Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Helena nodded brusquely, and headed out the door. Moran tucked his bleeding hand into his coat, and followed. He was zeroed in on the scent of Harrison's blood, a guide through the shifting visions and memories.

The main room must have been composed entirely of humans, because no one looked up from their conversations or opium at the scent of blood that must have strongly accompanied them. Helena led them out through an alternate entrance, though it wasn't without a few glances back at the two of her captors. Once on the street, Lorna stepped forward to summon a cab, keen to get into it and try to escape her encroaching memories a little. She waited for Helena and Sebastian to climb in and then hoisted herself in, sitting back with an unlady-like huff.

Sebastian had a grip on the seat cushion that had torn through it like it was a pastry, and now was staring straight ahead, eyes glazed over, nostrils flared.

Helena spent the ride in sullen silence, staring out the carriage window, likely to try and memorize where they were going. That was fine. Lorna had no doubts that she wouldn’t be able to escape Moriarty's web by herself, and no one had noticed their going, not that she had seen.

They finally arrived and the cab let them off a block or so away. Sebastian looked around them slowly. "It's a decent place, Jim... could do good work here."

"You already are, Moran, believe me. Come on, we're just down the street," she said, taking his arm easily to put up the front of a couple and their friend on a stroll, though she kept a close eye on Helena as she led them down the block.

The man keeping an eye on the door gave Lorna the once over in the dim light if the gaslamp, and raised an eyebrow. "An' 'oos this wif ya?"

"Prisoner, essentially," she shrugged, glancing at Helena. "Mr. Moran here is bringing her in."

He glanced at Moran, who was glassy-eyed and pale looking. "Is 'e now."

Moran seemed to gain his presence of self enough to snap "Yes," and the man looked a bit surprised.

"Ah... yes.. sorry. Right in." He still looked suspicious.

Lorna didn't waste any time in hurrying past the man, not in the mood for questions, and not sure that Moran would be very pleased if she answered them anyway, and led them deep into the bowels of the building, making a beeline for where she remembered Moriarty's office to be. She certainly wasn't going to deal with this fiasco.

It took longer than Sebastian would have hoped to get in to see Jim. Time was moving in strange ways, days passing in seconds and seconds in days as his mind skipped forward and backward through his lifetime. He had no real concept of how much time had passed before a furious Jim called them into his office, having been vaguely briefed by a confused guard. "What the feck happened?!"

Lorna gave a embarrassed glance to Sebastian. They had stuffed Helena in a holding cell to be dealt with later. "Opium. Helena drugged him."

"And who, precisely , is Helena?" Jim asked slowly, every syllable carefully enunciated.

She sighed. "She was a bar manager at the demon's party. I warned Moran to watch her. He drank a drink he gave her."

Jim snarled angrily, and his hand snapped upward, grabbing Moran by the throat, nails breaking skin. The bodyguard stiffened, but knew better than to retaliate. "You... fucking... imbecile...."

Lorna stood back, her eyes wide, stiff as a board. She did not want this attention put onto her.

"Kneel," James hissed. "And I swear if you defy me, Moran, I will stake you personally."

She watched Moran hesitate, watched him fight the fogginess in his eyes, and then he was sinking to the floor, and James turned for his desk; a tight, furious motion. He opened a drawer, and came back up with a pair of metal tongs. She winced slightly, sensing what was incoming.

Moran looked up, and bared his teeth reflexively in anger, though he quickly dropped the expression in favor of tucking his lips down. "James... how many years..."

"Too many, I think to myself sometimes," James snarled, taking a step towards him, the tongs in his hand at his side. "You're lucky this is all I'm going to do to you." Then his voice shifted, sickly sweet, a sarcastic smile twisted on his face. "They grow back, darling, you remember."

He grit his teeth tightly, biting back his fury. "I could go."

"Oh, do you think that? You think I'd allow that? After all you've seen, after all you know? Don't be a fucking idiot. Oh, wait! You already were." He snarled, approaching closer, until he could get a grip on Moran's chin.

Lorna, for the first time, felt a glimmer of sympathy for Moran. He was trapped here, just like she'd been trapped with Vincent. Only he usually liked it.

I could kill you . But he knew Jim had failsafes in place. He had made an error. He was going to pay for it. "Fine," he said, steeling himself and opening his mouth.

Without hesitation, James bashed him across the face with the tongs, the purpose almost immediately obvious. Sebastian's fangs extended, and then Moriarty shoved the tongs into his mouth, grasping hold of one of the fangs and ripping it loose.

