Infernal Enchantment (Firebrand Book 2)

by Helen Harper

  Fred, for once properly attired in his uniform, was sitting opposite a well-dressed couple in their late forties. He sprang up as I entered, relief written all over his face. ‘This is DC Bellamy,’ he said, by way of introduction. ‘She’s the lead detective here at Supe Squad.’

  I was the only detective here at Supe Squad. Not that anyone cared about semantics.

  ‘You’re a real detective?’ the man asked, doubt colouring his tone as he looked me up and down.

  ‘It’s about time,’ the woman snapped. ‘This is a serious matter. We need more than a low-grade police officer dealing with our case.’

  I raised an eyebrow at Fred. He implored me silently with his puppy-dog eyes and started to explain. ‘This is Patrick and Vivienne Clarke. They wish to put in a complaint about some werewolves.’ He held out his notepad but I made no move to take it.

  Mrs Clarke huffed. ‘This is about far more than making a complaint! These wolves need to be dealt with. They’re terrorising us! What they’ve done to our family is beyond the pale!’

  I offered my most professional smile. ‘I’m so very sorry to hear of your troubles. You’re very fortunate that you have PC Hackert to help you. He’s incredibly efficient and more than capable.’

  Fred sent me an imploring look that I pretended not to see. Fred needed to learn to step up to the plate – and the only way he’d do that was if I empowered him to take control. While it was clear that the Clarkes were not the easiest of people to deal with, it was rare that any member of the public wandered in off the street with a happy smile. People like the Clarkes were combative because reaching the point where you had to make an official complaint to the police was unbelievably stressful. When you added the supernatural into the mix, tensions were only heightened further.

  ‘PC Hackert will listen very carefully to everything you have to say,’ I reassured them. ‘Once we have all the relevant details, we’ll work together to solve your problem. You’re in very capable hands.’

  Fred blanched.

  ‘The only problem around here is those wolves.’ Mr Clarke’s cheeks were turning purple with rage. ‘They should be rounded up and thrown into a damn zoo!’

  ‘A zoo would be too good for them,’ his wife chimed in, her hand reaching for his. Emotions certainly were running high.

  Fred swallowed and raised his chin. ‘I understand this is a difficult situation for you both—’

  ‘I’ll say!’ Mrs Clarke interrupted.

  ‘However,’ he continued, his tone growing firmer, ‘we treat all species with respect – and that includes werewolves. If your son had come to us, he would have received the same treatment as anyone else.’

  ‘If that were true, you’d have done something when they kidnapped him the first time around!’

  Okay. My gaze flitted from husband to wife. Now I was interested.

  ‘We investigated at the time,’ Fred said gently. ‘He became a werewolf of his own free will.’

  Ah. Now the Clarkes’ attitude was starting to make more sense.

  ‘Our boy would never have chosen that path if he hadn’t been coerced,’ Mr Clarke mumbled. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to control his emotions. However, Fred’s growing confidence, as well as his words, was having the desired effect and the couple were calming down. Atta boy. I knew he had it in him.

  ‘I’ll leave you to complete the interview,’ I said. ‘PC Hackert will ensure no stone is left unturned.’ I left them to it. By the time I’d closed the door, the Clarkes’ voices were already more muted and reasonable.

  Liza’s head appeared at the far end of the corridor where the main office was located. ‘Are they still there?’ she whispered.

  I nodded. She pulled a face and ducked back into the office for safety. I headed in after her.

  ‘Those guys are nuts,’ she told me in a hushed tone. She waved a file at me. ‘They used to be in and out of here all the time. Harassment. Kidnapping. Murder. They even suggested that Clan Carr was some sort of weird sex cult.’

  ‘This is all to do with their son?’

  Liza nodded. ‘Julian. The day he turned eighteen, he made an official petition to all four werewolf clans.’

  ‘He wanted to be a wolf?’

  ‘Yep. He probably couldn’t wait to get away from his folks.’

  I wandered over to the kettle, checked it for water and flicked it on to boil. ‘Coffee?’ I asked.

