Werewolves of Soho

by Amy Cross

  "That's a shame. Why did they do that?"

  There are tears coming to Margaret's eyes now. "I... don't know," she says. "We were just -"

  "Do you like seeing dead bodies, Margaret?" Duncan asks, interrupting.

  Margaret shakes her head.

  "Look at this one," he says, indicating Olivia. "Look at it Margaret."

  Tearfully, Margaret looks down at Olivia's corpse.

  "Pathetic, isn't it?" Duncan says. "I'm using the word in its truest sense. Look at her corpse. Doesn't it arouse your pity? Do you want to end up like that?"

  She shakes her head.

  "What do you know about Greystone?" Duncan asks her, walking around behind her, eying her up carefully.

  "What?" she asks. "I don't know anything. I don't know what Greystone is."

  "Good," says Duncan. He seems very suspicious of her. "Keep it like that. How did you know Olivia Thatcher?"

  "W-w-we met in the tunnels," she says. "She saved my life after some men -"

  "That's enough," Duncan says. "You're going to have to learn to keep your mouth shut, do you understand?"

  She nods.

  "There are people who would kill you," Duncan continues, "if they knew that you know about Greystone."

  "I don't know about Greystone!" she insists.

  "If they even knew that you'd heard the name," Duncan says. "They would kill you, just like they killed Olivia."

  "They killed Martin too," Margaret says quietly.

  "They've killed a lot of people in the last 24 hours," Duncan says. "They want to kill us. If they knew about you, they'd want to kill you too. So my advice is that you run. Okay? Don't ever mention any of this to anyone. Don't even think about it. Just go home, and forget everything that happened here. If you don't, if you can't, then you'll end up with a bullet in your head or a knife in your heart. You understand?"

  She nods.

  "Go," he says.

  She looks down at Olivia's body. "What about her?"

  "I'll take care of her," Duncan says. "Now go home and forget all of this."

  There's a pause as Margaret stares at him, then she glances at me, and then she turns and runs as fast as she can. Duncan and I watch her heading down the stairs.

  "Will she be okay?" I ask.

  Duncan turns to me. "I don't know," he says. "It depends if they know she's mixed up in all of this. If they do, then no, she'll be dead by tomorrow. If they don't know, and if she can keep her mouth shut, then she should be okay."

  I look down at Olivia's bruised, battered body. If only she'd accepted Duncan's help, if only she'd been willing to let him turn her into a werewolf, she'd still be alive. Instead, she chose this. She chose to die. What was it about becoming a werewolf that made her prefer death?

  "Who are they?" I ask. "Who's doing this?"

  "Powerful people," Duncan says.

  "The government?"

  "People who control the government." He takes a deep breath. "We're going to have to be very careful from now on."

  "And what about me?" I ask. "You told me you turned me into a werewolf, but there's something else, isn't there?"

  Duncan sighs. "I can't tell you now. I can't tell you at all."

  "But -"

  "You'll find out!" Duncan says firmly. "Right now, we have to get out of here. We have to retreat."

  "Retreat?" I ask. "What are you talking about? This isn't a -"

  "Yeah, it is," he says, walking over to the window. "Look."

  I follow and look out. Below us, several trucks are pulling up, and soldiers are getting out.

  "Are they here for us?" I ask.

  "Don't worry," says Duncan, smiling. "There's a way out of everything."

  He turns and runs toward the stairs. After looking down at the soldiers for a moment longer, I follow Duncan and we head up the stairwell.

  "Can't we just take the lift?" I shout.

  "I doubt it!" he shouts back.

  After four or five flights of stairs, we emerge on the roof. It's dark and the city shines brightly in all directions. There's a strong wind.

  "Wait," I say. "Why the fuck did you bring us up here?"

  "There are soldiers down there," he says matter-of-factly.

  "Yeah," I say, "but there's nothing on the roof, is there? What are we going to do, hope they don't bother to check up here?"

  "That's one plan," says Duncan. "But it's a bit rubbish. I have a better one." He grabs my hand and leads me to the edge of the building.

