She was a thousand miles away.

Tesla eyed her over the rim of his wineglass; Her head turned and she caught his eye, as if she could pick up his thoughts.

Since the revelation of Druitt's alternate personality, she didn't didn't look at him the same way. When they'd first taken the source blood, his newly found vampiric heritage had given her a thrill of trepidation, but she had never truly feared him. After all, he was Nikola and she was Helen, what was there to fear? They had never really fitted into society's parameters in the first place. Eccentric said those of the kinder persuasion, mad said the others. The source blood was just another variable to their different natures, an extra layer of texture, if you will

Well, now she knew better.

He pretended amusement but the truth had a sourer taste. The suspicion flickering in her eyes stabbed painfully. She was Helen. She was supposed to understand.

"I had a letter from London this morning," he said aloud. "From a Helena Wells."

For a moment, her eyes gleamed with unadulterated interest. "Really? I've heard interesting things about her. Apparently, her brother's stories may have more than a glimmer of truth to them."

He gave her a wry look. "Watson has been keeping you apprised, I see."

"John has always been an attentive letter writer," she said, smoothing down the folds of her dress; anything other than looking him straight in the eye. He didn't ask the question that lingered between them - had Watson succeeded in tracking down Druitt?

"Did you know she was a Warehouse agent?" he asked instead, and felt a flood of satisfaction as her head jolted up in surprise.

"My father mentioned there was a Warehouse in London," she said. "Did you ever hear his theory?"

"That the artefacts stored in the Warehouse were all inadvertently activated by proximity to an abnormal? Yes, I may remember him expound on the subject once or twice," he drawled.

Helen gave him a rueful smile. "You haven't told me what Miss Wells wrote in her letter," she said.

"Oh, didn't I?" he asked, and smirked at her half annoyed, half amused expression. "Well, apparently Miss Wells has heard of my reputation from her predecessor."

Helen quirked an eyebrow. "Which reputation?"

"As a scientist, of course," he said, more sharply than he'd meant.

She stiffened in her chair. "Of course," she echoed.

Tesla sighed and leant forward to refill his glass. He gestured at hers, which was lingering emptily on an occasional table and, after a moments hesitation, she shook her head.

"Apparently, the life of a Warehouse agent is becoming more perilous as we grow nearer to a new century," he said, as he settled back in his chair. "She wants to expand on the prototype I designed to disable such threats."

"I presume there must be a electrical component to original design?" she asked.

"Well, it is me," he said, with a shrug. "However, the weapon I originally designed is a bit unwieldy, and they wish me to make a more discreet version for the field. She has asked me to London this weekend."

"I see," she said.

"I'm thinking of taking her up on her invitation. Oxford is so boring this time of year," he continued, gauging her reaction.

"Are you saying you're bored with my company, Nikola," Helen asked archly.

"Oh, I can never be that, my dear Helen," he said. "Care to join me?"

The light in her eyes dimmed. "I'm not sure if London is the right place for me at the moment," she murmured.

And there it was again, a reluctance to meet the problem head on. Her tilted his head. Caution was never one of Helen's traits. When she had arrived back in Oxford two weeks ago, he'd thought she'd come to drag him back to London to aid her in the chase of Druitt... but, instead, she'd just settled back into her rooms and declared she was going to winter in Oxford.

And it wasn't as if she'd lost interest in the chase. He knew she got regular updates on the matter from Watson. He had been reading her mail, after all. Helen was keeping something from him and he was determined to find out what.

"Helen Magnus, are you actually telling me you're turning down the opportunity to see the inside of the Warehouse - the Warehouse? I may have to call for a physician."

"So droll," she said tartly but, if he didn't know any better, he'd have sworn his words had stung.

"Does that mean we're going?" he asked, and held his breath. If Helen and he shared a vice, it was an insatiable curiosity about... well, just about everything. It was what drew them together in the first place and he was betting that it would also bring her to London with him.

"This weekend, you say?"

He smiled.

"Ah, don't you just love the bracing, pungent smell of London fog in the evening," Tesla drawled, as he stepped onto the platform and took in a deep breath.

Helen threw him an exasperated look, as she tried to look over the throng of Victoria Station. "Where in heaven's name has our luggage handler gone?"

"He probably was crushed under the weight of your trunks, and is now crying faintly for help," Tesla retorted, with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Watson may be a terrible bore, sometimes, but he does keep a respectable research laboratory. You don't need to bring yours with you."

"I don't want to impose on James's time," she said.

