by Helen Harper
‘Boss?’ Gaz asked. He twisted fingers together and looked anxious.
‘How many people have come forward so far?’
Gaz swallowed. ‘Come forward?’
‘To be bitten,’ he growled. ‘To be turned.’
Gaz paled slightly. ‘I thought the law meant that…’
Devereau felt his anger hardening into something colder. ‘Since when did we care about the law?’
‘Boss,’ Gaz whispered, ‘nobody else wants to be a werewolf.’
The door swung open and Alice stomped in, pigtails whirling. She threw herself onto the sofa and reached for the remote control.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Devereau asked. She didn’t answer immediately. He nodded at Gaz, who got the message and withdrew, relief written all over his face at his temporary reprieve from further questioning.
Devereau walked over and sat beside his niece. ‘Alice,’ he said gently, ‘has something happened?’
Her bottom lip trembled. ‘I was supposed to be going swimming with Becky and Chloe. I got up early especially.’
Until recently, when her cancer had gone into remission, Alice hadn’t been able to go swimming. Being healthy enough to go out for the day with friends and do normal kid things was a big deal for her.
‘They’ve changed their plans?’ he prodded.
‘Chloe’s mum said they were going to visit family instead.’ She threw him a baleful glance. ‘But I saw their bags. They’re not going to see family. They’re still going swimming.’ Her mouth set into a mutinous line. ‘They just don’t want me to go with them.’
The cold rage in his veins turned to brittle ice and his right eyebrow started to twitch and spasm. ‘Go back to your mum, Alice,’ he said. He considered himself Alice’s guardian as much as his sister Natasha was her mother. Being a werewolf didn’t change that, but he wasn’t best placed to look after Alice right now. ‘Stay with her today.’
Her hurt was palpable. ‘So now you don’t want me either?’
He took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. ‘I’ll always want you. But I’m going to take a shower and head out.’
‘Where are you going?’
He set his jaw. ‘To see a woman about a wolf.’
Chapter Two
The building that housed Supernatural Squad didn’t look anything like a police station. It was a terraced structure with a small supermarket nestled to the right and a boutique hotel on the left. Devereau had been there before – hell, he’d made his first werewolf transformation outside it, although he’d never actually darkened its doors and gone inside.
He looked up at the crumbling stonework. Four storeys high and goodness knew how many secrets inside. He ran a hand through his hair. Coming here was a mistake. Despite her choice of career, he quite liked Detective Constable Emma Bellamy but she would never help him. They were natural enemies.
The bellman outside the hotel, whose burgundy liveried outfit made him look like a clown, was staring at him. Devereau’s lip curled as he stared back. He might be undergoing something of an existential crisis but he was still Devereau Webb.
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ the bellman called. ‘Supe Squad are strange but they don’t bite.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Unlike you.’
Devereau straightened his shoulders. So his reputation preceded him. ‘I’m not afraid.’ There was more distaste at the notion in his tone than he’d intended.
‘That was probably the wrong choice of words,’ the bellman said. His expression remained friendly but Devereau still eyed him suspiciously. Perhaps he was an alright guy. Or perhaps he was in the police’s pocket.
‘I’m Max,’ the bellman offered.
‘Devereau.’
‘I know. I saw you out here the other week. You know – when you caused all that commotion and showed the world that you’d been transformed into a wolf without anyone knowing about it. Our guests were all aflutter. Bookings have been up by a third thanks to you.’
Devereau grunted, ‘You’re welcome,’ and nodded at the man. He could hardly walk away from Supe Squad now, not without losing considerable face. He sighed, set aside his regret at coming here, then stalked up to the door and rang the bell. Maybe no one would be in. He picked absentmindedly at the peeling varnish on the door frame and waited.
When the door finally opened, it wasn’t DC Bellamy who peered out but a redheaded woman in a smart skirt suit whose mouth was puckered in disapproval. She gazed at him for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. She didn’t even say hello before she turned her head and shouted over her shoulder. ‘Fred! You’d better get out here!’
