The older man heaved a heavy sigh, turning with the two bowls and putting them down at the place settings he’d already laid on the table. He sat down and Isaac took his own seat.
“As you probably gathered from my text message, it wasn’t pretty. I could smell the damn thing before I even saw it, and poor Richard looked as though he was barely holding on to the contents of his stomach. I sent Alex and Kevin away, as they had to go to work, had a look around, then got out of there before the vicar threw up. I couldn’t find any evidence of anything, really, and the only smells I could pick up were the rotting flesh, the three men, and the two dogs. So we let the farmer know, and I presume by now he’s dealt with the corpse.” He picked up his spoon and began stirring the stew absentmindedly before scooping some up and eating it.
Isaac followed suit, despite feeling as though he couldn’t eat. Werewolves burned a lot of calories, so missing meals wasn’t going to do him any favours, especially not the day after a full moon. “Okay. So we have a dead sheep and no idea what did it.”
Matthew swallowed his mouthful, then replied, “Pretty much. It definitely wasn’t a natural death, and there’s no way carrion birds made that much mess in a few hours. It’s not impossible that it could have been a fox, but it was a damn big sheep, and the damage looked as though it was something bigger, stronger.”
“Like a wolf.”
“Yes, like a wolf. Except we know damn well it wasn’t us. I went online and looked to see if I could find information on any similar attacks in the area, to figure out if we might not be the only werewolves, but I got nothing.”
“You went online?” Isaac couldn’t hide his surprise.
His brother shot him a look. “Yes, little brother. I went online, on the internet, the worldwide bloody web or whatever other silly names you have for it. I had to do something. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or worried that there are no other werewolves in the area.”
“Because if there aren’t, then we’re the prime suspects, right?”
“Right. The vicar, Alex, Kevin, and Mrs Smithers are all on our side, know we wouldn’t do that, but four people fighting in our corner might not be enough if this thing escalates. And the fact it happened on a full moon hasn’t helped matters. If it happens again and it’s not on a full moon, then we’re golden.”
“But if it happens again and it is a full moon, then the shit’s going to hit the fan.”
“Precisely. Which is why I’ve been googering—”
“You mean googling?”
“Whatever it damn well is. And sorting out next door’s garden and cooking. I’ll be glad to go to work so I can take my mind off all this shit. If you get a chance, would you mind going on the internet and double checking? You’re the brains of the family, you might be able to turn up something I couldn’t. Maybe you could hack some records and find out if any other butchered corpses—sheep or otherwise—have been found.”
“You’ve been watching too much television, brother. Hacking isn’t that easy.” He was also surprised his straitlaced brother had suggested it. It showed his desperation, which added to Isaac’s sense of unease.
Without hesitation, Matthew replied, “For you it is. Just try, okay? Please. We need to get this sorted one way or another, and soon. Because the longer it goes on, the more people are going to start looking at us unfavourably. It hasn’t helped that this happened just after the anniversary of the plague. Everyone’s always a little more sensitive around this time of year.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Isaac said, “I’ll do my best, okay? I want to get this figured out as much as you do. What time do you have to go to work?”
Matthew glanced at his watch. “Seven. I’d better go and get ready now. I can’t go in there smelling like this—I’ll scare the punters off.”
“Even more than you already do?” It was a risky move, joking with Matthew when he was in a mood, but he had to do something to lighten the atmosphere. Fortunately, it worked. Matthew grinned, though the emotion didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Shut it, little brother. You’re never too old for a slap.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Making a rude gesture with his free hand, Matthew dug in to the rest of his meal, then clanged his spoon into the bowl and stood up from the table. “Just for that, you can wash up.” Clapping Isaac on the back much harder than was necessary, Matthew left the kitchen, chuckling.
Isaac rolled his eyes. He finished eating the rest of his stew, then put the bowls, spoons, and other utensils his brother had used to make the food into the dishwasher. “Bloody Luddite. Why on earth would I wash up when we have a dishwasher?”
After clearing and wiping the table and worktops, Isaac headed upstairs, glad they’d forked out the money to modernise their house throughout the centuries they’d lived there. It still looked old fashioned in terms of décor and furnishings—which suited his brother no end—but it had the modern conveniences they needed, which included en suites in both their bedrooms and the guest room, as well as the main bathroom. So he didn’t have to wait for his brother to finish before he could have a shower—he stripped off and hopped right in. Once he got cleaned up, he’d head back downstairs and do as Matthew suggested—have a double check online to see if there was anything he’d missed.
Knowing his brother couldn’t hear him through several closed doors and under the pouring water, he sighed. He might have tried to lighten the mood earlier, but there was no doubt in his mind about the shit the two of them could be in if this situation wasn’t resolved quickly. A slaughtered sheep was bad enough, but the fact it had happened on a full moon spelled trouble for the Adams brothers. Yes, a few villagers would stand by them, but he had to admit it didn’t look good. If the roles were reversed, he’d probably be looking at the werewolves in town too.
