by Helen Harper
She snorted. ‘That’s up for debate.’
He couldn’t blame her for being wary. ‘I have a girl with me,’ he said. ‘I … found her. As far as I can tell, she’s a runaway and she’s in a great deal of trouble. She won’t talk. I’m trying to find out who she is so that I can help her.’
‘You should contact social services.’
He couldn’t begin to imagine how an overworked social worker would deal with a near-adolescent werewolf who’d killed two people. ‘Under normal circumstances that’s exactly what I’d do, but I have good reason to believe that her life is in danger. I don’t think that social services can protect her.’
‘And you can?’
His response was quiet. ‘You know I can. And deep down you know that I will.’
For a long moment, Mrs Foster didn’t answer. ‘I’m not prepared to give you a list of children from local schools. Not for any reason. You can threaten me all you like, Mr Webb, but I won’t do it.’
‘At no point have I threatened you,’ he said, mildly irritated.
Mrs Foster drew in a breath. ‘Send me a photo of the girl. If she matches any of the children who have been reported absent recently, I’ll tell you who she is.’
‘How do I know that you won’t share her photo?’ he asked. ‘Someone is out there looking for her, and that someone probably wants to do her serious harm.’
‘Well, I guess we’ll just have to trust each other.’
Devereau ran a hand through his hair. ‘Very well. Wait a minute.’ He stalked back through to the kitchen. The girl had finished her cornflakes but was still seated at the table, staring into space.
‘I’m going to take a photo of you,’ he said gently. ‘Would that be alright?’
She lifted her eyes to his. ‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘I’m too tired to change again.’ Her shoulders hunched. ‘I’m sorry.’
Devereau went very still. ‘It’s not a photo of your wolf that I want,’ he said. He watched her carefully. ‘Has someone taken photos of you like that before? When you’ve … transformed?’
She nodded mutely, her face pale.
‘Who?’ He growled the question. He couldn’t help himself.
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Yes, you can. It will be fine.’
‘If I tell you, they’ll kill you.’
Devereau clenched his fists. He could feel his claws appearing again and the familiar jabbing pain between his shoulder blades. ‘What about your name? Will you tell me your real name now?’
She shook her head furiously. ‘No. I’m not allowed.’
‘But—’
Dr Yara appeared in the doorway and threw him a warning look. He exhaled and nodded to indicate he understood.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay. That’s alright. Can I take a photo of your face?’ he asked Martina, trying to remain calm. ‘I’m going to share it with only one person. She’s a teacher. She might be able to help us.’
The girl considered this. ‘Okay,’ she whispered.
‘Thank you,’ Devereau said. He meant it. He raised his phone, quickly took a photo then returned the phone to his ear. ‘Mrs Foster,’ he said, ‘give me your mobile number and I’ll send you the photo straight away.’
The headteacher didn’t respond immediately. For a second, he thought she’d hung up. Then she cleared her throat. ‘I heard that,’ she said. ‘I heard what she said.’ She paused. ‘Mr Webb, is this girl a werewolf?’ Horror traced through her every word. ‘Is that why her life is in danger? Because she’s … she’s … like you?’
Devereau didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Mrs Foster spoke again. ‘0768 412 2085. It’s my personal number. Hardly anyone knows it outside of my family and a small circle of friends.’
Devereau typed in the number and pressed the send button. He heard a faint ding as Mrs Foster’s phone received it, followed by a rustle of papers. After that there was nothing, just silence.
‘Mrs Foster?’ he asked.
‘She’s not here. I don’t know who she is.’
Fuck.
‘She’s not on any of the records I requested. Not from Whitechapel or anywhere else nearby.’
It had been too much to hope that she would be. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Thank you for trying. I won’t bother you again. I would sincerely appreciate you not telling anyone about this conversation.’
‘I can assure you, Mr Webb, that I will speak of this to no one.’ Her voice was stiff. ‘I will look into other areas of the city and see what I can find out. No child should be turned into…’ She didn’t finish her sentence; she didn’t seem capable of it.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘They shouldn’t.’ And then, because there was nothing left to say, he hung up.
