by Sean Stone
“Alright. Here it goes.” He stepped back ready to kick his way through and just before he could the door clicked open. Natalie peeked out with red puffy eyes. She turned away and retreated back inside immediately. He followed her in. She climbed into a chair and curled her legs up beneath her. Her hands were tucked inside the sleeves of her cardigan. Eric had never seen her in a state like this before. She’d always been so confident and strong. Welcome to the pack. He grabbed the spare chair and dragged up to her before sitting down.
“I know its hard,” he said. “Taking a life is…” he had no idea how to finish the sentence. He had taken three lives but still didn’t know how to describe the feeling. His first human had been a mistake just like Natalie’s but he hadn’t been as affected. He’d been brought up thinking it was normal. It was almost expected that a new wolf would eventually kill a human. But Natalie had not grown up in the pack.
“I feel like monster,” she said with a phlegmy voice.
“I know you feel that way but you’re not. What happened was natural,” Eric said.
“Murder isn’t natural,” she said with a touch of heat.
“What you did wasn’t murder. You weren’t in control.”
“I still did it.”
“Yeah, you did. And you know what? You’re not the first. Every single one of my senior wolves accidentally killed a person. Even me,” he explained. “But we got through it. It happens.”
“How can you be so flippant about taking a life? Is it really nothing to you?” she snapped. Her words hurt him more than she knew. His first kill might not have mattered so much but his second was agonising. Killing Connor Digby was the hardest thing he’d ever done and some nights he still relived it. Killing his mother had seemed okay. She deserved it.
“Of course not,” he whispered. “Nat, I don’t know how to comfort you. I don’t know how to make you feel better.”
“Because you can’t. No-one can.”
“Someone might.” He said. He got up and left the room hoping that Dana was still in the house. He found her in the dining room and she agreed to talk to Natalie. He left the two women to it and went and found Finn so they could discuss the meeting with the coven.
Dean had spent the night in a neat glass box of his own. His had not been blacked out like the others but due to there being no other people around it might as well have been. He didn’t sleep. There was no bed or even a chair to make himself comfortable. Just the cold glass floor. He’d propped himself into the far corner and waited for somebody to return. His knife and gun had been confiscated as well as his mobile phone. They’d left him with his keys, belt and all the stuff that regular police would confiscate. He assumed they didn’t think he could cause any real harm with them. They were right. Nothing he tried could weaken his cage.
Several hours later Clara Winters and two guys turned up for him. Clara placed her palm on the front of his cage and an opening spiralled out from her hand. The two men accompanying her stepped into the cage, hauled Dean up under his arms and led him off down the hall.
“I can walk without the help,” Dean said. Clara nodded and the two guys let go of him. They took him through the door opposite the lift. As he suspected it was an interrogation room. Inside was one white table and three chairs. Dean planted himself on the far side where there was one chair. One of the guys stayed outside whilst Clara and the other sat down. ‘Not going to restrain me?” he asked sarcastically.
“Do you think we need to?” the man said with a sneer. He was a young man, no older than Dean and had a cockiness to him.
“Dean, this is Agent Kegan Dyer. You already know me,” she said.
“Yeah, I know you, Clara. Or should I call you Agent Winters?” he asked.
“Clara’s fine,” she replied tartly. “I take it you came to rescue your dad?”
Dean shrugged. “Obviously.” No point lying.
“Do you know what he’s involved in?” she asked.
“The Thirteen? Yeah, I know. I don’t care,” Dean replied. Telling him that his dad was a horrible person wasn’t going to get them anywhere. He already knew that.
“You don’t care? You’re not bothered about the people he’s killed?” Kegan asked brusquely.
Dean turned to face him. “What race are you?”
“Hardly relevant,” Kegan muttered.
“I think it is,” replied Dean. “You’re pretty hench on the old guns.” He indicated Kegan’s considerable arms. “A little hairier than most. I’m gonna guess werewolf. So, do you really want to tell me you haven’t killed anyone?”
Kegan stared at him icily. “Not through choice.”
“That just makes you an idiot. My dad did what he thought was right.”
“You dad murdered my grandfather!” Clara snapped. Her cheeks turned red as she realised she shouldn’t have lost her cool.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Dean said quietly. He didn’t want her to see that he felt bad for his dad’s crime. It was a despicable act but it didn’t change things. James could right his wrongs when he was free. “But I still don’t care. What are charging me with?”
“What should we charge you with? Trespassing? Carrying a deadly weapon. Attempted murder of an MI5 agent? Don’t worry, Zander’s fine despite your best efforts,” Clara said.
“If I’d wanted to kill that vampire I would have shot him in the heart. I only meant to put him down so I could escape,” Dean said.
“Your intent doesn’t matter. Only your actions do,” Kegan said.
“If you say so. Can we get on with this?” Dean said. He didn’t feel like wasting any more time bantering with them.
“My senior officer has no idea what to do with you. We can’t let you go because you know about this place now. But we can’t keep you here forever,” Clara said.
“You pulled me in here to tell me that? Are you hoping I’ll come up with a solution?” said Dean. MI5 must have ran out of suitable candidates.
