"Fuck you, Fenton!"
I shoved my hands hard against his chest, making him rock back on his heels, but Fenton's face remained like stone, reverting to that stoic military-mask he wore whenever he was trying to stay in control of a situation that had clearly gone tits-up.
"What do you want me to say, Megan? Harper made the decision to go, what the hell we were meant to do?"
The rage was building with every second. I could feel it, under my skin, inside my skull, surging through my veins.
"We could have stopped him," I groaned in enraged frustration. "We could have done it together."
He sighed like he was facing the tirade of some tiresome child and not someone whose hands were itching to grab his throat and squeeze until his eyes popped out of their sockets.
"Megan, we were on the other side of the damn fence. By the time we'd have climbed back over he would have already gone and we'd have run straight into Brandon. We did the only thing we could have, considering the circumstances."
"No, you did what you wanted to do. I had no bloody choice!"
He cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Would you rather I'd let you go? Make Harper's decision to draw them away so you would be safe a completely pointless gesture?"
Pointless. That word whirled round and round inside my head as if Brandon was standing right by my shoulder, whispering it into my ear over and over again. I shuddered as I recalled the way he had killed the boy - one of his own kin – with such nonchalant ease. I'd seen him fret more on whether to wear a Hugo Boss or Armani shirt to work, than he had when he'd smothered the Varúlfur youngling.
You're....pointless.
I backed off from Fenton, but that didn't mean my anger had eased. It almost felt easier to be angry, whirling around like a spinning top, hitting every surface and rebounding violently again and again, because without the rage there was only pure free-falling panic. It was eating away at me and the only thing holding it at bay was my anger. All I could think about what Harper with them, with Brandon, and the thought of that made me just want to scream. I'd been the guest of honour at one of their sick parties before. I'd had first-hand experience of what they were capable of and didn't want to think about what they would do to him, yet my mind just kept bombarding me with cruel images that made me veer between wanting to curl up into a ball or punch my fist into a wall until the bones shattered into dust.
Just when I thought I couldn't hold back any longer, a small gloved hand slipped into mine and I flinched, looking down into the bluest of eyes. Lucius stared up at me, his face full of solemn calm and all at once the rage seemed to dissipate, replaced with such an overwhelming sadness that it bordered on a deep sense of grief. I felt bereft, lost and utterly adrift as if a black hole had just opened up beneath me and I was plunging into the dark with that sick falling sensation in the pit of my stomach. My throat tightened and the heat ballooned behind my eyes, tears stinging my vision.
Glancing up, I looked around at those that had gathered to find out what had happened in Mayfair and it almost broke me to see the pain echoed in their faces. I could feel it enveloping each and every one of them like a relentless tide and I realised then that I hadn't given much thought to how they would feel to discover that Benjamin's first-made son had been taken by the enemy.
To lose Garrick had been like a fist crushing their hearts. To lose Harper was like having their hearts ripped from their chests and dashed to floor at their feet. However they regarded me or Fenton, Harper was the one they all looked to lead us, even if they didn't want to admit it. I always felt their admiration for him whenever he was in the room. They might not all have particularly liked him – after all, he wasn't always very likeable – but they did respect him and they knew Benjamin had been right about him. Harper just had that commanding manner about him, something that told people to sit up, take notice - and watch your damn step while you're at it.
Stepping closer, Edward awkwardly patted my arm. "We'll get him back, lass, you mark my words."
"You don't look like you believe that any more than anyone else here does," I said, searching his bushy-browed eyes for some glimmer of hope that lurked there.
He shuffled uncomfortably but when he spoke, his voice was firmer, more controlled. "I have to believe it, girl. We all have to. And while I hate to say it, as much as Vanagandr wants Harper dead, he'll be thinking of using him to draw you out of hiding. You're the target here, not Cain."
"That doesn't mean he won't kill him!"
"Aye, I know that," he admitted. "But right now, Harper is worth more to the beasts alive than dead."
"Edward is right, Megan," Fenton broached, more gently this time, clearly trying to avoid the eggshells that lay scattered around me. "Vanagandr will be in contact and when he does, he'll know that you'll need proof Harper is alive before you even consider doing what he asks of you."
