A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one. Meant a lot to me to get all of those overnight, so I went off and wrote this as soon as I got them all, I was just so inspired. No need to fret, Graymoon74, and Naitriab, Silver Bullet is perfectly safe. You need not worry about me falling behind with that one. Just because this update was so speedy, I'm afraid that may not mean they all will be, like they have with my other LXG fic. There aren't quite so many owies in this update, but hopefully enough to... wet your appetite? Thanks for checking back, and I look forward to your feedback.
Update List: So far, on this fic's update list (via e-mail), I have got angelic katty and MJ Rosemary. Additions to this list are always welcome. Just let me know, and I'll be glad to take your name down.
* * *
Though he was never one to snoop, unless it was absolutely necessary or downright intriguing, Rodney Skinner, gentleman thief, found it very difficult to resist nosing around what Nemo had been doing. Of course, after he'd found out the reason for what the man had been doing, Skinner's own appetite had plummeted and altogether vanished in a heartbeat.
Mina had been hungry... and not in the way Skinner quite often craved a steak or something of the sort. Of course, a steak wasn't far off what Mina had been given, although he supposed one would be closer in describing it as a bloody slab of raw meat.
His stomach churning, he made his way back to his cabin for a good stiff drink, trying not to think about the way he had seen the beautiful vampire woman tear into the meat... of course, he failed, and soon was pouring himself a good measure of scotch to take away the feeling of nausea.
With a satisfied gulp, he managed to down half of the liquid, and felt it numbing him already. Drink, supposedly, on an empty stomach was never a positive thing, but Skinner was glad for the chance to get absolutely intoxicated as soon as possible after seeing that display.
But then again, what had he expected? Cutlery, a napkin, etiquette? She was a starving, deprived vampire for goodness' sake. He shouldn't have expected anything other than what he had seen.
Sighing, he slouched himself in an armchair he had managed to persuade good old Nemo to give him, and held his glass in his hand, taking a hold of his black wide-peaked trilby in the other from the table nearby and proceeding to spin it leisurely. He resisted the urge to whistle with newfound contentment.
* * *
Furrowing his brow deeply at the apparent failure, he set down his papers and leaned back in defeat at his desk. He removed his pocket watch that dangled as ever from his waistcoat, and perused the hands as they ticked away the seconds.
Doctor Henry Jekyll had been trying for a good solid time now to try and rid himself of his brutish alter ego, Edward Hyde, who had, for many months, terrorised both England and the Rue Morgue in Paris. He regretted these crimes with every ounce of his soul, and wished for nothing more than to be free of that which he had burdened himself with foolishly.
"That's right, Henry, don't forget you're the one who started all of this," chattered the grating voice of the monster in his skull, and he slammed the small watch shut in his hand when he caught the ugly reflection in its glass face.
"Just leave me alone, Edward..." he started, heavy-hearted, "I'm in no mood."
With a chuckle, the brute persisted, "Of course you're in no mood. You never are in the mood, Henry. Of course, if you were to-"
"Don't even think about it. I'm not touching that vile stuff. And besides," he added with a somewhat triumphant smile, "I've already handed every single vial over to Nemo for safekeeping."
Henry was pretty sure that if Hyde had been a separate entity then, he would have smashed every single item in the room... including Jekyll himself. Glad that he wasn't, Henry tidied his papers, relieved that the other personality -he shuddered to think of it as another side of himself- was subdued for the time being, having fallen silent in his mind.
Left in peace, Henry stood from his desk, thoroughly exhausted from many hours spent wracking his brains over the papers he proceeded to tidy into separate files. Still nothing, after all his efforts. Was he condemned to live as two beings for as long as he continued to draw breath?
* * *
It was with a sudden intake of sharp breath that Tom Sawyer awoke, and his first instinct was to grab his guns... which he almost immediately realised was impossible. He tilted his head upwards, green eyes taking in the fact that his hands were shackled over him with short chains and tight cuffs to a pipe above. The chains themselves were no more than ten inches long, not allowing for much movement.
Looking around hurriedly to try and take in as much of his situation as possible before he attempted to formulate a plan to free himself -if it was possible-, Tom saw with a heavy heart that there was nothing else in the dimly lit room. A pair of lamps at the front and back of the room served to illuminate poorly, and he guessed that the place hadn't been cleaned for many months, if ever at all.
Given the slight slack in the chains that kept his hands locked overhead, Tom could move his feet slightly, and even marginally bend his knees. Thinking it over for a moment, and finally gritting his teeth, he drew his feet up entirely from the floor, trying to loosen the chains from the thick pipe above. He managed to dislodge an impressive amount of dust that caused him to cough, before he heard a key turn in the thick metal door set before him.
His boots hit the floor with a resounding thump, and he stared intently, waiting with breath held for someone to come through that opening. A silhouetted form could be made out simply standing, staring in at him with shaded eyes. He swallowed.
Were they mocking him by simply standing there... or were they trying to antagonise him into speaking? Whatever they were doing, the latter was what they achieved.