Moran didn't give him the satisfaction of noise, swallowing the snarling howl of pain that wanted to break loose as blood filled his mouth.

She cringed as the first fang hit the floor with a clack, and then the second, and then the third and the fourth, and then the tongs as they clanged onto the floor.

Moran sat back on his feet, gathering himself as dark, stale blood oozed sluggishly from the holes left in his gums. His body was tense, mouth aching even more as his gums tried to bare his fangs in defense. He was just glad he had eaten recently. He could spare the blood, and it would clot and heal faster.

Lorna stayed completely silent, unsure if this anger would turn on her next.

James reached out a foot, the heel of his boot crushing one of the teeth slowly in a series of harsh cracks. "Out," he said with deceptive softness.

She whipped around for the door, out it in seconds, though she didn't make for her quarters as hastily as she thought she would. Instead, she waited a moment for him.

He walked out with his head held high, his jaw squared, and glared at her. "What do you want?" he asked crisply.

Well this felt like an awkward mistake now. She swallowed. "I... Suppose I wanted to make sure you were... Recovering. Nevermind, I didn't mean to intrude. I'll return to my quarters," she said hurriedly, ducking her head and turning to leave.

He watched her for a moment. "You did well intervening as you did," he said, 's's whistling slightly through the gaps where his teeth were missing. Then he turned and headed for his quarters.

She nodded slightly and split off from him, though unsure how she had intervened except for at the party, and returned to her quarters, mulling over the situation. It was the first glimpse of real humanity from Moran, as ironic as that was with their condition.

She didn't make it to her room before one of James’ attendants stopped her in the hall. "Ms. Harrison. Mr. M has requested your presence immediately. I'll escort you."

She raised her eyebrows, surprised, but there wasn't exactly a way to protest an order from Moriarty, so she nodded. "Alright. Lead on."

He did, escorting her through the hallways. He didn't head for Moriarty's office, but instead for the basement levels.

This was an unexpected turn of events that she found she wasn't too fond of. Had Moriarty changed his mind about her? Was he going to lock her up, maybe even send her back to America, into the arms of Armetti?

They passed through the feeding vaults, down another flight of stairs, and into what strongly resembled a prison. A long stone hallway, with heavy wooden doors on either side, barred and locked. They stopped outside one in particular, and there were voices inside. The guard unlocked the door, opening it and motioning Lorna inside.

The voices were more comforting than silence, so she walked in without a fuss.

James was there, and Helena, having what appeared to be a civil conversation. That was starkly at odds with their surroundings, as Helena was strapped to a chair and James was wearing a pair of brass knuckles. Or... silver knuckles, judging from his barrier layer of gloves, and the distinct burns on Helena's skin. He looked up as Lorna entered. "Ms. Harrison. Good of you to join us."

"You called, I came," she replied simply, hands clasped in front of her. "How can I help you, sir?"

He smiled. "I was hoping you could help me translate our dear Helena's answers for me. It seems she's having trouble saying what she means."

She knew almost immediately what he had in mind. "It doesn't always work that reliably, sir, but I'll give it a try, certainly," she said, pulling off the glove on her right hand.

Helena comprehended with surprising quickness, and her expression darkened. "No. You stay away from me," she growled. "Mind rapist."

James smiled, ignoring her outburst. "I know it isn't always that precise. But I'm going to help."

"You won't feel a thing, Helena, that's not how it works. And... Sir?" She turned to James, confused.

"She will feel things, I'm afraid," Moriarty sighed, not looking remotely apologetic. "Tell me, Ms. Harrison, how much education did Mr. Armetti give you regarding your abilities?"

"As usual, enough, but probably severely lacking," she sighed.

He nodded slightly. "Did he make you aware that it was possible to clarify and strengthen what you can read from people?"

"Through lust," she nodded, still holding her one glove in the other hand.

James nodded, at ease, as if he were giving a lecture at university, not standing in a dungeon. "Lust is a motivating factor, but far from the only one. Primal urges are best. Some work better than others. Anger- while effective- is difficult to control. Love and fear are more predictable, but can be fickle. People can overcome it. The only thing which is both powerful and predictable is pain." He eyed her, gauging her reaction.

She raised an eyebrow appraisingly. It was nothing she hadn't dealt with before. "Interesting."

He nodded approvingly. "Tonight, I will cause the pain, while you read her. In future you will be instructed on how to do both at once."

She nodded. "It sounds easy, to be perfectly honest," she said, eyes back on Helena. She smiled.