  Liza declined. ‘I’ve got juice, thanks. I’ll take a biscuit, though.’

  I grinned and grabbed one, tossing it in her direction. She caught it deftly in one hand.

  ‘So Julian Clarke’s petition was accepted?’

  ‘After three years of trying. The Clarkes’ single-minded focus was him, and his single-minded focus was to become a werewolf. Tony investigated it at the time and Lady Carr allowed an interview. It was all above board and legal. The Clarkes just couldn’t accept what their son had become. From what I know, Julian Clarke did well for himself. He made rank within twelve months, and was on his way to becoming epsilon.’

  The four werewolf clans are built on a very specific hierarchy. Non-ranking wolves, who end up doing the more mundane tasks required by a clan, are called iotas. They are considered to be pups and are typically young and inexperienced, or not very skilled.

  Each werewolf clan is permitted to turn a small number of willing humans each year and there are strict procedures in place to avoid unnecessary … accidents. It usually only takes two or three bites for those humans to become pups. Their numbers are strictly capped by the government, which is a source of considerable rancour amongst the wolves since it takes time to settle into what is essentially an entirely new species. To achieve rank and gain promotion, a wolf must challenge another wolf during the full moon.

  The lowest rank is made up of zetas, followed by epsilons, gammas, deltas, selsas and betas. At the very top are the alphas – and each clan only has one alpha. Six weeks in, and I was still getting to grips with the system. It helped that most werewolves wore arm tags to identify their place in the hierarchy, but even so there was a lot to wrap my poor head around.

  I spooned a teaspoon of instant coffee into the cleanest mug I could find. ‘So where does murder come into it?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  The kettle started to judder. I turned it off and poured out the hot water. ‘You said that his parents made murder allegations.’

  ‘Ah.’ Liza grimaced. ‘Unfortunately, Julian met an untimely end.’

  I paused, holding the kettle in mid-air. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It wasn’t anything to do with the werewolves,’ she told me. ‘It was a hit and run. He went out to celebrate making rank, but he was mowed down before he got to the pub. The driver was never caught.’

  I winced. ‘But the Clarkes still alleged he was murdered?’

  Liza read from the file. ‘“If Julian hadn’t been forced into becoming a werewolf, then he wouldn’t have been out on Bartholomew Street and wouldn’t have been killed.”’ She paused. ‘Their words, not mine. They also suggested that the werewolves killed him and used the accident to cover up his death.’

  ‘Was there anything in the pathology report to suggest foul play?’

  ‘He was hit by a car. It was messy, but there’s nothing else there.’

  I sighed. So the Clarkes had effectively lost their son twice, firstly to the werewolves and secondly to a speeding car. I felt a brief surge of sympathy for them.

  ‘He was killed last year,’ Liza said. ‘Just over twelve months ago, in fact.’

  That made sense. The first anniversary of his death had probably hit them hard and they still wanted someone to blame. I sipped my coffee. People’s lives could be so shambolic. Unfortunately, I included myself in that statement.

  ‘Did you come across anything useful last night?’ Liza asked, changing the subject.

  ‘I procured another not-so-confidential informant,’ I said, explaining what had happened with
Joe.

  Liza’s brow creased with confusion. ‘He won’t be much of an informant if Lord Horvath knows about him.’

  ‘The vamps aren’t criminals and we’re not trying to uncover any illegal activity. We just want a closer eye on what’s going on. Joe will be perfect. We get a steady stream of information, and Lukas is forced to keep us in the loop. He won’t feel threatened by anything we work on because he knows where all our information is coming from.’ I took another sip. ‘The Lord of all vampires is not particularly keen on Supernatural Squad. If he thinks he’s controlling us, he’ll be more amenable in the long run.’ I grinned. ‘It’s all part of my master plan.’

  ‘If you say so.’ She eyed me. ‘How many other people are on a first-name basis with Lord Horvath?’

  I took a sudden interest in the contents of my mug. ‘He’s a friendly guy.’

  ‘Sure. The Lord of all vampires is a real sweetheart.’ She smirked. ‘With cheekbones to die for. Has he asked you out on a date yet?’

