"Helen?" James called, sounding faintly bemused.

"Did something happen?" Nikola added, surveying the overcrowded room.

"I'm here," came her muffled response.

"Where on earth is 'here'?" Nigel said with a chortle.

"I think she's been eaten by crates," John allowed.

"Helen?" Nikola called, stepping forward. He could feel the others looking at him probably in shock but he was working hard on ignoring them. Today he'd planned to ignore them all together. Not that he was making a fuss over the date, no, of course not. He was simply... unwilling to let their presence ruin the sentimental possibility the day held.

Or, that was what he'd told himself on the walk over.

"Look, she's created a path," Nigel joked, pointing to a small gap in the mountains of boxes and wooden crates that filled the formal dining room. Helen had called them all over a few days ago, saying that she would require their assistance today to sort through the trinkets her father had sent back.

Nikola had assumed it was simply a thinly veiled opportunity for them to utilise the house without her father insisting on playing chaperone. Mostly he left them alone if they were working in the sprawling basement sanctuary but the library seemed to be one of those places he simply did not trust the five of them to work in without his menacing presence in the corner.

But apparently he was wrong. Laid out before them in what had always been a rather sparse and spacious room were piles of dusty crates and sturdy wooden boxes. Some of them were labelled with blurry stamps or crumpled paper tickets but there seemed to be no order, no rhyme or reason to the way they were stacked.

"Stop making fun and come help," Helen's voice called back to them. Shaking his head, James led the way down the approximation of a path. Occasionally they were forced to clamber over a smaller box or the contents of a crate but the path did in fact lead to the centre of the room where Helen was bent over a small box, fingers gingerly tracing the characters written on what seemed to be a fragile map.

Nikola's mouth went dry in half a second and, based on the way both Nigel and John stopped short too, he wasn't the only one affected by her position. She was wearing a pair of trousers tucked into a pair of study boots the fabric of which was strained as she bent over crate, facing away from them. She wore one of her own billowing white tops, blonde curls piled atop her head in a careless twist that was working itself loose.

Clearing his throat, Nikola let his eyes slide back to the map she was staring at so devoutly and stepped forward.

"I prefer the dresses," he teased by way of greeting. She looked up at him and rolled her eyes but straightened, shifting to smile at the others in greeting.

"You took your time," she told them. "I was expecting you hours ago."

"We're all an hour early, Helen," James put in, quirking an eyebrow. It was another of the things Nikola was trying to pretend he hadn't noticed. Apparently they'd all been hoping to catch Helen for a little alone time.

"Oh," her brow furrowed. "I think I... Perhaps..."

She looked between them all guiltily.

"I think I may have worked through the night," she admitted, brow furrowing. "Though surely I'd have noticed the lack of light." The others all shared sceptical looks before James sighed and stepped further towards her.

"Tonight we shall make sure you are put to bed," he said firmly. "Simply because your father is away is no reason to neglect your health."

"Just you wait," she countered excitedly. "When you see what lies here, you'll be just as unable to tear yourself away as I was."

Carefully she picked her way further into the maze of boxes and crates, leaving the others to find a place to store their jackets.

"Father has set aside a few specific crates," she called out over the sound of clanking. "But, for the most part we are free to work as we wish with the remainder."

"And where is your father?" James called back, folding his jacket and tucking it behind a box.

"He's moved on to some of the more southern nations of Africa," she replied, voice still muffled. "But I've several letters that came with this lot that detail his travels."

"And where did 'this lot' come from?" Nigel asked, peering into one of the open crates. They knew that the good doctor had been off adventuring since the New Year but the last correspondence he'd sent had spoken of Spain and the wonders he'd uncovered.

"Egypt," Helen called back. "The contents of the crates come from all over but the interesting pieces were uncovered in Egypt."

"That would explain the sand," John drawled, toeing a small pile that had fallen from a box.

"He didn't have time to properly look through all his acquisitions," Helen continued. "So we have the pleasure. Aside from a few particular pieces though, we are free to do as we please with the remainder."

Nikola looked around him in awe. If these crates truly contained the findings of Dr. Magnus on his trip, they could include some remarkable things. Helen had spoken very briefly of her father's plans, merely explaining that one of his objectives was to recover the effects of an old friend who had lived out the last of his days in the south of Spain whose home housed a great many artefacts that revolved around abnormals and their history.

