They sat in silence for a long moment, and as more time passed by, Evie could see the energy that Jacob had gathered in their argument slowly leech away – leaving him looking small and deflated inside of the gentle wrappings of his blanket. His hair was windswept and unkempt, and she could just make out the tips of his fingers peeking out of the edges of his blanket, itching at the thin wafts of skin peeling from his clavicle.

"Jacob," she said, admonishment on the tip of her tongue, but the words died in her throat when his eyes darted to hers – wild and startled. She felt a pang of guilt pass through her and mentally reminded herself that whatever had happened, real or not, now was not the time to lecture her brother. Instead, she leaned forward a little and gentled her tone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you… I was hoping we could take a look at those burns. If… If you're ready?"

The hand holding Jacob's blanket up suddenly tightened, but after a brief pause he seemed to think better of it and instead gave his sister a small nod. She shuffled forward slowly, so as not to startle him more, and gently peeled the blanket from her brother's shoulders – all the while trying to ignore the peels of skin that came off with it. Jacob didn't cringe or wince once through the process though, and that worried her.

"Alright," she said as they allowed the blanket to pool into Jacob's lap, preserving his modesty or what little of it he had left after streaking halfway across London. "Let's take a look."

The burns were…significant. Hell, her brother had been smoking when she had found him. Now there were gross, open sores – not terribly deep, but oozing – beneath the curls of dead skin that were peeling from Jacob's shoulders, neck, chest and back.

"Could you fetch us a kit, Henry," Evie asked. Henry slipped in and out of the train with only of seconds of sunlight to spare, and Evie couldn't help but feel grateful for the caution he took in exiting. But when Jacob withheld from poking any fun at the informal way she had addressed the man, she couldn't help but feel her worry increase. She did not touch the sores, but even from where they hovered above her brother's skin she could feel the heat that poured from his skin. Whether from the burns or an oncoming fever, she didn't know.

"What happened?" She asked as she waited for Henry to return.

"I… by the time I escaped, it was nearly dawn. I hadn't even given it a second thought, but when I reached the train, the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. Everything on the street was still mostly shaded, but when I climbed to a rooftop to jump onto the train as it passed... I was in direct sunlight as I waited for the train to come close enough for me jump atop it. It was only a handful of seconds. Thirty tops, but… bloody hell, Evie. It felt as though I were on fire."

"You look as though you were on fire," Evie agreed. "But I thought Vampires were supposed to, I don't know, turn to ashes in sunlight. You're still here. Maybe that means that whatever Roth did to you, it's not finished."

"Maybe," Jacob said, and Evie saw the glimmer of hope that passed across his face.

Silence drifted between them again.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not as much now that I'm inside," Jacob muttered, and Evie didn't have long to linger on his words before Henry came back into the train car, a bag in tucked beneath one arm. He knelt beside Evie and opened the kit to begin pulling out jars of smelly ointments and clean bandages. Jacob wrinkled his nose, and when Evie quirked an inquisitive brow at him, he merely shook his head – unwilling to comment.

"Thank you, Henry," Evie said.

"Of course. Would you prefer privacy?" He asked.

The word 'yes' was just about to leave her mouth when Jacob suddenly yelped a quick and panicked 'no'! She turned to regard him, but Jacob gave her no explanations. The whites of his eyes were visible again, bright at the edges of his terrified gaze.

"Then I'll stay," Henry said easily, as though soothing a skittish dog – and for as much as Evie hated the comparison, it did soothe Jacob.

"May I?" Evie asked once she had open one of the salves Henry had brought, a cool and smelly goo at her fingertips. Jacob eyed the stuff warily.

"Yea, okay."

His skin felt like a hot oven beneath her fingers, even through the wet coolness of the gel she spread across his burns. She felt her stomach clench at the uneven feel of her brother's flesh, mottled as it was with blisters and dead skin. But she forced a mask of calmness upon her face, her gaze and hands steady as she worked. Her demeanor seemed to rub off on Jacob, because he settled more and more as she worked until finally, his eyes were nearly shut.

She spread a final dab across the bridge of his nose, wondering if the skin would scar, when Jacob finally met her gaze from beneath his heavy lidded eyes.

"I don't know what to do, Evie," he whispered, and she ached in the apparent absence of her brother's normal suave bravado. She had seen her brother take a bullet through the thick meat of his shoulder only to joke confidently through the inevitable messy stitching that had followed. He was always joking, always taking whatever situation he was in too lightly. For so long, she had wished he would take matters more seriously. 'You're going to end up dead one day, fooling around with an attitude like that, Jacob!' she used to tell him. She preferred that Jacob, though. This Jacob – this trembling, small version of her brother – terrified her.

She wiped the gel from her hands on a towel that Henry handed her before cupping Jacob's face and brushing her thumbs across his brow, smoothing the worry from his expression. She wiped back the errant hairs that obscured his face and forced him to look at her.

"We're going to figure this out, Jacob," she said, her voice steady even as she tried to ignore the feverish heat that was steadily beginning to climb in Jacob's skin. "I'll go to Mr. Dickens. Maybe he has some information about the infliction you believe Maxwell Roth has brought upon you."