"Yes and when I do go to him, he'll kill Harper anyway and then he'll kill me, which means we need to find where they are, and fast. I can't see Brandon holding onto his prize for long if he thinks I'm not going to play ball." I squeezed Lucius' hand in mine, needing the reassurance of his presence, needing something tangible to hold onto while everything else around me seemed to be spiralling out of control with every passing second. "Wait, what about the compound? Brandon's new compound?"
Fenton shook his head. "Forget it, they're not there. The place is a shell."
"What?" I said, blinking in stunned confusion. "How do you know that?"
"Because we turned it into a shell, that's why." He hesitated for a moment and I could see the nagging reluctance in his expression to say any more, the battle within that maybe he'd already said too much. Finally, he admitted defeat with an exhausted roll of the eyes. "Look, if you really must know, Harper instructed us to go there, before the battle at Oxleas. He wanted us to raze the place to the ground. I took a small cell out there but we found nothing apart from a For Sale sign. There wasn't a trace of any of them – apart from their stench of course." He wrinkled his nose. "So we burnt it down anyway. Harper's wishes. He was quite adamant that we weren't to leave it standing, whether any of them were inside or not."
I blanched at his words, feeling my stomach tying up into the tightest of knots that would take forever to unravel. Harper had never told me. In fact, he'd hardly said a word about my time at the compound, apart from when Josiah had forced the issue and by that point, he'd already instructed Fenton and his cell to destroy the place. To know that he'd done that, privately issuing the order without uttering one single word to me, made my heart pound so hard that for a moment I could barely breathe. The agony throbbed through my ribcage, forcing its way into my throat, this wretched, aching pain that made me want to open my mouth and scream until I brought the whole world crumbling down.
Internally crippled by what I had endured at the compound, Harper had done the only thing he could do – he'd obliterated the place where I'd been tortured, issuing his silent fuck-you to the man who had sanctioned it all and then cleaned up, like it had never happened.
A tear slipped down my face, but I swiped it away angrily.
"I want him back," I said, my voice barely more than a rasping growl. "We are going to get him back and what's more, I know just who will help us."
Edward's dark eyes widened. "The chef? Nay, lass, that one only answered to Garrick and let me tell ya, that was no mean feat."
"Well now Philippe will have to answer to me," I said, staring at him for a moment, feeding off the anger, letting it run wild through my veins and letting it encase my heart within a raging inferno that was dying to be unleashed. "And if he doesn't, then I'll just have to make him. No matter what it takes."
******
The day seemed to last forever.
Each minute was more agonising than the last and every time I looked at the clock, it seemed as if the hands were permanently stuck in the same position, despite the endless, torturous ticking that tormented me. With every tick, I saw Harper – those startling emerald eyes dulled by pain. Every tick became another blow to his body, another claw to his flesh, another drop of his blood spilt.
Tick. Tick. TICK.
When the time finally came and the sun burned low on the city horizon, I slipped out, taking one last look at the slumbering Lucius, wisps of white-blonde hair on his make-shift pillow of folded-up blankets. I hated leaving him, but I knew he'd be safe here with Maggie, Edward and the others close by.
Padding along the corridor as quietly as I could, I passed a few open doorways and felt the sharp pull of the muscles along my shoulders as I tried to slip past without waking the occupants sleeping inside. Succeeding in my first mission and wondering how the hell I had managed it, I took a deep breath and turned the corner, steeling myself for whoever might be standing guard at the entrance and making a silent wish that my story about being desperate to feed would wash.
I stopped abruptly, wincing as my boots squeaked sharply on the tiled floor.
There was nobody on guard duty.
Instinctively, my hand found the hilt of my knife sheathed under my jacket and I withdrew it, sniffing the air for any signs of Varulfur, my ears pricked for any small tell-tale sound that we had been discovered here. Carefully, with each step laboured like I was wading through the darkest of waters, I approached the door and pressed my ear up against it, straining to hear beyond but I could hear nothing apart from that damn tick-tick-tick that still plagued me, urging me to keep going.