Nikola shook his head. "Helen, you are many things, but you are not a good liar," he said. "Perhaps it would be better if you refrained from any further forays into the world of fiction. We could talk about the weather, perhaps, or discuss my future plans for world domination."

"I hope you realise you are not even half as amusing as you think you are," Helen said.

"Who was trying to be amusing?" Tesla said. "Ah, it seems our luggage handler isn't dead after all, although he does seem to have brought a friend. I do hope you intend to tip."

Helen quirked an eyebrow as she noticed the luggage handler's aid. Nikola had to admit he didn't look like railway staff. "Come along," Helen said, as she hurried towards them.

Tesla sighed. "That's all I am to you, isn't it," he said. "Your lackey, your servant, your slav—"

"Nikola"

The luggage handler's newfound friend had a distracted air about him as they approached, although he did seem to focus with great alacrity when he spotted them bearing down on him.

"Ah, Miss Magnus, I presume," the stranger said, as Helen came to an abrupt stop in front of him.

"Doctor Magnus, actually," she corrected him, in her best schoolmarmish voice.

"Ah, my apologies, and you must be Doctor Tesla—"

"Just Mister, actually," Nikola drawled. "Not even an esquire to go after my name. I feel quite inferior."

Helen smirked, despite herself.

The stranger seemed to gather himself. "My name is Mr Wolcott. Miss Wells asked me to convey her her regrets. An urgent...situation came up, that needed her immediate attention, and she asked me to escort you to her rooms at the Warehouse. She thought it best that she didn't bring you to her house, as her brother is in residence and she didn't think you'd appreciate becoming characters in his next book."

Nikola and Helen eyed each other. "Does that happen a lot?" Helen enquired.

"Don't ask," Mr Walcott said. "It's a bit of a sore spot for HG."

"HG, eh? My, my, things are rather informal at the Warehouse," Tesla said.

"Miss Wells, I mean," Mr Wolcott said quickly, looking suddenly flustered. Oh, this was too easy.

Helen rolled her eyes. "I find it best to ignore most of what Nikola says, Mr Wolcott."

"Why, Helen, you say the nicest things," Tesla said, slapping a hand over his heart.

Helen ignored him. "Lead on, Mr Wolcott," she said. "! must admit, I'm quite looking forward to this."

Mr Wolcott smiled. "Right this way."

"Why do I get the feeling we've just been relegated to the nursery?" Nikola sighed, as he looked around the well appointed but yawningly normal drawing room.

Mr Wolcott shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Miss Wells wanted to show you around herself," he said. "She was quite excited when you accepted her invitation. I think she had almost given up hope you'd agree to come. After all, she has been trying to get you to agree to visit for over a year now."

Tesla studiously examined the ceiling as Helen threw him a hard look. "Yes, well, prior engagements, you know how it is."

"Prior engagements?" Helen repeated flatly. She knew only too well that the only pressing engagement Tesla had had over the last few months was with the University Don's wine cellar, he figured he was in for a very stern talking to once they were alone. He suppressed a smile. It didn't matter, he had succeeded in extricating her from that damned cocoon she'd built for herself in Oxford and she was now back in her true element. The frothing masses of London and all of the precarious dangers that entailed. She'll thank him for it... eventually.

A door slam broke the thickening atmosphere, and a quick step presaged the drawing room door being thrown open. Tesla slowly got to his feet as a rather novelly attired woman staggered into the room.

"You are injured," Helen said immediately, going to her side.

"It's nothing, just a scratch," said Miss Wells. At least he presumed it was Miss Wells. She was also lying about it being just a scratch, and from the expression on Helen's face, she had already surmised that.

"You're severely wounded," Helen said, as she automatically assumed the mantle of Doctor. "Mr Wolcott, you will find my physician's bag in my black trunk. Please fetch me it. Nikola, please help me get her to the couch."

"No time," she said, as he picked her up and carried her to the couch. "We have no—"

And that was when Miss Wells passed out. Typical. Nikola looked at her sourly. "Why is it they never pass out after they impart the crucial information?"

"Nikola, focus!" Helen snapped. "We need to get her out of these clothes. I think whoever attacked her did some rather nasty damage to her abdomen."

Nikola looked around the room and noticed a letter opener on the desk. He tested the edge. Good enough. Helen stood back as he ripped through her waistcoat and blouson.

Wolcott charged into the room. "Found the - oh my goodness!" Tesla glanced at him with amusement. The young Warehouse agent stood with his eyes averted as he waved Helen's case in her general direction.

