A/N: My apologies if people are thinking Anise is a Mary Sue. Ivy, if that's what you thought, I do apologise. That was never my intention. I've tried to flesh her out and give her flaws, etc. Apologies again if anyone was thinking that. Many thanks to everyone for the -as always- lovely reviews. Couldn't have been happier :D And this, my freaky darlings, is where it starts to get just a little bit angsty...
Mina had been paired with Skinner, the man no longer wearing his hat and coat for reasons of stealth. Hopefully, if they encountered anything odd, despite the hour, they would be able to separate and use their talents to track whatever threatened.
It was peculiar to have anything even resembling a civilised conversation with Skinner under normal circumstances, and with daylight still persistently present, Mina had decided to rest assured that her companion was close at hand if he needed her.
He seemed intent, however, on reminding her none too subtlely of his presence. He kept on trying to grab parts of her that she saw he need not approach, and she had to fight back a warning glare into nothingness that would alarm nearby members of the public.
Several times, Mina thought she heard Skinner's chuckle, and wished for nothing more than to strike out at where she knew perfectly well he was. Knowing this would attract the wrong kind of attention however, she held it all in, and kept walking, her senses ever alert for something foul.
Henry strode with Nemo through the city, and his head pounded with the chattering of Edward Hyde within. It was becoming steadily more difficult to keep the monster trapped inside, or at least keep him subdued.
For a while, Henry had thought that Edward had had an honest change of heart, that he was now willing to help others despite his past behaviour. Clearly, with new thoughts and feelings from Hyde filling him, it seemed this was not the case.
Why even now, Henry had to bite his tongue not to lash out at the reflection he caught in every surface capable of casting Edward's face back at him, each time with a snide new remark. He seemed eager to constantly remind Henry of his cowardice, and seemed quite intent on making him angry.
There was even the frightening thought that lingered within Henry, that Edward wished for nothing more heartily at that moment than to turn on their companion and tear him limb from limb.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, and shaking slightly, Henry peered around with Nemo by his side, looking for suspicious characters.
Green eyes took in the waning scene around them, and a yawn was stifled before it even began. He sighed heavily, Winchester leaned against his shoulder as they rested, ever alert in the doorway of a boarded up house on the west of the city.
Darkness was approaching fast, and Tom's senses were starting to numb now. They had been at this for hours, and he didn't feel quite so alert anymore. He yearned to return to the Nautilus, if only for an hour, to rest and refresh himself.
With a heavy sigh, he looked to his companion, who seemed anything but lulled. Her eyes were wide, scanning the passers-by as if she was afraid of them. Tom narrowed his eyes in curiousity, and his fingers brushed her arm slightly to rouse her.
She started quite violently, and stifled a yelp, and looked him in the face. He smiled. "You okay? You seem a little on edge."
She shook her head at once, and forced a smile. "No, no, I'm fine. I just grow tired of waiting. I wish we could return to the Nautilus and give up on this futile-"
Tom held up his hand before she could finish her sentence, his eyes taking in a suspicious shadow of a man on the far side of the street. The man seemed to be staring at them, openly, not a care as to whether he was spotted doing so. There was half a smile on his face.
With a great surge of anger, Tom recognised the man, and felt his heart quicken in shock. He remembered unloading half of his Colt ammo into the man... how could he be alive?
But then he recalled something Mina had said about regeneration. Dorian Gray flittered into Tom's memory, and then was gone. The vampire herself was able to heal. These werewolves had to share this trait it seemed. Either that or Tom had missed, which he highly doubted as he recalled the man's shouts of pain.
"There, across the street," Tom muttered to Anise.
Then the man was on the move, turning and making his way down the street as casual as could be, a certain strut to his step that only served to make Tom want to blast a hole in his back with his Winchester right then and there. There were too many witnesses, he knew, too many people to frighten and alarm.
"He is only a man, Tom," Anise whispered back hurriedly, grabbing the cuff of his jacket as he moved to follow. He was tugged back, and he looked her in the face as she persisted, "Leave him be. We will know Evans' men when we see them."
"And that was one of them," Tom assured her, looking down at her tightly clenched fist around his coat. She slowly let go. "That was the Frenchman I said about. The one I shot in that yard before."
"But I do not trust this," Anise added briskly, gesturing down the street at the quickly retreating man. "I do not like how easily he was spotted."