Helena bared her fangs at Lorna, struggling slightly, but the cuffs were engraved with binding sigils, and breaking through them was no small feat. "Excellent. Shall we begin?" he asked, adjusting the brass knuckles.

She nodded, hand raising to hover over Helena. "Yes."

Jim nodded again, then without further ado pressed the silver bands into the soft skin of Helena's sides, just below her ribs. The skin there sizzled and cracked, and Helena let out a shriek of pain, writhing.

Lorna placed her hand on the side of Helena's face, ignoring her pain easily, and began concentrating, eyes closing, mind reaching out.

Jim began walking the silver up her sides, leaving strips of charred and peeling skin. Helena thrashed, as Jim calmly asked "Where is the demon you serve?"

She spat at him. "Fuck you!"

Lorna waited, silent. "More," she said, to James.

He didn't bother looking at her, just turned to a worn wooden box in the corner. He rummaged for a moment, before returning with a small syringe and a vial of clear liquid marked simply, in a tight hand, "holy.” He filled the syringe, setting the vial aside, and pressed the needle into Helena's side, where she couldn't resist him. He depressed the plunger, and the shriek that the woman emitted was music to his ears.

"Where's the demon?" She asked softly, hand remaining gentle on her skin.

"Shut up!"

And, without delay, a picture popped into her mind. A cathedral she recognized, in the neighborhood where she had grown up. She blinked, dropped her hand.

"I know where it is."

"Good," James said calmly. "That will do for tonight." Helena was still shrieking and thrashing as the holy oil made its way through her bloodstream, burning like fire. "We'd best leave her to ride this out," he suggested, smiling.

She chuckled. "Fine by me, sir.”

They left the cell, the guard closing the door behind them. "So, you have the location?" He pressed, smiling at her.

She nodded, sliding her glove back on. "Kensington. Near my family's house, strangely enough. A cathedral."

He nodded. "Excellent. Be ready to leave within the hour. I don't want to delay. Meet me in the upper halls."

She balked a little, raising her eyebrows. "We're... going after the demon now, sir? Without Mr. Moran recovered?"

"Moran is likely to spoil the party," he said flippantly, heading for the stairs. "I'd just as soon he stay recovering. Besides, we don't want the demon time to wander off."

"Of course, sir," she dipped her head, knowing that this was not something she would be able to change his mind on. He still had her pelt, too. If he died from this stupid mistake, she could get it back, no problem.

James was waiting in a half an hour's time. He was dressed in a suit, but beneath his jacket his waistcoat was lined with pockets, all tucked with chemicals of various types. Things he knew would disorient a demon.

She arrived, weaponless, as she was forced to do while effectively their prisoner, and gave him a polite smile. "Ready to go, sir?"

He nodded, offering her his arm. "I have a carriage ready. I assume you can direct us."

She nodded in affirmation. "It's been a long time, from my perspective, but not long enough to forget entirely. I only hope we don't run into my brother..."

He nodded. "Does he still live in the area?" he asked as they walked out to the street, stepping into the carriage.

"Haven't the slightest idea," she shrugged, letting the driver give her hand up into the cab of the thing, her other hand occupied with her skirts. "It's been twenty-four years since I last saw them. My parents will be in their late sixties, if they're even alive, and my brother won't even be forty, but it's possible he never left the family home. After my disappearance, I'm sure my parents were keen on keeping him close," she said, settling back in her seat.

"Disappearance?" He probed casually as he leaned back in his seat and the carriage got underway. He knew much of her history, but it was always good to hear it from a first hand perspective.

"I left for America, they heard from me one time once I arrived, and then never again. I can only imagine they think I disappeared."

He nodded his understanding. "Why don't you get in touch? Explain the situation?" He kept his amused grin off of his face.

She stared dryly at him for a second. "Yes, because I so look forward to being burned at the stake."

He shrugged. "Your loss," he smiled blithely. He reached up to slide back the partition to speak to the driver. "Direct the fellow, won't you?"

She turned from him without making any expression and quickly relayed her instructions to the driver. Vaguely, she wondered what Moran was up to, recovering from his traumatic injuries.

They eventually pulled to a stop, and Jim lounged calmly, waiting for the driver. The door opened and he vaulted out onto the street, looking around calmly.

She let the driver give her a hand down from the carriage, taking a second to look around the block, and had another dizzying moment of clarity in her memories, which she did her best to shake off. There was the cathedral where her parents had taken her and her brother every Sunday, there was the pub that she'd only snuck into once or twice, there was the corner where she'd been kissed for the first time. Around the corner, should they walk down there, was her old house. The place she'd spent nearly 24 years living in. Had it changed? Had they redecorated with the changing times? It had been 24 years, an equal amount of time to her human life, away from it.

