Chapter 4 - The Madame

[Griffin]

The shock of recognizing the dead boy rendered Griffin momentarily speechless, but he realized that M'reaoux would need more.

"This lad is - was - the son of the proprietress of a moderately successful whorehouse." He saw one of M'reaoux's eyebrows raise slightly. "I frequented it as part of an undercover operation. The boy's name was Jonathun. His mother is Madame Elaneea."

Griffin looked again at the burnt, smoking body of a being half man, half rat.

"I never would have guessed that he was a were, though. This has obvious implications for his mother." He frowned. "And I certainly hope it doesn't carry over to the help."

[Thieves Guild, Main HQ]

"They've arrived." The squirrely looking many with twitchy eyes, but a steady walk announced into the open doorway of Lian's office before moving on down the hall and back to his desk.

Lian pushed the reports he had been reading into the always glowing brazier beside his desk. The sudden surge of heat from the flames warmed his skin, but not his mood. The black smoke rose through a vent in the roof. The smell of charred paper and overly heavy incenses filled the chamber where Lian chose to work. It was fairly dark, only lit by two candles, one to either side and the glowing brazier, so fitful shadows occasionally danced across the walls.

Lian stayed seated at his ornate desk, constructed entirely of ivory, and waited. The desk was a gift to himself, generated from the bones (although none knew that except himself since he killed the creator) of his kills over the past few decades. Its surface gleamed, worn to a smooth sheen. Lian stroked his hands along the desk enjoying its feel while he awaited Krak's arrival. It wasn't long before the quiet steps of his approach made Lian look up from his revery.

Still seated, Lian watched as Krak bowed at the waist. The man had always been formal. He held a parchment in his hand negligently. It rustled as he straightened.

"I expect you have news," Lian commented in a voice barely recognizable through the rough and deep tones it carried.

Krak nodded and finally claimed a leather clad seat across from the GuildMaster. Some said the man was a vampire, others a werewolf, but Krak knew him to be neither, for he hated them both with a passion unmatched in most humans. Of course, most humans didn't believe in such things. The course old man left his eyes on Krak, willing him to speak.

"Nothing new to report on the assignment you gave me." He was referring to being a better than average thief who was assigned under Tusk for the purpose of checking up on him. In reality Krak was a member of an elite group within the guild that reported back to Lian about the goings on in his realm. They were entrusted with many secrets and were even more dangerous than most sector representatives would believe. Their actions were accountable to none, they were so well trusted by Lian. The catch was that they did not know who the others of the elite group were. One of Lian's safety checks. "As to this," he casually tossed the paper to within Lian's reach on the desk. Lian didn't bother to open it. "He's requested that you push me back up to the Night's Watch because he believes I hate my 'demoted' position on the streets. I'm certain you'll refuse."

Lian nodded, but said nothing, knowing that there was more to be told. He'd heard the rumors of course, how couldn't he? A newcomer stepping on his toes. Sounded more like a newcomer that was looking for employ.

"Tusk's brutes were accosted on the job in the old district." Krak didn't really expect Lian to be surprised. He wasn't dissapointed. "The man, who called himself 'Accident' left me a message for Tusk or yourself. Tusk opted to pass the message along to you. His exact message was 'tell your boss we want to talk with him. Tell him to ask around for Accident.' He was extremely skilled."

"Would he have given you pause?" The old man always knew which questions to ask to not waste his breath.

"He did give me pause. I managed to catch a dagger thrown at me before he began eliminating the others. I left the scene, watched for a moment until the others were all dead and then went to Tusk to report. This 'Accident' had an accomplice as well. He appeared to be military. Other than that, I haven't yet figured out that one either. Cocky, he was, but still a skilled swordsman."

Lian sat for a moment. He'd made his mind up well before Krak's arrival and the little tidbits of new information just helped solidify the opinion he had earlier reached. "Very well. Thank you for the report. You are, of course, still on assignment. Tell Tusk what he needs to hear."

Krak stood while nodding. When Lian gave no more, he turned and walked from the room. His feet moved with an eery silence, unlike his entry. He had no idea what Lian would make of the news and it wasn't his place to ask. He would just perform his duty as asked and continue about his daily business. Of course, he would also work on discovering just who this 'Accident' and sidekick were.

