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  "writing": "It is a cold day, a windy day, a day like so many others. It is cloudy as the sun is setting. Vines of pumpkins stretch as far as the eye can see. A light chill takes the air. The orchard is a brilliant shade of red.\nA set of eyes watch the field--small, red eyes. A long set of teeth peek over the lip of the beast hidden by the blowing leaves. It stalks ever closer.\nIts ears roll down its back like a cape made of batwings. Hunger drips from her lips. Unaware of the growing danger, the fruits of the field sit in thoughtless ponder.\nThe lips of the beast roll back as she picks her prey. Standing tall and lonesome she sees what she wants--asleep amongst the squash. The monster's mouth slips open, her tail wiggles as she lifts her backend into the air, ready to jump.\nWith one last breath, she leaps into the air!\nA bloody splash of fruit juice!\nAnother life is taken!\n\tThe guts of the pumpkin are spread across the field as the red-eyed rabbit’s fangs crack the shell of the fruit.\nStill, nothing can be done.\nThe bloody deed is done.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChapter 1\nA horse and carriage come to a stop outside of a large palace of an estate. The building is painted a faded red with a clock tower and a menagerie of gardens between the gate and the main door. A white placard is attached to one side of the gate that reads “Phink’s Palace.” An elderly rabbit steps down from the carriage dressed in a cowboy hat and leather coat with a fur collar. One of his eyes droops slightly, his lower lip sags, his hair has grown thin and brittle with age. The rabbit is short and stocky. One leg drags slightly as he walks up to the gate. \nA younger rabbit greets him at the gate. “Dixson, thank you for coming.” He starts to stutter. He stops himself and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I know that you no longer do field work, but I must say, I need all the hands I can get. Frankly, I am terrified—and so are the men working with me. This is not the Middle Ages. Violence like what we have been seeing just doesn’t happen anymore.” The younger rabbit is dressed in a top hat and waistcoat with a chain around his waist and a red scarf around his neck. A blue scarab broach is pinned to his scarf.\nDixson looks his friend up and down. “Hello Sergeant. I see you are dressed for the nines. Did they pull you out of church to come here?”\nThe Sergeant comments, “I was away on a personal affair when the messenger found me.”\nDixson grunts and nods. He digs around in his pockets looking for his glasses. “Let us pretend, for a moment, that I know nothing of what has been going on. Why don’t you tell me what you know?”\nThe Sergeant sidesteps and waves Dixson to follow him. “Well; we have six dead girls in three months. The first two were found at The Derringer Club, then three at Hightail and one today, here, at Phink’s Palace. People have started calling our killer ‘Old Springheels.’ At first we didn’t think much of it. The pattern just wasn’t there. But then we took notice of something—fresh surgical marks on the last four victims.”\n“What do you mean surgical?” Dixson asks as they step inside the building. \n“The killer uses a surgical knife to cut open his victims post mortem.”\nDixson gets a sour look as he envisions such a grizzly deed. “And how do you know it is post mortem?”\nThe two walk up a half dozen flights of steps. “I say post mortem mostly because I don’t want to imagine the horror this woman would have seen should she have still been alive as all this was taking place.”\nThey step into a room with six men taking notes. It is a bedroom. The bed is extra wide and covered in a red sheet. Two nightstands are at the sides of the bed. One stand has a book and a pocket mirror on it, the other a silver plate and sixteen bottles of perfume. A glass—half full with a ginger root in it is on the nightstand as well. On the bed lies a girl rabbit—her arms folded across her chest. Her shirt is balled up to expose her stomach. Two cuts line the underbelly of the rabbit. The first from hip to hip; the other from hip to sternum. The cuts are sewn shut with fishing cord and the wounds have been cleaned to leave her looking like a stuffed animal on the bed. Her eyes are stitched shut—as is her mouth. Brass buttons are covering her eyes. She has on a ruffly skirt and high-top boots that are securely laced. \nThe window in the room is painted black. An oil lamp hangs over the bed at both ends. Dixson takes a moment to breathe deep. He brings a hand up to hold his muzzle as he struggles with his emotions. His snout crinkles as something creeps into his nose. The older rabbit averts his eyes for a moment, then nods and gulps; his wits once again steeled. “I have seen death many times in my life. Seldom is it this clean.” He walks around the room and starts collecting notes from the other investigators. Dixson looks to the Sergeant. “Mr. Underwood. I would like to have a physician take a look at the body before we move it. I want to know how long she has been dead, and what matter of madness we can call all of this.”  \n“I will have the Madam of the house call for a doctor.” He waves a man over and relays Dixson’s wishes. \nDixson’s snout wiggles. He cleans his face on his coat, trying to get the offensive taste from his mouth. “Does anyone else smell that?”\nUnderwood breathes in, trying to detect what Dixson has. “Lemon, ginger, garlic, onion, rosemary, scotch; maybe. The perfumes I would assume.” \nDixson gets down on all fours and starts to look around on the floor. “If that is scotch it is the darkest most bitter scotch I have ever smelled.” He looks under the bed. He peeks back up for a moment. “Tell me. Is our victim wearing bloomers?”\nUnderwood looks down with a squint and a sneer. “Why do you want me to look up the skirt of a dead woman?”\n“Because there is a pair bunched up under the bed. It has fang marks on it and two droplets of blood. Looks to have yellow-white stains as well.”\nWith a moment of repulsion Underwood checks, then replies, “Yes. She is.”\nDixson grunts then stands back up. “Now isn’t that interesting—how clean and neat this room is. What do you figure a lost pair of bloomers under the bed may mean? Mr. Underwood, I should like to know, do you have any insight you would like to share with me at this time?” The Constable rubs his hands together and glances about the room. He has an uneasy stutter as he is considering how much he wants to talk. Dixson quicky grows impatient as he awaits the Sergeant. Dixson leans in close with a snarl. The bulky rabbit questions, “Do—you—need me to ask again?” \nUnderwood comments with a hiccup, “Did I already tell you about the ghost story that has been floating around the police station? Old Springheels is what people have been calling him. Some night stalker they say; a monster that haunts the streets around midnight searching for lonely young girls to feast upon…”\nDixson whispers with the police Sergeant, “You will need to tell me more.”\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChapter 2\n\tA bookstore rests on the border between old London and new London; an archaic looking place made of stone, overgrown with vines darkening the windows. “The Den of Owls” is written on the door. It is an old place; a place that smells thick of knowledge. An owl girl stands at the desk in the room, bent forward reading the daily news. She is dressed in a white gown and vest combo. Her feathers are a dark gray, two horn-like feathers curl forward off the front of her face. Her eyes are covered by a wooden mask that has been painted over to look like an owl’s face—many think it is to hide some horrific scar. \n\tThe leather-bound books of The Den of Owls sprawl the length and width of the building and are stocked floor to ceiling in some places—so many books to read, so much to learn, so many dreams captured inside the pages. The leather on some books is old and split. The colors of the books fade from a dark brown to light green and blue—some even aged to a crispy tan. The ink of the covers range in age from the oldest blood bug paints to the newest being drawn in copper iron oil. \n\tOne corner of The Den of Owls has a hanger on the wall with a glass sleeves to display paintings. Vee, herself, is a painter and a collector of fine art. Oil colors are her current fad. At night, on cloudless dry days, she may sit on the roof and watch people walk by—choosing a subject whom she can see to immortalize in oil. In years before, she has captured dreams and landscapes in watercolor, charcoals, or metallic paints. Once she tried to learn how to carve and sculpt, but it seems even her artistic abilities have limitations. Vee’s favorite thing to paint has always been girls; young, small, weak—in a world as dark and uncaring as modern London—a singular vessel of light. The cold blues and grays of society contrast against the pinks, whites, and reds of untainted flesh. The horrors of sickness, war, death, hunger, poverty—not yet known to them. \n\tHidden behind doors and locks, latches and keys are other secrets of the owl. A planetarium and a greenhouse are tucked away on the roof; a mushroom orchard under the floorboards. Vee has spent untold time watching the sky; tracking the movements of heaven and pondering the power the universe has on the microcosms of life. She has experimented on flowers and mushrooms, studying the effect that they have on each other—watched as they constructed civilizations, then watched them rot between growth cycles. \nVee has an inconsolable need to learn and understand. She has read the old works of Carl Linnaeus and his studies on how plants grow; Anton LaVay and his theory on the birth of stars; even the most recent writings of Sigmond Freud and the science of attraction. The experimental studies of Charles Darwin about the transformations of animals with the passing years was more then enlightening. Vee has heard rumors in the National Geologic Society about a woman named Mary Shelling finding the bones of alien fish that may predate anything known on earth. Yes, there is so much to learn—if only there was enough time to study all of it.\nVee whispers aloud the headlines of the paper as she thumbs through the pages searching for a follow-up on a story she read last week. “Duchess Ruth Dies at Sea; Rod Steelmen Named the Lone Candidate for Minister of London; The Queen Lost Her Teeth Says American Author Robert C. Smithfield.” The owl chirps. “Isn’t that a lot of toss? If I wanted to read all this rot I would have bought a flapper.”\nThe doorbell rings as the door is pushed ajar. The voice of Dixson Hill calls out, “I am home, love.” Dixson takes off his hat and places it on a stand near the door. He strips out of his coat and scarf and folds them up to hang on the hook behind the door. \nVee’s eyes go wide and she smiles giddily as she calls, “Daddy!” She folds up the paper and jumps the counter to approach the old rabbit.  She is four times his height. Her claws are long enough to wrap around his body and crush him with ease, her beak long and sharp enough to effortlessly cut the rabbit in two. She kneels and hooks her wings around the body of Dixson. She coos and warbles as she presses her beak to his chest, losing herself in his fluff. \nThe old rabbit places a hand on Vee’s head and feels down her feathers. “I remember when I used to call you Mother.” Dixson comments. “Don’t owls age?”\nVee puts down Dixson and stands up. She brushes her wings down her body pushing her dress back into place. “Of course we do; just much slower than rabbits. When you and I met, I was just starting puberty; by the time you die I will be a full-grown woman.”\nDixson thinks about it. “That means owls must live sixty times longer than rabbits. Seems somewhat unfair when you think about it.” Dixson walks over to the desk. He takes off his tie and loosens his shirt before pulling up a chair and sitting down. \nVee questions, “How was your trip to Scotland Yard?”\nDixson lowers his eyes looking to the ground as his hands fold across his stomach. “Let me tell you, I never wanted to go back there. If not for my fondness of Underwood, I suspect I never would have.”\nVee sits down across from the rabbit that had once been her child, but she now treats as her aged father. “You were a talented police constable once. Why did you turn away from that life?”\nDixson turns to look at Vee. “Did I never tell you that?” He squints as he is trying to remember something. He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his chest. “I suspect what happened to me was not so unlike what happens to all soldiers at some point. I got hurt; the wound just wouldn’t heal.” He feels around in his pockets searching for something in them. Vee pushes a book across the table towards him. “I recorded it all in my…” he starts to explain. He then stops and looks down, seeing what Vee is trying to hand him. “My book.” he finishes. \nVee smiles wide. “I want to hear you say it aloud. Hearing the voice of the author is such a delicacy.” Pink light flickers behind the mask of the owl as she leans forward onto her knees, bending herself in half to listen to the story he will tell. Her tail lies across her back, her legs fold, a claw kicks back and forth. \nDixson pushes up on his glasses then pulls them down slightly trying to balance them on his snout. Once he is comfortable he flips open the red-leather bound book that was handed to him. He looks at some dates and turns back and forth between several pages, reminding himself of the stories hidden within. He nods and hums for a moment, then lowers his book. “The story of why I am no longer a police officer started twenty years ago. Before I was even a PC, but instead still an enlistee. I had gone to what, at the time, was the most respected school in England. I had moved here with my mother, immigrating from Scotland. We came here to find a new life. And that we did. My mother died quite young and it was morbid. But it set me on the path I am on today.”\n“In my first days as a commissioned officer I had heard my fellow officers whispering about a monster hunting the town. A beast with a feeding preference…It liked to eat children. Diphtheria had just swept the land. At first, the only clue they had of this monster’s movements was a distinct look on the face of his victims. Those killed by this monster always seemed to have pink eyes—bloodshot eyes. It wasn’t until I joined the case that new information started to be noticed. Scars on the bodies of the dead. Bruises on the neck, cutmarks on the stomach and breasts. Thin cuts—the type that can only be made with a surgical knife.”\n“Our monster noticed I was getting closer to him. He tried to throw distractions at me—bodies that did not fit his modus operandi. But I notice. The real bodies were all the same. Children born to the families of upper-class rabbits. Killed on Saturday, thrown into the streets Tuesday. Many of my co-workers found themselves to be shaking in their boots, too frightened by the monster and the copycats that followed it. So—I needed to tap some of my more unscrupulous friends—Mickey Nosy Knows, Rod Steelmen, Humphrey Lecture. The four of us set a trap.”\n“I saw it Vee. Got closer to him than anyone had yet—a paw’s length away. I chased him into the trainyard. Then, something hit me from the side and knocked me to the ground. Eyes; eyes descended on me; glowing red. I see a knife. I got stabbed in the chest. I tried to fight, but had no strength. Steelmen was only a few steps behind. He shot the monster, scared it away. But I would never heal.“\n“The bleeding wouldn’t stop. I was in the hospital for a month. They stitched the wound shut. They tried to burn in closed. They performed an experimental treatment on me. I have the blood of five rabbits in my body keeping me alive. After that—I was told to go home. If the bleeding stops, I will live; if it doesn’t, at least I can die at home. It did stop, but now I am tired all the time. I can’t see very well and I have a pain in my chest that never goes away. And every time I close my eyes, out of the corners of my vision, I see those disembodied eyes floating in the darkness.”\nVee questions, “Any idea what had hit you? Was in an owl?”\nDixson snickers, “Are you confessing that it was you that attacked me that day?” He shakes his head. “Posh, no. It was a rabbit, a strong one. He caught me when I wasn’t looking. The first hit made me dizzy. I couldn’t fight back. Had it not been the middle of the night—if there hadn’t been that haze in the air—maybe I would have caught him and this story would have ended very differently.”\nVee fans her tail. She blinks slowly, her wings under her beak as she watches Dixson with deep interest. “I know Rod Steelmen, and Mickey Knows. They are both gangsters. Tell me something about Humphrey Lecture.”\n“He is an aristocrat. Born to a Viscount—out of wedlock.  He has no responsibilities worth speaking of—so he dedicates his life to hobbying. I met him at the academy. He wanted to be a doctor; but it turns out that the smell of meat makes him ill; so then he wanted to become a police constable. He lost interest in that after three years. Then he joined the orchestra; stuck with that for some time. Last time I heard from him he had taken an interest in the world of art. He is curator of his own private gallery.”\nVee giggles and coos, her feathers lift and drop. “Sounds like the type of rabbit I would get along with.”\nDixoson offers a nod. “He is a nice enough fellow. He has his eccentricities—the man hates getting his hands wet, he hates getting dirty in any way, wears gloves, glasses, a hat and scarf at all times. I recall him telling me that he suffered choking sickness when he was a lad. His long list of obsessions started there.”\nVee hums. “Tell me more about choking sickness.”\nDixson squints. “We don’t know where it came from, or how it spreads. Miasma is a mysterious thing; even in these modern times. The nose swells shut, tonsils become inflamed, lungs fill with fluid. Eating lemons seems to slow the sickness. Most who catch it die within six days. If you are still alive on the seventh you seem to be okay. Those who see people that have choking sickness say that they look like they drowned.”\nVee questions, “And what of this case Scotland Yard has you on now? Do you think it is your red-eyed monster back from the dead?”\nDixson shakes his head. “No, old red-eyes was very clean, very sophisticated. This new guy, Springheals, he doesn’t mind making a mess.”\nVee digs around on the table. She finds a blank book and hands it over. “I think you are going to need this. Record everything you know, and everything you think about. Trust yourself. You are a talented man.”\nDixson cuts in. “I am also an old man—and a sick man. I am going to need someone a little younger and a lot stronger to help me. Vee; can you help me do one last job before we disappear permanently into the night?”\nVee leans over. She touches her beak to Dixson’s forehead. “Of course I will Daddy.” She smiles and giggles. “Now, what do we know?”\nDixson starts to write in his book. \n***\nInvestigation Notes:\nCase: Springheels\nLocation: London\nCase Opened: 07-83\nLead Investigator: Dixson Dekker Hill\nBadge Number: 1408\n\nEvidence\nBloomers: \nFound at “Phink’s Palace.” White in color with yellow faded patches. Teeth marks are on the inner folds. Two drops of blood on the rump side. Spaced 3/8 of an inch apart. A residue can be felt on the fabric—texture is not unlike lamp oil. A strange smell is coming from the material. Underwood described the smell as being to the likes of scotch. The bloomers had been under the bed of the victim found on the scene.\n\t\n\tPolice Report:\n\t\tStatement by Police Sargant Underwood:  …We have six dead girls in three months. The first two were found at The Derringer Club, then three at Hightail and one today at Phink’s Palace. People are calling the killer ‘Old Springheels.’ We took notice of fresh surgical marks on the last four victims. (presumably post mortem)\n\n\tDixson’s observations:\n\t\tThe room in which this victim had been found was lit by oil lamps. Bed sheets were red in color. There was a cup of ginger on the nightstand to the right of the victim. Victim was wearing boots and a ruffled dress at the time the body was found. It appears that the killer made two cuts on the victim—one horizontal, going from hip to hip—the other vertical, going from hip to sternum. It looks as if fishing line had been used to close the wounds. Eyes and mouth had also been sewn shut, and brass buttons had been left over the eyes of the dead. \n\tDixson’s thoughts:\n\t\tTwo things about the way the body had been laid on the bed stand out to me. First; the way the arms had been folded and buttons placed on the eyes. This is reminiscent of the ceremonial death rites of both Greek and Swedish soldiers—but the finer details were glanced over. The buttons should have been made of silver or gold—drachma would have been used in Sweden, silver in Greece. If this had been a death rite, the dead should have been dressed in the colors of the flag. If this had been meant as an honor, they would have been laid to rest in a uniform. I feel that the killer is trying to emote something, but I do not yet know what. The second thing to stand out to me is the way the body had a doll-like look to it. I am reminded, somehow, of a toy. The killer took care to make the dead look beautiful. Why? What does it mean?\n\t\tAt times like this, I find the best thing to do is start by walking the streets. I will make a point of asking around town—see if my old friend Mickey is still around. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChapter 3\n\tMickey Nosy Knows is a small time criminal. The man has many vices: he likes to play cards, he likes to keep the company of nightwalkers, he likes the taste of Scottish beers, and enjoys wrestling. He has been friends with Dixson for decades. Mickey also has an amazing talent; the man makes friends overnight. Everywhere he goes, people just seem to trust him. He and Dixson worked out a deal back when Dixson was still a PC. The police will ignore small crimes of Mickey’s. In exchange, Mickey helps the police by giving them access to places and tools that Scotland Yard can’t afford. With Mickey’s help Dixson was able to arrest a good deal of very aggressive people with minimum damage done.\n\tIn recent years, Mickey has found himself the manager of a club that caters to his interest. Club members get to drink imported beer, watch daily wrestling matches and after dark, card tables are set up and nightwalkers wait the tables. It is midday when Dixson and Vee show up. Two hulking rabbits watch the door. A large crowd has gathered to watch the afternoon fight. Two men are on stage. According to the bill on the door they are “Moses Moose Zeus” and “Sapphire Hands Roper.” The announcer of the show explains the relationship between the two. Sapphire was a hunter from Giff, Zeus a poacher, and the two have decided to settle the score between them with a boxing match. It is clearly just a story to drum up bets between the gamblers. \n\tDixson looks between the bouncers’. He gets in close to the two oversized men. “I am looking for Mickey. Is he in?”\n\tBoth bouncers have on name tags. It is questionable if the names on the tags are indeed them. Dressed in blue to the right of the door is a man named Benny Trover, and in red on the other side of him Phillip McKuntz. Trover looks down at Dixson. He sneers, “All of Mickey’s friends are fighters or dancers, and I don’t think you look like a fighter.”\n\tMcKuntz walks around Vee looking her over. “On the other hand, this one has some nice feathers.”\n\tDixson snaps his attention between the two men. He takes a deep breath, readying himself, “I would rather you not talk about my daughter’s feathers.”\n\tMcKuntz questions, “And what are you going to do about it geezer?”\n\tDixson takes off his glasses and hides them in his coat. He spins to face McKuntz and throws a hook, punching the rabbit across the nose—then turns to Trover, grabs one of his ears and pulls his head off to the side before throwing a hammer fist onto the side of his neck. McKuntz regains his footing and grabs Dixson from behind. Trover steps up to the old man and gives him a kidney punch to return the favor. \n\tVee reaches up a wing and is about to take off her mask when a voice yells over to the lot of them, “You two dogs, take your grubby mitts off my Dixs.” The voice comes from a rabbit dressed in a leopard print coat with a silk shirt under it. He has on leather pants and has a dozen rings in each ear. The rabbit lights a cigar and waves for the lot of them to join him at his table. “Don’t ya know a V.I.P. when you see one? That is Dixson Hill. He and I go way back. Now you two mooks, go grab me some scotch.” He directs the bouncers to walk away before he snaps his fingers a few times and almost sings, “What be shak’n Dixs?”\n\tDixson rubs his stomach as he sits down. He has a lip curled and is hissing as he waits for the burning in his chest to go down. “Tails in skirts and martinis, I hope.”\n\t“All the time, all the time, pall,” Mickey explains. A bottle is placed on the table. Mickey snaps and points. One of the girls that had been sitting with him leans over the table to pop open the bottle and ready the drinks for everyone. As Vee is about to pick up the cup set out for her, Dixson reaches over and takes it from her. Vee nods in understanding. Dixson has seen her drink before, and the last time it was more than just a little uncomfortable. This owl sometimes seems to have trouble holding her drink.  \n\tMickey is a fast talker and a social butterfly. He quickly turns from friend to friend at the table as he starts telling a story. “Dixs over there is one mean ear-biter. Some time back he, Tony Todd and I were hustling on down by the shipyard. This big old bobcat of a rat pranced on over and started flashing his iron all over the place. This rat thought his gun was so big that we were all going to just eat sand for him. Dixs; he wasn’t the type to do no kneeling and decided to go after the rat’s manhood—started teasing him about how that rat has this teeny tiny little thing and how he’s got this big old thing. Made the rat all sorts of cheesed. Jack Nade, I think that was the rat’s name.” He waves to Dixson to confirm that detail of the story. Dixson offers a shrug. Mickey continues the story. “Jack had all he was going to take and goes to slug Dixs. Dixs puts one arm up turtling his head, then steps forward and ‘BlamO--’ punches the rat in the baby maker. ‘Smack’ slugs him across the snoot and ‘poof’ the rat faints.”\n\tMickey laughs, “Ever since that day I suddenly found it makes me right happy to hear the sound of meat getting slapped together. Truth be told; if not for that sort of tomfoolery I don’t think I would ever have bought this club.” He looks over to McKuntz, “Ya dig it? You saw that Dixs knows how to slap a man real good, right?” Mickey looks back to Dixson, “Anyway Dixs; what brings you back to this side of town? I thought you didn’t like hanging out with me no more.”\n\tDixson places his book on the table and digs around for a pen. “I wanted to ask you—any new players on the field?”\n\tMickey looks about with a laugh, “Dixs, buddy, you have been gone for more than a few years. There are lots of new faces hanging around here. What sort of mook are you looking for?”  \n\t“The type that likes to leave messes for others to clean up. One that likes to pick fights with little girls…”\n\tMickey cuts Dixson off as he holds his arms out to the sides. “The type that doesn’t like to play cards.” He taps the table and looks to his friends. “Anyone have a cigar? I am starting to feel a little tense.” He offers his attention back to Dixson. He ushers off to one side, pointing to the fight that is taking place on the main stage. “Zeus over there is a wild animal. That man has no less than ninety-four rats worth of disrespect running through him. I think I know the dillweed you are looking for—and let me say Dixs, I hope you find him before I do. That little rat owes me a thing or two, and I am thinking I might just need to take it out of his tail. That dog lover turned one of my girls inside-out. Now, if I find him, we are going to be playing some ball. If he ain’t in the mood, maybe my boy over there is going to have to stick a foot of steel in his ear.”\n\tDixson leans on the table to get close to his friend. “Take it easy Mickey. Let Scotland Yard do their work.”\n\tMickey shouts “Come on Dixs! You know the type of pink noses that are working downtown these days. It is just like ten years ago. They got a bunch of wet behind the ears kids dressing up and playing cops out there. If you want to see a maneater catching some just-desserts, I can go up to my room, get my gun and we can go out there and shoot some fools. It will be fun.”