Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a brotherhood only found in storybooks. An orphan, brought to London from Dublin and raised to be a soldier, playing hide and seek in Temple Garden with the son of an English banker and a French artist between their respective lessons. Both boys were too young to care that society would rather they never met when they were rampaging in the mud like ruffians until they were inevitably caught shirking their responsibilities. The boys were encouraged to continue their friendship by bemused parents and a shrewd guardian. In time, doors opened between their families to bring them even closer together. The orphan joined private lessons and the wealthy boy endured harsh training until they were so alike only their accents prevented them being mistaken for twins. 

“Come on, Johnny! Try something else!” Geoffrey taunted, blocking the blow from his sparring partner’s sword and jabbing him in the side with the butt of his dagger. 

“I’m just trying not to embarrass you in front of our leader!” Jonathan goaded in return, parrying the next strike to turn and sweep Geoffrey’s ankle out from under him. He knelt over his friend, holding the blade to his throat and leaning down until their noses almost touched. “Do you surrender?” A challenge burned between them, both determined to prove they were the better fighter. 

The tension was broken by Emelyne’s voice, “Jonathan! Geoffrey! Mary! Food is on the table. Must you keep us waiting.”

“Honestly, you two play around like a courting couple,” Mary laughed and closed the bestiary she’d been studying. While she wasn’t yet old enough to do proper training with the other Priwen recruits, and had little desire to take up arms the way her brother had, Carl Eldritch had been kind enough to seek the permission of her parents to teach her the ways to defend herself and her future family against the scourge of monsters that plagued the nights of London. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Geoffrey ignored her in favour of the blade at his throat and the boy on his chest. 

Jonathan cleared his throat awkwardly, “For your surrender?” It was spoken as a question, all of his witty confidence dissipated into something closer resembling the delicacy of a fine vapour. 

“Oh, well in that case,” Geoffrey twisted just enough for leverage and turned the tables, managing to both disarm Jonathan and have the point of his own dagger tucked under Jonathan’s jaw. “I think I win this round.” Heart beating harder than he thought possible against his chest, Jonathan didn’t bother to tell him he could probably win anything he put his mind to. Eldritch was their commander but it was Geoffrey that inspired Jonathan to be the best he could be. 

Memories of his youth were the only thing that kept Jonathan relatively sane throughout the worst of the war. Games played with Geoffrey, Clarence, Dylan and Mary distracted from the pained screams. Training with Geoffrey and Carl replaced the unrelenting gunfire. Painting with his mother and the adventures he would have with his father before the man disappeared kept his own night terrors at bay. Though his paternal role was fulfilled by Avery and Carl, Jonathan missed his father dearly, and when Carl met his destined fate in battle their butler did his best for both boys. 

There were those same monsters on the front lines, stalking the trenches like they were picking the streets of London clean. Jonathan had no idea how they even managed to survive both the journey and the war itself, but he’d executed his fair share of leeches between the horrifying mix of healing and killing the front demanded. The letters from home kept him grounded with promises from Geoffrey that neither his family nor homeland had fallen to the bloody plague in his absence. If there was one thing Jonathan could hold onto it was the conviction that no matter how bleak the moment seemed, Geoffrey McCullum, his brother in all but blood, would not allow the world to burn. 

The relief, then, was perhaps one of the sweetest things Jonathan had ever had the luxury of tasting as he departed the ship and gave his name for the itinerary. Though there was a bitterness to his delayed arrival in the deaths of his brother-in-law and that of a nephew he had never met, and an ailing mother he had been warned may find him a stranger, Jonathan ached to be home. The streets were quieter than he remembered, a bitter chill at his cheeks not dissimilar to the one he'd faced in France.

From a distance he could make out the stone lions that had guarded his childhood home, and beyond them the silhouettes of the inhabitants. Ordinarily, Jonathan was sure Geoffrey and Mary would've been waiting for him at the dock, but a strict clearance had been enforced owing to the flu. Despite the late hour, it appeared his family were waiting eagerly to welcome him home. Mary was dancing with Geoffrey, their brother in all but blood, while two fingers that could only be his mother and Avery sat closer to the fire. The curtains were wide open and every light in the house shone like a beacon. If he'd been given just a moment longer, Jonathan would've broken into a sprint. 

