Chapter Eleven: The Cure
Mitchell insisted that Paddington take him to Lisa’s, so they climbed into Paddington’s yellow Hillman and putted along the streets in tense silence. Their argument in the city garden kept replaying in his mind, as did Mitchell pointing a rifle at the mayor. How long before they came to blows? How was he supposed to trust this man?
But then, Mitchell seemed to prefer fear to trust.
“Here we are,” Paddington said, parking and climbing out.
Mitchell prepared to kick down the locked door. Paddington nodded him aside and took the spare key from under the mat.
The front room was empty. Mitchell flicked the light on and checked the house through his rifle’s sights. Without its usual smells of baking and spice, the house felt lifeless and cold. There were no signs that Lisa had returned here, because Paddington had told Quentin not to let her, and no clothes were missing, because Paddington had planned to collect some after ditching the Team, so the two of them went to leave.
As they made their way out the front gate, Clarkson made his way in. Paddington sent an inquisitive glance Mitchell’s way and the Mainlander said, “In case she returns.”
“No going through her stuff,” Paddington shouted at Clarkson.
“But there may be clues in her drawers,” Clarkson said. The front door slammed and Paddington assumed the conversation, and Lisa’s privacy, was over. Pretty soon the Team would have solid evidence that he and Lisa were an item, but since there was nothing to do about it, Paddington climbed into his car.
Mitchell slid into the passenger’s seat. “Your house next.”
“What for?” Paddington asked.
“So I can eliminate you from our list of suspects.”
That was a laugh. Mitchell suspected everyone.
As they drove, Paddington asked, “Do you realise you’re in the prophecy?”
“You what?”
“You came here to beget peace – by stopping the werewolf – and you’re constantly decrying Archi. And once you get in contact with your superiors, you’ll certainly be able to summon destruction.”
“Except I’m not a demon.”
“Demons are people too,” Paddington reminded him. “Seems the ‘demon’ is whoever’s going to stop the Three Brothers… whoever they are.”
Mitchell nodded. “Congratulations, detective. You’ve just shown that your prophecy is vague enough to mean anything.”
They arrived at Paddington’s and entered. As Mitchell swept the front room with his rifle, he said, “That’s the problem with people who readily believe. You invent a neat little truth that’s comfortable to believe rather than honestly seeking real, hard truth.”
Paddington shrugged. “And maybe you dismiss real truth out of hand in your hurry to search the next spot.”
“Truth is Truth,” Mitchell said. “You can’t dismiss it, can’t mistake it. If it’s there, you know it.” But Mitchell’s voice didn’t quite match his words. How long had he been searching without finding his truth? Was it better to believe without evidence, or to believe nothing at all?
Paddington followed Mitchell as the Mainlander checked each room of Paddington’s house and, finding nothing – luckily not Lisa’s laptop, hiding under his mattress – Mitchell left. Not that that meant someone wasn’t still outside, watching him.
Somehow, Paddington doubted they’d be able keep up with his car all the way to Quentin’s.
Paddington shoved the change of clothes Lisa had left in his wardrobe into a backpack and headed for the front door, flicking lights off as he went.
When he came to his front room, the light was already off. He sensed a dark shape right beside him.
“Gah!” Paddington said.
The dark shape lit a candle.
“…your grace,” Paddington added.
Duke Adonis Andraste placed the candle on the dining table. He was dressed in a dark suit and polished shoes. Paddington doubted the duke owned casual wear, at least under an ordinary understanding of the term.
“I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t see you there,” Paddington said.
“Rather the point,” said the duke. “I need a word with you away from your new friends.”
“About them, I—”
The duke waved him down. “You had noble intentions, but now that you see what people from the Mainland are really like you understand why we must expedite their departure.”
Knowing what to look for, Paddington recognised why the duke’s smile had upset him: the eyeteeth were elongated, like a carnivore’s. He thought the ones in the bottom row were as well, but these were harder to spot by candlelight and he couldn’t exactly ask Adonis to spit them out.
“How can I help, my lord?”
“You misunderstand,” said the duke. “I do not need help, but offer it.” He sat at the table and motioned for Paddington to sit opposite. “I should apologise. Though I knew of the affliction, I was unaware it had spread to Miss Tanner.”
Paddington stared into the slitted pupils and nodded his thanks at the apology. Not that there had actually been one.
“If you are firm of stomach,” said the duke, “there is a cure.”
“How do I save her?” he asked.
Never a man to be rushed, the duke paused for a few seconds before fixing Paddington’s gaze and saying, “She must eat the heart of the werewolf that bit her.”
“Raw?” Paddington asked.
“Pardon?”
“Does she have to eat it raw, or can it be cooked?”
“I…” The duke frowned. “Perhaps it is best not to take the chance.”
Paddington nodded. It wasn’t like they could try again if they got it wrong.
“Thank you, sir,” he said.
“If you should succeed, then retesting Miss Tanner will show her to be human, these Mainlanders will believe it was all a hoax, and I shall allow them to contact their superiors.”
Paddington had wanted a cure; well here it was. But murder?
The duke had reached the door, each footstep soundless. Paddington remembered the figures in the shadows and wondered whether Adonis was as graceful on branches and over rooftops.
“Oh,” said the duke, “and do drop round for dinner tomorrow. I am most anxious to hear of our new… friends.”
With a final sharp-toothed smile, the vampire disappeared into the night.
Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown Page 26
