The night past fitfully as they took turns keeping watch over the safehouse, the body of Stanley conveniently deposited into the boot of their automobile, though the slight removal from their presence made the experience only slightly less morbid.

When morning came, their number had not yet changed; Vincent had not yet rejoined the fellowship.

Rosalie woke the next morning having slept very little.  Her dreams had been plagued by Stanley's corpse, visions of him being choked to death, of being attacked.  Several times she'd started awake to find them still blanketed in night.  It seemed the sun would never appear.  When dawn finally broke, she rose, performed a sketchy wash in the bathroom sink, and joined the others, wearing a fresh change of clothing.  Seeing that Vincent was still not among their party, she frowned.

"Vincent said that if he could not get to us, if anything happened, he would try to leave word at the York Minster.  If he'd not left word there that we weren't to waste time looking for him."

Leo slowly awoke, his body aching from some unexpected exertion coupled with his age. His mouth quickly formed the frown that he'd been wearing far too much of late. Once the sleep was rubbed from his eyes, Leo stretched his body to its full length in an attempt to boost his circulation.

He looked over at Rosalie and nodded at what she recalled from their last contact with Vincent. "The York Minster. Right." He looked around at everyone's disheveled appearance. It would be rather more difficult to be taken seriously in most places without at least a change of clothes. "I suppose we could ring over there and see if he's left a message? Did he say for whom he'd leave the message?"

Tommy woke with the others, brow creased with concern as he realized Vincent was still missing.
Moving quickly to the sleeping form of Bo he knelt to wake his freind.
"It's morning Bo. No sign of Moretti.".

Worry began to race through his mind as he wondered what had happened to their freind.
First Stanley, now Vincent... The reporter hurried to join Rosalie and Leo in the main part of the room.
"Yeah, the York Minster. Dont think he gave a name, but we went there the other night when we met Zubiada.

So far we know he did manage to get patched up. We were near the Blue Pyramid when we left you, and he'd said he was going to hang around for Zubaida first. My best guess is that he did that, then got stitched up, then went to do this final 'errand'.".
He paused for thought.
"I'll try to call the York Minster now. But what do we do if we dont get a lead on him there? All I can think of is that we drive by the Blue Pyramid. Failing that, I'm starting to think we need to call Barrington.".

Hurrying down to the phone outside Tommy glared warily at the Londoners busy in the morning commutes. Was there anyone they could trust?
Adrenaline drove him as he picked up the receiver and asked to be put through, praying fate would be kind.

After much ringing, Tommy hears a voice on the other line.

The persistent pain, loss of blood, and absence of sleep had finally begun to catch up with Moretti when he reached the safe house.  Only a long ingrained discipline kept him wary of enemies and careful of his movements in the last several blocks. Yet, even with the weariness that sought to overcome him, he wondered honestly if he would be able to close his eyes and rest, were the opportunity to present itself, or if the nightmare he had left behind only a short time ago, one of his own making, would keep his mind from finding solace. That, and the simple fact that, for all his effort, he had failed.

When he descended the stairs, he knocked softly, then said, "It's Moretti. In barca a vela."

Once he was admitted, he found the nearest space of empty wall and sank down to the floor, leaning against it, not bothering to remove his coat. He glanced around, noting that Cotton and Bishop were absent. Already out on some errand? he wondered. Fumbling in his pocket, he found his cigarettes and matches with some effort. Lighting one unsteadily, he smoked quietly, hoping the tobacco would somehow sharpen his thoughts.

Tommy hung up the receiver and swore.
Moretti was missing. What could they do?

Helpless anger flared within the reporter and he found himself pacing the street, wondering whether to flag down a taxi. Think. What would Moretti do?

An idea formed in his mind. Maybe it was time to take things in to his own hands. Did Bo's plan make sense? Lurking in the basement of the Penhew Foundation?

Tee hee - wouldn't it be hilarious if Tommy vanished now ;)
I'll have him head upstairs in a moment. Wanted to give you all time to meet Vincent first.

"Vincent!" The breathless cry came the moment he identified himself and Rosalie rushed to meet him, sinking to her knees on the floor beside him.

Her grief for Stanley was still so raw and painful that it took very little to spark it.  Seeing Vincent, clearly exhausted, his face pinched with pain, caused tears to well and spill down her cheeks.  Ignoring the lit cigarette in his hand, she hugged him tightly and then drew back, searching him for additional signs of injury.