Apparently, for all the Magnus household understood abnormals and the help they required, history and the documentation of their origins were fairly scant. Nikola had been involved in a hunt through the library just two weeks ago in which several papers were 'borrowed' with little intention of being returned any time in the foreseeable future. The papers seemed to directly contradict each other, giving accounts that had left Helen frustrated and upset despite the hours of work they had dedicated.

Nikola had spent an extra three days neglecting his study in the hopes of finding something for her but all he'd been able to suggest was that the translation had been inaccurate.

James, it seemed, had managed to manoeuvre himself further into the maze as Nikola's thoughts had wandered, leaving him alone with Nigel and John, both of whom were peering into a crate, poking at its contents.

"Would one of you come help me with this?" Helen called, sounding annoyed that they hadn't managed to discover her path through the jumble of boxes. Nigel and John looked up but Nikola waved them off, setting down his coat before heading off towards her voice.

It was tight, a small and narrow excuse for a path that suddenly exploded into a small enclave, large enough for several adults. The crates were high, casting shadows that darkened the clearing but Helen had set up several lanterns around the space so that it reminded him of the mysterious basements beneath them.

She looked so lovely, curled over a crate of goodies, small crease between her eyes as she focused entirely on her find. With the golden light of the lanterns, she looked like something from a book, a strange and uncouth woman who carried with her the uncertainties of the known world. It was on moments like this that Nikola felt certain of his affection for her. It was this side that appealed to him most. She was an adventure, unseeing of the rest of the world when an idea took her. For all she complained of his single mindedness when he was engrossed in a project, she was no better.

Before she could look up and shatter his resolve, Nikola stole forwards, hand darting into pocket to withdraw the small bloom he'd picked on his way over. With a small smile he tucked the tiny red and white flower into her hair. She jumped in surprise, her hand flying up to capture his wrist as he pulled back.

"Happy February 15th," he whispered with a smile, hoping that she didn't shove him away for taking such liberties.

"You remembered," she said warmly, fingers entwining as she lowered his hand.

"Of course," he replied, trying to sound completely at ease. They'd spoken about the contempt they both held for the day, Helen asking why the day was any more important than the one that followed it. Part of him had wanted to come to her yesterday with flowers and treats and shower her with kisses but he'd ignored such foolish ideas. She'd already told them all she had plans with an aunt who was passing through anyway which he'd taken as the one saving grace. At least no one else could spend the day showering her with tokens of affection.

Laughing softly she raised her free hand, touching the flower gingerly.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I received too many valentines yesterday and, for a moment I'll admit I was worried that you would bring one with you today too."

"You wound me!" he cried mockingly. "I'd never insult you by doing such a thing!"

She giggled again and tugged him closer, giving him a brief hug before stepping back. He contemplated grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back for a kiss but decided against it, remembering the others would be lurking about nearby.

"Come see what I've got here," she encouraged, tugging on his arm until he relented and peered into the dark crate. All he could see was a small, stone box, covered in scratching he supposed were images of some sort. Other than that, it was dark and the shapes of everything else blurred together.

"Where are you two?" Nigel's voice suddenly came.

"Just past the open crate with the vials of brown liquid," Helen called in reply before dropping Nikola's hand and reaching into the crate.

She pulled out the stone box he'd seen and set it aside before diving back in.

"Are you kidding?" Nigel exclaimed. "How on earth do you expect us to fit through there?"

Helen sighed heavily but ignored him and Nikola moved to study the stone box. The engravings were familiar for some reason, reminiscent of something he couldn't put his finger on. As he started to puzzle over it, he heard the faint groans and the scraping of wood on parquet floors that told him the others were forcing their way into Helen's little sanctum.

"Any boxes marked with a Spanish seal are for my father," she said as the final box shifted. "Leave them sealed for now, I intend to have them moved."

"And what of the rest?" Nigel asked, staring in awe at the enclave. "I mean, even if we find something of interest, what do we do with the rest?"

"Oh, we'll sell it," she said nonchalantly. "Or possibly donate it to a museum or two if they're interested.

"And what are we looking for?" John asked as he pried open a crate, a great plume of dust coating him from head to toe.

"We aren't," James replied, cutting in before Helen could look up from where she was still digging through a crate. "We're cataloguing the items."

