by Amy Cross
"Another time," I say. "I'm just tired."
He nods, and then he walks away. I know I should go after him and tell him that everything's okay, but the truth is I know I can do that tomorrow or the day after, whereas I need to see Patrick now. Actually, maybe it's Vincent I really need to see. After all, I can talk to Patrick all night, but he can't say anything back to me. Can't or won't. Vincent doesn't mind answering my questions, though, so I guess I need to see both of them. Either way, Adam can wait until I have some free time.
As I hurry down the street, on my way to find Patrick and Vincent, I can't help worrying that I'm treating Adam like he's just a hobby. Then again, maybe that's all he is.
Unfortunately, once I get to the forest, I realize that once again I can't find the entrance to Patrick and Vincent's home. I've been here half a dozen times now, but finding the entrance to the tunnel that leads down there is always difficult. Instead, I end up stumbling about the woods on the edge of town, usually at night, usually for hours without having any luck. It's almost like the entrance isn't always there, like it's hidden from being recognized. Probably a good idea. I doubt they want any unexpected visitors.
Also, I think I'm being followed.
I stand still in the moonlight, listening. As I walked through town to get here, I felt as if someone was trailing me. Since I entered the woods, I've heard the occasional rustle far off behind me. I'm pretty sure that Adam is tailing me, which is a problem. How the hell am I supposed to explain the fact that I'm out here in the woods in the small hours when I told him I was tired?
I turn to face the dark trees. "Okay, Adam," I say, despite the fact that I can't see him. I know what I'm going to say when he confronts me. I'm going to tell him that I knew he was following me, and that I led him out here so we can make love. After all, it's a warm night. I'll tell him I was hoping it would relax me to be out here, and then we'll see what happens. He'll probably get frustrated when we have to stop, because there's no way I can hide the pain from him, it's too intense. Still, it's my only option. There's no way I can tell him about Patrick and Vincent.
There's a cracking sound in the undergrowth, like someone stepping on a twig.
"Adam," I say. "Come on, get out here where I can see you."
Silence. This is starting to get a little creepy. It's crossed my mind that maybe it's not Adam at all, maybe it's Patrick, but I have to be careful. There's also an outside chance it's neither of them, that it's some random ax murderer, but that's okay: I kind of feel as if Patrick's always watching me, ready to help if I get into any real danger. In a way, I feel safer than ever.
I open my mouth to call Adam again, but a figure steps out from behind a tree. I can instantly see that it's not Adam. It's not Patrick, either. I tense up a little and start glancing around, hoping Patrick's out there somewhere.
"I'm not alone," I say. "I know it looks like I am, but I'm not. You should go away right now."
The figure steps forward. The moon has gone behind a cloud so there's very little light, but I can just make out the guy's face. I've never seen him before. He's very thin, with long hair down to his shoulders. He's wearing dark clothes, with what looks like a tunic.
"I'll be off, then," I say. "Have a nice night." I turn to walk away, but I'm immediately aware that he's coming up behind me. I turn back just as he reaches me. He grabs me by the shoulders and leans in, sniffing me. I try to push him off but he's too strong, and he's holding me in place with no problem. After a moment, he looks straight into my eyes, and then past me. Finally he lets go of my shoulders.
"Are you looking after this one?" the stranger asks someone who I haven't seen yet. I turn and see Patrick standing close. I hadn't heard him arrive, but he's here and I don't think I've ever been more grateful to see him.
"Tell her to keep better company," the stranger says. He steps past me and makes his way over to Patrick. "Goes for you too. If you happen to bump into any undesirables around here, you should tell them they're very, very late paying their debts, if you know what I mean."
Patrick, as always, says nothing. He just stands his ground. I don't think he's actually looked at me yet, he's just staring at this strange man, as if he doesn't dare look away for a second.
"You know the terms," says the man. "A hundred years. It's been a lot longer than a hundred years and still he keeps running And the funny thing is, I can smell him here." He looks at me. "Met any strange men recently?"
