by Helen Harper
‘Devereau Webb,’ she said in a strong Cockney accent. ‘Are you here to borrow a cup of sugar?’
‘I’m already sweet enough.’ He paused. ‘Are you Millicent Thompson?’
She inclined her head, a pleasant smile on her lips. ‘I am.’
‘You hired Phileas Carmichael for me.’
Her eyes twinkled. ‘I did. He’s insufferable, of course. All lawyers are. But he’s good at his job and, from what I hear, he served you well.’
‘He did.’ Devereau gazed at her. ‘Why? Why did you do that?’
It was clear she’d been expecting the question but she took her time answering. ‘We live in troubled times, Mr Webb, and the werewolves need a champion. I saw what you did with the girl – I watched it all from right here. You endangered your own already precarious life by helping her.’
‘Some might call me naïve for doing that. Or a fool.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Some might say that by helping her, I was risking the lives of many others.’
‘All those people would be right,’ Millicent replied. ‘But that doesn’t mean what you did wasn’t right. You’re my neighbour now, Mr Webb, and that means it’s my duty to look after you as you look after others. I didn’t want you to think that you weren’t welcome here. You are.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Though I’d prefer it if you kept the armed men and shoot-outs to a minimum in the future.’
Devereau said quietly, ‘I’ll do my best. Thank you for your help. If there’s ever anything I can do in return, let me know.’
Millicent’s gaze was steady. ‘Actually, there is something.’
‘Name it.’
‘Listen to their proposal,’ she said. ‘Don’t dismiss it out of hand until you’ve considered all the possibilities.’
He frowned. ‘Huh?’
She started to close the door. ‘Good day, Mr Webb.’
He stood on her doorstep, staring at her closed door. Well, that had been weird. He shrugged and walked the few steps to his house. A coffee first, he decided. Then food. Followed by a long, long sleep.
As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he knew that Dr Yara wasn’t alone. He stiffened at the low murmur of voices coming from the dilapidated living room. He was sure it wasn’t Rachel Foster who was in there with her. Devereau forced back his exhaustion. If this was someone looking for a confrontation he’d deal with them, no matter who they were. He stalked inside.
Because of the lack of furniture, Dr Yara was seated on a box facing a couple whose scent immediately indicated that they were human. On another box in front of her was the pot of tea she’d just brewed and three cups. There was even a plate of biscuits. Devereau’s eyes narrowed.
The two humans were perched on rickety, uncomfortable, high-backed kitchen chairs. When Devereau entered, all three of them sprang up.
‘Mr Webb!’ Dr Yara beamed. ‘You are back. I take Uber from Rachel’s house after we find out Martina is okay. I hope is okay I come here. I want to stay.’
He managed a smile in her direction. ‘And I want you to stay.’ He looked at the two humans; something about them was disturbingly familiar. The man wore a smart blue suit and held himself stiffly. The woman had shiny brown hair tied back in a severe bun and her face was devoid of all but the most basic make-up. Oh yes. Now he remembered where he’d seen them before. They were the journos who’d been following him.
‘I leave you to talk with your friends,’ Dr Yara said. She smiled at him and went out of the room, taking care to close the door behind her.
The man stuck out his hand. ‘It’s good to meet you, Mr Webb,’ he drawled in a Home Counties accent.
Devereau stared at his hand, making no move to take it. ‘I don’t talk to journalists.’
‘We’re not journalists,’ the woman said. She had a strange, officious air.
Devereau’s lip curled. ‘My mistake. You must be police. I’ve seen you hanging around outside my old block and near here, too. You don’t exactly blend in.’
The couple exchanged glances. ‘We’re not the police either,’ the man told him. He withdrew his hand, realising that Devereau was not going to shake it.
‘Frankly,’ Devereau said, ‘I don’t care who you are. You’re not welcome here.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Good day.’
They acted like they hadn’t heard him. ‘My name is Miles DeVant and this is my colleague, Sarah Greensmith,’ the man said. ‘And you are Devereau Edward Webb, born on the eighth of January 1989. Your parents are deceased but you have one older sister named Natasha, and a niece called Alice who recently recovered from leukaemia, much to the shock of her doctors who had predicted a very different outcome. You have been arrested on several occasions but never convicted of any crimes, although until recently you were the leader of a minor crime organisation named the Flock. Now you are a werewolf without a clan.’
Devereau remained unimpressed. ‘Get the fuck out of my house.’
Sarah Greensmith, picked up the thread. ‘You voted for the Green Party in the last election and made a sizeable donation to them. Other than a few minor broken bones sustained when you jumped out of a window of a house you were burgling when you were a teenager, and a couple of recent bullet wounds from more recent activities when you were attempting to halt a trafficking ring, you are fit and healthy and all your vaccinations are up to date.’
‘What is this?’ Devereau growled. ‘Who are you people?’
‘We are with MI5, Mr Webb.’
Devereau’s eyes travelled from the man to the woman and back again. He gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘You’re spooks? Give me a break.’
‘I can assure you it’s true. Although we prefer the term intelligence agents.’
The spot between his shoulder blades suddenly spasmed. ‘What do you want?’
‘You,’ the woman said simply. ‘For some time now, we have been recruiting supernatural creatures into MI5. We find that they have resources and abilities that humans can’t hope to match Unfortunately, despite our best efforts, we’ve not manage to sway any vampires or werewolves to our side. Both Lord Horvath and the clans make it too difficult for us. But you are not a vampire and you’re not in a clan.’
