by Helen Harper
Devereau and Scarlett watched, barely breathing, as the man paused in front of Bernard’s office. He took a step back and kicked the door once, which was more than enough to splinter the frame and open it. He strode inside and disappeared from view.
‘I guess he’s not too fond of lockpicks,’ Scarlett whispered, her words barely audible. ‘What do you think? Do we confront him?’
It was tempting but Devereau decided against it. ‘He’s another thug for hire,’ he murmured. ‘We already have one of those. Let’s see what he does first then follow him.’
Scarlett nodded and relaxed slightly against him. ‘Is that a gun, Mr Webb?’ she asked. ‘Or are you just happy to be in this cupboard with me?’
‘It’s a mop handle,’ he answered.
‘Pity.’
He smiled in the darkness, then they settled back to wait.
It didn’t take long. The man spent even less time inside Bernard’s office than they had done. When he left, there was a dark frown on his face and a phone glued to his ear. ‘There’s no sign of her here,’ he said. There was a beat. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Another beat. ‘I’m heading back now.’ He ended the call and stalked back down the corridor.
As soon as he’d disappeared into the lift, Scarlett stepped out of the janitor’s closet. ‘Interesting,’ she murmured. She peered inside Bernard’s office and clicked her tongue. ‘Messy pup.’
Devereau followed suit. She was right; the man clearly didn’t care about leaving a trail. He’d trashed the place: the secretary’s desk had been overturned and in the second, larger room, the carefully arranged legal books were scattered across the floor. ‘The plot thickens,’ he muttered.
‘Indeed.’ Scarlett glanced at the lifts. ‘Shall we?’
Devereau nodded. ‘Let’s go. We don’t want him to get too far ahead of us.’ He could already feel the adrenalin pumping through his body. They were getting close to finding out what all this was about. He just knew it. His wolf was twitching beneath his skin, insisting more and more strongly that it wanted to emerge.
As soon as the lift doors opened on the ground floor, Devereau knew something was wrong. Even if he’d still been human he would have smelled the cordite in the air. ‘Shit.’ He stared at the slumped body of Jonathan Lee, a man who’d done nothing other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Devereau stalked over, even though he already knew what he would find. The security guard had a single bullet hole in his forehead and his eyes were wide and staring.
His jaw hardened. ‘Why? Why do this? There were a million and one ways to get past a single security guard without resorting to murder. Killing him was wholly unnecessary.’
Scarlett maintained her distance. He wondered if the blood spatter bothered her given her vampiric nature, then he realised it was simpler than that. The guard’s death scared her. Hell, it scared him too.
‘Rampaging through Bernard’s office like a hurricane was unnecessary too,’ she said, her voice quiet but even. ‘This is sending a message.’ She met his eyes. ‘The question is to whom?’
Devereau grimaced. ‘This entire building must be riddled with CCTV and he wasn’t wearing a mask. He must have been caught on camera. Why wouldn’t he care about that?’
Scarlett pointed over his shoulder. ‘Think again about those cameras.’
He turned, saw the sign on the far wall and read it aloud. ‘Filming and photography are forbidden throughout this building.’ He glanced up. Scarlett was right; he couldn’t see a single camera anywhere.
‘The people who work here take their privacy very seriously,’ Scarlett said. ‘Which makes the late David Bernard even more interesting.’
Chapter Fourteen
They didn’t waste any more time. The security guard’s body would be discovered soon and calling the police would only complicate matters.
They jogged to the car park where Scarlett had left her car. They made it just in time. From an underground car park to their right, a small black vehicle appeared on its way out of Canary Wharf.
‘That’s our guy,’ Scarlett said quietly.
Devereau nodded and ducked down to avoid the man noticing him as he drove past. Moments later they drove out of the car park on his tail. With the streets quiet at this time of night, it wouldn’t be easy to follow him without being spotted so it was probably just as well that he had a decent head start.
