A/N: More owies on the way... Thanks to everyone for their reviews. Made me happy :) I have a new story on the way, which I am now beginning to write. It is LXG, and it will be angst overloaded most probably... if things go according to the plan in my head. Not sure when I will start to upload it. It might be after this one, or in conjunction with it. We'll have to wait and see. I can tell you it will be called 'Out of Sight, Out of Mind'. Keep your eyes open for it ;) Now, on to chapter 21, eh? Enjoy, and let me know what you think. Also, if you'd like to join my LXG update list, don't hesitate to ask. Bye!
She walked away from the room, her heart threatening to tear through the confines of her chest, her breath coming in short and rushed gasps. She couldn't believe what had just happened... what he had just said to her, and she in return. How could something like this have happened? How could she have let it happen?
Anise knew she should have stopped Evans and his men from going through with their plan. She had known what they were plotting from the moment they had caught wind of this Tom Sawyer... since they had first heard of him and his achievements. She had known Charles Evans would want him for their little... she didn't know what to call what they were.
How about terrible? Atrocious? Dishonest? Murderous? In her mind all the words fit, they all described perfectly what she and the others did, but she couldn't bring herself to comprehend why she hadn't gone against it all.
Was she that scared of being cast out, or even killed for what she believed in? She had led another innocent victim to Charles Evans... but this one was different. This was Tom. She had let herself fall in love with him, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't just forget that.
"Oh, you do look so beautiful when you are angry, Anise," growled a voice mysteriously from a doorway behind her as she passed it. She was so lost in her thoughts she jumped violently, and glared icily at the intrusion.
Jacques and a few of the others watched her, the former at the front of the collection. There were four of them in total, all male. Anise herself was one of the only females. Evans wasn't very fond of women. Anise found she couldn't care less for what he thought.
All the men standing before her were of differing origins. Jacques Beauvais was French; there was no confusing this. It was obvious the moment he opened his mouth, which he liked to do far too often. The tallest member of the group was a young Italian man named Alessandro Bianciardi, who had a very vicious look to his lean face, his almost copper hair very feral and his grey eyes mysterious and dangerous. The third man was Spanish. His name was Paulo Cela. He was dark and handsome, but carried a threatening edge. His brown eyes were almost like a deep liquid that seemed to penetrate all, and his black hair was sat atop his head in a curled fashion that tumbled against his brow limply. The final man was the oldest, but perhaps the least intimidating. He was a German man by the name of Friedrich Bauschulte. He was shorter and slimmer than the others, as though they never gave him his rightful fill at mealtimes. He had pale eyes like ice, and his hair was greying prematurely at the brown roots.
"Leave me alone, Jacques," Anise grumbled in return, willing her urges to change and challenge him to submit to reason. They did for the time being, and she stood before the four men, vigilant and determined.
"Such a temper this evening," Alessandro chuckled. He was very fond of teasing the females, and he made to flirt with them on any occasion he could manage. If he tried it tonight with her, he would lose something very precious.
She found herself eager to watch him attempt such an advance.
"Is something the matter, dear Anise?" Jacques inquired, feigning concern with a wicked tease of a smile. He took a step towards her, and she stood firm. He had intimidated her for far too long. True, he had turned more than his far share of victims, but she decided then and there that she would not satisfy him any longer in that way.
"It is none of your concern, nor any of your business, Beauvais."
"Are we on last name terms now? Have I offended you so greatly?" His eyes bore into her with intensity, but she dismissed his gaze with a rivalling one of her own.
"Perhaps you have, but when have you ever let such a thing bother you before? You always seemed to enjoy making me suffer, even in small amounts."
"Ah yes," Paulo offered coolly, his voice smooth and seductive, "but this is different. I can sense it. It would not, by chance, have anything to do with the American I saw not long ago... would it?"
The men laughed in jest at her feelings, and stared at her expectantly, perhaps waiting for her retaliation.
She glared back at them with a hard resolve, and replied simply, "And what if it has? Why should you care, any of you?"
They looked to her collectively in surprise at the venom in her tone, and Jacques smiled. "I so enjoyed the look of defeat on his face when he realised who had betrayed him so, dear Anise."
She tried to stop the growl, but it had rumbled in her throat delicately before she could stop it. She was embarrassed, but did not show this to the men standing before her, lest they mock her for it.
"You desire he be your mate," Alessandro said to her coolly, and he wore a grin that made her so wish to harm him. He was planning something she did not trust. "How sweet."
