by JL Merrow
Abruptly Nick couldn’t care less about maintaining the illusion of politeness. “No? Were you expecting something more like that sadistic bastard you turned him over to?” His hands were clenched into fists, and he trembled with the effort of not launching himself at the man.
Herrscher gave an approving smile that made Nick feel sick to his stomach. “So. You are stronger than you look. Good. Schräger exceeded his authority and was disciplined for it.”
“Gave him a good thrashing, did you?” Nick asked, unable to keep the disgust out of his tone.
“You have not a pack, I think?” The smug expression didn’t change. “You know nothing of discipline.”
“And you know nothing about fatherhood.”
Herrscher’s eyes narrowed. “I had thought you would wish my help in finding the boy. Perhaps I am wrong.”
Nick fought down the instincts that screamed at him to rip out the bastard’s throat. “You know something? Then tell me, damn you!”
“Schräger has disappeared also.”
Nick took in a deep, shuddering breath as he was hit with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The thought of Julian with that bastard made him want to throw up—but if Schräger had him, Julian was probably alive.
“When?”
Herrscher shrugged. “For a few months. Schräger had become a troublemaker. It became necessary to discipline him further in the eyes of the pack. But he is not a man who takes these things well. When he disappeared, it was not a surprise.”
Then he could have been the wolf on Coe Fen—could certainly have been Tiff’s shadow in the bicycle sheds. Had he come looking for revenge on Herrscher via his son? Or had he just wanted to salve his ego with someone he’d always been able to dominate?
Nick felt physically sick. “Wait—you knew, and you did nothing to warn Julian? Have you told the police this? Given them a description of the man?”
“This is not a matter for the police. It is unfortunate that they have become involved. And I had no grounds to believe that he would seek my son.”
“Not a matter for the police? Are you mad? This man is a killer. We need to find Julian, quickly.”
“And we will find him. Do you wish for your true nature to be revealed, Dr. Sewell? I will not risk the liberty of my pack in any way. It is unlikely that Schräger will harm the boy.”
Nick stared. “I think, Herrscher, that we have very different definitions of the word harm. Also of acceptable risk.”
Herrscher sneered. “I would agree with you there, Dr. Sewell. But we do not even know for certain if it is Schräger who has him. You have grounds to believe that it is him?”
“I have reason to believe a wolf has been stalking Julian, yes.” Nick was loath to bring Tiffany into this as a witness. He wouldn’t wish Herrscher on his worst enemy, let alone an eighteen-year-old girl whose only crime was wearing the wrong jacket.
“And you have information on this wolf’s whereabouts?” he persisted.
“A sighting here in the college—which is no use at all—and another on Coe Fen. But I’ve searched around the Fen Causeway area—it’s like looking for a needle in a bloody haystack.” Nick’s jaw clenched at having to admit his failure to Herrscher.
“You scented another wolf?”
“Yes.” Nick’s face twisted as he snarled the word.
“Then we will start there. If it is Schräger, then we will know. And we will track him.”
“What makes you think you’ll do any better than I did?”
Herrscher just looked at him, a smug smile playing about his lips that made Nick want to rip his face off. “We have a little more experience, I think,” he said at last, his tone inoffensive to the point of insult.
Clenching his teeth until his jaws ached, Nick forced himself to think of practicalities. “How will I reach you, if I need to?” Herrscher reached into his pocket for a mobile phone, and they exchanged numbers. “Where are you staying?” Nick asked, dismally failing to keep his tone conversational.
“Outside of town. A house in a village. It is more private than a hotel.”
“You managed to arrange that very quickly.”
Herrscher cocked his head to one side, and for a ghastly moment Nick could actually see some resemblance to Julian. “I did not think you wished me to come here to discuss rental arrangements, Dr. Sewell, but to find the boy. Or was I mistaken?”
Nick took an involuntary step forward, his fists clenching. The two henchmen mirrored his movement, and Herrscher, damn him, laughed. “We will go, I think. Kommt.” He turned and led the way from Nick’s rooms. The bulky one, Luther, backed out slowly, his eyes tracking Nick until the door closed behind them.
Exhausted, Nick sank into a chair. He jerked at the sound of a knock on the door. “What?” he yelled, then recollecting himself, “Come in.”
