A/N: We’re moving into the home straight now, Chapelites with only another two chapters to go before we reach the grand finale! This one’s a bit of a filler admittedly, but rest assured it sows a few seeds for you to think about.
If you haven’t already, please do join the Facebook group created for fans of The Whitechapel Chronicles, you can meet other Chapelites, discuss the books and characters and get to see sneaky snippets and teasers. There will also be a chance to be part of next year’s street team! Hope to see you all there:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/TheChapeliteAsylum/
*********
I was hungry.
My stomach grumbled irritably and my veins moaned in ravenous anticipation. I felt strangely at odds with the sensation, particularly after my visits to Purgatory, but I knew I couldn't put it off any longer, especially not if I wanted to remain standing instead of on the floor collapsed in a heap racked with starvation. It seemed even angels could not exist on the beauty of angelic powers alone.
I'd arranged to meet Harper outside just after sundown and had left Lucius curled up in the corner, a book safely nestled in his lap and he'd nodded and smiled when I told him I wouldn't be long, before his attention quickly turned back to the book, caught up in whatever fantasy land he had plunged himself into this time.
Walking through the rooms underneath Fenton's garage where the sick, injured and battle-weary had spent the last few days and night recharging, I felt the air was alive with an undercurrent of tension that seemed to spark and crackle all around.
The preparations for war were well underway and those that could fight had been knee-deep in battle plans. I had to admit, however, I was surprised that Garrick and Harper had been able to revive our people at all.
This was not like the time before Gravestock, when Harper and Garrick had battled against a long-engrained terror in the darkened sweaty underground club, The Box, their plans meeting with anger and consternation. Some of the people here had been at Gravestock after all. They had been a part of that battle, that tentative step into a world where they dared to believe hope existed. They had tasted freedom and power only to then see the Varúlfur rise up again and pull the rug out from underneath them in one vicious sweep of the city. Yet after three days and nights since we had left the Mills and arrived here at the Greenwich base, I'd watched Garrick move amongst them, pulling them back from the brink with that charm only he could exude, a touch here, a smile there, a comforting word.
And where Garrick brought the light, Harper brought the fire, igniting the strength that lay dormant within them, empowering them with words that I would never have once believed could flow so easily from his lips. They drank it all in, their faces transforming from broken visages of despair to radiating a dogged determination, a resolve to never give up, to stand once again and fight, no matter what the cost. Listening to Harper preach his fiery dogma, I realised just how much he was a perfect mix of his two fathers, of Abraham Cain and Benjamin Garrick, of light and dark, of sermon and cunning.
I marvelled at how well Harper and Garrick worked together, these two blood-brothers who had once been at violently opposed to each other for so long, and whilst I knew they would always have their differences, I couldn't help but get a little kick of pleasure in realising how without them, we would never have revived our army within such a short space of time.
The one thing that bothered me though was the presence of the firearms. Fenton's people were well armed and clearly well-educated in the use of guns, but having never once seen a gun during my human life - apart from on television and in the movies - I couldn't help but feel a shiver ripple over my flesh every time I saw one of them handling a weapon. Looking at the guns made me feel uneasy, as if they were vipers in disguise and at any moment they would strike, a trigger pulled, a life ended in a blink of an eye.
Walking into the garage above, it was the same such tremor of anxiety that coursed through me when I found Fenton himself, a gun firmly holstered at his side, bending over the bonnet of his car and running his fingers over Harper's handiwork; his name scratched boldly in large jagged letters. He shook his head, his lips curling into a sneer before realising that I was standing there, watching him steadily.
Standing up straight, he smiled thinly. "Going out?" he enquired, almost too politely. I was quite sure he still remembered my words on the night we had arrived here. His eyes remained wary, his posture a little too tense.
"Yes, we won't be long."
"Don't stray too far," he replied stiffly. "My team assures me there's no sign of the Varúlfur in our immediate area, but wander outside the zone and I cannot vouch for your safety." There was something in his tone that made me think he wouldn't mind too much if we did wander outside the safety zone.
"And I wouldn't expect you to," I retorted with a perfunctory smile of my own. "We are quite capable of looking after ourselves." My eyes travelled down to his side, where the gun rested on his slim hip. "Have you always felt the need to use that? It's just Garrick and Harper..."
