by Steve McHugh
"Hey, Holly," I said as I started my walk toward St Paul's Cathedral. It was coming up to lunch time, and the tube would get busy again. I didn’t like crowds. You never knew who was in them.
"We're at a sushi restaurant near the Cathedral. It's called Zen. My dad's just gone to get some drinks."
I crossed a busy road, running the last few feet to avoid a barrelling truck. "I'll be about twenty minutes," I said after giving the driver a look at my middle finger.
"Did you see Francis?" Holly was just over thirty years old, and despite her family, was unaccustomed to the criminal life of constantly looking over your shoulder and trusting as few people as possible. Her father had told me that she was smart as a whip, but her sense of danger was often overridden by her sense of adventure and excitement. It was a fair description, but I made sure to keep her out of anything that might cause her problems. It was why she had as little to do with Francis as possible. Some of his jobs were on the... dangerous side.
I didn't want to start discussing Francis, or Holly's payment out in the open. "I'll see you soon." I hung up and continued on my walk, as the sounds of midday London washed around me. I sometimes wondered how anyone ever got a moment's peace in a city the size of London. It would have certainly driven me insane to live with the constant noise. Visiting is one thing, but I preferred a slightly less cluttered place to live.
By the time I'd reached the Cathedral, lunch was in full force. All the lawyers and business graduates tried to look as important as possible in their impressive suits as they ate over-priced sandwiches, and discussed things that would bore most people into a permanent coma.
The sushi bar was easy enough to find. A huge yellow sign outside made sure I was unlikely to get the wrong place. From the front entrance, I spotted Holly at a four-person table toward the rear of the restaurant, reading a book.
The restaurant hostess, a young Asian woman, came over. I explained that I was looking for my friend, and she passed me a menu before allowing me to walk over to Holly.
"Nice choice of restaurant," I said once I stood beside her.
Holly put the book down and beamed. Her shoulder length blonde hair was tied back, showing the tip of a tattoo just below her hairline. She'd gotten the angel a few years previous. It covered her back, with the wings creeping up slightly on either side of her neck.
Holly stood and embraced me. "It's good to see you again."
"You too," I said and sat opposite her. Holly and I spoke every few days, but we only saw each other once or twice every few months. Any more than that and it would increase risks for both her and me. But less than that and I would... miss her. She was always so full of life and energy, it was hard not to get sucked in. "I thought you were with your dad?" I motioned toward the book.
"He's popped out for a few minutes, which probably means an hour or so. Figured I might as well catch up on my reading until one of you arrived."
"Hope you weren't waiting too long." My stomach audibly rumbled. "Guess I should order."
"Already ordered you some duck futomaki and sushi rolls. I know you don't like salmon, so I had them make it with tuna instead."
I bowed my head slightly. "Thank you."
"You must be the only person in the world who hates salmon but likes other fish."
"Then I'm the only person with working taste buds."
Holly chuckled for a second before I caught the movement of her eyes as she spotted someone by the restaurant's entrance. "Your dad back?" I asked as a waitress placed my food in front of me. The smell made my stomach rumble once again.
Holly nodded. "See for yourself."
After dunking one of the small tuna rolls into some wasabi and soy sauce, and taking a bite, I turned to watch Holly's dad make his way into the restaurant. Mark O'Hara wasn’t a large man. Physically, he was only a few inches taller than me, so less than six feet, and could never be considered muscular. But he was wiry and capable of horrific violence on those who have wronged him. He ran his family, and by extension those who worked for him, with an iron fist. If you stepped out of line, he’d let you know, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to do it again.
"Nate," he said, the word rolled in a thick Irish accent.
I stood to shake his hand. "Good to see you. Nice shaved head. Not at all intimidating."
Mark smiled and rubbed his newly bald head with one hand. "My wife seems to like it, and it's nice to be able to worry people without ever having to do anything." He motioned for me to sit back down before sitting on the chair next to me. "I found someone when I was on the phone outside."
Holly's smile disappeared when she glanced back over to the entrance again. Mark didn't notice the concern on his daughter's face, he was too busy reading the menu, but I certainly did and knew who that expression was meant for. At the entrance stood another man, arrogance seeping out of him like an aroma. He sneered at a patron who made the mistake of bumping into him. For a brief moment I thought he was going to attack the innocent customer. But instead he looked up at us and found something else to hate—me.
The man was Lee, Holly's younger brother by about eighteen months, and Mark's youngest son. He's a psychotic prick who likes to get his hands dirty, usually with someone else's blood. He strolled toward us, an unwavering gaze of anger aimed at me, despite the smile on his lips. He too had shaved his head, probably to make himself appear more like his dad. But unlike Mark, Lee had grown a goatee to go along with it.
"Holly," he said warmly and waited for her to hug him. When seated, he removed his leather jacket to show off his figure hugging t-shirt. The green top was tight around his muscular arms. Black tribal tattoos snaked out from under them and stopped at each wrist, on one of which sat an expensive gold watch. He'd taken it from a man he almost beat to death outside a nightclub a few years back.
The assault had gone to trial, but no one wanted to speak out against him. Lee instilled either fear or admiration in most of those he meets. Which, as I'd shown him neither, was the reason for his distain of me.