He pointed to a stack of notebooks beside one of the crates along with small charcoal pens.

"However anything that doesn't appear to reference monsters or abnormal beings needs nothing more than a brief description," Helen finished. "Once the items are documented though, we're free to explore them as we wish."

After that, no one really spoke, instead they all worked for hours, cataloguing and investigating the artefacts that ranged from chipped tea cups to the stone box Nikola was barely able to keep his eye off. It wouldn't open no matter how he pried at the lid which only made the mystery that much more intriguing.

When Helen began to push them all to yet another little clearing amongst the boxes, he reluctantly set it aside in the hopes that they could return to it.

"Oh heavens," Helen's voice cut in, disrupting his documentation of the latest ancient hairbrush or whatever it was he'd pulled from the crate.

Nikola looked up, blinking at Helen until she came into focus.

"We seem to have forgotten to eat," she said, looking out to where the top of the windows peaked over the stacked crates. The sky was beginning to darken, the last vestiges of sunlight peeking into the room.

Nikola watched as the other men all blinked hazily, trying to reconcile the time they'd spent with the late hour.

"We're almost done," James croaked, clearing his throat before he spoke again. "By my count that box behind Nikola is the last of those on your list."

"How far through were you?" Helen asked Nikola, her exhaustion visible.

"Last item," he said, holding up the brush come comb come rather pointy implement he suspected was used for torture. "Would you call it a hair brush or a method to tear flesh from the bone?" he asked, twirling it up.

"I'd call it ugly," Nigel put in, stretching where he sat, sprawled across the floor.

"Are those barbed spines?" John asked, sounding slightly bored.

"How vicious," Helen remarked, taking the item from him and placing it back in the orate black box it had come in.

"I think I need brandy," James said, holding his head. Helen shook her head, her flower falling loose. It was wilted and a little battered but she scooped it up eagerly, tucking it back into her hair with a smile that made up for the ache in Nikola's lower back.

"It doesn't feel like we should be anywhere close to finished," Nigel remarked as he stood gingerly, wincing at his knees.

"I managed a good few of them yesterday and the day before," Helen said with a yawn. "Plus many of them are my fathers and, as such I feel no qualms about ignoring their contents."

"Here, here," James said as he pushed a few crates around to create a path from the corner of the room they were ensconced in. It took a few moments and a few guesses as to their orientation within the room but eventually they all collapsed into the parlour, drinks in hand as a maid brought in several trays laden with food.

They ate in silence for a moment, their tireless and thankless work finally catching up with them. Only when Helen set down her glass and let out a small sigh did they all look to her in askance.

"I don't suppose any of you came across anything of use?" she asked, sounding dejected.

"A few references to 'unimaginable beings'," James offered. "But from what I could tell there was nothing extraordinary about the information it provided. It backed up the Thantan paper though."

"Whereas the Greek text I found suggested that the Ciddor paper held more weight," John put in.

"Found a few gruesome pictures," Nigel said through a mouthful of cake. "Giant snakes and four headed fish and the like. Nothing concrete. Didn't understand the captions either. They were like hieroglyphs or somethin'."

"And you Nikola?" she asked hopefully. Nikola shrugged and swallowed the last of his food.

"A few old documents for the scholarly brothers over there to look over but nothing of real interest except that box."

"Which box?" Helen asked, shifting from her seat to take the space next to him on the sofa. He could see the eager look in her eye and it made him wary.

"It might not be anything," he admitted, taking a sip of wine. "But I couldn't open it."

Nigel scoffed and shook his head.

"Just because you can't give up a puzzle doesn't mean you got somethin', mate," he said with a chuckle.

"Tell me more about it," Helen insisted, leaning towards him and ignoring the others as they rolled their eyes.

"I'll go get it," Nikola decided, standing to avoid her hungry gaze. It made him think of warm afternoons and wandering hands and with the wine and the desperate need to sleep clawing at him, he wasn't sure he could resist sidling closer and putting an arm around her so that he could fall asleep with the pure scent of her filling his mind.

"I'll come with you," Helen said quickly, rising and taking his hand to drag him back into the now dusty and musty room that contained the crates. There was something closer to order now, the boxes stacked according to tracking number in neat piles but it still made the room essentially unusable.

