Seal maiden. As he pulled into the lot of the police station, he suddenly realized that he had no memory of the drive here, though what he had been thinking about he was not sure. Maybe I was just trying not to think, he admitted to himself. He pulled into the "Visitors" spot and sat, just sat for a moment, staring at the blank wall of the building in front of him. Seal maiden. Vicki said she watched him change in front of her eyes…

His brow furrowed and he gripped the steering wheel with both hands. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. Liath, Liath is the best thing that has happened to me, in a very long time. I don't need this shit, I don't need any of this freaky shit, he thought.

He un-buckled his seat belt and stepped out of the car, closing the door with just a hint too much force. The ever present sea breeze of the Island, now warm with the afternoon brightness, caught at his coat, flapping it around his legs. He thrust his hands in his pockets and felt the slim, smooth shape of his phone, if it rang, if she called again, could I answer?

Once inside the building, the familiar bustle of law enforcement reached out and surrounded him. The muffled conversations, the shuffle of people engaged in what they were doing, the easy camaraderie of those who were united in a battle. He felt the world, the real world, solidify around him. He felt his bearings slowly re-establish themselves.

He headed first to the kitchenette and strong…Vicki, the image of his partner, grinning over a cup of strong black…coffee and the ubiquitous plain cake donut. Then he headed to his temporary desk and the reassuring bulk of his file.

He pulled out his notebook and flipped through to the notes he had made on Orion Gaelan's statement. Drawing out a police form from the desk drawer, he settled in to write up his report. He had no more than a paragraph on the page when a shadow crossed between him and the light; he glanced up to see Pellerin standing in front of his desk.

"Mon Dieu, you look a little rattled, Michel." He gave the French pronunciation to Mike's name. "What have you got?"

"Just finished interviewing a person of interest from the Sidorov case, and I want to get the notes in order and into my files," Mike said, around a mouthful of donut.

"Ah, oui, did you hear that there has been another homicide, well another double homicide actually, that has every indication of being connected to this case? Execution style," he reported, dropping into the language of his work, "Two male vics, known activists both, single shot to the head, pro hit, I doubt CSI will find a thing but they are at the scene on Galiano now."

"Galiano?" Mike asked.

"Galiano, it's one of the Gulf Islands, I forget you are not a local boy, excusez-moi."

Suddenly, the donut felt heavy in Mike's stomach, he felt his instincts twist.

Pellerin parked his butt on the edge of Mike's desk and pointed to a report that lay on the top of his in-basket. "Preliminary but most of the info is there."

"Two activists, on one of the Gulf Islands," Mike repeated, as he thought back to Gaelan's story of what he had overheard. Two activists who had purportedly executed Sidorov, they were to have flown into Victoria at dawn and then Ben Turner was going to sail with them to a Gulf…

Pellerin's eyes were sharp as he picked up the report and read through the top page, "It was clean as a whistle, obviously a professional hit. One shot to the head, both sitting up nice and pretty in deck chairs, staring out over the ocean. Neighbor found them." He flipped the page, "He says there was a flock of ravens flying around in the trees that just wouldn't shut up, calling and flapping around until he went over to check. He said he thought it might be a dead deer or coyote. Poor guy got quite a shock. Ah oui, here are their names, Joseph LeBlanc and…"

"Archer Ferris." Mike finished.

Pellerin raised a brow, "Oui, but how did you know?"

"You better take a look at the statement that I took from Orion Gaelan this afternoon."

***

Ben Turner was frightened, a numbed kind of terror that left him disjointed and shell-shocked. He couldn't help but review the last few hours in his mind.

When he had come back from town in the battered old pick-up that belonged to the safe-house where Archer and Joseph were lying low, he remembered clearly how the gravel of the driveway had crunched under the tires, as he pulled up beside the A-frame and slammed the truck into park. He had felt across the seat for the paper grocery sack of milk and bread that he had just bought, but his eyes were on the flock of ravens that flapped and rolled across the sky. There were a great number of them all cawing and calling and dive-bombing low to the ground.

Weird, he had thought, must be something dead, down by the water. He had rounded the side of the house and called out to Joseph and Archer where they sat overlooking the ocean. He remembered that he had said, "Beautiful view eh, guys?" And he remembered the sudden sense of dread when they hadn't answered.