After finishing in the shower, he headed back into his bedroom, grabbed his dirty clothes and shoved them in the hamper, then was about to search out his scruffy tracksuit bottoms and an equally scruffy T-shirt to lounge around in when he changed his mind. He’d head to the Miners Arms—the pub where Matthew worked—after he’d done his online sleuthing. If it was quiet enough and there were no prying ears, he could update his brother and also have a couple of pints to try to settle his nerves. It was better than sitting home alone with worrying thoughts going through his head, too.
Choosing one of his nicer pairs of jeans and a smart-casual T-shirt, he dumped them on the bed along with clean boxer shorts and socks, then sprayed on his deodorant and a splash of aftershave and got dressed. His chin-length, light brown hair was easily dealt with—a comb through it would do just fine. It would dry naturally and behave itself pretty well.
Leaving his room, he noted that Matthew had already gone, so he headed straight downstairs and switched on the computer. Within minutes he was searching the web for any information that could give an explanation for what had killed the sheep. The browser history showed his brother had already checked most of the obvious places, so he double checked them for peace of mind, then started digging deeper, in more obscure places. After coming up with absolutely nothing, he did indeed do a spot of hacking, accessing the police database to see if anything had come up that might not have been reported in the media. It was possible that if a creature had gone on the rampage only the previous night, the news might not have got out yet. Any more injured or slaughtered animals might not have been discovered if they were in remote areas.
Figuring he could keep checking back over the next few days to see if anything else turned up, Isaac shut down the PC, grabbed his wallet, and headed to the pub. His day at work had been tough, his evening tougher. He fancied and deserved a drink.
*****
He pushed open the door, then held it for the person trying to exit, who happened to be Amy Kennedy—Alex Kennedy’s daughter. She worked in the shop alongside her dad, and she harboured a major and not-very-secret crush on Matthew. She probably spent a small fortune in the Miners when his
brother was working, despite the fact he’d never given her any indication he felt the same. It was irrelevant, of course, as the brothers had sworn off relationships, but even if they hadn’t, Amy wasn’t Matthew’s type. She was pretty enough, and a nice girl, but Matthew liked them feisty, fun, exciting. Everything Dorothy Smithers had been back in the day.
Isaac wondered if his brother still had feelings for the woman in spite of her age and the years that had passed. He also wondered how he could have got over a woman he’d never actually been with.
Shaking his head, he murmured a polite greeting to Amy as she passed through the doorway, then continued into the welcoming atmosphere of the public house. Isaac thought, as he often did, how amusing it was that he’d been drinking in here literally since it had opened in 1630. It had been called the King’s Head then, but as the local industry was mining, it had, at some point he couldn’t quite remember, changed names, as so many meetings of mine owners had been held within the four walls.
Stepping up to the bar, he nodded to his brother who was serving a pint to Gordon Bates, a villager even older than Dorothy Smithers who had also put a great deal of money behind the bar over the years. The old man raised his pint to Isaac, who smiled back, then drank long and deep.
“Hello again, brother,” Matthew said, moving to his end of the small bar. “Productive evening?” His tone made it clear what he was getting at.
“Sadly not. I did as you advised, but couldn’t find anything of use. I’ll check again over the next few days and see if anything new turns up. For now, I thought I’d socialise a bit. Pint of your finest, please.”
“Coming up.” The other man stepped away to pour the drink, and Isaac put his hand in his pocket.
“Don’t worry, mate. I’ve got a few owed to me and I can’t drink ’em all. You may as well have one.”
“Oh.” Isaac pulled his hand out and grasped the pint his brother had placed on the bar. “Thank you. Cheers.” He raised his glass in salute to Matthew then Gordon before turning to the room and looking for a seat. The pub wasn’t too busy and there were a couple of tables free. One of them was in the corner, next to the framed information and artifacts relating to William Mompesson—the vicar at the time of the plague—and the disease itself. He was halfway to the table when an unusual sight caught his eye—a person he didn’t recognise. In the daytime, the pub was often frequented by tourists, but most went home and left the evenings for the locals.
But it appeared this man was somewhere in between. Perhaps he was staying in the village—the pub itself had accommodation, and there were plenty of cottages and B&Bs around. Isaac raised his eyebrows as he stepped closer to the newcomer—he was damn attractive, too, right up his alley. Even though he was sitting down, he looked tall, was slim but athletic, with dark hair and fuzz on his face that would be called fashionable stubble. He couldn’t see any more without staring, so he figured he’d wait until he sat down, then indulge in some surreptitious glances across the room. Perhaps, if the other man seemed amenable, he’d go and introduce himself at some point.
Chapter Four
Isaac seated himself at the table in the corner, having nodded and exchanged greetings with the villagers he passed on the way across the room, relieved none of them were feeling talkative or eager to discuss health issues. He wanted the atmosphere of the pub and the sense of not being alone without feeling inclined to make polite conversation. Perhaps he was giving off that vibe, too, because he was normally happy to chat with fellow villagers about everything and nothing, yet nobody approached his table.
As he took a swig from his drink, he peered over the top of the glass and in the direction of the mysterious visitor. The other man was doing the same thing. Their eyes met. Only his lightning-fast reactions stopped Isaac from spilling beer down his chin and making himself look like a total moron. The other man’s eyes were a startling shade of green, unnatural and beautiful all at once. After hurriedly swallowing a couple of mouthfuls of beer, Isaac put the glass down and made himself maintain the eye contact before nodding and giving a little smile.
