The metallic clink, and the whoosh of the beast heard clearly from Helena’s room, as she added her final touches to her ensemble. Looking in the mirror one last time, she pondered how much older she looked and how she saw the image of her mother looking back.

She rushed down the stairs as best she could in her flowing dress and moderately high heels. Lane and Sigmund waited for her next to Bessie, both dressed in duster jackets, sporting ivy hats with goggles for the adventure. Bessie was eager to go; the brass shined, the mahogany polished, a rare beautiful steam-powered carriage. Another gift from her friend and inventor whom she liked to call the Professor. Lane climbed to the driver’s seat, while Sigmund held the small door open for Helena. She grew positively excited beyond words.

They left the estate’s gate which pierced the low wall that surrounded the property and headed down Broadway Street towards the city proper. Lane had already lit the oil burning lamps so when they hit the wall of damp fog, they could at least partially tell where they traveled. Even with the lights, Lane slowed Bessie for safety sake. Visibility was still less than a quarter of a mile.

“I never seem to remember the fog being this unusually thick,” Helena raised her voice over the hissing and the clacking of the steam piston driving the automobile.

Sigmund said, “Oh, I have seen it much worse. You are accustomed to being on the hill. The fog is always less the higher you go,” a smile on his face, like the fog brought back fond memories.

“Well, it’s not as much fun driving in the fog as it is when we have a nice warm day,” Lane shouted over his shoulder as he swerved around the slower wagons.

As they passed through the dense fog, Helena understood why simpler people believed that monsters inhabited the night. She watched the workers and the ordinary people going about their everyday lives bundled against the damp mist, and saw a wraith over there, a vampire here, and on the other side of the way, a specter. All only ordinary people going about their mundane business in their everyday lives, or at least she thought so. Heading down the peninsula, the buildings begin to turn from two and three-story townhouses into five and six-story skyscrapers. The upper floors of the taller buildings still obscured, Helena noted that the fog, gave the illusion the neighborhoods were equal.

They made a right on Van Ness Avenue, to bypass some of the steeper hills, then made a left on Sacramento Street. As they climbed Nob Hill, the sun found them again. Just over the crest, and ironically overlooking both Chinatown and the Barbary Coast, set the Whitaker mansion.

They timed their arrival soon after lunch, so it wasn’t too great of a social faux pas to show up uninvited, and unannounced. Helena figured this should be the last place anyone had seen Missy. This must be the place to start the investigation. Helena didn’t have a clue to go on, she didn’t know what Missy looked like, but she grew determined to find her.

“I will go announce your arrival, Miss, you don’t need to stand waiting on the stoop like a commoner.”

“No Sigmund, I think I will go to the door, follow if you must, but it would be too easy for them to leave your requests unanswered. I feel they would find it much more difficult to say no to me. No respectable house would leave a young lady standing on the front steps, am I correct?”

“I must admit Young Miss, in this instance your logic is impeccable. Lane and I will wait here if you are in any need merely callout and we will be there in an instant.”

Sigmund exited the automobile lending a hand for Miss Helena to step down. Once down she opened her lace parasol to protect herself from the June sun as any lady of refinement would. She never noticed Lane do a quick check of his enhanced naval revolver, and Sigmund checked to see if his gas operated automatic pistol rested in its hog-leg. Strangely both gifts from the Professor.

Helena inspected the facade of the house, searching for any indication of dread, or malaise that Minnie said bore down upon the house. She felt nothing, the house sat like an ordinary four-story townhouse, very similar to the adjacent townhomes surrounding it. No dark cloud appeared overhead. Lifting the knocker and handling the weight, it seemed more substantial than usual. Not sure if it was her, she rapped three solid knocks on the heavy door, that sounded bizarrely muffled as they landed.

The door opened with a deliberate creaking movement, had it been night, or foggy, the sound of the door opening would have been more foreboding. However, the bright sun seemed to make everything outside the house gay.

Her mind changed when she caught a glimpse of the person opening the door. The man, not much older than Sigmund, seemed that life weighed heavy on his shoulders, his skin the color of the gray fog blanketing the city below with charcoal circles enhancing the bags under his eyes. Helena took a step back into the brighter sun to soak up some of its cheerfulness.

“May I help you?” the cadaverous butler asked.

“Yes sir, please tell Master Whitaker, that the lady of the Brandywine estate calls upon him,” Helena said while offering her calling card adroitly removed from her handbag while she spoke.

The butler took the calling-card inspecting it with dead eyes for its authenticity. Convinced the card was real, he opened the door wider motioning for Helena to come in. “If you would be so kind to wait in the study, I will check if Mister Whitaker is accepting visitors.”

She said, “Thank you,” bracing herself, she crept into the frigid confines of a building that felt of death and decay. She was led to a room down the hall from the front door, the

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