Chapter XXXIII: An Inquiry of Blood Spatter

The next day…

Exile's Quarter. Whitechapel. 19th November 1899.

It was two in the afternoon. Nikolai Proshkov Andreev was earning his keep, seated on the edge of a metal washbasin, his hand clamped around a rusty old lamp in need of fuel. There were sounds around him. Steam whistling, the clank and clatter of machinery, the hum of a society swallowed by trains. For just over a week now, he had lived in Exile's Quarter, helping where help was needed, doing what needed to be done. He shared a bunk with three others, his few possessions kept in a trunk without lock or key. Like all the exiles, he had been given a scent card, his name scrawled on the back, the material instilled with a scent for which he did not have the nose. That scent was the only thing stopping the street-lycans from mauling his throat. Something that let him walk free on the streets of London…

…it also made certain the Blackmarks knew exactly where to find him. He heard footsteps entering the room. Cloth catch upon a nail, a curse before one of his visitors tore free and strode forward to stand behind him. Breathing down his neck the way she liked to do…

"Fancy yourself a killer, Andreev?" Her voice was non-descript. Monotone.

From farther below, a second voice piped up. "Yes. Fancy yourself a killer," the little one asked. High-pitched. Like glass shattering into a hundred pieces on the floor. The entire room going up in flames after a match struck the oil.

The screw came loose. He was awake. The dream had not happened yet. The match was still in his pocket. He continued to hold the glass in place, his free arm too far to reach the floor. "Please," he said politely, smiling down at them. "…for you to call me Kolya…" Lacking the word, he pointed at the item he wanted. "…and for you to hand me…da. Yes," he nodded as the little one picked up the canister. She gave him the fuel. "Thank you," he said. Paraffin oil.

The big one sneered in reply, pushing his tools off the basin edge. They clanked against the metal siding. "Did you hear what I said?"

"I hear, but I am not knowing what you mean." In the dream, he had taken Sarah Henderson from behind. A naked woman smelling of blood-alcohol, rolls of fat beneath her chin, his fangs digging through the flesh. "I work, I help. I am thinking this makes me friend, not criminal." Concerned to finish his work on time, he began pouring the paraffin into the lamp-hole.

"Mary Parker. Sarah Henderson," the big one whispered. "You murdered them. Left them on the street for the roster to find. But me and my lycans…we found 'em first. We own these streets. This is our territory, and we know what goes in and what goes out." She smiled, showing her missing teeth. "…but I like you, Andreev. Killin' your own kind don't faze you, does it? You a natural born talent…so I come here with a proposition." She tapped his cheek lightly, almost caressing it. "We keep your pretty face out of the mud…and in exchange, you give us a little income tax, if you know what I mean."

"There is no need for income tax," he said, pausing to think of the next word. Vasili had taught him enough English. "I have…how do you say it…strong alibi. They question me, but I have nothing to say. Nothing to remember for them."

"You have an alibi because we gave you one, Andreev. You might be able to fool the Blood-sweep …" She took hold of the scent-card around his neck and pulled, forcing him to lean down so his face was an inch from hers. Scars on her face. She smelled of soap. "…but you ain't foolin' me. You live because my Blackmarks let you live. One word from me, and your whole world comes crashin' down. No more clean-up. No more alibi. No more Exile's Quarter. You hear?" She let go of his scent-card and licked her teeth.

The lamp was full. He shrugged, screwing the cap back on, balancing the paraffin oil on his right leg. "So what is it you are wanting from me?"

"Just a finger," she said, holding up her hand and pointing. "My finger. I point, you kill. Any vampire in Exile's Quarter, any time, any place. Leave the body. We take care of clean-up and any money you find, you gives over to us. "

He frowned, mulling it over. He had killed over a hundred vampires in his lifetime. Council members, deathdealers, exiles, women, children…all of their blood and memories milling with his own. It did not make a difference if he killed more than he planned…only that he stayed true to his promise. The night before she left, she told him what would happen before she returned…and she made him promise: Help her heal. Find and feed her the blood that she needed. And above all, for a half year, be loyal to Mr. Itzhak…to Lucian.…

A promise made can never be broken.

"Da," he said to himself. "I do this for you, but I am needing something in return."

