The Noose Of A New Moon (Wolfbrand Book 1)

by Helen Harper

  ***

  The wind was still gaining in strength, making the trees nearby rattle and shake with far more drama than before. Devereau was certain he heard a rumble of distant thunder. As their Uber driver had confidently stated, there was a storm approaching. The electricity in the air made his hackles to rise uncomfortably across his skin. From Martina’s shudder and wary look up at the sky, she felt it too.

  Scarlett draped a tartan blanket round the girl’s shoulders and passed her a cup of hot chocolate from a thermos flask. Martina took a sip, curling her tiny fingers round the steaming cup, and gave Scarlett a wary look. ‘Why do you only have one fang?’ she asked baldly. ‘Did they take it from you?’

  To Scarlett’s credit, she didn’t flinch. ‘Nobody took it from me. I lost it when I was trying to stop a bad man from doing bad things.’

  Martina nodded as she absorbed this. ‘I’m bad,’ she said. ‘I’ve done bad things.’

  ‘You mean you’ve killed people.’

  Devereau sucked in a breath but Scarlett threw him a warning glance.

  Martina bit her lip. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

  ‘What do you think would have happened if you hadn’t killed them?’ Scarlett asked conversationally.

  ‘I…’ Martina blinked, clearly startled by the question. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  The child gulped down another mouthful of hot chocolate and, with shaky hands, placed the cup to one side. ‘I think they’d have killed my dad,’ she whispered. ‘They kept hitting him. And … and…’

  ‘You don’t have to continue,’ Devereau interrupted.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ Scarlett said. She looked at him. ‘She needs to confront what she’s done. It’s the only way to move forward.’

  ‘It wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘I know that and you know that,’ Scarlett answered. ‘Martina needs to know it too.’

  There was another rumble of thunder and Devereau felt drops of rain. His mouth tightened and he looked away. Martina watched them both, wide-eyed.

  ‘What do you think would have happened to you, Martina?’ Scarlett asked softly.

  Martina gave her head an almost imperceptible shake. ‘They wanted me to kill a woman,’ she whispered.

  Scarlett nodded grimly. ‘You asked about my fang. You asked if they’d taken it.’

  Martina swallowed. ‘That’s what they did to Marcus. They tied him up and then used pliers and…’ Her face paled. ‘There was a lot of blood.’

  ‘Marcus was a vampire?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did they do that to him?’

  Her head dropped. ‘The Master said that the people who bought Marcus were afraid of him. They wanted a vampire, but not one that was dangerous.’

  Scarlett turned her head, her eyes meeting Devereau’s. Unspoken fury glittered in their dark depths but, when she spoke again to Martina, her voice remained soft. ‘The Master?’

  ‘Master Dom. He’s the one who made me like this. He made that other wolf bite me. Three times.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Scarlett pressed her lips together. ‘Well, there are three things you need to know, Martina. First of all, nobody is allowed to force anyone to become a werewolf against their will. You did not choose to be a wolf. In fact, you couldn’t have chosen to be a werewolf because you’re not able to make that choice until you’re an adult. Secondly, children who are turned into wolves can’t control what happens when they turn. Frankly, it’s a miracle that you managed to hold back until they hurt your dad in front of you. That’s an incredible amount of self-control.’

  ‘But the Master said there were lots of young werewolves. Lots of children like me. He said they can control themselves so I should be able to as well.’

  ‘The werewolves he’s talking about were born that way. Their bodies are prepared to cope with what happens to them. Yours isn’t. What do you think happens if you poke a hornet’s nest?’

  Martina stared at her. ‘They sting you.’

  ‘And why would they do that?’

  ‘They’re upset. They’re protecting themselves from you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Scarlett’s gaze intensified. ‘Whose fault is it if you poke a hornet’s nest and you get stung?’

  ‘Yours,’ Martina whispered.

  ‘Exactly.’ Scarlett gave a satisfied nod.

  Martina thought about this for a moment. ‘What’s the third thing?’ she asked finally. ‘You said there were three things I needed to know. That’s only two.’