\n\tDixson reaches across the table and grabs one of Mickey’s hands. He grips the rabbit’s hand between his fist and locks eyes with him. The two old men stare each other down. Soon Mickey is handed the cigar he had asked for and lights it with the lamp on the table. After taking a few long puffs, Mickey has calmed down. Mickey looks over at Vee. He smiles at her as he looks down at her long legs, then up the curves of her body—her long thin chest and her long neck. “The kid has a look about her. I met an owl once. Long time ago. Cute little girl.”\n\tVee comments, “I am the same one.”\n\tMickey shakes his head. “No. That owl would need to be seventy years old today.”\n\tVee nods.\n\tDixson questions, “Do you know anything about Springheels?”\n\tMickey shrugs. “Rumor; maybe it is true, maybe it isn’t. After the murder at the Hightail, I poked around a little, talked to one or two people. The girl that was checking people into the club. She worked a triple shift. Springheels signed the book as he was walking in, but she doesn’t know who he is. Just before discovering the body, the hostess saw a man step out of the victim’s room. Short guy, had on gloves and a top hat. He was dressed up in a winter coat, had his collar popped. She says she didn’t see Springheels go in, but she saw him go out.”\n\tVee questions, “He signed his name as Springheels?”\n\tMickey nods, “That is the hook. Which is how any of us knew his name.”\n\tDixson ducks his head. Some part of what Mickey said isn’t sitting right in his mind. Dixson ushers Vee to keep Mickey talking as he flips open his book to take a look over the notes he has. Vee asks, “Anything else interesting going on around town you would like to tells us about?”\n\tMickey nods, “One more thing. Rod, he has a new American friend. He just slapped some moola on the table looking to have some brass sent in from out of town. Rod wants to get his hands on some of those new Remington guns. Let me tell you; I am not looking forward to seeing one of those up close. The Smithfield guns are already too hot for most of us. Once every kid has a Remington in his hands we is all going to be missing the days when boys used to just stab each other for milk money.”\n***\nInvestigation Notes:\n\tStatement by Mickey Nosy Knows:\n“(Springheels) turned one of my girls inside-out …after the murder at the Hightail I poked around a little… the girl that was checking people into the club worked a triple shift. Springheels signed the book as he was walking in, but she doesn’t know who he is. Just before discovering the body, the hostess saw a man step out of the victim’s room: short, with gloves, top hat--dressed in a winter coat with collar popped. She says she didn’t see Springheels go in, but she saw him go out.”\nDixson’s thoughts:\n\tThis is a third hand account, unreliable at best. But Vee did pick up on something that I hadn’t. We know Springheel’s name because he told it to us. The idea that someone saw someone that they think could have been Springheels, doesn’t impress me. But we do suspect that he had been at Hightail. The only thing we now know for sure—is—Springheels likes prostitutes. \n\tMy next stop is to speak to the coroner; Dr. Ann-Mary Kramer\n***\n\tDr. Kramer is dressed in a white coat to cover the dinner jacket and dress she has on underneath. Her hair is in a bun, glasses sit on her nose. She is a young woman for a doctor. One of the few women that the Academy of Health has allowed to hold to the title of doctor. Her hands are covered in blood. She is bent over a table slowly cutting apart the remains of a dead rabbit, searching its insides for evidence of what triggered death. \nKramer talks to herself as she is pulling the insides out. “A thin coating of a hard green substance is adhering to the kidney. This substance can be found in the bodies of many people that consume bean oil with milk. Typically harmless, but has been linked to liver failure in the most extreme of cases.” \n\tKramer sets the kidneys of the rabbit off to one side. “A thick black substance is oozing from the lungs. Gray and blue spots are on the lower half of each lung. Evidence of scarring and internal bleeding are present.” She pushes the lungs to one side to reach the heart. “An abrasion can be seen between the second and third ventricle of the heart. Resulting in hemorrhaging. Death by multiple organ failure would have occurred within seven minutes of such a rupture forming.”\n\tShe cuts around the lungs so she can pull them out and set them on a scale. “But seeing the amount of scar tissue around the lungs, death by suffocation would not have happened long after that.” She brings a candle up to the lips of the dead to look closer at the face. “Yellow pustules are present on the inner, lower lip of the dead. Black spots are on the gums and tongue. Combined with the yellow and brown burn marks on the hands, it is assumed that the dead was a smoker. Stretch marks are along the hips of the dead, and red tearing marks on the undercarriage.” She snuffs the light and walks across the room to be seated at the desk in the lab. She mumbles, “You were not a healthy girl.”\n\tThe door is pushed open. Dixson is let in by a member of the staff. Dixson calls over, “Dr. Kramer.”\n\tThe younger woman looks up from her work. “Detective Hill,” She announces. “I didn’t think you would be here until tomorrow.”\n\tDixson sticks to his script. “I would like to see the report on the body that was brought in today.”\n\tKramer fetches some papers. “Female, sixteen. 4.7lbs, 9” tall. Death by cardiac failure, in my opinion. Died in her sleep. She had recently been pregnant.”\n\tDixson questions, “She had given birth?”\n\tKramer shakes her head. “Not necessarily. She may have children, but the evidence on hand doesn’t say she had given birth.” She walks over to a box and pulls out of it the womb of a rabbit. She sets it on her desk and picks up a feather to use to poke at it. “You can see here—the womb was inflamed. Dark red in color, purple blisters on one side of it. This is to pinch the cervical chamber and prevent it from being forced open. But, the protective membrane around it is too thick. It would have been weeks still before she could have healthily given birth. There is no evidence of stretching or bruising on the sides—here or here. But there is this.” She turns it around and points at a wire holding a cut on one side of the womb shut.\n\tDixson leans in close to examine it. “What is that?”\n\t“Nothing that a doctor with a good set of ethics would have done. Not unless the mother was in critical danger already. Blood blisters on the muscle tissue around the uterus imply that this woman had five embryos in her at the time of death. It looks as if a tool of some sort was used to forcefully remove the embryos.”\n\tDixson looks ill at the thought. “Why; what would be the point?”\n\tKramer goes to a bowl of water and dips her hands in it to wash the blood from her fur. “You tell me detective. What would someone want with five fertile rabbit eggs that are too small to live outside the body?”\n\tThe possibilities boil over in the detective’s mind—witchcraft, cannibalism—the more he thinks, the more horrific it becomes. A man acting in the heat of passion would likely see no need to do such profane things. The unscrupulous actions that have been described by the doctor are almost unimaginable. The implications unnerving. \n\tDixson needs to sit down and think. He collects copies of the autopsy report to add to his files. He then steps outside to rejoin Vee. He tries to take his mind off the horrors plaguing him by making small talk as they walk. “What did you think of Mickey?”\n\tVee comments, “I couldn’t help but notice he kept looking at my talons. He also had an unsettling odor. He smelled like salt and apple cider.” \n\tThis triggers a memory in Dixson. He looks back over his shoulder as they walk. “Apple cider?”\n***\nInvestigation Notes: \n\tEvidence:\n\t\tCoroner’s report 1:\n\tA folder describing the body found at Phink’s Palace. Written by Doctor Kramer. One disturbing fact the doctor observed is a cut in the uterus of the dead. It seems to be the belief of the doctor that a tool of some sort was used to remove the fertilized eggs from the woman. \n\tStatement by Ann-Mary Kramer:\n“The womb was inflamed. Dark red in color, purple blisters on one side of it… but, the protective membrane around it is too thick. It would have been weeks still before she could have healthily given birth. There is no evidence of stretching or bruising on the sides… a doctor with a good set of ethics would (not) have done (this). Not unless the mother was in critical danger already. Blood blisters on the muscle tissue around the uterus imply that this woman had five embryos in her at the time of death. It looks as if a tool of some sort was used to forcefully remove the embryos.”\nDixson’s thoughts:\n\tThe smell of apple cider—this reminded me of the bloomers in my pocket and the substance covering them; the stains and teeth marks. Is it conceivable that they could have been used as an improvised weapon? Would a man have needed a weapon to push a prostitute into a room and hold her down? Most of the grown men I know are more than strong enough to overpower a small girl. The smell… let me consider a possibility. Springheels steps into the room after the last ‘john’ leaves. The victim is sitting up on the bed. She takes a sip from the cup of ginger. The cloaked man walks ever closer. The girl starts to read off her script, letting Springheels know what services she offers and the price of them. \nSpringheels listens to the girl speak. He hides in his pocket a pair of bloomers. In the other pocket of his coat is a drug of some kind. Springheels watches as the prostitute steps up to the nightstand. She lights the lamps, then sorts through her perfumes. Springheels takes the drug from his pocket and pours it over the bloomers. The prostitute stands up and walks over to Springheels. She reaches around him and locks the door. She offers him a kiss and questions what he is in the mood for.\nThat is when Springheels grabs her by the arm with one hand and covers her face with the bloomers using the other hand. She struggles; he grips her tightly. Springheels pushes the prostitute at the bed. He needs to hold her still for several seconds before the drug starts to set in. She gets free for only a moment and tries to push Springheels away. He drops the bloomers on the ground and forgets about them. \nBut what is the drug? A sleeping agent, an anesthetic, a paralytic? What types of drugs take affect when you smell them? I fear my knowledge of narcotics is lacking. But I do know a rabbit that knows a thing or two about drugs. I just hope he is in a good mood when I arrive.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChapter 4\nMinister Rod Steelmen is a man with both compulsions and obsessions. He had joined the army at a very young age. He was dismissed from the army with honors after being injured in the line of fire. He suffered two gunshots to the back in the process of covering his S.O. during a covert operation in Russia. Being shot changed Steelmen. The people closest to him were the first to take notice—his face is frozen in an incurable scowl. He never takes off his military coat. He has little to no interest in his family—even his relationship with his wife is treated as transactional. She wants a place to live; he wants children that he can teach. She provides kids, he provides food. Quid pro quo.\nSpeaking of compulsions, his office is the prime example. Before setting anything down on his desk or hanging it on the wall he must use a piece of chalk to draw the shape of the object, then place it down. Once the object is in place, that is its home. He never seems to forget. Should any object not fit inside its home it must be removed from the room so he can draw it again. His coat is steamed and pressed every day. He pins his honors to his jacket one by one; always in the same order. He has a painting of himself next to his mirror, and if he looks at himself and he does not look like his painting he must undress and redress until his clothes look right. Not so long ago, he noticed his fur was starting to change color as he aged and had to start dyeing his fur to keep it the same as in his portrait. \nSteelmen is a man of strength and influence who likes to keep the company of retired soldiers. Most of the staff of his office is made up of ex-commandos. More often than not he chooses to sleep at his desk, and he keeps an armed guard on hand. He has a gun strapped to his hip, and another to his leg. He keeps a rifle mounted on the wall behind his desk and another under it. There is a glass jar on the right side of the table that should have a pistol in it that was a gift from a co-worker. But the gun is missing. Steelmen stands at the window of his office, his arms folded behind his back, as he watches the streets. The man can stand motionless for hours. Discipline is a way of life. Steelmen is in control of himself and everything around him. That is why the news calls him “The Rabbit of Steel.” \nThe door of the office is pushed open and two soldiers walk in dragging a child with them. A boy, not yet ten. His clothes are tattered and he is bleeding from a hole in his check that had been hastily plugged with a towel. One of the two soldiers places a gun down on the table. Steelmen questions, ”Is that my lost pistol?” The soldier confirms. Steelmen points to the glass bowl that is the gun’s cradle. “Place it back in the case.” He then questions, “And is that my boy Joseph?”\nOne of the two men explains, “We found him in the washroom at Polly’s.”\nSteelmen turns on his heels to face them. He lowers his eyes looking at the child. “I trust it wasn’t you that beat my son to Efrafra’s door.”\nThe second soldier explains, “He was like this when we found him.”\nSteelmen grabs the chin of the boy and turns his head making him look side-to-side. “He has been shot. The weapon was a low caliber navy gun fired upwards at a 45° angle, offset by 20°. The person holding the gun was shaking. There are powder burns on his neck…” he picks up one of the boys hands, “and his wrist.” He explains. “One hand was on the trigger, the other rested over the chamber. The boy shot himself in the cheek. He squeezed the trigger with his thumb.” \nSteelmen lowers his head to his son’s neck and sniffs at his fur. He then pulls on the sleeves of the boys coat, looking over the jacket he has on. “Your cuffs are cut unevenly. On a proper waistcoat the cufflinks should rest on your hip when your arms are at your sides, not down past your pockets. Whoever sold you this coat—I want them to be punished for their incompetence.” Steelmen reaches onto his belt and unclips the gun from his hip. “You smell like a doe, your makeup looks like a clown, and you can’t hold a gun straight. I can’t tell you how upset I am.”\nSteelmen takes a step backwards. He holds out his gun with one arm. He uses his thumb to pull back the hammer and tips his head slightly to check his iron sights. “Luckily, I have more than one son.”\nThere is a knock at the door. Steelmen lowers his gun to his side. He looks to his guards. “Take the boy downstairs, give him a shower and a proper coat to wear. We will talk more about this another time.” He then calls over to the door, “What is it?”\nThe soldiers carry the boy out the side door and down the hall. From behind the door the secretary explains, “A detective is here to see you Minister Steelmen”\nSteelmen hides his gun. He takes a seat at his desk before calling out, “Let him in.”\nDixson walks into the room, Vee a few steps behind. Vee finds her way over to the curio case and looks over the trinkets in it as Dixson makes his way to the desk. Dixson reaches across the desk to shake hands with Steelmen before he sits. Steelmen questions, “Where have you been Officer Hill?”\nDixson explains, “Soul searching. I spent some time in Iceland, Norway, Scotland and Ireland. Wanted to see the home towns of my grandparents.”\nSteelmen questions, “And what did you find?”\nDixson comments, “Not a one of them looks like England.”\nSteelmen walks over to his wine locker. “Do you still drink Scotch?” \nDixson nods, “From time to time.”\nSteelmen adds. “I have recently found I have a taste for Vodka.” Steelmen brings over a few glasses and offers up a drink. “One of my men gave me this for my birthday. It is vodka with bean oil and vanilla—he called it Kahlua. It is not bad; starts with a hint of caramel. Doesn’t seem to have the same after shock of a few heavier brews I have had.” \nDixson holds up the cup. “Cheers!” Both men take a drink. \nSteelmen questions, “To what do I owe the visit?”\n“I wanted to ask a thing or two.” Dixson explains, “Do you still deal in pharmaceuticals?”\nSteelmen shakes his head. “It was never my primary interest, but from time to time I am willing to handle them. Was there something special you wanted Officer Hill?” \nDixson shakes his head, “No, no. I am too old to be doing stuff like that anymore. I had questions about drugs though.” He pulls out the report he got from the doctor. “What sort of drug may leave blisters on the lips after you use it?”\nSteelmen thinks. “Tobacco, Cocoa—most of the drugs you chew. You would need to chew a lot of Cocoa to get blisters.”\nDixson rolls a hand in the air. “Anything that you sniff?”\n“Chloramine. Nasty stuff. I don’t recommend it. Can burn the skin, make your nose bleed, makes you numb and tired, put you to sleep if you use too much of it. Could even kill. It is hard to use it right. It slows the speed of the air in your body. Makes you have hallucinations; if you do it the right way.” \nDixson asks, “What is the best way to use Chloramine? Burn it over flowers maybe?”\nSteelmen expresses, “The last time I saw someone use it, he soaked a towel in the drug, then laid it across his snout and laid on his back. After just over a minute, he was asleep.”\n“How would I get some if I wanted it? Do I need to have it sent here from overseas?”\nSteelmen shakes his head. “It isn’t that hard to make; lamp oil, water, iodine…” He starts to list the ingredients. “Everything you need to brew it at home is at the general goods shop. Then you just need to heat it up.”\nVee sits on her knees to get close to the ground, examining a knife in the case. It is yellow with age—the handle is made of bone; a femer from a monkey. It has a counterweight made out of a bird’s skull; the blade is made of Damascus Steel. The metal was tempered in layers giving the material a wavy appearance. When the blade was still sharp it would have been beautiful. It would be clear to anyone with the skill to shape metal that the handle on the blade now was not the one that had been made by the original craftsman. This blade had been broken in battle and hastily reassembled at camp with whatever tools were at hand. A slight chip in the blade is stained copper green. A cross-guard had once been set between the blade and the handle, but that has rotted away. A hole is in the blade the size of a fingernail. A bronze pen had been placed there at some point to hold in place what would have been a woven handle tied tight around the crossbar.\nVee questions, “Mister Steelmen. Do you have an interest in Egyptology? I notice you have a beautiful sacrament blade.”\nSteelmen looks over. “I don’t know much about that piece. I was given it as a gift long ago by a girl…”\nVee comments. “I know a little about it. This knife was found in the city of Keldur. It was in an unmarked grave, unearthed by Dr. Humphrey Knolvie—1846. It had been brought back to the Museum of Natural History—Cambridge. There it had been kept on display until 1852 at which time it had been lost in transit. It was being moved as part of an exhibition celebrating the Travels of the Enlightenment. It was going to be laid to rest in the Singapore Historical Center. Needless to say; it never did arrive.”\nSteelmen folds his hands on the desk in front of himself as he asks, “Are you accusing me of something, bird?”\nVee asks, “Are you confessing to something rabbit?” She turns her head backwards to look at him then rotates it forward again to keep studying the case. “I don’t care how this artifact came to be in your hands. It means nothing to me. I just find it interesting that such a rare piece would find its way into the hands of a private collector. It is nothing like the other pieces you have.”\nSteelmen offers an alternative history for how he came to have the knife. “I know a man that is interested in history. He has a few pieces like that one. I asked a friend to find another like it. He talked to someone that talked to someone else. Then a woman showed up at my door with that one. The friend I bought it for thought it was a fake.”\nCaptivated by the artwork Vee presses her head to the glass to get just that little bit closer. “No, I don’t think it is.” She offers some more insight. “This knife was not meant for fighting. If it was still in its original shape it would have had a silver handle with a brass or copper hand guard. There would be a leather wrap tied around the handle and a clear or blue stone set in the pommel. Knives like this had been carried by Anubion priests— most specifically the gatekeepers of the Temple Anubis. At the Anubis Temples in Keldur and Kendor there was a cleansing ritual devotees needed to perform before entering. Part of that ritual included cutting a glyph into one’s skin in a visible place—then eating a pastry. That is where the knife would have been used correctly. This one looks like it had been taken out of the Temple and used in a less than sacred way.”\nHaving been unaware of the history of the art he owns, Steelmen shrugs. “It sounds like you know a little on the subject.” \nVee rolls over to face them. She sits on the ground, one leg pulled up into her chest, the other stretched out in front of her. Her wings tie around her leg. She offers a smile and a playful cock of the head, “I make a point of reading the daily paper.”\nDixson cuts in, “So long as we are being casual, I would like to ask for one more thing. Do you have a clean gun you wouldn’t mind parting with? I had to give mine back to the chief before I could travel abroad.“\nFor a few short seconds Steelmen seems happy. This reminds him of a better time in his life. “All my guns are clean. Is there a particular model you like?”\nDixson offers a confused grunt as he thinks it over. “The Queen had given me an Enfield, but I wouldn’t be unhappy with a Webley.”\nSteelmen comments, “I have the perfect gun for you. Webley RIC Scot 450 Adams. I will even throw in a box of shells, no extra charge.”\n***\nInvestigation Notes:\n\tStatement by Minister Rod Steelmen:\n\t\t“Chloramine: can burn the skin, make your nose bleed, (when used as a recreational drug) makes you numb and tired, put you to sleep if you use too much of it. Could even kill. It is hard to use it right. It slows the speed of the air (flow) in your body, makes you have hallucinations… It isn’t that hard to make: lamp oil, water, iodine, chlorine.” \n\tDixson’s thoughts:\n\t\tSpringheels could be using a homemade tranquilizer on his victims. Chloramine sounds like it would be simple to make. Soak a cloth of any sort in the drug and cover the face of the target to neutralize them. But if the plan is to kill, why not use a blade? It would be faster; safer. Springheels needs these girls alive. Killing them only after he has harvested them for his nefarious needs. I am still deeply disturbed by the idea that he had removed embryos from his last victim. Has he done this more than once? We have every reason to believe that Springheels will be returning to Phink’s Palace. I will have the Sergeant place men around the establishment and be on alert. \n\t\tI should like to have access to some more resources for my investigation. Dr. Lecture, I understand, has recently come into possession of a new radioscopic camera. A camera that can work in low light would be very helpful. I have a camera, but it requires full daylight to use. I don’t understand how that works.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChapter 5 \n\tHumphrey Lecture is overjoyed to hear Dixson Hill is back in town. He makes all haste to meet Dixson and Vee as they are walking to the museum. Lecture dresses in all gray; handcrafted; his suit and dinner jacket are silk on the inside, wool on the outside; he has a silk top hat and his boots are made of Italian polished leather. He has on a set of pink tinted glasses. As he walks, in one hand he grips a cane made of black wood. It has a headpiece in the shape of a fist holding a railroad spike. The rabbit’s body is littered with evidence of crippling injuries and debilitating sickness. He is only a year or two older than Steelmen or Dixson, but walks with a pronounced limp and his fur is shriveled and splintering. He stands hunched over, needing his cane to lean on to stand upright. Still he has a wide grin and a joyful skip as he ambles down the street. He wears gloves at all times to cover unsightly burns on his hands. His collar is high on his neck and a scarf is tied around that to hold it shut. Whatever injuries this rabbit hides under his exquisite clothing he wishes to keep to himself.\n\tAs Lecture spots the old rabbit and owl walking side-by-side he yells out jubilantly, “Dekker! Dekker my good man!”\n\tDixson hurries his step. He reaches a hand out to take Lecture’s. “Humphrey,” he announces. \n\tLecture offers his hand to Vee, “And hello again young lady.”\n\tVee looks down at the hand offered to her. She hesitates. Something seems out of place. She comments, “Most gentlemen take off their gloves before shaking hands.” \n\tLecture places both hands on his cane to hold himself up. “Yes, that is true. You will need to forgive me. I will be keeping my gloves on though, if that is all the same to you.”\n\tVee questions, “Have we spoken before doctor?”\n\tLecture nods. “Yes, once—but it was a very long time ago. I was only a boy at the time. My teeth had barely grown in. But I never forget a face; and you do have the most beautiful of eyes.” Humphrey waves a hand off to one side pointing at the steps to the museum before he starts to walk again.\n\tVee comments, “Very few have described my eyes as beautiful.”\n\t“Maybe they just don’t understand the uniqueness of it all. I am sure you know this already, but there is something very abnormal about you owls and the way your eyes are shaped. Your retina is cone shaped. Not round like in a rabbit. I believe this is why you have periscopic vision. Couple that with the highly specialized shape of your wings and it becomes clear why rabbits call you ‘The Horned Devil.’ Is it true that you make no noise at all when you flap your wings?”\n\t“I can also snap my claws with a force of five hundred pounds per square inch. One scratch from me and you and jelly fish will suddenly find you have something in common,“ Vee comments.\n\tLecture asks, “And what is that?”\n\tDixson finishes the thought. “You have no bones.”\n\tThe group steps into the museum. Lecture is as giddy as can be. \n\tVee walks the halls with her wings folded behind her back and her head up, drinking in the art and culture on display. She stops for a short time and ushers the others to slow down so she can look at a book that is locked inside a glass box. She whispers the title of the book as she looks at it. “Domintio Necrona: Doorways for the Dead.”\n\tThe book is eons old. The pages are made of leather, the cover is a thin cut graphite stone wrapped in fire treated boar skin; nearly unbreakable. There is evidence that there had once been a bone or metal clasp that held the book closed, but that has rotted away. Silk had been used to tie the spine of the book, but that too is now missing and it has become more of a stone and leather binder than a book. It is seventy pages long, nine inches tall, eight and a sixth inches wide. The pages are two pelts thick each. Several pages that have fallen out of the book are in glass leaflets displayed alongside the main body of the book.