"We ain't giving you nothing, Andreev." The lycan spat to the side. "We take what we want and we…"

Before she could finish, he had knocked over the canister, the paraffin leaking onto the ground, coating the floor on which they stood. The match was out of his pocket, the tip of his fingers dry as he lit it, holding it above the floor. "We do business now."

"Holy mother of…" The large woman's mouth dropped open, her eyes gleaming off the flame. "…are you crazy? Tryin' to get us all killed!"

"Not crazy," he said. "…but I am needing something in return." The little one started to cry, but it was not something with which to concern himself. He did not do business in the same way that Vasili did. "When flame hits finger, I drop flame. We go up, business over." It was a centimeter from his finger.

"Business," the woman barked. "Now for God's sake, put it out!"

He blew on the match, taking another from the box, holding it ready to light. "Move and I light another one. You have access to the London Den?"

"Access?" She was looking behind her at the door. "I can get in, but…I'll tell you now, no Blood's getting' past security unless they're a prisoner." Stubborn, almost fearful panic entered her voice. "You a spy? You from the coven 'cause if you are, I ain't giving you a location. I might be a Blackmark, but that's about territory. Ain't giving you the Horde, and that's final…"

He shook his head. "Coven has been hunting me for many years now. I am not of coven." He indicated the ceiling above them. "You have heard of new exile living in Den, yes?"

She nodded grumpily, taking the little one's hand and pulling her close. "Yeah, I've heard of her."

"Good," he said. "…I will do as you say, but in half year, I am needing you to give her something from me." A promise made can never be broken. Vasili had broken his promise. He betrayed her…left her behind on the docks when she wanted so badly to flee with them. But Nikolai waited on the ship. For twenty years, he waited for her to emerge from Budapest…

…and now, finally, he would repay his debt.

o…o…o

Elsewhere. London Den. 8:23 pm

Having recently acquired a small sample of Reinette's blood, Lucian was now spattered in blood and contemplating changing his shirt, despite being already twenty minutes late to his meeting. Was cooperation in the name of science really too much to ask? A tiny vial of untainted blood, so Singe could start running some tests. And what the bloody hell kind of way to act was that? You'd think she'd be in a better mood after yesterday, but no…apparently he and his tiny vial were mistaken. He halted in the middle of the hallway, both the fixture and an epiphany shedding a fraction of light on his person. Perhaps he should have explained himself before drawing the knife, he wondered, looking out the window now, his hands behind his back. But then she could have asked…

"…and the screaming was just unnecessary," he muttered, half to himself and half to the moon.

He heard a squeak.

Turning, he saw a white-faced lycan maid, she and her feather-duster cringing at the far end of the hall, trying to look invisible. He could only assume this would start another rumour, but at this point, who cared? Rather than brush off the fact that he was covered in blood and talking to himself about screaming, he looked straight at her and grunted, "Well, it was," before stalking past her and pushing the library doors open. For all intents and purposes, the room had been turned into Scotland Yard, the oak tables covered in books, paperwork and two maps of London, one of them focused on the Whitechapel sector.

Men. That was exactly what he needed right now. Scanning the back of heads, he saw Raze in deep conversation with Arlington, the head of their law-enforcement. Singe was on the couch ignoring everyone. Pierce and Taylor were on the floor trying to look a bit more than useless by poring over newspapers. The untouched stack suggested the only one that interested them was the Illustrated Police News. There were four other men, but he saw no point in asking or remembering their names.

He cleared his throat loudly. "Report."

Arlington turned around, a bull of a man with probably the largest handlebar moustache this side of Britain. He looked surprised at the blood spattered nature of the lycan-master's shirt, but covered it quickly with a salute. "Sir. Good evening, sir. On behalf of all my men, I would like to say that it is a pleasure to be serving under you. Furthermore, I would like to thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to review our work."

Busy schedule. Exactly. Lucian crossed his arms. See, men knew how to treat a lycan-master, he thought, doing his visible best to show that he appreciated the long hours these men had invested probing the murders of two exiled vampires. No questions, no laughter. No backing into a corner when they realised what he was after. He was probably meant to say something, but then noticed Taylor staring at his shirt. Yes, he thought, staring right back at the man. I am a lycan attending a vampire-murder inquiry covered in fresh vampire-blood. Is that a problem?