Chapter Ten
Scarlett’s expression was troubled. ‘Those were Martina’s exact words? “I’m not allowed”?’
Devereau folded his arms across his chest and nodded. ‘And yet she let me take her photo and send it to someone else. She knows I’m actively seeking her identity and she didn’t stop me.’
The vampire tapped her single fang with the tip of her fingernail as she thought. ‘It’s perfect kid logic. She’s been told not to reveal her name under threat of terrible pain, but if you discover who she is under your own steam she can truthfully claim innocence. She wants you to find out who she is.’
‘But she’s too afraid to tell me herself.’ Devereau nodded. ‘That makes a sort of sense.’
‘There is another explanation, of course,’ Scarlett murmured.
He glanced at her.
‘She’s been compelled by another werewolf to keep her mouth shut.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Someone turned her, after all. Someone burned that mark into her skin. It stands to reason that whoever did that would be trying to keep her in check. Unfortunately, if that’s the case, it won’t last. No living werewolf can maintain control of a turned adolescent. Maybe that’s why she murdered two people – whoever turned her lost control of her and she flipped. Either way, right now that little girl is probably the most dangerous creature in the whole of London. The werewolves can’t afford another PR disaster. Not right now. If they find out she exists…’
Devereau growled. ‘They won’t.’
It was obvious from Scarlett’s face that she didn’t believe him. Unwilling to debate the matter, he changed the subject. ‘There’s something else we need to discuss,’ he said silkily. ‘Actually, two things.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Heart.’
The tiniest smile flickered around the corner of her mouth. She reached out her hand and placed it flat against his chest. ‘Your heart, you mean? Is it lost?’
‘No,’ Devereau said, making no move to remove her hand. ‘And no.’ A beat passed. ‘But there is a certain young police officer who may have lost his.’
Scarlett dropped her hand. ‘You mean Police Constable Fred Hackert?’
Devereau held her gaze. ‘What happened?’
There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment in Scarlett’s answer. ‘I seduced him, like the evil femme fatale bloodsucker I truly am. Then, when I’d had enough of him, I dropped him.’
‘He’s in love with you.’
‘What Fred feels isn’t love. It’s nothing more than boyish lust and the desire to possess what he can’t have. He’ll get over it.’
He folded his arms. ‘That’s rather cold, isn’t it?’
‘I made him no promises. It’s not my fault if he read more into our brief fling than he should have.’ She gave him a cool look. ‘Is that it? Or are you going to tell me I’m a naughty vampire for playing with the little policeman?’
Devereau raised a shoulder in answer. ‘I don’t give a fuck about him. But what does bother me is that you used the shite you pump through the Heart ventilation system to get me to bare my soul to you.’
Scarlett laughed. ‘That’s what bothers you? You walked into the club like you were already defeated and you walked ou
t like a new man. Nobody forced you into anything, least of all me. I could have had you chained to my bed within twenty minutes, Devereau. Instead I let you go. If you really have a problem with that, you’re less of a man than I thought you were.’
‘Chained to your bed?’ He leaned forward and took hold of her wrists, one in each hand. He looked into her eyes, registering the challenge reflected there.
‘Go on then,’ she murmured.
He allowed himself a small smile then he gently pushed her back against the wall, pinning her in place.
‘Do you even have a bed in this godforsaken hellhole of a house?’ Scarlett asked.
‘I have several.’ Devereau’s head dipped until his mouth was hovering over hers. He felt her breasts press against him as she held her breath. A faint flush stained her cheeks. Still holding her wrists, his thumbs stroked her forearms and he licked his lips. And then he released her and stepped back.
A tiny frown flickered across Scarlett’s face. ‘So much for the big bad Shepherd.’
He grinned at her as he tried to control his breathing. ‘Maybe later you can become my Little Bo-Peep,’ he said. ‘But right now we have other concerns.’
