by Ian Jarvis
‘All?’
‘I’m not the only one who wants change. Everyone feels the same.’
‘Really?’ Silva ran his green eyes over the Committee. ‘Why don’t we ask?’
Shuffling feet filled the silence. Checking the time again, Strand realised he had to prolong things. If just one of the sixteen remaining members spoke, the rest might follow. Knowing Willman’s secret views, he caught the funeral director’s eye across the table. ‘How do you feel?’
‘I er, have no complaints.’ The elderly shapeshifter cleared his throat. ‘I confess I preferred the old days, but of course, they’re long gone. The time when European peasants feared the shadow of the cat.’
‘Wonderful days,’ agreed Silva. ‘But you forget the torch-carrying mobs with their wooden stakes and silver bullets.’
‘But that was centuries ago, Sir,’ broke in Sarandon, the nightclub owner sitting by Fran. ‘The planet has advanced...’
‘Indeed it has,’ snapped Silva. ‘If our existence became known today, it would no longer be peasants pursuing the Elite, but specialised SWAT teams.’
‘Willman has a point about the old days,’ piped up Polanski, the computer expert. ‘I once hunted beautiful Scandinavian girls. All I feed upon now are junkies and beggars.’
Strand smiled to himself as everyone nodded in tentative agreement.
‘Excitement,’ said Fran. ‘Everyone remembers the excitement and spontaneity of the hunt before all the regulations.’
‘Security regulations are essential,’ hissed Silva. ‘If the authorities knew of our existence, modern technology would wipe us out. The Elite would be exterminated and dissected on laboratory tables. Is that what you want?’
Strand shook his head. ‘I merely advocate a leadership change to prevent stagnation and the relaxing of rules to give our people more power and freedom. I’ve no intention of jeopardising security.’
‘Yes, power,’ echoed Willman. ‘All this power and yet we’re unable to use it. We’ve always been the stronger species–the Elite species–but now we hide from our food.’ He let out a nervous laugh. ‘The Elite hides from humans and we need permission to take them.’
‘Permission even to take beggars and other scum,’ added another disgruntled voice. ‘All we’re allowed to feed upon is human garbage. Yes, we do need more freedom.’
Several heads nodded in agreement.
‘I see,’ said Silva. ‘So do you believe Matthew would make a better President?’
‘You’ve done wonders, Sir.’ Sarandon squirmed. ‘But perhaps Strand’s right and change is needed. Perhaps it’s time to step down.’
‘You see how they feel, Lucius?’ Strand held up the sunscreen. ‘And what better day could there be for change? With this Solstice we can now...’
‘Yes,’ frowned Polanski. ‘What is that?’
‘What is it?’ Strand reclined in the chair. ‘Allow me to enlighten you.’
***
Strand came to the end of explaining the cream and droplets in detail, purposely taking his time and pressing home every point.
The President sprawled in his chair, listening in silence as gasps of awe drifted around the table. ‘Well...’ he said finally. ‘My leadership would obviously appear to be unpopular.’
‘Not exactly unpopular...’ began Polanski.
He raised a hand to silence him. ‘No one, however, can accuse me of despotism. If everyone feels the same and agrees, I’ll step down and hand the Presidency to Matthew.’
Strand sat upright in genuine shock. ‘Well, if you say so, then...’
‘Feline democracy, gentlemen.’ Straightening his suit and leaning forward, Silva steepled his fingers. ‘Why don’t we take a vote?’
Chapter 66
‘It’s a long story, but I could condense it.’ The wolf sat back in the Ferrari and crossed its shaggy legs. ‘You recall I told you how I was once a student of the supernatural and mythology? It was years ago, but I became something of an authority and wrote several books...’
‘Very interesting,’ said Watson. ‘You said you were condensing this.’
‘I researched many aspects, but I was especially interested in the existence of mythological creatures: vampires, Ubasteri, werewolves and suchlike.’
Sirens sounded close by and the pair relaxed again as they faded.