\n\tThe book is a grotesque thing by modern standards. Bird blood and insect shells had been used to make the paints inking the pages. The writing is filled with odd symbols and words no longer spoken on earth. The language is long forgotten by all but the most studious of linguistic masters. Strange diagrams are cut into the corners of the pages and a set of paintings that had been concealed in the pages is now on display, as the book is falling to bits. \n\tThe illustrations of the Domintio Necrona are surreal; possibly prophetic. Complex paintings so rich and detailed that the painter must have needed a brush as thin as a spider’s hair to draw in the most subtle markings. Illustrations of battles being fought, a torture master practicing his art, a funeral for a lord with hundreds watching. Monsters with no earth business are depicted in another painting; a great mouth in the sky—with endless rows of teeth that connect it to the dawn of time; a tree made out of eyes, a cage made out of hands, a snake with two arms and two legs and four hands holding the moon and earth in the sky. \nLooking at the book has an effect on some people. The evil aura around the book can turn the weak feral. It is as if the pages themselves have a mind and have desires. Vee alone knows the mythology around this book; who wrote it, when, why. It was written in the sixth month of the sixty-sixth year of the fourth age. The Mad Monk of Keldor is arrested for threatening to attack the pharaoh. He is thrown into the darkest dungeon the master of sand could build. There the monk would sit shouting insensibly at the shadows for three days. On the fourth day the monk is silent. A guard is sent into the monk’s cage to bring him his daily meal. But the monk is dead; his body stretched across the closed book. He did not have it when he came, he did not have the tools to write it or bind it. It simply wished itself into being and vampired the blood from the monk’s body to give itself the power to enter into this world. \nThe book was taken to Lore Masters at Carpathia. There the Sisters of the Sacred Fire opened the book for the first time and learned of its unholy power. The Sisters of the Sacred Fire say that the book has hidden in its pages magical rituals and words used by the Eternals to build a wall between the world of dreamers and the world of waking. It has incantations that can bring life and youth at the price of blood and flesh; enchantments that will let the living talk to the dead and craft spiritual weapons that can imprison phantoms or kill immortals.\nThe Sisters made two copies of the book; one written in the dialect of the bird kings, the other in the mouse tongue. The last is written for a rabbit to read, but they will destroy the book. It does not belong in this world. Reading aloud the spells written within can bring down the wrath of Nyxs or Efrafra on the reader or awaken something even older and more evil. It was the hands of the Mad Monk that wrote the book, but it was Cravixs the God of Hunger that whispered the words in his ears. \nLecture comments, “Yes. It is too bad it is a reproduction. But it is a very good one.”\nVee questions, “Where did it come from?”\nLecture offers, “I bought it from a nun at the Church of Doe.”\n“Why?” Vee asks.\nLecture expresses, “I thought it was beautiful—so much so I was willing to offer a very large gift to the nun in exchange for it.”\nDixson is intrigued. “May I ask how large of a gift?”\nLecture snickers. “Seventy thousand British pounds.” Lecture waves them to follow him. “Come with me, I want to show you more. Have you seen the Rotoscope Machine yet? It is simply amazing.”\nThey are taken to a large room; a thousand or more paintings are hidden inside the walls of the enormous device. A single light points to where the viewer is meant to stand. A slit in the wall is drawn back to make a window. Lecture drops a coin into a box on one side of the room and the room starts to spin. The walls have two layers of blinders inside them that hide the space between frames. The paintings hidden in the walls start to get dragged into view. The flashes of light and dark force an illusion to play out before them. The paintings come to life. Wind blows, water rolls, rabbits dance. \nDixson watches the strange show in amazement. “How does this device function? I can only imagine the limits of what this technology will allow to be done.”\n“It is more or less a very large clock that spins very fast. It is very complicated to explain, but let me assure you, at the moment it is little more than a toy for men with more money than good sense. But I, like you, am captivated by the dancing images.” He tries to explain, but Lecture finds himself stumbling as he doesn’t fully grasp how the device was made. “Fifteen times a second, a bar passes in front of that window that allows time for the paintings on the other side to be pulled one way or the other, and the split-second gap in your vision is what makes the moment happen. Truth be told; the paintings are very stationary, but our minds can be tricked by sudden changes in light and shadow.”\nDixson looks to his friend after the show. “Lecture, do you have a camera you wouldn’t mind parting with?”\n“For you, friend, I will see what I can do. But if I may, why do you need a camera?” Humphrey questions.\nDixson places a hand on the shoulder of his friend and gives him a playful shake. “Let’s say someone has been naughty and Scotland Yard wants my help figuring out who.”\nLecture has an odd wide grin. “I have said this before, and I am sure I will say it again. I don’t mind someone being naughty, but I hate it when they are sloppy. This person Scotland Yard is looking for—they didn’t make a mess of something, did they?”\nDixson offers an explanation. “Killed a girl, maybe six or more. They don’t know for sure.”\n“Oh my. That is naughty.” Lecture seems to lose the amusement from his face. “I hope no one I know.”\nVee questions, “Have you ever been to Phink’s Palace?”\n“Oh no.” Lecture explains, “I would say the place is a bit daft for my taste. If I needed to rent a girl, I would much rather do so from a place that delivers. I have, of course, been told a thing or two about Phink’s Palace, Phink Forcible can be a bit handy, I am told.”\nDixson squints. “Please, explain for me what ‘handy’ means.”\nLecture looks to the ground; he rocks back and forth on his toes for a moment as he is formulating how he wants to describe the matter. “Well—she is an American. That says a little already. Born in New Mexico I think. I heard a mutual friend of ours say that a ‘john’ once came up short a pound or two for renting a room and Phink cut off one of his claws for the inconvenience.” \nVee looks to her father. “What sort of a rabbit cuts off a man’s fingers over a matter of a coin?”\n***\nDixson’s thoughts:\n\tWe shall need to take a closer look at Phink, even if Springheels did not attack at Phink’s Palace first. There must be a purpose to his having gone there at all. Lecture has hinted at something meaningful. “If I needed to rent a girl, I would much rather (rent) from a place that delivers.” Mickey offers such a service. The girls that work for him do house calls. The setup is simple. You walk into Mickey’s, add your name to his log book and where you want to meet, and he sends a girl to you--most of the time within the hour. Walk in with coin, walk out with a girl. Couldn’t be simpler. Places like Phink’s offer a more specialized service. It is like a buffet. You go in and get a table. A few girls are paraded in front of you. You can get a taste of what is offered, then--once you know what you want and from whom, they take you to a room they have set up for their comfort. There is, of course an entry fee, in order to still make a profit; as there are some that just fill up on appetizers alone. \n***\nTo get into Phink’s Palace this time, Vee and Dixson are both required to pay five pounds. Vee is distracted for a short time by the opulence of the palace. Black and red are Phink’s colors. There are twenty-one tables in the “Entertaining Room” with red tablecloths. The chairs around the tables have black covers thrown over the tops of them. There are two stages. One is the primary stage where the girls perform; then there is a secondary stage with a piano, drum, cello, violin and harp. The ground has a thick carpet pulled across it. Oil lamps sit on each table and a candle stand is placed every nine feet around the bar. At the center of the room, above the bar, is a chandelier. Mirrors hang on walls to create reflections that light the room--even at night. There is a balcony from which the manager can watch the sales floor. Here wine and nibbles may be consumed and appetizers are served. \nOnce one is ready for the main course, it is to the right of the main door they must go to reach the “Banquet Hall.” At any given time there, one would find a set of bleachers with a curtain lowered in front of it. Once one has paid to get into the “Banquet Hall”, five to twenty girls will be arranged, dressed up in any number of provocative outfits and set up for display. The hostess will lead the ‘john’ around the bleachers to look over the product being served. A list of services and prices will be displayed and the ‘john’ may pick out whichever entree they so desire. \nTo the left of that is the upstairs. This is where the girls will take their ‘johns’ to fulfill contracts. There are dressing rooms and bedrooms and a VIP lounge. Dixson has no idea what one must do to get there. What can one find in the VIP lounge? There one may speak to the manager and set up a special request. If one has a particular appetite and Phink does not have what they are hungry for in stock, they may request it there for a price. Phink is a wealthy woman and has the sort of friends that can help her get her hands on some rare products. But remember to be polite when requesting service. Phink has no fear of blackballing those that fail to show respect—if you believe the rumors.\nThe door to the manager’s office is a thing to behold. The door is double wide with onyx pillars at both sides of it. A bident hangs over the door with a gold placard holding it in place. The bident has twisted spearing tips that crisscross in a helix. The phrase “Blood and Darkness” is carved into the handle of the weapon. The plaque reads--“Welcome to Asphodel: be warned, there is no escape.” \nDixson looks up at the door. “We are entering into a progressively more dangerous world, Mother.”\nVee has a strangle satisfied look on her face as she reads the plaque, “Asphodel. You are not scared, are you Daddy?” She has a giggle.\nThe room stinks of poppy seed oil and ginger. Brass candle holders line the ground leading to the chair in which guests are meant to sit. A large oak desk is off to one side and there is a faint couch across from it. There are three taxidermied dogs in the corners of the room and a marble statue in the last corner. The statue is of a gorilla with a long braided beard; a spear in one hand, a pomegranate in the other. A rabbit sits on his back with its head on his shoulder. The gorilla is dressed in Greek gowns with a loral on his head. He is an old and gigantic man. Chains hang from his arms, shackles loosely grip his wrists. This hero has defied the will of the gods and escaped Elysium. He is Yuldking Hades, Master of the Dead, Keeper of the Underworld, Lord of the Least Heaven.\nThe woman sitting on the table is in a black and red cabaña gown, elbow gloves and a fedora with a wide brim. A cigarette is in one hand. A repeater rifle sits on the table alongside her other hand. It is said that Phink Forcible is American, but her sharp eyes and salt and pepper fur color speak more so to a Chinese origin. She is short for a grown woman, but has long legs, long arms, and sharp claws that peek out of her gloves. She has on a perfume of the oddest kind. It smells like vinegar and burnt copper. A ruffled garter is tied to both of her biceps and both thighs. Ribbons are at the tips of her ears. \nPhink turns her head to keep an eye on Vee as she walks across the room looking for a place to sit. Phink explains in a low voice, a strange inflection to her tone that is somewhat English and somewhat Russian, “I know a man that is looking for an owl. He is willing to pay good money to see one naked.”\nThe chairs are too close to the ground to sit in so Vee sits on the floor, one knee up, one down, one wing on the ground, the other on her knee. “Owls can be an expensive date. Too expensive for most, I would say.”\nDixson takes a chair and moves it close to the table to speak with Phink. He points at the statue of Yuldking. “I don’t seem to recall; who is the rabbit with Lord Hades?”\n“Persephone, the Rabbit of the Changing Seasons. Born of the union of the sky and the harvest. She snuck into Hell and robbed Hades of his most beloved pomegranates. Hades captured her as she tried to escape the underground. He claimed the rabbit as his wife, and she gave him a son within days of their union. This angered Demeter so greatly that she damned Greece to three months of darkness. The gods went to war over this matter. The love between a man and a rabbit brought the oldest of nations to its knees. Love is a powerful weapon and a valuable commodity.”\nVee comments, “A gorilla made a rabbit pregnant? That must have been challenging.”\nPhink laughs. “Strange. I have never heard anyone say that about how Zeus had a child with a horse, cow, swan, snake or lizard.”\nDixson thinks, “and a rat; and his sister, and one of his sons also. The God of the Sky is attributed to having more than twenty children with just as many women. He is also a shapeshifter that has ‘filled people with the spirit of life’ disguised as gold or wind. He has also taken the shapes of wild beasts to slip unseen into the beds of maidens’.”\n“Now Mister Hill.” Phink puts out one cigar and reaches for another. She leans to the side; and as she does she shows her tail to the two. She places a foot on Dixson’s lap after she finds her cigar and hands him a flint and tender. She leans into the detective to have him light her cigar for her. “What is it you came here looking for?”\n“Information.” Dixson explains.\n“Is there something I forgot to tell the police?” Phink asks, her eyes drifting up and down as she looks over her visitors.\nDixson comments, “No; not persé. I just wanted to ask a few questions. Now, I understand that you have a client confidentiality contract and you can’t simply give me the names of your clients—but given the extreme circumstances—maybe you can answer some simple questions about the people around here. How many guests do you serve on any given day?”\n“It is not uncommon for me to serve one to two hundred guests a night. There have been nights where I have had as many as four hundred visitors.” Phink explains.\n“How old would you say the majority of your visitors are?” Dixson rolls a hand as he leans back in his chair. He digs around in his coat, looking for his notebook. Once he has it he rests it across his legs.\n“I would say there are two distinct groups of guests I serve. Teens with old money, and older business men.”\nDixson writes a note. “And do you serve more men or women most nights?”\nPhink comments, “I tend to see ten times as many men walk in here as women.”\nDixson grunts and nods. “That is what I would have expected. Do you have a lot of repeat customers? People that come in every day or once a week?” \n“I know one or two people that are here nightly. Three or four that come in every other day. But this is not the type of place that you go to every day of the week. This isn’t a beer pit. This is a place you go for celebrations.”\nDixson writes another note. “Was there anything in the last few days that struck you as being abnormal?”\nPhink looks to an hourglass she has on her desk. She flips it, then turns to look at Dixson. “Mr. Hill. My time is costly. If you want to continue this conversation, you will need to be paying me for the trouble.”\nDixson squints. “Ms. Forcible, failing to cooperate with our investigation is only going to make things more complicated for all of us.”\nPhink brings her rifle to rest on her lap. She runs a hand up and down the gun, petting it in a lewd way for a moment before wrapping a hand around the handle. She pops down the lever to show it is loaded, primed and ready. “Mr. Hill, do not provoke me. I could be your friend, if you are willing to play by my rules. Or I could be your enemy…”\nDixson stands up and waves for Vee to follow him. The two step out of the room. Phink has made it clear that the conversation is over. As they step out of the building Hill asks Vee, “What do you think she is hiding?”\nVee shakes her head. “She is up to something, and I think the murder has gotten in the way of some other business.”\nDixson contemplates, “Do you think she could have been killing her competitors?”\nVee shakes her head. “I have no doubt that Phink is capable of murder, but I think extortion and exploitation are cleaner and easer. I, myself, would not put her high on the list of suspects.”\n“But she is still suspicious”\n\n\n\n\nChapter 6 \n\tJoseph lays in a hospital bed, his mouth half wired shut, his body filled with poppy to numb the sensation. A plank of wood with reflective paint is set before a candle to the right of the boy, just out of his reach. The hospital is quiet, it is hours past midnight. A stack of nails set around the candle inform him of the hour of the day. Seven nails--that means that it is three in the morning. \n\tThe window is open. The boy rolls onto his side, with much effort, as he tries to understand why the window had been opened. He squints into the darkness. A thin, tall shadow looms over him dressed in a black cape and a tall hat. Leather gloves are on the shadow’s hands. Joseph tries to yell, but he can’t seem to find the power. The shadow sets two fingers on the boy’s lips to hush him. \n\tThe shadow whispers in Joseph’s ear. “You are ill child. But have no fear. I am here to take away the pain. You have been taken by miasma. A sickness has taken root in your heart. The mind no longer recognizes the body it wears.” \n\tJoseph tries to roll off the bed. The shadow takes from inside its coat two long silk straps, pink in color. They stink of baby powder. The shadow ties the boy’s hands to the bed. “Do not struggle boy,” the shadow whispers. “You will only hurt yourself if you do.”\n\tJoseph tries to yell again, but again no sound leaves his body. The shadow sets a hospital bag on the table to the boy’s side. The shadow opens the bag and pulls out a pair of bloomers. Then the shadow finds a bowl and fills it with two strange smelling liquids. The shadow dips the bloomers in the solution. The silk sucks in the tonic. The shadow picks up the panties and sets a hand on the back of the boy’s head. The shadow sticks the panties into the boy’s mouth. The smell burns his nostrils, the acid stings his lips—the boy becomes dazed. His eyes glaze over. He no longer has the will or ability to struggle. He is drunk from the smell. Joseph mumbles weakly, “What are you?”\n\tThe shadow whispers in his ear, “I am Springheels.”\n\tSpringheels pulls out a tiny surgical knife, than a dozen other tools from the bag—and at last—a dress which Springheels hangs up on the door handle for safety. This dress is a modest one, a dress meant for a flower girl. A white bonnet, shoulder cape, corset, and skirt that swings around the ankles when tucked correctly complete the ensemble.\n\tSpringheels undresses Joseph then ties his feet to the bed. “Have no fear; you will feel no pain. This will only take a few hours.” Springheels brings its head to the boy’s ear and a hand to his face. Springheels pets the boy for a short time, tickling his face and rubbing his cheeks. The poison has put the boy to sleep. Springheels offers the boy a kiss. “Dream a beautiful dream for me,” Springheels requests.\n***\n\tIt is just past sunrise as Underwood rushes to the Den of Owls.  The Sergeant pushes open the door letting in a cold morning wind. A hot breeze of stale earth wafts out. Loose pages are lifted into the air by the wind, then set back down. Vee stands at the desk, her head on upside down. Her eyes open. A cold pink glow flickers from her eyes. Underwood gasps and falls back against the wall. The owl’s mask is down, and what it hides is horrific enough to reap the soul of a weak man. Underwood grips his chest to hold onto his lifeforce as the eyes of the owl threaten to slay him. Time stops for Underwood. \n\tThe lanterns around the bookstore spark to life. A soft yellow glow fills the room. Vee is suddenly in front of the desk, her mask back on, her head upright, garbed in her white dress. Her head tips slightly to one side and she shuts her eyes as she folds her wings, looking cute. Several minutes have passed and Underwood has no recollection of where the time has gone. \n\tDixson steps out of the side room holding three cups of tea as he strides over to Underwood. “Good morning Sergeant. I am guessing you are here to collect yesterday’s reports.” He hands one of the cups of tea to Underwood.\n\t“No. I need you to come with me at once—it is about Steelmen.”\n\tDixson doesn’t ask. He places his tea down and picks up his coat and hat. He commands Underwood, “Lead the way.”\n\tOn their way into the hospital Dr. Ann-Mary Kramer joins them.  The four step into the room where Joseph Steelmen lies. The boy is dressed up in a white gown with cape and bonnet. His eyes and mouth are stitched shut. Two coins are set over his eyes. His arms are folded at the wrist over his pelvis. The bed drips with blood. Joseph’s face is painted to make sure it still has the color of life in it. His claws painted, the boy has become a toy. \n\tDr. Kramer yelps in surprise and turns to look away from the body for a moment as she struggles to control her emotions. Dixson looks between the Sergeant and Vee as he tries to decide what he is looking at. Dixson takes out his camera and starts to walk around the room photographing things.\n\tA broken piece of the door frame is the first thing he spots that seems out of place. Dixson looks up at Underwood. Underwood explains, “I did that. I needed to break the door down to get into the room. It was bolted shut from the inside when I arrived.”\n\tDixson steps up to the window and looks down. The room is on the second floor. Dixson squints as he notices next that there are four drill marks on the window. “Did you also remove the storm shutter from this window?”\n\tUnderwood shakes his head. Kramer walks over to the body and starts to look it over. She leans in close and tips her head as she is trying to see something. She calls over, “Detective Hill. When Joseph’s mouth was wired shut two different types of wire were used--and two distinct sized sewing hooks. “ Dixson approaches. He kneels down to look where Kramer is looking. She points at one set of holes. “This is a medical surgeon’s hook. You can tell because the holes are perfectly symmetrical. This second set of holes had been made using a hook with a barb on it. The wire is a fishing wire.”\n\tDixson thinks aloud. “The boy’s mouth had been forced open, then stitched shut a second time?” \n\tKramer explains, “Springheels put something in his mouth.” She sidesteps to gather some tools. “Let’s see what.”\n\tDixson steps away from the bed and takes a few more pictures of the body. He comments as he looks back to Vee, “Something in this room looks off. The way the body is dressed and placed. The placement of the bed. I don’t know. I just feel there is something in here that shouldn’t be… or something that is that doesn’t belong.”\n\tKramer calls over after she cuts the mouth open, “Detective Hill.” She holds up a folded piece of paper. “I found this.”\n\tDixson steps over and takes the paper from Kramer. He unfolds it and looks the page over. He reads aloud for the group. “Detective Hill, I can see you. Forever Yours, Springheels.”\n\tA hand is set on Underwood’s shoulder. He is shoved off to one side. Rod Steelmen steps into the room, his military honors pinned to his breast, his faction seal on his hat and armband. Kramer sees what just happened and she steps up to Steelmen. She shouts at the minister, “You can’t just...”\n\tSteelmen slaps the doctor hard enough to knock her to the ground, dazed and confused. Steelmen looks down at the doctor. “You will speak when spoken to.” Vee steps away from the wall, her eyes shimmering with anger under her mask. Dixson holds up a hand to silently tell her to stand down. Steelmen steps up to the body, looking it over. \n\tDixson stands alongside the minister waiting to be addressed. “Officer Hill, tell me what happened here.”\n\t“It looks like our local monster, Springheels, attacked your son.” Dixson ushers up and down. “Cut a hole in his cheek, dressed him like a doe… that is as much as we know so far.”\n\tSteelmen points, “Wash that clown makeup off his face and get rid of that dress. Get him in a proper suit and dinner jacket. Make sure the cuffs are cut right. Three button vest, brass buckles. I will not let my son be seen in this ridiculous outfit.” He looks over to Kramer. “Do it now!” He shouts at Kramer, “It makes me sick to see my son dressed like this.”\n\tKramer regains her footing. She walks over to the locker in the room. “The clothes he had on when he arrived should be in this closet.”\n\tSteelmen looks at Dixson. “Officer Hill. I want the man that did this found, and I want him dealt with. Anything you need, I will give you. Men, money, name it. I want it fast, and I don’t care if you make a mess on the way.”\n\tDixson looks down at the note from Springheels. His eyes narrow as he reads it again. Detective Hill, I can see you. Forever Yours, Springheels. He looks up, “Can you get me a counterfeiter?”\n\t“Of course I can. May I ask why?”\n\t“I want a copy made of Phink Forcible’s visitor’s book.” Dixson explains.\n\t“She will not likely co-operate.” Steelmen explains.\n\t“Then I will have Mickey convince her.”\n\tAs Kramer undressed Joseph, the true horror of what Springheels had done starts to become apparent. Joseph’s body has been altered--shaved and cut, pieces removed and new ones added. Joseph has been turned into a doe. \n\tSteelmen squints. His lip curls; he barks, “Everyone out! Now!”\n\tKramer is about to argue. Underwood grabs her and pulls her with him out of the room. Dixson and Vee step out also, allowing Steelmen the time he needs to cry.\n\tVee and Dixson walk to the hospital kitchen to find a drink and take a moment to collect their thoughts. Dixson whispers with Vee, “This doesn’t follow. This is not the way that Springheels acts. Serial killers are people with obsessions. Everything needs to track; everything needs to look just as it did at their last murder or they don’t get the high they need.”\n\tVee comments, “Maybe when you sent Underwood to Phink’s Palace you interrupted Springheels’ feeding.”\n\tDixson looks off into the distance. “Or maybe, I got close. Yesterday. I saw Springheels out of costume… or he saw me.”\n***\nInvestigation Notes  \nEvidence:\nNote From Springheels: \n\nDetective Hill,\nI can see you.\nForever Yours,\nSpringheels\n\nA folded note; supposedly found in the mouth of Joseph Steelmen. The paper is a dark cream color, the ink used is copper based. It is a high-grade paper, the type that is used by a novelist when making an editor’s copy of a manuscript. The handwriting is fluid. There is a bleed mark on the page where the pen had been set down after the word ‘Detective’ was written. A smudge on the page between the words “I” and “can” imply that the writer could have been holding the pen in their left hand. There is an accent mark over the letter ‘a’ and a tail following the letter ‘n’ in the word ‘can.’ It is my feeling that ‘can’ was not the word the writer had first had in mind, but wrote over what had been there before. But—I cannot know this for sure.\n\nDixson’s thoughts:\nThis is why I have requested that Steelmen allow me access to a counterfeiter. This aid, plus the records book Phink now holds, could be invaluable in learning Springheels true name. If needed, I will also reach out to Rabbit Hole, Winking Rat, and The Yellow Lady Gentlemen’s Club. But this may not be needed. Springheels may come looking for us.\n***\n\tMickey steps into the Den of Owls followed by three of his lady friends; Gloria, Josey, and Gem. Mickey climbs up and sits on Dixson’s desk. He calls out into the shop, “Dixs, where are you? I got what you asked for.”\n\tDixson comes out of the back room holding a stack of photographs. He holds them overhead and tips them, trying to find something in the image he had not seen before. He lowers the photos and looks over to Mickey, “You are fleetfooted, aren’t you? I sent for you after lunch and you are here in time for dinner.” He looks over the three girls walking with Mickey, “Who are your friends?”\n\tMickey points out two of them, one being a brown-haired desert rabbit, the other being a white-haired snow bunny, “Gem and Josey work at the club; they both do the night shift. Gloria is who you are looking for; she does odd jobs.” Gloria is a harlequin rabbit. One side of her body is flash white with a red eye, the other side is black with a blue eye. “You need an odd job done; she does odd jobs.” Mickey kicks his feet back and forth as he sits on the desk. “Now; if I may ask, what sort of odd job is it you need done Dixs?”\n\t“I want to look at someone’s business ledgers.” \n\tThe door to the Den of Owls slips open. Another rabbit starts to step in, but then sidesteps to rest on the wall. Quivering she peeks over one shoulder watching Dixson talk to the gangster. Kramer is in a gray coat over her doctor’s robe. She brings a hand up to her breasts and takes a moment to center herself before she finally does step into the shop. Once inside she stays at the back of the bookstore, her ears up. She wishes to understand what Dixson is doing. Her nose wiggles, her whiskers quake. She stares on with wide eyes, ducking partly behind a stack of books to obscure line of sight. \n\tMickey looks to Gloria, “What do you think Doll? You feeling up to a little B&E job?”