The familiar words, usually so comforting, seemed to have little effect. He wandered aimlessly, seeking only to keep moving, to put more distance behind him, and found himself on the bank of an old canal. Red-brick warehouse buildings, now converted into trendy urban apartments, backed almost to the water’s edge, leaving only a narrow muddy path for him to walk along. He set off along the path, keeping his eyes on the ground before him.
In the time since killing the priest, night had fallen, and he was glad of that. The overcast sky hid the crescent moon, and the canal path was unlit, but James found that he could see perfectly well in the dark. He preferred the night to the harsh glare of daylight which irritated his eyes.
He stopped at last in a secluded space beneath a low bridge. Discarded bottles and cans littered the path, but there were no people here. It was just as well. James couldn’t be with other people now. He was a monster.
He didn’t understand how it had happened, but he had become a beast, an outcast. It had all started that awful evening on Halloween. God had punished him for his sin. Not the sin of murdering Father Mulcahy, nor even for killing the teacher, Mr Leigh, but for being gay. Father Mulcahy had warned him, and even though he knew it was a sin, he had been too weak to follow God’s path. He could not deny his lust. And that’s why he was being punished.
There was no way to redeem himself now. He had killed, not once but twice. There was only one way out of this mess he’d made for himself. He had been weak, but now he had to be strong one last time.
He picked up a big stone from the path and put it in his jacket pocket. He found a brick and dropped it into his school bag. He added a large piece of rusty metal and some glass bottles and another stone. The bag was full and he strapped it to his back. He wasn’t sure if it was heavy enough, but it was the best he could do. He stepped to the edge of the canal and sat on the bank, his legs dangling over the side.
He stared into the cold, dark water flowing beneath the bridge. How long would it take to drown? Seconds, minutes? He had fallen into an icy pond once, up to his waist in freezing water. The shock had nearly killed him. If he jumped in this canal in the middle of winter, he might well die of the cold before he drowned. But either way, and however long it took, it would be quicker and better than a lifetime of misery. A lifetime of sin.
Suicide itself was a sin of course, but presumably a lesser one than cannibalism. And it would a be a quick one, over in seconds, harming no one else. Maybe he could just stumble and fall into the canal instead of jumping in. Would that excuse him, or would God know his true intention?
A sound startled him. A man descended the steps leading to the canal path and started walking toward him. He should push himself into the water now before the man came. But if he did, and the man saw him, he might try to rescue him. He would wait until he had gone.
The man came closer. He walked confidently, his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune. Tall, with black skin and fine features, he looked to be in his early twenties. The man wore jeans and a T-shirt that revealed a slim body and broad chest beneath. Wasn’t he cold in this wintry weather? The man smiled at James in a relaxed manner as if they were old friends. James ducked his gaze. He didn’t want to attract any attention, not now. He would wait for the man to walk on by.
The man didn’t walk past, though. He came over to where James was sitting and joined him. He squatted down, then stretched his long legs over the edge of the canal, lifting his strong arms over his head, as if he were settling down to watch the sun set on a summer evening. The man said nothing, and James stared down at his feet, willing the stranger to leave him alone.
Something about the man was peculiar, and not just his summer clothes, or his odd manner. He smelled different to other people. Familiar, somehow. Then it hit James. The man smelled of wolf.
He glanced sideways, and the man returned his look with a smile of shiny white teeth.
‘How are you doing there, kiddo?’ The stranger had a deep, resonant voice, a voice of quiet power. ‘It’s a funny night to be out counting fish.’
James grunted, wishing the man would go.
‘I assume you’re counting them, since you’ve not brought any fishing tackle along.’ When James made no reply, he continued to talk. ‘My old man used to bring me here when I was a kid. He showed me the best spots to fish, where you could avoid being seen by the coppers. They weren’t happy with people fishing along the canal for some reason. I think they just liked to find an excuse to harass a couple of black guys, to be honest. But if you could find a quiet spot, like this one, you could expect a good catch. Carp, eels, pike, even trout if you were lucky. You ever been fishing?’
