by Sean Stone
“It’s fine. I don’t want to be a warlock. Maybe the coven could help me?” Natalie asked hopefully.
“Nat, no,” Eric said firmly. He needed to crush her hopes of a cure or she’d never accept what was coming. “You are a werewolf now. On Sunday night when you change you’ll be initiated into the pack. On Monday morning you’ll see how silly you’ve been to get so upset about it. I’m sorry but there’s no cure.” She didn’t say anything in reply and after a minute he left her alone.
A few hours later Eric was in the dining room with his senior pack members. His choices for the senior positions had ruffled the feathers of some of the older pack members; mainly because none of them were chosen. Eric wanted young blood leading the pack and not a group of saggy-skinned old men. His first choice was Gus. Gus had become Eric’s de facto number two from the moment he’d taken over as alpha. He never questioned an order and never broke Eric’s confidence. His next choice was Dana. Eric had never been friends with Dana but because she was Connor’s widow he thought it would be a good idea to keep her close. Dana believed that Nick had murdered Connor and was grateful to Eric for avenging him. She hadn’t figured out that actually, Eric had killed Connor. Also, she was loved by most of the pack and Eric was sure that could come in handy in the future. Personally Eric didn’t think much of her. She was an asset and nothing more. Then there was Finn. Finn was an intelligent guy and was recommended by Gus. All the advice he’d given so far had proven fruitful and Eric knew he was a good choice. Kyle was the final one chosen; picked for his strength and skill at fighting. It always paid to have a brute.
Part of being alpha meant meeting with the seniors a couple of times a week and making sure everything was as it should be. With Nick out of the way and relations with the other races pretty good, there wasn’t much to discuss these days. They usually consisted of a half hour catch up. This particular meeting was cut short when the door was kicked open and Merle walked in.
“Uncle Merle,” Eric said calmly. “Since you’re here I assume you found that dagger?” Merle had discovered that Nickolas could be killed with the ambrotos dagger. A dagger that also held all of his power. Eric didn’t need it now that Nick was at the bottom of the ocean, but the task served to get rid of Merle for the foreseeable future. Plus, the dagger was insurance in case Nick ever got free. Eric had never liked Merle. Merle had always been condescending and rude towards him. At times he was an outright bully. Now that his mother was dead Eric saw no need to have Merle around. He couldn’t exile him from the pack without cause so he had to invent errands to send him on. If Merle refused to obey then he could be exiled. It was win-win for Eric; either way Merle was out of the picture.
“I stopped looking for that thing days ago. Where’s your mother?” he demanded. Finn raised his eyebrow at the blatant show of disrespect but he said nothing.
“You disregarded my instructions?” Eric asked. He stood up and glared down the table at his uncle. Most would have had the sense to show some submission when their alpha stared them down but not Merle. His arrogance knew no bounds.
“Yes, I did. Where is my sister? I won’t ask again,” he growled and moved forwards so that he was touching the edge of the table, glaring back at Eric. The other four werewolves stood up and faced him making it clear that he was outnumbered. He looked at them nervously and then took a single step back. Eric smiled. He shouldn’t have to rely on numbers. Merle should back down to Eric alone.
“I’ve already told the pack that I exiled her. She attacked Natalie and she’s been punished. I don’t know where she went after leaving town,” Eric lied. That was the story he’d told the pack. He and Natalie had packed Serena’s things and dumped them with her body at the bottom of the lake. The water would stop any of the pack from picking up her scent.
“She would have called me.”
“Obviously she didn’t.”
Merle huffed aggressively. “You must know I’m not buying your story, boy,” he said.
“I don’t care what you buy,” said Eric.
“Why was it all done behind closed doors? Why not in front of the pack?”
“It was a private matter.”
“Pack rules decree that all—”
“Pack rules are whatever I saw they are,” Eric snarled. “I am the alpha. I make the rules I do not have them dictated to me.”