Devereau frowned. A moment later, the young police constable he’d seen with Bellamy on a few occasions appeared. It might be an old adage that police officers were becoming younger, but here was the truth right in front of him. This Fred fellow didn’t look as if he were old enough to vote, let alone wield a Taser and uphold the letter of the law. However, he was wearing a uniform so unless he was playing dress up he really was a police officer. Devereau shrugged. Whatever. It wasn’t his business if the coppers wanted to employ children.
‘I’m here to see DC Bellamy.’
‘Why?’ asked the redhead. ‘What have you done now?’
Devereau chose to ignore that question.
The young constable blinked at him. ‘Er, she’s not here.’
He could have worked out that for himself. ‘What time will she be in?’
‘In a fortnight. Give or take. She’s on leave.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I can probably help.’
Devereau wasn’t sure whether he felt relieved or disappointed at Bellamy’s absence. ‘That’s alright.’ He waved a hand. ‘It’s not important.’ Much.
‘Who’s out there?’ called an imperious voice from inside the building. ‘Liza, who is it?’
Fred stiffened while the redhead, presumably Liza, rolled her eyes. ‘A werewolf,’ she shouted back.
There was a loud clatter as something fell to the floor. Devereau glanced round Liza and Fred and into the building. Any normal police station had stringent security systems and self-locking doors to prevent members of the public wandering in where they weren’t supposed to be. Such measures didn’t appear to have caught on at Supe Squad; anyone could enter easily. Interesting.
He considered this anomaly as a man in his early forties emerged from a room at the end of the corridor. He was rubbing his palms together and blinking owlishly out at the light.
‘You dropped your mug of tea, didn’t you?’ Liza muttered. ‘And I’m going to be the one who’ll have to clean it up.’
The man didn’t appear to hear her, or he chose not to. As he strode forward, Devereau gave him the once over. He was wearing a blue suit and tie, both of which looked far too formal for the decaying Supe Squad building. His hair was thinning and dyed an unfortunate shade that was too dark for his complexion. He had a lanyard hanging round his neck with his ID clearly displayed. Supe Squad was a tiny operation: surely its size would negate the need for such security measures. Devereau peered more closely to try and read it.
The man smiled and held it up. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Owen Grace. I’m here on secondment while DC Bellamy is away.’ He grinned broadly, adding to his air of pomposity rather than detracting from it. ‘But I’ll soon be posted here permanently.’
Devereau’s gaze slid to Fred and Liza. Neither of them appeared particularly happy at that prospect. He shrugged again; it made no difference to him because the only police officer he’d speak to was Bellamy. And if she wasn’t here, he was wasting his time. ‘I’m here to discuss a personal matter with DC Bellamy. As she’s not in, I’ll be on my way.’ He turned away.
‘Who is that?’ he heard DS Grace ask.
‘Devereau Webb,’ Liza answered.
There was a sharp intake of breath, then Grace barrelled out and blocked Devereau’s path. The smile had gone from his face. ‘We’ve been planning to get in touch with you, Mr Webb.
’
Fred coughed. ‘Actually, DC Bellamy said she was going to speak to him after she got back from her holiday.’
‘There’s no time like the present, PC Hackert.’ DS Grace gave him a hard look. ‘I’m not a soft touch like Detective Constable Bellamy. I don’t believe in adjustment periods. The law is,’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘the law.’
Devereau rolled his eyes. ‘Go on, then.’ He stepped towards the policeman, deliberately encroaching on his personal space, not close enough to be deemed aggressive but enough to be annoying. ‘Why do you need to speak to me?’
Grace stood his ground, ignoring Devereau’s proximity. ‘Are you,’ he enunciated carefully, ‘a werewolf?’
‘Why?’ Devereau answered. ‘Are you looking for a demonstration?’
‘A simple yes or no will suffice, Mr Webb.’ Grace licked his fingers, took out a notepad and pen and turned to a new page, poised to write.
