All The Things You Have To Burn (Grey Corp Book 1)

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All The Things You Have To Burn (Grey Corp Book 1) Page 16

by Abbey, Kit


  “Nothing’s going to go wrong.”

  “Just promise!”-

  William shook his head, and pressed a hand into his forehead. “Promise you’re not going to just hand her straight over to Grey Corp, alright?”

  “Do you even trust me enough to believe it?”

  “Just promise!”

  “Fine,” said Jones, “I promise.”

  “Well, good,” said William.

  He stood glaring at Jones, who suddenly doubled over with a scream of pain. William doubted it was due to the force of his glare. Jones slowly straightened, his jaw tightly clenched. “It’s starting,” he said, jerking his head towards the sky, where all trace of light was now gone.

  “What’s starting?”

  Jones made a noise that sounded like a smothered scream, his eyes were squeezed shut and he covered his ears with fists, as though his pain could be blocked along with his surroundings. After a moment he gingerly relaxed, and he carefully opened his eyes to look at William. “What?”

  “What’s starting?” William demanded, trying once again to back through the wall, “what’s happening to you? What’s going on?”

  “What are you talking…?” Jones trailed off, and looked at William in disbelief. “You don’t know what I am.” Jones made a sound that started off as a laugh but somewhere along the line become a strangled noise of pain. “How the fuck do you not know what I am? Didn’t Rowan tell you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Jones shook his head, “no time,” he ground out. He thrust a hand into the deep pocket of the large, baggy jumper he wore. “Take this.” He held out an object wrapped in cloth.

  William reluctantly left behind the faux safety of the wall pressed to his back, reaching forward to take whatever it was from Jones’ violently shaking hand. He let the cloth fall away, revealing a small statuette that was about the same length as the space between William’s elbow and wrist. It was a woman in a flowing, Grecian style dress and was made of silver. It was heavy in William’s hand, and cold.

  Jones doubled up with a cry, and then fell to his hands and knees. William took a half step forward, thinking that he should maybe try to help the older man. Jones screamed again, and then vomited. William gave up all pretence of helping and flattened himself back against the wall, the useless statue still clutched in his hands.

  “What’s happening?” his voice came out quiet, almost a whisper, and he doubted Jones could hear him. He doubted Jones would hear him even if he had a megaphone.

  “Use… It… To hold… Me off,” Jones ground out, his forehead pressed to the cell floor.

  William looked down at the serene faced statue, and then he looked down at the taunt muscles in the back on Jones’s neck. “What?”

  “It’s Silver…” Jones vomited again before continuing, “it will… Use it… Hold me off…”

  “I don’t understand!” cried William.

  But it was clear that Jones was no longer in any kind of condition to be explaining things. He writhed on the floor, covered in his own vomit and the blood that had starting pouring from his nose. His screams ceased only long enough for him to take another breath before starting again, and he clawed viciously at his own skin with his nails.

  William wasn’t sure what he noticed first. The change in the nature of Jones’ screaming, from something to human to something animal, or the dark, course hair that began to appear on his skin. William wasn’t sure he would even call it screaming any more. It was a howling kind of sound, a growling kind of sound. He pressed himself even harder against the cell wall. A vicious, canine kind of sound.

  The hair, which didn’t look like hair at all but rather fur, spread quickly across Jones’s skin. It grew thicker and more widespread faster than William could keep track off. A tearing noise, and Jones’ jumper became a tattered rag on the floor, and his sweat pants met the same fate soon after. Jones only resembled a man now in the vaguest sense. His body, limbs and head were changing shape, a process accompanied by sickening cracks and pain filled howls.

  “Oh god,” said William, who was dimly aware of having been repeating these two words over and over for some time. The howls abruptly stopped, and the only noise to fill the room was William’s whispered litany. The thing on the ground, that William’s brain could no longer associate with being Jones, was still. Then, slowly, it rose.

  William, the statue clutched in his sweaty hands, stared down at the wolf. The wolf, drool hanging in threads from its sharp teeth, stared up at William.

  Time stretched, and it seemed to William that he and the wolf that used to be Jones stayed frozen in that position for hours. In reality, he doubted more than a few seconds passed by. The look in wolf’s eye was one of hunger, and William could see no reason for the thing to hesitate when there was a meal standing before it. It growled, low and deep, and William missed his Illuding abilities more keenly then ever before.

  It pounced.

  In a move that was pure reflex, William swung the statuette wildly. The force behind the blow might have been enough to take down a poodle, but it was only a minor annoyance to the wolf. Or at least, it should have been. It caught the beast on the shoulder, with barely enough strength to alter the path of it leap. And yet, the wolf howled with pan, veering sharply away from William and retreating with panicked moves to the far corner of the cell.

  Where the statue has come into contact with it the fur was gone. A large burn, angry and glistening, had taken its place. In the small part of William’s brain that was not overrun by panic and terror, a connection was made.

  He gripped the silver stature with renewed strength and brandished it in the direction of the werewolf. It didn’t look ready to leave its corner just yet, but William knew it would only be a matter of time before it attacked again.

  Chapter 55.

  The night his mother and sister died was the longest of William’s life, but that night locked in a room with a werewolf came a close second.

