BLOOD COVEN

Christopher Fulbright & Angeline Hawkes

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Fulbright & Hawkes

-1-

London, 1888.

Echoes of horse hooves clopped through the street mingled with the sounds of screeching cats and shrieking shrews. Fog thick with soot draped the night as rain came down in a constant drizzle, drenching Walter’s coat, plastering his starched white collar to his neck. He hurried along the street. A single gas lamp stood crookedly on a nearby corner, a final ward against the encroaching shadows; all of the other lamps up and down the block were broken and dark. A stench rose from the overflowing sewers, clinging to his clothing. He covered his face with his handkerchief and stepped beneath the eave of a narrow storefront with blackened windows. A stream of water splattered the steps as he knocked on the door before him.

The door opened on shaking hinges to reveal a stooped Chinaman. Smoky gloom stirred in the air behind him, the cloying scent of opiates wafting out into the wet night. The Chinaman’s long black braid draped in front of his shoulder as he cast a quick glance over his shoulder before acknowledging his nocturnal visitor. He wrung his hands, bowing and greeting Walter.

“It is good that you come. What take you so long?” Donghai asked.

Walter raised one eyebrow. “I came as quickly as I could. You mentioned Langsuior in your note?”