Several days after posting his letter, Anderson was startled to receive an astonishingly rapid reply in his postbox. To be brutally frank, he had half-expected the clinical professionalism in his letter to frighten off his correspondent –if the Count was as sinister as he seemed, and more mundane than Anderson had feared. Failing that, his own letter had been both courteous and brief, with the expected well-chosen compliments so common in polite exchanges between gentlemen. It didn't warrant an immediate response.

And besides, a telegram would have done just as well to show that he had received the priest's letter…

Anderson also didn't know how to feel about the fact that the man now had his residential address, either. Oh, it wasn't like the Count couldn't have found that out very easily through the telegraph service –in fact, that was almost certainly how he had gotten it in the first place– but something about having a letter directly penned by the mysterious Count in his hands made Anderson more nervous than the actual arrival of the initial telegram.

He seemed to constantly sway from one side of the argument to the other about whether or not this man was trustworthy. On the one hand, the Count's prior telegram had at least seemed reasonable, and the swiftness of both replies at least bore out his statement that his need for the book truly was great. But on the other hand, why couldn't Anderson find any records of him? Why didn't Anderson know of this man before now, if he had truly been intimate enough with Sir Hellsing to deserve this precious manuscript?

And why the sudden, blazing hurry to get his hands on it?

It could go either way, Anderson felt. Either this man, this Count, was an enemy who was allied with those who had murdered Sir Hellsing or was merely jumping on the opportunity thus afforded by her death –or he was an ally of Sir Hellsing, and with her sudden death was now in desperate need of the book that she had protected and the wisdom that it contained, for his own protection if nothing else.

Candidly, the priest had no idea what to do. If the Count was an enemy, then he of course must do everything in his power to prevent the man from getting his hands on the precious manuscript. But if the Count wasn't, if he truly was another colleague who was perhaps reaching out with desperate hands towards the only salvation he could find, then Anderson could not, in good conscience, ignore his pleas.

And at this point, he had no way to tell which answer was the correct one, only that delay could prove fatal in both directions.

Still, he wasn't going to get answers by standing around in the front hall, and with a grunt of irritation, Anderson made his way back to the semi-organized chaos of his office. He set aside his small bundle of other letters and took his chair, inspecting the envelope itself with a more critical eye.

It was plain and unadorned white paper, very stiff, sealed in deep red wax. In almost all ways, it seemed an average letter, save that there seemed to be a faint scent emanating from it that was neither paper nor ink. Cautiously, even if the scent didn't seem at all chemical, Anderson lifted the envelope closer to his face and took a slow, careful inhale. Yes, there was definitely a scent lingering about the paper.

It reminded him somewhat of the frankincense that he had occasionally smelled as incense at other churches –a pine-sweet, almost citrusy scent with strong overtones of wood. This was very similar in its earthy overtones, but the scent itself was sharper and more clear, with a refreshing overtone that was almost so bracing it was a shock to the nose, like mint. It reminded him, inexorably, of creaking bent-backed pine trees on high mountain peaks, and the legends of young men climbing the Alps to pluck a single edelweiss flower for their loves and often falling to their deaths in that pursuit.

Still, it was a bit…odd that a man of the Count's years –he had to be somewhere between Sir Hellsing and Anderson himself in age– would spritz his cologne on a letter he was sending to a man whose connection to him was little more than that of a solicitor. That sort of thing was more the province of young men and women engaged in courtship rituals, trying to entice each other with the scents that lingered on their skin. Unless, of course, the Count was so drenched in scent that anything he handled would bear traces of it…

Anderson snorted softly at such a thought. While some of the noblemen he had seen would definitely be that foppish, it seemed unlikely that the Count would fall to such follies. Sir Hellsing would never for a moment tolerate such a person, a fact which had on more than one occasion caused her and Enrico –whose own tastes ran rather towards the garish– to butt heads.

He peered more closely at the wax seal. Rather tellingly, the Count had stamped it with an insignia –the sinuous, twisting form of a miniature dragon– and Anderson picked up his letter-opener and slowly, carefully used it to scrape the seal off the back of the envelope and lay it aside for later study. If nothing else, he could try and use this to further his research on the legitimacy of the Count's claim to his title.