The driver closed the door behind her and she snapped out of it, only just becoming aware of the dim light in the sky. It wouldn't affect her, but she had no idea how Moriarty's tolerance was.

Moriarty watched her, interest in his eyes, but then turned to the cathedral. "I do hate these places, he sighed. "Well thought out for a demon."

"If you're calling the intelligence of demons in general in question I'm... slightly concerned for our healths," she said quietly, eyes on the familiar stained glass in the windows. "At least we know entering the place shan't be too difficult. Though we may need to find a side entrance, considering the time..."

"I call everyone's intelligence into question," he said matter-of-factly. "I've yet to meet a demon I couldn’t outthink. I would love to be surprised here, but I doubt I will be." He glanced at the greying sky. "Agreed. Side entrance. Lead the way."

She sighed in a bit of an unlady-like manner, then headed down the side of the cathedral, into the wide alley beside it, and followed her memory to the priest's entrance. Once there, she looked behind her to make sure Moriarty was still with her, and then she grasped the iron handle and pulled sharply, the internal lock breaking easily and surprisingly quietly, and she stepped inside without hesitation. Immediately, the smell of the place was strikingly familiar, and she took in a deep breath, a sense of calm filling her. She knew this place. She knew the exits, she knew where the holy water was kept, and she knew the hours the church operated. No one they weren't supposed to run into would be here. She led the way down the short hall into the church proper, and walked two steps between a line of pews before her attention snapped to a man facing the altar, praying on his knees.

James- who had been on her heels, eyed the man with interest. "Now, I've once-upon-a-time been a proud Irish Catholic, but even I found it difficult to kneel so fervently on stone." His voice echoed through the hall, and the man whipped around, startled. James was unphased, adding "What is on your mind that has you pleading with the god who bled?"

Both the man and Lorna made eye contact at the same moment, and both reeled, taking a mirrored step back. The man completely ignored Moriarty's question, his mouth agape. " Lorna?"

"Well, damn."

Jim took in the facial features, cataloguing ear lobes, lip shape, nostrils, pupil distance... He smiled. "Well, this is good fortune. Your brother, Lorna. Charmed."

Lorna didn't know what to say, after her initial response, and stood there for a long moment, staring. "...Eric. How's mum and papa?"

He looked at her for another stunned moment, then said emptily, "Dead. Mum's dead. Papa... may as well be. Where the hell have you been?" He walked closer, eyes narrowed in perplexity slowly solidifying into confused anger. "You haven't aged a day..."

Had she been human, she would have been wiping sweaty palms on her skirts and trying to control her heart beat. As it was, she stared at him steadily, if a little melancholily. She sighed, looking at Moriarty for a moment, then back at Eric. "America, for a long time. Nearly this whole time, actually. I... well. I may as well tell you, as you won't believe me anyways; I was attacked, and made into something other than human, and now I don't age." She crossed her arms over her chest, looking down at the ground slightly, and heaved another sigh. "What... what happened to mother?"

"She got sick," he said shortly, eyeing her up and down. Then he sighs. "Vampire," he says softly. "Of course you are."

"I'm... what? Excuse me?" She asked, flabbergasted, though doing her best to hide it and mostly succeeding. She glanced at Jim, a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Oh, Eric... Don't tell me..." He smirked just slightly.

"So tell me, what have you come to a church for, sister mine? I thought your type didn't fare well here?"

James was watching in delighted silence.

"I imagine you know precisely why I am here, now that you apparently know what I am," she said simply, a finger running back and forth on the fabric of her satin skirts. "I imagine that you know why I'm able to stand here with so little trouble. You were never a religious boy, Eric. You just liked to be praised."

"And what nice praise it was," he said, adjusting his jacket. "Take my advice and your little boyfriend and leave, Lorna. You don't want to be here."

"Oh ho! Little boyfriend. What a charming individual," James purred.

"Please don't hurt him unless he forces you," she said quietly, though purposefully avoiding using James' name, to keep Eric in the dark. Less quietly, she said, "We're here for a reason. You know what it is."

"And I'm telling you that it isn't going to go well," Eric said, walking toward them slowly. He pulled out a pocket watch, flicking it open and sucking on his teeth. "Tshh... out a bit late, aren't we? It's near to dawn."

