Army of Wolves (Dark Season III)

by Amy Cross

  I don't say a word. I feel like I'm in the middle of something that's completely above my head, and I don't want to say anything in case I make things worse for Patrick.

  "Just be careful," says the stranger. He steps towards me, but as he does so he steps into the moonlight and his whole body seems to change slightly: he still looks human, but with wild, animal-like eyes that glow faintly yellow; and the way he stands seems different, as if he's more muscular and more compact. As soon as he passes through the patch of moonlight, he looks completely normal again, as if the moonlight changed how I saw him, just for a moment. He reaches out to touch my shoulder. "You don't want to -"

  He's interrupted as Patrick lunges at him, pulling him away from me and onto the ground. The stranger struggles as Patrick holds him down, but it seems he can't get free. I take a step back.

  "You know what I'd suggest," says the stranger, looking up into Patrick's face. "I'd suggest you keep out of this, and tell your young lady to do the same. Give us a day, we'll deal with him and we'll move on". At that point, he manages to push Patrick off. As he does so, the stranger makes a sound almost like he's growling. He rolls onto Patrick and snarls at him. "You've interfered before, vampire. Don't think you'll get away with it a second time".

  Patrick pushes him off, then gets to his feet, grabs the stranger and throws him through the air into a nearby tree. The stranger slams against the tree and crashes to the ground, letting out a loud yelping sound as he does so.

  Getting to his feet, the stranger keeps his distance. "You haven't changed much," he snarls. "Don't say I didn't warn you. You know who's coming". And with that, he turns and limps off into the forest.

  Patrick starts walking away. I follow him, not saying anything, and within a couple of minutes we're at the tunnel entrance that leads down below. Without even acknowledging me, Patrick starts walking into the darkness. For a moment, I wonder whether I should follow, but then I realise that if he didn't want me there, he wouldn't have led me to the entrance, so I walk after him.

  Four

  London - 1650.

  Two guards drag me along a corridor in the Palace of Westminster and into a large hall, where an assortment of dignitaries, officials and onlookers are gathered. I'm thrown to the floor so fast, I actually skate along for a few metres until I come to rest at the foot of a large wooden desk, upon which a fat and humourless-looking man is scribbling something on a piece of paper.

  "What's his name again?" asks the scribbler after a moment.

  "We do not know, your honour," says another of the men. "There is some speculation that it is Robert, although others have heard him called by the name Hamish".

  The scribbler looks shocked. "Is he Scottish?"

  "He seems to be," says the other man, with a disgusted tone to his voice.

  The scribbler jots some more things down. "Is this the lady?" he asks, not looking up.

  "It is".

  I sit up. To my horror, Hannah - beautiful, young Hannah - is being restrained by two guards. Her eyes are red with tears and she's staring at me. I have to help her, but I have to make sure she doesn't get killed in the attempt. I glance around at the other men in the room, trying to work out a plan.

  "There is no point prolonging this," says the scribbler. "Guard".

  I turn as I hear the sound of metal against metal, and then a thick sword slices straight through my back, into my heart, and out the front of my chest.

  Hannah lets out a scream. One of the guards slaps her.

  "Shut that woman up," says the scribbler.

  The sword is roughly pulled out of my body and I'm allowed to fall to the floor. The pain is intense, and I can feel blood flooding my heart. I won't die, of course, but it will take some time to heal, and I won't be in a position to help Hannah.

  "Bury him in a pauper's grave," says the scribbler. "And take the snivelling woman away. She must consider how she might regain her honour after this little dalliance".

  I try to call out to Hannah as she's led away. I want more than anything to promise her that I'll find my way back to her. Because I will. No matter what they do, no matter how deep they bury me, I'll find my way back and I'll be with her again.

  And when I'm at full strength, I'll come back to this place and rip out all their hearts.