\n\tGloria looks at Dixson, then up at Mickey. She shakes her head, then shrugs as she is thinking it over. “That depends, love. You gotta’ have the green if we are goin’ to make the scene. So, you got some coin, or is there another way you would like to pay?”\n\tVee folds her wings under her head while she sits back listening. “I can give you twelve pounds right now, and three more when you give us the book.”\n\tMickey whistles. “Fifteen pounds for a little in and out. You can have a lot of fun with fifteen pounds. But what is the point Dixs? What sorta’ con are we swinging?”\n\tDixson questions, “Do you really want me to tell you? Or would you be happier not knowing?”\n\tMickey holds his arms out. “You’re killing me here Dixs. Tell me something. I gotta’ know what we is up to.”\n\tDixson pulls out of his coat the note from Springheels. He lets Mickey and Gloria look at it. Mickey reads the page, mouthing aloud the words, then looks to Dixson, “Golly Dixs, looks to me like you got someone a little hot for you. If I was you, I might think about getting out of town for a day or two; let things cool down.”\n\tDixson leans back in his seat. “I am close Mickey. I am going to put away one more monster before the Black Rabbit takes me.”\n\tMickey offers some advice. “Take it easy Dixs. I don’t want to see you get offed like so many of my other friends. If things get too hot out there, tell me. I can move you underground; get you out of town.” Mickey snaps and waves. He walks out of the shop. \n\tKramer steps up to the desk. “Detective Hill.”\n\tDixson looks up. “Doctor. You may call me Dixson if you like.”\n\tKramer snickers. A hand finds the side of her face and brushes back her fur as she blushes. “Yes, Dixson.” She giggles. “I wanted to invite you out for dinner.” She wiggles in place, her thighs scraping together and her toes balling on the ground and then stretching. She is almost quivering with nervousness. Kramer’s teeth click and her tail whips as she awaits what Dixson has to say.\n\tThe old detective turns his eyes looking at Vee like a child looking to a parent for approval. There is an uncomfortably long silences before Vee offers a blink that Dixson understands to be a go-ahead. Then the detective smiles and nods. He tugs at his coat and replies to the doctor, “I see no harm in that. Did you have a speakeasy in mind?”\n\tKramer bites her lower lip to stop herself from shaking. “Have you ever been to Delmonico?”\n\tDixson thinks. “The wine club down the street from the Irons Building? I can’t say I have. I don’t have the types of friends that drink wine, and I myself tend to drink whisky or scotch more often than not.” \n\tKramer leans across the desk. Her eyes slant and lips curl; her ears fall forward and her tail sticks up. She shudders happily, struggling to control her body’s reactions to the sudden excitement she feels. “Then you should pick out a nice dinner jacket and tie. Delmonico may not let you in dressed like a Texan with a fur neck.”\n\tDixson is not a naive man; he can sense Kramer’s tension--this is a date; no question about it. Neither he nor she are young rabbits. Once you are past the midlife of your years, dates tend to move quickly. No one has time for long and drawn-out ceremony—so, if you are asked out, take it, and make sure you have fun. If you don’t, there may not be a second date in your future. “Then I had best change.”\n\tKramer explains, “I am going to put on a skirt. Meet me at the corner of Baskerville and Watson. You pay for the car, I will pay for the wine.” After Dixson nods in understanding, Kramer turns and runs out of the library; her tail wagging hard. Skipping as she rounds the corner, she swings her arms and is laughing like a doe that had just been kissed for the first time.  \n\tVee turns her head looking at Dixson. “She seems nice. Can’t say I am impressed by the smell of blood that lingers in the air around her.”\n\tDixson comments, “She works at the funeral home. Underwood and I may be the first warm bodies she has seen in months.”\n\t“And being punched by Steelmen--the closest thing to attention she has had outside of a wank.”\n\tDixson shakes his head. “Be nice. Let me be honest with you. It has been some time since the last time a doe has taken interest in me. I don’t know how many more times in my life this is going to happen.”\n\tVee shrugs. “You don’t need to buy, you can always rent.”\n\t“Do you ever feel the need for romance?” Dixson asks.\n\t“When I do, I tend to sleep it off. Egging can be a messy thing, and I just don’t seem to be feeling baby fever.”\n\t“There is more to romance than just sex.” Dixson complains.\n\tVee tips her head back and laughs. “Oh yes. So much more, I am sure. But I don’t know if that is what Doctor Kramer has in mind. Did you taste the air around her? She is already…”\n\tDixson cut her off. “Mother—please.”\n\tVee lowers her head. She shuts her eyes. “As long as we are being honest with each other, my relationship with romance is complicated. I am a member of the Goasha family. My mother and father had been in an arranged marriage. I am told it took seven years and over a hundred attempts for my mother to hatch me. Per my grandfather’s instructions, my parents are half—siblings. And my grandfather picked out a cousin to be my partner. My grandparents are very concerned with keeping our blood clean. My father, on the other hand, thinks this practice is monstrous. That is why he sent me to do my schooling abroad. My mother was furious about all this. She thought that my father had betrayed his royal duties. Most of my family has given me instructions not to allow myself to have relationships outside of the family. My father thinks I should be experimenting. He has told me stories about how ‘Love has never been between betrothed, but between healthy youth.’ And I don’t know what I should be doing...so to relieve tension, I rub my tail fathers on whatever object I can.”\n\tDixson thinks about the story. “I can’t say I know about the Goasha family.”\n\tVee offers, “We are a small family from down south. But still have some influence in the upper echelons.” \n\t“I don’t recall you ever telling me you are nobility.” Dixson comments.\n\t“Minor royalty. My father holds the title of prince, but he married upwards. He was the fourteenth born son and was never going to hold any power in the court. His only charges were collecting taxes and keeping time during political affairs—acted more like a duke than anything. Then there is me-- being the first born to the fourteenth son. Until I accept my marriage, I am not permitted to use my title at all.” Vee offers a smirk. “Take the rest of the night off; I will watch the store. You will need to let me know if you do any green gowning.”\n\tDixson shakes his head at the statement. “I am not likely to take the egg on at Delmonico.”\n\t“Doesn’t mean there won’t be time for a short rendezvous.” Vee sits with her beak open in a wide grin.\nDixson stands up and walks away. “Go frig yourself.” \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChapter 7\n\tThe Delmonico is an oddity amongst the other buildings in London, designed by a French dog named Riki Shan’dur. The building has almost no right angles in it as every wall and floor slants slightly. The rooms are made up of four interlocking triangles. The buildings at the sides of it are parallelograms—it is equal levels of brilliance and madness. The building has four wings—and each a different height. The west wing, which faces the main street, is four stories; the north and south wings are six and seven floors respectively. The central court, which makes up the east wall, is a staggering fifteen stores. There are few buildings in London that look like it.\n\tThe lowest floor is the entertaining hall. A wine press, allegedly, is in the basement. The upper floors are a hall of records and a historical center. Some space is for rent to the cream of the crop. The amount of wealth that gathers around this building could put even Steelmen to shame. Traditionally, the only people allowed inside are old money families and important academics. Without being invited by Kramer, Dixson would not likely have ever had this opportunity. What really takes place inside the walls of Delmonico? Only a blessed few know for sure.\n\tKramer has found a yellow dress to wear with a white underskirt, frilled shoulders and fins on the hips. The dress is a touch too small for her—one may assume she bought the dress when she was a young doe and has had few chances to put it on over the years. The dress rides up in the back slightly and the neckline is loose fitting. Some may say that it looks crude for the occasion, if for whatever reason Kramer were to have to lean forward. The way the dress falls she may accidently flash someone the white of her tail.\n\tDixson had to struggle to find a coat and hat that are presentable enough for such an event. Dixson has no Sunday best to wear. What he ended up finding is piecemeal, to say the least. A leather vest and a crinkled shirt; a red belt that was part of a choir outfit, and slacks he hadn’t but on since the last time he attended a jamboree. The jacket is yellow with a green inner lining and patches made of lizard skin. He looks like a substitute teacher with a part-time job as a conductor \nKramer sneers at the outfit, but manages to swallow her judgment. She brings a hand up and feels the bowtie Dixson has on. She shakes her head and expresses, “This should be silk. What is this; wool?”\nDixson explains, “Believe it or not, I don’t own a silk tie.”\nKramer brings her head in close to Dixson to whisper, “You could have asked me to bring you one. I have a dozen.”\n“Why do you have a dozen silk ties?” Dixson ponders.\nThe inside of Delmonico is an opulent place. One candelabra at the center of the main hall has fifty candles in it—in a spiral—reaching slowly down from the central-most candle. The stem of each of the candles has a mirrored backing so that the light travels outwards, in a twisted way, hiding shadows. The carpeting is a tendrilled beast of a pattern; a singular blue star rests at the center of the room, atop which the candelabra sits. Green spirals circle outwards from the star, a faded purple makes a backdrop, and scattered specs of white-yellow create depth of field. A nebula is set below foot. The walls are pearl white. Wood pillars dot the walls and make crevasses in which artwork can be displayed.\nFive long tables are set around the entertaining room--three set vertical to the main door, two set horizontal. White blankets are draped over the tables. Each table has a centerpiece that is twelve cups placed atop each other in a pyramid. Flowers are set around the tables, and wine bottles are on display with the names of bottlers on them to advertise to the crowd. A few men walk the floor handing out snack foods and people are directed to the tables to try the wines on display. The central hall has three windows in it that are blinded with red drapes. The luxury of this place is beyond anything Dixson has enjoyed. The price to get in the door is more than Dixson makes per week.\nThe two walk around the room, Kramer giving a lesson on how to judge wines. After they have both picked the drink they wish to start the day with they move off to a corner of the room to crowd watch. Dixson pulls his notebook from inside his coat and looks over his notes from the last few days. He looks at Kramer, “What we saw yesterday; Joseph—I know we have some amazing medical technology, but to be able to turn a buck into a doe—I didn’t know we could do that.”\nKramer shakes her head. “We don’t have that technology; at least not any surgeon I know does. I understand that Sosuki can do that, but not rabbits. In the case of Sosuki it doesn’t even require surgery, just chemical treatment.”\nDixson asks, “So then, what was it we saw?”\nKramer tips her eyes up and runs a finger along her snout as if to toy with a set of glasses, but she has no glasses on. “Well, the phallus and scrotum were removed, and a cut has been made along the pelvic divide. Skin was rolled inwards in order to approximate the labial ridge. Fat had been moved from the stomach to the gluteus and into the pectoral pockets in order to take on the appearance of a more feminine shape…” \nDixson asks, “How difficult is surgery like that to do?”\nKramer taps a foot on the ground. “Well—it depends if you want it to be a convincing transformation. And to survive this would take weeks of treatments. But—it is not impossible to do the whole thing in just a few hours… although, your are likely to bleed to death well before the surgeon would have time to sew everything closed again.”\nDixson ponders, “How difficult is it to get the tools one would need to do that?”\nKramer explains, “It would require some specialized tools, but any talented craftsmen could make a crude set of surgical instruments.” There is a moment of contemplation before Kramer comments, “We are at the best wine tasting club in London. Are you sure this is what you want to talk about?”\nDixson agrees, “You are right. I don’t seem to get out as much as I should. We should talk about something else. Tell me doctor, do you have a family?”\nAnn shakes her head. “I have been married twice. First husband died in a fishing accident; second left me when he noticed I was having trouble conceiving. He needed a woman that was younger and more fertile than I am.”\nDixson ponders, “Why do you have trouble conceiving?”\nKramer shakes her head. “There are dozens, if not hundreds, of things that can result in that. Younger girls tend to be more fertile than older ones; short girls seem to get pregnant more often than tall girls. Women above average weight find it easier to carry to term than those that are on the light end. The flip of that is true, in some respects. Older men seem to have a better hit percentage then kids. It looks to me like older men are more potent than younger ones.” She trails off on a side tangent, for a moment, before getting herself back on track. “Maybe I have an abnormally shaped cervical door, or maybe my womb is too large or too small, or my eggs just aren’t catching… I just don’t know. Let me promise you, I am trying. I just can’t seem to perform.” \nKramer finishes her drink. She then turns to look at Dixson. She steps up to him and she grips the sides of his face. She offers an aggressive kiss. She stands on her toes and lifts her tail. She wiggles her body—suddenly warm and needing attention. Dixson is frozen in shock for a short time. Kramer jerks her hips up and down trying to get Dixson interested in her. It takes two or three minutes of kissing before Dixson offers some signs of interest. He reaches a hand down and rests it over her tail. Dixson rubs down Kramer’s rump and gives her a hug. \nKramer’s eyes dart open when she feels herself get touched and she jumps back in fear. She lowers her head and shakes it, disappointed in herself. She looks at the ground and brushes her hair back. “Maybe I am not ready for that yet.” She quivers, trying to calm herself. “Let’s get another wine.”\n***\nVee sits on the roof of the Den of Owls. She watches the streets below as she paints. A blue light fades in and out of view. The owl’s eyes turn a bright orange as she tracks the light—Foxfire, Will-o-the-wisp, echoes, shade—what Vee sees has many names in many places; but all of them describe a single thing. The blue light is a free roaming memory of a dead rabbit. The rabbit is a child, less than eight years of age,--dressed in a white nightgown and bonnet. Black hair draws across her face. The shadow can only barely hold on to its shape as it walks. Sometimes it looks almost like a living child, then in the next step—it is only fog.\nThe shade waves an arm out and points down the street. Vee squints at the shade trying to see what it is pointing at. The owl decides to step off the roof and follow the shade. The ghost sees Vee following it. She holds out a hand and takes the owl by the wing. The ghost walks through the misty streets of London, pulling the owl with her. She stops at the steps of the museum and points. The shade tries to talk, but this psionic manifestation does not have the strength to do this. \nVee understands what the phantom wants. She walks up the steps to the museum and uses a wire and hook to break the lock off the door. She slips inside. The halls are thick with shadows. A smell looms in the air, too faint for a rabbit to detect--an old scent-- the scent of rust, copper, and rotted meat—dry and burned. Something is watching Vee from the darkness, something powerful and evil. Red light glints at the edge of her vision. She turns around trying to follow the dark entity, but it seems to be talented at staying out of the center of her vision. \nVee rolls her wings and strikes several poses as she channels radiant energy. She whispers a prayer; “Rin pyo toh, sha kai jin, retsu zai zen.” The whispering seems to frighten the evil. It moves away from the owl. She repeats the prayers again---the darkness becomes still as the evil hides.\nBlue light glitters. Vee turns her head to follow the light. She walks past a glass case—eyes open on the cover of Domintio Necrona. The book watches the owl walk past. More and more eyes open along the walls of the museum. The building is alive. It hunts the bird; stalks the bird. But when two predators hunt each other; where does the end game lie? The child shade has come into the museum. She directs Vee to look at something.\nIs it a window? Is it a painting? Vee’s vision is starting to twist and warp. She tries to look where she was pointed, but is having trouble making out the shape. She takes off her mask and opens all four of her burning pink eyes. It is a painting; London on a rainy day. The ocean has swollen; water rushes along the streets of the jolly town. Flickering lights in the sky draw out a shape—a koi larger than Birmingham Castle swims through the clouds. A squid overlaps the fish, fusing their shadows into a single beast—the head of a fish, the body of a tendrilled monster. \nVoices escape the painting; shouts, cries. It is noise, nothing more. Then the noise starts to form a word; shouted time and time again--“Coinchenn!” Waves crash—water seeps through the walls of the museum. The Domintio Necrona has a grip on Vee. It is whispering to her; trying to control her. “yhW did uoy nur yawa, aivatcO? uoY dluohs og emoh.” Paintings flutter about as if they were bats.  A three-eyed swan flies past Vee. It lands and holds out its wings; beckoning. Memories from across decades are invading; images are becoming scrambled, the flow of time is no longer linear. Vee repeats the prayer again, tying to force time to return to its normal flow. “Rin pyo toh, sha kai jin, retsu sai zen!” \nThe shadow of an old owl steps in front of Vee, a tall and nurturing man. A white light is cast over him. It hurts to look at the old owl. He is a cloud; a memory only partly remembered. A claw reaches out of the shadow of light and feels along the side of Vee’s face. A voice comes from the darkness; slow and sweet, high and delicate. “My little Via.” The voice whispers. Vee cries. She reaches her arm out and tries to embrace the cloud. She tries to talk, but she chokes on her tongue. The shadow grows six eyes—soft and pink, just like Vee’s. The darkness grips the sides of her face to make her look at it. “Do not be afraid of them. I hold shut the door. The gate to Asphodel is closed. They cannot harm you.”\nFour statements, spoken at four very different times, by one person. Heartache pulls at Vee. She feels sick and alone. The memories of her past life are trying to suck her back into the past. Things lost, things forgotten; a cruel weight to rest on the shoulders of a child. The wicked against the weak. How can the best and worst of one’s memories live in one’s dreams so close together. “Daddy; what am I looking for?” Vee squeaks.\nThe shadow whispers in Vee’s ear, “Little Via; one monster, two bodies, three minds.” The shadow takes Vee’s hands and pushes her mask back onto her face. The old owl turns to walk away. Vee tries to follow, but he phases into another world—one where Vee cannot go. Grief clouds the owl’s mind; grief becomes anger. She stomps a foot and turns to face her tormenters. A flap of a wing turns wind into a scythe. The painting, the book, the swan—are all excised from Vee’s reality.\nVee commands, “I deny your reality, and I substitute my own.” She explains, “This is my mind. You have no power here.”\nWith all other sounds silenced, the museum is empty of all but one object—the dark presence. Forced into the open it has a shape. A rabbit in a top hat, with gloves and a cape. Its eyes are gigantic and red. The looming monster walks toward the owl. Vee folds her wings and starts to pray. Each word spoken cuts the shadow—making it smaller, more mortal. Parts of it become visible through the mantle of darkness that protects it. “Rin. Pyo. Toh. Sha.” A smell covers the rotting meat. The smell of salt and ginger. Vee thinks—I know that smell… where did I smell it? “Kie. Jin…”\nThe entity grabs Vee by one shoulder—a knife is pulled from the cape. Vee is stabbed in the stomach. She screams as she falls forward onto all fours. She looks up at the entity. There is something pinned to the inside of the coat. A badge, a name, a number… Vee can almost see it. She knows, she thinks she knows—Springheels real name… but she can’t make it out. The entity waves a finger at Vee. A hollow, sexless voice whispers out of Springheels body. “You should have listened to your mother.”\n***\nVee is jolted awake. She is still sitting on the roof with her paint set. She jumps up to her feet and rushes inside. She looks around for her notebook. She needs to start writing. The mind is a powerful and mysterious thing. Some people propose that it is capable of feats that we have yet to understand. Vee already knows that a disciplined dreamer can guide their dreams. Some people think that is only the beginning of the powers that can be unlocked—astral travel, clairvoyance, mind control…we may be on the cusp of unlocking truly mystifying abilities if only we understood the limitations of imagination. Vee has a powerful mind, and sharp senses. She sees more than she perceives. She can hear and smell outside of the scope of the average man; and feel things too petite for most. Her dreams are trying to tell her that she saw something important, but didn’t pay attention to it. She needs to backtrack and take a closer look at the places she had been the last few days.\nBut what was it? What part of the dream was the vision, and what part is the mind of a teenager being distracted by the world around them? She finds the notebook she records her dreams in and starts to write. She whispers to herself words that feel out of place, “Little Via; one monster, two bodies, three minds.” She whimpers as she repeats the first two words again, “My Via…”\n",
  "writing_bbcode_parsed": "<span style='word-wrap: break-word;'>It is a cold day, a windy day, a day like so many others. It is cloudy as the sun is setting. Vines of pumpkins stretch as far as the eye can see. A light chill takes the air. The orchard is a brilliant shade of red.<br />A set of eyes watch the field--small, red eyes. A long set of teeth peek over the lip of the beast hidden by the blowing leaves. It stalks ever closer.<br />Its ears roll down its back like a cape made of batwings. Hunger drips from her lips. Unaware of the growing danger, the fruits of the field sit in thoughtless ponder.<br />The lips of the beast roll back as she picks her prey. Standing tall and lonesome she sees what she wants--asleep amongst the squash. The monster&#039;s mouth slips open, her tail wiggles as she lifts her backend into the air, ready to jump.<br />With one last breath, she leaps into the air!<br />A bloody splash of fruit juice!<br />Another life is taken!<br />\tThe guts of the pumpkin are spread across the field as the red-eyed rabbit&rsquo;s fangs crack the shell of the fruit.<br />Still, nothing can be done.<br />The bloody deed is done.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 1<br />A horse and carriage come to a stop outside of a large palace of an estate. The building is painted a faded red with a clock tower and a menagerie of gardens between the gate and the main door. A white placard is attached to one side of the gate that reads &ldquo;Phink&rsquo;s Palace.&rdquo; An elderly rabbit steps down from the carriage dressed in a cowboy hat and leather coat with a fur collar. One of his eyes droops slightly, his lower lip sags, his hair has grown thin and brittle with age. The rabbit is short and stocky. One leg drags slightly as he walks up to the gate. <br />A younger rabbit greets him at the gate. &ldquo;Dixson, thank you for coming.&rdquo; He starts to stutter. He stops himself and takes a deep breath before continuing. &ldquo;I know that you no longer do field work, but I must say, I need all the hands I can get. Frankly, I am terrified&mdash;and so are the men working with me. This is not the Middle Ages. Violence like what we have been seeing just doesn&rsquo;t happen anymore.&rdquo; The younger rabbit is dressed in a top hat and waistcoat with a chain around his waist and a red scarf around his neck. A blue scarab broach is pinned to his scarf.<br />Dixson looks his friend up and down. &ldquo;Hello Sergeant. I see you are dressed for the nines. Did they pull you out of church to come here?&rdquo;<br />The Sergeant comments, &ldquo;I was away on a personal affair when the messenger found me.&rdquo;<br />Dixson grunts and nods. He digs around in his pockets looking for his glasses. &ldquo;Let us pretend, for a moment, that I know nothing of what has been going on. Why don&rsquo;t you tell me what you know?&rdquo;<br />The Sergeant sidesteps and waves Dixson to follow him. &ldquo;Well; we have six dead girls in three months. The first two were found at The Derringer Club, then three at Hightail and one today, here, at Phink&rsquo;s Palace. People have started calling our killer &lsquo;Old Springheels.&rsquo; At first we didn&rsquo;t think much of it. The pattern just wasn&rsquo;t there. But then we took notice of something&mdash;fresh surgical marks on the last four victims.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;What do you mean surgical?&rdquo; Dixson asks as they step inside the building. <br />&ldquo;The killer uses a surgical knife to cut open his victims post mortem.&rdquo;<br />Dixson gets a sour look as he envisions such a grizzly deed. &ldquo;And how do you know it is post mortem?&rdquo;<br />The two walk up a half dozen flights of steps. &ldquo;I say post mortem mostly because I don&rsquo;t want to imagine the horror this woman would have seen should she have still been alive as all this was taking place.&rdquo;<br />They step into a room with six men taking notes. It is a bedroom. The bed is extra wide and covered in a red sheet. Two nightstands are at the sides of the bed. One stand has a book and a pocket mirror on it, the other a silver plate and sixteen bottles of perfume. A glass&mdash;half full with a ginger root in it is on the nightstand as well. On the bed lies a girl rabbit&mdash;her arms folded across her chest. Her shirt is balled up to expose her stomach. Two cuts line the underbelly of the rabbit. The first from hip to hip; the other from hip to sternum. The cuts are sewn shut with fishing cord and the wounds have been cleaned to leave her looking like a stuffed animal on the bed. Her eyes are stitched shut&mdash;as is her mouth. Brass buttons are covering her eyes. She has on a ruffly skirt and high-top boots that are securely laced. <br />The window in the room is painted black. An oil lamp hangs over the bed at both ends. Dixson takes a moment to breathe deep. He brings a hand up to hold his muzzle as he struggles with his emotions. His snout crinkles as something creeps into his nose. The older rabbit averts his eyes for a moment, then nods and gulps; his wits once again steeled. &ldquo;I have seen death many times in my life. Seldom is it this clean.&rdquo; He walks around the room and starts collecting notes from the other investigators. Dixson looks to the Sergeant. &ldquo;Mr. Underwood. I would like to have a physician take a look at the body before we move it. I want to know how long she has been dead, and what matter of madness we can call all of this.&rdquo;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;I will have the Madam of the house call for a doctor.&rdquo; He waves a man over and relays Dixson&rsquo;s wishes. <br />Dixson&rsquo;s snout wiggles. He cleans his face on his coat, trying to get the offensive taste from his mouth. &ldquo;Does anyone else smell that?