Löwy hadn't shown up for days now, and Helen was reluctant to seek him out, more than conscious of how it might appear to any eager eyes or ears. She'd focused instead on identifying the abnormal compound mentioned in Nikola's manuscripts, cross-referencing all her likely candidates and hoping to find some mention of them in the depths of the Austrian National Library - which just so happened to be located at the Hofburg Palace.

It was strange, knowing you were so close and yet so very far from the object of your mission. She supposed it was the reason Nigel couldn't ever seem to give up thieving for very long, whether it was for altruistic or personal gain. His whole life must feel like this. A constant temptation to act, because you know you could - it was simply a matter of living with the consequences. She was not fool enough to think, however, that if she broke into the archives she would get away with it for long enough to get back to Britain - not if the Spear was that important to their plans. Not even with Nikola's help.

The hours she spent in the almost theatrical Baroque library, however, had gone some way towards cajoling her memory into giving her something useful. It was just such a slow task. Like old times really, scouring through the Bodleian Library, in the buried dusty tomes, or long-forgotten pages of Oxford's antique collection, for some hint of the hidden world of abnormals her father had opened up for her. Only this time, the boys weren't there to interrupt her with a slew of not-entirely-resented distractions, which was probably why she'd gotten as far as actually identifying a likely candidate in amongst the meandering mentions of abnormalities in an unfamiliar library.

Two problems with Taminsails though: the amphibious species was native to the Indian Sub-continent, not Europe, and she wasn't entirely sure whether the secretion from their glands would react as the manuscripts had described with another compound. She needed a sample and a lab to take this any further, which meant finding an abnormal dealer… something which, she realised all-too belatedly, is precisely what their enemies would have had to of done if they'd put this into production.

So, after berating herself with the very fact that James would have been all over such a lead like a rash days ago, Magnus had thrown herself into the search for Vienna's abnormal community. They'd be there, even if they were hidden, and if being head of the Sanctuary had taught her anything, it was that injured abnormals were always the first to reveal themselves. So she'd started going methodically from hospital to hospital, asking staff about any unusual cases they might have, under the guise of a freelance writer looking for something the voyeuristic public would devour. That way she didn't have to hide the medical degree, or her curiosity, and despite the occasional comment about women doctors not being practical enough to practice, the medical staff and junior doctors in particular were rather forthcoming. Some cases had been intriguing, not least a number of those embarrassing emergencies involving lodged objects so common to overnight staff - but nothing abnormal, as yet.

Her routine now consisted of going to the library in the mornings and visiting the hospitals in the afternoon, immediately after frequenting the cafe in the hopes of catching Löwy. The archaeologist remained a no-show, but Helen had hardly wasted her time waiting - in fact, she'd managed to corner some of the very people she had set out to find when she arrived in the city: Unger, Colonel von Bolfras, even Count Burián's clerk.

Von Bolfras, though high in government, was a complete write off - something of a belligerent anti-womanist he'd barely given her the time of day. Unger was stand-off-ish, possessing a natural suspicion which had made their encounter tentative but not impossible - Count Burián's clerk, Herr Spitzmüller was a cagey fellow too, she had the feeling it was just a matter of gaining their trust. Only problem with that was time - spying was a game for the patient, and Helen was finding that she wasn't quite as full of that particular quality as she had always considered herself to be.

Making contact with even one of these men was something of a coup however, one she had not failed to rub in whenever Nikola started playing up their cover story... or forgetting to bathe. Nevertheless she was starting to think that in light of their discoveries it would be the abnormals of the city who'd help them get to the bottom of all this.

She'd sleep better if she got something more out of the archaeologist too, she was sure of it. There was this constant nagging feeling, like there had been during the mystery that had brought Spring-Heeled Jack to their door. She just couldn't put her finger on what it was, and every time she tried she just couldn't help but be reminded of the day Löwy had let slip his association with Hauler.

That hunch was precisely why she kept coming to Cafe Landtmann, why she was sat here, enjoying a fine cup of tea while everyone else drank coffee, occasionally whiling away those few hours in the company of Freud and his Psychoanalysts. She nodded to the waiter as he passed, the same lad who had served her on her first visit, and he smiled back. It was that strange unspoken connection - not based on any form of actual acquaintance, just the regular pattern of commercial transactions between them: the same tea, at different tables, occasionally a pastry, and then always a small tip. In this climate of war and poverty the boy remembered tippers.

