Author's Note: Thanks to those who read and reviewed Part One, and I'm glad you seemed to enjoy it. Here's the second part, and I thank you for your patience.

Huck and Tom both shot bolt upright in their beds at the sound of the scream, the latter nearly tumbling right onto the floor with the vehemence of his waking. Their eyes were wide, and as one, they look to each other, and then bolted out of bed, swiftly dressing and grabbing their weapons before hurrying out the door, even as another scream sounded… though it cut short.

They charged out of their hotel, coats flying out behind their legs as they ran swiftly in the direction of the screams, the two modified Winchester repeater rifles held in their hands as they moved. The weapons were identical, but prized to each agent, with a silver dollar in the stock of each. There was fine etch-work on the firing chambers, and to even the untrained eye, the guns were cared for meticulously. Polished and cleaned almost religiously, the two treated the weapons almost like extensions of their own arms rather than weapons.

Skidding around the corner of one of the streets, nearly slamming into one another and a carriage, they apologised hastily to the irritated driver and his startled horse, before shooting off again, slowing to a halt at an alleyway. There were noises from within…

Tom's heart beat madly in his chest, his eyes slightly wide at first, and then narrowing as he listened keenly. He looked curiously to Huck, and as one, they cocked the rifles as quietly as possible. With only a moment's further hesitation, they levelled them and stepped into the alleyway.

They could see the definite silhouette of someone against the wall, with another figure before them. They were close in proximity to one another, but there was a frightening limpness to the first – and clearly female from the skirts – body; the way the arm seemed to sway lifelessly beside the body as the man moved slightly. It seemed he either hadn't heard their entrance, or cared very little. He barely flinched, even with the two guns pointing at him.

"Whoever you are, step away slowly," Huck commanded, "and raise your arms."

Tom kept his eyes firmly on the target. It was undoubtedly a man. The build and height was unmistakable, and there was a power in the limbs that women were not known to have; this was obvious from the almost effortless way he kept the motionless body aloft as if she were standing of her own accord. Tom swallowed a little nervously, but steeled his resolve and commanded his nerves to follow suit. After a few moments, they obeyed.

The man made no move to obey Huck, which only irritated the older spy. Tom knew Huck well enough to know that his patience – while it was still rather expansive – was only a temporary affair. It would soon run out.

"Put her down," Huck practically growled, and Tom knew that if he hadn't have already done it, the shorter agent would have cocked his rifle as an extra incentive. Tom stayed quiet as usual, letting his partner do the verbal work. He simply kept his weapon perfectly trained on one of the man's shoulders should he try to escape. Tom didn't want to kill him; only impede.

With a somewhat dramatic sigh, the head of the man turned and lifted, and Tom thought he heard a kind of dripping noise… perhaps even a sucking sound, and as the eyes gazed in their direction… there was an unmistakeable glint. Tom furrowed his brow.

Trick of the light, he told himself quickly, and tightened his grip on his weapon as the man stared. It was rather unnerving, with that gaze boring into them as it was, and for a moment, he almost hesitated, feeling Huck by his side.

"Put her down, you say?" the man asked, and there was a noticeable lilt to his voice that suggested a European accent, though Tom couldn't place it. It seemed rather gentle, even suave… but carried an undertone of a sinister nature. "Very well…"

And with that, the man heaved the body and hurled it at the two agents. They shouted in surprise, and the woman's lifeless form struck them and they stumbled back to the ground, scrambling out from under the body at once, and looking to her to see if she was alive.

There was no chance. She was as pale as death, and she had the wounds in her throat. She was dead. Tom looked up. The man chuckled throatily, and then briskly made his exit down the alley.

"Go after 'im!" Huck cried, still detaching himself from the body of the young woman.

Tom nodded abruptly, and scrambled to his feet, bolting down the alleyway, following the noises and trying to find the murderer. There was a distant laugh, and when he looked up, the man was silhouetted against the rooftops now, laughing dryly down at the spy, who lifted the barrel of his rifle, and fired a shot.

Somehow – he knew his aim had been perfect – the shot went wide, and the man was unscathed. Whilst Tom was trying to find how the criminal had made it up to the rooftops, there came a mad screeching, and the fluttering of wings. He looked up, only to see a swarm of bats hurtling towards him. With a yell, he threw his arms over his head and doubled over, instinctively protecting his face and eyes from the small claws and teeth that tried to scrape at him. He felt them brush his hand, and winced slightly, but before long, they were gone, and he tentatively brought his head up, surprised and confused at the sudden and unexpected feral attack.

Tom quickly turned his gaze back up to the building's top… only to find the man was gone. Cocking his head and narrowing his eyes in bemusement, he looked left and right, finger never far from the trigger should he need to defend himself in a hurry.

But the man had disappeared.