"So, where was it?" Helen asked, still leading him about by the hand. Grabbing her wrist, he tugged her back into his body. She came with a squeak, hands bracing themselves on his chest.

For a second neither of them moved, bodies pressed tightly together as their breathing became more and more shallow.

"The box," Helen croaked, her bright blue eyes darkening a fraction as she shifted closer to him.

"The box," Nikola breathed, barely aware of the words. And then it registered.

"The box," he said again, pushing away from her unsteadily. She shuddered, her breath disappearing as a soft gasp and he turned, working hard at not grabbing her. They'd hardly been alone since the dismal New Year's celebration and he wanted more than anything to lose himself in her. The room was dark, barely lit by the remaining lanterns and the air was just cool enough to make body contact desirable.

"It's over here," Nikola said. His voice was too thick for his liking and he bit his tongue as they meandered through the crates in silence until they came across a box he recognised. Carefully he opened it, fishing about until his hands closed around the stone box. He lifted it out and placed it upon the nearest crate, intending on closing the one he'd just opened only to feel a small, soft hand upon his back.

He stiffened instinctively until her other hand came into play, both running slowly up his back until the rested on his shoulders and she was forced to step closer. He could just about feel her body heat as he slowly stood up straight, allowing her hands this strange expedition. She dragged them down his sides before they returned to his shoulders at which point she promptly began to kneed the tense muscles she found.

Nikola half moaned, sagging under her touch as she chuckled.

"You're very tense," she said softly. Nikola was certain he could hear a faint echo of desire in her voice but he tried to pretend otherwise.

"It's from being curled over all day," he gasped out, shivering as she worked a particularly tight knot.

"I did tell you to sit up properly on many occasions," she said by way of reprimand but it was soft and breathless.

Nikola nodded in response but remained mute. Her hands were slowly working down from his shoulders, tracing patterns over his shoulder blades before settling uncertainly on his waist. He couldn't help the shiver that rocked his body as she stepped closer, pressing herself against his back as her arms wound around him.

"Are you cold?" she asked softly, hugging him that bit tighter.

"A little," he admitted. But her body heat was more than making up for the slightly cooler air.

"Perhaps we ought to get back to the others then," she suggested, unwinding from her position around him.

"Perhaps," Nikola echoed. It took all that he had to not turn around and drag her back to his arms but somehow he managed. It was so unfair that the others were only in the next room when all he wanted was to be with her. He'd never felt this kind of overwhelming desire before, never had he needed a person in his life like this. It was terrifying and excruciating and wonderful all at the same time but it kept him frozen, unwilling to... to... to do whatever it was he was certain would be a mistake.

Humming softly to herself, Helen moved around him, collecting his box before taking him by the hand. They walked in silence back to the others but it didn't escape Nikola's notice that Helen wore a happy little smile for all the disappointment she'd held only minutes ago.

James raised an eyebrow at their clasped hands but no one mentioned it as they resumed their seats, Helen handing Nikola the box with an expectant look on her face.

"Go on then," she encouraged, settling herself back and folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"I already said I didn't know how to open it," Nikola reminded them all, trying to prepare her for disappointment.

"I have faith in you," she said simply with a shrug.

Looking around, Nikola couldn't help but feel that she was the only one. None the less, he shook off the other gazes that came to rest on him, instead pretending that only Helen was focused on him.

Carefully he set the box on his lap, running his fingers over it experimentally, feeling the grooves he was already rather familiar with. The box was cool to touch and slightly gritty, sand falling from where he trailed his fingers. He grimaced at the mess it'd no doubt leave on his trousers. There was something alluring about the box. It had a clear lid, defined by a thin crack that created a lip but no matter how he shifted it, it would not fall open. There were no hinges to be seen but instead a small stone screw in the centre of each surface. They were carefully worn down, so neatly that he suspected it had been a purposeful design.

He turned it over, tracing another set of symbols that ran along the centre of the base, a small set around the rim. They were in a pattern, obviously saying the same thing over and over and over again but it was an unfamiliar script.

"Pass it around," James instructed, holding out a hand. Nikola pulled a face but did so. He didn't really want to part with it, its hidden secrets were whispering to him, begging for him to unlock their mysteries.