Stirring her cup Helen glanced down, watching the perfectly coloured liquid as it swirled into a storm before taking the spoon away. She looked up to take a sip of the warm drink.

"Löwy?" the surprise in her voice was genuine - as was her smile at the man who had happened to appear before her.

He seemed stunned to see her there, a little harried by her tone, but it melted into a particularly guarded smile that exuded something like warmth, "Dr Max I-"

"I was hoping you might show up today," she began brightly. No point in being coy about this - they were supposed to be friends, weren't they, or at least friendly acquaintances? Sure enough the bold gambit caught Löwy's interest.

His brow furrowed, lips curling in an uncertain smile in his small, square face. "Really? And why is that?"

Magnus smiled cleverly, softly, as if she knew that what she had was worth the moment of revealing, "Please," she extended a hand to the only other seat at her table, blowing the heat from her cup, "take a seat."

Löwy's eyes regarded the chair and the doctor for a moment, "Yes, why not?" he smiled briefly at her, taking her up on the offer and running his hands along the brim of the hat he was holding, "I was only visiting for a brief coffee anyway."

"A Grosser Brauner?"

He seemed surprised at her convivial demeanour, "No, actually," he smirked sheepishly, "I prefer a Melange."

The coffee of elderly widows with lap dogs - Helen smiled and ordered it for him, observing her subject surreptitiously as she did so. He seemed steady, but clearly this turn of events was unexpected – his hesitant expression a mark of his uncertainty about being here. It was impossible to say, however, whether the sheepishness came from speaking to her specifically, or anyone. Without Freud around - and she had never seen him without Sigmund in tow - Löwy became suddenly, quite furtive, almost shy. Still he half-smiled towards her, and finally relaxed enough to put his hat onto his lap instead of holding it.

Clearing his throat after the waiter had left them he addressed her directly, "I must admit Dr Max, when you first introduced yourself I had you pegged as another impressionable student all set on hero-worshiping Sigmund." He chuckled, glancing down self-consciously, "Rather resented the interruption in fact."

Helen couldn't show the rising fear that everything he said was calculated to throw her off, so she smiled, "I'm sorry Professor, I had no intention of interrupting at first, but I just couldn't pass on an opportunity like that. Not after Freud's work had had such an impact on me. I was rather surprised to be invited to your table - does he often do that?"

"Ahuh," he smiled, more at ease, "only very occasionally. Freud is something of a collector of people, much as he collects objects d'art really - I'm sure he could analyse that behaviour all day."

"He probably already has," Helen cheered, sipping on her tea as Löwy's coffee arrived.

"But to what do I owe this unexpected delight?" he asked.

The waiter left them and Magnus continued to project friendliness like a night-light, "It's just a little curiosity really," she started quickly, before he could raise his defences. "When you were talking the other day about Anubis, it got me thinking whether you had looked into the origins of the animal-gods. Isn't it odd that out of all the ancient cultures, a civilisation as advanced as Egypt held onto animalistic totems for all that time? I just wondered whether it was unique to them."

Löwy took it all in for a moment, a little blindsided by her apparent interest in his work, but you could see the effect that interest was having on him - the slow but sure urge to talk about it, to share his enthusiasm. "Well by the end of their civilisation, yes, they were unusual - but don't forget how long the Egyptian culture continued. At their height the whole of Mesopotamia at least shared this strange array of animalistic gods - part bird, part lion, part snake…"

"But these kinds of creatures are all killed in Greco-Roman narratives - they're the monsters, something to be feared."

"Yes, a killing of the old guard. I for one am quite fond of the theory that the Greek legend of the Titans, for instance, represents the Hellenic culture conquering the indigenous peoples of the Baltic. Freud of course, sees far more personal narratives woven into these communal myths."

She nodded, pleased that he was ingratiating himself in her discussion without any hesitation, "Yes. Well, power speaks on many levels…" she paused, hoping her meandering line of questioning about his research might get him to open up, "I suppose that's why the Pharaohs and Emperors were all so eager to be related to Gods, or even monsters - anything to give them greater legitimacy." She smirked, lowered eyes casting him a side glance, "Like the Church pretending to be Rome."

He considered her carefully, as though willing her playfulness to drop, the real reason to come out - or so she thought. Then he seemed conflicted, as if there was something he wanted to say, but wasn't sure about it. He stared pensively at his coffee for a moment, then to her amazement he spoke with an unusual note of sincerity; "Or trying to prove that Rome wasn't as powerful as they had thought."