She gave him a bit of a wry smile. "It's never bothered me overly much. I used to sit on the front porch in Virginia and paint the sunrise. How much do you truly know about me, Eric? Surely you know advancing on me like this is... a poor idea."

He eyed her. "What, no hug from my long lost sister? I used to come sit in your bed when you were afraid of thunderstorms. Or was it me who was afraid? I don't remember..."

"It was you. I never shied away from the wild of nature." Her smile grew wider. "I would read to you, sometimes, remember? That's the older sister's job."

"So here we are." He stopped about ten feet away. "What do I need to do to convince you to walk away?"

Her smile grew slightly resigned. "You can't, Eric. We need to meet... It."

He sighed. "Please don't say that, Lorna. I'd really like to not be enemies, here."

"So don't. Help us, Eric. I'm sure we can make it more worthwhile than some demon squatting in a church can," she scoffed.

"Who's 'we', exactly?" Eric asked suspiciously, eyeing James again. "I find that doubtful."

She looked towards James, raising her eyebrows slightly in question. "He was a bright kid, sir. Might be still."

"That doesn't answer my question," Eric pointed out. James ignored his protest, eyeing him up and down. Then he nodded.

"I'll trial him. What is the demon offering you, boy?"

Eric came up short. "I feel as if I know better than to jump on the soonest train in the station without asking where it's going?"

"Any monetary compensation I am prepared to triple. The same for real estate or political influence. If he's offering some of his power, I intend to make him a junior partner in my operation, so that would still be available to you," James drawled, sounding bored. "And if I fail, you can pretend we knocked you unconscious and save face."

Eric looked rather like he didn't know what decision to make. "Eric," Lorna said quietly, "Believe me, you don't want to cross this one."

"Believe you?" he laughed incredulously. "You've been dead for twenty years, need I remind you?"

She stared at him for a moment. "Little brother. If you know about the demon in the basement, if you know about vampires, you know that you can't hope to kill me before I kill you, if it has to come to that. You might injure me - I might have to hide for a month to let my wounds heal - but under no odds could you hope to attack either of us and win. We will be seeing that demon, and you will not stop us. Whether or not you throw your life away in the process is up to you. I was dead for twenty years because I couldn't bring this back to my family. I couldn't leave America, couldn't leave my overbearing husband. I wasn't allowed. Not by circumstance, and not by him. Please, Eric. Don't make me harm you. Listen to my friend."

He studied her for a long moment, then said, "Quadruple the pay."

Jim laughed, breaking the tension. "The boy has balls! Quadruple it is. Lead the way." Eric hesitated, but then nodded and turned, walking to open a side door off of the sanctuary.

Lorna relaxed slightly, silently relieved. She had no doubt that she had the stomach to end Eric if she had needed to, but she would rather do almost anything else. She'd been 24 when she'd left, and 20 of those had been spent with him in her life. She followed the two men into the side door and down a narrow staircase that she'd used only once during her many years of attending the church - she'd been asked to get an extra case of wine, and she'd spent as little time in the dark cellar as possible.

Eric stopped outside the thick wooden door to the wine cellar. "Take a left at the first intersection. She's in the room at the end of the hall."

"She. Charming," Jim smiled, looking smug and opening the door, walking through without hesitation.

Lorna took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before following, sparing one glance at Eric before following Moriarty down the hall. James lead the way unerringly, and turned to Lorna as they approached the door. "You're the grifter. I expect you to keep her distracted and talking."

"Alright. What are you going to do? Won't do for me to be surprised," she pointed out, shrugging slightly.

"Why? You can't help." And he pushed the door open.

Beyond was a stone room lined by arches set into the walls. It appeared to have been a crypt of some nature, but now it had been transformed into a living space. There were a few chairs, a stack of books, a cot, and a woman. And what a woman. She was facing away from them, but James could feel the power rolling off of her in waves. "Hello, darling."

Lorna was... immediately uncomfortable. This was the second demon she'd met in her comparatively short life, and the last one had left such a mark that it was viscerally unpleasant to be in the same room with one once again. Still, she had a job to do, and she could sense James had a trick or two up his sleeve. Hopefully they would leave here intact. "Quite a place you have here. Not as nice as mine, but I suppose that's what happens when you're a little... out in the cold, so to speak."

The woman turned, and Jim raised an eyebrow, impressed. She wasn't beautiful in the classic sense, but she was beautiful, there was no denying that. Her features were full, but angular, hair a deep black, and her eyes held a spark of mischief and something else. There was a magnetic aura to her that was instantly apparent. She gave off the sense that she could end you, but that you'd enjoy it thoroughly.

