Chapter 1 – An Orphan Child

One “cool” evening old England got us accustomed to, when all you had to do was stay inside your warm house roaming the land of dreams, Officer Gangsley Taylor, and two other Scotland Yard officers, wandered the dark streets of London.

Beside them there was nobody there, which was more than normal on such weather and at such late hour. It wasn’t their wish to walk down the streets. Still, to achieve their goal they had to take this unusual action.

They were wet to the bone because of the water flowing from the dark sky, ceaselessly hit by huge drops of rain stinging them like needles. To their distress, the gusty wind blew off their cap of police community support officers. The three ran towards Moon Street. They knew nothing about this street. It was a line on the map for them, very far from the city centre on the outskirts of London.

Scotland Yards were used to such unpleasant moments. Yet, walking down the darkest and strangest streets of the city on such night it was too much even for them.

Considering the weather, it was clear that anyone except the Scotland Yard officers minded their own business. One could say the weather was triggered by unusual happenings, mysterious, meaningless recent events. Something at least as puzzling as horror stories often shared by folks who like scaring people.

Officer Gangsley Taylor and probably the other two joining him, Jones W. Carpenter and Smith Smithson, have seen far too many atrocities in their career to scare them off. They took part in real events, when the only strange thing was how humans could express so much hatred, violence, indifference, throughout history. Therefore, they left without hesitation for the place of their mission.

They faced heroically the rushing stream coming from the sky. Rain wasn’t an enigma at all. It was common for that April time when customary rainy days settled over England. Still, the three were increasingly impatient to reach the location they were looking for.

That road was so badly cobbled that one risked breaking leg at any step taken. It was flanked on both sides by tiny houses looking as if they were built just before Stonehenge. They were crummy and sloppy, crammed as if trying to transfer heat to one another in the wind blowing harder and harder. The shape and appearance of the houses killed any passer-by’s mood to visit a friend or someone in the family living in this slum.

Even Scotland Yard officers didn’t want to be in the middle of that incipient apocalypse. However, they didn’t give up.

“Good evening ...” Gangsley said, surprised at the sound of his voice.

He didn’t realize at first that it was neither the place nor the moment to be polite. The officer got silent because he noticed there was no one in front of him. He just seemed to have seen someone.

Anyhow, he saw someone's face before him. His gaze met a face so beautiful and young, like a fairy face. Despite that, it was so white, foreshadowing death, bloodcurdling only thinking of it. Not to speak of really seeing it.

Yet, Gangsley smiled as usual, somewhat calmly, for that face seemed far too odd; therefore, it was just a product of his mind.

“I think I’m going mad because of the weather”, he mumbled. “That must be!”

Officer Gangsley looked at the other two officers who almost ran in front of him and had no intention to look back, so he shook head as if he wanted to let go a disturbing thought and hurried up to catch up with them.

He looked once more behind in the dark to be sure no one passed by him and continued walking with the other two. In order to calm down, he shifted thoughts to the heat and the cigars waiting for him in the office he left for some time.

The darkness so deep, luckily for the officers, was lightened up here and there by the glow of some lamps, surviving the tempest and the bitter weather out there. At any rate, the lamps could go out at any time, like other dozen broken lamps on the side roads leading to the main street. These roads were so inky that they seemed to show them to the end of the world.

Taking advantage of those small sources of light the officers tried to read on the signposts the names of the streets they were on. Though, this wasn’t easy at all because hardly anyone could see at a distance of more than a yard, two in front of him because of the heavy rain. And for this reason, until they could read the text on the panels, they managed to absorb more and more cold and unwanted water, to their despair.

Around such a light one could see that Mr. Gangsley was as tall as a tree, a young poplar to be more precise. He had a moustache and handsome sideburns usually neat, but now they formed the background needed for the mini rain-waterfalls flowing from his cap.

In his daily life he was considered for sure a funny and charismatic guy. Even when no one saw anything exciting, he could make a little joke, taking the best of an unpleasant job.

“We can’t stop, Jones W. Carpenter. We can't drink coffee and smoke a pipe, because I didn't take any with me. Maybe next time, I'll take both. Per contra, now let's move more airily. We almost got there.”

Gangsley Taylor's sober, firm voice somewhat revived Jones, so the officer regained his strength to go on with the same efficiency, along with the other two fellows in misery.

