The lower basement was alive with voices.
Edward and Blaine were back from their search of the city and with them they brought the wounded, the barely-alive and the walking dead. Each face echoed the last as they filed in, carrying with them the stench of death and despair.
I went among them, silently tending wounds but without any clean running water and with limited medical supplies on hand, the best I could do was bandage them up and leave them to bear the pain.
One young woman refused to let me help her. Clutching at her side where a ragged tear ravaged her flesh and blood had saturated her torn shirt; she shook her head vehemently, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. Her companion, a slightly older-looking man, his hair tied back into a loose pony-tail and greying at the temples, laid his hand gently on my arm but withdrew it quickly as if touching me burned his fingers.
"You smell like those devils," he said by way of explanation, smiling apologetically.
The shame made my face redden. "I was married to one," I muttered. "It's pretty hard to cleanse yourself of the stench after that."
The man assessed me with new interest. "So it's true, then? I'd heard rumours that Vánagandr's wife had been turned but thought it nothing but make-believe and idle gossip.”
“Vána-what?”
“Vánagandr. The Great Wolf,”he said, lowering his voice to a husky whisper, his eyes darting about as if fearful someone would hear him. “He truly is a beast among beasts, saw him with my own eyes I did, standing head and shoulders above the others, like some great black-furred demon.”His intense gaze bore into me. “You are really his wife?”
“Was,”I frowned. “Was his wife.”
He said nothing for a moment, sidling over to where the injured woman had crawled in an attempt to put some distance between us, before looking back at me, his face suddenly wary and cold. “The Varúlfur are very territorial,”he said, wrinkling his nose with distaste. “They don’t readily give up what is theirs, whether that is property, land or people. You’d do best to remember that.”
He turned his back on me to tend to the whimpering woman at his side but I remained crouched on the cold, dirty floor, staring at his bent form in dismay.
We made vows, Megs.
A feather-light touch on my shoulder made me suck in a breath and my head snapped up to find Harper standing there, his hand outstretched to help pull me to my feet.
“Come on,”he said. “Edward and Blaine are waiting, we have things to discuss.”With that he turned on his heels and walked away, heading towards the stairwell and leaving me to trail behind him, glancing left and right and feeling the weighty suspicious glare of those still unfortunate enough to be conscious.
On the ground level above, Edward and Blaine waited, together with others, only a couple of whom I vaguely recognised from the Gainsborough mission. Blaine stood by the doorway, scanning the courtyard outside, wisps of his blonde tousled hair lifting on the breeze that drifted into the Mills. When Harper and I entered the room, Blaine’s gaze gravitated towards me and he nodded and offered a small, brief smile. I was grateful to see the welcome in his eyes, although it seemed strange to see any warmth coming from the battle-scarred vampire. Of the four of Garrick’s team, Blaine had always been the most distant and had rarely spoken to me unless he had to. I had never taken offence by this. He had rarely spoken to anyone, but his loyalty was unquestionable, that much I knew.
As we approached, Edward turned, his face grim. He looked older than the last time I had seen him, despite of course having not aged at all, but the lines looked deeper, his skin more grey and haggard, his eyes beset with a heavy exhaustion that darkened the circles sagging beneath them.
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."
"But the south is quiet, there is little movement there," Maggie interjected, shaking her short greying curls. "Even after Gainsborough, our people there did not react."
"True," nodded Harper. "And until Gainsborough so were we and that's what stunned the Varúlfur. They weren't ever expecting an uprising and yet they got one Hell of a shock when we turned up on their doorstep. Who's to say that the southern clans aren't getting all jittery, waiting for the same to happen to them? They could strike before it gets that far."
"We could get out of the city altogether?" Alexander suggested. "Head north maybe?"
Charlie laughed but there was no humour in it. "And how far would we get with the lame and sick ones down below? There are more injured than there are able-bodied. If we flee, those bastards will just hunt us down, in fact, they'd fucking revel in that. We'd be giving them exactly what they want and all they'd have to do is pick us off one by one. Nah, we can't leave London, no fucking way."
"Well we can't remain here either," Alexander snapped, clearly irked by Charlie's rejection of his suggestion. "They will find us soon enough. I'd rather move than sit and wait for them to come and slaughter us."
"Which we won't do," Harper said, his voice firm. "The Mills are only ever used as an emergency safe haven, that was the way after the First Cleansing and that's the way it will be now." He hesitated, rolling his tongue over one sharp incisor. "But Charlie is right. We're not deserting London, not unless we absolutely have to and the best chance we have is to regroup with Fenton and the others in the south. There's strength in numbers and numbers are what we need. We can't do this alone."
"And what then?" Peter asked. "If you think the southern clans might take action, surely we can't stay there either?"