He slit the envelope and pulled out the single folded sheet of paper enclosed inside, unfolding it and opening it up to read.

Dear Anderson,

At this point in our correspondence, I feel that honest conversation is needed –I must confide in you the truth of my relationship with our late friend Sir Hellsing. For many summers I made visits to England to work alongside Integra, and during that time, we became very personally acquainted.

I have fond memories of my visits to England. I adore your high teas, your horse racing, your croquet clubs -all those curious institutions that make England unique. Did you know that Integra and I once dined with Sir Henry Irving, the great actor, and his friend Mr. Abraham Stoker, the theatre critic and novelist? Some of Mr. Stoker's fantasies about creatures of the night made us smile, but it was that trip that piqued my interest in the supernatural.

I must beg you to visit me at the earliest opportunity. Please bring the book in question, as it will help fill in many of the gaps in my own research. And I should also confess that I am more than a little intrigued to meet Alexander Anderson, a man of mystery –a man of secrets, perhaps– about whom I wish to know more.

Your faithful
Vlad

Anderson's eyebrows slowly rose almost up to his hairline. He had expected, at most, a terse reply to acknowledge his letter, or perhaps more begging and cajoling in regards to the Count getting his hands on the manuscript –in short, a professional reply to his professional letter. This, however, read much more like a letter sent to an intimate friend, especially given that the Count had signed it with his first name and left off Anderson's title.

For a nobleman, that was almost absurd: priests in any country had a certain amount of social leeway, true, given as they ministered to both the poorest and the richest, but never were they considered the equals of high society. The Count was breaking quite a number of conventions just by addressing Anderson in this way, not to mention his rather personal anecdotes of his prior times in England. Perhaps Anderson had started it with his reminiscing about Venice in his own letter, but still…

It didn't seem like anyone that the reclusive Sir Hellsing had been so close with would be so effusive, but then, Anderson had next to no idea of the Count's personality. If this letter was any indication, there was more than a hint of mischief in the man –and that, along with his admission that he had known Sir Hellsing in their youth, before Anderson had ever met her, ignited a tickle of thought in the back of his mind. The Count…was he truly the rakish, black-haired young man who had grinned out of that double-portrait with Sir Hellsing?

If so, it only made their later separation more suspicious. If it was as acrimonious as Anderson expected –perhaps a broken engagement– then it made little sense that the Count spoke of Sir Hellsing so fondly. Then again, this was many decades after whatever division had come between them, and it would neatly explain why he would be aware of the book, and yet why it had not been left for him…

Once again, whatever questions he had answered only left him with more mysteries to solve, and Anderson sighed as he refolded the letter. He had another chapter of the book to try and read today, before he was once again swamped with the work he had been neglecting.

So thinking, he tucked the letter away in its envelope, and slid the envelope into the desk drawer into which he had taken to keeping any and all of his vampire-related materials. Cracking open the book which laid price-of-place on the desk, he was at once interested to see that this chapter dictated THE POWERS OF THE VAMPIRE, which ought to be an extremely useful subject for him –for once. Slowly but surely, the book was yielding up its secrets, and hopefully giving him enough information to make his survival not only possible, but likely.

This chapter, however, did not open up with an encouraging start.

We should fear vampires, for they have the power to eradicate humanity forever. The abilities of the Fallen Ones are supreme –they are faster, stronger, and more durable than we, and may have had centuries to sharpen their skills and intellect. Their powers can be concentrated into five categories: pouvoir, alacrity, olfactorum, mind control, and shape-shifting (described in the overleaf). All the Fallen possess something of every attribute, but each bloodline has a particular strength.

Opposite this paragraph, and the rest of the line of text, was the black-and-white scientific sketch of a male anatomical model, fat and muscles exposed and both tissues occasionally cut away to reveal the structure of the skeleton beneath. The model's privates were modestly screened by a leaf, and beneath the model's feet was Sir Hellsing's precise handwriting.

Although the physical aspects of vampires usually appear similar to human anatomy, shown above, the bodily workings of the Fallen Ones are actually different.