[Davian]

It was a good piece of distance to make it from the mine site to the whorehouse of which Griffin had spoken. Davian had insisted, though, that now was the best time to take a look at it since it was broad daylight and the werebeasts had a tendancy to much prefer the darker hours. He knew the place would be open for business no matter the time of day. What he secretly hoped was that he would gain a foothold on the Madame by appearing out of the bright sunny day.

His hopes were dashed as they walked into a room gaudily decorated with fake gold and silver trim and bright gaudy colors. The flood of perfumes and incense actually made Davian cough as they passed the threshold. It was like walking into another realm. A realm of smoke, human stink, sweat, and sweet smells all rolled into one ball. But then, that was its purpose.

The madame was seated behind an ancient oaken counter, its years of being handled had made it glassy smooth and the oils from the incense and from people's hands had made it glow with a rich, glossy appeal. She sat there calmly, glancing up at the two men entering her establishment beyond a pair of very rare spectacles. They were made of nearly perfect glass and held together by wires wrapped about the glass. She took them off and placed them on top of her accounting books. "Welcome gentlemen. Take your coats off and relax."

Davian hesitated for a second, then removed his cloak. It fastened by a pin and slot system and came off easily. His twin blades hung at his sides, wrapped in plain brown leather sheathes, hardened by himself ages ago. He saw the madame grow a little more tense, but she hid it well.

"Weapons you can leave behind the desk here, in this locker." He moved to hand her his weapons, knowing that if she touched them with her bare hands, it would burn her like molten steel. The elf skin that wrapped the hilts was there for the purpose of preventing vampires from touching his blades, but it worked the same way on lycanthropes. All abominations of life, especially those that leaned to evil, hated elves and that hate held power.

He hoped Griffin was ready to move. The were-woman was alone as far as he could tell, but she would screech when the elvin leather met her skin. That might bring others. It would serve to prove Griffin's earlier point about the wereboy's heritage though.

[Griffin]

Returning to the whorehouse was a trip down memory lane to Griffin who had spent a good deal of time here during a particularly difficult undercover assignment. That had been two years ago. He wondered if Regina was still working here. He hoped not. The young prostitute hadn't really been cut out for the business. Griffin knew that the first time he met her. They had spent their entire first "session" just talking. He had asked for her at each subsequent visit and they had truly enjoyed their time together. He had been disappointed when the job had finished and he'd had to leave her. Again he hoped that Regina had found her way out. He didn't want to learn she had been dragged into this lycanthropic mess.

Elaneea looked much as Griffin remembered her. The spectacles were new, but the gaudy satin dress and overdone makeup were true to form. Griffin wasn't as concerned with her physical look, however, as he was with the condition of her aura. His eyes shifted to his inner sight as she spoke to M'reaoux. He was shocked at what he saw. Two aura's co-existed in the were-woman's body. The larger of the two he recognized as human. The other...well, the other was clearly animal, but of a much darker nature than he would have expected. The two aura's were so intertwined that Griffin doubted anything short of powerful magic could have separated them. He was certain the change had occurred since his last visit. He would have remembered something so obviously _WRONG_.

Elaneea sensed his scrutiny and she looked him over, but showed no sign of recognition. Griffin would have been surprised if she had. He had been considerably disguised during his visits - and his disguises were always VERY good.

The madame shied away from taking M'reaoux's weapon. She opened the locker and motioned for the hunter to place his weapons inside. "Sorry," she said, "but I'm extremely uncomfortable with such things. If you'd be so kind as to put your weapon in yourself."

"Careful," Griffin said, "I smell a rat."

He drew his own weapon, leveling it directly at the were-woman.

[Davian]

He held his weapon by its hilt, moving toward the cabinet. It was well coordinated so that when Griffin pulled his sword, Davian sidestepped with his long legs and stood to her flank. He held it level with her chest. He hoped this would not turn ugly.

Hoping to forestall the woman, he said quickly, "We just happened to come across your son." The woman, who had glared with hatred at Griffin paused as though a switch were thrown. She turned her head to face Davian. She appeared to show no concern with their weapons being drawn, but then, she shouldn't really. It took magical weapons to actually kill a lycanthrope and while his were embedded with magic, it was not the right type to kill this creature. Although he could certainly do her some real damage and then finish her later.