Taking one of Grant’s cigarettes from a pack by the gearstick, Quist awkwardly pushed home the dashboard lighter with his paw. ‘I was compiling a work on lycanthropy - Creatures of Darkness. There were plenty of ancient references, Pliny and Plato, but nothing modern. In any case, speaking to people is always the best research, and I travelled to Eastern Europe, hoping to gather folklore first-hand and maybe find evidence of an actual werewolf.’ The lighter popped and he lit the cigarette.
‘And?’
‘And I bloody well found one, didn’t I?’
‘Wow! You got bitten?’
‘I was attacked and left for dead. You watch horror films; I imagine you know how it works.’
Watson spluttered as smoke swirled through fangs.
Quist looked as sheepish as possible for a wolf. ‘Sorry.’
‘So you were right - cigarettes can’t hurt you.’
‘They’re hardly silver bullets.’ He lowered the window, reached out a paw and tapped ash. Sirens could still be heard several streets away. ‘Fire and silver are the only things harmful to me.’
‘Those bullets outside your cottage.’ Watson narrowed his eyes. ‘And that dickhead’s SAS lighter...’
‘The touch actually hurts,’ said the wolf. ‘The bullets were painful to pick up; it’s similar to a jellyfish sting.’
‘Unbelievable! So you did get your face cut in that bar fight the other night, but it healed. Can you catch diseases and viruses and stuff? Cholera and Malaria?’
‘Not even the common cold.’
‘Hardpad, worms and mange?’
‘Don’t be facetious.’ The wolf gave a lopsided smile. ‘Every so often I have to change identities. I never grow older, you see? My hair doesn’t lengthen and I don’t shave. The years roll by and I remain exactly as I was on the night of the attack. I had to become a loner, altering names and moving around to prevent acquaintances becoming suspicious. Larry was pretty much the only friend I had.’
‘So what’s your real name?’
‘I was born Richard Quist. I rotate names - Quayle, Quist, Quinn. Sometimes I’ve masqueraded as my own grandson.’
Watson recalled the signet ring. ‘RQ? I thought that ring must’ve belonged to your dad.’
‘No. I’ve had goldsmiths thicken the band from time to time as it wore thin, but it’s done pretty well for its age.’
‘It’s age? When did it happen?’
‘1790.’
‘Er, right.’ Watson sat quietly for a moment while it sank in. ‘Anyway, some mate Larry turned out to be.’
The wolf drew on the cigarette. ‘Like me, he never asked for this and he was much older. He always found it difficult to suppress the urges we feel. The urges to kill. I met him in San Francisco after the 1906 earthquake where he was using the chaos to his, er, advantage. I tried to change him, to help him adapt, and for a long while it worked. It appears, ultimately, I failed.’
Watson checked the sky between the buildings. ‘The moon isn’t full. How come you’ve changed?’
‘I can shapeshift any time during the hours of darkness. Most evenings I change and go running in the woods.’
‘A jogging werewolf?’ Shaking his head, Watson took a deep breath and switched on the radio. ‘I’ll see if there’s a local news station reporting on possible road blocks.’ Duran Duran’s song Hungry Like the Wolf blared from the speakers and he quickly switched it off. ‘Er, yeah...’ He cleared his
throat and started the car. ‘Let’s forget the radio. I reckon the cops must be gone by now. We should be okay.’
‘They’ll still be looking for us.’ Quist picked up the phone and examined the map. ‘We’re not far from Salford Quays. This time stay clear of the main roads and I wonder if you could stick to the speed limit?’
‘I’m wondering something myself. These urges you mentioned? I’m not complaining, of course, but er, why aren’t you eating me?’
‘Ah.’ The wolf grinned. Watson really hoped it was a grin. ‘What colour are my eyes?’
The youth glanced apprehensively at the enormous furry head jammed under the roof. ‘A sort of yellowy orange glow.’
‘Amber! If they were red, you’d have problems.’
‘You’re saying it’s like cowboy movies, where goodies wear white hats and baddies wear black? Nice werewolves have amber eyes and nasty ones have red?’
‘There’s a dangerous beast within me, Watson, but I’ve managed to control it. Mainly because I’ve never taken a life.’
‘You’ve already wasted four today.’
