(continued)

She walked forward to the partition between the public and private, where a burly man in a leather apron stood watching us. "Good evening, sir. Are you the landlord?"

"I am." He stared at us, his eyes showing no spark of warmth or welcome. I am taller than Am, and stood at her shoulder. She looked up into the landlord's face, seemingly at her ease.

"May I ask, sir, if there is a gentleman here, Liam by name? I have a message for him."

Something had moved across that impassive face, at the name: a flicker of surprise? Anticipation? Hunger? I hadn't thought it possible that my nervousness might increase, and yet....

"Over there. Corner booth, with the two women."

They watched us approach. A blonde woman, very pretty. A dark woman, with the face one might expect to see in a medieval portrait. And the man, Liam himself, tall and dark and handsome indeed.

"Well, now." Liam stood as we came to the corner booth. "What's the night blown in for us, then? A pair of pretties. Darla? Dru? Friends of yours, maybe?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. They will be, though." The blonde woman, her fine hair piled high, smiled. I felt my fingers close around the rosary beads, suddenly glad of them. The blonde continued, a high lilting voice with the accents of America. "Dru? Do you know these ladies? What do they want?"

"They want us to sing to them." The brunet had got to her feet and moved up behind us. Her voice, cockney-edged, crooned a dark singsong. One long-fingered hand dropped on my shoulder; through the cloak and layers of clothing, I could feel a sudden chill, a warmth, a lassitude. "Pretty songs, about Spring-Heeled Jack." She opened her mouth, showing a row of even teeth. "Sweet sweet songs, about pretty ladies, dead in the gutters."

She let go of my shoulder, dancing away from me, her thin shoulders moving to some music only she could hear. My knees sagged a bit, and I willed them to hold me. My heartbeat fluttered into agitation. Who were these people? Who was this woman Dru, who had known what we wanted before a word was spoken? Why did she have such an effect on me, that I wanted to turn and stare, and fall into her eyes....

(OK, I think I need Rebecca's OK to finish posting this.)

Oooh, like it lots so far. Love the first person narration, language perfectly suited to the times.

I think I killed the thread....

Naw, Deb, we're all just desperate to hear the yeah or nay from RL.

I cleaned house yesterday, lost Fire Queen, so I haven't read it yet. If I can get Kara to go to sleep I'm going to take a nap and then find it. Maybe I'll get to read sometime today.

Of course, if Rebecca's gone off to a meeting or something, it could take awhile.

This next part's innocuous enough to post, I think:

---

"Are you Liam?

"I was. Not anymore. You can call me Angelus, while you're calling me anything at all."

Am kept her gaze fixed on Angelus. "We were sent to you by Mister Abraham Stoker. He said you might be willing to give us information, for a price."

"Did he, now? And did he warn you that the price might be more than you'd like to pay? I don't come cheaply, and the ladies? Pricey, very pricey."

"He warned us, yes." Am's voice was utterly calm, and I realised, as I should have before, that Mister Stoker had told her things I did not yet know. "But he said that for the bargain between you, you might be willing to help us. He told me, too, to remind you, that once you give your word and set your price, you would keep it. And I, for one, am willing to hear your price, at least. Will you accommodate us, sir, or will you not?"

There was a long silence. The rest of the clientele of The Sins watched us, some sipping languidly at their red wine. I thought I saw a shadow of annoyance flit across Darla's face.

"She called me 'sir.' Charming manners. Well, then." Angelus settled back in his chair. "Abraham must have a soft spot for you ladies, to have invoked the bargain. Sit, and tell me what you want of me. I'll tell you whether I've got it. If I do, I name the price; if you agree to pay it, then pay it you will. But he told you the truth, no more, no less. If the price is too high, I tell you nothing and you walk out of here the way you came."

Danger was singing along my nerves. Walk out of here? He spoke as if he took it for granted, that they could hold us here by force, if they chose. Was he insane? This was London, near the end of the nineteenth century. Did he think he could simply-

"Sit." The brunet had slipped her arm around my waist. I swallowed hard, feeling her pressed against me. She felt cold to me, a kind of chill coming through her blue silk gown. I wondered if all of her was cold, and why.

