The Monstrumologist's Wife - lazarus_lazuli - The Monstrumologist Series (2024)

Chapter 1: A Midnight Caller

Chapter Text

mon.strum.ol.o.gy; n.

1: the study of life forms generally malevolent to humans and not recognized by science as actual organisms, specifically those considered products of myth and folklore

2: the act of hunting such creatures

April 15, 1889
New Jerusalem, MA

Moments of tranquility were rare in the Warthrop household. When they did appear, however, they were usually spent in the study. Anna was at her desk, reading correspondences she’d neglected to write up a reply to. It was her least favorite chore, and as such, she tended to let the letters pile up. It was her duty to take care of any correspondences, most of the time impersonating her husband as he talked to his colleagues. In the early years of their relationship, he would dictate the replies to her, but after a while he grew tired of the task and no longer bothered, entrusting her to get the messages across on her own. If it was important enough for him to want to respond personally, he would in the best handwriting he could muster. Tonight, however, it all fell to her.

Doctor Torrence,

I am very pleased with the research you have sent regarding Rhinolophus wajhapria. Seeing as an expedition to Java is not possible for us at this time, I would

Implore? Like? Request?

She heaved out a sigh, twirling her mother-of-pearl fountain pen in her long fingers as she tried to form sentences in her head. Her mind wandered, her ears becoming attuned to the sounds of the room. She tilted her head backwards, closing her eyes she listened to the crackling fireplace and the sound of Pellinore thumbing through one of the many periodicals they were subscribed to. He was scanning for reports of the strage, macabre, or unexplainable to mainstream biology. Occasionally, she would hear the scratching of pencil lead as he notated articles in his chicken-scratch. At one point, he read aloud to himself.

“It has been requested that the prisoner be detained at her majesty’s pleasure due to the offender’s young age…”

More scratching.

Ah, yes, request. That would be the best choice.

Seeing as an expedition to Java is not possible for us at this time, I would request you send one of the specimens you have captured so I may thoroughly study the creature for myself

A loud, frantic rapping sounded upon the front door. Anna nearly jumped out her skin, her pen sliding across the paper and leaving a long, crooked cross over her f. She swore to herself, momentarily more concerned with her ruined letter than with who was knocking on the door at such an hour.

Pellinore sprung to his feet, grabbing the lamp from off his desk and turning to Anna.

“We aren’t expecting a caller, are we?” He asked.

It wasn’t unusual for people to visit in the late hours of the night, as it was simply the nature of their business. These visits were planned, however. It was usually someone dropping off a package that they'd written about in advance; not to be polite so much as to forewarn them of what was to come. Anna turned to the stack of letters, flipping through the ones she had not opened yet.

“Not that I know of,” she replied.

It was pretty useless to ask, but it didn’t matter either way. Pellinore immediately sprung into action. As Anna was still trying to figure out whether they should have been expecting someone, Pellinore rushed out of the study. She could hear the sound of him lighting the jets as he moved through the hallway. Anna jumped out her seat, rushing after him, and managed to grab him by the arm before he could reach the door.

“Oh honestly, we don’t even look even remotely presentable!” She cried out in a hushed tone.

“What does it matter?” Pellinore asked.

Anna let out an annoyed grunt before reaching her hand up to the top of his head, trying to tame his waves of tousled black hair. He smacked her hand away, causing her to smack his back. They continued the childish fight all the way to the front door, only stopping the moment it opened.

On the threshold before them was an elderly man. The first and most notable thing about him was how dirty he was: everything from his worn overalls, to his cracked fingernails, to the wrinkles lining his face, were caked with soil. He looked like he'd just crawled out of the grave. Smelled like it, too. It was the distinctive scent of graveyard dirt; earthy but with undertones of rot. It resonated even more from the cart he had driven to their house. Steam rose from the withers of the old nag pulling it. He clearly had run the poor beast as fast as she could go. The third thing Anna observed, and perhaps what she should have noted first, was that the old man looked as if he were about to drop dead from fright. He took off his straw hat, gazing up at the couple with rheumy blue eyes.

"Oh, Dr. Warthrop, I didn't know where else to turn! I don't believe any mortal eyes should be subjected to this, but you truly are the only man for the job! It's awful, simply awful!"

The smell of rot wafting from his cart was distinctly human - there were subtle differences that she could pick out to distinguish it. However, another odor hung over it. It was sickly sweet, like rotten fruit, yet a bitter note hung in it, making her curious as to what it could be. Obviously whatever it was was enough to bring the old man to their door - a good indication it was worthy of being there.

“I assure you that if you feel the need to bring this to my doorstep, you are doing the right thing." Pellinore glanced towards the staircase, then towards Anna. "Fetch Will Henry, would you?"

“Of course.”

She took the lamp from him, heading up the stairs. As she climbed the staircase, she glanced at the portraits lining the wall. They were mainly of family, even though Anna’s were long dead and Pellinore had never been particularly close to his. His father’s sat towards the top of the staircase, as if he were leering over everyone else. It was fitting. His eyes were dark as fresh coffee, and his features were handsome in the most cutting way. Pellinore took after him in that reagard, but despite their physical similarities, none of the warm familiarity was there. Anna had never met the man, but somehow, she still felt his presence. 425 Harrington Lane had been his home first, and his stain was all over it.

Will Henry’s bedroom was a little loft that Pellinore himself had slept in as a child. It was small, but cozy, with a cot and a tiny window that overlooked the street. Anna climbed the ladder, pulling herself into the room. The ceiling was so low that if she were to jump, her head would have rammed right through it.

Will was fast asleep, curled up under several blankets. It could be drafty upstairs, and as such they tended to use an excessive amount of bedding. She shook him gently awake, and he rolled over to face her, his warm brown eyes squinting as they adjusted to the lamplight.

"We have a caller," Anna said. "Get up and get dressed - quickly now."

Will Henry sat up with a yawn. "What time is it?"

Anna glanced at her pocket watch. "About a quarter to one."

Will Henry looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if to privately ask God 'why me?', before untangling himself from his sheets. Satisfied that he was up and about, she left the lamp on his bedside table and made her way back downstairs. The old man was still lingering outside the door, speaking quietly with Pellinore, who'd placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The codger was still prattling on about what he saw? He truly had to be traumatized, then. Anna sauntered back up to Pellinore’s side, giving the stranger a concerned look.

"What is it, if I may ask?" She questioned.

The man turned to the Monstrumologist’s wife, letting out a guttural groan. "Oh, I dare not even describe it, much less to a lady such as yourself! ‘Tis a crime Mrs. Warthrop! A horrendous crime of nature! I shouldn't have taken it; I should have covered it back up and left it to the mercy of God!"

"I take no stances on theology, Erasmus," Pellinore stated. "I am a scientist. But is it not said that we are his instruments? If that is the case, then God brought you to her and directed you hence to my door."

Erasmus gave the couple a sideways glance, clearly nervous about more than his discovery. "So you won't report me?"

Anna chuckled at that, shaking her head politely. "We have secrets ourselves, sir. We are not about to run to the constable about such a petty crime as graverobbing.”

“Graverobbing is not a petty offense,” Pellinore corrected. “But you need not worry, Mr. Gray. I can also assure that you have our full confidentiality in this matter.”

Erasmus sucked on his lower lip nervously, pulling it through the gap in his gum line that once held his lower incisors. “Yes, well, it’s important for a man of my profession to take precautions…”

“As it is in ours,” Anna assured him.

She heard Will Henry's footsteps padding down the stairs, and turned to him as he entered the foyer. At that moment, she could appreciate how small he was; only twelve years old and still shorter than her, despite the fact Anna herself stood barely 5'3 in her stocking feet. He was wearing his signature hat, which was one size too small for his head.

"Ah, here is Will Henry," Pellinore said, taking his presence as a welcome relief. He was growing just as weary of the man's rambling as his wife was, if not more. "...Will Henry, where are your shoes?"

The boy quickly turned to fetch them, but the doctor stopped him.

"No, no, I need you to ready the laboratory."

“Yes, doctor."

He turned to go a second time, only to once again be stopped short with his back halfway to them.

"And put the kettle on. It's going to be a long night."

"Yes, sir."

"And find my boots, Will Henry."

"Of course, sir."

He lingered for a moment, clearly expecting more instructions. An awkward silence hung in the air before Pellinore finally spoke up again.

"Well what are you waiting for? Snap to, Will Henry!"

"Yes, sir. Right away sir!"

He scurried off as if Pellinore was going to chase him. Erasmus stared after Will as he raced to the kitchen.

"He is your boy?"

Will Henry could certainly pass as their child; he had light brown hair and a button nose just as Anna did. However, whenever someone brought up the possibility, the Warthrops were always quick to correct it.

"No."

They were so fast and firm in their denial that the old man was taken aback. Anna quickly took a moment to clarify.

"He's the doctor's assistant, as his father was before him."

"Ah. I see..." Erasmus took the hint, nodding solemnly.

"Now, let us bring your package inside," Pellinore said, clapping his hands together.

Anna quickly approached the cart, a little too eager to get a glimpse of its contents, and peered over the edge. The package was large. Extremely large, as a matter of fact, the cadavers taking up nearly the entire cart. Dirty burlap encased the bodies, stained with the familiar ochre of dry blood. Pellinore came up behind her, as did Erasmus. The old man expected to be heaving the large bundle with the doctor, but instead, Anna reached in and grabbed the tail end of the burlap, where the feet seemed to be. Pellinore grabbed the other end. He didn’t question. In fact, he had expected his wife to help him. Erasmus, on the other hand, looked very concerned. It was hard to blame him. Anna was a short woman with soft, youthful features; far from the type anyone would expect to have such strength.

"Steady now," Pellinore said. "One, two... three!"

They both heaved the load at the same time, and Anna took the brunt of the weight. Not purposefully on Pellinore's part. He was tall with a slender, lithely muscled frame, not exactly the type built for heavy lifting. Erasmus watched, mouth agape, as she took the lead, walking backwards into the house. Thankfully, Will Henry had the forethought to leave the basem*nt door open, and she began down the steps, wobbling uncertainly as she tried to find her footing on the steep wooden staircase. It was difficult to crane her neck to see what was beneath her.

"Careful, now," Pellinore warned. "Watch your skirt."

"Don't fret, it's not my intention to break my neck tonight."

"I doubt most intend to break their necks, Anna."

They finally made it down the stairs and moved the bundle over to the metal-topped autopsy table, letting it plop down with a thud loud enough to wake the dead. The couple stepped back, relieved.

"Why, Mrs. Warthrop!” Erasmus cried, still in awe. “With due respect, I was not expecting a tiny thing like you to be quite so strong!"

Anna stretched out her back, her spine having strained a bit under the massive weight of the burlap encased creature. She could imagine it crushing the elderly graverobber's weak bones had he attempted to pick it up. It was a wonder he'd even managed to get it in the cart all by himself.

"I have learned that it is foolish to underestimate Anna," Pellinore remarked. "Her talents may be unexpected, but they are numerous nonetheless. She is indispensable to me."

Anna was unable to help the smile that stretched across her pale lips, but quickly put it away, ushering the old man to a stool nearby the examination table. His eyes continued to water as they glanced over at the horrendous bundle, and in that moment, he seemed to remember why he was there.

"A crime," he murmured, wringing his hat in his gnarled hands. "A crime!"

"Yes, grave robbing is a crime," the doctor replied, leaning against the banister to tug on his boots. "A serious crime, Erasmus. A thousand dollar fine and five years hard labor. We are co-conspirators now, which is why I must trust you, and you in turn must trust me. Will Henry, where is my tea?"

Will had been so quiet Anna had forgotten he was already in the basem*nt with them. He dashed up the stairs, and Anna smiled again as she imagined the resentful things that he must have been grumbling in his head. He had only been with the Warthrops for a year; long enough to be familiar with Pellinore's behavior but not quite long enough to become accustomed to it. His father James had been run ragged the same way, but he had admired Pellinore greatly and as such never breathed a word of complaint.

"I have a family to feed," Erasmus explained, defending his unsavory choice of occupation. "My wife, she's very ill; she needs medicine. I can't find work, and what use is gold and jewels to the dead?"

Anna shrugged on a white medical smock before turning to the small, circular mirror she’d hung in the basem*nt, taking off her gold wedding band and hanging it on a hook stationed beside it. She then attempted to pull her long, thick hair into a tight bun. Despite her efforts, a few loose locks still hung over her face. There wasn't much she could do for those, and they were too short to get in the way regardless, so she ignored them. She was about to turn away, but did a double-take when she realized how bloodshot her blue-grey eyes were. Embarrassing, but then again, who was anybody who came knocking at the door of 425 Harrington Lane to judge her?

"So tell me, Erasmus," Anna asked as she applied a generous amount of ambergris to the inside of her mask, "how did you stumble upon such an abomination, as you call it?"

"Why Mrs. Warthrop, I quite literally stumbled upon it!" Erasmus explained. "I’d heard about the Bunton plot, and found it undisturbed so it seemed worth my while. And halfway to it, the ground gave beneath me, as if I struck a hollow patch in the earth. I fell face-first atop the casket! Don't know if my fall cracked the lid or if it was cracked by the... cracked before I fell."

"Before, no doubt," Pellinore commented.

He was still leaning against the banister, his arms crossed impatiently. While he was making conversation with the old man, Anna noticed his dark eyes were flitting towards the examining table. His excitement to unwrap his prize could barely be contained underneath his cordial façade. Will Henry came downstairs, carrying a tray with three teacups. He served Pellinore first, then Anna, and finally their guest.

"Oh, I am chilled to my very bones!" Erasmus whimpered, taking the cup graciously.

"This has been a cold spring," the doctor concurred dryly.

"I couldn't just leave it there," the old man continued, picking up his story where he had left off. "Cover it up again and leave it? No, no. I've more respect than that. I fear God. I fear the judgment of eternity! A crime, Doctor. An abomination! So once I gathered my wits, I used the horse and a bit of rope to haul them from the hole, wrapped them up... brought them here."

"You did the right thing, Erasmus," Pellinore assured him once again.

"'There's but one man who'll know what to do', I said to myself. Forgive me, but you must know what they say about you and the curious goings-on in this house. Only the deaf would not know about Pellinore Warthrop and the house on Harrington Lane!"

"Then I am fortunate you are not deaf," Pellinore said, unable to contain his sarcasm.

Anna knew well the rumors which flitted through town regarding their personal business. There were plenty of scandals taking place in New Jerusalem, but the bizarre behavior of Dr. Warthrop and his wife took precedence in the minds of their neighbors. Anna had overheard many wild explanations as to their true occupation; some more accurate than others. The most interesting was the idea they were performing abortions, as the thought of Pellinore being an actual doctor was laughable to her. He had no bedside manner to speak of.

Pellinore walked over to the old man's side, placing both hands on his shoulders.

"You have my confidence, Erasmus Gray, as I'm certain I have yours. I will speak to no one of your involvement in this 'crime', as you call it, as I'm sure you will keep mum regarding mine. Now, for your trouble..." He produced a wad of bills from his pocket and stuffed them into the old man's hands. "I don't mean to rush you off, but each moment you stay endangers both you and my work, both of which matter a great deal to me, though one perhaps more than the other."

He gave the man a tight smile, as if he were kidding, but he most certainly was not. He turned to his assistant.

"Will Henry, show our caller out the door. You have done an invaluable service to the advancement of science, sir."

Erasmus was too engrossed with the money in his quivering hands to be offended by the rude ushering up the basem*nt steps. It was a wonder he didn't trip, he was so mesmerized by his newfound fortune.

"How much did you give him?" Anna asked, unable to conceal her amusem*nt.

"More than enough to compensate for his service. Just look, Anna!" He spread his arms out in front of him, motioning towards the table.

"Indeed,” agreed Anna. “Christmas has come early it seems.”

Pellinore put his hands back on the banister, drumming his fingers impatiently as he waited. After a few minutes, Will Henry came back down the stairs. He had finally found his shoes and put them on. The basem*nt was ten degrees colder than the rest of the house year round; he certainly couldn’t afford to work in his stocking feet.

"Did you lock the door?" Pellinore asked, an excited quaver in his voice.

"Yes, sir."

The doctor nodded, addressing both of his assistants. "If what he says is true, if I have not been taken for a fool - which would not be the first time - then this is an extraordinary find. Come!"

He didn't have to tell Anna twice. She practically skipped to the table, standing on the opposite side. Pellinore would be performing most of the dissection; his wife was there to act as a macabre nurse, assisting him where needed be. Will Henry, for his part, was stuck with the instrument tray, as well as with dictation. The Warthrops both pulled on their gloves and masks as Will Henry wrote the date on top of a fresh journal page: April 15th, 1888.

"Are we ready, Will Henry?" Pellinore breathed, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. He drummed his fingers in the empty air, an excited tic.

"Ready, sir," Will Henry confirmed, raising his stubby pencil.

"Scissors!" He extended his palm. Will slapped a pair of scissors into them, handle first, but Pellinore quickly rejected them. "No, no, the big ones, Will Henry. The shears there."

Now armed with the right tool, he set to work. But the burlap was thicker than anticipated, and the muscles of his forearm bulged as he struggled to cut through the fabric.

"Allow me," Anna offered.

"Perhaps you should," the doctor relented, handing her the shears. "It would be faster."

Anna continued along the incision he'd already started. Erasmus had certainly wrapped it up tight! By the time she finished the nerves in her hand were tingling, but she made quick work of it regardless. Anna handed the shears back to Will Henry, then looked to Pellinore expectantly. He eagerly began to peel away the burlap, undoing it in the same direction it had been cut. He worked slowly, as if to make for a more dramatic reveal. The burlap fell open, hanging over either side of the table. Anna couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped her throat. Will peered over the table from behind the doctor to get a better look at the gruesome sight, and despite the obstructed view turned green around the gills.

Bound within the confines of the burlap was the corpse of a teenage girl, her body embraced by that of a much larger creature in a grotesque depiction of a lovers' embrace. To the untrained eye, it almost appeared to be a man. The fact it didn't have a head, let alone a neck to attach such an appendage to its torso, was the giveaway it was far from human. It was also much larger than any man - twice the size of the girl, who was almost completely engulfed in its arms, its pale form fully wrapped around hers. Her head was curved into its stomach, where Anna could clearly see the glistening of sinew. Half the flesh of her face was missing, exposing the tendons and bones of her cheek and jaw, as well as some within her neck. The culprit was clear - while her lover lacked a head, it was certainly not wanting for a mouth. The horrid maw sat just below the pectorals of its chest, full of razor-sharp teeth. It did not lack eyes, either: they were black and lidless, like a shark’s, and sat just under the curve of its broad shoulders.

Pellinore stared at his prize for a few moments in silence, his eyes sparkling with curiosity though they were also widened with utter shock.

"Anthropophagi," he murmured.

"An Anthropophagus?” Anna balked. “Here? In New England of all places? Are you certain...?"

She trailed off, touching the cold skin of the beast's arm as if to confirm it was actually real. Its body was milk white and completely hairless.

"It’s unmistakable… That he's dead is curious enough, but the fact he's here in the first place is indeed more curious by far! ...Specimen is male, approximately 25 to 30 years of age, no signs of exterior injury or trauma... Will Henry, are you writing this down?"

Will Henry looked as if he was about to pass out, unable to tear his eyes away from the horror before him. It was a testament to his reserve that he hadn't run screaming out of the basem*nt. He looked up at Pellinore, who stared back at him. The silence was deafening.

"...Focus upon the task at hand, Will Henry."

Will nodded, wiping away tears that were welling in his eyes due to the overwhelming odor. The doctor hadn't even made an incision yet, but the whole room already smelled like death. Pellinore started his dictation over. Will Henry concentrated this time, though his eyes still occasionally shot upwards to stare at what laid before him.

"Victim is female, approximately seventeen years of age, with evidence of denticulated trauma to the right side of the face and neck. The hyoid bone and lower mandible are completely exposed, exhibiting some scoring from the specimen's teeth..."

Will Henry's head snapped up at that. He clearly hadn't seen much more than the girl's face. Anna watched Pellinore as he leaned over the bodies, examining the Anthropophagus. She couldn't help but be captivated, even if the sight was nothing short of horrifying. He moved around to her side of the table, pressing against her back as he reached around to move the girl’s body. Even with half her face gone, it was easy to tell she had been fair. Her long brown ringlets spread across the table, and Anna had the instinct to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, but repressed it. The girl was no more than a corpse. Anna just hoped her soul was somewhere safe, completely unaware of what had happened to her body after her family had so carefully laid it to rest.

"Yes!" Pellinore called softly. His voice sounded right in his wife’s ear, startling her. "Most definitely Anthropophagi." He placed a hand on her tense shoulder. "Anna, move to the other side. I need you to stand over the Anthropophagus, pull him towards you slightly if you can. Yes, excellent. Will Henry, forceps. And a tray please - No, the small ones, there. By the skull chisel. Yes, that's the one."

As Will moved to follow the doctor's instructions, Anna noticed how badly he was shaking. She couldn't send him upstairs, however. He was young, yes, but still an assistant to their macabre work.

Pellinore mumbled to himself as he worked, cleaning the monster's teeth as if he were a dentist doing a routine examination.

"Most curious, most curious. No outward signs of trauma, clearly in its prime, yet dead as a doornail. What killed you, Antropophagus, hmmm? How did you meet your fate?"

As he cleaned, he occasionally tapped thin strips of fascia onto the tray Will was holding with outstretched arms.

"Are those ribs, Mrs. Warthrop?" Will whispered to his mistress, barely able to see what was inside the beast’s chest.

"I'm afraid not, dear boy."

Will Henry visibly paled. Anna put a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from collapsing where he stood.

"Steady, Will Henry," Pellinore said, still perceptive even though he was engrossed in his dental work. "You're no good to me unconscious. We have a duty this night. We are students of nature as well as its products, all of us, including this creature. Born of the same divine mind, if you believe in such things, for how could it be otherwise? We are soldiers for science, and we will do our duty. Yes, Will Henry? Yes, Will Henry?"

"Yes, doctor," Will managed to choke out. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy."

He dropped the forceps onto the metal tray with a clang. Anna leaned over, looking into the beast’s mouth.

"He most certainly choked on something," she noted. "No external signs of trauma, and he was gnawing on the girl's face? A piece of bone must have become lodged in his throat."

The doctor gave her a sharp nod. "Precisely what I was thinking. Will Henry, bring me the chisel."

Will took welcome relief from being ordered back to the instrument tray, but Pellinore quickly squashed that hope.

"Snap to, Will Henry! Roll the tray closer to the table; you'll wear yourself out trotting back and forth."

There would be a day where Will would start talking back, but that night, he simply did as the doctor said.

"Forceps!"

Will handed them over, and Pellinore reached his hand into the expanse of the monster's mouth. He went deeper and deeper, nearly up to his elbow, exploring the back of the Anthropophagus’ throat with the tips of his forceps. He struggled for a moment before letting out a triumphant cry.

"Ah!" He jerked back his arm, but nothing came with the forceps. "Stuck tight! Anna, I'll need a second set of hands."

"Of course."

She took the chisel from Will Henry, and used both hands to hold the monster's jaws open. It was the least amount of effort she had put into the project all night, but she was still mindful not to let the chisel slip. While he had a wide array of instruments, the most important tools Pellinore owned were his hands, and Anna didn't believe he'd appreciate losing one. Finally, he managed to dislodge the foreign object. Anna quickly let go, grabbing Pellinore’s left hand as he lost his balance. He steadied himself, the whole time still holding the forceps up like a trophy. Clutched within them was a string of pearls, coated in gore.

"Here is our culprit!" He exclaimed, proud of the discovery.

"A necklace?" Anna replied. "Yes, he must have torn it off her neck in his frenzy! It lodged in his throat and choked him to death!"

Will Henry sat back on the stool, fed up with the entire situation as the Warthrops reacted to the discovery with almost childish glee. Pellinore reached out his hand once again, calling for scissors. Will didn't move an inch. Pellinore called again, wiggling his fingers impatiently. Giving their young assistant a break, Anna grabbed the scissors herself, placing them in his open palm.

"A singular curiosity," Pellinore said as he cut the fabric of the girl's gown.

"Have they ever even been sighted in the Americas?" Anna asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"No. They're native to Northern and Western Africa, and the Comoros Islands, but not here, never here."

"Then how did he get here?"

"That is the question of the hour, my dear Anna, is it not?"

Gingerly, he peeled back the girl's gown, revealing the pale skin of her stomach. Even though she was dead, she looked pristine. She couldn't have been buried for long. In fact Erasmus, the professional he was, likely targeted fresh graves for the mostpart. The girl could have been buried at noon, devoured by an Anthropophagus over suppertime, and discovered by the old man at midnight. Pellinore put on his stethoscope, listening to the girl's stomach. A dawning horror came over Anna as she realized what he was looking for.

"God almighty, don't tell me there's something in there,” she whispered as if she feared someone overhearing.

Pellinore pulled the stethoscope from his ears. "I'm afraid it's as I suspected. I'll need you to fetch a specimen jar, Anna. One of the big ones!"

Anna rushed over to their collection of numerous jars, sitting on their own shelf below the ones which had already been filled. Anna grabbed the largest that they had, rushing back over while clutching it to her chest in anticipation.

"What is it, Mrs. Warthrop?" Will Henry asked. He was still perched on the stool, eyes wide in horror, watching a trainwreck happen in slow motion before his fawnish eyes.

"It is as Mr. Gray said, Will Henry," Anna replied. "An abomination."

Pellinore motioned towards Will Henry. "Scalpel!"

Will Henry complied this time, fetching a scalpel from off the tray. He stood next to his mistress, holding the lid of the jar. Anna was so engrossed in the horror that it didn’t even come to mind to simply send him upstairs and call him back when the gruesome deed was done. But Pellinore was more than happy to discuss his findings.

"They are not natural scavengers. Anthropophagi prefer fresh kill, but there are drives even more powerful than hunger. The female can breed, but she cannot bear. She lacks a womb, you see, for that location of her anatomy is given to another, more vital organ: her brain. Here, take the scalpel."

Will took the instrument back. The doctor plunged his hand into the girl's abdomen, his shoulder rotating as he felt around.

"But nature is ingenious," he continued, "and marvelously implacable. The fertilized egg is expelled into her mate's mouth, where it rests in a pouch located along his lower jaw. He has two months to find a host for their offspring, before the fetus bursts from its protective sac and he swallows it or chokes upon it. Ah, this must be it. Ready yourself now!"

Anna closed her eyes, but only for a brief moment, as the darkest part of her truly wanted to witness the scene. All was still, but only for a breath. With a dramatic flourish worthy of a stage show, Pellinore yanked from the girl's stomach a squirming mass of flesh and teeth encased in a milky white sac. The sac burst as the creature struggled, spraying a rancid amniotic fluid all over his smock and boots. Anna’s face scrunched with disgust. She struggled to keep down her tea as the scent filled her delicate nostrils. It was far worse than death. Pellinore nearly dropped the writhing creature as it flailed its tiny arms and legs. It was about half the size of a human newborn, and he held it to his chest as if it was one to keep from dropping it.

"The jar!"

Anna had nearly forgotten. She scrambled to hold the specimen jar to him, and he dropped the Anthropophagus fetus in. Will practically threw the lid at his mistress, who didn't hesitate for even a second to screw it on. She stared into the shining black eyes of the tiny creature, watching as it writhed. It clawed the glass with its tiny talons, and Anna winced at the sound. Despite its infancy, its needle-sized claws were still as sharp as its father's. Pellinore took the specimen from his wife, placing it on the workbench. Wordlessly, he soaked a cloth in halothane and alcohol, dropping it into the jar and screwing the lid back on with intense speed. The baby Antropophagus made quick work of the cloth, shredding it with its tiny teeth and eating half of it for good measure. Within a few minutes, it would perish.

Anna attempted to collect herself, leaning over the exam table. The scent of the girl’s decaying organs was much more inviting at that point.

"Change your smock, for the love of God," Anna grumbled as her husband approached the table once again. "You smell like... you smell like London."

Pellinore was not unsympathetic to her plight. "Perhaps you should stand outside for a few minutes. It will help to clear your head."

Anna eagerly agreed, heading up the stairs and exiting the basem*nt. As she left, she could hear Pellinore continue to lecture his apprentice.

"Upon reaching full term, the infant Anthropophagus bursts from its amniotic sac and immediately begins to feed upon the host until nothing is left except bones, and those he drills into by means of his needle like teeth to suck out the nutrient-rich marrow. Unlike hom*o sapiens, Will Henry, the Anthropophagus develops teeth before anything else..."

Anna freed herself of her mask, the ambergris now rendered useless. She ripped off her gloves as well, leaving them carelessly on the kitchen counter. She stepped out the back door, deeply inhaling the crisp night air. Yes, that was precisely what she’d needed. She could easily handle the visuals, no matter how gruesome they became, but the smells sometimes became too much to bear. Once her overwhelmed nose was filled only with cold spring air, she began to detect something else - blood.

It was clearly human, so she at first assumed it had come from the girl’s body and ended up dripping onto the ground as they carried her in. Or, perhaps it was just the blood staining her smock. But those two possibilities were quickly ruled out as she followed the actual direction of the smell. All was quiet, except for the sound of her rubber boots against the cobblestone street, and her horses sleeping in the carriage house. As she drew closer to the source of the blood, however, she heard the slurred singing voice of a man. She finally came upon him, piss drunk and stumbling down a dimly lit street which cut through an isolated part of town, singing Abide with Me. He appeared to be making his way home from the local bar. Blood trickled down his face from a cut on his forehead, streaming over his black eye. He'd gotten into a scrap with another patron. Anna stayed put in her hiding spot, but her mind still wandered.

Years before in Vienna, where she’d been living when she first met the doctor, Anna would have sprung upon the opportunity. Small town be damned, he was an easy target! Slow moving, out of his wits, and based on his state it was doubtful many would miss him. She was tempted, oh, so tempted. No more sneaking into barns and snagging the blood from animals like some kind of oversized vampire bat. She continued to leer at him from the shadows as he passed her by, but as he shambled away, Anna was unable to help herself any longer. Before she even registered what she was doing in her logical mind - her human mind - she impulsively ran out onto the street. The man turned around, looking at her. She certainly must have been a sight, as she still had on tall, oversized boots and a soiled smock.

"What're you doing out here this time of night, beautiful?"

Oh. So he was that type of man, even at the sight of a woman as clearly deranged as her!

Anna smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "You're right. It's very dangerous out here this time of night. It's best you see yourself home."

The man stared at Anna, delirious. "...Who are you? I can barely even see you..."

He moved forward, attempting to use the lamp he was carrying to shine a better light on the vampire, but she stepped further into the shadows.

"Why can't we simply be strangers in the night?" Anna asked.

"Ohhoho, I see what you're saying. Well then, I'll play your game, lady."

"No game. In fact, I’m married, so I do not appreciate your tone."

She stepped back further, now aware she was in a bit over her head. She should have just continued to lurk and daydream.

"Married? Tsk, missus, what would your husband think if he knew you were out here talkin' to strange men in the wee hours of the morning?"

"My husband has much more pressing matters to worry about, trust me. Now see yourself off before I call him and see what he thinks of a belligerent drunk harassing his wife."

"Hey! You harassed me first!"

"I do not believe you know what harassment means. Good night, sir."

Anna rushed back to the house, bolting the door shut behind her. She leaned against the wood, taking a moment to become used to the smell of decay that hung in the air even just in the kitchen. She was still taunted by the idea of sinking her fangs into the vulnerable man. She could have. Hell, after talking to him, she should have. Oh, the unfairness of it all, that scum like him got to walk while the young girl from the graveyard had to suffer not only the agony of death but the violation of her body afterwards by a creature that she would have never pictured in even her most disturbed nightmares.

Anna had already learned over a century before, though, that life was very much unfair.

When Anna returned downstairs, she was put to work untangling the girl from the Anthropophagus. It was no easy task. The beast had dug its two-inch claws into the girl's back, which Anna at first carelessly attempted to remove with her bare hands, only to have Pellinore smack her wrist like a mother chastising a child. Anna then took to prying the claws out using the chisel as a makeshift crowbar. She heaved the creature's arm off of its prey, and then its leg, its large muscles and sheer girth making that a task in of itself. All the while, the doctor continued to lecture, as if he were teaching an evil biology class. Once she successfully freed the girl from her post-mortem prison, Anna carried her to the work table, the lightness of the corpse a stark contrast to the heft that once engulfed her tiny frame.

She folded the dead girl’s arms across her chest and covered her opened torso with her gown. Anna then threw a clean sheet over her, stepping back. The sight was quite sad, but at the very least, she would finally be at rest. Pellinore spoke aloud, mirroring Anna’s thoughts.

"Well, she is free of it now. If there's any mercy in this, she did not suffer. She did not suffer."

He then turned back to the table, clapping his hands together. His melancholy vanished in an instant, his mind back on task. Now that the two were separated, the necropsy could begin in earnest. Anna helped the doctor to push the beast onto its back. Its eyes, two pitch dark voids, stared directly at the ceiling. Its jaws were still hanging open, the gaping black hole of its mouth large enough for Anna to stick her head in and still have room to spare.

"Like the lion, they are nocturnal hunters," Pellinore said in his dry lecturer’s tone. "Thus the oversized eyes and complete absence of melanin in the upper dermis. Also like Pantera leo - as well as Canis lupus - they are communal hunters."

"Communal?" Will Henry questioned.

"They hunt in packs," Pellinore clarified.

Will gulped at that. It was a scary thought, to his credit: a whole pod of Anthropophagi chasing down a helpless human. Especially with those powerful muscles - they could leap forty feet in a single bound. Very few stood a chance against predators as perfectly designed to kill as the Anthropophagus was.

By the time the necropsy was completed, Will Henry looked exhausted. Anna felt quite tired herself, but she could afford to go without sleep longer than most. Not longer than her husband, however, who seemed to be able to run on black tea and fumes for days at a time. When Pellinore was deep in the depths of his mania, as he was that night, he could go for a week straight with little to no rest. Anna would usually stay awake with him, not resigning herself to bed until he was willing to do the same (or until he simply collapsed; whichever came first). Anna was known to give into sleep sometimes herself, laying her head on her arms, saying she'd only rest her eyes for a few minutes, and then passing out. When that happened, she’d always wake up in the comfort of her bed - or wherever she happened to be sleeping during that particular case. And once she got some rest, she’d be ready to go for another three days or so.

Pellinore, on the other hand, crashed much harder. He would take to bed for at least as long as he had been in his manic episode, listless and irritable. He would not leave unless it was to relieve himself or be forced into a bath, which Anna typically would take with him, if only as some kind of motivation. Her company kept him stable; as stable as he could be.

The doctor’s wife burdened him with her woes as much as he burdened her with his. Anna had days where she felt all was for naught; nights where the crushing weight of her own immortality could cause her to feel restless and afraid. The longer she lived, the more she could feel the looming shadow of oblivion. Her thoughts would often turn to her family - her father in particular. He had been away fighting the war when she was infected, and did not return until weeks after Anna had already left. He died a few years after, not knowing what had ever become of his only child, and that thought was enough to keep her up some nights.

Pellinore Warthrop was the only soul who knew her pain and conversely, Anna was the only one who knew his. They suffered together. They weren't a match made in Heaven, so much as a sick joke cooked up in the fiery bowels of Hell. Or perhaps they were thrown together as a mercy; not only to soothe their fragile souls by giving them someone tangible to cling to, but to also spare anybody else from the curse of loving them.

The cycle would start again once there was a spark to reignite the fuel - a telegram, a letter, a package at the door, an important caller. Pellinore would have life breathed into him once more, taking his wife by the hand and bringing her along on the new adventure. James had previously been their third wheel; and it was a much different dynamic as he had loved the doctor as much as Anna did. Up to the point where he and Will's mother, Mary, would get into arguments about it as their poor son tried to sleep through it upstairs. James would always disappear without a word, only coming back once the work was done. She'd always greet him with a scowl. He could not tell her, as she likely could not have handled the full truth of the doctorMs occupation. James had protected the doctor, and to an extent, he had protected his family as well. But after he perished, little Will Henry became fully involved, not spared from the subject at all despite his young age.

Will helped to clean the lab once the work was done while Anna started on her usual chores, collecting clothes that needed to be laundered and putting labels on all the specimens they’d documented throughout the night. It was well past noon by the time everything was finished up, and Will Henry sank onto the bottom step of the stairs, completely exhausted. Pellinore went back to the girl, sewing up the incision he'd made earlier. Anna fetched her pearls. She'd cleaned them with isopropyl alcohol then taken the time to fix the chain, which had been broken by the Anthropophagus. A few pearls that broke free had been recovered from deeper within the beast’s lungs. Anna looped them about the dead girl’s neck, straightening them out so they sat perfectly on her neck. Did it matter? No. The old graverobber was right, the dead had no use for jewels. However, if her family had wanted her to be buried wearing the necklace, then it would remain on her. Pellinore, having finished closing the incision, stepped back and stared at the girl.

"What can be said?" He murmured aloud, though it was unclear whether he was talking to himself or his companions. "What once laughed and cried and dreamed becomes fodder. Fate brought him to her, but if not him, then without question the worm, a no less ravenous beast than he. There are monsters who wait for all of us upon our return to the earth, and so what can be said?"

He then threw the sheet over her, the snapping of the fabric so abrupt it made Anna flinch.

"We haven't much time," he said, directly to his wife. "Where there is one, there must be more. Anthropophagi are not particularly prolific. They produce only one or two offspring per year; still, we do not know how long they're gone unnoticed here in the New World. Regardless of the exact number, somewhere in the vicinity of New Jerusalem there is a breeding population of these man-eaters, and it must be found and eradicated or we shall be overwhelmed."

"Surely in the graveyard," Anna reasoned. "If someone had been attacked by some savage beast, we certainly would have heard about it. Thus, for now they must be sustaining themselves on the corpses of our dead; odd for the species but I wouldn’t say impossible. We can go investigate the graveyard tonight, once our caller returns to retrieve the girl."

Pellinore gave her a sharp nod before turning to his young assistant. "Will Henry!"

"Yes, sir?" Will Henry replied weakly.

He was visibly faint, his large brown eyes drifting upwards towards the ceiling.

"What is it?" Pellinore demanded. "What's the matter with you? I can't have you collapsing on me now, Will Henry."

"Yes, sir," Will Henry agreed.

He promptly collapsed to the floor.

Anna sighed. She picked the tired boy up, hooking one arm underneath his legs and placing her other hand on his back to support him. He weakly wrapped his arms around her neck, pressing his weary head into her shoulder. Anna carried him up the basem*nt steps, through the kitchen, up to the second floor, then up the ladder into his bedroom loft. She placed him on the bed, taking his hat and setting it on the rack which was bolted to the wall above his nightstand. She helped him undress and change into night clothes, throwing his old soiled clothing into the laundry basket at the top of the stairs to be washed later. When she returned to the loft, he looked up at her through heavy lids.

"You should sleep too, Mrs. Warthrop," he yawned.

"Nonsense," Anna said, waving him off. "Don't worry for me. I've been taking care of myself for far longer than you've been alive."

"How old are you?"

"Never ask a lady her age, Will Henry. It's very impolite."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

He laid down, his eyes drifting towards the hook his tattered little newsboy cap sat on. He stared at it for a moment, his lower lip quivering.

"...You miss them, don't you?" Anna asked softly, reaching down to gingerly brush a lock of hair from his forehead.

The boy nodded, his eyes welling with tears.

"As do I, dear boy. As do I."

Suddenly, Will Henry burst into full, howling sobs, curling up into a ball in the middle of his bed. Anna retracted her hand as if he had bitten her, clutching it to her chest. The vampire watched him for a moment, wide eyed and unsure of what to do or to say.

Will Henry had been born shortly after Anna married Pellinore, and James boasted about him endlessly. He’d never been so proud before or since of the infant with impossibly large eyes and a single tuft of hair on his fat head. At first, Anna was more amused by the child than anything. James had tried many times to get her to hold the baby, but the idea of clutching a squirming infant in her arms had made her uncomfortable. Any maternal instinct she'd had as a light-hearted young human woman had died with her, and Will Henry had never rekindled them. Until, perhaps, years later. When his parents died, she hadn’t seen him since he was a little boy, and they were reunited by tragedy. God had played a cruel trick, but whether it was a trick upon Will Henry or the Warthrops could not be said.

Now, the same baby she'd seen as a passing curiosity twelve years before was in front of her, weeping for all he had lost, not unlike she did in her own moments of weakness.

"...I miss my family too," Anna offered.

Will Henry sniffed and blubbered, his mistress’s attempt to console him not landing. What he needed wasn't words of sympathy, nor a replacement for his mother. When Anna realized that, she sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning over and hugging him. After a few moments, he hugged her back, burying his face into her shoulder. She didn't speak a word, just held him. The vampire and orphan stayed in their embrace for what seemed like hours, but was probably fifteen minutes at most, before Will Henry finally stopped crying. At first, Anna thought he'd calmed down, but upon laying him back against his pillows noticed he had simply cried himself to sleep.

Anna set to work on her domestic duties, taking her mind off of Will Henry. Her stomach growled as she worked, and she staved it off by eating three bread rolls, but to her they were empty calories, only there to momentarily satiate her stomach. What she really needed called to her from the basem*nt, the scent too powerful to resist.

Pellinore had prepared the corpse of the Anthropophagus. After Anna strung it up on a pair of heavy-duty meat hooks for him, he had opened the major arteries in its bulking arms, draining its blood. Once the corpse was ready, he'd preserve it and send it to the Monstrumologist’s Society in New York City. The smell wafted towards Anna as she walked into and out of the kitchen, distracting her from her chores.

When she finally caved into her urge to go downstairs, she found Pellinore sitting on a stool, going over the notes that Will Henry had transcribed earlier. From the other side of the room, the beast stared them down with a single, lidless black eye. It was so long that the tips of its barbed claws were scraping the stone floor. The creatures had always reminded her of a strange, unholy mixture between a shark and a primate. She'd privately nicknamed them as such; a nickname she didn’t say aloud because she didn’t believe her husband would appreciate her calling them "shark monkeys" for the sake of shorthand.

Pellinore turned to her, finally noticing her presence. "I suppose you'll want my clothes."

Anna tore her eyes away from the dangling shark monkey, regarding his soiled outfit with a grimace. "Yes, especially now. You look like a murder victim. Or perhaps the murderer himself."

Pellinore tugged at his bloodied shirt. "I did not notice."

"Surely not."

Anna’s eyes drifted back over to the tub of half-congealed blood, watching the slow drip of the remaining fluids from the slits Pellinore had cut into it. In that moment, something in her snapped, and predatory instincts overrode the Victorian sensibilities that had been hammered into her by the scientists that took her in. Before she knew it, she was in front of the tub, shoveling the liquid into her mouth with her hands as if she was drinking from a river. She kept going until Pellinore physically stopped her, grabbing onto the back of her tea gown and yanking her backwards. He spun her around, taking her by the wrists.

"Anna! What in God's name has gotten into you?!" He looked completely mortified on her behalf.

"I..." Anna coughed and sputtered, the creature's blood disagreeing with her aching stomach. She had to fight to not force it back up on the spot. "...I’m starving."

She released herself from Pellinore's grasp, wiping her hands on his already blood-soaked smock. He grabbed them again, much more gently than before, holding them to his chest. Anna stared up at him, surprised to see how much concern was etched into his features. She'd actually managed to make him forget about Anthropophagi for a moment.

"When was the last time you fed?" He asked, serious.

"I almost ate a man last night," Anna blurted out, her voice hushed.

"Almost?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her choice of adverb.

He was speaking low as well, though Will Henry was still unconscious in his bed several floors up.

"I - I didn't attack him, but I wanted to. Desperately. I need human blood, Pellinore. Drinking from livestock has only held me over for so long. I'm driven to hunt humans; it’s what I'm built for, as you are well aware."

“You may drink from me.”

“Yes, but that’s not enough. If I were to truly feed from you… I cannot do that to you, I simply refuse.”

Pellinore let her go and turned back towards his workbench with a sigh that was painfully dramatic. "I... I will figure something out. But I cannot let you run around town slaughtering people; if anything happened to you I would..."

He seemed far more concerned with the idea of Anna being hunted down by a mob of townsfolk with stakes and torches than he did the idea of her murdering innocents, which she couldn’t help but find endearing.

"I'll hold out as long as I can, but I promise you, if I don't have something different soon I will surely go mad."

“You are already quite mad, I’m afraid.” There was no humor in his tone; he was not one for joking around. He went back over to his notes, though he still watched her from the corner of his eye. "...Please go upstairs. The way you're eying the carcass is discomforting."

"Oh, I have learned my lesson," Anna replied, already shedding her now blood-tainted clothes. "That was absolutely repugnant."

"Hmm. Well, this specimen has been dead for some time. I would imagine fresh Anthropophagus blood to taste much better."

Anna laughed at that, wiping her chin with her apron. "What an absurd thing to say, darling."

Pellinore turned to her suddenly, a finger raised in the air. "No, no, that may actually work! Anthropophagi are primates; they branch far from hom*o sapiens of course, but are close enough that they may sustain you for some time."

Anna stared at him, mouth agape. "...Are you suggesting I hunt the beasts back?"

"It's simply a thought."

"Ah yes, a thought. I could make a book of your thoughts at this point. The Wit and Witticisms of Doctor Pellinore Xavier Warthrop; Chapter One, line one: 'Fresh Anthropophagus blood may taste better than the blood of dead specimens'."

Pellinore waved her off, going back to his work. "I'll deliver you my clothes later."

"I will make sure of that, yes."

"But do think about the possibility, Anna. Your hunger is a detriment, and not just to you."

Anna licked her lips, cleaning off the remainder of her impulse feeding. "...Yes. Of course."

Chapter 2: A New Hypothesis

Chapter Text

Later that night, Anna made a stew for dinner, throwing extra scraps of beef out for the stray cats. One she was particularly fond of, a decrepit calico she'd dubbed Old Mother, gave her the mixed message of growling as she rubbed against the vampire’s legs. The feral cats had no need to keep meowing after kittenhood, so she had never learned how to communicate with people properly. Anna understood what the little cat meant, however. She crouched down, scratching at one of Old Mother’s notched ears.

Anna was wearing men's clothes that night, tailored to her measurements by the local seamstress, Beatrice. The bubbly woman never questioned Anna’s unusual requests, possibly because of the rumors, but Anna liked to believe she was just genuinely kind. Her outfit wasn’t entirely masculine; to keep warm, she also had put on a blue button-up coat that was meant to go with one of her favorite day dresses.

Anna stepped back into the house, Old Mother nearly slipping inside as well, but she shut the door in the cat’s face. As much as Anna loved animals, she was not in a profession that allowed the luxury of keeping pets other than her horses. Besides, the last time she had let Old Mother into the house, she’d given birth to a litter of kittens under the bed, all of which were stillborn. Anna had been completely inconsolable, and for the sake of her sanity, Pellinore banned any and all cats from entering the house from that point on.

Will Henry had since come downstairs; Pellinore woke him up. Anna found them in the kitchen, with Pellinore ladling the stew into a bowl for Will.

"Eat," he said. "We shall not have the opportunity later."

"Exactly," Anna commented, blocking him as he tried to make a hasty exit from the kitchen. "Eat."

Her threatening look was enough to make him cave in, but to her chagrin, he only had three bites before leaving the kitchen. It was better than him eating nothing, at least. She finished off what he wouldn't eat, needing something to stave her as well. Her stomach still continued to protest, however. Pellinore’s idea from earlier came back to her mind.

"Really?" Anna complained to herself as she set the dirty dish in the sink to wash later. "Eating Anthropophagi? For such a brilliant man, he really does say the most foolish things."

"What was that, Mrs. Warthrop?"

"Nothing said to you, Will Henry. Finish your dinner."

"Yes, ma’am. Oh, do we have any bread?"

Anna thought back to the rolls she had just eaten. Sure enough, she’d finished them off. "No, no bread. I'll go to the market tomorrow. I need flour and raspberries for the doctor’s scones, anyway."

The thought of homemade pastries made her stomach growl. Anna decided, just to be safe, that she would eat another bowl of stew.

After supper, Will and Anna joined Pellinore in the basem*nt. He had changed into a white shirt and black trousers, looking much more presentable than he had in his blood soaked smock. He was pacing back and forth, one side of the room to the other, running a hand through his dishevled hair. Anna knew what that meant - he was in deep thought. She approached him, and upon noticing her, he stared down at her mouth agape as if shocked by her presence.

"Where have you been?"

"Eating," Anna answered dryly.

He gracefully avoided the potential confrontation, moving back towards the work bench where the poor girl still lay. He clapped his hands together, staring back at his sole companions; gaze intense and color high in his cheeks.

"Tell me, what is our enemy?"

Will Henry pointed towards the obvious: the Anthropophagus dangling from a hook nearby.

"Nonsense!" Pellinore said with a laugh. "Enmity is not a natural phenomenon, Will Henry. Is the antelope the lion's enemy? Does the moose or elk swear undying animosity for the wolf? We are but one thing to the Anthropophagi: meat. We are prey, not enemies."

"Then what, pray tell, is the answer to your riddle?" Anna asked, perching herself upon the now clean examination table.

"Not a riddle, my dear Anna. A simple question with a clear answer: our enemy is fear. Blinding, reason-killing fear. Fear consumes the truth and poisons all the evidence, leading us to false assumptions and irrational conclusions. Last night I allowed the enemy to overcome me; it blinded me to the glaring truth that our situation is not as dire as fear had led me to believe."

"It's not?" Will Henry asked, perplexed.

"The typical Anthropophagi pod consists of 20 to 25 breeding females, a handful of juveniles, and one alpha male!"

He turned to Anna, grinning foolishly, his eyes sparkling. She smiled back despite herself, quietly wondering why that fact had brought him such relief. Will Henry, for his part, looked completely lost, staring at the doctor as if he were a lunatic, which wasn't that inaccurate a judgement.

"...Are you suggesting that surely, if there were that many, they would have been discovered by now?" Anna realized aloud.

Pellinore nodded his head. his excitement picking up. "Yes, Anna! Don't you see? There could not be more than two or three others. A breeding population in the vicinity of New Jerusalem is impossible!"

He resumed his pacing, and as he spoke, Anna was unsure if he was even aware of their presence anymore.

"The one fact gave birth to my fear, a fear that aborted all other - extremely pertinent - evidence. Yes, it is a fact that a typical pod has up to 30 members, but it is equally true that Anthropophagi are not native to the Americas. There has not been a single sighting of the species on this continent since its discovery; no remains or other evidence of its existence here has ever been found; and there is no corresponding legend or myth about them in the native traditions."

He turned on his heel to face Will Henry, who still looked completely lost.

"Do you see it now, Will Henry?"

"I- I think so, sir."

"Nonsense!" Pellinore exclaimed. "Clearly you do not! Do not lie to me, Will Henry. To me or to anyone else - ever. Lying is the worst form of buffoonery!"

"Yes, sir."

"We must couple the fact they are not native to these shores with the fact that they are extremely aggressive. A breeding population could not have gone unnoticed, simply because we are lacking one thing. And what is that one thing?"

Will Henry looked up at him, his small brows furrowed. “Um… I do not know, sir.”

"Bodies," Anna answered.

Pellinore whipped around and moved to her, cupping her face in his hands briefly, excited they were on the same wavelength. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her in his mania, but he instead pulled away to continue his rant.

"Yes! They must have food, obviously, to thrive, yet there have been no reports of attacks, no sightings, no evidence, direct or indirect, of their presence besides that," he jabbed a finger towards the beast on the hook. "And that," he said, swinging his finger round to the shrouded corpse on the bench. "Hence their numbers are not great, could not be great. So you see how our enemy, fear, makes the impossible and the unreasonable perfectly reasonable! No. We have a case of recent immigration, this male and perhaps one - no more than two, I would fathom - breeding females. The great mystery is not in their numbers, but how they came to be here. They are not amphibious; they did not swim here. They don't have wings; they did not fly here. So how did they come to be here? We must answer that question once tonight's business is transacted. Now, where's the list?"

"...The list, sir?" Will Henry asked.

"Yes, yes, the list, the list, Will Henry! Why do you stare at me like that? Am I a lunatic, Will Henry? Do I speak in tongues?"

"I don't - I haven't seen - you've given me no list, sir."

"Wait, do you mean the list of supplies?" Anna asked. "You told me you'd made that this afternoon!"

"I said no such thing," Pellinore replied.

"Yes, you did! Do you think I'm deaf or daft? You told me to my face, Pellinore!"

"Well if this list exists, then where is it?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Anna gazed back at him, returning the look of pure bafflement he had on his face. "...How the Hell am I supposed to know?!” She exploded. “You’re the one who wrote the damn thing!"

In her frustration, she slammed her hand down on the table, only to feel a piece of paper. On it was a list, scrawled out in Pellinore's distinctive handwriting. She'd been sitting on it the whole time. Anna yanked it out from underneath her, her pale cheeks flushed red with frustration, and thrusted it towards him.

"Here!"

"Ah, yes, there it is!" Pellinore said, back on the narrative that the list existed. "Right where someone left it."

Anna was about to scream, 'Yes, where you left it, you f*cking buffoon!', but realizing it would be a pointless subject to get into an argument over, simply stared at him. If looks could kill, surely he would have dropped where he stood. Pellinore gave the list to Will Henry.

"Here, pack it up quickly and put it by the back door. Snap to, Will Henry!"

Will took the list and ran upstairs, shutting the basem*nt door behind him. Anna slid off her perch, and Pellinore grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving the room.

"Bring your bowie knife," he said. "And your revolver."

"Yours isn't enough?"

"No. Bring yours as well."

It wasn't a suggestion, it was a command. Anna was annoyed - in her eyes, she was the one who needed to keep him safe - but complied anyway. She went upstairs to her bedroom, where she found Will Henry frantically searching through Pellinore’s desk.

"Where's the doctor's revolver?" He asked.

"It's not in the top left-hand drawer?"

"No, he's placed it somewhere else."

"Then I cannot help you, I'm afraid."

Anna opened the wardrobe, finding her knife and the sheath she kept it in, which she attached to her waist. She then searched around until she found her revolver. The vampire heard Will Henry's feet trot out of the room, having finally found the doctor’s elusive gun. Anna turned away from the wardrobe, going over to the mirror. She put her hair down for a moment before pinning it back up to make sure it was secured firmly. The last thing she needed was for it to fall in her face at the most inopportune moment. She threw on a gray wool cap to help keep her hair tucked in. Satisfied that she looked presentable, she went back downstairs.

Will Henry was panting by the time he finished packing their items, but Pellinore didn't seem pleased. Apparently there hadn't been enough snap in his to. It wasn’t Will’s fault, really; both the doctor and his wife were incredibly disorganized. A desk would look neat on top, but when a drawer was opened it would reveal a disarray of papers, utensils, and garbage. Searching for anything in specific was a futile endeavor.

At the stroke of midnight, Erasmus knocked on the door. Pellinore answered the door and had to literally drag the old man inside. The codger wasn't an eager participant in the Warthrops’ nefarious activities, despite being a rather shady character himself.

"Load the cart, Will Henry," Pellinore commanded before disappearing into the basem*nt with Erasmus.

Anna stepped outside with Will, greeting the cool, foggy air with a yawn and a stretch. Erasmus’ elderly mare pawed at the ground as if she sensed the imminent danger she was in. That reminded Anna of her own horses, and she went into the carriage house to check on them. Pellinore's bay stallion poked his head over the stall door upon hearing her footsteps. She stroked the diamond in the center of his forehead. One of the stray cats was in the corner, cleaning itself. Anna didn't object to the animal's presence, as the cats were the reason they had so few rats and mice infesting their home. It was her main argument for keeping them around.

"Anna!"

Pellinore called for her. She sighed, giving the horse a final pat on the neck before going outside to see what he wanted. Pellinore and Erasmus were making their way out of the house, each holding one end of the dead girl. One of her arms had slid off her chest, dangling just above the pavement.

"Oh, honestly," Anna murmured.

Erasmus did a double-take - either at her unusual attire, her casual grabbing of a dead body, or both - as she took the girl from them and laid her in the cart.

"That wasn't necessary," Pellinore remarked.

"I don't mind, really."

Anna hopped into the back of the cart, already knowing there wasn't nearly enough room on the seat for more than the two men. Will Henry was resigned to the same fate, and he climbed over the other side after he'd locked the front door. Erasmus whipped around, doing another double take as they huddled on either side of the shrouded girl.

"They are coming with us...?" He asked, casting a wary glance towards Pellinore.

"Of course they are," the doctor responded nonchalantly.

"Begging your pardon, doctor, this is no business for a woman, much less a child!"

"Will Henry is my assistant," Pellinore declared. He leaned over, giving Will Henry a paternal pat upon the head. "A child by outward appearance, perhaps, but mature beyond his years and hardier than he might seem to the unfamiliar eye. His services are indispensable to me. As for Anna, I believe I was already clear as to her role. She is perfectly suited for this line of work, regardless of her sex."

Anna sat back in the cart with a satisfied smirk, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing them one over the other. She folded her arms across her chest, watching the back of Pellinore's head as they trotted away from the house and rode off into the night.

The dark caravan soon arrived at Old Hill Cemetery, an imposing visage on the rising ground at the other side of town. It was surrounded by a stone wall and protected with an iron gate, which they passed through undeterred. Erasmus tried to get the Warthrops to leave Will Henry at the gates, but Anna was much more unsettled by the idea of leaving him alone in the dark than she was having him by her side if they faced any trouble.

It was dark and foggy, reminiscent of the beginning of a campfire tale. The plot of land was overgrown with trees; oaks and poplars which swayed gently in the cool breeze. In the distance, Anna could see the Warthrop mausoleum, where all of Pellinore's relatives had been laid to rest. The Warthrops were a prominent clan in New Jerusalem - one of the founding families, to be specific. The old money was how Pellinore was able to get away with so much, and also how he could afford the life he chose. Monstrumology wasn't a lucrative profession in itself.

Anna looked over her shoulder, seeing the familiar buildings and homes of their quiet hamlet, every other resident sleeping peacefully in their beds and unaware of the horrors haunting the cemetery.

"My revolver, Will Henry," Pellinore said, his voice soft as a whisper.

Will Henry passed it over, and the old man looked away, as if he were watching something scandalous.

"You brought a weapon, I trust," Pellinore said to him.

"My Winchester," Erasmus confirmed. "Never shot anything bigger than a grouse with it..."

"Aim for the stomach," Pellinore instructed, "just below the mouth."

"I'll do that, doctor, if I can aim true while running in the opposite direction!"

The horse strained as she pulled her cargo up along the path, Erasmus sticking to the lane that ran along the length of the cemetery walls. There was dead silence, save for ambient sounds. The calls of spring peepers, the clopping of the old nag's hooves, the wheels creaking as they hit uneven pavement, the shifting of the body in the cart, the old man clearing phlegm from his throat. Anna leaned back, staring up at the clear night sky. It was easy to forget what they were there for, despite the fact she could very much still smell what was next to her.

"Good thinking Anna; we must keep sharp," Pellinore hissed over his shoulder. "They are adept climbers."

Anna’s face flushed. Oh, yes. Of course. That's exactly why she'd been looking up... She quickly scanned the trees lining their path, paranoid she'd see the looming figure of a hungry Anthropophagus.

"If one should drop," Pellinore warned, "go for her eyes. It's where she's most vulnerable."

Will Henry pulled out a wooden stake, clutching it in his hand as he joined Anna in scanning the treetops. When she got over her initial surge of fear, Anna realized she was being foolish. She’d certainly hear such a large beast clamboring through the foliage; even if it was trying to stalk them. It was a difficult task for any animal to take a vampire by surprise. So, instead, she just kept her ears sharp for any abnormal sounds. There was one, eventually: a rustling in the bushes that prompted both her Pellinore to draw their revolvers and aim them in the direction of the sound. However, it turned out to be a possum foraging for grubs in the underbrush.

"The enemy!" Pellinore hissed to her.

Eventually, they emerged from the trees and into a clearing where tombstones dotted the ground, sparkling in the moonlight. Erasmus kept going until he reached the plot he had taken the girl from. He halted, pointing a shaky hand towards the disturbed grave.

"That one, doctor."

Anna looked at the tombstone.

ELIZA BUNTON

BORN MAY 7, 1872

DIED APRIL 3, 1888

The poor thing had only been a month shy of her 16th birthday. Pellinore hopped off his seat, wandering over to the plot. He paced around it, mumbling to himself, and Anna kept a careful eye on him until she was distracted by the old man.

"There, there, child," Erasmus said.

He had a hand on Will Henry's shoulder. Will did look upset, feeling the same empathy for the teenager that Anna was.

“At least she will be at peace after this,” Anna muttered.

The old man shook his head, changing his tone from sympathetic to indignant. "He shouldn't have brought you. A dark and dirty business this is; no place for any God-fearing Christian, much less women and children."

Will shrugged the old man's hand off of him, annoyed. "I'm not a child."

Anna let out a soft snort. With his small frame, cherubic face, and soft hair topped with a little brown hat, he barely even passed for a nine-year-old, much less his actual age.

"Not a child, eh?" The old man replied, exchanging an amused glance with Anna. "Then these old eyes make a liar of Erasmus Gray! Let me have a closer look..."

He lifted the tattered little hat from Will Henry's head, examining his face with a look of study so comically earnest it brought a smile to the boy's face.

"Ack! You're right, not a child - a fine young man, then! D'ye know what fooled me, William Henry? It's this hat! It's much too small for a strapping young lad such as yourself. A fully grown man should have a man's full grown hat!"

He took his straw hat off his balding head, placing it on Will Henry. The hat was so large it fell right over his eyes and nose. The trio erupted into laughter, the cart shaking with their mirth.

"Hmm, now that's much too big," Anna commented. "He does need a man's hat, but one that fits him properly."

She took her wool cap off. While it was tailored to fit her head, it was still certainly a men's hat; one of a similar style to Will Henry's own. She replaced the handmade straw hat with hers, tugging it firmly down onto his head. It was still slightly too big , but otherwise fit him well.

"Aha!" Erasmus said. "Look at that! Why, Mrs. Warthrop, aren't you raising a strapping young lad!"