  ‘Devereau?’ Scarlett questioned.

  He lifted his chin. ‘The sort of people who defang a vampire, who turn people into werewolves and vampires against their will and force them to kill others, who also sell those people to make a profit and kill anyone who gets in their way, those sorts of people don’t deserve to live. It shouldn’t be up to you to kill them, Martina. That’s not your responsibility. But there was nobody to help you. You were alone and they gave you no choice.’

  Martina sniffed and a single tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away furiously. ‘It’s their fault,’ she said. ‘They did this. The Master did this.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Scarlett sat down and put an arm round her shoulder. ‘None of this is on you.’

  Devereau knelt down in front of Martina. ‘Why didn’t you tell us about any of this before?’ His voice was gentle rather than accusatory, but she still flinched.

  ‘Because I’m not the only one. And the Master said that if we tried to escape, or if we tried to tell anyone what was going on that … that … that he’d hurt those who were left behind.’ Her words dropped to a whisper. ‘He’s not a nice man. And if he has my dad—’ She couldn’t complete the sentence.

  Devereau took her hands and squeezed them. ‘Listen to me. You’re not alone. I’m going to find your dad. And I’m going to stop Dominic Phillips from doing anything like this ever again. You can trust me. You know you can.’

  ‘Okay.’ Her voice was small.

  ‘I mean it, Martina.’

  She bit her lip. ‘But what happens if I lose control again? What happens if I kill someone else?’

  Scarlett leaned across. ‘You won’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ Martina asked.

  She smiled at Devereau. ‘Because that man over there is the alpha wolf. And he won’t let you.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘We have a problem,’ Devereau said to Rachel Foster and Dr Yara when they returned to the house. It was raining harder now and there were several clatters outside as the wind grabbed empty rubbish bins and loose tiles and sent them flying down the street.

  ‘I can’t possibly imagine what that might be,’ Rachel replied, watching Martina with her mouth half open. The girl’s entire demeanour had altered. There was no longer the sense that she remained on a knife edge between pure violence and sheer despair. Instead, despite the growing storm outside, her eyes were glowing and she was more relaxed where before there had only been restlessness. Her anxiety about her father and the deeds she’d inadvertently committed hadn’t disappeared, but when she looked at Devereau she trusted him to sort all this out.

  He prayed that he’d live up to his promises.

  Martina bit into an apple and tucked one leg underneath her. ‘I don’t know where Matelot are,’ she said baldly. ‘And I don’t know where the Mas … I mean,’ she amended, ‘where Dominic Phillips is. Whenever we went anywhere, I was blindfolded.’

  ‘These guys really don’t take any chances,’ Rachel said.

  ‘They are shipping company, yes?’ Dr Yara gazed round. ‘We go to port and we find their ship. Then we find them. Then we end this.’

  ‘Except,’ Scarlett said, ‘either they’re very good at covering their tracks or they don’t have any ships here at the moment. We did a search and I called a couple of guys I know who work at the Port of London. There’s no sign of any boat belonging to Matelot at any of the wharves or terminals. If they have any ships here, they�
�re registered under a different name.’

  ‘And there are no obvious London-based addresses for either Phillips or Matelot,’ Devereau added grimly. ‘Not that we can find without a warrant. We could approach DS Grace and ask him to do a search for us, but that’s a dangerous route. We got round him once but I’m not convinced we’ll manage to do it again.’

  Rachel tapped her mouth. ‘You think that the secretary escaped when everything went to hell at Goodman’s Alley, right? This Marsha Kennard woman?’

  Martina was pale but her chin was firm. ‘Yes, I think so. It was all a bit blurry. I only remember flashes after I … changed. I think that’s what happened.’

  ‘And,’ Rachel said gently, ‘your father is injured.’

  Martina nodded. ‘But that happened before. He was beaten up.’ She swallowed but her voice didn’t waver. ‘It was really bad. They hit his legs and I think maybe one got broken. I heard a crack. And his nose was broken too. There was a lot of blood.’

  Devereau gazed at her. ‘We’ll do whatever we can to find him and help him.’