Well done, Isaac. That was polite but not over the top. Now look somewhere else. If you keep gawping at him, he’s going to wonder what’s up.
Shifting in his seat, he pretended to catch sight of the glass-covered artifacts behind him for the first time and then become transfixed, reading every word as though he’d never done it before. It was a stupid act, and he hoped none of the villagers took any notice of him—they’d think for sure he’d gone barmy, looking at stuff that had been there for years. And the people in the know would wonder what else he could possibly learn about a time he’d lived through.
As it happened, the write-up allowed him to get lost in his thoughts for a while. They weren’t particularly pleasant ones, but they were welcome as a means to get his mind off the sexy stranger and his gorgeous green eyes.
In spite of the centuries, Isaac remembered Mompesson well, and Stanley, though for some reason, he’d never gained the historical acclaim the younger man had. But then there had been a lot of happenings back then that hadn’t been documented, hadn’t made their way into archives, and there were reasons for that.
Isaac sighed. It had been a horrible time, a devastating time. Words couldn’t describe. Even though he and his brother had been in no danger from the disease, they’d been around to watch friends and neighbours die, helpless to do anything to save them. All they could do was ease their suffering, pray with them, and eventually help to dig their graves and bury their bodies.
After it had all finished, when the plague had finally died out, the brothers had been massively tempted to leave the village and never look back. The diabolical memories had just been too many, the nightmares too distressing. But Mompesson had talked them out of it, reminding them the village still needed its guardians. Needed them more than ever, in fact. Predators still needed to be kept out of the village, away from the livestock. Not to mention the devastated families that had to get back on their feet, rebuild their lives, find a way to go on. A deep-rooted guilt had taken hold of the survivors and many of them were struggling to see a way past it, see a way to get back to normal. Mompesson had lost his wife, and somehow, he was finding a way to carry on.
And so the two men had stayed, drawing on all their reserves of strength to get them through the tough times. Slowly, for the villagers as well as them, the pain had started to recede and life had begun again. Now, all these years later, Isaac couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be. He’d been born in the village and he was determined he would die there, too, whenever that might be. It was his home, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually, and he had Mompesson to thank for that—otherwise, he might have left and never looked back.
He turned and picked up his beer, lifted the glass in a salute to the man who had done so much good, then drank deep. Then, on the spur of the moment, he made a decision. He stood and carried his pint across to the newcomer’s table.
“Hi,” he said softly, giving a friendly smile. “Mind if I sit down?”
Green Eyes gestured to the stool opposite. “Please do.”
“Thanks.” Isaac put his pint down on the table and held out his hand. “I’m Isaac Adams.”
“Nathaniel Marsden. But everyone calls me Nathan.” They shook hands for just a millisecond too long, then parted.
Isaac cleared his throat, then said, “So, you staying around here? I haven’t seen you before, and as you’ve probably noticed, this is a pretty small village.”
“I just moved here.”
“Oh right, excellent. Well, clearly the rumour mills are faulty at the moment, then, because normally news like a new person moving in spreads like wildfire!”
They laughed, then Nathaniel said, “Nah, they’re not doing too badly. I literally moved in yesterday. I’m in a total and utter mess with boxes everywhere, so cooking meals is out of the question. I came here for something to eat that wasn’t a bloody sandwich and haven’
t made it back home yet.”
“Fair enough. Sounds like a good enough excuse to me. And the meals here are delicious. I eat in here occasionally. Mainly when my brother hasn’t cooked anything for me and I can’t be bothered.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes. We share a house at the other end of the village, have done for years. It suits us, especially since we often work opposite shifts. I’m one of the doctors at the surgery and Matthew works in here. I suspect you’ve already spoken to him.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the bar. Nathaniel’s gaze shifted over there, then back to Isaac.
“The big guy, dark hair?”
“That’s him.”
The other man looked at Matthew again, then at Isaac. “Yeah, I see the resemblance now. Cut your hair or grow his longer and it’d be even harder to miss. So he does the cooking, huh?”
“Mostly, yeah. He’s loads better at it than I am, and it means we get to eat a meal together if he’s working in the evening. We share out all the other dull household tasks, depending on who’s got the most work on at the time. It all gets done in the end.”
“Sounds like a good arrangement to me. Damn, I wish I had someone to help me with the dull household task of unpacking all my stuff!”
Isaac raised an eyebrow. “You’ve moved by yourself? No… significant other?” He couldn’t bring himself to say girlfriend or wife, because something told him that wasn’t the case. The big hand on his internal gaydar was definitely pointing towards into men. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking. Either way, he was hopefully about to get his answer.
“Yeah, it’s just me. And no, no significant other. Hasn’t been anyone in a while. Kinda made things easier when it came to deciding where I wanted to move to—only myself to consider.”
Isaac deliberately steered away from the part of Nathaniel’s speech that he suspected was inflammatory. “Where have you moved from? From the sounds of your accent, not very far, I don’t think.”
The Persecution of the Wolves Page 3