The man put on Will Henry's tiny hat, which sat upon his head awkwardly, not fitting him even a smidge.

"What do ye think? Is it true the clothes make the man? For now, I do feel fifty years younger - by Jehoshaphat I do!"

Will and Anna giggled at the old man's jesting.

"Anna! Quit fooling about; I require your assistance!" Pellinore called out impatiently. "Will Henry, fetch the torch and bring the stakes! Snap to, Will Henry!"

A touch of sadness fell over the old man's face. "Back to business, then."

He put his own hat back on, handing Will Henry his cap. Will stuck it in the back pocket of his pants for safekeeping. Anna hoisted herself out of the cart. She stretched out her arms and legs, her joints popping with the effort. Her head felt a bit lonely without the hat, but it did suit Will much better, so she didn’t demand it back. As she walked away, she could hear the old man address Will Henry one last time.

"You watch my back and I'll watch yours, Master Henry. Right then? Do we have a bargain?"

They shook on it. Anna made it over to the plot, which Pellinore was now kneeling directly in front of.

"Anna," Pellinore said, "I need the entirety of your focus. Here, come down here."

He motioned for her to join him on the ground, and she did, kneeling beside him.

"What do you smell?"

"You want me to sniff the grave? Am I your wife or your scenthound, doctor?"

"Did I stutter?"

Anna sighed, leaning down so her nose was mere inches above the earth. All she smelled was dirt tinged with a hint of blood and decay. She straightened herself back up, turning to him.

"I smell nothing out of the ordinary."

"Are you certain?"

"We're in fresh air, with no strong scents to distract me or sully my senses. I can assure you all I smell is graveyard dirt."

Pellinore leaned down, sniffing for himself with closed deyes a knit brow. She didn’t know what he was expecting, but didn’t bother to point that out.

"I am a fool, Anna," Pellinore sighed suddenly, without moving his head or opening his eyes. "For only a fool takes for granted what a wise man leaves for fools."

"Shall I add that to your book of witticisms, my love?"

Pellinore co*cked his head to the side, opening one eye, but looked right past her and to Will Henry, who had arrived with the requested items.

"A lit torch, Will Henry," he said gruffly.

Will quickly turned on his heel, running back towards the cart, only to be stopped by Pellinore's barking.

"Leave the stakes, light the torch, and bring it back to me. Snap to, Will Henry!"

The boy began running like if he didn't return fast enough, Pellinore would light him up instead. The doctor rose to his feet, holding his hand out to Anna. He pulled her upright wordlessly, but not before looking towards Will Henry, who was still fumbling trying to find matches to light the torch.

"Will Henry!" He called again.

Using one of the old man's matches to light the torch, he completed his mission and ran back towards them so fast Anna worried he'd blow the fire into his face.

"Who is our enemy, Will Henry?" Pellinore questioned, taking the torch from his shaking hand.

Anna flinched at the bright light, but Pellinore moved away quickly. He paced around the grave site once again, his brow still furrowed. She could only begin to wonder what exactly he was thinking, as he had yet to share his thoughts with her. He called to Will Henry to bring the stakes over, continuing his circuit around the grave. All in all, he placed five stakes into the ground around the plot, seemingly at random.

"Most curious," he muttered. "Will Henry, go and press the stakes."

"Press the stakes, sir?"

"Try to push them deeper into the ground."

Anna looked over at him, curious. "I could push them in quite easily myself."

"Yes, yes, which is why I want him to do it."

Ultimately, Will was unable to push any of them much farther into the rocky New England soil. Pellinore shook his head, dismayed, and called to the old man. Mr. Gray shambled over; he had been leaning against the cart smoking his pipe.

"How did you find the grave?" Pellinore asked.

"Oh, I knew where the Bunton plot was alright, doctor," Erasmus replied.

"No. I mean, was it disturbed at all? Did you note any evidence of digging?"

Erasmus shook his head. "Wouldn't have bothered with it in that case, doctor."

"And why is that?"

"I would take it to mean somebody had beaten me to the prize."

"So you noted nothing out of the ordinary last night."

"Only when I opened the casket," the old man said dryly.

"No holes or mounds of dirt nearby?"

"No, sir. Nothing like that."

"No unusual odors?"

"Odors?"

"Did you smell anything odd, similar to rotten fruit?"

"Only when I popped open the casket. But the smell of death is not so odd to me, Dr. Warthrop."

"Did you hear anything out of the ordinary? A snorting or hissing sound?"

"Hissing?"

Pellinore forced air through his closed teeth. "Like that."

"No, it was a normal operation in every way, doctor, until I opened the casket."

"And you noted nothing unusual until that point?"

The elderly grave robber shook his head.

It was then Anna knew why Pellinore was so troubled. She sniffed the air again. Sure enough, all she could smell were the people with her, the body, and the sweat of the old horse. She couldn't hear anything other than them and the ambient sounds of the graveyard. It was as if the creatures were toying with their hunters.

"Most curious," Pellinore muttered once again. He snapped himself out of his reverie, back on the task at hand. "The mystery deepens, but it doesn't bear upon our errand tonight. Dig it up, Mr. Gray. And you dig with him, Will Henry. We'll return at daybreak and pray our fortunes rise with the sun. Perhaps the light of day will illuminate what evidence the night's shadow conceals! Snap to Will Henry, and make short work of it."

Pellinore moved towards the treeline. He said nothing, but Anna knew he expected her to follow. She did, lingering just a few feet behind him as they stalked through the trees. The doctor cast his torch up high, the shadows of the fire dancing on the leaves above them. Nothing.

"There must be something, somewhere," Anna said. "These are enormous animals; they can't even trek unnoticed! And yet, the grave wasn't disturbed! There was another way he got in there. That’s the only explanation."

"Are you suggesting he spontaneously generated?" Pellinore asked.

"Erasmus said there were no mounds of dirt from above," Anna replied. "Perhaps, then, he burrowed up from beneath the grave. That's the only other way I can think of."

"Nonsense!" Pellinore cried, exasperated. "Anthropophagi are not subterranean creatures! They do not dig tunnels through the earth nor live in caves!”

"I understand it is completely aberrant to their natural behavior, but this is an extraordinary circ*mstance!" Anna argued.

Her heel slipped on a rock, and Pellinore grabbed her by the arm to steady her balance before hooking her elbow with his and leading her along as if they were on a romantic afternoon stroll through the park.

"They are far from their normal territory,” Anna continued. “And when a species invades a climate it's not used to, it adapts or it perishes. Only one of these beasts we know of is deceased, and even then it was because it choked on pearls, of all objects. Otherwise it was a completely healthy individual! They are not merely surviving here, my dear. They are thriving. Which leads me to believe they've found a way to adapt. So perhaps they have become subterranean creatures. We also know they are opportunistic. They can easily survive off the dead, although they much prefer live prey. Thus if they are not accessing the dead from above, they must be doing so from below."

"An interesting hypothesis," Pellinore relented, "though I cannot imagine they have created a tunnel system to allow for such a thing. They have only ever been known to nest above ground; never beneath."

"Let's just have a look then," Anna replied, patting him on the arm. "Surely we'll find something."

They found nothing.

The Warthrops did an entire circuit around the cemetery before giving up, walking back to Eliza's grave. Mr. Gray and Will Henry were still hard at work, and had gotten halfway down by the time the couple returned. Pellinore unhooked his arm from Anna’s and flopped down next to the hole, utterly dejected. He stabbed his torch into the mound of dirt beside him, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his long arms around them. He stared down at the man and boy glumly, as if they would empathize with him while they were hard at work. Anna stood at his side, arms crossed and staring into the distance, trying to come to terms with the bizarre situation herself.

Goosebumps prickled up her arms and legs, though she couldn't be quite sure of whether it was the cold or the animalistic part of her mind warning her of a presence she had yet to consciously detect. God, they must have been there somewhere! It was as if she could sense still them even though their distinctive odor and grunting calls stayed out of her immediate perception.

"It defies all logic," Pellinore lamented to no one in particular. "It flies in the face of reason. They are not phantoms or shape-shifters. They cannot float above the ground like pixies, or astral project themselves from one spot to another. He must have found her by use of his acute sense of smell, and that is employed by crawling over the terrain, yet there is no evidence of his passing anywhere." He pulled a nearby stake from the ground, twirling it in his dexterous fingers. "He would have left a breathing hole, yet there is no breathing hole. He would have left a trail, yet there is not so much as one bent blade of grass."

He turned back to Will and Erasmus, who had paused their digging, listening to him speak. He stared at them and they stared back. For a moment, not a word was spoken.

"...Well, what in God's name are you doing? Dig. Dig!"

He rose to his feet, hurling the stake into the trees. It crashed into the bushes, not disturbing a single thing other than undergrowth. The crash almost distracted Anna from the sinking feeling she was beginning to get. She chased the impulse, her head instinctively co*cking in the direction of the noise. There was a grunt. Soft enough that she could easily convince herself she was hearing things, but a grunt nonetheless. One too distant to have come from any of the men beside her. Pellinore noticed her change in demeanor, and his dark eyes flashed.

"What is it, Anna?" He asked urgently, like a master talking to his excitable dog.

Anna raised a finger to shush him. Will and Erasmus paused their digging once again, the lack of shovels scraping against soil helping the vampire to hear even more clearly. Yes, she had certainly heard it; the sound of something. Then the smell hit her nose; it grew stronger by the second, the creatures it was emanating from moving straight towards them. The old nag also perceived the impending doom, and began snorting and pawing at the ground, her eyes rolling around in her head anxiously.

"What is it, Ol' Bess?" The old man called to his horse quietly, audibly nervous. "What's the matter, girl?"

Anna could also hear it. Low pitched, but rhythmical; the call of the beasts. The smell grew stronger as they drew near.

"They've found us," Anna warned, her voice barely above a whisper.

Pellinore turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Will Henry. "Did you remember to fill the flash pots with gunpowder?"

"Yes, sir," he whispered back.

"Fetch them at once. Quietly, Will Henry."

Will stuck his hand into his coat pocket as he clambered out of the hole in the ground, giving the doctor his revolver. Anna drew her own, staring into the treeline, her eyes playing tricks on her as she kept imagining shapes ducking and weaving through the branches like a troop of monkeys traveling through the jungle.

"I left my rifle in the cart," Erasmus said. "I'll get the pots. The boy should-"

"No!" Pellinore snapped. "Stay where you are! Go, Will Henry. Bring as many as you can carry."

"And my rifle if you can manage it, Will," Erasmus requested, his voice wavering.

Will walked away quickly but quietly, and the old man turned to the doctor.

"We shouldn't stay, any of us!" He whispered urgently. "We'll come back when it's light to return her. ‘Tis madness in the devil's own dark to-"

"Fear is our enemy, Mr. Gray," Pellinore said, cutting him off.

Anna stepped forward a few feet, squinting at the trees. Where had the beasts gone? The only sign of movement was the wind rustling tree branches; the only sound was the nervous whinnies of Ol’ Bess. Where in the hell were they?

Will Henry rushed back, carrying the old man's rifle in one hand and a sack containing the pots in the other. He gave Erasmus his gun, and the old man hunkered down in the grave like a soldier in a trench. Anna’s attention stayed on the foggy visage of the graveyard. Every little sudden sound made her twitch, her head whipping in that direction. Things stayed silent for several agonizing minutes.

"They've gone, thank God," Erasmus called softly from his hiding spot. "And so should we, doctor. We'll come back in the daylight. I'd rather risk discovery by men than-"

"Quiet, you old fool!" Pellinore hissed. "A pot, Will Henry."

Will pulled a flash pot from the sack, a tin cylinder roughly the size and shape of a coffee can, and placed it in Pellinore's hand. He touched the fuse to the lit torch and wound his arm back, casting the pot gracefully through the air and into the trees. Anna plugged her ears in anticipation. It went off with a loud bang and a flash of light, but there was nothing to be seen or heard aside from the explosion. The only creature that got spooked was Ol' Bess.

"Most curious," Pellinore said. "Hand me another, Will Henry."

"They've moved off, I tell ye," Erasmus said, now angry. "If they was even here to begin with. Ye hear strange things in the graveyard at night. Take it from me; I've come here often enough! Now, you can stay if ye wish, Dr. Pellinore Warthrop, but me and my horse're leaving. I told ye we shouldn't've come tonight, and I told ye we shouldn't've brought your missus and child. Now I'm leaving, and if you want a ride back to town, you'll come with me."

He laid his rifle on the ground in front of him, ready to climb out of the grave. That's when the goosebumps flashed all over Anna’s body again. She whipped around in his direction, the smell of rotten fruit hitting her nose at once. She tried to call out, but it was far too late.

Springing up from the ground beneath his feet like a shark breaching the waves came an Anthropophagus, arms first. It grabbed onto his leg, sinking its claws deep into the flesh of his thigh. Erasmus let out a scream of pure pain and terror. The vampire was ready to turn and run - the old man was clearly a goner - but Will Henry broke her out of her fight or flight. To her dismay, he grabbed onto the old man's flailing wrist, digging the heels into the cold earth as he held on tight.

The beast caught Erasmus's calf in its gnashing jaws, its eyes rolling into the back of its head as it fed. Will Henry slid forward two feet before being pulled onto his stomach. Pellinore and Anna both grabbed him, yanking hard, but the man had Will Henry in literal death grip. As the old man's leg disappeared down the creature's gullet, Will was dragged further towards its jaws.

Pellinore suddenly let go, leaving Anna to wrestle alone. She could only yank on the boy so hard; any more force and his shoulders would have been ripped from their sockets. She was ready to reach in there and just break the old man's fingers one by one, but the doctor had a better idea. He drew his revolver, slamming the barrel of the gun against the old man's forehead.

Anna shielded her face with her arm as he pulled the trigger, the sound of the gunshot nearly sending the vampire out of her wits. All at once, she and Will Henry were sent reeling backwards, knocked onto their bottoms when the old man's grip finally loosened. Anna only caught a brief glimpse of his corpse. In an ironic twist of fate, the old man was practically headless like the beast consuming him. The Anthropophagus snorted and grunted like a pig as it ate, its mouth working the old man's flesh and bones like a meat grinder. It had been completely unfazed by the gunshot. Pellinore hefted Will and Anna to their feet, pointing towards the rickety old cart and shouting a single command.

"Run!"

He did not have to tell them to. Anna broke into a sprint, quickly outpacing her companions. Unfortunately for them, Ol' Bess had the same idea, and had broken into a full gallop. The cart swung wildly behind her as she ran, but Anna managed to leap into it. Pellinore, his stride long, caught up to her within seconds. She yanked him into the cart with her. She looked back over her shoulder, expecting to find Will Henry. But the horse had outpaced him by a few yards, and despite being swift for his age, he was just out of their reach. His fingers brushed Pellinore's, but just barely, as he tried to catch up. It was then Anna noticed that he wasn’t alone. To her horror, one of the beasts, an adult female from all appearances, was not far behind him, and getting dangerously close to gaining on him. One of its paws swiped out, its long claws snagging the fabric of his coat, leaving a tear. Will’s eyes widened with fear, his breathing becoming more frantic as he tried desperately to reach for the doctor once more.

Anna took a few steps back in the cart. She struggled to keep her balance, but her gaze stayed trained upon the Anthropophagus. She drew her bowie knife from its sheath before charging forward, taking a flying leap out of the cart. Pellinore swore at his wife, attempting to grab her leg before she could dismount, but she was far too fast for him. Anna slammed feet-first into the creature, hitting it square in the abdomen. Her boots narrowly missed its open mouth. It let out a screech, swiping one of its long arms at its attacker, but Anna doged the blow. She jammed her knife into its eye, causing the creature to let out a primal scream. The vampire, her face contorted with fury, twisted the blade for good measure then yanked it out, taking the entire eye with her. Anna’s hair came undone that very moment, as if someone had yanked her hair out of its bun - because that was exactly what had happened. The Anthropophagus had almost taken her head off with one swipe of its fearsome claws.

Anna got to her feet, the Anthropophagus still writing underneath her. She stepped away from the beast and was ready to turn tail back to the cart, but when she looked up, she saw something that made her freeze. Dozens of Anthropophagi had begun bursting forth out of Eliza's grave as if the earth were vomiting them, and were sprinting towards her with their arms outstretched and mouths agape.

"ANNA!"

"MRS. WARTHROP!"

The desperate cries snapped the vampire back to reality, and she ran, catching up to the cart and throwing herself into it. She landed on top of Eliza's body with a grunt. Anna looked towards Pellinore, who was crawling on all fours to reach the seat of the cart. Their only hope was getting control of the horse, who was leading them aimlessly through the graveyard, no particular direction in mind other than as far away from the monsters chasing her as possible. Anna hoisted herself onto her knees beside Will Henry, who was clutching the doctor's revolver in his shaking hands, and pulled out her own gun.

"Remember, Will," Anna said, having a hard time finding her aim within the shaking cart, "aim for the stomach, below their mouths. That’s where their brains are. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes ma'am," Will Henry said.

They were being outpaced, the horse's age beginning to catch up to her. The only thing Anna could think to do was shoot. She finally took aim at one of the beasts, but as she pulled the trigger, they were suddenly slammed to a halt. Bess had run between two maple trees, the cart became firmly stuck in the parallel trunks. Anna swore loudly as she was thrown backwards, hitting her head on the cart. She saw stars for a moment, but quickly shook them off. Pellinore let out a string of curses himself, climbing out of the seat to join Will and Anna in the back. Will Henry, for his part, had his fall broken by the body of Eliza.

Eliza.

Thinking on her feet, Anna pushed Will Henry out of the way, hoisting the corpse into her arms. And then, like a football player launching the ball towards a goal post, she heaved the body through the air. Eliza fell to the ground with a resounding thud. The Anthropophagi were upon her in an instant. Anna was transfixed, watching them tear the corpse apart in a frenzy of pale flesh, red viscera, and white linen. Pellinore moved to his assistant.

"The harness, Will Henry! Undo the harness!"

Will bounded over the seat, dropping to the ground beside the stomping, terrified horse and freeing her. Pellinore dropped down on the other side to undo her opposite flank. Anna watched the beasts, still standing inside the cart, gun in one hand and bowie knife in the other, though the knife was rendered rather useless as it still had the eye of an Anthropophagus wedged onto the blade.

"Will Henry!" Pellinore shouted.

"Done!"

She turned in time to see Pellinore climb up onto the horse, hauling Will up behind him. Bess needed no command; she sprung forward, and Anna followed, keeping pace with the mare as Pellinore guided her to the gates of the cemetery. All the while, she kept casting wary looks over her shoulder, expecting the earth to erupt with thousands more Anthropophagi at any moment. Thankfully, no more gave chase. They made it through the gates of Old Hill Cemetery and onto the street. Bess slowed down to a canter, then a trot, and then to a foot-dragging walk as they made their way home. Anna continued to walk alongside them, resting a hand on the old nag's slick neck.

Nobody spoke the whole way home, except for Pellinore, who simply said,

"Well, then. It appears I must rethink my original hypothesis."

When they got to the house, the first thing Anna did was send Will Henry upstairs to wash. Not only was he covered in dirt and leaf litter thanks to his temporary excursion in grave digging, but he also had the remains of old Erasmus Gray splattered across the right side of his face. Pellinore went inside as well; to either the basem*nt or the library. Anna took the reins of Ol’ Bess, leading her into the carriage house. She had no idea what else to do with the old mare; she was presumably their problem since her master had died. Anna didn’t have the heart to abandon her either way.

Anna placed the horse in an empty stall, giving her food and water. Bess drank gratefully; more water than the vampire had ever seen a horse gulp down in one sitting. She also took a sweat scraper to the nag - her fur was visibly soaked. Anna ended up pushing sheaths of water onto the floor. She was also tempted to clean and trim the old mare’s hooves, but figured she'd have plenty of time to do so later. She gave the horse's neck a pat before leaving the stable, going back into the house.

She shed her soiled coat and kicked off her muddy boots at the front door, padding her way down the hall. She could hear Pellinore in the library, so she joined him. He was up on a ladder, using it to ascend the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He hadn't even bothered to take off his dirty shoes, let alone his black wool coat, letting Anna know he didn't intend to stop working anytime soon. She watched as he pushed his way along the wall, his eyes scanning the spines of the many books he owned feverishly. Finally, he let out a triumphant cry, discovering the title he was looking for.

"Ah, here it is! Catch, Anna!"

He tossed a rather sizable tome down from ten feet above, which she grabbed from midair, but not without sending a withering look his way.

"Are you trying to knock me dead?" She demanded.

"I wouldn't have thrown it at you if I wasn't certain you would be able to catch it," he replied.

Anna rolled her eyes, looking down at the text in her hands.

"The Histories of Herodotus..." She read aloud.

She flipped it open, her eyes nearly crossing as they scanned the page. It was entirely in Greek; a language she hadn’t learned to read. Pellinore descended the ladder, taking the book from her hands and placing it upon one of the stacks he was already accumulating. He then moved to the center of the table, unfurling a large map. He drew a circle around New Jerusalem in red ink.

"Obviously, the events of this evening prove my original hypothesis incorrect. This is a mature pod of Anthropophagi, whose alpha male now hangs in our basem*nt. 20 to 25 breeding females and a handful of juveniles. Perhaps 30 in all, though the circ*mstances make it difficult to ascertain an exact number." He looked up from his map. "Did you manage to get a count, Anna?"

"Yes, of course. I paused to count them whilst we were running for our lives."

Pellinore brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, as if to say ‘Point taken.’

"I assume that it's the size of a typical pod,” Anna continued, “give or take a few individuals. But honestly, I could not tell."

"Nor could I. I can only make an educated guess based on the literature."

"...I nearly was decapitated by one," she spoke aloud, in a matter-of-fact way.

The vampire was so lost in the expanse of her own supposed immortality, she often forgot she could truly be killed. Up until that point, she was foolish enough to believe that she couldn’t be hurt by an Anthropophagus, despite their sheer size and unbelievable strength.

"Yes, you were," Pellinore concurred.

Suddenly, he threw his arms around Anna, pulling her firmly to his chest. He rested one hand on the back of her neck, the other on her shoulder blades. She hugged him back, burying her face into his chest. One hand reached up, grabbing onto his coat like a child desperately clinging to their mother. She relaxed into him, listening to his heartbeat for a minute. It was a steady drum; remarkably calm for someone who had just had a near-death experience.

“You foolish, damnable woman,” he grumbled, though he was still holding her tightly. “I could kill you myself.”

Anna smiled to herself. “Then I shall tell you the same thing I told you that night in Vienna. To die by your hand would be my greatest pleasure.”

“Ah, so you are a liar as well,” he mumbled, a rare tinge of humor in his tone. “Because as I remember, you disarmed me immediately after and attempted to tear open my juglar vein.”

“Ah, but I changed my mind and kissed you instead. Does that not make up for it?”

She reached up, looping her arms around the back of his neck before pressing her face against his exposed skin. She gave his neck a gentle kiss before opening her mouth, scraping her teeth against his flesh barely hard enough to leave a mark. Pellinore’s breath hitched in his throat. As she reached up to undo the top button of his coat, he freed himself from her grasp. He straightened himself out, though the flush in his cheeks let her know she had successfully flustered him.

“We have no time to fool about,” he chastised, his expression growing serious. "It is pertinent that we find out where they came from.”

"Are we not going back to exterminate them?" Anna asked, brushing her hair back behind her ears.

"Are you implying we won’t?"

"That's simply how you're making it sound, dear."

"I assure you, we'll take the proper next steps. For now, I must know."

He picked up the Herodotus book from his stack, flipping through the pages until he came upon a passage, reading it aloud in the original Greek. Anna didn't understand, of course; the only word she recognized was Blemmy. He then moved to the map, measured the shortest distance between New Jerusalem and the coast, then proceeded to make calculations in his notebook. In that moment, he also appeared to remember Will Henry existed, shouting from where he stood.

"Will Henry! Will Henry, where the devil are you? Snap to, Will Henry!"

Anna heard the descent of feet down the stairs, and in the meanwhile, Pellinore climbed back up the ladder and continued to search for books he needed. It seemed, specifically, ones that mentioned Anthropophagi. Will Henry walked into the room, looking sullen. Anna cast a glance over her shoulder at him.

"Anna!" Pellinore beckoned again, drawing her attention back to him.

He threw another book her way, which she caught like a frisbee before setting down on the table. Will just stared at the Warthrops, not comprehending how they could get back to business as usual after that. Pellinore scampered back down the ladder, noticing the expression on Will Henry's face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Mr. Gray-"

"We are slaves, all of us, Will Henry," he said. "Some are slaves to fear. Others are slaves to reason - or base desires. It is our lot to be slaves, Will Henry, and the question must be to what shall we owe our indenture? Will it be to truth or falsehood, hope or despair, light or darkness? I choose to serve the light, even though that bondage often lies in darkness. Despair did not drive me to pull that trigger, Will Henry; mercy guided my hand."

Will said nothing. He just swallowed hard, his eyes starting to well with tears. Realizing she had to bear the burden of being the comfort-giver, Anna rested a hand on top of his head, stroking his hair gently.

"It is unfortunate what happened, but there was nothing we could have done for him. He was doomed the moment the Anthropophagus sprung upon him. He did not suffer as much as he would have if we just left him there as was."

"Anna is correct," Pellinore declared. "No more absurd or insidious precept has ever been laid down than 'Where there is life, there is hope'. Just as the trout is doomed once the bait is taken, there was no hope for him once the barbs were set. He would thank me, if he could. As I would thank you, Will Henry."

"Thank me, sir?"

"If one day I should meet the same fate, I pray you would do the same for me."

Will Henry's face flushed red with righteous indignation, his tiny hands balling into fists. Anna did not doubt that in his mind, for a fleeting moment, he truly thought he could have pried the old man from the jaws of death.

"There is no point in having such discussions," Anna said, dismissing her husband’s words. "Not all loyalties must be announced. Besides, what's done is done. There is no worse way of torturing oneself than to ponder 'what ifs'. We are burdened by our decisions; all actions have consequences; etcetera etcetera. Now, darling, would you like some help?"

Pellinore took the open invitation to change the subject - though not out of discomfort. He had already justified his actions in his own mind. It wasn’t a lack of empathy for their unfortunate companion so much as the fact that his goal first and foremost was to prevent Will Henry’s untimely demise. If given the opportunity to start the night over, Anna had no doubt he would have put a bullet in the old man's head again.

The Warthrops spent many more hours toiling over the map, Pellinore doing the calculations and topography while Anna did the research. They worked together quietly for the most part, only breaking the silence to suggest theories or discuss relevant pieces of information they’d found. Every once in a while, Will Henry would be given a task, but he mostly lingered in the background, left to stew in his own thoughts, none of which were pleasant. When he finally spoke up, it startled Anna, as she hadn’t heard his voice since he first became cross with Pellinore earlier.

"Dr. Warthrop, sir?"

Pellinore did not pause, continuing to scrawl in his notebook. "What is it, Will Henry?"

"Should I fetch the constable now?"

Anna snapped her head up, looking at Will Henry as if he had grown a second head. "The constable?"

"The constable?" Pellinore parroted. "To what purpose?"

"To- to help," Will said, losing confidence under their steady gazes.

"Help whom?" Pellinore pressed. "With what?"

"Help us, sir. With the... infestation."

Pellinore waved him off, continuing his measurements. "The Anthropophagi will not feed again this night, Will Henry."

"How do you know, sir?"

"How do I know what?"

"How do you know they won't attack again?"

"Because I can read," he said, his tone betraying his annoyance. He patted the stack of books next to him. "2,000 years of observation supports my conclusion, Will Henry. Read Herodotus; peruse Pliny; the writings of Walter Raleigh. Anthropophagi are gorge eaters; hunting, feasting, and then resting - for days, sometimes weeks - before killing again. Not unlike our friend hom*o vampirus americanis."

"You do not need to speak of me as if I'm not here," Anna complained.

"I am simply stating a fact, Anna."

Anna brushed him off, turning in her chair to face Will Henry. "I understand if you are afraid, dear boy. I am too. But that does not mean that we need to bring the constable into this. We have our own resources we will be drawing upon to eradicate this unusual infestation. But Will Henry, keep in mind, monstrumology isn't exclusively about hunting and eradication - if that were true, I would be dead by now. It is also about study. Learning the behaviors of these creatures and furthering the scientific understanding of the aberrant and the supernatural."

"But what if they kill again while you're working?!"

Pellinore looked over at him, his dark eyes serious. "What are you suggesting, Will Henry? Is it my fault? The blood of the grave robber is on my hands? Perhaps it is. Was I mistaken about their numbers? Obviously. But it was an estimate based upon all available data, rooted in logic. Given the same facts again, I would take the same gamble, for I deemed time to be of the essence. His discovery forced me into action quicker than I may have liked, and I am certain with more time for careful reflection I would have confronted the possibility that they may have adapted to their new environment in unforeseen ways, which undoubtedly they have. But you must understand, Will Henry, 'possibility' is not 'probability'. It is possible the sun will rise in the west on the morrow, but hardly probable. I stand by my decision, though I have been proven wrong in the premise that led to it."

Will Henry did not seem convinced. Pellinore stood up, approaching him and putting a paternal hand on his shoulder.

"I regret his passing. If it brings any comfort to you, remember he was an old man who had lived a long life - a life long in suffering and deprivation, I might add. He fully understood; he fully accepted the danger; and I asked nothing of him that I did not demand of myself. I did not force him to accompany us tonight or ask him to accept any greater risk than I myself was willing to take."

Will Henry trembled under his grasp; but Pellinore failed to see why. His view of the world skewed in a different direction, running on what he perceived to be logic as opposed to emotion, which could easily get in the way of his humanity. Even for things that could not or should not be viewed from that lens, he did so anyway, because he was either too ignorant or too stubborn to do otherwise. Perhaps both. Anna could not excuse it, but to her, love was not conditional - one either accepts someone for who they are, or they don't love at all.

"And I must say, Will Henry,” Pellinore continued despite the obvious frustration of the child he was preaching to, “it is exceedingly curious that you dwell upon the perceived folly and injustice of his end and not upon your own good fortune, the life that would have been forfeit had I not ended his. Do you see? Do you begin to understand why I said he would thank me if he could?"

"No sir, I don't."

"Then I give you too much credit. I thought you were a clever boy."

Will Henry shrugged his hand from his shoulder. "I don't understand! Forgive me, doctor, but I don't understand at all. We shouldn't have gone there tonight! We should have waited till daylight to bring her back! If we had waited and fetched the constable, he might still be alive!"

"But those are not the facts," the doctor replied calmly. "We did not wait. We did not fetch the constable. You still fail to grasp the essentials here, Will Henry. James Henry would have. Your father would have understood - he would not have chided me or judged me. He would have thanked me."

"Thanked you?!"

"As you should thank me now, for saving your life, Will Henry."

Anna whipped around immediately, aghast. "Pellinore, that is enough!"

Her voice rose in volume as she spoke, making them both turn to face her. Pellinore offered Anna a bemused look.

"What? Am I not correct? Would James not have thanked me?"

"I just don't believe this is an appropriate time to bring James up," Anna explained tightly. "Now sit down, we still have ports to mark. Will Henry... I believe you should retire to your room. We shall call you if your services are needed."

She just wanted to send him upstairs to let him blow off steam. Despite his age and the reasonable amount of fear and respect he held for the doctor, she had no doubt he would pummel the man if he kept talking. Will left the room without argument, going upstairs. Pellinore still didn’t understand why what he said was wrong, or why his wife had become cross with him, but he left it alone regardless. He went over to the bookshelf, pulling down his stack of periodicals.

"His discovery no doubt saved lives and perhaps brought to light an entirely new species. I shall propose to the Society that it be named in his honor: Anthropophagi americanis erasmus. For if our suspicions are correct, that is precisely what we've uncovered, Anna: a generation of Anthropophagi that has adapted brilliantly to its new environment, an environment radically different from its native Africa. New England is not the savanna. Ha! Far from it."

"He talks too much," Anna mumbled to herself as she flipped through a stack of papers. "Just too damn much."

The Warthrops once again worked until late in the morning, finishing the map. Pellinore dictated a letter to the Society, discussing the events of the past 24 hours (conveniently omitting the part where he got them chased down by a pod of ravenous Anthropophagi). By the time they were finished, the table was overwhelmed with books as well as pages upon pages of notes, and the map had been marked up with lines, all of which led to their small town. They were closer to a hypothesis as to where they came from, though they couldn't be certain without looking elsewhere. All of Anna’s original plans for the day - she distinctly remembered promising to buy bread - went out the window as they got lost in the tornado of papers. But she didn't realize how much she had strained herself the night before. She rested her head in her hand as she gazed at the map, and as Pellinore talked to her, she drifted to sleep, her arm giving way and causing her face to slam onto the table. That didn't manage to make her stir, so she was carried up to bed.

Chapter 3: A Singular Curiosity

Chapter Text

The afternoon light trickling in through the slit between the bedroom curtains coaxed Anna from her sleep. She peeled herself up off the mattress, yawning loudly. She couldn’t have been sleeping for more than a few hours, but it was enough of a boost to keep her going for the day. She got out of bed, changing into a tea gown before heading back downstairs. When she entered the library, she found Pellinore exactly the way she’d left him hours earlier. Will Henry came in behind her with a fresh pot of tea, approaching the worktable and setting it down with almost zombie-like movements. Pellinore, on the other hand, had not been touched by exhaustion yet; he was running on mania and caffeine. Anna knew it wouldn’t be long until his jets burned out, however.

“Any progress?” She asked.

Pellinore’s head snapped up, not having noticed she was downstairs up until that point. “Nothing much of use, I’m afraid. Absolutely no reports of sightings or attacks, and no indication of where they came from or how they were brought to our doorstep.”

His eyes were bloodshot and stubble dotted his chin, but Anna knew he would not give up until he found something, anything. She sat down next to him at the table, picking up a newspaper he hadn’t looked at yet. He’d been going back quite a few years; some of the periodicals dated from before Will Henry was even born. He was a packrat, but that aspect of his nature came in handy in times where thorough research was needed.

“I also reached out for assistance,” Pellinore said. “An experienced hunter of Anthropophagi. He should arrive within the next several days.”

“Anybody we’re familiar with?” Anna asked.

Pellinore waved off the question. “His expertise can be trusted.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she pressed, but Pellinore ignored her, getting sucked back into the map sitting before him.

With a small huff, Anna returned to the paper in her hands, but it wasn’t long before the quiet was broken once again by Pellinore’s musings.

“Dedham… Dedham…” He studied the parchment closely, tapping his finger rhythmically on the table as he pondered. “Now where have I heard that name before? Dedham, Dedham, Dedham…”

She was nearly ready to tune him out when he suddenly leapt to his feet, waving the paper above his head. “Dedham! Dedham, Anna! I knew I had heard it before!”

“For God’s sake doctor, what about Dedham?!” Anna snapped.

He set the paper back on the table with a thwap, not bothering to answer the question. “Anna, go down to the basem*nt and fetch the steamer trunk under the stairs. Bring it to me at once.”

“Steamer trunk?” Anna furrowed her brow, trying to recall such a thing ever existing within their house.

“Yes, yes, you know what I’m talking about. Quickly now!”

He waved his hands at her as if he was trying to shoo a housefly. There was no point trying to interrogate him, so she simply fulfilled his request, making her way down the hall and to the kitchen. She paused in front of the door to the basem*nt. The familiar metallic stench of blood filled her nostrils; mixed with the much less appealing odor of fetid fruit emitting from the Anthropophagus’s body. Steadying herself, she opened the door. The basem*nt was pitch dark, save for the morning light that streamed through the open doorway. Anna cautiously made her way down the stairs, as if any sudden noise would alert the creature hanging upside-down from the far wall to her presence. She felt its single shark-like eye bore into her as she peered around the staircase, trying to find the mysterious trunk.

Sure enough, she spotted it shoved up against the wall. It was covered in dust, having clearly sat untouched in a number of years. She had never even noticed it before, and Pellinore had never paid it any mind up until that moment. She crept towards it, pulling it forward. The sound of its wooden bottom scraping against the stone nearly made her heart leap out of her throat. She shook it off, chuckling to herself over her high strung nature. Her getting startled by a noise that she made was just like her.

She lifted the chest - it was surprisingly hefty, making her wonder what mysteries were stored inside - and made her way back upstairs, pushing the basem*nt door shut behind her with her heel. She took the trunk to the library, and was about to place it onto the floor when Pellinore took it from her hands. She stood there, confused for a moment, her arms still outstretched as if to hold a phantom chest. He plopped it down on the floor next to his worktable, the resulting thud being strong enough to rattle his teacup. He knelt down in front of it, wasting no time opening the mysterious steamer trunk. The shriek of its rusty old hinges made Anna cringe physically, but she still moved to peer over his shoulders. Will Henry did the same, craning his neck to see into the dusty trunk.

The first object Pellinore pulled out, to Anna’s amazement, was a shrunken head. She had never seen one in person, but its leathery skin and stitched orifices were distinguishable enough for her to instantly know what it was. He tossed it aside, and Will Henry picked it up, utterly baffled by the sight. Pellinore, noticing his shock, gave him a rare smile.

“My father’s,” he explained.

The horror that dawned on Will Henry was enough to make Anna laugh aloud, and even Pellinore let slip another small smile.

“Not my father’s head, Will Henry. A curiosity he collected in his travels.”

Most of the rest of the contents were not nearly as fascinating as the head. It was simply stacks of documents that were yellowed with age, unopened packages, letters with dessicated wax seals, and a leather pouch that clinked as he set it on the floor. Anna knelt down beside him, picking up and opening a red velvet pouch. A gold wedding band fell into her hand, tarnished with age and in need of a good cleaning.

“What has prompted you to look through his things?” She asked.

“It is the central mystery of their presence here,” Pellinore explained - in his roundabout way, as usual. “Surely it has occurred to you what a truly extraordinary coincidence this is, given the fact that I am the sole practicing monstrumologist within five hundred miles. What are the odds, my dear Anna, of a species that is of particular interest to my exceedingly esoteric and uncommon calling appearing within ten miles of the very town in which I practice my craft?”

“It is no coincidence at all,” Anna noted, eyeing the contents of the trunk carefully. She took out a pipe, its bowl worn down to a cream color from use. “The odds are simply too astronomical.”

Pellinore snapped his fingers. “Preciscely. We cannot entirely rule out the possibility of a truly extraordinary coincidence, of course, for a coincidence it might be, though I too doubt it highly. I doubt it.”

They rifled through the last few items in the bottom of the trunk, though it occurred to Anna that it was odd of her to do so as she had not a damn clue as to what he was even looking for. He hadn’t given her a so much as a hint.

"And there is no university that offers instruction on the science of Monstrumology,” he explained. “The Society regularly hosts seminars, by invitation only, in which the preeminent practitioners of our profession lecture on the finer points of their field of particular expertise. Most, if not all of us, apprentice in the art under the tutelage of a master officially recognized by the Society.”

Anna nodded along, trying to follow the curves and bends of his train of thought. Though she couldn’t help but remember Pellinore’s own master - Abram von Helrung, a boisterous Austrian gentleman who was by far the kindest person she had ever met. He had, of course, saved Anna’s skin, helping Pellinore and his other student, John Chanler, to convince the Society she was of much more interest to them alive rather than dead. Thankfully, she was also able to dodge tasteless experiments, taking much more interest in being a fellow monster hunter than the creature being hunted. While the other members of the Society saw her more so as a specimen in a jar, Pellinore saw the value of her strength and aptitude for learning, and as such she had become an indispensable partner to him over the years despite not having the ability to become a monstrumologist herself.

“Ah, here it is!”

Anna’s thoughts were interuppted by Pellinore, who was holding a leather-bound journal above his head triumphantly. The writings of Alistair Warthrop, no doubt. She became curious; her father-in-law was still very much an enigma to her. Pellinore barely spoke of him. The man hadn’t even come to their wedding - in fact, Alistair died quite a few years after the last time Pellinore had seen him.

As he flipped through the pages of the diary, Anna busied herself with the remaining contents of the trunk. A set of small figurines caught her eye: grinning skeletons carved from bone. She picked one up, sniffing it, though she didn’t know what she was expecting as it just smelled about the same as the musty old trunk it’d been tucked away in for over a decade. Will observed them alongside her, his morbid curiosity having not wavered since the moment Pellinore opened the trunk.

“What are they, Mrs. Warthrop?” He asked, as if she knew.

“Divining bones, from New Guinea,” Pellinore answered without even looking up from the pages of the journal. “In his later years, my father was fascinated by the occult practices of certain shamanistic tribes. Those we fashioned by a priest from the bones of a rival.”

Anna and Will Henry both took pause at the revelation they were made of human tissue. Pellinore, on the other hand, wasn’t even remotely fazed.

“Though ‘fascinated’ is too mild a word for it,” he continued. “‘Obsessed’ is more accurate. He was terrified of his own mortality. Like many, he saw his impending death as an affront to his dignity, the ultimate insult, and his last few years were consumed by his desire to cheat the natural order, or at least wrest from death’s icy embrace a scant moment or two beyond his due. The bones in your hands supposedly can predict the future of the one who casts them, like the proverbial roll of the cosmic dice. Interpreting the meaning of how they fall - the various combinations of skull up or skull down - is a complicated business that he never fully mastered, but he spent hours at it. He was anything but negligent in his struggle to do so. I can’t recall much of the formulae, though I do remember rolling six faceup skulls has dire import; imminent death or eternal damnation or some such nonsense.”

Out of nowhere, he rose with a celebratory shout, making Anna jump. The figurines flew from her hands, rattling to the floor. For a moment, she found herself anticipating where they would land. Four up, two down. As a vampire, she put more credence in magickal practices than her skeptic husband. However, as they weren’t all facing up, she decided to pay them no mind. She neglected to pick the pieces up, not exactly eager to touch them again.

Anna approached Pellinore, peering around him to observe what he was reading. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Will Henry pick up the divining bones, slipping them into his pocket.

“I suppose you’ve found information about the enigmatic Dedham?”

“Yes, Anna! I knew I had seen it before. A town my father visited. Here it is, in the entry dated November 19th, 1871.”

He pointed to the page, as if she were blind. The entry was written in elegant swirls of cursive as the others were, though she could see that as the writing continued, the more frantic and scribbled the penmanship became.

“‘Dedham’,” she read aloud. “‘I have been to Motley Hill for the last time. I simply cannot bring myself to go there again, to look upon his tortured visage and see in his face perfectly reflected the perfidy of my sin. Upon my arrival he became quite agitated, demanding that I once and for all corroborate his tale of suffering and woe, thus winning him full pardon and possible release, but, by the bitter necessity of the interests of science and of self, I was forced to decline. To relent and make such a confession might have the opposite effect. It might, in all likelihood, ensure his imprisonment for the rest of his days - as well as the rest of my own. This I could not risk, and tried to explain, at which point he threatened me bodily and I was forced to take my leave. Poor tormented creature. Forgive me, V, forgive me! Thou art not the first to pay for the sins of another! Forgive me for my transgression, neither the first nor the last of many, I fear. I shall see thee again upon the Judgement Day, I shall answer for what I have done to thee…’”

As she continued to read, Anna watched as the normal diary entry spiraled into what amounted to a man documenting his own madness, bemoaning his inevitable death. After the talk of the mysterious V, there was not much useful information. Just the ramblings of a deeply troubled man far past his prime. Pellinore finally closed the book upon his finger, interrupting Anna. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“He was a tormented soul,” Anna commented in a melancholy tone.

Pellinore sighed softly, staring up towards the ceiling. Something dark fell over him - reading his father’s journal had struck a nerve.

“In his prime he had few equals, Anna. His intellect was exceeded only by his restless curiosity, his relentless quest for knowledge and truth. Our discipline owes much to the work of his younger years, but as he grew older and the fear of his own mortality began to overwhelm him, he fell farther and farther into the pit of silly superstition and useless guilt. He died a frightened and foolish man, a stranger to the brilliant scientist he once was, consumed by fear, maddened by guilt, borne to his reward upon an ark of fabricated shame.” He let out another sigh; one much longer and twinged with a deep sadness that tugged at his wife’s heartstrings. “And he died quite alone.”

Anna nodded solemnly. Alistair indeed had died completely and utterly alone. He was a widow; Pellinore’s mother Margaret having succumbed to consumption years earlier. Pellinore and Anna, his only remaining relatives, were in Prague. Even the elder Warthrop’s colleagues had abandoned him over the years, pushed away by his increasingly bizarre and frantic obsession with death. Pellinore and Anna had returned to New England to arrange his affairs; the closest Anna had ever come to an encounter with the man. It seemed Pellinore wanted to keep Anna’s true nature a secret from him, as it surely dawned on the elder Warthrop that vampirism was a potential route to avoiding death, though he didn't appear to find becoming a monster himself a very desirable way to overcome it.

“Is this the only time he mentions Dedham?” She pondered, attempting to steer Pellinore back towards their work in order to distract him from his sadness.

“As far as I’m aware, yes.” He set down the journal, replacing it with the newspaper he had been reading. “I have seen no reference to it anywhere else, until today, here, in this paper, in our possession for more than three years. Three years, Anna! And now I fear the father’s sin has come to rest upon the shoulders of his son.”

“But what is the sin that troubled him so?”

Pellinore dropped the newspaper, pressing his knuckles to his eyes. “That is irrelevant to our quandary, Anna. Sin is a concept foreign to science - though not so much to scientists! Here is the crucial, scientific question: How many Anthropophagi immigrated to these shores? The answer to that is the key to everything, for without it we cannot know how many there may now be, not just here in New Jerusalem, but throughout all of New England. The infestation easily could be more extensive than our encounter in the cemetery indicates.”

His frustration was palpable. Anna’s mind whirred, trying to make sense of the same question.

“None of this makes any sense to begin with,” she lamented, essentially speaking to his back as he leaned over the map. “Let alone the fact we have no idea how they arrived here, we have no idea how they’ve sustained themselves for so long without attacking the people in town! Surely they must be feeding on corpses, such as poor Eliza Bunton, but even in that case it could only be so long before evidence cropped up. Erasmus only found the male by chance, and we found no further evidence of their presence in the graveyard. Yet you saw what happened! They burst forth from the Earth like molten rock from a volcano! The only probable conclusion is that they must be living underground, so that begs the question as to how. Those claws were made for eviscerating flesh; most certainly not for digging. The tunnels must have already been there…”

She trailed off, as she hadn’t gotten any indication Pellinore was even listening to her. A dark cloud had formed over his head. Perhaps it was the one fleeting moment where he had realized the obvious; the forgone conclusion which evaded them long before he ever had the chance to deny it. Anna approached him cautiously and placed a hand on his back, forcing him to acknowledge her.

“...I’m going into town,” she said. “I will deliver those letters. I also need to pick up my new coin purse, and of course the groceries. Is there anything else you need, my love?”

“No. Be sure to deliver the letters by express. We have two, no more than three days before they strike again.”

“And what of Dedham?” She asked.

Pellinore stood upright, having already made up his mind. “We leave for Dedham tonight.”

Anna and Will Henry ran their errands, momentarily allowing the vampire to put everything out of her mind. She had been able to put on her one of her nicest day dresses, adorned with blue velvet panels and flower appliqués. To further add to her presentation, she pinned her hair up in a fashionable style, and applied a generous amount of scented powder to her face. Not only did the powder help to cover the lingering stench of death that clung to her skin, but it also made her natural pallor look intentional.

When she finally arrived at the post office, she pulled out the two letters they were meant to mail. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she looked at the envelope containing the request for assistance. To her horror, it was addressed to Dr. Jonathan Kearns. No wonder Pellinore had dodged the question.

Kearns was not a monstrumologist himself; simply a wealthy Englishman with eclectic hobbies. Nevertheless, he was a friend of the Society due to his extensive experience tracking and killing Anthropophagi. He had always given Anna an uneasy feeling in the deepest pit of her stomach. He almost felt like an elder male vampire; a type she was far too painfully used to. Elegant and charming, yet vindictive and completely remorseless. He was almost as dangerous as the beasts he took pleasure in hunting. It wasn’t a wonder Pellinore hadn’t told his wife Kearns was the man he’d reached out to. Surely there had to be a better option than that snide British bastard! Regardless, the letters were sent out.

Next, Anna went to the tailor shop, where she had an order to pick up. Will Henry lingered a few feet behind her, examining the various works in progress the tailor had left out on mannequins. She found the tailor, a middle aged woman with messy chestnut curls, sewing buttons onto a church dress being worn by the local Pastor’s wife; Mrs. Stinnet. The dress nearly made Anna choke; the skirt was an absolute abomination of alternating blue and white ruffles. She bit her tongue to keep from guffawing at the sight.

“Good afternoon, Beatrice. Mrs. Stinnet.”

“Anna!” Beatrice called out, a bright smile lighting up her delicate features.

“Mrs. Warthrop,” the Pastor’s wife acknowledged, though her tone was tight.

Mrs. Stinnet did not care for Anna, who assumed she simply believed the rumor about Pellinore performing abortions. Anna found it would be in her best interest to stay polite, however, so she feigned kindness for the other woman.

“I heard you gave birth to a daughter in March. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Stinnet replied. “She truly has been a blessing.”

“All children are; that’s what I always say. Oh, Beatrice, is my coin purse ready?”

“Oh yes, allow me to go fetch it from the back! I beg your pardon, Mary.”

“Why of course.”

Beatrice fast-walked to the back of the shop, leaving the two women to stand in awkward silence. That was until Mrs. Stinnet noticed Will Henry practically trying to hide behind Anna.

“Ah, how is your boy?” Mrs. Stinnet asked. She didn’t ask Will Henry; she was the type to believe children were to be seen rather than heard.

Anna was about to retort by saying he wasn’t her boy, but controlled herself. She reached behind her, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Much better, lately.”

“Really? He looks rather... small.”

Anna hissed in a breath through her teeth, perhaps too obvious. For a moment, in her mind, she leapt at the woman and ripped into her throat, spraying blood onto every piece of fabric in the tailor shop. She must have been digging her nail’s into Will Henry’s shoulder without realizing, as he winced and pulled away from her grasp. She quickly retracted her hand.

“Will Henry is quite alright, thank you,” Anna said tightly.

Beatrice thankfully returned, holding a large coin purse made out of cream colored fabric and embroidered with fuchsia rhododendrons. Anna grinned, taking the purse and testing out the gold clasp.

“Oh Beatrice, it’s gorgeous! You truly have outdone yourself.”

Beatrice’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “Oh, it truly was a pleasure. What a lovely choice of flower!”

“I had a rhododendron tree in my front yard growing up. They remind me of home. Thank you once again.”

She took out her old coin purse, one of red velvet that had lost its plush with age, and dug a hefty sum of cash from it. Beatrice seemed embarrassed to accept such an amount - but she took it anyway.

“Oh, Anna, you really do not have to!”

“I insist. It is more than enough to compensate for such fine work. Will Henry, would you hold this for me?”

Will Henry obidently took the brand new coin purse, marveling at the intricate embroidery for a moment. The gray wool cap, which he had kept since the other night, slid down his forehead an inch.

“Hmm, if you’d like Anna, I can resize Will's cap as well. It seems a tad too big for his head.”

At that moment, Will Henry’s eyes widened, and he looked up at his mistress in dismay. “My cap! Mrs. Warthrop, I lost my cap in the-!”

“-Woods, whilst we were hunting yesterday?” Anna exclaimed, finishing his sentence before he could prompt questions. “Are you sure? It has not turned up?”

“I put it in my pocket! It must have fallen out while we were-!”

“Chasing down that rabbit! Ah, yes, perhaps.”

“You and your wild hunts!” Beatrice commented with a laugh. “You must bring me back a trophy the next time you go on one of your trips, Anna; my darling Richie would love to have an exotic beast to display upon the wall of the parlor!”

“Next time I will be sure to keep you in mind!”

“You hunt?” Mrs. Stinnet asked, bemused.

“Of course I do; Pellinore and I have gone on many expeditions to hunt exotic game. Lions, tigers, bears, wolves. Though if we were to go wolf hunting again, I would like to have a few wolfhounds. Have you seen them? They are gorgeous creatures! Honestly, all women should hunt, in my humble opinion, even if it’s just shooting quails from the window for supper. What are we to do if all the men are suddenly wiped out by, say, a terrible disease and we are left to fend for ourselves? It is an important skill; one I learned from my father.”

“Your father took you hunting as a girl?” The Pastor’s wife exclaimed, so bewildered by the statement she forgot herself.

“Why of course! He also taught me how to cook the meat, and tan the hides. I would make dresses for my dolls out of squirrel pelts.”

She was not helping Mrs. Stinnet’s view of her, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. Will Henry tugged gently upon her arm.

“Mrs. Warthrop, may we go back and look for it?”

“Perhaps later, dear boy. For now, we must be home so I may start dinner. It was a pleasure seeing you, Mrs. Stinnet. That’s a lovely dress.”

“You as well,” Mrs. Stinnet replied, though it almost pained her to say it.

Anna bid the tailor a good afternoon before leaving the shop. She walked down the street with a skip in her step, proud of the discomfort she had brought upon Mrs. Stinnet. Will Henry seemed oblivious to it, still worried about his little hat.

“Oh, I can’t believe I lost it!” He whined. “What am I to do if it’s never recovered?!”

“Relax, dear boy. ‘Twas only a hat.”

“But my father gave it to me!”

Anna stopped in her tracks, turning to the boy next to her. “Now, Will Henry-”

It was too late. Tears were welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. “I cannot lose that hat, Mrs. Warthrop! He gave it to me! It’s…” His tiny Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed back his tears. “It is all I have left.”

Anna sighed softly. “...I understand. We can go looking for it next time our travels bring us to the graveyard.”

“I would like to give you back your hat, too.”

“Nonsense! You keep it as long as you like. Though we may have to have it resized for your head, as Beatrice offered…”

She put a hand on his back, urging him along as they walked back to the house.

“Mrs. Warthrop?"

"Don't worry about your little hat, Will Henry."

"No, this isn't about the hat... You said your father taught you how to hunt. Is that true?”

“Yes. My father was a brilliant hunter, but not only that. He was a brilliant tactician and a loyal Patriot.”

“A Patriot…?”

“Did I stutter?”

Will Henry churned her words over his head, his eyes widening as a realization dawned on him.

“But if your father was a Patriot, that would mean you were alive during-!”

“It’s rude to tell a lady her age, Will Henry.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

They returned home to a surprisingly empty house. It was rare that Pellinore went out on his own, and rarer still that he did without telling Anna of his intention to do so, but she didn’t immediately think anything of it.

“Where’s Dr. Warthrop?” Will Henry immediately asked, more concerned than she was.

“He will be back soon. Even a lost dog can find its way home, hmm?”

Her dig at the doctor didn’t seem to amuse him that much. Anna gave him a fresh apple, ordering him to eat the snack before she went into the library. She already knew Pellinore wasn’t home, but the impulse to check still prevailed. He had left the contents of the trunk strewn about on the floor - it seemed at some point he’d kicked it over in his frustration. Anna stepped over the mess of papers and keepsakes, going back over to the worktable. It dawned on her that she had never even gotten a glimpse of the article that prompted him to look through Alistair’s belongings in the first place. She picked up the newspaper, reading the piece that mentioned Dedham.

CAPT. VARNER RETURNED TO THE ASYLUM

Yesterday, nearly twenty years to the day of his incarceration, the General Court of Appeals handed down its decision in the final clemency hearing of Capt. Hezekiah Varner. Capt. Varner was convicted in March of 1865 of blockade-running and dereliction of duty on the high seas when his ship, the cargo vessel Feronia, foundered off the coast near Swampscott. At his original trial, Capt. Varner gave testimony he had been employed by certain Confederate sympathizers to supply the Rebellion with “goods and chattel” and that his entire cargo and crew had been overcome at sea by “creatures not of this Earth but from the very Bowels of Hell”. At his hearing Capt. Varner, now seventy-two years old and in poor health, spoke on his own behalf, repudiating his earlier testimony and stating the two days lost at sea after abandoning his vessel had afflicted him with a severe case of sunstroke. Capt. Varner produced no other witnesses on his behalf. Dr. J. F. Starr spoke for the State, giving testimony that in his opinion Capt. Varner was not in his right mind. “He was insane twenty years ago, and he is insane today,” said Dr. Starr. Upon the conclusion of the Court, Capt. Varner was returned to Motley Hill Sanitorium, Dr. Starr’s private asylum, where he has been confined since the conclusion of his original trial.

“Creatures from the very bowels of Hell,” the vampire murmured to herself.

The turning of the lock on the front door shook Anna from her thoughts, and she quickly left the library. Pellinore stood in the entryway, caked head to toe in grime like the unfortunate graverobber had been, the aforementioned old man’s straw hat clutched in his hand. In his other hand, he held a bloodied scrap of white linen, the only piece that remained of Eliza Bunton.

“Good, you’ve returned,” he greeted. “Did you mail the letters?”

“Yes. By express, as you requested. I didn’t know you wrote Kearns.”

Pellinore let out a small, annoyed grunt as he took his coat off. “Who do you suggest I call upon instead? President Cleveland? Queen Victoria? The Pope?”

Taking the sarcasm as a warning that his temper was getting the better of him, Anna quickly changed the subject. “So, you went back to the cemetery.”

“I had no choice. It is in our best interest that we leave no trace of our presence there the night before. I’ve cleaned it up the best I could. Filled her grave. Recovered most of our supplies and scattered the broken pieces of the cart in the woods. With a little luck, we may finish this business before we are discovered.”

“And what of the Anthropophagi?”

“They did not bother me, as they are nocturnal.”

Anna narrowed her eyes. “I meant the physical evidence of their presence, doctor. Is there any indication how many there are?”

“Ah. Yes, there were at least two dozen distinct sets of prints. Assuming four or five immature juveniles sequestered in wherever their warren may be hidden, a total of thirty to thirty-five. An alarming and extraordinary number.”

“Extraordinary indeed. It seems our pilgrims have successfully colonized the local graveyard.” She looked down at the recovered fragments from their brush with death. “...Would you like me to get rid of those?”

“Yes,” he said, pushing them towards her. “Burn them… and my father’s journal as well, if you would.”

Anna nodded. “As you wish. In the meanwhile, you should go upstairs and wash up.”

“You are speaking my intentions for me now?”

“I only mean to look out for you.”

“Are you my mother, then? Would you like to come upstairs and make sure I wash behind my ears?”

She smacked him playfully on the arm with the hat, as if it were simply any other piece of clothing and not a reminder of their sins from that night. “Go. And take those shoes off, would you? I already have enough muck to clean off the rug, you don’t need to track in more.”

He kicked off his muddied shoes as requested before going upstairs. Anna sighed, picking the sullied boots up and tossing them out on the stoop, where hers and Will Henry’s shoes also sat, waiting to be cleaned of dirt. Will Henry exited the kitchen, quickly moving to her side.

“The doctor is back?”

“Yes.”

“...Is that Mr. Gray’s hat?”

“I’m afraid it is. Have you finished putting everything away?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Here, why don’t you come to the library with me and help pack up Dr. Warthrop’s trunk?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Anna quickly attended to the hat and scrap of dress, throwing them into the crackling fireplace. She took one last look at the journal before throwing it in as well. It was something Pellinore was understandably eager to get rid of, wanting to remember his father as the brilliant monstrumologist he was rather than the raving lunatic he became.

Once the dark deed was done, Anna sat down on the floor with Will Henry, and he helped her pack everything neatly back into the trunk. The packages, the legal documents, Alistair's wedding band. She got to the stack of letters and took pause, realizing they were all still sealed. They were all addressed to Dr. Alistair F. Warthrop, and all had the same return address: Pellinore Warthrop, Esq. Dozens of letters from his own son he had never opened?

Against her better judgement, she opened one at the top of the stack, gingerly unfolding the letter inside of it. The handwriting that was distinctly Pellinore’s, though it was clear he had made an effort to be neat. Either way, it was much more decipherable than his handwriting as an adult.

March 14th, 1865

Dear Father,

As it has been nearly three weeks since I last wrote, I thought I would write again so you will not think I have been negligent in my thoughts of home. Not much has happened here since last I wrote, except I have developed a very bad cold, with fever and a cough, et cetera, but you would be satisfied to know I have not missed a single day of class because of it. The headmaster says he is very pleased with my progress and went on to say that he intends to send you a personal note as to my general welfare, et cetera. Please look for it and, if it isn’t too much trouble, extend to him the courtesy of a reply. He thinks a great deal of you, as, of course, do I and all who know you.

I wish you would write me back. Letters arrive every week from America, and I stand in line with the rest of my classmates, and every week I wait for my name to be called, and every week it is not. I am not complaining, Father, and hope you do not take this awkward confession as such. I am quite lonely at times and do not feel entirely at home here. When not in class I mostly keep to my room, and sometimes like today, when it is cold and cloudy, refusing to rain or snow but remaining dismal withal, as if a shroud lays upon the world, I am very lonely. A letter from you would brighten the gloom, for as you know I tend toward that familial disposition of dourness. I know you are quite busy with your research and your travels. I imagine my letters piling up in the entryway awaiting your return. And of course I worry that something may have happened to you and no one has bothered to send me word. If you do receive this, could you take but a moment or two to jot back a quick reply? It would mean the world to me. I remain, et cetera,

Your son,

Pellinore

Anna pressed a hand over her aching heart, a disgruntled sound escaping her lips.

Will Henry whipped around, his brow knit with concern. “Mrs. Warthrop? Are you all right?”

Anna let out a heavy sigh, shoving the forlorn boy’s letter back into its envelope. “Yes, dear boy, everything is fine. Here, put these back.”

She handed off the stack of letters to him and stood up, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down on the remains of the poor, sad old fool’s life. She thought of her own father; a stern but kind man. Anna was the center of his world, and he was remiss to let her forget it, despite being dedicated to the Revolution. Even Will Henry’s own father James crossed her mind; despite his absences he spoke of his boy with nothing but love, and would grin on the long train or boat rides home, as he knew he was returning to his beloved son. They were men who worked just as hard, if not harder, than Alistair Warthrop, and yet still had all the love in the world to give to their only child. Yet the elder Warthrop had never cared. He had simply shipped his son off across the Atlantic and forgotten about him, tossed aside like a shirt that no longer fit him properly.