Instead, somewhere between fatigue and relief, something even Carl Eldritch would not have been prepared for emerged from the darkness biting at his heels. A strange voice spoke illegibly, a dissonance struck the air and Jonathan hesitated. Fatally, his training called on him to stand his ground. He dropped his belongings, prepared to draw his weapon as he stumbled forward, pretending to be unaware of the danger to fool the creature he believed to be stalking him. "Who goes there?"

A prayer for the summoned by warring song, a child born from darkness must take scent of his path. 

"Who's there? Are you referring to me?" 

The pain was indescribable; Death would not heed his adjuration. 

Chapter Text

The thirst was torturous. Blanked by a lethargy that was almost comforting, for a blissful moment he forgot who he was and what had happened to him. If he could just slip away from that insistent voice in his head, that intruder in his abyss, he might be free from consciousness entirely. 

Death… since the apple was plucked from the sacred tree, mortality was believed to be God’s punishment. A righteous snare to keep mankind from ascending to the stars. They were all so wrong. Death is not a wicked thing, nor some holy retribution. A true punishment would be to never know its sweet kiss. Awaken from the harshness and be born once more.

A woman was calling his name. Reluctant as he was to answer, he couldn't help being drawn back to the waking world. 

Jonathan opened his eyes and bolted upright with a harsh breath that didn’t quite fill his lungs. He kept trying, kept gasping for air that wouldn’t come as though he was drowning in some void. He turned his head to make desperate stock of his surroundings and cried out at the decomposing corpse beside him. Shoving it away, Jonathan scrambled to be free of the pit he’d found himself in, horrifying thoughts of being buried alive or abandoned in the trenches bolstering his confusion. That voice still called out to him, though he could barely understand what she was asking of him. 

Climbing out of the pit had taken a sudden surge of energy that Jonathan sorely lacked, each step forward after some great effort that took his entire body and will to form. Thirst. The only colour left was red, so sweet and promising, holding out against the greys and blacks the rest of the world had become around him, that great consuming ocean. Thirsty… so thirsty… It was the only legible thought his lethargic mind could draw together. In the distance the red thrummed with life, a person perhaps, but impossibly so. He reached out for it and heard a voice, once again not his own, echoing in the expanse. If only he could understand what it was saying. His name, he was sure, that must be his name but he was so, so thirsty. His instincts told him to bite and so he did, drinking without a thought and holding this creature of sustenance close to himself. Only when the thirst finally abated and the warmth in his arms collapsed did he comprehend her words. 

“Oh Jonathan, my sweet brother. What have you done?” 

Reality struck. “Mary!”

Jonathan grasped his sister’s hand and crouched down. She was choking on what little remained of her blood. “Oh no! Mary…” Those same memories he’d clung to during the war haunted him now; the knowledge that in his reanimation he had done the unforgivable and stolen Mary's life to sustain his own unnatural extension. Acting with the instincts of a field medic, he quickly tore fabric from his shirt to form an improvised gauze and held it to the wounds on her neck to stem the blood flow. Naively, he clung to the hope there might be some way to save her.  “Hold on! Please, hold on!” If Mary was here, if she’d been searching for him, then Geoffrey or another member of Priwen couldn’t be far away. They could transport her to a hospital. Jonathan wouldn’t let it be too late.

The final seconds of Mary's life were excruciating. Desperation kept Jonathan locked in a losing battle. Newborns always drank the deepest. They stole every ounce from their first victim and very rarely gave anything back. This encounter was no different. 

“Oh God… Mary! Mary, no.” Jonathan pulled her into his arms, heart aching as though he’d torn it from its cavity and raised her head to listen to her breathe. With a numbing acceptance, he lowered her to the ground again and willed himself to awaken. He would not become one of the beasts they hunted. “What have I done? This horror, it’s a nightmare...”

Not for the first time since leaving for the war effort, Jonathan wished Geoffrey were by his side, though this time he would beg for his blade instead of the will to go on. While any traces of Jonathan Reid remained, he knew he must be destroyed, lest the monster take another innocent life. If that was truly how vampires saw the world - neverending shadows with only prey to light the way - it was worse than they'd ever imagined. 

“You done killed her, you beast!” An unknown voice broke his remorse. It seemed London had become a city of strangers in his absence. 

