The next day when I woke, sunlight was streaming through the window, I opened my eyes and looked out. The branches tapped the glass pane, as if reminding me too get up, and the suns rays turned everything golden in their embrace. 

I sat up, yawning and running a hand through the untidy waves of my head. I would require much assistance in taming it. A knock at the door startled me and I was up in a flash, a knife in my hand. "Miss Everlyn?" I relaxed at the sound of the maids voice, she was only here to help me dress. Quickly I hid the knife and said, "come in"

She entered and looked frazzled. I stepped behind the screen, changing into a thin muslin dress, it was simple and elegant, after emerging in the garment, the maid began doing my hair. "What is your name?" I asked her, curiousity getting the better of me.

"Abbey, Miss, Abbey Fledgly" 

I stayed quite after that as the girl wound my hair into a cleverly crafted up-do. The curls spilling out the side yet it all somehow remained off my face. After applying some light make up, she left, no doubt to finish her other duties. 

Breakfast was laid out on the table, Emma was sat sipping tea and nibbling on a piece of toast delicatly. "Good Morning" I bid, joining her at the table.

"Good morrow, how was last night?" asked Emma, taking another sip.

"Productive" I answered, buttering a slice of toast, "and yours?" 

"Lovely thank you" she replied. We ate in silence and then when I had finished, she handed me a note, "From a friend" she winked. 

I opened it and was surprised to find it was from an anonymous writer. 

Dear Miss Everlyn,

I have information regarding a certain vampire. Let's just say it would be in both our interests to rid this earth of him.

Come to the Blackwater Pub on Rotchester Road for more information between 11 am and 3 pm today. 

Come alone. 

I read and reread the note, making certain I had read it correctly. After finishing breakfast, I went to my room and armed myself, tucking both a knife and stake into the straps round my ankles, I even managed to conceal my sword under the long coat I was wearing, for there was a chilling wind which cut through you like a knife. 

Exiting the house. I called a cab, telling him, "Rotchester Road"

The driver clucked the horse forward and the sound of hoof beats clattering off cobble stones filled my ears. The drive through London was pleasant, merchants lining the streets and grand architecture towering in every space of the busy street. 

But, as the drive drew on, the streets became quieter and narrower. The sounds of the centre died away and were replaced with the wails of the wretched, the pitiless cries of the poor. 

Rotchester Road was on the East End of the docks, over looking a bleak scene of half-rotted ships muddy planes from the outward tide. It would soon be covered again by the murky waters of the Thames though. 

I stepped out the carriage, and the world seemed to darken, clouds drifted across the sky, making the place more dank than previous. A rickedy sign hung precariously above the door, 'Blackwater' it read, showing a picture of a ship with black sales sinking into a blackening ocean. 

Thankful I had worn gloves, I pushed open the timber door and stepped onto the creaking floor boards inside. The place was deserted, aside from a lowly bar keep sleeping by the fire, and a woman in black robes sat in a booth, her face concealed, her position hunched.

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