“That’s everything, I think,” Will Henry said, stepping away from the old trunk. “Would you like me to put it away?”

“No, no, I will do that myself. It weighs as much as you do; you may hurt yourself trying.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I would like your help with dinner, though. Go to the kitchen and chop some vegetables for me - whatever we have in the bin that’s good.”

“Would you like me to prepare the beef, too?”

“No no, Will Henry, there is no time to cook meat. We’ll be departing for Dedham by nightfall.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He left the library, and Anna looked around, making sure there wasn’t anything he missed before she shut the trunk. Her eye wandered over to an odd lump beneath the table - the shrunken head. It must have rolled under there without anyone noticing. She crawled beneath the table, grabbing the ugly old trophy by its hair and tossing it back into the trunk. But as it hit its target, she heard it make a strange noise; a rattle, almost, as if there was something inside of it. Curious, she picked the head back up. Sticking out from the neck was the end of a bright red ribbon. Anna tugged at it, pulling out the object it’d been tied to. A key. Surely not the key to the trunk, and it didn’t appear to fit any doors or drawers within the house, either.

“How curious,” she mumbled to herself.

Anna kept the key on her person, figuring she would bring it up to Pellinore later. Once she caught him in a better mood, perhaps, or once they returned from Dedham. Whichever came first. She placed the head back in the trunk and latched it shut, carrying it into the basem*nt. Pellinore had slipped down there before her, washed and in clean clothes as promised. He was staring at the monster hanging in their basem*nt, his head tilted to the side, deep in thought.

“Will Henry!” He called.

“Will Henry is upstairs,” Anna responded, tucking the trunk under the stairs.

Pellinore turned to his wife, surprised to see her as usual. “...Tell him to prepare the horses and eat something.”

“I will,” Anna replied. “I’m actually going to prepare dinner now. We should eat before we depart.”

Pellinore let out a low hum. “Yes. Eat something.”

“You should eat something. What would you like to eat, my love?”

Pellinore raised his hand, brushing the air with his fingertips dismissively. Deciding it’d be best to leave before her well of patience ran dry, she went back upstairs.

Within half an hour, Anna had finished dinner, setting three bowls down on the table. Pellinore came upstairs, in no better a mood than he was when she had entered the basem*nt. If anything, he looked angrier, his sharp features lined with frustration. Whether he was still upset over the Anthropophagi anomaly or the reminders of his neglectful father, or perhaps both, she could not tell. Perhaps it truly was his father, as the food on the table only served to make him more cantankerous.

“...What is this?”

“Soup,” she replied plainly. “As I said, you need to eat something before you go.”

It was a rehash of a conversation the Warthrops had been over countless times, and that evening, their tempers clashed like waves hitting a rocky shoreline.

“Soup?”

“Yes, potato soup. And bread too, if you’re so inclined.”

“I am not hungry.”

“I did not ask if you were hungry. I simply told you what’s for dinner. I also remember asking you what you wanted to eat earlier, and you didn’t extend me the courtesy of a reply, so I simply made soup.”

“I know what you said,” he replied crossly. “And I distinctly remember saying you should eat something before we depart.”

“I am going to eat. I’ll be having a bowl of soup, as should you.”

“Dear God!” He snapped. “Are you addled, woman?!”

Anna stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, of course not. I simply thought you might like to eat, considering you’ve barely had a morsel in the past two days.”

“A conclusion based upon a false premise. I am not hungry.”

“Do I need to explain this to you as if you’re a child and not a thirty-five year old man?” Anna snapped back. “You may not feel hungry, but you must be, as our bodies run on the energy which we get from food - food which you have not had, unless you expect to live off black tea for the rest of your life! But I suppose it’s a moot point, hmm? If you want to waste away then by all means, let your soup grow cold! Who am I to stop you?! I am indeed not your mother!”

“Oh stop that,” he snarled. “You are being utterly insufferable. What is your obsession?! Do you suffer from some mental defect of which I am not aware?! You are not here to be my cook, nor my nursemaid, nor my housekeeper. You do not accompany me on expeditions to run my baths and brew my tea. You are here because you are an inquisitive creature with mettle in her marrow. You are of no use to me slaving away over a stove.”

“You’re an idiot,” Anna spat back. “If you don’t want any of the soup I made, then don’t eat any f*cking soup!”

She grabbed the bowl she had set on the table and walked over to the metal garbage bin, ready to toss the whole thing into it. Pellinore was upon her in one stride, grabbing her wrist before she could sacrifice a bowl to her fury. His dark eyes were backlit with emotion he could no longer conceal; the pain hidden behind his rage like a cowering child was unbelievably clear. Anna straightened up to meet his gaze - she was not afraid of him. She had no reason to be, as he had no means to cause her fear. Granted, Pellinore didn’t fear her either, even as she bared her teeth at him like a cornered animal. They stayed like that for a moment, staring each other down like rivals in a shootout, each daring the other to say one thing or twitch one muscle. Even Will Henry, who had long since finished his meal, dared not move as to not draw their ire to himself. Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was likely less than a minute, Pellinore surrendered. His fingers unfurled from Anna’s wrist, and he stepped back, turning towards their bewildered assistant.

“Will Henry, go to the carriage house and prepare the horses. We leave at nightfall.”

Will Henry stared at Pellinore for a moment, reluctant to move.

“Snap to!”

That got him to his feet. He slipped out of the kitchen through the back door, and Pellinore retreated back to the basem*nt, leaving Anna alone to seethe.

After clearing the dishes and scraps of the meal she’d prepared, Anna went to the carriage house. She peeked into Ol’ Bess’ stall, and the gentle mare greeted her with a nicker. She was clearly looking for a snack. Anna gave her an apple. She stroked the old mare’s head before approaching her horse, a blue roan she called Honor. Will Henry had already tacked her up, but Anna still took a moment to check her shoes, making sure they were in good condition. It was going to be an arduous ride to Dedham. Sensing a presence, she turned to find Pellinore, who was retrieving his own horse. He was at his most presentable - at least, as much as he could be with an unshaven face and dark circles under his eyes. He had even taken one of his elegant walking sticks, which was topped with a snarling gargoyle head carved from jade. They glanced at each other for a moment, but Anna turned away, fully prepared to ignore him for the rest of the night.

“...Do you remember Vienna?” He asked softly.

Anna scoffed, turning to face him. He was only a foot away from her, holding the reins of his stallion. The beast shook his head impatiently, not understanding why he wasn’t on the move if he had a saddle on.

“Of course I remember Vienna,” Anna snapped. “I lived there for nearly a decade.”

“That night,” Pellinore continued, “when you pulled me from the river, when I looked up and saw you… I am not a religious man, as you are well aware, but for a moment I thought my predilections wrong. As you leered over me, wet hair clinging to your face, gazing upon me with such concern for a man you barely knew… It is in my delirium that I mistook you for an angel.”

“Is this your way of apologizing?” She asked, unamused. “Annoying me with sickeningly sweet platitudes?”

“Would you allow me a moment to finish?”

Anna raised an eyebrow at him, but he took her silence as an opportunity to continue.

“It was a foolish thing to think, of course - you were merely a stranger who took pity on me. And pity me you should have! I was a miserable man; heartbroken and lonely. I thought I was on my deathbed. I lost the woman who was supposed to be the love of my life, and my best friend could give me no condolence as he was far too busy courting her himself. But you remained by my bedside for weeks. As time passed, I became more and more captivated with you. Even as we learned the other's true nature, it only drew us closer together. You never rejected my work, you embraced it; certainly you are more than proficient in it. You are indispensable to me. That is why I married you.”

Anna let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “Then how do you not understand? I clean so we do not drown in our own filth. I do laundry so we have clean clothes. I buy groceries so we have fresh food. I take care of Will Henry because he has no mother to care for him. That, my darling, is obligation. But anything I do for you - the things you scoff at, that you claim I don’t owe you - I do all of that because I care for you. Field work is one matter. Our work is irrelevant to our marriage. Making you tea without you having to ask, pestering you to take care of yourself, staying up with you into the wee hours of the morning talking about nonsense? That is love, Pellinore; nothing else. You’re a damnable bastard, but I love you.”

Pellinore reached forward, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You need not express your love with soup. Your loyalty is enough.”

Anna took his hand in hers, holding it to her cheek. “But you do understand why I can’t help but worry over you?”

“Yes,” Pellinore said. “I’m not as much of an idiot as you seem to believe.”

The sarcasm was much less biting this time, softened by the ghost of a smile that danced across his face. He looked especially handsome in that moment; the storm clouds covering him in a shroud briefly parted to allow him a moment of genuine happiness. His fingers wrapped around Anna’s, and he pulled her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. The gesture of affection left her wanting for more, but their brief moment of lover’s bliss held between two horses faded very quickly. He let go of her hand, turning back towards his stallion.

“Come now, Anna. It will be a long ride to Dedham.”

As Pellinore had warned, it took three hours on horseback to arrive at the town of Dedham. He led the way, steering them down a small, secluded path. The only indication they were headed the right way was a sign hanging on an old steel pike. Motley Hill Sanitorium certainly billed itself as an unsettling place before they even came upon it; the long, sloping dirt road leading up to it was completely concealed by trees, as if they were walking through a tunnel. It was eerily quiet, save for the snorts and footfalls of their agitated horses. Goosebumps pricked up Anna’s arms and legs, her instincts sensing something off. She eventually realized what it was: the uncanny feeling of the eyes of a predator watching them from the darkened woods. The unmistakable presence of another vampire. A male one, too, from what she could tell, and surely not a sophisticated individual able to blend into society as she did, if he was lingering around the perimeter of an asylum. He likely was waiting for a victim to come stumbling down the path, but due to the other vampire’s presence, even the boy was not easy prey. He eventually left for other prospects, but Anna’s muscles still stayed tense the entire way to the sanatorium.

The building was shockingly dilapidated: rotted and old, with vines creeping up the walls. It would have seemed abandoned, were it not for the light streaming from the windows. The trio stopped at the end of the trail, dismounting from their horses. Pellinore turned to his apprentice, his face grim.

“Will Henry, you are not to speak. You are not to look anyone directly in the eye. If someone should speak to you, you are to say nothing. Ignore them. Do not address them or respond to them in any way. Not so much as a nod or a wink. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He sighed, placing a hand on the small of Anna’s back as they walked up to the door. “I think I would rather deal with a dozen Anthropophagi than the wretched souls within these walls!”

“Oh please,” Anna replied, amused by his dramatics. “They’re not man eaters with razor sharp teeth. They’re simply ill.”

“I was not speaking of the patients,” Pellinore replied.

He rapped on the door with the head of his walking stick, and as there was no immediate answer, he did so again. And again. Things remained eerily silent. Anna didn’t even hear the sound of footsteps from inside the house.

“It must be abandoned,” Will Henry whispered, relieved.

“No,” Pellinore responded. “We are unexpected, that is all.”

Despite his persistent knocks, the doctor waited quietly, still as a statue with his hands perched on the head of his cane. Anna and Will Henry, on the other hand, fidgeted rather impatiently. Anna kept glancing around, looking from the horses, to the woods behind them, then back to the door, anticipating the vampire who had been stalking them earlier to return. The hairs on the back of her neck raised, but she couldn’t tell whether it was because something was approaching or she was just growing cold.

Finally, footsteps began to emit from within the house. The person approaching shuffled as if it was painful for them to move. They were older than Chronos, no doubt. Sure enough, the employee who answered the door was a elderly woman, dressed head to toe in black as if she were in mourning. She held a lamp up, shining it in their faces. Anna squinted at the sudden bright light, grimacing at the old housekeeper.

“No visitors past nine!” She barked, her voice just as old and withered as she.

“This is not a social call,” Pellinore responded, putting on a courteous façade.

“No visitors past nine!” She reiterated. “No exceptions!”

“Perhaps you could make one in my case,” Pellinore said, handing her his card. “Tell Dr. Starr that Pellinore Warthrop has come to see him.”

The housekeeper tutted, unimpressed. “Dr. Starr has retired for the evening with strict instruction to not be disturbed.”

“My good woman, I assure you the doctor would not desire that you turn us away.”

“The doctor is asleep,” the housekeeper said sternly, narrowing her eyes at the incredulous young man.

“Then wake him!” Pellinore snapped, finally losing patience. “My errand is one of utmost urgency!”

The housekeeper glowered at him, and Anna cut in, leaning forward slightly to address her properly.

“My apologies for the late hour, ma’am, but surely Dr. Starr would be willing to speak to Dr. Warthrop.”

“Dr. Warthrop?” The woman croaked. She looked down at the card, then back to the couple, her thin brows furrowed. “Fiddlesticks! I know for a fact Dr. Warthrop is dead! You must be an imposter.”

“No,” Pellinore explained. “I am his son.”

The old woman was struck with confusion, once again looking between him and the card, as if she was slow to make the connection.

“...He never mentioned having a son.”

Anna watched the doctor’s knuckles whiten as he clutched the head of his cane.

“I am certain there are many things of a personal nature he failed to confide in you. As I have pointed out, I am here on a matter of extreme importance, so, if it’s not too much trouble, could you, in the most expeditious manner in which one of your advancing years is able, relay to your employer my presence and my earnest desire to speak with him, preferably sometime before the night becomes the morrow?”

The housekeeper responded by slamming the door in their faces. Anna stood there a moment, bewildered, the smell of unwashed people and dirty bedpans having been blown towards her. Her upper lip curled in disgust. Will Henry scraped his shoe back and forth against the porch beneath their feet, bored out of his twelve-year-old mind. Pellinore simply leaned against his cane, bowing his head as if he were asking for a God he didn’t believe in to give him strength.

A few minutes passed. Then ten. Anna began to hum to herself, her impatience wasting away into boredom, wondering if the old woman had dropped dead of a heart attack before she even had the chance to alert Dr. Starr to their presence. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five minutes. She began to run out of songs.

“Does she intend on coming back?” Anna finally asked, almost at her wit’s end.

Pellinore looked over at his wife through hooded lids. “She did not throw the bolts, therefore I am hopeful.”

At long last, the door was thrown open by who must have been none other than Dr. Starr. He had quite literally just rolled out of bed; his long white hair was still matted and and he’d thrown on a frock in the hasty attempt to cover what was clearly a night shirt. He sniffed and rubbed his long nose, trying to keep at bay the stream of mucous that threatened to leak from him like water from a tap. Pellinore straightened himself, relieved to finally come face to face with the elusive old man.

“Dr. Starr. My name is Dr. Pellinore Warthrop. I believe you knew my father.”

Dr. Starr welcomed his guests inside, leading them to a small parlor in the main living area. The housekeeper brewed tea for them, and they sat down at a small table. Anna shifted in her seat, the uneven legs of the chair causing it to wobble slightly. Her discomfort was only increased by the muffled screams, moans, and bellows that echoed from the restless patients. Will Henry looked as uncomfortable as she was. She reached over to straighten the cap on his head; still the gray one she had given him. At that point, she was convinced his little brown hat had been lost for good.

“It is a pitiful case,” said Dr. Starr. Tea splashed from his cup as his hands shook. “One of particular interest to your father.”

“Not only to him,” Pellinore replied. He was being incredibly polite from the waist up, but Anna could hear the tapping of his foot beneath the table.

“So you have taken up his old profession. I have to be honest; I didn’t even know you existed until you ended up on my doorstep.”

“My father was an intensely private man,” Pellinore replied solemnly. “He found human intimacy… distasteful. I was his only child, and even I barely knew him.”

The old man nodded, understanding. “As is too often the case with a man like your father. His work was everything.”

“I always assumed it owed more to the fact that he didn’t like me.”

The old man laughed uproariously, though Pellinore’s intonation did not indicate he was joking. His mirth, however, quickly turned into a coughing fit. He pulled a handkerchief over his mouth, already soiled with phlegm.

“Are you well, Dr. Starr?” Anna asked, genuinely concerned by the violent coughing fit.

Dr. Starr gave her a rueful smile, his rheumy eyes glistening in the lamplight. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Warthrop. I fear I am dying.”

“What is the diagnosis?” She asked.

“There is none. I didn’t say I am, I simply fear I am.”

“Cogito, ergo sum,” Anna mused.

“Precisely,” Dr. Starr said, capping the statement off with another cough.

“A fear to which all are susceptible from time to time,” Anna offered.

“In my case it is nearly constant. Yet my reluctance to seek a diagnosis increases in direct proportion with the fear.”

“Interesting,” the doctor said, though his tone very much conveyed the opposite.

Anna was growing bored of the old man as well, wringing her hands in her lap as the voices of the patients rattled through her head. The smell was also distracting her. She could clearly detect rot, but it was covered up by the sickly sweet bouquet of cleaning agents. The noxious combination was enough to make her stomach roll. She had barely touched her tea for that reason, letting it grow cold.

“And unlike Alistair, and by all appearances, your boy, I have no one to pick up the torch when I am gone.”

“Will Henry is not our son,” Anna corrected politely. “He is Pellinore’s apprentice. His late father worked for us for many years.”

“Ah, a charity case.”

Anna had to dig her nails into her palm to avoid saying something regrettable.

“Far from it,” Pellinore assured him. “He may be young, but the boy has potential.”

Dr. Starr turned to Will Henry, sending his condolences. But Will, following Pellinore’s instructions to the letter, didn’t say a word or even look up at him. Anna placed a hand on the boy’s back, offering him a small semblance of comfort.

“Now,” Starr continued, “You wish to speak to Captain Varner?”

“I would not presume to ask if the matter were not of the utmost necessity,” Pellinore answered.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt only an emergency would draw you here at this late hour, unbidden and unannounced!” The passive aggressive undertone in the old man’s words did not get past them. “The patient has not kept secret these many years his bizarre tale of cannibalism and murder. If he had, he might be a free man - or a dead one, for no doubt he would have been executed upon conviction.”

“Betraying the union is a high offence,” Anna agreed. “So I take it you do not believe his story?”

“Of course not!” Dr. Starr exclaimed. “He resides here, does he not? Though I do believe he is truly insane; he believes his story and only recanted it once, at his last trial. Did your father tell you about him, Dr. Warthrop?”

“My father never spoke of the case. I stumbled upon a reference to it in his private papers.”

“And curiosity brought you to my door.”

“A singular curiosity,” Pellinore said carefully.

“Indeed it must be, my dear Dr. Warthrop! Singularly curious indeed!”

His body quivered, and he once again was consumed by a coughing marathon, looking down at the handkerchief in his fist afterward as if he would find something new and unusual adhered to the cloth.

“But more curiosity,” he continued, his voice audibly congested, “even an intense or a singular curiosity of the kind to which you confess, could not be constructed by even the most lax linguist as a necessity or, as you put it to Mrs. Bratton, ‘a matter of utmost importance’.”

“My father apparently believed the veracity of the claim.”

“Well, given his profession, I have no doubt he would.”

“To the extent he felt compelled to come here, as we have tonight. I know the patient is old and not in good health…”

“And so you rode three hours from New Jerusalem without making the proper inquiries first, because you were compelled by what, precisely?”

The Warthops shared a brief glance. They couldn’t admit to the old man, regardless of his relationship with Alistair, that we were investigating an infestation of eight foot tall man-eaters native to the jungles of Africa.

“...As I have said,” Pellinore replied carefully, “Varner’s condition, the advanced age of the case, and other pertinent factors have compelled me to-”

“Yes, that is precisely what I’m talking about! What pray tell might those pertinent factors be, Dr. Warthrop?”

“I am not at liberty to say,” the doctor said tightly.

“Then you will forgive me if I take the liberty to say it. Anthropophagi. Did you think I’ve never heard of them? The old salt has repeated his tale for any and all who would listen - even to those who were not! I am not an ignorant man; I read Shakesphere. Mrs. Warthrop, you are a well-read woman. Surely you know which line I’m referring to?”

“‘The Anthropophagi… men whose heads / Do grow beneath their shoulders.’” Anna recited from memory, bringing a Cheshire grin to the old man’s face.

“Yes, you see? We all know well enough what has brought you to my doorstep!”

“Very well then,” Pellinore said, unamused but otherwise calm. “May we see him now?”

A momentary awkward silence hung in the air. Dr. Starr took one last sip of his tea, his eyes wandering over to the parlor door for the briefest of moments.

“He is, as you surmised, quite old, and his health is more tenuous than even my own. I may fear I am dying; Captain Varner is dying. And his mind is nearly spent as well, I’m afraid. Your quest has been in vain.”

Anna cast a suspicious glance towards Dr. Starr, crossing one leg over the other.

“Are you refusing to let us see him?” Pellinore demanded, his patience beginning to waver. “I have come merely to clear up a few lingering questions on an old case of my father’s, but I can be content to let them linger. It is of no special interest to me.”

“That is not the impression you gave my housekeeper, and it is certainly not the impression you gave me, Dr. Warthrop.”

“Nevertheless,” Pellinore growled. He stood up from his chair, looking at his wife and apprentice expectantly. “Come now, we’re wasting our time here.”

Will Henry stood up from his chair, eager to get out of the foreboding house. Anna stayed put, still watching the sickly alienist. He faltered under her gaze, quickly turning his attention back to Pellinore.

“I did not mean to give you that impression. I was only pointing out that your time and the interest of science might be better served by speaking to me about the case. Captain Varner has been, as you know, under my care for twenty-three years. I’ve heard his story hundreds of times, and I doubt there is a detail of which I am not as conversant as he. I would venture that I am more conversant, given the deterioration of his facilities.”

“I wish to hear it from the Captain,” Pellinore said, keeping his voice level despite the annoyance Anna could see dancing in his eyes like a flame.

“Though I have informed you he is hardly lucid?”

“I will be the judge of that.”

“You certainly are an accomplished fellow, Warthrop. A doctor of psychology as well as a doctor of - what was your so-called science? - Monstrumology?”

Anna half expected Pellinore to launch himself across the table and throttle the old man. Hell, she had half a mind to let him do so. However, the doctor had more self control than most would give him credit for considering his white hot temper, and stayed put where he was.

“Dr. Starr,” Anna said, placing her elbows on the table and folding her hands under her chin, “you’ve been so concerned with what’s pertinent to us, so forgive me, but I must ask - what is so pertinent to you? Why do you insist we not see the Captain? You’ve humored us enough already, giving us a seat at your table.”

“As I explained, he is-”

“No, no. I am a well-read woman as you said, doctor. Don’t play me for a fool. Is there something in that room you do not wish for us to see? Is Captain Varner dead? Is he simply too mad, to the point if we go into the room he will cause us harm? Understandable; that would be a liability for your hospital, having your visitors mauled by an old, ailing sea Captain!”

Dr. Starr shifted in his seat, unable to take the heat. “My apologies, Mrs. Warthrop. I did not mean to offend with my comment. I simply-”

“I am not offended. I am asking you a simple question. Why won’t you allow us to see Varner? And I implore you not to tell me he is mad; that has already been made more than clear by the fact he resides in a lunatic asylum.”

The old man wavered once again, his eyes darting to Pellinore, as if to beg for his rescue, but the monstrumologist simply stared down at him. If looks could kill… Stuck between the rock that was Pellinore’s glower and the hard place that was Anna’s cold blue eyes piercing the very depths of his crooked old soul, Dr. Starr broke down.

“It is a hard and lonely life,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “We are voices crying in the wilderness, Mrs. Warthrop. For fifty years I’ve provided an invaluable service to my fellow man. I have sacrificed, barely subsisting on meager donations and philanthropic grants. I could have taken a steady and certainly more lucrative position at a university, but I chose instead to dedicate my life to helping the poor unfortunates whom fate and circ*mstance have washed up upon my shore. Mistake me not, I do not complain, but it is hard. Hard!”

The old man burst into tears, his wrinkled chin quivering, but the Warthrops remained unmoved by his sudden display of self-pity.

“And this is how I end my days! A destitute wretch with hardly enough in his purse to cover the expenses of his burial. You asked for the diagnosis of my affliction, Mrs. Warthrop, and I spoke truthfully there is none, for I cannot afford the services of a physician. I, a doctor myself, who has sacrificed his well-being upon the altar of altruism, am forced to suffer a humiliating end because I refused to worship the golden calf! Ah, ‘tis a pity - but I beg for none! ‘Tis pride is my undoing - but I would not undo it! I have no regrets. No lungs, either, but I’d rather die honorably poor than dishonorably live.”

He quivered and quaked, a pathetic skeletal figure in an oversized frock, looking even more so as he went into another coughing fit. Anna sighed, looking up at her husband. He still said nothing and still showed no pity, his fist clenched at his sides and the fire in his eyes still burning bright. Anna took it upon herself to take out her new purse. Popping it open, she pulled out a gold coin, setting it next to the feeble old alienist’s teacup. He instantly stopped hacking up the contents of his lungs, his eyes wandering to the coin in front of him.

“I do not require your charity,” he wheezed out. “You add insult to injury.”

“This is not charity. This is a loan we expect you to repay with the stipulation you see a doctor.”

The old man perked up a bit. “...My only hope is finding a specialist.”

Anna set another coin on top of the other.

“...In Boston.”

And another. This time, the old man simply sighed. He was pushing it, but Anna still added a fourth coin to the pile, her stony countenance unrelenting as he admired his newfound fortune. He coughed. Anna added a fifth. Finally, the old man called out to his housekeeper.

Mrs. Bratton had the unmistakable scent of bleach following her like a billowing cloud. It seeped from her every pore, and Anna’s lungs were already burning as she led them down the long hallway to Captain Varner’s room, the cacophonous cries of other patients sounding from all sides. Will Henry pressed close to Anna, his fawn eyes darting back and forth as he gazed at the closed doorways that stood between him and the disturbed souls that resided in Waverly Hill. Almost as unbearable as the noise was the stench. The smell of human filth was almost as overpowering as the chlorine the old crone had seemingly bathed in. However, there was one other scent that cut through the rest, perhaps only noticeable to the vampire to its distinctiveness: decomposing flesh. She could not pinpoint where it was coming from, but it was prevalent nonetheless; another note in the rancid perfume of the sanatorium.

“The patient wasn’t awake when I last checked on him,” Mrs. Bratton said as she searched for the right key.

“Then we shall wake him,” Pellinore replied.

“You won’t get much out of him, he hasn’t made a peep in weeks.”

That seemed out of character for a man who allegedly would tell his story to anyone with working ears (and perhaps even those without), but Anna made no comment on it. Finding the key she was looking for, the housekeeper unlocked the door.

The hallway was bad enough. The room was even worse. Anna was nearly knocked to the floor by the scent of bleach. No wonder the crone stank so strongly of chlorine, she had been in a cleaning frenzy! It didn’t seem to help the room much, however, as from what Anna could see it was filthy. A lamp set on the floor cast a low flickering light, but Anna needed no light to see the dirt encrusting the walls of the tiny room. There wasn't any furniture aside from the bed, and only one window, which looked like it hadn’t been opened in a decade. It had become a graveyard for flies, a pile of their tiny desiccated bodies resting on the sill. The ones that still lived bounced obnoxiously off the glass; even creatures that feasted on sh*t were desperate to escape the dingy room.

As for Captain Varner, he was a behemoth of a man, taking up the entirety of the bed he laid in. His body was concealed beneath several stark white blankets. The skin of his face was bloated and gray, as if he were already a corpse. He breathed so laboriously it seemed it pained him to do so, his open mouth revealing swollen, toothless gums that his tongue swirled restlessly around. Anna nearly jumped when Pellinore grabbed her arm. Her mind had been buzzing from the overstimulation.

“You may wait outside, if you like,” he whispered into her ear.

Anna gently took his hand away, gathering some composure. “I’ll be fine; I'm fine. Let us hear what the Captain has to say.”

They approached the bedside of the captain, who barely even glanced in the direction of his guests. His eyes were glued to the ceiling.

Mrs. Bratton still lingered nearby, her weathered fingers fidgeting with the key ring. “I wouldn’t touch him. Captain Varner doesn’t like to be touched. Don’t you, Captain Varner?”

The old seafarer paid her just as much mind as he did the others. For a moment, Pellinore just stared down at the pitiable old man. He had finally found the enigmatic Captain. But he said nothing, his eyes not giving away any indication as to what he was thinking. Anna looked over her shoulder at the housekeeper.

“Leave us,” Anna said, polite yet firm.

The woman was genuinely startled for a moment, the keys jingling loudly as she became even more restless in her fidgeting. “I cannot. It’s against the rules.”

Pellinore was finally able to tear his gaze away from Varner, turning abruptly towards the woman.

“Leave… us.”

Anna didn’t have to see what was in his eyes, she heard it in his tone well enough, and it certainly wasn’t lost on the crone either. She looked away, and the keys jingled even more fiercely in her clutch. “The doctor shall hear about this!”

“Go ahead and tell him,” Anna taunted, as if the old woman were a little girl threatening to tattle to her mother.

Mrs. Bratton glared at Anna incredulously before taking her leave, the sound of keys getting quieter as she made her way down the long hall. Will Henry shut the door behind her, leaning against it as if he needed the physical support. Once the woman was finally gone, Pellinore leaned over the Captain, his face just inches away from the old man’s.

“Hezekiah Varner! Captain!”

The Captain said nothing, instead letting out a guttural groan that originated from deep within his chest. His eyes continued to stare upward, and his tongue continued to flap wildly across his bottom lip. Unable to stand by the bed any longer, Anna moved over to the window, looking out through the crusty pane into the night. The flies next to her head buzzed and bounced, buzzed and bounced, and she very nearly slammed her palm against the window in an attempt to kill them.

“Varner, do you hear me?” Pellinore asked again, loudly and clearly.

No response. Anna once again gauged the window, wondering why there were so many flies. Perhaps they were attracted by the patient’s bedpan - but no, it had to be more of that. There had to be something else to bring in that many. The flies buzzed and bounced.

“Do you know who I am, Varner?” Pellinore called again, this time practically shouting in his face. “Were you told who has come to see you this night?”

Silence.

“Perhaps we are too late,” Anna said from her safe spot by the window.

But just as soon as she had spoken, the Captain wheezed out, “Who… who has come?”

“Warthrop,” Pellinore answered. “My name is Warthrop.”

“Warthrop!” He became even more unsettled, his eyes and tongue darting with more fervor.

“You know the name.”

The old man nodded. “God pity me, I do. I know the name Warthrop. ‘Twas all Warthrop’s doing, the devil curse him and all his kin!”

“A curse is one explanation,” said Pellinore said matter-of-factly, “Though I lean more towards Darwin’s theory. The evidence is on my side, but time may yet prove me wrong and you right, Hezekiah Varner. Alistair Warthrop was my father.”

The man let out another strangled moan. Anna’s head once again turned to the window. She was growing more and more tempted to open it by the second.

“My father,” Pellinore continued, “who commissioned you sometime in late ‘63 or early ‘64, I would guess, to sail to West Africa, perhaps Senegambia or lower Guinea and return with a special cargo of particular interest to him. Yes? Did he not?”

“No…”

“No?” the doctor echoed.

“The Kingdom of Benin,” Varner groaned. “Home to that godless mockery of royalty, the accursed ruler of that accursed land, the Oba, and I vow there is not to be found a heathen more foul or a libertine more loathsome in the four corners of the world!”

“What was so accursed about this Oba?” Anna asked, unamused.

“He houses a whole troop of those horrible beasts beneath his palace. He took nothing but sheer delight in their presence.”

“He had captured living specimens of Anthropophagi?” Pellinore asked, baffled.

“Surely they would have starved to death,” Anna commented, mirroring her husband’s confusion. “They are not at all suited for captivity.”

“Oh no,” Varner assured. “These monsters were quite fat and happy, thank you! I saw it with my own two eyes, and if I were a braver man, I would pluck them out for the offense!”

“How were they fed?” Pellinore exclaimed, incredulous. “How?”

“Children, mostly. Twelve- or thirteen-year-old girls. Girls in the prime of their budding womanhood. Sometimes infants, though; squealing babes hurled naked into the hole. For in the center of the temple is a pit connected by a tunnel to the holding chamber. Into the pit the priests would throw her; I have seen this, Warthrop; I have seen it! Cast down twenty feet to the bottom, whereupon she hurls herself against the smooth sides of the sacrificial abyss, scratching and clawing for a handhold, though of course there is none. There is no escape! The head priest gives the signal; the great wooden door rolls up and they come. You smell it first, a rotten stench like death’s decay, then the loud huffing and sharp clicks of their fangs snapping, as the doomed innocent erupts into frenzied screams, crying to her insensible judges above to have mercy. Mercy, Warthrop! They stare down at her with faces set in stone, and, as the beasts burst into the pit, her terror robs her of her last shred of dignity: her bladder empties; her bowels let go. She collapses into the dirt, covered in her own filth, as they descend upon her in a mad rush, the bigger brutes leaping thirty feet from the tunnels to where she lays; the sacrificial lamb beneath those Pagan lords whose mad whimsy condemned her to a fate unfit for even the most egregious malefactor. But what their bloodthirsty Gods demand, they supply.”

He took in a few more laborious breaths, his long rant having winded him. The three stared at him, utterly silent, hanging on his every word. If only what he was saying were the mere ravings of a madman! However, knowing both humans and Anthropophagi, Anna was fully inclined to believe it.

“The head is the most coveted prize,” he finally continued. “The first to reach her seizes it and wrenches it from her neck, and her still-beating heart flushes her blood through that makeshift orifice; a streaming geyser shoots into the air and paints crimson their teeming alabaster bodies. They snarl and snap for a piece of the meat, for meat she be now; human she is no more. Shredded bits of her are flung far over the rum of the pit, splattering the spectators with the bloody remnants of her maidenly form. I lost sight of her in the melee, but ‘twas a blindness blessed after the curse of sight. No vision of hell could surpass it, Warthrop. No image or word born in the mind of man could equal what I saw that day! ...Or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” Pellinore asked, his fingers clutching the pale sheets. “What do you mean, or so you thought?”

“The king was loath to part with them, for what price do you put upon the heads of your Gods?”

“But he did eventually sell them to you,” Anna commented.

“Yes, yes, of course. After a fortnight of hard bargaining, he did, but not the number Warthrop desired. He wanted four, a mature pair and two of their infernal offspring. But we sailed with only three in our hold: a two year old cub, a young male, and the last…” His breath hitched in his throat for a moment, as if he had to emotionally prepare himself to finish his sentence. “The she-devil, the largest of her ferocious troop - larger than the biggest male, and he was near eight feet tall - the one the Benin feared more than any other. We took that one. We took her.”

“The matriarch,” Anna said softly.

“Why did he want four?” Pellinore demanded. “Did he say?”

“Dear God, man, he did not say and I did not ask! I did not even know when I sailed for that damnable country what the bloody things were. Warthrop offered a king’s ransom for the work, and I cared not whether he wanted four or fourscore! The war had brought hard times to the Feronia. I accepted his offer without question, without a second thought!”

Pellinore moved from the bed to the window in two strides, standing beside Anna with his arms folded behind his back. He studied the dead flies on the windowsill, as his wife had been, picking one up by the wings and examining it closely as if to determine its cause of death. Anna closed her eyes, saying nothing, and tried to shut out the infernal buzzing.

“Or so you thought,” Pellinore murmured, still looking at the fly pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Nothing could equal the vision of hell you saw that day… or so you thought.”

Varner laughed humorlessly, having recalled the events he was referring to but not yet having the strength to speak of them aloud.

“Something went terribly wrong on your return passage to America, didn’t it?” Pellinore pressed.

“He tried to warn me,” Varner wheezed.

“Who? Who tried to warn you?”

“The Oba! The old devil, on the morning we set sail, with a twinkle in his eye and a bright smile lightening his raven cheeks, asked what provisions we had made for them. He told me they can get quite ‘tetchy’ after several days without their ‘victuals’, and offered two of his slaves to tide them over on the voyage. I rebuked the repulsive savage, for king though he called himself, that is what he was, a Godless heathen. I am a Christian, I told him. I fear God and his judgement!”

He feared God and his judgement yet he had been the captain of a slave ship. The irony did not escape her. She did not voice her resentment of his actions, however. His God had already punished him for his transgressions long ago.

“But you came to regret your rebuke,” Pellinore observed.

“I had assurances,” Varner replied. “I had strict instructions from the Monstrumologist. We reinforced the hold, welded iron bars across the portholes, fastened double locks upon the doors. Two hundred pounds of salt pork we had on board, and in Sapele we took on the livestock in kind and quantity precisely as Warthrop prescribed: twelve goats, five young calves, and seven chimps. ‘Try the chimps if all else fails,’ he told me ‘They are the closest relative to the preferred prey.’ The closest relative! Heaven help me!”

Pellinore let the dead fly fall from his fingers. It fluttered to the floor, where he crushed its desiccated carcass with the toe of his shoe.

“Flies,” he muttered, looking towards Anna. “What of the flies?”

What of the flies, indeed. Though perhaps the more appropriate question would have been, ‘What of the rot?’. The more she got used to the acrid scent of bleach, the more Anna began to notice the undertones of decaying flesh. It was distinctly human, but its origin still eluded her.

“I fear someone has died in here,” Anna muttered back. “It is as if that old crone tucked a dead body under his mattress so we would not see it!”

“What is more likely, my dear Anna?” Pellinore replied. “What you have said in jest, or what your nose is telling you it is?”

Anna looked over at the Captain’s form, watching his chest slowly rise and fall with each breath.

“So they refused to feed,” Pellinore stated aloud, prompting Varner to continue.

“Aye, refuse they did, as you know, as you know all the rest, and so I will speak no more of it. I know not why you have come here in the dead of night, asking questions the answers to which you already know. I know not why you've come except to torment a sick and dying old man. I know not what pleasure my pain brings you except it be God’s truth you are your father’s son! You know already what special order your father had filled and what fate befell the crew of the Feronia. What sad*stic cause brings you here to my deathbed? To remind me of those awful days of death and the dread thereof, to give the knife your father sank a final twist before I am taken down by the dark angel’s last embrace? Have mercy on me! Have you mercy on me, Warthrop. Have mercy.”

Pellinore disregarded his pleas for mercy. “They would kill immediately what you gave them - they are fiercely territorial - but they would not eat it. In a matter of days the ship’s hold would reek worse than a slaughterhouse.”

“No,” Varner begged, shutting his eyes. “Please, no more.”

“So they managed to escape somehow. There is nothing in literature to suggest they can swim, so they broke into the ship, not out of it. And at least two survived until the grounding of the vessel at Swampscott. The adults, I would guess.”

Varner sighed, opening his eyes. “They ate the little one. It was her own cub, or so the Oba told me. The she-beast ripped him to shreds. With my own eyes - ah, these accursed eyes! - I saw her stuff his beating heart into her damnable mouth. The slender pickings that remained she left for her partner.”

“The female was the dominant of the two,” Anna replied. “Like most animals that hunt in groups, the most dominant members get first pickings of prey.”

“He was terrified of her; that much was clear.”

“Yet she did not turn on him,” Pellinore observed. “Why?”

Varner grew still, closing his eyes once again. He did not move or speak. Were it not for the shallow breaths still wheezing through his open mouth, Anna would have assumed he’d passed right then. Pellinore returned to the old man’s bedside.

“You asked why I’ve come. She sent me here, Hezekiah, for like you she survived the voyage of the Feronia, and her offspring have prospered in their adopted home. Her progeny, perhaps more than thirty strong now, are but a three hours’ ride from this very room.”

Varner moaned, his utterances becoming background noise, along with the flies hitting the windowpane and the distant cries of the other patients.

“My father tortured himself over your fate,” Pellinore continued. “But showed no concern over the destiny of your peculiar cargo. He was many things, but he was foremost a scientist, and he would not have assumed the Anthropophagi had been lost or had perished from starvation at sea. Something or someone had assured him that there was no need to pursue the matter, and there were no witnesses who could do that, save one: the sole survivor of the cargo vessel Feronia. Is that why he sought you out after twenty years?”

With no other choice, the old captain finally relented, telling them the fate of his vessel and crew. It was long, and rambling, and frequently interrupted by his deep, wheezing breaths. The frequent pauses made it no less horrific to listen to, however.

The voyage had gone as smoothly as it could have at that point, and the men were beginning to grow restless. So, they took to tormenting the Anthropophagi for sport. They opened the trapdoor to taunt the creatures through the bars, and threw objects in just to enrage them. The female could leap twenty feet upwards, getting within a foot of the bars, and the men would bet on how close her claws could come without snagging them.

One day, three of the men decided to butcher a calf and throw the chunks of flesh down through the trapdoor in an attempt to trick the beasts into eating it. They slaughtered the calf on deck, and affixed a large chunk of flank steak to a grappling hook which they’d tied to a thirty foot coil.

A crewmate called Wilson was the one to lower the bait down, lying on his stomach next to the hole and dangling the piece of meat over the straw nests the Anthropophagi had built themselves. Wilson, of course, could barely see, the lumps of straw being completely indistinguishable from the makeshift dens of the Anthropophagi. He called out to them in an attempt to coax them out to eat their dinner. The crew egged him on, and as his attempts to draw them out went seemingly unnoticed, he lowered the hunk of flesh further and further down the hole. Finally, he ended up with his arm hanging down through the bars, allowing him to lower the coil another two feet to the sleeping beasts below. A decision that was incredibly foolish, but Wilson was drunk and ignorant to how truly dangerous the monsters resting below him were.

It was not long before the female took the bait. Her initial tug on the hook was strong enough to pull Wilson’s arm through the bars to the shoulder, wedging him firmly in place. Even if he had tried to escape, there wouldn’t have been time, as the female lept upwards and dug her claws into the flesh of his forearm. The hold he had so generously provided allowed her to wrap her other hand around the bars, something she previously could not reach. Wilson was dead within thirty seconds, one of her nails likely slashing a major vessel in his struggle. He laid limp atop of the bars, but the nightmare was far from over. He was simply the first casualty.

The Anthropophagus had managed to pull two of the bars from their holds when the next victim of her ire, Smith, started firing at her with his gun. This attempt at self defense proved rather useless. She quickly was able to pull the rest of the bars free and launch herself out of the hole, sending Smith running for his life, firing behind him as he fled. He also died quickly.

Burns, the sole surviving member of the stooges, made his way to Varner’s quarters and told him what had happened. Varner rounded up the rest of the crew. The men sealed off the lower decks, bringing up enough food and water to last them while they took refuge above the Anthropophagi.

The creatures were relentless. The days were quiet, but the nights were filled with the screams of the monsters. They constantly prodded at the boards beneath the feet of the ship’s crew, testing for one, just any one that could come loose, for one would have been enough. Armed guards were posted each night, just in case they were ever successful.

The course of action worked until their forty-first day at sea. The Feronia was hit by a huge maelstrom off the coast of the Bermuda archipelago, forcing the men to huddle together on the quarterdeck. However, it was during the storm that one of the Anthropophagi found its way up onto the deck. The male, driven by hunger, had crawled through a porthole and scaled the side of the ship. He leapt forty feet from the deck below, landing in the midst of the already frightened men, who scrambled in his presence. Burns and Varner holed themselves up in the cabin, forced to listen to the screams of the men outside as they were torn apart by the Anthropophagus. The only weapon they had with them was an elephant gun that had been gifted to Varner by the king of Ashanti, back during the days the Feronia was a slave ship.

The pair sat together, reciting prayers and psalms, perhaps thinking for just a moment they’d be able to escape the inevitable. However, that was a foolish train of thought. The arm of the female Anthropophagus burst through the floorboards - and Burns, tearing through his abdomen. The massive arm rotated ninety degrees, and Burns’ head was buried in the grip of her long claws, getting ripped clean off and pulled back down through the same hole her arm had come through.

Varner was scared into action, scrambling away with the large gun. He wasted no time getting to his feet, pointing his gun in the direction of Burns’ headless corpse. His only visibility came from flashes of lightning. The matriarch was nowhere to be seen.

He waited it out in unbearable quiet and uncertainty, until it was finally broken by the female bursting forth from her hiding place. He fired, but the shot missed desperately. The beast managed to snag him by the heel of his boot with her claws, but Varner freed himself, scrambling towards his desk. From it he was able to produce his last resort - a handcrafted Malayan dagger, which had previously only been used to open his mail and pick his teeth. He grabbed the weapon and whirled around, stabbing blindly into the dark.

Somehow, someway, the chance he’d taken had paid off. The blade thrust through one of the female’s eyes. The beast stumbled back, temporarily distracted by pain and fear, which bought Varner enough time to make a hasty exit from the cabin. He ran to the lifeboats, and escaped to the water, using the same dagger that had saved his life to cut the boat’s rope free.

When Varner finished his tale of woe, there was a long silence. Anna stayed by the window, where she had been the entire time, half-suffocated and more convinced she was truly smelling active decay by the minute. The flies next to her head buzzed and bounced. Pellinore had posted himself against the wall next to the headboard, his arms folded over his chest and chin pointing down towards the floor. He had closed his eyes as he listened, but they were once again open, looking towards the distressed sea captain.

“How extremely fortunate,” he said, breaking the silence. “Not only to have escaped that night, Hezekiah, but to have survived until your rescue.”

“I lost them all, every one. And I have spent the last twenty-three years in this horrid place, the final five years confined to this bed, with only my memories and that hideous key-jingling woman for company. Fortunate indeed, Warthrop! For if life is a question, then I have my answer: There is no escaping it. There is no cheating fate. I was the captain. The Feronia belonged to me and I to her, and I betrayed her. I betrayed and abandoned her, but fate cannot be betrayed or abandoned; she can only be postponed. My doom was to be eaten, you see, and though I folded my hand twenty-three years ago, the house has called the bet, and now I must pay up.”

My doom was to be eaten.

Pellinore stiffened, his eyes flitting over to look at Anna and the blackened window. They had a whole conversation with just that glance, and both came to the same conclusion. The doctor wasted no time once they broke eye contact, scooping the lamp from the floor and beckoning to his apprentice.

“Will Henry, hold this. Higher. Now step back.”

Anna quickly moved to Pellinore’s side, arriving just as he grasped the blankets. Varner’s eyes finally rolled in his direction, and he whispered a quiet plea: No. But it was too late; he could not protest. Pellinore threw the sheets off. Immediately the rotten smell overwhelmed them, having previously been trapped underneath Varner’s bedclothes. It was immediately clear where the stench was coming from. The skin of his nude form was just as gray as that of his face, and dotted with fresh bandages of various sizes. That was what Mrs. Bratton had been doing all that time the Warthrops wasted waiting and talking to the sick doctor - she was covering up for their neglect.

Will Henry gasped despite himself, and Anna’s hand clamped over her mouth. Pellinore was not shaken yet, however, quickly moving to inspect the wounds.

“Up here, Will Henry. Hold it over him while I have a look at this.”

Will obliged, and breathed shallowly though his mouth as the doctor gently pulled back one of the bandages.

“No,” Varner moaned. “Do not touch me!”

He doesn’t like to be touched.

“Foolish of me to not see it at once. There could only be one explanation for them, Anna.”

Anna’s eyes wandered back up to the countless flies taking refuge around the window. “I smelled it. I smelled it the moment we walked in here, despite that old witch’s efforts to confuse my nose!”

The dressing the doctor peeled off was fresh, but the wound it covered was festering. The large, oval-shaped bedsore had become necrotic. The purulent cavity burrowed all the way down to Varner's ribs, which glistened in the lamplight. Bloody pus dripped down to the mildewed bedsheet beneath him, which clearly hadn’t been changed since he’d first laid upon it five years before. Pellinore grunted, brave enough to bring his face within inches of the gaping wound, and inspected it carefully.

“No, not here… Ah! Yes, our good Mrs. Bratton missed a few. Do you see them, Will Henry? Look closely; see beneath the second rib?”

Pellinore pointed to three maggots, squirming in the festering flesh of Varner’s ribcage. Will Henry stared, horrified, but was too mesmerized to look away. Anna’s face flushed as she watched the maggots squirm within his still-moving chest cavity. She was strong-willed enough to handle most forms of death and decay, but that was her first time ever witnessing a man who was quite literally rotting alive.

“Don’t… touch… me.”

“We are myopic in our perceptions,” Pellinore mused. “We populate our nightmares with the wrong carnivores. Consider it: The lowly maggot consumes more raw flesh than lions, tigers, and wolves combined. But what is this?”

He turned his attention to the leather boots on Varner’s feet, the only article of clothing he had on. The skin above his boots was red and swollen with infection. He let out a cry of pain as Pellinore palpated it. The doctor still persisted, and Anna sidled up next to him as he slid a hand between the heel of Varner’s right boot and the mattress. He hadn’t even touched the Captain’s skin, but the sensation still made the man groan in agony.

“For the love of God, if there be any mercy in you, Warthrop…!”

“The foot is swollen, badly infected, so too is the left, I suspect. Bring the lamp closer, Will Henry. Stand there, at the foot of the bed. If I only had a sharp knife, I could cut it off…”

“Not my boots! Please, not my boots!”

Those damned boots - perhaps they were the same boots that had saved him twenty-three years before, making the fact they were helping to slowly kill him all the more ironic. Anna’s chest clenched with anticipation as she watched her husband grasp the decaying shoe with both hands, giving it a firm yank. Varner cursed and wept as the monstrumologist pulled on his shoe, switching between prayers and blasphemies, pleading to stop the unstoppable. But it was too late.

The boot broke apart in Pellinore’s hands as he finally pulled it free. The skin came with it, sloughing off in one congealed mass, a waterfall of viscous green pus gushing after it. Anna cried out in disgust, her composure finally breaking. The fetid foot of Captain Varner was by far the worst thing she had ever beheld.

Pellinore dropped the shattered shoe to the floor, his composure also shaken. They clung to each other like frightened children, stumbling backwards as if to try and get away from the horrific sight. Anna had never seen him look so disgusted.

“God damn them for this,” he growled.

Anna had no capacity to be angry at that moment - she simply felt sick.

“Put it back on!” Varner sobbed. “It hurts. It hurts.”

“Too late,” Pellinore muttered.

Not able to take it anymore, Anna ran over to the window, clutching it tightly. She managed to throw it open with a protesting screech that sent a jagged shiver running up her spine. It was worth it, however. She thrust her upper body out of the building, clutching the windowpane with trembling hands as she took in gulps of fresh air. Will Henry joined her, wiping his tear stained cheeks with the back of his hand. Pellinore didn’t move from the end of the bed, staring down at the infected foot of Varner. Anna rejoined him after a minute. He turned to her, despair written in his features.

“The infection has spread to his bones,” he whispered. “He has only hours. A day, at most.”

“What are we to do?” Anna whispered back.

“Make him as comfortable as we can in his final hours.”

He returned to Varner’s side, tenderly laying a hand upon the dying captain’s forehead.

“Hezekiah, Hezekiah! It is very bad. I will do all I can, but-”

“There is only one thing I want,” Hezekiah whispered.

“Tell me; I will do all within my power.”

The old captain found the strength to move his head from the pillow, barely an inch. His hoarse voice came through his swollen lips, but he spoke with conviction.

“Kill me.”

Pellinore straightened slowly, giving the old man a slight nod. His hand remained on his forehead, his thumb gently caressing the captain’s brow. Anna turned to Will Henry, ushering him towards the door.

“Wait outside.”

“Out- outside?” He stuttered, already not fond of the idea of being out in the hallway alone.

“We will not be long. If you see anybody coming - especially that old witch - you knock twice. Do you understand? Do you understand, Will Henry?”

Will Henry swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

He set the lamp upon the floor, leaving the Warthrops to their dark business. Pellinore had already pulled the pillow from underneath Varner’s head, clutching it in both hands. He stood there staring down at the suffering figure, his expression unreadable. Anna moved to the other side of the bed, and frowned thoughtfully at him.

“...Would you like me to do it?” She asked.

“No,” Pellinore replied sharply. “...No,” he repeated, in a gentler tone. “This is my father’s doing. I shall be the one to end Varner.”

Anna nodded, clasping her hands together. They stood in silence for another minute, Pellinore still staring down at the old man.

“...Though is it really my place to decide?” Pellinore mused. “Twenty-three years, Anna! Twenty-three years he has suffered. And yet, in his final waking moments, in his last few hours of life, who are we to decide whether he lives until the morning or only for another five minutes?”

“He decided,” Anna said. “He has suffered long enough. He is in agony, Pellinore. And as you said, he will not last until morning. It would be cruel to drag this out any longer. Give me the pillow.”

“You hold no ethical conflict over killing him.”

“Of course not. If I were to kill this man now, there would be no reason for me to be guilty about it, for all the reasons I stated earlier.”

“You are still taking his life into your hands.”

“Why are we having an ethical debate over a dying man?”

“You’ve read Kant. You tell me.”

“I do not believe Kant ever philosophized about our specific dilemma!”

Pellinore looked down at the pillow in his hands. “...I am a man of reason. I know you are correct. But I also believe that if I were to follow through with this, then I would not be able to live with myself.”

Anna reached across the bed, clasping her hands over his. “Then let me do it. This does not have to be your burden, my love.”

“How is allowing you to kill him any better than doing it myself?”

“At this point you’re stalling, Pellinore. Tell me now: are we doing this, or not? If you cannot bear to, I understand. But I see no reason as to why I should not be able to do it.”

Pellinore set the pillow down on the bed so he could hold her hands properly, looking deep into the eyes. A tender moment that was being shared over the deathbed of a rotting man.

“Anastasia… I beg of you. You do not have to understand my reasoning, as there is no scientific argument that could be built to persuade you. Your conscience differs from mine in this case. But I do not trust my own motives. Whose hands would be holding the pillow, his…. Or mine? It would be no different in your case, my dear Anna. I’m afraid it would be no different.”

“...Very well,” Anna replied.

He was right; she did not understand. Nevertheless, she respected his judgement. She gave his hands a squeeze before letting hers slip away. Pellinore placed the pillow back under the head of the Captain, who appeared to not even be in the same room as them anymore mentally. He was reliving that night on the Feronia for the millionth time, no doubt. Pellinore covered Varner with the sheets again before placing his hand back on his brow, as gentle as a father checking his child’s temperature. In that moment something within him changed. The backlit quality of his eyes returned; the storm within him raging once more. Now fueled by anger and righteous indignation, Pellinore went to the door. And as always, Anna followed.

Chapter 4: A Crime

Chapter Text

The Warthrops opened the door to find Will Henry huddled on the floor between it and the door of the neighboring room, his hands over his ears. A guttural voice sounded from behind him, “Come now, little boy, be a good child and open the door. We can play. I’ll be nice; I promise.”

Anna pulled Will Henry to his feet and towards her before giving the patient’s door a swift kick; just hard enough to make the padlock rattle. The tortured soul behind the door yelped, and Anna could hear them scamper away. Will Henry clung to her, a child seeking comfort from the closest thing he had to a mother.

“Are we leaving now?” He asked, his voice weary.

“I’m afraid not, dear boy,” Anna said, stroking his hair. “Our stay here is far from over.”

“What of Captain Varner?”

“He lives,” Pellinore stated.

“You didn’t kill him...?” He asked. “Why?”

Pellinore let out a mirthless laugh. “I cannot decide which it is, a triumph of will or its failure. Perhaps it is both.” He gave a rueful shake of his head before clapping his hands together, focusing once again on the task at hand. “We’ve one final piece of business here. The theme of this affair is shaping up to be one of accounting and recompense. What of the flies, indeed! The maggots that feed upon Varner’s body; the worms of doubt and guilt that fed upon my father’s soul. There are monsters like the Anthropophagi, and there are the monsters of a more banal bent. What is still is, and will always be!"

He strode down the hall with a purpose, and Anna followed, Will Henry scurrying after the both of them. They went down the narrow stairwell to the first floor hallway, where they found Mrs. Bratton, wearing an apron and with white powder splotched on her nose. It seemed she had been doing some late night baking. She gave the Pellinore a strained, unnatural looking smile.

“Are you finished with the patient then, doctor?” She asked.

“I am not finished,” snapped Pellinore. “Though he nearly is. Where is Starr?”

“Dr. Starr has retired for the evening,” she replied curtly. “It is very late.”

Pellinore laughed bitterly, unable to hide his contempt. “Without a doubt, my good woman! What do you keep here for pain?”

A stern frown fell across the housekeeper’s weathered features. “For pain, doctor?”

“Laudanum… or morphine, if you have it.”

She shook her head. “We have aspirin. Or if the patient is particularly uncomfortable, the doctor allows them a sip or two of whiskey.”

“Neither will do much good in this case.”

“Is he feeling poorly?” She asked innocently. “He hasn’t complained to me.”

Pellinore’s cheeks flushed, and Anna could tell it was taking every ounce of will within him not to grab the old woman by her turkey neck and throttle her. She stepped forward, looking the old crone in the eye.

“He will not live to see the sunrise,” Anna said. “Fetch us some whiskey.”

“I can’t do this without the doctor’s approval-”

“Damn the doctor’s approval!” Anna snapped.

It was Pellinore’s turn to step in. He took his wife by the shoulders, physically pulling her away from Mrs. Bratton. “You have my permission to disturb him. Or we will have the town constable do it for you.”

He turned on his heel, marching straight to the parlor. He pointed towards a small rocking chair, which Anna dutifully grabbed for him.

“The whiskey, Mrs. Bratton,” he bellowed as they entered the stairwell. “And a bottle of aspirin.”

“And if you would,” Anna added, “an extra pillow and some blankets - preferably clean!”

Once they returned to Varner’s room, Anna set the chair by his bedside, and Pellinore sat down. The deathwatch had officially begun. Mrs. Bratton appeared in the doorway not long after, a tray with the whiskey and medicine in her hands, and the pillow and blanket tucked under her arms. She exchanged a look of contempt with Anna as the vampire took the items from her.

“I’ve baked a batch of cranberry muffins,” she said with surprising casualness considering the fact she was still looking ready to beat Anna upside the head. “Would any of you care for one?”

Anna’s lip twitched; she had very nearly snarled at the woman. Calming herself, she turned to her companions.

“...Are either of you hungry?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No thank you,” Pellinore said. He swallowed hard. “I am not hungry.”

“And you, Mrs. Warthrop?” Mrs. Bratton questioned.

Anna genuinely considered it a moment - she did love cranberries, and muffins, and cranberry muffins - but ultimately declined. Mrs. Bratton gave the Warthrops one last look, her hatred of them plain as the flour on her face, before she turned and walked away. Anna shut the door behind her. She dropped the pillow and blankets on the floor before going over to Pellinore, handing him the tray. He lifted Varner’s head, slipping four aspirin into his half open mouth. He then pressed the bottle of whiskey against the old man’s lips.

“Drink, Hezekiah. Drink.”

As the old man lay there, moaning gutturally, Anna arranged the bedding on the floor.

“Here, Will Henry. You must rest.”

He laid down, and she knelt beside him, pulling another blanket over him to keep him warm in his makeshift cot. They gazed at each other, and for a fleeting moment, Anna’s heart genuinely ached for the boy.

“I don’t know if I can fall asleep,” he said.

He was frightened, that much was clear. Anna frowned, brushing the hair from his forehead.

“Worry not, Will Henry. I will stay here with you until you do.”

He shifted uncomfortably, looking towards the wall. Perhaps, at that moment, he would have preferred Mary to be there with him. Perhaps he would have preferred to be in his old room, in his old bed, with his mother’s hand caressing his brow. Maybe so. But, fate being cruel and twisted, all he had was a vampire leering over him as he laid on the floor of a filthy old asylum by the bedside of a dying man. Anna looked over at Pellinore for a moment - he was still watching Varner vigilantly, occasionally allowing the man another sip of whiskey. She then looked back down at Will, licking her lips in discomfort. An awkward silence hung between them - he was too uncomfortable to ask for comfort from Mrs. Warthrop, and she was too uncomfortable to provide it. But finally, she relented.

“...Here,” Anna said. “I shall sing you to sleep. I used to be a singer, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

Anna did as promised, once again thinking of songs from her old catalog - folk songs, a lullaby her nanny used to sing to her, and a few of the songs she had written and performed in Vienna. Finally, the restless boy was able to sleep. Anna stood up from the floor, stretching before going to the window. Cool night air entered the room, the smell of the male vampire blowing with it. He was back. There was no doubt he knew Anna was there, and his lingering around the building made her uncomfortable.

“What is it?” Pellinore asked.

Anna turned to him. “What, my love?”

“Your face twisted as if you had smelled something sour.”

Anna chuckled softly. “It is nothing. I am simply enjoying the night air. Perhaps I might take a walk as well.”

“If you are back by morning.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Anna rounded the bed, leaning down to give Pellinore a kiss - it was brief and chaste, but still a meaningful gesture of affection. Her eyes were drawn down to the sickly Varner, who let out a shuddering exhale.

“...Why are you staying?” Anna asked. “You do not owe this man simply because your father ruined him so many years ago.”

“Don’t I?” Pellinore asked. “It is as I said before, Anna; the sins of the father have come to rest upon the shoulders of his son.”

“It is an unfair burden for you to bear, darling.”

“I never said it was fair. Simply that it is mine.”

“Very well, then.”

She placed one last kiss on him, this time on his cheek, before going back towards the dirty window. It was not large, but she managed to squeeze herself through. The cramped position did not leave her much leeway for a graceful landing. She hit the ground on all fours, standing up and brushing her skirt off, which still had dust clinging to it from the hospital floor. The night was quiet, save for the nickering of her restless horses.

Anna was unsure what compelled her to go out - perhaps it was just instinct. She had no use for anything a male vampire could offer her, and certainly no conscious desire to converse regardless, but the most primal part of her did. So, she found herself walking down the shrouded path, bundling into her petticoat as a breeze blew past her. She longed for the sound of spring peepers, or even animals rustling in the brush, but the forest remained dead quiet. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, alerting her to the other vampire’s presence. She turned around to find him standing no more than a few feet away. He was younger than she had imagined, his youthful face a stark contrast to the predatory glint in his hazel eyes.

“I knew you would not be able to resist a visit,” he said, stepping forward. “I have not seen you around here before; a face like yours would have been far too beautiful to forget. So tell me, my angel of the night, where do you visit from?”

Anna folded her hands over her stomach, looking him dead in the eye. “I did not come out here to court you.”

The vampire scoffed loudly. “I was hoping you had grown tired of that pet human of yours. The one you rode in with. And the boy… You daywalkers are just so desperate to be normal, aren’t you?”