‘I mean killing a human with tooth or claw. When a werewolf kills, or if it consumes flesh, the bloodlust grows as it did with Larry. The urges are always stronger at the full moon. I keep it restrained with yoga meditation and a vegan diet. If I consume animal products, the dark monster begins to rise.’
‘Well, whatever you do, you carry on restraining it, Guv.’ Watson pulled out of the alleyway, giggling uneasily as he recalled the beef crisps and other meaty snacks he’d offered Quist over the past few weeks. ‘Make sure you stick to those fuckin’ apples and nut cutlets whenever I’m around.’
***
Completing a cautious circuit of Silver Security Systems without headlights, Watson drew up on the Salford street some fifty yards away facing the brightly-lit entrance porch. The Ferrari engine ticked over, the wipers fighting the blizzard.
‘Well done!’ said the wolf. ‘Somehow you managed to get us here alive.’ He gestured to the van by the front doors. ‘That will be the vehicle Strand used to transport Amy and Rex.’
‘Hey, nice deduction, Guv; it’s the only other vehicle in this business park. With everything closed, this place is like a ghost town.’ Watson glanced around Raven’s Wharf. Converted warehouse office blocks loomed darkly on either side and he gazed at the huge building ahead. ‘There are no windows on those lower levels and the back doors onto the quay were steel.’
‘Yes, the front door there is the only option.’
‘It’s not much of an option, what with their meeting in full swing and the place filled with big cats. Look at the size of Tiddles in there.’
‘Yes, he obviously drinks plenty of bowls of milk.’ Quist watched the burly Costigan in reception. ‘That’s why I’m going alone. You know I’ve no choice.’
‘If what they said about it being like a fortress is right, that porch will be armoured glass and locked. There’s no way to break in.’
‘Mmmh, Strand also mentioned the defences: robo-sentries, alarms and suchlike.’
‘Exactly. You’ll last as long in there as a snowman in the Sahara.’
‘Hello!’ murmured Quist. Another Mercedes van sped along the deserted street and pulled up behind Strand’s. ‘Someone is late for the meeting.’
‘It’s the cat guy from the loony bin.’ Watson watched as Galeen jumped out and rushed through the snow to be admitted by the guard. ‘The one who ran out after us.’
‘Yes.’ The wolf deliberated. ‘How wide would you say those double doors were into the porch and lobby?’
‘Dunno,’ said Watson. ‘About eight feet. Why?’
‘So wider than the car?’
‘What? You’re thinking of driving through both sets of glass doors?’
‘No. I’m staying in this form and letting you drive. As soon as we’re in the lobby, I’ll leap out while you reverse and vanish.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘This sounds about as clever as a tissue paper condom. Listen, Guv, you er, you’re going to be okay...’ Watson gave an uncomfortable grin. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Well, I’m not planning on jumping in front of any silver bullets, but to be honest, this isn’t going to be easy. Even if I get Rex and Amy out, there’s still Strand and Stapleton. If they escape and carry out their threats, I’ll have to disappear.’
‘Yeah, that’s a pretty neat frame-up job those pussy bastards have done on you.’ The youth took a deep breath. ‘So this could easily be goodbye? I’m just starting to realise how cool being mates with a real-life werewolf could be, and now... well, now you...’
‘Good Lord!’ Quist eyed him speculatively. ‘For an awful moment, I thought you were actually going to pat me. Come on now. Weepy sentimentality doesn’t suit your cool, streetwise image.’ He smiled as affectionately as possible for a wolf and turned back to the building. ‘Let’s do it. Don’t use the headlights.’
‘What?’ gasped Watson. ‘You want to go now? There are two guards in the lobby.’
‘The longer we wait, the less chance Amy and Rex have.’ Quist held the door ajar and picked up the Uzi. ‘Let’s go, while they’re talking with their backs to us.’
‘Okay, Guv. I’ll wait for you outside that marina we passed back there.’ Watson gunned the engine and shifted into first. ‘I’m not staying in there long, so are you ready to jump?’
The wolf stuck up a shaggy thumb.
‘Here we go.’ Bracing himself, the youth tore along the street. ‘Get ready.’