  Martina didn’t look away. ‘I know.’

  ‘So,’ Rachel said, ‘we’re assuming that Martina’s dad is still being held by Matelot but that Marsha Kennard got away and is holed up somewhere out of sight. Matelot is looking for her and they’ve got a head start on us. Let’s not forget that Dominic Phillips sent a gunman to wreck that office, even though David Bernard was already dead.’

  Devereau twisted his mouth. ‘Yes. Phillips was sending a sick message to Kennard.’ He glanced at Martina but it was too late for sugar-coating; she understood the score. Hell, she’d already lived through it. ‘If she shows her face, she’ll end up with a bullet in her skull. Unfortunately it’s probably only a matter of time before Matelot catches up to her.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘Marsha Kennard worked for a criminally negligent and powerful solicitor. She can’t be an idiot. She knew enough to run away and hide when everything went tits up. She’s not going to show her face again.’

  Devereau stood up, walked to the window and gazed out at the quiet street for a moment before turning round again. ‘It would be a suicidal move on her part.’

  Scarlett jumped up. ‘Turning over her office and murdering Jonathan Lee isn’t going to make her call up Dominic Phillips and tell him where she is. He can’t possibly think that. What if his so-called message wasn’t to put her under pressure and cause her to panic? What if it was about something else?’

  They all looked at each other.

  ‘She know where bodies are buried,’ Dr Yara said slowly.

  Scarlett agreed. ‘She was David Bernard’s secretary and we know that Bernard was involved with Matelot right up to his grimy neck. Bernard and Phillips wanted her dead from the beginning for a reason. I’m betting there’s more to it than her demands that Bernard drop Matelot.’

  ‘Yes,’ Devereau said, warming to the topic as he considered the ramifications. ‘Yes. She’s bound to know where Matelot’s money came in from and went out to. The message was to make sure she keeps her mouth shut or more people will die.’

  ‘If we find Marsha Kennard, I bet we find everything and everyone,’ Scarlett said. ‘She knows about Matelot. She can finger Dominic Phillips and probably provide enough evidence to put him away for life. I reckon that with her help we can find everyone who bought a vampire or a werewolf. Not only can we free them, we can make sure all those bastards pay for what they’ve done. We can also locate Dominic Phillips and help Martina’s dad. Marsha Kennard is the key to everything.’

  ‘But how you find someone who do not want to be found?’ Dr Yara asked.

  Rachel raised her eyebrows at Devereau. ‘You must have contacts in the criminal world who can help.’

  ‘Not for this kind of thing,’ he answered. ‘My social circle was somewhat different.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘We’re going to have to go back to the beginning and return to the scene of the crime. Maybe we’ll find something that the police missed.’

  Scarlett smiled grimly. ‘There’s no time like the present.’ She looked outside. As if in response to her words, there was a sudden loud rumble of thunder and a howl of wind that rattled Rachel’s windows. ‘Storm be damned.’

  ***

  At four o’clock in the morning, the narrow streets around Goodman’s Alley looked very sinister. Nobody was around and there was a distinct lack of decent street lighting. The wind was in a frenzy, whipping their hair and tugging at their clothes; within seconds of leaving the car, Scarlett and Devereau were soaking wet from the driving rain. There was little choice but to grin and bear it.

  They hunched their shoulders and marched towards Goodman’s Alley, leaving Rachel Foster’s car in the same place where Devereau had parked his own vehicle the first time he’d been there. It had gone, doubtless impounded by the DS Grace and the damned police for no good reason other than to irritate him.

  The only sign of life was a plump rat he spotted scurrying into a nearby drain seeking refuge from the storm. Scarlett and Devereau ducked under a covered walkway which offered a small degree of shelter and picked their way carefully towards Marsha Kennard’s house.

  ‘Did you know,’ Scarlett said, raising her voice so that Devereau could hear her over the wind and rain, ‘that after sex a male rat sings to himself? It’s beyond normal hearing levels so I doubt that even a werewolf could tune in properly, but it’s been scientifically proven.’

