The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 27

He clapped a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently as he did so. “Good to see you back, girl,”he remarked, gruffly. “We have lost too many of our own during these dark days. When one returns to the fold, it gives us hope that all is not lost.”

“We are not lost, Edward, and hope still lives as long as we are still standing.”

He grinned, a row of crooked teeth appearing amidst his bushy, black beard. “Aye, right you are, girl, right you are. And we might be buckled, bloodied and broken but we are not brought to our knees yet. As long as we still have the will to stand, we have the will to fight." He gestured to the others standing close by. "Do you know my friends here?"

A tall, lithe man stepped forward offering his hand. "Pleased to meet you, I am Alexander Quintas." Alexander was well-spoken, accentuating each word with a clipped polished English accent and if it wasn't for his dishevelled appearance, I could have pictured him frequenting the bars and restaurants of Chelsea, wearing a designer brand sharp suit and tapping furiously away on the latest high-tech tablet. His hair was honey-brown, slightly foppish in style and I noticed how he often raked his fingers through it, as if he was self-conscious about how it looked.

If Alexander was something of a modern-day dandy, then Charlie Brogan couldn't have been more different. His shaved head bore small nicks and scars and his right ear was puckered where a small chunk had been carved from it at the top. A silver ring pierced his eyebrow and when he spoke, I could see his tongue bar glinting inside his mouth. He shook my hand in greeting, his grip firm and brief and I couldn't help but notice how he wiped his palm on his filthy jeans afterwards as if he needed to rid himself of my touch. I ignored the rebuff and focused on the woman in their small, but interesting company of vampires.

"Maggie McLeod," she said with a soft Scottish lilt. "Good to finally meet you, Megan, if not in the brightest of circumstances. I hear you're something of a warrior, we need more like you. It's rare to find a fledgling with the courage to stand up to our enemy, God knows it's rare to find some of the oldest and most experienced among us who will stand up and fight, let alone the newly-turned."

"Thank you," I said. "Not sure I would call myself a warrior though."

"Nonsense," sniffed Edward. "And anyway, we are all warriors now. Those who are not will die and those of us who are will live to see another night. I, for one, plan to make sure that happens. Talking of warriors, this is Peter, one of the best among us."

My eyes widened when I caught sight of Peter, who couldn't have been much more than sixteen in human years. His skin was smooth and flawless, his reddish hair was short but messy and he looked more like an IT nerd than he did a warrior of any sorts.

Edward laughed and winked. "Don't be fooled by his boyish good looks, girl. This one's a right nasty little bugger, you mark my words. The things he can do with a sharp blade would make your bowels loosen just to see it."

Peter rolled his eyes in a very boyish way it had to be said and shook my hand vigorously. "Ignore this old bastard, I'm just quicker on my feet than he is but then again, I have far less bulk around my gut so that's no surprise. Peter Harlington by the way."

Introductions done, the mood darkened again, the tension making the large airy room suddenly claustrophobic and suffocating.

"What word do you have from Fenton?" Edward looked pointedly at Harper.

"The south is still clear," Harper replied. "It appears Walter and Noble haven't yet united with the other clans, although who knows how long it will take before they follow the lead of their northern relatives and decide to cleanse south of the river."