The officers looked for the house at number 3, on one of the most insignificant and unknown streets, Moon Street, a street down which neither of them had ever walked before. Someone else would probably look for it in the morning, waiting for daylight to come and maybe with a little luck the bothering rain to stop.

In whatever way, not Gangsley Taylor. As he got that desperate call from a Mrs. Stone, who said she heard people yelling and screaming in the apartment above her home, he and his aides headed to the address mentioned.

Another conflict between spouses that I have to calm down. The third one I go to this week. You’d say I’m a social worker for family conflicts. And this weather ..., Officer Gangsley complained to himself, because he had no one else to complain to.

Even though he could stay at the warm headquarters with his cigars, he decided to leave with the other two without saying anything. When he took the oath to protect anyone in need, he didn’t set the condition to be there only when he liked it, or when it was clear and warm outside. No, the condition was: whenever needed.

And anyone would agree with him - who could live thinking that he could rescue someone in a difficult situation, but he decided not to do it? Any situation, even trivial at first, could eventually degenerate remarkably, so Mr. Gangsley decided to do everything in his power to save that misunderstanding between spouses.

Not only once had he saved a man's life, arrived in time where his presence was necessary. And on top of that, these two - he pointed to the two officers – can’t find their way when the sky is clear, map in their hand, not to mention this kind of weather, thought the experienced Scotland Yard officer, Gangsley Taylor.

Suddenly, Officer Jones began to express anger and his thoughts moved lips surrounded by beard and moustache, in the rhythm of cold drops fallen from the clouds, colour of darkness.

“I don’t get the point of these people who, although they hardly manage to support their families, always find money to buy liquor that takes their minds. Then they can't help blowing off steam on each other. I feel like ...”

But he stopped. He looked confused left and right, then questioningly raised his narrow shoulders, as he did almost every time they went on a mission, trying to tell the others they were a little lost.

Officer Gangsley, with his calm nature, never discouraged, restored hope to the other two:

“We turn right at the first crossroads. We’re close. My senses don’t deceive me.”

Mr. Gangsley's senses were based in fact on the information he got from Mrs. Stone, who carefully told him that to get to the house where the two spouses argued, it was necessary to take a turning to the right in Sun Street, at the junction of Sun Street and Constellation Street. When they reached the end of the former street they definitely found Moon Street. And they could soon arrive to the house in question.

“So you’ll be quickly here,” said Mrs. Stone. And she also told them to hurry.

The discussion and indications from police station callers like talkative Mrs. Stone’s encouraged Mr. Gangsley Taylor to boast with fine smell and sight like a feline’s.

But even so bragger at times, Officer Gangsley always managed to show the two disoriented guys the way. He was sometimes surprised himself about his ability.

Who knows, maybe I really have some qualities of a feline, he giggled whenever everything went well.

After all today, if these skills really existed, they were deeply lost somewhere in Mr. Gangsley's persona. They didn’t help him too much, because he didn’t notice that curious apparition whom they overcame running and who was now at about fifteen feet away from them.

And that dubious shadow that seemed to be man, came now unobserved behind them, taking advantage of the dullness when no one could notice him.

Even if something urged Gangsley Taylor to stop from time to time to look back, as he still felt there was a presence behind them, he quickly came to his senses and continued his journey without doing that. He had no time for nonsense thinking they’re chased by ghosts or other baffling, evil creatures.

So he stopped only once to see if there was a man following them, because it couldn’t be something else. Withal, as he couldn’t see anything but only remained behind the others, he gave up doing that.

There’s no point, Gangsley, you fool. Surely your mind is playing tricks on you because of the weather ... What kind of human has the courage to venture outside in this weather and try to mess with some law enforcement officers from Scotland Yard? Who are also armed above all ..., the officer reproached himself for the crap crossing his mind at that time.

However, if he noticed around the still lit streetlights that shadow moving gingerly not to be seen behind them, perhaps he’d change the opinion deeply imprinted in his mind. He’d think again if he really saw that morbid face.

As for the views, they might change both in his mind and in others’, taking into account the events that would follow that rainy spring night.

That dead silence was finally interrupted by Officer Jones:

“Here we are. Moon Street. You’re a true phenomenon, Gangsley”, he squeezed out a smile that seemed to say we are saved, buddies.

After glancing at Officer Taylor, as if he hoped to discover miraculously, his peculiar ability, to lead them to the right destination every time, the officer continued:

“There must be number 3. The lights are on.”