“Dear child, don’t you presume my life is normal.”

“I am no child,” the male vampire replied with a snarl.

“Oh, please. Everything about you, from your way of speaking to how you are dressed to the audacity with which you approached me lets me know that you are only so young. Tell me, how many years has it been? Fifteen, twenty?”

“What do you know?” He demanded, incredulous. “You are barely a real vampire yourself. You hide amongst the humans, our prey, as if you are one of them.”

“It does not matter how old I am. Simply that I am older than you. Or has the culture changed since I was infected? Are you now allowed to walk up to an elder vampire and throw yourself upon them like a cat in estrus? Back when I was a fledgling, you’d be eviscerated for that.”

The young man laughed. “A daywalker preaching to me about vampire culture! I must be more drunk than I thought! How long has it been since you’ve lived amongst your own kind, truly?”

Anna humored him by thinking back. Aside from partnering with individual vampires throughout her early years, mostly for the sake of her survival, she had always been a ‘daywalker’ as vampires of the boy’s ilk referred to them. All vampires had to hide their true nature to a certain extent; daywalkers simply chose to hide in plain sight as opposed to lurking in the shadows. Though it could be argued the way of nightstalkers was more free, in a sense.

“Truthfully, nearly a century.”

“Ah, I see,” the younger vampire said, shaking his head. “Shameful, pitiful even!”

“We are solitary creatures by nature,” Anna argued. “I have no desire to partake in the social intricacies of living with other vampires. That is for the desperate and the lonely.”

He smiled at her. His fangs glinted under the moonlight, white and deadly. “But you wouldn’t be out here if you were not curious.”

Anna looked back the way she came. She thought of Pellinore, so dutifully staying by the bedside of the dying Captain. She thought of Will Henry, their young ward, sound asleep on the floor.

“I would not trade them,” Anna mused. “Not for anything.”

“I am not asking you to give up your silly little human life,” the man scoffed. “I am merely suggesting you would like a glimpse of the life you could be living, if you did not have them.”

“This is a very roundabout way of asking me to come join your friends for a drink.”

“Well, you won’t f*ck me, so the least you could do is humor me with a drink.”

Against her better judgement, she followed the young vampire - who introduced himself as Collin - through the woods and to the outskirts of the town Dedham. They walked through a maze of back alleys until they finally reached a small pub, entering through the back door. Anna was immediately hit by the smell of opium and alcohol. Collin escorted her past the bodies of people who had succumbed to their overindulgence, down a set of stairs and to a large refurbished basem*nt, where a small group of vampires huddled together, drinking and playing cards.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Collin bellowed. “I have captured an elusive daywalker that was lurking in our midst! Married a human man and everything. Isn’t that right, angel?”

Anna sighed dramatically, folding herself onto an overstuffed couch. “If you could at the very least spare me a shot of whiskey, I would be grateful.”

“No, you are not in need of any elixirs,” a short-haired female vampire at the poker table said. “Look at your pallid face! You clearly need to feed.”

“I am not pallid,” Anna spat back. “My father was Irish. I have a naturally alabaster complexion; that is all.”

The vampires looked at each other. Collin vaulted over the bar, disappearing a moment before producing a bottle of whiskey.

“There you go, gorgeous,” he said. “Try not to ruin your appetite.”

Anna popped open the bottle and took a few long sips, letting out a loud grunt afterwards. “You say that as if I intend to hunt with you.”

“No,” Collin said. “We do not hunt. We have other ways of feeding.”

Anna settled into her seat, much more relaxed with the alcohol warming her throat. One of the other vampires, the small female with a wild mane of brown hair, sat next to her. She leaned in close, sniffing her deeply. Anna watched from the corner of her eye, but did not move or make a sound. In polite society, that would be incredibly awkward and offensive, but with her fellow vampires, it was not very strange.

“You reek of death,” she stated plainly.

“Forgive me,” Anna replied. “I just came from Motley Hill. I’m afraid the man we went to visit is in very poor health. He may perish before I even return.”

The vampires took pause at this. The skinny little female scooted away from her, while a tall dark-skinned male sat down on the opposite side of Anna, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Motley Hill?” He asked. “Dr. Starr’s sanatorium?”

“You know of Dr. Starr?”

“Everyone in Dedham knows Dr. Starr,” he proclaimed. “Humans talk; we eavesdrop.”

“And what, pray tell, do they say?”

“Many things. Most notably - and I don’t give this much credence, you know how humans are - what he does to his patients.”

Anna hummed softly, taking another swig of her drink. “Yes, I know all too well the deplorable conditions of Motley Hill. The patient I spoke of earlier is being eaten alive by maggots. And Lord only knows how long he has been in that state! My husband believes the infection has reached his bones, so months at the very least.”

“No, I don’t mean the way the patients are kept,” he elaborated. “I meant the way they are…”

“He does something to them,” the female remaining at the table spoke up. “He sometimes has patients shipped off to a town about three hours east of here. The name evades me at the moment, though.”

“New Jerusalem?” Anna asked, her eyes widening.

“Yes, that’s the one!” She confirmed. “Very odd. I have never heard of there being an asylum there.”

“That’s because they don’t have one,” Anna said, her mouth pulled into a thin line.

She set down the bottle and stood up, turning to the motley crew of vampires. “...I must be taking my leave now. Thank you for the drink.”

“Must you leave so soon?” Colin asked. He approached Anna and shoved her back down into her seat, his eyes still containing that glint. “The night is just getting started.”

As if on cue, a new vampire entered the room, trotting down the stairs with several human women. They were all made up and wearing cheap perfume. Judging by their appearance and strange visitation alone, Anna could tell they were women of the night.

“Ah, here are the ladies now!” Collin exclaimed. “Lovely, lovely ladies.”

The group of women - Anna counted five - made their way into the room, being offered alcohol and opium by the vampires present. They had no idea they had just entered the lion’s den. One with curly hair and a beauty mark on her upper lip sat down next to Anna. She appeared to be in her 40s, but her looks had not faded with age. She smiled at the vampire, revealing a gap in her front teeth, before leaning in to whisper.

“What’re they paying you?” She asked, her breath tickling Anna’s ear.

Anna’s heart began to pound in her chest. She must have looked offended, because the woman pulled away, laughing.

“Oh, you’re a client, then! My mistake. Don’t worry, I’m not the type to judge. Who doesn’t have some affection for the fairer sex?”

She reached over, undoing Anna’s hair. The vampire felt her cheeks blush as it cascaded downward, framing her face. It had been so long since she’d felt the touch of another woman; as much as she loved Pellinore she realized in that moment she missed it. But her monogamous nature prevailed, and she turned away shyly, taking another sip of her drink.

“Such beautiful hair,” the other woman complimented. “Very long too! I do not know if I could ever grow my hair as long; I couldn’t be bothered to brush so much!”

Anna felt a smile tug at her lips. “My husband has made similar comments. He said it’s a waste of time to have to brush so much hair!”

She was so comfortable with the woman’s warmth that she didn’t realize the words had escaped her lips. The woman pressed a hand to her chest, acting scandalized, though she was clearly just being tongue-in-cheek.

“Husband! Yes, I should have figured, with the ring on your finger. What would he think of you messing about with strangers in the night, hmm?”

Anna’s mind flashed back to the alcoholic she had met on the street. “...I would go ask him, but messing about with strangers in the night isn’t exactly his nature.”

The woman laughed, grabbing Anna’s right hand to examine the ring, but paused when she felt her fingers. “Goodness! Your skin’s as cold as ice!” She lifted Anna’s fingers to her lips, blowing on them before clutching them in her own hands.

“It’s been a cold spring…” Anna commented, mesmerized. Whether it was by hunger or lust, she could not tell. Those two desires often overlapped for her kind.

“And how!” The woman replied. “The nights have been so cold we’re burning through firewood faster than my son can chop it!”

Anna chuckled. “As have we.”

Suddenly, a scream rocked both women to their core. One of the vampires - Collin, she realized - was biting into the neck a blonde prostitute. A dark haired worker, in a moment of bravery, hit him over the head with a chair. But Collin became angry as opposed to being unfazed, and attacked her instead. The small female vampire jumped in, latching onto the blonde he’d abandoned. Anna’s nostrils flared as the deliciously familiar scent of blood wafted towards her. For a moment, she forgot about the woman next to her. The prostitute was of course distressed by the situation, her bright blue eyes wide with terror. And when she turned to Anna, that terror didn’t fade.

“Monsters!” She cried.

She ripped her hand away, scrambling out of her seat and going for the door. Oh, if only she hadn’t run. If she had not run, Anna would have let her go. Instead, however, watching the woman flee filled Anna with a predatory urge so great it took over her. She leapt from her seat, knocking over the coffee table in her haste. The near-empty bottle of whisky smashed to the floor.

The woman had made it up the stairs, but Anna was upon her in two seconds, knocking her down and pinning her on the landing. The woman screamed, and cried, and pleaded, but it was too late at that point. Anna was a vampire; a vampire who hadn’t fed on human blood in so painfully long, and there was no part of her that could stop herself. Anna dug her fang’s into the woman’s neck, hot blood rushing down her throat. Instantly, she was in ecstasy. Once she finished binging, she looked up, breathing heavily. Her attention was drawn towards another body nearby. The woman had her throat ripped open, but had been left unattended, and Anna took it upon herself to drink up what was left of the doomed woman’s blood.

Just as quickly as it had started, the feeding frenzy was over. Anna was left standing in the middle of the bloodied room, panting, her heart pounding in her ears. As she slowly came down from her high, the reality of the situation sank in. Her euphoria was replaced by a hollow emptiness that left her shivering. Collin still looked crazed, his eyes wide and wild. He was truly an animal; a wolf in sheep’s clothing. They locked eyes, and quickly, he was upon her. His bloody mouth smashed against hers, his nails scratching her cheek where he had grabbed her. Anna wrenched him off of her, completely indignant, and gave him a smack across the face hard enough to knock him onto the nearby couch. The sound of skin hitting skin attracted the attention of the other vampires, who stared, their post-feed bliss interrupted.

Collin glared up from the couch at Anna, sneering. “Look at you. Look at what your years amongst them have done to you! You are not like them. You will never be like them. And in trying, you have broken yourself. Your true self is irreparable; irretrievable! You forced her down so far your first instinct was to smack me as if I’m an insolent child; denying your true self! You are a vampire, for God's sake. You are meant to sleep, f*ck, and feed! Those were the only three things you were good for, you stupid bitch, and those humans have made you no good for anything!”

His true colors began to show more and more, and as he spoke, Anna’s resentment grew. Even the other vampires seemed to recognize the hole he was digging himself in his embarrassment, the male shielding his female companions as they cowered behind the bar. The vampire who'd lured in the prostitutes slipped upstairs unnoticed, wanting to avoid the conflict. Collin persisted in his boorishness, however, launching himself to his feet. Anna could not find words. No witty retort. As much as she wanted to say that she would never let him inject his filth into her, daywalker or not, she did not find the words. Instead, she acted.

She drew her hand back, and before he could even realize the mistake he made, she was plunging her hand into his chest. She felt her fingers wrap around the distinct muscle of his heart. She looked at Collin, savoring the fear in his eyes as she tugged. She could see the moment the light left them; he died of the trauma before she was even able to remove her hand from his chest cavity. He dropped to the floor with a graceless thud.

Anna raised the organ in the air: an alpha Anthropophagus, a specimen of hom*o vampiris, an angel of the night.

She turned to the other vampires, who were still cowering, acknowledging her dominance. She lobbed the organ at them, causing the small female to scream. It smacked against the bottles on the shelf, taking a few with it as it fell to the floor.

“...In the coming weeks, the constable will be quite busy dealing with matters relating to Motley Hill,” Anna said, licking her fingers clean as she spoke. “Thus, if you make quick work of it, you should be able to clean this mess undetected. Although… if he does catch you, you can simply kill him.”

With those words, she left. She retraced her steps to the exit of the building, where she took pause. She was completely covered in blood; she could not take a casual walk back to the path to Motley Hill. And so, she ran instead.

Anna ran out of town and into the woods, where much to her relief, she came across a creek. She knelt down beside it, stripping down and dipping her hands into the cold water. She quickly became cold, shivering as she poured water down her face and neck, but despite the discomfort she knew it couldn’t hurt her, so she continued. She took the time to pick the blood and viscera out from under her fingernails, as well as the blood that had soiled her hair. Once her hair was washed, she pinned it back up. Then she put back on all of her clothing, save for her coat, which she left by the stream. It was ruined; and she certainly didn’t want to go back to the sanatorium wearing it. Her crimes covered up, she continued on her way, using the scent of the horses to find her way back to her husband and ward.

Anna launched herself up towards the open window and grabbed onto the sill, pulling herself through. Pellinore looked up from his post, surprised.

“Anna,” he said, his voice tinged with drowsiness. “How was your walk?”

She crossed the room slowly, her eyes glancing over the unconscious Varner. He was still alive; she could hear his labored breathing. “...I killed the male.”

Pellinore’s brow furrowed, perking up. “The male? The male what?”

“Vampire. The one that was stalking us as we walked up the path to Motley Hill. He gave me trouble.”

Pellinore’s shoulders tensed. “What kind of trouble?”

“He said something…” Anna crossed her arms, staring up towards the ceiling as she tried to form her words. “Something about me only being good for f*cking, feeding, and napping. But I know that to be untrue, because it didn’t bother me. I know I am more than that. I have lived among your kind for my whole life; I have a great love for the arts, music, philosophy, and science. I read. I do puzzles. I cook. I have developed numerous skills and hobbies over the years; I have no regard for the idea I am only ‘good for’ three intrinsic things. But the implication beneath it… He is right about one thing, Pellinore. I will never be like you, or Will Henry. I am not human. I am a wild animal, and as much as I imitate humanity, I will never achieve it. And then I proved that point by ripping his heart from his chest. Perhaps I am telling you things you already know, but that’s simply what I’ve been thinking about… As much as I hate to admit it, it hurts me. It hurts me that I will never be more than what my nature dictates, despite my honest attempts.”

Pellinore stared at his wife, mulling over her words. He sat up, his expression earnest. “I have pondered your situation myself, particularly after I met you. Because truthfully, you changed our entire understanding of your species. You showed me great love and kindness; something we previously thought hom*o vampiris americanis, let alone the other species of vampire, incapable of. But I stopped worrying over such things when I realized the answer to our philosophical quandary.”

“And what might that be?”

“You are not human; not from a biological standpoint. But, you are not an ‘animal’, either… or, more accurately, taxonomically speaking, you are an animal as much as human beings are. The sapience you display is far beyond any non-human species; you rival even our closest relatives. Evolutionarily speaking, while the origins of hom*o vampiris remain mostly a mystery, all research so far indicates you very much are our closest living relative. Vampires are not born, they are made; you were biologically a human until the time you were infected with the vampiris virus. So, on the most practical level, you are neither human nor animal. You are a vampire, but that does not mean you are a creature incapable of intellectual and emotional complexity. I have seen firsthand that is far from the truth. You are not a vampire as we once understood them, either. You are somewhere in between human and monster.”

“So neither? That is your final answer?”

“No,” Pellinore stated plainly. “That is merely the logical conclusion I can come to given all the facts; both firsthand and within the literature. But… it is not the only answer. And I know it is not the answer you want. The clinical answer is rarely enough for you. The other is much more simple. It is the conclusion that caused me to dismiss such thoughts of your nature originally. Perhaps it was simply the poet in me, but I realized: you are my dear Anna. That is what you are.”

Anna was so moved she had to swallow back the tears pricking at her eyes. “...Thank you.”

“You do not have to thank me for saying such things.”

She smiled at him before walking over to check on Will Henry, who was still sound asleep. She felt like laying down herself - the large meal was causing her to feel rather sleepy. Pellinore noticed as much, as he beckoned to her.

“Come here. You should rest.”

“...With you?”

“Where do you think I expect you to sleep? On the floor?”

A smirk danced on her lips. “Pellinore, if you wanted to hold me, you merely had to ask. You do not need to create such excuses.”

“I have no ulterior motive,” Pellinore replied gruffly. “I am simply offering you a place to rest.”

“In your lap.”

“In so many words, yes.”

“And you do not realize how that sounds?”

The doctor grew impatient with her, resorting to patting his thigh, as if he were calling for a stubborn cat. The gesture made Anna laugh aloud, and she did so as she approached him, a teasing gleam in her eye. Anna believed he was lying, whether he realized it or not. He needed the comfort as much as she needed the rest. Her mirth, while making him smile despite himself, annoyed him.

“You are the most insufferable woman alive,” he crowed as Anna settled herself into his lap. “Why in God’s name did I marry you?”

“I must be a very lucky woman, then,” she replied, “to have you still want to cuddle me despite my being an insufferable bitch.”

A soft, amused nose vibrated through his chest. “I never called you a bitch.”

“Ah, perhaps not, but you were thinking it,” Anna said.

Despite their dire surroundings, Anna was able to fall asleep rather quickly in the comfort of Pellinore’s arms.

Anna woke up only a few hours later, sore from the awkward position she had curled up in. Pellinore was still awake, his chin cupped in his hand, but he turned his head towards his wife when he noticed her stirring.

“It is finished, Anna.”

Anna cast her eyes towards the body of Varner. Pellinore had drawn the sheets over his head. Finished, indeed.

“When did he pass?”

“No more than an hour ago.”

She let out a soft hum, squeezing his leg affectionately before standing upright. Something in her back popped as she stretched herself out. She turned her attention to Will Henry, who was still sleeping. Anna knelt down beside him, waking him gently. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Pellinore sighed, letting Will Henry know Varner was gone.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he offered meekly.

“Sorry? Yes, I too am sorry. All of this-” he gestured towards the bed, “-is exceedingly sorry, Will Henry.”

He pushed himself to his feet, swaying for a moment on unsteady legs. The three exited the room for the last time, the cries and calls of the tormented souls housed within Motley Hill’s grimy walls following them down the hall. They entered the stairwell, where Mrs. Bratton was waiting for them.

“How is the Captain this morning, Dr. Warthrop?” She asked, impassive.

“Dead,” replied Pellinore. “Where is Starr?”

“Dr. Starr has been called away on urgent business.”

Pellinore stared at her for a moment before letting out a dry laugh. “No doubt he has! And you will be quite busy in his absence, I am sure. There is much to be done once I’ve notified the state police, isn’t there, Mrs. Bratton?”

“I have no idea what you mean, Dr. Warthrop,” the old woman replied stiffly.

“Regrettably that very well might be so,” Pellinore acknowledged. “And all the more appalling if it is! To view your shameful neglect as altogether fitting and humane is beyond deplorable - it is inhuman. You may inform your master that I am not finished here. I am not finished, but Motley Hill is. I shall personally see to it that he is punished to the full extent of the law for the homicide of Hezekiah Varner.”

He took a step closer to her, and she blanched in the face of his righteous indignation.

“And I pray,” Pellinore continued icily, “as he should not, that the law shows him - and you - the same mercy you have shown these poor souls entrusted to your care.”

He brushed past her without waiting for a reply and marched to the exit. He threw open the heavy front door with such force that it slammed into the wall with a reverberating crash. Will Henry was quick to follow, but Anna lingered another few moments, regarding the withered crone in front of her with equal contempt as her husband.

“...When Dr. Starr returns, do remind him that he owes me money,” she said curtly.

The ride back to 425 Harrington Lane was silent. Pellinore had gone into one of his taciturn stupors, speaking barely a word after they left the hospital. It was during those times Anna wished she had the ability to read his mind; to pick apart what tormented him and bring him some semblance of relief, as opposed to him shutting her out and leaving her stranded in the wake of his stormy mood.

There was not much to do when they returned home. They only needed to wait for Dr. Kearns, and pray he got there before the Anthropophagi fed again. Will Henry took the horses to the stables to attend to them, while Anna went into the kitchen to finally make that batch of scones, and Pellinore disappeared into the basem*nt. For a while, as she mixed and rolled out the dough, she could hear the slamming of drawers and heavy objects being dragged across the floor. Anna dared not question it, ignoring it for the sake of a moment of peace. Pellinore was enraged now, and she'd gain no joy from poking that bear.

After a while, Pellinore bounded back up the stairs, rounding the corner out of the kitchen without acknowledging her. Anna wiped her hands off on her apron and followed. He went into the study, continuing his violent upheaval.

“What the hell has gotten into you?!” She exclaimed, watching in horror as papers were strewn across the floor. “What in God’s name are you looking for?!”

“There must be something,” he said, though it seemed he was just thinking aloud. “A letter, a bill of lading, a contract for services, something…”

“Pellinore, your father burned all of his belongings before he died.”

“He must have missed something!” Pellinore snapped. “He missed the steamer trunk under the stairs!”

“But there was nothing in it of any use to us besides the diary, was there?”

He did not respond. Anna’s mind went to the mysterious key, but he was in such a cantankerous mood that she once again decided to save it for a later time. Who was to say what it opened, regardless? Most likely something within the house; and surely nothing of use if that were the case.

Pellinore finished rifling through another drawer, slamming it shut just as Will Henry appeared behind them.

“Mrs. Warthrop-”

The Warthrops both turned to him, startled by his sudden appearance.

“Yes?” She asked.

“Are you… will you be cooking anything? I am hungry.”

“Why of course!” Anna replied. “I have scones ready for the oven, and I am going to be cooking that beef; better to do it before it goes bad.”

“For the love of God, boy, is that all you ever think about?” Pellinore snapped. “The little treats that Anna may cook up for you in her precious spare time?”

“Pellinore,” Anna sighed.

“No, sir,” Will Henry replied.

“What else, then?”

“What else, sir?”

“Yes, what else? Besides food, what else do you think about?”

“Well, I… I think about many things, sir.”

Pellinore glowered at Will Henry, his fingers drumming on the desktop. “Yes, but what are they? That was my question.”

Will Henry didn’t answer, looking down at the floor.

“You know what gluttony is, Will Henry.”

“Yes, sir. And hunger too.”

Pellinore fought off a smile. “Well?”

“Sir?”

“What else occupies your thoughts?”

Will Henry paused, casting his eyes up towards the ceiling, growing pensive for a moment.

“I try to… understand, sir.”

“Understand what?”

“What I am to… the purpose of… the things you are trying to teach me, sir… but mostly, to be honest, sir, for lying is the worst kind of buffoonery, I try not to think of more things than the things I try to, if that makes sense, sir.”

“Not much, Will Henry. Not much.”

Anna turned to the boy, shaking her head. “Do not pay him any mind, Will Henry. Since you are hungry, I will braise the meat now. I just-”

She remembered the soup from last night, and swore to herself. The boy looked up at her, confused.

“Mrs. Warthrop?”

“The onions! I used up all the onions in the soup!”

“Again with the damned soup,” Pellinore groaned. “Just cook your roast without onions.”

“Bœuf à la mode,” Anna said, genuinely perturbed, “without onions?! Good God, sometimes the things that come out of your mouth truly make me wonder if you’re secretly an imbecile!”

Anna approached their young assistant, placing a hand on his arm. “Will Henry, you know where the money is kept, yes? Go to the market and get two onions. And some fruit if you’d like, to tide you over. Oh, and a chicken from the butcher; we can have that when our guest arrives. Go straight there and back, and whatever you do, do not talk to the grocer or that she-devil he calls a wife! If they speak to you, all is well. Tell them anything but the truth. Some lies are borne of necessity, not foolishness.”

Will Henry gave her a nod before scampering out of the room. Anna turned back to Pellinore, who was now sitting on the floor amongst the discarded papers, head in his hands.

“I do not understand,” he said. “He had to have made a record of his payment to the captain, at the very least.”

“It is possible he missed it and it's tucked away here somewhere,” Anna offered. “Why do you need physical documentation regardless? Do you not believe Varner’s story?”

“It is not that I don't believe him,” Pellinore explained. “I require answers. And I’m afraid, my dear Anna, Varner’s tale of woe only raised more questions.”

“I have noticed that as well. What bothers me the most is how. I understand how the Anthropophagi pair ended up on our shores, but I cannot fathom for the life of me how they got here, to New Jerusalem, all the way from Swampscott. Surely they did not take the train!”

Anna smiled at her joke, but he did not return the gesture. Instead, he seemed to be sparked back into action, leaving the study and going to the library. Exasperated, Anna followed, watching as he started to tear apart the bookshelves. He opened the books one by one, flipping through their pages to search for any loose parchment that may have been thoughtlessly tucked in there, before tossing them to the floor. He finally looked back at her.

“Well? Are you going to stare at me as if I’m mad, or are you going to help?”

Anna looked back over her shoulder, thinking of the dough still resting on her kitchen countertop. Ah, to hell with the dough. She knew Pellinore would not stop until he tore apart every square inch of the house, and her help would make the job a lot quicker. Thus, as if his mania was contagious, she began to do the same.

Eventually, Will Henry rejoined them, pausing in the doorway of the library as he watched the both Warthrops tear through the room like a hurricane. Pellinore noticed him first.

“Are you back then?” He said. “Good; I need your help. Start at the far end of that shelf over there.”

“Just leave the onions in the kitchen, dear boy,” Anna piped up. “I will get to cooking as soon as I can.”

“Actually, I haven’t left yet.”

“Haven’t left yet?” Anna asked. “Then what, pray tell, have you been doing all this time?”

“I was upstairs washing up, ma’am.”

“I see,” Anna replied.

“Why, were you dirty?” Pellinore asked, though he did not wait for a reply. “You have decided you are not hungry after all, and cannot be bothered to buy Anna her onions?”

“No, sir.”

“You cannot be bothered?”

“I can, sir. I will.”

“Yet you just said you were not going.”

“Sir?” Will Henry asked, completely lost.

“I asked if you had decided you were not hungry after all and thus are not going to the market, and you replied, ‘No, sir’. That is my memory of it, at any rate.”

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean…. I was wondering… That is, I’ve been meaning to ask if you found my hat.”

Pellinore turned to Will Henry, staring at him uncomprehendingly. “Hat?”

“Yes, sir. My hat. I fear I left it in the cemetery.”

“If you need a hat, wear the one I gave you."

“Yes, sir. But I want my hat. I wore it to the cemetery that night, and it must have fallen out of my pocket when they… when we left. I was wondering if you might have found it, Dr. Warthrop, sir, when you returned to… to tidy things up there.”

“I didn’t see any hats,” Pellinore replied gruffly, “except the one I gave Anna to destroy. Whenever did you acquire a hat, Will Henry?”

“It was mine when I came, sir.”

“When you came… where?”

“Here, sir. To live here. It was my hat, sir. My father gave it to me.”

“Whenever did you acquire a hat,” Anna scoffed as she moved higher up the ladder. “Oh honestly! It’s the same little brown cap he’s been wearing for the past year! Have you forgotten? Did the overpowering bleach stench in Varner’s room cause you disability?”

“The cap, the cap,” Pellinore muttered. “You mean the little hat?”

“Yes, the little hat! The same one he always wears.”

“Why are you so concerned, Will Henry?” Pellinore asked him directly. “What is so special about a hat?”

“My father gave it to me,” Will Henry reiterated.

“It was your father’s hat?”

“No, it was a hat that he gave to me.”

“It is all he has left of James,” Anna commented glibly.

“Will Henry,” said the doctor. “May I give you a piece of advice?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“Don’t invest too much of yourself in material things.”

“No, sir.”

“Of course, that bit of wisdom is not original to me. Still, much more valuable than any hat. Have we satisfied your inquiry, Will Henry?”

“Yes, sir. I suppose it’s lost for good.”

“Nothing is ever truly lost, Will Henry. Unless we are talking about the evidence my father must have left behind regarding this unholy business, or the reason you remain standing there uselessly while we look for it.”

“Sir?” Will Henry asked, completely lost once again.

“Either get yourself to the market or help search, Will Henry! Snap to it! I don’t know how you manage to draw me into these philosophical diversions.”

“I just wanted to know if you found my hat.”

“Well, I did not.”

“That’s all I wanted to know.”

He left before Pellinore could fashion another reply. Pellinore looked over at Anna, and seeing the expression on her face, grew exasperated.

“What?!”

“It was a yes or no question, Pellinore. All you had to say was ‘No, Will Henry, I did not find your little hat.’”

“You know I did not.”

“And you could have told him as much!”

“What do you expect me to say, Anna? He was concerning himself over a hat. If he needs a hat that desperately, he need only take himself to the haberdasher!”

“Are you dense? Well and truly? I fear not even I could crack your skull, doctor.”

“No! No. I am not going to be pulled into another tangent, least of all with you, as I could accomplish about as much arguing with you as I could debating the ideas of Malthus with a bowl of your beloved soup!”

“Funny you should say that,” Anna replied, waving the book she was holding above her head, “as I am very close to bludgeoning you with the writings of Marx!”’

“You are quite the passionate Marxist,” he replied. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but there appeared to be a playful glint in his eye as he said it.

Anna relented, reminding herself of why she loved him before replacing the book on the shelf and moving to the next.

The Warthrops found nothing in their library. Pellinore’s search, it seemed, had been a waste of time. If there was any documentation of the failed excursion of the Feronia, it had been destroyed along with nearly every other trace of Alistair Warthrop’s existence. They returned to the study, Pellinore’s gloom passing onto Anna. She laid down on the floor amongst the papers which had been strewn about. Pellinore sat in his favorite chair, closing the blinds of the window next to him. For a few minutes, they sat there in the quiet darkness. Anna closed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest like a corpse. Her breathing must have grown shallow, as she heard Pellinore’s voice pipe up from the corner.

“Anna, are you awake?”

“Yes,” she replied softly. “I am simply resting my eyes. That is all.”

“If you must rest, then do so.”

“No, no. I have far too much to do. When Will Henry returns from the market, I have to cook. Then once I am finished cooking, I have to clean up this mess. Then finally, perhaps once I am done with that, I can wash up and go to sleep for a few hours. In the meantime, my love, if anyone should rest it is you.”

“I am not tired.”

“If you insist as much.”

“You are the one who insists she is not tired, Anna.”

“I never said I’m not tired. Simply that I cannot rest yet.”

Anna heard the front door open and Will Henry come in, his feet pattering into the kitchen. She figured he was putting the groceries away, so she shut her eyes once more, sucking up the last few moments of respite she would get. His feet pounded down the hall, and he ran right past the study, only to turn around and run right back once he realized the Warthrops were concealed in the darkened room.

“Will Henry,” Anna said, her eyes still closed. “I assume you fared better in your quest than we have in ours?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, breathless. “I would have been back sooner, but I stopped by the bakers to pick up those blueberry muffins you like, as he had just made a fresh batch.”

“Thank you, Will Henry.”

“He sends his regards, as does Mr. Flanagan.”

“Why are you gasping like that?” Pellinore asked. “Are you sick?”

“No, sir. I ran home, sir.”

“You ran? Why? Were you being chased?”

“It was something Mrs. Flanagan said,” Will Henry replied, his voice rising to a crescendo. He was excited; his round cheeks flushed with pink.

“Ach,” Anna scoffed, “to Hell with Mrs. Flanagan! Whatever she said about the doctor, or I, I do not wish to hear it!”

“It wasn’t about you or the doctor, at least not the important part. It was about your father, sir.”

“My father?” Pellinore asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He was investigated by the Pinkertons because they suspected he was a rebel sympathizer,” Will Henry began.

“Bunkum and balderdash,” Anna cut him off. “Dr. Warthrop was a union man.”

“But he was suspected of being a sympathizer because he met with two mysterious gentlemen, Slidell and Mason.”

“Slidell and Mason?” Pellinore said.

“Yes, sir. In ‘61 or ‘62, right when the Feronia set off for Benin. They were believed to be Confederate spies themselves. And he was said to have a heavy-hearted reaction to the South’s fall, which also coincided with the expedition of the Feronia!”

Anna sat up, resting her hands in her lap. “And you’re sure this is not simply a tale Mrs. Flanagan concocted?”

“Yes, ma’am. I asked Noonan when I picked up the chicken and Tanner when I got the muffins. They told me much the same; that Dr. Warthrop was a confederate sympathizer and acted differently after the war.”

“Is that it?” Pellinore asked, regarding Will Henry impassively over folded hands.

“Did you already know?” Will Henry asked. He was crestfallen; he’d been so sure he had cracked the code.

“My father was guilty of many things, but treason was not one of them. It is possible he met with these men, and it is also possible their errand was of a seditious nature. Perhaps they had some insidious purpose in mind - his peculiar calling was not unknown in certain circles - but any scheme they proposed he would have rejected out of hand. At any rate, the two events being proximate does not mean one is related to the other, Will Henry.”

“But it could have something to do with it,” Will Henry persisted. “If they were Confederate spies, he wouldn’t have told anyone or left any record of his contract with Captain Varner. It’s why you can’t find anything, sir! And it could explain why he wanted more than one of the things brought back. You said they couldn’t have been for study, so what were they for? Maybe they weren’t for your father at all, but for them, Slidell and Mason. Maybe they wanted the Anthropophagi, doctor!”

“And why would they want that?” Pellinore wondered.

Will Henry began to hop from foot to foot in his agitation. “I don’t know. To breed them, perhaps. To raise an army of them! Can you imagine the Union troops in the face of a hundred of those things, let loose in the dead of night?”

“The Anthropophagi produce only one or two offspring per year,” Pellinore reminded him. “It would require quite some time to produce a hundred, Will Henry.”

“It took only two of them to wipe out the entire crew of the Feronia.”

“A lucky circ*mstance - I mean, of course, for the Anthropophagi. They would not have fared as well against a regiment of battle-hardened soldiers. It is an interesting theory, Will Henry, unsupported as it is by facts. Even if we assume these mysterious callers sought out my father to supply the rebellion with creatures to kill or terrorize the enemy, there are half a dozen he might have procured for them that did not entail the same risk and expense as a breeding pair of Anthropophagi. Do you follow, Will Henry? If that was their goal, given everything I know about him, he would have rejected it. And even if he had accepted, he would not have chosen this particular species.”

“But you can’t know for sure,” Will protested, unwilling to drop the matter.

“It is gossip, William,” Anna said, keeping her voice level. “Are you saying you believe Mrs. Flanagan?”

“Only because it makes sense!” Will Henry looked towards Pellinore, his eyes pleading. “You argue there are no facts, but you cannot be sure! You said it yourself, you barely knew your father!”

The room fell dead silent for a moment. A neighbor could have sneezed and they would have heard it. Anna had never been so angry with Will Henry before, but he had pressed the matter too hard and too far, and the idea of it being gossip - something which she hated and he knew she hated - only added to her fury. Pellinore, for his part, looked more enraged than even she was. They both sprang to their feet at the same time, and Will Henry shrunk back from the united front of their wrath.

“How dare you speak to me like this!” Pellinore cried. “Who are you to question my father’s integrity? Who are you to besmirch my family’s good name? It’s not enough the entire town spreads calumny against us; now my own assistant, to whom my wife and I have shown only kindness and pity, with whom we share my house and my work, for whom we have sacrificed our sacred right to privacy, stoops to join in their slanderous conduct!”

“I cannot believe this!” Anna joined in. “I thought you were a clever boy, William James Henry, but you have disobeyed the one, the only injunction I gave to you! What was it, Will Henry? Do you remember, or were you so distracted by the muffin man that you forgot? What did I say to you before you left?”

Will Henry stammered, overcome by their ferocity, and by their forms looming over him.

“What did I say?” She snarled.

“Sp-sp-speak to no one,” he whimpered.

“What else?!”

“And if anyone should speak to me, all is well.”

“What impression do you think you left them with, Will Henry,” Pellinore rejoined, incredulous, “with these questions about Confederate spies and government detectives and the house of Warthrop?! Explain!”

“I was only trying… I only wanted… I didn’t bring it up, sir, I swear I didn’t! The Flanagans did!”

“The f*cking Flanagans!” Anna cried, throwing her hands up into the air. “The exact people I told you not to speak to! You deliberately disobeyed me, and not only that, you had the sheer audacity to run home and repeat this slander to the doctor's face!”

“I…” Will Henry’s lower lip twitched, and he bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You have failed us, Will Henry,” Pellinore spat, unmoved by his show of remorse. “And worse, you have betrayed us. And for what? To play the amateur detective, to satisfy your own insatiable curiosity, to humiliate me by participating in the same gossip and backstabbing that drove my father into seclusion and ultimately to his grave a broken and bitter man. You have put me in an untenable position, Master Henry, for now I know your loyalty extends only as far as the bounds of your selfishness and blind, total, unquestioning loyalty is the one indispensable quality I demand of you. No one asked that I take you into my home or share with you my work. Not even fealty to your father demanded that. But I did it, and this is my reward! ...What? Did that make you angry? Have I offended you? Speak!”

Will Henry glared up at the doctor, tears in his eyes and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I didn’t ask to come here!”

“And I didn’t ask for the opportunity!”

“There wouldn’t have been one if not for you.”

Pellinore stepped forward, and Will Henry stepped back.

“Your father understood the risk,” he said softly.

“My mother didn’t! I didn’t!”

“What would you have me do, Will Henry? Raise them bodily from the grave?”

“I hate it here!” Will Henry shouted. “I hate it here and I hate you for bringing me here and I hate you!”

He turned-heel and dashed out of the room, fleeing up the stairs. Anna heard him climb up into his little alcove bedroom, stomping all the way to his bed. She stood there, upset, her hand over her mouth. Pellinore said nothing, going back to his chair and sitting down. He rubbed his forehead with his hand, his dark eyes cast downward towards the floor. Anna approached him slowly.

“Pellinore,” she said, her voice gentle.

“That boy owes us everything,” Pellinore stated, “unto his very life.”

“That is not what I'm trying to say.”

“Spare me your actual thoughts. I know, I know.”

“What happened to James is a tragedy. He was more than just your assistant, he was our friend. But if you go blaming yourself for what happened that night… You are more reasonable than that. Though I suppose there are times where emotion wins over reason.”

“Emotion wins over reason in the majority of cases for the majority of people.”

“And now we are left alone. Alone and unequipped.”

“We are doing this for James.”

“I know we are, and I cannot imagine doing otherwise. I am just now fully realizing how… unprepared I am. How unprepared we are.”

She pulled out her desk chair, sitting across from Pellinore, who regarded his wife with weary eyes.

“I never wanted any children either, Anna.”

“I do not believe in fate or chance, Pellinore, but sometimes life does have a way of working that makes me wonder.”

“Will Henry is not our child. He is my assistant, my apprentice, a ward to you and I. He is not our son and never will be.”

“Are you telling yourself this so you won’t feel the guilt?”

“Anna-” Pellinore started, a hint of warning in his tone.

“Because I am beginning to feel as if it is we who have failed Will Henry.”

Pellinore looked as if he was going to argue for a moment. Instead, he slumped in his seat, physically resigning to his emotional burdens.

“I admit there are times I feel the same way.”

While Will Henry sulked and seethed upstairs, Anna prepared dinner. She also found time to bake her neglected dough, making a batch of raspberry scones for later. Not long after Anna plated the food, Will crept downstairs, freezing in the kitchen doorway for a moment as if to decide whether a meal was worth being in the same room as his mistress.

“...Here,” Anna said as she set a plate on the table. “You must be ravenous by now. Eat.”

He took the offering without a word. He ended up devouring the roast as if he had never had a proper meal in his life, finishing off every last bit. He even sopped up the stock left on the plate with a dinner roll (which he had also purchased courtesy of Tanner the baker). He cleared up his own plate, taking it to the sink. As he was washing up, Pellinore came upstairs from the basem*nt, taking pause when he saw Will Henry. He turned to Anna, apprehensive.

“...You cooked something.”

“Yes, the beef, as I said I would earlier.”

“I thought you were making chicken.”

“The chicken is for when our guest arrives. Why? Are you hungry for chicken?”

“No. I was simply asking a question.”

Anna heaved out a sigh, as if the awkwardness that hung in the air was crushing her chest. Will Henry put his plate and cup on the dish rack and turned to look at the both of them.

“Do you need me for anything?”

The Warthrops cast a sideways glance at each other.

“I don’t… No, I do not,” Pellinore replied.

“I have two working hands,” Anna shrugged, “I can wash up on my own.”

“I’ll be in my room, then.”

Will Henry walked past them and left the kitchen. Pellinore waited a moment before stepping around the corner, calling to him from the end of the hall.

“Will Henry!”

The boy paused at the bottom of the staircase, his hand still clutching the railing. “Yes?”

Pellinore hesitated a moment.“...Sleep well, Will Henry.”

Will Henry brushed him off, continuing up the stairs. Pellinore turned back towards Anna, running a hand down his face.

“I do hope some sleep puts him in a less contentious mood.”

“I do believe we were a bit hard on him. He meant no harm in his actions.”

“He still committed them,” Pellinore said. Anna began to clean up, and he cast his eyes downward, watching her work. “Are you retiring to bed soon?”

“That is my intention, yes. I am very tired. Hard to believe it’s only been two days since… well. You know. Why? Do you need me for something?”

“No, no. In fact, I think I shall join you.”

“Very well.”

After cleaning up the dishes and throwing spare scraps of beef out to the strays, Anna took herself upstairs, washing up in the bathroom before changing into a nightgown. She made her way to the bedroom, finding Pellinore laying on top of the bedcovers, still wearing the clothes he had been earlier. As she knew that was the closest he would get to actually resting at the time, she let it alone. Anna got into bed beside him, and he immediately took her into his arms, cradling her head to his chest. It was a ritual of sorts for the pair; Pellinore stayed awake, and would hold Anna and talk to her until she fell asleep. Sometimes, he would wake her up, though he quickly learned she was rarely in the mood to humor him when he did. So, instead, he had taken to calling Will Henry down to keep him company in his restlessness until Anna woke up. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was not the only thing they ever did, but that night, neither of them were in the mood to do much else but lay there.

Anna fell asleep after an hour or so, her responses to Pellinore’s rapid-fire succession of thoughts becoming fewer and farther between. Her giving up was a foregone conclusion; she always did so eventually. How could she not, with her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he prattled on and absentmindedly played with her hair? Somehow, though, he always seemed surprised by his wife drifting off to sleep.

Anna rarely had unpleasant dreams, but that night she found herself in a vivid one. She was standing at the end of the downstairs hallway. Unconscious of her dream state, she went through the normal motions of an uneventful day, until she passed the library. She spotted a figure crouched by the fireplace out of the corner of her eye. The woman was so familiar, causing Anna to take pause, turning around and entering the room. Even with her back turned, Anna recognized the woman as Will Henry’s mother.

Mary Henry had worked for the Monstrumologist as well - at least in the sense that she had maintained the house. Pellinore was very firm about the fact he saw Anna doing housework as a waste of her time and talents, and thus, Mary served as their housekeeper. She wasn’t unkind nor unfriendly, but the relationship between the two women had always been tenuous at best. Anna loved James, but Mary hated Pellinore. Looking back, it was understandable, if not at the very least humorous. But while she was alive, Anna never particularly appreciated it. So, they tended to avoid each other.

“What are you doing?” Anna asked.

Mary didn’t look up at her, continuing to stare into the roaring fire. She looked as if she had been running herself ragged all day, her dress dirtied and her brown hair sticking out of its bun in innumerable places.

“James is sick,” she stated plainly.

“Yes,” Anna confirmed. “I am terribly sorry for it. He is a good man.”

“Very sick. I do not know what he has. The town doctor said it's an exotic strain of plague, but I know better.”

“So what do you believe it to be?”

Anna heard Mary lick her lips, but she still did not turn to face the vampire. “I saw them.”

“Saw what?”

“The worms.”

Anna’s stomach twisted and churned as her chest tightened with anxiety. “Whatever do you mean? You think he has a parasite?”

“I know he has them. I was washing him yesterday. One of the boils popped and they spilled all over the bed. These… tiny, little white worms, even smaller than maggots. I actually thought they were maggots. But they were the wrong shape.”

“Mary-”

“Do you know something you’re not telling me? Granted, you haven’t told me many things, such as the true nature of Dr. Warthrop’s work, nor where the three of you disappear to for weeks on end, nor why you constantly have mysterious packages showing up at your door in the middle of the night. Why? What dark business do you hide under my nose? Why does James never tell me the truth?”

“I cannot control what he tells you or hides from you. He is your husband, not mine.”

“He is my family,” she growled through clenched teeth. “We have a family. We have a son! And what if James does not survive this? Are you going to take Will Henry from me next?”

Anna’s breath hitched in her chest. She was unable to say anything more. Mary got to her feet, turning to face her employer. It was then Anna could see that her face was a blackened mass of burned flesh and necrotic tissue. She was utterly unrecognizable. Her suppurative lips looked like they were about to fall off, dripping with blood as she spoke.

“You have killed my husband, Anna. Is it your intention to kill my son too?”

Anna jerked awake, her heart pounding in her ears. She was lying facing Pellinore, who smiled at her, in a much better mood than he had been earlier. She could hear Will Henry as well; he was likely sitting in the desk chair as he normally did when Pellinore called him to their bedroom. Her tightened muscles quickly unwound, and she sat up, trying to shake off the nightmare.

“Anna, you’re awake!” Pellinore said. “You smelled the scones, didn’t you? See, Will Henry; I told you she would not be able to resist the siren song of her own baking.”

His mirthful mood let Anna know he had to have been exhausted. Yet, he still sat there with his back to the headboard, wide awake. As he had referenced, there was a tray of tea and scones sitting on the bedside table.

“Would you like one?” He continued when Anna didn’t respond. “I could not possibly finish both.”

“...Yes,” she replied, propping herself up against the pillows. “Thank you.”

She gratefully took the scone, letting herself be taken away by the sweet crumb melting in her mouth. Pellinore seemed unaware of how disturbed she was, handing her a cup of tea to wash the snack down with.

“Have you slept at all?” Anna asked.

“No. Or perhaps I did. I swear I heard something downstairs in the kitchen. I thought it was Will Henry sneaking a bite to eat, but he insists it wasn’t him.”

“I was in bed,” Will Henry stated, though he wasn’t very impassioned in his defense.

“It could have been a mouse,” Pellinore relented. “Although to make such a racket, he must have been some mouse! Perhaps, like Proteus, he possesses the power to change his form, from mouse to man, and he was whipping up a bit of cheesy sauce for his family. Hah! That is a ludicrous thought, isn’t it, Anna?"

Anna smiled at him, shaking her head playfully. “Very. No mouse dares set foot on our property. Certainly not with the colony of hungry cats lurking outside. They would not be able to make it into the house without being very clever - which mice, I assure you, are not. He very much would have to have been Proteus!”

“Actually,” Pellinore said, changing the subject with his normal precision, “thinking of our hypothetical mouse brings to mind Proteus anguinus.”

“Proteus… angu…” Will Henry parroted, struggling with the Latin.

“Proteus anguinus, Will Henry, a species of blind amphibians found in the Carpathian Mountains. And that of course brings to mind Galton and the matter of eugenics.”

“Of course, sir,” Will Henry said without conviction.

“Fascinating creatures,” Pellinore prattled on. “And excellent examples of natural selection. They dwell deep in lightless mountain caves, yet retain vestigial eyes. Galton brought the first specimens back to his native England after his expedition to Adelsberg. He was a friend of my father’s - and of Darwin’s, of course. Father was a devotee of his work, particularly eugenics. There is a signed copy of Hereditary Genius in the library.”

“There is?” Will Henry mumbled, unimpressed. It was doubtful he even knew who Galton was.

“I know they corresponded regularly, though it appears that, like his diaries and practically every letter he received over his lifetime, he destroyed the evidence of it.”

Practically was the key word. Anna thought of the old, yellowed letters sitting in the steamer trunk beneath the basem*nt steps. The words of a lonely 12-year-old boy echoed through her head.

I wish you would write to me.

“He burned them, sir?” Will Henry asked.

“Yes. When Anna and I returned from Prague in ‘83 to bury him, there was little but his books left. Just his trunk and some notes on various species of particular interest to him, notes I suppose he could not bring himself to destroy. He destroyed or discarded nearly all his personal effects, down to his last sock and shoelace, and would have the old trunk as well, I’m sure, had he remembered tucking it away. It is as if in the waning days of his life he sought to eradicate all evidence of it. At the time, I attributed it to that morbid self-loathing to which he had fallen victim in his later years, that corrosive mix of inexplicable remorse and religious fervor. It brought his life full circle, if you will: He was found lying upon his bed one morning by the housekeeper, uncovered, and curled in the fetal position, completely naked.”

“I remember,” Anna said softly.

When they had gotten the news - not just about his death, but its nature - Pellinore and the other monstrumologists seemed shocked by it. Not sadness so much as utter astonishment, as if the very idea of it felt wrong. Even von Helrung, normally cheerful in nature, fell into a depressive state for several days, struggling with not only the loss of a colleague and old friend, but the idea such a fate could even have befallen him.

“I had no idea how far he had fallen,” Pellinore sighed, mirroring her thoughts. “He was a dignified man in his prime, quite particular in his appearance, to the point of vanity. The idea that he would end his life in such a demeaning manner was unthinkable. At least, unthinkable to me.”

He fell silent, staring up at the ceiling. Having finished her tea, Anna set the cup down, laying down and rolling onto her side. She propped herself up on her elbow, touching Pellinore’s arm gently with her other hand. Instead of comforting him as she intended, the touch served to shake him out of his stupor completely. He mirrored her position, resting his head on his open palm. He looked over Anna and towards Will Henry, who was still sitting at the desk, and addressed him directly.

“Drifted off again, didn’t I, Will Henry? You must read Hereditary Genius sometime. After Origin of Species but before The Descent of Man, for that is its place both thematically and chronologically. Its influence can be seen throughout Descent. The idea that both mental and physical features are passed on to an organism’s progeny is revolutionary. Father saw it at once and even wrote to me about it. One of the few letters he ever sent; I still have it somewhere.”

“I’ve never cared for the concept of eugenics,” Anna stated. “Specifically in its proposed application to humans. Who will be deemed worthy of judging which traits are desirable in man? Heaven help us if they pick a phrenologist!”

“My father was not particularly interested in its potential applications to the human race,” Pellinore explained. “Galton had shared an early draft with him, and Father believed the theory had applications in his own field of study, an exciting alternative to capture or eradication of the more malevolent species, like our friends the Anthropophagi. If desirable traits could be encouraged and undesirable ones suppressed through selective breeding, it could transform our discipline. Eugenics could be the key to saving our subjects from extinction, for the rise of man has numbered their days, unless, Father believed, a way could be found to domesticate them, much as the treacherous wolf transfigured into the faithful dog.”

He paused, looking at Anna expectantly. It took her a moment, as she was beginning to drift off again, but she quickly put the pieces together. She sat up with a comical gasp. The code had been cracked.

“That must be why!”

“Why what?” Will Henry asked, lost.

“That’s why he desired a breeding pair of Anthropophagi!” Anna explained. “To put Galton’s theory into practice; to breed out their savagery and taste for human blood!”

“It would have been a daunting enterprise,” Pellinore said, stealing her thoughts, “enormous in scope and staggering in cost, well beyond his means, which may explain why he met with these mysterious agents in ‘62. That is only a guess, impossible to prove, unless we can find these men, if they still live, or some record of their agreement, if one exists - or ever existed. At any rate, it’s the only reason I can think of to explain why he would meet with such men, if he thought their evil cause might advance his just one.”

He looked at Will Henry. But, despite the story he had gotten in trouble for repeating earlier being given credence by the doctor, he said nothing.

Pellinore slapped his hand upon the mattress, frustrated. “Well, don’t just sit there. Tell me what you think!”

“Well, sir…” Will Henry did think, but ultimately, had nothing much to make of the situation. “You knew him and I didn’t.”

“I hardly knew him at all,” Pellinore said matter-of-factly. “Less so than most sons their fathers, I would venture, but the theory fits what I do know about the facts. Only passion for his world could compel him to associate with traitors. It was all he had; he loved nothing else. Nothing.”

He rolled onto his back, head cradled in his hands. Anna stared after him with a heavy heart as he laid there.

“Nothing else,” he muttered. “Nothing at all.”

Anna got the overwhelming urge to touch him, to cradle him, to soothe his woe. But, remembering Will Henry was sitting next to them, she repressed it for the time being. Anna turned to the boy, solemn.

“Will Henry, you must go back to bed. You’ll need your strength in the coming hours. I’d surmise Kearns must have our letter by now, and should be coming on the earliest train.”

“Who is Kearns?” Will Henry asked. “Is he a Monstrumologist?”

Anna hissed out a breath through her teeth - or perhaps she quite literally hissed at the thought of the man.

Pellinore, still laying beside her, laughed dryly. “Not in the strictest definition of the term, no. By profession he is a surgeon - and a brilliant one, I might add. By temperament he is something altogether different. I would have preferred Henry Stanley, if I knew where to find him. Both have hunted Anthropophagi in the wild, and Stanley is a gentleman from the old school, nothing like Kearns.”

“So he’s a hunter?”

“I suppose one might call him that, in a manner of speaking. He certainly has more experience than I, for I have none at all in regard to Anthropophagi.”

“Just our luck that we would have to settle for Kearns,” Anna grumbled. “He’s the last person I’d ever wish to invite into our home.”

“Indeed.” Pellinore’s expression turned grim, and he looked towards Will Henry sternly. “I should caution you not to tarry too long in the dominion of John Kearns’ philosophy. Avoid him if you can.”

“Why?” Will Henry asked, his curiosity only becoming piqued.

“He reads too much,” Pellinore said, somewhat dismissively. “Or not enough. I have never been certain.”

“It’s not a matter of how much or little he reads,” Anna interjected, her upper lip curled in disgust at the very thought of his so-called ‘philosophy’. “There is something fundamentally wrong with him, Will Henry. He is not like you, nor the doctor, nor any other man you have met. He is like men I have met - and none of those men were human. I fear what his true prey may be, if not merely the creatures which fall under our particular category of study.”

“Anna is simply being theatrical,” Pellinore said, disregarding her grave statement. “At any rate, steer clear of Dr. John Kearns, Will Henry! He is a dangerous man, but the hour calls for dangerous men, and we must use every tool at our disposal. It’s been two nights since they last fed; they will hunt again, and soon.”

“What if they already have?” Will Henry asked, fully snapping awake at the thought.

“I assure you that they haven’t. Ms. Bunton and the unfortunate Mr. Gray should keep them satisfied, at least for another day or two.”

Anna reached across the gap between the bed and desk, resting a hand upon the concerned boy’s knee. “All is well, Will Henry. We will have these beasts sorted out very soon; before they have the opportunity to hurt anyone else. Go upstairs and get some sleep.”

She rested back on the bed, and Will Henry left the room. He still seemed perturbed by the idea, but there was nothing much he could do to sway his masters.

The next morning, Anna woke up in an empty bed with a headache. She rolled out from beneath the sheets, putting on a paisley dressing gown before heading downstairs. Will Henry had beaten her to the kitchen, and was standing around waiting for a pot of tea on the stove to come to a boil. The basem*nt door was ajar, letting her know Pellinore had stolen away sometime earlier in the day. She yawned, trying to think of what she could do to pass the time away (that didn't involve having to put away all those books and papers), when a rapping on the back door caught her attention. She frowned thoughtfully, and went to answer.

Standing on the stoop was the town’s constable, Robert Morgan. He was an owlish man with an impressive mustache and even more impressive smoking habit. He puffed on his pipe, regarding Anna through his thick round spectacles.

“Good morning, Constable Morgan,” Anna said. Her knee jerk reaction to be polite, though she was still unable to conceal her surprise. “What brings you here?”

“Mrs. Warthrop,” he said in his feathery soft voice. He seemed agitated; nervous even. “Where is the doctor? I must speak with him immediately!”

Anna’s heart sank. Pellinore appeared in the basem*nt doorway, as if summoned. If he felt any fear or concern over the chief law enforcement officer in town appearing on their doorstep, he did not show it.

“What is it, Robert?” He asked.

“An abomination!” The constable replied, not unlike their last caller. “That’s what it is. Horrible! Totally outside the range of my experience.”

“Though not, you presume, outside of mine.”

The constable nodded sharply, a tremble in his voice. “Something has happened. You must come at once.”

Within minutes, the Warthrops and their assistant were inside the constable’s carriage, dashing through the cobblestone streets of New Jerusalem as fast as the horses could reasonably move. The two men had to practically shout above the rattling wheels and thundering hoofbeats.

“When was the crime reported?” The doctor asked.

“This morning,” answered the constable, “shortly after dawn.”

“Witnesses?”

“Yes - one. The sole survivor. Until I saw the scene with my own eyes, I thought, as any reasonable man would, he was not only a witness but must also be the perpetrator. His tale was so outlandish it had to be a lie.”

“You arrested him?”

The constable nodded, tapping his cane nervously upon the boards between his boots.

“And hold him still, for this protection, Warthrop, not for our prosecution. Once I examined the scene…. No human being is capable of so foul a crime. And I fear what he saw has completely broken his reason.”

“What did he see?” Anna asked. “What is his story?”

“The tale I’ll leave to him, Mrs. Warthrop, but what I saw in that house corroborates his story. It is… beyond words, simply beyond words!”

Pellinore turned away to look out the window. Anna folded her hands in her lap, making eye contact with Will Henry, who sat across from her. He looked like he was sick to his stomach, though it could very well have been the unmistakable stench of death hanging off of Morgan’s clothing, unable to be hidden behind the smoke from his pipe.

They were taken past Old Hill Cemetery, the site of their previous crimes, and to the apex of a hill. The moment the driver threw rein, Pellinore climbed out of the cab, and Anna was not far behind. Will Henry trotted after them, much like his father had; the third wheel to the Warthrops’ gruesome partnership.

On the top of the hill was the town’s church. A stone’s throw away was the stone rectory. The grass around them was bursting with buds. Along with the clear blue sky, it served as a sharp contrast to what lay ahead.

A pair of guards stood at the doors of the rectory, cradling rifles in their arms. A sign hanging on the door between them read THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD. They stiffened at the sight of unknown people coming towards the church, only relaxing once they spotted the constable shuffling up the hill behind them, struggling to keep up. Their relief did not last long, however; they recognized the Warthrops.

“Thank God it isn’t Sunday!” Morgan gasped as he arrived. “The good reverend’s flock would be hard pressed for evidence of the Lord’s loving providence upon this unholy day.”

He looked at Will Henry and Anna, then back to the doctor.

“I have no doubt you have seen worse in your travels, Warthrop, but must you bring your wife and the child?”

“I assure you I am quite accustomed to death,” Anna stated. “It is you I am worried for, Constable, if I am to be entirely honest.”

The constable relented, but still cast a downward glance to Will Henry. “He should not go in with us.”

“He most certainly will go in with us,” Pellinore snapped impatiently.

“But why?” Morgan demanded. “What purpose could it possibly serve?”

“He is my assistant,” Pellinore said.

He left it at that, and Morgan did not bother to argue - he knew Pellinore too well to bother with such a thing. He heaved a heavy sigh before taking one last puff from his pipe. He handed it to one of the deputies, replacing it with a handkerchief that he pressed over his nose and mouth. He looked down at Will Henry once more, his owlish eyes already watering in anticipation of the smell.

“There are no words, Will Henry. No words!”

He thrust open the door, and immediately, they came upon the first body. A man in a bloody nightshirt was splayed out facedown in the entryway, missing both of his legs and several fingers. He had been nearly decapitated; his head still attached by sinew but resting atop one of his arms, nearly perpendicular to the rest of him. It had been feasted upon; the skull was smashed in and his brains had been scooped out like pudding from a bowl. The pulpy remains of his gray matter still rimmed his broken skull. Anna pulled her own handkerchief to her face; all she could smell was the overwhelming aroma of rotten fruit.

Morgan and Will Henry hung in the doorway, but the Warthrops wasted no time approaching the body, leaving footprints in the tacky blood. The doctor squatted near the victim’s head, bending close as he examined the gaping wound. He touched it, rubbing bits of cerebral tissue between his thumb and forefinger. He remained silent and still, forearms resting on his splayed knees, taking in the sight before him.

“Is this the reverend?” Anna asked on his behalf.

Morgan nodded.

“Where is the rest of the family?”

Morgan swallowed hard, as if he had to bring himself to answer the question. “Two in the parlor: his wife and youngest child. Sarah, I believe. There is another child in the hall. A fourth in one of the bedrooms.”

“Then there’s the child that escaped,” Anna said.

“That leaves one unaccounted for,” Pellinore stated.

Morgan’s face fell. “No, Warthrop. That one is here.”

“Where?”

“He is all around you,” he said, his intonation rife with revulsion and pity.

And so he was. While his father’s body laid in the middle of the entryway, the boy's remains painted the walls and floor around them. Every square inch of the room seemed to be smeared with smatterings of blood, shards of bone, tufts of hair, bits of viscera, shavings of muscle. It was as if the Anthropophagi had acted as living woodchippers, completely eviscerating him. The only body part that remained intact was a tiny severed foot, which rested only inches away from Anna’s own feet.

“His name was Michael,” the constable said as the Warthrops took the carnage in. “He was five.”

Pellinore stood up, slowly turning in a circle as he surveyed the scene, his hands perched on his hips. His heart was completely divorced from the situation - he was nothing if not capable of compartmentalizing. He didn’t even try to feign emotion; his face more so portraying fascination at the savagery of the attack than pity for its victims. Anna took the cloth away from her face for a moment, turning to Morgan.

“Would you take us to the others?”

And thus, the tour of unspeakable horrors began. Their first stop was the bedroom where the two oldest children had slept. On one bed was the eldest girl, Elizabeth. She had been ripped to shreds like her brother, but her gutted torso was intact, laying upon the shattered remains of the windowpane. Anna approached it, broken glass crunching beneath her boots.

“Point of entry?” Morgan asked.

“I’m not so sure,” Anna replied grimly, not mentioning her reasoning being they were seven feet tall and broad shouldered, thus would have needed a more substantial entryway. “I’m thinking it might actually be an improvised exit for our lone survivor.”

Morgan next led the couple down the hallway next, where they found the fourth victim. He had been similarly dismembered and disemboweled, his skull crushed and hollowed out. There, among the blood pooling around the eviscerated child’s body, they found the first evidence of the presence of Anthropophagi. Pellinore let out an exultant cry at the sight of the footprints dotting the congealing blood. He fell to his hands and knees, spending several seconds examining the find.