"But it will buy us some time at the very least, eh Harper?" Edward said, raising one big thick heavy brow.
Harper scratched at his beard, glancing at me as he did so. With a long drawn-out sigh, he thrust his hands into his jean pockets and eyed them all steadily. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure whether it will buy us enough. Not enough for the injured to heal and for us to regroup our people into something remotely resembling an army. The northern clans will unite with the south and whether the south likes it or not, they will have no choice. Brandon Noble intends to take over the clans and he will have the backing of some very powerful people to help him do that."
"But this is southern territory we are talking about," protested Maggie. "And powerful friends or not, I cannot see the likes of Hammond and Sullivan just sitting back and letting Brandon wander around within their borders. In fact, I doubt even Barton will and the Barton clan have the closest connections with Noble out of all of the southerners."
"All borders will be void," Harper said and I saw their eyes widen in shock at his words.
Edward cleared his throat, banging on his own chest when it turned into a rasping, hacking cough that made his face redden considerably. "Harper, my lad," he croaked when he had finally recovered. "I don't doubt that the clans south of the river will take action very soon, that is regrettably inevitable, but the idea of one clan ruling all? That is unheard of. Territory is territory. There has never been a breach of the borders, not since the days before the Varúlfur rose to power."
"And we have never possessed something they wanted so much until now," Harper insisted.
I felt their eyes fall upon me immediately.
Charlie's lip curled up with derision. "If Noble wants his wife back so badly, then give her to him! What is one compared to many?"
With a snarl, Harper leapt towards him, pushing him back against the wall and pressing the edge of his blade against Charlie's throat. I hadn't even seen him draw the knife. Those murderous talents of his still had the ability to knock the wind from my lungs. The other man froze, his eyes bulging from their sockets in panic and anger.
"I would give you to him before I give her up," hissed Harper, his face darkening with the blackest of shadow. "I would dump you on his doorstep myself and watch him tear out your innards and hang them on his fucking porch."
"Woah there, lad," Edward warned, moving towards them, his palms held up in a placating gesture. "Harper, you kill him and we have one less on our side. No one is giving anyone up here. Ease up, big man, ease up."
Harper held firm for a few seconds longer, before releasing him with a grunt and backing away. Charlie remained against the wall, rubbing his throat gingerly and glaring back at him.
Brandishing his blade at everyone as he spoke, Harper eyed them all with a resolute hardened stare. "Now listen up all of you because I don't care any for having to repeat myself. Megan is not the Varúlfur's wife, get that? That's all done now whatever he or you might think. She's one of us, she's a Garrick and as far as I'm concerned that means she has more right to be here than any of you. If anyone so much as suggests again that she doesn't belong, they're going to answer to me and I deal out justice in a much harsher way than my brother does. Whether you like it or not, we need her."
"We need her? Or just you, assassin?" Charlie said, with a smirk but I noticed how his hand had drifted to the knife at his side.
"We need her. When are you going to understand that what is happening here is bigger than Varúlfur versus vampire?"
"Harper....." I warned, stepping closer to him and tugging on his shirt.
He turned to me, his hand snaking firmly around the back of my neck. "Remember what I told you when you were first turned? Remember how I said that every vampire would stab their brother, sister, mother, father, neighbour in the back just to save their own skin? The Cleansing did that to us. It ripped our world apart and together it killed our loyalty and our trust in one another. That was the truth back then and ever since and it will continue to be like that now unless they know what is at stake here. They will smile at you and then betray you just to save their own pitiful existence."
Turning his attention back to the rest of them, he pulled me close to his side.
"It's true. They want Megan. And they want the boy too. They won't rest until they get them both and you might think the easy option is to give them up, I can see it in your eyes. Why sacrifice us all for the sake of two lives? But trust me when I say this, if the beasts get their hands on either Lucius or Megan and you can forget playing at being warriors for another night. You can forget about Varúlfur territory disputes and whether or not the clan leaders are going to invite each other over for afternoon tea on the veranda. You can forget all about London and every other fucking city for that matter. Because everything will be different. Everything. Right now, keeping Megan and Lucius safe is our prime mission. If you don't like that, then you don't have to come along for the ride. I'm going to join Fenton in the south and then we'll decide what happens from then onwards. If you or any of the others downstairs want to come, then you're more than welcome, I'm not going to say that we couldn't do with your help because we sure as Hell need all the damn help we can get. But if you'd rather save your own skin and become everything the Varúlfur taught us to be, then so fucking be it."
The others were quiet for a moment, their gazes flitting back and forth between me and Harper and each other. Finally, Edward stepped forward to face Harper, slapping his palm down on his shoulder with a wide, toothy grin.
"Aye, lad," he croaked. "I'm with you just as I was with your father every step of the way too, have no worries about that."
