Savage Wings: Book Three of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 22

Harper snorted. "I'm better looking."

I rolled my eyes. "Now, now, boys, let's not get into this who's got the biggest machine between their legs thing right now, okay?"

"Yeah, still me," Harper drawled, with a wink.

"Can we not do this here?" I sighed, gesturing to the convent in front of us.

Fenton's eyes travelled over the unassuming building and raked his fingers through his hair. "Good point. I must admit, I'm already worried about getting a thunderbolt from the Heavens straight up the arse for walking in there, I don't think we need to give the big guy any more ammunition to fry us."

"Guilty conscience?" I asked with a wry smile.

"I was raised a Catholic by a very devout grandmother," he shot back. "I practically dined on guilt for breakfast, lunch and dinner. When you had a grandma like mine, not even years of harsh military training could wash that away."

I looked up at the convent again, suddenly wondering if there was anything in what Fenton said. I hadn't been raised a Catholic, or raised under any other religion for that matter, but I still felt that same apprehension. I was a vampire. I had killed people. I had revelled in the taste of their blood. Okay, so a crucifix would do me no harm, but that didn't mean the significance was lost on me. Creatures like me weren't welcome in places like this, we never had been and never would be and yet here I was, apparently being granted access.

How far would we get before they realised what we were? How far would we get before they realised just what they had let through their doors?

"Well," I said, gritting my teeth. "I guess it's time to get fried."

*****

I pressed the doorbell twice and was about to press it a third time when I heard the sound of bolts being unlocked and the big door finally opened, to reveal a bespectacled, rosy-cheeked nun, who greeted me with a warm smile. The smile wavered noticeably as she took in the sight of my two tattooed male companions.

"Mother Hildegarde?"

She nodded in response.

"Mother Hildegarde, my name is Megan Garrick. We spoke on the phone?"

The smile returned in full force. "Ah yes, Miss Garrick. Apologies, I wasn't aware you were bringing guests?" I remembered the soft Australian accent from our earlier phone call, full of warmth and welcome which soon turned wary and unsure when I told her exactly why I was calling.

"I'm sorry, I should have mentioned it, I know. I hope it's not inconvenient?"

Her gaze drifted slowly over my shoulder again. "No, no, it's not inconvenient at all, although I do have to request that you both remain downstairs," she said to Harper and Fenton. "We have a recreation room. You can have a cup of tea perhaps while you wait?"

The stunned silence that greeted her question almost conjured a giggle from me as I felt Harper and Fenton behind, struggling to know how to respond. Finally, clearing his throat before he spoke, Harper said, "That won't be necessary, but thank you all the same."

"Oh, you're not from these shores, Mr....?"

Harper shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, no, I'm not. I'm originally from Boston, Massachusetts. And it's Cain. Harper Cain."

"Goodness," she beamed, looking at Fenton. "I trust your name is not Mr. Abel? Wouldn't that be a coincidence if it was?"

Fenton made a small choking sound and looked like he wanted to bolt.