"My son?" She asked. Her voice a whisper that spoke volumes of anger. "My son was stolen from me. They stole him, changed him, then came back for me. They tricked me." It appeared she had thrown caution to the winds and was willing to tell them about her situation. "I hadn't seem him in weeks." She emitted a low growl, much like that of a large cat. Davian took a half step back. If she were a weretiger, they were in for a really rough evening. Wererats were one thing, a tiger quite another. He hoped Griffin had made the connection.

"We're here for information, not for violence." Davian wasn't afraid, but he was certainly concerned about her possible reaction. Someone this powerful would likely try to kill them regardless.

[Griffin]

He heard the growl and frowned. Did wererats growl? He thought not. Already on edge from the need to confront a supernatural creature with which he was only passing familiar, Griffin took a tighter grip on his sword hilt and fingered the slender silver stiletto hidden in an inner pocket. He had secured the tapered knife before leaving the castle in the off chance that they came across another were-creature. The gutteral growl coming from Elaneea and the eerie light beginning to reflect from her eyes reminded him that his only true weapon against lycanthropes was a small one indeed.

He swallowed hard before he spoke. "I knew Jonathun from a few years back. We stumbled over his body down near the sewer excavation. He was killed by the wards there."

Elaneea's eyes widened. "Jonathun? Dead?" The shock lasted only a brief moment before the anger returned, redoubled in its strength. Her eyes took on the luminescent yellow of a cat, the pupils elongating into vertical slits. The hands she brought up to her chest were curved, inch long claws slipping from the fingertips. She grasped the front of her dress and rent it down the front, a wail of heated anguish escaping lips unable to contain quickly lengthening fangs. The breasts exposed by the torn dress sprouted white fur, with hints of orange and black covering her shoulders.

"I hate them!" she roared. "I hate what they have done to us! I hate what they make me do!"

Griffin could see a feral glint in those luminous eyes. She was losing control. If she attacked them here, not only would they lose any chance at valuable information, there was a very real chance their lives would be over.

"Elaneea, listen to me! We want to get the people responsible for this. We want to make them pay. Help us, Elaneea. Help us make them pay."

[Davian]

Griffin had the right idea. He did not want this previously influential, and obvious powerful woman, to go into a fit of beastial rage. They might escape with their lives. He listened as Griffin tried to turn her anger against the other lycanthropes, especially those who turned her. The feral growl was barely on the edge of hearing, so deep in her chest did it originate. The fur sprouting from her breasts, shoulders, and hands was a salt and pepper mix of browns and white, reflecting her age upon her transformation. She even refrained from howling at the intense pain that accompanied transformation.

Davian took another step back, to remain just out of reach of the deadly claws. She seemed to have calmed just enough to remain listening, but that was the extent of it, she was hovering on the knife-edge of pure bestial rage. Davian gave Griffin a signal to move back a step. If Griffin were attacked and not killed, he might be transformed himself and Davian didn't know if Griffin's magic would suffice to protect him from such a thing.

"He wouldn't have done such a thing..." her voice was a deep rumbling, not at all befitting the shapely older woman who had been sitting before them when they entered. Davian and Griffin stood still, not wanting to entice or cause her to react. "He changed me, but he would not have done so without my begging. I am this way," a claw raked her own chest, its razor edge drawing blood, but the wound healing visibly while they watched, "because I want to destroy all of those who destroyed my son. And my business."

Davian became more alert, the business was the key. When she did not volunteer more, Davian spoke up, but quietly and non-threateningly. "The lycanths stole your business?" His question was off the mark on purpose.

She turned slowly and regarded him closely, sniffing the air. "No." She had not finished her transformation, but neither did she revert, it was a sign of her anger and control. "They walked in and took my business from me. They put bullies in here, other rats," the comment drew a hugely disdainful hiss from her. "They watch what comes in and take most of the coinage. And they took my son. They bit him one late night, forcing me to watch. It only took hours, until the full moon hit him... They turned him into leverage against me. For that I will kill them all." She was breathing shallow breaths rapidly, like an animal that had run miles. Her anger had not subsided. Her eyes glinted and with a sudden tiger-like scream she shattered the desk she had been working at with a single handed blow. Davian dodged a shard of the well-aged wood as it flew by his face.

He heard the crash and bang of others coming into the room from elsewhere in the brothel. This was going to get ugly fast, especially if more than one lycanth were present. He hoped that was not the case as he leveled both swords and guaged the placement of the furniture and exits. He casually placed his boot heel against the door on the floor. It would hold against all but big men or lycanths that way.