&rdquo;<br />Underwood breathes in, trying to detect what Dixson has. &ldquo;Lemon, ginger, garlic, onion, rosemary, scotch; maybe. The perfumes I would assume.&rdquo; <br />Dixson gets down on all fours and starts to look around on the floor. &ldquo;If that is scotch it is the darkest most bitter scotch I have ever smelled.&rdquo; He looks under the bed. He peeks back up for a moment. &ldquo;Tell me. Is our victim wearing bloomers?&rdquo;<br />Underwood looks down with a squint and a sneer. &ldquo;Why do you want me to look up the skirt of a dead woman?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Because there is a pair bunched up under the bed. It has fang marks on it and two droplets of blood. Looks to have yellow-white stains as well.&rdquo;<br />With a moment of repulsion Underwood checks, then replies, &ldquo;Yes. She is.&rdquo;<br />Dixson grunts then stands back up. &ldquo;Now isn&rsquo;t that interesting&mdash;how clean and neat this room is. What do you figure a lost pair of bloomers under the bed may mean? Mr. Underwood, I should like to know, do you have any insight you would like to share with me at this time?&rdquo; The Constable rubs his hands together and glances about the room. He has an uneasy stutter as he is considering how much he wants to talk. Dixson quicky grows impatient as he awaits the Sergeant. Dixson leans in close with a snarl. The bulky rabbit questions, &ldquo;Do&mdash;you&mdash;need me to ask again?&rdquo; <br />Underwood comments with a hiccup, &ldquo;Did I already tell you about the ghost story that has been floating around the police station? Old Springheels is what people have been calling him. Some night stalker they say; a monster that haunts the streets around midnight searching for lonely young girls to feast upon&hellip;&rdquo;<br />Dixson whispers with the police Sergeant, &ldquo;You will need to tell me more.&rdquo;<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 2<br />\tA bookstore rests on the border between old London and new London; an archaic looking place made of stone, overgrown with vines darkening the windows. &ldquo;The Den of Owls&rdquo; is written on the door. It is an old place; a place that smells thick of knowledge. An owl girl stands at the desk in the room, bent forward reading the daily news. She is dressed in a white gown and vest combo. Her feathers are a dark gray, two horn-like feathers curl forward off the front of her face. Her eyes are covered by a wooden mask that has been painted over to look like an owl&rsquo;s face&mdash;many think it is to hide some horrific scar. <br />\tThe leather-bound books of The Den of Owls sprawl the length and width of the building and are stocked floor to ceiling in some places&mdash;so many books to read, so much to learn, so many dreams captured inside the pages. The leather on some books is old and split. The colors of the books fade from a dark brown to light green and blue&mdash;some even aged to a crispy tan. The ink of the covers range in age from the oldest blood bug paints to the newest being drawn in copper iron oil. <br />\tOne corner of The Den of Owls has a hanger on the wall with a glass sleeves to display paintings. Vee, herself, is a painter and a collector of fine art. Oil colors are her current fad. At night, on cloudless dry days, she may sit on the roof and watch people walk by&mdash;choosing a subject whom she can see to immortalize in oil. In years before, she has captured dreams and landscapes in watercolor, charcoals, or metallic paints. Once she tried to learn how to carve and sculpt, but it seems even her artistic abilities have limitations. Vee&rsquo;s favorite thing to paint has always been girls; young, small, weak&mdash;in a world as dark and uncaring as modern London&mdash;a singular vessel of light. The cold blues and grays of society contrast against the pinks, whites, and reds of untainted flesh. The horrors of sickness, war, death, hunger, poverty&mdash;not yet known to them. <br />\tHidden behind doors and locks, latches and keys are other secrets of the owl. A planetarium and a greenhouse are tucked away on the roof; a mushroom orchard under the floorboards. Vee has spent untold time watching the sky; tracking the movements of heaven and pondering the power the universe has on the microcosms of life. She has experimented on flowers and mushrooms, studying the effect that they have on each other&mdash;watched as they constructed civilizations, then watched them rot between growth cycles. <br />Vee has an inconsolable need to learn and understand. She has read the old works of Carl Linnaeus and his studies on how plants grow; Anton LaVay and his theory on the birth of stars; even the most recent writings of Sigmond Freud and the science of attraction. The experimental studies of Charles Darwin about the transformations of animals with the passing years was more then enlightening. Vee has heard rumors in the National Geologic Society about a woman named Mary Shelling finding the bones of alien fish that may predate anything known on earth. Yes, there is so much to learn&mdash;if only there was enough time to study all of it.<br />Vee whispers aloud the headlines of the paper as she thumbs through the pages searching for a follow-up on a story she read last week. &ldquo;Duchess Ruth Dies at Sea; Rod Steelmen Named the Lone Candidate for Minister of London; The Queen Lost Her Teeth Says American Author Robert C. Smithfield.&rdquo; The owl chirps. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that a lot of toss? If I wanted to read all this rot I would have bought a flapper.&rdquo;<br />The doorbell rings as the door is pushed ajar. The voice of Dixson Hill calls out, &ldquo;I am home, love.&rdquo; Dixson takes off his hat and places it on a stand near the door. He strips out of his coat and scarf and folds them up to hang on the hook behind the door. <br />Vee&rsquo;s eyes go wide and she smiles giddily as she calls, &ldquo;Daddy!&rdquo; She folds up the paper and jumps the counter to approach the old rabbit.&nbsp;&nbsp;She is four times his height. Her claws are long enough to wrap around his body and crush him with ease, her beak long and sharp enough to effortlessly cut the rabbit in two. She kneels and hooks her wings around the body of Dixson. She coos and warbles as she presses her beak to his chest, losing herself in his fluff. <br />The old rabbit places a hand on Vee&rsquo;s head and feels down her feathers. &ldquo;I remember when I used to call you Mother.&rdquo; Dixson comments. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t owls age?&rdquo;<br />Vee puts down Dixson and stands up. She brushes her wings down her body pushing her dress back into place. &ldquo;Of course we do; just much slower than rabbits. When you and I met, I was just starting puberty; by the time you die I will be a full-grown woman.&rdquo;<br />Dixson thinks about it. &ldquo;That means owls must live sixty times longer than rabbits. Seems somewhat unfair when you think about it.&rdquo; Dixson walks over to the desk. He takes off his tie and loosens his shirt before pulling up a chair and sitting down. <br />Vee questions, &ldquo;How was your trip to Scotland Yard?&rdquo;<br />Dixson lowers his eyes looking to the ground as his hands fold across his stomach. &ldquo;Let me tell you, I never wanted to go back there. If not for my fondness of Underwood, I suspect I never would have.&rdquo;<br />Vee sits down across from the rabbit that had once been her child, but she now treats as her aged father. &ldquo;You were a talented police constable once. Why did you turn away from that life?&rdquo;<br />Dixson turns to look at Vee. &ldquo;Did I never tell you that?&rdquo; He squints as he is trying to remember something. He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his chest. &ldquo;I suspect what happened to me was not so unlike what happens to all soldiers at some point. I got hurt; the wound just wouldn&rsquo;t heal.&rdquo; He feels around in his pockets searching for something in them. Vee pushes a book across the table towards him. &ldquo;I recorded it all in my&hellip;&rdquo; he starts to explain. He then stops and looks down, seeing what Vee is trying to hand him. &ldquo;My book.&rdquo; he finishes. <br />Vee smiles wide. &ldquo;I want to hear you say it aloud. Hearing the voice of the author is such a delicacy.&rdquo; Pink light flickers behind the mask of the owl as she leans forward onto her knees, bending herself in half to listen to the story he will tell. Her tail lies across her back, her legs fold, a claw kicks back and forth. <br />Dixson pushes up on his glasses then pulls them down slightly trying to balance them on his snout. Once he is comfortable he flips open the red-leather bound book that was handed to him. He looks at some dates and turns back and forth between several pages, reminding himself of the stories hidden within. He nods and hums for a moment, then lowers his book. &ldquo;The story of why I am no longer a police officer started twenty years ago. Before I was even a PC, but instead still an enlistee. I had gone to what, at the time, was the most respected school in England. I had moved here with my mother, immigrating from Scotland. We came here to find a new life. And that we did. My mother died quite young and it was morbid. But it set me on the path I am on today.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;In my first days as a commissioned officer I had heard my fellow officers whispering about a monster hunting the town. A beast with a feeding preference&hellip;It liked to eat children. Diphtheria had just swept the land. At first, the only clue they had of this monster&rsquo;s movements was a distinct look on the face of his victims. Those killed by this monster always seemed to have pink eyes&mdash;bloodshot eyes. It wasn&rsquo;t until I joined the case that new information started to be noticed. Scars on the bodies of the dead. Bruises on the neck, cutmarks on the stomach and breasts. Thin cuts&mdash;the type that can only be made with a surgical knife.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Our monster noticed I was getting closer to him. He tried to throw distractions at me&mdash;bodies that did not fit his modus operandi. But I notice. The real bodies were all the same. Children born to the families of upper-class rabbits. Killed on Saturday, thrown into the streets Tuesday. Many of my co-workers found themselves to be shaking in their boots, too frightened by the monster and the copycats that followed it. So&mdash;I needed to tap some of my more unscrupulous friends&mdash;Mickey Nosy Knows, Rod Steelmen, Humphrey Lecture. The four of us set a trap.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I saw it Vee. Got closer to him than anyone had yet&mdash;a paw&rsquo;s length away. I chased him into the trainyard. Then, something hit me from the side and knocked me to the ground. Eyes; eyes descended on me; glowing red. I see a knife. I got stabbed in the chest. I tried to fight, but had no strength. Steelmen was only a few steps behind. He shot the monster, scared it away. But I would never heal.&ldquo;<br />&ldquo;The bleeding wouldn&rsquo;t stop. I was in the hospital for a month. They stitched the wound shut. They tried to burn in closed. They performed an experimental treatment on me. I have the blood of five rabbits in my body keeping me alive. After that&mdash;I was told to go home. If the bleeding stops, I will live; if it doesn&rsquo;t, at least I can die at home. It did stop, but now I am tired all the time. I can&rsquo;t see very well and I have a pain in my chest that never goes away. And every time I close my eyes, out of the corners of my vision, I see those disembodied eyes floating in the darkness.&rdquo;<br />Vee questions, &ldquo;Any idea what had hit you? Was in an owl?&rdquo;<br />Dixson snickers, &ldquo;Are you confessing that it was you that attacked me that day?&rdquo; He shakes his head. &ldquo;Posh, no. It was a rabbit, a strong one. He caught me when I wasn&rsquo;t looking. The first hit made me dizzy. I couldn&rsquo;t fight back. Had it not been the middle of the night&mdash;if there hadn&rsquo;t been that haze in the air&mdash;maybe I would have caught him and this story would have ended very differently.&rdquo;<br />Vee fans her tail. She blinks slowly, her wings under her beak as she watches Dixson with deep interest. &ldquo;I know Rod Steelmen, and Mickey Knows. They are both gangsters. Tell me something about Humphrey Lecture.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;He is an aristocrat. Born to a Viscount&mdash;out of wedlock.&nbsp;&nbsp;He has no responsibilities worth speaking of&mdash;so he dedicates his life to hobbying. I met him at the academy. He wanted to be a doctor; but it turns out that the smell of meat makes him ill; so then he wanted to become a police constable. He lost interest in that after three years. Then he joined the orchestra; stuck with that for some time. Last time I heard from him he had taken an interest in the world of art. He is curator of his own private gallery.&rdquo;<br />Vee giggles and coos, her feathers lift and drop. &ldquo;Sounds like the type of rabbit I would get along with.&rdquo;<br />Dixoson offers a nod. &ldquo;He is a nice enough fellow. He has his eccentricities&mdash;the man hates getting his hands wet, he hates getting dirty in any way, wears gloves, glasses, a hat and scarf at all times. I recall him telling me that he suffered choking sickness when he was a lad. His long list of obsessions started there.&rdquo;<br />Vee hums. &ldquo;Tell me more about choking sickness.&rdquo;<br />Dixson squints. &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t know where it came from, or how it spreads. Miasma is a mysterious thing; even in these modern times. The nose swells shut, tonsils become inflamed, lungs fill with fluid. Eating lemons seems to slow the sickness. Most who catch it die within six days. If you are still alive on the seventh you seem to be okay. Those who see people that have choking sickness say that they look like they drowned.&rdquo;<br />Vee questions, &ldquo;And what of this case Scotland Yard has you on now? Do you think it is your red-eyed monster back from the dead?&rdquo;<br />Dixson shakes his head. &ldquo;No, old red-eyes was very clean, very sophisticated. This new guy, Springheals, he doesn&rsquo;t mind making a mess.&rdquo;<br />Vee digs around on the table. She finds a blank book and hands it over. &ldquo;I think you are going to need this. Record everything you know, and everything you think about. Trust yourself. You are a talented man.&rdquo;<br />Dixson cuts in. &ldquo;I am also an old man&mdash;and a sick man. I am going to need someone a little younger and a lot stronger to help me. Vee; can you help me do one last job before we disappear permanently into the night?&rdquo;<br />Vee leans over. She touches her beak to Dixson&rsquo;s forehead. &ldquo;Of course I will Daddy.&rdquo; She smiles and giggles. &ldquo;Now, what do we know?&rdquo;<br />Dixson starts to write in his book. <br />***<br />Investigation Notes:<br />Case: Springheels<br />Location: London<br />Case Opened: 07-83<br />Lead Investigator: Dixson Dekker Hill<br />Badge Number: 1408<br /><br />Evidence<br />Bloomers: <br />Found at &ldquo;Phink&rsquo;s Palace.&rdquo; White in color with yellow faded patches. Teeth marks are on the inner folds. Two drops of blood on the rump side. Spaced 3/8 of an inch apart. A residue can be felt on the fabric&mdash;texture is not unlike lamp oil. A strange smell is coming from the material. Underwood described the smell as being to the likes of scotch. The bloomers had been under the bed of the victim found on the scene.<br />\t<br />\tPolice Report:<br />\t\tStatement by Police Sargant Underwood:&nbsp;&nbsp;&hellip;We have six dead girls in three months. The first two were found at The Derringer Club, then three at Hightail and one today at Phink&rsquo;s Palace. People are calling the killer &lsquo;Old Springheels.&rsquo; We took notice of fresh surgical marks on the last four victims. (presumably post mortem)<br /><br />\tDixson&rsquo;s observations:<br />\t\tThe room in which this victim had been found was lit by oil lamps. Bed sheets were red in color. There was a cup of ginger on the nightstand to the right of the victim. Victim was wearing boots and a ruffled dress at the time the body was found. It appears that the killer made two cuts on the victim&mdash;one horizontal, going from hip to hip&mdash;the other vertical, going from hip to sternum. It looks as if fishing line had been used to close the wounds. Eyes and mouth had also been sewn shut, and brass buttons had been left over the eyes of the dead. <br />\tDixson&rsquo;s thoughts:<br />\t\tTwo things about the way the body had been laid on the bed stand out to me. First; the way the arms had been folded and buttons placed on the eyes. This is reminiscent of the ceremonial death rites of both Greek and Swedish soldiers&mdash;but the finer details were glanced over. The buttons should have been made of silver or gold&mdash;drachma would have been used in Sweden, silver in Greece. If this had been a death rite, the dead should have been dressed in the colors of the flag. If this had been meant as an honor, they would have been laid to rest in a uniform. I feel that the killer is trying to emote something, but I do not yet know what. The second thing to stand out to me is the way the body had a doll-like look to it. I am reminded, somehow, of a toy. The killer took care to make the dead look beautiful. Why? What does it mean?<br />\t\tAt times like this, I find the best thing to do is start by walking the streets. I will make a point of asking around town&mdash;see if my old friend Mickey is still around. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 3<br />\tMickey Nosy Knows is a small time criminal. The man has many vices: he likes to play cards, he likes to keep the company of nightwalkers, he likes the taste of Scottish beers, and enjoys wrestling. He has been friends with Dixson for decades. Mickey also has an amazing talent; the man makes friends overnight. Everywhere he goes, people just seem to trust him. He and Dixson worked out a deal back when Dixson was still a PC. The police will ignore small crimes of Mickey&rsquo;s. In exchange, Mickey helps the police by giving them access to places and tools that Scotland Yard can&rsquo;t afford. With Mickey&rsquo;s help Dixson was able to arrest a good deal of very aggressive people with minimum damage done.<br />\tIn recent years, Mickey has found himself the manager of a club that caters to his interest. Club members get to drink imported beer, watch daily wrestling matches and after dark, card tables are set up and nightwalkers wait the tables. It is midday when Dixson and Vee show up. Two hulking rabbits watch the door. A large crowd has gathered to watch the afternoon fight. Two men are on stage. According to the bill on the door they are &ldquo;Moses Moose Zeus&rdquo; and &ldquo;Sapphire Hands Roper.&rdquo; The announcer of the show explains the relationship between the two. Sapphire was a hunter from Giff, Zeus a poacher, and the two have decided to settle the score between them with a boxing match. It is clearly just a story to drum up bets between the gamblers. <br />\tDixson looks between the bouncers&rsquo;. He gets in close to the two oversized men. &ldquo;I am looking for Mickey. Is he in?&rdquo;<br />\tBoth bouncers have on name tags. It is questionable if the names on the tags are indeed them. Dressed in blue to the right of the door is a man named Benny Trover, and in red on the other side of him Phillip McKuntz. Trover looks down at Dixson. He sneers, &ldquo;All of Mickey&rsquo;s friends are fighters or dancers, and I don&rsquo;t think you look like a fighter.&rdquo;<br />\tMcKuntz walks around Vee looking her over. &ldquo;On the other hand, this one has some nice feathers.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson snaps his attention between the two men. He takes a deep breath, readying himself, &ldquo;I would rather you not talk about my daughter&rsquo;s feathers.&rdquo;<br />\tMcKuntz questions, &ldquo;And what are you going to do about it geezer?&rdquo;<br />\tDixson takes off his glasses and hides them in his coat. He spins to face McKuntz and throws a hook, punching the rabbit across the nose&mdash;then turns to Trover, grabs one of his ears and pulls his head off to the side before throwing a hammer fist onto the side of his neck. McKuntz regains his footing and grabs Dixson from behind. Trover steps up to the old man and gives him a kidney punch to return the favor. <br />\tVee reaches up a wing and is about to take off her mask when a voice yells over to the lot of them, &ldquo;You two dogs, take your grubby mitts off my Dixs.&rdquo; The voice comes from a rabbit dressed in a leopard print coat with a silk shirt under it. He has on leather pants and has a dozen rings in each ear. The rabbit lights a cigar and waves for the lot of them to join him at his table. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t ya know a V.I.P. when you see one? That is Dixson Hill. He and I go way back. Now you two mooks, go grab me some scotch.&rdquo; He directs the bouncers to walk away before he snaps his fingers a few times and almost sings, &ldquo;What be shak&rsquo;n Dixs?&rdquo;<br />\tDixson rubs his stomach as he sits down. He has a lip curled and is hissing as he waits for the burning in his chest to go down. &ldquo;Tails in skirts and martinis, I hope.&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;All the time, all the time, pall,&rdquo; Mickey explains. A bottle is placed on the table. Mickey snaps and points. One of the girls that had been sitting with him leans over the table to pop open the bottle and ready the drinks for everyone. As Vee is about to pick up the cup set out for her, Dixson reaches over and takes it from her. Vee nods in understanding. Dixson has seen her drink before, and the last time it was more than just a little uncomfortable. This owl sometimes seems to have trouble holding her drink.&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />\tMickey is a fast talker and a social butterfly. He quickly turns from friend to friend at the table as he starts telling a story. &ldquo;Dixs over there is one mean ear-biter. Some time back he, Tony Todd and I were hustling on down by the shipyard. This big old bobcat of a rat pranced on over and started flashing his iron all over the place. This rat thought his gun was so big that we were all going to just eat sand for him. Dixs; he wasn&rsquo;t the type to do no kneeling and decided to go after the rat&rsquo;s manhood&mdash;started teasing him about how that rat has this teeny tiny little thing and how he&rsquo;s got this big old thing. Made the rat all sorts of cheesed. Jack Nade, I think that was the rat&rsquo;s name.&rdquo; He waves to Dixson to confirm that detail of the story. Dixson offers a shrug. Mickey continues the story. &ldquo;Jack had all he was going to take and goes to slug Dixs. Dixs puts one arm up turtling his head, then steps forward and &lsquo;BlamO--&rsquo; punches the rat in the baby maker. &lsquo;Smack&rsquo; slugs him across the snoot and &lsquo;poof&rsquo; the rat faints.&rdquo;<br />\tMickey laughs, &ldquo;Ever since that day I suddenly found it makes me right happy to hear the sound of meat getting slapped together. Truth be told; if not for that sort of tomfoolery I don&rsquo;t think I would ever have bought this club.&rdquo; He looks over to McKuntz, &ldquo;Ya dig it? You saw that Dixs knows how to slap a man real good, right?&rdquo; Mickey looks back to Dixson, &ldquo;Anyway Dixs; what brings you back to this side of town? I thought you didn&rsquo;t like hanging out with me no more.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson places his book on the table and digs around for a pen. &ldquo;I wanted to ask you&mdash;any new players on the field?&rdquo;<br />\tMickey looks about with a laugh, &ldquo;Dixs, buddy, you have been gone for more than a few years. There are lots of new faces hanging around here. What sort of mook are you looking for?&rdquo;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />\t&ldquo;The type that likes to leave messes for others to clean up. One that likes to pick fights with little girls&hellip;&rdquo;<br />\tMickey cuts Dixson off as he holds his arms out to the sides. &ldquo;The type that doesn&rsquo;t like to play cards.&rdquo; He taps the table and looks to his friends. &ldquo;Anyone have a cigar? I am starting to feel a little tense.&rdquo; He offers his attention back to Dixson. He ushers off to one side, pointing to the fight that is taking place on the main stage. &ldquo;Zeus over there is a wild animal. That man has no less than ninety-four rats worth of disrespect running through him. I think I know the dillweed you are looking for&mdash;and let me say Dixs, I hope you find him before I do. That little rat owes me a thing or two, and I am thinking I might just need to take it out of his tail. That dog lover turned one of my girls inside-out. Now, if I find him, we are going to be playing some ball. If he ain&rsquo;t in the mood, maybe my boy over there is going to have to stick a foot of steel in his ear.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson leans on the table to get close to his friend. &ldquo;Take it easy Mickey. Let Scotland Yard do their work.&rdquo;<br />\tMickey shouts &ldquo;Come on Dixs! You know the type of pink noses that are working downtown these days. It is just like ten years ago. They got a bunch of wet behind the ears kids dressing up and playing cops out there. If you want to see a maneater catching some just-desserts, I can go up to my room, get my gun and we can go out there and shoot some fools. It will be fun.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson reaches across the table and grabs one of Mickey&rsquo;s hands. He grips the rabbit&rsquo;s hand between his fist and locks eyes with him. The two old men stare each other down. Soon Mickey is handed the cigar he had asked for and lights it with the lamp on the table. After taking a few long puffs, Mickey has calmed down. Mickey looks over at Vee. He smiles at her as he looks down at her long legs, then up the curves of her body&mdash;her long thin chest and her long neck. &ldquo;The kid has a look about her. I met an owl once. Long time ago. Cute little girl.&rdquo;<br />\tVee comments, &ldquo;I am the same one.&rdquo;<br />\tMickey shakes his head. &ldquo;No. That owl would need to be seventy years old today.&rdquo;<br />\tVee nods.<br />\tDixson questions, &ldquo;Do you know anything about Springheels?&rdquo;<br />\tMickey shrugs. &ldquo;Rumor; maybe it is true, maybe it isn&rsquo;t. After the murder at the Hightail, I poked around a little, talked to one or two people. The girl that was checking people into the club. She worked a triple shift. Springheels signed the book as he was walking in, but she doesn&rsquo;t know who he is. Just before discovering the body, the hostess saw a man step out of the victim&rsquo;s room. Short guy, had on gloves and a top hat. He was dressed up in a winter coat, had his collar popped. She says she didn&rsquo;t see Springheels go in, but she saw him go out.&rdquo;<br />\tVee questions, &ldquo;He signed his name as Springheels?&rdquo;<br />\tMickey nods, &ldquo;That is the hook. Which is how any of us knew his name.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson ducks his head. Some part of what Mickey said isn&rsquo;t sitting right in his mind. Dixson ushers Vee to keep Mickey talking as he flips open his book to take a look over the notes he has. Vee asks, &ldquo;Anything else interesting going on around town you would like to tells us about?&rdquo;<br />\tMickey nods, &ldquo;One more thing. Rod, he has a new American friend. He just slapped some moola on the table looking to have some brass sent in from out of town. Rod wants to get his hands on some of those new Remington guns. Let me tell you; I am not looking forward to seeing one of those up close. The Smithfield guns are already too hot for most of us. Once every kid has a Remington in his hands we is all going to be missing the days when boys used to just stab each other for milk money.&rdquo;<br />***<br />Investigation Notes:<br />\tStatement by Mickey Nosy Knows:<br />&ldquo;(Springheels) turned one of my girls inside-out &hellip;after the murder at the Hightail I poked around a little&hellip; the girl that was checking people into the club worked a triple shift. Springheels signed the book as he was walking in, but she doesn&rsquo;t know who he is. Just before discovering the body, the hostess saw a man step out of the victim&rsquo;s room: short, with gloves, top hat--dressed in a winter coat with collar popped. She says she didn&rsquo;t see Springheels go in, but she saw him go out.