Fratricide, Werewolf Wars, and the Many Lies of Andrea Paddington
Chapter Thirteen: It Followed Me Home…
The call had come through from Mitchell while they were waiting for Adonis at the Tree: Skylar and McGregor hidden in the shadows, covering Paddington and Truman out in the open. “Three vampires entering Beck’s apartment. Looks like the three youngest girls.”
“Shit,” Truman said. He cast Paddington an annoyed and vindicated glance and radioed, “Skylar, with me. McGregor, keep Paddington covered in case they surprise me and actually turn up.”
“They won’t,” Paddington said. Adonis was never late. Kept others waiting, yes, but was always punctual at need.
Paddington followed for two whole steps before Truman stopped him. “Just… humour me. Stay here and don’t say anything.”
Hadn’t they asked him here for this very reason? Why was Truman trying to keep him away? What was he worried Paddington would do? Was this his punishment for setting up a meeting without Truman’s written permission?
Or had McGregor told him that Beck might be his brother and he was trying to keep them apart?
Whatever the motivation, Truman wasn’t in a mood to negotiate.
“Mum’s the word,” Paddington said. There was a quick flicker of annoyance as Truman remembered that it was pronouncing “mum” not “mom” that had clued Paddington in on his false accent, but even with the implied threat that Paddington could tell the others Truman didn’t back down.
“Good boy,” Truman said.
Touché, cowboy.
As Paddington returned to sit on the short rock with the prophecy plaque on it, Truman joined Skylar at the jeep and it disappeared down the street.
At which point Paddington removed his jacket. “I’m going,” he told the shadow he thought housed McGregor.
“Truman said to stay put,” the shadow said.
“I didn’t nearly die getting here to not help now.”
“I… still… maybe if you just wait a while…”
There was no point continuing, because Paddington was already falling forward, looking into the blank, dark place within him, and becoming the wolf. He put his muzzle to the ground and reversed a few paces, shrugging his shoulders and stepping out of his shirt, then kicked off his trousers. It was easier to strip down before changing, but he thought of McGregor as the easily-embarrassed kind.
Estika opened itself to him as James examined it through the wolf’s senses. Everything became brighter. Red and green disappeared and his vision flattened but that hardly made a difference: Estika already lacked colour or depth. The place smelled… nothing. Some sea salt beneath the recent rains, car exhaust, concrete, but no vibrancy. On Archi, every stone in every building had a story, history, a texture. Estika was bland.
Still, it made following the jeep’s exhaust easier, especially as there were no other cars about. It was barely dinner-time; where was everyone? Estika didn’t seem like the sort of place where everyone went to bed early. Were all the pubs and restaurants in another district?
It reminded him of Archi during the zombie attacks, when everyone had been too scared to go outside. That had been the first time he’d travelled as a wolf, too, walking overtly down the centre of the streets following a car exhaust.
“Aaaigh! What’s that?”
Damn. People. Two women. He should have smelled them coming, or seen them. He shouldn’t have been alerted to them when one of them screamed.
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know! Do something! Scare it away!”
“I’m not going near it!”
“Well… um… Shoo!”
One of the girls threw something, something small. A rock? James stepped away so it wouldn’t hit him and saw its gleaming screen shatter on the bitumen. Her phone, then.
Wow. When he’d been spotted as a wolf on Archi, he’d been pursued into a side alley for fear of his own safety. Now he watched as the two women turned on their pointed heels and ran off back down the street, doing their utmost to shatter one another’s ear drums as they went.
It was sad, really. These were grown women acting like children. No, children were more tolerant and inquisitive. This was terror without reason. Terror lingering long after the threat had passed. For pity’s sake, had they never seen a wild animal before?
Whatever. James waited a minute until their squeals had died away, then returned to the car’s scent and followed it to Beck’s apartment and arrived to see Mitchell drop onto Beck’s balcony from the one above, raise his rifle, and fire. After a couple more bangs, a vampire took Mitchell by the throat, then hurled him across the room and leapt off the balcony.