"We were so worried about you!  Thomas is on the street, even as we speak, calling the York Minster to see if you'd left word.  Such a terrible thing has happened..."   The rest was lost as her throat closed off with emotion.  Drowning in grief, she looked to the others to give Vincent the news.

Although his senses were dulled, Moretti could easily sense the strength of Rosalie's emotions, the sorrow that filled her voice, that radiated from her tear filled eyes. When she spoke of something terrible happening, only a moment passed before a grave understanding breached his thoughts, bringing with it sudden keen focus.

Something had happened to Bishop. To the man that she loved.

He looked up at the others, a cold anger stirring in his mind, the lone emotion that made him a thing of value, a useful tool to those he served. Frowning, he asked with a voice that was dry and thin, "What happened to Stanley?"

"Stan's dead. We got separated and he went in on his own hook. Leo says he suffocated somehow. His body's-- " He didn't want to say anymore. Not in front of Rosalie.

"I nearly went off to try to ambush Gavigan and burn up that secret room, but Tommy talked me out of it. Just as well.

"Come on, Vicenzo, get up off the floor and lie down. Tell us where you've been.  Did you get your wound tended to?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:47, Wed 21 June 2017.

Moretti got to his feet, his frown deepening to a scowl. He shook his head in response to Bo's question. "No. I didn't bother going to the Frenchman. I'll be fine. Honestly, it isn't worth worrying over."

He took a pull on his cigarette, exhaling slowly, his thoughts slowly becoming a twisting storm. "Zubaida never appeared when the Blue Pyramid closed. I waited a bit and broke in. Looked around to see if there was anything that might point to the cult, or the Misr House. There wasn't."

He shrugged. "After that, I returned to the Penhew Foundation. Went back down into Gavigan's secret study. I meant to ambush him. To get some information out of him, if I could, then kill him. But he never appeared." He shuddered visibly, tears welling in his eyes. "I wasn't alone. I had help. That spell...the one in Africa's Dark Sects. The one used to raise the dead." He took another draw on his cigarette. "It works. Cockburn. The guard I murdered. He's down there. Waiting. He'll kill anyone that enters the place."

He blinked, composing himself. Putting the cigarette out, he asked, "Stanley. Where did you find him? Somewhere on the docks? Is that where you all were?"

Leo blew out a sigh of relief when Vincent finally arrived. He would have liked to pull the man into an embrace, such was his delight in seeing Vincent, though he was a little slower than his companions. Age and the sleeping conditions the last evening were probably the culprits.

A smile finally tugged at Leo's lips to see the young man alive, though he could tell Vincent wasn't well. He had suffered both physical and emotional strain, culminating in the raising of the dead. Leo's eyebrows raised at that statement. He wasn't terribly surprised that it had worked, but the way in which it had been employed was...creative.

Leo finally gave voice to his thoughts. "Thank God you're back Vincent. I can't tell you how glad I am...we are...to see you. But if you didn't get your wound tended, I'll take care of it now. And will be the judge of what's worth worrying over or not."

Moretti nodded quietly at Leo's words."I appreciate that, sir. It's very...very kind of you. I can go see the Frenchman later, if you'd prefer. He'll be accustomed to treating men like me. That way, you and Rosalie wouldn't be put to any trouble. She already..."

The picture of Cockburn sliding to the floor, lifeblood spilling from his chest, his neck pushed to an unnatural angle, filled his thoughts, replaced a moment later with the image of the dead man standing beside him in the dark, a mute sentry enslaved to his will.

He blinked, forcing his mind back to the present. Stanley. The docks. A poisonous combination of grief and crushing guilt seized his chest in a tight, cold grip.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, he drew the revolver from beneath his coat. Opening the weapon, he checked the cylinder, making certain it was fully loaded.

When he spoke again his voice was composed, unemotional. "Bo, where on the docks did you find Stanley? Did you see any notable people nearby? Any suspicious activity?"

In reply to Vincent Moretti (msg # 28):

"When we got there, there was a work crew and a couple of guys bossing them. They were moving goods between the warehouse and a ship. They gave us some trouble and Stan drifted. Then, Leo and Milly went off. They hadn't seen me, so I kept quiet for a bit.

"When I tried to approach the place, I got spotted by some passing swabbies and then tangled with a couple ashcans. So I took off back to where we left the car and found Mily and Leo, but no Stan. We heard a couple gunshots and went back with the car to crash the joint and get Stan out, supposing he was inside.