&rdquo;<br />Dixson&rsquo;s thoughts:<br />\tThis is a third hand account, unreliable at best. But Vee did pick up on something that I hadn&rsquo;t. We know Springheel&rsquo;s name because he told it to us. The idea that someone saw someone that they think could have been Springheels, doesn&rsquo;t impress me. But we do suspect that he had been at Hightail. The only thing we now know for sure&mdash;is&mdash;Springheels likes prostitutes. <br />\tMy next stop is to speak to the coroner; Dr. Ann-Mary Kramer<br />***<br />\tDr. Kramer is dressed in a white coat to cover the dinner jacket and dress she has on underneath. Her hair is in a bun, glasses sit on her nose. She is a young woman for a doctor. One of the few women that the Academy of Health has allowed to hold to the title of doctor. Her hands are covered in blood. She is bent over a table slowly cutting apart the remains of a dead rabbit, searching its insides for evidence of what triggered death. <br />Kramer talks to herself as she is pulling the insides out. &ldquo;A thin coating of a hard green substance is adhering to the kidney. This substance can be found in the bodies of many people that consume bean oil with milk. Typically harmless, but has been linked to liver failure in the most extreme of cases.&rdquo; <br />\tKramer sets the kidneys of the rabbit off to one side. &ldquo;A thick black substance is oozing from the lungs. Gray and blue spots are on the lower half of each lung. Evidence of scarring and internal bleeding are present.&rdquo; She pushes the lungs to one side to reach the heart. &ldquo;An abrasion can be seen between the second and third ventricle of the heart. Resulting in hemorrhaging. Death by multiple organ failure would have occurred within seven minutes of such a rupture forming.&rdquo;<br />\tShe cuts around the lungs so she can pull them out and set them on a scale. &ldquo;But seeing the amount of scar tissue around the lungs, death by suffocation would not have happened long after that.&rdquo; She brings a candle up to the lips of the dead to look closer at the face. &ldquo;Yellow pustules are present on the inner, lower lip of the dead. Black spots are on the gums and tongue. Combined with the yellow and brown burn marks on the hands, it is assumed that the dead was a smoker. Stretch marks are along the hips of the dead, and red tearing marks on the undercarriage.&rdquo; She snuffs the light and walks across the room to be seated at the desk in the lab. She mumbles, &ldquo;You were not a healthy girl.&rdquo;<br />\tThe door is pushed open. Dixson is let in by a member of the staff. Dixson calls over, &ldquo;Dr. Kramer.&rdquo;<br />\tThe younger woman looks up from her work. &ldquo;Detective Hill,&rdquo; She announces. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t think you would be here until tomorrow.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson sticks to his script. &ldquo;I would like to see the report on the body that was brought in today.&rdquo;<br />\tKramer fetches some papers. &ldquo;Female, sixteen. 4.7lbs, 9&rdquo; tall. Death by cardiac failure, in my opinion. Died in her sleep. She had recently been pregnant.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson questions, &ldquo;She had given birth?&rdquo;<br />\tKramer shakes her head. &ldquo;Not necessarily. She may have children, but the evidence on hand doesn&rsquo;t say she had given birth.&rdquo; She walks over to a box and pulls out of it the womb of a rabbit. She sets it on her desk and picks up a feather to use to poke at it. &ldquo;You can see here&mdash;the womb was inflamed. Dark red in color, purple blisters on one side of it. This is to pinch the cervical chamber and prevent it from being forced open. But, the protective membrane around it is too thick. It would have been weeks still before she could have healthily given birth. There is no evidence of stretching or bruising on the sides&mdash;here or here. But there is this.&rdquo; She turns it around and points at a wire holding a cut on one side of the womb shut.<br />\tDixson leans in close to examine it. &ldquo;What is that?&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;Nothing that a doctor with a good set of ethics would have done. Not unless the mother was in critical danger already. Blood blisters on the muscle tissue around the uterus imply that this woman had five embryos in her at the time of death. It looks as if a tool of some sort was used to forcefully remove the embryos.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson looks ill at the thought. &ldquo;Why; what would be the point?&rdquo;<br />\tKramer goes to a bowl of water and dips her hands in it to wash the blood from her fur. &ldquo;You tell me detective. What would someone want with five fertile rabbit eggs that are too small to live outside the body?&rdquo;<br />\tThe possibilities boil over in the detective&rsquo;s mind&mdash;witchcraft, cannibalism&mdash;the more he thinks, the more horrific it becomes. A man acting in the heat of passion would likely see no need to do such profane things. The unscrupulous actions that have been described by the doctor are almost unimaginable. The implications unnerving. <br />\tDixson needs to sit down and think. He collects copies of the autopsy report to add to his files. He then steps outside to rejoin Vee. He tries to take his mind off the horrors plaguing him by making small talk as they walk. &ldquo;What did you think of Mickey?&rdquo;<br />\tVee comments, &ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t help but notice he kept looking at my talons. He also had an unsettling odor. He smelled like salt and apple cider.&rdquo; <br />\tThis triggers a memory in Dixson. He looks back over his shoulder as they walk. &ldquo;Apple cider?&rdquo;<br />***<br />Investigation Notes: <br />\tEvidence:<br />\t\tCoroner&rsquo;s report 1:<br />\tA folder describing the body found at Phink&rsquo;s Palace. Written by Doctor Kramer. One disturbing fact the doctor observed is a cut in the uterus of the dead. It seems to be the belief of the doctor that a tool of some sort was used to remove the fertilized eggs from the woman. <br />\tStatement by Ann-Mary Kramer:<br />&ldquo;The womb was inflamed. Dark red in color, purple blisters on one side of it&hellip; but, the protective membrane around it is too thick. It would have been weeks still before she could have healthily given birth. There is no evidence of stretching or bruising on the sides&hellip; a doctor with a good set of ethics would (not) have done (this). Not unless the mother was in critical danger already. Blood blisters on the muscle tissue around the uterus imply that this woman had five embryos in her at the time of death. It looks as if a tool of some sort was used to forcefully remove the embryos.&rdquo;<br />Dixson&rsquo;s thoughts:<br />\tThe smell of apple cider&mdash;this reminded me of the bloomers in my pocket and the substance covering them; the stains and teeth marks. Is it conceivable that they could have been used as an improvised weapon? Would a man have needed a weapon to push a prostitute into a room and hold her down? Most of the grown men I know are more than strong enough to overpower a small girl. The smell&hellip; let me consider a possibility. Springheels steps into the room after the last &lsquo;john&rsquo; leaves. The victim is sitting up on the bed. She takes a sip from the cup of ginger. The cloaked man walks ever closer. The girl starts to read off her script, letting Springheels know what services she offers and the price of them. <br />Springheels listens to the girl speak. He hides in his pocket a pair of bloomers. In the other pocket of his coat is a drug of some kind. Springheels watches as the prostitute steps up to the nightstand. She lights the lamps, then sorts through her perfumes. Springheels takes the drug from his pocket and pours it over the bloomers. The prostitute stands up and walks over to Springheels. She reaches around him and locks the door. She offers him a kiss and questions what he is in the mood for.<br />That is when Springheels grabs her by the arm with one hand and covers her face with the bloomers using the other hand. She struggles; he grips her tightly. Springheels pushes the prostitute at the bed. He needs to hold her still for several seconds before the drug starts to set in. She gets free for only a moment and tries to push Springheels away. He drops the bloomers on the ground and forgets about them. <br />But what is the drug? A sleeping agent, an anesthetic, a paralytic? What types of drugs take affect when you smell them? I fear my knowledge of narcotics is lacking. But I do know a rabbit that knows a thing or two about drugs. I just hope he is in a good mood when I arrive.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 4<br />Minister Rod Steelmen is a man with both compulsions and obsessions. He had joined the army at a very young age. He was dismissed from the army with honors after being injured in the line of fire. He suffered two gunshots to the back in the process of covering his S.O. during a covert operation in Russia. Being shot changed Steelmen. The people closest to him were the first to take notice&mdash;his face is frozen in an incurable scowl. He never takes off his military coat. He has little to no interest in his family&mdash;even his relationship with his wife is treated as transactional. She wants a place to live; he wants children that he can teach. She provides kids, he provides food. Quid pro quo.<br />Speaking of compulsions, his office is the prime example. Before setting anything down on his desk or hanging it on the wall he must use a piece of chalk to draw the shape of the object, then place it down. Once the object is in place, that is its home. He never seems to forget. Should any object not fit inside its home it must be removed from the room so he can draw it again. His coat is steamed and pressed every day. He pins his honors to his jacket one by one; always in the same order. He has a painting of himself next to his mirror, and if he looks at himself and he does not look like his painting he must undress and redress until his clothes look right. Not so long ago, he noticed his fur was starting to change color as he aged and had to start dyeing his fur to keep it the same as in his portrait. <br />Steelmen is a man of strength and influence who likes to keep the company of retired soldiers. Most of the staff of his office is made up of ex-commandos. More often than not he chooses to sleep at his desk, and he keeps an armed guard on hand. He has a gun strapped to his hip, and another to his leg. He keeps a rifle mounted on the wall behind his desk and another under it. There is a glass jar on the right side of the table that should have a pistol in it that was a gift from a co-worker. But the gun is missing. Steelmen stands at the window of his office, his arms folded behind his back, as he watches the streets. The man can stand motionless for hours. Discipline is a way of life. Steelmen is in control of himself and everything around him. That is why the news calls him &ldquo;The Rabbit of Steel.&rdquo; <br />The door of the office is pushed open and two soldiers walk in dragging a child with them. A boy, not yet ten. His clothes are tattered and he is bleeding from a hole in his check that had been hastily plugged with a towel. One of the two soldiers places a gun down on the table. Steelmen questions, &rdquo;Is that my lost pistol?&rdquo; The soldier confirms. Steelmen points to the glass bowl that is the gun&rsquo;s cradle. &ldquo;Place it back in the case.&rdquo; He then questions, &ldquo;And is that my boy Joseph?&rdquo;<br />One of the two men explains, &ldquo;We found him in the washroom at Polly&rsquo;s.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen turns on his heels to face them. He lowers his eyes looking at the child. &ldquo;I trust it wasn&rsquo;t you that beat my son to Efrafra&rsquo;s door.&rdquo;<br />The second soldier explains, &ldquo;He was like this when we found him.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen grabs the chin of the boy and turns his head making him look side-to-side. &ldquo;He has been shot. The weapon was a low caliber navy gun fired upwards at a 45&deg; angle, offset by 20&deg;. The person holding the gun was shaking. There are powder burns on his neck&hellip;&rdquo; he picks up one of the boys hands, &ldquo;and his wrist.&rdquo; He explains. &ldquo;One hand was on the trigger, the other rested over the chamber. The boy shot himself in the cheek. He squeezed the trigger with his thumb.&rdquo; <br />Steelmen lowers his head to his son&rsquo;s neck and sniffs at his fur. He then pulls on the sleeves of the boys coat, looking over the jacket he has on. &ldquo;Your cuffs are cut unevenly. On a proper waistcoat the cufflinks should rest on your hip when your arms are at your sides, not down past your pockets. Whoever sold you this coat&mdash;I want them to be punished for their incompetence.&rdquo; Steelmen reaches onto his belt and unclips the gun from his hip. &ldquo;You smell like a doe, your makeup looks like a clown, and you can&rsquo;t hold a gun straight. I can&rsquo;t tell you how upset I am.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen takes a step backwards. He holds out his gun with one arm. He uses his thumb to pull back the hammer and tips his head slightly to check his iron sights. &ldquo;Luckily, I have more than one son.&rdquo;<br />There is a knock at the door. Steelmen lowers his gun to his side. He looks to his guards. &ldquo;Take the boy downstairs, give him a shower and a proper coat to wear. We will talk more about this another time.&rdquo; He then calls over to the door, &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;<br />The soldiers carry the boy out the side door and down the hall. From behind the door the secretary explains, &ldquo;A detective is here to see you Minister Steelmen&rdquo;<br />Steelmen hides his gun. He takes a seat at his desk before calling out, &ldquo;Let him in.&rdquo;<br />Dixson walks into the room, Vee a few steps behind. Vee finds her way over to the curio case and looks over the trinkets in it as Dixson makes his way to the desk. Dixson reaches across the desk to shake hands with Steelmen before he sits. Steelmen questions, &ldquo;Where have you been Officer Hill?&rdquo;<br />Dixson explains, &ldquo;Soul searching. I spent some time in Iceland, Norway, Scotland and Ireland. Wanted to see the home towns of my grandparents.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen questions, &ldquo;And what did you find?&rdquo;<br />Dixson comments, &ldquo;Not a one of them looks like England.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen walks over to his wine locker. &ldquo;Do you still drink Scotch?&rdquo; <br />Dixson nods, &ldquo;From time to time.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen adds. &ldquo;I have recently found I have a taste for Vodka.&rdquo; Steelmen brings over a few glasses and offers up a drink. &ldquo;One of my men gave me this for my birthday. It is vodka with bean oil and vanilla&mdash;he called it Kahlua. It is not bad; starts with a hint of caramel. Doesn&rsquo;t seem to have the same after shock of a few heavier brews I have had.&rdquo; <br />Dixson holds up the cup. &ldquo;Cheers!&rdquo; Both men take a drink. <br />Steelmen questions, &ldquo;To what do I owe the visit?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I wanted to ask a thing or two.&rdquo; Dixson explains, &ldquo;Do you still deal in pharmaceuticals?&rdquo;<br />Steelmen shakes his head. &ldquo;It was never my primary interest, but from time to time I am willing to handle them. Was there something special you wanted Officer Hill?&rdquo; <br />Dixson shakes his head, &ldquo;No, no. I am too old to be doing stuff like that anymore. I had questions about drugs though.&rdquo; He pulls out the report he got from the doctor. &ldquo;What sort of drug may leave blisters on the lips after you use it?&rdquo;<br />Steelmen thinks. &ldquo;Tobacco, Cocoa&mdash;most of the drugs you chew. You would need to chew a lot of Cocoa to get blisters.&rdquo;<br />Dixson rolls a hand in the air. &ldquo;Anything that you sniff?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Chloramine. Nasty stuff. I don&rsquo;t recommend it. Can burn the skin, make your nose bleed, makes you numb and tired, put you to sleep if you use too much of it. Could even kill. It is hard to use it right. It slows the speed of the air in your body. Makes you have hallucinations; if you do it the right way.&rdquo; <br />Dixson asks, &ldquo;What is the best way to use Chloramine? Burn it over flowers maybe?&rdquo;<br />Steelmen expresses, &ldquo;The last time I saw someone use it, he soaked a towel in the drug, then laid it across his snout and laid on his back. After just over a minute, he was asleep.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;How would I get some if I wanted it? Do I need to have it sent here from overseas?&rdquo;<br />Steelmen shakes his head. &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t that hard to make; lamp oil, water, iodine&hellip;&rdquo; He starts to list the ingredients. &ldquo;Everything you need to brew it at home is at the general goods shop. Then you just need to heat it up.&rdquo;<br />Vee sits on her knees to get close to the ground, examining a knife in the case. It is yellow with age&mdash;the handle is made of bone; a femer from a monkey. It has a counterweight made out of a bird&rsquo;s skull; the blade is made of Damascus Steel. The metal was tempered in layers giving the material a wavy appearance. When the blade was still sharp it would have been beautiful. It would be clear to anyone with the skill to shape metal that the handle on the blade now was not the one that had been made by the original craftsman. This blade had been broken in battle and hastily reassembled at camp with whatever tools were at hand. A slight chip in the blade is stained copper green. A cross-guard had once been set between the blade and the handle, but that has rotted away. A hole is in the blade the size of a fingernail. A bronze pen had been placed there at some point to hold in place what would have been a woven handle tied tight around the crossbar.<br />Vee questions, &ldquo;Mister Steelmen. Do you have an interest in Egyptology? I notice you have a beautiful sacrament blade.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen looks over. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know much about that piece. I was given it as a gift long ago by a girl&hellip;&rdquo;<br />Vee comments. &ldquo;I know a little about it. This knife was found in the city of Keldur. It was in an unmarked grave, unearthed by Dr. Humphrey Knolvie&mdash;1846. It had been brought back to the Museum of Natural History&mdash;Cambridge. There it had been kept on display until 1852 at which time it had been lost in transit. It was being moved as part of an exhibition celebrating the Travels of the Enlightenment. It was going to be laid to rest in the Singapore Historical Center. Needless to say; it never did arrive.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen folds his hands on the desk in front of himself as he asks, &ldquo;Are you accusing me of something, bird?&rdquo;<br />Vee asks, &ldquo;Are you confessing to something rabbit?&rdquo; She turns her head backwards to look at him then rotates it forward again to keep studying the case. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care how this artifact came to be in your hands. It means nothing to me. I just find it interesting that such a rare piece would find its way into the hands of a private collector. It is nothing like the other pieces you have.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen offers an alternative history for how he came to have the knife. &ldquo;I know a man that is interested in history. He has a few pieces like that one. I asked a friend to find another like it. He talked to someone that talked to someone else. Then a woman showed up at my door with that one. The friend I bought it for thought it was a fake.&rdquo;<br />Captivated by the artwork Vee presses her head to the glass to get just that little bit closer. &ldquo;No, I don&rsquo;t think it is.&rdquo; She offers some more insight. &ldquo;This knife was not meant for fighting. If it was still in its original shape it would have had a silver handle with a brass or copper hand guard. There would be a leather wrap tied around the handle and a clear or blue stone set in the pommel. Knives like this had been carried by Anubion priests&mdash; most specifically the gatekeepers of the Temple Anubis. At the Anubis Temples in Keldur and Kendor there was a cleansing ritual devotees needed to perform before entering. Part of that ritual included cutting a glyph into one&rsquo;s skin in a visible place&mdash;then eating a pastry. That is where the knife would have been used correctly. This one looks like it had been taken out of the Temple and used in a less than sacred way.&rdquo;<br />Having been unaware of the history of the art he owns, Steelmen shrugs. &ldquo;It sounds like you know a little on the subject.&rdquo; <br />Vee rolls over to face them. She sits on the ground, one leg pulled up into her chest, the other stretched out in front of her. Her wings tie around her leg. She offers a smile and a playful cock of the head, &ldquo;I make a point of reading the daily paper.&rdquo;<br />Dixson cuts in, &ldquo;So long as we are being casual, I would like to ask for one more thing. Do you have a clean gun you wouldn&rsquo;t mind parting with? I had to give mine back to the chief before I could travel abroad.&ldquo;<br />For a few short seconds Steelmen seems happy. This reminds him of a better time in his life. &ldquo;All my guns are clean. Is there a particular model you like?&rdquo;<br />Dixson offers a confused grunt as he thinks it over. &ldquo;The Queen had given me an Enfield, but I wouldn&rsquo;t be unhappy with a Webley.&rdquo;<br />Steelmen comments, &ldquo;I have the perfect gun for you. Webley RIC Scot 450 Adams. I will even throw in a box of shells, no extra charge.&rdquo;<br />***<br />Investigation Notes:<br />\tStatement by Minister Rod Steelmen:<br />\t\t&ldquo;Chloramine: can burn the skin, make your nose bleed, (when used as a recreational drug) makes you numb and tired, put you to sleep if you use too much of it. Could even kill. It is hard to use it right. It slows the speed of the air (flow) in your body, makes you have hallucinations&hellip; It isn&rsquo;t that hard to make: lamp oil, water, iodine, chlorine.&rdquo; <br />\tDixson&rsquo;s thoughts:<br />\t\tSpringheels could be using a homemade tranquilizer on his victims. Chloramine sounds like it would be simple to make. Soak a cloth of any sort in the drug and cover the face of the target to neutralize them. But if the plan is to kill, why not use a blade? It would be faster; safer. Springheels needs these girls alive. Killing them only after he has harvested them for his nefarious needs. I am still deeply disturbed by the idea that he had removed embryos from his last victim. Has he done this more than once? We have every reason to believe that Springheels will be returning to Phink&rsquo;s Palace. I will have the Sergeant place men around the establishment and be on alert. <br />\t\tI should like to have access to some more resources for my investigation. Dr. Lecture, I understand, has recently come into possession of a new radioscopic camera. A camera that can work in low light would be very helpful. I have a camera, but it requires full daylight to use. I don&rsquo;t understand how that works.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 5 <br />\tHumphrey Lecture is overjoyed to hear Dixson Hill is back in town. He makes all haste to meet Dixson and Vee as they are walking to the museum. Lecture dresses in all gray; handcrafted; his suit and dinner jacket are silk on the inside, wool on the outside; he has a silk top hat and his boots are made of Italian polished leather. He has on a set of pink tinted glasses. As he walks, in one hand he grips a cane made of black wood. It has a headpiece in the shape of a fist holding a railroad spike. The rabbit&rsquo;s body is littered with evidence of crippling injuries and debilitating sickness. He is only a year or two older than Steelmen or Dixson, but walks with a pronounced limp and his fur is shriveled and splintering. He stands hunched over, needing his cane to lean on to stand upright. Still he has a wide grin and a joyful skip as he ambles down the street. He wears gloves at all times to cover unsightly burns on his hands. His collar is high on his neck and a scarf is tied around that to hold it shut. Whatever injuries this rabbit hides under his exquisite clothing he wishes to keep to himself.<br />\tAs Lecture spots the old rabbit and owl walking side-by-side he yells out jubilantly, &ldquo;Dekker! Dekker my good man!&rdquo;<br />\tDixson hurries his step. He reaches a hand out to take Lecture&rsquo;s. &ldquo;Humphrey,&rdquo; he announces. <br />\tLecture offers his hand to Vee, &ldquo;And hello again young lady.&rdquo;<br />\tVee looks down at the hand offered to her. She hesitates. Something seems out of place. She comments, &ldquo;Most gentlemen take off their gloves before shaking hands.&rdquo; <br />\tLecture places both hands on his cane to hold himself up. &ldquo;Yes, that is true. You will need to forgive me. I will be keeping my gloves on though, if that is all the same to you.&rdquo;<br />\tVee questions, &ldquo;Have we spoken before doctor?&rdquo;<br />\tLecture nods. &ldquo;Yes, once&mdash;but it was a very long time ago. I was only a boy at the time. My teeth had barely grown in. But I never forget a face; and you do have the most beautiful of eyes.&rdquo; Humphrey waves a hand off to one side pointing at the steps to the museum before he starts to walk again.<br />\tVee comments, &ldquo;Very few have described my eyes as beautiful.&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;Maybe they just don&rsquo;t understand the uniqueness of it all. I am sure you know this already, but there is something very abnormal about you owls and the way your eyes are shaped. Your retina is cone shaped. Not round like in a rabbit. I believe this is why you have periscopic vision. Couple that with the highly specialized shape of your wings and it becomes clear why rabbits call you &lsquo;The Horned Devil.&rsquo; Is it true that you make no noise at all when you flap your wings?&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;I can also snap my claws with a force of five hundred pounds per square inch. One scratch from me and you and jelly fish will suddenly find you have something in common,&ldquo; Vee comments.<br />\tLecture asks, &ldquo;And what is that?&rdquo;<br />\tDixson finishes the thought. &ldquo;You have no bones.&rdquo;<br />\tThe group steps into the museum. Lecture is as giddy as can be. <br />\tVee walks the halls with her wings folded behind her back and her head up, drinking in the art and culture on display. She stops for a short time and ushers the others to slow down so she can look at a book that is locked inside a glass box. She whispers the title of the book as she looks at it. &ldquo;Domintio Necrona: Doorways for the Dead.&rdquo;<br />\tThe book is eons old. The pages are made of leather, the cover is a thin cut graphite stone wrapped in fire treated boar skin; nearly unbreakable. There is evidence that there had once been a bone or metal clasp that held the book closed, but that has rotted away. Silk had been used to tie the spine of the book, but that too is now missing and it has become more of a stone and leather binder than a book. It is seventy pages long, nine inches tall, eight and a sixth inches wide. The pages are two pelts thick each. Several pages that have fallen out of the book are in glass leaflets displayed alongside the main body of the book.