“No! Please, a moment. Let me explain,” he wasn’t sure what he was begging for, perhaps a chance to see the people he loved a final time before justice was served, to explain, or a chance to warn them of the beast that had done this monstrous thing to him. Perhaps to beg them to take Mary someplace more sacred than the hellish pit he’d awoken in. It didn’t matter. A second, equally unknown voice cried for his death and a bullet went through his shoulder. Self preservation kicked in. He ran. 

The streets of London felt like the trenches enlarged, the twists and turns he had to take as he was hunted, determined not to attack anyone else. He couldn’t take another life. Innocent, Priwen or otherwise. They were all amateurs. The vampire population wherever the pit was located must have been low or else Geoffrey would’ve sent a much more experienced Guard to patrol. If only he could recognise someone. He disarmed whoever he could, broke arms and legs and outran the rest, the years of training serving him well in this at least. Until he pushed through the factory and a piss scared recruit, probably on his first night, pointed a gun in his face. 

“I mean you no harm,” Jonathan tried to reassure him. It seemed Geoffrey hadn’t just been recruiting in his absence, most of the weapons he’d seen tonight were entirely unfamiliar to him, save the blades and the guns he’d handled himself in war. Somewhere in the torrent of emotion, Jonathan felt a hearth of pride alight. “I-I need help.”

“Die you fucking leech!” The gun failed to fire.

“Please, listen to me. I need to...” 

“Shut up, beast!” The recruit struggled with him, refusing to hear a word. His training, as frustrating as the situation was for Jonathan, was serving the boy well. They grappled briefly, until the rising sun breached the rooftop above and seared Jonathan's exposed flesh so fiercely his bones ached with it. Overwhelmed, Jonathan pushed the hunter away and fled for any form of shelter. 

Finally he battled his way into some abandoned house and barricaded the door. It wouldn't take much to break through with the proper manpower, but by then Jonathan knew he would be locked in the encroaching hibernation of the damned. 

Brother, what have you done? 

With a moment to settle in his temporary sanctuary, Mary's final thoughts reverberated in his pounding head. 

“Mary. I’m sorry. Whoever did this to us, I will find them,” Jonathan vowed to the silence that followed. It was all he could do.

The damage he had caused and the life he had taken could not be undone, but there was a vampire in the West End that had turned him into the very thing he was raised to destroy and he would have justice before he begged Geoffrey to force his end. Geoffrey… his old friend was all his mother had now, and perhaps Avery if their old butler would be kind enough to stay.

As he progressed through the house he had sought refuge in, inspecting the corpse on the floor that he suspected was truly a skal and the watch beside her, memories began to come back to him that filled in the blanks between his attack and awakening. “Impossible,” Jonathan denied it. It couldn’t be real. He was a man of science and rational thinking and vampires, vampires didn’t experience life like this. They were manipulative and foul leeches, latching onto the lives of others to sustain their own like a parasite. Unfeeling parasites inhabiting bodies and mirroring souls that had long departed. 

Even so, he inspected the holes in his neck in a cracked mirror upstairs, so much like the fake ones Geoffrey had put on his neck to make believe ‘vampire and hunter’ when they were children. They’d expected Carl to be furious; yet when he discovered their game he’d taken the paint and shown them what a real bite should look like, how to identify it on a newborn, and let them play with their blunted weapons. “I have so much left that needs doing,” he echoed his own final thought on the cold pavement. This was not how his life should have ended. 

In the next room, in the hands of another corpse, he found a pistol. It was the same type he’d been issued at the field hospital. The enemy were always threatening them, so close to the front lines and never safe, not for a moment. Even the peace was too tense for them ever to truly swallow the calm. If this was some horrible misgiving of lost sanity, if he was still at war or on the way home… “It’s a nightmare. That’s it.” He promised himself, convinced himself it was all the daunting terror both wars had converged on his mind, and settled on the bed before him. “So be it.” He drew the gun. A doctor, a Priwen and a soldier. He knew where to lay the killing blow in a hundred different ways, perhaps more. A steady hand held the gun over his heart, another steadied it to the right angle, wrist straining to keep it in place. If one died in a dream, surely they awoke. 