Helen considered him but said nothing more. He was fighting with his own self, internally debating whether to divest information, which could only be good for her… surely? Just give him a moment and he would break of his own accord.

"The Christians wrote some interesting things about the Romans, before Constantine," he added, eying her carefully as he gradually took the top off his melange with the spoon pinched between his fingers.

"Before Constantine..."

"Then certain similarities in the Christians' accounts… evaporate for a while."

"I'm sorry Professor, I'm not sure I understand."

There was silence for a moment, "They wrote these rather unusual accounts, slanderous, but there was something a little more to it I think."

Helen's eyes narrowed in confusion, almost sure that this was important but… the how was a mystery, "What did they say?"

"The Christians called them enslavers of man, demons with sharp smiles and long claws," there was something in the way he said it, holding her gaze, as if willing her to take this seriously, but Helen already was, "eyes and voices that descended into the pits of hell at will - they claimed they were sorcerers, false prophets, who drank human blood for sustenance and preyed upon the weak."

"Why is that so unusual Professor?" Helen tried to sound neutral but her excitement probably showed in her voice at the blatant description of vampires, "Sounds to me like any ferocious preacher's rhetoric."

"I thought so too…" he hesitated, as if he'd already said too much.

Helen leaned in, "But...?"

"But?"

"What made you think there was more to it?" she smiled, coaxingly, drawn into the thread like a spider feeling a vibration on its web.

He looked her dead in the eye, "It's just a mad theory Dr Max, but… I suspect, from the research I did that... It may be more literal than it seems."

There was a challenge in his eye - to baulk, to reveal her reasons for asking? Helen had no intention of doing either.

"Earlier this week," she started, visibly collecting herself as though preparing for a rebuke, "I was visiting hospitals for unusual admissions… I'm thinking of writing freelance articles detailing the more curious cases," she smiled, watching to see how he would react. "One of these cases, I might not have believed had I not seen. The patient had fits," she explained, lowering her voice enough not to be overheard at the next table but not so low as to raise suspicion, "and when he did, his skin became as hard as stone. The needle they attempted to inject him with? Snapped in half," Löwy's face was a revelation - he knew about abnormals alright, he was just shocked that she did too; "I highly doubt Professor that any theories you have about our ancestors would be as strange as what I've already seen with my own two eyes."

He almost looked relieved to hear it, "So… when I say the descriptions were rather more detailed, and rather more literal than I described - you might understand my conclusion." Löwy started eagerly, "That the leaders of ancient Rome were a race that might have lived among us, but weren't entirely... human."

"You mean, they were…" how could she lead him into thinking she didn't already know precisely what they were, "gods?"

"No," he smiled, "no, not quite. The early Christians called them, sanguine vampiris."

She widened her eyes in false surprise, "Vampiris, as in-"

"Vampires. Yes. I know, it predates any mention of the word in German, Hungarian or even Romanian…" his excitement was palpable, "I only made that connection a few weeks ago - I'm afraid I do not read romance novels."

"And the Christians called them that?"

"Yes," the whispered yes was almost reverent.

"Then where did you find this? ...Nicolaus… my fiancé," she explained at the confusion on his face, "has never spoken of anything of the like and he's translating Latin every which-way. Surely we would have heard about an entire race of... vampires?"

"I found the papers whilst I was working in Rome Dr Max. The Vatican, it has literally thousands of descriptions like this and has chosen to censor them, perhaps for hundreds of years. All mention of these beings in terms of their most unusual qualities have been destroyed or removed, until we all started believing they were fantasies - even" he pointed a finger as he explained, "the Papacy themselves."

Helen shook her head, as if she were still trying to digest this revelation, all the while concocting a way to get at his interest in the Spear. "What convinced you that it wasn't just propaganda? That it was real?"

He raised an eyebrow and leaned in, "I too have… come across the sort of impossible creature you described. In Rome, in fact, and I thought, well, if I can find someone capable of walking through walls…"

"Sanguine Vampiris wasn't such a stretch for the imagination?"

He nodded, "And then," he smiled vividly, "I discovered there may even be proof."

"Proof?"