Gangsley gazed at the indicator at the crossroads right next to him, barely clinging to a screw, about to fall at any moment. Indeed, the sign said Moon Street.

“I told you,” the sneaky weasel said.

He looked at the house that was different from the others. A nice, well-kept house. Moreover, it had two lamps in the small, crowded courtyard, gracefully arranged. Even number 3 that was now in a reversed position, who knows why, forming the letter m, looked in good shape, as if someone recently clasped it to the little gate at the entrance. Very clean, as if it were new, but still predicted something sad, since it was overturned.

It was impossible not to notice, at least on a sunny day, that the rest of the houses in the area were plastered so badly that even the bricks could be seen. If by chance you had a look at some of them, you’d wonder how come the light beyond them didn't get through the holes in the walls so old and damaged they were.

All the same, something was strange to even the most rational people on Earth, like Officer Gangsley Taylor when he looked at that house. It seemed to him that in front of the house there was a wolf. No ... I don't think I can see well. First that apparition ... and now. It can't be possible ... it’s a huge dog for sure, so old that he can't move anymore. That's why he seems to be seated, looking at the lighted windows, with closed curtains, apparently trying to make out what is going on behind them - the officer thought. Damn weather, it makes you go crazy, Taylor. Snap back…! he kept arguing with himself.

Meanwhile, something didn’t allow him to properly snap back. And that something was the image probably common any other day, not that rainy and cold night.

Near that dog there was a frightened cat cramped in a small crack in the old, mouldy wall, at less than three steps away from him. The cat looked at him with fear as if she thought her end was there. Still, the hound didn't even care about her, which was strange.

Instead of doing what any canine representative of the species would do - actually crazy enough to sit outside at that time - try to warm up his body running after that cat or at least bark and howl at her to keep alive the never ending game between dogs and cats, this strange big guy sat quietly, spying the house at number 3 on Moon Street. As if the fate of humanity depended on that.

Howbeit the strangest thing was that the dog seemed to be hiding from someone. Probably from the people inside, because when the curtain was touched letting sparks of light from inside out, the wolf-dog pulled away into a murky corner so he couldn’t be seen. After a few moments, he returned to the same place where he was a few moments ago.

An event, somehow interesting for Gangsley, in which if he let himself trapped, he’d surely go insane. Fortunately, everything ended when the three officers got close to the animal less than twenty steps, and he, feeling spotted, briefly looked at the officers and went away as if his reaction were normal.

Impossible to be a wolf, because there can’t be wolves there, not even on the outskirts of London. And in no case so gentle. But ... if I were to think better ... his behaviour was unusual, even for a dog, Officer Taylor kept getting lost in his thoughts anxiously.

Nonetheless, he calmed down and interrupted his overwhelming thoughts when the two flashes in the beast’s eyes went out completely. And with those flashes, every evil thought in his mind faded away too.

He couldn’t feel nervous anymore. He didn’t even hear Jones who was frightened.

“Wolf ...” Jones said.

“Wolf my ass. Do you think a wolf is so sweet?”

“Yes, if he were under a spell ...”

“You speak rubbish about enchanted and cursed stuff. There’s no such thing. He was a dog, so get your mind right because you're not a kid anymore. You’re a real man!”

But Officer Jones couldn't calm down.

“Nowadays, when people disappear without a trace, when they’re found after months, dead, without wounds or bleeding, even something commonplace like ‘dog’ which doesn’t behave normally, sitting in a cloudburst like this has to terrify us. You are the only blind, Gangsley...”

"Quit fooling around," snapped Officer Taylor.

At any rate, if Gangsley Taylor saw the creature that just left, without skin and flesh he once had, on muzzle, ribs and back legs, he’d surely agree with Jones. Anyone would agree with him ...

“This cold freezes our mind and eyes. We’d better get inside,” officer Taylor suggested, given that in the obscurity over England, he couldn't see what kind of creature was around them a short time before.

“Two features of forensics guys,” the third officer remarked with pain in his voice ... Smith Smithson.

“I hope we haven’t got here too late. I know we came quickly ... as quickly as we could. I hope who once loved each other didn't get to hate each other. I know booze takes over minds, but ...” Jones mumbled almost for himself.

Still and all, Officer Gangsley's face seemed to respond to the other two. It looked like displaying the entire sad event that occurred that horrid, depressing night. A night that opened the door to misunderstandings and covert events, a night when innocent people left this world.