[Griffin]

A piece of the shattered desk grazed Griffin's sword hand, drawing a line of blood. He took a second step back, not to escape the enraged Elaneea, but to better guard the door through which he and M'reaoux had entered. He locked it hurriedly. His inner sight had revealed a startling, yet reassuring insight into the Madame's emotional state.

Her anger was in no way directed at them.

Griffin watched as months of bottled up rage and frustration bubbled out from Elaneea's soul. It flicked over an unsuspecting M'reaoux, tasting his auric signature and rejecting him as the cause of its existence. It turned on Griffin and similarly dismissed him.

They were safe. For the moment.

Someone knocked at the door behind M'reaoux.

"Elaneea, what's going on in there? Is everything all right?"

The voice was soft and feminine. Griffin recognized it immediately and his heart sank. It was Regina.

Elaneea snarled. The fire in her aura surged through the door, uncontested by mere physical impediments. Griffin watched as it turned blood red.

"Shades of light and dark," he murmured, "She's one of them."

The knock grew more insistent. The knob turned, but the door failed to open, blocked by the hunter's foot.

"What's going on, Elaneea? Open the door."

The voice had hardened to granite. This was not the Regina Griffin knew. Fear crept in as he heard feet fast approaching from the corridor behind his door.

The madame's fury was a raging whirlwind. It burst into the corridor, tasting the newcomers. Its color shifted again. The were-woman was near the breaking point.

The door behind M'reaoux shuddered as a great force struck it.

"I'm coming in, Elaneea. Whether you like it or not." The menace in Regina's ever deepening voice was unmistakable.

"Come then." In stark contrast to her roiling aura, Elaneea's voice was a calm spring breeze.

In response, the door behind M'reaoux crashed inwards, the hard wood shattering like glass. M'Reaoux was thrown back as if his weight was of no consequence. The thing that entered only vaguely resembled the petite woman Griffin remembered so fondly. Red eyes glared from a furred face. The nose was snout-like, with long whiskers. Sharp teeth shown through a wide mouthed grin.

"So, Elaneea, you've grown teeth. How very unfortunate for you and for your son."

"My son is dead, you rat-faced whore. You have no hold over me now."

The door behind Griffin cracked. He stepped aside to avoid M'reaoux's fate as the wood gave way, spilling three other were-rats into the small office. These were male and considerably larger than the tiny Regina.

"Then we have no further use for you, cat. Skin her," Regina ordered. "She'll make a nice wall hanging when I redecorate my new office."

The three enforcers ignored the humans and advanced on the were-tigress.

There was no time for thought. Any chance for information lay in keeping Elaneea alive. Griffin pulled his silver stiletto and with reflexes born of skill and heightened by adrenaline, he drove the weapon into the back of the closest rat. His aim was true. The point of the knife emerged slightly from the were-rat's chest having pierced the monster's heart. It fell to the floor, thrashing about in its death dance. Unfortunately, it took Griffin's dagger with it.

There was a moment of stunned silence and then all hell broke loose.

[Davian]

The force hitting the door was impressive. It sent him forward, pitching hard at the surface of the desk. Davian tossed one of his short swords aside and attempted to catch himself, but he only managed to stop the worst of the impact. Landing on the floor, his sword clanking to a stop a couple of feet away, Davian sat still for a moment. The smell of animals washed over him as the wererat entered the room. There was an exchange between the newcomer and the ex-madame, but he was too busy assessing the situation to listen.

The crash of the door nearer Griffin gave him a chance and he jumped. Davian grabbed the second weapon from the floor and continuing his momentum, he came up into a crouch on the other side of the now trashed desk. He hoped his movement had not caught their attention. He needn't have worried, the rats assumed, like most creatures too powerful for their own good that he and Griffin were to be ignored. That was when Griffin darted for the largest one's back. Davian was surprised to see the tip of a weapon emerge from the creature's chest. He distinctly heard the crunch of bone as it passed through a rib. Davian thought Griffin had overstepped himself and would have caused the creature to turn and dispatch him in a rage before it collapsed for some time. He knew a normal weapon wasn't much value against them. That and a few of their habits was about the extent of his knowledge though.

