“I must say,” Watson began, “the use of a crossbow is rather ingenious.”

“You have to admit that it’s considerably more stealthy than the report of a pistol. Very useful when undertaking matters one would rather the police not become involved in. Which reminds me, if you were planning to shoot Mr. Cokes then how precisely did you plan to remove the body before anyone came to investigate the sound of the gunshot? Even in this sparsely populated neighborhood surely someone would have heard it.”

Having stashed the body in the garden shed for the time being we were sitting at the dinner table of the very man I had killed only minutes before and I had poured each of us a cup of tea. Doctor Watson still appeared to me to be a badger, or something very similar, and in the brighter indoor lighting I must say that I found him anything but intimidating. Rather I would have described his appearance as something almost comical, had he not been sitting across from me with a revolver pointed at my chest. He absorbed my questions and then squinted his eyes, glaring at me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“There’s something different about you.”

“Yes you’ve already mentioned that.”

“No, I mean in here.”

He stood, half-turned to the window but made sure to keep his gun pointed in my general direction, then drew the curtain. As he turned back to me he grinned.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?”

“Your eyes, they’re no longer glowing.”

“Curious.” I uttered.

“Curious indeed, and a possible explanation for why I’ve never seen any like you before.”

“How is that?” I asked.

“In this dining room, but only with the curtain drawn, the distinctive brilliance of your eyes vanishes. It had dimmed when we’d entered the house, but disappeared completely when I closed the curtain. I seldom go out at night you see, and when I do it is typically straight to the bedside of a sick individual...where the curtains are more often than not drawn. I’ll wager that I wouldn’t be able to see it in the daytime either. The moon, it must be the light of the moon!”

Whatever he was piecing together inside of his mind was apparently quite enlightening for it seemed to work him into a fervor. Then, as suddenly as it had happened before, he changed again, this time back into the mustachioed middle-aged man I had seen only briefly in the yard.

“It was you!” he exclaimed. “You were the reason I couldn’t change back. That explains why my ancestors were so terrified of your kind. Not only could you see them as they were, but you could keep them that way for all to see.”

“Whatever it was that I accomplished it was not with any conscious effort I can assure you.”

“No.” he said, his eyes growing distant, obviously lost in thought. “What if...” he began, “it is a skill, one that must be developed? One that until then is only instinctual and not completely reliable?”

It was an intriguing thought. Mr. Brody had not transformed when I had ambushed him during the middle of the day. The Bugbear in Ireland, and many of the creatures I had encountered since, had transformed at the sight of me, yet most of those times had been in the moonlight. There was, however, still Monsieur Gillard.

Perhaps it was as I had reasoned before, his metamorphosis was the terrified reaction of a criminal and nothing more. It’s possible that he may have betrayed his identity to anyone who had stumbled upon him. Resorting to his monstrous form whenever he was cornered was not a terrible idea, for it enhanced both his speed and his strength. Had dumb luck and a bit of knowledge not been on my side he very well might have torn me limb from limb that day in the warehouse. At that time I was nowhere near the skilled fighter I now found myself to be.

“It makes sense...” the doctor continued, “when we are children the ability to control our form is very crude and deeply linked with our emotional state.”

I had to admit that I found the notion quite fascinating. Still, there was the question of what to do with the doctor himself. He apparently had something of a conscience. After all, he’d come here to end a creature that was stealing the life from innocent people. He could be lying, but were he in league with Mr. Cokes there’d have been little reason for him not to shoot me on the spot, especially once he realized that I presented a unique threat to him. Still, perhaps he was studying me...

“Do you mind if I smoke doctor?”

He shook his head. “I suppose not, but what do you presume we do? Do we simply sit here all evening, waiting for the other to make a move?”

“You genuinely distrust me don’t you Watson?” I asked, speaking from the corner of my mouth as I attempted to light my pipe.

“You will have to understand that I was instilled from childhood with a fear of Versieht.”

“Versieht?” I asked, now properly curious.

“A mutilation of an old German phrase. Something like ‘he who sees’ I believe.”

“Ah, wer sieht.” I corrected him.

“You speak German?”

“I dabble.” I smiled. “So tell me then, so that I might better understand, about who and what it is that you are Doctor Watson.”

He shook his head in acknowledgement, but asked that I do the same once he had finished, to which I agreed. He took in a deep breath before beginning, the pistol dropping to the table, still within easy reach mere inches from his hand.

“I am what most would refer to as a Mor. The name is derived, I believe, from an ancient healing deity by the name of Moritasgus, worship by the Senones, an ancient Gaelic culture.”

“Yes I know of the Senones Doctor.” I had not, however, chanced to read anything pertaining to any god of antiquity by the name that he mentioned.

“Now bear with me,” he continued despite my interruption, “for you see our history is not as well documented as that of the common populace.”

