by April White
“Right.” Arman was all business, and I appreciated it.
“Connor, Shift back to Wolf form. You and I will provide defense as necessary.” I knew how much he had come to dislike fighting and killing since our adventure in medieval France, but I also knew that his Wolf was less circumspect about bloodshed than the young man was. “Let’s hope they don’t need it.”
I turned back to Arman. “Any chance you’ve Seen what’s ahead?”
He hesitated. “Ava told me about … the explosion. I haven’t Seen that.”
Maybe that just meant that he would be away from the danger if it did happen, but I said what he wanted to hear instead. “Then perhaps it was nothing.”
Just then, Bat wings fluttered in my hair and I barely resisted the urge to swipe them away. A moment later, Logan had returned to his boy form as his disembodied voice whispered from the darkness. “There’s no platform anymore, just dirt. They’ve parked two train cars on the track, and people are sleeping on the benches in them. The far end of the tunnel is sealed – no way in or out, and there are two armed Mongers about twenty feet inside the spur, about fifteen feet away from the first train car. A handgun for each was all I could see, but they look the type to carry knives on ‘em too. One’s properly asleep, the other’s nearly there, and most of the people in the train cars are out cold. Two are awake that I saw, Ava’s green-haired guy and a girl, and they’re hiding at the far end of the train. They’re talking about how to take out the guards, so they could be helpful.”
It was better news than I’d hoped, but I had difficulty believing there wasn’t some other threat he couldn’t see. Otherwise, it begged the question that always entered conversations about why concentration camp inmates hadn’t risen up against their guards, and it generally involved factors unknown to the outside.
I spoke quietly to the three young men assembled around me. I couldn’t see them in the pitch blackness, but I could sense their attention on me. “Logan, are you comfortable revealing yourself to Tam and the girl at the far end of the train?”
He scoffed. “A naked kid showing up in the middle of their party will obviously be a Shifter, so yeah, I’m fine.”
I sensed Connor’s tension beside me, but I ignored his fear for his brother. Logan would figure this out. “Okay, I need you to enlist their help. They should quietly wake all the sleepers and get them ready to leave. Tell them to wait for Arman’s lead, and he’ll take them out. If they know of any traps or any hidden threats, get that information back to us immediately. I don’t trust that Walters would only leave two guards on forty people.”
“Right.” Logan’s confidence was hearty.
“Wait, Logan – this is important. When you’ve delivered your messages, I need you to leave the ghost station and return to Holborn. This is the most likely way in for any Mongers arriving as back-up, and we need to know if they come in behind us. You are our only scout, a Bat-spy, if you will, and your information is vital to the safety of everyone down here.”
“I know you’re just trying to keep me safe, but I also know I’m the best spy you’ve got. Remember that the next time you plan something without me or Connor.”
I was careful to keep the smile out of my voice in the darkness. “Follow my orders on this, and I will.”
“Don’t get dead, brother,” Connor said quietly.
“I won’t. Mum would kill me,” Logan said just before he Shifted.
A flutter of Bat wings later, he was gone.
I exhaled. “Right. Connor, you’ll go as a Wolf. You’re faster and more agile that way. If I can get to the guard who is still awake, I’ll take him out first, but I assume he won’t go down quietly, so backup on the other guard would be appreciated. I expect trouble, so Arman, stay back in the shadows and be ready. The rails may not be live at the spur, but if they are and you need to push someone into them, do it. Surprise is our best weapon, so we have to be quick and decisive.”
“I have a knife,” Arman said quietly.
“You’d have to be too close to use it. Stay to the shadows as much as possible, and we may all get out of this alive.”
I felt the air move as Connor Shifted to his Wolf form.
I spoke the words rather than whispered them. “Let’s do this.”
Saira – 1944
Archer had moved into position ahead of me, and I had every one of my senses aimed outward for signs of Mongers. At a minimum, I hoped to feel Tom Landers before I ran into him, but I assumed any of the Werwolf troops he worked with would also be Monger.
I sensed something coming from behind us. The Holborn station platform had been deserted, despite the air raid above, and Archer had explained in hushed tones about the deep-level shelter that had been built under the Goodge Street station, which was probably where all the people had gone. Since we’d left Aldwych, we’d been alone on the tracks.
We weren’t alone anymore.
Archer stopped in front of me; he had just heard it too. He barely breathed the words into my ear. “Other side of the track. Hug the wall.” It was good advice. In the U.S., people tend to walk on the right side of things, because it’s how they drive. In the U.K., the opposite is true. We crossed to the right side of the track, tucked ourselves up against the cold bricks, and waited.
The footsteps came fast and were as silent as a runner could be. No Monger-gut, so … what, then?
“Ye alright?” came the whispered voice close enough to me that I jumped.
“Ringo?!”
“Who else?”
I nearly throat-punched him.
“How’d you find us?” asked Archer.
“Rachel told me ye’d be in the tunnels. She Saw it, I s’pose. Ye said ‘Olborn, so I picked a lock and ‘ere I am.”
“Was there anyone else about?” Archer sounded as relieved as I was.
“Streets were empty. Bloody bombs are still droppin’ though.”