James shook his head.
‘It’s a good sport to do with your dad. That father and son thing, you know? My dad wasn’t much of a talker, not like me, but he liked to fish. Fishing was his way of saying to me, you’re my son. Know what I mean? Anyway, he used to catch most of the fish, the big ones at least. The perch you can’t really eat, you throw them back in and let them swim away. But the eels? Man, they were delicious. You gotta eat them fresh though. My mum used to chop them up and fry them with garlic and spices. Turmeric, chilli, maybe even some coconut.’ He stopped and put his big hand on James’ shoulder. ‘I’m Samuel, by the way. Samuel Smalling. What’s your name?’
‘James. James Beaumont.’
‘So tell me, James, are you gonna jump in this canal, or just sit here counting fish, because if you’re gonna jump, I don’t think I’ll be joining you. I’m happy to sit and count fish though.’
James stayed silent for a minute, staring at the silky black water slipping past. He couldn’t see any signs of fish in there. ‘I was going to jump,’ he said at last. ‘I was ready to do it. But I don’t think I can now.’
‘Too bad,’ said Samuel with a grin. ‘Sorry if I put you off. Maybe you wanna talk about it instead?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It’s just that I noticed all this blood down your front, and I wondered if that had anything to do with it.’
James looked at the mess of dried blood over his jacket. ‘I just killed a man.’
‘Yeah?’ said Samuel. ‘Did he deserve to die?’
‘No,’ said James. ‘Of course not. No one deserves to die.’
‘That’s what I used to figure,’ said Samuel. ‘And yet everyone does, regardless. My dad doesn’t catch fish any more. He’s dead. My mum too. No more frying fish for her. Even my little bro’ died, and he was just a kid. Seems to me like life ain’t fair, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it.’
‘But I killed a priest. I murdered him. That’s an unforgivable sin. How can I not worry about it?’
‘A priest?’ said Samuel with some amusement. ‘You really like to do things properly, don’t you? I helped to kill a professor once, but never a priest.’
James turned to look directly into Samuel’s eyes. ‘You killed a professor?’
‘Sure I did. That’s because I’m a werewolf.’
James stared at the man sitting next to him. ‘A werewolf.’ He had known it all along. But sometimes you had to hear a thing to truly believe it.
‘We are what we are, James. You’ve never told anyone what you are, have you?’
‘I told Father Mulcahy I was a werewolf. Then I killed him.’
Samuel laughed. ‘Right. But I didn’t mean that. I was talking about you being gay.’
James’ face turned hot. ‘How did you know? I mean, I’m not gay. It’s a sin. I’ve never been with another boy.’
Samuel put his hand on his. ‘Hey, easy. No one’s here to judge you. Like I said, we are what we are.’
‘Father Mulcahy said that being gay is always a choice, and that we should make the right choice, and choose not to sin.’
‘Is that right? This Father Mulcahy seemed to know all the answers. Did he think you chose to become a werewolf too?’
‘I … I don’t know.’
‘Listen, James. None
of us knows all the answers. The world is too complicated, yeah? But we all have to make choices. So choose to be happy, James. Choose love, not hate. Always choose love.’
Chapter Eighteen
University Athletics Park, North London, crescent moon
Bright floodlights illuminated the track of the University Athletics Park on dark winter evenings, and the harsh artificial light made Adam Knight wince. He pulled on a pair of dark glasses to blot out the glare. People had laughed at his glasses the first time he’d raced in them, but he’d shrugged that off easily enough. Small-minded people always betrayed their jealousy in petty ways. Adam had trained at the track as an undergraduate, and had managed respectable times, but since turning lycanthropic he had become undefeatable. Floodlights or no floodlights, he would win this race by a country mile.