“Is that so? Then maybe we should have a new alpha,” Merle said. “One who will respect the traditions of the pack.”
“Maybe. Not today, though.”
“I challenge you for the position of alpha,” Merle said smugly. He thought he’d won. But as he’d just said, Eric did not play by the traditional rules.
“No,” Eric replied flatly.
“You can’t say no. If an alpha is challenged then he has to fight. Pack rules.”
“I just told you that I make the rules and I don’t like that one,” said Eric. Finn and Kyle looked concerned but neither said anything. It was a dangerous move on Eric’s part but if it worked then he would be fully in charge from here on. Nobody would be able to depose him. Unless they murdered him.
“You can’t do this, boy.”
“I can do whatever I want. I’m the alpha. If you want to fight me you’re welcome to go ahead but you’ll be outnumbered five to one.” Eric grinned and gestured to his comrades.
Merle looked around at the others. “Are you really going to let him get away with this?” he asked in disbelief.
“He’s our alpha. He makes the rules,” Gus said plainly. The others nodded in agreement.
“Dana, how can you stand next to that boy. He is a murderer. He murdered Connor,” Merle said. Dana stared at him hard. Eric said nothing. He waited nervously for her response. If Merle got her on his side then he might be able to bring Eric down. Merle would get the older vote and Dana was loved enough to take half the pack.
Finally it came. “What proof do you have of that?” she asked.
“I just know,” Merle assured her. “I saw it in his eyes the night it happened. Him and Serena both conspired.”
“Nick murdered Connor and he’s paid for it,” Kyle said.
“When a man walks into the alpha’s home and accuses him of murder that man should be prepared for dire consequences,” Finn said.
“I don’t think we need to go that far,” Eric said. “Merle is my family after all. I’ll give him one chance to retract his accusations and apologise and all will be forgiven. Uncle?” He looked at Merle with his eyebrows raised.
Merle shifted on the spot. He glowered at Eric. “You killed Connor and you killed Serena and you’re going to get away with it. You’ve brainwashed this whole pack. Got them in the palm of your bloody little hand.” He spoke in disbelief. “I just don’t understand how a snivelling little brat like you could achieve all this.”
“You have been given the chance to retract your accusations. Not make more,” Finn said, astounded.
“I retract nothing. You’re not an alpha. You’re nothing more than a mistake who should have been aborted at conception. You’re a stain this pack will never be able to clean.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel,” Eric said casually, as if Merle’s words meant nothing. “Gus, Kyle, escort my uncle from the house.” They moved towards Merle who did not fight. He seemed happy to leave. Then Eric added another order. “And execute him.”
“What?” Merle said, suddenly afraid. Eric liked that. If only his fear had kicked in a little sooner he might not be in this position.
“Goodbye, Uncle Merle,” Eric said.
Merle shouted other things but Eric had stopped listening. Gus and Kyle dragged him spitting and screaming from the room whilst the rest watched on silently. Five minutes later Eric had his uncle’s detached head in front of him.
Dean had waited long enough. For over a week he’d sat in his former family home and waited for his dad to return. It had taken real restraint not to go out into the town days ago but he’d told his father he would
n’t. Even on the night when the town centre seemed to explode he remained inside. Now, it was clear that James was not coming back which meant that something must have happened. Or, that he’d skipped town. But why would he do that? Years of trying to reconcile only to run away when it finally happened. No. Something bad had happened.
He jumped in his car and headed for Bartholomew Road. That was where his dad had been living. There was a large house that he’d been sharing with the other members of the Thirteen. The house looked quiet from the outside but that didn’t mean anything. James had said that nobody was being allowed to leave so they could all still be inside. He tried phoning his dad’s mobile one last time and when yet again there was no answer he walked up the garden path. He was armed with a blade enchanted to be used as a magical shield. The blade absorbed magic and broke spells. Dean had inherited it from his mentor but had never had the opportunity to use it. He’d never fought a sorcerer before. That could well be about to change. Breaking into Nickolas Blackwood’s house would come with consequences.