  The wolf would attack, and these moments seemed to last for hours. William would send it skittering back to its corner with the silver statue, and wait while it recovered and prepared itself to come at him again, and these moments seemed to last for seconds.

  It became a blur of alternating panic and brief respite. The wolf’s howls and whines grew frustrated, and William’s arms grew cramped and sore. It felt like a thousand years had passed before the sky outside the window began to softly lighten.

  The wolf huddled in an exhausted heap in the corner, a mess of burned flesh. As the sun’s light began to slowly fill the room it began to whine softly, and then louder. William watched, slumped in the cell’s opposite corner, the statuette cradled in his lap. Its silver surface was sticky with blood, and so were William’s hands and arms. But it was the wolf’s blood; not William’s own. He would have been grateful were he not so drained.

  The process of turning from wolf to man was slightly less horrific then that from man to wolf. Slightly. William found he was too tired to muster up any sort of feelings about what he was seeing, and so he watched impassively through half lidded eyes as the fur retreated and the wolf became Jones once more.

  He lay, naked and quivering, on the stone floor. What skin William could see was covered in cuts and deep scratches, and the burns he had dealt the wolf last night remained now on Jones’ skin.

  William understood now how Jones had received his multitude of scars.

  Eventually Jones managed to hoist himself up into a sitting position. He lent against the stone wall, with his eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched.

  “So,” said William. “You’re a werewolf then.”

  Jones tried to answer, but only a pained rasping noise came forth. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Thought you knew.” He coughed. “It’s hardly a secret.”

  “Well I didn’t know,” said William. He suspected he’d probably feel angry, or maybe hysterical, if he wasn’t so
unbelievably tired.

  “Now you do,” said Jones. He looked as though he might try to stand up, but thought better of it.

  They sat like that, in silence, for quite a while. The sun peeked over the edge of the window, and filled the cell with light and warmth. Jones began to carefully stretch, his bones cracking and popping with every movement. William vaguely wondered what they were going to do now, but before this question could trouble him too much he fell asleep.

  Chapter 56.

  The heavy clunk of a key in a lock woke him some time later. The sun had crept higher, and his watch said it was probably mid morning. William looked over to Jones, who had managed to climb to his feet, although he looked like he was apt to topple over at any moment. He made sharp gesture with his hand, indicating that William should move behind the door. Getting up seemed to be a bit beyond his abilities right then, so William crawled across the floor, leaving the statuette on the ground behind him.

  The door swung open. From his position William could not see who was on the other side, but he recognised Kirk’s voice.

  “Here.”

  A pair of grey sweatpants were thrown at Jones. He moved too slowly to catch them, and they fell to the floor. Kirk snickered. Jones ignored this, and gingerly lent down to retrieve the pants and pull them on.

  “Cell looks clean,” said Kirk. “Isn’t there normally more blood? Damned kid nearly killed Horace, I was hoping to see more of his insides.” Jones gave a non-committal kind of grunt; hands fumbling with the drawstring of the pants. “And you look a bit more beat up than normal,” continued Kirk, “what, did he manage to put up a fight?”

  Another grunt from Jones, this one accompanied by a half-shouldered shrug.

  “I wouldn’t have picked him for a fighter. I mean, sure, his powers were impressive, but without them?” He snorted. “Nothing.” William glared at the door, at the spot where he figured Kirk was standing. “Seriously though, you look like shit. What are they, burns? The kid didn’t have any silver on him did he? Rowan said he’d been searched for that.”

  “I don’t know,” said Jones. “If you’re done listening to yourself talk, can we leave?”

  “Looking forward to a bit of attention from Dr. Eagle?” Kirk snickered again. “It really is clean in here though. I don’t think the clean-up even needs to come out. Was the wolf extra hungry?”

  “Must have been,” said Jones.

  Kirk must have decided finally to leave, because Jones started to limp slowly towards the door.

  “Those are burns! How’d you get them.”

  Jones ignored the question.

  Kirk’s voice changed in tone, from amused to suspicious.

  “What’s going on here Caspien?” Not waiting for Jones to answer, Kirk stepped forward into the cell. His eyes alighted first on the silver statue lying discarded on the floor. His eyebrows drew together in incomprehension; behind him Jones grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Kirk’s gaze moved from the statue to the corner of the cell that William currently occupied. His eyes widened in shock.

  “Hi,” said William.

  Kirk opened his mouth, and William doubted it was to say ‘hi’ back. Before he could say anything Jones, moving with a speed that belied his injuries, stepped behind him. He braced one bleeding hand on Kirk’s shoulder, gripped his chin with the other, and with one smooth motion broke the other man’s neck.

  Chapter 57.

  Jones’ Charger was parked outside in the shade of the trees. Jones lent against the driver’s side door, as though trying to muster up enough energy to open it.

  “You want me to drive?” asked William.

  Jones glared at him. “No.”

  “Ok, just offering. No need to bite my head off.”