The three officers entered the small door creaking from the joints as if it broke into pieces at any touch, and entered one of the most arranged houses in that neighbourhood of London. The house at number 3.

…

Inside a small apartment there were several forensic officers equipped with all sorts of tools and gadgets needed for their job, gathering evidence of a homicide case.

Two guys, who looked like senior officers in rank, showing off, noted what the other officers found. And up to that point ... it seemed they didn’t note anything except the number of people killed and that a four-year-old child was found in one of the closets in another room at the crime scene.

“I noted the names of the two. Eliot Edwards and his wife ...”

The second officer, who was believed to be just as important as the first, took a short break.

“And ... Rigantona Edwards. What kind of name is that?” he asked the other.

Whatever, the other officer didn't answer, maybe he didn't know what the other said, or because Gangsley Taylor and the other two appeared in that awkward little flat, still cosy and agreeably set up. Or rather it was cosy, because there was not much left of it.

“Hi, Taylor. It seems two people died, husband and wife. The Edwards. I remember you didn’t believe such things, but look. There’s no blood. Despite that, as you can see, the walls and the furniture are destroyed as if someone threw bombs everywhere.”

He showed Gangsley the damage to the flat, as if the latter couldn’t see that visible affliction.

“Of course, the couple was transported for checking. Curious that, although there was a big explosion here, they had no injuries. But…”

“They were ... sent to the other world”, the other hanger-on mimed the hint of the Edwards’ death.

“I also saw a wolf following you”, Jones intervened.

“Yes ... much strange stuff. And the weather is as it is. I don't know what kind of ...”, that officer tried to continue chatting, but he stopped.

He said in firm and cold voice, turning to the guy who entered the flat.

“Excuse me, sir ... you can't go in. It's the scene of a homi…”

A harsh voice interrupted the officer.

“I gave him permission.”

A secretive gentleman entered, dressed elegantly, with long hair, slightly greyish and wavy, put in a ponytail visible under his hat. Probably the gentleman wasn’t that young any more, but his appearance and body posture revealed a strong, ageless man. When he entered, he had a small tattoo on his cheek, representing a dragon, but it disappeared.

He had a short staff in his hand, with a sculpture at the top, representing the torso of a creepy creature with huge fangs, a kind of werewolf or vampire.

The gentleman who spoke was behind him. A plump little man. Yet, the others looked up to him standing in line like a row of poplar trees on the side of a road, therefore his importance was inversely proportional to his stature.

“Good morning, Commander”, all the officers greeted.

The police commander was a high respect-breeding guy among the officers. Maybe because of his position or the frowning manner he looked at people under the huge glasses covering his eyebrows and almost his forehead. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. He definitely dominated them, in a game of cat and mouse.

The commander only looked for a moment with the same grim, fierce gaze at one of the police officers, a young man who just graduated the school that trained these criminal officers, for the simple reason that he just stood there, listening to their talk. When he caught the commander's sharp gaze, the young officer turned around startling, and accidentally hit a nightstand, off which several things fell, including a picture.

“You’ve got no business?!” the Commander took that little scared ‘mouse’ to task.”

When asked, the “little mouse” began to tremble with fear. On the spot, he went next to a colleague to ask for help, though he didn’t know what he wanted.

The commander watched the policeman only for a moment. Though, the young officer didn’t have the courage to turn his head again for several minutes. He constantly felt that sour glance thrown at him. He rushed to do something, too, anything.

The commander turned to the two “important” police officers and said in the same authoritative voice:

“He is Mr. Vlad Dragoesti. An important person ... very good friend of the British Empire. Give him any information he wants!”

He approached one of the officers and whispered:

“He has a paper signed by the prime minister ... With order to have any question answered.”

The commander spied several minutes, one at a time, on the officers investigating the crime scene. Pleased that everyone got involved in their work, he gave talk to that elegant guy, Mr. Dragoesti.

“Mr. Vlad, I turn you over to my officers Will Blanc and Kevin Wheatstone. They’ll answer any questions you have. I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I have a serious problem just a few blocks away. You got the idea...”

Surely anyone wondered what could be more important than two people’s death, but perhaps the Commander’s walkout wasn’t a loss at all; on the contrary, it was to hasten the completion of proofs and evidence collection.

The Commander left. After that the police officers breathed a sigh of relief. Even the guy scolded by the Commander cracked a smile. Everything went better now, because the short and dumpy Commander, their stress, left them alone.