Peter laughed, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "He's just with you because he knows everyone else will take a look at his rather rotund shape and tell him to jog on."
"I'll fucking catch you, rotund or not, my boy," retorted Edward, but his eyes glinted mischievously.
Peter looked at me, as if trying to bury under the surface of my skin and work out why Harper would risk everything and everyone for someone like me. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded. "Yep, okay. Count me in."
Maggie and Alexander both nodded in unison and Blaine, who still hadn't left his sentry point by the door, glanced our way and shrugged with a small smile.
That left Charlie, who clearly still ruffled by Harper's attack, fixed us with an obstinate glare, his lips pressed together firmly into a hard thin line. With a growl, he pushed away from the wall and stalked towards Harper, only when he stood face to face in front of him, he did something that almost made me gasp out loud. Holding out his hand, he raised an eyebrow and waited for Harper to respond who did so immediately, grasping his hand with a clap of palm against palm.
"This is bloody madness," Charlie said. "But I'm with you, assassin. You and your fucked up family."
"Well at least that's all sorted out, eh boys?" Edward said with a wry smile. "There's just one thing?"
"What's that?" Harper asked.
"That's us all in," Edward noted. "But what about Garrick?"
*************
When I found Garrick he was sitting in the side room, his head in his hands and his hair loose and hanging down over his face. His notebook had been flung against the wall and it lay there open, some of the pages having burst loose and spilling out of the journal onto the dusty floor.
He didn't even look up when I approached but he knew that I was there.
"So this is what you do now, is it?" I said, feeling the anger igniting my bones as I stood directly in front of him, staring down at the top of his head. "Just sit in a corner with your head in your hands waiting for the Varúlfur to come and find you?"
"Go away, Megan," he mumbled, miserably.
"What's happened to you?" I gasped. "So you're feeling guilty that people have been killed. You feel responsible. I get that. But sitting here and wallowing in your pathetic despair and pointless misery is not going to change a damn thing. What's done is done and the Varúlfur would have cleansed the city regardless of anything you or the rest of us did. It was always in their plans, Garrick, always."
He raised his head and leaned back against the wall, his face twisted with pain. "And how is that meant to make me feel better? To know that there was nothing I could ever have done about it, that every stand I made was nothing but a waste of time? That I led people to their deaths at Gainsborough and it was pointless because the Varúlfur were going to kill us all anyway?" He smiled, full of mocking sarcasm. "Thank you Megan, I really think you missed your calling in life. You really should have been a therapist or a counsellor. Really, thank you."
"Oh stop it," I spat. "Immaturity doesn't suit you. You're better than this, Garrick." I dropped to my knees, placing my hand on his leg gently and he tried to shift away from my touch, refusing to look me in the eye. "The others are asking after you," I urged. "They're wondering where you are and why you didn't come to the meeting. They need you, Garrick. We need you."
He snorted sardonically. "Megan, they don't need me. They have Harper. No doubt he has stepped up already and they will follow his lead, don't you worry about that. Our father saw it in him a very long time ago and he was right. He was always right." There was such sadness in his smile then and it made my chest tighten painfully to see it.
"And no doubt he saw in you the qualities that Harper doesn't possess. Oh Harper may be able to turn the heads of everyone in the room and force them to listen to him, but he doesn't have your ability for cunning and he doesn't earn trust quite so easily. People believe in you Garrick. They look at you and know that beneath all that arrogant swagger you would defend every single one of them until your last breath and they can't say the same for Harper. Without you, they won't trust him. Without you, he will always be the assassin, the one who lined his pockets and betrayed his own kind. Without you, they won't follow him. And what's more, I think Benjamin knew that too. He knew that Harper would always need you by his side."
Garrick picked casually at something under his fingernail, but his eyes flickered towards me once or twice as I spoke. When I was done, he exhaled deeply.
"Are you trying to win me over with flattery, Megan Garrick?"
"Is it working?" I broached hopefully.
He smirked and for a moment I glimpsed the Garrick I knew lurking just under the surface, before he disappeared once more, replaced by a face marred by a sullen childish scowl.
"Maybe you're losing your charm?" he considered.
"And maybe you're just drowning in self-pity?" I sniped spitefully before slumping back onto my heels, exhausted by our wrangling. I glanced towards the book, discarded in fury and despair and rubbed my palms over my eyes wearily.
"He would have approved of you, you know."
Garrick's voice brought me to my senses and I frowned as he reached out and wound a lock of my hair round one finger, his eyes travelling over my face.
"Benjamin. He would have approved of you very much. In fact, I think you might even have usurped Harper as his number one. When I think of everything you have endured and of how you far you have come since I first met you, I'm convinced that you hold more strength in your veins than Harper and I put together."
