by Ian Jarvis
‘We’ll be interviewed for hours,’ said Amy. ‘Especially you, Rex, after you took Stapleton to Sedgefield and she killed that woman.’
Rex had decided to play stupid and claim he’d no idea who Fran was. At the time of Tania’s murder in the Grange, this was true. Quist guessed that, after meeting him, the police would have little problem believing the stupid part. The detective stared thoughtfully, once again wondering if he’d done the right thing.
‘Ah, speaking of dogs, watch this,’ said Quist, gesturing to a spaniel that strolled across the stone-flagged floor. Homing in on the smell of Watson’s crisps, it bolted as a different scent took over. ‘You’ll find animals are terrified of you, Rex, apart from the nastier types who are often quite friendly. Selden’s Rottweiler, for instance. I imagine they see us as kindred spirits.’
‘Lovely!’ snarled Rex.
‘Lycanthropy,’ said Amy. ‘Werewolves and Ubasteri. I’m still trying to get my scientific mind around shapeshifting, but I think I’ve finally come to terms with it.’
‘I bloody well haven’t,’ said Rex. ‘I tried changing in your bathroom mirror last night and scared myself to death.’
Watson smirked. ‘I thought nothing scared SAS heroes.’
Rex pulled a face. ‘I’ve already apologised for those lies.’
Amy squeezed his hand. ‘Lies or not,’ she said, ‘you were wonderful when you swung in to rescue me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a real hero, and you wouldn’t believe how much better you look without sunglasses indoors.’
‘My psychic aunt couldn’t believe it when I rang this morning,’ muttered Rex. ‘She’s been having premonitions about me and she saw a pentagram appear on my hand. She claims it signifies a werewolf victim and she was convinced I’d be killed by one last night. Marika can’t understand why I’m still alive.’
‘Er, that’s because you aren’t.’ Quist smiled sheepishly. ‘Technically, you did die.’
‘What?’
‘You’re different now; a supernatural creature and no longer actually human.’
‘You’re joking?’ whispered Rex. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Whooo!’ Watson sniggered. ‘Cursed.’
‘Curse or gift,’ said Quist. ‘It’s up to you, Rex. There was no time for deliberation, but I wouldn’t have bitten you, if I thought you’d be dangerous.’ The detective covered his unease with a smile. Such things were impossible to predict and he’d certainly been wrong about Larry.
Amy clasped Rex’s arm. ‘But look how you recovered and how quickly your bones healed. You also said this morning how stronger and faster you felt.’
‘And you won’t age,’ added Watson. ‘What about that Marines course you told us about? You won’t be too old to re-apply next year. If you balls it up again, you can take it the year after, and the year after that.’
‘The SAS fantasy is over.’ Rex sighed. ‘I rang my father this morning and I start with Grant Homes in January. How the hell do I work that with this?’
‘You adapt,’ said Quist. ‘As I had to.’
‘It’s okay for you,’ said Rex. ‘With no photos and records. No one notices when a friendless nobody vanishes every few years. I’m the heir to Grant’s and my picture is always in the gossip columns.’
‘You’d be the dead heir,’ snapped Amy. ‘It may be difficult, but you survived.’ She turned back to Quist. ‘You managed, didn’t you? Adapting old birth certificates, changing names and moving around. I take it you never married?’
Quist shook his head.
Watson laughed. ‘I’ve heard how women carry on when they discover their hubby’s a secret cross-dresser. Imagine what they’d be like to find he was a wolf.’
Amy ran an eye over Rex. ‘Modern women have modern outlooks. I’m with Watson on this; I think it’s kind of cool.’ She smiled sexily. ‘A little exciting.’
‘Definitely cool,’ said Watson. ‘Centuries ago, they’d have burnt you at the stake. These days, you’d probably become a TV celebrity.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Rex grimaced. ‘You say I can’t eat meat?’
‘Any animal product,’ corrected Quist. ‘Yoga meditation keeps the dark side in check too. Don’t worry. I’ll give you a few lessons.’
‘Whoopee! I’ll try to find a window in my diary.’
‘Dark side?’ Grinning, Watson stood up and headed for the bar. ‘Hey, Obi Wan, let’s drink to future investigations not being as hairy as the last one, eh?’
‘I can’t guarantee it,’ said Quist. ‘Come along. I’ll give you a hand with the drinks.’
‘Hairy.’ Watson chuckled. ‘Did you see what I did there? I should be on stage with stuff like that.’
Rex watched as they vanished into the crowd. ‘Were you serious?’ he asked. ‘Do you really think it’s, er, exciting?’
Amy nodded. ‘As a scientist, I certainly find it astounding and fascinating.’ She blushed slightly. ‘Yes, exciting too.’
‘Providing the police don’t lock me up, I’ve decided to spend Christmas at Sedgefield and I thought we might see more of each other. I need to talk to someone about this. How do you feel about dinner?’
‘Dinner would be wonderful, Rex.’
‘Great!’ He cheered up at last. ‘I know this romantic restaurant where...’
‘Just one thing. If this should lead to, er... How shall I put this? How passionate are you during sex?’
‘I’m sorry?’ said Rex.
Amy took a deep breath. ‘Do you bite?’
***
Most people would find Trudeau’s expensive, but not the regular clientele of stockbrokers, bankers and celebrities. Lucius Silva sat in the London restaurant eyeing one particular celebrity with open interest this Christmas Eve lunchtime. She sat two tables away with Jake Lyle of Wash-Day Sinners, the music world flavour-of-the-month. Despite being illiterate and looking like any other anorexic teenager, Flaxen Taylor was paid obscene amounts to remain extremely thin and walk in straight lines wearing silly clothes.
The supermodel felt his stare and grew confused. Her street education told her to squawk ‘fack off!’, but he looked rich, certainly richer than Jake and by next month no one would have heard of Wash-Day Sinners. What was a girl to do?
Silva had a covert London address near here, and on the occasions he indulged himself with human food, it was normally in establishments like this. He’d never dined during daylight hours before. The ancient cat creature turned from the girl to the papers on the table and gazed at the data again. Persuading a chemist to work on the samples and Stapleton’s disc had been simple. Before he died, the gentleman had kindly laboured through the night to supply a batch of Solstice and these formula notes. Silva held his hand in the window sunlight, laughed quietly and snapped his fingers.
‘This claret is delectable,’ he said, as a waiter appeared by his side. ‘Pour me another glass.’
‘Of course, Sir.’ At a grand a bottle, it ought to be. The waiter couldn’t say why, but something about this customer made him want to be elsewhere, preferably another city. ‘Chateau Lafite 45. I must compliment you on your choice of wines, Sir. You’re clearly celebrating Christmas in style.’
‘Celebrating?’ He smiled thinly. ‘Yes, I suppose I am. This is the first sunny day I’ve enjoyed in a very long time.’
‘I hope you enjoy many more, Sir,’ lied the waiter, anxious to be away.
‘Thank you. I’m sure I will.’ Silva peered at the model’s throat. ‘Yes, I’ll drink to that.’
End
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