Devereau leaned forward. ‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘That’s spelled F. U. C. K. Y. O. U.’ He pulled back. ‘In case you’re not sure.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of spelling without your help, thank you.’ Grace scrawled something on the paper. ‘Your transformation was not legally sanctioned, was it? In fact, you ensured you were bitten illegally so that you could become a werewolf and avoid prosecution for your past crimes. Right?’
Devereau didn’t blink. ‘I’m not obliged to answer that.’ Even though that wasn’t true. ‘And you know what? I’m not obliged to stand here and listen to you either.’
DS Grace’s eyes rose to meet his. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re not. But you are obliged to remove yourself from your current address. All werewolves must reside with a one mile radius of Lisson Grove. It’s the law, Mr Webb. And the law…’
‘Is the law. Yes. You’ve already said that.’ Devereau folded his arms. ‘Tell me, do you honestly believe that ghettoising supernatural creatures, who have more power at their fingertips than humans can ever dream of, is a good idea?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I believe,’ Grace said stiffly. ‘I am here to uphold the law. And the law states that you need to live in or near Lisson Grove.’
Devereau reached inside himself. Within a second, fur sprouted from his face. His teeth grew, sharpening to fine, predatory points and his mouth started to change shape to accommodate them. ‘Make me,’ he rumbled. He unfolded his arms and raised one hand.
Grace flinched.
Devereau snapped his fingers and his features smoothed back to those of a human.
Grace’s jaw worked silently. To give him his due, he recovered quickly. ‘You have seven days to move your residence, Mr Webb. Seven days from this moment. One-hundred-and-sixty-eight hours.’
‘Or what?’
‘There are not many legal bindings when it comes to your kind,’ DS Grace murmured, ‘but some things are immutable. Your address is one of them. If you do not accede, we will act.’
Devereau raised an eyebrow. ‘We?’
‘The police, Mr Webb. And the government.’ Grace snapped his notebook closed. ‘Society deserves to be protected from any and all dangers. There are innocent people who could be put at risk by your very existence.’
He was remarkably earnest and Devereau itched to punch him hard in the face.
‘You’re subject to the vagaries of the moon,’ Grace went on. ‘You could endanger others. It’s for the good of everyone that you move to a secure area where you can be monitored more easily. I know it’s not fair, but it’s my job to ensure that people are safe. It’s why I signed up to the police in the first place. We help. We don’t harm.’ He nodded meaningfully. ‘Have a good day.’ Then the detective walked back into the Supe Squad headquarters without another word.
When Devereau Webb was a child, he’d frequently run foul of authority figures. There had been one physical education teacher who’d taken grotesque joy in getting into his face and yelling at him, spittle flying from his mouth. Sometimes it was because Devereau had forgotten his kit or hadn’t tackled an opponent effectively during a football game. Often, though, the yelling wasn’t for any good reason. Mr Stone had simply known that his aggression would get a reaction. And every time that Stone had achieved his goal and driven him to the brink, Devereau had felt a stiff knot of pain form between his shoulder blades, jabbing at him. Seconds later he inevitably snapped and shouted back – or worse. When he’d finally slammed his fist into Stone’s nose and broken it, he was immediately expelled. The school had assumed the expulsion was a punishment, although that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Devereau had learned that the knot between his shoulders was a sign that he was reaching his emotional limit. The last time he’d felt it was when he’d confronted the werewolf clan alphas on Alice’s behalf and asked them to turn her so she could beat her leukaemia and they had refused. That had resulted in his extreme – and some might say illogical – efforts to be transformed into a wolf himself. Now he felt the same knot of tension building up again.
He breathed in deeply through his nose. Fuck this guy.
Fresh-faced Fred Hackert sidled up to him. ‘Are you sure you’ve really only been a werewolf for a couple of weeks?’ he asked, doubt colouring his words. ‘Because I’ve never seen a wolf, even a naturally born wolf, with the sort of control you just displayed. Transforming your face just like that…’ He shook his head. ‘Wow.’
‘So you’re some sort of werewolf expert, are you?’ Devereau snarled.