  "Oh fuck," I say, looking down. We're eight storeys up, and the street below looks so tiny.

  "Scared of heights?" Duncan asks.

  "Apparently so," I say.

  "You got the key?" he asks.

  "What key?"

  "The key Olivia gave you."

  "I..." I check my pockets. "Fuck, I don't know where it is."

  "Never mind," he says. "We don't really need it."

  "So what's your great plan?" I ask. "Find a parachute and jump?"

  "Yes," Duncan says. There's a pause. "Well, except for the bit about the parachute."

  And with that, he pushes me over the edge.

  Margaret

  I take a seat at the window, unwrap my burger, take a big bite, and watch the army trucks across the street. I was supposed to be giving up junk food, but I think I deserve something nice after the day I've had. The juices ooze down my chin, but I don't care. It tastes amazing. And frankly, I deserve a little celebration. I only just got out of the building before the soldiers arrived, and I'm pretty sure they would have done the same thing to me that they did to Martin. All in all, then, a lucky escape.

  I watch as the soldiers swarm into the building. There's a period of relative inactivity, and then some of them emerge, carrying a body. I watch as they throw the body onto the ground, and I realize that it's Olivia. They just leave her crumpled on the grass, showing no respect at all. Part of me wants to go over and admonish them, but I'm pretty sure I'd end up being hauled off to Guantanamo Bay.

  "Terrorists," says a voice behind me.

  I turn to find a guy watching the soldiers from the next table. He looks scruffy, as if he sleeps on the streets. He smiles as he looks at me.

  "Yeah," I say quietly.

  "It's on the news," he says, keeping his eyes fixed on me. "Bunch of Islamic terrorists planning to blow up the Tube again."

  I stare at him. Islamic terrorists? Is that what the news broadcasts are saying? I can't help but smile a little. All these people dying, all these strange things happening, and no-one asks any questions just so long as terrorists are blamed. I turn and look at the soldiers, and at Olivia's body abandoned on the grass. Who are the real terrorists here?

  Finishing my burger, I get to my feet and head out of the restaurant. I shuffle quickly along the street, trying to get as far from here as possible. It's a miracle that I managed to get away at all. Martin wasn't so lucky, and I dare say the girl and the man I just met won't be lucky either.

  When I'm a few streets away, I allow myself to relax a little. I'd better get home. For one thing, I'm exhausted; for another, my bones are aching. But there's something I have to do first; somewhere I have to go. I reach into my pocket and pull something out, and I look at it. A little metal key; the key that Olivia gave to the girl, and which the girl dropped while she was arguing with the man.

  Waterloo station. Locker 3232. I think I'll make a little detour on my way home. I'll go and take a look in that locker.

  Jess

  Falling.

  I'm falling through the London night sky, plummeting toward the London streets.

  It takes a moment to realize how totally, totally free I feel. Even as I hurtle toward the hard pavement, I feel completely separated from the world around me. The sides of buildings rush past as I fall faster and faster and faster.

  And then I realize something.

  I'm not going to hit the pavement.

  I'm going to hit the edge of this skyscraper.

&nbs
p; Hard.

  I smash straight through the stonework, sending a cloud of rubble into the sky, and I keep falling. I hit a flagpole on the side of the building, which jerks me and changes my direction, sending me straight toward the flat expanse of a car park.

  I hit the ground.

  It hurts.

  It really, really hurts.

  I can feel my bones shatter. I can feel the hand of a great darkness reach out to grab me. And then... suddenly, everything is okay again. My bones heal. The hand lets go. Instinctively, and still in shock, I scramble to my feet, and I find that I've landed in an almost deserted car park. Looking down, I see a slight crack in the tarmac. Was that caused by me when I landed?

  I look around. It's so dark here, but I feel like I can see perfectly well. It seems no-one saw me land. Stepping forwards, I find that everything works perfectly. I look up at the top of the building from which I was just pushed. It makes me feel almost dizzy to think that I was ever up there. How the hell did I just survive that fall?