"Are stuck in the old ways?" Fenton said with a raise of his sculpted eyebrow. His grin widened when he saw my look of irritation and he held his palms up. "Forgive me. There's no denying that they are both masters of the blade and I've learned a lot from my maker when it comes to hand to hand combat, but you know, things have to move on. This is a world at arms. If humans can so freely acquire and use weapons, then why shouldn't we? It's a very logical step forward and one I'm sure even Benjamin would have taken was he still here today."
"I'm not so sure about that." I frowned, trying to picture Benjamin and Edward brandishing guns.
"Why not? Benjamin was a leader and it's every leader’s job to know when to switch tactics to win a war. A Varúlfur has the distinct height and weight advantage over your average vampire. We can win a fight easily when it comes to out-numbering our opponent but you match a single vampire against a Varúlfur and suddenly the odds are not in our favour. Why then should we not take every available advantage to overpower our enemy? We cannot always live in the dark ages."
"I have gone one on one with a Varúlfur and won. It is possible."
His eyes narrowed as if he wasn't quite sure whether to believe me. "Really? Well I'm sure if that were the case, you didn't escape completely unscathed?"
"Of course not, but the point is that I won."
"And my point is, had you possessed a gun, you could have cut the beast down with one shot to the head and not needed to have come to any harm. So, to you, it might seem unnecessary, but personally I would rather have the added protection of this kind of weapon than my put my body within reach of their deadly claws." His hand found the holster and he rubbed his thumb over the snap button on the leather casing.
I shrugged, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that I knew he had a point. Something told me he'd live off the pleasure of my begrudging agreement for days, if not weeks even. "So, what kind of bullets does that carry? Silver ones?"
Fenton chuckled and scratched at his tattooed scalp. "Yes and we will also blind them with fairy dust bombs and fire eggs at them straight from the Easter Bunny's arse." He rolled his eyes in despair. "You've watched too many movies, Megan. Silver bullets won't kill the Varúlfur any more than garlic can repel us. Hasn't Harper taught you anything?"
I bristled with anger at his mocking tone. "One thing Harper has taught me is to trust my instincts and you know what, I happen to think he's right about you." I stepped closer, noting with my own satisfaction, that his reproachful sneer faded immediately, to be replaced by one not so cock-sure and arrogant. "I'm not sure you can be trusted."
After a moment, his wary expression was replaced by a brash, false grin. "Well," he said, his hand still resting firmly on the revolver. "I guess only time will tell, eh?"
"I guess," I said with a sniff of derision and walked away, not looking back once.
I felt Fenton Grainger's eyes on me all the way, until I opened the door and disappeared out into the night.
***********
I'd lured the man to his death.
Playing the vulnerable woman card, something along the same lines as the first lesson I'd ever been taught by Harper by the canal, I'd lured the man down a maze of barely-lit backstreets, on the pretence of heading somewhere, anywhere, when in fact I had been leading him somewhere all along.
I had no idea whether he made this kind of thing a habit, like the Regent's Canal Rapist, or whether he just saw a young woman walking alone and figured what the hell. Why not follow her? Why not wait and see if she might take a wrong turn? Why not see if some perfect opportunity might come along?
Well, I gave him that opportunity and plenty more besides.
Making what he soon realised was a wrong turn; he found me waiting, leaning casually against the wall of a narrow alley. At the far end, a street light blinkered on and off, illuminating an over-flowing rubbish bin and a large rat that feasted on the overspill, its yellow eyes steadily surveying the area, ready to defend its prize against anyone who might dare to take it from him. My prize wasn't ready for what was about to befall him. After all, whoever is ready to find their prey waiting in the shadows, perfectly calm despite the fact they've just been tailed for close to half a mile?
He stopped abruptly as he turned into the mouth of the alleyway. His face crinkled with confusion and I saw that spark of alarm in his eyes and had to stifle the smile that threatened to pull on the corners of my mouth.
"E-Everything okay, love?" he said. His voice was softer than I had imagined, as if every would-be predator spoke with a deep, menacing tone which I knew wasn't the case. Predators could be anyone. They could be your neighbour, your teacher, your husband. Shooting a quick glance at his left hand, I saw a thin gold band decorating his finger and sighed inwardly.
"Sure," I replied with a smile. "I was just waiting for somebody."
"Oh, really?" the man said, casting a doubtful look up the alley. "Who?"
"My boyfriend." I grinned as Harper appeared behind him.
It was all over pretty quickly after that.