Now he really did keep himself low and close, speaking quietly enough not to be overheard, "An artefact said to date to Christ's crucifixion. I found manuscripts claiming that far from being the actual spear to pierce Christ's side, the Holy Lance was in fact a much older weapon belonging to these creatures." There was nothing guarded about Löwy now, his entire body sung with the power of his discovery - hands open palmed against the table, the sun glancing off of his tri-crowned signet ring and into the corner of his round glasses. "Well, I thought, if I could just see the artefact, there might be some clue in its inscriptions as to whether all this was as true as I believed it was."

She was too stunned for words - Löwy was not behaving like a man receiving government funding on the basis of his unusual theories… he was too enthusiastic for that, too keen on the prospect of another interested listener to confide in.

"And was there?" She asked eagerly, catching her own extended pause and hastily correcting it.

"Well, that's the thing - they've never let me near the damn thing. I think the Church got wind of my intentions, cut me off."

Helen frowned despite herself - he had never seen the spear? "The other day you said a Professor... Hauler was it? Set you straight on a few things about the Spear. Do you think it was him?"

The archaeologist gave it some consideration before answering, sipping on his melange some more, "Probably. Now that I think about it… I only met him once or twice. He's an excellent philologist. At the time I was just happy that he was so interested in what I had found – it certainly wasn't something I had expected in someone so… serious. But, goodness, he really is the most disagreeable person. It wouldn't shock me if he had smelt out a discovery worth his department's weight in gold and thought it best to keep the mad archaeologist away from it," he smiled sadly, "save all the glory for himself. Just as well that I exercised a little professional caution and neglected to tell him half of what I'd found."

All of Helen's presumptions fell like a house of cards. She had been right about something - Löwy knew about the spear, he knew about abnormals, and even vampires - but apart from putting the enemy on the scent his account only threw suspicion right back onto Hauler and his team. She could verify his story - get Nikola to find out who had applied to see the spear and who had succeeded - but she was oddly inclined to take Löwy at his word.

Staring at him now, as if he might give away some indication that this was all lies to draw her in - all Helen could see was a painfully clear honesty. His dislike of her, his caginess among the psychoanalysts could well have been the natural reserve at an outsider joining their table, someone who could not be trusted with their more outlandish theories and discoveries. With one short, only slightly fabricated tale, Helen had effectively made herself his worthy confidant, as opposed to another hero-worshiping pretty face sucked into his friend's orbit.

Could it be that simple?

"What I will say for old Hauler though," Löwy interrupted her train of thought, finishing up his coffee, "He managed to secure my certainty that we know so very little about the truth of our ancient past."

If he hadn't told Hauler the half of what he knew, who had he told? Helen suddenly thought. She was about to ask, when Löwy's eyes jumped into his hairline at the sight of the time on his watch.

"Oh goodness, forgive me Dr Max, I should be starting a seminar in five minutes," he smiled warmly as he stood, the same way he smiled at Freud, "Perhaps we can talk again some other time," he started to look a little shy, "I... enjoyed our discussion."

Helen smiled at the sincerity oozing from his eyes, looking briefly at the cup on the table and back, somehow swimming in more questions than she had before, "I would like that Löwy."

He nodded, "Thank you… for the coffee. Next time it's on me."

He left before she could respond, leaving Helen staring dumbly at the empty Melange cup across from her. Next time? She would have to make sure there was a next time - if he'd been the reason they'd discovered the spear and its potential, even unwittingly, she needed to know who knew what - and soon.

Author's Note: So… the plot thickens. Bwahahaha-ehem.

Apologies last time for not disclaiming my defamation of Herr Frauwallner's character – he is based on a real Austrian academic, and I'm sure in real life he never did anything so naughty as hiding from conscription. (It was only when I read Sparky's outrage at this that I realised I should probably clarify that that part was purely my own imaginings!) Some of the characters Helen was hunting for in the café were real - Colonel von Bolfras and Count Burián were both members of the Austo-Hungarian government in WW1 and though Herr Spitzmuller wasn't actually his clerk he was a real person in the Austrian government of the time, though I have no idea who he was or what he did. :) (Thank you German wiki)

Also I have no idea whether fictional Löwy and real Löwy share the same opinions on all this stuff… I did not check. :)

There are some nice little Sanctuary Easter eggs in this one for the sharp of eye and obsessed of mind, I will be ecstatic if anyone finds them.

JanSuch – lol, is this a case of me not writing enough 1917-ness in? :)

R.J. – I think I missed your comment last time – glad you're enjoying this and hope you continue to do so!

Next time: Helen and Tesla go abnormal hunting… :D