Milla and Michael had a really hard time processing that this woman sat facing them, was the ghastly figure that haunted the grand hall. She was still pale, fair to be specific, but her skin tone definitely fell within the normal human spectrum. Her veil of black hair had been gathered into a high ponytail, pinned down by a silver tiara. Her fiery eyes significantly dimmed down in the well-lit chamber, however, they do possess an unnatural amber blaze. She wore a ruffled blouse, a pair of black pants, and black leather boots, all tied together by a navy split sleeves cape blazer. Smart, regal, no less intimidating. The young man who answered the door, Joel, nested himself into the cushion next to the woman. He had his arms crossed, endeavouring for a serious facade but still looked like a puppy next to a lion.

"Ms. Hueston, Mr. Atkinson, my name is Alinna, and this is my human assistance, Joel Haddson, nice to meet you." The black-haired woman gestured towards the young man with caramel brown curls, who gave the guests a wave of hand at his introduction. "But first, I believe you have something that belongs to me." Alinna straightened her hands, two silver coins leaped from the guests' pockets and landed in her up-facing palms.

"Err ma'am?" Michael, remembering how this small gadget ensured their passage of the invisible bridge, raised a voice of concern.

"Worries not Mr. Atkinson, you are under my roof, and by the Law of Hospitality, you are protected."

Milla and Michael exchanged a glance and tried their best to digest the new vocabulary. Roof? Law of Hospitality? Protected?

"Now, lady and gentleman, what business does HE have with me?" The woman folded her arms across her chest and leaned back, making herself comfortable in the silver-gilded sofa.

"He?" Milla’s brows arched in confusion.

"La Lune et Sixpence?" Alinna caught one of the coins between her left thumb and index finger. "I trust these were given to you for a reason?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. We were handed this by the bartender. She says the ‘Master of the House sends his regards’, whatever that means."

"Wooo, hope it's not a human head." Joel did a horror movie sound effect impression and craned his neck to get a better look.

"Mr. Haddson, do I look like the Sultan Mehmed the second to you?" Alinna exhaled a loud sigh while rolling her eyes, her hands though flipped open the lid in a fluid motion.  

There was no human head in the box, no. It was a pullover sweater, with colour that is hard to locate in the normal spectrum, size made to fit in a Jotunn, stitches as large as net holes, and a pattern, shape, image, whatever it is, printed in the middle of the chest. All in all, its very fabric of existence screams "indescribable". A card was neatly tucked underneath the folded sleeves, and it reads, "Hey mum, it's getting cold, keep warm! Love from Vlad D."

"Oh Vlad, dear Vlad. Going through knitting phase again?"Alinna picked the autumn wear by shoulders and displayed it to her human assistant and guests. "Please don’t tell me you see one of these on everyone in the Moon and Sixpence?"

"Errrr, yes? Maybe?" Milla recalled the bartender, Magda. She certainly was wearing one of those. Milla remembered wondering why the sweater seemed too big for her frame, and why one arm seemed to be longer than the other.

"How sweet of him, should we send something back?" Folding it up carefully, Alinna returned the sweater to its package and pushed the box to the other end of the tea table.

"Yeah, totally." Joel rolled his eyes with a click of the tongue.

"You two are truly lucky, Ms. Hueston, Mr. Atkinson, caught him in a good mood. Two sigils for a door-to-door delivery, which may be easily done by summoning Išul, how generous. Anyways, what can I do for you?"

"Wait, who sent that?" Michael pointed a shaky finger at the parcel they had been carrying.

"Who else but the Prince of Darkness himself." Grinning ear to ear, Joel threw back the lower hem of his cardigan as if it was a cape. However, a hint of jealousy was tucked away under his cheerful attitude.   

"Errr, which one?"

"Oh, the one who sinks his fangs in every form of art, fanfic, novella, novel, movie, and games, the synonym for the vampire. Ever wonder where did he get that title from?"

"Mr. Haddson, enough of the topic. Let us return to the business, shall we?" The black-haired woman can't help but shook her head.  

"Are you Lilith?" It came out of nowhere but Michael let the question slip out of his mouth.

"I do understand the complexity and contradictions of the lore floating around. Despite the confusion, I do not believe that I match any description of Lilith. As I said, my name is Alinna. Shall we continue?"

"Does it involve in some kind of payment of souls?"

"What is with you humans' obsession with souls? It's not like that I will hang them on a wall like trophies. And, Mr. Atkinson, you are the ones who came to my door, asking for my help, I will be the judge of that. Now, please, if you will elaborate on us, how can we help you?"

"Yes, ma'am, sorry about my fiance. It's just we were, errr, overwhelmed." Milla elbowed Michael, who in turn echoed with a nod. "We are in search of a statue, it was modelled after my great great grandmother. Our wedding Florist Rozaria told us about this nightclub called La Lune et Sixpence, we saw Madame Fatine there, she, well, she..." Milla hummed and hawed, not sure how to phrase whatever she was about to say into something that makes sense.  

"She scrubbed your dreams and told you that the statue is in my possession." With great precision, Alinna spoke out what was on her human guest's mind.

"Yes, well yes, that's the case." The young woman sighed in relief, at that moment, she was convinced their hostess possesses some kind of psychic power.

"I see now..." Alinna hummed, tapping a finger on her left arm. "It is unusual for human clients to come to us. I must be honest with you, Ms. Hueston, I do not have the habit of counting the exact number and remembering the exact detail of each and every statue in my house, which as you can see, is a castle. Unless you have a photo or a detailed description of the one you seek, it is going to take a very long time."