That raised a good point, come to think of it. Scientifically speaking, what was the anatomy of an otherwise-humanoid creature that could spontaneously sprout three horns from its forehead, or grow bestial legs and claws? As much of an utter novice as he may be in the matters of vampires, even Anderson could foresee obvious difficulties with dissecting them or performing other methods of study. For that matter, even if vampires could be restrained in some way while they were cut open, it would be studying them in a dormant state, and not as they were when shifting or hunting.

He wondered, morbidly, where previous Protectors had gotten whatever knowledge they did possess from, and how many had died to obtain it.

Beneath the scientific model was another square scrap of parchment sewn into the edge of the page, depicting what seemed to be a woodcut image of an octagonal fountain with a number of spouts flowing into the basin –dark spouts, and a black pool in the fountain beneath them. Beneath this image, words in a curving Gothic script labeled it:

The Fountain of Immortality, flowing with Blood

Carefully, Anderson peeled back the parchment, and raised his eyebrows as he saw the sepia-faded ink on its back.

Vampyres live immortal lives. This is why it is fallacious to talk of "killing" a Fallen One. Many have feigned their own Deathe or imitated the onset of years with clever use of Costume and Trickery. It is, in truth, a Greate challenge for any vampire to end his own life, and so a number of Belial have surrendered themselves to a Protector to perform such an act. To some, immortality seems like a Curse –many Belial wish only for the Peace that comes with Destruction.

Well, that answered some half-formed thoughts that he had been entertaining. If some vampires, and especially the Belial, were so guilt-stricken by their new monstrous nature…then why didn't they cleanse themselves at the first opportunity?

Because, as it seemed, ending their existence was trickier than it would be for a human.

Encouraged somewhat by the presence of new information, he glanced back to the page itself and read on.

Before we look at these powers in detail, it is important to discuss the anatomy of the vampire. Very little is known on this subject –the limited references I have come almost entirely from the theories of former Protectors. From these notes, I can say that vampires do not possess a heartbeat, nor can they breathe; their vital organs do not function in a normal way; when wounded, they heal more quickly than humans; they have no need of food, nor do they perform any of the other pedestrian bodily functions with which humankind are beset; and their blood appetite is insatiable. In summary, these sources confirm that vampires are not "alive" in a human sense and that their powers far exceed human abilities.

Insatiable.

A slight shiver ran down Anderson's spine as he read that, another hint of a tangible threat laid like a dagger against his throat. Countless historians and poets had described various hungers as "insatiable," but to have it so flatly laid out like this, so utterly without other comment, was chilling. A vampire's bloodthirst could not be sated. It could not be placated. They could be filled to bursting and still search with dripping fangs for more victims, which was so viciously wrong that he felt somewhat ill.

It violated every sense of the natural order: all creatures hungered in some way, but they also all had a limited capacity. There always came a point where they could simply eat no more. No matter how rabidly a wolf would attack, no matter how much flesh it stuffed down its slavering jaws, there would come a time when it literally had no more room in its gullet. If a man was starved into a shriveled skeleton and then set before a sumptuous feast and told to do what he pleased, even he would be unable to eat past a certain point.

Vampires –didn't.

According to this book, there were literally no limits to their hunger.

Absolutely horrifying.

He swallowed slightly before turning his eyes to the next ornate-lettered caption heading a small paragraph, wondering at a morbid and perhaps slightly superstitious level if all the things he learned on this page would be so chilling.

POUVOIR:

Pouvoir, or strength, is the primary asset of vampires from the Moloch line whom, when fed, are relentless. Some believe that blood taken by the Moloch doubles in protein within their veins; others say that the structure of their muscle fibers is comparable to that of a large predator.

ALACRITY:

Alacrity is the power of quick reflexes, agility, and speed of movement. This asset helps to explain why vampires are so rarely seen in their natural form: their movements are almost too fast for the human eye. The high-tension muscularity of vampires also allows them to crawl and climb where humans cannot: scaling a wall or climbing a fence is no great task.

OLFACTORUM:

All vampires have very good hearing and eyesight, but they taste only blood and are insensitive to touch. Their sense of smell, or olfactorum, however, is many thousand times stronger than that of humans. During the Ritual of Making, their olfactory nerve is enhanced and the synapses transmitting sensory information from the nose to the brain become highly sensitive. Vampires will use their sense of smell to track their prey and gauge the emotions of their victims. While they cannot empathize with humans in any genuine way, they can smell chemical reactions brought on by fear and elation.