"Such a warm girl." Her lips were up against my ear, one hand moving up the other side of my head, pulling me closer to her. Her tongue came out, the tip dancing in tiny delicious touches until it reached that spot on my throat where the pulse speaks. "Such a warm, warm girl."

"Dru." Angelus' voice was a whiplash. "I have a promise to keep and a bargain to offer. This isn't the time. Now. I told everyone to sit."

"I'm sitting, thank you." Am-Chau was watching Darla. There were things going on between them, a war of eyes. It helped that Am's eyes are so dark; the impenetrability of her gaze seemed to frustrate the blonde woman, who let her own eyes fall.

Dru, smiling at something I suspected no one would enjoy but her, dropped into a chair between Am and myself. She draped one arm around each of our waists.

"Well, then." Angelus' voice was a diluted echo of Mr. Stoker's Irish lilt. "Let's play this game of yours. You begin. What's the help?"

(and just a bit more)

"I'm sitting, thank you." Am-Chau was watching Darla. There were things going on between them, a war of eyes. It helped that Am's eyes are so dark; the impenetrability of her gaze seemed to frustrate the blonde woman, who let her own eyes fall.

Dru, smiling at something I suspected no one would enjoy but her, dropped into a chair between Am and myself. She draped one arm around each of our waists.

"Well, then." Angelus' voice was a diluted echo of Mr. Stoker's Irish lilt. "Let's play this game of yours. You begin. What's the help?"

Am-Chau explained. Had I been less agitated by the arm about my waist, by the soft, absent-minded stroking of those long cool fingers against my ribs, I might have spent more admiration on how concise her explanation was. She faltered only once, when Dru leaned suddenly sideways and gently bit her earlobe. Since Am has pierced ears, Dru's teeth - I had not noticed, until this moment, how sharp and perfect they seemed - found the small gold ball of Am's earring, and tugged it. Am's narrative slid into a tiny sigh, and then regained its momentum. When she was done, we sat in silence.

"All right." Angelus picked up his glass. Suddenly, as if my senses had sharpened since walking through the nondescript doors of The Sins, I caught the smell of it, and understood why all the glasses held the same red wine, that wasn't wine at all. As if she had caught at my understanding, Dru tightened her hold on my waist, and nuzzled my cheek.

"Only the best blood," she sang against my hair. "Unlike Jack, who only thinks he knows good blood."

"You and your friend here - Rebecca, is it - want to be journalists. Problem is, you're girls, and the men won't let you play. Only way in through those doors is to get and prove the story none of the men can get. And Brammie-boy, who must be wanting to lift those skirts of yours, to have done this for you - sent you to me, because the best story in all the world right now is the true name of the Ripper. Have I got it right, then?"

"Yes." Dru had turned her attention to Am, and Darla, having emptied her glass, was leaning across the table and playing with the fingers of Am's right hand. Am's voice fluttered a bit. "Can you help?"

"That's the wrong question." He shook his head at Am. "Bad technique for a journalist. Try again."

"Will you help us?" I heard my own voice with surprise. "And what's the price?"

"Very good, Rebecca." Angelus mocked me, a parody of a stern schoolmaster. "You knew the correct question. Looks as though I won't have to discipline the pair of you, after all, at least not now. And here's your answers. Yes, I know quite well who your killer is. And the price?"

Something was wrong. There was something happening to their faces, to all the faces at all the tables in the Seven Sins. Smooth brows were suddenly older, then furrowed, then deeply ridged. Lips lifted, showing small teeth framed by long canine incisors. Teeth, meant not for the chewing of meat, but for the penetration of veins and....

"Vampires," I whispered, and felt the sharpness of a tooth, the coolness of something not quite a breath, as Dru scented my neck.

"The price?" Angelus, his face altered, was terrifying, a sexual engine whose only sure destination was death. "Why, blood, ladies, of course."

Ooh, very nice. I'll wait patiently until the rest. I kind of have to, anyway, since the mini-spawn are harrassing me and you don't have permission to post yet. I'm just letting you know I'm not cursing you for stopping there. *g*

lalalalala

(whistling, filing fingernails, playing with cats)

Of course, I already know what happens next. Neener....

curse you wee deb!

(always wanted to say that)