The Ferrari hit the porch hard, the glazed doors exploding over the bonnet, and ploughed into the reception beyond, sending the guards diving for cover. Watson stamped on the brakes, the screech of rubber on marble joining with the ear-splitting cascade of glass as he slammed into reverse. Glass wasn’t all that fell. Triggered by vibration, a steel sheet dropped from the ceiling behind them to seal the lobby.
‘Shit!’ He rammed it hard, writing off the rear end. ‘Oh shit!’
‘Ah, some sort of security shutter,’ growled the wolf. ‘I must admit, I never expected that.’
Chapter 67
‘Oh dear!’ Strand hid his smirk at the lack of votes for Silva. ‘And now, despite all the wonderful things Lucius has accomplished, who believes it’s time for a new ruler? Who’d like to see me as leader and major changes within the society? Less restrictions and laws, greater freedom and power, not to mention the unbelievable boon of daylight existence.’
Silva sat motionless as, with the exception of Rex and Amy, everyone slowly and fearfully raised a hand. ‘I see.’ He scrutinised his nails. ‘Unanimous.’
‘Yes.’ Strand lost the battle to restrain his sneer. ‘No hard feelings, I hope?’
‘Not at all. This has been constructive and informative. I had suspicions that you all felt this way, but I was never certain.’
Strand nodded in sham regret and checked his watch. Zucco should have been here with Quist by now.
‘I’m afraid Doctor Zucco won’t be coming,’ said Silva, seemingly reading his thoughts. ‘As a matter of fact, he won’t be going anywhere anymore.’
Rex glanced at Amy. Zucco was dead? Did that mean Quist and Watson were also dead?
Silva smiled at Strand’s confused expression. ‘My security people called at the asylum shortly after you left. Killing me was never your intention, you claimed.’ The emerald eyes locked onto him. ‘That was a lie. You intended to eliminate me using your lupine assassin.’
Strand stared aghast.
‘Your secret weapon was slaughtered with Zucco and Houghton. Speaking of slaughter...’ Silva turned to the guards by the door. ‘Please try not to damage the table. It’s quite old and valuable.’
Strand’s jaw fell as th
e meaning registered. The Committee understood too, but the faster members only had time to lift their buttocks from the seats before Holland and Boam opened fire.
Several seconds ticked by before the silenced splutter of gunfire ended. Strand opened his eyes and gaped through an acrid cordite haze at the shredded carcasses around the table. Arterial splatters and scarlet puddles expanded to cover the polished surface. He turned from Fran’s bewildered frown to the petrified Rex and Amy, realisation dawning that, incredibly, their bodies were still intact. How long that would continue was debatable. Metallic snapping behind signified that Holland and Boam had reloaded.
Rex cautiously uncoiled from the shivering ball he’d contracted into, marvelling at his self-control. Sixteen cat people had been blown apart around him and his pants were bone-dry.
‘Don’t look so astounded, Matthew.’ Silva chuckled softly. ‘How could I have you shot when the bullets might have damaged Gillette’s research. Now, if you’d care to hand the disc over?’
Strand felt the hot silencer of Holland’s gun by his ear. Silva had meant what he said about a society purge; this mass execution was premeditated. The guards had evidently been briefed earlier and Strand had been used to expose the genuine feelings of the members. With the temporary exception of himself, the Committee were dead, and the chances of achieving a coup now were slim, to say the least. He took out the data disc and slid it across the table between the blood pools.
‘Thank you,’ said Silva. ‘And thank you for prompting them into disclosing their disloyalty.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ rasped Strand.
‘You need me.’ Fran eyed the smoking machine pistols. ‘Only a chemist could interpret the data on that.’
‘I have a chemist.’ Silva pointed to Amy. ‘And a lab upstairs equipped with Merlax and Porphyrene. Gillette was very helpful after Sarah mesmerised him. He even gave her these.’ He produced two containers identical to Strand’s. ‘Doctor Clarkson can analyse them and interpret the disc formulas. She’s less likely to try anything stupid.’
Amy gagged at the stench of the decomposing Committee. ‘Only if you let Rex live,’ she stammered.