Fred paled and took a step back. ‘No, just…’ he swallowed. ‘Never mind.’ He scratched awkwardly at his hand. ‘Look, Emma – DC Bellamy – was honestly going to give you more time before she approached you about joining the others in Lisson Grove. She would have done it differently to DS Grace. But there are a couple of occasions when human law really does affect supernaturals. Firstly, if more vamps and wolves are turned than is allowed, and secondly if they are found living outside their designated area. I know it doesn’t seem fair, but in return you’re exempt from all other human interference. As long as you don’t harm any humans, of course,’ he added hastily. ‘But usually supes deal with that sort of thing amongst themselves.’
Devereau forced himself to breathe normally. The knot was already starting to ease. ‘So what does happen if I refuse to move?’
Fred glanced at Liza. Her lips pursed before she explained. ‘It happens from time to time and usually the supes would sort you out. Unfortunately, Mr Webb, I suspect that your case will be treated differently. There is some precedent. Chances are that you’ll be locked up in a specially designated institution that’s run by humans. I rather think the government will enjoy making an example out of you.’
‘You’re talking about sending me to prison?’ He paused and glared at her as if it were all her fault. ‘Because I refuse to move house?’
Liza ignored his expression and shrugged. ‘Essentially. It’s worse than you might think, though. It’ll be worse than prison.’
‘How so?’
She didn’t look away. ‘You’re a werewolf now. Everything is different for you. You’ve not experienced a full moon yet, and when you do its power over you will be extraordinary. If you’re shut away and unable to exert your full lupine abilities during the moon’s change, you’ll go crazy. It used to be called lunacy for a reason, you know, and there have been plenty of cases like yours. Besides, wolves are pack animals. Most of them are grateful to live with their own kind.’
‘I’m not most wolves.’
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I can see that.’ She hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to continue. Then she went on, ‘There are supernatural beings who don’t live in London. There are vampires and gremlins and pixies – and even werewolves – who choose not to accept the law as it currently stands. But they stay out of sight and they keep their true selves hidden. That wouldn’t be so easy for you to manage.’
‘Because I’m a career criminal who can’t keep his head down?’ Deve
reau asked with only a faint trace of rancour.
‘Because your face has been plastered all over the tabloids since you transformed for the first time right on this spot,’ Liza said simply. ‘You’re not exactly inconspicuous, Mr Webb.’
He stared at her for a moment, then glanced at the bellman who was still standing outside the hotel and trying desperately hard not to eavesdrop. ‘Max?’ he called. ‘Where can I get a drink around here?’
‘There’s a bar in the hotel but it doesn’t open till later,’ the bellman answered. ‘There’s a Clan Carr pub not too far away that might be open in the next hour or so. Or there’s Heart. It’ll be quiet at this hour, but I don’t think it ever shuts.’
‘Heart is the vamp hangout? The one owned by Lord Horvath?’
Max nodded. ‘You don’t often see werewolves in there.’
In that case, Devereau decided, it was perfect. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning – and all he wanted to do was to get blindingly drunk.
Chapter Three
Max was right: despite the hour, Heart was open to all comers. The neon sign, shaped into the glowing image of a biologically accurate heart, was lit up and the door was wide open. There was a fanged bouncer outside who was doing a good job of looking alert, although Devereau suspected he was only there for effect rather than a genuine need for security at ten o’clock in the morning. Certainly the American tourists on the other side of the street weren’t going to cause any problems; they were happily snapping away with their iPhones before finding the courage to dart across and take selfies with the tuxedoed vamp.
Devereau waited until the tourists had departed before making his approach. At first the bouncer didn’t react but, when Devereau drew closer and it became obvious that he was planning to enter the club, he straightened up with a glint of recognition in his eye.
‘Good morning, Mr Webb.’
Devereau offered a brief nod in return. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk and he wasn’t going to pretend to be surprised that the vamp knew his name. The faster he could get to a bottle of whisky, the better. Unfortunately, the bouncer didn’t appear keen to allow him to pass through Heart’s front door.