To Lyger 0: Remember, just because you don't think things can get worse, doesn't mean they can't!

To Butterfly: In his defence, the Vicar is more interested in killing him than innocent women. And miraculous users are at a severe disadvantage fighting Dark Acolytes.

To yellow 14: Nothing like a Dark Acolyte to make a difficult situation worse!

To StarDaPanda225: He was in rare form at the end there, wasn't he? Dark Acolytes are no joke, especially for a miraculous user?

To Cesar848: Thanks! Glad you caught up! I do try to work the Kwami/holder relationships into all of the stories, but one that focuses in more on that would be nice. I will give that some thought…


"You are mine. You will always be mine."

Bri stared up into the wild mane of windswept hair. The man leaned closer, his rancid breath reeking in her nostrils, and sank his sharply-pointed teeth into her cheek, pulling out a chunk. The world around her was nothing but swirling mist, dimly lit with cold blue light. Demonic red eyes bored into her very soul, laying her bare, even as the knife flashed and pierced her bare chest.

"N–no…"

"Struggle all you want, but you are weak. You cannot protect yourself from me."

"P–please."

Deeper the knife penetrated her, only stopped by her sternum. She could not move, could not fight, could not breathe. Agony. She was paralyzed by fear, cognizant of nothing but pain, even as the Ripper cut her chest open and wrenched it apart, just like he had done to the woman last week. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She tasted copper. She was sinking lower. The Ripper's grip tightened on her shoulder, angling for better leverage–

"Bri!"

She gasped. Her eyes opened wide. Sunlight streamed in through the window. Red hair and freckles filled her vision but quickly pulled back and disappeared as Bri shot bolt upright in bed. She could still feel the Ripper's knife against her chest. She reached down to touch the spot, sure that the hand would come away red and slick with blood. Instead she felt her pyjama top, and through it the bandages covering her still-healing cuts. No knife. She looked down at her blanket: it was drenched in sweat.

Anne sat on the edge of the bed, a relieved look in her eyes. "You're awake finally." She sighed. "Thank goodness."

Bri threw her arms around Anne in a hug, sobbing.

"Hey, it's okay, girl, you're safe," Anne soothed, rubbing small circles on her back. "It was a nightmare."

Bri sniffled, her eyes clenched tightly shut. Slowly she felt her heart rate slow, her breathing evened out. At long last she released Anne and leaned her back against the wall, hugging the blanket close. She forced herself to take in a slow, deep breath, hold it, and release it. It had all just been a dream. Finally she opened her eyes to find her flatmate staring at her with a sympathetic and worried look in her eyes.

"Welcome back," Anne told her, a small smile turning up the corners of her lips.

"Sorry I left." Bri glanced down at her wrist to check the time, only to realize that her wrist was bare. She still hadn't gotten used to not wearing her bracelets. Yes, they had saved her life over the weekend, but it was still a reminder of what had happened. It was still a reminder that she had nearly died, that she had only survived by pure luck. Even though her bracelets had started as nothing but a simple piece of wearable technology, they had changed over time to become something more, a part of her superhero identity – the key that operated her Iron Maiden suit. But what kind of superhero did it make her that she couldn't even protect herself? She swallowed hard. "What time is it?"

"A little after nine."

Bri's eyes widened. "Don't you have class now?"

Anne nodded. "I was just on my way out the door when I heard you," she explained, holding up her full book bag. "I figured that Clodius Albinus has waited a few centuries, so he can wait a little longer. Checking on you seemed a little more important this morning." She put a hand on Bri's shoulder and squeezed gently, giving her a sympathetic look. "Are you okay now?"

Bri nodded slowly, thought a minute, and shook her head regretfully. "No… I don't think I will be for a while," she admitted, studying the pattern on her blanket. "But I'm not going to panic again, at least not this morning." She looked up at Anne and forced herself to smile.

"You know, you really can call Ginny if you need to," suggested Anne, raising an eyebrow.

Bri scoffed and tried to hide her eye roll. Their Residence Welfare Lead meant well, but sometimes she came up with the most harebrained ideas. "I'll definitely do that," she responded, a bite to her tone.

Anne gave her a worried look but sighed, pushing herself up off the bed. "Okay…" she agreed hesitantly. "But you can call me if you need to – even if I'm in class."

"I know – I will," Bri promised. "Thanks."

Anne patted Bri's hand and smiled kindly. "Hey, what are sisters for?" she asked before leaving. The front door clicked a couple minutes later.

Bri was alone with her thoughts once more. She allowed herself a small smile, though it didn't last long in the deathly silence of the flat. Her first class was going to start at ten; if she was going to go, she would need to get up and dress sooner than later. But did she really want to sit for half the morning in Mathematics for Engineers and work on trigonometry? With a sigh she fumbled for her undamaged bracelet and typed out a quick message to the professor. She looked down at the bracelet and unclasped the back to slide it onto her wrist, only to pause when the cool metal touched her bare skin. Did she really want to wear these? Did she deserve to have these and claim to be a hero? For that matter, did they even really keep her safe? For all the features she had built into her bracelets, it had been a flaw, a shorting-out wire on a damaged bracelet, that had actually saved her. Not her skills. Not her design.