Tom heard her words; let them run through his mind. Maybe she had a point. But then again, how could he pass up such a clear oppurtunity to at least follow and observe the man named Jacques, someone who seemed to be so important to Evans and his plans?
So he simply smiled lopsidedly at Anise, and exited the doorway, carrying his Winchester in such a way to make it seem casual. The people did not even take any notice of him, and for this he was glad. He fit in. He knew that. He had spent many years perfecting the art of disappearing in a crowd like this. The last thing he needed was to be noticed and hindered.
Anise was behind him; he could hear her. Her footfalls were quiet, but ever present.
Tom never let the somewhat scruffy man out of his sight, keeping his attention intently fixed on the man's back as he moved. He stayed at enough of a distance so as not to be noticed by Jacques.
Tom remembered how the man had been staring openly at them before, and his stride faltered. Maybe Anise was right after all. Maybe Jacques wanted him to follow... for them to come after him.
It was at that precise moment in consideration that Tom saw Jacques take a rough hold of a young woman by her collar and thrust her into an alley. Tom broke into a jog, and shoved his way through the thinning crowd. They called after him in aggravation. He wasn't even sure if Anise was following him anymore. Tom hoped he hadn't lost her. He would need her help if something happened.
Fully aware of how he had carelessly followed a dangerous man into an alley before, Tom had his Winchester cocked and ready when he entered after Jacques. He could hear sinister sounds from the shadows up ahead.
"Do not be afraid," came a hoarse voice from up ahead, and Tom's heart raced in his chest. He could hear its beating in his ears, and he forced his eyes to focus in the dim light. There, up ahead, was the clear shape of Jacques holding the woman roughly against the wall. She whimpered.
"Let her go," Tom called calmly when at a distance to be considered a threat. He stood about six feet from Jacques now, and watched as his head turned to him.
A growl was heard, and the eyes melted from black to yellow. Tom was startled, but never wavered in his aim... this time for the head.
"Don't..." Tom warned, fully aware that some of these creatures did not need the full moon as tales around the campfire had taught him. "I'll fire..."
"Then pull the trigger," Jacques grumbled, even as his face started to contort horribly. His nose and mouth elongated into a gnarled muzzle, and he gave a grunt as his teeth pushed through his gums into vicious fangs.
Tom raised the gun a fraction of an inch, still aware of the young woman present in the werewolf's grip. It was hard to tell whether she was crying or not.
Jacques' shirt began to tear from the strain underneath it as his chest broadened, and there was the audible cracking of bones as his form changed drastically. His arms stretched, his fingers elongating into spindly claws, the palms of his hands now a good size larger than Tom's. The legs thickened like trunks now, and there was another crack of bone as his knees snapped backwards. Jacques had kicked off his boots to reveal huge padding feet with claws and muscles clear beneath the skin. Instead of the paleness that had covered him before, Jacques now became considerably darker, not only due to the thick hair that had begun to sprout from every visible area, but also because his skin was becoming like coal.
Jacques bellowed deafeningly, and Tom winced, ashamed to admit even to himself that his hand trembled slightly.
"Let her go, dammit!" he yelled at the monster that loomed before him, now bordering on seven feet.
It growled menacingly at him, and flattened its drawn out tufted ears in warning that he was no longer amused.
Tom fired the rifle; his aim for what had been Jacques' head now off, the bullet ripping through the shoulder of the animal. It yelped loudly, and the girl dropped to the floor. She scrambled out of the alley, wailing in horror.
His eyes did not follow her, and neither did Jacques'. They were locked in each other's gaze, both daring one another to act. Tom was glued in place, some unknown force keeping him from moving, even to protect himself.
Jacques, however, seemed to have other ideas, and a great sinewy arm rose to strike.
The rapid firing of bullets disrupted the werewolf's action, and the beast shrieked with pain and withdrew quickly, leaving behind it a great sense of tension in the alley.
Tom whirled at once, his hair flying across his eyes, though he could still clearly see Anise with her pistols drawn, mirroring his mental image of when they had first met. She looked a little shaken, but there was an odd resolve on her face.
"Go," she told him sternly, but with a fear in her tone that confused him, "don't let him get away. He is wounded now, it should slow him."
Tom nodded, unsure of what else to do, and took off at a bolting run after the retreating form of Jacques.