Grumbling to himself, and thoroughly disappointed he had lost his target, he trudged back to meet up with Huck, who had gotten the attention of the local patrol, who were now on the scene and looking down at the body of the latest victim. With a sigh, he shook his head at Huck, who frowned.

"We'll get 'im next time," Huck promised with what would have been a mischievous light in his eyes had it not been for the dead woman at their feet. Tom looked down at her sorrowfully, and even a little guiltily, and then remembered his hand, when he felt the stinging. It was bleeding a little, and he quirked a brow.

"Bats aren't native to New York, are they?" he asked of no one in particular, noticing he received one or two odd looks for his seemingly out-of-place comment. He threw an apologetic gaze at them, and appreciated it when one of them told him the animals weren't normally seen, and if they were, it was rarely.

Keeping it to himself until they got back to the hotel, Tom wondered why there was suddenly a massive cloud of them. There was no other way to describe it.

He had never seen anything like it.

Back at the hotel, now well into the early hours of the morning, Huck was sitting on the end of his bed, too alert to sleep; too busy thinking about what had happened a while ago to close his eyes and keep them that way. The sun was starting to rise on the distant horizon, and in a little over an hour, it would be light out. He turned his pocket watch over and over in his hand, and glanced to his left, where Tom lay with his back to Huck, seemingly asleep.

Without saying anything, Huck couldn't confirm his suspicions that the younger spy was awake also, so he just let Tom lie there, whether he was asleep or otherwise. The medical examiner had kindly bandaged Tom's cut hand with light gauze, puzzled over the presence of wild bats in the city, and in such a number as Tom had been forced to describe when asked about the light wound. He claimed he hadn't seen a weapon on the murderer, so everyone was a little thrown as to what could have happened.

Tom hadn't seen a weapon… neither had Huck. Either the murderer had been able to hide the blade so quickly they hadn't even seen it catch the light – like it had with the man's eyes – or he… really hadn't had one. But if he didn't have a blade, then what the hell had torn out the throats of the victims?

Huck groaned quietly, and strode softly over to the window after rising from the bed. As he moved past Tom, he looked down at him briefly, seeing that his friend was actually asleep… either that or he was pretending effectively. Then again, Tom Sawyer was a master of deception, so it could very well have been possible that he was awake and faking it.

Staring out of the window, he noticed there were a few people starting to wander the streets, off to start early jobs or simply walking around to fill time wherein they couldn't sleep, perhaps. Whatever the reason, Huck found himself watching the skyline. Tom had mentioned the man ended up on the rooftops somehow, and that was where he had lost sight of him.

Maybe when Tom woke up – if he was actually asleep; if he was, Huck was reluctant to wake him – Huck could get more sense out of him…

Tom looked to Huck, holding the coffee in his hands, and the toast in the other. It was a little after nine, and he felt somewhat guilty for sleeping in as he had. He was normally up around eight, if not before. He guessed that was Aunt Polly's influence sticking with him.

"We went over this," he sighed, eyeing the crisped bread, and wondering if he really had the appetite to eat it or not. After seeing that poor woman the night before, he was less than hungry. "I told you what happened."

"So tell me again," Huck urged gently. "It can't hurt to be clear on these things, can it?" He was browsing the daily articles once again, the report on the murder the previous night sketchy at best. Details had been – he guessed purposefully – missed, and there was little in the way of clarification. Luckily though, they hadn't been mentioned. They weren't here to get noticed by the press. It might complicate things if they got pursued by nosey civilians or reporters wanting a good story.

With another sigh, and a sip of coffee, Tom went over everything he could remember in full, careful not to miss anything out. He ensured to clarify all the details, and when he was done, he looked Huck square in the face. To the outsider, it may have appeared Huck hadn't been paying attention, when in reality, it was all a mask. Huck had heard every word clearly and exactly, and was calculating, as was his way.

"Right." Huck closed the paper, and eyed Tom in return, even as the younger spy laid the toast back on its plate, mostly untouched. Still holding his coffee in his unharmed hand, he looked back to his partner and friend, waiting for the continuation that he knew was coming; "So what do you make of it all?"

"What do you make of it?" Tom countered with a slight smirk and a laugh, though it wasn't wholly humoured. "You're the one who wanted me to go through it all again for clarification."

"Well…" Huck began, carefully, as if contemplating at great length before a shrug heaved his shoulders up and down. "I can't make heads or tails of it."

Tom rolled his eyes, and put his coffee on the small table, before lazily slumping back on the bed. He bounced very slightly, and stared up at the ceiling, quietly going over the details in his mind.

I can do this… I'm Tom Sawyer. I solved a crime when I was seventeen. What makes this one so different? With a frown, he cocked his head slightly. There's no weapon… that's what's got you puzzled, ain't it? Well… let's think this through. What did you see? What did you hear? Think.