  The pun hadn’t been intentional, but once it was out there William couldn’t help but snicker. Jones rolled his eyes, but gave it no other response. It was strange, William felt that the events of the last twenty-four hours should have left him an emotional wreck. But he felt pretty ok. It may have been that it was such a beautiful day. The sky was overcast, and the breeze jostling the trees was chilly, but William was sure he’d never seen a sweeter day in all his life. It was almost enough to make him forget the absence of his powers. Almost.

  Jones mustered up the strength to open the car door. It was unlocked, and William saw the keys waiting in the ignition. A grey sweatshirt was lying on the back seat which Jones grabbed and pulled on. Next to it was the pair of jeans William had changed out of the day he killed the dentist. A little vomit had seemed overwhelmingly disgusting back then, but it was nothing compared to the blood stained jeans he’d been wearing for weeks straight. William changed into them (they were big on him now), and Jones began sifting through the mass of cassette tapes that littered the dash. There was also a pile of them that William had to shove off the passenger seat before he sat down. He saw one with a hand drawn aztec god on the cover, and another had a black and white skull with lasers coming out of its eyes.

  “It won’t take them long to figure out something’s wrong,” said Jones, as he searched. “As soon as I don’t report to Dr. Eagle they’ll send people out here looking for me, and they’ll find Kirk.”

  “Should we hide the body?”

  Jones shrugged, holding a cassette up for closer examination and then discarding it, “it’ll take too long.”

  “Then maybe we should be doing that then? Instead of fiddling around with tapes?”

  Jones glared at him, and spent a bit more time pointedly looking before he settled on something. He shoved the cassette into the tape deck, and finally they left the horrible brick room behind. The music sounded like it had been recorded on an old casio. It was awful.

  “Do you need to go to the hospital?” William asked with a sideways glance at Jones.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Your burns are kind of oozing.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Your bruises are spreadi-”

  “I said I’m fine,” said Jones. It was his scary voice, but it didn’t have the effect it once did. It was hard to be too scared of Jones, having seen the real monster that lived inside him.

  “So you’re a werewolf.”

  Jones grunted.

  “Are you really? Or is it some kind of illusion?”

  “It’s Albert’s blood. If Mr. Grey decides you’re expendable he makes you drink some. Some people die, some go mad, some change.”

  “Into werewolves.”

  He shrugged. “It takes a lot of blood to turn into a werewolf; it’s almost always fatal. Mr. Grey really didn’t care if I survived it or not. Vampires are more common, it takes almost no blood.”

  “Vampires.”

  “Sure. Like your friend Chris.”

  “Like my friend...” William shook his head. “This is unbelievable. Do you expect me to believe mythical creatures all over the world are real, and they all came from Albert?”

  Jones looked at him. “Why are you assuming Albert is the only one of his kind in the world?”

  William’s brain shut down for a second. It was too much. (Surely he would have noticed if Chris was a vampire...) The best course of action seemed to be to change the topic of conversation entirely.

  “So what’s the plan?” asked William. They were back in the city by now. William took comfort from the concrete and strangers and billboards. Nature did not agree with him.

  “The plan was for me to leave with Kirk, check in with Dr Eagle, not-” Jones shot a pointed look at William “-that I actually need to, and then double back to the prison later to get you.”

  “I guess that won’t work now that Kirk’s dead?”

  “No, it won’t.” Jones stopped for red light, taking the small break as a chance to massage his temples. “I might have been able to keep Grey Corp in the dark about recent events,
but that’s not an option now.”

  “Great,” said William. “So now what?”

  “So now we need to move fast.” said Jones. “You’ll find the girl, and I’ll hide her. Unless you want to take your chances with Grey Corp, you’ll have to go into hiding as well.”

  “So will you,” said William. “They’ll know that Kirk didn’t break his own neck, and they’ll know that I didn’t survive the night because your inner wolf was giving vegetarianism a go.”

  “Hmm,” said Jones, which could have meant anything, really.

  “So, step one. We get my powers back.”

  “Right.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “But you said-”

  “Calm down. I don’t know how to get them back, but I know someone who will.”

  Chapter 58.

  Jones parked the Charger a few streets over, and they carried on to the Jamison-Smith mansion on foot. The long driveway seemed to stretch on forever, but in truth it was a nicely peaceful walk. The crunch of gravel underfoot, the distant ebb and hum of traffic. They didn’t make for the front door, but rather cut around to the side of the house. William could see the tree he had Illuded a hundred years ago, but it hurt to look at so he focused his attention on Jones. He was poking around a little gathering of potted plants, and emerged holding a key, which unlocked the side door.

  “I guess you’ve been here before,” said William.

  “Once or twice,” said Jones.

  They slipped through the quiet house like shadows. William stopped when Jones stopped, and moved when he moved. Though he could hear people moving about no one came close to glimpsing them. William supposed there was something to be said for superior werewolf senses. Jones led them upstairs and down a hallway. There was a large photograph of a younger, happier Rowan and Percy playing together at the beach. Finally they came to a study that was so stereotypical in appearance that William had to wonder if it was just for show. Wall to wall bookcases full of nondescript books bound in gold and red, a desk made of dark wood, even a ship in a bottle. It didn’t look like the kind of room anyone would actually work in, but there was a man seated at the enormous desk with his head bowed intently over some documents.

 

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