To StarDaPanda225: Anne is an amazing friend! I kind of based the relationship between Bri and Anne on my mom's relationship with her college roommate – so close they're basically sisters.

To yellow 14: Thanks! I'm definitely trying for "real" with the relationship dynamics.


Two nights later, on Sunday evening, Felix activated the portal to Iron Maiden's workshop just after eleven and jumped through, Barkk hovering by his head. He had spent all weekend holed up in his room poring over all the information they had on the Ripper, though without any new insights – not that he could handle any more bombshell realizations like the last one. The weather had taken a turn yesterday, with the fog giving way to an intense rain that beat on the roof tiles in a sharp staccato and poured down in sheets. The rain had not let up for over a day, leaving Felix in a foul mood. The only silver lining to the rain was that, over the entire course of his reign of terror, the Ripper had shown himself to be hesitant to strike during rainstorms. That, coupled with his attack on Iron Maiden and the other girl the night before, had left Felix reasonably certain that Saturday would be free of Ripper activity.

Unfortunately, he couldn't be so certain about Sunday.

The rain had cleared just after suppertime, though the clouds remained, hanging thick over the city and cutting out any light from the stars or moon. Felix stepped carefully around a puddle outside the workshop and jogged a few blocks north, away from the Strand.

"What's the plan tonight?" asked Barkk, munching on a strip of dried beef, her head poking out of Felix's jacket pocket.

He scoffed dourly. "Find the goddamn Ripper. Rip out his goddamn throat."

"I can get behind that," Barkk agreed, polishing off her snack and nodding that she was ready.

Felix transformed, the light leaving spots in his vision after the pitch darkness of the alley. He took a running start and launched himself into the air to land on the roof of the closest building, a single-story house. Running up the angled roof he nearly slipped on the wet tiles, only catching himself at the last minute by looping his leash around the chimney stack. He pulled himself up to the top of the roof, ran straight along the ridge, and jumped to the next building. The city seemed subdued tonight, only a handful of people visible on the streets. The headlights of the few cars on the road cut through the darkness, one of the only sources of illumination available with the low clouds. The Hound looped his leash around a traffic light and swung himself across the street, angling southeast, doubling back toward the Strand to skirt along the outer edge of the area he had identified as the Ripper's most recent killing ground.

How different from the last time he went out on patrol, when he and Iron Maiden were together, bantering over their communicators and having as much fun as they could under the circumstances. But now he was on his own – and with no one but himself to blame. Even though his mother was always available for support, she was sitting at her desk at the Manor, not right there with him.

"How does it look out there, dear?" his mother asked over the communicator.

"Dark and dreary," he reported, scrambling up the side of an apartment building just north of the King's College campus and walking around the edge of the roof, peering out over the city. Apart from a handful of clubs still open in defiance of the new curfew order, the city was dark, not a light to be seen. "But it's London, so what would you expect?" He frowned. "Even with a smaller area to search, I still haven't a clue how to find this bastard. Or even how I'm supposed to cover a five-kilometre square all by myself."

His mother sighed heavily. "Just do the best you can. The Heroes of Paris can't stop every crime in Paris by themselves, and they have an enormous team from which to draw."

"And my mistake cost me my teammate," he finished bitterly, staring off into the distance toward the river barely visible beyond the college buildings.

"You don't really know that."

The Hound let out a humourless snort. "We both know I'm right."

A sigh. "Give her time," his mother advised sympathetically. "After what she went through…"

"Not exactly helping," he muttered, more to himself than to her. A flash of light to the east drew the Hound's eye, a faint yellow glow giving oblique illumination to the clock tower of an imposing stone building along Chancery Lane. However, looking more closely he realized it wasn't coming from the clock tower itself but from somewhere behind the clock tower. The Hound raced across the apartment building roof and leapt out into space on the north side of the building, tossing his leash behind him to loop around a protrusion from the roof. He dropped about halfway down the building before the leash pulled taut and stopped his descent. With a swing to gain momentum he ran along the wall and jumped off to the next building along the Strand, landing and rolling to his feet without losing momentum. From there he continued east along the rooftops, making his way steadily toward the light. Gothic revival in aesthetic, the roof studded with tall thin towers, the building dwarfed the rest of its block and stood just inside the boundaries of the City of London. The Hound caught his leash around one of the towers, flipped himself up to land on the building's roof, and picked his way around the clock tower toward the light. Finally he stood at the edge of a glass dome on the east side of the building, staring down at floor upon floor of bookcases lining the walls of a circular room. On the bottommost floor was a single lit desk lamp. No other lights were on in the building. "What is the building I'm standing on?" he asked his mother.

"I believe that's one of the King's College libraries," she answered after a couple minutes of silence.

He frowned. "There's a light on inside."

"Just one?" She hummed. "Perhaps someone just forgot to turn it off when they left."