And if it was real, despite his promises to Mary's memory, Jonathan knew he had precious little time to put an end to the monster he was becoming. If he incapacitated himself then Geoffrey and however many soldiers he would bring would face no danger burning the beast to ash. “Rational thinking only.” 

He pulled the trigger. 

Chapter Text

Life burst into his burning lungs, stale with the ever-lingering taint of death. Each inhale was laborious, devoid of that unique taste of life and the relief of a deep breath after holding it for too long. It carried with it the grief of the night before. He was a monster now, slowly devolving into one of the mindless creatures he'd once hunted. And Mary… the taste of her blood still soured his tongue. 

Reluctantly, Jonathan rose to take in his surroundings. His heart sank at the blood drenching his clothes and the mattress. The bullet had passed straight through his body, pouring out everything he had stolen, and yet he had healed all the same. He felt the remnants between his fingers, a concoction of Mary's blood and his own. That he could identify its origin with naught but a glance was jarring. As was the retention of his mental faculties after Mary's death. Perhaps he could have reasoned that the shock of the situation had granted him enough clemency for an attempt on his own life, but to reawaken with those senses intact… it went against everything they had been taught. 

"This is absolute madness. I should be consumed, I should be ravenous-" 

Madness it is! As mad as the moon! Who tames mindless sunlight into a glowing reflection? If you use your claws, you will see humans differently… like soft and tender meat. 

Jonathan tried to chase that voice from his head as vicious, visceral images assaulted his thoughts. Instinctively, his body seemed to learn to perform them at will. The influx of muscle memory and silent incantation momentarily stunned him. Claws and shadows and spears and healing - that very purpose he had dedicated half of his life to. His calling within and without the Guard now turned against those he called family. 

That voice in my head. If I'm not mad, then it must belong to the one who made me what I am. I must find him to understand what I have become.

Priwen had not come for him. They knew where he had slipped their net but wrongly assumed it was a nest, Jonathan was sure of it. Geoffrey would not have held back unless he believed the danger outweighed the reward. Now he could hear the hunters knocking at the door, but he could no longer let them in.  

"I'm sorry, Geoffrey. Something very strange is happening here and I can't let myself be destroyed until I know the truth of it." 

Jonathan took to an escape through the alternative door just as the cadet burst through. He turned to regard the intrusion.

"There's the leech! Here!" 

As he called on the shadows with the knowledge his maker had forcefully imparted to him, a scent too familiar assaulted him. Beneath the bloodshed and gunpowder was that final, unfractured piece of home. Geoffrey had come for him personally. With their leader on his tail, Jonathan knew he needed to get out of Southwark as fast as possible. 

In the dizzy spell that followed his escape, Jonathan still managed to find comfort in Geoffrey's presence. At least Mary would have the proper burial she deserved, surrounded by loved ones in a solitary chasm instead of abandonment in a shallow pit. 

Though he was still reluctant to use his stolen machete against Priwen, Jonathan still pried the stake from the body of a skal he found in the neighbouring residence. "Sloppy," he tutted, moving the slowly recovering creature onto its back and utilising his blade to behead it. There were very few ways to properly dispose of a leech and he expected better from their forces, especially under Geoffrey's leadership. 

The external door brought him to the river. "I must reach the West End. I was almost home when that beast attacked me," he vocalised his thoughts in an attempt to focus himself on the task at hand. He had murdered Mary, but he could still stop his maker causing more bloodshed before he met his fate. 

Continuing to utilise speed and stealth, Jonathan forced his way up the river without engaging the lingering patrols. He was determined to spare every hunter between him and his destination. He crossed over to the docks beyond Southwark Bridge and found another victim. It wasn't the work of his maker. It was sloppy, opportunistic, like a newborn skal. Not yet rabid enough to have rampaged against the locals but still murderous. The Guard should have been there regardless. The Docks were a well known entry for leeches, especially by night, and the impoverished of the area were easy targets. 

"Are the very streets of London becoming a mausoleum? What have you been doing, McCullum?" 

Eldritch had once taught them of the legendary nemrod, a supposed vampire that assisted hunters by feeding only on others of its kind. Perhaps there was a solution to his need for blood. Albeit still stolen from an innocent, when putting down a leech it would be a waste for Jonathan to not take advantage and strengthen himself at least marginally. 