James was after her almost before she landed. Thanks to their perfectionist grooming, the vampires had almost no scent – certainly nothing strong enough to track – and their excellent night vision meant there was no point lurking in the shadows. No chance of stealth…
The chase was on.
It was Phaedra: the second-youngest daughter, and probably the smartest. She tended to watch most conversations with big blue eyes and the tiniest hint of a smile. On the rare occasions she spoke, it usually made a difference.
Now, though, she’d abandoned words for flight north, toward the castle, as fast as she could while hitching up her long peach dress.
Running as the wolf was always better than as a human. Synchronising four legs was somehow easier than two; he was more aerodynamic; it just felt more right. Like he was made to run. Like he would never stop, could never stop, didn’t ever want to. Putting one foot in front of the other was the only possible course of action.
And every step brought him closer to the vampire. She could outsprint him, but he had her in the long chase, even sluggish from hypothermia. Phaedra tired quickly, her easy grace abandoning her just as James hit his stride. If she lasted another block she’d be lucky; she’d never reach the castle.
He was only ten feet behind her when she dashed right, into an alley. James banked, claws scratching at the wet concrete, then veered back to his original course. In the alley was a blinking grey neon sign – probably red, but he couldn’t see the colour red right now – reading “Crypt”. A line of people in white make-up and leather waited along the side of the building. Phaedra ran past a burly man and disappeared into the small arched doorway.
James couldn’t follow as a wolf without inciting panic and he couldn’t join the line wearing nothing at all, regardless of how close some of the people in line were to naked.
How long would she stay in there? A few minutes? An hour? Would she stay in there all day and only emerge tomorrow night?
There was no way to know and staying here was dangerous; someone could come at any time and—
Someone! There was a figure running up behind him; James could hear it. He bolted before it could be sure it had seen an eighty-kilogram wolf in the shadows. Before it could round up its friends and form an angry mob.
“Come back, you idiot dog,” said a Lancashire accent, and James slowed and turned.
Mitchell had followed him. More impressively, he’d almost kept up with him. How fit was he? And if the Team was a dumping ground for Her Majesty’s embarrassments, why had Mitchell ended up in it? After being taken hostage, most soldiers would – quite rightly – have a sit-down and soothe their nerves. Mitchell had shrugged it off and run after a vampire.
James trotted back to the alley’s entrance. When Mitchell arrived, he nodded toward the Crypt’s entrance. “She’s in there?” Mitchell asked. James nodded. “Make sure there’s no other ways out.”
The only other doors on the block led to businesses, except for one set of double-doors that looked like they opened out onto the main street where Mitchell was leaning against the stonework, watching the alley and the main entrance. “Other exits?”
James nodded at the emergency exit behind Mitchell.
“Okay. I’ll stay here. You might as well rejoin the others.” Mitchell gave him the address of the Team’s safehouse, which was in a largely-abandoned suburb, and Ja
mes followed the street signs to a decent-sized house that smelled of dust and old wood. The doorknob required human hands, so he abandoned the wolf and entered. The furniture, carpets, and certainly wallpaper were all remnants of a life someone hadn’t bothered to clean up. A life someone had abandoned in favour of the cheap kit-assembled tables and chairs, solid colours, open spaces, and absolutely no character.
Truman and Beck were arguing in the living room and apparently a naked man wasn’t enough to even break their flow.
“You had me followed?” Beck said, looking very much like a grumpy schoolteacher in his tweed jacket with its patched elbows.
“No, I had Mitchell make sure you were safe,” Truman said. “Good thing I did, too. Why didn’t you tell us you’d been approached?”
“Because… who are you people? Why should I trust you? You’ve had one real case! And half the people on the island died!”
“And because of us the other half lived.” Truman must have been losing patience: the American “curz” of “because” had slipped back to Truman’s native English “coz”.
“They broke your deal and left their island,” Beck said, “and now you want to kill them all? By your own admission they’re the only vampires in the world. How am I the only one who has a problem with the genocide of an entire species?”
“Because you’re the only one that wasn’t there last time,” Paddington said.
That seemed to end the conversation, so Truman started another.