“Fear not Watson, even the books that sit upon the shelves of the royal library itself this very moment are little more than vague representations of the truth, twisted into a version of reality that suited whomever wrote them.”

“Are you quite finished?” the doctor asked, looking rather annoyed with me as I sat there with my smug expression and dirty overcoat. “I will say this for you Holmes, you have quite a love for the sound of your own voice.”

Like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar I looked away, then waved my hand. “Pray do continue.”

“As I was saying. Our history is quite fragmentary, but I’ll do the best that I can to explain to you what I do know. I know that our lineage is ancient, far more so than any history book, and that the Mors descend from more than one family. There were apparently quite a few of us at one point but in more recent centuries I think not so much. My speculation would be due to the dilution of bloodlines, as our kind slowly began to interbreed with homo sapiens.”

He must have caught the look of surprise on my face, for he immediately followed up. “Yes, it’s quite possible. As you can see from me now as I sit here before you I am a man. Whatever it is that makes me Mor is passed down through bloodlines, but apparently when they are mixed too much with ordinary humans the ability to transform fades. In fact from what I’ve seen less than sixty percent of children born to mixed couples retain their abilities. That number drops to less than twenty-five percent for the next generation without ‘were’ blood.”

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“Were?” I queried.

“Not knowing your history Mr. Holmes I cannot surmise precisely what you do and do not know about the unseen world, but there is much more to it than just us were-beasts.”

“Indeed. I have had encounters with an Abere, a female lake spirit who lures men to their deaths. Also with a Hedley Kow, a...”

“A mischievous little sprite that torments men and women until they’re driven completely mad and seek the solace of suicide. Yes, I’ve heard of them.” Watson finished my thought. “Well then, where was I? Yes, you obviously know what a Loup-Garou is, and now you know what a Mor is. We are all were-beasts, humans by birth and little different from everyone else save for the ability to transform into an animal-like form. Typically it is by choice, but in some situations, such as the case of werewolves, it is tied to an outside force.”

“The full moon.” I said.

“Precisely.”

“You say that it is inherited, but have you any data as to the origin of such types? Human and animal pairings? Random natural mutation?”

He shook his head, “I’m afraid not. As I said there is little in the way of records.”

“Let me ask you this Watson.” I said in a rather bleak tone, “From the few moments I have known you, usually more than enough for me to get a read on a man’s character, I deduce you to be a mostly decent man. Are the others of your kind so?”

“Well, as you’ve seen with Mr. Cokes...” he began, but I silenced him.

“I do not mean were-beasts in general Doctor John Watson.” my voice boomed across the table, “I mean your kind. Mors. Tell me of them. Had I met an individual other than yourself would I have been inclined to kill him? If you have such a fear of ‘Versieht’, as you call them, I cannot help but believe that your kind have good reason to harbor such anxiety.”

He took a breath, refusing for a moment to fix his gaze to mine, instead choosing to fumble with the revolver. Not in any aggressive sense, but simply as a nervous tick.

“Moritasgus, as I’ve said before, was a deity of healing. More often than not members of my kind choose to be doctors, nurses, or aboriginal practitioners. It is in our nature...”

“But?”

“Our skills, you see, are innate. We have a natural ability to sort of...well, ‘smell’, the cause of a malady and therefore find an appropriate treatment for it. This makes us prized in the field of health care, but just like any man there are those of us who can become vain, greedy. It is not unheard of for one of us to let the power go to his head and begin to withhold treatment until rewarded most handsomely for his efforts.”

“Extortion?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Some of my kind have had men sign away their entire fortunes in order to secure treatment for those whom they love.”

“Interesting, surely, but I highly doubt that would be enough an offense to cause Mors to instill their children with terror at the sight of a Versieht. There’s more isn’t there?”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” he put up a hand, “Now keep in mind, this was mostly in ancient times, as I said there aren’t that many of us left these days.”

I nodded.

“Extortion was one thing, but there are others that have done much worse. Like I said, our abilities can make us vain, arrogant...there are those who’ve decided it was their place to play God, to...” he fell silent, it was obvious that whatever he was about to say deeply disturbed him.

“Please Doctor, do continue. I swear to try my very best not to judge you off of the actions of others.”

He bit his lower lip, composed himself, then spoke. “I understand Mr. Holmes, and it is not for my own reputation that I have trouble speaking of this. It is...a stain…that we all carry.” he looked up, and without warning returned to his badger-like state, his haunting yellow eyes locked with mine, “They took the lives of those they could not save, those whom they felt were too far gone, and gave it to others they felt they could save.”

“You can do that, steal life like the Loup-Garou?” I sat forward in my chair.

“No.” he shook his furry head, “We have a gland, located here...” he showed me the area just below his palm, “that secretes a hormone capable of somehow exciting human and animal tissue, causing it to heal more rapidly. They used it as a means to remove the healthy organs of terminally ill patients and place them into the bodies of those they wished to save.”

