with live human blood. All three of these looked as if they had just fed recently, which probably explained the nature of their visit.

"Welcome to London," the one in the middle said with an almost mockingly casual tone. He had a square jaw and honey-blond hair that looked to be about chin-length when it wasn't slicked back (as it was at the time). "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Charles, and these two fellows are Stuart and Stewart."

"What are you doing in our house?" Harvey asked coldly through nearly clenched teeth.

"My associates and I are not accustomed to strangers just dropping into our city unannounced, so we came by to assess the nature of your visit. Judging by the look of things, I believe you have been somewhat misinformed."

"Misinformed about what?" I asked, trying to speak calmly enough to keep Harvey from doing anything rash. He looked like a race horse waiting for the gate to open.

"This is not an open city," one of the "Stuarts" said, taking a step forward. "This is our territory that you're playing house in."

"And we don't take kindly to guests who over-stay their welcome," the other "Stuart/Stewart" added.

"And just what is the 'welcome?'" Harvey asked.

"You've already over-stayed it significantly," Charles replied flatly, all polite facades aside.

"Gentlemen," I said in a friendly, business-like tone, "there are well over seven million people in town. I'm sure there's enough to go around. Besides, we only drink from those who are already dead. We pose no threat to you or your hunting population."

"Ah, you see, my friend," Charles replied, "your mere presence here is a threat to our hunting population. This city is crowded already. There is simply no room for you."

"You call six vampires out of seven million a crowd?" Harvey asked incredulously.

"No, no. There were already nine of us here before you three arrived. My associates and I control the central and western portions of the city. There is another four-person coven that have jurisdiction of the northern regions, and a pair of mates that hunt in the south. We have all reached an agreement to divide the city's spoils... and provide for mutual protection against outside threats." He delivered the last line with a lowered tone and narrowed eyes.

So there are more than just the three of them. Or they're bluffing.

"Listen, Charles," I said, still working to keep things civil, "as I said, we won't be consuming any live humans at all. We don't want to cause trouble, but we just moved in here. Perhaps you could give us a few months to get settled in, and you can test our claims to see if they're true. If, after that time, you still feel that it's too crowded, then we'll relocate."

Charles' face turned cold and hard, as he stepped forward menacingly. I wasn't a short man by anyone's standards, but he towered over me, along with his two sidekicks. Harvey stepped forward to meet them, Lucy hid herself behind him.

So much for friendly negotiations.

"Don't mistake our politeness for weakness," Charles said with a threatening edge to his tone. "The only grace you will be given is the opportunity to leave town alive, right now."

"How 'bout I rip that cocky head off your body, and then we talk about 'grace,'" Harvey snapped back, just inches from the Englishmen. I placed my hand firmly on his chest, backing him away slowly as I tried one more time to work out a diplomatic solution. I knew the three of us could take them in a fight, but we didn't come here to cause a scene, and I was afraid of retaliation from the other covens.

"Let's calm down, everyone," I said firmly, but softly. "We don't wish to fight you. We didn't realize we were trespassing on your territory, and we will make arrangements to leave as soon as possible. However, I would like to ask, who hunts in the eastern segment of the city? Is that area spoken for?"

"You talking about far east, or the slums?" The "Stuart" on the left spoke up in response to my question. "Timothy and Mary-Ann consider the far east to be part of their area."

"And what of the slums?" I replied, still inching Harvey back with my hand.

"The slums are a wasteland," Charles answered. "A foul lot of under-fed, over-drugged street urchins. It's not worth hunting in."

"Then we'll collect our blood there," I said, hopeful that we may have found a way out of the stand-off. "You can consider us the catfish of your ecosystem. We'll take the ones no one else wants."

The three of them took a few steps back and whispered amongst themselves for a minute or two, before addressing my suggestion.

"You don't get a region," Charles said, lightening his tone slightly. "However... if what you say about your hunting is true, then the slums will meet your needs. We will give you six months to prove yourselves. If you can stay out of our way and leave our population untainted, then we will

consider allowing you to stay. Make no mistake, though, if you make any attempt to steal a human from our territory, if you even interfere with our hunting, we won't hesitate to burn the lot of you. Understand?"