I let him reach almost to the end of the alley but not far enough to reach the outer edges of light cast by the faulty lamp post. There, with the rat eyeballing us as it sat nestled inside a discarded polystyrene box, nibbling on a rubbery piece of lamb meat, I dragged the man to the floor, burying my face into his neck and tearing at his flesh, savouring every sweet delicious drop that poured into my mouth. He struggled of course. His voice might have been soft but his fists definitely weren't as he frantically pummelled at my back, almost managing to dislodge me as I tried to stay upright. With a grimace, I bit down harder, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the ground.
When it was done, I stood up, backing away until my body hit the wall behind me.
Harper, who had calmly watched the whole scene with amused interest, moved in close to my side and touched a finger to my lips, wiping away the smear of blood that remained, before sucking casually on his fingertip and nodding thoughtfully as if he had just tasted a particularly pleasing bouquet of wine.
"Boyfriend?" he said, finally, with one dark brow raised.
I smiled wryly. "Don't get your hopes up, I enjoy the role play."
"Don't we all, angel?" he replied with a wink. Leaning in, he pressed his mouth hard against mine then pulled back slightly to look into my eyes as he ran his tongue slowly along my bottom lip. Just as my hand sneaked under the hem of his shirt, finding the hard contours of his stomach, he grabbed at my wrist, preventing me from exploring any further. "Don't get your hopes up," he said, planting a small kiss on the end of my nose.
"You're a bastard tease, Cain." I shook my head, but couldn't help but chuckle as he flipped me the bird before walking over to where the man laid, his dead eyes staring accusingly at us. Harper grunted a little as he hauled the body up and over his shoulder, the man's arms hanging limp down his back.
Moments later the body was safely discarded and we were on our way back to Fenton's garage. We didn't speak on the return journey, both of us on high alert with every step we took, our senses pricked to detect any infringement of the area. Finally as we turned into the road, with Fenton's place at the far end, I realised that Harper's footsteps no longer fell into step with mine and turning, I found him stock-still behind me with a strange expression on his face. He looked wary, pensive even.
"What is it?" I said, keeping my voice to a whisper as I furtively glanced around the street. I couldn't detect anything untoward and wondered what Harper had picked up that I hadn't.
He remained where he was, but I saw him noticeably tense as I took a step towards him.
"You don't have to come with us tomorrow, you know."
Tomorrow, of course, was the meeting between Brandon and the southern Varúlfur leaders. Tomorrow was when Vánagandr would fight for his throne. Tomorrow was when we would rise up and attack them. Tomorrow was when the world would change irrevocably.
"Of course I do," I replied with a deep frown. "I have to be there."
Harper pursed his lips. "No. You don't. You could leave it to the rest of us and stay with Lucius."
We had already decided that Lucius would remain behind, with some of the vampires who were still too sick to join the battle. I had to admit, the thought of abandoning Lucius terrified me a little, but I knew my place was on the battle field alongside Harper and Garrick.
"Don't be ridiculous, Harper," I said. "I want to fight..."
He cut me off abruptly. "But you're tired.....these visits to the Underworld, what you've been doing..." He still couldn't say it. He still couldn't say out loud what had happened to me down there and what I had become. "You're exhausting yourself. You're practically dead on your feet."
"I'm a vampire, looking dead is all the rage," I retorted with a wink but that only seemed to infuriate him and his face clouded over like a thunderous storm.
"I mean it, Megan. You're not up to it."
I was angry now, caught in the shadow of the same storm cloud and unable to prevent the torrent from enveloping us both. "Don't dare to tell me whether I am capable or not! I've proved enough times that I can fight just as well as the rest of you. And anyway, who amongst us isn't tired? We have been hounded from our home and chased halfway across London, for goodness sake!"
"Yes, but you've been through a lot more than the rest of us recently and these little exploits of yours with Lucius are wearing you down, I can see it in your eyes, in the way you carry yourself. You move like you're in pain."
I straightened my back instinctively, hating that my body had betrayed me so easily.
"I-I'm fine, really," I insisted haughtily and took a step back, but Harper shrewdly spotted my retreat and snapped out a hand, gripping my wrist before I could move out of reach. Yanking me towards him, I winced at the sudden movement and before I could struggle or protest, he had spun me face-front against the wall with my hands splayed out on the brickwork. I felt the insistent push of his body against mine, but I took no pleasure from it. Instead I felt assaulted and invaded by his touch.
"Get off me, Harper, or I'll...." I grunted with my cheek pressed against the cold rough stone.