The strident voices of the ravens had echoed in his ears when he had finally seen…when he had finally seen…

Fuck, I have to find Will, he thought as he began walking away from the end of the Marina dock. It was a mile and a half to Will's place on foot; please God let him be there. The streets of downtown Victoria were full of tourists, but everyone seemed threatening somehow, as though they all knew…

He tried to remember, he had left the bodies untouched and had walked woodenly back to the truck. He had thought, what did I touch, what did I leave my fingerprints on? But he couldn't seem to focus. Standing at the truck he had pulled off his t-shirt and had wiped down every surface he could think of in the truck, and then he had closed the door and returned to the A-frame. He had stepped gingerly between the bodies of his friends, who sat with unseeing eyes staring out at the rolling waves of the ocean. Once he was inside the house, he had retraced his steps, wiping clean everything that he could remember touching. Fuck, I wasn't here more than ten minutes before I went to the store. The thought brought him to a standstill, Christ the fucking hit man would have probably done me too if I had been here, thank God I went into town! He had picked up the grocery sack and made his way across the lawn, under the open sky, filled with the calls of the ravens, to the dock and the small vessel tied up there. They had arrived only a few hours before; he had cast off from the dock and had then sailed away, back to Victoria to the Marina.

He picked up his pace as he thought, Fuck, they know who I am. I need a safe place. I fucking hope that Will is home.

When Will's puzzled face appeared in the doorway in response to his frenzied pounding, Ben pushed past him into the hallway.

"Close it man; lock it. We are fucked; we are so fucked…"

***

Joseph Fletcher had received the shooter in the library. Matthews had ushered the man in and then closed the door softly behind him. Resuming his place outside the door, he folded his hands together at his waist and stared off, waiting for the next summons.

Joseph eyed the tall man from where he sat ensconced in the tufted leather chair, behind the mahogany plain of his desktop. He was silent for a moment and to the shooter's credit, he did not fidget too much under the cold blue gaze.

Fletcher cleared his throat and finally said, "I take it there was no problem."

"Smooth as silk Mr. Fletcher, I delivered your message, to both of them."

"And no collateral damages?" Fletcher raised a brow?

"No sir, they were alone in the house, I checked."

"Hmmm, good work, Bellevue. The payment has already been transferred to your account. Matthews will see you out. There is a car waiting to take you to the airport.

"The shooter nodded once and, recognizing the dismissal, moved to the door.

The dapper, silver-haired Fletcher rose from his seat and paced up and down the room's confines as he waited for Matthews to return.

Those stupid little fucks. Did they think, did they think for a single minute, that they could fuck with the family and get away with it? I don't give a rat's ass about Sidorov, I never did like the fucking Russian anyways, but nobody, nobody fucks with me.

He felt the familiar flush of heat to his loins, the tightening of his flesh that the exercise of his power always brought him, and he dropped his hand to fondle the hardening member.

When Matthews returned, he was seated behind his desk once more.

Fletcher called to him and when the man stood before him he said. "I want you to arrange for a whore for this evening, Matthews, someone young and compliant, and anonymous, like the last one." The cold blue eyes searched Mathews's gaze; the man trembled but he held his face impassive. Good, Fletcher thought, he is terrified and repulsed but he won't betray me; he wouldn't dare. Somehow Matthews's revulsion at the things that he derived pleasure from, well it added a certain kind of spice to the dish.

"Call Jared, we don't want a local girl." Matthews nodded and turned to leave the room, closing the door softly behind him.

***

It was becoming dark when Mike left the station, emerging into the twilight; he crossed the lot to his car. The sky held the deepening blue of the night, descending over the final washes of yellow and orange from where the sun was drowning itself in the sea.

He tossed the Fletcher file and the notes on the Sidorov case on the seat. He reached in his pocket where his phone was silently waiting. He had received two more calls from Liath's number and he had not been able to bring himself to answer either. He was tired and sad and he wanted nothing more than Liath's welcoming arms and soft voice, but he couldn't. He couldn't face that right now. He didn't want to ask the question and he didn't want to hear her answer.