"We understand," I answered meekly.

"Good. Now, you've got five hours to get your things out of here. You'd best get a move on it."

With that, the three tall vampires left, brushing shoulders with Harvey on the way out. He was fuming. The second they were out of earshot, he let me know how angry he was.

"What happened to your spine, Grant? You're just gonna let those snobs push you around?"

"They're not pushing us around. We were trespassing on their grounds, and now that we know, we'll move someplace neutral. There's nothing spineless about that."

"Yeah, well they're asking for a butt-kicking, walking around like they're some kind of power-coven. Who do they think they are, 'Volturi West?' Do they realize how insignificant they are? They're a bunch of goobers in suits. We wouldn't even work up a sweat."

"We didn't come here to fight, Harvey. Violence is a cycle. It wouldn't just end with those three."

"I'm not living in the slums," he replied defiantly. "Luce and I had a dream-"

"We're not going to live in the slums," I reassured him. "We won't even eat there. We just needed Charles and the Stuart's to know we're not challenging them. There are plenty of nice suburbs to the east where we can live and commute into the city. We'll get you as close to your dream as we can, but it won't include living in Knightsbridge. Sorry."

"It's okay, Harvey," Lucy said, teaming with me to try and calm him down. "We'll still work and shop in the city. It's a lot better than picking a fight with everybody in town."

"You two are unbelievable," he sighed, conceding the decision. "So much for the high-life."

We hurriedly packed our possessions once again, and settled in Brentwood, a bedroom community a few miles to the east of the metroplex. Instead of a loft apartment, we ended up in a two-story, five bedroom estate on twelve wooded acres. It was the quintessential English manor, complete with a secure wrought iron gate around the perimeter and plenty of room to build a matching carriage house for all our automobiles.

We did our best to keep a low profile for the first six months in Brentwood, staying out of the city at night and avoiding the Knightsbridge area whenever possible. Whatever we did (or didn't do) must have worked – we didn't hear from Charles and the Stuart's again, other than the occasional graffiti or vandalism to our cars and house. It wasn't completely out of the ordinary to come home and find "Brown-eyed freaks" written in gasoline-burned patches in our lawn, or "Cold blood lovers" spray-painted onto our roof. Our welcome in town was a tenuous one at that, but we knew the covens were mostly blowing smoke and trying to intimidate us into leaving. When it came down to it, they were as hesitant to pick a fight with us as we were with them, so we endured the antagonism and put down roots in the area.

Harvey had never been able to pull a band together in Toronto, for whatever reason, but he had no trouble finding new band mates in London. Before we were in town three months, he had a complete band put together, and they began writing and performing their own songs in local clubs and small venues. The new band "Silvertouch," met with quick success, and was much more popular and successful than any of Harvey's previous attempts, most likely attributable to the better musicianship of his band mates. Harvey's talent had never really been on the musical side of things, he was just the one who attracted people to his cause, whether they were band members or fans.

Silvertouch continued to grow in popularity, and by the time they released their self-titled first album in early 1985, they were easily the premier local band in London. People came out in droves to hear them play, and to see their charismatic front-man, Nic Lennox (Harvey's latest stage persona) perform. "Nic Lennox," was something of a local celebrity, especially with the teenage girl population. He was known for always wearing his signature reflective silver aviator glasses, and for always removing his shirt at some point in the concert. At first, I was concerned that all the attention he was garnering would disrupt our fragile peace with the London covens, but they either didn't know about it or didn't care, so Harvey kept on rolling.

When he wasn't touring or practicing with his band, Harvey took a keen interest in Lucy's clothing designs, and together, they founded "Lucy May Clothing" in October of 1985, with the goal of creating fashion-forward clothing that the average consumer could afford. They made a great team – Lucy continually came up with great new products, and Harvey was an expert businessman. Before the end of 1987, they employed over 90 workers in a state-of-the-art factory near Manchester, and Lucy May products were sold in department stores all across southern England and Wales. Harvey wanted to expand the business further into the United Kingdom and France, but Lucy had other interest that demanded her time and attention.