He reached the front door and rang the bell. As expected there was no answer and after waiting for what seemed to be long enough he tried the handle. It didn’t open. Obviously. He took a step back and then kicked the door full force beneath the handle. The wood splintered. He gave it another kick and it flew inwards. He was surprised. He’d expected the world’s deadliest warlocks to have magical protection on their house. But then why would the worlds deadliest warlocks need it? Who would be stupid enough to break into their house?
“Hello?” he called out as he entered. No reply. He got to work searching the place. It was a big house and took a while to look through the whole thing. There was no sign that anybody had been here for a while. There were a lot of interesting things in the house; books, weapons and enchanted objects. Many could be useful to a hunter and if he found the time he’d come back and see what he could take. One area of the house on top floor was magically sealed and he couldn’t get in. He assumed they were Nick’s private rooms. The fact that they were sealed made him want to get in all the more but he had no way of breaking the seal and didn’t want to waste any time on it anyway.
James clearly wasn’t in the house and obviously nobody had been here for days. There weren’t even any clues as to where everyone had gone. The obvious suspect was Richie Morgan. When Dean had arrived in Cedarstone he’d saved James from a group of vampires who were trying to apprehend him on Richie’s orders. He wasn’t sure why exactly. That made Richie the most likely suspect. Dean hadn’t lived in Cedarstone for years but as a hunter he’d heard things and it was common knowledge that Richie owned and lived beneath Morgan’s nightclub, so that was Dean’s next destination.
Dean waited until sunset and then headed for the club. This time he was armed with a mahogany carved stake as well as the knife. His jacket was designed to hold multiple weapons. He’s be a lousy hunter if he could only fit one in his pocket. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to use it but he knew how volatile vampires could be and if they did have James then a fight was definitely on the cards. Luckily vampires were Dean’s specialty. He’d killed more vampires than anything else. Walking into a nightclub full of vampires was something he’d done before, however.
When he arrived at the club the barmaid sent him to one of the booths to sit and wait. It was only then that Dean realised how ludicrous his theory was. Richie had a problem with James but all of the members of the Thirteen were missing. Could a bunch of vampires have really taken down the most dangerous coven of warlocks in the world? It was too late to turn back now, though as a light-haired, smiling vampire arrived and sat down opposite him. He would just have to follow this line of enquiry now. At least he’d be able to rule out the vampires.
“Richie Morgan?” Dean asked. He looked friendly which was odd because Dean had never encountered a friendly vampire before. Then again he was always trying to kill them so they probably weren’t in particularly friendly moods when he met them.
“No. I’m Jacob Martel. I represent Richie,” he said softly.
“With all due respect, I’d rather speak directly to him,” Dean said. He hated dealing with middlemen.
“You can speak with me or you can speak with nobody. It’s up to you,” Jacob said, still pleasantly.
“Alright then. I guess it’ll be you. My dad’s missing. I thought he might be here,” Dean said. No point in mincing words.
“Who’s your dad?” Jacob asked.
“James Tenson.”
The smile slipped from Jacob’s face. “I knew that he had a son. I didn’t know you had returned to Cedarstone.”
“I have. Is my dad here?” asked Dean. He wasn’t here to talk about himself.
“No. Richie no longer has issue with your father,” Jacob said. “He learned that James was not responsible for William’s death.”
“Who’s William?” Dean asked.
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that your father is not here and you shouldn’t be either,” Jacob said. “James Tenson is unpopular in every part of this town. He had enemies in every corner. If anybody were to find out who you are, they might decide to use you to get their own back. So, if I were you I would keep my name quiet.”
“I can look after myself.”
“I hope for your sake that is true. Your father and his companions were all taken into the custody of the Special Investigations Team. You should find him with them,” said Jacob.
“The Special Investigations Team? Where can I find them?” Dean asked.
