The Noose Of A New Moon (Wolfbrand Book 1)

by Helen Harper

  Devereau stared at him, then he pulled out his phone and turned it on. He found the number he needed, his stomach clenching as he called it. It rang and rang and rang – and each time it did, Devereau felt even sicker. ‘Pick up,’ he muttered. ‘Bloody pick up.’

  Finally there was a click. ‘You hung up on me.’ Scarlett’s voice was cool. ‘And you lied to me.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m not in the mood to tell you right now.’

  ‘Where the fuck are you?’

  The urgency in his tone must have registered. ‘I’m back at the warehouse,’ she said. ‘There’s not much here—’

  ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘Get everybody out of there now.’ There was a single beat of silence.

  Scarlett wasn’t stupid; without asking any more questions, she drew in a breath and then he heard her roar, ‘Evacuate!’

  Devereau kept the phone pressed to his ear. He could hear scuffles, the sound of running feet and several shouts in the background. A door banged. ‘Scarlett,’ he said. ‘Scarlett?’

  ‘I’m here,’ she answered. ‘There’s—’ There was a deafening crash and the phone went dead.

  Morty looked at him. ‘Told you,’ he said simply.

  Something inside Devereau snapped. He reached and grabbed the gunman by the shoulders and heaved him up to his feet.

  ‘You p-p-promised! You said that if I told you what I knew, you’d let me go!’

  ‘No,’ Devereau bit out. ‘I did not say that.’

  Morty’s face whitened. ‘Please.’

  Devereau released him and stepped back. ‘Get out of here,’ he hissed. ‘Find Dominic Phillips and whoever the fuck else works at Matelot and tell them that The Shepherd is coming after them.’ He hawked up a ball of phlegm and spat it on the ground as if the action would add weight to his words and cement his vow. ‘And make sure Dom knows that next time I won’t show any mercy.’

  A moment later, Devereau was back in the car and speeding away.

  Chapter Twenty

  The glow of fire was visible from at least half a mile away. By the time Devereau arrived, his foot to the floor of the car the entire way, dawn was breaking over the horizon. Ambulances, fire engines and police cars surrounded the area, their flashing lights combining with the rising sun and the spitting fire to create a kaleidoscope of sinister colour. It didn’t help that a strong wind had picked up and was blowing the flames in the wrong direction, along with a fog of thick ash.

  Unable to get down the gravel road, he parked further away and ran the rest of the distance. Several uniformed idiots tried to stop him but he ignored them. It was only when he drew close to the warehouse, scanned the small crowd of grim-faced vampires and spotted Scarlett that he slowed and remembered to breathe. He ran a relieved hand through his hair then strode up to her.

  She turned as he approached. ‘Why, Devereau Webb,’ she drawled. ‘Anyone would think you were worried about me.’

  There was a black smudge of soot down one side of her face and he could smell the acrid tinge of burned hair. He suspected that Scarlett’s escape from the warehouse had been far narrower than her calm demeanour suggested. ‘That’s because I was worried,’ he said.

  She smiled slightly, showing her single fang. ‘The building must have been wired but we got out. All of us. And that’s thanks to you.’

  He inclined his head. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll accept your undying gratitude later.’ Scarlett snorted. ‘And,’ he added, ‘I apologise for hanging up on you earlier. But I didn’t lie.’

  Her smile vanished. ‘You lied in all but words, Devereau.’

  ‘You knew all along what I was going to do.’

  She opened her mouth to argue then her eyes flickered at something over his shoulder and she frowned. Devereau turned to see DS Grace striding towards them. ‘Why am I not surprised to see you here, Mr Webb?’ drawled the detective.

  Devereau smiled pleasantly. ‘I don’t know, DS Grace.’

  ‘What did you have to do with this explosion? Are you involved? It’s obviously got something to do with supes or there wouldn’t be so many of you here.’

  ‘I didn’t show up until well after it went up,’ Devereau said. ‘As I’m sure plenty of witnesses will attest.’

  ‘You seem to have a habit of turning up to crimes just after they’ve occurred.’