Met with an increasingly long silence, Arlington looked at Raze and then coughed. "Well…uhm, yes, sir. To the point." With a wide swing of the arm, he ushered them all to the oak table, his stylus already aiming for the largest map of London. "Factoring in last night's information, we've already sent a day-patrol to Poplar High Street." Using the stylus, he indicated the area, and began circling key points along the street. "According to the residents, there were severe cases of arson committed here, here, here, and here, in the same week as the Blackmark Rebellion. We were able to narrow the number of cellars that survived, one of which contained evidence of a recent lycan presence."

"Evidence?"

"Scratches on the wall, sir. Bone shavings. I did the claw-rubbings myself." From his bag, he removed a tube of papers, unrolling them on the table. "As you can see, the nails vary in diameter…"

"Suggesting more than one lycan," Lucian murmured, peering at the markings, his hands behind his back. "Any blood-trace?"

"Piles of broken glass and ash, but no blood, sir. Mrs. Grimsby, however, wished us to know that she has seen some 'foul-looking folk' entering the premises and she would like us to look into the matter."

"Mrs. Grimsby?" Lucian raised an eyebrow. "I laud your sources, Arlington…but does she have a better description than foul?" How he longed for the day when mortals had a better word than 'foul' for street-lycans.

"I'm afraid not, sir. She's quite near-sighted." Arlington smiled winningly. "She thought I was her nephew at first."

"That would explain many things…" Not caring if he stepped on Pierce or Taylor, he picked up the Illustrated Police News from under their noses and flipped it onto the table so the front page was visible. Something about a hanging. Thievery. The usual. No news on the mortal front was good news. His next question was directed at Raze. "…any news on Stafford, McIlroy and Douglas?"

Always prepared, Raze opened a logbook, turning it around so Lucian could read the details. "They submitted to questioning, but all maintain they have had nothing to do with the Blackmarks since 1844. According to Horde Ruling 435, Section XII, we were not permitted to keep them longer than a half-morning, however, they have given us full access to their household accounts and properties."

"Singe?"

They all looked over their shoulders at the couch where Singe had staked his claim.

Singe looked up from his book, and then let out of a dry, raspy cough. This was the second time he had been dragged from his laboratory and he was not pleased about it…on the other hand, there was nothing Singe enjoyed more than demonstrating just how very needed he was in the grand schemes of the Horde.

"There is not much to tell," he said pessimistically. "Sodium hydroxide was poured over her neck, destroying any distinguishing features of the bite. Placement and angle support the theory of a human form, but whether lycan or vampire, I have yet to be convinced." He abandoned the book and opened the file he had brought with him, pulling out a small pile of papers. "The chest-cavity held two ounces of coagulated blood, implying that she did not have adequate time to absorb her last feeding. If residents of Exile's Quarter saw her eat at the evening meal, this would place the murder between a quarter after ten and midnight." He shuffled some more papers. "Due to the severity of her injuries, the head was partially severed, but according to that one there…" He used one of the papers to indicate Taylor who was looking mildly ill. "…the head was malleable, lending weight to the time of death. Do you have questions or may I continue?"

This thoughtful pause was one of the things they had discussed in the past, Singe's tendency to forget that he had an audience and Lucian interrupting with questions.

Lucian nodded. "Go on."

Singe furrowed his brow by an extra millimetre. "It would have been advantageous to have more than just Parker's scent-card to test against…" He paused as if to let his audience absorb the gravity of that situation. "…however, even with such paltry amounts, I was able to draw several conclusions from the comparison between Henderson and Parker's blood."

Lucian was used to Singe's not-so-very-subtle pride. "And?"

The lycan peered over his spectacles. "Henderson was considerably older than Parker, yet her file lists her age as eighty-one, accounting for only a year's difference. According to the same file, she suffered from anaemia and meningitis when she was first bitten, but again, there is no evidence of this."

"Suggesting what?" Rather than be impressed, Lucian was starting to lose sight of why they had called him here. On the other hand, it did make for a better evening than Jacqueline. "So she lied about her age…" He began flipping through more newspapers. "Women lie about their ages, Singe. That's what they do."

Frowning in what surely must be disappointment, Singe adjusted his spectacles. "Forgive my intelligence, old friend…but vast generalisation cannot account for the discrepancies in this file. Incorrect data presents an environment of hypotheses that may or may not be true." Incorrect data was like a silver bullet in the mind of Singe. His hand was almost shaking. "We could be leaping to conclusions that have no basis other than perceived fact. We must investigate. Determine conclusively why the victim provided false information at the time of her inception."