“Eight to ten, at least,” he muttered. “Females, though this one may have been a juvenile male.”

“Females!” The constable cried, mystified. “Females, you say? With prints larger than a full grown man’s?”

“A mature female measures seven feet from sole to shoulder.”

Morgan visibly paled. “...A mature female what, Warthrop?”

Pellinore hesitated a moment before answering. “A hominid species of carnivores called Anthropophagi.”

“Anthro… pop…”

“Anthro-po-phagi. Pliny named them Blemmyae, but Anthropophagi is the accepted designation.”

“And where in heaven’s name did they come from?”

“They are native to Africa and certain islands off the coast of Madagascar,” Pellinore answered carefully.

“That is a far cry from New England,” Morgan observed dryly.

“Robert, you have my word as a man of science and a gentleman that I had nothing to do with their appearance here.”

“And you have my word, Warthrop, as a man of the law, it is my duty to discover who, if anyone, might be responsible for this massacre!”

“I am not responsible,” Pellinore declared firmly. “I am as shocked as you by their presence here, and I shall get to the bottom of it, Robert, you have my word.”

Anna’s eyes examined the bloody floor, remembering they had been doing nothing but attempting to get to the bottom of it for the past few days. And for what? They were unable to prevent the sheep from being slaughtered.

Morgan nodded, but he still sounded skeptical. “It simply strikes me as exceedingly odd, Pellinore, that such monstrous creatures should appear in the very town where the country’s - if not the world’s - preeminent expert in these matters resides.”

Pellinore became rigid, his dark eyes flashing with indignation. “Are you calling me a liar, Robert?”

“My dear Warthrop,” replied Morgan, “we have known each other our entire lives. Though you are the most secretive man I have ever met and much of what you do remains a mystery to me, I have never known you to tell a deliberate falsehood. You tell me their presence here comes as a shock to you, and I believe you, but my faith does not change the fact that the coincidence is exceedingly odd.”

“The coincidence has not been lost on us either, Constable,” Anna assured him. “But I promise you we will work to find out who is truly responsible for their presence here.”

“Let’s see the others,” Pellinore tacked on quickly, before Morgan could form a reply.

They went back down the hallway, entering the parlor at the front of the rectory. There laid the decapitated matriarch of the Stinnet family, clutching the remains of her infant daughter to her chest. Her legs, like her husbands, had been torn from her body. One partially shredded limb had been discarded beneath a broken window that overlooked the little lane leading up to the rectory. The other was nowhere to be found. Her head, likewise, was missing. Anna had to crawl upon her hands and knees to look for it, peering under the overstuffed chairs and couches. Pellinore examined the corpses while Morgan hung in the doorway, his breath labored underneath his handkerchief mask.

“Both shoulders have been dislocated,” the monstrumologist said as he ran his hands down the dead woman’s arms, his fingers palpating her flesh. “The right humerus has been broken.” He moved to examine her fingers, still locked around her daughter. “Five fingers broken; two on the right hand, three on the left.”

He attempted to pry the baby from her arms, his jaw clenching from the effort. Anna walked over, attempting to herself. By God, did they hold firm! Finally, however, with a snap of bone, she was able to pry the infant free. Save for several puncture wounds and lacerations in her back from the beasts’ claws, the baby was entirely intact.

“The marks were likely inflicted post-mortem,” Anna said. “I think the child was smothered to death against her mother’s breast. That, or her lungs were crushed for a similar reason.”

“How strong is the maternal instinct!” Pellinore exclaimed. “Though they tore her shoulders from the sockets, she did not surrender her child. She held firm. Though they broke her arms and tore off her head, she still held firm. Held firm! Even when she became a cruel imitation of the things that devoured her brood, she held firm! It is a wonder and a marvel.”

Anna also could not help but be moved by the fight Mrs. Stinnet had put up to protect her baby from the clutches of a horrific beast. She placed the infant back down on the floor next to the brutalized remains of its loving mother.

“You’ll forgive me if I do not consider what happened here in any way marvelous,” said the constable with disgust.

“You mistake me,” replied Pellinore. “And you judge prematurely things unknown to you. Do we judge the wolf or the lion? Do we blame the savage crocodile for obeying the imperatives of nature’s design?”

“Forgive him, Constable,” Anna chimed in. “You know Pellinore does not intend to be tactless. He simply sees the world in a way which we do not. This is what makes him an excellent scientist, if not a terrible dinner guest.”

Pellinore ignored the jab, instead focusing on the bodies which had been discarded at his feet. He did not seem to regret his conclusion from the night before - though his wife certainly did.

How foolish were we to underestimate them! She thought. A full sized pod of Anthropophagi, thousands of miles away from their native soil, who adapted to our temperate climate and somehow have sustained themselves in secret for at least twenty-six years, and have gone completely undetected for the same amount of time. They adapted, they thrived, and they have been hidden out of sight. Of course they would not have normal feeding patterns! Nothing about them is normal at all!

She did not express those thoughts. Instead, she watched Pellinore rise to his feet and turn back towards the constable.

“Where is the witness?”

They went outside and paused in the yard outside the rectory, letting the spring air clear their lungs of foulness. The constable refilled his pipe, his fingers quivering as he lowered the flame of his match to the alabaster bowl.

“He’s in the sanctuary,” he said. “This way.”

They followed him down the gravel path towards the little church. It faced the lane leading to Old Hill Cemetery Road, and as a breeze blew, the smell of rotten fruit wafted with it. Anna paused, taking Pellinore by the arm. He immediately stopped, looking down at her.

“What is it, Anna?”

“I think I should be able to track their scent,” she whispered to him. “It’s faint, but not impossible to follow. I may be able to find where they’ve been nesting.”

Pellinore’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, brilliant, Anna! But do not enter their territory. Once you find where they've been nesting, return to me at once.”

“Of course,” Anna replied.

They parted ways, and Anna started her trek, using her nose to follow the same path the beasts had taken to get to the rectory. She got to the cemetery’s wall, and cleared it, landing on the other side with a gentle thud. The smell grew stronger as she followed it, weaving between the headstones. Anna gathered her skirts in her hands and trudged up the steep hillside until she finally arrived at where the scent was emanating from. Eliza Bunton’s grave, the same place they had burst out of the earth days before. They had indeed been nesting underground. But where could the entrance to such an elaborate tunnel system start?

She craned her head to the left, her eyes trailing over to the Warthrop mausoleum. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. She ran inside the intimidating building, the stale stench of graveyard faintly tinted with a scent that was all too familiar to her.

"Oh God," Anna lamented aloud, goosebumps running up her arms. "I am an old fool!"

How could she not have seen it sooner? It only made sense. Alistair would not have abandoned his shipwrecked Anthropophagi, certainly not if he was so hellbent to get the monsters to their shores in the first place. He had paid Confederate scum an irresistible sum of money to do so. It not only explained how they had gotten there, but also how they had remained hidden - they were underground, of course. And the series of tunnels extended from beneath the crypt. It must have been! She cried and swore, cursing the earth itself, cursing Alistair Warthrop, cursing herself for not realizing it sooner, and cursing herself further for being too much of a coward to run back to Pellinore and tell him to his face.

His father was not a man to be admired or venerated. His father had shown him no affection, and had only written him five letters while Pellinore had written him dozens. He owed his father nothing, but still felt he owed him everything. He was desperate for his approval, even years after the man’s demise. Thus, he was protective of his father’s image and memory; the fact his father had not only orchestrated everything but kept it going, getting them into the situation they found themselves in, would have been too much for him to bear. Had he realized it too? Did he deny it; was he hiding the truth from himself? Or was he so loyal to his father that the thought of it had never even crossed his tortured mind?

Anna took another few minutes to compose herself before leaving the cemetery, going back the way she came. She hadn’t seen an entrance of any kind, but the state of the crypt made it clear it was the homebase to whatever nefarious activities had kept the Anthropophagi safe and thriving for a number of years, even after the elder Warthrop’s death. She marched back to the church, looking like death itself had laid a shroud over her. The deputies guarding it recognized Mrs. Warthrop’s tempestuous mood, eyeing her fearfully. She entered the Church, finding Pellinore and Morgan standing off to the side, an attempt to be out of earshot of Will Henry and the surviving Stinnet boy. The men paid her no mind, as they were mid-argument, each of them looking ready to throttle the other.

“No evacuations! No hunting parties!” Pellinore shouted, punctuating each point by jabbing his finger into the constable’s chest. “I am the expert here. I am the one - the only one - qualified to make the decisions in this case!”

Morgan replied, much quieter, in the manner of a parent talking to a petulant child. “Warthrop, if I had the slightest doubt as to your expertise, I would not have brought you here this morning. You may understand this foul phenomenon better than any man alive: you are, by the nature of your peculiar pursuits, obligated to understand them, even as I am obligated, by virtue of my duty, to protect the lives and property of the citizens of this town. And that duty compels me to act with alacrity without delay.”

“I assure you, Robert,” Pellinore hissed through gritted teeth, no doubt utilizing every ounce of his forbearance, “Indeed, I am prepared to stake my reputation upon it - they will not attack again today, tonight, or for many nights to come.”

“You cannot assume that.”

“Of course I may assume that! The weight of three thousand years of direct evidence supports it. You offend me, Robert.”

“That is not my intent, Pellinore.”

“Then why in one breath do you acknowledge my expertise and in the next inform me you intend to ignore it!? You bring me here to seek my counsel, then rebuff it out of hand. You claim you want to avoid a panic while you make decisions based upon your own!”

“Granted,” allowed Morgan, “but in this instance panic might be the most beneficent response!”

Pellinore’s face flushed scarlet at that. His back went ramrod straight, and he balled his fists at his sides so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Excuse me,” Anna said firmly.

Both the men whipped around to face her, noticing her presence for the first time.

“Anna,” Pellinore snapped, the veins in his neck pulsating in his rage, “inform the constable that there is no reason for us to evacuate the town, nor send in an entire troop of men to eradicate the Anthropophagi!”

“Anna,” Morgan said, “you saw the scene of carnage they left! Surely you can talk some sense into your husband. He-”

“Oh, you’re both imbeciles,” Anna spat, “standing here arguing about this like two children fighting over a toy in the schoolyard. Morgan is right, Pellinore, we need to act with haste. However, Pellinore is correct in his assertion that we must keep this quiet. We cannot force everyone to leave town; nor can we have a party of men combing the graveyard. They’d be like rabbits entering a badger’s burrow. We cannot go through with any form of extermination without a plan and an experienced guide. We have an expert coming in by train; he should be here tonight or tomorrow. In the meantime, Constable, I suggest you do not feed your men to the wolves!”

Both men balked, her interjection having only made them angrier.

“Excuse me,” Anna muttered, trying to slide between them in order to get to the pew where the Stinnet boy sat.

“Anna-” Robert urged.

“Anna!” Pellinore barked.

“Excuse me.”

They looked at each other, mutually deciding it was in their best interest to let the woman through. They finally parted, and she slipped by.

“We will discuss this later!” Pellinore snapped.

“We most certainly will!” Anna snarled back at him from over her shoulder.

In his anger, he had completely forgotten what Anna had even left for - not that it wasn’t convenient at that moment. What was she to tell him? She shifted her attention to the lone survivor of the massacre. He was sitting on a pew in the front of the church, Will Henry right beside him. He was a teenager, a lanky one at that, with unkempt brown hair and brilliant blue eyes that barely glanced over at Anna as she sat down on the other side of him.

“Hello,” she called to him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “My name is Anna.”

He gave Anna another brief glance before looking towards Will Henry, as if for guidance.

“Is she the monster hunter’s wife?”

“Yes,” Will Henry confirmed.

“And what is your name…?” Anna prodded.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing in his neck.

“His name is Malachi,” Will answered for him.

Anna shook her head ruefully. “I’m terribly sorry for what happened to you, Malachi. You must be traumatized.”

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t understand… why it was me. Not my mother, or my father, or Elizabeth. But me. And Elizabeth, I could have saved her...”

Anna’s mind flashed back to the torso in the window. “You tried to escape with your sister.”

He nodded, teary eyed, before returning his gaze to Will Henry. “Do I really have to tell the story again?”

“You should answer all the Warthrops’ questions. They only ask these things because they want to help.”

He swallowed again. “I… she… When I went to the bedroom, she was still alive, but she had fainted. I grabbed her up in my arms and tried to open the window, but it wouldn’t budge, so I had to break it… and…”

“One of them came for you,” Anna finished.

His voice rose an octave, indicating his distress. “I tried so hard; I tried to get us out the window, but it was too late! The thing was upon us in a single bound, and it grabbed her by the ankle, and then…”

“You let go.”

“What would you have done?” He asked, a quaver in his voice.

Anna thought back to Erasmus Gray, who Will Henry had tried to pull from death’s clutches, only to nearly be killed himself. “There was nothing else you could have done. This is not your fault, Malachi.”

He wiped his cheeks with his hands. “It should have been me. But it wasn’t. I don’t even have a scratch on me. My whole family is dead.”

He said this as if it bore repeating to Mrs. Warthrop, a woman who was soaked in the blood of his entire clan.

“I was once like you, Malachi,” Anna offered. “I lost everything - my parents, my first husband, my home. It felt as if the ground had crumbled underneath me; I just fell and fell, spiraling into darkness.”

“When did you stop falling?” He mumbled.

Anna paused. Had she ever?

“...When the people who care about me caught me.”

“I have nobody else,” he argued.

“Maybe not family. But you are in good hands. The Constable and his wife are very good people; they helped Will Henry before the doctor and I took him in, and they can help you too.”

Malachi said nothing, simply staring straight ahead at the stained glass windows above them. Anna wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Pellinore called to them then, though he was still in a cantankerous mood.

“Come now! Our service here was sought but not accepted! Good day, Constable, and good luck to you, sir. If you need me, you know where you may find me.”

Anna stood up, meeting him in the middle as he strode to the center of the aisle. He was still red in the face with anger. Seeing that Will Henry was not at her heels, he called out again, his voice booming off the walls of the church.

“Will Henry! Snap to!”

“Where are you going?” She heard Malachi ask, distressed.

“With them,” Will Henry replied matter-of-factly.

“Will Henreee!” Pellinore shouted, dragging out the last syllable as he always did when he was running out of patience waiting for his apprentice.

“May I come with you?” Malachi asked.

The constable rounded the pews, standing in front of the Stinnet boy. “Fear not, Malachi. You will be staying with me until a more permanent arrangement can be…” He paused for a moment, searching for the right word. “...Well, arranged.”

Will Henry sprung to his feet, at which point Pellinore took Anna by the arm as if she wouldn’t have followed, going to the doors. Will Henry followed behind them, ever their duckling. They went straight to the carriage, the driver sitting in his seat, nonchalantly spinning the chamber of his revolver like a bored child playing mindlessly with a toy.

“Harrington Lane!” Pellinore barked as he threw the carriage door open.

He ushered Anna in before heaving himself in beside her, snapping his fingers when Will Henry didn’t immediately teleport into the seat across from them. Will clambered inside, and the moment the door was shut, the driver urged the horses onward.

For most of the carriage ride, they sat in awkward silence. Anna leaned slightly away from Pellinore despite herself, as his rage was practically emitting from him like heat. She thought he would withdraw into himself as he usually did when angry or upset, but soon enough, she heard him muttering under his breath. Anna turned her head, and he did not meet her gaze, though he clearly felt her eyes on him.

“I know what you’re thinking, Anastasia,” he growled through gritted teeth, “but even the tenets of the victims’ faith hold a mistake to be no sin. A miscalculation is not negligence, nor prudence a crime. We are scientists. We base our action or inaction upon probability and evidence. There is a reason they call science a discipline! Inferior minds bolt or build pyres to roast the witches in their midst! It is a false argument to assert that simply because we do not see fairies dancing upon the lawn proves naught as to their existence. Evidence begets theory, and theory evolves as new evidence emerges. Three thousand years of research, direct eyewitness accounts, serious scientific inquiry - were we to abandon all of it upon the doorstep of speculation and doubt? In all crises are we to demand reason’s abdication or, worse, champion the coup of our baser instincts? Are we men, or anxious gazelles? An impartial examination of the facts would lead any reasonable man to conclude that we are blameless, that we reacted with prudence and forbearance in the case, and indeed a lesser man might have squandered his energies pursuing those fairies on the lawn, which no one can see!” He pounded his fist upon his thigh. “Put aside your dismaying, Anastasia! We are no more accountable for this tragedy than the boy who witnessed it. Less so - yes! - if one applies the same cruel criteria to our actions!”

Anna simply stared at him. She wasn’t going to reply to his passionate outburst, as she knew he was not speaking directly to her, despite addressing her by name. He was simply arguing aloud with the nameless, faceless demons that rampaged through his mind. The same guilt he had scoffed at his father for having gnawed away at his psyche.

When they returned home, he headed straight for the basem*nt. Anna went down after him a few minutes later, not being able to help herself. He stood in front of the corpse of the Anthropophagus, muttering under his breath as he wrestled with his remorse. To the untrained eye, he’d seem stoic, pensive at most, but Anna knew better. There was a cyclone raging inside of him. She walked up beside him, still not saying a word - in fact, she hadn't said a single word to him since they’d snapped at each other in the church. He didn’t address her directly, either, his eyes still trained on the monster hanging in their basem*nt.

“It is she,” he said finally, in a tone tinged with wonder, “The matriarch blinded by Varner. By some malevolent twist of fate, she has come here, Anna. It is almost as if…” He hesitated for a moment, as what he was thinking ran counter to everything he believed. “As if she has come looking for him.”

Anna did not need to ask to whom he referred. She knew.

“I wonder,” he added pensively, “if she would be satisfied with his son.”

Chapter 5: A Dangerous Man

Chapter Text

The Constable returned to Harrington Lane later that afternoon, as Anna had predicted. She and Will Henry had tidied up the house as best they could, attending to misplaced items leftover from the doctor turning the house upside down, and concealing all evidence of their misdeeds. The only evidence remaining of their knowledge of the presence of Anthropophagi was the map. It stayed unfurled on the work table in the library, marked with innumerable circles, stars, rectangles, and squares. Post the fervor of putting it together, it was mostly incomprehensible to her. She also began to make preparations for dinner, as she expected they would have their other guest soon.

The knock they’d anticipated sounded at around three. The Constable was waiting for them at the back door once again. His driver was in attendance, a silver badge pinned to his lapel and a revolver conspicuously strapped to his side. Malachi Stinnet had joined them as well, looking just as dejected as earlier.

“Is the doctor in, Mrs. Warthrop?” Morgan asked, maintaining a formal demeanor.

“Yes, Constable. He’s waiting for you in the library.”

“Waiting for me? No doubt he is!”

Anna led them to the room, where Pellinore was standing by the work table. Will Henry was seated not far away, and Malachi's countenance noticeably brightened when he spotted him.

“Robert, I am surprised,” Pellinore said, though he wasn’t convincing anybody.

“Are you?” Morgan replied coldly, his contempt barely contained. “Your wife said you were expecting me.”

“You,” Pellinore said. “Not them.”

He motioned towards the teenager and the deputy.

“Malachi asked to come, and I asked O'Brien.”

He wasted no more time. From his pocket, he produced a small object, which he tossed unceremoniously onto the table. It slid across the slick surface of the map, coming to rest by Pellinore’s fingertips. Anna’s blood ran cold the moment she recognized it.

It was Will Henry’s little brown cap.

Pellinore said nothing. He was not looking at the hat, but at Malachi.

“Will, is that not your initials on the inside band there, W.H.?” Morgan pressed, though he did not take his damning gaze off Pellinore.

“Will Henry, would you take Malachi to the kitchen, please?” Anna asked quietly.

“No one leaves this room!” Morgan barked. “O'Brien!”

The deputy smirked, positioning his burly frame within the doorway. Had Anna been desperate enough, she could have knocked him over like a quarterback plowing his way to the goalposts, but she did not move. It was as if someone had glued her feet to the floor.

“I think it would be best if the boys-” Anna began in a measured tone.

“I will decide what’s best here!” Morgan snapped, cutting her off. “How long have you known?”

Pellinore hesitated a moment. “...Since the morning of the fifteenth.”

“Since the…” Morgan balked. “You have known for four days and yet you told no one?”

“I did not believe the situation-”

“You did not believe?!”

“It was in my judgment that-”

“Your judgment?!”

“Based on all the data available to me, it was my judgment and my belief that the… the infestation could be addressed with dispassionate deliberation without inciting unnecessary panic and… and unreasonable, disproportionate force.”

“I asked you this morning,” Morgan stated, unmoved.

“And I told you the truth, Robert.”

“And you said you were shocked by their presence here.”

“I was… and I am. The attack last night certainly did come as a shock, and in that sense I did not lie. Are you placing me under arrest?”

Morgan’s owlish eyes flashed behind his spectacles, and his mustache quivered. “You brought them here.”

“I did not.”

“But you know who did.”

Pellinore didn’t reply - he did not have the chance to. Malachi, who had insisted upon coming and was up until that point ignorant of the constable’s deduction, was now face to face with the man who had damned his family. Anna noticed the change in his demeanor. She expected him to leap upon Pellinore and start beating him. However, instead of turning to the doctor, he turned to the deputy, who was still guarding the doorway. In one swift motion, he grabbed the gun from the man’s holster and threw himself upon Pellinore, forcing him to the floor. He pressed the muzzle of the revolver to his forehead, the click of the hammer sounding as loud as a gunshot. Pellinore stared back up at him, helpless and completely bewildered.

“You!” He growled in a voice beyond his years.

Anna stepped forward immediately, her fear willing her to move, but the young boy snapped at her as she attempted to approach.

“Not another step! I’ll do it. I swear I will do it!”

Morgan, holding a hand up to the deputy to stop him, called out to the grief-stricken boy. “Malachi! Malachi! It will solve nothing!”

“I want nothing solved!” The boy cried. “I want justice.”

“It is not justice, boy,” the constable replied. “It’s murder!”

“He’s the murderer! An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth?”

“No, it is God’s business to judge him, not yours.”

His hand shook, causing the gun’s muzzle to scrape across Pellinore’s forehead, bright red blood welling up around the cold metal as it tore through his skin. Will Henry sprung into action, and before Anna could grab him, he was across the room kneeling down next to the tormented Malachi.

“He took everything from me, Will,” Malachi whispered.

“And you would take everything from me,” Will answered.

He reached out, gingerly, attempting to grab the gun away. Malachi flinched, and his finger tightened around the trigger.

“He is my family,” Will Henry persisted softly.

“Then I am sorry,” Malachi stated.

Anna knew she had to act. She was upon the boy in two seconds, one hand grabbing the collar of his shirt and the other the wrist of the hand he held the gun in. A shot rang out, hitting the ceiling. Wooden shrapnel rained down upon them as Anna pinned him to the table facedown, prying the gun from his shaking fingers and pushing it away. Morgan quickly grabbed the weapon. He stared at the two of them, completely speechless.

“You took everything from me!” Malachi repeated, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Anna hissed into his ear. “Listen to me, boy. There is no such thing as justice. There is no such thing as fair. Nothing will bring them back. They are dead, Malachi.”

Anna released him, taking a step back. Will Henry approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. Malachi fell away from the table and into his arms, his thin frame wracked with sobs. Pellinore struggled to his feet, and Anna quickly turned her attention to him, helping him upright. He stared down at his wife, his face pallid and speckled with blood. His eyes looked haunted. Anna took out a handkerchief, pressing it to his forehead.

“With all due respect Mrs. Warthrop,” the deputy said as he slipped his weapon back in his holster, “-little as there may be-, it might be best for you to see yourself out.”

Anna whipped around to face him, and it took everything within her not to bare her fangs at him. “That’s not how you wear a holster, you f*cking imbicile. You were practically begging for someone to snatch that revolver off your person.”

The deputy opened his mouth, but was ultimately silenced, looking back at her with just as much contempt as she offered him.

Now that the situation had been deescalated, Morgan was right back to feeling anger, staring daggers at Pellinore. The doctor lifted a hand to his forehead, holding the cloth in place, and Anna retracted her fingers in turn. The room was back to deafening silence.

“If I had known-” Pellinore offered, his tone subdued.

“You knew enough,” Morgan spat back. “And now you will confess all of it, Pellinore, everything, or I will arrest you tonight, without delay.”

Pellinore nodded. “There is something we should show you, but only you, Robert. I believe…” He caught himself. “In my judgement…” He caught himself again. He cleared his throat. “It would not be in Malachi’s best interest to see it.”

The Warthrops led Morgan out of the room. O'Brien attempted to follow, but Morgan ordered him to stay in the library, much to his chagrin. They paused for a moment at the basem*nt door, a heaviness in the air. Pellinore seemed far from himself, still shaken by his brush with death.

“Well then?” Morgan asked. “What horrific monstrosity do you wish to show me?”

“Perhaps it is best if you just look at it,” Anna said softly.

She opened the door, taking the lead down the basem*nt steps. She heard a guttural noise, something between a gasp and a groan, utter from behind her. Before he was even all the way to the bottom steps, Morgan had spotted the creature. How could he not? It was massive, taking up a large portion of the back wall. The smell of its rotting corpse hung heavy in the air, as did the metallic tang of its congealed blood, which still sat stagnant in the metal trough sitting beneath its dangling form.

“Is.. is that..?”

“An Anthropophagus, yes,” Pellinore said. “A full grown male, to be specific. I believe he must have been the alpha male of his pod.”

“Pod…?” Morgan said, his voice still shaking.

“Yes. Anthropophagi live and hunt in groups, as I’m sure you’ve deduced by now.”

“And how many do you think there are?” Morgan asked, though part of him very much did not want to know the answer.

Pellinore hesitated. “...Thirty to thirty-five; average for their species.”

Morgan leaned against the railing, stricken.

“He was discovered four days ago by a graverobber,” Anna explained. “He’d burrowed his way up to the coffin of one Eliza Bunton.”

“Burrowed?!”

“They are not known to dig,” Pellinore asserted.

“Normal specimens aren’t,” Anna said. “I must assure you, Constable, the pod that resides here in New Jerusalem is unlike any other known to science. They have become perfectly suited to this environment. I believe…”

Anna paused, her eyes drifting between Morgan and Pellinore.

“What do you believe, Mrs. Warthrop?” The constable asked, not giving much credence to the opinion of the doctor or his wife.

“...They had help,” Anna finished.

She did not divulge her theory that Alistair had brought them over and kept them alive - it did not seem like the appropriate time. Or rather, not seeming like the appropriate time was just an excuse. She just didn’t want to say it at all. Whether it was out of fear or love was unclear. Perhaps both.

“Regardless,” Pellinore said, keeping his voice level, “it has been our intention to discover where they came from and eradicate them. That is what we’ve been doing the past four days.”

“We must eradicate them immediately!” Morgan cried. “They have already slaughtered the Stinnets; who knows how many more lives they will take if we continue to stand here twiddling our thumbs?”

“Constable,” Anna said, “I assure you we will take care of it. As I told you this morning, we have an expert coming in from Baltimore.”

“An expert,” Morgan mumbled. “An expert on Anthropo…” He cast his round eyes back towards the monster hanging from the ceiling. “Oh, God help us…”

While Pellinore and Morgan discussed the events of the past several days in the library, and the devastated Malachi Stinnet retired to what was once Alistair’s room, Anna stayed in the kitchen. An overwhelming sensation of what seemed to be dread had overcome her small body, settling into the very marrow of her bones. And it was for good reason - she could sense him before he arrived. Goosebumps raced up and down her arms as she heard his accented voice echo down the hall, melodic and posh.

“I am looking for the house of a dear friend of mine and I’m afraid my driver might be lost. Pellinore Warthrop is his name… my friend’s name, not the driver’s.”

Anna could practically see the ironic smile on his face; the twinkle in his eye.

“This is Dr. Warthrop’s house,” Will Henry offered.

“Ah, so it’s ‘Doctor’ Warthrop now, is it?” Kearns chuckled softly. “And who might you be?”

“I am his assistant. Or, well, his apprentice,” Will Henry corrected himself.

“An assistant-apprentice!” Good for him. And for you, I’m sure. Tell me, Mr. Assistant-Apprentice-”

“Will, sir. My name is Will Henry.”

“Henry! Now that name sounds familiar.”

“My father served the doctor for many years.”

“Was his given name Benjamin?”

“No, sir. It was-”

“Patrick!” Kearns said with a snap of his fingers. “No. You are much too young to be his son. Or his son’s son, if his son had one.”

“It was James, sir.”

“Was it? Are you quite certain it wasn’t Benjamin?”

Anna left the kitchen, realizing leaving Will Henry alone at the doorway with John Kearns was no better than leaving a chicken alone with a fox. The moment Kearns spotted her from down the hallway, his eyes flashed, and he smiled widely, revealing his teeth.

“My my my, if it isn’t little Annie Marchand!” He said.

“McClarnon,” Anna corrected as she approached the doorway. Kearns took her hand in his gloved fingers, pulling it to his full lips. The hair of his pencil mustache tickled her skin as he placed a kiss upon it.

“McClarnon?” He asked. “Ah, yes, that is right, regrettably you are Irish. Do not worry, Annie; while it otherwise would disgust me, you more than make up for the shortcomings of your people.”

Anna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Mm, yes. Although, I suppose my maiden name is a moot point as Pellinore and I are now married.”

“Married!” Kearns balked, amused. “Since when?”

“It will be ten years this coming June.”

Kearns smiled. “Ah, my congratulations to you! I will have to deliver an anniversary present post-haste. Though, I cannot say I’m not a tad offended you never invited me to the nuptials.”

He said the last part with a wink. Anna wasn’t amused.

“Who is at the door?” Pellinore called from the library.

Kearns released Anna before leaning towards Will Henry, bringing his eyes level with the boy’s. “Tell him.”

“But you haven’t told me your name,” Will Henry pointed out.

“It’s Kearns,” Anna called back.

Both of them looked up at her, and a cheeky grin returned to Kearns’ face. He straightened himself back out, brushing past Will Henry and Anna to meet the doctor as he exited the library.

“My dear Pellinore,” Kearns purred warmly. He took Pellinore’s hand in his own, shaking it vigorously. “How long has it been, old boy? Istanbul?”

“Tanzania,” Pellinore returned tightly.

“Tanzania! Has it really been that long? And what the blazes did you do to your forehead?”

“An accident,” Pellinore murmured.

“Well, Warthrop, you look terrible. How long has it been since you’ve had a good night’s sleep or a decent meal? What happened? Did you fire the maid and the cook, or did they quit in disgust? And tell me, whenever did you become a doctor?”

“I’m relieved you could come on such short notice,” Pellinore said with the same tenseness in his tone, ignoring the hunter’s questions. “I’m afraid the situation has taken a turn for the worse.”

“Hardly avoidable, old boy.”

Pellinore lowered his voice. “The town constable is here.”

“As bad a turn as that, then? How many have the rascals eaten since your letter?”

“Six.”

“Six! In just three days? Very peculiar.”

“Exactly what I thought. Extraordinarily uncharacteristic of the species.”

“And you’re quite certain they’re Anthropophagi?”

“Without a doubt. There’s one hanging in my basem*nt if you’d care to-”

Constable Morgan exited the library, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Kearns spotted him over the doctor’s shoulder, and his face brightened, his lips parting to reveal his remarkably straight, white teeth.

“Ah, Robert, good,” Pellinore said with relief. “Constable Morgan, this is Dr.-”

“Cory,” Kearns replied, extending his hand forcibly to the constable. “Richard Cory. How do you do?”

“Not well,” the constable answered. “It has been a very long day, Dr. Cory.”

“Please, call me ‘Richard’. ‘Doctor’ is more or less an honorific.”

“Oh?” Morgan tilted his head. “Warthrop informed me you were a surgeon.”

“Oh, I dabbled in my youth. More of a hobby now than anything else. I haven’t sliced anyone open in years.”

“Is that so? And why is that?”

“Got boring after a bit, to tell you the truth. I am easily bored, Constable, which is the chief reason I dropped everything to answer Pellinore’s kind invitation. Bloody good sport, this business.”

“It is bloody,” Morgan commented. “But I would hardly call it sport.”

“I’ll admit it isn’t cricket or squash, but it’s far superior to hunting fox or quail. Pales in comparison, Morgan!” He turned to Pellinore. “My driver is waiting at the curb. The fare needs settling up, and I’ve some baggage, of course.”

“You mean you’ll be staying with us?” Anna asked.

“I thought it the most prudent course. The less I’m seen about town, the better, yes?”

The Warthrops made brief eye contact. Both of them were perturbed by the idea, but unfortunately, the man had a point.

“...Yes,” Pellinore rejoined. “Of course. Here, Will Henry.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his money clip. “Pay Dr. Kear- Cory’s-”

“Richard’s,” Kearns interjected.

“-Driver. And take his luggage up to the extra room.”

“Extra room, sir?”

“My mother’s old room.”

“Why, Pellinore, I’m honored,” said Kearns.

“Snap to, Will Henry. We’ll have a late night of it, we’ll be wanting some tea.”

“And I’m roasting chicken for dinner,” Anna added.

“A chicken!” Kearns said. “Why, Annie, you couldn’t get a pheasant?”

“Ah yes, how silly of me. I shall go out back and shoot one.”

Kearns beamed at her, but whether or not his smile was genuine was impossible to tell. “Dear Annie, dear Annie, you are just as delightful as ever. Promise me you will never change, hmm? I know the years can get away from women of your affliction.”

“Affliction?” Morgan asked, confused.

Kearns ignored him. He shrugged off his coat, pulled off his gloves, and removed his homburg hat. He placed them all in Will Henry’s arms.

“There are two valises, three crates, and one large wooden box, Master Henry,” he informed the boy. “The valises you can manage. The box and trunks you can’t, but Annie may lend a hand if you ask her nicely. I would suggest you carry the crates around to the carriage house. The suitcases and the box must go to my room. Be careful with my box; the contents are quite fragile. And a spot of tea sounds spectacularly satisfying. Did you know they had none on the train? America is still an astonishingly uncivilized country. I take mine with cream and two sugars, Master Henry; that’s a good lad.” He winked and ruffled Will Henry’s hair before clapping his hands together. “Now, gentlemen, shall we get to work? It may have been a long day, Robert, but the night will be longer, I assure you!”

The three men went to the library, and Anna returned to the kitchen. Will Henry managed to handle most of the luggage on his own, but the box proved to be too cumbersome for him as predicted. His penchant for obedience had caused him to ask her nicely just as Kearns had instructed.

The box was long, and wrapped in white silk cloth, reminding her of the package that had ended up on her doorstep not long ago. However, unlike the corpse of the Anthropophagus, Kearns’ package reeked of lavender, which was somehow even worse. Anna’s nose scrunched as she helped Will Henry pick it up.

They carried the box into the house and up the stairs - it proved to be quite the task, and maneuvering around corners with it was nigh on impossible. Eventually, however, they managed to lug it up to Margaret Warthrop’s old room, setting it down on the floor with a thud. Will Henry wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Did you feel them?” He asked.

“Feel what, dear boy?”

“The handholds,” he answered. “Why would he wrap up a box with handholds on it?”

“Kearns is a queer man with even queerer habits,” Anna said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Her eyes still wandered downwards, however, observing the mysterious package. What was it full of? Did he intend to weave the beasts flower crowns, or enchant them with foreign perfumes? She chose to shrug it off for the moment, returning downstairs. After getting things squared away in the kitchen, she went to the library, where she found the three men leering over the map. O'Brien was gone; thankfully in the meanwhile Morgan had sent him home.

“This marks where the Feronia went aground,” Pellinore explained, pointing to a spot of coastline. “Impossible to say, of course, the precise location where they came ashore, but here” - he picked up the newspaper from the top of the stack - “is a notice of a missing boy who authorities believe ran off to sea, two weeks later and twenty miles inland. Each circle, here, here, here,” he said as he jabbed each spot, “et cetera, represents a potential victim, most of whom were reported missing or were discovered several days or weeks later, their injuries attributed to the foraging of wild animals. Anna and I noted the corresponding dates in each of the circles. As you can see, gentlemen, while we cannot attribute every instance to the feeding activities of our uninvited guests, the record indicates a cone of distributions, a gradual migration that leads here, to New Jerusalem.”

Anna joined the men in leaning over the map, observing the twenty-four year migration Pellinore had theorized. Morgan sucked on his pipe, which had long since gone out. Kearns looked almost bored as he smoothed his nearly invisible mustache with his thumb and forefinger.

“I realize it is unlikely that all of this occurred without someone discovering the cause of these mysterious disappearances and deaths, but, as there could be no other reasonable explanation, it must have happened that way.”

“I can think of another,” Kearns interrupted.

Pellinore looked up from the map. “Another what?”

“Reasonable explanation.”

“I would love to hear it,” said Pellinore, without much conviction.

“Forgive my cheekiness, Pellinore, but your theory is nonsense. Completely ridiculous, absurdly convoluted, unreasonable complicated balderdash. Our poppies no more traveled here on foot than I did.”

“And what is your theory? They took the train?” Pellinore asked, parroting the comment his wife had made to him.

“I took the train, Pellinore. Their mode of transit was undoubtedly a bit more private.”

“I don’t understand,” said Morgan.

“It’s perfectly obvious, Constable,” Kearns said with a chuckle. “A child could see it. I wager Will does. What do you say, Will? What is your answer to our devilish riddle?”

“My- my answer, sir?”

“You’re a bright boy; you must be for Warthrop to employ you as his assistant-apprentice. What is your theory of the case?”

The tips of Will’s ears blushed red with embarrassment. “Well, sir, I think… They’re here, obviously, and they must have gotten here somehow, which means they either got here on their own with no one knowing or… or…”

“Yes, very good. Go on Will Henry. Or what?”

“Or someone did know,” Will Henry said, lowering his gaze as he felt Pellinore’s glower hit him.

“Precisely,” Kearns said with a nod. “And that someone knew because he arranged their passage from Africa to New England.”

“What are you suggesting, Kearns?” Pellinore demanded, forgetting himself.

“Kearns?” Morgan asked. “I thought his name was Cory.”

“Kearns is my middle name,” the surgeon offered smoothly. “From the maternal side of the family.”

“It’s as absurd as you claim my theory to be,” Pellinore insisted. “To suggest that someone brought them here, with no one being the wiser for it, housed somewhere and fed… how? And by whom?”

“Again, my dear Warthrop, questions the answers to which are obvious. Surely Annie has figured it out by now, too. Yes? Tell me, Mrs. Warthrop, just how long have you been keeping your thoughts to yourself in a foolish attempt to spare your husband’s feelings?”

Anna opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak.

“It has to be quite hard for you,” he said. “For both of you, Pellinore, as you refuse to see the truth. It must be quite painful for you to accept, so you have worried and twisted the facts, chewed and gnawed upon the evidence, until up is down, black is white, square is round.”

“You offend me, John,” the doctor growled.

“John?” Morgan objected. “But your given name is Richard!”

“A nickname after John Brown, the agitator. My mother was an American, you see, and quite the abolitionist.”

“I am a scientist,” Pellinore insisted. “I go where the facts lead me.”

“Until your heartstrings tug you back. Come now, Pellinore, do you honestly believe in this claptrap theory of yours? They wander ashore, undetected, and for the next twenty-four years manage to feed off the local populace and make little Anthro-poppies, leaving behind no direct evidence, no survivors, no eyewitnesses, until they miraculously arrive at the doorstep of the very person who requested the pleasure of their company? You’re like the priests in the temple; you strain out a gnat but swallow a camel!”

“It’s impossible; the facts don’t fit.”

“How?”

“Adaptation, natural selection, and some luck, I’ll admit that. It’s conceivable-”

“Oh, Pellinore,” Kearns sighed. “It’s conceivable the moon is made of blue cheese.”

“Only fools can conceive of that,” Anna argued.

“You can’t prove it isn’t,” Kearns retorted. He laid a hand upon Pellinore’s shoulder, which the other man promptly shrugged off. “When did he die? Four, five years ago? Look at your circles there. You drew them yourself; look at them, Pellinore! Look at the dates. See how they cluster there and there? See the gap in time between this circle twelve miles away and this one here, with this ten-mile radius, beginning in late ‘83 to the present? These represent true attacks, perhaps; the rest is wishful thinking. They were pulled off that ship, transported here, and kept safe and sound until their keeper could no longer provide them their victuals.”

The sound of the slap was so loud it reverberated throughout the room. Kearns’ expression barely changed; he had on the same small, ironic smile he’d worn since the moment he knocked on their door in spite of the red mark on his cheek. Morgan busied himself with his pipe. Will Henry fiddled with a cup of tea, which had long since gone cold. Anna was dumbfounded, just as overcome by Kearns’ scrutiny of the case as her husband.

“Go on then, Annie,” Kearns prompted. “Tell me you agree.”

“I-”

“I know you do. You are a smart woman; much more sensible than your husband and much less prone to such attachments. I imagine you never even met your father-in-law, yes? So what will it be? Speak now or forever hold your peace, as they say. Or perhaps your hesitance says it all.”

Pellinore’s stare was unbearable. It was not anger; it was hurt, as if anything that came out of Anna’s mouth even remotely compliant with Kearns’ statement would be a dagger in his back. She swallowed hard.

“The answer has always been right before your eyes,” Anna finally relented, her voice gentle as she addressed Pellinore directly. “If you could only bear to open them.”

“Yes,” Morgan concurred, “this John Richard Kearns Cory does have a point.”

“Or Dick,” Kearns interjected. “Some people call me Dick for Richard. Or Jack for John.”

“He would never do such a thing,” Pellinore said, stubborn as a beast of burden. “Not the man I knew.”

“Then he wasn’t the man you knew,” Kearns retorted.

“The reference to opening eyes,” Morgan interrupted, “in terms of what is right before ours. How they got here is not why we are here. We must decide, and decide quickly, how to exterminate them.”

“I thought that had been decided already,” Kearns said. “Or was there some other reason I was invited?”

“In the morning I am contacting the governor’s office to request the mobilization of the state militia,” Morgan proclaimed. “And I am ordering a complete evacuation of the town - of the women and children, at least.”

“Completely unnecessary,” Kearns said with a wave of his hand. “How many did you say there were, Pellinore? An average pod?”

“Yes,” Pellinore muttered weakly.

“I would say no more than five or six of your best marksmen, Morgan. Men who can be trusted to keep their mouths shut, preferably men with a military background, and best if two or three are handy with a hammer and saw. I’ve made a list of materials to be discreetly acquired; the rest I’ve brought with me. We can set to it at first light and be done by nightfall!”

“Five or six men, you say?!” Morgan cried. “Have you seen what these creatures are capable of?!”

“Yes, I have.”

“John has hunted them extensively in Africa,” Pellinore allowed with a sigh.

“Jack,” Kearns corrected. “I prefer Jack.”

“It cannot wait till morning,” Morgan inistsed. “We must move against them tonight, before they can attack again.”

“They will not attack tonight,” said Kearns.

The constable looked over to Pellinore, but the doctor refused to meet his gaze.

Morgan turned back to Kearns. “How do you know?”

“Because they’ve just fed. In the wild, poppies gorge once a month and spend the rest of the time lolling about like indolent lotus-eaters. Satisfied, Constable?”

“No, I am not satisfied.”

“It hardly matters. Now, there are some conditions that must first be met before we can proceed.”

“Conditions for what?” Morgan asked.

“For my services. Surely Pellinore told you.”

“Pellinore chose not to tell me many things.”

“Ah. Well, you can hardly blame him, can you? He’s already pledged to cover my expenses, but there remains the small matter of my fee.”

“Your fee?”

“Five thousand dollars in cash, payable upon the successful completion of our contract.”

Morgan’s chin dropped to his chest. He turned to Pellinore.

“You never said anything about paying this man!”

“I shall pay him out of my own pocket,” Pellinore replied wearily.

He leaned against the table, his face flushed and drawn. Anna feared he would faint. Without thinking, she stepped towards him, but hesitated when she remembered she had aided in the dismantling of his ego just minutes earlier. It was not that he wasn’t wrong - he was, desperately and absurdly as Kearns had so pointed out - but that did not mean she felt no pity for him. As much as there were times where she wanted to slap him around for his stubbornness, this was different. There was a reason other than his own pride to try and deny conclusive evidence.

“Seems only just,” said Kearns.

“Please, Jack,” Pellinore entreated him. “Please.”

“Good! So that’s taken care of. The one other requirement is something only you can fulfill, Constable. Under no circ*mstances am I to be held accountable, within the law or outside of it, for any loss of life or limb in the prosecution of our hunt, including any laws I may break or bend in the execution of the same.”

“What do you mean, Cory or Kearns or whatever your blasted name is?!” Morgan barked.

“It’s Cory; I thought I made that quite clear.”

“I don’t care if your name is John Jacob Jinglehimer Schmidt!”

“Jacob is actually my baptismal name.”

“No matter the arrangements you may have made with Warthrop, I am still an officer of the law-”

“No immunity, no extermination, Robert - or may I call you Bob?”

“I don’t care what you call me; I will make no such guarantees!”

“Very well, then. I think I shall call you Bobby. I dislike palindromes.”

Now it was Morgan who appeared ready to hit Kearns.

“We’ve little choice in the matter, Constable,” Anna intervened. “He is the best man for the job; the doctor wouldn’t have called him here otherwise.”

“Actually,” Kearns corrected, “I am the only man for the job.”

The discussion lasted late into the night - though it hardly could have been called a discussion, as nothing important was thoroughly talked over. Pellinore had become withdrawn since Kearns had called him out, slumped over in his chair and only piping up to derail the conversation from the how of their extermination back to the how of their presence in New Jerusalem. For the most part, he was ignored. Kearns and Morgan concerned themselves with their own newfound rivalry; locked into a duel of wits, looking for chinks in each other’s armor. Will Henry and Anna sat quietly on the sidelines. Anna sipped tea that had long since grown cold, consumed by her own inner turmoil. It’d been a torturous day from start to finish.

“There can only be one general in any successful campaign,” Kearns pointed out, keen for Morgan to grant him total control of the operation. “I cannot guarantee success without full and unquestioning fealty to my orders. Any confusion in this regard practically ensures failure.”

“Of course; I understand that,” snapped Morgan.

“Which part? The necessity of a clear chain of command or my being at the head of that chain?”

“I served in the army, Cory,” said Morgan. “You don’t have to speak to me as if I were a bumpkin.”

“Then we are agreed? You will make it clear to your men who is in charge?”

“Yes, yes.”

“And instruct them to do exactly as I tell them, no matter how bizarre or seemingly absurd the request?”

Morgan licked his lips nervously, his eyes flitting over to the doctor. Pellinore simply nodded. This did not seem to comfort the constable, however.

“I feel a bit like Faust at the moment but, yes, I will tell them.”

“Ah, a literary man! I knew it. When this is done, Bobby, I would love to spend an evening, just you and me, a snifter of brandy and a cozy fire. We can discuss Goethe and Shakespeare. Tell me, have you ever read Nietzsche?"

“No, I have not.”

“Oh, you simply must. He’s a genius and, not entirely incidentally, a good friend of mine. Borrowed - I shan’t say ‘stole’ - one or two of my pet ideas, but that’s a genius for you.”

“I’ve never heard of the man.”

“I shall lend you my copy of Jenseits von Gut und Böse. You can read German, yes?”

“What is the point of this?” Morgan demanded, finally losing his temper. “Warthrop, what sort of man have you brought here?”

“He told you earlier,” Kearns countered.

His shift and attitude was immediate and plain as day. Gone was the cheerful facade. The twinkle in his eyes had diminished, leaving them jet black and lifeless, not unlike those of the very beasts he loved to hunt. It was as if he had flipped a switch, the vivacious and lively man being replaced by someone entirely different; the Hyde to his Jekyll. It was not lost on even Morgan, who faltered.

“I- I mean no offense,” the constable stuttered. “I simply don’t wish to entrust my life and the lives of my men to a mental defective.”

“I assure you, Constable Morgan, I am quite sane, as I understand the word, perhaps the sanest person in this room, for I suffer from no illusions. I have freed myself, you see, from the pretense that burdens most men. Much like our prey, I do not impose order where there is none; I do not pretend there is any more than what there is, or that you and I are anything more than what we are. That is the essence of their beauty, Morgan, the aboriginal purity of their being, and why I admire them.”

“Admire them! And you claim you aren’t defective!”

“There is much we can learn from the Anthropophagi. I am their student as much as I am their enemy.”

“Are we finished here?” Morgan demanded of Pellinore. “Is that all, or is there more of this drivel to endure before we’re done?”

“Robert is right; it is very late,” Pellinore said. “Unless you have more of your drivel, John.”

“Of course, but it can wait.”

The Warthrops bade Morgan good night. He left without Malachi, letting him stay the night so as to not disturb him from his sleep. While Will Henry and Pellinore were at the door with him, Kearns moved to sit beside Anna, crossing his legs. His jolly demeanor was back, as if nothing had happened.

“Insufferable little marplot, isn’t here?” He asked, in reference to the constable.

“I find all lawmen are,” Anna replied.

Kearns laughed, a clear and bright sound, but again she could not tell if it was genuine or not. It was hard to read him; at any point, he could have thought they were friends, or at the very least could have admired the vampire. She was not much unlike his prey - at least in his mind. However, he also could have very easily been the most brilliant actor she’d ever met, only pretending to be charmed by her deadpan nature.

He was at the very least familiar enough with emotions to sense hers. He took Anna by the shoulder, giving her a light shake.

“Cheer up now, Annie. Surely our dear Pellinore will snap out of it and come to his senses.”

“I fear what may happen if he does,” Anna admitted. “His father…”

“Clever bastard, wasn’t he? But to what purpose did he bring the poppies all the way over here?”

“Galton,” Anna answered plainly, as nothing more needed to be said.

“You’ve read Galton?” He asked.

“I have read many things, both fiction and theory.”

The sparkle in his eyes seemed to brighten. “Why Annie, I must cancel that evening with the Constable and have it with you instead.”

“Only if you replace the snifter with the whole bottle.”

Kearns shook his head, smiling almost ruefully. “You’re a remarkable woman, Annie Warthrop. ‘Tis a shame you married such a ninny.”

Before Anna could retort, Pellinore and Will Henry reentered the library. Without missing a beat, Pellinore turned to Kearns, not giving up on defending Alistair Warthrop.

“You’re wrong, you know. About my father.”

“Why, Pellinore? Because I cannot prove you wrong?”

“Setting aside the issue of his character for a moment, your theory is hardly more satisfying than mine. How did he manage to conceal them for such a long period of time? Or sustain them with their gruesome diet? Even granting you the outrageous assumption that Alistair was capable of such gross inhumanity, where did he find victims? How could he, for twenty years, without getting caught or even raising the least bit of suspicion, supply them with human fodder?”

“You overestimate the value of human life, Pellinore. You always have. Up and down the eastern seaboard the cities are seething with trash, the refuse washed up from Europe’s slums. It would be no Herculean task to lure scores of them here with promises of employment or other incentives, or failing that, to simply snatch them from the ghetto with the help of certain men who do not suffer from your quaint romantic idealism. Believe me, the world is full of such men! Of course, it is entirely possible - though not, I would say, probable - that he persuaded his pets to adapt their diet to a lower form of life, assuming that was his goal. It is possible they have acquired a partiality to chicken. Possible, though not very probable.”

Pellinore shook his head. “I am not convinced.”

“And I am not concerned. But I am curious. Why do you resist an explanation that makes far more sense than your own? Really, Pellinore, would you care to compute the odds of them migrating here, to your own backyard, by sheer chance? In the back of your mind you must know the truth, but refuse to acknowledge it. Why? Because you cannot bring yourself to think the worst of him? Who was he to you? More importantly, who were you to him? You defend a man who barely tolerated your existence.” His face lit up. “Ah! Is that it? Are you still trying to prove yourself worthy of his love - even now, when it’s impossible for him to give it? And you call yourself a scientist! You’re a hypocrite, Pellinore. A silly, sentimental hypocrite, much too sensitive for your own good. I've often wondered why you even became a Monstrumologist. You are a worthy man of admirable attributes, but this business is dark and dirty, and you never struck me as the type. Did that have to do with him as well? To please him? So he would finally notice you?”

Pellinore stood there, his gaze withering. Anna thought he was going to hit the bastard again; this time with something much harder than an open palm.

“That’s enough, Jack,” Anna said, her voice tight.

“You invited me here to slay dragons, did you not?” Kearns retorted. “Well. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Not long after the fevered exchange, everyone retired upstairs. It was in their best interest to get some sleep. Anna went into the bathroom, going straight to the sink and splashing cold water on her cheeks. She looked about as tired as she felt, though she was more emotionally exhausted than anything. As Anna washed up and changed into her nightclothes, she could hear Kearns’ voice from the hallway. To her horror, he was talking to Will Henry - alone.

“Who is in that room?”

“What room, sir?”

“The room you just came out of.”

“His name is Malachi, Dr. Kearns. He’s… It was his family that…”

“Ah, the Stinnet boy. First they take you in, and now another. Pellinore and Annie have become quite philanthropic.”

“Yes, sir. I suppose, sir.”

“Henry,” Kearns said. “I remember now why that name seemed familiar to me. I believe I knew your father, Will, and you’re quite correct: his name was James, not Benjamin.”

“You knew my father?”

“I met him once, in Amazonia. Pellinore was off on another one of his quixotic quests; I believe for a specimen of that elusive - mythical, in my opinion - parasitic organism known as Biminius arawakus. Your father was quite ill, as I recall - malaria, I think, or some other bloody tropical disease. We do work ourselves into a tizzy about creatures like the Anthropophagi, but the world is chock-full of things that want to eat us. Have you ever heard of the Candiru? It’s also a native of the Amazon and, unlike the Biminius arawakus, not too difficult to find, particularly if you are unfortunate or stupid enough to relieve yourself anywhere near where one is hiding. It’s a tiny eel-like fish, with backward-pointing razor-sharp spines along its hills that it unfurls like an umbrella once inside its host. Usually it follows the scent of urine into the urethra, wherein it lodges itself to feed upon your innards, but there have been cases where it enters the anus instead and commences to eat its way through your large intestine. It grows larger and larger as it feeds, of course, and I hear the pain is beyond the power of words to describe. So excruciating, in fact, that the common native remedy is to simply chop off the penis. What do you think of that?”

Anna could hear the smile in his voice.

“What do I think, sir?” Will Henry quavered.

“Yes, what do you think? What do you make of it? Or of the Spirometra mansoni, commonly called a flatworm, which can grow up to fourteen inches long and take up residence in your brain, where it feeds upon your cerebral matter until you are reduced to a vegetative state? Or Wuchereria bancrofti, a parasite that invades the lymph nodes, often causing their male hosts to develop testicl*s the size of cannonballs? What are we to make of them, Will Henry, and the multitudinous others? What lesson is to be gained?”

“I-I… I really don’t know, sir.”

“Humility, Will Henry! We are a mere part of a grand whole, in no way superior, not at all the angels in the mortal attire we pretend to be. I do not think that the Candiru gives a tinker’s damn that we produced a Shakespeare or built the pyramids. I think we just taste good… What is it, Will? You’ve gone quite pale. Is something the matter?”

“No, sir. I’m just very tired, sir.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed? We’ve a long day tomorrow, and a longer night. Sleep tight, Will Henry, and don’t let the bedbugs bite!”

Anna exited the bathroom just in time to watch Will Henry climb into his little alcove. Kearns had retired to his own room, and she strode right up to it, rapping thrice upon the door. He opened it, a smile dancing across his boyish face.

“Annie, really, coming into a single man’s room in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a nightgown? What would your mother think?”

“My mother has been dead for eighty-five years. May I come in?”

He stepped back, letting Anna enter the bedroom. The overwhelming smell of flowers hit her once again. Her eyes wandered over to the box on the floor, which she was still highly suspicious of, but Kearns paid the wayward glance no mind.

“Well, what is it then? What brings you to my quarters at such an hour?”

“I want to have a discussion with you. I know who you are, Jack. We may not know each other very well, but in the few encounters I have had with you, I have surely learned enough.”

“Why Annie, are you about to proclaim your undying love for me? You should have told me in advance. I would have combed my hair for you.”

Anna gave him a withering look. “This is what I am talking about. Tease me all you like, poke and prod at Pellinore’s wounds; I will tolerate it. We are adults. We can handle your… drivel. But Will Henry-”

“Yes, a strapping young lad, that Will Henry. Quite adorable, too. Why, I don’t believe he will grow much taller than he is now, do you?”

“I am giving you the courtesy of a warning, John. Leave the boy alone.”

“A warning?” He purred.

“Yes, a warning. Because, I promise you, if any harm comes to him, or if I even catch you speaking to him in such a way as you just did again, I will kill you. You know I am not joking or being adorable, doctor, so I would take it to heart.”

A cheshire grin spread across Kearns’ face. He approached Anna, his long frame leering over her. His coal black eyes studied her not much unlike a cat studying a helpless rodent.

“I know why you do not like me, Annie. It is plain as day.”

“Tell me, then,” Anna said, not wavering under his hungry gaze.

“We are far too much alike. I am the part of yourself that you deny; that you repress for the sake of fitting in with polite society. But I have studied and hunted vampires, and what remarkable creatures you are! hom*o vampiris, perhaps, is the perfect species. The minds of humans, but completely devoid of humanity. You love saps like Pellinore, but I promise you, it is only because you desire to put as much distance between yourself and the real Anastasia McClarnon as possible. And you are angry at me now because I speak the truth.”

Anna leaned forward, standing on her tiptoes in a sad attempt to be face-level with him. He humored her by bending over slightly; his nose just inches from the vampire’s.

“If you claim to know so well who and what I am,” Anna stated, “then you know I will not tolerate you playing your mind games with Will Henry.”

Kearns lifted a hand to her cheek. “You care for the boy as if he were your own son. Why, I fear you have gone soft.”

“Perhaps I always have been.”

“Perhaps,” Kearns said, straightening his back. “But that does not change the fact you are perfectly capable of quashing these sentimentalities as opposed to cultivating them.”

Anna turned on her heel, heading straight for the door, but he spoke again.

“Tread carefully, my dear Anna. Your tender heart may very well prove to be your greatest, if only, weakness.”

His bastardization of Pellinore’s term of endearment for her chilled Anna to the marrow.

“Sleep well, Kearns,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Only if you do the same,” he said, the twinkle in his eye returning just as easily as it had vanished.

Anna left the hunter’s oppressive gaze, heading straight to her own bedroom. When she entered, she found Pellinore sitting on the foot of the bed, his head in his hands. He only looked up when he heard the click of the door’s lock.

“Pellinore-”

“Do not,” he said stiffly.

“Do not what? What do you think I was going to say?”

“Honestly, it is your lack of words that’s much more discomforting, Anna.”

Anna licked her lips. “I… I do not agree with the way Kearns has treated you, but-”

“You agree with his theory.”

“I have my own reasons,” Anna said softly. “I do not think you are a fool for feeling the way you do, despite having gone well out of your way to try and prove your father’s innocence in all of this.”

“Then enlighten me as to what they are. Go ahead: my wounds are still fresh and ready to be salted.”

Anna rolled her eyes before sitting down next to him on the bed.

“Have I ever told you about my mother?”

“What does your mother have to do with any of this?”

“I do have a point, if you would allow me to elaborate.”

Pellinore rested his chin atop his hands, not even looking her way. “Go on, then.”

“My first memory of my mother is her calling me a miserable little witch, because I had just been playing in the silty pond in the woods beyond our house, and when I came back in I hopped straight onto the white linen sheets of my bed that had just been freshly washed. That also was the first time I learned to do laundry. I was four, at most, and she made me sit on my knees and scrub the blankets until my fingers bled.”

They sat in silence for a minute before Anna was able to find the strength to continue.

“I remember nothing else of her. Not a word of kindness, not a gesture of affection. She was convinced I was a Devil child; brought into this world to curse her. That I was born bad. To be fair, I never did anything to quell those beliefs, but only because she never showed me the decency of this so-called, mythical, ‘unconditional love’ that a mother is supposed to have for her child regardless. Our relationship was spite, and resentment, and biting fury. I respected my father, I respected her mother - my grandmother - but I never showed Mother a lick of it. It drove her mad. I remember one day rather vividly; I was no older than Will Henry, and I was being punished because I had hauled a thirty pound catfish I’d caught into the house for the cooks to fry up. As always whenever I made her particularly red in the face, she locked me in the attic. That day, she was having one of her little get-togethers with a few of the women in her social circle, and as usual they sat and drank their tea on the porch - it was a nice summer day. And the attic window happened to be positioned just above where they were sitting, and I just so happened to have filled the chamber pot I’d been using the past three days while locked in there making the most tedious sewing sampler ever conjured into existence. So, I did what any angry young girl would do. I opened the window and dumped its contents out onto their heads.”

The ghost of a smile fell across Pellinore’s features. “I cannot say I ever dumped sh*t, human or otherwise, onto my father.”

“For a long time, I thought it was my own fault. I had done nothing to be worthy of her love, so to speak; I had only caused her pain and strife. But then… I did not know you as a child, Pellinore, but I imagine you were brilliant and sweet as could be. Perhaps if I had been born a hundred years later, and fate still brought us together as it has now, we could have been friends. But that’s just a flight of fancy.”

“From what you have told me of your past, I’m certain I would have been frightened of you, actually.”

Anna hummed softly at that. “Yes. You probably would have been. But as I said, that was just a silly aside. My point is it helped me to realize something. People like Alistair Warthrop and Lucy McClarnon were simply not capable of that type of emotion. You fought tooth and nail to earn your father’s affection, yet he did not extend you the right. I know it has always confused you how he could not, even after you pursued the same passion he had. But at the same time, it was a foregone conclusion. You are a case study in the futility of putting in monumental amounts of effort for someone who wouldn’t even cough in your direction. And I know it is a painful thing to realize, and I know your father’s integrity means everything to you, as does his legacy, but as your wife I cannot in good conscience let you continue. And as lying is the worst form of buffoonery, I must tell you what I truly think - Alistair was not a good man. He was a brilliant man, and an accomplished man, but certainly not the half of man you give him credence to be, and certainly not as much of a man as he managed to raise despite his own shortcomings, as it were. You are worthy of love; despite him not deeming you worthy of his. You deserved so much better than you had, but that is the past. You no longer need to defend him, Pellinore.”

