A/N: A lot of events of a serious nature occurred recently, so I was not able to get me in the proper mindset to continue writing TS. To the constant readers, my apologies; I just realized right now that TS celebrates its first year in Too long to be left hanging, I suppose.

Truthseekers
by mierin-lanfear

Chapter Twenty-One

Holmes watched the telegraph posts whip past the windows in an abstract air, eyebrows furrowed into one black line across his forehead.

Watson fidgeted in his seat in the train compartment, worried about what had happened a few hours ago. "Holmes, our trip to Northumberland's in vain." To his surprise, his companion chuckled, turning towards him with an ironic twinkle in his eyes.

"Not at all, my dear Watson. Although the death of the innkeeper was unexpected, our journey was fruitful."

"Then tell me what's in your mind. If there's something I missed a few moments ago, don't keep it to yourself," Watson replied impatiently. "We did not find anything at all about the Margolin sisters you mentioned before we left for that village."

"On the contrary, Watson, I have."

"Speak up then, man!" He could not contain his excitement. "What did you see?"

Holmes laughed noiselessly. "Mayhew's burned cottage and the innkeeper's death bed."

His friend gave him a strange, disbelieving look. "Well, what of them?"

"You know my methods, Watson. Apply them."

Watson fiddled with his moustache as he thought for a moment. "The cottage burned down on the day the innkeeper died, according to the townsfolk. He succumbed to acute brain fever, as what I have learned from the only doctor in the hamlet, at the same time lightning struck Mayhew's hut."

"What else? What else did you observe, especially in the grounds and the bedroom?"

Holmes' insistent prodding irritated Watson a bit. "Nothing unusual, Holmes. The room was in a state of disorder, with his relatives milling around the body. The grounds around the remains of the hut was blackened and charred."

He shook his head. "Alas, you looked but you didn't see, my dear friend." His hand fumbled for something in his coat pocket. "You actually missed this."

Nestled in his open palm was a large white feather, with pale grey streaking."This was found in the room and the grounds. I took one."

Watson picked it up and twirled it between his forefinger and thumb. "I'll say... What is this, Holmes?"

"Witchcraft."

"You can't possibly believe in those things, not you!" Watson said, his disbelief clearly stamped on his face.

"The sisters are well-acquainted with the ways of the occult. Those events were too highly coincidental, am I not correct?"

"But, their alibis?"

"Strong, but then it is not impossible for them to be in two places at once. In Sir Margolin's book, he devoted a chapter on animagi—those who can change their form into their animal familiars. I have no doubt that Anja and Katja can do that." Holmes plucked the feather from Watson. "The feather doesn't belong to any existing bird in the animal kingdom, unless someone in the village breeds albatross and gull cross-breeds."

"Then, why can't we arrest them?"

Holmes sighed and looked out again at the window. "They hold the key to Vera's presence in this place and era. We must find the answers to Vera's problem before the law is imposed on them."

Watson slumped back on his seat. "Then, what are we to do now, if your hypothesis is correct?"

He replied grimly, "We play their game."

Vera had just reached at the foot of the stairs, fresh from her bath--combing her damp, black hair with her hands--when the doorbell rang.

Mrs. Hudson called out from the kitchen, "Vera-girl, will you please open the door? I'm up to my elbows with bread flour."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson." Crossing the foyer, she stood in front of the door and lay her hand on the brass knob. A tingle of fear and revulsion ran from her fingertips to her arms and down to her spine. As she quickly withdrew from the knob, she took a step backward and bumped into something substantial.

She whirled around and gave a sharp gasp of horror.

A small Japanese girl with solemn, expressionless eyes stood behind Vera, together with two pallid women and a rough-looking farmer, who all shared the same blank expression.

With trembling hands, Vera reached out to the young girl. "Mi-Mizuki-chan?" Before her fingers could touch the little girl's long black tresses, the phantoms melted into the shadows of the staircase. A single yellow butterfly flickered in the darkness before winking out like a candle flame.

She heard Mrs. Hudson's voice from the back of the flat. "Vera dearest, are you alright over there? I'm coming over in a minute or two..."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson, don't worry." She reached out to the doorknob again and twisted it. As she swung the door open, a flurry of late snow cascaded inside, revealing a small parcel and a pristine white baronial envelope perched on top of the porch steps.

Vera looked left, right and across the street. Passers-by were walking and hurrying past the flat, ignoring her.

Picking up the package and the envelope, she closed the door with a sigh of relief. "Someone left a parcel, Mrs. Hudson." She read the spidery handwriting on the envelope. "It's for me and Holmes..."

The envelope contained an exquisitely engraved card decorated with embossed feathers. It read:

"Greetings! You are cordially invited to the yearly masque to be held by the Margolin family..."

She felt her blood drain from her face and hands. She noted down the date and time: February 13, a Friday, at eight o' clock in the evening, in the Margolin manor in Lancashire. Their theme for the year is avian, with pre-assigned bird species for those invited. As Vera opened the package, she saw two delicate-looking feathered masks: a black raven and a brown hawk. For Vera and Holmes.

This is the point of no return, Ve-. They are calling you, she thought. A wave of nausea engulfed her, leaving her slumped against the first door at the top of the stairs.

She closed her green oriental eyes. Holmes, the game is set and they want to play...please, help me.

I need you.