They trailed him, occasionally dropping back when it was prudent to do so then speeding up when he appeared to be getting too far ahead. At no point did the man give any indication that he knew he was being followed. That’s because he wasn’t expecting to be, Devereau realised – he assumed his murderous activities had gone unnoticed. Did everyone involved in this mess possess the same over-confident arrogance? He hoped so because it would make it much more satisfying when he finally caught them and showed them the error of their ways.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Scarlett said when she stopped at a set of traffic lights a block behind the black car.
Devereau didn’t take his eyes off the car ahead. He wasn’t going to risk losing it in the maze of London streets. ‘The people who’re doing this don’t fear being found out. Either they don’t think they’ll be caught, or they have confidence in their ability to escape if their crimes are discovered.’
‘Surely that’s the same for every criminal,’ Scarlett said. ‘Otherwise why would anyone commit any crime?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s a rare person who breaks the law and doesn’t consider the potential consequences. It’s basic common sense – risk versus reward. Committing a crime is a high-risk choice, and anyone with any sense considers the ramifications of that choice in a bid to avoid the worst-case scenario.’
Scarlett considered this for a moment. ‘So essentially it’s all about risk management.’
‘It is if you’re any good at what you do.’
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. When the lights changed to green, she released the handbrake and went in pursuit again. The black car turned right towards the outskirts of the city.
‘Kill your lights,’ Devereau said.
‘That might make us more rather than less noticeable.’
‘I know London. I’m certain there’s nothing much beyond this road other than derelict wasteland and a few commercial buildings. There won’t be any street lights, but headlights will stand out.’
Scarlett did as he suggested then also made the right turn. When she saw the dark street ahead, she gave Devereau a quick sidelong look of approval. ‘Good call.’ She slowed down further. ‘There is something else that doesn’t make sense, you know,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’
‘Motive. Why do this? Why turn a kid into a werewolf? Anyone who knows anything about wolves would know that it’s more than just a bad idea – it’s a terrible one. And why compound that crime with more evil deeds?’
‘Not every crime has a motive,’ Devereau answered. ‘Sometimes people do things just because they can.’
‘Do you think that’s the case here?’ She sounded sceptical.
‘No, I don’t.’ He pointed ahead. ‘Look. He’s stopped.’
Scarlett pulled up and squinted through the windscreen. ‘What is that? Is it a warehouse?’
‘I think so.’ Devereau bared his teeth in satisfaction. ‘We’ve found the bastards’ lair.’
***
They approached the warehouse silently on foot, skirting the edge of the road until the smooth tarmac turned into gravel ruts where they hopped onto the verge. Devereau fought the urge to change and bring his wolf to the fore. He needed to see inside that warehouse before he made any rash decisions.
It was a good thing that he was patient. When they were within fifty metres of the building, he heard the dim beat of music. This was more than a storage facility – it was a club. Probably an illegal one, at that.
‘Look,’ Scarlett whispered, jerking her head to the left of the building. Hid
den from view from the road were dozens of cars.
Devereau let out a low whistle. ‘Those are some expensive-looking beasts. Tesla. Ferrari. Maserati. It’s a petrol-head’s wet dream.’
‘If you say so.’
‘You’re not a car fan?’
‘As long my vehicle gets me where I need to go without breaking down, why would I care about how much donkey power it has?’
‘Horse power,’ he said automatically. Then he noticed Scarlett’s smirk.
‘Some men like it when I play dumb.’
‘Some men are fucking stupid.’
She opened her mouth to say something else but was forestalled by the flash of headlights at the end of the road. She and Devereau exchanged glances then moved to the nearest row of parked cars. Scarlett rolled underneath a silver Porsche as Devereau slid beneath a chunky Rolls Royce.
The wheels of yet another expensive car rolled into the next parking space. The powerful engine was silenced and the driver’s door opened. Devereau angled his head and watched as a pair of shiny black brogues appeared. The feet crunched on the gravel and walked to the rear passenger door. A chauffeur, he realised. A second pair of men’s shoes emerged.
