The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 33

"Didn't you hear what I said?" I stared at him. "I'm not doing it again."

Lucius shrugged and picked at some dirt on his trainer, diligently scraping it with his fingernail and furrowing his brow in concentration.

Behind him, Harper had climbed up onto the bonnet, leaning against the windscreen and set to work scratching a word or pattern into the paintwork of Fenton's car. He seemed engrossed in his handiwork but every now and then he shot us a worried glance. Garrick had moved over to a torn and dirty orange sofa that stood in the corner and he slumped back onto it, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back, smoothing his hands over his long Mohawk.

I couldn't look at them any longer and thrusting my hands back into my hair, I stared down at the floor between my thighs.

Lucius continued to pick at his shoe, running his nail along the grooves in the sole and humming as he worked. Soon there was a small pile of dirt by his feet and once he was satisfied, he started on the other one, his humming breaking into words which he sung softly to himself.

"Lucius, you really shouldn't be doing that. Can you imagine the germs that live on the bottom of your shoe?"

He stopped abruptly and fixed me with that deep endless stare of his that still had a habit of unnerving me and raising goose bumps on my skin. "You're a vampire. You drink the blood of strangers and you're telling me to be careful of germs?"

Harper's snicker carried across the garage and I shot him a look, wrinkling my brow in irritation.

"Well, just remember to wash your hands afterwards, okay?" I lowered my voice but Lucius ignored me and returned to his task, song and all.

"What are you singing?" I asked after a while, realising that he wasn't going to go away. "Is that Jungle Book?”

“Duh.” He rolled his eyes. “Hakuna Matata.” When I shrugged, he sighed exasperatedly. “The Lion King.”

“Oh,” I replied with a half smile. “Where did you get to watch that?”

“Mary let me watch it.”

Mary from St Catherine’s. The children’s home.

“She was nice to you. Mary, I mean.”

His face tightened. “I guess,” he mumbled. “But she didn’t stay long.”

“She got a job somewhere else?”

“No silly, she went to stay with a family.” That little pile of dirt continued to grow as he picked and scraped at his shoes.

“Mary was another child?” When he had spoken of Mary before, I had just assumed that she was one of the home’s care workers. I’d never once imagined she was a child too. “Sorry, Lucius, I thought she worked at St Catherine’s. I thought she was one of the ones who looked after you.”

He shook his head and pursed his lips. “No,” he said sullenly. “She was just a kid like me. But older, like twelve, I think. I didn’t want her to leave but she did and then I was on my own again.” He kicked at the dirt, sending it scattering across the floor and just sat there with his hands in his lap, staring at the mess.

“But there must have been other children for you to play with?” I said gently, touching a hand to his jacket and brushing away a stray white-blonde hair that had fallen onto his shoulder.

“The other children didn’t want to play with me. I scared them. They used to pick on me and then one day I showed them what I could do and after that, none of them came near me. Even the staff used to steer clear.”