<br />\tThe book is a grotesque thing by modern standards. Bird blood and insect shells had been used to make the paints inking the pages. The writing is filled with odd symbols and words no longer spoken on earth. The language is long forgotten by all but the most studious of linguistic masters. Strange diagrams are cut into the corners of the pages and a set of paintings that had been concealed in the pages is now on display, as the book is falling to bits. <br />\tThe illustrations of the Domintio Necrona are surreal; possibly prophetic. Complex paintings so rich and detailed that the painter must have needed a brush as thin as a spider&rsquo;s hair to draw in the most subtle markings. Illustrations of battles being fought, a torture master practicing his art, a funeral for a lord with hundreds watching. Monsters with no earth business are depicted in another painting; a great mouth in the sky&mdash;with endless rows of teeth that connect it to the dawn of time; a tree made out of eyes, a cage made out of hands, a snake with two arms and two legs and four hands holding the moon and earth in the sky. <br />Looking at the book has an effect on some people. The evil aura around the book can turn the weak feral. It is as if the pages themselves have a mind and have desires. Vee alone knows the mythology around this book; who wrote it, when, why. It was written in the sixth month of the sixty-sixth year of the fourth age. The Mad Monk of Keldor is arrested for threatening to attack the pharaoh. He is thrown into the darkest dungeon the master of sand could build. There the monk would sit shouting insensibly at the shadows for three days. On the fourth day the monk is silent. A guard is sent into the monk&rsquo;s cage to bring him his daily meal. But the monk is dead; his body stretched across the closed book. He did not have it when he came, he did not have the tools to write it or bind it. It simply wished itself into being and vampired the blood from the monk&rsquo;s body to give itself the power to enter into this world. <br />The book was taken to Lore Masters at Carpathia. There the Sisters of the Sacred Fire opened the book for the first time and learned of its unholy power. The Sisters of the Sacred Fire say that the book has hidden in its pages magical rituals and words used by the Eternals to build a wall between the world of dreamers and the world of waking. It has incantations that can bring life and youth at the price of blood and flesh; enchantments that will let the living talk to the dead and craft spiritual weapons that can imprison phantoms or kill immortals.<br />The Sisters made two copies of the book; one written in the dialect of the bird kings, the other in the mouse tongue. The last is written for a rabbit to read, but they will destroy the book. It does not belong in this world. Reading aloud the spells written within can bring down the wrath of Nyxs or Efrafra on the reader or awaken something even older and more evil. It was the hands of the Mad Monk that wrote the book, but it was Cravixs the God of Hunger that whispered the words in his ears. <br />Lecture comments, &ldquo;Yes. It is too bad it is a reproduction. But it is a very good one.&rdquo;<br />Vee questions, &ldquo;Where did it come from?&rdquo;<br />Lecture offers, &ldquo;I bought it from a nun at the Church of Doe.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; Vee asks.<br />Lecture expresses, &ldquo;I thought it was beautiful&mdash;so much so I was willing to offer a very large gift to the nun in exchange for it.&rdquo;<br />Dixson is intrigued. &ldquo;May I ask how large of a gift?&rdquo;<br />Lecture snickers. &ldquo;Seventy thousand British pounds.&rdquo; Lecture waves them to follow him. &ldquo;Come with me, I want to show you more. Have you seen the Rotoscope Machine yet? It is simply amazing.&rdquo;<br />They are taken to a large room; a thousand or more paintings are hidden inside the walls of the enormous device. A single light points to where the viewer is meant to stand. A slit in the wall is drawn back to make a window. Lecture drops a coin into a box on one side of the room and the room starts to spin. The walls have two layers of blinders inside them that hide the space between frames. The paintings hidden in the walls start to get dragged into view. The flashes of light and dark force an illusion to play out before them. The paintings come to life. Wind blows, water rolls, rabbits dance. <br />Dixson watches the strange show in amazement. &ldquo;How does this device function? I can only imagine the limits of what this technology will allow to be done.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;It is more or less a very large clock that spins very fast. It is very complicated to explain, but let me assure you, at the moment it is little more than a toy for men with more money than good sense. But I, like you, am captivated by the dancing images.&rdquo; He tries to explain, but Lecture finds himself stumbling as he doesn&rsquo;t fully grasp how the device was made. &ldquo;Fifteen times a second, a bar passes in front of that window that allows time for the paintings on the other side to be pulled one way or the other, and the split-second gap in your vision is what makes the moment happen. Truth be told; the paintings are very stationary, but our minds can be tricked by sudden changes in light and shadow.&rdquo;<br />Dixson looks to his friend after the show. &ldquo;Lecture, do you have a camera you wouldn&rsquo;t mind parting with?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;For you, friend, I will see what I can do. But if I may, why do you need a camera?&rdquo; Humphrey questions.<br />Dixson places a hand on the shoulder of his friend and gives him a playful shake. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s say someone has been naughty and Scotland Yard wants my help figuring out who.&rdquo;<br />Lecture has an odd wide grin. &ldquo;I have said this before, and I am sure I will say it again. I don&rsquo;t mind someone being naughty, but I hate it when they are sloppy. This person Scotland Yard is looking for&mdash;they didn&rsquo;t make a mess of something, did they?&rdquo;<br />Dixson offers an explanation. &ldquo;Killed a girl, maybe six or more. They don&rsquo;t know for sure.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Oh my. That is naughty.&rdquo; Lecture seems to lose the amusement from his face. &ldquo;I hope no one I know.&rdquo;<br />Vee questions, &ldquo;Have you ever been to Phink&rsquo;s Palace?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Oh no.&rdquo; Lecture explains, &ldquo;I would say the place is a bit daft for my taste. If I needed to rent a girl, I would much rather do so from a place that delivers. I have, of course, been told a thing or two about Phink&rsquo;s Palace, Phink Forcible can be a bit handy, I am told.&rdquo;<br />Dixson squints. &ldquo;Please, explain for me what &lsquo;handy&rsquo; means.&rdquo;<br />Lecture looks to the ground; he rocks back and forth on his toes for a moment as he is formulating how he wants to describe the matter. &ldquo;Well&mdash;she is an American. That says a little already. Born in New Mexico I think. I heard a mutual friend of ours say that a &lsquo;john&rsquo; once came up short a pound or two for renting a room and Phink cut off one of his claws for the inconvenience.&rdquo; <br />Vee looks to her father. &ldquo;What sort of a rabbit cuts off a man&rsquo;s fingers over a matter of a coin?&rdquo;<br />***<br />Dixson&rsquo;s thoughts:<br />\tWe shall need to take a closer look at Phink, even if Springheels did not attack at Phink&rsquo;s Palace first. There must be a purpose to his having gone there at all. Lecture has hinted at something meaningful. &ldquo;If I needed to rent a girl, I would much rather (rent) from a place that delivers.&rdquo; Mickey offers such a service. The girls that work for him do house calls. The setup is simple. You walk into Mickey&rsquo;s, add your name to his log book and where you want to meet, and he sends a girl to you--most of the time within the hour. Walk in with coin, walk out with a girl. Couldn&rsquo;t be simpler. Places like Phink&rsquo;s offer a more specialized service. It is like a buffet. You go in and get a table. A few girls are paraded in front of you. You can get a taste of what is offered, then--once you know what you want and from whom, they take you to a room they have set up for their comfort. There is, of course an entry fee, in order to still make a profit; as there are some that just fill up on appetizers alone. <br />***<br />To get into Phink&rsquo;s Palace this time, Vee and Dixson are both required to pay five pounds. Vee is distracted for a short time by the opulence of the palace. Black and red are Phink&rsquo;s colors. There are twenty-one tables in the &ldquo;Entertaining Room&rdquo; with red tablecloths. The chairs around the tables have black covers thrown over the tops of them. There are two stages. One is the primary stage where the girls perform; then there is a secondary stage with a piano, drum, cello, violin and harp. The ground has a thick carpet pulled across it. Oil lamps sit on each table and a candle stand is placed every nine feet around the bar. At the center of the room, above the bar, is a chandelier. Mirrors hang on walls to create reflections that light the room--even at night. There is a balcony from which the manager can watch the sales floor. Here wine and nibbles may be consumed and appetizers are served. <br />Once one is ready for the main course, it is to the right of the main door they must go to reach the &ldquo;Banquet Hall.&rdquo; At any given time there, one would find a set of bleachers with a curtain lowered in front of it. Once one has paid to get into the &ldquo;Banquet Hall&rdquo;, five to twenty girls will be arranged, dressed up in any number of provocative outfits and set up for display. The hostess will lead the &lsquo;john&rsquo; around the bleachers to look over the product being served. A list of services and prices will be displayed and the &lsquo;john&rsquo; may pick out whichever entree they so desire. <br />To the left of that is the upstairs. This is where the girls will take their &lsquo;johns&rsquo; to fulfill contracts. There are dressing rooms and bedrooms and a VIP lounge. Dixson has no idea what one must do to get there. What can one find in the VIP lounge? There one may speak to the manager and set up a special request. If one has a particular appetite and Phink does not have what they are hungry for in stock, they may request it there for a price. Phink is a wealthy woman and has the sort of friends that can help her get her hands on some rare products. But remember to be polite when requesting service. Phink has no fear of blackballing those that fail to show respect&mdash;if you believe the rumors.<br />The door to the manager&rsquo;s office is a thing to behold. The door is double wide with onyx pillars at both sides of it. A bident hangs over the door with a gold placard holding it in place. The bident has twisted spearing tips that crisscross in a helix. The phrase &ldquo;Blood and Darkness&rdquo; is carved into the handle of the weapon. The plaque reads--&ldquo;Welcome to Asphodel: be warned, there is no escape.&rdquo; <br />Dixson looks up at the door. &ldquo;We are entering into a progressively more dangerous world, Mother.&rdquo;<br />Vee has a strangle satisfied look on her face as she reads the plaque, &ldquo;Asphodel. You are not scared, are you Daddy?&rdquo; She has a giggle.<br />The room stinks of poppy seed oil and ginger. Brass candle holders line the ground leading to the chair in which guests are meant to sit. A large oak desk is off to one side and there is a faint couch across from it. There are three taxidermied dogs in the corners of the room and a marble statue in the last corner. The statue is of a gorilla with a long braided beard; a spear in one hand, a pomegranate in the other. A rabbit sits on his back with its head on his shoulder. The gorilla is dressed in Greek gowns with a loral on his head. He is an old and gigantic man. Chains hang from his arms, shackles loosely grip his wrists. This hero has defied the will of the gods and escaped Elysium. He is Yuldking Hades, Master of the Dead, Keeper of the Underworld, Lord of the Least Heaven.<br />The woman sitting on the table is in a black and red caba&ntilde;a gown, elbow gloves and a fedora with a wide brim. A cigarette is in one hand. A repeater rifle sits on the table alongside her other hand. It is said that Phink Forcible is American, but her sharp eyes and salt and pepper fur color speak more so to a Chinese origin. She is short for a grown woman, but has long legs, long arms, and sharp claws that peek out of her gloves. She has on a perfume of the oddest kind. It smells like vinegar and burnt copper. A ruffled garter is tied to both of her biceps and both thighs. Ribbons are at the tips of her ears. <br />Phink turns her head to keep an eye on Vee as she walks across the room looking for a place to sit. Phink explains in a low voice, a strange inflection to her tone that is somewhat English and somewhat Russian, &ldquo;I know a man that is looking for an owl. He is willing to pay good money to see one naked.&rdquo;<br />The chairs are too close to the ground to sit in so Vee sits on the floor, one knee up, one down, one wing on the ground, the other on her knee. &ldquo;Owls can be an expensive date. Too expensive for most, I would say.&rdquo;<br />Dixson takes a chair and moves it close to the table to speak with Phink. He points at the statue of Yuldking. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t seem to recall; who is the rabbit with Lord Hades?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Persephone, the Rabbit of the Changing Seasons. Born of the union of the sky and the harvest. She snuck into Hell and robbed Hades of his most beloved pomegranates. Hades captured her as she tried to escape the underground. He claimed the rabbit as his wife, and she gave him a son within days of their union. This angered Demeter so greatly that she damned Greece to three months of darkness. The gods went to war over this matter. The love between a man and a rabbit brought the oldest of nations to its knees. Love is a powerful weapon and a valuable commodity.&rdquo;<br />Vee comments, &ldquo;A gorilla made a rabbit pregnant? That must have been challenging.&rdquo;<br />Phink laughs. &ldquo;Strange. I have never heard anyone say that about how Zeus had a child with a horse, cow, swan, snake or lizard.&rdquo;<br />Dixson thinks, &ldquo;and a rat; and his sister, and one of his sons also. The God of the Sky is attributed to having more than twenty children with just as many women. He is also a shapeshifter that has &lsquo;filled people with the spirit of life&rsquo; disguised as gold or wind. He has also taken the shapes of wild beasts to slip unseen into the beds of maidens&rsquo;.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Now Mister Hill.&rdquo; Phink puts out one cigar and reaches for another. She leans to the side; and as she does she shows her tail to the two. She places a foot on Dixson&rsquo;s lap after she finds her cigar and hands him a flint and tender. She leans into the detective to have him light her cigar for her. &ldquo;What is it you came here looking for?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Information.&rdquo; Dixson explains.<br />&ldquo;Is there something I forgot to tell the police?&rdquo; Phink asks, her eyes drifting up and down as she looks over her visitors.<br />Dixson comments, &ldquo;No; not pers&eacute;. I just wanted to ask a few questions. Now, I understand that you have a client confidentiality contract and you can&rsquo;t simply give me the names of your clients&mdash;but given the extreme circumstances&mdash;maybe you can answer some simple questions about the people around here. How many guests do you serve on any given day?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;It is not uncommon for me to serve one to two hundred guests a night. There have been nights where I have had as many as four hundred visitors.&rdquo; Phink explains.<br />&ldquo;How old would you say the majority of your visitors are?&rdquo; Dixson rolls a hand as he leans back in his chair. He digs around in his coat, looking for his notebook. Once he has it he rests it across his legs.<br />&ldquo;I would say there are two distinct groups of guests I serve. Teens with old money, and older business men.&rdquo;<br />Dixson writes a note. &ldquo;And do you serve more men or women most nights?&rdquo;<br />Phink comments, &ldquo;I tend to see ten times as many men walk in here as women.&rdquo;<br />Dixson grunts and nods. &ldquo;That is what I would have expected. Do you have a lot of repeat customers? People that come in every day or once a week?&rdquo; <br />&ldquo;I know one or two people that are here nightly. Three or four that come in every other day. But this is not the type of place that you go to every day of the week. This isn&rsquo;t a beer pit. This is a place you go for celebrations.&rdquo;<br />Dixson writes another note. &ldquo;Was there anything in the last few days that struck you as being abnormal?&rdquo;<br />Phink looks to an hourglass she has on her desk. She flips it, then turns to look at Dixson. &ldquo;Mr. Hill. My time is costly. If you want to continue this conversation, you will need to be paying me for the trouble.&rdquo;<br />Dixson squints. &ldquo;Ms. Forcible, failing to cooperate with our investigation is only going to make things more complicated for all of us.&rdquo;<br />Phink brings her rifle to rest on her lap. She runs a hand up and down the gun, petting it in a lewd way for a moment before wrapping a hand around the handle. She pops down the lever to show it is loaded, primed and ready. &ldquo;Mr. Hill, do not provoke me. I could be your friend, if you are willing to play by my rules. Or I could be your enemy&hellip;&rdquo;<br />Dixson stands up and waves for Vee to follow him. The two step out of the room. Phink has made it clear that the conversation is over. As they step out of the building Hill asks Vee, &ldquo;What do you think she is hiding?&rdquo;<br />Vee shakes her head. &ldquo;She is up to something, and I think the murder has gotten in the way of some other business.&rdquo;<br />Dixson contemplates, &ldquo;Do you think she could have been killing her competitors?&rdquo;<br />Vee shakes her head. &ldquo;I have no doubt that Phink is capable of murder, but I think extortion and exploitation are cleaner and easer. I, myself, would not put her high on the list of suspects.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;But she is still suspicious&rdquo;<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 6 <br />\tJoseph lays in a hospital bed, his mouth half wired shut, his body filled with poppy to numb the sensation. A plank of wood with reflective paint is set before a candle to the right of the boy, just out of his reach. The hospital is quiet, it is hours past midnight. A stack of nails set around the candle inform him of the hour of the day. Seven nails--that means that it is three in the morning. <br />\tThe window is open. The boy rolls onto his side, with much effort, as he tries to understand why the window had been opened. He squints into the darkness. A thin, tall shadow looms over him dressed in a black cape and a tall hat. Leather gloves are on the shadow&rsquo;s hands. Joseph tries to yell, but he can&rsquo;t seem to find the power. The shadow sets two fingers on the boy&rsquo;s lips to hush him. <br />\tThe shadow whispers in Joseph&rsquo;s ear. &ldquo;You are ill child. But have no fear. I am here to take away the pain. You have been taken by miasma. A sickness has taken root in your heart. The mind no longer recognizes the body it wears.&rdquo; <br />\tJoseph tries to roll off the bed. The shadow takes from inside its coat two long silk straps, pink in color. They stink of baby powder. The shadow ties the boy&rsquo;s hands to the bed. &ldquo;Do not struggle boy,&rdquo; the shadow whispers. &ldquo;You will only hurt yourself if you do.&rdquo;<br />\tJoseph tries to yell again, but again no sound leaves his body. The shadow sets a hospital bag on the table to the boy&rsquo;s side. The shadow opens the bag and pulls out a pair of bloomers. Then the shadow finds a bowl and fills it with two strange smelling liquids. The shadow dips the bloomers in the solution. The silk sucks in the tonic. The shadow picks up the panties and sets a hand on the back of the boy&rsquo;s head. The shadow sticks the panties into the boy&rsquo;s mouth. The smell burns his nostrils, the acid stings his lips&mdash;the boy becomes dazed. His eyes glaze over. He no longer has the will or ability to struggle. He is drunk from the smell. Joseph mumbles weakly, &ldquo;What are you?&rdquo;<br />\tThe shadow whispers in his ear, &ldquo;I am Springheels.&rdquo;<br />\tSpringheels pulls out a tiny surgical knife, than a dozen other tools from the bag&mdash;and at last&mdash;a dress which Springheels hangs up on the door handle for safety. This dress is a modest one, a dress meant for a flower girl. A white bonnet, shoulder cape, corset, and skirt that swings around the ankles when tucked correctly complete the ensemble.<br />\tSpringheels undresses Joseph then ties his feet to the bed. &ldquo;Have no fear; you will feel no pain. This will only take a few hours.&rdquo; Springheels brings its head to the boy&rsquo;s ear and a hand to his face. Springheels pets the boy for a short time, tickling his face and rubbing his cheeks. The poison has put the boy to sleep. Springheels offers the boy a kiss. &ldquo;Dream a beautiful dream for me,&rdquo; Springheels requests.<br />***<br />\tIt is just past sunrise as Underwood rushes to the Den of Owls.&nbsp;&nbsp;The Sergeant pushes open the door letting in a cold morning wind. A hot breeze of stale earth wafts out. Loose pages are lifted into the air by the wind, then set back down. Vee stands at the desk, her head on upside down. Her eyes open. A cold pink glow flickers from her eyes. Underwood gasps and falls back against the wall. The owl&rsquo;s mask is down, and what it hides is horrific enough to reap the soul of a weak man. Underwood grips his chest to hold onto his lifeforce as the eyes of the owl threaten to slay him. Time stops for Underwood. <br />\tThe lanterns around the bookstore spark to life. A soft yellow glow fills the room. Vee is suddenly in front of the desk, her mask back on, her head upright, garbed in her white dress. Her head tips slightly to one side and she shuts her eyes as she folds her wings, looking cute. Several minutes have passed and Underwood has no recollection of where the time has gone. <br />\tDixson steps out of the side room holding three cups of tea as he strides over to Underwood. &ldquo;Good morning Sergeant. I am guessing you are here to collect yesterday&rsquo;s reports.&rdquo; He hands one of the cups of tea to Underwood.<br />\t&ldquo;No. I need you to come with me at once&mdash;it is about Steelmen.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson doesn&rsquo;t ask. He places his tea down and picks up his coat and hat. He commands Underwood, &ldquo;Lead the way.&rdquo;<br />\tOn their way into the hospital Dr. Ann-Mary Kramer joins them.&nbsp;&nbsp;The four step into the room where Joseph Steelmen lies. The boy is dressed up in a white gown with cape and bonnet. His eyes and mouth are stitched shut. Two coins are set over his eyes. His arms are folded at the wrist over his pelvis. The bed drips with blood. Joseph&rsquo;s face is painted to make sure it still has the color of life in it. His claws painted, the boy has become a toy. <br />\tDr. Kramer yelps in surprise and turns to look away from the body for a moment as she struggles to control her emotions. Dixson looks between the Sergeant and Vee as he tries to decide what he is looking at. Dixson takes out his camera and starts to walk around the room photographing things.<br />\tA broken piece of the door frame is the first thing he spots that seems out of place. Dixson looks up at Underwood. Underwood explains, &ldquo;I did that. I needed to break the door down to get into the room. It was bolted shut from the inside when I arrived.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson steps up to the window and looks down. The room is on the second floor. Dixson squints as he notices next that there are four drill marks on the window. &ldquo;Did you also remove the storm shutter from this window?&rdquo;<br />\tUnderwood shakes his head. Kramer walks over to the body and starts to look it over. She leans in close and tips her head as she is trying to see something. She calls over, &ldquo;Detective Hill. When Joseph&rsquo;s mouth was wired shut two different types of wire were used--and two distinct sized sewing hooks. &ldquo; Dixson approaches. He kneels down to look where Kramer is looking. She points at one set of holes. &ldquo;This is a medical surgeon&rsquo;s hook. You can tell because the holes are perfectly symmetrical. This second set of holes had been made using a hook with a barb on it. The wire is a fishing wire.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson thinks aloud. &ldquo;The boy&rsquo;s mouth had been forced open, then stitched shut a second time?&rdquo; <br />\tKramer explains, &ldquo;Springheels put something in his mouth.&rdquo; She sidesteps to gather some tools. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s see what.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson steps away from the bed and takes a few more pictures of the body. He comments as he looks back to Vee, &ldquo;Something in this room looks off. The way the body is dressed and placed. The placement of the bed. I don&rsquo;t know. I just feel there is something in here that shouldn&rsquo;t be&hellip; or something that is that doesn&rsquo;t belong.&rdquo;<br />\tKramer calls over after she cuts the mouth open, &ldquo;Detective Hill.&rdquo; She holds up a folded piece of paper. &ldquo;I found this.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson steps over and takes the paper from Kramer. He unfolds it and looks the page over. He reads aloud for the group. &ldquo;Detective Hill, I can see you. Forever Yours, Springheels.&rdquo;<br />\tA hand is set on Underwood&rsquo;s shoulder. He is shoved off to one side. Rod Steelmen steps into the room, his military honors pinned to his breast, his faction seal on his hat and armband. Kramer sees what just happened and she steps up to Steelmen. She shouts at the minister, &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t just...&rdquo;<br />\tSteelmen slaps the doctor hard enough to knock her to the ground, dazed and confused. Steelmen looks down at the doctor. &ldquo;You will speak when spoken to.&rdquo; Vee steps away from the wall, her eyes shimmering with anger under her mask. Dixson holds up a hand to silently tell her to stand down. Steelmen steps up to the body, looking it over. <br />\tDixson stands alongside the minister waiting to be addressed. &ldquo;Officer Hill, tell me what happened here.&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;It looks like our local monster, Springheels, attacked your son.&rdquo; Dixson ushers up and down. &ldquo;Cut a hole in his cheek, dressed him like a doe&hellip; that is as much as we know so far.&rdquo;<br />\tSteelmen points, &ldquo;Wash that clown makeup off his face and get rid of that dress. Get him in a proper suit and dinner jacket. Make sure the cuffs are cut right. Three button vest, brass buckles. I will not let my son be seen in this ridiculous outfit.&rdquo; He looks over to Kramer. &ldquo;Do it now!&rdquo; He shouts at Kramer, &ldquo;It makes me sick to see my son dressed like this.&rdquo;<br />\tKramer regains her footing. She walks over to the locker in the room. &ldquo;The clothes he had on when he arrived should be in this closet.&rdquo;<br />\tSteelmen looks at Dixson. &ldquo;Officer Hill. I want the man that did this found, and I want him dealt with. Anything you need, I will give you. Men, money, name it. I want it fast, and I don&rsquo;t care if you make a mess on the way.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson looks down at the note from Springheels. His eyes narrow as he reads it again. Detective Hill, I can see you. Forever Yours, Springheels. He looks up, &ldquo;Can you get me a counterfeiter?&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;Of course I can. May I ask why?&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;I want a copy made of Phink Forcible&rsquo;s visitor&rsquo;s book.&rdquo; Dixson explains.<br />\t&ldquo;She will not likely co-operate.&rdquo; Steelmen explains.<br />\t&ldquo;Then I will have Mickey convince her.&rdquo;<br />\tAs Kramer undressed Joseph, the true horror of what Springheels had done starts to become apparent. Joseph&rsquo;s body has been altered--shaved and cut, pieces removed and new ones added. Joseph has been turned into a doe. <br />\tSteelmen squints. His lip curls; he barks, &ldquo;Everyone out! Now!&rdquo;<br />\tKramer is about to argue. Underwood grabs her and pulls her with him out of the room. Dixson and Vee step out also, allowing Steelmen the time he needs to cry.<br />\tVee and Dixson walk to the hospital kitchen to find a drink and take a moment to collect their thoughts. Dixson whispers with Vee, &ldquo;This doesn&rsquo;t follow. This is not the way that Springheels acts. Serial killers are people with obsessions. Everything needs to track; everything needs to look just as it did at their last murder or they don&rsquo;t get the high they need.&rdquo;<br />\tVee comments, &ldquo;Maybe when you sent Underwood to Phink&rsquo;s Palace you interrupted Springheels&rsquo; feeding.