  ‘Do you sing after sex, Scarlett?’

  She shrugged. ‘There’s a first time for the everything.’ She glanced around. ‘What do you say? You, me, a stormy night and a bloody crime scene? It’s quite a turn on.’

  He gave her a long look and she grinned back. ‘Let’s find our own dirty rats first, shall we?’ he said.

  ‘If you insist.’ Scarlett’s smile vanished and her tone changed. ‘I have to apologise to you, Devereau. I didn’t think you’d manage to bring Martina round but your little jaunt in the woods really worked.’

  ‘The joy of freedom isn’t to be under-estimated.’

  ‘Martina’s not free. What you gave her tonight was little more than the illusion of freedom.’

  He didn’t disagree with her. ‘Maybe that will be enough.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She touched his hand. ‘But if it’s not, don’t beat yourself up too much. You’ve done more for her than anyone else. I do believe that deep down you’re a good man, Devereau Webb.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘You should.’

  He stopped walking and glanced at her. ‘You’re a good woman. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell other people about her existence.’

  Scarlett sighed. ‘By staying quiet, I’m putting more lives at risk so I’m not convinced that makes me a good person at all. Regardless of what I said to Martina, I’m not sure that she’ll be able to control her wolf.’

  ‘Then why do it?’ he asked. ‘Why help her?’

  ‘I’m not doing it for her.’

  Devereau felt his breath catch. Sod the damned storm. He leaned forward and dipped his head. She tilted hers up. Then he shook himself and pulled back abruptly. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

  Scarlet nodded. ‘We have to find Marsha Kennard and all those rats first.’

  ‘We do.’

  She raised her hand and trailed it across the stubble on his jaw. ‘Anticipation is so delicious, don’t you think?’ She flashed him another heart-stopping smile. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see what we can find.’

  They emerged from the walkway into the pelting icy rain. The windows on the buildings around them were rattling from the force of the wind but they pushed on towards Goodman’s Alley, their bodies not quite touching.

  Devereau was painfully aware of Scarlett’s proximity. He couldn’t work her out. For all of her light-hearted gibes and saucy quips, there was a lot more going on beneath the surface – and he strongly suspected that, despite what she’d just said, she’d do everything
she could to help Martina.

  They stopped outside Marsha Kennard’s small house. It was the first time Devereau had seen it from this angle. Unfortunately the bashed-in door and copious amounts of police tape detracted somewhat from its appearance. The dark skies and appalling weather only added to the desolate effect.

  Scarlett wasted no time in ducking under the tape and sidling past the broken door. He followed her in. The escape from the storm was welcome but the interior of the house still smelled strongly of blood, even though it was no longer a fresh scent.

  ‘How many different blood types can you pinpoint?’ Devereau asked quietly, as if speaking normally was forbidden. He shook himself, sending a shower of droplets into the air.

  ‘Three,’ Scarlett said, squeezing water from her hair with a grimace. ‘The same three I smelled on Martina the first day.’

  She glanced into the first room. It was covered in smudges of fingerprint dust and appeared to have been ransacked. The police had been both messy and thorough. Searching the room would be a waste of time.

  In silent agreement, they ascended the stairs. As much out of habit as anything else, Devereau took care not to touch the banister and leave traces of himself. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘back when I used to break into houses, I went into one just like this. It was tall and narrow. Four storeys high, with wooden floors that creaked like an old man’s bones. It shouldn’t have mattered because the home owners were supposed to be away. They were posh types who went off on their yacht almost every weekend and—’

  ‘Devereau,’ Scarlett interrupted, ‘are you telling me this because you’re reminding me of your criminal past? Or are you telling yourself because you’re nervous about walking into a house where a double murder has just taken place and you need to fill the silence?’

  ‘I’m bricking it,’ Devereau said starkly.

  Scarlett laughed. ‘In that case, continue.’

  ‘Anyway, I headed up to the bedroom. That’s usually where the good stuff is kept.’

  ‘Jewels?’

  ‘And then some. You wouldn’t believe what people put under their mattresses for safekeeping.’