All in all, none of this was very reassuring, despite his earlier expectations. What was the phrase –being so inexperienced that one didn't even know how much one didn't know? He would've thought that knowing what his enemies were in theory capable of would be steadying, letting him know their limits and thus plan accordingly, but when he closed his eyes to rub them the words relentless, their movements are almost too fast for the human eye, vampires will use their sense of smell to track their prey, all danced ominously behind his closed lids. This was the stuff of nightmares.

Especially considering that he was likely soon to become a vampire's direct target. Even if Anderson had sworn off this book, mailed it to the Count without a qualm and turned back to his daily routine, whichever vampire(s) that had finally managed to deal with Sir Hellsing would undoubtedly have begun running down her (short) list of immediate associates after they failed to find the book, looking for its likely recipient. And his name would very probably be near the top of that list…

Another shudder roiled through him, sending all his nerves twitching with tension, and he took a deep breath.

Given as there wasn't literal blood and rapine on the streets, it seemed that vampires favored subtlety whenever possible –even Sir Hellsing's murder had been pushed to look like an accident. If he was prepared and on his guard, even if those responsible for her death had already marked him down as a target, it would take some time for them to figure out a way to attack him. Priests, after all, were fairly public figures, and even in his own private quarters it was literally always possible that a witness would be only a few walls away in the church itself. Even if his enemies were drawing their net close around him, he still had some time to prepare.

Still, this page only had three of the five powers listed, and Anderson glanced warily towards the next page. There were multiple pictures here –one close-up oil painting of a woman's face, and three finely-detailed charcoal bust portraits surrounded by ornate frames. The woman's face reminded him of the vampiress on the prior page, except instead of looking with haunting eyes upon the man clasped in her arms, now her full, red lips were parted in an animalistic snarl that bunched her nose and bared two sets of sharp fangs, her dark hair flying in wild locks about her face and her smoky-shadowed eyes gleaming at the viewer.

Beneath this close-framed portrait was a simple warning: Few will escape the magnetism of the vampire's crimson eyes.

Frowning slightly, Anderson turned his eyes towards the words that accompanied this painting.

MIND CONTROL:
The power of mind control is possessed in some measure by all the Fallen, who systematically use their red eyes to hypnotize their victims. Because of this power, some believe that vampires drain victims of psychic energy rather than blood. This is not true. The Ba'al are the most adept at this skill and can hold a number of victims in control at one time. Below, we see the five stages of mind control that the Ba'al employ for the Chosen –note that this power will be used to lure prey, who will die following the first feed.

THE FIVE STAGES OF MIND CONTROL

(1) The vampire briefly makes its victim subject to its will whilst in its presence.

(2) The vampire hypnotizes its victim, who forgets the first encounter entirely.

(3) At the next encounter, the vampire instructs the victim to perform a single task. The first feed usually occurs here.

(4) The Chosen is entirely controlled by the vampire whenever it is present. At this point, the second feed is carried out.

(5) Once the Ritual of Making is complete, the newly made vampire is controlled by its master during an initial teething stage. Following this, a progeny may rebel against its master, although most remain devoted for eternity.

Well, that was chilling. There didn't seem to be anything a canny human –or even a Protector– could do to prevent themselves from becoming hypnotized, save perhaps by completely avoiding eye contact with any potential vampires. Which, of course, carried with it its own problems.

He stirred his glasses with a finger and wondered, half-whimsically, if they would do him any good, if hypnotism relied on direct eye contact.

The other portraits on the page were, as he had seen earlier, charcoal bust shots of two men and one woman, spaced equally across the bottom half of the page with tiny paragraphs of text filling the spaces between them. Anderson narrowed his eyes slightly as he read the title for this section.

FAMOUS FALLEN AND THEIR POWERS:

Achilles
Destroyed 1200 BC

The Greek demigod Achilles was one of history's greatest warrior's –and a Moloch. When the Greek armies besieged the city of Troy, the apparently invincible Achilles was their ruthless champion.