  ‘I always had a good sense of timing.’

  DS Grace glowered. ‘You might change your mind about that when you’re doing time.’

  Devereau raised his eyebrows. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The preliminary work has come back on the dead body we recovered outside your house. The man who was shooting at you, who you pushed off a roof and subsequently killed, is human.’ Grace smirked in a practised manner; Devereau was sure it was an expression he had perfected over time in a mirror. ‘Which means I’m taking you in for questioning.’

  It was Scarlett, not Devereau, who started to protest. ‘You can’t do that. He’s a supe and is subject to supe justice.’

  ‘He killed a human being.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  DS Grace sniffed. ‘We’ll see about that. Every human life matters.’

  Scarlett started to move towards the detective but Devereau shook his head. ‘It’s fine. I’ll deal with this. Stay here and see if you can find out anything about the warehouse.’

  Grace interrupted. ‘She will do no such thing. This warehouse has nothing to do with you supes. Anyone who is not human will leave the area immediately.’ His words took on a supercilious edge. ‘Unless you want to join Mr Webb in custody.’ He produced a set of handcuffs. ‘There’s plenty more where these came from.’

  Scarlett gazed at the dangling cuffs and raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh my.’ She offered the detective a slow smile and his cheeks reddened. ‘Well, DS Grace,’ she drawled, ‘in that case, you’d better arrest me too. After all, I’ve been with Devereau almost all the way, so I must be as guilty as he is.’

  That clearly wasn’t the response Grace had been expecting. ‘You’ve not killed anyone.’

  Her eyes danced. ‘How do you know?’

  DS Grace swallowed and Devereau almost smiled. It was one thing to arrest a lone werewolf who had no support network but it was quite another to arrest a vampire who had Lord Horvath at her back. Not to mention at least a dozen other vampires behind her who were glaring with growing fury. Grace had backed himself into a corner, however, and had no choice but to follow through.

  Devereau relaxed his shoulders and held out his wrists. ‘The law is the law, detective.’

  Grace frowned, shook his head in exasperation and snapped the handcuffs over Devereau’s wrists. ‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this, you know.’

  ‘I’d expect nothing less from the Metropolitan Police,’ Scarlett murmured. Then she winked and held out her hands.

  ***

  They weren’t driven to Supe Squad as Devereau had expected because apparently there weren’t any suitable cells there. Instead, he and Scarlett were taken to a large, boxy building on the fringes of the city. Detective Sergeant Owen Grace was probably under the delusion that locking them up as far away as possible from Soho and Lisson Grove would give him an advantage. For a career police officer, he still had a lot to learn.

  He also seemed to think that throwing them into tiny separate cells and leaving them to cool their heels for several hours would soften them up for interrogation. But it was hardly Devereau’s first time inside a police cell and, despite his new incarnation as a werewolf, he doubted it would be his last. He stretched out on the narrow bed and immediately went to sleep. He suspected Scarlett was doing the same. After all, it had been a long night.

  The sliver of cold sunlight shining against the far wall from the boxed-off window was in the opposite corner of the room by the time Devereau woke up. Even within these four walls he could smell rain approaching, and it didn’t sound as if the wind from earlier had subsided. He stretched lazily
and scratched himself, wondering what the coppers would think if he exploded into a werewolf right now. He wondered what Martina was doing, if she was managing to maintain control of herself, and he sat up.

  A voice drifted towards him from further down the hallway. ‘You’re awake then.’

  Scarlett. He breathed out. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘I have excellent hearing. Not as good as you, of course, but good enough. How could you sleep? My cell stinks so strongly of wee that my eyes are stinging. And I’m beginning to get hungry. Someone shoved a tray through about half an hour ago and there was nothing on it apart from a bottle of lukewarm pig’s blood. Clearly none of these fuckers has ever met a vampire before. I wouldn’t drink that if the Queen herself demanded it of me.’

  Devereau smiled as his gaze landed on the floor in front of his door. There wasn’t a tray there, or any bottles of dubious blood, but there was a tin of dog food. Somebody somewhere probably thought they were being funny. It wasn’t even good dog food, it looked like bargain basement shite that contained no meat and a lot of sawdust.