The Hound hummed. "Probably…" With a sigh he turned away from the dome and looked down into the building's garden, only to see a man in long dark robes standing there, staring up at him. The man flicked his wrist, and something whistled through the air. The Hound moved his head to the side moments before a cord spun past his neck. A pair of metal balls struck the clock tower behind him and ricocheted off the stone. The Hound caught his leash on the edge of the roof and rode it quickly to the ground, not taking his eyes off of the man's face.

"Miraculous abuser!" The robed man's eyes lit up maliciously, his lips curled into a smirk. He withdrew a quarterstaff from his back and twirled it once, letting it rest against the back of his arm.

"I suppose I don't need to ask what your deal is," the Hound observed, raising an eyebrow.

His communicator cut in. "Who's there?" his mother asked. He winced at the distraction.

"I take it you've met a Dark Acolyte before." From close up his robes appeared purple, the colour of dark wine.

"Once or twice." The Hound spun his leash to one side, sizing up his opponent. "I wasn't impressed."

"Call me 'the Vicar'," the man told him, dropping into a fighting stance. "Since the Prior has been so ineffectual against the miraculous abusers in Paris, I've been dispatched to Europe to… finish what he cannot. And where better to start than with the single miraculous abuser in London?"

The Hound narrowed his eyes darkly. "You may find that to be an im-paw-sible task."

"We shall see, then, won't we?" The Vicar strode forward at an easy pace, cutting the distance between them in half.

Once he had stepped off of the grass and onto the cobblestones, the Hound sprang into action. With a yell, he lunged forward, throwing his leash out as a lasso, aiming to loop it around the Vicar's hand. The Vicar raised his staff and the leash wrapped around it instead, before the Vicar tugged. The Hound planted his feet and pulled back, almost jerking the staff out of his hand before the Vicar angled it and allowed the leash to slip off. In the same motion, he withdrew a wad of chi-putty from his sleeve and flicked it at the Hound, who dove to the side to avoid it. A second glob of chi-putty struck the ground centimetres from his hand as he landed and pushed off into the air, contorting his body to narrowly avoid a bolas wrapping around his middle. In midair the Hound threw his leash to land on the ground in front of the Vicar, who stepped on the end. The Hound pulled, drawing him off-balance, and landed on his feet right in front of the Vicar, spinning around to aim a kick at his head. Avoiding the kick, the Vicar dropped to the ground and swept the Hound's planted foot out from under him. The Hound fell through a backward flip, narrowly avoiding more chi-putty in the process, and sprang back to gain space.

He frowned. The last time he had faced Dark Acolytes had been in Paris with Adrien and his friends, and in the end he'd gotten struck with their chi-putty and taken out of the fight temporarily. He couldn't ask his mother to help him out of this if that happened again – she would be no match for a Dark Acolyte in a straight fight. This was why the Heroes of Paris had urged him to find a partner – preferably one who didn't use a miraculous. This was why he needed Iron Maiden. With a wince, he hit a button on the leash's handle, sidestepping a punch from the Vicar as he did so.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to talk to you," she growled the moment the call connected.

"So… do you remember me telling you about those Dark Acolyte blokes?" he asked, ducking another punch and striking the Vicar in the side with an open palm. The Vicar stumbled away but swung his staff back, nearly catching the Hound in the side of the head. "You know, the guys who are obsessed with murdering miraculous users?"

"Not interested."

"But, Iron Maiden–"

"Don't 'But, Iron Maiden' me, Mutt! After the weekend I had, I'm not about to run out after another bad guy." The line clicked.

The Hound ducked beneath the Vicar's next kick, bobbed around behind him, and punched him twice in the lower back. The Vicar fell forward, landed on his hands, and allowed his momentum to pull him through a tumble and back to his feet. The Hound sighed. In a way, he really couldn't blame Iron Maiden for not wanting to come out here. When he'd fought with the others to rescue XY, he'd gotten injured himself, and it was only after Ladybug had repaired everything that he had even been able to bend his wrist without pain. And that was just a wrist; he couldn't imagine what Iron Maiden had to be feeling right now – both from what the Ripper had done and what he had threatened to do. All because he had allowed a psychopath to escape.

Unfortunately, that still left him all alone out here against a Dark Acolyte. Since his mother didn't have a miraculous this weekend, that also meant he couldn't expect assistance from a senti-guard, either. And if he got hit and needed Pegasus to portal someone in to rescue him, Adrien (or more likely Chloe) would never let him hear the end of it.

The Vicar threw another bolas that skipped across the ground at his feet, and the Hound sprang away from it, contorting his body on instinct to avoid the chi-putty which the Vicar threw at the spot where he would have landed. Before he could touch the ground again, he looped his leash around the closest streetlight and gave a tug, launching himself into the air, over the trees, and away from the fight.

"We'll have to do this again," he called behind him. "Next time you won't spot me coming! I'll pound you into the ground! It'll be ruff!"