Jacob shrugged. “No idea.”
Dean was pretty sure Jacob was lying about not knowing where SIT was but it was not worth arguing the matter. Not when Dean knew someone who could point him in the right direction without a fuss. In supernatural communities across the United Kingdom there was one name that everyone seemed to know: Alistair. An old man who owned a shop in Cedarstone. Whatever supernatural issue you had, Alistair could help. For a price. Usually Dean would have avoided him but this time his father was in danger so he was willing to pay whatever price the old man asked. He had no idea what SIT had in store for James but it was unlikely to be anything good.
The shop was called Wiccan Wares. Dean headed for the High Street. Some had clearly gone on here recently. The road was covered in scorch marks that could only have been caused by magic. Many of the shop windows were boarded up and some shops had had their fronts completely smashed through. Most shops were still operational but in dire need of renovations. Dean passed a battered looking newsagents and looked down at the stack of Cedarstone Messenger newspapers. There was a picture of the high street in a much worse condition than it was now and the headline above read: TERRORIST ACTIVITY IN CEDARSTONE. They really couldn’t come up with a better cover story? Who would believe that terrorists would target a quiet town like this? Reading the first couple of paragraphs, Dean learned that the supposed terrorists were using Cedarstone as a test ground before moving on to a bigger city. Unfortunately, they had died in the explosion.
“What a crock of shit,” he muttered and walked on.
Dean was disappointed to see that the sign on the door of Wiccan Wares said it would be closed for the foreseeable future. He employed the same tactics he’d used at Nick’s house. First, he knocked on the door. When there was no reply he looked about to make sure nobody was in the area and then he kicked the door. It didn’t move a millimetre. He tried again. Still nothing. This door was surely magically protected. Dean was about to leave when an idea occurred to him. He took the enchanted blade out of his jacket, made sure the high street was clear and then threw it at the window. As the curved blade hit the glass a shimmer of blue light rippled out and the glass shattered inwards. No alarm sounded. Dean glanced around again to make sure he hadn’t attracted any attention. He hadn’t. Using his elbow, he cleared the rest of the glass and then hopped inside. He picked his knife up off the floor and returned it to his pocket.
The small shop was crammed with so mu
ch junk it was almost impossible figuring out what was useful and what wasn’t. Dean wished he’d brought his bag so he could take as much of the good stuff as possible. There was nothing stopping him from coming back, though. After over an hour of pilfering through the shop he found what he needed. A blood compass. A small square box with a golden needle sticking from the top. At the base of the needle was an arrow laying flat. The arrow would point a person to what they needed to find. All Dean had to do was offer it some blood. People had been known to get so obsessed with blood compasses that they ended up dying from blood loss. He would not let that happen to him. He stabbed his finger on the needle and allowed his blood to run down into the box. The arrow started spinning rapidly. He climbed back through the window and waited for the arrow to stop spinning. When it did he went in the direction it pointed.
The blood compass led him away from the town centre and in to the industrial estate. He followed the arrow until he reached a tall glass tower. He looked at the sign mid-way up the tower which was lit up by bright lights that shattered the darkness. Winters Research Laboratories. The place looked like a fortress. If SIT were holding his dad in there then getting in was going to be difficult. He needed to do some research and he needed to plan a break in. He pocketed the compass and returned to his car.
6
Seven weeks ago
Nick entered Wiccan Wares and approached the counter. He hadn’t been to the shop since the night he’d blinded Katrina. He hadn’t intended on returning at all but Alistair had requested his attendance. He didn’t usually allow himself to be summoned but this time was different. The old man had refused to give Nick’s newest disciple, James Tenson an item he needed for the warlock ritual. James had offered to choose a different item but Nick had brushed his offer aside. He was too intrigued not to come to the shop now. There was something about Alistair that got his curiosity working. Besides, if a member of the Thirteen wanted something then they bloody well got it.