He watched as James puzzled over it too, tapping and prying and shaking to no avail. It made the rounds fairly quickly, each having a try at working the lid loose until finally it landed back in Nikola's lap.

They all began to talk softly about how it was probably nothing more than a dusty relic as Nikola began his investigations again, slowly tracing each surface with a single fingertip. He could still hear their conversation and followed along absently but he didn't join in. This was... more important somehow. And it wasn't about proving to Helen that he belonged in their little group.

He'd always loved puzzles, ever since he was a child. Mathematics and puzzles went hand in hand, and in many ways, it was what had drawn him to inventing. Nothing caught his attention more than a problem that ought to be solved and this was just another problem to his mind. It opened, he was sure of it, just as he was sure that smashing the thing open wasn't the solution as John had suggested.

He would crack this code, he had to. There was something about it that seemed different to him. Nothing else they'd seen over the day had called to him like this box had. There had been puzzle boxes made of finely carved wood and inlaid with ivory and gold, even ancient ciphers that he knew would be worth a look at but this, this simple blasted box held his attention like nothing else had.

And then he saw it. The crack. The tiny, hairline crack that was too precise to be just a crack.

"Water," he said suddenly. "Quickly, I need water."

"Pardon?" Helen asked, perplexed.

"And some cloth," he added, not taking his eye from the crack. Placing his finger on it, he made sure to mark the spot before looking up to her. "Please, I think I know how to open it."

In a second she had a glass of water and embroidered handkerchief for him, eyes alight with excitement.

He dipped one edge of the handkerchief and brought it to the crack, carefully darkening the stone with water until the crack was even more pronounced. A droplet of water spilt, darkening the soft grey of the stone just to the left of the fracture and Nikola grinned. It was a panel.

It was the work of a moment to wet the entire base, his fingers trailing over the crack slowly and surely.

He turned the box slightly, running his fingers over the bottom edge and then, at just the right moment, he pressed down.

It slid away more smoothly than he had anticipated, clearly well built enough that the stone edges simply brushed one another as the panel slipped from the centre of the box. Placing it carefully aside, Nikola gently pulled at the two edges, smiling as they lifted up and to the side cleanly to expose a small wooden panel beneath. It was smooth, no markings in sight bar a tiny, misshapen hole in the centre.

With a triumphant cry, Nikola turned, grabbed the panel that had come away and flipped it, pressing down on the underside of the stone screw until it popped out and into Helen's waiting hand. Without speaking, she passed it to him, her gaze still riveted on the box in his hand.

For the moment, Nikola pushed aside the recognition of how well they worked together and returned his attention to the screw, studying its grooved edges for a moment. He took a moment to line it up properly and then inserted it slowly, his heart beating rapidly. He pushed it that tiny fraction further and a soft pop echoed from the box, making them all gasp softly.

Slowly, so as not to disrupt the spell that seemed to have fallen over them, Nikola turned the box over. The lid shifted as he did so and he pulled it off, a small smile growing on his lips.

Putting aside the lid he turned to Helen, grinning in triumph.

"M'lady," he said, bowing his head and offering the contents to her.

She chuckled softly and accepted the box gingerly.

"You're a genius, Nikola," she whispered, eyes shining.

"She's right," Nigel added, voice filled with awe. "That's bloody brilliant."

"Good work," James added absently, clapping him on the shoulder as he moved closer to perch in front of Helen.

"Come closer, Niko," she beckoned absently. His heart skipped a beat at the affectionate nickname. She hadn't called him that in some time and even then, it had only been in the privacy of the library. James shot him a peculiar look for it but Nikola merely glared back. He'd not take their teasing for the name. Especially when he suspected both James and John to want one too. Perhaps he could come up with a suitable retort for when it inevitably became a source of amusement for the others?

Steeling himself, Nikola shifted beside her, the length of her leg pressed against his. It was odd not having the buffer of her skirts between them but again he pushed the thought away. He wasn't willing to let himself get distracted by something as trivial as the feel of her barely clothed thigh pressed to his.

He watched as she carefully extricated the contents of the box, so perfectly preserved it astounded him. The leather covering was intact if not a little brittle and even the tie used to hold the scroll together stayed together as Helen removed it. The leather covering gave way easily, parting to reveal a small bundle of fabric.