When I turned the handle and inched the door open a few inches, I scowled when I saw the dark figure, leaning up against the bonnet of his car.
Fenton.
"Fucker," I hissed but in truth, I wasn't even that surprised to see him. He possessed this uncanny knack of being able to read me, maybe something he'd learned from his time in the military, or maybe he was just too damn intuitive for his own good, but whatever it was, he'd become an expert at second-guessing my mood, thoughts and now it seemed, my every move. It was a skill that I was starting to find very irritating indeed.
"I come outside to get some fresh air and here you are, stinking up the place," I said, keeping my voice low and eyeing him with disdain, feeling the frustration burn deep.
Fenton chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. "You are no more out here to get some fresh air than I am about to don a tutu and dance my own version of Swan Lake under the moonlight."
"Hey, if you have a desire to put on a pretty dress, go for it."
He shrugged, but that smug grin remained. "Make all the jokes you like, Megan, I'm still not letting you do this."
I smiled back, with my hands on my hips in a defiant gesture. "And just how do you propose to stop me?"
Easing himself off the bonnet, Fenton opened the door on the driver's side. "Who said I was going to stop you? I'm coming with you. If you think I'm just going to let you go and meet the wolf without back-up, you're crazier than I thought you were."
"Forget it," I said, shaking my head. "One whiff of you and he's going to freak."
"You can meet with him, I'll just stay nearby and keep an eye out. You can't go on your own, it's far too dangerous. Stop thinking you're a one woman army and admit that sometimes you need my help."
"Yeah," I sniped, my tone brittle. "Because you were such a big help in Mayfair, weren't you?"
If the insult stung him at all, he didn't show it. Instead his grin just grew broader. "Well, if I remember rightly, I knocked out a Varulfur that was literally salivating to rip you limb from limb. Tell me, how many did you manage, again?"
I raised my eyebrows, but couldn't stifle the laugh that erupted in a short, sharp burst of noise. "Oh, excuse me," I drawled, sarcastically. "I didn't realise we were keeping score? Do you want to go back inside and draw a table on the whiteboard so we can start keeping a tally of our kills? Wait though..." I slapped my forehead in dramatic fashion. "You didn't actually kill that whelp, did you? You buzzed his nuts with fifty thousand volts and let someone else finish him off. Way to go, killer."
The smile vanished swiftly from his face. "Are you getting in the bloody car or not?"
"Fine," I said finally, opening the passenger door and eye-balling him over the car roof. "But don't you do anything to fuck this up for me, Fenton. I know how to handle Philippe better than anyone."
He stared at me right back. "For Harper's sake, I hope you do."
For once, I silently agreed with him. The clock was ticking louder than ever and Philippe was the only one who could make it stop.
*******
The wind blustered down the street, picking up a flurry of rubbish that had fallen from an over-flowing bin and tossing it madly about in the air. Apart from the breeze, the street was still, like a world encapsulated in a snow globe, just before it was shaken up and battered by the blizzard. An empty coke can rolled into the road and the wind bashed it against the high kerb. The constant tapping of tin against concrete grated on my already shredded nerves and I had to fight against an almost irresistible urge to stalk across the road and put the can back into the bin. Instead I waited from my place in the shadows, never wishing more than I did then that they would come alive and tug me back into the dark cocoon of their embrace. Eternal darkness seemed more tempting than what I was about to do.
I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to face Philippe again and certainly didn't want to beg him to help me. I could still remember the way he had looked at me the last time I had seen him, the warning in his voice. The struggle within had been painfully evident and being around Brandon had clearly weakened his control. I didn't want to be the one to push him over the edge and send him plummeting into the pit to fight with his demons.
A high pitched mewling made me flinch and my head snapped round to spot two cats just a little way down the street, their backs arched and heckles raised, performing their jerky territorial dance as they faced each other. I exhaled deeply, my breath misting in the cold night air and it was then I saw the signal I had been waiting for.
The sensor light in the garden flickered on, casting its ominously amber glow up over the wall.
Taking one final glance up the street, I raised an arm at Fenton who sat waiting in his car and he responded by flashing the headlights once at me. The knife and gun holstered at my side felt awkward and cumbersome against my body as I walked towards the house. I was all too aware just why I was carrying them, despite having spent many a summer's evening here during a life I still could not escape from.