"Do you feel threatened by the American, Alessandro?" Anise asked of him with half a smile. "Is it that you feel he has more to offer me than you ever will?"
Paulo and Friedrich snatched hold of Alessandro's muscular arms and held him back. Anise smiled in triumph.
Jacques was directly in front of her before she realised he had moved, and his voice was low as he said, "If it were up to me, I would set him loose from his cage and let the men hunt him down... perhaps give him his weapons for some sport."
Anise lashed out at him, catching him by surprise. He was flat on his back in an instant, and she was standing over him, scowling down into his eyes. He looked back up at her, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth from where she had landed her blow, and he hissed, "I wish you had not done that. You know how I am when I am angry."
"I do not care," Anise retorted with earnesty. "Do what you like to me. Harm me... kill me... it does not bother me anymore."
"Who said it were you I would strike back at?"
Anise stared at Jacques in veiled horror at what he must mean, and simply said, "Evans would have your head."
"Would he, dear Anise? Would he? Maybe he would enjoy seeing the boy suffer... if I understand correctly; he is causing quite some concerns for Charles already. He seems most stubborn."
Anise turned her back on him, and made to walk away.
She heard him say, "Perhaps Evans would rather I killed Tom Sawyer."
And perhaps, Jacques Beauvais, I will live to see you die horribly.
The thought carried her all the way back to her room without retaliation. She lay on the bed, and buried her face in her pillows, trying not to scream.
She led the way into the building, her senses guiding her through the old doorway and down the dilapidated corridor. It was dark, but she could see well enough, her eyes piercing through the shadows to pick out what she needed. The others followed wordlessly and patiently behind her.
The scents she had been following, of the werewolf, Tom Sawyer and Delacroix, all trailed up the rickety stairs, which she moved to climb. They had definitely all been here. It was odd though... her senses were confused it seemed. The oldest of the three scents was the light perfumed one of Anise Delacroix. This confused and worried Mina as she completed her climb, holding up the edges of her skirts so she would not trip on them in her heels.
Skinner, Jekyll and Nemo came up behind her, and looked around in the wan light. Mina turned her head this way and that, noticing a shattered clock face at the far end of the hallway. It had been destroyed with a gun, almost certainly Tom's rifle.
She pressed on, the smells all lingering and mixing together now in a confusion. Mina picked them apart, only just able to. Whatever had happened here had happened quite suddenly she sensed. The smell led her to a door, which she pushed open on its rusted hinges. It creaked ominously.
The room inside was dusty, damp, and had been occupied recently. The lamps were still burning with an almost sinister glow. She looked about, and Jekyll and the others paced in behind her, moving about to investigate.
"This is where it happened."
"Where what happened?" Skinner pondered, looking down through his glasses at the carpet where there were the odd spots of blood.
"I don't know," Mina breathed in response, her voice light and odd even to her own ears. There was something very unsettling about all of this. "But it happened here."
Nemo walked over to an old mantelpiece slowly and somewhat majestically, that same air of importance about him as always. His boot crunched on something, and his dark eyes cast down to the floor. He took a step back, and gathered Jekyll's attention. The thin doctor crossed to him immediately, curious and concerned as to what the Indian captain had discovered.
"Glass," Jekyll mumbled, and touched his fingers lightly to the floor, bringing them away damp. He smelt them, and grimaced at once. "Some sort of chemical. Mrs Harker?"
Mina looked to them, and briefly glanced to the perusing form of Skinner before heeding their call. She came to a stop next to them, and looked down, wrinkling her nose slightly as the smell assaulted her even from where she stood. It was most unpleasant, a sort of sweet edge to it that served only to disturb her further. "Is there enough to collect a sample?"
Jekyll nodded, and he and Nemo moved about doing just that as Mina paced away again. Skinner was crouching down himself now, intent on something he had discovered.
"What is it?" Mina asked of him curiously as she walked towards him, picking her way through the odd furnishings.
Skinner looked to her from beneath the low peak of his trilby, and then stood, holding in his gloved hand a particular Winchester rifle.
Mina's heart sank. It was Tom Sawyer's. "Has it been fired?"
"How'd you expect me to be able to tell that?"
"Open the barrel and see how many rounds there are," Mina replied impatiently, watching as Skinner did just that.
"There's a couple missing," Skinner revealed. "But how do we know it was fully loaded when he left the Nautilus?"
"Mr Sawyer never leaves my vessel if his weapons are not filled," Nemo divulged with certainty. Clearly he had noticed this over the past few months, and the others did not debate his word. They knew he was right.