Jacob watched her and it was only then that she noticed the cloudy, unsteady haze that had begun to pass over her brother's eyes.

She figured a plan would settle his nerves, but all Jacob said was, "You're leaving?"

"Yes," she said, as much as it pained her to admit when a grimace passed over Jacob's face. "I think time may be against us on this one, brother. I'm afraid we cannot wait for night to break. The more information we have now, the faster we can work on fixing you."

"Alright," he said, nodding as he thought it over. "Lock me in the train car alone while you're gone. Just in case."

"Alone? Whatever for, Jacob? What if your condition worsens -?" Evie started, but just as quickly, Jacob cut her off.

"That's precisely why I need you to lock me in here alone. If it does get worse, I don't… I don't want to hurt anyone else, Evie," Jacob said, trailing off into a broken whisper. So that was it. Whatever this infliction was, whether real or some hallucination caused by drugs – Jacob had hurt someone because of it. Considering the fact that her brother had no problem with cutting large, bloody paths through Blighters, it must have been an innocent if Jacob was actually feeling remorse about it. She regarded her brother's pleading face for another long moment before finally nodding.

"Alright, Jacob. We'll find a way to lock you in the train car while I talk with Mr. Dickens."

The relief that flooded Jacob left him deflated against the desk, his eyes sagging with exhaustion once again. Sweat was beginning to bead along the edge of his hair line and along his temples. Evie bit her lip, loathe to leave him, but forced herself up – true to her word.

"Mr. Green, keep an eye on the car while I'm gone. Send a runner for me if anything changes," Evie said, checking her equipment before meeting Henry's eye. He was worried – for Jacob and for her. But he seemed more than willing to help in any way he could. He nodded, a reassuring smile on his face that looked forced.

"We'll be fine."

"Alright," she said, finally out of reasons to stay. She looked down at Jacob – but his eyes were closed and his head lolling. He had fallen asleep. She frowned. She wanted to tell Henry to stay in the cabin now that Jacob couldn't argue, but a paranoid voice in the back of her mind stopped her. 'Jacob has never lied to you, not outright. If he's afraid for Henry's safety if left alone, it's best to trust his judgment until they know more.'

"I'll be as quick as I can, Henry," she said as she walked over to the exit of the train car with him. Together, they left the car as quickly as they could so as to minimize the amount of light that slipped in. Once they were safely in her car again, she turned to regard him once more. "Can you handle locking Jacob in?"

"Of course. I'll find a way to keep him secure without alerting the others."

"Yes… Discretion would definitely be appropriate at the moment. Thank you, Henry."

"Think nothing of it, Ms. Frye. Go on. I'll keep watch of your brother."

Without another word, Evie nodded to him and slipped free from the train – off to visit Charles Dickens.

"Ms. Frye!" Charles Dickens exclaimed, startled as Evie slid in next to him at one of his favorite pubs. His table was covered in notes and papers, and if not for the urgency of the matter at hand, she would have felt guilty for having interrupted him while he was so obviously working. She knew that his moods swung wide when it came to his writing. Inspiration either came to him hard and strong or not at all, sometimes leaving him moody for days at a time.

Kind as he was though, he did not seem to be angry at her for pulling him away from his work during a moment of productivity. Instead, he put down his pen – his fingers covered in inky splotches – and greeted her warmly.

"It's been quite some time since last we spoke! I hope you and your brother are doing well. Where is the dear boy, by the way? It seems unusual for you to visit me alone."

"Yes, well, while not exactly unusual lately, there is a reason for his absence on this visit, Mr. Dickens. My brother has, well… he appears to have fallen victim to one of the very things that you normally would assign us to investigate. I was hoping maybe you had some insight," Evie said, dancing around the word she didn't want to say lest Dickens think her crazy and leave. But the man had started the "Ghost Club" in an effort to seek out the light of truth in even the darkest fear. And while most of their cases had led to falsehoods and charlatans, there had been some that gave them pause – never quite solved. He was an open-minded man. Surely he'd at least hear her out. Jacob's life may depend on it.

"Goodness, I'm sorry to hear that. Poor boy. Of course, I'll do whatever I can to help. What would you like to discuss?" Dickens said, leaning forward sincerely. Evie leaned in as well and kept her voice low, eyes darting around the room – but for in search for who or what, she wasn't sure.

"Jacob returned this morning nearly on fire. He said that Roth…" she gathered her resolve, set her jaw and fixed her gaze on Dickens with a look that said 'I dare you to laugh at me'. "He said that an enemy of ours has turned him into a Vampire. Or began the process, or…something, I'm not sure. That's why I'm here. Do you know anything about rumors of Vampires in the city? Or any lore on them, if not?"

There was a long moment where Charles only stared at her, his face carefully blank, and Evie waited for the inevitable dismissal. But her heart surged in relief when Charles leaned forward even further and whispered, "I had hoped that those particular rumors were merely the talk of fanatics. People seem to have an odd fascination with Vampires and the lore that surrounds them. Somehow, their immortality has been romanticized. Stories from Romania in particular appear to be responsible for the rumors. But they aren't as well-known as the stories about, say, Spring-Heeled Jack."