"Just until I destroy my maker," he reasoned with himself, justifying his plans with a feeble promise. "Feeding on monsters won't make me so strong that the Guard cannot put me down." He felt his vision bleeding into black and crimson hues, guiding him towards the vampire that had abandoned the unfortunate corpse he was crouching over. It promised to lead him straight to the assailant, but the path made no sense. It was erratic. The beast had been interrupted, or it had been distracted by something. Alarmingly, though there were no horrors visible from the outside, it led him to the doors of a pub. The Turquoise Turtle. He had never seen the establishment before, and he didn't recall it coming up in reports during his time in New York or France. It must have been fairly new, despite the shabby outward appearance. 

Jonathan carefully concealed his machete behind a nearby rubbish bin, a scrap of a diary catching his eye. He skimmed it briefly, hoping for mention of a blood drinking madman, but found only personal woes he need not pry into. Leaving it where it was, he hid his stake in his waistband to not be left completely defenceless and entered the pub. There was nothing to be done for the blood on his clothes, and it was immediately evident his appearance was alarming to the strangers that faced him. Time to play the accosted victim. 

When they were children, Jonathan and Mary often took on a variety of roles for the sake of gathering information or creating an entry point for the senior members of the Guard. Where Geoffrey was occasionally limited by his origins or a stunted education, the Reid siblings could easily slip between house staff and the elite alike. All it took was a change of clothes and a little make up - though Jonathan had picked up a skill for accents.

"Good evening, sir. I wondered if I could ask for your help?" Jonathan put a stumble into his gait and desperation into his tone as he addressed the man at the bar. 

The bartender answered instead, "My God, sir, you look like Jonah's whale just spat you out of hell! Can I get you a drink?" 

"No, thank you. I'm not… not thirsty." At the edge of his peripheral, he could see the barmaid wiping the same table repeatedly, likely eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Well, grab a chair and get some rest. This is going to be another long night." 

Jonathan's interest was piqued. "Why is it going to be a long night?" 

"You must be new around here… Don't you know about the murders?" 

I was a victim of one recently myself. Jonathan almost smiled to himself. It was the sort of sass that would've earned him boxed ears and Geoffrey's laughter in equal measure when they were younger. "Tell me more about these murders?" The guardsman in him took over.

"Every morning for the last few weeks, bodies have been found, and those poor sods didn't die of flu." 

"Drained of blood," the barmaid confirmed, finally gathering the courage to join them it seemed. 

Jonathan's concern over the lack of Priwen presence was growing. Were so many of our troops lost in the war that we can no longer keep our oath? "Do the police have any leads on a suspect?" 

"Nah! Even before the outbreak, coppers never came around here. We're on our own. People die in these parts all the time and no one cares!" The bartender dismissed the line of questioning. 

"Just blame it on the Sewer Dog. Everyone else does," the drunkard beside him slurred. 

"The Sewer Dog? What's that?" 

"No one knows." The barmaid answered. "People have always disappeared around these parts. The ancients say it's the Sewer Dog coming out to feed. But now he's killing in the streets." 

Their descriptions pointed not to one skal but to a nest of them, branching out and growing bolder as their numbers expanded. Somehow, Jonathan needed to get a report of his findings to McCullum without being executed. He had his own mission but such dangers couldn't be left uninvestigated. 

"I'm looking for someone who might have passed through here recently. Wondered if you might help?" Jonathan got back to the task at hand, addressing the bartender, lest the Guard actually catch up to him. He hadn't outpaced them by much and time was of the essence. 

"It's been quiet tonight. The only other person I've seen went straight up to his room. Thought it was kind of rude, actually." 

"You mean he's still here?" 

"Well, yeah. He paid for the entire week." 

That can't be right. While the skal's trail led into the bar, and the building was saturated with its scent, Jonathan was sure the beast would have attacked by now. Though he knew better than to discount a lead without minimal investigation. Unless Geoffrey is here, investigating Mary's death. "Who is this man? What does he look like?" 

"Like a gentleman, I guess? Well dressed and quite polite." Not Geoffrey then. "A professor or something fancy like that, always writing and reading notes." 

"How long has he been here?" Jonathan felt exasperation creeping in. He had his suspicions on exactly who the man was, given the bloodshed. 