"And do you think I could have done any of this without you? When Harper left, you were there. I've watched you take control of every situation. You've never once flinched and you have never wavered, not for one second. I learned how to have hope because of you, even when Harper tried to convince me that there was none, you told me over and over that it existed. And you were right." I sighed exasperatedly, gripping his hand tightly. "Oh God, forget everyone else, Garrick, I can't do this without you. Do you understand? I can't. You always know which way to go, even if it might be the most arduous of paths and I need you now more than ever."
Reaching out with his other hand, he trailed his fingers lightly down my cheek, letting his thumb linger gently over my lips. His dark eyes were so troubled, so full of torturous turmoil that for a moment, I wished dearly that I didn't have to see his torment. It felt suffocating to witness his fall, as if I stayed in his presence too long, he would drag me down with him.
"You know, you're right about one thing. That through all our similarities, Harper and I posses many different qualities also. I used to be jealous of the way he could command a room, just like our father did. I would watch Harper talk animatedly about the prospect of an uprising, I would see his passion and strength and I would see the way Benjamin would look at him, appraising the son he always wanted. How I wished I could be more like him. But soon I learned that I had skills of my own, passed down through our father's blood that had bypassed Harper altogether. After Benjamin died, I would spend forever devouring his secret journal, deciphering all the mysteries hidden within that book. Piece by piece I began to build the puzzle, watching it take shape, finding each key, unlocking each door, exhilarated by the fact I could beat his code. Little by little I understood what he had been researching over the years, from those simple stories told to him by Ezekiel that turned out to be far more than fireside narratives between father and son. I learned. I discovered. And I loved it, Megan. I loved knowing the answers. Only now, I'm not sure I want to know the answers anymore. Knowledge is terrifying, truly utterly terrifying."
When he raked his fingers through his lank locks, I wanted to grasp his hands in my own so I wouldn't have to see how much they trembled. Catching the path of my horrified gaze, he clenched them into tight fists and shoved them between his thighs.
"What is it Garrick?" I whispered. "What do you know?"
"We have been so blind, Megan. So blind and so very stupid. It's obvious really when you think about it. I'm not sure why we never saw it before, but maybe, somehow we made ourselves blind to it. I'd rather like to think that's what it was because maybe if we had known, we would all have given up so long ago."
I stared at him, scared at the secrets held within those red-rimmed eyes of his. Somehow I knew that if I raised my hands, they too would be shaking. Fear, it seemed, was terribly infectious.
"It's all in there," he said, nodding towards the old book. "I was missing a piece, you see. One final piece that would make sense of this whole thing. And finally now, thanks to Lucius, I know."
"The smiling man?" I gasped. "You know who the smiling man is? Who is he?"
"Why, he is the client, of course," he said with a smile of his own that bordered more on a skeletal grimace. "The smiling man is Drachmann's boss and Brandon's mysterious client. They are one and the same."
"But then who is the client?"
"Think on it. Who stands to gain the most if Lucius opens those gates?"
"Uh....I don't know, when those gates open, everything we know will change, so it's got to be someone who would gain something from the new world that would be created. Vast wealth maybe? There was a heck of lot of money involved in Brandon's deal. The Varúlfur were set to make a fortune, so it stands to reason that whoever the client is was bound to make far more than they were."
Garrick shook his head furiously. "No, Megan," he hissed. "This has nothing whatsoever to do with money. Money is meaningless to the client. What good is money when the gates of Hell are open and the demons are devouring everyone in sight? Do you think money will stop them? Do you think we will be able to bribe them to leave us be? This has nothing to do with money. And think not on the world that would be created after the fact. Think more on who needs those gates to be opened. Who? Guess correctly and you will find the face of the smiling man."
"Well whoever he is, Lucius is petrified of him."
"Exactly!" he cried. "Imagine little Lucius who lives in darkness and yet fears nothing that it shows him is, for some reason, completely and utterly terrified of a man who smiles. What could possibly be frightening about that?"
"Because the smile is not real. It's fake. He might be smiling but it's all pretence?"
"Yes, yes," he whispered. "That's it! The smile is a lie. And who lies better than them all?" He leaned forward then, grasping my arm with fingers that dug hard into my flesh. "The serpent. The tempter. The deceiver. The Father of Lies. Who stands to gain the most from opening the gates of Hell? The very one who wishes to be free, so he can lead his army straight to the doors of Heaven itself and challenge the one that cast him out. The smiling man is the client and the client is Lucifer himself."
I felt it then. I felt Garrick's despair as if it had wound its bony fingers around my neck and was squeezing all hope out of me. He had been right about everything. Knowledge was terrifying and the more I contemplated just what we were up against, the tighter the hand squeezed until my throat felt crushed beneath its cold grasp and I could barely breathe at all.