As if on cue, a heavy WHUMP! resonated deep in the ground and shook the tunnel where we stood like a small earthquake. Brick dust rained around us, and Archer clicked on the Maglite. We stared at each other for exactly one second before we took off running.
The light swung in tight arcs as Archer aimed it roughly ahead of us so we didn’t trip on cables or tracks. Whatever had made that sound was big, and if Tom’s mission had anything to do with it, we had to find him.
The tunnels diverged, and we took the smaller branch to the right. A dim safety light shone up ahead, and the air was full of grit that hung like a cloud in the glow from the torch.
The platform of the abandoned British Museum station came into view, and it was full of people.
No, not people – statues.
They looked Roman or Greek, and they stood against the dirty white-tiled walls like sentries, or maybe more like an audience, because they were staring at two men who stood like actors on a stage.
“Tom!” I couldn’t help whatever reflex drove me to call out his name. He turned at the sound of my voice, and a gunshot reverberated in the tiled corridor.
Tom was flung backward just as I surged forward to leap onto the platform.
The other man leveled a gun and prepared to shoot Tom again.
“No!”
Archer hadn’t followed me up onto the edge of the platform. He had run straight down the track and leapt up behind the man, who turned to follow the motion. The man swung the pistol around to shoot at Archer, and the shot went wild as Archer tackled his legs. The gun went clattering across the floor.
I sprinted to where Tom no longer lay on the platform. He was on his feet. The bullet wound in his arm had already closed, but not before I caught a glimpse of the wound from the church and several others briefly blooming on his chest and abdomen. A part of my brain wondered how many times he’d been hurt since he left us in France. Enough apparently. The rest of my brain was trying to process what I saw beyond Tom, beyond Archer and the man wrestling for control of the gun, above the far end of the platform.
The man on the platform kicked Archer in the face and scrambled after his gun. He reached it and sent another wild shot in Archer’s direction.
“It’s a BOMB!” I shouted at them. I pointed up at the piece of shiny skin that showed through the station ceiling. My words had an electrifying effect, and everyone froze.
Then Tom burst through the suspended animation when he lunged at the man on the platform. Archer’s face was bloody from the kick to the nose, but he had recovered and grabbed at the man’s feet so Tom could wrestle the gun away.
The man fought them like a feral thing, but he was no match for the two Vampires. I saw Ringo out of the corner of my eye lurking on the track under the platform, ready to help as needed. They didn’t need it. A moment later, Tom had the gun and it was pointed at the man. A Monger, I realized, when the twisting in my gut was no longer about Archer’s safety.
The Monger was in his thirties, with the build of a boxer and the face of a street fighter. His nose had been broken more than once, and a tooth had been chipped, which was at complete odds with the fancy Saville Row suit he wore. It was dusty and one sleeve had torn, but gold cufflinks shone at his wrists, and his shoes still had the shine of a recent polish. There were scars on his knuckles though, and even the flash of gold on one finger wasn’t enough to dispel the image that he was a proper thug.
The hand in which Tom held the gun was shaking, and I instinctively stepped forward to take it from him. But Archer’s look stopped me in my tracks. Though he still held the Monger’s legs, all his attention was on Tom’s face, and without saying a word, he let go of the Monger and slowly stood up. He watched Tom as if watching a wild predator that was wary and ready to bolt.
I shifted my attention from the Monger to Tom, and I nearly took a step back away from him. I’d seen him across the church, but I hadn’t registered his appearance because of the mayhem. But now I really saw him. Tom looked so much older than when I’d seen him in medieval France. The bones in his face had been chiseled and handsome before, but now they looked razor-sharp, with the skin stretched tight over them. Tom’s eyes were bleak and hard, and he glared with unfettered rage at the Monger who still lay on the ground.
“Tom?” I ventured cautiously.
“Back off, Saira.” Ringo’s voice was low and warning, and I shot him a quick glance. He, too, was staring at Tom’s face.
Tom had eyes for no one but the Monger in front of him, and I wondered who he was and why Tom so clearly despised him.
Regardless of the answer, I couldn’t back off. I wanted to take Tom out of there and go home with him, but for that I needed to reach through his single-minded focus.
I slowly stepped over to the wall and pulled my marker out of my coat pocket. Archer had insisted I carry it since we escaped from France, and I was glad to have it now. I began to draw a spiral. Ringo noticed and nodded approvingly.
“Who is he, Tom?” I used a calm tone that I hoped sounded reasonable, as if I was asking about the weather.
I didn’t think he would answer me because all his effort seemed to bleed into holding the gun on the Monger. When he did, the voice that came out cracked as though from disuse.
“Meet George Walters, traitor, thief, beater of wives and children …” He took a shuddering breath. “And my great-grandfather.”
His great-grandfather? He came here to meet his great-grandfather? Something went clunk in my brain and instantly everything about Tom’s plan became totally clear and completely, horribly wrong. There was nothing tentative in my voice anymore. “You can’t kill him.”
My tone of voice surprised Tom, and he looked at me for the first time. I froze, the spiral half way drawn, but he didn’t seem to notice. Something softened in his eyes for the briefest moment, but then they went flinty again and he returned his glare to Walters.