As soon as the starting pistol fired it was obvious he was pulling quickly ahead of the other runners. That was no surprise. They were only human, after all. He leaned forward, enjoying the feel of the air rushing past, stretching out first one arm, then the other, powering forward with his strong shoulders, cupping handfuls of air to drag himself ever faster. His enlarged heart pumped wolf blood through his legs as they drove him on, his feet striking the running surface with an unshakeable grip.
He was rounding the first bend already. He leaned into it, straining every muscle to take full advantage of his lead. The modest crowd cheered him on, but he shut them out, turning his focus inward, feeling the wolf power throb through his limbs.
He completed the bend and the next straight almost as if time had ceased to bind him in its worldly passage. He entered the final curve and almost floated around it, every nerve ending tuned to his goal. When he crossed the line, he knew he’d made a new personal best. He’d long since broken the university record. This would put him at Olympic performance levels. And it had been less than a year since he’d changed. Who knew what he might achieve in another twelve months?
He hardly felt tired after the race. While the other runners stumbled across the finishing line and bent over in exhaustion, he jogged another lap in front of the cheering crowd of the University Athletics Club, then went into the changing rooms to shower.
Leanna had warned him not to draw attention to himself. He was supposed to be keeping a low profile. But with Leanna herself having bitten a police officer last full moon, and the newspapers running their stupid Beast stories, competing in university-level race events hardly seemed to matter.
He found himself rubbing his nose where Leanna had bitten him, back in Romania. A pink scar served as an unwelcome reminder of his humiliation. He had kowtowed to her then, but the bitch had better watch her back. Adam had never enjoyed being in second place.
‘Adam? Can I have a word when you’ve finished?’ The athletics coach, Brian Wooley stood at the entrance to the showers. He’d helped Adam improve his technique when he’d first started running, but he was out of his depth now. He could barely understand Adam’s extraordinary performance, let alone offer any useful advice on how to improve. Adam regarded the coach’s out-of-condition body with ill-concealed disdain.
‘Sure, Coach, whatever,’ called Adam. ‘With you in five.’
Once he’d changed, he knocked on the door to the coach’s dreary office. He entered when Brian responded with a ‘Come in.’
Adam stood in the cramped office in preference to sitting. His limbs still felt alive from the race. His exertion had not fatigued him, merely warmed him up. He felt as if he could repeat the race in an even quicker time now. ‘What’s up, Coach?’ he asked.
Brian sat behind an old wooden desk, his silver brows knotted in a furrow. ‘You’re doing well, Adam, very well. And it’s only Michaelmas Term. There are another six months until the inter-university finals in June.’
‘Sure,’ said Adam lightly. He wondered if the old man was going to tell him anything he didn’t already know.
‘You’re winning, Adam,’ said Brian. ‘Always winning.’ His voice trailed off. There was clearly something on his mind.
‘Is there a problem?’ Adam demanded.
Brian fixed him with a hard appraising stare. ‘I dunno, Adam. No problem with your times, that’s for sure. You’re winning every race.’
‘So?’
‘Everyone wants to win. Some people will do anything to become a winner. Anything at all. But I want to make one thing clear. I run a clean team at this university. You understand me? Clean.’
‘I understand,’ said Adam coolly. ‘I understand exactly what you’re saying.’
‘I don’t know what you’re using,’ said the coach. ‘Steroids, human growth factor, diuretics. Whatever it is, I’m going to find out. And I’ll tell you this, I can’t risk the reputation of the club. I’ve built this club over twenty years. And I can’t risk one bad apple ruining its reputation. So I’m going to suspend you, Adam, until I know you’re clean. I’ll give you some time to fix yourself up, then we’ll run some tests. Once I know you’re clean, you can run again. You understand?’
Adam felt his rage building as he listened to these words. He approached the desk, putting his fists down and leaning over it toward the coach. ‘Oh, I understand all right,’ he told the old fool. ‘But it seems you don’t. I’m already clean. I’ve never taken any kind of drug or performance-booster. What you see is natural, but you’re too much of an idiot to recognize it. So you can test me now, and I’ll pass all your tests, just like I intend to win every race.’