"Investigate, you say?" Unperturbed by this prospect and more concerned with moving on, Lucian flipped one of the pages in the logbook. "Very well…we will investigate." He was not really reading it anymore. "Raze," he murmured. "…how old is Allegra?"

For the first time that evening, Raze looked surprised. He did not seem to enjoy the sudden attention of nine men on the age of his mate. Frowning at Lucian, he grunted, "Three hundred and ninety-two."

"Really?"

The man squinted, suddenly smelling wary… "Yes."

"And the year she was changed?"

"1531."

"Excellent example," Lucian muttered, flipping another page as he did sums in his head. "So we have our current year, 1899 minus 1531. Subtract our answer from three-hundred and ninety-two, Allegra's perceived age, APA, and we get…twenty-four."

Raze nodded slowly.

Lucian looked around the room. "Can all parties agree that Allegra was twenty-four at the time of her changing? That she was born in the year 1507."

Everyone in the room, except for Singe, nodded.

"Then why, I ask you, is there a nude portrait of one Allegra de' Mori, dated 1510 and housed in the Dresden Old Masters Gallery? Why does the lycan registry officially mark her age as a series of crossed-out numbers followed by "not applicable"? I will tell you why…" He flipped the book shut. "…it is because women lie about their ages. End of story. Finish."

Disregarding Raze's glower, he stalked over to the chalkboard and started perusing some of the research. There was an entire tree dedicated to Finnegan, the last name being just that. Finnegan. No evidence yet to suggest a family. "Any leads on Finnegan?"

Raze gave a soft grumble. He had spent the night poring over the lycan registry. "None." He followed Lucian to the chalkboard. "Finnegan hanged himself on the 12th of November 1844. The registry lists him as unmarried, despite the birth of a stillborn daughter. He never wrote his last will, thereby leaving the Horde with an excess of 4000 pounds per annum at the time of his death."

"Stillborn? Do we have the mother's name on file?"

"No."

"Hmm…any household staff?" He was getting bored. Leaving the chalkboard, Lucian turned his head sideways and began scanning titles on the shelf. Madame Bovary. A General History and Collection of Voyages and Travels Volume I. Poems and Songs by Robert Burns. He wedged the last book from the shelf. Jules Verne's A Journey to the Interior of the Earth. No pages missing. Appropriate subject matter…Icelandic setting, science-fiction, adventures, cryptology…

Raze was still smelling offended. "Most of them relocated to Ireland after the rebellion, but we do have a list of names. We've already sent word to Dublin, but it will be at least a week before we hear back."

"Excellent…" Already distracted, Lucian put the Jules Verne book under his arm and grabbed four more for himself. Essays on Scandinavian Literature, A History of the Covens, Lycans of the North and his personal favourite, The Rise and Subsequent Fall of Lucian. At the door, he realised the entire room was still waiting for something. Orders. "…right, er…call me in about a week," he said. At the last minute, his hand went into his pocket. "Oh and Singe…test this, would you?" He lobbed the vial of Reinette's blood at the couch, trusting the man's lycan instincts to catch the item before it broke.

And with that, he left.

o…o…o

Getting on his knees, Taylor came a bit closer to the couch. "Is he always like that?"

"Can you shut it," Pierce grunted from the floor. He was just as pleased as Taylor to be allowed on the upstairs levels of the den, but far less willing to poke around with questions. "What the lycan-master says, we do. No two ways about it."

"Yeah but…" Taylor didn't seem to hear. "…is he always like that?"

Shaking the vial of blood, Singe looked at the boy. "Which part?"

"Well…" Taking this as an invite, Taylor got off the floor. "…it's like he's all there, but…" He paused not quite knowing how to say it. "…like you know the cogs are workin' really fast…and he's really brainy, but…"

"Distracted," Raze grumbled, dropping on the other side of the couch. It was a contrasting sight, the tiny Singe on one end and Raze taking up two seats on the other. "Did you…" His question was swallowed by a grunt of disgust. And then, "…did you know about that portrait?"

"Mmph…" Singe was already collecting his papers. "…Giorgione's Dresden Venus. Remarkable work. If the face and pose are to be trusted, history would indicate she sat for Titian as well. His Venus of Urbino."