"And who might you be?" she asked. Her eyes were locked on Lorna.

Lorna gave a rather dry smile. "You can call me Yvette. No offense intended, but I rather not spread my name around until I know you'll not use it against me."

She laughed. "A clever one. Though I should expect as much from a sister of the line. What brings you here, dearest? Do you want a boost?" James let them talk, and leaned against the wall, one hand behind him, writing rapidly on the stone with hardened charcoal.

 She tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "A boost? Forgive me, I've never dealt with a demon like... you, before. Last time I met one he had eyes like glowing marble and a voice that I imagine could have smote a churchgoer on contact. I never made a deal."

She sighed. "Sounds positively vile. No, I'm nothing like that..." She walked forward a few steps. "I'm like you. Seduction is my art. I can give you something you desire ."

Lorna took a step forward herself, her head tilting forward just slightly so she looked through her eyelashes at the she-demon. "Oh? And what do you think I desire?"

She laughed again. "Well, you're already beautiful, and ageless... what if I gave you the ability to fascinate anyone who is attracted to you?" she suggested. "Or perhaps enhanced abilities you already have?"

Lorna smiled again, folding her gloved hands together in front of her. "And what is the price of accepting such a favor?"

"Nothing you'll need, Yvette, were we pretending? A little loyalty, a little trust, an oath or two." She reached out to touch Lorna's cheek. Her skin was soft.

"Nothing about a soul or a first child? But oh, I suppose that's not on the table for me, is it now?" She smirked, leaning into the touch, though the closer she was to the demon, the more she could feel that strange magnetism, that uncomfortable power. Maybe to those who hadn't seen the worst of what their kind had to offer would have been more attracted to it. "What kind of oath, then? Trust might be a little harder to come by."

"As interesting as this is..." Jim's tone suggested the contrary. He tossed a vial in the demon's direction, which shattered and let out an acrid smelling smoke. She shrieked in surprised fury, momentarily off guard, and he slid behind her as she stepped backward, unrolling a piece of paper and setting it under her feet. She stepped directly into a large black circular arrangement of lines and runes, which suddenly glowed fiery orange in congress with a series of words on the wall. "That will do it, I think."

Lorna's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. "Good lord, I thought that could take hours to complete. Well done!"

He dusted his hands off, ignoring the shrieks of rage from the demon. "I've had time to research over the years. You'd be surprised how little people have tried to improve old methods."

She stood there watching the demon struggle in its mostly invisible bonds for a moment, then looked towards James again. "So what now?"

"Now, we leave," Jim said casually. The demon's eyes flashed to him.

"No! Don't!" she says furiously. He glanced at her with the hint of a smile.

"Ah. Noticed my little caveat, did you? It's a nice bit of work. Difficult, but I enjoy a challenge."

"What caveat?" Lorna asked, mostly focused on the demon now. The demon looked very, very upset.

"He's the only one who can release me," she hissed through her teeth, glaring fire at James. "If he leaves, I'll be trapped here for-"

"-eternity. Yes yes, we all get the point," James said, waving her off.

"Oh, well done, again," Lorna chuckled, and raised her eyebrows again at the demon. "How about that favor, darling?"

"Fuck off," the demon snarled.

"Now now," James sighed. "That's no way to play. Here is what will happen next. You will swear the oath of fealty to me, and...." he glanced at Harrison, "Provide 'Yvette' here with a boost, or I will leave you here to rot, and have you walled in. I have stonemasons waiting."

The demon bristled, fury radiating off her in ways, and Lorna could almost swear that the air around her visibly wavered. The demon glanced between the two of them, seemingly trying to make up her mind.

"Fine," she snarled, hands curled into fists.

"Excellent," he said, leaning against the wall. "Swear the fealty first. Don't make any... mistakes ... I'll know, and I will leave." The demon seethed a moment longer, than began speaking in a foreign, crackling tongue.

Lorna returned to James' side, hands still clasped in front of her. "This has been an interesting morning. What favor do you think I should ask for?"

 "That's up to you, dear." He reached out to toy with the ends of her hair. "My gift to you, for a job well done. Don't worry too much about phrasing- her oath will prevent her from doing you harm, since you are in my service."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as he touched her hair, wondering what the hell that was about, but nodded, already considering.

James stepped back, listening to the end of the oath of fealty and nodding his approval. "Well done, my dear. Now, wait for my dear Yvette to think of her boon and then we'll release you."