“Mr. Vlad ... the paramount question is how the two people died ... the Edwards? They were young; they didn't seem to be suffering. There’s no trace of blood, no weapon, no wound to the two. I'm curious if the doctors who do the autopsy find out the cause of the death”, Blanc started to talk.

“You won’t find out anything, sceptics ...,” Mr. Vlad whispered in such low voice, that none could hear his words.

Officer Wheatstone, however, looked at the stylish guy, inquiring.

“Excuse me ... did you say something Mr. Dragoesti?”

“No”, he said sharply.

So Officer Wheatstone went on:

“There’s never been a similar case in London before. You can imagine, all newspapers will write about ...”

Anyhow, Mr. Vlad didn’t listen to the police officer. He got close to the nightstand the policeman hit, next to which several things were spread.

He picked up a notebook that looked like a diary with golden cover, but there wasn’t anything written there. Vlad opened it and saw only blank pages as white as freshly milked moo juice. He dropped it back on the floor, because it was useless to him.

He then picked up a photo frame that was facedown. The glass protecting the photo was broken because of that young officer’s awkwardness ... and because of the Commander who yelled at him, of course.

There were three people in the picture. There was a brown-haired man wearing glasses, a dark-haired woman, very beautiful. Her hair was very long and wavy ... and a very nice child, who seemed to be about 3 years old.

When Vlad Dragoesti saw the picture, his face got dark and became extremely disturbed. A man so self-controlled looked frowning at the two police officers and asked stammering:

“Where is he ... where did you take him ... the boy ?!”

The two officers looked at each other, interrogative.

“Which boy? Officer Blanc mumbled, smiling.

Mr. Vlad jumped to his feet, clenched his fists so tightly that the rod made a sound as if cracking under the force of his hands and got closer to the officer getting even darker.

“YOU KIDDING ME…!? THE CHILD IN THE PICTURE!”

The impenetrable man came so close to the officer that the latter clearly saw a tattoo appearing and disappearing in Mr. Vlad's temple area. A tattoo ... with a green dragon. Maybe because of fear, the officer imagined the tattoo was mobile, so he took a step back, very frightened. He didn’t expect such a reaction.

“Excuse us, Mr. Dragoesti. I didn't know you talked about the child in the picture. But that boy you're talking about ... unfortunately ...”

“UNFORTUNATELY WHAT?” the fancy gentleman asked, so angry and loud that everyone there stopped their activity.

“That child is actually ... a girl. That's why I didn't know what you talked about ...” Blanc apologized.

Sunrise surrounded by wonderful rainbow, that’s what Vlad Dragoesti's face expressed, lit up in a moment. Moreover, he smiled and gave a friendly tap to Blanc’s shoulder.

“So it’s a girl...”

A short break followed, when things totally calmed down. Only Officer Blanc probably still wondered ... why he saw a dragon at Mr. Dragoesti's temple, considering that now ... there was nothing else there. He was struck dumb.

“Do you want to see the girl, Mr. Vlad?” Wheatsone dared say. “She’s at one of the neighbours...”

“Yes ... I ought to see her. If she’s nearby ... I'll go see her. She's the daughter of a relative of mine. Even though she’s a very distant niece, she’s still part of the family.”

“Officer Gangsley, let's take Mr. Dragoesti to the flat below us. There’s the little girl ...”

The officers and the neat gentleman went to the ground floor on a stairway that seemed to be crying at every step taken by the officers. Gangsley Taylor stared at Mr. Dragoesti all the way, but he didn’t sketch a gesture and said absolutely nothing.

Eventually they came to that flat. There the door was slightly open, so the three entered the flat as if they belonged to it without considering that it was a stranger’s house.

In the flat, there were two other police officers with the girl and an older lady, dressed perhaps too flirty, looking almost ridiculous. The lady was the owner of that apartment.

“Hello, I'm Deborah Stone ... Nick Stone's widow ...”, the woman said standing up.

The lady, wearing a too low-cut dress, inappropriate for that visit, stuck her hand out probably to have it kissed by the gentlemen, as a sign of respect. Nevertheless, she only got a slight handshake from Gangsley.

“Would you like some coffee?” said the landlady, smiling anyway.

“No”, Mr. Vlad Dragoesti said, cutting her words short.

“I called the police. I heard noise upstairs in the flat. Even though the wind and the rain made unspeakable noise, I still managed to hear the roar from above. As if it were a hurricane up there ...”