A momentary pause, in which even he took part, took place as the largest wererat fell facedown on the floor, its powerful legs kicking and slamming its body about the floor. That pause was broken by an abrupt growl, so fierce that it made Davian skip back in surprise and, he had to admit, a little fear. The weretiger Eleneea bunched and leapt forward, her weight and cat-like strength carrying her into the smallest wererat, the one who still wore the silks of a whore. As few as those were.

The cries were outlandish and very loud. Davian's ears throbbed with the noise. Not enough to miss the fact that one of the wererats had turned on Griffin and the other, while not having moved, was eyeing him closely. The punch through their companions heart had given them so pause at least.

Davian was worried though, Griffin held his sword, but that weapon would not work well against these foes. The enraged tigress had the rat-whore pinned to the floor and was raking her thin body repeatedly with angry shredding motions. Fur was flying about the room, although the wounds were not as deep as they would be in a human's body. The two remaining rat enforcers growled and jumped into the fight, throwing their fists with amazing force against the madame's body. She did not relent in her attack on the wererat whore in the least though, for that matter, she wasn't even flinching with each new blow. Davian looked at Griffin. He wasn't sure if they should proceed or leave the premises immediately. Griffin was intent on the fight though and from all appearances wasn't ready to leave.

Davian frowned. How could he turn the fighters inattention to his advantage? He looked to his blades, having no idea if they would be effective or not. Only one way to find out, but again, how to best use the situation? He needed to make this strike true and end another miserable life.

He spared another glance at his weapons, one actually seemed warm in his hand, the other felt no different than normal. He shifted the warm one to his right hand, the stronger arm would push this one forward. The opal on his sword's hilt swirled faster and faster as he crept toward the back of a wererat that was actually biting the flank of the madame. He knew this would hurt the rat, possibly even kill it, although he didn't know how he was suddenly so certain of himself.

He took two quick steps, tilting his thin blade so it would bypass any ribs and pierce deep, he wanted to match Griffin's earlier attack. Something gave him away though, as he reached within arm's length of the rat, it spun and whipped a fur clad arm in his direction. The speed was amazing and Davian was stunned to find that his sword had intercepted the blow, slicing a deep gouge in the creatures arm. The wereman screamed with a primal pain, arcing its back and dancing away from Davian, its bite marks bleeding slowly. It was all happening in a mad rush, Davian wasn't sure what to do next as he had a wererat on each side. He knew he was outmatched, but would not let that slow his attack. He turned toward the man who had leapt off of the fight and who was turning to come back at him. He hoped Griffin had another trick up his sleeve.

It happened in almost a flash. His sword seemed to pulse, ever so slightly, but the fact that he used the weapon for years upon years helped him realize that something had happened. All of the werebeasts in the room suddenly gave agonized yelps of pain and began to scatter.

[Griffin]

While relieved that the wererats hadn't turned on them following his surprisingly effective knife thrust, Griffin was concerned by the ferocity with which the rats attacked Elaneea. It was plain that the weretigress was more powerful than her foes, but she was outnumbered - and though her attacks were devastating, she sustained far more damage than any one rat facing her. He knew that if the Madame were to fall they would lose their sole source of information in this place, and worse, the rats would then turn on them.

Griffin looked again at the ineffective weapon in his hand. What could he do to affect the outcome? These foes were beyond him.

The pulse of light released him from his momentary lethargy. What was that?

Griffin focused his inner sight on M'reaoux as the weres pulled back, momentarily stunned. His eyes were drawn to the sword in the hunter's right hand. The opaline gem in the weapon's hilt glittered and sparked with fettered magic - and something more. To his great surprise, an aura shone forth from the stone. A human aura.

A Holy aura.

He wasn't sure what it meant, but he used the lull in the fight to take action. Since his dagger was the only useful weapon he had, he would make use of it.

His sword blade fell upon the neck of the wererat he had felled. With a practiced motion, he severed the rat shaped head from the body. Thus assured that his foe would not rise against him, Griffin stooped and plucked the silver dagger from the dead beast's chest, then danced over to stand side to side with M'reaoux.

"An interesting blade you have there," he said in a conversational tone. "I'd like to study it some time."

Elaneea recovered from her shock and launched herself at one of the male wererats. He wasn't fast enough to stop her attack. Sharp claws ripped through the flesh of his chest and teeth rent his neck. The wererat fell, torn and bleeding. Elaneea rose, her maw dripping crimson. She held up the heart of the battered foe and crushed it.

