Yes, I know. You hate me. I'm sorry. I was only recently able to write again! I'll update as soon as I can pick up TYDDUP! I haven't forgotten! -flees-

To take it from the top: Hellsing and its characters doesn't belong to me, and this fanfic is written without the knowledge and/or permission of Kouta Hirano.

This thing has been edited three times now because I'm a neanderthal and can't get the hang of the new layout. Sorry about the mess the first chapter was in.

..

You could take the life from a vampire, but you couldn't take the vampire from life.

She could almost hear him telling her what to do, urging her to demand answers and put down all who opposed her.

And it was a great nuisance. Because while she was fighting off some of her more violent instincts, the latest priest or priestess or what-have-you would banish her.

"Thank you!" she called just before the door slammed. She stood, dusting herself off.

The footsteps moving away halted. The door opened just a crack.

"We've no truck with vampires at all," the small woman, who had just thrown Seras into the hall with such force her teeth had rattled, hissed through the crack. "And I don't know anyone who would plaster their work over shields. Vodun isn't a headlong charge." The door slammed.

"I don't suppose I could pass something under the door for your time?" Seras hazarded.

"You might."

Well, there was no sense in blocking the doors that slammed behind her. Seras pulled out her wallet and contributed to the local circle. She left the apartment building and instantly felt better, as though a crushing gravity had suddenly lessened.

The spring in her step owed nothing to her thoughts. Nobody, hmm? And this priestess (well, mambo) was more powerful than most of the folk who'd been tossing her from their homes all through the night. Seras hadn't even been able to enter. The woman's eyes had pierced her and frozen her in the doorway.

She was willing to bet the woman was able to speak for most of her. . . circle.

Seras had done a little research into voodoo before plunging headlong into inquiries. And her research had revealed absolutely nothing about Incognito, which she desperately wanted to know, and less about the shields.

She sighed and retraced her steps. She hadn't asked about Incognito.

"Now what?" asked the woman from the other side of the door. Seras raised an eyebrow. She'd only just raised her hand to knock.

"I've some questions about the. . . sorceror."

"Oh, him." The door banged open. Seras jumped. The woman was standing a foot away.

"I can't even smell you," Seras blurted.

"I worked on some things while you were away. I thought you'd be back. Come as far as you might and close the door."

Seras came in a foot, shuddering—it felt as though hands were pushing against her as she moved—and gently closed the door. The room was dark, and she couldn't see much at all besides the woman. The air smelled strongly of incense. It was almost choking.

"Yes, he had some magic from Africa," the woman said. "I don't know about his backing anyone else. Certainly I don't know about the shields." She flexed strong fingers, as if daring Seras to ask what she did know.

"So. . . that would be it," Seras said carefully. "He sent some of his minions ahead, and he used his craft to back them up?"

"That's the strange thing," the woman said. "Much of what we do now depends on—"she waved her hand, "incense, saints, the very thing that's greater death to you and him."

"If he were old, couldn't he know some of the gods that were before the saints?"

The woman gave her a sharp look that nearly had Seras apologizing, although she wasn't sure what she should apologize for. "Not before the saints. As the saints."

"Oh."

"Now, it is possible that he gathered many, many lesser spirits that were glad for blood. But. . ." she seemed to be weighing her words carefully, "Papa Legba doesn't like those who go away from his door. The strong lwa—" Seras took a moment to recognise "loa," the saint-equivalents of her reading-- "tend to dislike your kind." She frowned. "What I think he did is he let a lot of spirits ride in him."

"Possession?"

"That would be a term for it. They could dance with him and feel blood again." Some of the anger seemed to go out of her. "But the letters on the shields—he wouldn't risk those. It's a stupid way to draw our anger. He couldn't fight all of us and your master, too."

"Then who would?"

"I don't know. Someone using magic who wanted to cast doubt on someone else to hide their own activities."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of just covens. Thank you, ma'am."

"Goodbye." She opened the door. Seras hastened out, pushed on her way by a powerful force. Well, at least this time she hadn't found herself nose- first in the carpet. She started down the hallway.

Now she was going to get slammed off her feet by a whole new group of magic- users.

Things had been much simpler before she'd met Alucard.

..

She wasn't addicted.

Integra tossed the pack of cigars across the desk, refusing to pay attention to the evidence.

She had much more important things to think about just now. . .

For one, she could feel Alucard withering, like an itching sensation in her blood. Cigars only made it worse.

Secondly, Seras wasn't back yet, and she had to get this case together to deliver.

She was out on the street again, although severely demoted—her surviving troops had been handed over to the Redthorns, and she was reduced to the status of investigator while the Round Table debated. And Hellsing was off- limits to her right now while a thorough investigation was done. She and Seras operated out of a small office on the second floor of a law firm.

The attack on Hellsing still had no answers, and since she had been directly involved (and the attack had certainly gotten attention) and had knowledge too valuable to be discarded, she had been designated to find the identity of the brothers who had led the assault. And the Round Table, her seat currently taken, was watching her every move.

She had to do something to get herself some privacy, some space to think, a clear space from those doddering old men that policed her—

Hmm.

Integra tapped her fingernails on the tabletop.

She already had an ace up her sleeve, a token gathered at the first veiled suggestion that she act more womanly to gain a little of the Table's approval. After all, something had to be done. Seras was trailing around smelling like incense and looking almost ghoulish, she herself was frustrated and chained, and Alucard, her most potent weapon, was confined for the time being. And very cranky about it.

Yes, time to throw her metaphorical bomb.

At least things in England were quiet.