‘Thank you, William.’ The man had an English accent with the flat tones that belonged to only the very well-to-do; this was someone who had been educated at public school and whose idea of a good time was a dinner party with outside catering and solid-silver cutlery. The sort of man Devereau rarely came into contact with. ‘From the number of cars, it appears that we’re one of the last to arrive.’
A second voice, presumably belonging to William the chauffeur, spoke. ‘It’s a while yet before it will begin. Here. I have the invitation and the masks.’
‘And the password?’
‘Actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea.’
‘Of course.’ There was a loud sniff. ‘Stay close to me. I know there are already plenty of precautions in place but we’re dealing with dangerous creatures here. I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Come on.’
Both pairs of feet moved away. Devereau strained his ears until he was sure that they’d walked to the warehouse entrance and vanished inside, then he rolled out and dusted himself down.
Scarlett did the same. She grinned at him, her single fang gleaming in the dim moonlight and giving her a seductively dangerous look. ‘Masks. Password.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
It was both risky and rash, but that was why it might actually work. Devereau smiled back at her. ‘Hell, yes.’ As if on cue, another set of headlights appeared. ‘Let’s do this.’
This time they crouched between the cars rather laying on their bellies underneath them. They needed to move easily, and they needed the element of surprise. The car reversed into the spot opposite the Porsche. It couldn’t have been more perfect if Devereau had planned it.
‘When we move,’ Scarlett said, ‘it will need to be fast.’
‘Yep.’
‘The gravel will give us away and the last thing we need is for any screams to alert someone.’
‘Yep.’
‘And it would probably be a good idea if we didn’t kill these folks.’
He gave her a long look. She shrugged. ‘I thought it was worth saying.’
The car plunged into darkness as its engine and headlights flicked off. The front passenger’s and the driver’s doors opened simultaneously. One man and one woman. Ideal.
‘You take her,’ Devereau murmured. ‘I’ll take him. On a count of three, two … go.’
He threw himself forward, aware of the blur of movement to his right as Scarlett did the same. The man, was wearing an elaborate feathered mask that matched the black and white of his tuxedo. His mouth dropped open as Devereau crashed into him and sent him sprawling to the ground. Within a second, Devereau’s hand clamped over the man’s mouth. From the brief sounds of a struggle on the other side of the car, Scarlett had done much the same to the woman.
‘Sorry about this,’ Devereau said, looking into the man’s blinking, terrified eyes. ‘It’s not personal.’ He drew back his fist and rammed into the side of the man’s head. His pupils widened fractionally with pain before the rest of his body registered what was happening and went limp.
Devereau stood up and glanced at Scarlett. She was on her knees with the woman in front of her, her fang firmly embedded in the side of the woman’s neck.
‘Probably a good idea if we don’t kill these folks,’ Devereau called out.
Scarlett pulled back, her lips glistening with blood. She smiled at him, pulled out a delicate lace handkerchief and wiped her mouth. Then she carefully removed the woman’s sequined mask.
Devereau returned to his own victim and checked for a pulse. When he was satisfied that the man would wake up later with nothing more than an unsightly bruise and a bit of a headache, he peeled off the man’s mask to reveal the slack face and ruddy jowls of a white bloke in his fifties.
Devereau glanced down at his clothes – a grubby T-shirt and pair of jeans that would benefit from a good wash – and undressed the man down to his underwear. He quickly donned the clothing. The tuxedo trousers were too short at the ankles and too large around the waist but they would do. Hopefully. He placed the mask over his face, grimacing as the feather trimmings tickled his cheek, then he picked up the unconscious body of the unlucky man and tossed him into the back seat of his car. Good enough. Scarlett hustled the woman into the seat alongside him and Devereau took the car keys and locked them in.