"This is what is in store for you, Regina. I will crush you like the insect you are."

Elaneea charged. The remaining male rat moved to intercept her, but Griffin got his foot out and sent the monster sprawling.

"Now," he cried, "Finish it while it's down!"

[Davian]

"IT?" The sound was a primal growl mixed with a great anger. The wererat that Griffin had managed to knock on the floor was already halfway back to his feet. Damn they were fast.

Davian flowed into a well rehearsed pattern he had developed years before while bored between jobs. It was a freeform sword form that stole patterns and combinations from other forms and, Davian thought, combined them into a hard to read system that he could follow, but his opponents could not. He only hoped, in a vague part of his brain still thinking for him as his muscles moved mechanically, that it would be just as hard for this beast to track. The wererat seemed caught between helping its female partner and rending he or Griffin. It was just the split second pause Davian needed.

His sword arced in high and slashed through, right where the beast's neck had been mere moments ago. But the superior speed of the beast took the deadly edge from his attack, the sword only glanced off its shoulder. Davian did note that the sword seemed to function like it should, its keen edge drawing a line of blood from the creature's flesh. It also appeared to have severed a muscle or two as it wasn't lifting the arm as high as it had earlier.

Davian had lost track of Griffin in the melee, the sounds of rending flesh and screeches drowning any sound light feet might make. The wererat was glaring at Davian, in a half crouch beside the partially crushed desk. Davian saw its leg muscles twitching through the torn fabric of the dirty pants it wore in a parody of human decency. He certainly hoped he could dodge and not put Griffin in danger. His thoughts were interrupted by another deafening growl from the tigress and a smashing of weight in the hallway. It seems the tigress had finished her job and thrown the carcass aside with a tremendous force. Davian's glance back was a bad move though. The wererat leapt at him from its crouched position. Only the distance of the jump saved Davian's life as he let his legs collapse to avoid the leaping mass of claws and teeth. Short, dirty claws ripped his cloak and left trailing lines of blood across his arm. Somehow, in his speed to dodge the attack, he had left his blade above his head and the blade had left a body length gash down the creatures midline, although it wasn't deep enough to cause more than a great deal of pain which the beast seemed more than happy to ignore.

Davian let himself fall back on the floor and he rolled back and up, returning to a standing position, his blood leaving a striped pattern on the well worn wood of the floor. He had no idea if a simple scratch could cause infection, but his heritage would probably save him from such a thing just as it would from a vampiric bite. He hoped. But, he needn't have worried. The opal gem against flashed its brilliance, barely on the edge of sight, and the pain of the scratch lessened. If he had taken the time to look, he would have noted that the bleeding had stopped. The blade felt very warm in his hand.

He needed to know where Griffin had wound up, he hoped in a flanking position with that silver dagger of his. This fight was not going as he'd hoped and the Mistress of the place didn't look like she was ready to help them at all. Something in the hallway seemed to have stolen her rage.

Davian vaguely heard, but did not register, the sound of crackling flames.

[Griffin]

The speed of the wererat's recovery from the trip had been nothing short of amazing. Griffin began to realize just how lucky he had been in his strike against the first rat man. If the weres had even begun to suspect that the two men had weapons that could hurt or even kill them, he never would have landed the blow. Even now, with the rat concentrating its efforts on M'reaoux, it was still agile enough to avoid Griffin's expertly placed thrusts. The dagger was just too freaking short, and Griffin was wary of getting close enough to the beast's infectious claws to ensure a strike landed.

He saw the rat land a blow on the hunter and realized that he may not have a choice. One on one this creature would have them. It would take both of them to have any hope of victory. He only needed one opening to even the odds�.

It came then, with the flashing of the opal. The wererat recoiled again, throwing its arms up to cover its eyes. Griffin wasted no time. He dove forward, his arm slashing in a perfectly executed maneuver. The dagger ripped through the back of the thing's legs, hamstringing it on one side, drawing a deep gash on the other.

The wererat reacted instinctively, spinning to the side and raking its arms downward. Griffin pivoted the other way, drooping to the floor and rolling away. He wasn't fast enough. One claw tore through his shirt. He felt a stinging pain on his right forearm as he came to his feet.

"Ah smeg."