Scarlett’s gaze dropped to his crotch. ‘Is that so?’
He didn’t get the chance to formulate a reasonable answer. From the next room, there was the sudden unwelcome sound of breaking glass. A split second later it was followed by a staccato burst of gunfire.
Devereau transformed in an instant. His clothes burst off, buttons and scraps of fabric flying in all directions. He bounded next door with Scarlett on his heels. Dr Yara and Martina were flat on the floor, glass all around them. The older woman’s body was covering the girl’s and, for the briefest moment, he thought the worst. Then he registered that they were breathing and uninjured.
Scarlett was at the side of the shattered window, flat against the wall. She craned her neck to peer out before whipping her head back in the nick of time. Yet another shower of bullets zipped through, flying over Devereau’s body and thudding into the back wall. Pure incandescent rage flooded his veins.
‘Three of them,’ Scarlett muttered, her face rigid. ‘One on the roof opposite and two on the street behind the blue car.’
From the floor there was a tiny whine. Devereau swung his shaggy head downwards. Dr Yara’s arm still held down Martina’s body but she wouldn’t be able to hold her for much longer. Despite the trace of sedatives still in the child’s system and her undeniable fatigue, the brush with death was forcing out her wolf. She writhed, patches of fur appeared on her arms, and he heard the familiar creak as her the structure of her bones snapped.
‘Devereau.’ Scarlett’s voice was low but her warning was unmistakable.
He nodded. He knew.
Another three bullets smashed into the room. Devereau ignored them. Right now, he could either worry about the definite beasts outside or the potential beast inside. He chose the latter; she was closer.
In three steps he was there. Ignoring the distant scream from the street and the sound of running feet, he dipped his head and used his jaws to grab Dr Yara’s arm. She squeaked in alarm, her frightened gaze meeting his, then she swallowed and allowed him to nudge her out of the way. She scuttled to the far corner of the room on her hands and knees, hissing in pain when shards of broken glass cut into her skin. Her movement attracted the attention of the gunmen outside and there was another shot but yet again it missed.
Devereau knew their luck wouldn’t last and so did Scarlett. With an inarticulate yell, she threw herself to the side, leapt through the gaping hole where the window had been and down into the street. Don’t worry about the vampire, he told himself. Worry about the girl.
The sound coming out of Martina’s mouth was like nothing he’d ever heard before. It was half animal, half human – and all fear. Her small body was jerking, and he didn’t need to speak to her to know that she was desperately fighting the change. It was a battle she was likely to lose. Her spine bulged in a grotesque fashion and her hands and feet were already more wolf than girl.
Last time he’d tried, she hadn’t even registered his attempts to subdue her; this time he’d have to do a far better job. Scarlett was out on the street facing down three armed fuckers on her own. There wasn’t time for niceties, and he knew that Dr Yara’s tranquiliser gun was on the kitchen table in the other room. It wouldn’t save them this time.
He didn’t want to hurt the child but he had to get her attention. Fast. While her keening moan rose, he opened his jaws again and latched onto her already furry arm. He sank his teeth in hard enough to cause pain without quite breaking her skin. In an instant, her moan changed to a growl and she whipped round, her brown eyes now a pale yellow.
There were more shouts from outside, followed by another gunshot. Devereau did his best to block out the sound and pulled his lips over his teeth in a guttural snarl. He towered over Martina, but she wasn’t in a quitting mood. She snapped the air in front of his muzzle. Devereau raised a single heavy paw and cuffed her lightly on the side of the head. Talking wasn’t going to help and neither was kindness. They were both wolves, so he had to use that.
He stared into her eyes and she stared back as her body quivered. Although he remained still, he knew that every hackle along his spine was raised. If she didn’t back down in the next three seconds, he’d have to knock her out. He lowered his head until the tip of his nose was an inch from hers.
And then she blinked.
Devereau breathed out. He nudged her sharply and Martina whimpered. He nudged her again. Her eyes dropped and, a heartbeat later, she was gasping, her fur melting back into smooth skin, and her eyes changing colour and filling with tears. He offered her a single congratulatory lick, which only made her tears flow faster.