I don't say a word. I feel like I'm in the middle of something that's completely above my head, and I don't want to say anything in case I make things worse for Patrick.
"Just be careful," says the stranger. He steps toward me, but as he does so he steps into the moonlight and his whole body seems to change slightly: he still looks human, but with wild, animal-like eyes that glow faintly yellow, and the way he stands seems different, as if he's more muscular and more compact. As soon as he passes through the patch of moonlight, he looks completely normal again, as if the moonlight changed how I saw him, just for a moment. He reaches out to touch my shoulder. "You don't want to -"
He's interrupted as Patrick lunges at him, pulling him away from me and onto the ground. The stranger struggles as Patrick holds him down, but it seems he can't get free. I take a step back.
"You know what I'd suggest," says the stranger, looking up into Patrick's face. "I'd suggest you keep out of this, and tell your young lady to do the same. Give us a day, we'll deal with him and we'll move on." At that point, he manages to push Patrick off. As he does so, the stranger makes a sound almost like he's growling. He rolls onto Patrick and snarls at him. "You've interfered before, vampire. Don't think you'll get away with it a second time."
Patrick pushes him off, and then he gets to his feet, grabs the stranger and throws him through the air into a nearby tree. The stranger slams against the tree and crashes to the ground, letting out a loud yelping sound as he does so.
"You haven't changed much," he snarls as he gets to his feet. "Don't say I didn't warn you. You know who's coming." With that, he turns and limps off into the forest.
Patrick starts walking away. I follow him, not saying anything, and within a couple of minutes we're at the tunnel entrance that leads down below. Without even acknowledging me, Patrick starts walking into the darkness. For a moment, I wonder whether I should just go home, but then I realize that if he didn't want me there, he wouldn't have led me to the entrance.
As soon as we reach the cavern where Patrick's house sits, something strange happens. Patrick stops, look at me for a moment, then turns and leaves. I consider following him back out, but it's pretty clear that he brought me down here and he wants me to stay. Why? To protect me? To give me a chance to speak to Vincent? It's always so hard to work out what Patrick means, but I'm fairly sure he didn't lead me down here just so we could walk back out. Obviously he's got something he needs to do, and it's almost as if he wants to keep my out of the way.
"Hey!" I call after him, but it's hopeless. He's already long gone.
There's something perpetually strange about this place. I'm in a large stone cavern hidden deep underground, with little in it other than a fairly old-looking house that - if Vincent is to be believed - simply dropped down through a hole in the ground. It certainly looks as if the house dropped down here: it's at an angle, and it looks damaged, and the roof of the cavern high above looks like it's healed after some kind of trauma.
Vincent is in his study, a large room with bookcases on every wall. I don't know much about Vincent; in fact, I know as little about him as I know about Patrick, but I trust him. Well, I trust both of them. Well, I think I do...
"Sophie," says Vincent, looking up from his work and taking off his reading glasses. "When did we last see you? It must have been months ago."
To my surprise, he gets up from his chair, walks over and immediately hugs me.
"Hi," I say. "Sorry, I've been so busy." That's kind of a lie. I've just been waiting for Patrick to find me, h
oping he'd come to my window, and getting gradually more and more disappointed by his failure to appear. I feel as if, following the mix-up with Rose Tisser, Patrick has become a little less interested in me. It's almost as if I offended him, and now he wants to keep a safe distance.
"It's good to see you," Vincent says. "I must admit, I was wondering where you'd got to, nut I knew we'd see you sooner rather than later. Do you want some wine?"
He goes to a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of red wine, pouring us a glass each. I accept, even though I don't really want any right now.
"Patrick brought you down?" Vincent asks.
"Yes," I say. "He found me outside."
Vincent raises his glass and takes a sip. "You were looking for us?" he asks.
"Actually, I was being followed," I say.