The wererat tried to leap his direction, but the damage from the silver weapon didn't heal as the beast expected. It crashed to the floor, blood gushing from a severed artery in its leg.

Then Griffin, too, heard the unmistakable sounds of a fire. Smoke began to issue into the room from deeper in the brothel.

[Davian]

Davian's adrenalin enriched mind finally realized what the crackle in the background had been as a burst of thick, dark smoke poured in through the open door. A fire was really beginning to build outside of this entrance hall and the were-tigress had gone that way with the body of the wererat whore. He glanced at Griffin, noting the jagged tear and blood from what appeared to be a claw wound. That wasn't good. He hoped Griffin's connections were such that he knew some good clerics, he certainly had no idea how to cure a possible lycanthropic malady.

The growling were-rat was slamming its clawed hands into the floorboards, pulling itself along on extremely strong arms and it was moving quickly. Glancing at his sword, the one with the opal that was still spinning in a dizzying fashion, he sidestepped out of the beast's line of sight. It seemed to be concentrating on Griffin, which helped his plan. Waiting until its arm was outstretched, Davian leapt directly onto its prone back, his weight pinning it, for the moment, to the floor. He swung with all his strength and severed the remaining good arm completely from the werebeast's body. The arm thrashed once and lay still, but the body of the rat began to thrash in pain and anger, tossing Davian from his perch between its shoulder blades. He stumbled, but somehow regained his balance and moved away from the thrashing body with its one useless arm and one good leg, which was slamming into the floor and shattering the aged wooden planks.

Davian glanced around, expecting more attackers, but only he and Griffin and two shredded human forms were in the room. He looked up wondering what to do next. He didn't know how valuable the ex-mistress of the house was to Griffin, but the house itself was burning down. He heard the loud pop of shattering beams and the resulting crash from a nearby room. Giving a small cough in the smoke that was quickly filling the space, he moved over next to Griffin.

"Where to?" He nearly had to yell the roar of the fire was growing so loud. He thought, but didn't say, that they should probably find some sort of healing to cover Griffin's wound. Maybe he had some special way of dealing with his injury.

[Griffin]

"This way."

He skirted the dead wererats and headed out of the room, directly into path of the fire. The heat that sprung up was intense, but Griffin was loath to lose any information he might obtain from Elaneea, and she had come this way.

He followed the hallway through several twists and turns, twice having to sprint past burning rooms. He thought he saw sunlight a short ways off and he dashed that direction, stumbling out of the whorehouse into fresher air.

Stumbling into the powerful form of the weretigress.

Elaneea swung at him, but caught herself before she tore his arm off. Griffin noticed the body on the ground at her feet. It was twisted and torn, it's muzzle completely hinged backward. Griffin forced his eyes away from corpse of the half-thing that his Regina had become. Elaneea surprised him by speaking.

"You helped me back there. So I owe you." The tone was harsh and gutteral, but the Madame was beginning to revert back to her human form. Griffin took this as a good sign and quickly forged ahead.

"We only want some information. Jonathun died because one of the rats he associated with spooked someone he shouldn't have." Not the entire truth, but maybe linking her son to it might get him what they needed. "We want that person."

Her eyes narrowed.

"What's this guy to you? Why should I even care?"

Oops. Not the direction he wanted. Griffin focused more closely on her aura. The roiling taint that was her lycanthropy was subsiding, making it easier to read her. He saw what she wanted. It was revenge. She saw the unnamed killer as an ally. If he killed the rats, he was on her side.

Suddenly the whole thing fell into place in his mind.

"We believe the leader of the rats killed one of his own people in an effort to protect his own skin. That person was important to us. He had been changed against his will. You understand, I know. He took your business and changed your son. Now Jonathun is dead. You want him to pay. Let us help you make him pay."

She wavered, then gave in.

"What do you need to know?"

"Just tell us where to find the next link in the chain." He gestured to Regina. "Who did they report to?"

"I don't know."

She meant it. Griffin felt the opportunity slipping through his fingers. Another dead end.

"Wait." She nudged Regina's body with her toe. "This one met with someone on a regular basis. A regular customer. Too regular, maybe. You could start there."

"What was his name?"

"Reeves. Kenneth Reeves."

Griffin stared. A dead end? In a way. The body of Kenneth Reeves lay on a stone table in the dungeons, the vampire's second victim.