Elizabeth Báthory
Destroyed 1614

The sixteenth-century vampire Elizabeth Báthory needed only to kiss a victim to track and kill him afterwards. Báthory lived at Čachtice Castle –a gift from her husband– and terrorized the local people, committing hundreds of horrible murders, often torturing her victims for days before killing them.

Rasputin
Believed to be at large

Sources tell me that the "mad monk" Rasputin is determined to use his powers of mind control to gain the favor of the powerful elite in Russia –some say that he has his attention turned towards the Romanovs. Only time will tell what havoc this usurper will cause. He must be destroyed before any damage can be done.

This section did beg the question –what would constitute a "famous" vampire? One that had already been famous before they had become a Fallen One? One that was famous afterwards? Or perhaps a vampire that was famous in the small circles of Protectors and their allies?

Like so much else, he was simply blind to the full context of those words. Anderson had no one to teach him, only the book, and it seemed to revel in obscurity at times.

Well, not strictly no one…

He cast a wary glance towards the drawer of his desk and the letter from the Count contained therein. He couldn't say that he wasn't tempted…but no. No, there was too much that was ringing false about that message and the man who had wrote it.

Anderson shook his head, and then, realizing the time, pushed back from his desk with a groan and stood up, fetching his clerical garments on the way out.

London, May 24th, 1920

Today I heard again from the mysterious Count. He writes beautifully -enchantingly- but his insistence about the book makes me nervous. And, for a man who must be in his seventh decade, he writes with the mischief of a flirtatious debutante. I have decided not to continue the correspondence. Meanwhile, I am intrigued to read the Protector's words about Rasputin. How prophetic! For he did indeed have his wicked way with the Romanovs before his destruction in 1916. By all accounts he was notoriously hard to kill. Did it happen at Sir Hellsing's hand, I wonder?

I am slowly beginning to comprehend the enormity of the threat posed by the Fallen. Can humanity hope to thwart the ambitions of these creatures by a show of faith?

It some few days before Anderson could return again to the book –he was often torn between his duties and his compulsion to read further into the pages, a compulsion that was not lessened by the idea that reading the book perhaps was his duty, the charge left to him by Sir Hellsing.

When he did, he was fascinated –although not heartened– by the title of this latest chapter, which claimed that these few pages would be educating him on THE POWER OF SHAPE-SHIFTING. While each new section was certainly building his knowledge, the most telling and indeed vital information –from his perspective– would have been how to identify and destroy vampires, although Anderson was also forced to acknowledge that battling the Fallen Ones would do him little good unless he knew their full capabilities.

Still.

Still, it was not encouraging to think that even now, he was likely being stalked by unseen opponents while trapped in the rustling day-to-day of his life, painfully and even dangerously ignorant as these unholy predators crept ever-closer to tracking him down.

But the best way to deal with that, of course –to extinguish all his fears and vague suspicions– was to read the book to its end as quickly and completely as possible.

This section –as to be probably expected– was notable for its illustrations, two in bold watercolor and ink, and two beautifully detailed pencil sketches, all depicting various beasts. The first paragraph or so on the leftmost page were overlaid by another ink sketch sewn into the page, this one also vibrant with rich colors and delicate shading, depicting a flock of bats in flight against a deep blue background. It was labeled, also, with Sir Hellsing's words: Though it is possible for a vampire to take on the form of a single bat, it will most likely shape-shift into a whole colony for dramatic effect.

He peeled the sketch back and saw, as to be expected, further notes in her hand.

Romantics will tell you that a vampire's favored form is that of a bat. Though it is possible for vampires to take this form, they most often shift into a cloud of bats. It should be noted that vampires do not share a special relationship with the vampire bat. The Desmodus rotundus, or common vampire bat, is, in truth, just one of the many species of bat. When Europeans first discovered this species in the sixteenth century, it became a symbol of the powers of darkness and chaos. Vampires enjoy their mistaken connection with the vampire bat and take great pleasure in frightening prey and hanging upside down for long periods of time.

So vampires could find pleasure in some things, even if it was sadistic pleasure at other people's misfortune. Interesting…

He was more curious about the illustration on the first page, however, which featured a four-legged dragon and a gryphon facing off against one another, coiled and ready for battle. The gryphon's feathers and fur were a tawny copper, while the dragon was a deep emerald green.