"So what's with the family reunion?" Holly's voice couldn't hide her nervousness. In all the time I’d known her; Holly had never liked or trusted her younger brother and had as little to do with him as possible. Holly told me it had to do with something that happened when she was younger. She'd appeared upset just remembering it, so I hadn't pushed further.
Mark lowered the menu onto the table, and an aura of seriousness settled over him. "Holly, I wanted to let you know that Lee will be taking over more duties. He's been doing the fights with me for a few years, but I've decided to pass the whole enterprise over to him."
By fights, Mark meant those of the illegal variety. The family had managed them for years. With Mark overseeing everything, they'd always been done as fairly and respectfully as possible, and they’d managed it without any trouble. It helped that in all his years no fighter had ever died. They'd been hospitalised, and although most had probably taken one too many shots to the head and couldn't remember what had happened, everyone lived. I wasn't so confident that Lee would be able to lay claim to that statement after a few months of fights under his tutelage.
"That's great news," Holly lied as she gave her brother a hug. "But are you sure, Dad? I know how much you love them."
Mark grinned. "I'm not getting any younger. And besides, I need to let my boy stand on his own feet more often. He's nearly twenty-nine, he'll do just fine." Apart from being a career criminal, murderer, thief and general nuisance for the police, Mark had one massive fault. And that was his inability to see any fault in his youngest son. Or any of his four kids for that matter. It made him a great father on many occasions, and a crappy one on others.
Mark and Lee ordered sushi and we all ate in silence. Every now and again I noticed Lee watching me. I came close to asking him if he had a problem, but that would probably cause one, and I didn't want to make a scene in the middle of a crowded restaurant.
"Holly, we need to have a chat," Mark said as h
e finished his plate of salmon wraps.
Holly glanced at me with a look of are you okay? I nodded and watched her leave the restaurant with her father and then picked up the book she'd been reading. I didn't fancy sitting in uncomfortable silence for ten minutes.
Apparently neither did Lee. "You're a real cunt, you know that?"
I sighed and placed the book next to my plate. "As the authority on all such things, I'll take your word for it."
Lee's expression hardened and he flexed his head from side to side, cracking his vertebrae in the process. "The rest of my family might think the sun shines out of your ass, but I know differently. You're just a thief who thinks he's above his station."
"And you're just a thug with a powerful daddy."
Redness crept up his neck—apparently I'd hit a sore point. "Once I'm in charge of everything," Lee menaced. "I'll show you the error of what you've just said."
"Well luckily for me, that's not going to happen anytime soon, now is it?" I leaned back in my chair and watched anger bubble away behind Lee's eyes. "Next time you threaten me, do it when you can follow through. It'll make you look like less of a little bitch."
Lee was a complete psychopath, but even he wouldn’t have picked a fight in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Instead, he continued to shoot daggers at me until Mark and Holly returned.
"We need to go." Mark placed some notes on the table to pay for everyone's lunch. "Business waits for no man." He shook my hand again. "Keep my little girl safe."
"Always," I said. Holly shook her head slightly in mock indignation.
"I fucking hate him," Holly whispered once her family had left.
A young couple sat next to us with a small child in tow. "I think we need to go to a more... secluded setting for this conversation."
"You coming back to my place then?" Holly asked, unhappiness evaporating with a smile.
I smiled. "Sure, why not. I've got a few hours to kill."
*****
On the walk back to Holly's place, we decided to take a shortcut. We were about half way down the empty alley when I realised someone was following us. I turned round and found Lee standing in the mouth of the alley, a look of evil intention on his face.
"What do you want, Lee?" Holly called to her brother, the fear in her voice easy to distinguish.
He strode toward us, menace evident in his body language. "Your boyfriend and I need to have a chat."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Holly shouted. "Grow up. You're not a child anymore."
Lee's gaze tore away from me and settled on his older sister. I'd never seen Holly afraid before, but right then she visibly shrank away from him. "Mind your fucking tongue," Lee snapped and slapped Holly with the back of his hand, knocking her to the ground.
A white hot, blinding rage woke inside me. I darted toward Lee, dodged a punch and slammed my elbow into his ribs. He staggered back and raised his hands in boxer's stance, a sadistic smile spread across his lips.
Something in me changed. As I watched Lee move, I contemplated a few dozen ways to kill or maim him. And all of those methods would take only a few seconds. It was like trying to find a tiny crack on a vase and suddenly noticing dozens of flaws present. Flaws I could take advantage of.
Lee threw a powerful left hook, which I deflected aside. I struck him in his kidney with the heel of my palm. He winced with pain, compounded when I followed up with a punch to his ribs and finished with a heavy shot to his chin as his guard slipped. Lee's head snapped to one side. He put his hands out to stop himself falling face first onto the cold concrete.
"This is your last warning," I told him, but the flick of the blade in his hand gave me his answer. He shot up, swinging it toward me. When Lee was inches away, I slammed one open palm into his wrist and the other into the back of his hand, snapping Lee's wrist aside and forcing him to leg go of the knife. My second and third strikes hit him in his ribs once more. This time, the force of the blows broke bones.