“You’re a hunter, yes?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“We could use someone with your expertise and skill.”
“I’m not working for you,” Dean said at once. He couldn’t believe she’d even suggest such thing. “I kill monsters. I don’t make treaties with them and give them half a town.”
“The only monsters in this town are the ones next door. Your father’s one of them,” Kegan said.
“We thought you’d decline our first offer. So how about this. Convince you dad to get his friends to cooperate and we’ll let you both go,” said Clara.
“So you want me to convince my dad to convince someone else to do what you want?” Dean mocked.
“That’s the gist of it,” Clara said. She’d been trying her best to keep her emotions concealed ever since her outburst but Dean could see her anger rising up again. He had that effect on people. Especially when they locked him up.
“You expect me to believe that you’d just let us both go? The guy who killed your grandad?”
“As long as you get us the answers we need. And you’d both have to leave Cedarstone forever,” she replied.
Dean considered the offer for all of two seconds. “No deal.” It wasn’t because of the stipulation she’d added. He didn’t care whether they got banished from Cedarstone. He just knew he wouldn’t be able to get the results Clara wanted. There was no way the disciples of the world’s most evil warlock were going to play ball. How could Clara not see that?
“Perhaps you need more time to think?”
“I am not going to work for you,” he said firmly.
“Think it over anyway,” she said. Then Dean was returned to his cage.
Eric was sitting next to Finn in the small living room of Eleanor Little. Gus was Eric’s right-hand man but Finn was the better diplomat. Coming from such a large house Eric never understood how people could live in such small homes. They were always so cluttered and cramped. He and Finn were sitting side by side on a two seat sofa and Eleanor and h
er associate Marlon sat opposite in separate chairs. She had an armchair and he had brought in a wooden chair from the kitchen. When Eric had delivered the news to them had been met with silence. He was still waiting for one of them to speak. He could smell anger but couldn’t tell which one it was from. There was also a hint of nervousness.
“Do you know who?” Eleanor asked in a slow aged voice.
“No,” Eric said and shook his head. She nodded.
“We can have the body returned to you this evening,” Finn offered.
“Please do,” Marlon said. Marlon reminded Eric of a skinnier version of his uncle Merle. For that he had taken an unfair dislike to the man.
“I understand how serious this is. I’ve come here this afternoon to try and find a way to make amends so that our peaceful relationship can continue,” Eric said. The words felt odd on his tongue. Finn had told him how to word things. He wasn’t used to using diplomacy. He was used to giving orders and sneaking around.
When Eleanor said nothing Marlon replied for her. “The coven would like nothing more than to remain peaceful with the pack. We understand that this was an unfortunate accident and not a deliberate act of violence.”
“Indeed. But reparatory actions must be taken,” Eleanor added.
“I understand. That’s why we’ve come,” said Eric. He wondered what the old woman had in mind.
“I require you to turn the culprit over to the coven,” Eleanor said. Marlon looked at her in surprise before quickly concealing his expression.
“What?” Eric demanded. He must have misheard her.
“We would like the person responsible in our custody,” she repeated.
“Eleanor?” Marlon said tentatively.
“It is the only way to repair the damage. The killer must be held responsible.”
“The killer is my girlfriend and I’m not handing her over to anyone,” Eric said in a warning tone.
“Then there can be no peace,” Eleanor said.
Finn let out a small hiss. “You must be joking?”
“Do you find it funny?” she replied.
“Not in the least,” Eric snarled.
“Neither do we.”
“Eleanor, perhaps we could discuss this?” Marlon said nervously.
“No discussion, Marlon. We will have the culprit or there will be war.”
“If you want a war I will give you a war,” Eric said standing up. He stared down at Eleanor aggressively. Finn stood up at his side. Marlon joined them on their feet but Eleanor remained seated. Clearly the nervousness Eric could smell was not coming from her. She was a ridiculously confident old woman. Peculiar considering what had happened to the last two coven dynasts.
“You do not frighten me, young man. I will give you some time to reconsider my request. In the meantime, could you please have the body returned to the coven by this evening? Thank you for your visit and the courtesy you have shown the coven.” With her piece said she stood up and left the room leaving Marlon to show them out.
Once they were away from the house Eric lashed out and punched a parked car. The alarm rang out shrilly as his fist dented the metal. “She is not having Natalie!” he screamed.
“Of course not. Nobody would expect you to comply with that demand,” Finn assured him.
“So what do we do?” he asked. Looking around for something else to hit. He kicked at the garden wall to his left and the bricks crumbled down on to the grass. A pair of eyes appeared at the window and then promptly vanished.
“Wait. See if the old bag changes her mind. If not…”
“War,” Eric finished for him.
“Looks like it. Shall we notify SIT?”
“We should. But we won’t. Not yet at least. I don’t want people thinking we run for help at the first sign of trouble. Let the coven tell them,” Eric said. “And under no circumstances is Natalie to find out about this.” She had enough to worry about. Knowing his luck she’d probably hand herself over as an act of penance and he was not going to allow that.