Raze's eyes narrowed. "Could he not have mentioned that in private?"

"Past experience would say 'no'," Singe muttered. "…and yes, he is always like this."

"Not always," Raze grunted. Everyone in the room was now listening with rapt attention. Out of the entire den, it was safe to assume Raze and Singe knew more of the lycan-master's habits than anyone else. "It gets worse when he's about to drop someone."

"You mean Jacqueline," Taylor asked frankly. He was now staring at the headless bust sitting on the mantle. "Yeah, is he getting rid of her," someone in the back piped up. "About time," Arlington muttered, circling another house on the map.

"Oi," Raze growled. Safe to assume he had Lucian's back regardless of insult or injury. "Does it look like this is a social meeting? The lycan-master's business is his own. Now back to work."

They were about to do just that when the door opened again. Lucian entered, still blood spattered and still with the books in his arms. He paused, sniffing the air, and then aimed for the map drawer. He no longer seemed to notice the stares following him. Putting the books down for a moment, he started sliding drawers open and shut, muttering as he did. "…Iceland, Iceland, Iceland…" A minute later, he grunted, "Hah." Pulling the map out, he rolled it up and added it to the stack of books. Balancing it all, he kicked the drawer shut and was halfway to the door when he stopped. "Did I miss something?"

Raze was not smiling. "Like what?"

"Like why you all smell like a pack of naggering old women, that's what." He was simultaneously trying to open a book and back out of the library doors. "Anyway, call me when you make progress. Oh and, uh…" Looking exceedingly suspicious, he paused one more time. "…Taylor, if you touch that bust, I will kill you."

The door closed.

His finger about an inch from the bust, Taylor opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, Raze cut him off. "Yes, Taylor," he said grimly. "…he is always like that and don't touch the bust."

Taylor shut his mouth. They got back to work.

A/N: Long time no see...hope everyone enjoys the latest chapter. Many thanks to Celtic Aurora, Sheen, Epilachna, keili77, Mackenzie, Jen Rock, FemmeFatality, Mackep, Cylia, Pure S. Rose, dreamdemon4, JuliettaBlade, and PureAngelEyes for the reviews, favourites, and story alerts! As always, feel free to read and review.

Celtic Aurora: Moral of the story, never tie down a lycan-master. (Love that slant, although there is another element to the story intimated by Reinette's puns...originally, in my head, Mme. Durand had tied one of Lucian's arms to herself, so when he threw her out of the window, he was forced to take the same trip himself.)

Sheen: Thanks! More to come :)

Epilachna: Reinette definitely prefers a few bottles of wine (as will be seen in a few chapters when Lucian realises Reinette has a few "habits" of her own.) Addressing the concern about the effects of blood, bloodseers only get sick and see visions when they taste lycan blood. (And we will be delving into the dynamics of sight, bloodseers, their history, etc., but only when it becomes necessary to the tale...presumably at the Gathering of the Horde. Or perhaps during a bout of research. Haven't decided yet.)

keili77: Glad the story intrigued you. There is a reason behind Kolya's murdering, although whether his final target is Lucian or not, we won't know for a while. More updates to come. :)

Mackenzie: Aww. He does tend to be more relaxed around Reinette, something which I think he knows would be dangerous if she were young, but which he assumes he doesn't have to worry about. (Even though he is making an attempt to pick up the pieces and see what's going on with her blood.) It also helps that she's just as much stuck-in-the-house as he is. (Even as Alexander Kerr, he stays behind closed doors for the majority of the year, so he understands what it's like being forced to stay in one place for a long time.) Plus Raze has Allegra, Singe has science...he would never admit it, but he's feeling a bit like a third wheel this decade. (Poor Lucian...)

Jen Rock: There's nothing like a murder mystery that keeps turning up bodies (although it is a bit nerve-wracking keeping track of the details. A bit like that Midsomer Murders episode where they forgot to solve one of the murders.) Also very pleased that Singe came across well. :)

FemmeFatality: Just wait until Reinette gets young. (Lucian will be ruined. All his hard work at becoming a shallow womanizer thrown into the dust. Raze will never hear the end of it.) Anyway, I'm very glad you found the story here (and reminded me of the other posts! :) I've been slacking off terribly when it comes to updating the different sites. I'll probably have to do a massive update before the next chapter in case any other readers got lost along the way.) Anyway, welcome back!