He was no longer in any position to fight, but he'd hit Holly and tried to kill me. This was no longer about winning.
Lee cradled his arm against his chest, his breathing fast and pained, and looked down at the knife, which had fallen to the ground. I kicked it close to him. "Pick it up," I said.
He watched me for a moment and then bent over to retrieve it. His eyes never left my face. He weighed it in his good hand, before dashing forward and swiping it in an arc toward me. I stepped inside the attack and smashed my elbow into his jaw. His head snapped back once again, and followed with a knee to his gut. Lee dropped the knife and doubled over in pain, collapsing to his knees.
"I want you to remember what happened here," I said. Lee reached for the knife again. One quick and powerful knee to his face, not only ended those dreams, but also shattered his nose and knocked him out cold.
I picked up the knife and stood over Lee. Blood streamed down his face and onto the pavement. It would have been easy to kill him. One quick slice and the world would have lost one psychotic asshole.
"Nate," Holly said from behind me. "You okay?"
I turned to see concern on her face, mixed with fear. And I wasn't convinced that her fear was aimed solely at her brother. I tossed the knife onto the floor. "Yeah, I guess. Let's get you home."
As we walked away, Holly never looked back once, leaving Lee to bleed on the pavement. I glanced behind me for a final time and tried not to think about how easy it would have been for me to kill Lee. Or how much I'd toyed with him during our fight, and how much I could have continued before finally putting him out of his misery.
Just what the fuck did I used to do for a living?
Chapter 4
Soissons, France. 1414.
The English archer's screams continued intermittently for the better part of the day. They were blood curdling, full of pain and fear, but I doubted he knew what he was doing. The deep gouges in his leg and ribs were responsible for his massive blood loss. He was either really lucky or, as his screams suggested, unlucky.
An empty house, close to the pile of corpses, served as our short-term refuge. I dragged the archer inside and placed him on a bed of straw. I cleaned his wounds with fresh rain water, before wrapping them in clean cloth I'd found inside the house. Then it was a matter of waiting. Hopefully, he would have some answers as to why werewolves were in the ruined city. Or why everyone here had been killed.
Initially, I was concerned that the noise would bring more surprises my way, but nothing came. If anything else was inside the city walls, it was obviously accustomed to the sounds of pain and suffering.
As night fell, the archer stirred. I watched the young man and when he moved, I unsheathed my Jian and placed it next to me, hand on hilt, in case my fears of what had happened to him were realised.
It took a long time until he fully woke. "Where am I?" he asked weakly.
I crossed the small room, sword in hand, and held a bowl of water to his lips. The rainfall had been steady and the bowl I'd placed just outside had filled quickly. It had saved me travelling further into the city to get more fresh water. The archer sucked down the cool liquid with eagerness. "More?" he asked.
I shook my head and placed the bowl back outside—the rain was heavier now. "Not for a few minutes."
"Hungry too."
That was a surprise, and not a good one. "Let me check your wounds." He held his breath as I slowly removed the bloody cloth, and found no wound beneath it. My fears had been right all along. But he still had a chance. I had to allow him that. Even so, I kept the sword unsheathed. "What do you remember?"
"I was on the city walls. We were betrayed by some of the English. The French came... they killed... killed so many."
"Betrayed? By whom?"
The archer tried to shrug but couldn't quite manage it. "They came with a girl, no more than sixteen or so. Kept her hidden in one of the houses by the main square. They betrayed us."
"But you don't know who they were?"
The archer s
hook his head. "What's your name?"
"Nathanial Garrett," I said. "Yours?"
"Thomas Carpenter. Everyone else is dead, aren't they?"
I nodded. "The French did this?"
"At first, yes. The women were forced to watch as their children and husbands were slaughtered and then... they had their way with them. They even raped and murdered nuns. Why would they do that? We fought as best we could, but we were captured and taken to the main square."
I fought the urge to go kill something. "What happened?"
"We were shackled and each of us forced to place our hands on an anvil. They used a knife and hammer to do... this." He raised his hand and stared at it intently. Bloody cloth sat where middle and forth fingers once did. They'd been taken to the knuckle. He'd never pull a bow again. It was a punishment that the French liked to give out after they'd captured English bowmen. Thomas watched his hand for a few moments, as if finally registering what had been done to him. And tears began to fall.
I took his hand and examined the wound. Or I would have if, under the blood and grime, the skin hadn't already healed. Before he could notice what had happened, I grabbed some cloth from the floor and wrapped it around his hand. I didn't need him to be any more afraid than he already was. "Why didn't the French kill you?" I asked once I'd finished.
Thomas swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "That bastard who betrayed us... told them to leave us for some friends of his." Thomas winced. "The French left and we thought we'd gotten away lightly. But that night eight men came. They let us loose and told us to run. They chased us, ate whoever they found. What manner of devil were they?"
"Werewolves," I said.
Thomas' face turned green. I dodged just in time for him to vomit the water he'd drunk onto the floor. "Werewolves," he said to himself. "This is a nightmare."
"You'll get used to it." I left out the part where if he didn't, he'd be dead before long. "How do you feel?"