Lucy did a lot of her basic sketching and dreaming at home, but when she really wanted to get work done (and get some space from Harvey's distracting nature), she went to her downtown design studio. The commuting route from Brentwood took her through the slums of the lower east end, and after seeing the plight of the residents there every day, she began to develop a deep compassion for them. Every night for nearly a month, she'd come home from the studio talking about the poor and neglected in the area, and trying to think of some way to help them. Eventually, she decided the best way to help was to put her expertise to use, and with a large donation from the family fund, she opened a free clinic in Canning Town, a small neighborhood near the docks. She spent long hours there day and night, treating diseases, administering vaccines, and giving medical advice to grateful parents. Giving back to the community energized her, just as Harvey's firefighting in Toronto had. Of course, he was too busy for all that now, but I could tell there was still a part of him that wanted to be helping others. I figured it was only a matter of time before he picked it back up.

As for me, I decided to take a break from teaching and explore other interests with my time. I managed the mortuary, attended Harvey's concerts and Lucy's fashion shows, and occasionally lent a helping hand at the clinic. I also took time to study other scientific fields, such as computer design and programming. It was absolutely remarkable, the things people could do with a sequence of 1's and 0's. I was a quick learner, and with my ability to influence the speed and efficiency of processing, computers soon became another strength of mine. Try as I did, though, I couldn't get away from teaching. Every time I passed a university or high school, I thought about it. Every time I took another computer class, it was on my mind. I couldn't escape the pull, so I compromised. Next door to Lucy's clinic, I set up a small studio where I tutored local children, helping them learn to read and write effectively, as well as working with them on basic mathematics, science, and hygiene. On any given afternoon, I would have as many as 15 boys and girls, all eager to learn – and to feel valued and wanted.

By January 1988, life was going just about as well as possible (with the exception, of course, of Coraline's distance from me). Lucy May Clothing had just debuted in Edinburgh, Glasgow and Dublin for the Christmas shopping season, the clinic and tutoring studio were working smoothly, and we hadn't heard from the other London covens in months. As good as things were going elsewhere, all the other success was easily overshadowed by Harvey's band. Silvertouch released their first major record label album, "Robot Intuition," in September 1987, and it was an instant success, peaking at #5 on the UK record sales chart. In that same fall, "Nic Lennox" was voted #3 in 1987's "England's 40 Most Beautiful People." There were posters of his shirtless body in the bedrooms of teenage girls all across the country, which wasn't exactly an ideal scenario for keeping a low profile, but we seemed to be getting away with it, so we let Harvey have his fun. Everything just fell into place for us, as if we were always meant to be in London in the first place. It was into this near-perfect life that the most unexpected of all curveballs was thrown.

January 31st, 1988 was more than just an ordinary Sunday. It was Superbowl Sunday. The championship game of the National Football League began that evening in Los Angeles at 3pm local time, which translated to 11pm in London. Over the previous four years, I had gotten used to it – the Superbowl being late in the evening. Not that lateness really bothered me at all, but it was a little strange watching a live broadcast of a sunny outdoor game in the middle of the night. Harvey and I had been fans of American football since its first televised days, bouncing around with team loyalties until we settled on the Dallas Cowboys. It had been a forgettable year for the Cowboys, as they lost 4 out of their final 6 games and missed the playoffs altogether. To make matters worse, the arch-rival Washington Redskins were having a tremendous season, and were set to challenge the Denver Broncos for the world championship title. I wasn't a big fan of Denver's flashy quarterback, but I hated the Redskins desperately, so I was pulling for the Broncos to win.

I had to watch the game by myself for the first time ever, which took part of the fun out of it. Harvey was playing a concert in Belfast at the time, and Lucy was busy working in the clinic (not that she would have really enjoyed watching in the first place). Lucy had her hands full that night, as she often did on the weekends, so I reluctantly agreed to spend the evening there with her, in case she got too busy. I actually visited the clinic quite frequently, serving as a stand-in for an X-ray machine, EEG machine, MRI machine, and just about any other medically-relevant imaging technology. Lucy was always very appreciative of my diagnostic help, in addition to the peace of mind she had knowing I was nearby to help in case she lost her control in the presence of human blood, which was much more frequent here than at her pediatric clinic in Toronto.