  I started to choke. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Our relationship is purely professional.’

  ‘It’s coming, Emma. Any day now. He’ll make it sound like it’s a business meeting but, when he suggests you have a meeting over dinner, you’ll know it’s really a date.’

  ‘It’s barely been a month since my boyfriend tried to kill me,’ I reminded her. ‘The last thing I want or need right now is romance.’

  Liza’s smile grew. ‘I’m not talking about romance. I bet Lord Horvath is the shag to beat all shags. You can’t pretend to me that you’ve not thought about it.’

  I could feel my cheeks heating up even though, no, I hadn’t thought about it. Not much anyway. And I seriously doubted I was Lukas’s type.

  Fortunately, Fred took that moment to join us. He stomped into the room, heaved himself over to the sofa by the far wall and flopped down. ‘Man.’ He blew air out loudly. ‘That was hard work.’

  ‘You handled them very well,’ I told him, glad of the interruption.

  He pouted. ‘You could have stayed and helped.’

  ‘I didn’t need to,’ I said simply. ‘You had it under control.’

  He twitched. ‘It was nothing. I just did what any police officer would have done.’

  I shook my head. ‘Let’s make an agreement right now to stop being so damned British. You did a great job with the Clarkes, Fred. You calmed them down, subtly pointed out their racism without being confrontational, and remained professional at all times. Own up to your success.’

  He considered this for a moment. ‘You’re right. I was pretty fucking marvellous.’

  ‘Amen.’

  Liza smiled.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Fred continued, ‘we do need to look into their complaint. It’s kind of weird.’

  Something about that word always put me on edge. ‘Go on.’

  ‘The Clarkes arranged to have their son’s body exhumed.’

  ‘Ew.’ Liza made a face. ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘They’re still looking for proof that Julian was killed by a werewolf.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Fred said. ‘They decided that they’d been lied to all along, and Julian was never turned into a werewolf at all.’

  I raised my eyes heavenward. ‘A judge agreed to allow his body to be exhumed for that?’

  ‘The Clarkes are rather … dogged in their persistence.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘Alright then, I will.’ Fred glanced at me. ‘When they dug up Julian’s grave, there was no body in there.’

  I blinked. Of all the possible scenarios, that one hadn’t crossed my mind. ‘Did the funeral parlour mess up?’

  ‘Nope. It was an open casket. The body of Julian Clarke was definitely buried twelve months ago, but it’s not there now. The coffin was extracted but no body was found.’

  I scratched my head. ‘Uh…’

  Fred nodded. ‘That was my reaction, too.’

  I swallowed. It was, without doubt, one of the creepiest things I’d ever heard. Fred and I exchanged horrified glances. Liza simply unwrapped the biscuit I’d tossed to her and started to munch on it. ‘We should get the caramel ones next time,’ she said.

  I stared at her.

  ‘What?’ she asked through a mouthful of crumbs.

  ‘It doesn’t bother you that a corpse has gone missing from its own grave?’ Fred asked.

  ‘I try not to think about things like that too much,’ she said. ‘Although that’s why I’m going to be cremated. It’s written in my will.’ She took another large bite of her biscuit.

  ‘Liza,’ I said faintly, ‘can you explain that?’

  ‘If you’re cremated, Emma,’ she said, ‘you can’t be eaten. Obviously.’

  Nausea stirred in the pit of my belly. ‘Eaten?’

  ‘By a ghoul.’ She wiped a few stray crumbs from the corner of her mouth. Then she realised Fred and I were still staring at her. ‘Oh. I forget that the two of you are quite new to Supernatural Squad. It’s just what happens. It’s pretty icky but it’s the circle of life.’ She shrugged. ‘What else did you think ghouls feed on?’

  I couldn’t say it was something I’d ever thought about. In my five weeks at Supernatural Squad, I was sure I’d not met any ghouls, although I was aware of their existence. Supes who weren’t either vamps or wolves were classed as Others; ghouls fell into that category, together with gremlins, pixies and various other supernatural beings. ‘Ghouls eat corpses?’