“I told you to stay put,” Truman said. “The next time I give you an order, follow it.”
Beck held out a hand. “Wait, now you’re mad at him for finding where the vampire went?”
“I’m mad because I need to know where everyone is if I’m going to form any kind of strategy.”
“He’s also mad because I’m a demon who will apparently kill his brother,” Paddington added. “And Truman is worried that if he lets me out of his sight I’ll nip off and snuff him. That about right?”
Truman met his gaze, which surprised Paddington. Most people would have been embarrassed to inadvertently accuse their friend of murderer. “We don’t know enough about this prophecy,” Truman said.
“So what is the plan, now that you know where everyone is?” Paddington asked.
“Question the two vampires we have here,” Truman said. “Learn what we can before making another move.”
“Did you want your vampire consultant to help you consult with these vampires?” Paddington asked. “Or shall I sit in the corner like a good boy?”
“Your clothes are on the table, by the way,” McGregor added, pointing to a neat pile.
“We’ll let you know if we need you,” Truman said, and left Paddington with McGregor and Beck in the front room.
“Should I go with him, do you think?” Beck asked.
“Don’t bother,” Paddington said. “They’re not very receptive to local help in my experience.”
“That’s unfair,” McGregor said from behind his laptop screen, acting as the Team’s spokesman because he was the only one left.
“Is it?” Beck asked. “Then why does Truman treat us like we’ve been naughty?”
There was no point dwelling on Truman’s managerial methods. They could only end up questioning Truman right when they needed strong, central leadership. Better to change the subject, and Beck’s comment had brought Paddington’s mind back to Mitchell’s idea that the Team was a dumping ground for wayward soldiers.
“Speaking of being naughty,” Paddington said, “what’s your history, McGregor?”
“Hmm? What?” McGregor looked up from the laptop now.
“How did you end up in the Team?”
“Oh, you know. Standard thing. I had an apprenticeship in the army; computers and electronics. Being paid to study seemed better than paying to study and I liked the life, so I stayed in it.”
“What did you like about it?”
“The… warfare. Not the blood and death, the psychology of it: out-thinking your opponent. That battles aren’t won by the best side, they’re won by the side with the best intelligence.”
“When did you transfer to the Supernatural Help and Investigation Team?”
McGregor fixed his attention back to his screen. “Five years ago.”
“What happened?”
McGregor swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that Mitchell told me the Team was where the military deposited embarrassments they couldn’t discharge. Clarkson accidentally shot a general but they couldn’t bring charges because the general wasn’t really supposed to be… where he was, especially with a young lady of… questionable virtue.” Paddington swallowed. “And her sister. So what did you do?”
McGregor was shaking his head and frowning. “I… It’s… That can’t be right.”
“Why? Because you’re perfect?”
“Because Mitchell is. Militarily, anyway. He wasn’t an embarrassment. Several tours in the nastiest hotspots and not a single disciplinary note in his file.”
“Which you illegally looked up… when?”
McGregor still avoided eye contact. “Soon as I joined. It’s important to know who you’re working for.”
“Did you read Truman’s file?” Did McGregor also know that Truman was English but wasn’t saying? Did everyone know, but hadn’t told one another?
“Of course not,” McGregor said. “I know Truman.”
“Whatever happened to trust?” Paddington asked wistfully.
“James, fecking, Paddington!”
Paddington knew that voice. He didn’t need to look at the door behind him: he knew the accent. The swearing. And he knew that she wished he had a middle name so that she could shout that as well, because he was in use-his-middle-name-serious trouble.
The long-dreaded yelling had arrived. Paddington winced and looked over. “Lisa, hi.”
She looked great. Always did. No make-up. No fancy clothes. Just jeans, a top, a jacket, and a coat hanging on one arm. When he came closer, she’d no doubt still smell like the earth: a gardener’s cologne. He wouldn’t have her any other way. Well, he might have her without the tears in her blue eyes.
“Hi? That’s all you have to say?” She stormed toward him and Paddington readied himself for a slap. Instead, she wrapped him in a tight hug that crushed his ribs. “You son of a bitch! I was worried half to death.”