Vincent nods. "Yes, I imagine you were. Don't be offended, but I can smell it on you. Well, not 'it'. More like... 'them'. Two of them, with quite distinct scents."
He sits behind his desk and I go to sit on a nearby leather sofa. "I met a man tonight," I tell him. "Two men, actually. The first one was at a club. He said he knows Patrick. The second one was in the woods just now; he seemed to know Patrick as well, and there was something strange about his eyes. I just... I didn't think so many people knew about you and Patrick."
"They don't," says Vincent. "We keep ourselves very much to ourselves, but there are people from the past, and occasionally they show up. Tell me about the first man you met. Scottish, was he?"
I nod.
Vincent seems disturbed by the news. "That's what I feared," he says. "I knew this would happen, but I hoped maybe there'd be some other way. Listen, the best thing is for both of us to keep out of it. We must let Patrick handle the whole sorry mess. He's more than capable. You'll have to stay down here until he's finished, but that's okay, we have plenty of food and it'll give us a chance to get to know one another."
"Stay down here?" I ask. "For how long?"
"Don't worry," he replies. "Patrick should have things tidied up by sunrise. He's a fast worker, and I don't think he'll have any trouble understanding what to do. He's not someone who ever makes the same mistake twice."
"Mistake?" I ask.
Vincent smiles awkwardly, as if he's said too much already. "The men you met tonight are dangerous," he says. "I'm sure you already realized that. And you have their scent on you, which means they could decide to involve you in their conflict. That's why you should stay down here, where you're safe." He looks at me, as if he's trying to understand me, almost as if he's trying to read my mind. "They're not human. You understand that, don't you?"
"But they can't be vampires," I say. "You said that Patrick's the last."
"There are three species on this planet," he continues. "Humans, vampires and... well, they call themselves lyca, but you probably know them as werewolves." He smiles. "That's not an entirely accurate description, but it does the job. They're not to be toyed with, just as you wouldn't toy with a vampire."
"Werewolves?" I say, with a sinking feeling. "Those men were werewolves?"
Vincent smiles.
Sighing, I realize I'm in way over my head. My natural curiosity has been put on the back-burner, and I'm starting to accept that I should probably just follow Vincent's advice.
"Is Patrick okay?" I ask. "If they're dangerous..."
"Patrick will be fine," Vincent says. "He'll deal with the situation before the other lyca arrive. He knows that's the best way to handle things."
"What's going on?" I ask. "What's the problem?"
"Don't worry," says Vincent. "Patrick is resolving everything as we speak. He'll be back in a few hours, and then it'll be safe for you to go back up. There are certain... tensions that have to be resolved, but as I said, Patrick is more than capable of making sure that everything works out well."
We both look up as we hear a noise somewhere else in the house. It sounds as if Patrick's back already. I look at Vincent, who seems a little concerned. We look over at the door as Patrick enters, carrying a man in his arms. The man is badly hurt, with blood pouring from wounds on his face and all over his body, and his clothes are torn to shreds, exposing more cuts and scratches all over his torso and legs. He looks as if he's been attacked and savaged by a pack of wild animals.
It takes me a moment to realize that I've seen this man before. It's Hamish, the Scottish guy from the nightclub, and he looks like he's about to die. I stand up and look at Patrick, and I see something in his eyes that I've never seen in him before: a look of complete helplessness.
Hamish
London - 1650
Two guards drag me along a corridor in the Palace of Westminster and into a large hall, where an assortment of dignitaries, officials and onlookers are gathered. I'm thrown to the floor so fast, I actually skate along the marble for a few meters until I come to rest at the foot of a large wooden desk, upon which a fat and humorless-looking man is scribbling something on a piece of paper.
"What's his name again?" asks the scribbler after a moment.
"We do not know, your honor," says another of the men. "There is some speculation that it is Robert, although others have heard him called by the name Hamish."
The scribbler looks shocked. "Is he Scottish?" The last word drips from his tongue with utter disdain.