The last time I'd visited, I'd come as a friend. Now, I was the enemy.
Memories of too many bottles of Pinot, raucous laughter and drunken song engulfed me the closer I got the gate. I could almost hear Philippe's Erykah Badu CD, played on a constant loop until we rolled our eyes and had to literally beg him to change it. We'd danced surrounded by the sweet scent of honeysuckle, with Brandon nuzzling my cheek and his hand sneaking just under the hem of my shirt so he could covet a small stroke of my skin, in that hazy way you do when you're too drunk to care if people notice or not. I swore I could always still smell the honeysuckle on my clothes when I got home, although Brandon always swore the only thing he could smell was copious amounts of garlic and wine.
Reaching the gate, I closed my eyes briefly and Harper's emerald gaze looked back at me, washing away the memories in a deluge of pain and loss, leeching them from my head and creating room for the anger that had been waiting to flood the void.
I rapped lightly on the gate – a human courtesy that doggedly remained, despite the fact I was now knocking on the door to a Varulfur's home. Without waiting for an answer, I pushed on the wrought iron handle to lift the latch and was surprised to find it already unlocked, although to be fair, when you have the potential to transform into a seven foot tall beast with razor sharp claws, what did you care if someone decided to trespass?
Philippe's back garden was like a carbon copy of the terraced courtyard at Le Loup Rouge, possibly why I'd always felt so comfortable at his restaurant, as opposed to all the other snobby eateries that Brandon liked us to frequent. Le Loup Rouge was an extension of our friend's personality, with memories of his beloved Parisian mother resonating throughout the decor. He was never trying to be pretentious about it. What you saw there was Philippe through and through and his home was exactly the same, which was why looking at the garden now, I was dismayed to see how this place had become such a pale imitation of what it had once been.
Fairy lights that adorned the walls and trellis remained unlit, their little dull orbs draped over dead foliage. The honeysuckle had perished. The tea lights remained discarded on the garden table, the wax long since melted down and the little metal casings now filled with tiny pools of stagnant dirty rainwater. In the summer the garden was always wild with flowers, but now in the winter, ravaged by frost and rain, it looked lifeless and grey, as if Death himself had walked through and touched a long bony finger to anything which had once flourished here.
It was a sad sight to behold, but nothing saddened me more than to see the pitiful form of my old friend, who seemed like a wretched echo of the man he once was.
Philippe stood close to the open back door of the house, slightly hunched, his head tilted downwards even though his eyes never left me as I waited not far from the gate. Behind him, the two small Georgian windows elicited nothing but darkness. Not one light appeared to be on in the house and I examined both of them, my vampire sight not able to pick up any signs of movement within. The terraced garden was awash with smells – the scent of him, of Elizabeth, of damp rotting leaves and water-logged mud. Underneath it all, yes, of Brandon, but it didn't smell strong, and it certainly didn't smell as if he'd been here recently.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Philippe," I finally said, fighting to keep my voice steady and controlled.
"You shouldn't be here, I shouldn't have let you....." he stuttered, shuffling agitatedly from foot to foot, the sudden movement making me recoil.
"Look, I know this is difficult....." I began.
"You know nothing!" he snarled, before pushing his body against the wall, his fists clenched by his sides. Screwing his eyes tight shut, he began to mutter under his breath, a fast, frantic rasp of words that at first I couldn't decipher but soon realised he was counting to ten, over and over.
He was fighting it. Struggling to push the beast back into its cage. Standing in such close proximity, I could only hope that he could get it under control and confined before the animal got loose.
"Philippe?" I said as gently as I could, even though I could feel the alarm bells resounding through my veins. I stepped closer and his eyes shot open, flashing dangerous glints of amber.
"No!" he said, almost shrieking. "Don't come any closer, please, I'm begging you, don't!"
I glanced anxiously at the windows once more. "Philippe, is Elizabeth....."
"She's not here." His shoulders dropped and his whole body seemed to sag as he pressed against the wall for support. "She went to her mother's. She ...left me."