  "There you are!" calls a voice from nearby.

  I turn to see Duncan walking quickly over to me.

  "I saw you bounce off that building," he says. "Wasn't sure where you'd end up."

  Not sure what to say, I think about it for a moment and then I push him over. He lands hard on the ground.

  "That," I say firmly, "is for pushing me off the side of a fucking skyscraper."

  "It's not a skyscraper," he says, seeming genuinely offended as he gets up and dusts himself off. "It's just a tall office building, there's a difference."

  "Still," I say. "Thanks." I take a deep breath. "I guess you knew I'd survive. I guess it's all part of being a werewolf, right?"

  "Yeah," he says. "It's one of the plus points."

  "So I can't die?"

  "Course you can. And you will, one day. Everyone does. But you're a bit tougher than the average girl."

  I stare at him. "Where did you land?"

  "Ah, well, I hit the roof of a small restaurant. Went straight through and landed in the middle of a birthday party. Fortunately they had a big cake and they believed my story about just being up in the air conditioning vents to do some random inspections, though I imagine they were suspicious when I bolted out the door so fast. Anyway, come on, we have to go for a run in the sewers."

  "A what in the what?" I ask as Duncan walks away. I follow him. "Sewers? Are you serious?"

  "Deadly," he says. "We have to retreat."

  "Retreat?" I say. "Retreat to where?"

  "Out of London," he replies. "Greystone was wholly London-based. If we get out of London, we're at a significant advantage and there's less chance of us getting caught. They won't really give a damn about us, at least not actively. They'll be too busy doing all the other boring things they usually do."

  "So where are we going?" I ask as we reach the edge of the car park and Duncan kneels down to prize a manhole cover away.

  "Yorkshire," he says.

  "Yorkshire?"

  "Why not?" he replies. "I've heard nice things about it. Moors, that sort of thing. Have you read Wuthering Heights? It's a wonderful book. God, sometimes I miss old Emily, she could be a right laugh at times. You can even call me Heathcliff if you want. I wouldn't mind. I might even like it. You'll have to try it out for a while and I'll let you know. But we don't have to be on the moors all the time. We can be the werewolves of Yorkshire. Don't you think that has a nice ring to it?"

  "Not really," I say. "I don't want to go to Yorkshire."

  "Spoilsport," he says as he gets the manhole cover off. "Why not?"

  "Personal reasons," I say.

  He stares at me. "Family?"

  "None of your business," I say. "I'm willing to consider going somewhere else with you, though."

  "Fine," he says. "We'll be the vampires of... Norfolk! How does that sound? No, don't answer. It sounds horrible." He pauses. "I'll think of something."

  "So you're gonna base the decision on -"

  "What sounds coolest, yeah," he says. "Got a problem with that?" Without waiting for me to reply, he jumps down into the manhole. I pause for a moment, and then I climb down after him.

  "So the plan is to run away?" I ask I catch up to him. We're in what seems to be a long, dark tunnel. Though there are no lights, I can somehow still see just fine.

  "Running away is underrated," he says, walking fast. "If we stay, we die. If we run away, we can regroup and come up with a plan. The only people who don't run away are the ones with the really big guns." He stops. "We're being followed," he says suddenly.

  I look behind us, but I can't see anything or anyone.

  "Don't look," he says. "Listen. They're closing on us. It won't be safe if they find us. We have to..." He seems concerned for a moment. "We have to split up, we'll be able to move faster that way. Besides, I have to go somewhere else first, and you can't come with me."

  "I'm not going anywhere without you," I say. "You can't just tell me to -"

  "It's okay," he interrupts. "We'll meet up in Oxford, okay? Head for Oxford. Go to the Bell and Lion pub and tell them that Duncan sent you. They'll keep you safe until I can catch up. This is -"

  "No," I say, interrupting him in return.

  "This is important," he continues. "Trust me. We can get out of this, but you have to do what I say."

  I want to argue with him, but something tells me he's probably right. And anyway, I don't have any kind of plan for getting us out of this.

  "Okay?" he asks.