Helen grabbed the bag as she sat by Miss Well's side and examined the wound. "It's not as bad I thought," she pronounced. "Some muscle damage, I think, and it will need stitches, but as long as we staunch the bleeding, she should be okay." She turned to Mr Wolcott. "I'm going to need some hot water and a flame to sterilise my instruments."

"Yes! Immediately!" he said, and darted from the room.

"Well," Nikola sighed. "This could have gone better - I wonder if she keeps a cellar here?"

"Nikola."

"What? It's a legitimate question."

An hour passed, and Helen had already attended to the wound when Miss Wells awoke and tried to wrestle herself into a sitting position. "How long have I—" She gave a gasp of pain.

"Lie back," Helen advised. "There has been some muscular tearing. It can be quite painful, as you've just discovered."

"Painful, but not life threatening?" Miss Wells asked.

"No, but—"

"Help me to my feet," she insisted, as she continued to get up. "Where is Wooley- Mr Wolcott?"

"He was called out about ten minutes ago. Something about a body found near Picadilly," Helen said.

"Two in one night," she murmured. "And the second body closer to this vicinity than the first. I suspected it was trying to follow me here. This is not good. Not good at all."

"It?" Helen asked.

"The mask," Miss Wells said.

Helen looked at him.

"I'm going to hazard a wild guess and say it's not an ordinary mask," Nikola said.

Helen nodded abruptly. "It's a Punchinello mask, an Artefact," she said. "And rather nasty one at that. Whoever wears it is driven to kill."

"And our evening has just taken a turn for the macabre," Nikola said. "How delightful."

Helen straightened. "Nikola, let her finish!"

Miss Wells shook her head. "No. We have no time. I'll tell you the rest on our way."

"Our?" Tesla echoed.

For the first time since Miss Wells had awoken, she focused on his face. "I'm sorry to impose on you like this," she said. "But, as you can see, I'm not fit to travel on my own. I shall need help changing into new clothes, and someone to hail a cab."

"Consider it done," Helen said. "I shall help you dress while Nikola hails the cab."

"Typical, I never get the pleasant tasks," Nikola said. "You two behave while I'm gone." Their voices wafted after him as he stepped through the door.

"Is he always like that?"

"Actually, this is rather restrained by his standards."

"How odd, I always thought he'd be..."

"Quiet and serious? Soft spoken and thoughtful?"

"Well...yes."

"Oh dear. You'd better brace yourself."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm used to megalomaniacs, and at least I won't have to mind my Ps and Qs around him."

"True, but you'll have to watch everything else."

Tesla smirked as he closed the front door behind him. It was nice to know he was appreciated.

The cab veered precariously as they cornered the street and headed towards Piccadilly. Miss Wells winced gingerly.

"Well, out with it," Tesla said.

"Nikola," Helen chided.

"What? I'm not allowed to ask about the merciless killer we're careening towards? Although, the way this cab driver handles his horses, we may be dead before we reach the scene of the crime."

Miss Wells nodded her head. "No, he is correct," she said. "You'll need to know what to expect." She drew in a breath. "In the 1830s, a series of attacks happened London. From the witness's descriptions, it was surmised the attacker wore a mask, probably Venetian, and that the attacker scaled walls with ease in order to elude escape."

The attacks went on for a number of years, escalating into murder, and then, in 1842, they stopped. It was always suspected that an Irish Lord, Henry de La Poer Beresford, 3rd Marquess of Waterford, was responsible, but it was never proved. It was noted, however, that the attacks ceased after the Marquess's return to Ireland, and the London constabulary breathed a collective sigh of relief – but now the attacks have began again. First in Dublin, then in Edinburgh, and now back in London."

Helen leaned back in her seat, a frown creasing her brow. "You're talking about Spring Heeled Jack."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Miss Wells said.

"Oh splendid, just what we needed," Nikla said dryly. "Another homicidal Jack."

The look on Helen's face could have frozen fire. "Perhaps we should just concentrate on the task at hand, Nikola," she said tersely.

Hmm, no witty retort? As Jimmy would say, something definitely was afoot. Maybe he should send him a telegram, after all, and let him know they were in London. Much as he liked having Helen all to himself, he was beginning to become uneasy about her demeanor.

The cab slowed, and Nikola looked out. "Oh, look, there is Wooley - and looking a delightful shade of green, might I add."

Helen rolled her eyes as she opened the cab door. A peeler eyed them warily as they stepped out and Wolcott hurried to help Miss Wells. The body was covered with a canvas cloth, and Tesla twitched it aside. It was a woman in her late twenties wearing a shop bought dress but good shoes. Her hands were smooth so he doubted she was a servant. A shop assistant, perhaps? It was hard to make any true judgement on the matter as the killer had made a pretty mess of her. It was worthy of Johnny's best work.