"No need to wait, I know," she said, stepping forward again, towards the other woman. "Clarify my telepathy. I would like to be able to control when I do and don't hear partners. Make it easier for me."

The demon raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, just nodded. "It's done. Now let me out."

Lorna felt no different. She glanced towards James again. "Am I.. supposed to feel something?"

He shrugged, reaching out a hand to her. "I don't know. Try it," he suggested lazily.

She pulled off her left glove and met his hand in the middle, and-

Hello, Ms. Harrison, Jim said, his thoughts clear and focused, and overly clean, as though she were seeing only precisely what he allowed.

"Hello," she said congenially, and dropped his hand with a nod. "Thank you.... I'm sorry, we didn't catch your name."

"No, you didn't," the demon agreed, eyes burning.

"Now now, play nice," Jim said fondly.

The demon glared at him, but then said "Danagi."

"A delight to meet you, Ms. Danagi," she smiled, "Glad to have you working for us."

She made an obscene gesture at Lorna. "Let me out," she said, turning to James.

James shrugged. "You've sworn fealty to me. This means you will do what I say, when I say it. You will go where I tell you to go and do what I want you to do. Is that crystal clear?"

"I understand the oath," Danagi gritted out. "I'll serve you and your interests, you little undead ape. Now let me go."

He nodded, though he smirked at her analogy, and turn to smudge one of the charcoal marks on the wall with his thumb. "Let's leave this place. I rather not develop too heavy a headache."

The demon followed after him reluctantly, wrinkling her nose at him and making faces behind his back as Jim lead them back to the surface.

Eric was waiting up the stairs, sitting at one of the pews with his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up as they entered the large room, and stood. "I believe we have payment details to discuss."

"Eric," the demon said, looking surprised and annoyed. "Really?"

Eric shrugged. "I naturally assumed that you would be unable to top a pay raise to the tune of quadruple. Was nothing personal, Danagi."

"Greedy little shit," she snarled. "I could offer you better than money ."

"So could I," James said casually, walking toward the door. "Especially now that you serve me."

"And, I may point out, you didn't," Eric pointed out, following after them. Lorna smirked. That was certainly her little brother.

The sun had risen by the time they exited the church, and James grit his teeth slightly as a throbbing headache began at the base of his skull. Ira's line wasn't as comfortable with sunlight as the Luxurians, but they could handle pain, so he just trudged along, heading for the street to call a cab.

They were a conspicuous foursome, Lorna was immediately aware, and spent the short wait from pavement to inside of carriage trying not to visibly react to the fear that she or Eric would be recognized and stopped. Nobody could recognize either of them, not right now. Nobody could know about her condition, but more importantly, nobody could see Eric leaving with these strange people. They would have to be dealt with before someone who could put a face to Eric's last-known companions could spread information. And anybody who recognized herself or Eric, she would rather avoid killing.

They got into the cab without incident, and James gave the necessary address, the cab taking off in that direction, and he sat back, looking satisfied.

"Am I permitted to know your name now?" Eric asked, looking at Moriarty. "Lorna did a good job avoiding accidentally informing me."

"No," James said cheerfully. "We'll see about that after a trial period. Once you've been processed through security we'll discuss details."

Eric shrugged a little and leaned back, settling in for the ride.

Lorna, in the meanwhile, burned with questions for Eric. About their childhood friends, the details of her mother's death, her father's condition, hell, the old man who ran the flower shop two blocks over. Everything she had missed. Everything that had been stolen from her.

They stopped outside the bank entrance, and Jim lead the way, inside his shoes clicking on the marble floor as he navigated to the lower levels. When they exited to the network proper, Moran was waiting, eyes dark with fury, lips a tight line with sunken places where his fangs should be.

Lorna immediately averted her gaze from him, wary about the fury in his gaze, and completely missed the absolute glee that flickered onto Danagi's face and was gone as quickly. The silence between the party became a little too long, and then Lorna cleared her throat. "Mr. Moran, meet my brother, Eric, and our new resident demon, Danagi."

"Charmed, I'm sure," he said, lisping, in a tone that suggested he was very much less than charmed. His eyes never left Jim's. "You and I need to talk, sir."

James snorted, but stepped forward anyway. "First you must make arrangements for our new guests. Or delegate, but to someone with a brain in their head. I'll meet you in my office." And he headed off, leaving the four of them to stand in silence for another moment.

Moran's voice was terse as he called "Wood." One of the guards in the room stepped forward. "Yessir?"

"You and Matthews escort our... guests ... to appropriate quarters. See that Ms. Harrison returns safely to her quarters as well."