"I'm so sorry." And I was. This whole mess had wounded us all and not even Philippe and Elizabeth had been able to come through it unscathed and despite everything – despite what he was – I'd wanted him to. I'd wanted him to have the life he'd always craved. The rest of us, well, maybe it was only right that our lives had become so screwed up, but Philippe deserved better than that. Philippe had deserved to escape.
"We rowed. She couldn't understand why I would agree to meet Brandon." His face twisted into an ugly snarl. "After everything that happened, after everything he had done, but she doesn't understand, you see? She doesn't know how it is with our kind. How could she? She doesn't even know what I am! And now I don't know if she will ever come back." His voice broke into a strangled sob and he smothered it with his hand.
"Philippe, she will come home. You'll sort this out, everything will be okay."
His hand dropped to his side as he looked at me, his eyes harbouring so much malice that I felt fear and sadness spike in my gut and was not sure which felt worse.
"What do you care, vampire?" he spat. "You would see both of us dead if you could, the Varulfur and his wife."
My eyes widened. "I would never hurt either of you."
"Liar!" he hissed. "You are just like him. You would do anything to get what you want. Anything."
"Look, I know how Garrick used to threaten you but...."
He shook his head vehemently, the straggly red locks looking wilder with every shake of his head. "Not him! I mean, Brandon. You are just like your husband!"
I gasped. "I am nothing like him! Philippe, how can you say such a thing? You know me."
"I don't know you! I have no idea who you are any more, but you are not her. You are not Megan Walden. You are....." He grimaced with revulsion. "You are one of them now. No, no, I do not know you at all, but there is one thing I do know. You are a liar. The weapons you carry tell me as much. What are you going to do, Megan? Are you going to open my throat? Spill my blood on the patio where we once all danced?"
"Oh for goodness sake, Philippe, what the hell did you expect? That I would walk in here, empty handed, like a lamb to the slaughter? I remember our last meeting only too well, when you were literally climbing the damn walls to stop yourself from changing, when you warned me to leave because you knew full well that you wouldn't be able to fight it if I'd hung around a moment longer."
"And yet here you are," he replied with a sneer that seemed so unlike him that it broke me to see it. "Coming back because you need my help. And you think you are nothing like your husband?"
My jaw clenched with anger. "Stop calling him my husband."
He laughed then, a cruel shot of laughter that felt like a cold blow to the heart. "The more you deny it, the more I can't help but wonder whether I should pity you or ridicule you for your refusal to accept the truth."
"I died, remember? Till death do us part and all that? He stopped being my husband the moment he sold me to save his own skin."
Philippe cocked his head to one side, studying me as if he was seeing me for the very first time and in his expression I saw the man I remembered, the timid, slightly bumbling but always astute Philippe Charmonde. "My goodness, Megan, I sometimes thought you to be blind to his ways, yet we Varulfur are experts at keeping our secrets so that's no wonder, but I never once thought you to be this stupid. Please tell me you're not, because if you are, then what is the point of me even considering to help you?"
Stepping unsteadily away from the wall, his gait stuttering almost like a newborn learning to walk, Philippe took a few ungainly steps towards me before stopping just over an arm's length away. He rocked on his heels for a moment as if he had hit some invisible force-field that stood between us. "No one can ever be free of him," he said, lowering his voice to a pained whisper as if saying the words physically hurt his throat. "Whether bonded by marriage, friendship or kinship, those ties can never be severed. He won't let you. Surely you must know that by now? Surely you must feel it? Once he has claimed you, everything you are belongs to him."
"You did it," I croaked, wishing I didn't sound so feeble. "You severed the ties with Brandon, you severed the ties with all of them."
He snorted derisively. "And look where it got me at the time! I ended up languishing in a hospital bed all because I dared to say no to him. Violent retribution for such insubordination to our future leader!"
"But you still did it!" I said, insistently.
"No, I did not! I just made myself believe that I did. All that time, living this crazy fantasy that I could ever live a normal life, that I could ever be normal. Trying to be a good husband, trying to build this world around me, so far from what I had been born into." He smiled then, a small wistful smile full of memories and dreams. "I almost had myself convinced, you know? I almost truly believed that I had escaped him."