"That's when we found his body behind the warehouse. We brought him back to the hotel, but decided we better lam out and come here, wait for you to show up.

"Glad you did."

"Sono contento che ho potuto vedere di nuovo fratello," he replied to Bo.

Satisfied, he closed the revolver and returned it to its place beneath his coat. Retrieving his gloves from a pocket, he began to put them on. Addressing Leo, he said, "I'm going to go down there, sir. Get a look at that warehouse. See if I can find any clues where the people that did this, members of the Brotherhood I'm sure, might be found. It...it's my responsibility, sir."

"I'll return here as soon as I'm done."

Leo listened to the back and forth between Vincent and Bo, and frowned at the last. He shook his head and put a hand on Vincent's shoulder while looking into his eyes. "No, you're not going down there. Certainly not right now. The first thing we're going to do is take a look at that wound of yours." Leo's lips pressed together and created a thin line.

"Vincent, why do you think I studied to become a physician?"

Angry and frustrated Tommy ducked back into the stairwell to return to the others. Opening the door he saw Vincent in mid flow and felt a grin of relief spread to his features. "Vincent! Where the hell you you been you unprintable son of a censored!".
Unable to hold himself back he strode forward to embrace the Italianate relief flooded through him. "I thought you'd gone and gotten yourself bunny'.".
Glancing left and right the reporters tone sombered. "They told you about Bishop?".
As Vincent resumed his tale Tommy stood and listened to the rest.

Ooc-for simplicity I'll assume Tommy picked up the gist of the conversation so that Vincent doesn't have to repeat himself (unless anyone objects).

Moretti found a smile when Cotton embraced him. Clapping the reporter on the back, he said, "It's good to see you again, paisan. I'm glad you're alright."

Looking back to Leo, he shook his head. "Sir...I...I suppose you became a doctor to help those in need. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect. It's just, in my world, people don't do things for others out of...kindness."

He gaze went to the floor. "But, sir, after you patch me up, you've got to let me go to the docks. There may be something there that can help us find the Brotherhood. And Gavigan."

"What happened to Stanley...it's my fault, sir. I've got to at least try to keep the rest of you safe."

"Absolutely not," Rosalie said after regaining her composure and her feet.  She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.  "No one is going anywhere alone ever again.  No one.  I should have stopped you last night.  You were lucky, Vincent.  It is too dangerous out there for any of us to go out alone.  We know that Gavigan and his people are probably looking for us.  The docks are not priority.  They searched them last night and found nothing but death.  We need to find the Misr House.  We need to stop them, destroy the mirror, disrupt them however we can, or more people are going to die."

"Jesus Christ!" Bo shouts, shattering the tea mug against the wall, "Give it a rest, Vincent. What happened to Stan wasn't your fault, anymore than what happened to Jackson was your fault. Or mine. Or Leo's or Tommy's or Rosalie's. Stan took a foolish risk, like you did going back to Gavigan's lair. Like I would've done if Tommy hadn't set me straight. But it's not Stan's fault either.

"It's these crazy people we've run up against that're to blame for all this. And for killing dozens of people in London and in New York and in God knows how many cities around the world."

He stops to take a gulp of tea, then regards the smashed crockery and puddle sadly.

"We're punching in the dark. We don't know what game they're playing and we're just beginning to understand their power. I don't think anyone put a pillow over Stan's face and held it there without him emptying his gun into them. I think it was done by their voodoo, like that dead man you left waiting for Gavigan.

"So far we've been playing a mug's game, especially when we go at them one by one like Jackson and Stan. We need to figure out what's going on and pick our fights so we can hurt them. They're onto us here it looks like. I'm for getting out of London. Maybe we can find some answers in Paris or maybe China.

"And you my friend," he looks Vince in the eyes, "My brother, have to stop thinking about yourself as a worthless loner. We need a comrade who believes in himself, who'll be a member of the team we can count on, who won't go off like a lone wolf.

"Otherwise, you might as well go back to New York. You're a liability here."

Moretti fells silent, looking from Rosalie to Bo. After a moment, he nodded. "I'm truly sorry. È mio dovere di servire la famiglia," he said quietly, "The last thing I want is to be a liability. To put any of you in danger. I'll do whatever you need of me."