"So we know he fired at something," Jekyll noted, standing with a small sample of the foul smelling liquid in his hand, "but what was it, and did he hit it?"
"It was a werewolf, and he wounded it," Mina explained, pointing out the blood droplets by the doorway. She touched a hand lightly to her brow then, a slight headache lingering.
"Are you all right?"
Mina looked to Jekyll with a smile, appreciative for his concern, and nodded. "Yes. There is just so much in this room... it is a little overwhelming. It is nothing."
Jekyll nodded. He cast his eyes about with a worried expression. "So it would appear that Sawyer and Delacroix were captured."
"How'd we know that?" Skinner arched an eyebrow.
"Tom would never leave his rifle," Mina found herself saying as if she had known the young man longer than a matter of months. She was suddenly regretful for what she had said to him not long ago. Perhaps if she had been a little more supportive, then this would not have happened. Something inside of her wanted to voice her doubts about the smell of Anise being the oldest in this place, but they already thought her jealous or threatened by the girl. The last thing she wanted was to 'confirm' their suspicions by pointing a finger at someone they couldn't find.
"We should return to the Nautilus and review our findings." Nemo looked to them all in turn, noting they nodded in agreement, and he led the way from the building.
Mina brought up the rear, her head hanging slightly at the sight of Tom's abandoned weapon in Skinner's hand. She wanted to think he was safe, but something in the deepest corner of her mind told her otherwise.
He let out an abrupt cry as the boot slammed into his stomach again, and he rolled over, pushing himself to his knees despite the burning pain throughout his body. He breathed heavily, trying to get his rhythm back to normal, and failing.
There was a delicate, yet masculine laugh from the owner of the boot, and Tom looked to them with narrowed eyes. He wasn't sure why Jacques and his companions had suddenly decided to pay him a 'visit', but something seemed to be bothering the Frenchman.
I'll be damned if I know what it is though, Tom thought painfully, as he closed his eyes. His already bruised ribs were on fire, and it was uncomfortable to breath properly now.
There was a hand latched in his hair suddenly, and Jacques yanked back on it roughly, pulling Tom's head with it. They looked at each other for a long while, and unable to hold it back, Tom asked, "Why are you doing this?"
Jacques laughed, still holding Tom's hair, and said low and savagely, "Because I feel like it. I do not see you the way Evans does, with all his expectations and hope. It is a waste of time, and you are useless to us."
One of the others laughed, and leaned back against the bars of the cell, watching. The third man hovered nearby, eager to join in it seemed, whereas the final man paced outside the door of the cell. He looked agitated, as though concerned they may be discovered.
"Aren't you worried what he'll do when he find out what you're up to?"
Jacques glared down at Tom, and backhanded him hard across the face, letting go of his hair. Tom closed his eyes tightly after the blow, and felt his nose bleeding again. He ignored it, and took a deep breath.
"I am not afraid of Charles Evans."
"Sure you're not," Tom mumbled sarcastically. He looked up to Jacques, only to be met by his fist. Tom lowered his head to the ground in pain, and gritted his teeth against the next kick to the stomach that threw him back and against the wall.
"I will make him realise just how much of a waste you are," Jacques grumbled, "and then I will enjoy watching you die... slowly."
"Do whatever you want," Tom said quietly, forehead against the cold floor now, eyes closed, breathing ragged, "I don't care." He did not look up as he continued, "It's either be killed by you now, or wait to be turned into one of you... I know what I'd choose."
Jacques grabbed hold of him, making the effort to twist his grip around so he was applying agonising pressure on the knife wound across Tom's shoulder.
Tom stifled a cry, gritting his teeth against it instead. He would rather suffer in silence than give Jacques the satisfaction of hearing it from him. He tried to hide it as best he could, fully aware of how much of it had to be clear in his eyes when he looked to Jacques, breathing quickly and unevenly now. He just wanted Jacques to let go.
"I would make your decision for you now if it were up to me," Jacques growled in Tom's ear, tightening his grip to try and make the younger man scream in pain.
Tom didn't give him the satisfaction, just gasped quietly, and then replied, "If I understand all of this correctly, then I need to be bitten to turn into one of you."
The look on Jacques' face confirmed Tom's suspicions. He continued, "Well in that case... I hope you choke." He managed a smile, shortly before the man threw him roughly against the wall, and parted with a final punch to the face that cast him back into comforting darkness.