"He seems to be," says the other man, with a disgusted tone to his voice.
The scribbler jots some more things down. "And is this the lady?" he asks, not looking up.
"It is."
I sit up. To my horror, Hannah is being restrained by two guards. Her eyes are red with tears, her nightgown is ripped, and she looks absolutely terrified. I have to help her, but I have to make sure she doesn't get killed in the attempt. I glance around at the other men in the room; my mind is racing as I try to work out a plan. I don't have long.
"There is no point prolonging this," says the scribbler. "Guard."
I turn as I hear the sound of metal against metal, and then a thick sword slices straight through my back, into my heart, and out the front of my chest.
Hannah lets out a scream. One of the guards slaps her.
"Shut that woman up," barks the scribbler.
The sword is roughly pulled out of my body and I'm allowed to fall to the floor. The pain is intense, and I can feel blood flooding my heart. I won't die, of course, but it will take some time to heal, and I won't be in a position to help Hannah. I've failed her.
"Bury him in a pauper's grave," says the scribbler. "And take the sniveling woman away. She must consider how she might regain her honor after this little dalliance."
I try to call out to Hannah as she's led away, but there's too much blood in my mouth. I want more than anything to promise her that I'll find my way back to her. Because I will. No matter what they do, no matter how deep they bury me, I'll find my way back and I'll be with her again, and when I'm at full strength, I'll come back to this place and rip out all their hearts.
"I will have her in my quarters," says the scribbler to one of the other men. They clearly believe I'm dead, and are in no hurry to clear away my body. I wait, slowly gathering strength. This will be a futile move, but I'm sure I can at least take the architect of my death with me. As soon as I feel ready, I leap from the floor and with a roar I throw myself at the scribbler, knocking him to the ground.
By the time the guards can pull me off, I have eaten half the bastard's face; eaten and swallowed it. Would that I could have the chance to pass it out the other end of me.
I'm pulled backwards and another sword slices through my chest, then another pierces me in the neck. As I fall to the ground and begin to black out, I see at least that Hannah's tormentor is also dead.
Sophie
"You should never have brought him here!" shouts Vincent, clearing a space on the sofa so that Patrick can put Hamish down. I've never seen Vincent angry, I've never even heard him raise his voice before, but he's almost shaking with rage. "You're making the same mistake you made
before!" he says, tipping out a small bag of medical supplies onto the floor as he starts to examine Hamish's ripped and bloodied body. "I never thought you could be so stupid, Patrick. Not in a thousand years did I think you could be such a fool!"
I look at Patrick. He's watching helplessly as Vincent tries to tend to Hamish's wounds.
"He's going to live," says Vincent, still working furiously as he applies dressings and liquids to the wounds that cover Hamish's body, "but some of these bites are so deep, there's no way of knowing how much damage there might be." He stops working and steps back. "I can't even tell you if he'll be able to walk again." He glances at me, then looks at Patrick. "I don't care how good a friend he is, or was, you made a terrible mistake bringing him down here. You put all of us in jeopardy. Do you understand that?"
Patrick just stares at him.
"Sometimes," says Vincent slowly, "I fear for your ability to think about things under pressure. One of these days, your sense of misguided loyalty is going to get one of us killed. If you want to die, there are easier ways than attracting an army of wolves into your own home, do you understand?"
Patrick doesn't respond.
"You should listen to your father," says a voice from behind. We all turn to see the stranger from earlier standing in the doorway. It's the same guy who followed me through the woods. "You're risking your life, and the lives of your friends, just to protect someone who only cares about himself."
"You're not welcome here," Vincent says, with fear in his voice.
"Calm down," says the stranger, stepping into the room. "It's just me. I split from the rest of the pack and I covered up the scents you left on the way down here. You're safe, this time. But I hope you won't keep relying on me like this." He turns to Vincent. "It's been a long time, old man."
"Not long enough," says Vincent tersely.