10
The sight of Montford Manor made Henry physically shake. He grabbed his wrist to try and steady it. It would look incredibly peculiar if anyone were to see a young woman staring at an old abounded mansion and shaking. He was standing across the street looking at the house and that was as close as he was going to get. He turned to the homeless person on his right and said, “Do you remember what you need to do?”
“Go to the basement and find the trunk,” he slurred. “Then you gimme some money.” The vagabond was clearly drunk but Henry trusted nobody to keep their mouth shut about what he was asking. The tramp would never tell anyone what had transpired between them because Henry was going to kill him once their business was concluded.
“That’s right. Off you go then,” Henry said. The homeless man hobbled off to the manor and Henry watched him keenly all the way up the path and in through the front door.
The trunk in the cellar contained Henry’s remains. The sorcerers who had killed him had sealed his remains in the trunk and made it unopenable so that nobody would ever find it and he would never be given a proper burial. Maybe that contributed to his being trapped inside the house. Maybe once he had the body outside he would not feel the pull of his former prison anymore. Every day as Elizabeth’s body died a bit more he felt the tug of the house grow stronger. He needed his own body back. Not that he was sure being in his own body would stop the house from pulling him. He would find out soon enough.
After half an hour of waiting he gave up. It was quite clear that the tramp was not going to come out again. The bloody spirits must have killed him, or at least trapped him. Henry would not be getting his body out that way. He couldn’t go into the house himself for obvious reasons. Maybe there was someone, or something that could go in and survive the spirits. He turned away from the house and stomped back towards town as he pondered how to retrieve his remains.
The idea came to him rather quickly. Henry waited until nightfall and then went to Morgan’s nightclub. He’d never had any dealings with vampires before but now they seemed like his best chance. They had super-speed and strength. This should be able to get in and out before the wretched spirits could cause any damage to them. If he could convince them to help him that was. Luckily, he’d been hearing things on the grapevine and thought he might have a pretty good bargaining chip. He waited at the bar, enjoying a brandy and thinking about how he would broach the matter.
He was kept waiting for a good while before someone finally approached. Henry had only seen Richie Morgan a couple of times but he was fairly certain that the man before him now was not Richie. “You’re not Richie,” he said.
“No.” He sighed as though sick of hearing that phrase. “I’m Jacob. I speak on Richie’s behalf. How can I help you young lady?” he asked politely. Henry was offended at first at being called a young lady but then he remembered that he was in the body of a young lady.
“I have a proposal for Richie,” Henry said. He would much rather speak to the organ grinder.
“As I said, I speak on his behalf. Tell me your proposal and I’ll give you an answer,” Jacob replied. He did not sit down. He obviously didn’t expect to be here long.
“Am I right in thinking that Richie is searching for Victor Redmane and his daughter?” Henry asked. Rumours about the falling out were all over town. It was shaking a lot of people up. The fighting in the streets was most concerning. Not for Henry, he cared not what vampires got up to as long as they kept him out of it.
“You are right,” said Jacob.
“Well I can find them.”
Jacob suddenly looked a lot more interested. “What’s your price?” he asked at once.
“I’d rather tell Richie directly,” Henry said and smiled in satisfaction. It felt good to win and he could see by the look on Jacob’s face that he had won.
“Very well.” Jacob disappeared and a moment later he returned and led Henry out of the club. They passed through a door which led u
nderground. Henry had heard of the underground manor but had never actually been inside it. Few people were permitted to enter the home of the elder’s. At least, that was what the rumours said. It wasn’t all that impressive. Just looked like an underground castle really. After walking through a few hallways they came to a sitting room. It was lavishly decorated with very expensive furniture. Richie Morgan had taste.
“Have a seat.” Jacob gestured to one of the sofas and Henry sat down. Henry noticed a dark reddish-brown patch on the floor.
“That’s where my love died,” a man said morosely as he entered the room. Henry recognised the tall curly-haired fellow as Richie Morgan. “Elizabeth, is it?” he asked as he sat down opposite Henry. Jacob sat down with him. Richie looked a state. His hair was unkept, his face covered in stubble and it didn’t look like he’d changed his clothes for a few days at least.
“Yes,” Henry replied. Best to keep up the pretence with everyone.
“Are you here on behalf of the coven?” Richie asked.
“No. I’m here on a personal matter. I would prefer this to remain between us. The coven would disapprove.”
Richie’s eyes sparkled ever so slightly. “Intriguing. I can keep a secret, Elizabeth. What exactly is it you need from us?” he asked.
“I need you to retrieve a trunk from Montford Manor,” Henry said. There was no need to explain what was in the trunk. It’s not like they’d be able to open it and find out anyway.
“Why can’t you retrieve it yourself?”
“The sprits in the house will not let me near it. I sent a homeless man to get it and he didn’t come out again,” Henry explained.
“So you want me to risk my people?” Richie asked.
“I believe that because your people are already dead the spirits won’t have as strong an effect on them,” said Henry.
“An interesting hypothesis. What’s in the trunk?” Richie said.
“Some powerful items,” Henry lied.
“You’re not being entirely honest, are you? That’s fine. Answer me one question: will my people come to any harm, directly or indirectly as a result of whatever you intend to do with the contents of the trunk?”