So he did. As thoroughly and vehemently as he could at nine in the morning, wracking his brains for clues and hints as to–

He sat up slowly on the bed, brow furrowed as if he didn't believe what he had come upon for himself. Huck seemed to notice, and took interest, eyeing his partner with curiosity and intrigue, eyebrows raising just a fraction in query. Tom simply sat there for a while, before he shook his head, laughed wryly and somewhat darkly, mumbling, "Nah… it's stupid. No way. It's not possible." He stood from his bed, and paced around, ending up staring out the window at the daily rush down below.

"Are you gonna keep me in suspense or do I have to guess?" Huck grumbled teasingly, and chuckled lightly.

Tom kept staring. He had heard stories; after all, he had grown up on the Mississippi, running around with some of the more 'colourful' characters in the area of Missouri, and he had heard quite a wide variety of tales.

But… c'mon, really…?

His musings were cut short by the pillow that thumped into the back of his head, making him start, and grumble out, "Hey…" as he turned, laughing quietly at the mischievous impatience of his friend. Huck pulled a face that screamed 'well?' and Tom realised he had no choice but to voice his suspicion, no matter how far-fetched it might be.

"All right, but don't laugh, and don't say I didn't warn you how… strange this sounds." He felt a little awkward all of a sudden, as if he were on show with his opinions about to be thrown out in the open for scrutiny.

Huck settled on the bed as if he were preparing for a good old fashioned bedtime story, and Tom regarded him for a moment before he started to pace pensively, breaking into the beginnings of his far-fetched explanation, "Okay… you remember when we were about fifteen, and Ben Rogers stole that book from Mr. Spencer's house–"

"Though he says he didn't steal it…"

"Huck."

"Sorry." With a light shuffle and a clearing of the throat, he nodded. "Continue."

Tom almost laughed, and persisted as urged, "Anyhow… that book, if you remember, had been found in the library, and taken away on account of what was in it. All sorts of myths and legends about demons and 'blasphemous' creatures. I remember folks nearly had a heart attack when they heard about it."

Huck chuckled quietly, and nodded in recollection.

"I just got to rememberin' some of the legends in that book for some reason as I was lyin' there, and… I can't help but think about one in particular." Looking to his friend meaningfully, he pressed on, voice darker and somewhat ominous at the edges as he said, "Creatures that tore into the throats of their victims; human in appearance save for the disguise of bats, with red eyes and fangs. Drinking the blood of the living, they carried on some poor semblance of life themselves."

Huck furrowed his brow, and leaned forward on the bed somewhat, looking his friend in the eyes squarely as he began hesitantly, "You're… not suggesting… what I think you are… are you?"

Tom sat opposite the older spy, and looked right back at him sternly. "Think about it, Huck… the victims and their identities. They weren't anyone important, who'd be missed. They were lowlifes if you consider some of the people around here. The way their throats were torn… it all makes sense." Shaking his head gloomily, Tom persisted heavily, "Huck… a vampire."

Huck let out a slow and long breath. Eyes still narrowed, brow somewhat crinkled, he looked back to Tom and murmured a hasty; "You're sure?"

Tom knew he always had Huck's confidence in decisions, but he realised why this one was causing him so much trouble. "As sure as I can be. I mean… a vampire? I don't know about you, but I've never even given 'em a second thought outside of stories and tales around camp fires at night, but… the way he got onto that roof, and vanished in that cloud of bats. I can't think of anythin' else to explain it, Huck."

After a while, his partner nodded. "You're right. There's nothin' else to cover all of it." Cocking his head and looking uncomfortable, he seemed rather conscious of something all of a sudden. "So now what do we do? Like you said, we've never seen a vampire before, let alone faced one."

Tom stood from his perch again, and walked around the bed, looking out the window, wracking his brains for anything in that old book the 'Tom Sawyer Gang' had read through night after night that might be of some use to them now. "Stakes through the heart; chopping off the head… garlic; holy water; crucifixes and crosses. That's all I can remember."

"Well it's a heck of a lot more than I remember, Tom, so it's worth quite a bit," Huck chuckled wryly.

Suddenly Tom turned from where he had been standing, gazing out the window, and his eyes were slightly wider. "Huck… I kinda wish I hadn't, but I just remembered somethin' else." Before his friend could say anything, Tom continued, "The whole part about a vampire 'turning' another; making another vampire. The fifth victim! Her neck! It wasn't torn like the others. They were neat bite marks."

Huck's realisation set in fast, it seemed, and his eyes widened as well. "Oh, this ain't good, Tom… this is bad. If you're right, this is bad…"

"We've gotta get down there and check the body."

Huck nodded, and was already reaching for his coat by the time Tom had finished his sentence.

To Be Continued…