Fast food sack in hand, he arrived at his hotel room, and dropping the keys and bag on the table, he shrugged out of his coat and hit the shower. He let the water run long and hot and hoped that its warmth would ease the ache that he felt in his chest. A half an hour later, he emerged and, turning on the lamps in the now dark room, settled in the chair with the now cold burger and fries in front of him.

He dialed the number and when her heard the phone pick up he asked, "Vicki?"

***

The cab was old, vintage, according to Coreen; its worn interior was certainly lovingly maintained.

"You know Vicki, you would never see a cab of this vintage in Toronto," Coreen said as they drove slowly along Denman Street in the bumper-to-bumper evening traffic.

"No shit, this thing would have been rusted out years ago in TO," Vicki said, "The salt on the roads would just destroy it."

Coreen changed the subject abruptly, "So tell me what Henry's place is like?" she asked. She was excited and there was not much that was more frightening to Vicki than Coreen when she got wound up, so she answered quickly.

"It's nice Coreen. It overlooks the city as well as the beach; hardwood floors, stainless steel shutters," she rolled off the description. Coreen nodded and looked at her expectantly. Vicki searched her brain, "uh, there's a nice kitchen and a spare bedroom; oh, and a spiral staircase that leads up to a roof garden."

"Henry has a garden? Coreen exclaimed. "Well I guess there are a number of night blooming plants, moonflower, night blooming jasmine, Angel's trumpet…"

Vicki was majorly relieved when her phone began to ring, saving her from a discussion of the horticultural issues surrounding the cultivation of nocturnal plants. As she fished it out of her purse Coreen turned to look out the window of the cab at downtown Vancouver passing by in the falling dusk.

"Mike," Vicki said "What's up?"

"Not much Vic, I said I would give you a call back when I got my notes into order. I am sending you copies of the interview with Gaelan. He mentions two activists, Archer Fisher and Joseph LeBlanc, who were flying into Victoria this morning at dawn. There was some overheard conversation that links them to the Sidorov murder."

"Overheard by Orion Gaelan?" Vicki asked.

"Yes and there's more, they both turned up dead on Galiano Island this afternoon."

Vicki made a low whistling sound as Mike continued.

"It was a hit; all the earmarks of the mob and on Vancouver Island that means Joseph Fletcher. We're pretty sure he's connected to it, probably put out the hit."

"Joseph Fletcher, yeah Coreen dug up some connections between him and Sidorov," Vicki said, paused for a moment and then added, "Henry has a bit of a grudge on for the guy as well."

"I thought you said the Bastard Prince had nothing to do with this Vicki?" Mike asked tightly.

"Did I?" Vicki asked sweetly.

He was too tired and worn to argue. "I had Liam Kavanaugh, my contact in Greater Vancouver, send copies of the Sidorov files and all the reports that are coming in on the Galiano hits…down to Kate and Dave, and I talked him into blind-cc-ing Coreen's e-mail address."

"Good man," Vicki said fondly, "I'll take a look at it when we get to Henry's. He is going to look over the tapes that you gave me of the crime scene at the Toronto Aquarium, see if he can pick up something."

"Oh great Vic, I risk my career, not to mention Crowley's wrath, for the vampire's viewing pleasure."

Vicki chuckled and then said, "Yeah it goes that way sometimes."

There was a long pause and Vicki felt as though Mike wanted to say something further.

"Thanks Mike, you okay? You sound kinda down."

"Nah, I'm good tired is all, I should go for a run, but I think I'll just turn in early. Vic…about Orion Gaelan, you're sure what you saw, right?" The pain in his voice was plain and Vicki felt puzzled; she couldn't discern its source.

"I saw it myself Mike, in broad daylight and then another time later that night; the Selchies exist. There is a small community of them here, from what I understand. The environmental terrorists have tried to get them to take part in their activities, but violence is apparently not in their nature."

"Vic, be careful around the fanged-one; he is pretty chancy right now."

"Yeah, I'm hanging up Mike," she said as she disconnected, just as the cab pulled up in front of Henry's building. The last rays of the sun were fading on the horizon as Vicki paid the fare.

"Perfect timing," she said to Coreen.