  "Okay," I say. "But how the fuck do I get to Oxford? I don't have any money!"

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small leather pouch, from which he takes some notes. Handing them to me, he smiles. "Keep your head down. Just go straight there. Don't go anywhere else. Don't go back to your old place or anything. Just go to the -"

  "Bell and Lion pub, got it."

  "And be careful. Don't get caught."

  "Okay," I say. I'm not sure what to say next. "You too. Be careful." It sounds faintly ridiculous coming from my mouth, but I feel I have to say it anyway.

  "I'm never careful," he says. "But that's because I know what I'm doing. Come on."

  We run ahead, and eventually we reach a T-junction. "This is where we separate," he says. "Just follow that tunnel until you reach the exit, and then get to a train station and head for Oxford. Okay?"

  I nod. "But..." I pause, not sure if I want to say this. It feels stupid, but I have to know. "How long will you be?"

  "Just a couple of days," he says. "If that. But..." He takes a deep breath. "If I'm not there in a week, you have to assume that I'm dead."

  "No..." I start to say.

  "You have to," he replies. "There's no way I wouldn't come to find you. There's so much I have to tell you, to teach you. I'll come and find you, but if I don't, you know it's because I couldn't. And there's only one reason for that."

  Somewhere in the distance, there's the sound of people heading our way.

  "Run," he says, and then he steps toward me, leans close and kisses me briefly on the forehead. I'm so shocked, I don't have time to react before he turns and runs off.

  "I..." I stammer, but then I realize there's no point trying to argue with him. So I turn and run. And as I run, I find that I can run faster than ever before, and I'm not getting tired. I guess there are some advantages to being a werewolf after all. I feel stronger than ever, like I could run all the way across London and not even stop to catch my breath. But as I run, all I can think about is that moment when he kissed me. Why didn't I kiss him back?

  Margaret

  It's been years since I last came to Waterloo. One of London's busiest train stations, it's the kind of place I usually avoid: lots of people bustling about, being noisy, clattering into each other, shouting, running for trains, arguing and generally smelling bad. I used to have to come here with my mother occasionally, back in the 70s, but since then I've managed to keep away from the damn place. But today's an exception, so I d
ecide to just get in and get out as fast as possible.

  Arriving at the locker room, I find number 3232, slip the key into the lock, turn it, and hear the satisfying clink of the mechanism. Pulling the door open, I find a £1 coin has been used as security. Pocketing the money, I peer into the dark safety deposit locker and see a small envelope. That's funny, I was expecting something bigger and more impressive.

  Sighing, I take the envelope out and look at it. I open it and find it's full of USB drives, with a few handwritten notes giving each drive a number. Should be interesting to go through those, though I'm not very good with computers so I reckon I'll have to get someone to help me.

  As I turn to leave, I realize that there's something else in the locker. I reach in and pull out what seems to be a small, ornamental jewelery box. It has a pretty, Oriental-style pattern on the lid. I unfasten the clasp and start to open the box, but light starts to leak out and there's a strange buzzing sound, so I slam it shut. Weird. I glance about, but it's quiet down in the locker room and there's no-one about to notice what I'm doing. Still, best to be cautious, so I'll open it in my flat.

  Putting the box in my pocket, I shut the locker and walking away, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. After all, if I've really got a secret copy of the Greystone files, I should probably try to find a safer way to carry them. I head out of the locker room, back up onto the busy concourse of the station. All these people buzzing about, looking so busy and important.

  As I head toward the exit, a businessman runs into me and we both fall to the ground. I land hard, and for a moment I worry that I've broken a bone. But as I get to my feet, I realize I'm okay.

  "Sorry, love," says the man, seemingly flustered. He gathers his briefcase and phone while I make sure I still have the envelope and all its contents, as well as the jewelery box.

  "I'm fine," I say, ready to get going.

  The businessman runs off, probably to catch a train. It's funny, he probably thinks it's very important that he gets to wherever he's going. But is it, really? I've lived long enough to know that most people have their priorities all wrong, and -