"Who's there?" He couldn't make out the form properly in the poor light, and he narrowed his eyes to try and help the problem. Needless to say, this was far from effective.
As a response, he received the sound of the form's footsteps entering the room further. He noticed something about their resonance at once, and felt his confusion double. A woman?
This was not the same young lady he had foolishly tried to help on the street. No, she was older, this woman, by many years. She was at least forty, if not slightly older, but her face betrayed her age and then some. She appeared as the kind of person who had seen too much in too short a time. She had ebony hair pulled back out of her face with pins that held it up in a bun that reminded him very much suddenly of Mina, and she glared at him as one would an insect with ice blue eyes.
He made to restate his question, but the sharp stabbing pain re-entered his head, and he gasped as he closed his eyes and threw his head back at the sudden intensity it reached.
"You will most likely come to understand very quickly," the woman was saying in a stern yet faraway voice, "that my dear friend Juliana often enjoys using her talents far too often."
Forcing his eyes to open, though it pained him, Tom saw the ghost of smile on the older woman's lips. He also managed to decipher, through the dishevelled bangs of blonde hair in his face, another form in the doorway. She stood stock still, her back rigid as though set with a pole, and her gaze intense upon him.
It was her... she was doing this to him.
With a slight inclination of her head, the woman succeeded in making Tom yell in pain again, and he lowered his head as if to show he was willing to listen to whatever they had to say. It didn't work, and the woman persisted in her... whatever it was that she was doing.
"Juliana..." muttered the first woman, and slowly the pain ebbed away like water trickling through a crack and disappearing, "patience. Let me say what needs to be heard, and then you can continue."
Then I hope this takes a long time, Tom found himself thinking, grateful for the lapse in the agony.
"My name is Amelia Kendrick," the first woman informed him, standing before him defiantly with a clear English accent, almost proud. "Juliana Shaw is an associate of mine, one of three. You have met one other... briefly." She smiled, though there was no happiness there. "My daughter, Elizabeth." Leaning closer to him only slightly, she added in a harsh whisper, "And what a fine lure she was for you, Special Agent Thomas Sawyer."
Tom's head snapped up to hers, and their eyes locked at once. How did she know who he was? How could she know?
What the hell is going on here? Whatever it was, he was becoming less comfortable by the second, and it had nothing to do with the shackling of his hands. These people could do things he had never seen or heard of before, even with his information out of the Secret Service, and this woman knew who he was... and what he was clearly, considering what she had called him.
"What are you?" The question had escaped him before he could rephrase it to sound less offensive, but it was too late. The woman in the doorway took it as an insult, and rewarded him swiftly with another jolt of agony.
The woman who had introduced herself as Amelia turned her head sharply to Juliana, and scowled. The pain stopped at once. He took a deep breath, and glanced to Amelia once again to see her gaze firmly back upon him.
"We are all unique in our own ways, Mr. Sawyer, as you will come to realise. Juliana is not to be taken lightly, I might add," Amelia divulged, her words slow and drawn out, as though she were concerned he might not understand. "That mistake once cost a man his sanity... I hear he didn't awaken from the coma for a number of months, and when he did; there was little he could remember. Juliana had destroyed too much of his mind to salvage."
The cold honesty in her eyes sent another shiver down Tom's spine, and he glanced to the woman Juliana hesitantly. She looked in a trance, lost in her own universe. It only served to unnerve Tom further.
"My daughter... well, I will leave that for you to discover on your own," Amelia continued, sounding almost bored with her explanation now. "My final companion in this is one Gregory Wright. I expect he'll be along any moment."
Juliana stepped out of the doorway then to permit another figure entry, and they stepped over the threshold with a kind of stride and presence that reminded Tom of a predator. It was ever wary, but eager, as if yearning for the kill. Deep brown eyes took only moment to look him over, and then his lean face travelled to Amelia. This had to be Gregory Wright. His head of black hair served only to bring up the memory of the insufferable Dorian Gray, though this man's was shorter and absent of even the slightest curl. It hung on his brow and around his ears limply. There was a keen edge in his voice as he said, "I see our... 'guest', is awake, dear Amelia."
"Indeed he is, Gregory," Amelia responded, confirming Tom's suspicion of the other man's identity. "I thought you had forgotten all about us."
Though their words sounded affectionate and perhaps flirtatious, when their eyes met there was nothing there, a void between them that confused. They seemed to only suffer each other, not exist peacefully. Tom wondered what had transpired between the two when the brown eyes of Gregory fell upon him once again so suddenly that it made Tom start.
A smile crept onto the other's face as he edged toward Tom, and despite himself and the fact that he knew it to be useless, he tried to creep back and away from the eerie gaze. The grin was almost manic now, as he reached a hand into his grey overcoat and withdrew an object that gleamed in the pale light.
Tom clenched his fists when realisation set in. He glanced between the three rapidly, and then rested his green eyes resolutely back upon the flawless blade of the stiletto in Gregory's scarred hand.