"He rented the room a few days ago and he didn't say when he'd leave."

"I need to meet this man. I have questions." 

"Just climb the stairs and knock on the first door. I heard him open his window so I guess he's still awake. And sir? No funny business, you hear me? This is a respectable establishment." 

Jonathan doubted that, but he turned away from the bar without complaint and made his way upstairs, catching pieces of a conversation and a familiar voice that put a bitter taste on his tongue. 

"This is no place for you. Priwen has several patrols roaming the area." Swansea implored beyond the door. 

"They do not pursue me," a woman replied. 

"But they're looking for vampires and they are most efficient!" 

"They'll not relent until the killer has been identified." 

"I have a common objective but I require more time." 

The woman silenced him. Jonathan cursed himself for being caught. He entered cautiously, expecting an ambush. A vampire fanatic he may be, but Edgar Swansea had always rubbed Jonathan the wrong way even outside of their natural rivalry. He groaned under the strength of the crucifix Swansea wielded. Powerful magic channelled through deceitful artefacts - the Brotherhood insisted on faith where Priwen fell to the science of sorcery. 

"I mean you no harm," Jonathan strained. 

"Sayeth the vampire! Present yourself!" 

"I- I need a word…" Jonathan caught his breath as the crucifix relented and glared at Swansea. 

"Well, that's something I can… my god, Jonathan Reid?" Edgar's smug posturing turned to delighted disbelief at the state Jonathan had found himself in. 

"Quite." 

"How on earth did this come to be?" 

"It's of no consequence how it happened." Jonathan was reluctant to deliver his maker into the hands of fanatics that would sooner worship him than scorch him in the sun. 

"But why you are here is certainly of consequence, don't you think?" Edgar pressed. If he hoped Jonathan's condition would make them allies, he would be sorely mistaken. 

"That's none of your concern." 

"Sir, you have entered my room in the middle of the night, pale as a corpse and shaking like a tree. So please, indulge me." 

"As I can imagine you've gathered, I was attacked by a vampire the night I returned to London." Jonathan was loath to admit his failings to Swansea of all people. "And now I see something is killing people, biting them, draining them of all blood." 

"The calling card of a vampire, like you." 

"No. My senses are within my control. This creature is a skal, I am sure of it. Though now I wonder if a nest has been formed in the area." 

"I'm conducting an investigation on behalf of the Brotherhood of Saint Paul-" 

"You don't have to say it in full every time. I know who you are as well as you know who I am."

"Quite. As I was saying, I'm performing an investigation here in an attempt to understand precisely what is going on." 

"I heard another voice, that of a woman. Who were you talking to?" 

"Ridiculous. I've no idea what you're talking about." 

"Don't take me for a fool. You had a vampire visiting you." 

"Sayeth the vampire." Edgar repeated. Jonathan knew he'd get no more from him and abandoned that line of questioning. 

"What have you uncovered concerning the murders?" 

"It started a few nights ago. The docks have always been, shall we say somewhat unsavoury, but this is different."

"And you hope to tame the beast?" 

"Famished and reckless. It must be brought to ground and quickly." 

Jonathan scoffed. "You can't control a skal, Edgar, no more than you can a rabid stray. They are already foaming at the mouth for blood. Help me find the culprit." 

"I may. If you first tell me what your intentions are if you find the killer?" 

"I'll end him! As is my duty." 

"Then I can only wish you good hunting and pray we shall meet again." 

Unsatisfied but well aware Swansea wouldn't voluntarily assist in his hunt, Jonathan rose from his seat opposite the man. By chance, his extended vision caught a boat rocking gently in the near still waters of the river through the open window. On it a familiar uniform was perfectly still. Priwen. The scents of gunpowder and fresh blood were thin in the air. If Priwen had caught up to him, they had passed by and found themselves outmatched. Damn Swansea and damn the lying bartender, he would not lead his brothers into a trap. 

"Where are you going?" Swansea protested as he climbed onto the wooden balcony. 

Jonathan ignored him, calling on those shadows again to transport him to the dock. Landing on steady feet, he rushed to the boat. His suspicions were confirmed. The boy was young, likely a freshly trained recruit, and had been drained of all blood in an animalistic attack. A blood stained note was still crumpled in his hand. Gently prying it from him, Jonathan read the order. 