  "I will have her in my quarters," says the scribbler to one of the other men. They clearly believe I'm dead, and are in no hurry to clear away my body. I wait, slowly gathering strength. This will be a futile move, but I'm sure I can at least take the architect of my death with me. As soon as I feel ready, I leap from the floor and with a roar I throw myself at the scribbler, knocking him to the ground.

  By the time the guards can pull me off, I have eaten half the bastard's face. Eaten and swallowed it. Would that I could have the chance to pass it out the other end of me.

  I'm pulled backwards and another sword slices through my chest, then another pierces me in the neck. As I fall to the ground and begin to black out, I see at least that Hannah's tormentor is also dead.

  Five

  As soon as we reach the cavern where Patrick's house sits, something strange happens. Patrick stops, look at me for a moment, then turns and leaves. I consider following him back out, but it's pretty clear that he brought me down here and he wants me to stay. Why? To protect me? To give me a chance to speak to Vincent? It's always so hard to work out what Patrick means, but I'm fairly sure he didn't lead me down here just so we could walk back out. Obviously he's got something he needs to do, and he either wants me down here, or he doesn't mind. Either way, it's an opportunity I don't get every day so I walk across the broken stones on the cavern floor towards the house.

  There's something perpetually strange about this place. A large stone cavern hidden deep underground, with little in it other than a fairly old-looking house that - if Vincent is to be believed - simply dropped down through a hole in the ground. It certainly looks as if the house dropped down here: it's at an angle, and it looks damaged, and the roof of the cavern high above looks like it's healed after some kind of trauma. But it's an old, nice house.

  Vincent is in his study, a large room with bookcases on every wall. I don't know much about Vincent; in fact, I know as little about him as I know about Patrick. But I trust him. Well, I trust both of them. Well, I think I do...

  "Sophie," says Vincent, looking up from his work and taking off his reading glasses. "When did we last see you? It must have been months ago".

  To my surprise, he gets up from his chair, walks over and immediately hugs me.

  "Hi," I say. "Sorry, I've been so busy". That's kind of a lie. I've just been waiting for Patrick to find me, hoping he'd come to my window, and getting gradually more and more disappointed by his failure to appear.

  "It's good to see you," Vincent says. "I must admit, I was wondering where you'd got to. But I knew we'd see you sooner rather than later. Do you want some wine?"

  He goes to a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of red wine, pouring us a glass each. I accept, even though I don't really want any right now.

  "Patrick brought you down?" Vincent asks.

  "Yes," I say. "He... found me outside".

  Vincent raises his glass and takes a sip. "You were looking for us?" he asks.

  "Actually, I was being followed," I say.

  Vincent nods. "Yes, I imagine you were. Don't be offended, but I can smell it on you. Well, not 'it'. More like... 'them'. Two of them, with quite distinct scents".

  He sits behind his desk and I go to sit on a nearby leather sofa. "I met a man tonight. Two men. The first one was at a club. He said he knows Patrick. The second one was in the woods just now, he seemed to know Patrick as well, and there was something strange about his eyes. I just... I didn't think so many people knew about you and Patrick".

  "They don't," says Vincent. "We keep ourselves very much to ourselves. But there are people from the past, and occasionally they show up. Tell me about the first man you met. Scottish, was he?"


  I nod.

  Vincent seems disturbed by the news. "That's what I feared," he says. "I knew this would happen, but I hoped maybe there'd be some other way. Listen, the best thing is for both of us to keep out of it. We must let Patrick handle it. He's more than capable. You'll have to stay down here until he's finished, but that's okay, we have plenty of food and it'll give us a chance to get to know one another".

  I'm about to take a sip of the wine Vincent gave me, when I realise I don't really want it.

  "Would you rather have some water?" he asks, clearly seeing the problem. He gets up and goes back to the cabinet. After a moment, he comes over and hands me a glass of water, taking the wine glass away. "Yes, Patrick will resolve everything, one way or another. But it will complicate things terribly if we get involved, so let's just stay down here until the coast is clear. What time is it?" He reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a small fob watch, which he opens. "Half past three". He looks at me, confused. "Morning or afternoon?"