  ‘Yep.’ She licked her fingers. ‘They burrow down to the coffins and munch away to their heart’s content.’

  Fred was pale. ‘You’re expecting me to tell the Clarkes that their son was eaten?’

  ‘This is why it doesn’t get talked about much,’ Liza said. ‘People get very sensitive about this sort of thing.’

  It didn’t take much to imagine why.

  ‘They’re not breaking any laws. It’s legal to eat a corpse. Well,’ she amended, ‘it is if you’re a ghoul. They can’t eat anything else.’

  She’d been right the first time: it wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to think about too much. ‘We should look into it anyway,’ I said. ‘To be sure.’ I looked at Fred. ‘Where was Julian buried?’

  He checked his notes. ‘St Erbin’s.’ My heart sank. ‘It’s on the edge of Soho, not far from Piccadilly Circus.’

  ‘I know where it is.’ My insides tightened. St Erbin’s Church was where I’d been killed. The first time. There were only three people – or possibly four – who knew it had happened, and that I’d risen from the dead in a ball of fire twelve hours after my death. None of those people were in this room.

  I still felt shaky about the whole thing, and visiting the scene of my first murder again was very low on my list of priorities. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like I’d have much choice. I shuddered. ‘Liza, can you note down everything you know about ghouls? Fred, can you come up with a list of all the ghouls who live in London?’

  The pair of them nodded. Fred, in particular, looked relieved that I was taking the lead. ‘What about the Clarkes?’ he asked. ‘Should I call them back?’

  ‘From what we know about them, they’ll need absolute proof that werewolves weren’t involved. Let’s hang fire on that for now.’

  He exhaled. ‘Good plan.’

  I forced a smile. It was still early afternoon and the sun was shining. I supposed there was no time like the present to revisit the scene of my own death and investigate a grisly case of corpse-munching at the same time. I liked my job, I told myself. Honest.

  Chapter Three

  I hadn’t died once. I’d been killed twice – and on both occasions by the same person. He was dead now so, in theory, I had nothing to fear.

  I’d stared at myself in the mirror every day for the last month, checking hopefully for signs of natural ageing. I didn’t want die, but I didn’t want to be immortal either. In my ideal world, I’d be nothing more than perfectly normal
– but rising from the dead wasn’t normal.

  Lukas knew about it and, even though he’d been a vampire for a good fifty years or so, he’d never heard of anyone like me. Neither had Dr Laura Hawes, the pathologist at Fitzwilliam Manor Hospital, who’d been the first person to witness my resurrection. My boss, Detective Superintendent Lucinda Barnes, was also aware of what had happened. And the good Reverend William Knight of St Erbin’s Church probably knew too.

  Reverend Knight had seen me before my first death – and after it. He might not have appreciated the ins and outs of my situation but he was aware of enough to be cautious. I reckoned that was why he ran inside and barred the church door when he saw me approaching from the other side of the street. Either that, or he was terrified of my winning personality and winsome ways.

  I pushed open the rusty iron gate and walked along the short path, pointedly avoiding looking at the spot where I’d died. When I reached the heavy church door, I knocked politely. There wasn’t any answer. The vicar could pretend to be out all he wanted but I’d seen him. He knew that I’d seen him. And I knew that he knew.

  ‘Reverend Knight,’ I called. ‘It’s DC Bellamy. I’m with the police.’

  I waited for a beat or two. Still nothing. Last time we’d spoken, the reverend had convinced himself that my first death, which took place in this very graveyard, had been faked. He’d allowed himself to believe that it was some sort of clever ploy cooked up by the police, and I hadn’t disabused him of that notion. Unfortunately, he’d now had enough time to think about that version of events and had clearly decided, quite rightly, that it couldn’t be true.

  I tried again. ‘Last time we met I was just a trainee, but I’m a fully qualified detective now. You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later.’

  Silence. I drew in a breath.

  ‘I understand you have some questions about me,’ I called. ‘I’ll tell you everything I know, if you want. It’s not very much.’ I hesitated. ‘I’m here on police business, Reverend. My visit has got nothing to do with what happened here last month.’