Keeping his eyes downcast, he returned his gloves to his pocket, then shouldered out of his coat. Seeing the broad, crimson stains on his shirt prompted him to look around the room, looking to see if his suitcase had somehow made it to the hideout.

"The docks...Since you searched the warehouse and found nothing..." He sighed and frowned, his hazy mind tugging at the problem. "What about Gavigan's home? I briefly looked over his desk when I left the Foundation, searching for any personal correspondence. But I didn't find anything. Could his address be listed publicly? In the eyes of London, he's a respected academic. Maybe the society pages of the Times? Perhaps he's hosted a dinner for some of the Foundation's wealthy patrons. Fundraising, that sort of thing."

"If we could find it, get inside, and search, there might be something that would tell us where the Misr House is located."

Tommy's eyes narrowed as he listened. Had he heard correctly - Vincent raised a Zombie? And the others were nodding as if that was some sort of normal possible thing to do? Sure they'd seen things and the blood bath of the Juju house had been horrific, but was what Moretti say even rational?

Before he could speak the conversation moved on and Cotton nodded in violent agreement to 'Bo's words. "We go at them one on one we lose. The only chance we have at this is if we stick together.

But Gavigan's home - what if he's there when we show up? And even if we find Misr house what the hell are we planning? After we hit the Penhew Foundation, after Bishop...Gavigan knows we are coming. Do we really wanna walk in to a trap?

I hate it, but I reckon we only have two options left. Either we get outta England, or we get help. Barrington, Mahoney, I dont know. But we cant do this alone.".

He shrugged, looking to Leo.
"For what it's worth, I reckon there is a good chance we could find Misr house in the public records if we had a few hours in there. But then what?".

Finding a clean shirt, Moretti stepped inside the lavatory and changed, returning to the group as Cotton made his suggestions. At once, the strain of the prior evening settled upon him, like a weight he had to shoulder in order to keep his eyes open.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Direct action may not be the wisest course. Things were different in Harlem."

"Barrington's motivated to take down the cult. They're responsible for the death of one of Scotland Yard's inspectors, not to mention how many other innocents. The problem is, we don't have anything tangible that ties Gavigan directly to the murders. But I think that if we can find the Misr House, then tip Barrington off about it, he and his men would find all the evidence they needed there."

"It might be worthwhile for one or more of us to pay a library a visit, or even the morgue at The Times or The Scoop, see if we could puzzle out the location of the Misr House from one of those resources. There's also the written material we collected from Gavigan's study at the Foundation. There might be a clue somewhere in all of it."

"If we need to sneak in a location to collect information, like Gavigan's house, I have a suggestion. We might take a little time to see if we can identify who's present there. Depending on his wealth, Gavigan might have a servant or two. If so, we could use the spell that Rosalie translated to shift one of our appearances, make it easy to infiltrate the place. Minimize the risk. Worst case, we could imitate someone from the Foundation, like Cockburn."

Leo nodded at the discussions of what to do next. There seemed to be a few possibilities, but one stood out as being required. "It seems that we definitely need to find the Misr House. If digging through public records is likely to solve that little mystery, then a few of us should do so. Taking a look at what was collected from the Foundation is also a good idea. While we're looking for the other information, we can also poke around for Gavigan's home address. In any case, it seems like we need to interrupt whatever ritual they are planning with the mirror, and destroy the damned thing."

He looked over at Vincent and cocked an eyebrow. "A clean shirt already? I haven't even had the chance to take a look at you." He looked over at his niece as the physician retrieved his bag. "Rosie, come give me hand. Hit the patient with something blunt on the back of his skull if he refuses to co-operate..."


08:01, Today: Dr. Leonardo Elias rolled 51 using 1d100 with rolls of 51.  Medicine (75).

"Y'know, Tommy's pal at The Scoop is supposed to know everything about everyone. Maybe he knows something about Misr House. He almost surely knows Gavigan's home address, prominent as he is.

"As for Scotland Yard, if we can't go directly to Barrington, maybe we 'drop a penny' to someone on the Yard's Flying Squad with a tip about ritual killings to be done at this  Misr House tonight. Either they'll contact Barrington or they'll try to steal the glory for themselves. Either way, if Gavigan's present when they knock it over, we don't need evidence.

"I can make the call. My cockney accent may be sh-- sorry, ladies, may be rotten, but I can sling a fair bat imitating Emile Telunga, African emigrant who just happens to have heard something awful from his mate."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:34, Fri 23 June 2017.