‘With any luck,’ Scarlett said, her purloined mask now covering her eyes and nose, ‘they’ll be out for a couple of hours. That should give us more than enough time.’ She reached up to Devereau’s hair and smoothed it down. ‘I can’t say that this a good look for you,’ she murmured, ‘but you’ll do.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Just remember to keep your mouth closed so that fang of yours is out of sight.’
She dipped into mock curtsey while Devereau drew out a shiny black card from the pocket of the tuxedo. On one side, there was a large number written in white: 324. Hmm. On the other side, in the centre of the card, there was the red embossed image of a wavy line intersecting the letter M. His eyebrow twitched. They were definitely in the right place. He waved the card at Scarlett. ‘This must be our invitation.’
Her lips curved upwards. ‘Come on then, darling.’ She took his arm. ‘Let’s go get ’em.’
Chapter Fifteen
Devereau and Scarlett strolled towards the front of the warehouse, their body language casual and their steps unhurried. The entrance was a single wooden door that had been propped open, as ramshackle and unappealing as the rest of the building. If it hadn’t been for the three broad-shouldered men standing outside and eyeing their every move, Devereau would have assumed he was in the wrong place.
Scarlett leaned across and planted a brief kiss on his cheek. Devereau curved his arm round her waist and drew her closer, and their heads dipped together as they laughed together at a fabricated joke. Smoke and mirrors and sleights of hand were tricks in which Devereau was well versed. He had to admit that he was enjoying these particular ones more than usual.
They were still draped round each other when they reached the three unmasked bouncers.
‘Good evening,’ Scarlett murmured with a slow languorous smile.
One of the men, a squat bloke with a bald head and pockmarked skin, gave her a piercing look. Devereau was certain that he’d identified her as a vampire and the game was up before they’d even started, but the sequined mask was doing its job. Scarlett’s vampirically attractive features were invisible and anyway, the bouncer wasn’t looking at her mouth. His narrow-eyed gaze was focussed on her chest. Devereau felt the stirrings of genuine annoyance.
‘Good evening,’ drawled one of the other men. ‘Do you have an invitation?’
A faint furrow appeared on Devereau’s brow as if he’d
forgotten to bring it and he paused, then his face cleared. He slid his hand into his pocket, drew out the black card and handed it over. ‘Oh yes. Here you go.’
The bouncer barely glanced at it. He raised his eyebrows and gave them a meaningful look.
Devereau was prepared. ‘Actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea.’
The man who’d been staring at Scarlett’s cleavage jerked up his head, suspicion clouding in his eyes.
‘An act does not make anyone guilty unless there is a criminal intent or a guilty mind,’ she murmured, remaining as close-lipped as she could.
The trio exchanged looks before the nearest bouncer stepped aside and gestured to the open door. ‘Have a good night.’
Devereau smiled as he and Scarlett walked through the door. Behind him he heard one of the bouncers mutter to his buddies, ‘Fucking public-school wankers. They’ve always got to show off.’
Leaning closer to Scarlett, Devereau raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘You speak Latin?’
‘I’m a vampire,’ she purred. ‘It’s virtually my mother tongue.’
At his disbelieving look, she laughed. ‘I went to grammar school in the sixties, Devereau. It was still on the curriculum. I guess my teacher was right – learning a dead language does occasionally prove useful.’
‘Iyay uessgay osay,’ he replied. ‘Pig Latin. Courtesy of my big sister.’
Scarlett grinned.
They walked down a narrow corridor, old floorboards creaking under their feet. The music was getting louder. A door opened and a young woman wearing an old-fashioned maid’s outfit came out curtseyed.
‘Welcome, esteemed guests.’ Her eyes were lowered in what Devereau supposed to be respect but looked more like forced submission. He felt a faint jab of familiar pain between his shoulder blades but managed a brief nod. Then he gazed at the scene in front of him.
Nobody wandering past outside could have ever guessed what was inside this warehouse. The interior of the warehouse wouldn’t have looked out of place inside the Ritz Hotel. It wasn’t a huge room – no doubt the rest of the warehouse was used for other purposes – but it was certainly grand.