Finally she forced herself to stand up and stumble down the hall to the bathroom. She had taken three showers on Saturday – one after breakfast, another after her nap, and the final one before crawling into her bed that night – all in an effort to wash the grime off her body, to cleanse herself of the feeling of utter violation that had persisted all day on the edge of her consciousness. She had showered twice on Sunday, still to no avail. She could still imagine the Ripper's hands on her wrists, his knife slicing through her flesh. She could still taste his breath in her mouth, smell his odour infecting her nostrils. Bri stripped off her pyjamas and threw them in a pile in the corner of the bathroom before starting to peel the old bandages off her chest, leaving the one covering the deeper cut in her side alone. Most of her other cuts had proven to be superficial and had already scabbed over. She traced a finger along the longest cut, an angry red line running from her collarbone all the way down to her hips, neatly bisecting her chest. At least a few of these were almost certain to scar. If she ever wore a bikini again – or even a shirt with a moderately-low neckline – the scars would inevitably raise questions. So even thought the Ripper hadn't taken her life or raped her, he still had taken something from her in that attack.

The scalding hot water showering down over her back slowly turned to lukewarm and then tepid as Bri sat in the tub basin, hugging her knees and allowing her tears to flow freely. Even after the water had grown cold and she started to shiver, still she couldn't bring herself to move – or even to turn the water off.

It was after lunchtime before Bri finally left the bathroom, dressed, threw a sweatshirt over her head, and forced herself to go outside. The sun hid behind a thick layer of clouds, leaving the world with a grey pallor. She hugged the sweatshirt close and considered her next action. She did have her Design class that afternoon – one of her favourites this term. But that meant seeing other people. That meant questions from her classmates about her absences this week. And the prospect of going to class and being around a lot of other people still left a hollow feeling in her stomach. She turned right to trace the familiar path to her workshop – but froze. She would be alone there. She had been attacked while leaving the workshop. Did she really want to walk past the spot where she had nearly died less than 60 hours before?

Finally she turned left to walk to the library. Anne normally went there after classes on days she didn't work. It would be quiet, but there would still be other people around, so she wouldn't have to be alone. Bri set a brisk pace, shying away from the strangers around her on the sidewalk, until she reached the library. Her stomach growled, and she frowned: she hadn't actually eaten anything for dinner the night before, and she has missed both breakfast and lunch already today. Downstairs at the library she visited the Rolls Cafe, ordered a bacon sandwich and tea, and found a seat in the corner where she could watch the door. The vent below her feet blew cold air up her jeans onto her legs, and she shivered. She was just about to leave when Anne walked in. Bri started; was it already after four? On picking up her drink from the counter, Anne glanced over at her, raised her eyebrows in surprise, and immediately walked over to join her.

"You're out of the flat!" Anne observed with a smile, dropping her bag on the floor, placing a book on the table, and claiming the chair across from Bri. "I was beginning to wonder."

Bri chuckled humourlessly. "I figured I had to leave at some point," she replied. She glanced down at the book. "More research?"

Anne nodded sheepishly. "Last one, I swear!"

"Didn't you say that, like, fourteen books ago?"

She shrugged. "I can't help if they just don't put all the information in a single book," she defended. "Everything I've read up to now has approached the history from the Roman perspective, but this book actually uses some Celtic sources."

"So what do the Celts have to say for themselves?" Bri asked. It was nice to talk about something else, something different. So many of her thoughts and conversations over the last three days had centred exclusively on the Ripper. Maybe some ancient history would help to distract her from the recent history.

"There aren't too many sources to draw from," Anne admitted. She thumbed through the book. "The Celts didn't leave a lot of written records, and the oral tradition was filtered through a Christian lens before it was written. To be honest I think the author might be giving the Celtic legends a little too much credit. But he thinks one of the early Celtic creation myths points to this area as sacred, that the reason it was unsettled at the time of the Roman invasion wasn't because it was a poor location – it wasn't – but because it was considered to be holy."

"Huh." Bri raised an eyebrow dubiously. "He thinks London was holy," she deadpanned. "He never actually visited London, did he?"

Anne snorted into her latte. "Like I said, I'm pretty sure he's pinning far too much of his argument on his own interpretation of that single legend." She turned to a map in the centre of the book that showed London after World War II with the Wall superimposed, spreading it on the table for Bri to see. "Still, that could explain why this section of London escaped the Blitz almost unscathed, given the Nazis' preoccupation with the arcane."

"This is starting to get a little too 'conspiracy theory'," Bri warned, laughing genuinely for the first time in days.

"Just because it's a conspiracy theory doesn't make it–" Anne froze, her eyes narrowing in confusion, and cocked her head to one side.

"Um…" Bri waved her hand in front of Anne's face, and she blinked. "What was that?"

"Don't you hear that?"

Bri furrowed her brows and held her breath, straining her ears. Nothing. She shook her head.

"You don't hear something pulsing?"

"No... not even a little bit. Where do you think it's coming from?"

Anne frowned. "I… can't pinpoint it," she admitted.

Bri shook her head ruefully and stood up. "Maybe it's time to head home: I think you've spent too much time in this library!"