  Devereau picked up the tin and rolled it from hand to hand. It was a remarkably foolish joke. If he chose the right angle, he could launch it at the head of the next person who opened the door and kill them. He tutted and set it on the floor. ‘Scarlett,’ he called softly, ‘I need to know.’

  ‘Red thong,’ she called back. ‘With a cute lace trim.’

  Devereau blinked and Scarlett’s laughter rolled towards him. ‘Have I actually managed to make you lost for words?’

  He licked his lips. ‘Scarlett…’

  ‘I haven’t told anyone about her.’

  That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. But it was very, very welcome news. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘You’re racking up a lot of owed favours, Devereau. I’ve been entertaining myself by imagining all the ways that you can repay me.’

  ‘Quiet down there!’ an authoritative voice shouted.

  ‘Or what?’ Scarlett called back. ‘You’ll arrest us for talking?’

  Devereau smirked but he quickly smoothed his expression when someone thumped on his door and then unlocked it.

  ‘You’re up, Mr Webb,’ said a uniformed PC. ‘And your solicitor is here.’

  His solicitor? He’d not called anyone, although he’d been offered the opportunity to do so. Perhaps Scarlett had hired someone for him. That would mean yet another favour he owed her. Happy days.

  He nodded at the officer as if he’d expected nothing else and followed her down the corridor to Interview Room Three. Someone was already seated at the small wooden table. Devereau eyed the three-foot high man with his folds of slate-grey skin, pointed ears and immaculately tailored navy-blue suit. ‘You’re a gremlin.’

  ‘Score one to the criminal werewolf.’ The gremlin paused. ‘Alleged criminal werewolf.’ He gestured at the chair beside him. ‘Take a seat, Mr Webb. We’ve been granted a few minutes to discuss matters before your interview begins. My name is Phileas Carmichael, Esquire. I have been appointed on your behalf.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘Whom.’

  Devereau gave him a long look. The gremlin simply smiled. ‘Millicent Thompson.’

  ‘Whom is that?’

  ‘Who,’ Carmichael corrected automatically. Then he appeared to realise that Devereau was teasing and clicked his tongue. ‘Miss Thompson is, I believe, your pixie next-door neighbour.’

  ‘My neighbour?’ Devereau’s disbelief was palpable. One of the curtain twitchers? It barely seemed credible.

  Carmichael shrugged. ‘What can I say? You seem to have made an impression.’ He pointed at the chair again. ‘Come, come. We need to move quickly on this.’

  Devereau sat down. ‘It’s very good of Miss Thompson, whoever she is, to send you but I really don’t need a lawyer.’

  Carmichael bent down and picked up his briefcase, placing it on the table in front of them. He clicked it open, drew out a pair of half-moon spectacles and carefully put them on. Devereau wasn’t sure if the gremlin had even heard him. The small man seemed to possess incredibly selective hearing.

  ‘Now,’ he intoned, ‘first of all, we need to challenge your presence here. While the police are certainly permitted to question supernatural creatures, making an arrest is a very unusual step and rarely allowed without first speaking to the supe leaders, which Detective Sergeant Grace hasn’t done. I’m inclined to think that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Unfortunately that may prove detrimental as far as you are concerned. He’s an unknown quantity, which makes predicting what he’s going to do rather hard.’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Devereau said.

  Again, Phileas Carmichael chose not to hear him. ‘If DS Grace has read the legal statutes correctly, he will make a case against you and present it to the Clans, demanding that they take appropriate action. If it is proven to their satisfaction that you have committed murder against a human being, they can either have you killed or they can make arrangements for you to be incarcerated in the Clink.’

  ‘Have me killed?’ Devereau’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’

  ‘Supe justice tends to be faster and stricter than that which humans enjoy,’ Carmichael explained. ‘Obviously the Clink is the better option. It’s essentially a prison run by supes for supes. Most of the detainees have committed petty crimes and are not detained for long periods.’ He paused to slide his spectacles up his nose. ‘There is a third possibility.’

