I had misgivings about the ending of the previous chapter. I didn't expect it myself. I had in mind a battle royale between Rowan and Vivian over the photographs as evidence that Vera may have "faked" her own death. But things don't turn out the way one wants them to be...such is the magic of writing fiction. Thank you to my reviewers, I appreciate comments and critiques.

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Truthseekers
by mierin-lanfear

Chapter Twenty

It was one of those strange days in Lestrade's experience.

When he left the Yard for the day, he noticed that there were no public transportation available on the street. The street was indeed crowded with people braving the thick, muddied snowdrifts on the pavement, but no carriages rattled, no horses clip-clapping their hooves on the cobblestones.

And the people did not give a whit to the marked absence of wheels.

Turning up the collar of his ulster, he plodded through the throng, blending in with the grey crowd. His shrewd eyes darted here and there, aware of the possibility that petty thieves and other nefarious elements might dare assault Her Majesty's servant.

His mind was preoccupied. The thought on the strange lack of decent, warm hansoms never left him.

The following events were at best sketchy in his memory.

He remembered being shoved aside, falling from the curb to the empty thoroughfare. He tasted the metallic flavor of blood mixed with the saltiness of melted snow. As he tried to push himself up from the street, he shuddered and faltered back, curling himself into a protective ball.

I can't...get...up...so...cold...sudden...

A flute-like, female voice drifted to his ears. "Oh, I am deeply sorry, Mr. Lestrade... Injured and cold on the street!"

He struggled to look up at the source of the soothing dulcet tones of apology, straining his eyes to focus on the figure bent down to his level.

Blurry...black...veil? Faceless...can't see...

He coughed, wheezing in the frigid, choking London air. "Who...?" he spluttered. "Who...are...?"

Tinkling laughter. "Hush, hush, my dear. Be my messenger, Mr. Lestrade, for I have something for Vera Gale."

Something dry and flat was pressed into his hands. "Tell her that she is not to refuse it at all cost. We will expect her presence tomorrow morning. Ms. Gale can bring Mr. Sherlock Holmes with her."

Lestrade felt strong, slender hands pull him up. Feverish, he cannot stop from shaking. He found himself looking down at the petite, black-veiled figure before him.

"Why...me?"

The stranger reached out and caressed his pale face with cold fingers. He shuddered once more, as if she had stoked the fever herself.

"Where...is she?"

She told him.

When he nodded, she glided away from him and melted into the numb, unseeing crowd.

Pulling himself together, he staggered a few steps before an empty cab rolled right in front of him. As the cabbie helped him get inside the carriage, he muttered the address before slipping into oblivion.

The stranger reached out and caressed his pale face with cold fingers. He shuddered once more, as if she had stoked the fever herself.

"Where...is she?"

She told him.

When he nodded, she glided away from him and melted into the numb, unseeing crowd.

Pulling himself together, he staggered a few steps before an empty cab rolled right in front of him. As the cabbie helped him get inside the carriage, he muttered the address, then slipped into oblivion.

---

"The note was for you, Holmes." Vera blinked and rubbed her eyes, as her vision adjusted itself in the dimly-lit anteroom. "How Lestrade came about it, or know that I was staying with Mary and her little Jack, is mysterious."

He gave an inperceptible nod, grey eyes darting to and fro at the darkly gleaming furniture-elaborately carved mahogany accented by brass rococco fittings-and replied, "What is more interesting, ergo mysterious, is the lighting."

"The butler didn't turn up the gas, yes. The foyer is dark, too. Without Mr. Morrison leading the way, I might have knocked myself against a table or two."

"Yes, indeed. Isn't it interesting, Vera?"

Both of them approached a double-leaved door-different from the one which they entered from the foyer. Vera knocked three times, with Holmes' hand hovering at one of the doorknobs.

A gentle, flute-like voice floated from behind the door. "Please, come in."

Holmes turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Golden light flooded from the doorway, momentarily blinding them. Squinting, both of them crossed the threshold. Before their eyes adjusted to the sudden glare, they felt gentle, unknown hands guiding them to plush-covered seats.

Vera blinked twice, then found herself staring at an ethereal, doll-like creature with pale blonde hair and dark eyes, pouring tea into two white, bone-china cups. Another equally delicate-looking girl bent down to arrange a spray of blood-red poppies on the coffee table between them and the guests.

Twins.

"Would you like some honey in your tea, Ms. Gale?" the girl spoke in dulcet tones. "Katja and I must apologize if the lighting is quite...severe at first. But it is very muted as compared to others."

Vera gave a wordless nod, glancing upon her companion, who was seated with her on the white velvet settee. She gazed around the room, marvelling at the all-white drapery, from the upholstery, the lampshades to the damask curtains.