Lorna sighed, and Eric chanced a look at her, perhaps wondering what her position here truly was, and then they were being ushered off and there was no chance to figure things out.

Moran knocked sharply on James' office door ten minutes later. He was seething. He and James had had a lot of conflicts over the years, but this was a new low.

James was sitting at his desk. "Enter, Moran. Make your grievance known."

He opened the door, and stepped inside, closing it behind him with deliberate slowness. It was times like these that he wished he had the strength of some of their kind. He would enjoy crushing the doorknob. "Sir," he said, ignoring the way he lisped. "Would you kindly describe what my position here is, and entails?"

James didn't look up from the map of London he was perusing. "You're my right hand, Moran, for me to extend and retract as needed. My bodyguard, too, but I did not leave here unaccompanied. Ms. Harrison would be a decent body shield to grab, should I have needed it. I also have the understanding from the wolf skin of hers I keep in my safe that she's been in a brawl or two."

" Extend or retract ," he seethed. "Alright, sir , retract me. Get yourself killed. I look forward to getting out of this bloody thankless and impossible position."

He laughed then, throwing his head back with the force of it, and when it subsided a little met Moran's ice blue eyes with the mirth of a mischievous faerie. "So burdened, are you? What do you expect to do afterwards?"

"Die," he said coldly, none if the emotion in his voice. "If I'm lucky enough to survive whatever you'd send at me from beyond the grave, I'm not sure. Something worth my time." The phrase had a turned meaning among their kind, to an extent. Time among immortals was devalued to the point of worthlessness. If you lived forever, or near to it, seconds were a pittance. Time was worth little. But he meant it that way. For all he cared at the moment his work for Jim was worse than useless.

Jim's amusement faded a little. "So dejected, Sebastian. I haven't seen you this frustrated in many years. You made a mistake, Moran. You're not in my good graces. It's happened before, it'll happen again. To speak of time in so long a scale and then expect me to forgive you so quickly?"

"There is a difference between punishing me and making my work pointless," he returned waspishly. "What use is there in protecting you if, the very moment I make a mistake, you make it your urgent goal to get yourself killed? I am not perfect, James! If you are incapable of riding out my errors without becoming suicidal then it is only a matter of time."

"It was one little demon, Moran, you know the tricks up my sleeve. There was no present danger. You need to put away the memory of your mother and stop acting like a man possessed," he snorted.

He grit his teeth remaining, nostrils flaring, and finally he nodded. "Very well. You have exceeded my capacity to care."

He raised his eyebrows slightly, eyes piercing on Moran. "Not thinking of doing something foolish, are we, Sebastian?"

"No, sir," he responded, his whole body slowly relaxing, muscles uncoiling, melting away from 'ready to pounce'. His tattoos- darker than usual under stress- became the only indicator than anything was wrong.

He gave James a smile, showing off the raw gaps in his mouth. "I'm glad everything went well. Do you need anything else?"

James didn't trust that for an instant. But he smiled, and moved to lean against his desk, sliding his hands into his pockets. "No," he said, nodding towards the door. "Go relax. I'll have someone take care of your more menial tasks," he added, graciously, but already he was making plans to keep an eye on Moran. At least for a couple of days.

"That won't be necessary, sir," he returned, and turned to go, ears perked for trouble until he was clear of the door. He had no intention of causing trouble. Not yet, anyway. He knew James would be watching, and he took his position seriously. But he was a sniper. He had more patience than anyone in this organization, James included. He could wait.

She was separated from Eric almost immediately, which was a disappointment that she had been partially prepared for, and found herself crawling into bed in her shift before she'd hardly realized it, perhaps drawn to the human comfort of sleep. She wasn't sure why her and her kin almost never felt the need for sleep - it only made an eternal life seem longer - but she had always quietly missed the regular sensation of floating away into the deep, dark nothingness or dreams, and an escape from reality. She drifted off more quickly than she usually did, and, after the unknowable amount of time that passes between dreams, entered one.

She was standing at the window of a house, looking out on a lamp-lit street. A street she recognized. She was standing in her family's house, in her old bedroom, looking across the cobblestone at the enclosed garden of the Milton family's house. The trees were enormous - they'd been saplings the last time she'd seen them, but now they looked to be of at least fifty years now. She turned from the window, contemplating this strange realization, and paused as she saw the man sitting on the bed. There was very little light in the room, but her eyes were well-attuned to the dark, and she knew almost instantly who he was. Her chest filled with a loving warmth. "Sebastian," she found herself saying, "I was worried."