For a long moment Paddington was nothing but grateful. Grateful for her, that she was here with him. But in the back of his mind tickled a thought that he should be worried for her, or sad that his plan to keep her safe hadn’t worked, but it was easily ignored with her in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He was going to continue explaining – not that she’d care for the reasoning – but Lisa pulled his head toward her and kissed him over and over.
“Don’t ever… I thought you’d died! Don’t do that.”
“Die?”
“Run off!”
“So dying’s okay?”
She didn’t smile. Just hugged him again. “Do you have any idea what the ride over here was like for me?”
Not really, but he couldn’t say that. He didn’t say anything for a while. “I was trying to keep you safe.”
She pulled away enough to look him in the face. “And you thought you’d be safer going off to war without arms, armour, or army?”
Army? What ar—
Ah.
Out the still-open front door stood the rest of the wolf pack. Seven men; six fully-dressed, one pulling on his shirt.
“Trying to ditch us?” Will asked, stepping inside.
“They wasted hours convincing me you’d left,” Lisa said. “I didn’t believe you’d have gone without this.” She brought her left arm up. Draped across it was his long tan overcoat. It had been as close to a uniform as he’d had, ever since he’d become a detective. A mark of his newfound status and sense of self at first and later – once the left sleeve had been stained with Lisa?
??s blood – a reminder that people got hurt if he wasn’t his best.
“Ah ha!” Paddington took the coat and slipped into it. “I’m sorry I left without you, but I wanted you out of harm’s way.”
“If I recall,” Lisa said, “your delicate wife unified an island that hated her to turn back the zombie outbreak a few years back. There wouldn’t be soul alive on Archi if not for me, so don’t pretend I’m some weak and fragile flower, James.”
“Also sir,” Rick said, “a fragile flower wouldn’t have thought to bring this.” He pulled off something he’d been wearing on a shoulder-strap: the Bretherton Sabre. An heirloom from Paddington’s mother’s side of the family. The very sword he’d used to decapitate Thomas Brown.
Paddington looked at Lisa. “Why did you bring this?”
There must have been some inflection in his voice. He hadn’t meant there to be, but there must have been, because Lisa flinched. “I thought… it might be useful.”
“What’s the problem?” Pete asked.
The problem was that he was here investigating his father’s disappearance, had discovered his secret brother, and now his pregnant wife had brought him his mother’s sword. It was all getting a bit… familial.
Paddington took the sabre with both hands but didn’t loop the baldric around his shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with it just yet. Despite the prophecy and even the corruption of yet another town by the Andrastes, he still hoped there could be a peaceful resolution to all of this. He doubted there would be one, but he hoped.
Ah, speaking of which, McGregor returned from the back of the house with Truman. “What’s this?”
“Captain Truman,” Paddington said. “This is my pack. Will, Dom, Tony, Rob, Rick, Pete, and Curt. This is Captain Truman and Privates Skylar and McGregor. That’s Constable Beck.”
Everyone nodded as appropriate, but no one crossed the empty space to shake hands. “Glad to have you on board,” Truman said.
“I thought you weren’t bringing them,” Skylar said.
“We followed him,” Lisa said. “Had to hire another boat.” She stopped. Paddington waited for her to ask where he’d hidden Charlie so they couldn’t question him, but she didn’t. Good thing; saved him having to remember the choking smoke or imagine Charlie’s half-burned face slipping below the raging waves.
Damn. Too late.
“She says hire,” Tony said. “It was more like threaten.”
“I had to insist it was official police business,” Rick said. He looked ashamed of it.
“You’re all werewolves?” Beck asked, looking from one of them to the next and the next.
“And?” Rob asked, muscles tensing ready to throw a punch.
Beck smiled. “Cool.” Rob frowned, unsure how to react to that.
“How’d you find us?” Paddington asked.
“It wasn’t hard to track the only wolf in town,” Rob said.
“Well heck, with skill like that we’ll have this wrapped up in no time!” Truman said. “In fact, I’ve got the perfect job for you already.”