"You can still escape him, Philippe. When this is done, you should leave. Tell Elizabeth that you want to start a new life somewhere else, tell her that she means everything to you and build that world in a new town or city; hell, maybe even a different country. Put as much distance between you and Brandon as you can. Cross the water, I mean, God, that's what he told me to do to get away from him!"
"And just why do you think he told you that, Megan?" Philippe leaned in a little closer. "Because he knows he will never be able to just let you go, that's why. It is not in his nature to give up what he believes is rightfully his."
I raised a brow. "Philippe, he told me to run because he knows he won't be able to stop himself from killing me."
Philippe straightened up, his eyes mocking me. "Still so blind, huh? Wake up, Megan! He loves you. He always has. From the first moment he laid eyes on you, he put you on a pedestal so bloody high, that no one, not even Clara, could reach you."
I flinched hearing her name, hearing her death-pleas shrieking in the back of my skull.
"The only reason he thinks he might kill you," he continued, "is because he can't stand the thought of anyone else having you. But even so, I cannot believe he would really go through with it. He told me how it broke him to give you up before, how much he wished he had defied the clan's orders and saved you instead of letting them give you to the vampire."
"Only because he hates that I became one."
"No, no, that's not it. Of course, he hates what you are, but he told me how he tried to save you from the Cleansing, how he tried to keep you safe...."
"Safe? Now who's the blind one?" I said, indignantly. "I would never be safe while I was with Brandon. Even if he tried with every iota of his being not to kill me, he would have no choice in the matter. This whole thing....it's so much bigger than anything we ever felt for each other. There are forces at work here, powerful forces, that will stop at nothing to get what they want and Brandon and I are just pawns in their game, trust me."
Philippe frowned, his sweat-dotted brow glistening in the moonlight. "I don't understand? What forces? Does this have something to do with that Drachmann guy?"
I stared at him, the realisation leaving me stunned. "Philippe," I uttered. "What exactly has Brandon told you?"
"That he is Vanagandr, but I knew that already. He is the Great Wolf." A flicker of amber-rimmed panic clouded his eyes, his fingers twitching in agitation. "Why? What's going on? What has he done now?"
I could have told him. I could have opened my mouth and just let the words come tumbling out. I could have told him a tale about Archangels and Lucifer, Purgatory and demons and of a little boy with the bluest of eyes and the whitest of hair, but looking at Philippe I knew that what he understood of the God-slayer was limited to Varulfur myth and childhood stories and although he believed Brandon was Vanagandr and sought to change the world, he didn't know quite how he intended to do it or indeed, even why.
I sighed. "He has Harper. And he knows I would do anything to get him back and he would do anything to make me go to him." I hesitated, feeling that horrible nausea in my throat that tasted of pain and desperation. "Please, Philippe.....I need you to help me, I need you to find out where Brandon is so I can save Harper."
"You're asking me to save a vampire, you do realise that?"
I swallowed hard. "I know what I'm asking of you and I also know that you don't owe me a damn thing but...." My voice faltered, my lip trembled. "But I don't have your dreams, Philippe. I daren't dream of normality and of gardens draped in fairy lights and honeysuckle. I know I will never have that. I can't afford crazy fantasies of the kind of future you crave. All I know is that whatever the future might hold for me, it's a future that I need him to be in."
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes revealing so much amber that I felt like I was drowning in molten gold. Finally, he spoke, the catch in his voice anchoring my hope, even though his golden gaze told me different and gripped me with fear.
"You love this one," he said.
"Yes," I whispered. "And you know what? Sometimes, actually a lot of the time, I really wish that I didn't. Life would be so much easier if I didn't feel this way and God knows I've tried not to. In fact, I don't think I've ever fought so hard against something as I have fought this. But in the end, it was like trying not to breathe, it was like fighting against doing the one thing that keeps you alive and that's why I have to get him back. I have this pain right here in my chest as if someone is crushing my lungs tighter and tighter with every second that he's gone."
I inched even closer.
"I can't breathe without him, Philippe. I can't breathe. Please, will you help me?"