"Please, madam, I do understand, a statue is nothing but a decoration in your grand house, but to us...to me..." Out of nowhere, emotions bubbled up in Milla’s eyes, turning them from emerald stones to frosted glass, murky and misty.

"Ma’am, Milla and I are getting married next month. Milla’s mother Deirdre had been battling breast cancer for years. She promised she will make it to our wedding, but fate has a different plan. Deirdre was a history teacher, she had been doing her ancestry researches for years. She stumbled across the statue in an old journal, and it had been on her mind ever since. Her little personal obsession I'd say." Michael brought his fiancee into his arms, a hand stroking her golden locks, the other delivering comforting pats on her shoulder. "We came on her behalf, madam, it is one of her last wishes. We never mean to take the statue away. We just need proof, that it is real, and is in good hands. That’s all."

"Milla, Michael, then let us not waste any more time, shall we?" Alinna ran her tongue across her fangs and uttered a deep sigh. "After all, you only have 24 hours in this Realm."

"Madam, you will help us, won’t you?" Milla’s eyes lightened up, a smile bloomed on her rosy lips.

"Wait, what do you mean by 'we only have 24 hours'?" Michael on the other hand was alarmed.  

"Lady and gent, take a look at the moon." Joel extended an arm towards the window, towards the rolling dark clouds, towards a silver disc and its misty ring. The human guests gasped at the size, brightness, and whiteness of the moon, one does not see such a sight outside of a sci-fi movie.

"Where are we?"

"On Earth of course, but a different layer of Reality. Mind you, this Reality does not enjoy the presence of humans." Alinna shook her head and produced a device that resembles a make-up mirror from her pocket. "Ingerior, Mikhail, I need you in the reception room." She called into the device.  

Roughly ten minutes later, a young man and a woman entered the room following three knocks. Both of them looked...tired and grumpy. The young man was scratching his birdnest of copper-red hair, yawning and sneezing. He wore a plain white shirt and a pair of overalls, one side of his shirt was tucked in the belt, the other dangled over the brown pants. The woman was literally a walking stick. From her slim and straight figure to the patches of bark on her forehead, neck, forearms, and calves, everything matches the definition. Though still in her nightgown, the woman had her yellow hair neatly arranged in a 20s flapper style, and Milla was going to pretend her green lips are the result of makeup.

"Milla, do you have a photo or anything that gives us a visual clue?"

"No ma'am, unfortunately, we have no idea what does the statue looks like. But I do have a photo of my great great grandma, and a copy of the journal. It's in French but we have had it translated in English." the young woman reached down her purse and took out a notebook. Her fingers ran page after page and finally located a black and white photo and two pieces of paper, which she then laid out on the tea table. Joel looked down, the photo pictures a young ballet dancer in her early twenties, whose stance and costume resembled that of a swan. "Her name was Jeska Lockehart, a ballet dancer in the early 1900s. She's not a prima ballerina, but had a small group of admirers, at least that's what I've heard." Milla explained, tapping a finger on the photo then shifted to the two pieces of paper. One of them was a photocopy of the original French journal, a long and messy page, full of letters that would have floated into outer space without the binding of the paper. For the sake of its readers, the relevant parts have been highlighted and translated.

I am blessed! My mortal eyes were graced by the dance of Jeska Lockehart, our Muse, our Devadasi. When she descended the Himalayas with her arabesque, when she parted the clouds with her pirouette, she brought forth the Kingdom of the Shades. Morpheus, Lord of dreams and nightmares, you have filled my sleeping moment with her dreadful awe and beauty. I must rise now, sleep is no more, dreaming is waking. I must work, Jeska, I must sculpt, your dance must be preserved, it must be etched into the undying stone.

It is done! The statue, after restless days and sleepless nights, it is done! Our Muse bestowed a kiss on my cheeks, hers own warmed with a rosy glow. She gently asked what is my plan for the statue, which I have none. She then proposed the statue be auctioned for charity. It was a shame Jeska could not present the auction, for she returned to England that day. A doctor, Friedrich von Luftgraf, won the bid. Accompanying him was a Monsieur Jeremiah Lockehart. I asked whether he is related to Jeska, to which he replied no.

Apart from an artist’s flair for the dramatic, the narrative was clear and reasonable. An admirer, being inspired by Jeska’s dance, created a statue in her likeness. The artwork then was auctioned to raise funds for charity and was sold to a German doctor. But there was something about the journal, Joel can't grasp, something that gave him goosebumps.

"Devadasi, Himalayas, Kingdom of Shades..." Alinna read out a few keywords, her eyes squinted in thoughts. "It seems whatever we are looking for, it has something to do with the ballet La Bayadère...And judging from the language, your ancestor at that time was somewhere in France?"

"Yes, she was in Paris."

"And what year?"

"1924."

"1924, Paris...I do not have memories of that time, no..." The black-haired lady pressed a finger on her lower lip. For a brief moment, the amber flames in her eyes dimmed down, but her human assistant’s sudden invasion of her personal space snapped her out of it.

"No boss, you said you slept through the majority of the Victorian era to avoid the putrid air, and even the bombs of WWI failed to wake you up."

"You phrased it very strangely Mr. Haddson, but yes, you are correct. If the statue is indeed in the Sanctuary, it can only be purchased after WWII. Ingerior, would you mind checking the record?" Alinna offered an apologetic smile to the tree-bark-skinned lady, who was hiding a yawn behind her well-manicured hand.

"Boss, that literally means from the dawn of the Sanctuary."

"I know, I'm sorry Ingerior, I will give you a hand."

"Count me in." that was Joel Haddson.

"Us, as well." And that was the human couple.

"Enough talking. All able hands to the archive!"