The new century began with a burst of rockets over the Thames. The crowd cheered as the fireworks lit up the sky.

 Ned Kelly watched the spectacle from the shadows of the Savoy. He pulled up the collar of his coat against the cold and rubbed his temples, regretting all the gin.

His mates had tried to cheer him up with drinks, but it had only made things worse. It felt like his luck had run out. Suspended for insubordination. What an impressive start to the 20^th century for the youngest Detective Sergeant on the force, he thought with a self-deprecating smile.  

“Pride cometh before fall,” his father’s voice echoed in his head.

But it wasn’t the sin of pride that worried him now. It was wrath and lust he had to resist tonight. He knew he should not have come here, especially not in his current state.

The doors of the Savoy flew open and tore him from his musings. A group of well-dressed youths rushed down the steps, adding to his headache. The spoiled sons and daughters of London’s wealthy had a gift for turning celebration into trouble.

Flushed with drink and excitement, they gathered around a tall young man with a champagne bottle. Despite the biting cold, he wore no hat or overcoat. A discarded tie hung carelessly from the pocket of the evening jacket that hugged his lithe figure.

The fireworks from the river bathed him in an almost ethereal glow, adding golden highlights to the brown locks. The wind swept them into the man’s eyes as the cork of a champagne bottle sprang open. He threw his head back, and the sound of his laughter carried above the noise, turning every head in the nearby crowd.

It was such an infectious sound of joy that even Ned had to chuckle. It caught in his throat when he heard a familiar voice right behind him.

“Charming, isn’t he?”

Ned turned and looked coldly at his former lover. Michael gave him that seductive smile that had made him the toast of every West End stage and leaned closer.

“But not as beautiful as you,” he whispered.   

Ned took a step back and pushed down the myriad of emotions fighting in his heart. He got the crumpled letter from his pocket.

“You wrote it was a matter of life and death. I should have known it was just your usual theatrical nonsense,” he said through clenched teeth.   

Michael raised his hands as if in surrender.

“I never said it was my life or death. It’s about your Phantom case.”

“Do you have to use that stupid tabloid moniker? He is just a common murderer.”

“If he is that common, why do you people need so long to catch him?” Michael asked sharply.

The jovial mask dropped for a heartbeat, revealing the exhaustion and unhappiness beneath. He ran a hand over his eyes, then said, “Lilly – the girl you found last night – was to be my next leading lady. She was a nice lass. She didn’t deserve that.”

“No one deserved that. I am sorry. It is difficult to find someone who kills so indiscriminately. A member of parliament, a sailor and an actress have nothing in common.”

Michael ran a hand through his hair, then fished out a cigarette case from his pocket.

“I don’t know about the sailor, but she knew that MP. She cried her eyes out when he died.”

“Mistress?” Ned guessed.

“All actors are whores to you now, are we?” Michael asked bitterly and struck a match with more force than strictly necessary.  

“That is not what I meant,” Ned protested.    

Michael opened his mouth to say more, but then firmly clamped his lips around the lit cigarette and pulled out a thin leather notebook from inside his coat.

“The understudy found this in Lilly’s powdering gown. The MP’s name is in it, along with others and some strange symbols. I can’t make any sense of it, but maybe it can help you.”  

Ned took it. Suspended or not, he still couldn’t ignore a lead.

“Thank you. I’ll give it to Inspector Blackwood.”

“That puritan prick? Why?”

“He is the lead investigator on the case. I’ve been suspended.”

Michael stiffened, his grey eyes filling with worry. “Did they catch you with someone?” he asked.

“Of course not. It’s just a minor thing.”

“You lost your temper again, didn’t you?”

Ned sighed. The exasperated tone was only too familiar and probably justified. It was useless to deny it to someone who knew him so well.

“Yes. But it’s just a month of unpaid leave as a disciplinary measure. At least they didn’t dismiss or demote me.”

“You are too good to be dismissed,” Michael said.

He stubbed out the cigarette and brushed a bit of ash off Ned’s sleeve. His fingers lingered too long, making it feel like an intimate caress. The sergeant stepped back, torn between longing and resentment, but determined not to give in to either.

Michael removed his hand, but his gaze fixed on Ned’s mouth like an invitation.

“When you said you didn’t get caught… does that mean there is no one new or just that you were careful?” he asked in a low voice.

“That is none of your business,” Ned replied sternly.  

“Will you never forgive me? I never stopped…”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

As soon as the words were out, Ned regretted his outburst. Everyone from the hotel porter to a ragged street urchin watching the celebration from a dark corner turned to look at him. He should never have let his emotions show.

Drawing in a deep breath, he faced Michael, whose shoulders slumped in defeat. Despite everything, he still hated seeing the man he had loved for so long in pain. 

“Let the past be the past. I don’t want to hold on to resentments,” Ned said quietly.

“You may not want to, but you still do,” Michael said with a sad smile.

Ned balled his hand into a fist in his pocket. He had to leave before he became weak.

“Good night, Michael. Happy New Year.”

He could feel the grey gaze still on him as he walked away. The mixed aromas of perfume, alcohol and cigarettes hit him as the youths from Savoy rushed past him.

The young man with the champagne bottle stopped in his tracks and smiled. Ned looked into the bright amber eyes. Despite the unusual colour, they seemed somehow familiar.

The eyes of a wolf in the face of an angel. Where had he seen that before?

The youth opened his mouth as if to speak, but a bubble of girls caught up with him.

“Come inside, darling. You’ll freeze to death,” one of them said, taking his arm.

Ned watched after them as they hurried to the hotel, still trying to jog his memory. The young man turned around and winked at him.

The sergeant stiffened and turned on his heel. A flirtatious aristocratic brat was the last complication he needed. What happened to Oscar Wilde just a few years before was still a vivid warning.

Maybe he should finally give in to his mother’s demands to marry a nice girl and give her grandchildren. How difficult could that be?