Then Dr Yara was there, tugging Martina over to the dubious safety of the corner of the room, and Devereau was free. In a single bound, he leapt out of the window. Someone was about to pay for what had just happened. And they would pay in blood.
The colours of the outside world were muted as his lupine vision muddied the brighter hues. Despite that, his other senses were now far keener than they were in his human form. He could smell blood seeping into the ground from beyond the blue car and sprang over. One figure lay face down on the pavement, a man, judging from his build and a human, judging from his scent. He was flat out , although his chest was rising and falling with shallow, ragged movements. His balaclava had been pulled up to reveal a patch of pale skin on his neck smeared with blood. Scarlett had acted without hesitation.
Devereau caught of a flicker of movement to his left and swung round to see the vampire, though she was little more than a blur of movement at the far end of the road. She was in hot pursuit of gunman number two and, stiletto heels or not, she was moving incredibly quickly.
Devereau instantly discarded the idea of running after her and looked up instead. Two on the street, one on the roof. He’d lay bets that the bastard on the roof was still there; he had the perfect vantage point and he’d undoubtedly seen Devereau leaving the house. One question remained: was Devereau the target or was it Martina? Both were distinct possibilities and it was imperative that he discovered the answer. Ideally without getting shot in the head.
Adrenalin fizzed through his body. One of his nosy neighbours must have alerted the authorities because he could already hear the wail of sirens in the distance. Time was running out.
His instinct was telling him to find a way to clamber onto the roof and seek out the bastard who’d shot up his house, but instinct wasn’t always the best way to go. Besides, if the third gunman was indeed up there he had the higher ground and the stronger advantage. Devereau was liable to end up with a bullet between his ears if he tried to climb up.
The good thing was that the approaching police and paramedics would be putting the gunman under pressure. Make your escape or finish your job, he ordered silently. He glanced at the bleeding bloke by the car. Or rescue your buddy
. For some reason, Devereau didn’t think that would be a viable option.
He eyed the bloodied man. Sucking air into his lungs, Devereau tightened his shoulders and transformed back into human form in an instant. He reached down, grabbed the unconscious gunman under his arms and hauled him to the narrow side gate just to his right. He opened the latch and shoved the man’s body onto the weed-covered pathway beyond. It was an action that wasted precious seconds but it might prove worth it.
Closing the gate, Devereau side-stepped into the doorway of the house opposite his own. He knew he was shielded from view and anyone on the roof above him couldn’t tell where he’d gone. They certainly wouldn’t know that he’d returned to the danger of the open street.
The sirens were getting louder. The gunman had ninety seconds at best to decide what to do. Devereau smiled grimly. He could wait. The fucker above him didn’t have that choice.
One one thousand.
Two one thousand.
Three one thousand.
Four one thousand.
Devereau tilted his head. There. He spotted a jerky movement reflected in the tinted rear window of the blue car. An indistinct face shrouded in black appeared to be holding what looked like a lethal weapon. It wasn’t being pointed down at the street but up at the shattered windows of his living room. So Martina was definitely the target.
Devereau’s jaw tightened as he spun round. Now the gunman’s focus was elsewhere, he had his chance. Plus the fucker was looking for a wolf, not a man.
Throwing himself upwards, Devereau’s bare toes found a useful foothold at the first windowsill. If anyone was inside and looking out, they’d certainly be getting a good eyeful of his naked body. He smiled slightly and leapt upwards again, his fingertips curving first round the edge of the second-floor windowsill and then round the sharp corners of the roof slates. A moment later he was there, face to face with balaclava bastard number three.
He briefly registered a pair of shocked blue eyes staring at him – then the muzzle of the gun swung in his direction.
Devereau was already there. With one hard kick, he knocked the gun out of the man’s hand. It clattered down to the street just as the first cop cars arrived. The bellows of the police officers could be heard from below as they realised the action was taking place directly above their heads.