Holmes leaned over and looked at their hostess with piercing grey eyes. "Miss Anastasia, are you and Miss Katarina...albinos?"

Katja jerked back from the floral arrangement, startled at his question. She glided across the room and pulled back the curtains behind her sister, letting the glaring winter sunlight fall upon her. "Yes, we are. Which is why we cannot take in sunlight at prolonged periods."

"Thus we live in the dark...and this white drawing room is the only place for us to have light," Anja replied.

White hair. Red eyes...

Pale as the bloodless moon...

Vera suppressed an involuntary shiver.

Anja noticed it and gave a small, catlike smile. "That's enough sunlight, Katja." She focused her attention on Holmes, handing a teacup and a saucer to him. "But you are not here for that, Mr. Holmes. John's book is with you."

He nodded. "It is an interesting volume, Miss Anastasia. Would you care to explain to us about it?"

She sipped her tea. "Call us Anja and Katja." A pause. "Is it necessary?"

Katja spoke, gripping the backrest of her sister's chair, "I gave a copy of Papa's book to John when he left for Cambridge, as a parting gift. I didn't think..."

"Katja...I believe the question is addressed to me," Anja cut in, patting her sister's hand.

Her twin withdrew from Anja's armchair, settling herself in an identical armchair beside her sister. "My apologies, dearest sister."

Anja faced Holmes again. "John grew up with me and Katja in Papa's estate in Warwickshire, the only son of our butler. He was an intelligent lad, as Papa sent him to school as his scholar."

"John wanted to follow Papa's footsteps in archeology. He also shared his passion for the history of occult-I gave him a copy of A Compleat History of Alchemy and Magick before he left..." Katja continued, stirring her tea with a small spoon. She stared at the abstract swirls of milk and tea. "I warned him about..."

"About taking things too seriously." Anja set down her cup and saucer with a sharp clink. "And now, he's dead, with the blood of four innocents on his hands..." A slight catch of breath. "And...we grieve."

Everyone remained silent, until the grandfather clock - painted white, with silver face and hands - chimed five o'clock.

Vera broke the silence. "Do you know why am I here, Miss Anja? Can you tell me the reason why...?" Her green eyes fixed themselves on Anja's red-brown ones. "For what purpose did John Sutton call me for?"

Before Anja could answer, Katja replied, touching her twin's hand, "We cannot say. Our father may have a more appropriate answer to your question."

"But, yes, Ms. Gale, we know that you are not of these parts. There have been...accounts of persons of different places and different eras summoned by mystics and people of power, but these are...sketchy."

"As sketchy as how Inspector Lestrade came upon your invitation for us?" Holmes retorted drily.

"As sketchy as the description of the innkeeper from Northumberland, Mr. Holmes." Anja favored him with another closed, catlike smile. "We are aware of your desire to implicate us with the four murders, but we have our alibis."

"We have been our father's lecture assistants in Paris since fall, as the professors from the University can attest," Katja chimed in. "Your sources can confirm that."

Holmes eased off from the velvet settee. "Very well, Miss Katja, Miss Anja. We don't have any more questions for you, save those directed to your father..."

"Ah, of course. He extends his invitation to the February masqued ball to you and Ms. Gale. If you are interested..."

He nodded. "We shall expect the invitation, then. Thank you, Miss Margolin, for the tea." He gave his hand to Vera. "Ms. Gale and I have another appointment..."

"Indeed. Goodbye, then," Katja said.

Anja dropped her smile, replacing it with a cryptic expression. "Wait, Ms. Gale."

Vera turned around. Miss Anja...? She shivered again, gritting her teeth. "Yes, Miss Anja?"

The pale woman plucked a red poppy from the floral arrangement. "Before you go, take this."

Vera picked it from her slender fingers, admiring the startling way its deep scarlet petals contrasted the pallid wash of colors of the twins' drawing room. She looked up at the albino woman. "Why?"

"It is a reminder for both of you." Anja sat down on the sofa and stared up at her. Her twin joined her sister, looking up at Vera with the same unreadable expression.

We have seen...

And we like what we have seen...

We shall meet again, Truthseeker.

---

Vera cradled the fragile blossom in her gloved hands. "Holmes...?"

"Yes, Vera?" He opened his umbrella to shield them both from the falling snowflakes.

"It is them." Her face reflected the pain and wonder of that insight. "Alibi or none, it is them."

---

A/N: I apologize if the update took so long! My real occupation/vocation "occupied" my time. If this chapter reads strangely, let me point out that it was written in two different mind-states. And, again, the story flow shifted.

Thank you, BB, Masked Phantom, for bringing me out of "hiatus". :D