SEVEN

"I know you don't believe me, Will, and I don't begrudge you your sentiment. I know this has all been difficult, but I know have something incontrovertible to show you. I just need to find it…"

Will scratched his head in bemusement as he followed Helen down to the Sanctuary wine cellar. She walked so quickly she had to force herself not to run, but her excitement and anticipation was overwhelming.

"Another dream, but this time he left me something. Something in the wine cellar. And if it is there, then I can't have made it all up."

"What did he leave you?"

"A message in a bottle." Helen scanned the cellar, waving a cloud of dust from her face, and decidedly walked over to a specific rack. "Here, the Spanish rojas … his favourite type of wine."

She scanned the bottles, a small voice inside of her afraid that she would not be able to find the right one, but determinedly she ran her fingertips over the worn glass. It had to be here…

Her eyes lighted on a dusty, unassuming bottle with a peeling label. Her fingers trembled as she brought it down. "Eighteen fifty-six … his birthday." The bottle was empty and she shook it and heard a light rattling inside. Even Will was shocked, and watched in anticipation as she uncorked it.

A small slip of folded paper fell into her hand. Nervously, she unfolded it and smoothed it out flat. In heartbreakingly familiar handwriting she saw a small message for her. Cura te ipsum!

"What does it say?" Will asked eagerly.

"It's latin … it means physician, heal thyself."

She wondered at the cryptic words on the stained paper. It wasn't what she was expecting … she had hoped to find something clearer, more definitive. Perhaps as simple as "I am alive" or "Tesla" or … and she thought this only in a very deep part of her mind, "lubjav".

Either way, she felt a thrill run through her body, and she held up the slip of paper triumphantly. "See, Will? See? He's alive, I know he must be."

Will seemed just as pleased that they had found the hidden note, but at her last words his expression turned to shock. He stammered, unsure of how to phrase his next words without sounding cruel. "This is extraordinary, Magnus, it is…"

Her face fell when she noticed his reticence. Coolly, she supplied for him, "But?"

Will looked sheepish and couldn't meet her gaze. "But I don't see how this means he's still alive."

Helen felt the bottle slip from her grasp and shatter to the floor. The noise startled Will, but the breaking glass seemed to force something inside of her to snap. She held up the scrap of paper, the last record of Nikola's handwriting. "How could I have known this was here? How? Nikola never told me of a hidden message, had never even hinted of doing such a thing."

Will tried to indulge her. "Then how do you think you've found it?"

"The Shepherd's venom. I've been having dreams induced by the Shepherd's venom. We don't rightly know the full properties of it. Perhaps I've been able to communicate telepathically, or empathically with him somehow. Will, this could be a cry for help. The dreams might be his only way to communicate with me, with someone, to let us know he's still alive."

Will's face darkened suddenly and she could sense a fury bubbling within him. She was unsure as to the origin of his sudden anger, and took a step back uneasily. "You told me you weren't taking any sedatives."

"That isn't the point—"

"Magnus, you're right, we don't know anything about that venom? And you've been taking it? How much have you administered to yourself this whole time?" Will's voice had risen in volume and echoed in the cellar. She felt uneasy at the sudden change in atmosphere, clinging desperately onto the note.

"I'm fine, Will."

He threw up his hands incredulously, trying to bite back an angry tirade and failing. "That is so reckless. That is so dangerous! Magnus, you could be poisoning yourself – no, no you are poisoning yourself. These dreams, your erratic behaviour, you brought this all on yourself."

She shook, trembling violently at the accusations, and bitterly felt her fears confirmed that he would never be able to understand her. "Then how do you explain this note? It is his handwriting, not mine."

"Tesla's hidden stuff down here before, the man loves leaving behind riddles. He probably left that down here years ago as a private joke and left you clues all around the Sanctuary. You've probably pieced it all together subconsciously, and now that you're desperate to prove he's alive you've latched onto this."

Helen fought back the angry tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. She had never felt so betrayed, so humiliated and hurt. She could hear her voice turning to steel. "That's as much a stretch as what I'm suggesting."

Will, still furious, was deflating from his initial rush of fury and just looked at her sadly. She felt pathetic under the disappointment in his eyes. "It's just like Ashley all over again."

Helen could barely raise her voice over a strangled whisper. "Don't you dare mention my daughter."

Will held up his hands in defeat, unwilling to spar with her. The look of sadness in his eyes hurt her more than his anger. "Stop taking the venom, Magnus. Stop killing yourself." He turned his back to her and made his way out of the cellar, regret and bitter disappointment weighting his every step.

When she was sure he was gone, Helen sank to the floor. She ignored the hot pricks of glass shards cutting into her legs, and holding the slip of paper she cried.

Cura te ipsum! Oh, Nikola, if only I could.

One sip for waking, two to help sleep…

Helen felt a pang of guilt when she took the two doses of the Shepherd's serum, but her hand was steady and determined. She had to know, she had to see him. She had to ask him outright what all of this meant.

When Helen dreamt, it was of London. She was back in an old lab of her father's. It was night. There was someone screaming in the room.

She turned and saw Nikola, strapped to a chair, and flickering in and out of his transformation. His skin was ashen and like wax, screaming, the transformation painful and frightening. It was the first week after they had all taken the source blood and had discovered the secrets in his own origins.

"Let me go…" he moaned, his body wracked with seizures as he struggled in the chair.

She found herself walking over to him, raising her right arm, and striking him across the face. His head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his nose and lips. When he turned to face her, speckled with his own bright blood, it was with a cold mask of hatred.

"Go on then, old boy. Finish the deed," He snarled.

Shocked, Helen looked over to the small mirror of polished metal on the wall. She saw John Druitt's face staring back at her.

"You're turning into a monster," She felt herself saying, the voice strange and unfamiliar falling from her lips.

He looked up at her with black, bottomless eyes. "You would speak to me of monstrosity?"

Helen fell to her knees in front of him, grasping his arms. He moaned piteously again, struggling against the vampire inside of him. When he finally looked up at her, it was with his own eyes.

"Helen, you're killing me…"

When Helen woke she found it was with her face soaked in tears, and with horrible sobs seizing in her chest. She buried her face in her arms and let them take their course. She wept and mourned and grieved until her throat was raw and she had no more tears to shed, or silent screams to unleash.

She lay there, silent and still for many hours later, wishing no more sleep, no more dreams and no more the barbaric lance of loss.

The morning came, shy and diffident through her curtained windows. Her face was dry and only the edges of her eyes were red when the Big Guy came in with her morning mail and cup of tea. Her voice was calm and tempered when she spoke to him.

"Where is he buried?"

He looked up, surprised, but refrained from any commentary, which she was grateful for. "The old birch tree at the back of the grounds."

"I think I'm ready to see him."