Pellinore shut his eyes tightly, staying quiet for a few long moments, then opened them again, looking her directly in the face. “Anna, please tell me now. What makes you so confident that it was truly him? What is the piece of evidence you have been holding back?”

Anna cast her gaze downward, unable to maintain eye contact with him. “I… when I followed their scent to the cemetery, it led me to the Warthrop mausoleum.”

“Are you certain?” Pellinore pressed. “Your nose was not playing tricks on you? A breeze did not blow their scent in the wrong direction?”

“I would not tell you were I not certain. I don’t have a definitive answer for the more important questions; as in how he kept them fed for so long. But I can tell you this much: he brought them here and he protected them up until the day he died.”

Pellinore stood up abruptly, pacing around the room. Anna watched him, picking at her nails as she waited for the other shoe to drop. She had no clue what he was going to do: argue? Shout? March straight to the cemetery and attempt to debunk her claim? Instead, he finally whipped around, kicking over the desk chair. His chest heaved and his eyes watered, the storm which had been raging inside of him finally coming to the surface.

“My love,” Anna called to him softly.

He went back over to the bed, kneeling down in front of her and pressing his face into her lap, his long arms wrapping around her waist. Anna placed a hand upon his head, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.

“I am a fool, Anastasia,” he lamented. “John is right; I am a silly, sentimental hypocrite. I let myself be blind to what was right in front of me. For how could I possibly bear the truth? It is my job to carry my father’s legacy; I mentioned him in my thesis and thanked him at my ceremony. As you should know! You were there!”

“You are not an idiot for loving your father,” Anna sympathized. “It is a natural emotion; something that cannot be helped.”

“No. Perhaps not. But if had not… if he had at least had the decency to…” Pellinore’s grip tightened on her waist; his long fingers digging into the fabric of her nightgown. “He let the entire town believe he was a Confederate sympathizer!”

“The fact the Feronia was a former slave ship is low on his list of sins, I assure you.”

Pellinore sighed, going silent. She at first thought he was going to weep, but after a few moments of kneeling there, his head still buried in her lap and his fingers still clinging to her nightgown desperately, he pulled away. The devastated child, desperate for his idol’s love, disappeared. Now only the man bearing his sins was left.

“What?” She asked.

“We must rest,” he said softly. “As Kearns said, we will begin at first light.”

The speed at which he had repressed his pain left Anna speechless.

“What?” Pellinore asked, oblivious. “Do you not wish to rest?”

“I do, I…” Anna trailed off. It was no use. There wasn’t much she could do whenever Pellinore shut down in such a way. The best both of them could do at that point was get sleep. “Here. Lay with me.”

She crawled into the bed, wrapping herself up in the sheets. Pellinore crawled into bed next to her, and they folded themselves together, the comforting embrace substituting words in that moment. But the doctor was not finished.

“While we are being honest,” Pellinore said softly, lacing his fingers with hers, “I always thought it was rather cruel of him to name me after the legendary king. As if he was sending me on a quest that could never be completed… perhaps, he intended to be that for me, in a way. The beast I sought, that is, refusing to be caught; erasing his earthly presence and becoming consumed by the oblivion he ran from for so long. Of course, he could not have literally intended it to be that way; it is probable he did not mean it to be a quixotic metaphor but rather him preparing me for the foregone conclusion of following in his footsteps. Though if he did intend for me to be eluded by my own metaphorical quest, doomed to an eternity of chasing down that which is impossible to catch, he was wrong. I completed it long ago.”

“Really?” Anna asked, her voice betraying how tired she was. “And what was your questing beast?”

“Well, scientifically speaking, the beast in question was a specimen of hom*o vampiris americanis. But she is much more than a beast. She is a clever, capable, determined woman with a razor sharp wit and a kind heart. She is the first of her kind - an Anastasia Warthrop.”

“Ah,” Anna sighed softly, turning over to face him. “That was so sickly sweet I’m afraid I may vomit.”

“It’s saccharine, yes, but it is true. You are indispensable to me, my dear Anna.”

“And you are to me.”

Chapter 6: A Dark and Dirty Business

Chapter Text

Anna woke up at the crack of dawn to Pellinore gently shaking her, urging her out of bed.

“Come, Anna! There is much to be done. We cannot afford to lay about.”

Anna sat up just as he quite literally tossed her hunting clothes onto the bed, while he himself was halfway through buttoning his shirt. She had been planning on changing into a dressing gown, but the doctor clearly had other plans.

“Morgan should be here by half past nine,” Pellinore explained. “O’Brien - do not make that face, you know well by now we are not at liberty to pick and choose who will be assisting us in this matter - will be bringing a dray. You’ll have to prepare the horses; there will not be enough room for all of us to ride in the dray. Bring your revolver and your bowie knife, just as last time, though I also suggest you bring your hunting rifle.”

Pellinore grabbed his own revolver, checking the chamber for bullets before holstering it.

“Should I make breakfast?” Anna asked. “The boys will be hungry.”

Pellinore looked over his shoulder at her, frustrated. “Do I employ you to be my cook?”

“I am simply wondering if we have the time to eat breakfast.”

“No. We need as much daylight as we can get; being diurnal is our main advantage over the Anthropophagi. Cooking is a waste of your time; time you could be spending on much more important matters.”

Anna didn’t argue; she was frankly too tired. She simply grabbed her clothes and headed to the bathroom, washing up before changing into her hunting suit. She took a moment to check up on Will Henry in his little attic loft, and found he was still sound asleep. She decided against waking him - he needed all the precious sleep he could get.

While there would be no time to eat breakfast, apparently, Anna wasn’t going to start the day on an empty stomach. She took the time to brew some tea to pair with one of her homemade scones. It was quiet in the house, which she found chilling, considering their present company. Kearns could not go unnoticed; his off-putting energy filled every room he was in. If she hadn’t already seen Will Henry safe in bed, she’d find herself being very worried.

Not long after Anna finished her breakfast, Morgan and O’Brien arrived. The rest of the men were already at the church, awaiting further instruction from the constable. Morgan looked tired, his lips moving nervously around his pipe.

“Where is Cory?” He asked. He was only a year or so older than Pellinore, but the worry lines on his face aged him. “I do not suppose he’s taken his leave so soon!”

“I’m afraid I have not seen him,” Pellinore replied. “He’s left his supplies in the carriage house, so I suppose we’ll have to fetch them ourselves.”

“So our expert hunter is nowhere to be found…” Morgan mumbled. “Why Pellinore, I don’t find that to be a very good sign!”

The weather wasn’t a good sign, either. The dreary gray sky left a foreboding feeling in the pit of Anna’s stomach.

With the help of Morgan and O’Brien, Kearns’ supplies were loaded into the dray. It wasn’t clear exactly what he’d taken with him, but the unseen weapons were overshadowed by the mysterious linen-wrapped box they had to retrieve from the guest room. Pellinore struggled to get a good hold of it as he carried it downstairs, Anna leading the way. The smell of lavender once again left her with a churning in her stomach - oh, she hated those damnable flowers. Almost as much as she hated that damnable man.

Morgan looked curious as well as he watched the Warthrops slide the box onto the back of the dray.

“What in Heaven’s name is that?” Morgan asked. “It smells like my wife’s soaps.”

Pellinore’s face became grim. He did not answer - perhaps because saying what he thought it was would make the situation worse. Anna was also fairly certain of what was in there, with the lavender being used to prevent her nose from investigating further.

Once the dray was loaded and her horses had been tacked up, Anna reentered the house only to find the basem*nt door ajar. Frowning thoughtfully, she peered down the stairs to find Malachi and Will Henry near the bottom of the steps.

“Will Henry!” Anna called.

Both boys startled, with Will quickly tucking something back into his pocket. The clack clack clack let her know it must have been the bizarre Guinean artifact he had pilfered from the senior Warthrop’s trunk. She sighed softly, running her hand down her face.

“Gentlemen, this is a laboratory, not a playroom. Come, now, get out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Will Henry said, with the usual bashfulness he displayed whenever she chided him. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Malachi didn’t look nearly as concerned, bounding up the stairs to meet her at the top. He seemed like a normal child for the first time since she’d met him; a ghost of the miserable boy in church, or the vindictive creature that had very recently tried to murder her husband. He was just excited to have the opportunity to hunt down the beasts that turned his family into mince.

“Are you cooking breakfast Mrs. Warthrop?” Malachi asked.

“Well…” Anna looked over her shoulder. Pellinore was out looking for Kearns; they could not leave without him. “...You should eat something. I believe I have just enough time to poach some eggs. Are you hungry too, Will Henry? Would you like some eggs?”

Will Henry nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Warthrop.”

Anna had only just set water on the fire to boil when Pellinore burst into the room, his anxiety having overwhelmed him completely. In the light of the kitchen Anna could see how haggard he looked, his undereyes heavy and his face dark with stubble.

“I still haven’t seen him,” Anna said, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “I half expected to see him in the stables, crouched over the corpse of a cat like some kind of ravenous animal.”

Pellinore did not appreciate her humor, his eyes flashing with annoyance. The annoyance did not leave his face as a familiar, melodic voice sounded from the hallway.

“Why Annie, my ears are burning!”

Kearns stepped into the kitchen, standing right beside Pellinore. His eternally elegant appearance was a stark contrast to Pellinore’s visible exhaustion; his hair was already neatly combed and tied back in a ponytail, his hunting suit had been neatly pressed, and there was not a stray hair on his face other than his meticulously maintained pencil mustache. He looked like a nobleman about to go out on a fox hunt.

“Kearns!” Pellinore cried, shocked to see him as if he had not spent the past hour looking for him. “Where the devil have you been?!”

“‘From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down it’. Why?”

“We’ve been loaded up for more than half an hour. They’ve been waiting for us.”

“What time is it?” Kearns asked, removing his pocket watch from his vest and clicking it open.

“Half past ten!”

“Really? As late as that?” Kearns made a great show of raising the pocket watch to his ear, giving it a shake.

“We won’t be ready by sunset if we don’t leave now!”

“But I have had nothing to eat yet,” Kearns argued. He glanced towards the pot on the stove. “It appears your wife already has the same idea.”

Pellinore looked at Anna with an expression of betrayal, somehow even more dismayed by her cooking breakfast than he’d been over her pointing out that their current predicament was all his father’s doing.

“...The boys are hungry. I am feeding them. It really is that simple.”

Kearns turned his attention to the kitchen table where the boys in question were sitting. Will Henry looked away, unable to meet the surgeon's gaze, but Malachi was in awe. He stared at Kearns, his mouth hanging half open, as if he were gazing at the angel who spoke to the Biblical Mary.

“Why, hullo there!” Kearns said. “You must be the poor Stinnet boy. My sincere condolences for your tragic loss. Not the usual way we meet our Maker, but whichever way we go, we always go there! Remember that the next time you fancy putting a bullet into Warthrop’s brain. I try to.”

Pellinore’s face turned scarlet. “There is no time for breakfast!”

“No time for breakfast!” Kearns parroted. “I never hunt on an empty stomach, Pellinore. What are you making over there, Annie? Eggs? Two for me as well, with a bit of toast and coffee, strong mind you - as strong as you can make it!”

He slid into the chair across from Malachi’s before turning back to Pellinore, offering him a dazzling smile. “You eat too, Pellinore. Don’t you feed the man, Annie?”

“Heaven knows I try,” Anna sighed, already annoyed that she was being cajoled into doing twice the amount of work she planned to do. “I’d be happy to cook you some eggs as well, Pellinore. We have more than enough for everyone.”

“Perhaps he has an intestinal parasite,” Kearns suggested. “Ascaris can be quite the appetite killer!”

“No,” Pellinore said tightly. “I’ll be outside. Don’t worry about the washing up, Anna. The constable and his men are waiting for us.”

He went out through the back door, slamming it behind him. Anna ignored his anger, simply going back to cooking, but Kearns seemed utterly amused by the outburst.

“Tense!” He observed, his charcoal eyes sparkling. He turned to Malachi, shifting gears in the blink of an eye. “How close was it?”

“Close?” Malachi echoed, going from starstruck to overwhelmed now that the hunter’s full attention was on him.

“Yes. How close did you come to pulling the trigger and blowing his head off?”

Anna’s stomach sank. Malachi was also uncomfortable, his eyes dropping down to his empty plate.

“I don’t know.”

“No? I’ll put it to you this way, then: At that crystalline moment when you pressed the muzzle into his face, when the bullet was a squeeze of your finger away from blasting his head apart, what did you feel?”

“Afraid,” Malachi answered quietly.

Anna snapped, taking two steps towards the table. Kearns held up a hand to stop her from throttling him.

“Where are you going with this, John?!” She demanded.

“I’m simply curious,” the hunter explained, his grin having been replaced with that ever small, ever ironic smile he wore. “Taking a life, why, there is nothing quite like that! Now, Malachi, are you sure you only felt fear? There was no… Oh, how shall I put it? No thrill in it?”

Malachi shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He was shaken, but couldn’t seem to tear himself from the hunter’s gaze. Something about the conversation was compelling him to continue. Anna stared down at the man in front of her, his hand just barely pressed to her stomach, keeping her frozen in place as if she were a dog being held back by an invisible lead.

“Oh, you must know. That euphoric moment when you hold their life here.” He moved his hand away from Anna’s body, facing his palm towards the boys. “And now you are the captain of their destiny, not some ineffable, invisible, fairy-tale being. No? Well, I suppose intent has everything to do with it. The will must be there. You didn’t really intend to blow his brains out.”

“I thought I did. And then…” Malachi looked away, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back emotion.

“Nice bit of poetic justice if you had. Though it would have been the last of you, as his darling Annie would have accordingly ripped you to shreds like a rabid dog. But I do wonder, if they had knocked on your door that night and told you, ‘Better get out quick; there’s headless man-eaters on the loose!’ whether your father would have barred the doors or had them carted away to the nearest lunatic asylum.”

“That’s a stupid question,” Malachi replied, his righteous anger returning. “Because they didn’t warn him. The doctor didn’t warn anyone.”

“No, it’s a philosophical question,” Kearns corrected. “Which makes it useless, not stupid. Annie, your water’s boiling.”

Anna had been so caught up in her bewilderment over the hunter’s confession that she had forgotten what she was doing. She turned back to the stove, staring at the steam as it unfurled from the furiously bubbling pot.

“I… So it is.”

It was near noon by the time their little group had rendezvoused with the constable’s men by the Stinnet house. The four men had ridden in the truck, while Anna, Malachi, and Will Henry had trailed behind on horseback. Malachi stared up towards what had once been his home, where all of his happiness had been taken away. There was no God in the house that night - only beasts of prey that did not even have the intelligence to subscribe to a higher being. Still, a sign hung upon the door: THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD. Malachi dismounted from the doctor’s stallion, having decided he would let his Lord shepherd him towards certain doom.

Kearns also could not tear his eyes away from the house of horrors. He smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger as he contemplated it.

“I wish to see the crime scene,” he finally announced, turning to the doctor and constable. “Not as a voyeuristic exercise, mind you - well, not entirely. There may be something you missed that might prove helpful.”

“As in?” Pellinore questioned.

“Matters relating to the nature of the poppies and their numbers, that’s all. You did state they were quite unprecedented in how well they’ve adapted to their home. The temperate hills of New England are a far cry from the jungles of Benin!” He regarded Morgan in a way that could almost be mistaken for polite. “It’s your crime scene, Constable. May I enter?”

“If you feel it’s absolutely necessary,” Morgan answered testily. “I’ve agreed to defer to your judgement, haven’t I?”

Kearns tipped his hat, winked, then disappeared inside the house.

“If you did not vouch for this man, Warthrop,” Morgan growled to the doctor under his breath, “I would take him for a charlatan. He seems altogether too cheerful for such a grim business.”

“It’s the joy of a man perfectly suited for his work,” Pellinore replied. He turned to his wife, giving her a nod. “You should follow him.”

Anna was taken aback, the expression on Kearns’ face as he described how it felt to take another man’s life still at the front of her mind. “Whatever for?!”

“You’re familiar with the crime scene. You can answer any of his questions.” He leaned in closer, whispering so he would be out of the constable’s earshot. “Make sure he does not step out of line. He is not doing this out of a sense of duty to science as we are; be sure he does not cause any unneeded grief.”

Anna took a deep breath, her fidelity to her husband overriding the base instincts that told her Kearns was not safe for her to be around. She entered the house, finding that Kearns was still in the foyer, squatting down next to the pastor’s remains and examining them much as Pellinore had days before.

“Annie!” He said, lifting up his head. “Lovely of you to come join me. I have to say, this is a very typical Anthropophagus kill, and the unfortunate thing about that is that they tear their prey to bloody smithereens! Tell me, which of the unfortunate flock is this?”

“Father Stinnet. And next to him is his youngest boy… At least, what is left of him.”

“Ah!” Kearns stated.

The smell had not dissipated, the blood and rot seeping deeply into the house as the crime scene sat untouched. Anna took out her handkerchief, covering her mouth and nose. The fetid stench was overwhelming, but Kearns didn’t seem to be bothered, picking up the boy’s foot in his hand.

“I imagine,” he said, his eyes glistening as he spoke, “that the poppie who did this sweet little lamb in picked up him in its claws, turned him upside-down, and simply pushed him down its gullet! Ate him whole, as they do. Whatever viscera remains is what was sprayed about by its gnashing jaws. And the foot, of course. They are rather careless with their leftovers.”

He stood to his full height, dropping the child’s foot before once again casting his gaze down towards the unfortunate priest. “What do you think, Annie? Do you think in his last moments Father Stinnet cried out for mercy from his God? Prayed for salvation that would never arrive?”

“I’m sure he was far too busy screaming to even think of prayer,” Anna said softly.

Kearns grinned, mistaking her somber thought for humor. “Yes, I suppose that’s much more plausible! Ah, what’s this, now?”

A few feet to the right of what was left of the reverend was the gruesome treasure that caught his eye. He picked up a large skull fragment, which had an egg-shaped hole punched in it from the monster’s teeth. He held it close to his eye, the ink dark iris gazing at her through it.

“Remarkable, isn’t it Annie? The force of their bite is on par with that of the Hippopotamus - one of the most formidable in that category itself. Poppies can snap through a human femur like a toothpick!”

“You very much seem to admire Anthropophagi for someone who makes a hobby out of killing them.”

“Why, of course!” Kearns proclaimed, stepping back towards her. They were inches apart, she realized. He did seem to quite enjoy invading her personal space. “In order to hunt an animal, you must truly respect it, understand it. Any fool can hunt a lion, but to do so successfully, he must see her for the fearsome predator she is. Otherwise, he will fail - horribly! I do hope we can instill that in whatever ragtag and bobtail your Constable rounded up for our endeavor. Now, where is the mother?”

Anna led him over to the parlor, where Mrs. Stinnet’s body still lay, her baby by her side and her head placed above the stump of her neck. Otherwise, the scene remained exactly as they had found it.

“Oh Lord!” Kearns said, staring down at the body. “Did quite a number on her, didn’t they! Barely a scratch on the baby though, how peculiar. Would have made for a nice little snack if they’d gotten their claws on it.”

“We found the baby smothered against her breast. It died clutched in her arms; she did not let them touch it. Or at least, she tried.”

Kearns nodded. “A mother protecting her cub until the very end! Not much unlike poppies. Did you know that when threatened, the Matriarch will sequester all her young to the deepest part of their den? Not that many creatures could threaten a fully grown female - aside from the two of us, of course.”

He shot her a wink, turning on his heel to head down the hallway. Anna didn’t follow, simply staring down at the head of Mrs. Stinnet. She had successfully divorced her emotions from the situation the last time she was there. She hadn’t even looked the woman in the eye. Now, she was forced to, as the head laid there on the floor right above where it was once attached, its eyes wide and glassy. Mrs. Stinnet had the same unnaturally bright blue eyes as her son, though they had since become clouded with decomposition. Anna knelt down, raising her hand up. She realized it was trembling slightly. The eyes of the woman she had feasted on flashed in her mind; just as wide and afraid in death as the pastor’s wife’s. She lowered her hand, gently closing the woman’s lids.

“Annie!” Kearns called from the doorway. It seemed he had turned around when he realized Anna wasn’t behind him - that, she found peculiar. “Are you coming?”

Anna sighed softly before standing to her full height, obediently following the madman into one of the bedrooms. Elizabeth’s lower half was still hanging on the windowsill, her torso a pile of viscera on the bed.

“Ah, the girl tried to escape, then?” Kearns said. He let out a sharp, cold laugh. “Little did she realize - there is no escape from a hungry poppie. Not for a little thing like her, not a chance.”

“Malachi blames himself. He thinks he could have saved her.”

“He’s a foolish boy then, isn’t he? You know, he plans to go down there with us, guns blazing.” A wry smile crossed Kearns’ lips. “I wonder how that will go for him.”

She stood quietly as he observed the viscera of the Stinnet children, only for him to turn to her. Being caught in his gaze felt like being a deer in the scope of a hunter’s rifle.

”They have been here many years, eluding detection. Yet these are the first lives we know of them taking. The suggestion they’ve been sustaining themselves on the dead in the meanwhile is balderdash - poppies rarely scavenge. They are as revolted by the bodies of the dead as we are by spoiled chicken. So, that begs the question: what fresh prey were they being provided, and by whom?”

His words seemed accusatory, but his expression was not. He simply looked down at Anna expectantly, like a teacher waiting for a student to solve a math problem.

“…I do have a theory,” Anna admitted. “There is no solid evidence for it, so I haven’t bothered to explore it, but it does make logical sense.”

”Really, now?” Kearns asked with a smirk. “Annie, have you been conducting your own investigation under your dear husband’s nose this whole time?”

Anna hand-waved the suggestion. “Nothing like that. I simply ended up talking to a few locals of Dedham; there is an asylum there whose director was acquainted with Warthrop. While gossip, they claimed to have heard of patients from the asylum sometimes being sent three hours away to New Jerusalem, never to return. This is in spite of the fact we do not have any institutions for the insane of our own. So… one might theorize, if their mind is inclined to go to such places, as mine often does, that those patients were their main food source.”

Kearns stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “Yes… That does make logical sense, in spite of the circ*mstantial evidence. So you truly believe in this director’s involvement?”

”I am open to other possibilities. But with everything I know at this moment, I believe that the asylum patients, disposable as they are to society, were steadily supplied to the pod to keep them fat and happy, but at some point the feedings were paused for unknown reasons, forcing the pod to emerge from their hiding place and search for a new food source. Unfortunately for the Stinnets, they live within a stone’s throw of the graveyard, making them the best option.”

“Well,” Kearns said, his coal eyes glimmering as he once again looked over the pile of gore on the bed beside them. “They certainly were a feast for the buggers, weren’t they?”

After thoroughly reexamining the crime scene, Kearns burst in through the doors of the Church with Anna at his heels, pulled along like flotsam in his powerful current. That was how she had felt for the past half hour, at least. Pellinore had looked at the scene in a similar fervor, though Kearns’ fascination with the power of the Anthropophagi was not analytical like the doctor’s. He seemed to take a almost ghoulish delight in the carnage they’d created.

Kearns approached the large cross which hung above the congregation, staring at it in what a man who did not know him well would mistake as contemplation. Pellinore put a hand on Anna’s shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze, as if to ground her. It was a surprising gesture of affection considering their circ*mstances.

“What is she doing here?” A voice piped up. She turned to find one of the six men the constable had hired, who had taken a break from cleaning his rifle.

Anna straightened her back, raising an eyebrow at the man. “I am the doctor’s wife. I go where he goes.”

O’Brien spoke up, making Anna’s blood boil. “She’s a housewife who insists on pretending to be a man.”

Anna ground her teeth as the other men chuckled. She had seen her fair share of microaggressions in her lifetime, especially considering her current line of work, but something about this time was different. Seeing six fools - ragtags and bobtails, as Kearns had aptly pointed out - laughing at the idea of a woman being more competent than them nearly sent her over the edge. Instead of shouting, however, Anna kept her composure.

“I am no man, nor a woman for that matter.” she stated plainly. “I am a-”

Before she could say Monstrumologist, one of the oldest men interrupted.

“Of course ‘yer not a woman, ‘yer in drag!”

The laughter in the group was uproarious this time. Pellinore became indignant, turning to the constable.

“You plan to keep men who speak to my wife in such a way?!” He snapped, briefly forgetting what they were there for.

Morgan looked exhausted, but couldn’t help himself. “The joy of men perfectly suited for their jobs, Warthrop.”

In the embarrassment of the joke, the embarrassment of her husband having to stick up for her, and the embarrassment of having Will Henry watch her be mocked by a group of strangers, Anna found herself having a moment of clarity. She looked over at Kearns, who had gone back to examining the cross, planning to drag the prenuptials out for as long as humanly possible. God, the aura he commanded! She did not like him, she wasn’t sure if she even respected him, but… Perhaps, there was something she could learn from the human man who thought he was a vampire. Someone who used his powers for whatever he pleased, instead of repressing them behind a corset and bustle. She had to become the current. She had to command the room.

So she started laughing too.

The uproarious laughter coming from the woman they were mocking was so unexpected it made a few of the men take pause. Even Kearns took a break from his dramatics, turning back towards the crowd with an equally amused expression.

“By God,” Anna said, wiping a tear of joy from her eye. “You are all going to die! Truly! If you cannot even respect the woman in your midst, then how could you ever respect your prey?”

She turned to Kearns, who was looking at her with a smirk on his face, catching onto her ploy. In that moment, she realized he did, in fact, respect her - or maybe she was just allowing herself to fall for the illusion that he did. She reached her hand out towards him, like Pellinore asking for a surgical tool.

“Dr. Cory, may I please see the specimen you collected from the Stinnet house?”

Kearns looked at her, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Why you certainly may, Mrs. Warthrop.”

Anna took the skull fragment from him, and in one fluid motion, she shed her stormy countenance in favor of the sunny persona of Kearns; academic gravitas lending its way to ghoulish delight.

“Can anyone tell me what this is? Pellinore, I know you do, but you’re not allowed to answer… No? No one? Then I shall give you a hint: it was found in the good reverend’s home just now. Nothing, not even a guess? Very well. This, gentleman, is a fragment of temporal bone, from an adult human male approximately forty to forty-five years of age. For those of you whose knowledge of anatomy is a bit rusty, the temporal bone is part of your skull, and not incidentally the hardest bone in your body.”

Anna held it up to her face, allowing one blue eye to gaze through the hole at her now rapt audience, just as Kearns had done with her. “Despite its appearance, the large egg-shaped hole you see here in the middle was not neatly drilled by a surgical tool, but punched by the tooth of a creature whose bite force exceeds two thousand pounds. This is what happens when one ton of pressure is applied to your strongest bone. You can imagine what happens when it’s applied to the softer portions of our anatomy.”

She slipped the piece of skull into her coat pocket.

“The evolutionary reason for their tremendous bite is that Antropophagi lack molars. Two rows of smaller teeth ring the outside of the larger, central teeth. Those first two rows are for snaring and grasping; the remainder, of which there are approximately three thousand, are for slicing and slashing. In short, they do not chew their food. No, they swallow it whole. And you, my friends, like the eucalyptus leaves of the gentle koala, make up the entirety of their diet. They are quite literally born to eat humans.

“Naturally that fact has created some tension between your species. They need to feed; humans would prefer that they not. The advent of civilization and its fruits - the spear and the gun, for example - tipped the scales in humanity’s favor, forcing the predators into hiding and forcing upon them another adaptation of which the brutal assault yesterday is a prime example. The Anthropophagi are fiercely territorial and will defend their home down to the last cub. In other words, the ruthlessness with which they hunt is exceeded only by the sheer savagery with which they protect their territory.

“And that is precisely where we shall meet them tonight - not on our ground, but on theirs. The time will be of our choosing, but not the place. We shall take the fight to them, and they will give us the fight we ask for. And when that happens, you may experience something akin to a toddler's temper tantrum, albeit a tantrum thrown by a creature topping seven to eight feet and weighing approximately two hundred fifty pounds, with three thousand razor-sharp teeth embedded in the middle of its chest.

“Tonight, you will witness the stuff of nightmares. You will see things that will shock and appall you, that will freeze you down to your God-fearing marrow, but if you do everything I,” she pointed at herself, “the world-class Monstrumologist Dr. Warthrop,” she pointed at her husband, who in her brief glance she noticed was staring at her with a mixture of awe and confusion, “and our notorious but incredibly skilled monster hunter Dr. Cory,” she motioned towards Kearns, who took a bow, “say, then you may survive to see the next sunrise. But only if you do everything we say.

“If you are willing to make this pledge now, with no reservations, neither about the job nor myself and the company I keep, then you’ll live to enthrall your grandchildren with the tale of this night. If not, I suggest you take your Winchesters and go home. For you see, ours is a dark and dirty business. One I know I am man enough for, as it were. You may or may not feel the same. Either way, I thank you for your attention, and Godspeed to you.”

Silence fell over the church. None of the men stirred from their seats. Even with the anatomy lecture, they seemed reluctant to depart. Finally, the old man who’d berated her earlier spoke up.

“They’re not the only ones that defend their own, the bastards,” he growled. “What do ye want us to do?”

Kearns put the men to work right away. To start, they took the load of timber that had been unloaded in the front yard, building four-by-eight foot platforms. Once constructed, the platforms would be transported to the cemetery, raised into position with ropes and pulleys and attached to the foremost trees of the woodland which ran alongside the cemetery’s western border. To the doctor's perturbation, they were only going to be raised to a height of ten feet.

“Why ten?” Pellinore asked out of earshot of the working men. “They can easily jump that high.”

“Ten is high enough,” Kearns said, waving off his concerns. He refused to elaborate further.

Anna was far more concerned with the weather. The full moon would be vital for their work, but the cloud cover hadn’t cleared. If anything, they had just gotten darker. There was a storm rolling in. By three in the afternoon, it was drizzling.

As for the constable, his mood seemed just as gloomy as the sky. He had to wipe his spectacles every two minutes to see properly, and the tobacco in his pipe was rendered unusable, dampened by the rain. Though his inability to smoke was the least of his worries.

“Pellinore, I’m concerned for the boys,” he stated at one point in the evening, nodding towards Malachi and Will Henry. “I say we either leave them at the church or send them back to your house-”

"To the contrary,” Kearns interrupted, “it serves my purpose.”

“...Perhaps you are right, Robert,” Pellinore acknowledged.

“I will not leave!” Malachi snapped. “I am not a boy, and I will not leave.”

“I won’t have it on my conscience, Malachi,” the constable replied.

“Your conscience?” Malachi shouted. “What of my conscience?!”

“Absolutely!” Kearns agreed with a devilish laugh. “You should have stayed in that room so it could rip your head off your shoulders after it was through tearing your little sister in twain. What kind of a brother are you?”

With a cry of rage, Malachi launched himself towards the well pleased doctor, and Anna had to grab him by the collar to prevent his wildly swinging fists from landing a blow.

“It is no use, Malachi,” Anna said. “Letting Kearns get under your skin will not bring Elizabeth back.”

“I failed her!” Malachi cried, falling back towards the monstrumologist’s wife. She startled, almost reluctant to touch him as he plunged into her arms, forcing her to hold him by the waist to keep him from collapsing into the wet ground. “It was my duty, my moral imperative, to keep her safe, and I failed her!”

“Why, I do not think my friend Annie would know anything of duty or moral imperative,” Kearns said, his eyes sparkling. “And anyway, this absurd notion of the immutability of morals is a wholly human construct, the fanciful invention of the herd. There is no morality save the morality of the moment.”

“I begin to see why you delight in hunting them,” Morgan said with disgust. “You’ve so much in common.”

“Why yes, Constable, that’s true,” Kearns agreed. “We are very much like them: indiscriminate killers, ruled by drives little acknowledged and less understood, mindlessly territorial and murderously jealous - the only significant difference being they have yet to master our expertise in hypocrisy, the gift of our superior intellect that enables us to slaughter one another in droves, more often than not under the auspices of an approving God!” He turned to Malachi. “So bear up, boy! You’ll have your revenge; you’ll redeem the ‘moral’ choice that tears your soul in twain. And tonight, if you meet your God, you can look him straight in the eye and say, ‘Thy will be done!’”

He spun on his heel and marched away, having a rare moment where his contempt for other humans wasn’t concealed under layers of irony. Morgan conspicuously spat on the ground.

“There, there, Malachi,” Anna sighed, hauling the teenager to his feet. “This is not the time to wallow in guilt and self pity.”

“You cannot keep me away,” Malachi said pitifully. “Nothing will.”

“And no one will,” Anna agreed. She turned to Morgan. “Constable, give the boy a rifle and find him a place.”

“And Will Henry?” Morgan balked. “Surely you’re not taking him.”

Pellinore and Anna exchanged a glance before looking towards Will Henry, as he stood there, putting on a brave face. Despite his insistence on coming, she could still see the apprehension in his big brown eyes.

“Don’t send me away, sir,” Will Henry pleaded with the doctor. “Please.”

Anna looked back towards her husband, waiting for his answer. Despite knowing it would be a yes, he caught her off guard with his words.

“Oh, Will Henry,” he said, a small, sad smile on his face. “After all we have been through, how could I send you away now, at our most critical hour? You are indispensable to me.”

Will Henry, not understanding the weight of those words, simply gave him a nod. “Thank you, sir. I will not let you down.”

“I know you won’t, Will Henry.”

The platforms were far too large and heavy to be transported by wagon, forcing Morgan’s men to carry them. As the evening gave way to twilight, the men hauled the set of platforms down the long lane to Old Hill Cemetery Road, and then another half mile to the main gates, where the men rested a moment before the final push to the same place the whole affair had started. The trees the platforms would be hung upon sat directly across from Eliza Bunton’s grave.

It soon became clear what Kearns had been doing earlier that morning. He was well acquainted with the land, having drawn up on a sheet of foolscap its exact dimensions, down to the location of each tombstone. In the area between Eliza’s grave and the woods, he had sketched a red circle, and given the ominous label of The Slaughter Ring.

The men worked in near silence, anchoring nails into the trees with cloth-wrapped hammers, and only communicating through hoarse whispers and hand signals. This was by design - Anna had warned them before they left the rectory that they were to make as little noise as possible; no more than necessary as they finished their duties.

“Though they are sound sleepers, hearing is their most acute sense. Even through several feet of dirt and stone, I fear they could detect our presence. The rain will be good for one thing, at least. It will soften the ground and hopefully muffle our noise.”

Anna wasn’t just concerned about the Anthropophagi hearing their activity, however - she wanted to be able to hear theirs. Any slight grunt or hiss would be the only indication of their approach, and it had been so subtle the last time that she wasn’t willing to take any chances.

While three men hung onto the ropes that kept the backs of the platforms against their anchor trees, the rest slid four-by-four braces into place along the front edge. Scrap pieces of wood were then nailed into the trunks of the two trees on either side to form makeshift ladders. Kearns then directed O’Brien and the two boys to unload his crates from the truck.

“Except for my box and bag. Leave them there for now; I don’t want them getting wet!”

Pellinore drew him aside, out of earshot of the laboring men and irritated constable, but Anna could still hear them quite clearly.

“I will probably regret asking this question,” he whispered, “but what is in the box?”

Kearns returned a look of mock astonishment at the doctor’s question. “Why, Pellinore, you know very well what’s inside that box.”

Anna knew too. She had since the night before.

Kearns strode over to one of the crates and pried off the lid. Packed inside, nestled in their own individual compartments, were a dozen black canisters, each about the size of a pineapple. Kearns removed one and called softly to Will.

“Here, Mr. Henry! Catch! Careful, don’t drop it!”

He tossed it to Will underhanded, and it hit the boy in the stomach. Will Henry comically juggled it before getting a good grip on it.

“What is it?” Will asked, surprised by the object’s heft.

“What is it?” Kearns parroted, teasing. “And you call yourself an assistant-apprentice monstrumologist! This is an indispensable tool of the trade, Mr. Henry. It’s a grenade, of course. Give that little pin there a pull.”

“Do not!” Anna and Pellinore hissed simultaneously.

“If you pull the pin, it will explode,” Pellinore elaborated. “Be very careful with it, Will Henry.”

Will looked down at the grenade with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Kearns said. “I was simply joking. Now, what do you say, Will? I’ll put you in charge of them. You can be my grenadier! Won’t that be grand? Be a good boy, now, and once they’ve that platform secure, you and Malachi can move them up.”

Kearns moved onto the second crate, which contained a length of sturdy rope secured to the end of a heavy iron chain. Next he withdrew a metal rod, around four feet long and two inches in diameter, pointed on one end and looped on the other. It looked like a gigantic sewing needle. The last thing he took out was a large mallet, the kind typically used to drive railroad spikes. He threw the rope over his shoulder, grabbed the hammer and spike, and beckoned Anna to follow him.

“What the devil is all of that for?” Morgan wondered aloud.

“To secure the bait,” Pellinore replied, his voice filled with disgust.

Anna reluctantly followed Kearns, being led to a spot about twenty yards away from the tree line. He knelt down on one knee in the wet earth, squinting through the thick mist to see the platform in the distance.

“Yes, that should be about right. Here, Annie, you’re quite strong. Do drive this stake for me. I need it just deep enough to hold. I will keep it steady for you - don’t you dare break my arm, or I will be forced to retaliate! An eye for an eye, as Hammurabi said.”

Anna took a deep breath, unable to believe she was participating in his games. But his words from earlier echoed through her head, almost taunting.

There is no morality save the morality of the moment.

Anna swung the hammer back, and with the deftness of a railroad worker, hit the top of the iron stake with enough force to send tiny fragments of metal shrapnel in every direction. The impact sent a ringing echo across the cemetery grounds, startling the men, whose heads all whipped in her direction. The sound reverberated through her eardrums, and she paused for a moment to regain her bearings. Kearns laughed up at her, delighted.

“Ah, that one rattled your brains in your skull, didn’t it? Not to worry, Annie, only two or three more should do it.”

Thrice more Anna raised the hammer and let it fall. Kearns kept a white knuckled grip on the stake. While he wasn’t showing it, he was clearly gritting his teeth, having to ride through the vibrations of the metal.

“That should do it,” he proclaimed as he stood up. “Do me a favor, Annie, give it a tug. No need to use all of your strength; pretend you are a feeble human woman and nothing more.”

The description sent a chill up Anna’s spine. Regardless, she did what the madman had asked of her, giving the stake a firm tug.

“That should do it! Now, how much do you weigh, Annie?”

Anna whipped her head around. “Excuse me?!”

“Don’t tell me you’re offended by such trivial things,” Kearns scoffed. “No matter. You’re about one and a half meters tall, correct? And the typical size for a woman your height. Ah, I’d say approximately nine stone, then? Yes, that will do. Here.”

He threaded the chainless end of the rope through the loop, tying it off with a complicated knot. He had Anna take the other end - the one with the chain attached - and walk towards the trees until the rope was taut.

“Give it a hard pull, Annie!” He called softly. “As hard as you can, this time!”

He stood and watched, one hand on his hip and the other caressing his thin mustache, watching the rod as the vampire pulled and strained upon it. If she really wanted to, she could break the chain, but it would have been a waste of time.

“A bit too long,” Kearns said. “Let up for a minute, Annie.”

He untied the knot then hiked up his pants leg, revealing a sheath strapped to his calf. From it he produced a bowie knife which he used to cut the thick rope as easily as scissors cutting through thread. He retied the now shortened rope to the rod.

“Now Anna, in the same crate, you’ll find three bundles of wooden stakes. Fetch them for me, would you?”

She could have argued or kicked up a fuss, but as she had with breakfast, she let the maid treatment roll off her back. Heading back down towards the platforms, Anna could hear the quiet but heated discussion between her husband and the constable.

“A full investigation!” Morgan said, jabbing his pipe stem towards the doctor’s chest as he spoke. “A thorough inquiry! I cannot be bound by guarantees made under duress, Warthrop!”

Will Henry approached the doctor’s wife, looking up at her expectantly. “What do you need, Mrs. Warthrop?”

“Ah, Will Henry, how convenient. Kearns sent me down here for three bundles of wooden stakes. Would you fetch them for me? They’re in the same crate as the rope.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Will trotted off towards the crate, and as she watched him, Anna was suddenly startled by the constable’s voice.

“Anastasia!”

His words weren’t loud, but they were still harsh, cutting through Anna to the bone. The blurry visage of her mother flashed through her head. She did not remember the woman's face, but her words and the way she said them still rang through Anna’s head clear as a bell over a hundred years later. She turned towards Morgan, her cheeks flushed red with anger and indignation.

“I’m sorry Robert,” she snapped back, her words dripping with venom, “but I did not realize we were on such close terms you would presume to call me by my Christian name.”

“Don’t speak to me in that tone,” the constable hit back. “Not when you are out there with that maniac helping him to devise a trap for some poor, unfortunate soul! One about the same size as you, if I were to hazard a guess!”

Pellinore was about to speak up and continue his own argument with Morgan, but Anna interjected, shooting a cold stare the constable’s way.

“I do not like it either, Robert. But just as I said earlier, this is a dark and dirty business. That includes not just these creatures, nor the act of hunting them, but also the men who are inclined to such a task. If I had a choice in the matter, Kearns would be in a coffin himself right now. But we have no such luxuries, so yes, I am helping him build his trap. If you cannot handle this, Constable, I suggest you go home to your wife and forget the matter entirely.”

Morgan looked entirely offended by her words, but Will Henry saved the day, walking over with his arms full of stakes.

“Are these the ones?”

“Yes, I presume so Will Henry. Come along, then. Here, I’ll take one of the bundles myself.”

They walked back together, the hushed argument between the constable and Pellinore picking back up as they left.

“Is he going to arrest us?” Will Henry asked.

Anna was taken aback, looking down at her ward with a raised eyebrow. “Whatever would make you think that?”

“The Constable sounds very angry. He wants someone to pay for this - I’m just afraid it may be us.”

Anna chuckled. “With what charge? Aiding and abetting Blemmeys? He can’t arrest us anymore than he can arrest Kearns, and while that certainly frustrates him, I would not worry. He is all talk - granted, after this ordeal he may never speak to the doctor again!”

When they reached Kearns, he was consulting his now soggy diagram and pacing off the dimensions in his so-called slaughter ring.

“Ah, Will Henry, how kind of you to join us! We certainly could use the extra set of hands. Here, Annie, this is how I would like them laid out.”

Kearns directed them to drive the stakes into the soil at four-foot intervals, until a nearly perfect circle had been marked out around as he had pictured. It was forty feet in circumference, with the metal rod serving as the centerpiece. Kearns admired it for a moment before clapping Will Henry on the shoulder.

“Excellent work! The Māori tribe who invented this method could not have done better.”

“You say the Māori invented this?” Anna questioned.

“Of course! I went to Pitt Island a few years ago and witnessed it for myself. Brutal practice, really. Brutal, but oh so very clever.”

The hunting party was sent back to the truck, each of the six men being equipped with a shovel. Kearns brought them over to the slaughter ring, where the grim-faced men awaited further instruction.

“Night falls sooner than we anticipated, gentleman.” Kearns said, his voice quiet but urgent. “Quickly now. Quickly - but as quietly as you can. Dig, gentlemen, dig!”

Using the ring of wooden stakes as a guideline, the men began digging a trench. The rain had picked up, saturating their clothes and hair, and Anna found herself wishing she had a hat. Will Henry was wearing the gray cap, having grabbed it that morning instead of his beloved little brown hat, which still sat in the library at home.

“Annie,” Kearns piped up. “A hand with my box, please.”

The time had come. As she helped him ease it off the back of the dray, Morgan watched, his spectacles dotted with drops of steady spring rain.

“Now then, this box. I would like to know precisely what you’ve got in it, Cory.”

“Patience, Constable, and you’ll know precisely what I’ve got… Easy, Annie! Set it down gently. Will Henry, grab my bag there, would you?”

Kearns unwrapped the mysterious package and pulled off the lid. It was just as everyone had suspected. All the color drained from Morgan’s face, and Pellinore let out a sigh of resignation.

Within the box, clothed in only a sheer white dressing gown, was a woman. She was around forty at most, but the years had not been kind to her. Her face was marred with smallpox scars, and her nose was bulbous and red from years of alcohol abuse. She was resting within the box much like a corpse, arms crossed over her breasts, and completely still. Anna would have thought she was dead if she did not take in a shallow breath. Around her neck, meant to attach her to the post Anna had just helped him hammer into the ground, was a tight metal band with a wide ring. A collar meant to keep her from running for her life.

“This is the bait?” Morgan asked, finally finding his voice.

“What would you have me use, Constable? A baby goat?”

“When you asked for immunity, you never mentioned murder!” Morgan pointed out, indignant.

“I didn’t kill her.”

“Then, where did you-?”

“It’s a woman of the streets,” snapped Kearns. “A common tramp with which the gutters of Baltimore are choked to overflowing. A piece of rum-besotted, disease-ridden filth whose death serves a purpose far nobler than any she achieved in her miserable, squandered life. If using her offends your sense of moral rectitude, perhaps you would like to volunteer to be the bait.”

Morgan turned to the Warthrops, panicked. “Surely there must be another way!”

Pellinore shook his head ruefully. “She is past all suffering, Robert. We have no choice now. It must be done.”

Anna stared at the bait’s face, taciturn. All she could see in her mind was the face of the beautiful woman who had held her hand. Kearns lifted her out of her coffin, carrying her over to the ring of slaughter.

“Will Henry,” he called softly over his shoulder. “The bag!”

Will Henry trotted after him, and Anna trailed a few paces behind, still unable to believe what she was witnessing. The men stopped what they were doing to stare in horror as Kearns passed. Kearns motioned for them to keep digging before setting the limp woman on the ground in front of the iron stake.

“She is alive, Kearns.” Anna said, watching him pull the rope from his bag to secure his hapless victim. “Do you intend to slaughter her like a pig?”

Kearns looked over his shoulder, annoyed at her objection. “I don’t see what you’re all so upset about. The Māori use virgin slaves, you know. Teenage girls! The savage brutes.”

He slipped the end of the rope he’d attached to the chain within the ring around her neck before giving it a firm tug. Her neck jerked in his lap.

“Good enough.”

The next step in Kearns’ “Māori Protocol”, as he so called it, involved two large barrels that the men were instructed to unload the moment they finished digging. The exhausted, mud-covered men looked even more grim than they had before as they emptied the contents of the barrels, one full of kerosene and the other full of crude oil, into the shallow trench. Once setup was complete, everyone huddled together on the platform to review their strategy.

“I shall take the first shot,” Kearns instructed. “You will wait for my signal to open fire. Aim for the area just below the mouth, or the lower back; anywhere else is just a flesh wound.”

“How much time will we have?” Asked one of the men.

“Less than ten minutes, I would venture, in this weather. More than enough time to get the job done, or this phase of it, anyway, but ten minutes will seem an eternity. Remember, there are only two conditions under which we abandon this platform: when our work is done or if our barrier is breached. Who is on the trench?”

The youngest man, called Brock, raised his hand.

“Good. Stay by my side and wait for the order - do nothing until I tell you! Timing is everything, gentlemen, once we’ve marked the scout… All right, then! Any questions? Any last-minute reservations? Anyone who’d like to bow out? Now is your time, for now is the time.”

Kearns bowed his head back, looking up towards the overcast sky. His blond hair was soaked dark, and his face dripped with rain, but he looked utterly alive. A large smile played on his lips as he spoke.

“The bloody hour has come.”

Chapter 7: An Angel

Chapter Text

The rainfall persisted, running down the leaves of the trees and spattering the group of hunters as they gathered near the edge of the platform. Everyone watched anxiously as Kearns made his way back over to the center of his slaughter ring, kneeling down next to his victim. With his back turned and the rain pouring, it was hard to make out either of their forms.

“What in the name of all that’s holy is he doing now?” Morgan asked.

“Nothing holy, I’m sure,” Anna said quietly, unable to tear her eyes away from the hunter.

Suddenly, the woman on the ground stirred violently, her legs kicking and fists grasping at the muddy ground beneath her. Kearns sat back, simply watching as she spasmed.

“Oh no,” Pellinore whispered.

It was too late to do anything but watch in horror as Kearns removed his bowie knife from its sheath. He grasped the handle of the knife in his right hand as he held the woman down firmly by her neck with the left.

“Warthrop,” Morgan growled. “Warthrop!”

There was no point in his contention. In one fluid motion, Kearns sliced through the woman’s torso from sternum to groin. Her shrieks and squeals of pure agony were the worse reminiscent of a pig's. Her knees grew weak, and she leaned forward on the side of the platform as they rang through her ears. They had split through the quiet night like a thunderclap, echoing around the trees and the tombstones. And they did not stop.

The woman rolled in Kearns’ direction in her writhing, reaching out as if the man who doomed her would be her salvation. He was already leaving, however, leaping to his feet and running back towards safety. He jammed the knife, still glistening with her blood, between his teeth and climbed up one of the makeshift ladders leading up to the platforms. Once he made it, he simply dropped the knife from his mouth straight onto the boards like a dog with a stick. Anna stared at him in disbelief. For a brief moment, she considered picking up her rifle and shooting him right between the eyes in the time it took for him to gather up his own. But she couldn’t even bring herself to move. She was shaking, she realized.

The woman continued to writhe and scream, blood and dirt covering her gown to the point it was no longer white. . Anna had heard humans plead for help before, but never in a way such as that. The noises coming her throat were animalistic, as if a more primitive part of her brain had taken over out of pain and shock. She had rolled onto her hands and knees by that point, straining against the collar around her neck, reaching desperately towards salvation. The chain that yanked her backwards snapped and rang with each violent lunge. She could see the group of horrified men right across from her, staring back in her direction, but nobody made a move to rescue her. It seemed they all had felt as helpless as she was

“Curse your black heart, Cory!” Morgan cried. “She’s alive!”

“I never said she wasn’t,” Kearns replied, glib as ever. “Spotters, what do you see? Look sharp! Mr. Henry, you too, look sharp now.”

Everyone but Kearns seemed to have forgotten what they were there for. Unlike the rest of the group, he remained undaunted, as if he was able to tune out such horrible wails. He took a familiar pose, the butt of his rifle resting on his shoulder and his eye looking through the scope.

Acid rose in Anna’s throat, as if her hatred was manifesting physically as bile. Or maybe she really did genuinely feel sick over what he had done. He had tasted her blood; a human who was a vampire in every sense but anatomically.

“Mrs. Warthrop,” Will Henry whispered. He was surprisingly steadfast considering the situation. “Do you see anything?”

He snapped her back to reality, and Anna finally relented to the horrors, looking through the scope of her rifle. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself, before concentrating on the graveyard in front of her. She had looked just in time. Through the haze of the rain, she could make out a shape, crouched low to the ground and moving through the stones in a zig-zag pattern. An Anthropophagus scout who had come to investigate what, to her, was the sound of a dinner bell.

“There,” Anna said, swinging her gun to point in the beast’s direction as it made its way towards the eastern boundary of the slaughter ring.

“Where?” Kearns whispered, whipping his head around. “Ah, there, I see it. Good work, Annie. Easy now, gentlemen, easy; this shot is mine.” He stood there, his back ramrod straight, his legs spread for balance, his finger caressing the trigger in preparation for his shot.

“Come, my pet,” he murmured. “Dinner is served.”

The Anthropophagus scout made it to the trench, rising to its full height. Even with bowed legs, it was well over six feet tall. The knuckles of its long arms nearly brushed the ground where it stood sniffing the air, its milk white skin slick with rain. Its teeth clacked together as it opened and shut its mouth, churning over its options. Surely, the beast was suspicious - it was wary of the bizarre moat that sat between it and the injured human. But bloodlust overrode every other instinct. It could not resist the siren song of easy prey.

In the span of a blink, it lunged forward with a savage roar, covering the distance between itself and the bait with astonishing speed. Once it was within thirty feet of the tethered, it raised herself into the air, claws outstretched, mouth agape, ready to pounce. It was at that moment that Kearns took his first shot.

The first bullet hit the beast right beneath its left eye. Losing momentum, it twisted in the air before falling shrieking to the ground, its wails of shock and agony rivaling even those of her prey. It reminded Anna of a baboon she had seen get shot in Tanzania when it got too close to their camp for comfort; its shrieks were inhuman, yet somehow familiar.

The Anthropophagus’ prey drive was stronger than the pain or any anger towards the hunter who caused it, however. It didn’t even turn in the direction of the shot. It scrambled to its feet, limping forward persistently, gnashing and snarling as it did so. The woman had been distracted from her own screaming by the sounds of the beast, and when she turned to face her doom, a look of utter terror crossed her haggard features. She screamed again, making an attempt to run. She reached the end of the chain, and her neck snapped back so hard that she stopped moving. Anna gasped, worried that the poor damsel had broken her own neck in her frenzy to escape.

Kearns took a second shot, this time hitting the scout in the upper thigh. It stumbled once again, letting out a defiant roar, but continued on. It was hyperfocused on the potential meal. A third shot to its other thigh finally grounded it. Its claws pulled up clumps of dirt as it writhed on the ground like a child throwing a fit, yowling and screeching so loudly that Anna’s ears began to ring.

Satisfied, Kearns lowered his Winchester. Morgan turned towards him, indignant.

“For God’s sake, what are you doing, man? Shoot it again! It’s not dead!”

“Fool,” Kearns snapped. “I don’t want it to be dead.”

Anna’s blood ran cold as she realized: the woman was just to bait the scout. The true bait was the wounded pod member, her agony loud enough for the entire town to hear, much less her sisters.

Below them, the woman remained silent and still, rendered unconscious by either her panic or just the sheer whiplash of being yanked backwards by her chain. Pellinore stared at her for a moment, before looking over at his wife. He didn’t have to say anything, she knew what he was thinking. She gave him a nod of understanding, grabbing her rifle so she could use it to cover him, just in case. They did not have long until the others got there, so they would have to act immediately.

Pellinore shoved past Kearns, picking up the discarded bowie knife. Will Henry watched with surprise as the doctor turned to him, calling for him with his legs already swinging over the side of the platform.

“Snap to!”

Anna jumped down after him, both of them landing in the mud at around the same time. Will Henry took the long way, clambering down the ladder before running after his masters. Anna couldn’t help but marvel at her husband as he ran ahead of her, leaping over the trench and skidding to a stop at the woman’s side. She joined him, Will Henry catching up not long after, his small chest heaving from the adrenaline and effort. He took a side glance at the beast which was no more than ten feet away, still crying out impotently towards the sky. She knew her family would soon be coming to her aid - and the boy knew it too.

Pellinore was unconcerned by this looming threat, instead focused on saving the woman’s life - if she even still had one. He rolled the damsel onto her back, pressing his fingers below her lower jaw.

“Not too late,” he said, raising his voice so he could be heard over the howling animal behind them.

He pulled out the knife, and in one fell swoop, he severed the rope from its tether. He slapped the knife into Will Henry’s palm before gathering the woman into his arms.

“Follow me!” He called to his companions.

The trio ran back towards the tree line, slipping and sliding on the grass, and hopped back over the oil-filled trench. They quickly made their way to the platform, where Pellinore rested the woman against the trunk of one of the trees. He leaned in closely to examine the wound on her stomach. Kearns peered at them from above.

“I wouldn’t tarry there too long,” he teased.

Anna looked up towards him, letting out a noise halfway between a huff of frustration and a hiss, but was distracted from her anger by Pellinore throwing his coat off. His shirt followed, buttons flying every which way as he ripped it off, gathering it up into a ball and pressing it to the woman’s stomach.

“Anna,” he said. “Keep pressure on her wound. I will go back up to assist with the extermination; we can arrange for her to be taken to the hospital afterwards. For now, you must do your best to keep her alive.”

Anna nodded, putting down her gun and moving her hands over. She slid them underneath his, and he held onto her for a moment, if only to show her how much pressure he wanted her to apply. Once her hands had satisfactorily replaced his, he pulled away, giving Will Henry his revolver and the knife.

“Cover her,” he instructed. “None should stray in our direction, but if one does manage to get close, you must kill it yourself. Can you, Will Henry? Can you?”

Will Henry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He was afraid - it was written all over his face. He also was shockingly brave for a child of his age, and just as loyal as his father ever was. So, he stayed, standing right by Anna’s side. Pellinore turned to leave, freezing as he noticed a figure standing nearby. Anna snapped her head up in alarm, but she quickly recognized the lanky teenage boy before them, his rifle clutched in his hands.

“I will stay with Will Henry,” Malachi proclaimed.

It wasn’t much longer until the Anthropophagi came. The ground erupted with them as it had just a few nights before. Their tunnel system extended under almost the entire graveyard, carved out just underneath the sleeping dead. They plunged out through the top of the earth, snarling and teeth gnashing as they swarmed towards the slaughter ring. There had to be at least two dozen of them, their territorial nature present in the aggressive threat displays they put on as they rushed in the direction of their fallen comrade. However, they all took pause at the edge of the ring, just as she had.

They sensed it as well - the looming threat. The unfamiliar smell of oil, the human men in their line of sight, the weapons pointing in their direction. If they were not so enraged, perhaps they would have retreated. However, their protective instincts were much stronger than their common sense, and as such, they would fall for the trap just as easily.

“Steady, lads!” Kearns called out. “Steady! Only only on my signal! Brock, are you ready?”

“Ready,” Brock confirmed.

Malachi got down on one knee beside Will Henry, raising his rifle. Will Henry clutched the doctor’s gun, staring in apprehension at the mass of beasts ahead of them. Anna stared them down as well, worried that the creatures might get the jump on them if Kearns hesitated just long enough. Beneath her, she felt the woman stir. Clammy hands clasped onto her wrists, and she looked over at the woman, who stared back uncomprehendingly.

“Who are you?” She choked out. “Are you an angel…?”

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” the vampire replied, a soft smile on her lips. “I am Anna.”

Kearns called out from atop the platform again, causing Anna to startle.

“Hullo, hullo, my pretties! Olly olly oxen free! The party’s over here!”

That was enough to send the beasts over the edge. They finally poured into the ring, fanning out into a hunting formation. Their black eyes glistened and teeth made a terrible clack clack clack as they snapped their jaws like rabid dogs.

“Drop the fire!” Kearns shouted, his voice strong and sharp.

Brock did as he said, launching a flaming rag towards the slaughter ring’s trench. It lit up in an audible burst of flames, causing the beasts closest to it to jump backwards in an almost comical fashion, turning the opposite direction only to find that side blocked as well. They did not even dare to try and jump over the fire, their primordial fear of it preventing them from making such decisions. Soon enough a five-foot ring of flame had trapped all of the Anthropophagi in the aptly dubbed Ring of Slaughter. All of them skittered and ran in circles in a blind panic, choking on the acrid black smoke and screeching as heat burned their delicate skin.

“Fire at will, gentleman!” Kearns commanded. He had to shout at the top of his voice to be heard over the sound of the spitting fire and screaming monsters.

Those sounds were quickly joined by loud pops of gunfire, and Anna hunched over the woman as the cacophony sounded around her, making her head hurt. Kearns’ victim seemed unaware of what was happening despite the chaos, her lids heavy and her breaths shallow. The only sign of her being remotely cognizant were her hands, still gently pressed over Anna’s. Her hands were cold, and muddy, as were Anna’s, but she seemed to find comfort in wrapping her own trembling fingers around the vampire’s long, bloody ones. Anna welled up with sadness at the gesture.

She realized, in that moment, that the blood had not set her off. Her predatory instinct had been completely overridden either by the novelty of the moment, the desperation of the woman’s cries, or even by the evil of Kearns’ actions. It simply had never occurred to her to feel hunger. Perhaps it was because she had fed very recently. Or, perhaps, it was something else. The human woman still inside of her proved she was still alive, awake and warm and longing for love. A tender flame that needed to be stoked gently; an opposite to the angry, acrid flames that were burning so close that she could feel the heat from them.

The awful din continued: gunfire, frightened cries, crackling fire, and the delighted shout of Kearns: It’s like shooting fish in a bloody barrel!

At some point, one of the men above her lobbed a grenade into the ring. The explosion rattled her, only being exasperated by the cries of the beasts as they were torn apart by shrapnel. She felt a hand on her back and turned to find Will Henry, who was still standing dutifully above her, the doctor’s gun clutched in his free hand.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Warthrop?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Just.. It’s loud. Very, very loud.”

“Yes, it is very loud,” Will Henry concurred.

The sky became black as pitch. The rain continued to fall. From beside them, a frustrated Malachi desperately tried to get a shot, but the wall of flames and sheer chaos within them hindered his ability to aim.

“Just one,” he said to himself, desperate to take revenge on the beasts who had torn his family to shreds. “Please, God, just one!”

His God had a sense of humor, it seemed, as his prayer would quickly be answered.

Whether it had been separated from the rest of the group when the ring of fire was lit, or had circumvented the slaughter ring altogether by taking a different path, a juvenile Anthropophagus had found its own way over to the troublesome humans invading its territory. Anna did not detect it, as she had been too preoccupied with her own thoughts and aching eardrums. Malachi, in fact, was the first one to notice it, having heard the creature crash through the bushes behind them.

The teenager spun around just in time to fire off a shot, the bullet nestling right between the cub’s eyes. It would have been an excellent shot if Anthropophagi anatomy wasn’t wildly different from that of their human cousins. The shot didn’t do much more than anger it, and it continued to lunge forward. Not having time to reload, Malachi thought on his feet, turning the rifle around and shoving the butt inside the monster’s mouth. The cub’s teeth instinctively clamped shut, instantly snapping the rifle in half like a toothpick. The blood running down its face stained its teeth red, making it look that much more intimidating as it sized up the human child. While the beast had to be around the Malachi's age - only thirteen at most - it was still much larger and heavier.

It lunged for Malachi, arms outstretched and claws mindlessly swiping in the direction of its prey, an imitation of its elders as opposed to an instinctual predatory response. Malachi stumbled backwards, losing his balance and falling into the dirt. Anna was scrambling to get her revolver out of its holster while still trying to keep a hand on the bleeding wound. Will Henry was able to get off a shot in the meantime, which ripped straight into the cub’s tricep and prevented it from tearing apart Malachi’s prone form. It whipped around, screeching in what was moreso defiant rage than pain. The cub scrambled forward across the wet leaves on all fours, knocking the gun out of Will Henry’s grip and tackling him to the ground. Malachi got up and followed, leaping onto the beast’s back in an earnest - if not misguided - attempt to save his friend.