  Devereau folded his arms. ‘I have the feeling I’m not going to like this either.’

  ‘Probably not,’ the gremlin agreed cheerfully. ‘There is the likelihood that the clans will disown you and refuse to deal with you further. It rarely happens, in fact the last time was more than sixty years ago. In your case, however, I believe it is possible.’

  ‘No matter what the clans think, I’m still a supe,’ Devereau said. He was part of the supernatural community and there were currently all manner of magical beings outside his new house to prove it.

  ‘Yes, but you’re also a werewolf,’ Carmichael returned. ‘If the wolves won’t take responsibility for you, neither will anyone else. The alternative is—’

  ‘A specially designated institution run by humans where I’m likely to go slowly insane. I’ve heard about it already.’ Devereau grimaced. ‘It’s just as well that I’ve not actually broken any laws.’ Then he amended himself. ‘At least not recently.’

  ‘DS Grace is alleging that you killed a human.’

  ‘By accident – and that human was trying to kill me. He’d shot up my house. I was merely protecting myself. I’m sure my helpful new neighbour Millicent Thompson saw what happened and will provide a witness statement to that effect.’

  Carmichael nodded slowly. ‘Oh, she did. Unfortunately that’s not the human whose murder is in question. Not any longer.’

  Devereau’s brows snapped together. ‘Then who?’

  Carmichael consulted his notes. ‘A man called Jonathan Lee.’

  ‘Jonathan Lee? But—’

  ‘He was shot dead at a building in Canary Wharf. You and Scarlett Cook were caught on CCTV camera at a car park close to the building. The timing matches the estimated time of death.’

  ‘That’s circumstantial at best, and incredibly flimsy evidence.’

  ‘True,’ Carmichael agreed. ‘The fact that the police discovered Jonathan Lee’s phone number in your wallet when they checked you in this morning is also circumstantial. But,’ he added, ‘it doesn’t look good.’

  Oh. Devereau sighed. He’d forgotten about that.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Detective Sergeant Owen Grace chose to take the interview on his own. He was the only Supernatural Squad detective available given DC Emma Bellamy’s absence. Devereau was surprised but far from unhappy about it.

  ‘You’ve not had anything to eat or drink since you were brought in, Mr Webb,’ Grace said solicitously. ‘I can arrange for some food to be brought to
you, if you require.’

  Devereau sniffed loudly. ‘Actually, someone left some food in my cell while I was sleeping.’

  A flicker of surprise lit Grace’s face. ‘Oh? That’s good.’

  ‘Yes,’ Devereau continued. ‘It was a tin of dog food.’

  Phileas Carmichael stiffened. ‘What?’

  Devereau glanced at his solicitor. ‘Tripe flavour, I believe.’

  ‘I am horrified, DS Grace!’ Carmichael said. ‘Horrified! You are treating my client as if he’s some kind of dumb animal. I’d have expected far better than this from the Metropolitan Police. I can assure you that I will be making a formal complaint. This is an abuse that cannot go unchecked.’

  To DS Grace’s credit, he looked incredibly uncomfortable. ‘I’m sure it was a misunderstanding. I apologise, Mr Webb. That should not have happened.’

  ‘It most definitely should not!’ Carmichael spluttered. ‘It proves that the police force is already prejudiced against my client. He cannot possibly receive fair treatment when this sort of thing is likely to occur.’

  Grace shifted in his chair. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘It had better not!’

  This was already going well. Devereau leaned back. ‘I would quite like a coffee, if that’s possible.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s wise, Mr Webb,’ Carmichael said. ‘There’s the very strong likelihood that one of these so-called protectors of the peace will spit in it.’

  Grace jumped up to his feet. ‘That won’t happen. I’ll fetch you a coffee myself.’ He stalked out of the room at great speed.

  Carmichael turned to Devereau and gave him an approving nod. ‘Excellent stuff,’ he murmured. ‘It won’t do much about the murder charge, of course, but it will create sympathy for you if there’s ever a court case.’