The lady sat down, but she kept talking:

“I could hear words I didn't understand. And as I got this device from the late Nick I called the police station of our sector. Fortunately, the forensic guys came quickly ... because otherwise the father could kill the girl too... The gadget was modified by my husband ... Nobody in the neighbourhood has such an exquisite object. I managed to call the police with it ...”

The woman kept talking very quickly. She was proud of her gadget, a phone that really had a superbly worked bronze holder.

“I'm not a meddling kind of person. In any case, I'm sure he killed her and then he killed himself…I felt something fishy with him…I’m glad the girl escaped his clutches.”

“And then why does the room look as if something exploded in there?” Wheatstone inquired.

The woman didn't know what to answer. Her face let them know she struggled to find a plausible answer.

But Vlad Dragoesti wasn’t interested in her words. He got close to the girl, completely ignoring the woman's attempt to present the object to which she gave too much importance.

“How rude of him,” Mrs. Stone flared up to Gangsley.

Still, as she saw Mr. Gangsley smiling at her, she quickly forgot Vlad's lack of manners and kept telling him.

Even though he left the impression that he listened to her, the officer kept an eye on Dragoesti, a corner of his eye actually.

“He is a friend of the Prime Minister’s ... of the British Empire,” Wheatstone told Mrs. Stone, pointing to the obscure gentleman.

“Ooh…”

That’s all the chattering lady could say when she heard what important people she accommodated. After a few seconds of confusion, she pulled through.

“I’ll go to freshen up... maybe journalists will come ... or ...”

And the woman entered another room to freshen up a little, casting everyone aside in that messy room.

The snazzy gentleman sat quietly and looked at the little girl. He slightly leaned over and got close to the child’s angel face.

The girl seemed to be younger than 4, considering her in front of Mr. Dragoesti. A different child from the one in the picture. A thin, beautiful girl, with long blond hair, longer than shoulder length haircut, dressed in a cute deux-pièces and an embroidered vest. She was shod in pretty red boots, needless to speak, ready for a special day.

Vlad looked into the girl's eyes. The girl also saw that tattoo, that green dragon. The tattoo seemed to imperceptibly move again and seemed to admire the charming little girl too.

The girl was not scared, she even enjoyed the image of the dragon that appeared and disappeared from the face of the man in a strange way.

“What's your name, my dear?”

“Elizabeth ...” answered the girl with a warm smile.

The fine gentleman smiled somewhat indifferent. He kept watching the little girl, with his smile fading away, even though her big smile was still on her face.

“I met your parents ...”

“Where are my mom and dad ...?” the little girl asked with a smile.

Mr. Vlad looked at the officers as if expecting them to tell the girl the trouble she got into.

“Mommy and dad are gone for a while,” Gangsley said hesitating.

Notwithstanding, as none of the other officers knew how to tell the child that her beloved parents were no longer among them, Mr. Vlad broke the silence:

“Mommy and dad went to the guy who gave them the most precious gift ... you. And I came to take care of you. I just can't take you now, ...”

The little girl looked at that foreign gentleman, but this time she was a little sadder.

“Why can't I come now ...?”

“I have to go for a while. But at some point I will come after you ... or send someone to take care of you until I solve my problems ...”

He turned to the two officers. He spoke to them chiefly, as if he had the right to give them orders:

“I talked to your Commander. The girl will stay at the orphanage Angel’s hand.”

He looked at the little girl smiling this time.

“You heard, my dear ... you’ll stay in an angel’s palm until I come after you. You will be fine there ... and your parents are now in the palm of the angels. And an angel that I send to the orphanage will watch over you while you are there.”

Mr. Vlad got up suddenly and walked out of the room as if he counted the moments he had to spend there.

As he went out of the building he noticed that the rain stopped. Outside, near that neat building, there were some police officers busy with evidence loading into their carriages.

He walked away from those officers and looked around as if he searched for someone. He couldn’t see anyone, but he heard a voice:

“Here I am, my count ...”

Vlad Dragoesti turned his head and even behind him, he saw the person he looked for and who popped up out of the blue. His face was covered, probably to protect it against the cold. But he still seeme to have something to hide.

“Come on! We are leaving,” said Mr. Vlad as he made a sign with the staff to the carriage in which he came.

The carriage moved closer. The two got in and sat on the bench in the posh carriage, drawn by two horses that were equally high-class and stunning.

The man with covered face asked:

“Master, how about the child? He might mess with us at some point and ...”