  "It's 3am," I say.

  Vincent nods. "Patrick should have things tidied up by sunrise. He's a fast worker, and I don't think he'll have any trouble understanding what to do. He's not someone who ever makes the same mistake twice".

  "Mistake?" I ask.

  Vincent smiles awkwardly, as if he's said too much already. "The men you met tonight are dangerous," he says. "I'm sure you already realised that. And you have their scent on you, which means they could decide to involve you in their conflict. That's why you should stay down here, where you're safe". He looks at me, as if he's trying to understand me, as if he's trying to read my mind. "They're not human. You understand that, don't you?"

  "But they can't be vampires," I say.

  "No," he says. "There are three species on this planet. Humans, vampires and... well, they call themselves lyca, but you probably know them as werewolves". He smiles. "That's not an entirely accurate description, but it does the job. They're not to be toyed with, just as you wouldn't toy with a vampire".

  "Is Patrick okay?" I ask. "If they're dangerous..."

  "Patrick will be fine," Vincent says. "He'll deal with the situation before the other lyca arrive. He knows that's the best way to handle the situation, and he knows exactly what has to be done".

  "What situation?"

  "Don't worry," says Vincent. "Patrick is resolving everything as we speak. He'll be back in a few hours, and then it will be safe for you to go back up. There are certain... tensions that have to be resolved, but as I said, Patrick is more than capable of making sure that everything works out well".

  We both look up as we hear a noise somewhere else in the house. It sounds as if Patrick's back already. I look at Vincent, who looks concerned. We look at the door as Patrick enters, carrying a man in his arms. The man is badly hurt, with blood pouring from wounds on his face and all over his body, and his clothes torn to shreds, exposing more cuts and scratches all over his torso and legs. He looks as if he's been attacked and savaged by a pack of wild animals.

  It takes me a moment to realise that I've seen this man before. It's Hamish, the Scottish guy from the nightclub, and he looks like he's about to die. I stand up and look at Patrick, and I see something in his eyes that I've never seen in him before: a look of complete helplessness.

  Six

  Everything's dark and I'm flat on my back. There's a voice in the distance, but it's muffled, though it seems to be getting more clear.

  "What I've never understood," I make out the voice saying eventually, "is why brains are so cheap, but they'll pay over the moon for a full set of guts".

  "Brains is easy," says another voice. "But guts, you have to pull 'em out and keep 'em intact while you wheel 'em over. It's a difficult job. Right, your turn".

  There's banging above me. I raise my hand, but I find the coffin lid is still shut. I've been down here so long, I've completely lost track of time. But now it seems that, against all the odds, someone is digging me up. Why? I have no idea.

  "I've got a bad feeling about this one," says one of the voices. "I reckon it's gonna stink".

  I close my eyes as the coffin lid is lifted up. It's night, so there's not much light.

  "Not bad," says one of the voices.

  "Not bad?" says the other. "He's like brand new. We'll get double the money for this one".

  I feel them reach down and haul me up out of the grave. So, I'm to be grave-robbed, cut up and sold to medicine men across the city so they can cut me up. What's the world coming to?

  "Excuse me," I say, sitting up, opening my eyes and smiling. "Would either of you happen to have the time?"

  For a moment, they stare at me, completely shocked. Then, at the exact same moment, they both turn and run out of the cemetery. I smile, then I get up, dust myself down and walk slowly after them. For a moment, I feel like being merciful and letting them go, but then I realise how hungry I am. I sniff the air to get a good scent, and I realise they're now running in opposite directions to one another. I pick the one on the right and run after him. I leap over the cemetery fence and within thirty seconds I'm right behind the grave-robbing fool. I spring through the air and land on his back, biting a chunk from the back of his neck as we hit the ground.

  He dies quickly and I spend a good half hour sitting on his body, eating chunks of flesh.