The coach shook his head. ‘I know you’re angry, son, but like I said, a few months off racing will be good for you and good for the club. Now go home and I’ll tell you when it’s time to come back.’
Adam smashed his fist on the desk. He wished he could transform into wolf form at will, to show the old man his true nature. But even in human form he had the power to destroy. ‘No,’ he raged, ‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. This club needs new blood. People like me. You’re from the old world. Soon people like you will be gone, and the world will belong to me and those like me.’ He swept his hand across the desk, hurling papers and pencils to the floor. ‘You’re a lucky old man, Coach. You’re going to be one of the first to see.’
Brian pushed his chair away from the desk, his eyes uncertain, thinly disguised fear on his face. ‘See what?’
‘This!’ shouted Adam. He crossed the desk and the space beyond in a single leap, watching as the coach’s eyes went wide with surprise. Adam landed on his feet and grasped the old man’s shoulders with fingers of steel, burrowing claw-like nails into his flesh. The coach gasped with pain and terror.
Before Brian could move, Adam pushed his head to the man’s throat, opening his mouth wide, and clamping down hard. The coach gurgled and began to scream, but Adam crushed his windpipe quickly, killing the scream almost as soon as it had started. He sucked blood from the wound, then withdrew. Too much anger surged through his veins for him to feed.
He drew back his right hand and struck the coach’s dead features with his curled fist, enjoying the crack as the nose smashed. He lifted his fist and struck again and again, tearing skin and crushing bone with each new strike.
Some wild instinct had taken over and he lost track of how long he beat the man, and how many bites, blows and kicks he gave him. When the bloodlust finally burned itself away, the body of the coach was unrecognizable.
Adam stood, drawing himself to his full height, gazing down at the broken man with contempt and loathing. He bared his teeth once more and turned away from his work. The age of the werewolf was here now. Anyone who stood in its way would be destroyed.
Chapter Nineteen
Manor Road Secondary School, South London, quarter moon
Something was up, Vijay Singh was sure of it. It had started with Mr Leigh, the Geography teacher, and now it was spreading. Some kind of mystery illness was going around the school, but nobody knew what it was. Several of the teachers had been off sick. Students too. When they came back – if they d
id – they seemed different. They were cold and distant, even hostile.
Vijay’s friend Thomas Murray had been off sick for three weeks. When he returned to school, he refused to tell Vijay why he’d been away. In fact he’d barely spoken a word to Vijay since he got back. There was something wrong about him. His features were pale and drawn. His eyes glittered yellow. The way Thomas looked at him made Vijay afraid.
But it wasn’t just that. Children had gone missing.
Jamie Jones and Max Thompson had been given detention for failing to hand in their English essay last week, but they had never shown up. No one had seen them since, and the school had alerted the police.
Lee Small had got into trouble for flooding the boys’ toilets and was sent to the Headmaster’s office. He was never seen again.
Now, Mr Harvey the Biology teacher hadn’t arrived for the afternoon class, and he was always strictly on time. After Geography, Biology was the subject Vijay enjoyed most. Mr Harvey made it so interesting. Instead of droning on at the front of the class, Mr Harvey always got them to use their hands and study things for themselves. He’d once got the class to build a model of a DNA molecule so they could see for themselves how it worked. The big double helix still stood on the floor in the corner of the classroom. But there would be nothing to learn this afternoon. Mr Harvey was nowhere to be seen. Fifteen minutes without supervision and his class had run riot.
One of the loud girls, Holly Brady, had done a karaoke session with her phone, standing up on top of her desk. Some of the other girls had clapped and sung along. Vijay had hoped that would bring a teacher running, but the whole performance had gone unremarked.
Two of the thick-headed kids at the back had got into a fight that had ended with one of them hurling a chair across the classroom, narrowly missing the DNA molecule. Even that had gone unnoticed.
Lycanthropic (Book 1): Wolf Blood Page 9