“It’s a girl”, Vlad Dragoesti replied crossly.

“So ... that won't be a problem. Or...?”

“A minor problem ... insignificant compared to the problem represented by her parents”, smiled Vlad Dragoesti.

The covered-face guy got comfortable on the bench where even a king would be proud to sit. Moving, the scarf that covered his face slid a little and one could see from the blurred light of the lantern hanging by the carriage that he had extremely white face, with a skin that never saw the sunlight. It seemed to be ... the face in Gangsley Taylor’ vision. Or ... maybe it wasn’t a vision.

The skin seemed to be extremely delicate, like that of a newborn. Without any wrinkle, without any trace of a possible malady, without being affected by the passage of time.

He spoke in a slightly hoarse voice, the voice of a man who went through a lot in his life, a man with life experience. The bottom lip, because it was the only visible under the scarf, was as red as blood.

“Take us back where you took us from”, Vlad Dragoesti ordered the coachman.

And the carriage rushed away.

“Why have you come?” Dragoesti said with a cold glance.

“I don't know ... probably because you may have problems”, said the cover-faced guy. “There were so many law enforcement officers there ...”

“It’s a piece of cake with the officers ... moreover, some of them are as dark as we are.”

The stranger shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't know ... I felt you were in danger.”

The Count glanced outside through a small opening at the window, where the curtains were set aside.

“Of course it makes sense that you’re here. Probably Edward’s death ... His absence is a great loss to the other side. But, I don't know ... I felt a much greater pressure on me now. Much bigger than I did when our dark guys died.”

“Maybe because of the child?” the secretive guy raised his eyebrows.

“That's what I thought too. Yet, it’s a girl. There must be something else ...”

He looked again out of window. He was very calm, but inside everything was about to erupt, to explode with the power of a cataclysm.

“Anyway ... that story says that ‘he will bring us a gift ... that will bring the end of the dark age ...’”

“These are just assumptions. I think it will never happen. That era ... maybe it already started. Still, it can't be because of this little girl. The killing of Edwards was painful for our group as well. Scar, Screamer, Shrew and Skeleton are gone. They were killed without too much trouble, although they were leaders in our group. That's why I felt that pressure for sure. I can say we were lucky... for we managed to kill them.”

“Yes ... huge losses for our cause. Almost as big as the Edwards’ for them. There is still ... Knudlac. Surely he and his ‘little’ wizards can cause us problems.”

“You have no idea ... especially him.”

The cover-faced guy looked out, in that darkness, as if he could see in that thick blackness, ocean-bottom like.

“I have to get off, master. I'm going to have ... dinner,” the hidden guy smiled.

He stuck his head out of the carriage window.

“Stop the carriage!” he said to the coachman.

Dragoesti smiled.

“Here… ?” the coachman asked, puzzled, as they were on a dark path in the forest. Only the round disk of the moon kept shining here in the shade of that frightening forest. And the dim light of the lantern hanging on the ravishing carriage.

“Yes”, Dragoesti ordered too. “He has to ... eat ...”

The coachman was very anxious that he had to leave someone on that path of perdition. But ... he was scared of both the cover-faced foreigner and the famous and cruel Vlad Dragoesti.

So he did exactly as he was ordered.

The stranger got off the carriage and moved away on that unknown path. Finally, just before he was gone, he glanced back at the frightened coachman. Two glassy eyes like two stars in the sky, which seemed come down into that forest, targeted the coachman ... along with a bloodcurdling grin.

With a lump in his throat, because he heard so many strange, mysterious things about the castle and the lands of Dragoesti residence, his heart cracking with panic because of those eyes that watched him, the coachman whipped the horses to start off rushing without waiting for Count Dragoesti's order.

He was severely shaken when the carriage started, but instead of being upset, he smiled. He knew something ... scared the poor coachman. And this enjoyed him a lot, because others’ fear ... was food for guys like him.

...

In front of the house at number 3 Moon Street, one could see Officer Gangsley carrying a small girl and a little bag in his arms. Apparently her stuff was in that bag that was not roomy at all.

The little girl was holding a diary ... A diary that Officer Gangsley decided to give to her, because it once belonged to her parents. He considered the diary a gift from those who gave life to the girl, an object that only she, alone in this world, had the right to keep. Because it was written on it in golden letters:

“... a small gift, for our most precious gift, Elizabeth Catherine Edwards.”