  I make my way back to London carefully. It takes almost a month, since they buried me in the provinces in an unmarked grave. It's dark when I reach the city, and I immediately head for Hannah's father's house. The building looks different somehow, and darker, as if a large family no longer lives here.

  Rather than walking straight in through the front door, I prowl around to the back. The hearth fire is burning but there is no sign of life. I manage to get in through a window and it's immediately obvious that the house is more silent and still than I have ever known it to be. There is something disconcerting about this place as it is now, whereas it was once such a happy house.

  Finding no-one on the ground floor, I creep up the stairs. Still, the place seems deserted and I am concerned. Eventually I hear a sound of life from a distant room at the far end of the upstairs corridor. I walk towards the door as quietly as possible and wait outside, listening to the sound of someone breathing inside. It takes a moment before I recognise the sound of Hannah.

  I push the door open and enter the room, but I'm immediately confronted by a sight I never expected to see. There's only one person in the room, and it's an old lady in a small bed by the window. She's staring at the ceiling and doesn't seem to have noticed me. I towards her and see how white her eyes are. She's blind. And as I look at her face, I see - impossibly - that this is Hannah.

  I kneel by the bed.

  "How long was I gone?" I ask.

  Hannah's head twitches a little. She turns to look in my general direction, but she can't see me. She senses me, though, even if she lacks the ability to say anything.

  "What year is it?" I say, having never realised I was in that coffin for so long.

  Hannah's white eyes search for me hopelessly. Does she recognise my voice? My smell? She reaches out a hand, but it's an old hand, withered and dying. I can't take it.

  I stand up, turn and walk out of the room without looking back. I walk straight down the stairs and out of the house. I can't stay there and watch her die. I'd rather be a dream she had on her deathbed, a hint of something beyond the grave, something that might give her comfort as she dies.

  Seven

  "You should never have brought him here!" shouts Vincent, clearing a space on the sofa so that Patrick can put Hamish down. I've never seen Vincent angry, never even heard him raise his voice before, but he's almost shaking with rage. "You're making the same mistakes you made before!" he says, tipping out a small bag of medical supplies onto the floor as he starts to examine Hamish's ripped and bloodied body. "I never thought you could be so stupid, Patrick. Not in a thousand years did I think you could be such a fool!"

  I look at Patrick. He
's watching helplessly as Vincent tries to tend to Hamish's wounds.

  "He's going to live," says Vincent, still working furiously as he applies dressings and liquids to the wounds that cover Hamish's body. "But some of these bites are so deep, there's no way of knowing how much damage there might be". He stops working and steps back. "I can't even tell you if he'll be able to walk again". He glances at me, then looks at Patrick. "I don't care how good a friend he is, or was, you made a terrible mistake bringing him down here. You put all of us in jeopardy. Do you understand that?"

  Patrick just stares at him.

  "Sometimes," says Vincent slowly, "I fear for your ability to think about things under pressure. One of these days, your sense of misguided loyalty is going to get one of us killed". He glance at me again, then back at Patrick. "If you want to die, there are easier ways than attracting an army of wolves into your own home, do you understand?". From Patrick, there's just silence.

  "You should listen to your father," says a voice from behind. We all turn to see the stranger from earlier standing in the doorway. It's the same guy who followed me through the woods. "You're risking your life, and the lives of your friends, just to protect someone who only cares about himself".

  Patrick turns to face the stranger, and seems tense, as if he's poised to attack.

  "Calm down," says the stranger, stepping into the room. "It's just me. I split from the rest of the pack and I covered up the scents you left on the way down here. You're safe, this time. But I hope you won't keep relying on me like this". He turns to Vincent. "It's been a long time, old man".

  "Not long enough," says Vincent tersely.

  The stranger smiles, then looks at me. "We got off on the wrong foot," he says, extending a hand for me to shake. "My name is Garvey. I'm sorry if I started you earlier. I'm afraid there was no other way to get the attention of certain people".