“If he dies now, his son doesn’t get beaten almost to death, and then he won’t turn around and beat Seth Walters bloody. Then maybe Seth won’t rape my mother, and I’ll never be born.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Tom.” I was harsh, but I wasn’t feeling particularly generous about this. “Those things happened. They suck, and you’ve paid a huge price because of them, but you can’t just make it all go away. If you kill him, you’ll split time. One timeline will be what already happened, and the other one may look different, or maybe not. But you don’t get to play God on this. Last time you tried,” my voice got softer, “Léon died anyway.”
He flinched at that, so at least he was listening. I finished the spiral and concentrated on keeping myself outside of it as I spoke to him.
“Don’t do this, Tom. Going back and killing Hitler doesn’t change the fact that he killed six million Jews, because he did and we know it. Killing your own personal Hitler won’t change the fact that you were born, and it won’t erase the circumstances of your birth. The only direction any of us can go is forward, Tom. We take what happened and we make ourselves into people we can look at in mirrors without flinching.”
No matter what, I couldn’t let Tom kill George Walters. I caught Ringo’s eye, looked pointedly at Tom, and then at the spiral. He nodded once, reached into his pocket for something, and slunk up onto the platform. George watched us all with glittering eyes from his low position.
Tom’s voice was steely. “Time travel has the grandfather clause. He is the grandfather, so he will die.”
George lunged forward to grab the gun just as Ringo hurled his full weight at Tom. The combination was the only reason either of them succeeded. Ringo’s hit sent Tom flying into the spiral on the wall, and with a last look of hatred directed straight at me as he screamed, “NOOOOO!!!” Tom disappeared through the portal.
There was a moment of stunned silence while the echo of Tom’s voice still hung in the air, when time itself seemed to have stopped. The silence was infinite in its possibility, and it was shattered in a moment. The moment when George shot Archer.
Archer went down and George kept shooting wildly in a rage. Tiles shattered, and cement dust exploded on the platform. I leapt off the platform as bullets struck everything around me.
It felt like a war zone.
Archer – Present Day
A bullet struck the wall behind me, and a broken tile chip grazed my neck. The two guards we had disabled at the entrance to the station were still down, so this was someone new. I scanned the station to find the shooter, and I saw Connor’s Wolf change trajectory and aim for the middle of the wall where the old passenger crossover had been when the platform was still intact. Another wild shot aimed at the Wolf broke tiles, and then two more in rapid succession. The last shot had been too close. The shooter was inside that passage, now a partially bricked-up hole in the wall, in a defensive position that left us exposed. The only barrier we had working for us was part of the train car that blocked the shooter’s view of the left side of the station nearest the tunnel entrance. It was the side Adam was on with most of the mixed-bloods who had crawled out of the train cars. “Adam, go!” He didn’t hesitate. He raised his arm and swung it in a commando signal for let’s move!
Tam and Daisy, the two young people Logan had asked for help, were still on the right side of the tunnel near the blocked end. Daisy had been helping an older woman out of the train car while the green-haired young man waited to lift her down.
Everyone had frozen with the gunshots. “Wait there!” I called to them. I hoped they stayed out of sight – I wanted the only moving target to be me.
I burst forward with as much speed as the distance allowed, and the shooter unloaded his clip on me. One of the bullets tore through my coat, but just missed the shoulder. Good, I’d need it to climb.
The shooting paused for the barest of moments, and I knew he was reloading. “Go!” I yelled behind me. I hoped the kids would get the woman to Adam, b
ut my focus was on that wall.
I climbed the broken bricks in the lower section that had once been the platform, but the shooting started again too soon, which meant he was aiming at the mixed-bloods. I growled and pulled a loose brick from the wall. Another shot, and I heard a Wolf yelp in pain. Rage filled me, and I flung the brick over my head into the passage. The shots went wild, and I heard them hit tile, brick, and metal.
I hauled myself the last few feet and barreled into the passage. Bullets tore into my chest, and old wounds bloomed fresh and bloody, but I couldn’t feel them.
And then the buzzing began.
Saira – 1944
I heard a bullet ping against something metallic, and then a buzzing sound like an amplified electric transformer, or a great, mechanical bee, filled the station. I whipped my head around for the source of the sound, and then I stared up in horror.
It was a buzzbee that had lodged in the ceiling. It had been activated by a stray bullet, and the buzzing sound came from it.
Ringo had dragged Archer down onto the tracks out of the line of wild gunfire. George was still shooting the places where we’d stood until Ringo threw a brick at his head that knocked him down. No one seemed to understand that the buzzing sound was a very, very bad thing to hear, and we all needed to stop what we were doing and run.
The buzz filled my head with a sound we had to escape. And suddenly, escape was all we could do. I jumped back up to the platform and began to retrace my spiral.
Archer – Present Day
The shooter was young, barely out of his teens, and terrified. I didn’t care who he was or why he was there. I ripped the gun from his hands and hurled it out of the passage.
“Run.” I growled at him.
Blood loss made me dizzy, but I spun and leapt to the ground. I landed badly and hands helped me to my feet. “Where’s the Wolf. We have to go,” I said, my voice alarmingly weak.