Unbelievable. ‘This,’ Devereau said, ‘is the biggest pile of horse shit I’ve ever heard – and that’s assuming you are who you say you are. You want to make me a spy? My face has been plastered all over the news for weeks. I’m not exactly a low-key figure who can slide by without being noticed.’
‘That’s exactly what we want,’ DeVant said without missing a beat. ‘The world knows you’re a criminal and a werewolf. You’re the last person to work for Her Majesty’s Government.’
‘You’re right,’ Devereau shot back. ‘I am the last person who’d do that. I’m a criminal, remember?’
‘Not now you’re not. Now you’re an upstanding supe. You’re also intelligent, empathetic and,’ DeVane added, ‘you care about your community. And your country.’
Greensmith agreed. ‘I had my doubts about you, but your recent actions with Matelot have proved that you are more than capable.’
Devereau’s eyes snapped to hers. They knew; they knew about Dominic Phillips and what he’d been up to. ‘If you knew about Matelot and Phillips,’ he growled, ‘why didn’t you act against them?’
‘We were planning to,’ she replied mildly. ‘You beat us to it. And with considerable success, I might add.’
It was more likely that they’d seen what he was up to and decided to leave the dirty work for him so they could stay safe. ‘I’m not going to work for MI5.’ Devereau folded his arms. ‘You should leave. Now.’
Miles DeVant smiled. ‘We will ensure you are always present in London and free from all duties during every full moon so you can fulfil your lycanthropic obligations. We will not pursue action against Angelica Crystal or her father, and we will permit you to keep the full-moon rights for Regent’s Park. We will pay you a decent salary and,’ he said, as if it were the cherry on top of the cake, ‘if you bec
ome a successful MI5 employee, we’re prepared to undertake negotiations on the supes’ behalf to alter some of the draconian laws that apply to your kind. In time, we might even help you set up your own London-based clan should you wish to do so.’
He reached into his pocket and drew out a business card. There was nothing on it other than a phone number. ‘Think about it, Mr Webb. Your country could do with someone like you. And you could do with having us on your side.’ He smiled in a perfunctory fashion and headed for the door. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to say this,’ he added over his shoulder, ‘but please don’t tell anyone about this. We prefer to work anonymously.’
Sarah Greensmith offered a vague smile and they both left. Devereau stared after them. The entire encounter had been stunningly brief and outrageously bizarre. Had it really happened?
He was still standing in the living room, the card in his hand, when there was a knock at the front door. Devereau walked out and opened it, half expecting to see the crazy couple again. Instead it was Scarlett, her head tilted to one side and her lips parted.
She flashed him a slow, sensuous smile. ‘I thought it was about time we finally finished what we started. You can start paying me back some of those favours you owe me.’
Delight flickered in the pit of his belly as he stood back and gestured for her to enter.
‘Who were the humans?’ she asked.
‘Pardon?’
‘I saw two humans walk out of here as I arrived.’
Devereau slid Miles DeVant’s card into his pocket. ‘Jehovah’s Witnesses,’ he lied. ‘Dr Yara let them in.’ He reached for her, one arm curling round her waist. ‘I sent them off with a flea in their ear.’
She smiled up at him then her hand dropped and brushed against his groin. He stiffened and Scarlett’s smile widened. ‘Good,’ she whispered. ‘Because I want you to myself for the rest of today. Maybe even the rest of this week. That’s a whole lot more commitment than I usually make.’
Devereau gave her a long hard kiss. ‘Then what are we waiting for?’
Thank you so much for reading!
Look out for more from Devereau Webb in the future – and find out what DC Emma Bellamy was really doing on her supposed holiday in the continuation of the Firebrand series. Book four, Scorched Heart, will be released on May 3rd and is available on pre-order now.
Other titles by Helen Harper
The FireBrand series
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A mysterious vampire seems intent on following me everywhere I go.
And I have to solve my own vicious killing. Preferably before death comes for me again.
Book One – Brimstone Bound
Book Two – Infernal Enchantment
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The complete Blood Destiny series
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Mackenzie Smith has always known that she was different. Growing up as the only human in a pack of rural shapeshifters will do that to you, but then couple it with some mean fighting skills and a fiery temper and you end up with a woman that few will dare to cross. However, when the only father figure in her life is brutally murdered, and the dangerous Brethren with their predatory Lord Alpha come to investigate, Mack has to not only ensure the physical safety of her adopted family by hiding her apparent humanity, she also has to seek the blood-soaked vengeance that she craves.
Book One - Bloodfire
Book Two - Bloodmagic
Book Three - Bloodrage
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It's pretty much going to be impossible for Bo to ever escape unscathed.
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William Shakespeare once wrote that, “Cupid is a knavish lad, thus to make poor females mad.” The trouble is that Cupid himself would probably agree…
As probably the last person in the world who’d appreciate hearts, flowers and romance, Coop is convinced that true love doesn’t exist – which is rather unfortunate considering he’s also known as Cupid, the God of Love. He’d rather spend his days drinking, womanising and generally having as much fun as he possible can. As far as he’s concerned, shooting people with bolts of pure love is a waste of his time…but then his path crosses with that of shy and retiring Skye Sawyer and nothing will ever be quite the same again.
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The complete Lazy Girl’s Guide To Magic series
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It doesn't exactly help that she's been magically bound to Adeptus Exemptus Raphael Winter. He might have piercing sapphire eyes and a body which a cover model would be proud of but, as far as Ivy's concerned, he's a walking advertisement for the joyless perils of too much witch-work.
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Book One - Slouch Witch
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Book Three - Spirit Witch
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