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson looks off into the distance. &ldquo;Or maybe, I got close. Yesterday. I saw Springheels out of costume&hellip; or he saw me.&rdquo;<br />***<br />Investigation Notes&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />Evidence:<br />Note From Springheels: <br /><br />Detective Hill,<br />I can see you.<br />Forever Yours,<br />Springheels<br /><br />A folded note; supposedly found in the mouth of Joseph Steelmen. The paper is a dark cream color, the ink used is copper based. It is a high-grade paper, the type that is used by a novelist when making an editor&rsquo;s copy of a manuscript. The handwriting is fluid. There is a bleed mark on the page where the pen had been set down after the word &lsquo;Detective&rsquo; was written. A smudge on the page between the words &ldquo;I&rdquo; and &ldquo;can&rdquo; imply that the writer could have been holding the pen in their left hand. There is an accent mark over the letter &lsquo;a&rsquo; and a tail following the letter &lsquo;n&rsquo; in the word &lsquo;can.&rsquo; It is my feeling that &lsquo;can&rsquo; was not the word the writer had first had in mind, but wrote over what had been there before. But&mdash;I cannot know this for sure.<br /><br />Dixson&rsquo;s thoughts:<br />This is why I have requested that Steelmen allow me access to a counterfeiter. This aid, plus the records book Phink now holds, could be invaluable in learning Springheels true name. If needed, I will also reach out to Rabbit Hole, Winking Rat, and The Yellow Lady Gentlemen&rsquo;s Club. But this may not be needed. Springheels may come looking for us.<br />***<br />\tMickey steps into the Den of Owls followed by three of his lady friends; Gloria, Josey, and Gem. Mickey climbs up and sits on Dixson&rsquo;s desk. He calls out into the shop, &ldquo;Dixs, where are you? I got what you asked for.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson comes out of the back room holding a stack of photographs. He holds them overhead and tips them, trying to find something in the image he had not seen before. He lowers the photos and looks over to Mickey, &ldquo;You are fleetfooted, aren&rsquo;t you? I sent for you after lunch and you are here in time for dinner.&rdquo; He looks over the three girls walking with Mickey, &ldquo;Who are your friends?&rdquo;<br />\tMickey points out two of them, one being a brown-haired desert rabbit, the other being a white-haired snow bunny, &ldquo;Gem and Josey work at the club; they both do the night shift. Gloria is who you are looking for; she does odd jobs.&rdquo; Gloria is a harlequin rabbit. One side of her body is flash white with a red eye, the other side is black with a blue eye. &ldquo;You need an odd job done; she does odd jobs.&rdquo; Mickey kicks his feet back and forth as he sits on the desk. &ldquo;Now; if I may ask, what sort of odd job is it you need done Dixs?&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;I want to look at someone&rsquo;s business ledgers.&rdquo; <br />\tThe door to the Den of Owls slips open. Another rabbit starts to step in, but then sidesteps to rest on the wall. Quivering she peeks over one shoulder watching Dixson talk to the gangster. Kramer is in a gray coat over her doctor&rsquo;s robe. She brings a hand up to her breasts and takes a moment to center herself before she finally does step into the shop. Once inside she stays at the back of the bookstore, her ears up. She wishes to understand what Dixson is doing. Her nose wiggles, her whiskers quake. She stares on with wide eyes, ducking partly behind a stack of books to obscure line of sight. <br />\tMickey looks to Gloria, &ldquo;What do you think Doll? You feeling up to a little B&amp;E job?&rdquo;<br />\tGloria looks at Dixson, then up at Mickey. She shakes her head, then shrugs as she is thinking it over. &ldquo;That depends, love. You gotta&rsquo; have the green if we are goin&rsquo; to make the scene. So, you got some coin, or is there another way you would like to pay?&rdquo;<br />\tVee folds her wings under her head while she sits back listening. &ldquo;I can give you twelve pounds right now, and three more when you give us the book.&rdquo;<br />\tMickey whistles. &ldquo;Fifteen pounds for a little in and out. You can have a lot of fun with fifteen pounds. But what is the point Dixs? What sorta&rsquo; con are we swinging?&rdquo;<br />\tDixson questions, &ldquo;Do you really want me to tell you? Or would you be happier not knowing?&rdquo;<br />\tMickey holds his arms out. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re killing me here Dixs. Tell me something. I gotta&rsquo; know what we is up to.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson pulls out of his coat the note from Springheels. He lets Mickey and Gloria look at it. Mickey reads the page, mouthing aloud the words, then looks to Dixson, &ldquo;Golly Dixs, looks to me like you got someone a little hot for you. If I was you, I might think about getting out of town for a day or two; let things cool down.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson leans back in his seat. &ldquo;I am close Mickey. I am going to put away one more monster before the Black Rabbit takes me.&rdquo;<br />\tMickey offers some advice. &ldquo;Take it easy Dixs. I don&rsquo;t want to see you get offed like so many of my other friends. If things get too hot out there, tell me. I can move you underground; get you out of town.&rdquo; Mickey snaps and waves. He walks out of the shop. <br />\tKramer steps up to the desk. &ldquo;Detective Hill.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson looks up. &ldquo;Doctor. You may call me Dixson if you like.&rdquo;<br />\tKramer snickers. A hand finds the side of her face and brushes back her fur as she blushes. &ldquo;Yes, Dixson.&rdquo; She giggles. &ldquo;I wanted to invite you out for dinner.&rdquo; She wiggles in place, her thighs scraping together and her toes balling on the ground and then stretching. She is almost quivering with nervousness. Kramer&rsquo;s teeth click and her tail whips as she awaits what Dixson has to say.<br />\tThe old detective turns his eyes looking at Vee like a child looking to a parent for approval. There is an uncomfortably long silences before Vee offers a blink that Dixson understands to be a go-ahead. Then the detective smiles and nods. He tugs at his coat and replies to the doctor, &ldquo;I see no harm in that. Did you have a speakeasy in mind?&rdquo;<br />\tKramer bites her lower lip to stop herself from shaking. &ldquo;Have you ever been to Delmonico?&rdquo;<br />\tDixson thinks. &ldquo;The wine club down the street from the Irons Building? I can&rsquo;t say I have. I don&rsquo;t have the types of friends that drink wine, and I myself tend to drink whisky or scotch more often than not.&rdquo; <br />\tKramer leans across the desk. Her eyes slant and lips curl; her ears fall forward and her tail sticks up. She shudders happily, struggling to control her body&rsquo;s reactions to the sudden excitement she feels. &ldquo;Then you should pick out a nice dinner jacket and tie. Delmonico may not let you in dressed like a Texan with a fur neck.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson is not a naive man; he can sense Kramer&rsquo;s tension--this is a date; no question about it. Neither he nor she are young rabbits. Once you are past the midlife of your years, dates tend to move quickly. No one has time for long and drawn-out ceremony&mdash;so, if you are asked out, take it, and make sure you have fun. If you don&rsquo;t, there may not be a second date in your future. &ldquo;Then I had best change.&rdquo;<br />\tKramer explains, &ldquo;I am going to put on a skirt. Meet me at the corner of Baskerville and Watson. You pay for the car, I will pay for the wine.&rdquo; After Dixson nods in understanding, Kramer turns and runs out of the library; her tail wagging hard. Skipping as she rounds the corner, she swings her arms and is laughing like a doe that had just been kissed for the first time.&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />\tVee turns her head looking at Dixson. &ldquo;She seems nice. Can&rsquo;t say I am impressed by the smell of blood that lingers in the air around her.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson comments, &ldquo;She works at the funeral home. Underwood and I may be the first warm bodies she has seen in months.&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;And being punched by Steelmen--the closest thing to attention she has had outside of a wank.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson shakes his head. &ldquo;Be nice. Let me be honest with you. It has been some time since the last time a doe has taken interest in me. I don&rsquo;t know how many more times in my life this is going to happen.&rdquo;<br />\tVee shrugs. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t need to buy, you can always rent.&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;Do you ever feel the need for romance?&rdquo; Dixson asks.<br />\t&ldquo;When I do, I tend to sleep it off. Egging can be a messy thing, and I just don&rsquo;t seem to be feeling baby fever.&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;There is more to romance than just sex.&rdquo; Dixson complains.<br />\tVee tips her head back and laughs. &ldquo;Oh yes. So much more, I am sure. But I don&rsquo;t know if that is what Doctor Kramer has in mind. Did you taste the air around her? She is already&hellip;&rdquo;<br />\tDixson cut her off. &ldquo;Mother&mdash;please.&rdquo;<br />\tVee lowers her head. She shuts her eyes. &ldquo;As long as we are being honest with each other, my relationship with romance is complicated. I am a member of the Goasha family. My mother and father had been in an arranged marriage. I am told it took seven years and over a hundred attempts for my mother to hatch me. Per my grandfather&rsquo;s instructions, my parents are half&mdash;siblings. And my grandfather picked out a cousin to be my partner. My grandparents are very concerned with keeping our blood clean. My father, on the other hand, thinks this practice is monstrous. That is why he sent me to do my schooling abroad. My mother was furious about all this. She thought that my father had betrayed his royal duties. Most of my family has given me instructions not to allow myself to have relationships outside of the family. My father thinks I should be experimenting. He has told me stories about how &lsquo;Love has never been between betrothed, but between healthy youth.&rsquo; And I don&rsquo;t know what I should be doing...so to relieve tension, I rub my tail fathers on whatever object I can.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson thinks about the story. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t say I know about the Goasha family.&rdquo;<br />\tVee offers, &ldquo;We are a small family from down south. But still have some influence in the upper echelons.&rdquo; <br />\t&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t recall you ever telling me you are nobility.&rdquo; Dixson comments.<br />\t&ldquo;Minor royalty. My father holds the title of prince, but he married upwards. He was the fourteenth born son and was never going to hold any power in the court. His only charges were collecting taxes and keeping time during political affairs&mdash;acted more like a duke than anything. Then there is me-- being the first born to the fourteenth son. Until I accept my marriage, I am not permitted to use my title at all.&rdquo; Vee offers a smirk. &ldquo;Take the rest of the night off; I will watch the store. You will need to let me know if you do any green gowning.&rdquo;<br />\tDixson shakes his head at the statement. &ldquo;I am not likely to take the egg on at Delmonico.&rdquo;<br />\t&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t mean there won&rsquo;t be time for a short rendezvous.&rdquo; Vee sits with her beak open in a wide grin.<br />Dixson stands up and walks away. &ldquo;Go frig yourself.&rdquo; <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 7<br />\tThe Delmonico is an oddity amongst the other buildings in London, designed by a French dog named Riki Shan&rsquo;dur. The building has almost no right angles in it as every wall and floor slants slightly. The rooms are made up of four interlocking triangles. The buildings at the sides of it are parallelograms&mdash;it is equal levels of brilliance and madness. The building has four wings&mdash;and each a different height. The west wing, which faces the main street, is four stories; the north and south wings are six and seven floors respectively. The central court, which makes up the east wall, is a staggering fifteen stores. There are few buildings in London that look like it.<br />\tThe lowest floor is the entertaining hall. A wine press, allegedly, is in the basement. The upper floors are a hall of records and a historical center. Some space is for rent to the cream of the crop. The amount of wealth that gathers around this building could put even Steelmen to shame. Traditionally, the only people allowed inside are old money families and important academics. Without being invited by Kramer, Dixson would not likely have ever had this opportunity. What really takes place inside the walls of Delmonico? Only a blessed few know for sure.<br />\tKramer has found a yellow dress to wear with a white underskirt, frilled shoulders and fins on the hips. The dress is a touch too small for her&mdash;one may assume she bought the dress when she was a young doe and has had few chances to put it on over the years. The dress rides up in the back slightly and the neckline is loose fitting. Some may say that it looks crude for the occasion, if for whatever reason Kramer were to have to lean forward. The way the dress falls she may accidently flash someone the white of her tail.<br />\tDixson had to struggle to find a coat and hat that are presentable enough for such an event. Dixson has no Sunday best to wear. What he ended up finding is piecemeal, to say the least. A leather vest and a crinkled shirt; a red belt that was part of a choir outfit, and slacks he hadn&rsquo;t but on since the last time he attended a jamboree. The jacket is yellow with a green inner lining and patches made of lizard skin. He looks like a substitute teacher with a part-time job as a conductor <br />Kramer sneers at the outfit, but manages to swallow her judgment. She brings a hand up and feels the bowtie Dixson has on. She shakes her head and expresses, &ldquo;This should be silk. What is this; wool?&rdquo;<br />Dixson explains, &ldquo;Believe it or not, I don&rsquo;t own a silk tie.&rdquo;<br />Kramer brings her head in close to Dixson to whisper, &ldquo;You could have asked me to bring you one. I have a dozen.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Why do you have a dozen silk ties?&rdquo; Dixson ponders.<br />The inside of Delmonico is an opulent place. One candelabra at the center of the main hall has fifty candles in it&mdash;in a spiral&mdash;reaching slowly down from the central-most candle. The stem of each of the candles has a mirrored backing so that the light travels outwards, in a twisted way, hiding shadows. The carpeting is a tendrilled beast of a pattern; a singular blue star rests at the center of the room, atop which the candelabra sits. Green spirals circle outwards from the star, a faded purple makes a backdrop, and scattered specs of white-yellow create depth of field. A nebula is set below foot. The walls are pearl white. Wood pillars dot the walls and make crevasses in which artwork can be displayed.<br />Five long tables are set around the entertaining room--three set vertical to the main door, two set horizontal. White blankets are draped over the tables. Each table has a centerpiece that is twelve cups placed atop each other in a pyramid. Flowers are set around the tables, and wine bottles are on display with the names of bottlers on them to advertise to the crowd. A few men walk the floor handing out snack foods and people are directed to the tables to try the wines on display. The central hall has three windows in it that are blinded with red drapes. The luxury of this place is beyond anything Dixson has enjoyed. The price to get in the door is more than Dixson makes per week.<br />The two walk around the room, Kramer giving a lesson on how to judge wines. After they have both picked the drink they wish to start the day with they move off to a corner of the room to crowd watch. Dixson pulls his notebook from inside his coat and looks over his notes from the last few days. He looks at Kramer, &ldquo;What we saw yesterday; Joseph&mdash;I know we have some amazing medical technology, but to be able to turn a buck into a doe&mdash;I didn&rsquo;t know we could do that.&rdquo;<br />Kramer shakes her head. &ldquo;We don&rsquo;t have that technology; at least not any surgeon I know does. I understand that Sosuki can do that, but not rabbits. In the case of Sosuki it doesn&rsquo;t even require surgery, just chemical treatment.&rdquo;<br />Dixson asks, &ldquo;So then, what was it we saw?&rdquo;<br />Kramer tips her eyes up and runs a finger along her snout as if to toy with a set of glasses, but she has no glasses on. &ldquo;Well, the phallus and scrotum were removed, and a cut has been made along the pelvic divide. Skin was rolled inwards in order to approximate the labial ridge. Fat had been moved from the stomach to the gluteus and into the pectoral pockets in order to take on the appearance of a more feminine shape&hellip;&rdquo; <br />Dixson asks, &ldquo;How difficult is surgery like that to do?&rdquo;<br />Kramer taps a foot on the ground. &ldquo;Well&mdash;it depends if you want it to be a convincing transformation. And to survive this would take weeks of treatments. But&mdash;it is not impossible to do the whole thing in just a few hours&hellip; although, your are likely to bleed to death well before the surgeon would have time to sew everything closed again.&rdquo;<br />Dixson ponders, &ldquo;How difficult is it to get the tools one would need to do that?&rdquo;<br />Kramer explains, &ldquo;It would require some specialized tools, but any talented craftsmen could make a crude set of surgical instruments.&rdquo; There is a moment of contemplation before Kramer comments, &ldquo;We are at the best wine tasting club in London. Are you sure this is what you want to talk about?&rdquo;<br />Dixson agrees, &ldquo;You are right. I don&rsquo;t seem to get out as much as I should. We should talk about something else. Tell me doctor, do you have a family?&rdquo;<br />Ann shakes her head. &ldquo;I have been married twice. First husband died in a fishing accident; second left me when he noticed I was having trouble conceiving. He needed a woman that was younger and more fertile than I am.&rdquo;<br />Dixson ponders, &ldquo;Why do you have trouble conceiving?&rdquo;<br />Kramer shakes her head. &ldquo;There are dozens, if not hundreds, of things that can result in that. Younger girls tend to be more fertile than older ones; short girls seem to get pregnant more often than tall girls. Women above average weight find it easier to carry to term than those that are on the light end. The flip of that is true, in some respects. Older men seem to have a better hit percentage then kids. It looks to me like older men are more potent than younger ones.&rdquo; She trails off on a side tangent, for a moment, before getting herself back on track. &ldquo;Maybe I have an abnormally shaped cervical door, or maybe my womb is too large or too small, or my eggs just aren&rsquo;t catching&hellip; I just don&rsquo;t know. Let me promise you, I am trying. I just can&rsquo;t seem to perform.&rdquo; <br />Kramer finishes her drink. She then turns to look at Dixson. She steps up to him and she grips the sides of his face. She offers an aggressive kiss. She stands on her toes and lifts her tail. She wiggles her body&mdash;suddenly warm and needing attention. Dixson is frozen in shock for a short time. Kramer jerks her hips up and down trying to get Dixson interested in her. It takes two or three minutes of kissing before Dixson offers some signs of interest. He reaches a hand down and rests it over her tail. Dixson rubs down Kramer&rsquo;s rump and gives her a hug. <br />Kramer&rsquo;s eyes dart open when she feels herself get touched and she jumps back in fear. She lowers her head and shakes it, disappointed in herself. She looks at the ground and brushes her hair back. &ldquo;Maybe I am not ready for that yet.&rdquo; She quivers, trying to calm herself. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s get another wine.&rdquo;<br />***<br />Vee sits on the roof of the Den of Owls. She watches the streets below as she paints. A blue light fades in and out of view. The owl&rsquo;s eyes turn a bright orange as she tracks the light&mdash;Foxfire, Will-o-the-wisp, echoes, shade&mdash;what Vee sees has many names in many places; but all of them describe a single thing. The blue light is a free roaming memory of a dead rabbit. The rabbit is a child, less than eight years of age,--dressed in a white nightgown and bonnet. Black hair draws across her face. The shadow can only barely hold on to its shape as it walks. Sometimes it looks almost like a living child, then in the next step&mdash;it is only fog.<br />The shade waves an arm out and points down the street. Vee squints at the shade trying to see what it is pointing at. The owl decides to step off the roof and follow the shade. The ghost sees Vee following it. She holds out a hand and takes the owl by the wing. The ghost walks through the misty streets of London, pulling the owl with her. She stops at the steps of the museum and points. The shade tries to talk, but this psionic manifestation does not have the strength to do this. <br />Vee understands what the phantom wants. She walks up the steps to the museum and uses a wire and hook to break the lock off the door. She slips inside. The halls are thick with shadows. A smell looms in the air, too faint for a rabbit to detect--an old scent-- the scent of rust, copper, and rotted meat&mdash;dry and burned. Something is watching Vee from the darkness, something powerful and evil. Red light glints at the edge of her vision. She turns around trying to follow the dark entity, but it seems to be talented at staying out of the center of her vision. <br />Vee rolls her wings and strikes several poses as she channels radiant energy. She whispers a prayer; &ldquo;Rin pyo toh, sha kai jin, retsu zai zen.&rdquo; The whispering seems to frighten the evil. It moves away from the owl. She repeats the prayers again---the darkness becomes still as the evil hides.<br />Blue light glitters. Vee turns her head to follow the light. She walks past a glass case&mdash;eyes open on the cover of Domintio Necrona. The book watches the owl walk past. More and more eyes open along the walls of the museum. The building is alive. It hunts the bird; stalks the bird. But when two predators hunt each other; where does the end game lie? The child shade has come into the museum. She directs Vee to look at something.<br />Is it a window? Is it a painting? Vee&rsquo;s vision is starting to twist and warp. She tries to look where she was pointed, but is having trouble making out the shape. She takes off her mask and opens all four of her burning pink eyes. It is a painting; London on a rainy day. The ocean has swollen; water rushes along the streets of the jolly town. Flickering lights in the sky draw out a shape&mdash;a koi larger than Birmingham Castle swims through the clouds. A squid overlaps the fish, fusing their shadows into a single beast&mdash;the head of a fish, the body of a tendrilled monster. <br />Voices escape the painting; shouts, cries. It is noise, nothing more. Then the noise starts to form a word; shouted time and time again--&ldquo;Coinchenn!&rdquo; Waves crash&mdash;water seeps through the walls of the museum. The Domintio Necrona has a grip on Vee. It is whispering to her; trying to control her. &ldquo;yhW did uoy nur yawa, aivatcO? uoY dluohs og emoh.&rdquo; Paintings flutter about as if they were bats.&nbsp;&nbsp;A three-eyed swan flies past Vee. It lands and holds out its wings; beckoning. Memories from across decades are invading; images are becoming scrambled, the flow of time is no longer linear. Vee repeats the prayer again, tying to force time to return to its normal flow. &ldquo;Rin pyo toh, sha kai jin, retsu sai zen!&rdquo; <br />The shadow of an old owl steps in front of Vee, a tall and nurturing man. A white light is cast over him. It hurts to look at the old owl. He is a cloud; a memory only partly remembered. A claw reaches out of the shadow of light and feels along the side of Vee&rsquo;s face. A voice comes from the darkness; slow and sweet, high and delicate. &ldquo;My little Via.&rdquo; The voice whispers. Vee cries. She reaches her arm out and tries to embrace the cloud. She tries to talk, but she chokes on her tongue. The shadow grows six eyes&mdash;soft and pink, just like Vee&rsquo;s. The darkness grips the sides of her face to make her look at it. &ldquo;Do not be afraid of them. I hold shut the door. The gate to Asphodel is closed. They cannot harm you.&rdquo;<br />Four statements, spoken at four very different times, by one person. Heartache pulls at Vee. She feels sick and alone. The memories of her past life are trying to suck her back into the past. Things lost, things forgotten; a cruel weight to rest on the shoulders of a child. The wicked against the weak. How can the best and worst of one&rsquo;s memories live in one&rsquo;s dreams so close together. &ldquo;Daddy; what am I looking for?&rdquo; Vee squeaks.<br />The shadow whispers in Vee&rsquo;s ear, &ldquo;Little Via; one monster, two bodies, three minds.&rdquo; The shadow takes Vee&rsquo;s hands and pushes her mask back onto her face. The old owl turns to walk away. Vee tries to follow, but he phases into another world&mdash;one where Vee cannot go. Grief clouds the owl&rsquo;s mind; grief becomes anger. She stomps a foot and turns to face her tormenters. A flap of a wing turns wind into a scythe. The painting, the book, the swan&mdash;are all excised from Vee&rsquo;s reality.<br />Vee commands, &ldquo;I deny your reality, and I substitute my own.&rdquo; She explains, &ldquo;This is my mind. You have no power here.&rdquo;<br />With all other sounds silenced, the museum is empty of all but one object&mdash;the dark presence. Forced into the open it has a shape. A rabbit in a top hat, with gloves and a cape. Its eyes are gigantic and red. The looming monster walks toward the owl. Vee folds her wings and starts to pray. Each word spoken cuts the shadow&mdash;making it smaller, more mortal. Parts of it become visible through the mantle of darkness that protects it. &ldquo;Rin. Pyo. Toh. Sha.&rdquo; A smell covers the rotting meat. The smell of salt and ginger. Vee thinks&mdash;I know that smell&hellip; where did I smell it? &ldquo;Kie. Jin&hellip;&rdquo;<br />The entity grabs Vee by one shoulder&mdash;a knife is pulled from the cape. Vee is stabbed in the stomach. She screams as she falls forward onto all fours. She looks up at the entity. There is something pinned to the inside of the coat. A badge, a name, a number&hellip; Vee can almost see it. She knows, she thinks she knows&mdash;Springheels real name&hellip; but she can&rsquo;t make it out. The entity waves a finger at Vee. A hollow, sexless voice whispers out of Springheels body. &ldquo;You should have listened to your mother.&rdquo;<br />***<br />Vee is jolted awake. She is still sitting on the roof with her paint set. She jumps up to her feet and rushes inside. She looks around for her notebook. She needs to start writing. The mind is a powerful and mysterious thing. Some people propose that it is capable of feats that we have yet to understand. Vee already knows that a disciplined dreamer can guide their dreams. Some people think that is only the beginning of the powers that can be unlocked&mdash;astral travel, clairvoyance, mind control&hellip;we may be on the cusp of unlocking truly mystifying abilities if only we understood the limitations of imagination. Vee has a powerful mind, and sharp senses. She sees more than she perceives. She can hear and smell outside of the scope of the average man; and feel things too petite for most. Her dreams are trying to tell her that she saw something important, but didn&rsquo;t pay attention to it. She needs to backtrack and take a closer look at the places she had been the last few days.<br />But what was it? What part of the dream was the vision, and what part is the mind of a teenager being distracted by the world around them? She finds the notebook she records her dreams in and starts to write. She whispers to herself words that feel out of place, &ldquo;Little Via; one monster, two bodies, three minds.&rdquo; She whimpers as she repeats the first two words again, &ldquo;My Via&hellip;&rdquo;<br /></span>",
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