It was Anna’s turn to fire off a shot. She wasn’t able to get much better aim than the other two. Her bullet struck the cub in its side. The wound sufficiently distracted it, causing it to sit up and writhe angrily, throwing Malachi off its back in the process. Its blank, inky eyes trained directly on the vampire. It could have easily leapt off of Will Henry and onto her, and it would have, had it not been from the boy’s cleverness. The juvenile Anthropophagus was not the only one who learned from his elders.

I watch, and I try to understand.

Just as Anna had several nights ago, Will Henry produced Kearns’ bowie knife from his belt, and with a defiant cry plunged it into the right eye of the cub. The beast screamed and thrashed, nearly shaking Will Henry loose, but the boy held tight, giving the knife a firm twist before going in for the other eye. Fountains of blood streamed from the empty sockets of the now blinded juvenile, and it stumbled backwards, swinging its claws in every direction.

Will Henry wasn’t done. He lunged for the Anthropophagus again, digging the blade into the injured animal’s brain. The Anthropophaugs cub immediately went rigid, its defiant cries silenced permanently. Will Henry stood up on shaky legs. Malachi stared up at him, mud and blood painting his narrow face.

“You’ve done it, Will Henry!” He cried, proud of his friend. “You’ve killed it!”

“I… I did,” Will Henry replied, unable to believe it. Still, he welled with pride, a junior monstrumologist who had just gotten his first prize. “I killed the damned thing! Did you see, Mrs. Warthrop?!”

Anna smiled from where she was kneeling, her hand still pressed to the woman’s wound. The helpless human had since lost consciousness, despite Anna’s best efforts to stem the bleeding.

“I saw, Will Henry. Good work.”

As Kearns had predicted, the affair was over in less than ten minutes. As the fire died down, Anna could see the writhing bodies of the mortally wounded from behind a curtain of jet black smoke. The gunfire ceased, and aside from the muffled cries of the dying beasts, all became eerily quiet. Still, her ears rang, and her head was pounding with a migraine.

Pellinore rushed down to check on them as soon as he could, taking pause when he noticed the dead Anthrpophagus on the ground in front of them. He stared in shock.

“What happened?!” He demanded.

“A juvenile snuck up on us,” Anna explained. “Will Henry killed it… He saved our lives.”

She smiled at the boy, who smiled back, basking in the glory of her praise.

“I shot it, and I stabbed out its eyes, and then I stabbed out its brain.” Will Henry proclaimed.

Pellinore’s wonder turned into soft amusem*nt. “That’s certainly an effective method.”

He knelt down beside Anna, checking the pulse of the injured woman.

“How is she?” He asked.

“Fading fast. We must get her to a hospital immediately.”

Pellinore nodded and went to fetch O’Brien. The deputy helped carry Kearns' victim to his dray, Anna holding the blood-saturated shirt to her wound the whole way there. They loaded her gently into the back.

“What do I tell the doctors?” O’Brien asked.

“The truth,” Pellinore answered. “You found her injured in the woods.”

As they returned to the platforms, Anna went back beneath them, retrieving the doctor’s discarded coat. It was still cold and raining, and his torso was still bare. She noticed how skinny he had become - she could see his ribs as he breathed. She pushed the coat towards him urgently.

“Put your coat back on! It’s freezing.”

He took the coat from her with a belligerent sigh. “Not that it will be of much use to me, wet and covered in mud.”

“You can take mine instead, if you so insist. The cold can’t hurt me the way it could you.”

To her surprise, the doctor’s cheeks blushed red. “No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you, Anna.”

After the doctor redressed, they joined the men at the edge of the slaughter ring. They were much less confident than they had seemed earlier that morning, shaken by their foray into monstrumology. The beasts they had hunted were nothing like they had ever seen before as Anna had promised. Pellinore leapt over the trench and into the center of the circle, with Will and Anna close behind. There they found Kearns, who was observing the tangled mass of dead and dying Anthropophagi. Their foul stench filled the air, almost drowning out the overwhelming scent of smoke.

“Warthrop, lend me your revolver,” Kearns said.

Will Henry handed the doctor’s gun to Kearns, who seemed deadly serious for once. He walked up to the body of a large female, nudging her onto her back with the toe of his boot. The beast let out a low hiss, swiping in his direction weakly. Kearns stuck the barrel of the gun just at the precipice of its jaws and pulled the trigger. The beast instantly fell completely limp. He did the same with another, which was whimpering in such a way that let him know it also still lived. Once he was sure all of the beasts were dead, he handed the doctor back his gun.

“Count them up, Warthrop. You too, Annie. We’ll compare numbers.”

Anna walked amongst the mass of corpses, doing her best to keep track. It was a large chunk of the pod - seemingly everyone save for the youngest cubs, and their alpha. She had a sinking feeling the Matriarch would not be there, to the point where her stomach flipped when she saw an Anthropophagus that was missing an eye. However, it was not her. It was simply the one Anna had injured a few nights prior. She swore to herself, rejoining Kearns and Pellinore at the edge of the circle.

“I counted twenty-eight.”

“My number as well,” Kearns agreed.

“What about the one under the tree?” Will Henry prompted. “The one I killed?”

“Oh yes, of course, Will. Twenty-nine, then. Most of the pod.”

“Certainly not all of them,” Pellinore pointed out.

Kearns’ eyes seemed to darken. “Yes. I assume three, perhaps four immature juveniles are tucked away someplace safe. That would bring us up to thirty-two or thirty-three.”

“Thirty-four,” Anna said grimly. “The Matriarch is not here.”

The others stared at her in disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” Kearns demanded. “I saw one matching her description; missing an eye just as you said.”

Anna shook her head. “That’s the same female who I injured upon our first investigation. I assure you, the Matriarch is not here… She is underground. Waiting for us.”

“You are under arrest, sir.”

Morgan’s voice was cold as ice as he addressed Kearns with all the authority he could muster. Kearns blinked at him coquettishly, as if the constable’s anger were a shock to him.

“On what charge?”

“Murder!” Morgan shouted, the mad surgeon successfully getting under his skin once again.

“She is alive, Robert,” Pellinore interjected. “At least, she was when she left.”

“Attempted murder! Kidnapping! Reckless endangerment! And.. and…”

“Hunting headless monsters out of season,” Kearns offered.

Morgan turned to the doctor, his cheeks turning bright with indignation. He was more furious than Anna had ever seen him, and she couldn’t help but think of the way owls clacked their beaks and puffed their feathers when they felt threatened as she watched him rant.

“Warthrop, I deferred to your judgment on this matter. I relied upon your expert opinion!”

“Well,” Kearns snapped. “The bloody beasts are dead, aren’t they?”

“I should suggest you save your self-serving statements for the trial, Mr. Kearns.”

“Doctor,” Kearns corrected.

“Dr. Kearns.”

“Cory.”

“Kearns, Cory, I don’t care!” Morgan cried, exasperated. “Pellinore, did you know what he intended? Did you know beforehand what was in that box?”

“I wouldn’t answer that if I were you,” Kearns warned. “I know an excellent attorney in Washington. I’ll give you his name, you like.”

“No,” Pellinore replied without hesitation. “I did not know, but I suspected.”

“I am no more responsible for their diet than I am for them being here,” said Kearns. “But I understand, Constable. This is the thanks I get. You are a man of the law and I am a man of…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. “You hired me to do a job and made certain promises contingent upon my completion of it. I only ask that you allow me to finish it before you renege on our contract.”

“We had no contract!” Morgan began, but the hunter’s words quickly sank in, taking the wind out of his sails. “...What do you mean, ‘finish it’?”

“There is a strong possibility there are more,” Pellinore said carefully.

“Not strong,” Anna interrupted, not caring about protecting them from the constable’s wrath. “There are more. We are missing the dominant female; she is still in hiding with her brood.”

“Brood?” Morgan cast his eyes wildly about, expecting at any moment for their missing poppies to erupt from the ground and snatch him. “Just where are they hiding, Mrs. Warthrop?”

Anna cast her eyes from her husband, who was gazing at her, his thick brows furrowed, then back over to the alarmed constable. Kearns’ smile returned to his face, and he stroked his mustache with his fingers, smugly anticipating the fallout from Anna’s big reveal. He clearly suspected the same thing - perhaps he had found it himself upon his early morning survey of the graveyard.

“I will show you when the time comes,” Anna finally answered. “Though none of you will like it.”

Before they could continue their extermination, there was the matter of the bodies already piled up on the surface. Kearns thanked the volunteers for their extraordinary performance, comparing them to Wellington’s troops at Waterloo, before assigning them one more dark task. They had to dispose of the corpses of the beasts that had been slain. They were dragged into a large funeral pyre, Will Henry and Malachi helping by hauling over the juvenile that Will had dispatched under the platforms. The mound of bodies was soaked in the last remaining accelerant.

Kearns lit a match, observing the orange flame in his fingers for a moment as he regarded the slain monsters before him.

“Requiescat en pace,” he said quietly.

Kearns flicked the match onto the pile of corpses, and they instantly ignited, sending flames licking towards the still overcast night sky. The smell of burning flesh instantly hit Anna’s nostrils, and she took out her handkerchief, clutching it over her nose and mouth. The group stood in silence as they watched the monsters burn. Next to her, she felt fingers brush hers lightly. Will Henry. As always, he seemed as just afraid of asking for her maternity as she was giving it. The reflection of the fire was dancing in his eyes, and illuminated a solitary tear that escaped down his face. Was that how he stood two years before? Watching everything he loved be consumed by unforgiving fire, including his own mother and father?

Anna took his small hand, clutching it firmly, grounding him back in the present. It was just as unpleasant as his past, but he was not alone. He had his surrogate parents - ones he never asked for, and had shouted at the top of his lungs that he hated just days before. But they were all he had. What a cruel joke! She almost let out a mirthless laugh at the thought.

Malachi appeared on her other side, brought back to his own tragedy by the pyre as Will Henry was. He looked down at the Monstrumologist’s wife with a gravitas that made him appear years older than he actually was.

“Is it true what you said, Mrs. Warthrop? About there being no such thing as justice?” He looked back at the fire, his jaw clenching as he attempted to hold back the tears straining the back of his throat. “Because I don’t feel anything. Nothing at all.”

Anna didn’t answer. Mainly because the answer was 'Yes, Mr. Stinnet, there is indeed no such thing.' Even she realized that would be a reductive thing for him to hear. She didn’t have the heart to lie and assure him he would get his, as lying was the worst form of buffoonery, and she did not want him to believe her like one.

The fire went out rather quickly, leaving a pile of blackened bodies in the middle of the slaughter ring. The rain still drummed down from the sky, though that didn’t matter to the weary hunters, who had already long since become soaked. Anna had shed her coat and rolled up her sleeves. She had no facade to maintain. Pellinore addressed the group, his expression stern.

“Our work is not yet done, gentlemen. There is one who has gone into hiding, taking with her the most vulnerable members of her brood. She will defend them to her final breath with a ferocity far exceeding any you’ve witnessed here tonight. She is their mother, the Eve of her clan, and its unrivaled ruler; the most cunning and vicious killer in a tribe of cunning and vicious killers. She has risen to her supremacy through the power of her unerring instincts and indomitable will. She is their heart, their daemon, their guiding spirit. She is the Matriarch - and she is waiting for us.”

“Well then let her wait, I say!” Morgan interrupted. “We’ll seal her off and starve her out. There’s no need to go after her.”

Pellinore shook his head at the suggestion. “There must be dozens of hidden apertures to their dens. Finding them all would be a hopeless task. Miss one, and our efforts would be for naught.”

“We’ll set round the clock patrols,” Morgan persisted. “Sooner or later she must come out, and when she does-”

“She will kill again,” Pellinore finished for him. “Those are the odds, Robert. Are you willing to accept them?”

“So that is your suggestion?” Morgan said, throwing his hands up. “Go underground to hunt her down?”

“If you are so inclined, Constable,” Anna said, crossing her arms over her chest, “I can crawl down there and dispatch her by myself. Either way, the doctor is right - if we do not stop her now, while she is at her most vulnerable, she will kill again. There will be no second chance. She is at her most vulnerable; all of her attention right now is being focused on protecting her cubs. We shall have no finer opportunity. If she is able to escape and find a new territory, we will end up having to repeat Kearns’ 'Māori protocol' all over again. We must hunt her down here tonight. We have no choice.”

“Hunt her down, you say. Very well. How? And where? Where is this mysterious entrance you have been hiding from us, Mrs. Warthrop?”

Anna balked. “I have been hiding nothing from anybody!”

Kearns chuckled, his white teeth glimmering like a shark’s in the lamplight. “Oh, Annie. The time for protecting your darling doctor’s feelings is over! Please, lead the way to their front door. I insist.”

Anna turned her head away from the men and towards the top of Old Hill Cemetery where the Warthrop mausoleum sat. Within those alabaster walls laid all but one of the Warthrop clan, along with their darkest secret.

“You say that as if I have a choice,” she replied grimly.

Anna indeed led the way up to the looming building. Behind her were the two doctors, the constable, and the boys. The constable’s men also followed, flanking the small hunting party just in case the Matriarch decided to leap out from out of the shadows. Or worse yet, in case they were caught by a hapless citizen.

“Are you addled, woman?!” Pellinore demanded as they trudged uphill, eliciting a sigh from Anna. “What could possibly be up there?!”

“This is where the trail I followed the other day led to, as I told you!” Anna snapped back. “You are the one who is addled, Pellinore; your love for your father blinds you to the truth!”

“This is more than just my father! You are damning my legacy, my entire family history! This mausoleum houses everyone from my mother to my great-great-grandfather, and you dare to tarnish it with foolish conspiracies?”

“It is not a conspiracy!” Anna snarled. “My nose does not lie. The tunnels are connected to the surface, and it is through here. I did not see a door, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“I have never seen a door either!” Pellinore snapped back. “That is exactly my point, Anastasia - we will find nothing there but the dead.”

They reached the entrance, where Kearns had already been standing. He had trudged further ahead as the Warthrops were slowed down by their argument, amusem*nt lining his features as he watched the lovers quarrel. Anna clenched her fists, making a point of shoulder-checking him as she passed.

“Go to Hell, Jack,” she hissed, her voice echoing off the walls of the old mausoleum.

Kearns laughed and trailed in after her, slowing his pace so he fell into step beside her. “Come now, Annie. Let’s make your blithering fool of a husband eat his words, shall we?”

The mausoleum was large, and split into two separate sections. Kearns took to the right, while Anna went to the left, running her fingers along the smooth, cold marble as she passed. She still smelled the faint stench of rotten fruit, and though it taunted her so, she could not find the exact source. She looked for a sign of anything that could indicate some sort of hidden door. The sounds of footsteps echoed through the mausoleum, and she could also hear the constable nervously sucking on his empty pipe. The rain outside drummed against the roof, giving the whole building an eerie ambiance. Even her heavy sigh carried loudly through the air. She paused to examine the wall of bodies, names of those long past chiseled into the slabs. Many of the spots remained empty, waiting for future Warthrops to reside in them. There would not be anymore, however. Despite his desperation to maintain his family’s legacy, the Warthrop line would certainly end with Pellinore.

Once Anna and Kearns had given up their respective searches, they met up once again by the entrance. Pellinore was unable to hide his grim satisfaction.

“As I said,” he commented.

Anna rubbed her forehead. “It doesn't make any sense. I can smell them.”

“It is the most logical choice,” said Kearns. “Small risk of trespass, well out of sight of prying eyes, a ready excuse if someone should happen to see him. Chosen for the same reason he picked the cemetery for their pen in the first place.”

“I’ve been here more than once,” Pellinore insisted. “I would have noticed.”

“Well, I doubt he would have hung up a sign over the door,” Kearns replied sardonicly. “Here there be monsters!”

Anna’s eyes trailed over the shiny brass plaque that was displayed on the wall across from them. It was emblazoned with the Warthrop family crest, but attached to the bottom of the plaque was something else: an ornate silver W. It seemed off to her.

“Hold on… what is that?”

She pointed to the W, but Pellinore misread the gesture.

“That would be the family crest,” Pellinore replied dryly.

Anna approached the crest, taking out her bowie knife. She slipped the tip under the W, attempting to leverage it away from the stone wall, but that effort proved futile. It was not meant to pop off like that.

“What are you doing?” Pellinore demanded.

Anna ignored him, putting her knife back in the sheath on her hip before she continued to stare at the emblem. She placed a hand on her chin for a moment, examining it intently. Kearns came up behind her, equally curious.

“Now what is that? A handle?”

“I don’t think so,” Anna said. “Unless…”

She grasped the letter in her hand, turning it counterclockwise the way she would a door knob until the W was upside-down. It locked in place, now an M.

Kearns let out a delighted chuckle. “Alistair Warthrop, you clever devil! Now, what in the world would M stand for, hmm?”

Anna looked up at him, her mouth slightly agape with disbelief. “Here there be monsters.”

She tugged on the bronze plaque, causing it to pop open and reveal a small recessed chamber. Mounted within it was a clock, its hands frozen at midnight.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Kearns breathed as he peered over Anna’s shoulder. “Of all places to put a clock! What do the dead care of the time?”

“What do they care?” Morgan echoed, his voice barely a whisper.

Anna stood on her tiptoes, reaching in and moving the minute hand. She tilted her head, listening to the hand click along a track as she moved it to a quarter past.

“They don’t,” Anna mumbled. “This isn’t a clock, it’s a lock. A puzzle lock at that!”

Anna moved the minute hand back to twelve before attempting to push on the stone wall with both hands. Despite her best efforts, it wouldn’t budge.

“This is ridiculous!” Pellinore cried. “We are wasting precious time!”

Anna thought for a moment. “Not time. It wouldn’t necessarily be an actual time of day - it must be a number, or a date. One that had significance to him. Perhaps…?”

She moved the hour hand to eleven, then the minute hand to eight, and tried to give the stone slab another mighty push. Well, it wasn’t Pellinore’s birthday then. Not that it would have any significance to the man who ignored him for years!

Margaret’s then? She tried 5:23, the date of her birth, then 8:19, the date of her death. Neither worked. It was then she remembered the old man’s diary.

“Wait, Warthrop was a religious man. It could be a Bible verse or a psalm, then. Er, Malachi, what’s a famous psalm?”

The teenager happily joined in on the puzzle, bounding over to stand at her other side. “Psalm twenty-three?”

“Not enough hours,” Morgan argued.

“Might be military time,” Kearns suggested. “Try 8:23, Annie.”

She did, and this time all three pushed against the slab, but it did not budge.

“John 3:16,” Malachi suggested next. Still nothing.

“Pellinore?” Anna called over her shoulder. “What year were your parents married? Or I could try the year you were born, I suppose, or the year that she passed…”

“Or the year she was born,” Morgan huffed, “or ther year they met, or any other number of combinations for your lock! It’s hopeless, Anna.”

“...The witching hour.”

Pellinore’s voice caught her by surprise, and she turned around to face him. The sadness in his eyes was palable, and made her stomach twist. She was so angered over the denial of the truth that she’d forgotten how painful it was for him to come to terms with it.

“The witching hour approaches,” he continued. “From my father’s diary: ‘The witching hour approaches… The hour comes, and Christ himself is mocked.’”

“Midnight?” Kearns asked. “But we tried that.”

“The witching hour is an hour past that,” said Morgan. “One o’clock.”

Anna wasn’t sure of that, but tried it anyway. The stone slab still not move.

“What did he say again?” Anna asked. “‘The hour when Christ himself is mocked’?”

“After his trial he was mocked by Roman soldiers,” said Malachi.

“What hour was that?”

Malachi shrugged his skinny shoulders. “The Bible doesn’t say.”

Pellinore finally stepped forward, right behind Anna, his dark eyes concentrating on the clock. He drummed his fingers on his chin, observing the puzzle lock as if he were examining a corpse on a table and not the contraption his father created to hide his damnable experiments.

“Not mocked by soldiers,” he said slowly. “By witches. The witching hour is three a.m., in mockery of the Trinity and a perversion of the hour of his death.” He drew a deep breath and nodded towards his wife. “It’s three o’clock, Anna. I’m certain of it.”

Anna set the hour to three. She could hear the tumblers inside click, and before she could even try to move the slab, Pellinore reached out past her and pressed his palm against the rock. With a groan loud enough to wake the dead around them, the heavy stone door slid straight backwards, creating an opening wide enough for them to walk through. The stench of death and fetid fruit instantly wafted towards Anna’s nostrils, stronger than ever.

She found no satisfaction with being right. Not when Pellinore had been crying in her arms over his father’s misdeeds just the night before. Instead, she looked up at him, his weary gaze meeting hers. She had a million things she wanted to say, but no words would come out. Not there would be anything to soothe the pain in his soul at that moment. They just stared at each other silently, a conversation with no words. She was sorry. And so was he.

“Well then!” Kearns said, snapping the couple out of their moment. “Shall we draw lots to see who goes first?”

Malachi pulled the lamp Will Henry was holding out of his hand. “I will go. It is my place; I’ve earned it.”

Kearns pulled the lamp from Malachi’s hand. “It is my place; I’m being paid for it.”

Pellinore pulled the lamp from Kearns’ hand. “The place is mine. I inherited it.”

He looked towards Morgan, who gazed back at him warily, having misinterpreted his words. He placed a hand on Will Henry’s shoulder.

“I’ll look after Will Henry, then.”

Before either Kearns or Malachi could protest, Pellinore ducked into the opening, the light of the lamp fading as he walked further into the pitch dark tunnel. Anna did not even bother to look back before following him in.

The passageway wasn’t very long. It took them less than a minute to get to the end, where Pellinore held the lantern high, illuminating what lay below them: stairs. A narrow, winding staircase that led down into the hidden chambers under the graveyard. Pellinore closed his eyes, clenching his fist at his side. He had nowhere to place his anger - nothing to throw, nothing to hit or overturn. Instead, he just stood there, his eyes squeezed shut, only being held together by the last of his composure.

“Pellinore…” Anna said carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. I will take care of it.”

“No.” Pellinore brushed her hand away gently. He looked down at her, his eyes backlit with their usual intensity . “This is my inheritance, my burden to bear. I will be going down with you.”

And so the sins of the father had come to rest upon the shoulders of his son.

Chapter 8: A Father’s Sins

Chapter Text

Once they found their way in, no time was wasted. Kearns called for his weapons crate to be brought up to the mausoleum. It still contained extra ammunition, the remaining grenades, a bag of sachets, rope, and a bundle of what appeared to be dynamite.

“What is that, Cory?” Morgan asked, pointing at the bundle.

“Good Lord, don’t tell me you got your hands on dynamite!” Anna exclaimed.

“Dynamite?” Kearns asked. He smacked his forehead, frustrated with himself. “Dynamite! Now, that is something I should have thought of! No, these are long-burning flares, Annie. Bright light for dark work!”

He used sacks to make several bundles of supplies, each containing two grenades, some bullets, a fistful of the paper packets, and a few of the flares.

Malachi was quick to snatch a bag from Kearns. “I am going.”

“Your zeal is admirable,” said Kearns, ‘But I worry about its effect upon your judgement.”

“I watched this thing murder my sister. I am coming with you.”

Kearns beamed, his smile lighting up the dark mausoleum. “Very well. But if your bloodlust gets in the way of my job, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

He turned to the rest of the group, his eyes still sparkling. Anna swore they changed color depending on his mood; one minute they’d be that warm gray, and the next they would be blacker than coal.

“She has every advantage, gentlemen. She is faster, stronger, and what she lacks in intelligence she more than compensates for with her cunning. She knows the lay of the land, whereas we do not, and she can navigate it in darkness as black as pitch, which of course we cannot - for the most part.” He shot Anna a wink before continuing. “We’ve no choice in the matter, of course, but the light we bring announces our presence; it will draw her to us like a moth to the flame. Her only weakness is the overriding instinct to protect her young, a vulnerability we may be able to exploit, should we be lucky enough to separate them from her maternal care.

“When threatened in the wild,poppiessequester their young to the lowermost chambers of their underground dens. That’s our destination, gentlemen, the very bowels of the earth, though we might not reach them; she may meet us halfway, or she may simply wait for us, but the odds we will have the element of surprise on our side are practically nil: We are the hunters - and we are also the bait.”

Finishing his speech, he turned to the constable. “You and your men will remain above, two on patrol of the cemetery’s perimeter, two for the grounds, and two on watch here. She may flee to the surface, but I sincerely doubt it. It isn’t in her nature.”

“And if she does?” Morgan asked with a nervous quiver in his tone.

“Then I would suggest you kill her.”

Morgan’s owlish eyes shot Kearns a withering look, to which the mad surgeon responded with another radiant smile. He clapped his hands together, the echo reverberating through the building.

“Jolly good, then! Any questions? Fools rush in, you know. Will Henry, be a good lad and grab that rope.”

The constable frowned. “I thought it was just going to be you, the Warthrops, and Malachi.”

“Only as far as the door, Constable,” said Kearns. “To save us a trip back up for it. Your concern is touching, though. Here.” He kicked the bundle of rope across the floor towards Morgan. “You carry it.”

Morgan stared at the rope, dropping his hand from Will Henry’s shoulder. “Well… I suppose it would be alright, as long as it’s only to the door.”

“Touching,” Kearns said. “Very well, then. After you, Pellinore.”

The hunting party filed through the dark tunnel, Pellinore and his bobbing light leading the way. Right behind him was Anna, followed by Kearns and Malachi, with Will Henry lagging behind as he hauled the heavy coil of rope on his shoulder.

They descended down the winding stairs, a set of thirteen leading down to another set of thirteen, until they made it to the cramped chamber at the bottom. It was deep underground, the ceiling of it reinforced by dirt, and Anna couldn’t help but worry how well the scaffolding would hold up.

“You said there was a door,” Malachi whispered. “Where is it?”

“We are standing on it,” Pellinore replied.

Beneath their feet was a wooden trapdoor, held shut by a rusted padlock. Malachi observed the padlock with a thoughtful frown.

“And there is no key?”

“Of course there’s a key,” said Kearns. “We just aren’t in possession of it.”

“On the contrary,” said Anna.

Tucked away in her pocket was what she now realized was the key to the trapdoor. She took it out and Pellinore stared at her, astonished.

“I’m sorry,” she immediately apologized. “I did mean to tell you. But you were still deep within your emotions about your father - even if I would have told you, I cannot say what you would have done with the information at the time. Here.”

She handed him the small key, which he stared at with wonder. “Anna, where did you find this?”

“In the head.”

“The bathroom?”

“No, dear. Theshrunkenhead.”

“Ah,” said Kearns, snatching the key right out of Pellinore’s palm. “Annie, clever Annie! There’s a reason Warthrop brings you everywhere, hmm?”

He crouched down beside the lock, sliding the key inside. The rusted old tumblers reluctantly turned, and the lock popped off with a loudclick. He quickly threw open the door, and it fell to the floor with a resoundingcrashthat startled the men still waiting above them A putrid smell hit Anna’s nostrils; stagnant blood and decomposition. All but Malachi were used to such stenches, and he reacted accordingly, retreating to the corner of the room. He doubled over, clutching his stomach and retching, the smell overwhelming him to the point Anna thought he might pass out.

The constable and one of his men, Brock, came charging down the old wooden steps, at the very least brave enough to aid the hunting party at the smallest indication of trouble. They appeared in the chamber, revolvers clutched in trembling hands as they tried to make sense of what they were looking at. The smell hit Morgan quickly, and he went from worrying about their safety to worrying about his nose.

“Dear God!” He cried, searching through his pockets for a handkerchief. “What the devil isthat?”

“The devil’s manger,” Pellinore replied grimly.

He took his lamp and knelt down next to the trap door, daring to reach his arm inside in an attempt to illuminate its contents. Even Anna couldn’t see to the bottom; it was just a seemingly drop endless down a smooth, cylindrical path.

“Clever,” Kearns mused. “Drop the victim into the hole, and gravity does the rest.”

He took out one of the flares and lit it. The bright blue glow was nearly blinding, and Anna shielded her eyes as he dropped it down the shaft. It bounced the walls, dropping ten feet through the chute and even further still to the floor below, where it came to rest on the lower chamber’s floor. Everyone crowded around, even those sensitive to the unholy smell morbidly curious as to what lay below.

It was a graveyard beneath the graveyard. The remnants of what must have been hundreds of bodies were strewn about on the floor, all of the remains skeletonized and all of them torn to shreds before death. Bone fragments and whole pieces that managed to make it out unscathed, their various shapes and sizes indicating the various ages and genders of those thrown into the pit. Intact skulls stared up at them, their mouths agape, frozen in screams that had long since been silenced.

“‘Through me the way to the suffering city…’” Kearns murmured to himself. “Through me the way to the eternal pain…’”

“‘Abandon every hope, ye who enter here.’” Anna finished, her voice somber.

“There must be hundreds of them,” Morgan said through his handkerchief.

“Six to seven hundred, I would guess,” said Kearns dispassionately. “An average of two to three victims a month for twenty years, if you wanted to keep them fat and happy. It’s an ingenious design: The fall would more than likely break their legs, lowering their odds of escape from extremely doubtful to impossible.”

He stood to his full height, slinging a bag over his shoulder. His excitement was palpable, his eyes shining bright in the lamplight, and his cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

“Well gentlemen, duty calls, yes? Constable, if you and Mr. Brock here would hold the rope for us, I think we’re ready. Are we ready, Annie? Pellinore? I’m ready. I’m practically giddy with anticipation: Nothing gets my blood up like a bloody good hunt!”

Anna could tell. She could hear his heart thudding, the blood bringing color to his cheeks. For a moment, a dark part of her contemplated just eating the bastard. But that would cause more problems than it would solve, so her rational mind took back control quickly.

“We’ll need our lamps lowered to us once we’re down, Constable - don’t want to waste the flares. So who is going first? Very well!” He did not wait for a volunteer, grabbing the rope himself. “I will! Hold tight now, Constable, Mr. Brock; I fancy walking upright like a proper bipedal mammal.”

Kearns dropped the rope into the hole, swung his legs over the edge, and scooted along on his backside until he was teetering over the lip of the entrance. He took the rope and both hands and looked up at the Warthrops, his demeanor cheerful as ever.

“Pellinore, Annie, I shall see you in Hell-! I mean, at the bottom.”

With a wink and a flash of a smile, he dropped down into the hole.

The rope moved to and fro as Kearns lowered himself downwards, hand over hand, surprisingly careful for such an excited man. His feet hit the floor with a sickeningcrunchas bones were crushed under the soles of his boots. He looked eerie down there, the light from the crackling flare making his shadow dance and jerk over the gruesome scenery.

“Next!” Kearns called up softly.

Malachi immediately grabbed onto the rope, his eyes filled with fiery determination. He turned to Will Henry, giving him a sharp nod.

“I’ll see you soon, Will.”

He lowered himself into the pit, soon disappearing from view. Once the rope went limp, Pellinore grabbed it, preparing for his descent. He looked over at Will Henry, who eyed him nervously. Was he hoping Pellinore would ask him to stay, or to follow him into the abyss?

“Wait for us here, Will Henry,” Pellinore instructed. “Don’t leave until we return.”

“Yes, sir,” said Will Henry, tears welling up in his calf-like eyes. “I will wait right here for you, sir.”

Assured by this, Pellinore began to lower himself into the chambers below. The rope went limp. Anna stared at it for a moment, realizing in that moment she was a bit nervous. The dark pit beneath her feet was a testament to her father-in-law’s madness; a breeding and nesting ground for creatures pulled straight from humanity’s most primal fears. One of the creatures had nearly taken her head off right her shoulders. Hell, even that juvenile could have easily overtaken her in her vulnerable state, if not for her young assistant’s tenacity.

“Mrs. Warthrop,” Morgan called to her from the other end of the rope. “Are you not going?”

Anna straightened her back. “Of course I am. Just give me a moment.”

She turned to her young ward, a sad smile on her face. She reached towards him, adjusting the slightly oversized cap so it sat on his head correctly.

“Do not worry, Will Henry,” she said. “We shall return to you very soon.”

She slowly sat down on the edge, grabbing the rope. She stared into the pit below; flickering shadows and the stench of death greeting her as her feet dangled into the chute. She took a deep breath and maneuvered her body so that her hands were tightly holding the rope and her feet anchored her against the wall. She did not want to jump; not just for the sake of keeping up appearances in front of the human men above her, but also for the sake of not tumbling into the decades of carnage.

“I shall see you on the other side, my friends,” she proclaimed, before lowering herself into the pit.

Anna landed with a softthudon the floor of the chamber, the putrid scent of decay swallowing her as she did. She stepped away from the rope, bones crunching beneath her feet as she did so. It was impossible to avoid them; they were scattered everywhere. It was like the scene at the Stinnet house, increased a hundredfold in its sheer human toll. She looked towards Pellinore, who guided her forward. The party of four stood in the middle of the feeding room, the bright flash of the flare continuing to cast ghastly shadows along the walls. Looking around her, she realized the chamber wasn’t very large, at only about fifty meters in circumference.

Around the walls were the same wooden beams that had been supporting the upper floors, bending and straining under the weight of dirt and slowly decaying in the humidity. They were covered in scratches and gouges - not just from the beasts living there, she realized. Many of the clawmarks looked disturbingly human. She realized that some of the unfortunate souls thrown down there had not been left completely broken on impact, as Kearns had hypothesized. Those who remained ambulatory had thrown themselves at the walls, trying to claw their way back up to safety, desperate as they heard the hisses and grunts of impending doom. They were mice in a bucket, trying to desperately climb their way up the sides as a merciless hand lowered towards them.

The ground that wasn’t littered with bones was soft and pliable, the heels of her boots nearly getting sucked into the muck as she walked. Fluid bubbled up around the impressions of her feet - she thought there had to be an underground water source nearby. Damn that clever bastard! He even took into account their need to get fresh water without ever leaving the man-made cave system. How long had he been planning this? Did he have it mapped out in excruciating detail? No wonder he had burned everything before he died. He wasn’t just a man who was scorning everything he was, but a man trying to cover up the horrific crimes he had committed.

However, the flashing light was playing tricks on her eyes. When she looked closer, and allowed her nose to tune in, she realized the liquid pooling around her feet was not water, but a dark sludge. Blood and decomposition fluids had accumulated over the years, and with nowhere else to go, had completely saturated the dirt. They were standing in a swamp of blood.

A hand grabbed her arm, and she startled for a moment, only to realize it was just Pellinore. She looked up at him, shadows from the flare highlighting the sharp features of his face. He was stoic as ever, his eyes refusing to betray any shame or disgust he might have felt in that moment. Kearns let out a whistle, motioning towards them.

“Come then, lovebirds,” he said, his voice quiet but coy. “Into the belly of the beast we go.”

At the other end of the chamber was the entrance theAnthropophagitook; a seven by six foot tunnel that opened into the yawning darkness. The men above had since lowered down some lanterns, and Malachi handed them out, each member of the party taking one before they continued their journey deeper into the tunnels.

It did not take them long to encounter an obstacle, however. Twenty yards in, the tunnel ended, a wall of debris blocking off the path. Whether it had been created by accident or design, there had been a complete collapse, sealing off the feeding chamber with a pile of broken earth and shattered timber. Kearns tutted in frustration, hands on his hips.

“Dynamite, dynamite…” he muttered to himself. “I wish I would have brought some bloody dynamite.”

“Wait, look!” Malachi said urgently to his companions. He squatted down, pointing to a narrow opening in the rock. “It looks like there’s a little pathway here. Perhaps one of us could squeeze our way through to the other side?”

Kearns smirked at that. “Yes, or perhaps we could dig through like moles.”

Malachi huffed softly. “Well I think I could fit. I’ll go through and try to find another way around.”

With that, he attempted to squeeze his body through the passage. However, despite how slender he was, his shoulders ultimately proved to be too broad. He became stuck, and the Warthrops had to pull him out by the ankles. He slumped on the floor in defeat.

“Do you think anyone else could fit…?”

“Why of course not!” Kearns said sardonically. “I wouldn’t even venture to try. And Pellinore?” He clapped a hand on his companion’s shoulder, much to the doctor’s chagrin. “Skinny as he is, he still has collarbones! He wouldn’t make it past the shoulders either.”

“What about the doctor’s wife, then?” Malachi insisted.

Anna stared at the teenager, perturbed. “Whataboutme, boy? Do you take me for? I’d rather spend the rest of the night digging our way through with our bare hands!”

“Anna,” Pellinore began, making her heart sink. “Youarequite small in stature; you may be able to squeeze your way through.”

She stared back at him, betrayed. “I am also not a rat. If I get stuck, we’ll be right back where we started.”

“Are you scared, Annie?” Kearns replied playfully.

“I-” Anna shot him a glare, baring her fangs. “Of course I’m not scared! I simply think it’s a stupid idea.”

Kearns smiled towards the doctor, stroking his mustache. “‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”

“Please, Anna,” Pellinore encouraged her. “Just give it a try. If you truly believe you cannot fit, then we will think of something else.”

Anna sighed softly, his gentle tone wearing her down. “Fine. If you insist upon it, I will give it an honest try.”

The vampire got down on her hands and knees, staring into the tunnel. All she could see was an endless stretch of rocky walls, the tightness of which made her stomach tie in a knot. Under the watchful eye of the monstrumologist, she started her way through, swearing as the sharp rocks scraped and poked at her body. They scratched at her clothes and mussed up her wet hair, which had already been starting to come loose from the bun she’d secured it in. She made it a few feet forward before she observed that the tunnel was not a consistent circumference, and that made her heart flutter nervously. She would eventually have to crawl on her stomach and snake her way through. The idea of it was enough to make her vomit. So, instead of pressing forward, she shuffled her way backward before she was forced to commit.

Pellinore was right behind her as she backed out, and helped her up to her feet. Her expression said it all.

“So there is no chance, then,” Pellinore said.

Anna shook her head. “There’s a point at which it becomes quite narrow. I doubt I could make it all the way through, if it even stretches that far.”

“Dynamite,” Kearns cursed to himself again. “If only we had some dynamite, then this wouldn’t be an issue!”

Malachi kicked away a stray stone, his frustration palpable. He was determined to go down there and face the monster that took his sister.

Anna followed Pellinore back to the feeding chamber, where they trampled once again through the blood swamp and over to the chute, the bodies of the screaming dead piled up around them.

“Will Henry!” Pellinore called up softly, though still with the authoritative edge in his tone. “Will Henry!”

“Is someone calling?” Morgan asked, his voice faint but still close enough for Anna’s ears to pick up.

“Where are you, Will Henry?” Pellinore asked urgently.

Will’s little face appeared above them, looking surprised. “Here, sir.”

“We need you,” Pellinore called. “Come down at once, Will Henry.”

The Constable’s head also poked over the rim of the hole, his eyes looking comically large behind the magnification of his spectacles. “‘Come down’? What do you mean, ‘come down’?”

“Here, Robert. Lower him down to us immediately. Snap to, Will Henry!”

“If you need an extra pair of hands, Brock can come,” Morgan argued.

“No,” answered Pellinore. “It has to be Will Henry.” He gave the rope an impatient tug. “At once, Robert!”

Morgan chewed on his pipe stem nervously, turning to the boy. “I won’t force you to go.”

Will Henry shook his head. “I have to go. The doctor needs me.”

He seemed apprehensive, but just as much relieved to see the Warthrops waiting down below for him. He was ready to take the rope before Morgan grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Go to him, then, but not that way, Will.”

Up above them, the Constable wrapped the rope tightly around Will Henry’s waist, securing him in case he were to slip. Then, slow and steady, the boy made his way down through the hole, his back pressed against one wall and feet against the other. He was lowered through the floor, turning slowly like an inchworm dangling from its silk. His feet hit the floor with anothercrunch. His eyes quickly began to tear from the ferocity of the smell filling the stagnant air around him.

“There you are, Will Henry,” Anna said, untying the rope from his waist.

“Morgan!” Pellinore called up again softly. “We will need shovels.”

“Shovels?” Robert questioned. “How many?”

“There are five of us, so… five, Robert. Five.”

Pellinore led the way, and Anna gently urged Will Henry out of the chamber, watching his face twist in disgust as they made their way across the blood swamp. They took him to the site of the collapse, where Kearns and Malachi had remained anxiously waiting.

“The access tunnel has collapsed, Will Henry,” Pellinore explained.

“Or been made to,” Kearns added. “With dynamite.”

Pellinore squatted at the base of the cave-in, pointing to the opening. “Too small for us to squeeze through, but it appears to go on for a little way at least, perhaps even all of it. What do you think, Will Henry? We must know wide this wall is… if we can dig our way through it with reasonable alacrity or if we must attack the problem another way.”

“Dynamite!” Kearns lamented again. “I knew I should have brought some, Will Henry. I said to myself ‘Warthrop mentioned theseAnthropophagilive under the graveyard, perhaps I should bring some, just in case’. But then I talked myself out of it. God only knows why.”

“Well?” Pellinore asked Will Henry, ignoring Kearns entirely. “Are you up for it?”

“Yes, sir,” confirmed Will Henry. Not that he would say no, even to the most insane request.

“Good boy! Here, take this lamp. And here, you might as well take my revolver too. No, tuck it into your belt there, the safety’s on. Careful now, Will Henry. Careful, and not too quick. Come back at the least sign of trouble. There must be several hundred tons of earth above you.”

“And if you do make it to the other side,” added Kearns, “it would be helpful to the cause if you peeked around a bit.”

“Peeked, sir?”

“Yes. Reconnaissance. Get a feel for the place. And, of course, scope out the enemy’s position if possible.”

"No, Kearns,” Pellinore said with a shake of his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“And scrambling into a hole with tons of rock over his head isn’t?”

“You know I would not ask you if there was another alternative, Will Henry.”

“I have one,” said Kearns. “Dynamite.”

“Please,” Pellinore protested, closing his eyes. “Just… shut up, Kearns. For once. Please.” He gave Will’s shoulder a paternal squeeze before ushering him towards the cleft’s entrance. “Snap to, Will Henry. But slowly. Slowly.”

“And watch your head,” Anna added. “It’s quite a tight fit as is, so mind you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be careful.”

Will Henry crawled ahead, lamp held in front of him, and slowly was swallowed by darkness. Anna watched until his tiny body disappeared completely, out of sight, the tunnel falling into darkness once again. Pellinore sat on the other side of the small tunnel with her, still looking despite the fact there was no chance he could see anything down there, let alone the boy.

Ten minutes passed. They had gathered the shovels from the men stationed above, but had no word from Will Henry. Anna’s ears were closely attuned, listening for any scrape of rock or soft call that could indicate what was going on. For a minute, she did worry he had crawled straight into the jaws of a waitingAnthropophagus, but she knew it was impossible. They were all sequestered far lower than the group sat.

It was then in the quiet and gloom, only accompanied by the occasional rustle of clothes or clatter of rock, that Anna was certain she heard a scream. It was so distant and muffled that she could very well have imagined it, but either way, something within her gut compelled her to take action. She sat up straight with a loud gasp, turning back towards the tunnel. Pellinore snapped his head towards her, his face lined with concern.

“What is it, Anna?”

“Will Henry,” Anna said softly. “I think he’s in danger.”

“Oh please,” Kearns said from his spot against the wall. “The boy’s probably making his way back towards us now.”

“No,” Anna snapped. “I heard him cry out. He may have fallen, or been crushed, or… Or worse.”

Her fear was all the prompting Pellinore needed. He stood up, grabbing one of the shovels and immediately scraping it against the wall. Malachi followed, in just as much haste to help his friend. Kearns stared at them in disbelief.

“No, we can’t just dig our way to him,” Anna said. “It will take hours. I’m going in after him.”

She immediately got down on her hands and knees, moving towards the small opening.

“Anna!” Pellinore called after her, momentarily pausing his digging to grab at her arm. “You already assessed it’s much too narrow for you to go all the way through, and you becoming wedged in there won’t help any of us, much less Will Henry. We will find another way to him.”

Anna turned back towards the narrow pass. In the blackness, in her mind’s eye, she saw a charred face staring back at her.

You have killed my husband, Anna. Is it your intention to kill my son too?

Anna pulled her arm away, looking up at her husband with a fierce determination.

“I’m going in after him,” she snarled. “He is my boy, and I will not let him die like this!”

With those words, she squeezed her way into the tunnel, ignoring the protests of her husband. She heard Malachi’s voice behind her, calling to her with concern.

“Mrs. Warthrop! Don’t you need a lamp?”

Kearns' soft laughter echoed after. “Haven’t you realized it by now, lad? Our friend Annie is not so different from the creatures we’re hunting.”

Anna crawled her way through the tunnels, the walls squeezing her, but her adrenaline overcame her discomfort. Even as the walls closed in and she found herself having to crawl along on her belly, clambering her way through like a snake slithering through the den of a mouse, she did not even consider pausing. She cursed herself in that moment - she could have fit all along. She had let her fear overtake her sense. The enemy!

The tunnel did not cut straight through the earth, but zig-zagged, and gradually rose upward as she moved along. It steadily became more claustrophobic, but Anna continued. She could still smell Will’s scent - his sweat, his breath, the parts where his body had rubbed against the stone and left an invisible impression. After a while, however, she came to an impasse; a blockage in the pathway. She stared for a moment. The scent ended there, but surely he hadn’t simply evaporated! She realized there must have been a cave-in. Horror overcame her. She began to scratch at the dirt in front of her with her bare hands like a deranged rabbit, calling softly for Will Henry as she dug, praying she wouldn’t find him buried in the dirt, suffocated under the weight of it.

All at once, she broke through. Anna half-slid, half tumbled out of the crevice she had been in and into a larger chamber, landing right on her bottom. There was a pile of dirt around her - the section that had collapsed previously. And then she smelled it; a distinct human scent, mixed with the faint smell of myrrh from the perfume she sprayed on the fresh laundry.

Will Henry.

Newly invigorated, Anna stood up, running her hand along the wall as she made her way along the passage she had fallen into. Like a bloodhound, she followed Will Henry’s scent, which intermingled with the scent ofAnthropophagi. She grew worried once more, believing that he may have come across danger, and the chamber she entered did nothing to quell those fears.

In front of her, in a room not much larger than the feeding pit, was their nesting grounds. Surrounding her were nearly twenty looming nest mounds. They were adorned the way a human would decorate their bedroom, built with scraps of clothing and jewelry; the sentimental remains of their victims. She was certain she even saw a few bones in there. She did not let the implications distract her from her quest, however. She did smell Will Henry in there - and something else. The distinct smell of infection, purulent and vile, lingered in the air. It was coming especially strongly from one of the nests. There had been an injuredAnthropophagusin there, no doubt, and Will Henry had discovered it. Beside it lay the lamp he’d been carrying; shattered and snuffed out. Just to the left of that was the doctor’s revolver. The safety was no longer on. Her stomach sank.

She grabbed the gun and called out for Will Henry again, only as loudly as she dared, and swore she heard the faintest ‘Mrs. Warthrop?’ call back for her. She followed the sound, and the smell of blood and rot, through another small passage. There, at the bottom, she found her boy. He was incredibly disheveled, his clothes soaked in blood and face wet with tears, standing above the pummeled body of a juvenileAnthropophagus. She didn’t care about the scene she had stumbled upon, however. She felt her own eyes sting with tears as she and Will Henry closed the distance between each other. She pulled the boy into her arms, and they held each other in the darkness.

“Mrs. Warthrop,” Will Henry sobbed. “I thought you’d never-”

Anna shushed him, stroking his hair. “I am so sorry, Will Henry. Mark my words - you will never be left alone on an expedition again. Ever. Do you hear me?”

The boy nodded into her shoulder, and she pushed him away slightly, assessing him with concern. “Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” Will replied, holding up his arm. “It bit me…”

She looked down, seeing jagged toothmarks embedded into his forearm, weeping blood. Without hesitation, Anna ripped off her shirt as Pellinore had earlier, exposing the chamise she was wearing beneath. She didn’t care about modesty at that point, however, just the bleeding boy in front of her. She fastened it into a makeshift bandage, the cleaner inside touching the wound.

“Oh, Will Henry,” she said. “It’s incredible you still have an arm at all. How did you ever manage to get him to let go?”

“I bit him back,” Will Henry said plainly.

He described his encounter with the injuredAnthropophagus; how he had noticed laying in its nest, overwhelmed with fever from an infected arm amputation, and how he couldn’t help but feel pity for the injured beast. In his mind, he thought to put it out of its misery. But the co*cking of the hammer of the doctor’s gun was all it took to snap the beast out of its delirium. They tumbled down to the lower chamber where Will Henry, after being bitten, did indeed bite the beast back on its own injured stump. Then, after subduing the creature, he beat it to death with a rock. Anna stared at him in shock, clutching his face in her hands.

“..I’m sorry,” Will Henry offered, upset by her reaction.

Anna wasn’t confused, or shocked, or afraid, however. She saw the boy’s primal instincts, which kept him alive, as nothing short of remarkable. If anything, she was just grateful the poor dear wasalive. Her relief overwhelmed her, and she found herself kissing his forehead, both his cheeks, and his forehead again. The motherly affection confused and overwhelmed Will Henry, and it was his turn to stare, shocked by her reaction. She clutched his face again, looking him in the eye.

“You are such a brave and clever boy, Will Henry,” Anna said. “You will make a fine monstrumologist one day - oh, if only your father could see. He was proud of you enough when you were just a babbling little infant; imagine him seeing you now!”

The praise brought a smile to Will Henry’s face, and he seemed to momentarily forget the predicament they were in. But after a few moments, reality set in once more.

“Where is the doctor?”

“I…” Anna trailed off, looking at the expanse behind her. She didn’t know wheretheywere, much less where her husband was. “I left him up by that little tunnel. I don’t know where he is now. We’ll just have to find our way back up ourselves, all right? Stay close, Will Henry. I will guide you through the dark.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Anna took his right hand, and they made their ascent from the chamber where the deadAnthropophaguslay. Anna figured their best bet was to go up - but what good was that when half the passageways were dead ends? As well as the fact any of them could lead to another one of the beasts that resided there. They knew the tunnel systems better than she ever would.

Revolver clutched in her free hand, Anna led Will through the tunnels, attempting to find one of the main passageways. Onward she climbed, Orpheus leading Eurydice out of Hell, taking whatever path she thought may lead them back to the safety of the graveyard. She trekked through endless twists and turns, feeling as if every step took her farther from salvation as opposed to closer to it. She was hopelessly lost, she realized, trapped in a never-ending labyrinth that seemed to stretch on for miles beneath the earth. She almost gave up - almost. But then, she heard something. A third set of footsteps.

Anna froze in the middle of the tunnel, one with floors so hard-packed it let her know it was frequently traversed by the pod. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. They were being stalked. Will Henry, still holding her hand, called to her softly in the dark.

“Mrs. Warthrop?”

Anna shushed him, turning and aiming the revolver in the direction of the presence. She nearly fired it, but refrained, unsure of what she was even sensing. It was a predatory presence, but came with none of the telltale signs ofAnthropophagi: no sickly sweet scent, no huffing, no teeth clattering. Hell, at that distance, anAnthropophaguswould have pounced on them in a blink. No, she realized, it wasn’t the Matriarch or one of their cubs.

“...Kearns?” Anna questioned.

Sure enough, the smell of aftershave hit her, and at the same moment the bright light of a lamp shone in her direction. Anna shielded her eyes, and she heard Kearns chuckle, the sound of it sending a chill up her spine.

“You’re lucky you said something,” he commented as he approached. “I nearly shot you.”

“Where is Pellinore?” Anna asked immediately.

“There are two main arteries leading from their nesting chamber; Warthrop and Malachi took one, and I took the other, the same you took, obviously. What happened to the boy?”

He cast his gaze down on Will Henry, who seemed smaller than ever, exhausted and in pain from his injury.

“He fell straight into the nesting chambers. The Matriarch abandoned one of her cubs there, and it attacked. Luckily, our assistant-apprentice monstrumologist is quite resourceful. I was able to find him not long after, right next to its corpse.”

She offered Will Henry a small smile, still proud of how he was able to take care of himself in such a dire situation.

“Splendid,” said Kearns. “Absolutely splendid! Bloody good work, Will! Pellinore will be overjoyed. He was quite beside himself when neither of you came back, you know. Positively frantic. I’d never seen a man wield a shovel like that. Digging in another direction, he would have reached China in an hour! But here, let’s have a look at that arm… Don’t look at me like that, Annie. I’m a doctor, remember?”

“A surgeon, not a physician.”

“I assure you, I simply want to check the boy’s wound over.”

Reluctantly, Anna let Will step forward towards the mad surgeon, who clutched the boy’s injured arm in his hand. He gingerly unwrapped the makeshift bandage, revealing the bleeding wound underneath.

“Best to let it breathe a bit. We wouldn’t want to risk an infection.”

He discarded the soiled shirt on the ground. “Annie, giving the literal shirt off your back to him? Why, one might accuse you of having a soft spot for the boy!”

“That’s enough, Kearns. We should bring him back up to the surface.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll show you the way back to old bore Bobby. Here.” He cast his lamp towards the floor, illuminating a paper packet on the ground. It had been filled with a phosphorescent power that glowed softly in the lamplight.

“You’ll find one every twenty yards or so,” he instructed. “Keep to the path. Don’t turn back. If somehow you get lost, backtrack until you pick it up again. Here, Will, take my lamp.”

He handed Will Henry the lantern, which the boy looked at skeptically. “But you’ll need the lamp.”

“Don’t worry about me. I have the flares in a pinch.”

“How far is it?” Anna asked, suspicious.

“Around seven-hundred steps in all.”

“Steps?” Anna balked.

“Well, perhaps more for you. Your legs aren’t as long as mine. Just take about four hundred steps, then turn right into the main passage. Don’t miss the turn - very important! The way trends downward for a bit, but don’t despair. It will start to go up again. When you get back to the top, tell the constable I miss him terribly. That button nose. That winsome smile. If we haven’t come up in two hours, have him and his men come down. These beasties have been busy digging in the dark and we may need the other men’s help. Good luck to you, Mrs. Warthrop, and to you, junior monstrumologist. Good luck and God bless!”

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. She watched him navigate through the inky blackness like a wild cat, using only his hand against the wall to guide him. What a strange man he was. Anna turned back to her ward, shrugging her shoulders.

“Well then, Will Henry. I suppose we have no choice other than to follow Hansel’s trail of breadcrumbs.”

Will Henry happily did, the promise of escaping the earth’s bowels inflating him with a sense of joy. He walked ahead of Anna, the light held aloft, causing the packets beneath their feet to glimmer like fireflies in the dark. They walked the four hundred steps straight ahead, stopping once they got to the turn - but there was a problem. Kearns had marked two ways. One turned to the left down a different passage, and the other continued straight ahead. The duo paused, confused.

“Mrs. Warthrop,” Will Henry said. “I don’t understand. Why would there be two different trails?”

Anna furrowed her brow, thinking. “Perhaps… Perhaps one way leads deeper, and the other leads to the surface. But which one?”

“Well…” Will Henry pointed his lantern in the direction of the divergence in their path. “Dr. Kearns said the turn is very important. That must mean it’s the correct path, right?”

Anna wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure if Kearns had been telling the truth at all, apprehensive of his dancing gray eyes and that ever-present smile. But, at that moment, she had no choice but to trust him.

“Yes, I suppose that’s right. Lead the way then.”

Anna followed Will Henry into the dark, treading across the countless packets Kearns had scattered along the ground. The walls grew narrower, and the air grew colder. With each step - which she could hear Will quietly counting - the sense of impending doom increased within her chest. Something was wrong. The path they took was serpentine, and dreadfully narrow. Several times they had to duck their heads just to fit through. The idea that Kearns had squeezed his way through there was laughable. And the further they went, the more Anna realized how wrong she had been to trust him in that moment.

The ground went from hard-packed dirt to soft and moist, giving way easily beneath the soles of her boots. A chill ran up her arms. Her nose twitched, and her back stiffened. She froze, the instincts of an animal, her eyes darting wildly in the dark. She could smell something… rotten fruit.

They weren’t going higher. They were goingdeeper.

“Will,stop,” Anna hissed quietly.

Will Henry paused in front of her, turning around. The tunnel they found themselves in was cramped, and the lamp slid against the wall as he turned it back towards her, the light shining in her face temporarily rendering her blind. She grimaced, shielding her eyes with her arm. She didn’t ask him to put the lantern down, however. She didn’t dare say a word.

On her other side, she felt a presence. The same eerie one she had felt earlier while stumbling lost through the darkness. She whirled around, drawing her gun, only to find a gun in her own face. She had been so distracted she hadn’t even noticed Kearns sneak up on her. He smiled, his darkened eyes drinking in the shock on her face as she noticed the gun barrel pointed directly at her forehead.

“Why, wherever are you going?” he teased in his mirthful voice. “Didn’t I tell you to keep to the path and not turn back?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jack?” Anna asked, her breath hitching in her throat.

“This isn’t the way back…” Will Henry piped up from behind her, a quiver in his voice. He had realized not long after her the serious danger they were in.

“I had hoped to avoid it,” Kearns replied. “The smell of blood should have drawn her out; I’m at a loss, frankly, why she didn’t come.”

A lump formed in Anna’s throat. She stared at Kearns in disbelief, anger burning her chest like acid.

“Dear God,” she whispered. “You want to use him asbait?”

Kearns shook his head at her, tutting like a disapproving mother. “Don’t you realize? The boy would make theperfectbait - he’s already bleeding, after all. We can lure the she-beast out of her hiding place and dispatch her, just like that. Now, you’ve put on quite the remarkable show tonight, but you’re simply prolonging the inevitable with your theatrics. Your imitation of motherhood for a boy that isn’t even your own? You are a wolf, Anna, not the matronly ewe you so relish in pretending to be. Act like one.”

Anna straightened her back, gazing past the barrel of the gun and into the dark eyes of Kearns. “You cannot make me do it. Shoot me and throw me down there instead if you like, but I will not let you take the boy.”

Kearns’ mask slipped. Anger crossed his features, and he lowered the gun, exasperated. “What a waste of time you have proved to be! You and your poor bleeding heart, desperately clinging to the Victorian morals forced down your throat by your handsome human pet. Shall I put it to you this way, then? There are hundreds of people in this town. Hundreds of lambs up there, waiting for slaughter. Then there is this child, this sniveling orphan forced upon your doorstep. One sacrifice, one less thing to worry about, hundreds saved. Does that put it into perspective for you, Anna? Or do I indeed have to blow your brains out in order for you to understand my reasoning?”

Anna stared at him, speechless. She could hear Will Henry’s breath quickening behind her. Did he really think she’d do it? After everything she’d done for him? Behind her was the pit of death; the sour smell of the beasts wafting up from it. In front of her was a monster just as intimidating, his eyes cutting through to her very soul, trying to see her for what she was. Not who,what.

She ran her thumb over a large scar on her pointer finger. It brought her back to summers as a child, when the wild violets bloomed, where she could go down to the riverbed. She learned from an old man how if one stuck their hands into the holes under the rocks, the catfish in there protecting their nest would bite. They would grab onto her small hands, their teeth digging into her skin. Blood would pool in the water as they sliced open her delicate flesh. She would proudly lug her catch home with the help of her first love, Thomas. The cooks would make dinner with her catch and the nanny would tut as she patched her wounds. Her mother, infuriated, would send her up to the attic, but she would still get a plate with the spoils of her work. So many scars on her hands for all the times she had used her own fingers as bait.

Anna straightened her back, feigning the smile that Kearns usually had on his lips. “...You are an intelligent man, Jack. There is but one major flaw in your logic.”

“Oh really, Annie?” Kearns questioned, a flicker in hisAnthropophagus-black eyes. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

“You assume that I am just like you.”

With that, she pulled out her bowie knife and sliced the length of her forearm from inner elbow to wrist. Blood immediately poured from the artery she severed, eliciting a gasp from her young ward.

“Mrs. Warthrop!” Will Henry cried, forgetting himself. “Don’t do it!”

She turned to him with a smile, her hair messily framing her face, her cheeks still stained with dirt and tears.

“Do not worry, my dear boy. I shall see you on the surface.”

And with that, she jumped into the Inferno.

Chapter 9: A She-Beast

Chapter Text

Anna slid down into the darkness below, hurtling straight towards the deepest chamber of the intricate tunnel system. The slick mud launched her forwards, and she half fell, half stumbled into the chamber proper, arm still bleeding and her teeth bared. She barely had any time to adjust to her surroundings when she was set upon by one of the sequestered juveniles. It was another imitation of its powerful mother, arms outstretched and black eyes rolling back in their sockets as it readied itself to grab her and shove her into is gaping maw. Despite the sudden attack, it was a very easy shot. The bullet blew through the cub’s gnashing mouth. It collapsed to the floor with a pathetic mewel, thrashing as it succumbed to its wound.

Just as quickly, the fallen cub’s brother sprang out of the darkness, barreling towards her at a speed that took her aback. She fired a shot in its direction, but missed hopelessly, forcing her to scramble backwards in an attempt to get away. A shot rang above her, the noise sending a jolt of shock running through her body. It came Kearns, who was still in the tunnel above her. She could make out his form, flat on his belly with his hunting rifle in his hands, firing through the tunnel’s mouth. Will Henry stood beside the hunter, his face was twisted with fear - and he was right to be worried for her. Kearns’ bullet missed the angry creature, simply serving to create an explosion in the dirt.

Backed against the wall, Anna fired again, once again missing in the frenzy. Kearns was more successful, his next shot imbedding itself into the cub’s right shoulder, driving its arm into the ground. That barely did much to stop it, however. An angry Anthropophagus was almost impervious to flesh wounds such as that. Only ten feet remained between them, and the juvenile intended to clear it. Its powerful legs launched it forward, and it came at her, the claws of its left arm extended in preparation for a killing blow. Anna had just barely enough time to take a shot. Her aim proved true, and the bullet lodged in the back of the beast’s mouth. In the next instant, another bullet flew from Kearns’ rifle, lodging in the beast’s back. The juvenile twisted in mid-air from the force of the blow. It was dead before it hit the ground, right at Anna’s feet. The sound of its body hitting the floor was followed by the satisfied chuckle of the hunter above her.