Though many scholars of the supernatural accept legends of creatures changing, or shape-shifting, as true, I can confirm that this power belongs in all its potency to vampires alone. No other creatures have the power to shape-shift into a whole menagerie of beasts, though some, such as werewolves, can shift between human form and a wolf shape. Vampires, in particular the Belial, can take many different forms for many different purposes and pursuits.

If Anderson had been in the habit of drinking anything as he read, he would have spluttered it all over the precious manuscript. Werewolves?! There hadn't even been a ghost of a mention of those creatures up until now!

Once again, it hit him with a pang that this book seemed to be meant for someone who had a guide with them, or at least knew something of the supernatural and could help fill in the corners. There was so much he was missing…so much that he could no longer understand immediately without Sir Hellsing to answer his puzzled questions.

He shook his head and forced himself on.

THE PRACTICE OF SHAPE-SHIFTING:
The Belial are the greatest practitioners of this art and the most adept. They are also the only bloodline that can shape-change into mythical creatures such as dragons and gryphons, as pictured at right. In contrast, the Moloch and the Ba'al have much more limited powers but can still change into the form of large predators such as leopards, or smaller creatures such as mice or bats. Below are the many purposes for which vampires of all bloodlines exercise this power.

THE PLEASURE OF FLIGHT:
All vampires relish the thrill of flight. Traveling as a bird can be a more effective –and exhilarating– form of locomotion than the more pedestrian method of running, however fast, upon the ground. The Belial in particular are experts at shape-changing in this way, often choosing to fly as dragons or gryphons, while Moloch prefer the form of larger birds of prey such as vultures or eagles; the Ba'al more often transmogrify into owls or ravens.

DISGUISE:
Vampires of all bloodlines use their ability to shape-shift into much smaller creatures as a means of either disguise or escape. Taking the form of innocuous songbirds or scurrying mice will allow them to spy on their Chosen or escape from difficult situations. There are many tales of vampires surprised during a feed who have supposedly vanished into thin air –more likely they have transformed into mice, or even moths, and slipped away unseen. Vampires also take the form of snakes, spiders, or creatures likely to induce terror amongst humans, especially those suffering from phobias.

A chill ran down his spine as he read those words.

Father Anderson was fairly sure that he had some experience with this one.

It had happened some few years ago, during a seminary retreat for him and a number of other fellow Anglican clerics. Such things were a good way to strengthen ties between various parishes, discuss new philosophy or teachings, pass news of church bureaucracy, and otherwise enjoy the company of like-minded religious folk. This particular gathering had been hosted in a fine old manor house at the edge of a village in Suffolk, a stone's throw away from the still-used chapel and church. The village itself, in turn, was close enough to the trains to make the journeys of all attendees manageable, if not completely comfortable.

He had enjoyed himself at first, certainly. The weather had been pleasant for that time of year, and the drive of rain against the latticed window some mornings had been relaxing rather than unpleasant, despite the chill. And it was good to be away from the pea-soup fogs of London, too, to breathe in the clean air and smell a thousand growing things in the damp of autumn, sharp and brisk.

But then…then there had been an incident. An odd incident, and one that at the time had slipped his mind completely in the wake of the tragedy that followed, but now knowing what he knew…he had to wonder.

Anderson was a social man by nature, despite his somewhat intimidating appearance, and he enjoyed talking and sharing his time with other people. There had been another priest, a much-older man with a dignified mustache, Father Renaldo, with whom he struck up one of his quick friendships at the retreat. They had spent long hours talking about their lives, commiserating on the joys and occasional sighs of work as a vicar, or engaging in general debates with some of the others on the natures of angels, of sin, of Nature, and beauty.

One afternoon about midway into the week-long retreat, however, Anderson had come to Father Renaldo's room to return a book he had been lent the night before, and quickly devoured. It had seemed second nature at the time, and he quickly stacked and replaced the book in the small carrying bookcase that was a part of Renaldo's luggage without so much as a whisper of unease.

When he stood up again, however, Anderson had felt an abrupt sense of wariness jolt through him, like a spark of electricity had leaped into his body from an unseen source. Baffled, he'd looked around, seeing nothing of note.

