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“Holmes!” I leapt to my feet, weariness forgotten.

“There’s been no one,” Holmes insisted, pressing his ear against the wall. Hearing the sounds of combat from the other side Holmes uttered a curse and hurried to the window.

I looked to the door and Holmes, seeing my confusion, called for me. “Willingham’s door is too thick to breach,” Holmes said. “Expecting an attack, he’ll have locked it securely. No, the window is our only way. Check your revolver Watson.”

Holmes disappeared out the window. I checked my service revolver, it was loaded and ready, and placed it back in my jacket pocket. Reluctantly I followed Holmes out the window. A small, wrought iron balustrade surrounded the small balcony. Climbing over it, Holmes leapt from our window to the next. The space between was not great but the distance to the street below was daunting. Climbing into the brisk, night air I caught a glimpse of Holmes frowning as he kicked in the glass of Willingham’s unbroken window.

Summoning my courage, I leapt into the air in pursuit of my friend. Climbing over the metal railing, I was startled by the sound of a loud collision. Heart in my throat I saw Holmes thrown against the windowsill. His head connected loudly against the ledge. Pulling my pistol, I hurried through the broken window.

Holmes lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious. Blood flowed from a wound to his head. Across the room stood Willingham, his clothing dishevelled, bleeding from several wounds. All of this I noticed in a glance for my attention was drawn to the unearthly creature hovering above the overturned furniture in the room’s centre.

She’d spoken truly. Her wings bore no resemblance to those of an angel. They were great, curved muscles. Bones sharp as blades over taut, grey skin. Her legs merged together like a serpent’s tail. Along her flanks rows of articulated bones emerged like knives. Despite these and other changes, I knew the face which turned to me. I had looked into the depths of those brown eyes before.

Her new form must, I know, seem hideous as I describe it. Indeed, it was hideous. And yet — there was a grace, a beauty, to the creature. The potential for loveliness I had glimpsed earlier was fulfilled in ways both unexpected and chilling. The Catherine Drayson I’d seen was present but her youthful anatomy had been melded with that of a monstrosity. The flesh of her savage half, for that was how she’d termed it, shared an appalling intimacy with the woman I had met earlier. Her faintly green skin seemed, in places, to roughen into blue-edged scales. Dagger-like teeth crowded her newly grown snout, making it impossible for her to smile. Still the curve of her back, the swell of her breasts, those dark brown eyes, all remained deliriously female. For a moment I simply stared, terrified and captivated, at the apparition before me.

She raised her hands and reached towards me. I saw her fingers had become daggers. Seeing that, I understood Scotland Yard’s confusion over the murdered men’s cuts. First her hands would pierce my flesh then she would spread her fingers. The resulting wound would seem like a puncture left by an unusually wide sword. Yet, even knowing this, I made no move to defend myself. Catherine Drayson and her savage half stepped towards me. Eagerness shone in her eyes. I waited.

Behind her Willingham swung his sword. The blade was deftly turned aside by the bony edge of one slender wing. Her expression angered. In a quick, powerful twist she turned to face Willingham. She thrust a closed hand at the dishevelled man. He parried the lunge and stumbled backwards. Looking down I saw the revolver still in my hand. Raising the gun, I took aim at the back of the creature’s head and squeezed off a round.

Somehow sensing the attack, a wing twitched and deflected the bullet. Disbelieving, I fired two more rounds but each time the edge of the creature’s wing deflected the bullet before it could reach its target. Behind me Holmes lay on the floor, bleeding. Unwilling to leave him undefended