30th October 
From: G. McCullum 
To: Docks patrols 

Object: Multiple deaths in the docks region. We believe a nasty leech is involved. Locate the beast. Purge it and quickly. 

Warning: According to recent reports, this vampire is very violent. Approach with extreme caution. I know we lack men in this part of town, but don’t send rookies to investigate the case. If I’m correct, we’ve got a frenzied one killing each night. As always search abandoned places first, like old houses, basements, sewers, or warehouses. Destroy the leech, brothers!

"I should have more faith in you." Jonathan pocketed the note. "But what went wrong…" His eyes caught another trail of blood across the canal. The scent was getting stronger. He would not face his maker before dawn, but he could assist his brothers in the destruction of this overpowering skal that plagued their patrols. 

Though he had spent half the night scolding Geoffrey internally for apparent failings of his leadership, as he slipped around the warehouse in front of him to avoid more confrontation with his brothers, he couldn't help feeling sour over the complaints of the evidently new 'Mr Billy'. 

"I'm cold. There's nothing here. Let's head back to a warm fire." 

"Shut that foolish mouth o' yours. You ever known McCullum to be wrong 'bout anything?" 

"Right. No time I can remember, but I've only been part of the Guard for three weeks."

"All the more reason to shut it, Mr. Billy. If the man says a bloodsucker's dug in here, you've but one job and that's to find it! And find it fast!" 

"Fair enough, Tom. But why do they hide where it's so damn cold?" 

Discipline is a wonderous thing. Jonathan could almost hear Eldritch in his ear, scolding him for his own complaints of chilly boredom on his first few patrols. He was tempted to show himself, if only to show Billy how dangerously close a leech could get without being noticed, but he had a job to do and little desire to endanger recruits that had no business being on such a dangerous route. 

The scent grew stronger still. In the next warehouse he found a bonfire of skal corpses. His brothers had destroyed the nest Jonathan had anticipated, but across another thin branch of the canal the stench of fresh blood carried by the rising winds was making him dizzy. The building reeked of it. There had to be a dozen corpses inside. And if his intuition was right, the particular skal he had been hunting with them. 

Managing to cross unseen, Jonathan caught the pleas of the creature's next victim. Sean Hampton - the Sad Saint of the East End. The people who occupied his warehouse turned asylum had plenty of reasons to hide, most of which did not concern the Guard, but they'd kept a wary eye on the man from a distance for well over a decade. Geoffrey and Jonathan both had an inkling something was amiss, but with no evidence and their own crusade taking precedence, they'd never gotten around to a thorough investigation. Doubts aside, Jonathan wasn't going to let the man die. 

He'd forgotten to retrieve his machete in his haste to the dock, but a scythe buried in the makeshift barrier between him and the bedevilled creature would work just as well. He rushed through the gate to the next room, interrupting the vampire's feeding. 

"If it falls to me to put you down, so be it." Jonathan surged forward. 

The skal was strong but as uncoordinated as its attacks suggested. With a combination of training and newfound reflexes, Jonathan was able to overpower it with ease. He stunned the creature, drinking what he could as it writhed in his grasp, then used the stolen scythe to remove its head. Priwen would find it, and if they did not, the sunrise would do away with the corpse long before the proper authorities would find the slaughter it left behind. Above him, he sensed he was being watched. Jonathan was about to give chase to the invisible onlooker when Sean spoke up.

"William was an honourable man. I could have saved him. I could have… I knew him well. Another lost soul. A kindred spirit." 

"Mr Hampton," Jonathan addressed him firmly. "Listen to the sound of my voice. I'm a doctor. You're suffering from shock." 

"I must return to my flock. They'll stray without me." 

Jonathan focused on those words. They felt important somehow. Not just a clergyman pleading for the souls of sinners, but his deceiving familiarity with the creature that had attacked him. There was more to the puzzle. More to a wider web that Jonathan was too tightly bound in to properly observe. They should not have ignored their intuition for so long. 

"By George and the Saints!" Swansea's voice came over the sound of an approaching motor. "You've solved the mystery of these terrible murders. Patience, good fellows. I've come to offer help." 