Well, that was not quite true.

After several moments of peering, growing steadily more uneasy despite nothing being wrong, Anderson's gaze had finally been caught on a grey scrap of cobweb strung in the corner between window and wall, opposite the bed and the door. Perched on this web was the biggest spider the priest had ever seen, dark and with blotchy, indeterminate markings.

As he looked at it, startled by the immense size of the creature as well as its presence in a room inhabited by people, Anderson couldn't shake the oddest notion that the spider was glaring at him, willing him to leave. Without quite thinking why, his steps began to drift backwards, carrying him out of the door as one arm rose to the level of his chest in a slight, unconscious motion, like he was about to clutch at his throat or ward off a blow.

Anderson immediately felt silly, of course, the moment he was beyond the threshold of Renaldo's room –silly and childish. What should he care for a spider, whether it was looking at him or not?

The blond man had cleared his throat several times, trying to shake off his sudden uncharacteristic spasm of fear, as he seized the doorknob and quite firmly pulled the door to. Part of him couldn't help but feel tense when he did so, however, as though he expected the spider in the far corner of the room to suddenly leap out at him and take his hand off at the wrist.

A ridiculous notion, obviously, and he felt somewhat ashamed of himself for suddenly succumbing to the popular dread of spiders and other scuttling insects. He had privately resolved to tell Renaldo that there was a spider in his room before everyone returned to their quarters for the night, just in case the man suffered a similar unease, but then thought no more of it as he set off down the hall.

He had told Renaldo between bites of buttered rolls at dinner, the older man had thanked him and said he would take care of it, and conversation had moved on, with everyone swapping stories about the walks they had taken recently on the grounds and how beautiful everything was.

The next morning, Anderson had been awoken to hushed whispers and the news that Renaldo was dead.

He had been shocked and dismayed, and no little bit perplexed, but it had seemed so simple, so ordinary. Renaldo had been an older man, and he had been out in the cold and brisk autumn air almost all day, enjoying the beauty of Nature. He could've easily taken an unnoticed chill and simply slipped away. The older man had been found peacefully in his bed, after all, and though Anderson had glanced at the corner and seen no spiderweb, he had mentioned it to the others and the flustered police inspector, saying perhaps it had bitten and poisoned Renaldo.

There were no such pinpricks on Renaldo's body, though, and another priest who was an amateur naturalist had questioned him long and closely as to the appearance and behavior of the spider, and eventually Anderson had been forced to conclude that a specimen of that size and type could have done his friend no harm. Renaldo had simply…died, and the retreat had quickly concluded in respect to the incident.

But now that he knew about vampires…Anderson had to wonder. Renaldo had been so very pale in death, almost as white as snow as he laid there against the pillows. And that sourceless unease as the spider seemed to look at him, and the creeping sense of dread, and how the spider seemed to have completely vanished from the room afterwards…

Indeed, as he read on further, it seemed that such an incident wasn't without precedent.

HUNTING:
Vampires take great pleasure in hunting in the shape of larger animal predators. Belial prefer cat forms such as leopards and jaguars, while Moloch have been known to take bear and dog forms. As we have said, Ba'al most often choose to take the shape of owls. It is important to note that vampires to not need to shape-shift in order to catch prey –they do it purely for the enjoyment that can be obtained when occupying such majestic forms of creature.

Anderson could imagine that, even though –if it had been a shape-shifted vampire that had killed his friend Renaldo– the vampire in question had taken the form of a spider in order to remain covert, rather than borrow the body of one of God's more magnificent creations in order to more primally enjoy the thrill of the chase.

These last few paragraphs were on the second page, which depicted those two pencil sketches and the remaining watercolor, which showed two great cats, a snow leopard and a panther, circling one another. The pencil sketches were more interesting and detailed, although they were also both much, much more unease-inducing.

The topmost drawing showed a bald eagle with wings spread wide, seemingly riding the winds of a tempest, as seen by the boiling clouds behind it. Sir Hellsing's handwriting captioned it A vampire dives towards it prey in the form of a bald eagle.

