NUMERO QUATRO (IAN)

The night was cold, but for Ian it was just right. He leaned against a tree in much the same pose Spencer had sketched him in earlier. His hair blew gently in the wind. It was perfect, except for-

Erich nudged Ian gently. "Hey. They left."

Ian coughed. "And you reek of pot, my dearest brother. Please, stay at least five paces behind me." With that, he set off silently after the two siblings

Erich rolled his eyes. Who the hell says 'paces' anymore anyway? But he loped after Ian anyway, lighting up his cigarette.

Spencer and Adrian walked along towards Whitechapel, unaware that two creatures of the night followed silently behind.

Perhaps Erich was right. The little artist looks familiar. But...no. It's a coincidence. That is all. Silently cursing his brother for even allowing him to even entertain such notions, he halted.

"Danger?" Erich whispered excitedly, sniffing the air.

"No. Just thinking. How should we approach this? How shall we even dare to, even presume to meddle in their affairs."

"Seriously bro. You are stuck in the 18th century."

"My finest century. After all, I was alive then."

Erich shook his head. "Stop dwelling on that. Look, are we protecting them or not? I have better things to do."

"By that of course you mean my housemaid." Ian sighed the long suffering sigh of one who had put up with this before. "We must take a roundabout way."

"Because you're way too proper. Let me handle this." With that, Erich stalked out of the shadows and directly into the pair's path.

Ian nearly choked, rushing after his brother to drag him back-

"Ian?" Spencer asked, grabbing his brothers arm.

This must be the poet, Ian thought. The two looked alike, though they were like light gold and copper. And the poet boy...Adrian...dwarfed his younger brother by 7 inches.

"Ah. Yes-" Ian began.

"Hey. Whats up. My names Erich, you must be Spencer. Listen, you can't go to Whitechaple. Not tonight. There's some bad juju going on right now and-"

"Could you be bothered to speak correctly, brother?!" Ian hissed, yanking Erich over to him. "Please. Ignore my brother he is a drunken vagrant. Carry on." As he turned to go, Spencer ripped free of Adrian and grasped Ian's arm.

"Hey." he smiled.

Ian paused, not sure how to proceed. "Um. Yes. Hello."

Spencer reached into his jacket pocket, and placed a piece of paper in Ian's hand. "Nothing. Carry on." He winked so fast Ian thought he must have imagined it and walked back over to Adrian.

Ian couldn't breathe.

Erich was right. As always.