“All for exorbitant fees I’m sure?”

“In some cases yes, in others no. That’s beside the point!” he shouted, “They used their ability to keep an organ alive momentarily outside of the human body in order to meddle with things that they had no business meddling with. It was not their place to decide who lived and who died! I see it all of the time in medicine, there are those I am certain will die, and they do not, those who I am certain will live, and yet they pass away. How could they have felt so sure?!”

I sat back into my seat, puffed on my pipe, thought for a moment. “Have you considered the possibility that those individuals...as you said it was mostly long ago, were of a bloodline more pure than your own and indeed did possess that ability? The one to determine with absolute certainty whether or not a patient was going to live or die?”

I could see that he was stunned. For the first time both of his hands left the vicinity of the revolver. He straightened his tie and rubbed at his chin.

“I had not.” he admitted after some time. “Though regardless, I find the entire idea morally repugnant.”

“As do I.” I smiled.

He paused for another few moments, the room in total silence save for the puffing at my pipe.

“May I ask you something Mr. Holmes?”

“Of course Watson.” I replied cordially.

“I cannot help but wonder if there is a thought that has occurred to you, as it has only just occurred to me. We know full-well that there are millions upon millions of people in this world, most of which are ordinary and mundane human beings. I do not fall into that category, for obvious reasons, but I believe it is possible that neither do you. I know almost nothing of them so I cannot say, but what if the Versieht are simply another form of my homo monstrum?”

His question struck me like a blow to the chest. I dropped the pipe from my mouth, fumbling in an attempt to catch it before it fell to the table, and managed it but only just. From his expression I knew that Watson had taken notice of the rattling sounds coming from my coat.

“Three glass tubes, medical grade, two blades made of different metals, one extra bolt for your crossbow, a lead-weighted leather blackjack, and a single tincture of chloroform.” he commented smugly, his badger face morphing into a smile.

I scoffed. “Very good, but you could have glimpsed them through my open coat as I turned to face you in the garden.” he was wrong about one thing, the tincture was not of chloroform but rather of laudanum. Some habits die hard. “Regardless,” I said as I began to button my coat, “your previous question makes one thing very clear to me.”

“Oh, and what would that be Holmes?”

“You’ve no need to have me run on about my past. You obviously have a better grasp on who I am than even I myself do.”

“Holmes!” he snarled, a bit of badgery growl present in his tone.

Exasperated I sighed and spat out, “Very well. I’m the son of a barrister from Chigwell and a shipping heiress from Theydon Bois who died in childbirth. My father is a narcissist and my mother’s family vowed to make sure that neither my older brother Mycroft nor I ever saw a dime of their fortune. I was educated at Cambridge, where I studied law and criminology for two terms before dropping out, fed up with the fact that I was far more brilliant than any of my professors. I live in a boarding house on Baker Street where I practiced my craft for some years before stumbling into the seedy underbelly of the night that is the world of your so-called homo monstrum. I am independently wealthy, having three years ago crossed paths with a Korrigan who was using his abilities to win bets at horse races. I let him live, despite threatening his life should he fail to cease his activities, but took the opportunity to confiscate a few of his predictions to fund my monster hunting ventures for many years to come.” I sat back and kicked my feet up onto the table, “Is that enough Watson? Or shall I delve into a list of women with which I’ve enjoyed sexual congress over the last...”

“That,” Watson blurted, putting his hand up to stop me, “shall be quite enough.” finally he tucked away the revolver that had spent the last ten or so minutes pointed in my direction.

“Well then,” I grinned, “where shall we go from here?”

Watson closed his eyes in concentration, then shifted back into his human form. “I will be honest with you Holmes, you fascinate me.”

My cocky smile drew a look of derision.

“As a doctor, and someone who’s spent his entire life trying to understand all of this, to finally meet a living and breathing Versieht...I must study you.” he paused, catching sight of my hesitation, “Not in any perverse or intrusive way, of course, but I’d be interested in some type of, well…friendship…I suppose you would call it.”

“One monster...and I suppose possibly a second one, partnering up to kill other monsters?” I posited, “Sounds awfully depraved if you ask me.”

“Oh do be serious Holmes. I’m a doctor. This business of prowling about in the night to lop of the heads, or whatever it is you do, of unsuspecting creatures is not for me. Our desires happened to coincide this one time but I’ve little taste for blood. I experienced enough death in the Army and am on familiar terms with it in my practice.”

I thought for a moment. “Your knowledge of these matters, likely more than my own, at least in some areas, could be very useful. A truth that I cannot deny.”

With that I pushed the chair back with a loud scrape against the floor and came to my feet. My movements were so sudden that Watson nearly went for his revolver, expecting betrayal from the Versieht I supposed.

“Come Watson.” I declared, “We’ve got a body to dispose of.”