The second drawing was even worse, showing a skewed perspective of a horde of black-glittering, fat-bodied spiders seething over a web, illuminated by a single shaft of bright light. He could almost hear Sir Hellsing's wry voice accompanied this caption, which stated that A vampire posing as a clutter of spiders will scare even the most courageous Protector. Oh, not that she had ever possessed such phobias, but her sense of humor could occasionally be…sardonic.

THE LIMITATIONS OF SHAPE-SHIFTING:
The power of shape-shifting does not come without limitations. Vampires who take the form of smaller creatures, such as mice or spiders, experience extreme discomfort and cannot maintain this disguise for more than a few hours, though they can remain in larger forms for up to two days. It is important to note that vampires cannot be destroyed whilst in their shape-shifted forms, and when hurt, they must return to their natural state within a few hours.

SOME FINAL POINTS ON SHAPE-SHIFTING:

The notion that a vampire can disguise itself in a cloud of mist is an old wives' tale. Vampires' powers of mind control can leave humans attesting to creatures who "fade into mist." This is a trick of the mind, not the body –there is no evidence that the Fallen can take on this form. It should also be noted that vampires cannot take the form of other humans, for which we should be very thankful. Many Fallen Ones are so adept at disguise and mimicry, however, that it may appear as if they have transformed, but it is not by supernatural means.

After reading all this, Anderson sat back in his chair and rubbed his bristly chin. This was all…so much. Not so much to believe, not anymore, but rather…it was so much to take in. There was so much that he still didn't know, and part of him wondered if he would ever learn from the book. It truly seemed like Sir Hellsing had written it with half an eye to use it as supplementary material –something to be shown to her students or her successor while she remained available to ask questions of and clarify details.

But it was also very much her legacy, clearly meant to serve as instructions in case she ever fell before her time, and he couldn't help but be frustrated with Sir Hellsing's chosen method of passing on her knowledge. While it may have been her intent to explain the more obscure pieces of her book to him directly, or to have Anderson inducted into the full world of vampire-hunting and meet her various allies and associates, she hadn't been able to before she died. And now he was alone, with no one to help him.

Well…

The priest's eyes once again slid to the drawer, and the telegram, and the letter, inside it.

…not strictly alone.

He could, in fact, have an ally. If he chose to.

At the very least, the Count seemed to know exactly what Sir Hellsing's business had been as Protector. Though his words in both letter and telegram had been implicit, both messages had given Anderson the distinct impression that the man was aware of the existence of vampires, and of Sir Hellsing's role in standing against them.

It was something of a risk…but, weighing his options, it was a risk that Anderson believed he could take. Unless he let slip that he was in possession of the book, he still had a blanket of safety. No Fallen Ones would take action against him because they feared publicity, not to mention the not-impossible chance that Anderson didn't have the book, and his murder so soon after Sir Hellsing's would let the book's real owner see their own danger.

Once again, the Count was also in Italy, which meant that it would take the man some few days to take any actions against him, if he ever intended any to begin with. If Anderson kept his wits about himself, it might be that he could learn much from the older man –enough to protect himself, and carry on Sir Hellsing's legacy.

With that thought, he gave a firm nod to himself, feeling as though a weight had slipped from his shoulders. He gently set the manuscript aside, picked up his pen, and began to write.

London, June 1st, 1920

I am particularly fascinated by this chapter on shape-shifting. I have encountered many strange creatures during the course of my work as a priest and am curious to learn more about this topic.

Already I have broken my resolve not to reply to the Count. Sir Hellsing's book poses more questions than it answers, and I believe he may have some solutions. I shall proceed with our correspondence, but with the utmost caution.

DRAFT

London, May 31st, 1920

Dear Count,

Apologies for not writing sooner –I have been steeped in work for some days. I am certainly intrigued by your knowledge of the supernatural. Would it be inappropriate to ask which area of study you consider your specialty? There are so many accounts and legends, it is difficult to know where to begin. For my part, I fear you will not find me a man of great mystery. I am, at least, a simple man in search of the truth. As for secrets, they are what make us human. Without them, we would have no mystery, no romance, no curiosity. Am I not correct? I can assure you that the work on our old friend's estate is nearly complete; when that is done, I shall have more freedom to discuss his research and compare it with your own.

Until then, I remain your servant,
Father Alexander Anderson