"But there are rumors?" Evie said, "I'm not… we're not crazy for considering it?"

"No, Ms. Frye," Dickens said slowly, carefully, "Unfortunately not."

Evie leaned back and digested what Dickens just said. So it was possible that Jacob had been bitten and turned. That he was becoming one of the very things that she and her brother had worked so hard to remove from the dark alleys of London – another bump in the night. She rubbed at the bridge of her nose and regarded Dickens again, not liking the forlorn look on his face.

"If this is true and he was bitten, how do we fix it?" She asked.

Dickens pursed his lips.

"That depends," he said, "Tell me what Jacob has told you."

Evie shook her head, at a loss for words. She wished suddenly that she had pushed Jacob to explain more of what had happened, but thinking back on her brother – small and curled up in a blanket – she couldn't find the heart even now to force him back through whatever memories he was trying so hard to forget.

"Unfortunately he did not tell me much, Mr. Dickens. To my knowledge, he went to assassinate Mr. Roth and –"

"Roth?" Dickens asked, sitting straighter. "As in Maxwell Roth?"

"Yes... One in the same. Why? What's wrong, Mr. Dickens?"

"Evie, this is very important. Did Mr. Frye say whether or not he drank from anyone last night? From Roth? From another person?" Dickens asked, and the suddenness with which he so fiercely believed Evie made her reel. No cross-talk on Vampires or if it were even remotely possible. Just one name, and Dickens believed. Her stomach dropped.

"No, he did not," Evie said, her skin losing its color as she dreaded the words about to leave her mouth, "But judging by his behavior, I'd say that it's highly likely he was forced to do something last night that he wanted no part of. He… He alluded to an accident, of sorts."

"An accident," Dickens said, trailing off. "Ms. Frye… I'm afraid that your brother is in grave danger. He is at a precipice right now – the edge of a great and terrible change. If this accident your brother has alluded to is what I fear it is, it is likely already too late."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Evie said, her eyes wide.

"I began researching Vampirism after the rumor mill first began. I had started a file I intended to give to you and your brother should the rumors ever begin to increase among the public, but they never did – and so I never gave you the case. But that case file implicated Maxwell Roth's name, among others. From what little I found on the subject, and there's a lot of speculation depending on the region you're in – a Vampire is created after he takes the life of an innocent. That's why my question is so important, Ms. Frye."

"But I thought it was the bite?" Evie asked.

"No. The bite creates the opportunity. The Vampire must then share his blood with the victim in order to begin the change. That creates the… the thirst, if you will. But the process is believed to be reversible up until the moment that the victim takes the life of an innocent while in the madness of their thirst. If Jacob has done this – if he's drained an innocent dry – I'm afraid it's too late to go back. His change will continue unhindered."

Evie felt her eyes burn, but she clenched he jaw and pressed her nails into her hands until the burning abated.

"What changes?"

"It depends on the lore, but generally it's common belief that he'll become intolerant of sunlight until he's much older. Fangs. Immortality. A thirst for blood. He'll no longer be able to eat food as we enjoy it. He'll need blood if he is to survive. After that, things get blurry. Some fables suggest the Vampire will inherit supernatural strength, the ability to see in even the darkest of nights as if it were day, and some even believe that these creatures can control the minds of lesser men."

Evie took a shuddering breath and lowered her face into her hands. Dickens reached across the table to brush her arm gently and said, "I'm sorry, my dear. I did not intend to upset you…"

"No," she said. "That's alright, Mr. Dickens. I appreciate your honesty. How… How long will these changes take?"

"It's hard to say," he said, frowning. "Unfortunately there's not exactly a science to the process. All of this, until now, had been the stuff of myths. Days? Weeks? I'm afraid I don't have concrete answers for you."

"What if I kill Roth?"

"Ah yes, murder," Dickens said, a wry smile on his face. "Normally that would be a perfectly good solution for your field of work. However, that only would have worked up until Mr. Frye drank from another human being. You can kill him, but it stands the very real possibility of hurting your brother at this point."

"What?!"

Dickens nodded.

"Your brother is the child of a Vampire now. They're bonded. I cannot say for sure, but from the stories that I've read, killing the sire may seriously affect Mr. Frye at this stage in his metamorphosis. Some lore even suggests that it would kill him as well."

"Then how do I help Jacob? Surely there must be something?!"

"I will reach out to some of my contacts, Ms. Frye. With any luck, we'll find something. But for now, all you can do is help him through his change. These next few days will be agony for your brother. He'll need a strong mind to see him through it."

"Yes… Thank you, Mr. Dickens. Would it be possible to get a copy of that file you had drafted for Jacob and I?"

"Of course," Dickens said and when he stood, Evie followed suit. "If you don't mind a quick walk, I can do that for you now."

"That would be very appreciated, thank you."

"Of course," he said as he began to gather up his papers and work, and stuff it into his satchel. "Anything for the Frye twins."

'Hold on, Jacob', Evie thought, 'I will find a way to fix this.'