"You'll what?" he snapped, his voice grating in my ear. "What will you do, my angel? Wiggle your fingers and zap me with your heavenly powers? Unfurl your wings and beat me to death with them?" His fingers had sought out the bottom of my shirt and he was tugging my clothes upwards, letting the chill of the night air creep up the base of my spine. I did struggle then. I pushed as hard as I could, but it was no use and soon he had lifted my shirt all the way up and he stepped back quickly with an audible gasp, his hand still holding my shirt up around my shoulders.
Defeated and ashamed, I leant my forehead against the wall, feeling my cheeks redden and my body sag a little under the weight of what I knew he would eventually discover. I was prepared for his disgust and his repulsion. What I wasn't prepared for was for him to reach out his other hand and very gently run his fingertips down the raised ridges of skin that now decorated my body from my shoulder blades to halfway down my back.
I had tried to take a look in Fenton's bathroom mirror earlier that night, twisting and turning in an effort to catch my reflection but I hadn't been able to get much of a view, only just managing to spot the elongated bumps that painted my back like two angry red stripes. The skin was hard to touch and sore, really sore and the reason why my movements had been more pained, more considered than usual. I knew there was nothing there under the surface. It wasn't as if I was about to sprout my wings at any given moment, as I could do in Purgatory. Instead it was as if they had been torn from my back the moment I joined the real world again and all I was left with was these ridges of ugly, scarred flesh.
Harper, in his bold couldn't-give-a-shit manner, continued to examine the puckered skin, letting his finger trail along one from top to bottom before moving to the other side and repeating the process all over again.
I remained perfectly still as he did so, apart from the single tear that ran down my cheek.
Finally he stepped away, letting my shirt drop.
"Finishing examining me now?" I said angrily, adjusting my clothes back into place and sweeping my palm across my face to remove the salty drop before turning back, squirming under the dark intensity of his gaze.
"Oh Megan, I'm sorry."
I glared at him, feeling the rage boiling furiously. "Sorry for what? Sorry I'm so disgusting now? Sorry that I'm some kind of scarred freak? Sorry that you turned me in the first place and triggered this whole fucking thing?"
"Megan....."
"Forget it," I hissed and pushed past him, only for him to grab me around the waist and tug me against him, resting his forehead gently against mine.
"I am sorry," he whispered gruffly. "I've never been sorry for turning you but I am sorry if what I did has caused this. I admit, at the beginning, I wanted you to suffer, because I suffered and it eased my pain to inflict it on his wife, to do to him what he had done to me and punish him for failing you, the way I failed Jenny. But now....it kills me to see you carry this burden and I wish I could undo it all. I wish I could give you your life back."
I gasped. "You don't mean that."
He ran his thumb down my cheek bone, following the trail my tear had taken just moments before. "Don't you wish it?"
"No," I said firmly. "No. I could never go back. What did I ever have back then apart from lies?"
"Blissful ignorance?" he replied. "Surely that must be better than this?"
I sighed and closed my eyes, coveting the heat of his breath on my face and wishing I didn't enjoy the sensation as much as I did. "Why are you being like this?"
"Like what?"
"Why are you being so nice?" I opened my eyes and slumped back against the wall, gripping hold of his jacket.
Harper raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint sparking across his green eyes. "Is it making you feel uncomfortable?"
"Yes."
He grinned slyly. "Good. I enjoy making you squirm. It might just be one of my favourite things, amongst a few other things I like doing to you, of course."
I bit down on my lip and looked down at my feet, noting the dirt that stained the toes of my shoes. Gripping my chin with his thumb and forefinger, Harper lifted my face, his eyes narrowing as they searched for something in mine.
"I don't care, you know. About the scars."
"Don't, please, don't...."
"Lie to make you feel better?" He chuckled. "Since when did I ever say anything to make you feel better?"
"More often that you'd care to admit."
We remained staring at each other, locked in stilted silence for a moment and there was a part of me that wanted to stay there with him forever, with the man who had seduced me, the man who had been as much a part of the lie as Brandon had, with the man who had killed me. How had it become that the safest I ever felt was with the one person who had dragged me into this mess and tortured me in that grime-infested basement of his?
A raindrop hit my face, then another.
"We'd better get back," I said, glancing up at the bruised sky.
"Frightened of a little rain, angel?"
"Of course not, but we can't stand out here all night. We have a war to plan, after all." I leaned into him and brushed my lips lightly against his. "And not even you will stop me from being there."