The family's primary television, a custom-built 62" projection unit, was located at our Brentwood home, along with our state-of-the-art sound system. Instead of that sports-watching nirvana, I got to watch the most momentous game of the season on a 13" black and white TV set with a barely-livable speaker that sounded like vibrating cardboard. It wasn't much, but it was better than missing the game altogether.

Once Lucy had things well in hand, I excused myself and slipped into the back room of the clinic, making it just in time for the game to begin. It took a lot of mental coaxing to get the archaic television to pick up the broadcast, which didn't normally air in the United Kingdom, but with a combination of a high-powered external antenna and focused concentration, I was able to get a relatively steady picture. I watched the first quarter of the game in my lonely room, cheering loudly, not so much for the Broncos as against the Redskins.

From the beginning, the game was going very much to my liking. The Bronco quarterback that I didn't care for threw a touchdown pass on the first play from scrimmage, and by the end of the first 15 minutes of play, the Broncos had a 10-0 advantage on the hated Redskins. It was looking like it was going to be a very enjoyable evening, when Lucy burst into the room, interrupting a hilarious beer commercial.

"Grant, I need your help with a patient."

"Can it wait? I'm right in the middle of the game. Half time should be coming in about forty minutes."

"No. I need you to come now. Sorry."

"Okay," I said flatly, trying to disguise my frustration. "What's the problem?"

"I... really think you should see for yourself."

Great. Hopefully I won't miss the entire second quarter.

I followed her down the uneven, narrow hallway, quickly passing a handful of people laid up in beds with various illnesses. At least, they were supposed to have had illnesses. Lucy often opened her extra hospital beds to locals who had nowhere else to sleep, which, on a cold winter's night like this, was perfectly understandable. Eventually we came to the examination room, which was white, brightly-lit and sterile, almost as if it had been cut out of a high-end hospital room and pasted here in the middle of the slums. On the table was a young teenage girl – probably 15 or 16 years old – and upon first observation, she looked about eight months pregnant. Her short, blond hair was in messy curls, colored by the same dirt and soot that seemed to be covering her sporadically from head to toe. Apart from her abdomen, which was heavy with child, she looked to be malnourished and sickly – possibly as the result of substance abuse, which was all too common for the patients we treated at the clinic. From what I could see, everything seemed normal enough. Obviously, I was missing something.

"So... what seems to be the problem?" I asked after a moment. "Other than the fact that she's in labor."

"Look at her," Lucy said, seeming a little irritated.

"I am looking at her."

"No, inside. There's..." she lowered her voice to be sure the girl couldn't hear. "There's something really weird going on in there."

I closed my eyes and peered into her body, gaining an almost-visible understanding of what was going on inside. I saw her womb, and inside, a full-grown fetus – a girl, who seemed to be quite lively. Something was off with the whole picture, though. The uterus and surrounding tissues seemed immature, with the qualities one would expect to see in the first trimester of pregnancy.

I gave Lucy a puzzled look before turning to the girl.

"What's your name, lass?"

"Amelia," she choked out between pained gasps. I winced along with her as the child in her womb kicked violently, causing her entire body to shake. There was definitely something wrong.

"Alright, Amelia," I continued, "tell me, how far along are you in this pregnancy?"

"I... um... I' ain't sure, really," she replied, her face softening a bit as the baby settled down momentarily. She was actually quite a lovely girl when she wasn't grimacing.

"Do you know... about when you became pregnant?"

"I dunno... three or four weeks, I think. That's when I started noticin' things startin' to look all outta sorts."

Great. Some help she is.

"This child inside you is the size of a nine-month-old fetus. Are you sure it didn't happen longer ago?" Her accent and use of grammar hinted at a lack of education. In addition to that, she smelled strongly of heroine, possibly taken as recently as the previous few hours, which would explain the oddness of her response. What it didn't explain was why her fetus and her body were so mis-aligned.

"I ain't a whore, mister," she said after a moment's pause. "I swear."