James shifted immediately, clearing the small table before them as Helen fell to her knees and unfurled the thin fabric across the polished surface. It was finer than anything he'd ever seen and while he could put part of that down to age, Nikola was certain that this fabric, at its prime was not something that could have come from the ancient Egyptians as they had previously believed. It was beautiful, covered in intricate designs with too bright colours for the age.

The same script as had been on the box covered the rather large linen, the border proclaiming what appeared to be the same message as the box. Across the centre looked to be a map, carefully drawn mountains and rivers intersecting around caricature style huts and fires. More of the careful script was interspersed between what he supposed were landmarks, arrows and corrections made in different handwriting dotted the image too but what stood out to Nikola was the golden thread that ran through it all, coiling and unfurling from one corner to stop in another. It was sewn in amongst painted images, shining in the dim light of the parlour.

Stark black lettering across the top constituted a title but there was an elegance and flair to it that drew Nikola in. It was artistic, melting and flowing with elaborate swipes that he wanted to trace. Whoever made this had been talented and careful and, considering the intricate way in which it had been protected, clever.

"This is..." Helen breathed, looking up at them. Nikola noted with some alarm that the others had all moved closer now. He'd been so engrossed that he'd barely noticed.

"I've never seen anything like it," John murmured, fingers twitching with what Nikola recognised as the urge to touch it. It was one he understood well.

"Sumerian," James breathed, eyes glazed and Helen's head snapped up.

"You can't mean..." she trailed off.

"Mortal foe," he said, nodding as he pointed to a single set of characters above one picture of a village or town.

"And the rest?" Nikola asked eagerly, leaning forwards.

"It's the only piece I recognise," James admitted. "The rest of this is a language I've never seen before."

And then Nikola remembered.

"Helen!" he cried, turning and grabbing her by the shoulders.

Her eyes widened in alarm but he didn't care. This was more important.

"Those documents your father gave you," he continued, praying she still had them somewhere around the house. "The ones you were studying before Christmas."

"Oh my," she breathed, lips dropping into a perfect 'o'.

Shakily, Nikola released her and she brought a hand to her lips.

"Look at the title," he urged, pointing to the black script. "It's an almost perfect copy."

"The map isn't the same though," she breathed, shaking her head. "It was very clearly of India."

"That doesn't mean they were not created by the same people," he urged. "Where is it, Helen?"

"Upstairs," she said quickly. They stood in sync, Helen holding out a hand to him.

"Wait!" James cried as they began to rush to the door. "What are you two on about?"

"It's a map, James," Helen said gleefully.

"We can see that," Nigel added, sounding afraid of the sheer excitement radiating from her.

"Later," Nikola insisted, tugging on her hand. She nodded, growing serious as she pulled him from the room.

They returned in only a few minutes to find the others looking just as perplexed as when they'd left. Panting, Nikola resumed his spot on the floor, shifting the delicate map aside carefully so that Helen could lay her documents beside it.

"Where did you get these from?" John asked warily from where he sat beside Helen.

"My father gave them to me a few months ago," she said hurriedly. "I was supposed to decipher them but I had no luck. Other than identifying this as a small, now ruined city I couldn't make heads or tails of it."

"And what does that have to do with this map?" James asked, still sounding a little upset at her abrupt departure with Nikola.

"Look," Nikola said, snatching one of the rubbings and thrusting it towards James. "It's so similar. They have to be the same language."

James studied the two sets of writing for a moment before a sly smile spread over his face.

"You see it?" Helen said excitedly. "I can't believe I did not see it straight away!"

She turned to Nikola and took his hand beneath the table once more, squeezing gently.

"Your photographic memory is rather astounding," Nigel said appreciatively as James handed the charcoal rubbings around.

Nikola smirked in satisfaction before returning his attention to the map before them. Now that he'd unlocked the box, this new challenge seemed even more alluring.

"Alright, so it is the same language," John allowed, passing the documents back to Helen. "What now?"

"Now we have to translate it," Helen said, that edge of near manic glee in her voice.

Nikola grinned.

Oh God how he loved this woman.

This has got to be the quickest I've ever updated this story :P Which is a little sad...

Anyway, here you go. As you've guessed, we're starting to get closer to the source blood action which is why there is less smooching in this one. Well, that and canon.

Thank you to the few who still manage to trek through this one! It's a biggie but I do appreciate all the support :)

xx