Anna leaned against the wall, hand clutched to her chest. Her breaths were rapid and shallow, every nerve in her body on fire. That had been far too close. She slid down the wall and onto her bottom, letting out a single, hissing cuss.

“f*ck.”

“Anna? Is that you?”

Her rattled nerves were instantly soothed by a familiar voice coming from the other side of the chamber, and her head snapped up at the sound of it. In the distance, she could see Pellinore, his lantern held high as he tried to make out her form in the darkness. Next to him was Malachi, clutching his rifle in his hands.

“Yes,” she called back, audibly relieved.

She stood up on trembling legs, and Pellinore closed the distance between them quickly, the light from the lantern he still clutched glowing around him like a halo. He pulled her into his long arms, and she fell into them happily, resting her head on his chest. She pressed her nose into his coat, breathing in the scent of him, the scent of home. Pellinore’s relief was quickly overridden by worry, however, and he grabbed her by the shoulder, pushing her back slightly so he could look at her properly, lifting his hand past a curtain of tangled brown hair to press a palm to her cheek. She answered the gesture, putting her hand over his, a smile stretching across her pale lips as his intense eyes looked over her with deep concern.

“Anna, what in God’s name has happened to you?”

“Ask the Devil.”

Pellinore’s brow furrowed with confusion, but in that moment, as if she had cued him, Kearns dropped down onto the floor beside him. He had jumped down into the chamber much more gracefully, sticking the landing like a gymnast, his arms stretched out as wide as the corners of his mouth.

“Good show, Annie, good show!” Kearns said. “I will admit, I was worried for a moment there - a vampire nearly being taken down by a snappy little poppie? Unimaginable. Of course, as I’m sure the good doctor would concur, it pays to have faith in you. Speak of the Devil - you’ve come just in the nick of time, thank goodness!”

Before Pellinore could even question the madman, he was quickly distracted by Will Henry, who had scurried down the tunnel after Kearns. The doctor’s light danced across his body and betrayed just how bloody and dirty he truly was.

“Will Henry!” He cried softly. In an instant, he had dropped his hand from Anna’s face and turned all his attention to his young apprentice. “Will Henry, why are you here?”

Will Henry opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but he was quickly interrupted by the doctor pulling him into a tight hug. Will stood there a moment, surprised, his arms reluctantly wrapping around Pellinore in return.

“I told you that you are indispensable to me,” Pellinore whispered fiercely into the boy’s ear. “Do you think I lied, Will Henry? I may be a fool and a terrible scientist, blinded by ambition and pride to the most obvious truths, but one thing I am not is a liar.”

With those words, he released Will Henry and turned away, embarrassed by his confession. He regained his composure after a few moments, however.

“Now tell me, you silly, stupid boy, are you hurt?”

Will nodded, raising his arm to show off the Anthropophagus bite he’d sustained. Pellinore shone his light over it, carefully brushing dirt and pebbles from the wound.

“It’s a clean bite and relatively shallow,” he observed. “A few stitches and you’ll be good as new, Will Henry, if a bit battle-scarred.”

Will looked down at the wound on his arm with a thoughtful frown, and Anna laughed softly, placing a hand on his head.

“Do not fret, Will. That will make a much more impressive scar than all my little catfish bites.”

“Catfish…” Pellinore parroted. He suddenly grew upset with her, grabbing onto her bloody arm. “Did you throw yourself down here as bait for the Matriarch?!”

“Yes,” Anna admitted, “but only because he was going to use Will Henry.”

She pointed an accusatory finger in the direction of Kearns, who pooh-poohed her anger with a wave of his hand.

“I was simply being practical. I admit I anticipated Annie to be quite a bit more selfish than she has turned out to be. But the lad was spared; no harm done save for Annie’s arm. And so all’s well that ends well! Or should I say all ends well very nearly near the end. Perhaps ‘so far so good’ would be better.”

Anna raised the doctor’s revolver, pointing it at Kearns’ forehead. The madman smirked down at her, his jet black eyes cold as ice.

“Perhaps the best outcome is your brains plastered against the wall, Jack.”

“Go on then,” Kearns said with a sneer. “Pull the bloody trigger, you insufferably melodramatic little bloodsucker! Your darling doctor may have afternoonified you, yet you are still more like myself than you ever care to admit in your unbeating heart.”

“Do you know why I so loathe the suggestion that we are alike?” She snarled. “I have morals; a vampiress’ morals, but morals nonetheless. You? You only have spite. You act as if you are the enlightened dandy, that you have decoded a secret that everyone else is either too stupid or sentimental to accept, but you are nothing but a ratbag, no better than the ‘gutter trash’ you loathe so deeply. You are garbage, Jack, and should be disposed of accordingly!”

“Do you honestly think I care whether I live or die?” Kearns challenged, leaning forward so that his forehead met the cold metal of the gun’s muzzle. “But you may wish to include in your calculations the fact that our work is not finished. She is still out there somewhere in the dark, and not very far, I would guess. That said, my dearest backfriend, I would not presume to pass judgement upon your judgement. Fire at will, Anastasia, and I shall die as I lived, with no regret!”

“Very well then.”

She came within a hair’s berth of pulling the trigger when Pellinore stopped her, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“Anna, stop,” he hissed. “I am sick of Kearns bringing you into his theatrics. Stand down and focus on the task at hand!”

Anna reluctantly lowered the revolver, much to Kearns’ amusem*nt.

“Ah, I see it now. You are his pet, not the other way around. Nothing but a dog tethered to a leash. Tell me, Annie, does it choke you when he yanks your collar like that?”

“Kearns, enough!” Pellinore admonished. “Or by God I shall shoot you.”

“There is a reason Will Henry is still down here,” Anna said, jabbing a finger at her husband’s chest. “I don’t give a damn about the Matriarch at this point! I say we let the madman breathe through his forehead and deal with her ourselves. Will Henry, tell him what he did! How he tricked us!”

Will Henry, who had been trying to hide from the vampire’s wrath by sheltering behind Malachi, looked at her with wide eyes. He seemed more like a little lamb than ever. However, more obedient than he was frightened, he spoke.

“He… I think he found this chamber and he knew they were down here, but he couldn’t get off a good shot, so he marked the spot and sent us straight to it. Finding me hurt, he thought the smell of blood might draw them out. When it didn’t, he-”

“He was going to throw him down there,” Anna interrupted. “And he thought I would let him!”

“In my defense,” Kearns interjected, “I would have given the boy a weapon. Anna volunteered to throw herself to the wolves, and I didn’t abandon her to them. That was me up there, you know, shooting. I don’t question the demands of the circ*mstance; I simply obey them. Like Malachi over there, abandoning this beloved sister when she needed him most-”

“Enough!” Anna snapped before Kearns could tempt the boy into being the next to try and take his life. “You talk too damned much, Jack.”

“Do you know why humanity is doomed, Anastasia? Because it has fallen in love with the pleasant fiction that we are somehow above the very rules that we have determined govern everything else.”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Malachi joined in. “But I like his idea. I say we make him bleed and use him as bait.”

“And I would gladly volunteer,” said Kearns easily. “But the circ*mstances no longer, I think, demand it.”

He grabbed the lantern from Pellinore’s hand and strolled away, growing tired of the confrontation he’d caused with his own actions. The heels of his boots smacked as he treaded across the muddy ground. The rest of the group stared after him, angered and bewildered, once again having been left in the wake of one of Kearns’ ‘philosophy’ discussions.

Once the hunter reached the wall, he paused, motioning for the others to join him. They crossed over to where he stood, and Kearns placed a finger to his lips, pointing down towards what he’d found. It was a small entryway, about twice the width of Anna’s shoulders, hidden at the base of the wall. Kearns held the lamp close to its mouth, illuminating its murky throat. There were clusters of footprints near the wall, and gouges from claws along the first few feet of the tunnel. After sufficient observation, the group stepped back to a safer distance.

“Two distinct sets - yes, Pellinore?” Kearns said quietly. Pellinore nodded, and he went on. “A cub and a mature female. Two going in and none coming out again. Why she took one and left the others is a curiosity, but undeniably that is what she did. Perhaps these two” - he paused to jerk his head towards the dead Anthropophagi cubs - “wandered back up here for some reason, though the prints don’t substantiate that scenario. There are only two possibilities as I see it: It may lead to another, deeper chamber or it may be an escape route that eventually returns to the surface. There’s only one way to find out. Agreed, Pellinore?”

“Agreed,” Pellinore said with a nod.

“And if they haven’t escaped to the surface, the ruckus up here will have alerted her to our proximity. She is, no doubt, expecting us.”

“That is fine with me,” said Malachi, his voice level. “I won’t disappoint her.”

“You are staying here,” said Kearns.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Malachi argued.

“Alright,” Kearns replied. “Take them from Pellinore if you wish. We need someone to stay here and guard the exit - and keep an eye on Will Henry, of course.”

“I didn’t come all this way to be a nursemaid!” Malachi protested. “Why can’t Mrs. Warthrop stay up here and watch him?”

“I am not a nursemaid either, boy,” Anna said, her voice cold.

“Please,” Malachi said, appealing to the doctor. “It is my right.”

Pellinore laid a hand on Malachi’s shoulder. “Kearns must go; he is the expert tracker. Anna must go; she is a skilled hunter. And I must go, for if anyone has earned the ‘right’, it is I. Another must stay in the event she somehow escapes and returns here. Would you have it be Will Henry? Look at him, Malachi; he’s just a boy.”

Malachi turned to Will Henry, and the younger boy turned his head, unable to meet his intense gaze.

“I can do it,” Will offered. “I’ll guard the exit. Take Malachi with you.”

“No,” said Anna. “I promised I would not leave you alone on a hunt again, and I will hold true to that promise. Malachi is to stay up here with you.”

Malachi crossed his arms and looked away, annoyed. He may have been vindictive, and in the worst pain imaginable, but he was still remarkably teenaged in his mannerisms. As Kearns began to sort through their ammunition and supplies, taking flares and the trail markers from the doctor’s bag and putting them into his, Pellinore pulled Anna and Will Henry aside.

“There is something that feels wrong about this,” he said, “though I can’t put my finger on it. She wouldn’t back herself into a corner - she is far too clever for that. Neither would she willingly abandon two of her young to our mercy. It is exceedingly curious.”

“She is hiding somewhere nearby, surely” Anna reasoned. “I believe it is her that is springing a trap upon us, not the other way around.”

“Perhaps,” Pellinore agreed grimly, “though I cannot imagine her being so tactical. Anthropophagi are known for their ferocious instincts, and their resourcefulness, but do not possess as high a level of intelligence as you or I.”

“Yet we have not seen her once.”

“And you have not sensed her at all?”

“No, my dear, I’m afraid I have not.”

Pellinore looked nervous for a flash of a second, but kept up a stern facade, turning to his apprentice and placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Keep a sharp eye and call out at once should you see or hear anything out of the ordinary. And for God’s sake, don’t wander off this time! I expect you to be here when we return, Will Henry.”

“Yes sir,” Will replied, putting on a brave front.

‘“Preferably alive.”

“I will try to be, sir.”

“Try?” Anna questioned. “Will Henry, know that even if all the odds are against you, you should always choose to live. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I will choose to live.”

“Good boy.”

Pellinore was the first to enter the passageway, prompted forward by Kearns with a dramatic sweep of his arm. He held his reloaded revolver in one hand and the lantern in the other, his shadow bobbing across the wall. Anna went next, holding her own revolver. Her boots sank into the muddy ground, and she had to force them out with each step, letting out a soft pop. Water welled up in the dirt left by her footsteps. It was remarkably wet down there, the walls and floors weeping. Anna could hear why. There was an underground stream nearby.

It rested twenty feet below the chamber they had just been in, its wide swath cutting through the walls around it. Underground, no vegetation grew, but that was just fine for the Anthropophagi. All they needed was fresh water. She could see large divots along the banks; places where they had laid by the rushing water, letting it fill their mouths and thrashing around in the dirt like crocodiles in a death roll. Another one of their more bizarre behaviors, but perhaps no more unusual than some of the bathing habits of their fellow primates.

Kearns paused suddenly, putting a finger to his lips. He pointed towards a secluded part of their bathing hollow. Anna could hear it over the sound of the rushing water before she even saw it. A baby Anthropophagus, no more than a year old, laying in the dirt. She mewled quietly for her mother, unable to fend for herself and unable to understand why there were no adults coming to her aid. At that age, much like human infants, they were not independently ambulatory.

“She has to be nearby,” Anna said, her voice barely a whisper. “She would never leave the most helpless member of her brood alone like this.”

“Yet she has,” Kearns replied. “Curious, is it not? Perhaps she left it here with the intention of coming back with its older siblings. Nevertheless…”

The group stepped closer, crowding around the infant as she squirmed and cried. Anna almost felt pity for the tiny creature, completely abandoned, even if temporarily. In her mind’s eye, she saw Mrs. Stinnet, who had refused to let go of her own vulnerable daughter even as the beasts in her home tore her asunder. The baby at Anna’s feet would grow up to be just as ferocious and deadly as her mother and sisters, but in that moment, she was a tiny creature that needed to be nurtured.

Kearns did not feel the same tug on his heartstrings. He dispatched the baby with a single reverberating shot.

The trio stood alert afterwards, guns drawn, listening for any signs of the Matriarch. They knew she had to be hiding somewhere close, just waiting to come out. This assumption would turn out to be correct - just not in the way they had anticipated.

The Matriarch burst through the floor of the chamber above them, the subsequent shaking and churning of earth sending a jolt down Anna’s spine. She immediately ran towards the sound, clamoring back through the opening she had taken, freezing in the entryway as she took in the sight. A cavernous hole had sprung up in the floor, water and mud funneling towards it like a black hole, as well as the doomed Malachi Stinnet. He slid towards the Matriarch, his stunning blue eyes wide and desperate as he looked back towards certain doom. He was finished; that much was clear.

Malachi slid into the pit feet-first, only to suddenly be pulled waist deep by the Matriarch. His hands stretched out uselessly, trying to grab a hold of something, anything, that would prevent him from being dragged to his death.

“Will Henry!” Malachi screamed desperately. “Will Henry!”

Will met his gaze, his eyes watering. “I have you, Malachi! Hold on!”

He tried to spring forward, but Anna grabbed him by the collar of his shirt like a kitten by the scruff, yanking him back towards her. Her arms wrapped around him, serving to keep him in place.

“It’s too late, Will Henry, it’s too late!”

Malachi let out a strangled cry as the Matriarch sank her claws into his lower back. Her hand wrapped around his spinal column, using it as leverage to drag him closer towards her gnashing teeth. Blood gushed from his mouth, and his eyes nearly rolled back much the same way hers did when her chomping mouth found purchase on his legs. It was a repeat of the fate of Erasmus Gray. All Anna could do was watch in horror.

Malachi did not want to be rescued, however. He knew his doom was to be eaten, just like his kin. Instead of reaching for a hand, one of his skinny fingers desperately pointed towards a bag on the ground next to Will; the one which he had dropped when the caving earth felled him to his knees. Anna did not understand what he was asking, but Will Henry did. He wrenched himself from his mistress’ grasp, diving for the pouch and producing one of the grenades. He tossed it in Malachi’s direction, and the boy miraculously caught it.

With the grenade in his hand, Malachi seemed much less desperate. He visibly relaxed, a calm washing over him in spite of the fact he was still being eaten alive. He clutched the grenade to his chest as if it were his prized possession, closing his eyes. There was a small smile on his face - one of satisfaction. All terror he felt towards his impending death had evaporated the instant his hands clutched the metal. His was the expression of a man who accepted his fate; an elderly grandfather closing his eyes one last time, knowing he would never open them again.

He was going to have his revenge.

“For Elizabeth,” he whispered.

He pulled the pin. He did nothing but smile as the Matriarch dragged him fully into the pit with her, satisfied in the thought that his last act would be killing her. Will Henry immediately dove back towards Anna. He knew what was coming next, and was seeking her protection. She immediately grabbed him up in her arms, holding him as if he were a toddler. There was nowhere to hide - unless. Anna ran towards the body of the older Anthropophagus cub; despite its youth it was still larger than both of them. She dove behind it and got on top of Will Henry, covering his body with hers and using the corpse as a shield to protect both of them further.

The explosion was mind shattering. The walls shook, the blast causing rocks and chunks of dirt to fall from the ceiling above them. Anna balled up tighter, worried the ceiling would cave in completely, burying her and Will alive. The smell of smoke and burning flesh filled her nose, and she choked slightly as it stung the back of her throat.

Just as quickly as the explosion had happened, everything fell silent.

“...Will Henry?” She whispered.

“I’m all right,” he replied. “Are you?”

“I’m well enough,” she coughed out.

Anna dared to poke her head up, releasing Will from her death grip. He sat up too, his wide eyes staring at the carnage. The crater in the earth had grown by several feet. Blood and water bubbled from the ground like magma. Anna’s ears rung, but in her daze, all she could think of was one person. She searched through the smoky haze, trying to see if the tunnel she had just exited had collapsed in on itself from the force of the explosion.

“...Pellinore!” She dared to call out.

“Anna!”

The reply was faint, as he was still deeper underground. But thankfully, he had not been buried alive. She stood up on her buckling knees, urging Will Henry along in front of her. Her drive to see Pellinore distracted her from the crater behind her, but only for a moment. A predator herself, she sensed the danger before she even saw it. She whipped around, her breath stopping short.

Anna’s jaw went slack as she watched the Matriarch rear up from the hole in the floor, rising like a phoenix from the ashes. Blood splattered her face, both Malachi’s and her own. The arm which had held him in a death grip had been completely blown off. Shrapnel stuck out from her skin, and nasty burns had covered parts of her delicate milk white skin with black, melting tissue. In an ironic twist of fate, the boy’s body had shielded her from the worst of the explosion. Thus, while mortally wounded, she was alive. And by God, was she furious.

Her rolling black orb immediately focused on Anna and Will Henry, who were cowering in her gaze. She stood there for an uncomfortably long moment, her broad shoulders heaving as she struggled to breathe through her gaping maw. Her eye drifted down, ever slowly, to the body in front of them. Her cub. The child she was desperately trying to protect. It was unclear whether the tiny brain between her legs registered that it was far too late for him. If it did, she did not care.

With a roar, she leapt out of the crater, hurtling straight towards them.

Anna did not have the luxury of hesitating. She also did not have the luxury to shoot. A monster twice her size was barreling towards her, arm outstretched, teeth gnashing. Foamy blood pooled at the corners of her mouth. She looked rabid, and with reason. Every instinct in her broken body screamed at her to protect her cub, and in her hideous black eye was the reflection of a child - Anna’s cub. The boy she had sworn to keep alive; whose mother’s face haunted her dreams.

How strong is the maternal instinct!

Anna jumped out from behind the dead Anthropophagus, standing between the Matriarch and Will Henry with her fangs bared and nails curving in as if they were claws, ready to grab and tear flesh. She snarled loudly, an almost cat-like noise being produced by something that still looked and acted mostly human. The vampire’s threat display was cheap and laughable compared to that of the larger creature, but it did not matter. Like the monster before her, she was no longer capable of feeling fear. Just a blinding, all-encompassing rage that drove her forwards.

She vaulted herself across the floor on her strong legs, grabbing onto the Matriarch like an enraged monkey. The monster’s teeth gnashed, trying to get a hold of her. When Anna scrambled upwards as if she were climbing a tree, the remaining arm swung at her. Anna grabbed it, using it to leverage herself into a mock wrestling hold. She clung onto the Matriarch’s back, holding back a killing blow as she was now easily able to overpower the weakened creature.

Varner had stabbed blindly in the dark, not aiming for anything in particular, and had gotten very lucky. Anna, on the other hand, moved with purpose and precision. Her free hand groped at the Matriarch’s remaining eye and once she found purchase, she dug her nails in, gritting her teeth as her hand gripped the large orb like a baseball. The Matriarch screeched and thrashed beneath her, trying to shake the vampire off, but Anna’s strong thighs held firm. With the scream of a warrior woman (or perhaps just a deranged female vampire), she twisted her wrist and gave a mighty yank, successfully wrenching the glossy black eye from its socket. Blood squirted from the wound, and the Matriarch let out a shriek that made Anna’s ears ring.

Not long after her successful mutilation, Pellinore and Kearns managed to crawl their way back out of the hollow. They were ready for a fight, but froze upon seeing the disturbing ballet of the vampire riding the Anthropophagus like a bucking bronco.

“Anna!” Pellinore cried in distress.

“Yes, Annie, hold her still!!” Kearns shouted, his rifle swinging to and fro as he attempted to take aim. “I can’t get a bloody shot with her flailing about!”

The Matriarch had begun to throw a tantrum, desperately trying to wrench her arm from the vampire’s grip. Feral in her rage, Anna refused to let go, instead sinking her teeth into the monster’s back. Hot, fresh blood streamed down her throat, and she nearly choked on it. It tasted bitter and unpleasant, like a bad cup of coffee.

“Oh, sod it!”

Kearns took a shot, but not the bullseye they needed. The bullet landed in her stomach, below her mouth and above her brain. The painful blow was enough to knock her off balance, however, and the weight of the vampire on her back sent them both flying into the muck. As the Matriarch flailed and spat like an impotent toddler, Anna pulled out her bowie knife. The beast was blind and down an entire lethal arm, so she thought it prudent to take advantage, going straight for the monster’s brain. A bold gambit, and one that was doomed to fail - in her confidence, she had let go of the Matriarch’s remaining arm.

She was blind, but her other senses guided her, and her giant hand was able to grab hold of Anna’s wasit. Long, hooked claws dug into her torso, skewering through her soft flesh. Anna gasped, only for her left lung to fail to inflate, leaving her to cough out the blood which shot into her throat. Anna zoned out for a moment from the pain. She was certain she could hear her name, once again called out in a familiar voice, but it sounded distant. Two gunshots rang out, but they were useless.

The Matriarch used the last of her strength to raise herself to her feet, still clutching Anna in her fist like a child holding a doll. Her legs dangled dangerously close to the monster's snapping jaws, and she kicked furiously, but her writing only served to make the Anthropophagus’ talons gore her further. This was the course of nature, she realized. Anna was not the apex predator in that environment; it was the giant beast beneath her, its claws much longer than hers and mouth much larger, who ruled the subterranean kingdom. The tables had turned. She wondered, in a moment of clarity, if that was how the beautiful curly haired prostitute had felt as she had seen Anna’s snarling face above her, ready to tear her neck open and gorge herself on the life-giving blood that flowed through her flawless veins. To look death in its soulless grey-blue eyes; feel that pain and fear and desperation. Did she see her son’s face in her mind at that moment? Because Anna saw no one. No one but the woman and her last expression of terror as she screamed and begged for her life.

Looking down at the creature beneath her, Anna found herself in that exact same place. She wished she could have just felt relief as Malachi had. He had the comfort of revenge, of the idea of a loving God who would take him into His arms once he crossed to the other side. The hope of seeing his darling sister’s face again, to hear her whispering the words; “Big brother, I forgive you.”

Anna only had fear.

Much to her resentment in retrospect, she screamed. A primal sound she had not emitted since she was a child rolling down the hill behind her house at terminal velocities. Anna would gasp, and shout, and swear, but she never screamed. The feminine shriek coming from her throat was almost alien to her; she had forgotten she was even capable of making a sound such as that. Her screech of terror was answered by another; just as high pitched, but not one emitted out of fear. It was a scream of rage.

Kearns had stopped shooting. He, instead, was far too busy holding Pellinore back, preventing him from rushing over and doing something foolish out of desperation to save his wife. Kearns did not see any reason to stop what he saw as the inevitable. Instead, the person coming to her rescue was Will Henry, the young boy with an iron reserve. He charged towards the Matriarch, knife clutched in his tiny fist, and with another frenzied cry he plunged the blade straight into her brain. Anna choked again as the Matriarch’s grasp upon her waist turned into a literal death grip. Will Henry kept stabbing, and did not stop until the beast was on the ground, dead. Anna laid there beside her, staring into the darkness. Her vision was turning fuzzy, and the voices around her sounded like they were underwater. Her body was shutting down.

It was not death, not for her. She would not experience the kiss of it for a very long time. Instead, just like she did when she was active and breathing, she simply teetered the edge of it. The vampire virus was miraculous in its ability to keep its host alive, even through injuries that would kill any human. It fought off other diseases better than any normal immune system, and stitched together wounds like a seamstress darning a tear. It did, however, have the side effect of shutting down each organ system, causing the vampire to feign death in order to encourage healing and prevent further injury. It was the origin of the myth that vampires slept in graves and rose from them at night; injured vampires mistakenly determined to be dead would end up buried alive.

Anna tried her best to fight the urge to close her eyes, despite it being something that was not in her control. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus on it. Will Henry stood and watched her in shock, the bloody knife still clutched in his trembling hand. Pellinore rushed past him to get to her, kneeling down by her side in the muck. He grasped her hand in his, leaning over her.

“Anna! You reckless, impulsive, damnable woman! What were you thinking?”

Anna wanted to say I love you too, Pellinore, but the words died in her throat. All she could choke out was more blood. Pellinore’s face dropped as she coughed, and he squeezed her hand, leaning in closer to her.

“Hush, lie still now. We shall get you back to the surface and all will be well.”

He let go of her to examine the wound, hissing in a breath when he saw how deeply the Matriarch’s claws were embedded into her flesh. Kearns crouched down on her other side, doing his own examination.

“She has her gripped bloody tight,” Kearns observed. “It would have been hard enough to pry her off before our assistant-apprentice monstrumologist stabbed her square in the brain, but now that she’s paralyzed, I dare say it’s impossible. The way I see it, if we’re to do this here and now we have but two options: either cut off all her fingers and pry them out that way, which would take much more time and effort, or…”

“Or…?” Pellinore questioned, already defensive.

“I remove only her thumb to get it out of the way, and we pull Anna off of her claws.”

Anna cringed at the prospect, screwing her eyes shut, only to snap them back open when Kearns gave her leg a smack.

“Look alive now, Annie! You’re fading fast, but it would rather help if you were not dead weight. Will Henry, the knife?”

Will reluctantly handed over the bowie knife, and looked away as Kearns set to work separating the beast’s thumb from the rest of her hand. His concern was with Anna, who was still staring at the ceiling, dazed.

“Dr. Warthrop, is she going to be okay?”

“Of course she is,” Pellinore replied matter-of-factly. “A well-fed vampire can survive even the most grievous of bodily injuries with rest. Vampires do not experience death the way you or I do - they go into what is more equivalent to a state of brumation. Very few injuries are truly fatal for them. Worry not, Will Henry; your valiant effort to save her has not been in vain.”

Will Henry looked visibly relieved, but the relief was short lived. Kearns had successfully removed the Matriarch’s thumb, and held it above his head triumphantly, the bloody claw glistening in the fire of the oil lamp.

“Why, what a marvelous trophy this would make! I dare say you could fashion it into a necklace, Annie! The other ladies will be green with envy.”

“This is a terrible idea, Kearns,” Pellinore chastised. “It will only cause her further injury.”

“We’d be goring her either way,” he pointed out. “This is simply the less tedious way to do it. Though of course, Annie, if you care to remain in the clutches of your slain foe for another hour or two, do let us know.”

Anna looked over at Kearns. His face was growing blurrier by the minute. She did not have long before she’d fade away entirely. So, she simply gave him a small nod. The gesture was enough to bring a smile to Kearns’ face.

“See, the lady agrees! Come now, Pellinore; if the three of us work together, we can make quick work of it.”

“...All right,” Pellinore agreed, his voice weary. “Will Henry, kneel on Anna’s other side. Snap to!”

Anna could not watch. She let her eyes close as she felt the three men grasp her left side. It reminded her of when she had to pry Eliza Bunton off her post-mortem visitor, though she at least had the mercy of being a corpse. Anna would have to feel every moment of it.

“Steady, gentlemen,” Kearns commanded. “On my mark. One, two… three!”

With that, Anna felt them yank her to the right, breaking her free from the monster’s claws. They tore through her already painful wounds as she moved, causing her to let out an involuntary yelp. The moment she was free, Pellinore took her into his arms. He tried to remain calm for her sake, but his eyes betrayed the guilt he felt.

“You’re all right, Anastasia,” he said gently. “You may rest now.”

He did not have to tell her to. The world was already fading to black, her mind being dragged back into oblivion.

Anna groaned softly as she writhed under the linens on her bed. She was exhausted, and numb, her limbs so heavy she felt as if they would sink through the mattress, through the floor, into the darkness of the earth itself. Her eyes rolled restlessly behind closed lids. In her state of half-consciousness, she could feel the presence of the woman beside her, almost picturing her clearly in her mind. Leering over the bed, her face only inches away from Anna's, her head tilted to the side and lips unconsciously prodding at her abnormally long canine teeth.

"You poor, mewling child," she said, her accented voice soft and chastising. "You know, to become a mother would have been such a waste of youth. Youth that could be used for much more... worthwhile endeavors. More worthwhile than being bred by a halfwit; more worthwhile than having an ugly infant gnaw on your perfect breast. You cannot give the man what he wants, so take your body entirely for yourself. Let there be vindication in your choice once he replaces you with a fertile farmer's daughter."

Anna felt the vampire's hand reach out, brushing hair back from her sweaty forehead as tenderly as a mother. The hand ran further down her hair, catching tangles as she pulled her claws through it.

"This is not death, Anastasia! Do not thrash about like a febrile child. This is your baptism; a rebirth. You must unshackle yourself from this horrid lifestyle, alone and unloved, doomed to be a seamstress and a cook and a caretaker like every other woman in your village. You cannot call this death if you are more alive than any of them."

She leaned in closer. Anna felt an icy breath on her ear, the sharpness of the vampiress' words stabbing her through the eardrum.

"Wake up!"

Anna jerked awake. It took her a moment to gather her bearings. She felt wood beneath her - a cart. Soft wool wrapped her body, a familiar smell clinging to it - Pellinore's coat. Cold rain dripped down her face, and while she was not breathing, she could feel the fresh air on her skin. The ringing in her ears gradually faded, but with it came a throbbing in her side. That was right; she had been stabbed by the Matriarch's claws. Blood still seeped from her wound, soaking the coat. She could feel the fabric against her bare chest, and realized her chamise had not held up to her being ripped off the monster’s claws. What was Pellinore wearing then, she wondered?

"How could you be so calm about this?!" Morgan's voice filled her ears. "Your beloved wife is dead, an innocent child is dead, you very nearly killed another, and that is not even to mention the poor wretch that Cory slaughtered!"

Anna grunted and stirred, just in time it seemed, as Pellinore let out an audible sigh of relief. She heard Will Henry clamber over the side of the cart, and just as suddenly his face was level with hers, his large brown eyes filled with worry.

"Mrs. Warthrop!" He called. "Mrs. Warthrop, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

Boy, your face is two inches from mine. Yes, I can hear you.

She could not find the strength to say those words aloud, but she thought them, and hoped her expression conveyed as much.

"Leave her alone, Will Henry!" Pellinore snapped. "She must rest.”

Will blushed, embarrassed, and sat back further in the cart. Pitying the worried child, Anna extended one of her hands towards him. His lips parted in a small smile and he took it in his, squeezing it gently. She wanted to thank him at that moment, but perhaps those words did not need to be spoken aloud. He had not saved her life out of obligation.

"She's alive?!" Morgan cried in disbelief.

He ran over to the side of the cart, staring at her with wonder as if she were some kind of medical marvel. God, how she wanted to whirl around and slap the glasses off his face. Her nerves were on fire and her abdomen was throbbing. All she wanted was a glass of water and a long, long nap.

"Of course she is," Kearns mused. His voice sounded far too close and it made the hair on her arms prickle. "Annie may be of the weaker sex, but she is made of quite stern stuff."

"If you are done with your theatrics, Morgan," Pellinore said, a dangerous edge in his voice, "I would like to take my leave now, seeing as how our job has been completed. You may deal with the aftermath as you see fit, but for now, we must go."

"No!" Morgan boomed. "She shall be going straight to the hospital, and by God, Pellinore, you are lucky you’re not sitting in jail at this very moment!"

"You do not understand anything, Robert!" Pellinore bit back. "Not about me, nor my profession, nor my personal life! If you insist upon arresting me, then do so. But I am the only one who can help her."

"She is dying, Pellinore! Your own wife! Have a heart!"

Kearns laughed. It was a cold, callous sound that made Anna feel even more chilled than she already was.

"Bobby," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "After all that you have witnessed, and with your basic understanding of Pellinore's unusual choice of profession, do you really still not see it? You must truly be an idiot, then. That or in deep denial."

"See what, Kearns?" Morgan replied grimly. "All I see right now is Mrs. Warthrop bleeding out in the rain."

"Don't, Kearns-" Pellinore started, but it was too late.

"I won't spoon feed you the answer, Robert. You may be a ninny, but you must have some semblance of reasoning skills. You are Constable of this little hamlet, after all. So tell me - how do you think Pellinore, a reclusive and asocial man, would have a wife to begin with? Yet he brought home this ethereal woman with him from his travels - a strangely youthful, inhumanly resilient, unnaturally pallid, slightly feral creature? Have you really gone this long without putting the pieces together?"

Morgan paused. Though she could not see his face, Anna could easily picture the stunned expression in his round eyes.

"I... I don't understand," Morgan said. "What exactly is your wife then, Warthrop?"

"That is of no importance to you, Robert. She is not a threat to anybody; I would never have brought her here if she was. She simply suffers from an illness with some unfortunate side effects that we manage safely. Do not think of her any differently than you have before, Morgan."

At that point, Morgan was likely chewing on the stem of his pipe nervously. "An illness... unfortunate side effects... Why Warthrop, I do not believe I wish for you to elaborate any further."

"I can," Kearns interjected. "Have you ever heard of a novella by the title of Carmilla?"

"Shut up, John!" Pellinore snapped. "Morgan, you must understand why I need to take Anna home immediately. She will be perfectly fine without outside medical care, I can assure you. One of the more fortunate side effects of her particular affliction is that she heals much faster than an average human, and can easily recover from wounds such as the ones she sustained. It touches me that you worry for her, but she shall be fine. She is always fine."

Morgan didn't protest again. Perhaps he was too busy thinking about this mysterious disease, and what it had to do with whatever Kearns was prattling on about. Either way, Pellinore was able to approach the cart. He lifted Anna up into his arms gently, though she still grunted softly as his fingers brushed over her wounded side. He had on a familiar blue coat - so he had taken her up on her offer, then. While it didn’t fit him quite right, he was skinny enough to at least close it over his bare chest. She happily rested her head against him, closing her eyes.

When Anna awoke again, it was because her wounds were being prodded at. She grunted in pain, turning to see what was happening. Sitting by their bedside in his desk chair was Pellinore, gently washing her with a clean cloth. Her skin had been coated with dirt, gore, and dried blood. She could tell he’d been at it for a while, judging by the already soiled rags piled next to him, but he had saved her torso for last.

“My apologies, Anna,” Pellinore said softly. “I am doing my best to be gentle.”

Anna hummed softly, relaxing back into her pillows. She was just happy to be at home again, even if the wound on her side persistently ached.

“Do you take enjoyment out of frightening me?” Pellinore thought aloud as he worked. “Do you not pity the worry I feel whenever you put your life on the line? You are not a guard dog, Anna. Your duties are… much more important than that. As I have said, you are indispensable to me. So please, as you said to Will Henry - choose to live. I do not think I could bear a day without you by my side, Anastasia.”

That was as close as he would ever get to outright saying the words I love you. The only time they’d escaped his lips was when he confessed his love to her one night, just before he was meant to leave Vienna. He had said the same thing to her, how he could not stand to be without her now that he knew her, but with the added words: “I love you, Anastasia. Come back to America with me.”

She did not know why the phrase eluded him before and since, but it did not matter. He said and expressed it in other ways; ways far more important than just outright stating it. Still, she gathered up her remaining strength, just to say it back.

“I love you too, Pellinore.”

A small smile warmed his face. “Ah, so you’ve retained your memories. Good.”

“Too many of them if you ask me,” Anna mumbled.

“We have all done things we regret, my dear Anna. The ferocity you displayed when the Matriarch had her sights on Will Henry proves all that matters about your character.”

“You shouldn’t regret anything either,” Anna said softly. “You could not have seen this coming, neither of us did. It just does not make any sense.”

Pellinore waved her off. “Let us put this whole Anthropophagus affair behind us. The pod is dead, Morgan has realized he needs to allow us to just do our work, and Kearns… Well, Kearns will be leaving on the morrow.”

“So he’s not being arrested.”

“Of course he’s not. Robert can threaten it until he's red in the face, but we both know it will never happen.”

When he felt she was sufficiently clean, Pellinore dressed the wound, wrapping it gently in with a bandage. He then helped her put on a nightgown. All the while, Anna watched him with half-lidded eyes, exhaustion weighing her down.

“Have you fed recently?” He asked suddenly.

“...No, I have not,” Anna lied, as some lies are born of necessity.

Pellinore looked down at her. “You should eat, then. It will help you.”

“I am fine.”

“You look ill. All of your body’s resources have gone towards healing your injuries. You should eat.”

“Ironic, coming from you.”

She regretted the words as they left her mouth, and Pellinore gave her a sour look, his temper getting the better of him.

“Fine! I shall let you starve, then. If you cannot understand the difference between love and obligation as you have preached about before, you may die a hypocrite.”

“You claim this is an act of love?” Anna chuckled.

“I am offering you my own blood. What is that if not love, Anastasia?”

“Lunacy.”

“You’re the lunatic, I’m afraid. Climbing onto the back of a fully grown female Anthropophagus, hoping to accomplish what, exactly? Did you intend to have a little snack in the middle of our hunt?”

It was Anna’s turn to scowl. “To kill her.”

“Ah, but if I recall correctly, it was Will Henry who killed her, not you.”

She scowled and snuggled further into the blankets, and Pellinore sighed haughtily, throwing his towel aside.

“Fine! Mope and pout like a child. See if I care as you wither away in our marital bed.”

“You do care, if you are offering me your blood. Out of love as you alleged.”

“Yet you refuse.”

Anna looked up at him, her countenance changing from pouty to agitated. “Do you think I want to hurt you? Vampires do not bite to have a quick little drink, Pellinore. We bite to kill. We see our prey running, bleeding, screaming, and it awakens something in us. Our human minds; they go dark. It is only the monster within left. She is greedy, Pellinore. And she is always hungry.”

Pellinore leaned in closer, his dark eyes so intense she had to turn her head.

“Do you think I am afraid of you?” He asked softly.

“I…” She paused, feeling his weight on the bed, his body beginning to press into hers. Into her space. Anyone else, and she likely would have lashed out. “...The Matriarch was just an animal. She fought viciously not out of malfeasance, but out of instinct. I, on the other hand, do not act out of instinct; my mind was still incredibly human when I leapt upon her back with the sole purpose of tearing out that unblinking eye. It is I who am the she-beast, not her.”

“I told you before, you are not a monster; you are Anna. Do you think I lied to you?”

You told me that the same night I killed someone. She wanted to say it badly. But even if she did, what difference would it make? The Monstrumologist was his father’s son, attempting to tame the untamable. She was a tiger and he saw her as a gentle house cat. When she did not respond to his question, he continued to prod.

“Please, Anna. If you are hurting me, I will ask you to stop. And I do believe you will stop. I trust you.”

“Trust me…” Anna scoffed.

“Onto my very life. I lay it out for you.”

His arm stretched out in front of her, across her chest. She felt his other arm around her shoulders, his body pressed against hers. The gaze from his backlit eyes burning into her cheek. That damnable man, it was as if he was trying to seduce her. Was it even intentional? Either way, it was working. She could hear his heart beating close to her, steadily pumping blood through his veins. The animal within her told her to turn around and pounce, to strike while he was vulnerable. But Anna prevailed. She gently took his forearm in her hands, her lips brushing his pale skin. She hesitated for a moment before they finally parted, and she sank her teeth into his delicate flesh.

She heard Pellinore his in a breath through his teeth next to her, but did not look over at him. The last thing she needed was to look at his face. She could already feel his eyes boring into her, and that was enough. She expected his blood to taste as intense as he was, but instead, it flowed down her throat as easily as sweet floral tea. It was the elixir of life; liquid ambrosia. If she had not been so careful, she could have easily overindulged. Instead, after drinking only what she felt comfortable taking, she let go.

Her grip loosened, and she turned towards him. He was looking at her with that mixture of awe and fascination. She froze, caught in the pull of his gaze. It was the opposite of how it felt to be locked in the sights of Kearns - instead of a wounded rabbit being stalked by a fox, she felt like she was the only woman in the universe. She took a deep breath and turned away once again, bashful.

“That’s good enough. Thank you, Pellinore.”

“Yes, I can tell. You’re already looking quite pink. Very good!”

He squeezed her thigh before getting up, taking the leftover bandages so he could tend to his bite. While he was turned away, Anna took the opportunity to lick the last of his blood off her lips, feeling greedy. She had never tasted anything like it. Would it have been the same if she had eaten him that night on the bridge as she had intended? Or did it just taste that way because she loved him?

“Are you all right, Anna?”

She turned back to him, smiling. “I’m fine. I feel much better already, in fact.”

“Good. Your wounds have not healed much thus far; this should give your body the push it needs to repair itself.”

A soft knock sounded upon the door, and Pellinore immediately looked annoyed.

“Yes, Will Henry, what is it?”

The door creaked open, and Will stood in the crack, holding a tray with a cup of tea and scone on it. Anna immediately eyeballed the pastry, the invigoration she felt from the fresh blood in her system bringing back her appetite.

“I heard Mrs. Warthrop was awake, so I thought she might like some tea.”

“Anna needs rest.”

“I know, sir. I just thought she may be hungry.”

“Do you know what vampires eat, Will Henry?”

“Yes sir. But Mrs. Warthrop also eats tea and pastries.”

“It’s true, Pellinore. I also eat tea and pastries.”

Pellinore sighed softly, beginning to pick up the soiled rags off the floor. “Very well, then. If you are in the mood for such things, by all means. But you must get as much rest as possible. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

Pellinore gave her a glower so sincere it made her laugh aloud - until the pain in her side stopped her mirth in its tracks. She curled up, still chuckling as she clutched her side. Pellinore’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on her back.

“I will leave you to it.”

He picked up the remaining rags and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Will Henry trotted over to the desk, setting down the snack next to her. Anna took a sip of the tea immediately. It was sweet, almost overly so, just the way she liked it.

“Ah. The doctor’s not going to wash those, is he? He’s just leaving another chore for me to do when I recover.”

“I can do the laundry, Mrs. Warthrop.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right, Will Henry. We shouldn’t be too busy in the coming weeks so you should go off and do… boy things.”

“Boy things, ma’am?”

“Yes. Whatever little boys your age like to do. I don’t know; go fishing or chase butterflies or what have you. Enjoy sunshine and fresh air.”

“Well, I like to play baseball.”

“You should go out and play baseball, then.”

Will Henry shrugged his shoulders, resting his elbow on the desk as he looked towards the window.

“I don’t know the other boys very well. They probably wouldn’t let me join them.”

“That’s very sad, Will Henry.”

“I know.”

Anna devoured her scone as he continued to stare out the window. She was more ravenous then she realized, polishing off every morsel within a few minutes. When she was finished, she greedily sucked a bit of raspberry juice off her finger.

“Was the scone good, Mrs. Warthrop?”

“Of course it was good. I made them after all. They’re the doctor’s favorite, you know. The fact there are still some left proves how distracted he’s been… Rightfully so.”

“Do you… do you feel guilty? About what happened?”

“Why, do you?”

“I…” Will Henry paused for a moment, his mind wandering back to the boy with brilliant blue eyes. “I think I do. I feel terribly for Malachi. He couldn’t save his family, and then he couldn’t save himself.”

“I think Elizabeth will forgive him, though. God teaches us to forgive, and they were a good Christian family.”

“I hope she will too…”

His mind seemed to wander again. Anna leaned back against the pillows, folding her hands over her chest and resting her eyes. His voice sounded from next to her again, surprising her.

“Do you have any sisters, Mrs. Warthrop?”

She opened one eye, frowning. “What a silly question, Will Henry. Of course I don’t have any sisters; I was an only child. And even if I did have sisters, they would be long dead by now. Why would you ask me that?”

“Because... I’m sorry, ma’am. I was just curious because I… I feel like I barely know anything about you. Or the doctor. Forgive me for saying it, but I’ve learned more about him in the past week than I have in the past two years.”

“If you wanted to gossip about the doctor, you could just ask me. I know many things about him. We also have a lot in common, if you could believe that. Our personalities may differ but we share many of the same interests. For example, I was interested in biology long before I ever met him.”

“You were?”

“Why yes, I…” Anna tilted her head back, looking up at the ceiling. Fuzzy memories danced back into view, and she had to fight to keep hold of them. “...I grew up in New York, before it became a state. It was truly North America back then; full of untamed wilderness and Indian territories. Father was often working and my mother wanted nothing to do with me, so I often found myself with a lot of time on my hands when I wasn’t busy being tutored or pricking my fingers trying to sew. So, I would go out into nature. Our house sat next to a hill which was bordered by woods, and on the other side of it was a valley with a stream, so I often went fishing there. Or I would turn over rocks and find salamanders, chase after the moths clinging to strands of grass, and pick the wild violets that grew in the spring.

“Mother resented this side of me, but father found it quite amusing, so to humor my curiosity he would get me books and pamphlets written by naturalists. Oh, did I devour them all. I was determined to be the next Carl Linnaeus. It was a foolish dream, but it was mine. I was enchanted by insects, and strange plants, and the snakes crawling through the grass. I used to pick up the ones I knew were not venomous - got bit quite a few times doing that, as you can imagine, but I never minded being bitten.

“All animals are beautiful to me. Even the disturbing ones I find myself studying now. Not just outwardly, but because we are all squares in the same elaborate quilt. I don’t mean this spiritually, mind you; I stopped believing in that bunk many years ago. No, we’re not the instruments of God, but of nature. Everything has a purpose and a place in this organic system. Even humanity, though we do tend to trample on it constantly. I try not to. I step aside and make way for the noble ant, as she works harder than I ever have! I admire the Blue Heron as he flies above my head, searching for more fish to catch. I always take care of the cats outside, as they eat the mice which live in the stable with the dear old horses. Though, even those mice have their role. They are known for spreading pestilence and thus are hated, but they’re just trying to survive in a world that they never asked to be born into. That is all any of us can do, Will Henry, is take a note from the animal kingdom and try to survive. That’s what I try to do, anyway.”

“Is that why you became a vampire? To survive?”

Anna whipped her head around, and Will Henry shrunk away, expecting to be snapped at. Instead, Anna sighed, resting her head on her shoulder.

“You are quite curious today, aren’t you, Will Henry?”

“Yes, ma’am. That is to say, I’ve always wondered about it.”

“You have?”

“Yes. Since vampirism is a disease, I was wondering if it’s similar to having this parasite, though it doesn’t make me crave human blood, at least I hope I won’t-”

Anna stopped him, taking his hand in hers. She understood his curiosity, now. He was immortal, like her - at least, he would live much longer than those not infected with the parasite. Biminius awarkus; the real life inspiration behind the mythical Fountain of Youth. Though as it parasite, it came with a price for most. James had gone insane when he was infected; in his pain and delirium he had tried to destroy the boils on his skin with fire from the stove, setting his nightshirt ablaze and taking nearly everything with him. Will Henry had become infected too while in his sickly father's vicinity, much to the doctor's shock. However, remained perfectly asymptomatic, making him the subject of intense study. Every month, Pellinore drew a sample of blood, examining it under the microscope. And every month, the worms continued to peacefully coexist with the rest of his system, much like the virus within her blood. Much like vampirism, it was both a blessing and a curse.

It was grim to think about how he had already been bearing the consequences of his father’s work before he moved in with them. The sins of the father…

“...No, Will Henry. I did not become a vampire to survive. I became a vampire because I was lonely.”

“That’s very sad, ma’am.”

“I know.” She pulled away from him, rolling onto her back and crossing her hands over her stomach. She closed her eyes, resting them. For a moment, Will Henry thought she would not say anything else, but she spoke.

“That is an overly simplified reasoning. The vampire who turned me was the lonely one, not I. She simply taught me to see things from her perspective, and I was desperate enough to willingly take the way out she had offered to me on a silver platter. I was only twenty-two, you see, thus completely unequipped to face the consequences of such a decision. By the time I did, it was far too late. But… I would not go back and change it. The path I chose has not been easy, but it has led me here, so I cannot imagine deviating from it. Not now.

“It is only a curse if you allow it to be, Will Henry. You must find a way to cope with it. The way I do that is simply… live with it. I cannot look to the past, as it is full of pain. I cannot look to the future, as it is full of uncertainty. So I focus my attention on the present, the current moment I live in, as it serves to ground me. You must always live in the present, Will Henry. That is how you avoid insanity - many vampires turn to hedonism to stave off the pain of immortality, or lock themselves away in crypts, or give up and find ways to wrench themselves from this mortal coil. I simply choose to live. That is the only advice I have for you. It is not new, but it is important.”

“But in those tunnels… You almost died, Mrs. Warthrop. She could have eaten you alive.”

“I was not choosing death at that moment, Will. I was choosing to save you. That decision was just as easy as breathing - and just as much of an impulse, one I maintain despite having no need for it. I never had any children…” She sat back up, looking towards him with a bittersweet smile on her face. “But you are James’ child. And that is a good enough reason, I think, to care for you as if I birthed you myself. I know that you never asked for this; I understand it was not your choice. But… despite the circ*mstances of your being here, I do not regret taking you in. I am very glad to know you, Will Henry, and the man you will become. So do not ever feel lonely, even in your extended life. For as long as you are here, I will be here with you. I know I cannot promise that, but I do wish it whole-heartedly.”

Will Henry stared up at her from his seat, his eyes wide and watery. She put a hand over her mouth, her confession catching her just as off guard. But it was the truth. Expecting no acknowledgement, she began to turn away, only to gasp as she suddenly felt Will Henry’s arms embrace her. He had jumped out of his seat and kneeled on the bed, pulling the vampire into a tight hug. She sat there for a moment, completely startled by the gesture, but after a few moments she was able to wrap an arm around him in turn.

“I love you too, Mrs. Warthrop,” he whispered in her ear.

He suddenly pulled away, as if he were embarrassed he had said that, but Anna did not mind hearing those words from him. She brushed back the hair from his forehead, tucking it under his little brown cap. The gesture made Will relax, and he sat on the edge of the bed, asking her once again about her childhood in New York.

And so, the wolf and her lamb sat together for a while, speaking of salamanders and wild violets.

Chapter 10: An Epilogue

Chapter Text

May 15th, 1889
New Jerusalem, MA

A month after an Anthropophagus Affair, the Warthrop household had finally fallen back into a semblance of peace. Anna stood in the kitchen, making breakfast. Sausage and potato pancakes, as Will Henry had requested earlier. As she stood there shredding potatoes, she found herself remembering how well their last case had wrapped up - though perhaps, not as well as Pellinore may have liked.

Constable Morgan had turned up on their doorstep two days after the Matriarch’s death to check on Anna’s health, and inform the Warthrops he was letting them off with no charges. Although, not without a stipulation that left him some semblance of control. He needed the doctor and his wife, he had realized, to protect the town from creatures such as the one that had been hanging in their basem*nt. They would be allowed to do their work in peace, so long as he was immediately privy to any other “unfortunate incidents relevant to the health and safety of the population of New Jerusalem”.

Kearns, for his part, had come into her bedroom the night before, the jolly madman planting himself by her bedside in such an inconspicuous way that the sound of the chair scraping the floor jostled her awake.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said when he had her attention.

“How dare you?”

Kearns’ face twisted, mirroring her disgust. “No, not that type of proposition. Dear God woman, what do you take me for? Unlike your darling husband, I do not wish to engage with women who could gut me mid-coitus.”

“With the right motivation, any woman could gut you mid-coitus.”

Kearns smiled at her, his eyes sparkling with delight. “I do enjoy your sense of humor, Annie. Though I’m afraid that may very well be the only thing I like about you!”

“Do not expect me to compliment you in return. I will struggle to find one.”

Kearns brushed off the jab, setting his elbows on his knees as he leaned in to speak to her. “You must go back to Dedham. This matter is not finished, far from it.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Anna replied. “Not in this state.”

“I won’t be able to go anywhere either, then,” Kearns said. “Not until you can give me a satisfactory answer. Tell me, do you truly believe the poppies were kept fat and happy with the unfortunate souls trapped within Dr. Starr’s sanatorium?”

“I am quite certain of it at this point, yes.”

“Then confirm it for me. If it is not true, send a letter to my address in Baltimore saying as much. If it is, do not reply. I will rest easy knowing that the matter is finished.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Needless to say, I am dreadfully curious! But I am afraid I cannot stay any longer to find out for myself.”

“Fine. You’ll be taking your leave now, then?”

“Quite happily, thank you! The bed was hard, the company was daft, and you never did go out back to shoot that pheasant. Shameful, really.”

“Silly me. Next time I know you are coming, I will catch a duck and start fattening it up for some foie gras.”

“I shall hold you to that, Annie! As well as the much needed closure - I know you are just as curious as I am.”

He stood up and headed to her bedroom door, throwing on his hat.

“Hold on, Jack - just where are you headed now?”

“To and fro in the earth, my dearest backfriend, and walking up and down upon it. Look for me upon the rising of the moon; I shall return!”

With that, he took a bow before turning on his heel and leaving the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. If she had not already been recovering from her injury-induced stupor, she would have thought she had hallucinated the whole encounter. What happened after it seemed too much like a foregone conclusion, and one he was already privy to.

Just as she finished prepping the potatoes, she heard her name sounding from upstairs. Anna sighed softly, wiping off the remnants of potato off her hands before heading upstairs to see what Pellinore wanted. She entered the bathroom to find him standing in front of the bathroom mirror. He had been shaving his face - or perhaps mutilating himself was the better word. The finished side of his face was dotted in styptic, and she could already smell the blood.

“Pellinore, you do know you’re supposed to shave off your beard and not your dermis, don’t you?”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“Clearly you wanted it, if you called me up here.”

“I called you up for no such thing.”

“Odd of you to say, since you’re doing a hack job of it. Unless your goal is to peel your face off with a straight razor. In that case, it is a shame to see such a handsome visage go, but I will not stop you. Not unless you ask me to.”

Pellinore sighed, placing his razor down on the vanity. “If you are done teasing me, Anna, then you may go ahead and have at it yourself. I do so detest shaving.”

“I know you do, dear.”

She took the razor from him, not hesitating to apply it to his cheek. She used her other hand to hold him in place, her touch gentle yet firm. He winced slightly as the blade scraped across his cheek, but the skin beneath the soap remained perfectly smooth and intact. She quickly finished his face, moving down to the underside of his chin and his neck. Pellinore watched her reflection in the mirror, his face not betraying any emotions. When Anna finally finished, she washed the blade off as Pellinore cleaned his face of the remaining soap.

“You never cease to amaze me, doctor.”

“Yes, I get it. I am terrible at shaving. Don’t you have something else you were supposed to be doing?”

“Not that,” she hissed, avoiding saying the word jackass lest it get them into a pointless row. “I mean to say that I am amazed you still trust me. After everything I’ve done; despite all that I am.”

Pellinore looked surprised at that, turning to face her instead of continuing to make eye contact via the mirror. “Whatever makes you say that?”

“You just let me shave your face. After you already let me taste your blood, no less. A very bold move.”

“What does it matter?” Pellinore asked. “You are my wife. Stop asking me foolish questions.”

“What about Dr. Starr?”

“What about him?” Pellinore snapped. “I already told you weeks ago to put the matter behind us, so why do you insist upon bringing it up? You made your choice, and I made mine! His obituary did not even show up in the damn papers, so what does it matter anymore? What is the matter with you, Anastasia? Why do you insist upon pressing me over decisions you made? The reason you are this way at all happened before I was even born! Am I meant to assuage your guilt over a decision you made a hundred years ago, Anastasia?”

“What is the matter with you?” Anna demanded. “Are you protecting me, or yourself and your reputation? To the rest of the Society, I am a specimen in a jar. To you, I am just Anna. But I am a vampire. I have grown weary of pretending I’m not. I love being what I am - I genuinely do. And I am, in fact, quite tired of feeling guilty over a decision I made when I was just a stupid, desperate young woman; just as I am tired of pretending to be something I’m not! And what I am not is a good person. I probably never was, even before I was infected. So why are we still doing this? What has possessed you to still have faith in me, to keep me around as if anything about our relationship is normal? What even is this? Ten years next month, and I still don’t understand! Why? Why did you not kill me when you had the chance? Why… Why do you love me back? And do not give me some long-winded or poetic answer this time, Pellinore. I only want the truth. Please.”

She was trembling by the time she finished, having become much more emotional than she intended to. She stubbornly held his gaze, biting the inside of her lip so it wouldn’t quiver. Pellinore’s intense eyes had sorrow behind them. She had caught him entirely off guard - did he feel guilty, now, she wondered? He stood there for a minute, silently, the cogs in his head turning as he tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy her.

“How could I not?” Pellinore finally said, his voice agonizingly gentle.

Anna didn’t have a retort for that. Instead, she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest.

“Please,” Pellinore whispered to her as he stroked her hair. “Can you let it be? Regardless of what has happened in the past or what may happen in the future, I have you, and I want you to remain by my side. I know the consequences of my decisions, as you do yours. So let us not overthink those decisions... Not when we have already committed to each other thus far.”

“All right,” Anna whispered back. “I will let us be.”

For only a fool takes for granted what a wise man leaves for fools.

The incident had occurred a few weeks earlier, not very long after Anna recovered from her injuries. The Warthrops had unfinished business - Pellinore his justice for Hezekiah Varner, and Anna her confirmation of the theory she shared with Kearns.

The three hour horseback ride had been very quiet, Pellinore once again stewing in his own rage. Anna simply felt drained. There were far worse beasts than the slain Matriarch, and Anna almost wished she was back down in the tunnels when she caught sight of the dilapidated asylum, leering over the dirt road like a vulture over the bloated corpse of a deer.

The horses remained uneasy as they were tethered. They sensed the tenseness in their riders, or perhaps even the rancid energy emitting from the building before them. Anna found herself leaning her cheek against Honor’s for a moment, as if she needed to borrow some of the animal’s steadfast nature. Still, despite her sense of dread, she joined Pellinore on the porch. They knocked upon the door, and that time it only too a few minutes for the elderly housekeeper to answer their call.

“Dr. Warthrop,” she greeted, her voice tight. “Mrs. Warthrop… What brings you to our door again so soon?”

“I must speak with Dr. Starr immediately,” Pellinore said tersely.

“Dr. Starr is not taking any visitors.”

“This is an urgent matter, Mrs. Bratton, regarding unfinished business of my father’s. I will not tarry on your doorstep once again.”

He pulled out his coin purse, producing twenty dollars in gold coins. The money changed the bitter woman’s tune, and she was more than happy to alert the alienist that he had visitors. Soon enough, they were back in that parlor, the room smelling just as badly of bleach as it had the last time. It seemed that Varner wasn’t the only one who had the stench of their rot covered up with copious amounts of chemicals.

Dr. Starr huddled across from them, his frail form trembling. He had wrapped himself in a threadbare blanket, still freezing cold despite the fire roaring within the hearth. Pellinore sat right across from him, barely containing the contempt he felt for the sickly old man. The interrogation began immediately.

“Who were Slidell and Mason?” Pellinore asked. Two gold coins clattered upon the table to prompt the alienist's candor.

“Madmen,” Dr. Starr murmured.

“I’d presume that’s not a formal diagnosis,” Anna commented.

“No, but I assure you, madness is my area of expertise.”

“They were agents of the Confederacy?” Pellinore pressed.

“They never claimed to be Warthrop, at least not to me, but I met them only once, and that was briefly. Certainly they were fanatical over ‘the cause’, as they called it, the most dangerous kind of fanatics too: fanatics with fabulous sums at their disposal.”

“My father introduced you.”

Dr. Starr nodded before having another one of his long coughing fits, his ailing lungs struggling to force out whatever horrific mucus clung to them. He finished off by spitting into his ratty little cloth. It was a pathetic scene, but it was hard to pity a man like him.

“And what did my father say they were?”

“Philanthropists,” Dr. Starr answered, his voice clogged.

“Philanthropists?” Anna parroted, unable to contain her amusem*nt.

“Yes, philanthropists. Interested - keenly interested, in their words - in the advancement of the science of eugenics.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of fanatical philanthropists,” Anna commented. “Fanatical slavers, perhaps, but never a fanatical philanthropist.”

“That is simply how he introduced them.”

“My father enlisted their aid in an experiment,” Pellinore deduced.

Dr. Starr nodded. “As I understood it, it involved the merger of the two species.”

Anna’s jaw dropped. Even Will Henry seemed appalled by the idea, a frown stretching across his face.

“Anthropophagi with hom*o sapiens?” Pellinore balked, revolted. “To what possible purpose?”

“There is no purpose!” Anna said, leaning in. “It’s impossible! You would have better luck breeding a human to an orangutan; at least the man of the forest is a peaceful herbivore! He must have had an ulterior motive - perhaps he simply told the Confederates this under the pretense he was going to make some sort of super-predator. Stupid enough to be blindly loyal, yet intelligent enough to follow commands.”

“I do not believe he saw it that way,” Dr. Starr said. “Mason and Slidell perhaps, but not Warthrop. ‘It may be in our power to give a soul to the soulless,’ he told me in private. ‘Mercy to the merciless. Humanity to the inhuman’.”

Pellinore and Anna looked at each other for a moment.

“And you agreed,” Pellinore said, turning back towards Starr.

“Not at first. I rebuffed the offer outright. I had no desire to play God.”

“But you changed your mind. Why?”

Starr didn’t answer. He sat there and wheezed quietly, looking down towards his tea cup. Was he ashamed, then? Maybe even just embarrassed? Or was the truth simply better off unspoken? Pellinore, not wanting to leave without answers, dropped another two coins onto the table.

“How do you know I changed it?” Starr finally replied.