"I preserved the scene as best I could," Wolcott said. "It has all the hallmarks of one our curiosities." He slanted a look in our direction, obviously uncertain as to how much Helen and he knew.

"Hear that, Helen, its all very curious," Nikola teased, turning to her, and then frowned at her suddenly pale face. "Helen?"

"I'm fine, I just need a moment," Helen said hurriedly, holding a handkerchief to her mouth.

Helen becoming faint at the sight of blood? Nikola's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"It's definitely our man," Miss Wells said, as her fingers touched a pale grey substance smeared on the wall beside the victim. "It's the same chalky residue we found at the other scenes - Wooley, check her pockets."

Wolcott rifled the corpse's pockets with an expertise that raised Nikola's eyebrows.

"Coin purse, latchkey, piece of ribbon...nothing obvious taken," he said.

Nikola breathed in and analysed the scents around him. The pervading odour of blood filled the air but he ignored it. He doubted either Miss Wells or Mr Wolcott would be pleased to learn of his Vampiric nature. Another scent, that of a male, caught his attention. Whoever it was, he scaled the wall – and, as the wall was over eight feet tall, either the killer came equipped with a ladder, or he did indeed have spring heels.

Nikola wondered idly if it were indeed the work of an artefact or if it there was an abnormal involved. He thought it best not to mention that thought as Helen seemed to be rather tetchy at the moment. Speaking of Helen...

The colour had crept back into her face but he noted how she didn't closely examine the corpse. As Nikola had, on more than one occasion, observed Helen elbow deep in a corpse's ribcage, face avid with interest, her sudden squeamishness seemed extremely out of character.

"Wooley," Miss Wells said, waving a rather strange looking contraption in his face. "Better get after him."

Mr Wolcott sighed a rather long suffering sigh before aiming the contraption at the wall and pressing a button. A hooked rope sped into air and caught itself on the top of the wall and Mr Wolcott began to clamber up the wall. A dark carriage arrived on the scene just as he disappeared over it.

"Ah, it seems Scotland Yard s police surgeon has come for the body," Miss Wells said lowly. "I'll handle this." A figure stepped out of carriage, a sharp look in his eyes as he took in the three of them huddled over the body. With a bright smile, Miss Wells stepped towards him and Nikola sidled to Helen's side.

"So," he said. "Are you going to tell me what is wrong with you, or am I going to have to wrestle it out of you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Helen said.

"My dear sweet Helen, what have I told you about telling me lies?"

"Leave it alone, Nikola."

"Helen, darling, I just watched you nearly lose the contents of your stomach over the corpse of a mere human. I am not going to leave it alone. Are you..." He hesitated. "...ill?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What? It's an easy supposition to come to. You're pale and withdrawn. You're not eating properly and you haven't partaken of more than a glass of wine since your return in August. Add to that your reluctance to meet with our Doctor Watson, and—"

"I'm pregnant!" she blurted out.

"I see," Nikola said, after a moment of shocked silence. "I must admit, I didn't see that coming. I presume its Johnny's...?"

She nodded silently.

"Have you made a decision about the child's future?"

Again, she shook her head.

"He'll never leave you alone if he finds out," he said bluntly. "He'll make your life a living hell."

"Don't you think I know that?" she hissed lowly.

"Have you thought of getting rid-"

"Nikola, if you value our friendship, you won't finish that sentence."

That made him pause. "There are other options," he said.

"I can't risk adoption," Helen said. "Not with my altered DNA—"

"Because the chances are the child will also manifest abilities," he finished for her. "Have you talked to James about this?"

She shook her head. "He already has enough on his plate," she said.

"Really, Helen, I think he'll drop his pursuit of Johnny long enough to—"

"Nikola, don't even think of telling him," she said lowly. "Besides, we have another problem at the moment," she added, waving at the body.

Nikola smirked. "That's the best segueway you could come up with? Really, Helen, I'm disappointed in you."

"Nikola," Helen said firmly. "Try to keep your mind on the issue at hand."

"Your pregnancy?"

"Spring Heeled Jack," Helen said, through her teeth. "And how it couldn't be him as he's residing in Yorkshire at the moment."

"Interesting," Nikola said. "Then someone is replicating his style – I wonder who that could be."

"Yes, I was wondering the same thing," a third voice said, and Nikola smiled as he turned.

"Hello, James, so glad you could join us."