"I wasn't trying to imply that, my dear. I just need-"

"He told me it was safe," she blurted, starting to cry, as the baby kicked again. "He told me I wouldn't get pregnant. I told 'im I didn't want no baby. I wasn't gonna ditch it like my mother done me. He said he couldn't have no kids. He promised..."

"Who promised, Amelia?"

"I don't know his name. He didn't tell me. He just came-"

Her sentence was interrupted by another fetal movement, this one even stronger than the last. Her body convulsed in pain, as I took another look inside. The child was so strong that her movements were beginning to damage tissues inside her mother. There was another convulsion, as the baby rolled around, followed by an even stronger kick. This time, something in the mother's abdomen tore, and she began bleeding internally at an alarming rate.

"Amelia? Are you alright?" I asked her. She sudden looked pale and sheepish.

"I feel really... dizzy," she said groggily.

"What's going on?" Lucy asked me, her face intense and creased with concern.

"She's got a massive bleed inside. We need to get that fetus out of there so I can try to fix it."

"A bleed? Oh, no..."

"It's alright, Luce. We can handle it, but we need to move quickly."

"Okay," she sighed, gearing herself up for the blood. "Lord, help me."

"Amelia? We're going to give you a local anesthetic, and then we're going to go in and get that baby out of you. You shouldn't feel a thing." Amelia nodded, fear and uncertainty on her face. Lucy prepared and administered the anesthetic as I explained it, and in a matter of moments, I had the scalpel to her skin.

"Hold your breath," I said to Lucy, as I pushed gently and broke the skin. There was already an unsafe amount of blood in her abdomen from the earlier tear – the smell filled my nostrils and burned my throat like acid. I used my mind to try and inhibit the response in Lucy and myself, but there was only so much I could do. The blood smelled strongly of drugs, but it was still appealing enough to tempt us both intensely. After pausing a moment to regain my focus, I continued cutting, breaching the uterus and coming to the placenta, which is where I encountered a serious problem. It was impenetrable. I broke the scalpel on it without even making a scratch.

"What happened?" Lucy asked sharply. The pressure was getting to her.

"I don't know. I can't get through the placenta."

"Well, try again," she said, handing me another scalpel. It had the same reaction.

"Lucy, this thing is hard as rock. I can't cut through it."

"Then use your fingers," she said after a pause.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," I replied, pointing my eyes toward Amelia."

"I don't think it's going to matter," she said solemnly. She was right. The bleeding in Amelia's abdomen was worsening by the second - the odds of her living through the night were slim to none. We could still save the child, though.

"Amelia, dear, this isn't something you want to see. I need you to focus on Doctor Willoughby's face," I told the dying mother, as Lucy walked around to her side. In the event that she did live through the procedure, I needed to still appear to be human. I felt around the oddly-colored placenta, trying to make sure I was staying away from the child's head, and dug my fingers in. It took pushing with all my might, but I was finally able to open a small hole, and with another strong pull, I widened it enough to extract the baby. As soon as I pulled the baby girl out of her mother's womb, things got even more bizarre. She opened her eyes – fully developed eyes – and looked at me. There was no crying, only a look of confusion. The child's skin was fair, more so than a normal human baby, and she had blond hair like her mother's... and nearly as long. I found myself lost in the infant's gaze, our eyes fixed on each other with the same degree of wonder. Lucy brought me back to reality abruptly.

"Grant! You might want to let Amelia see," she said, her fingers gauging the mother's pulse. "She's almost gone," she whispered to me, too low for Amelia to hear. I took care of the umbilical cord and handed the girl over delicately, looking in Amelia's abdomen for the source of the bleeding, but it was too late. Her heart was failing.

"It's a girl," Amelia mumbled, barely able to hold her new child.

"She's beautiful," Lucy added with a pained smile. "What do you want her name to be?"

Amelia coughed weakly, wheezing as she struggled to draw in another breath. I knew I couldn't save her life, but I could help her have at least a little more time with her daughter. I peered into her heart and other vital organs, working with them to give her just one more moment. She closed her eyes, drawing in one final breath before her life gave out, and spoke one word, barely above a whisper.

"London."