Jonathan looked towards the door. It was a honeytrap and he'd blindly rampaged through it in a vain attempt to protect his brothers in arms from something they were well equipped to destroy without his heroics. As little as he trusted Swansea, he could not directly accuse the man of ill intent beyond his worship of monsters without proof, so he helped the pseudo Saint to his feet and towards the skiff.

"You'd best come as well," Edgar invited Jonathan aboard. "The sun is soon to rise and you'll need a place to rest." 

"And you intend to offer me sanctuary?" 

"Of course. We are not enemies, not anymore."

Jonathan looked back at William's corpse. There was something different about this skal. The way it spoke before Jonathan attacked. The way it fled the pub instead of feasting. His own senses had not yet left him the way he would have expected and he wondered if there was something to be learned still from the remains. 

"Have you something I can take a blood sample with? If I can learn something about what has happened to William, I'll be a step closer to understanding what happened to me." 

He took the glass vial Swansea offered him with begrudging gratitude and gathered his sample before they departed. 

"Where are we headed?" 

"We're on our way to the Pembroke Hospital. I've taken on the role of administrator there. We'll find a bed for Mr Hampton." 

"And the woman?" 

"What woman?" 

"Oh don't play me for a fool," Jonathan grumbled. "You used me to dispose of that skal. I know she was watching. I could sense her. Or did you hope it would finish me off?" 

"And I thought you a gentleman!" Edgar shirked the question. "You shouldn't talk about a lady behind her back, but I will tell you she values her privacy." 

"As do most vampires. That means little to her victims, I am sure." 

"Were London as peaceful as she appears from the middle of the canal. If only that were the reality of the situation." 

"To be honest I've always found this part of town chaotic. It seems a beacon for the lesser leech." 

"Pembroke Hospital is the last bastion between the rest of London and the epidemic. The flu has decimated the East End and the war still rages. Welcome to the front lines of a plague." 

"Have you been practising that speech since you saw me? You call yourself the administrator of the Pembroke Hospital and yet for days you have been failing to stop slaughter on your doorstep. I thought you were here to serve the Brotherhood, not the common man." 

"First and foremost, I am a man of science." 

"Of course." 

"I'm a physician, like yourself, Doctor Reid." 

"Doctor?" 

"I mean no offence, Mister Reid. I know you are a surgeon of some calibre and renown these days. In truth I had hoped you'd left Priwen behind to pursue a true calling. Now I wonder if I can't poach you to our cause. You want to learn, Jonathan. I could see it in the way you handled your blood sample from the corpse of poor William." 

"Have you been spying on me?" 

"Heavens, no! I attended three of your seminars before the war. I have the utmost admiration for your research. And what a turn of fate! Priwen's most promising recruit and England's most esteemed blood specialist returns to London a vampire! There's so much for you to learn now your eyes have been opened." 

"Of that you are right," Jonathan watched Swansea bring them to a stop in the middle of the water. A vain attempt to trap him. 

"Well." Edgar leaned closer to him. "Then let me be blunt. Join my staff at the Pembroke Hospital as a physician. I suspect you'll not find a better post of employment to contemplate your…"

"Curse."

"Predicament." 

"This is sudden."

"Doctor Reid, take a moment to consider. The post would be for the night shift, providing a good explanation for your absence during daylight hours. You'll be adequately reimbursed and have a place to hide. I even had the forethought to bring some clean clothes. So… what do you say?" 

Jonathan sighed, turning his gaze to his boots as he considered. He still didn't trust Swansea, and his instincts had never wronged him before, but something was amiss. Something he may need to exploit the Brotherhood to uncover. If he could find some way to communicate with Priwen, with Geoffrey, without being executed before he could put an end to it all… If only I had been able to control this need for blood. Mary, someone will pay for what happened to you. For what happened to us. 

Ultimately, he had only postponed his own demise to seek answers and vengeance. Jonathan feared if he lost sight of that, he would succumb to the mindless torment of the soulless monster imitating him. 

"It seems I have little choice, but yours is a generous offer. So, I thank you." 

"Brilliant! Oh Jonathan, this is one for the book and the beginning of a beautiful friendship." 

Jonathan pretended not to feel Swansea's eyes on him as he changed into the clothes provided. It wouldn't be the first time he'd donned a costume and assumed a character for the benefit of the Guard. He only hoped McCullum's sword would be there should he ever stray toward human blood again.