Faces carefully schooled into blandness, a group of second-years trooped in. Nick looked at his watch. Their supervision should have started ten minutes ago, he realized. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to will himself calmer. When he opened them again, three white faces were staring at him. “Well, sit down,” he snapped.
They scrambled to obey. “Dr. Sewell?” Erica Sumner (a bit of a no-hoper; possibly Daddy played golf with Angus Lemon) had a bit of a tremor in her voice. “Um, I’m afraid I didn’t manage to do all the questions you set last time—”
Stretched to its limit, Nick’s temper broke with an almost audible twang. “What the hell are you doing here today, then?” he snarled. “For Christ’s sake, why do I even bother?”
Erica flinched back from him and made a small sound in the back of her throat. Nick realized he was standing there with his fists clenched, shouting down into the face of a frightened teenage girl. Appalled, for a moment he could only stand there, staring into her widened eyes. Just like a rabbit, his treacherous wolf-brain supplied. Sitting there, waiting to have her throat ripped out….
Christ, what the hell was happening to him?
Nick stepped back and back again. “The supervision is canceled.” His desk made a good, solid barrier between him and the students, with their provocative scents and confusing body language. “I am unwell. Alternative arrangements will be made for you at a later date.”
There was a long silence.
“Dr. Sewell…?”
Nick looked up. “It means you may go.” Dear God, please just go.
“But….”
“Get out, damn it!”
Casting nervous glances at one another, they left. Exhausted, Nick sank into his chair.
This could not go on. He needed to be searching for Julian, not nursemaiding overprivileged adolescents. Suddenly Nick couldn’t bear to stay in this place a moment longer. He grabbed his jacket, slammed the door of his rooms behind him, and half ran down the stairs and out of college.
Chapter Seventeen
TIFF PICKED at her shepherd’s pie, which had all but gone cold. She’d sat at the end of one of the three long tables in Hall, so that Crack would be able to find her easily if he ever bloody turned up. It also made her nice and conspicuous to all the idiots who liked to point and gossip. She jumped as the chair next to hers was pulled back with a scrape, and Crack folded himself into it like a piece of Goth origami. He’d gone for the veggie bake, she noted, looking at his tray. Somehow she wasn’t surprised.
“Have you got it?” she asked.
A couple of girls sitting across the table from Tiff gave her startled glances. Probably thought they were witnessing a drug deal. Tiff felt her mouth quirk up, slightly amazed she could still smile at a time like this.
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Crack said in a low voice, managing to look shifty even as he shoveled vegetables into his mouth.
“Well?”
“What are you going to do with it?”
The girls across the table were still watching intently out of the corners of their eyes. Tiff bit back a retort that it was none of his sodding business. “I’m going to giv
e it to Dr. Sewell,” she told him as quietly as she could. One of the girls dropped her fork. Tiff rolled her eyes.
“Not the police?” Crack mumbled indistinctly, his mouth full.
“If I was going to tell them, do you think I’d have needed you? Look, eat up and we’ll talk about it outside, okay?”
Crack set to like he’d been starving for a week, which, looking at him, didn’t seem that unlikely. Tiff tried to force a couple more forkfuls down, then gave it up as a bad job. Any more of this and she’d be losing weight. The friend-in-mortal-peril diet.
She couldn’t see it catching on.
Tiff was grateful for the fresh, cold air on her face when they finally got out of Hall. She stood for a moment on the stone steps, breathing it in as Crack stepped up beside her. The college looked smaller in the dark, somehow. It wasn’t like King’s or Jesus, with great big lumps of architecture preening in the spotlights. All Saints’ was just small, unassuming, and homey. At least, it had been until Julian’s horrible ex had arrived on the scene. Tiff shivered, drawing Jools’s jacket more tightly about her. Her insides seemed to tie themselves in knots as she wondered if he was all right, and suddenly she was glad she hadn’t been able to eat much.
“So, what have you got?” she asked abruptly.
Crack looked startled for a moment, then dug into his jeans pocket. He handed her a wodge of A4 paper, folded half a dozen times and still warm from his body heat. Tiff opened it up impatiently. There were… she counted eight addresses on the sheet, in round, childish handwriting.
“That’s it?”
Crack shrugged. “Places round here don’t stay empty for long. These are the ones we know about that were empty just after the start of term, and still haven’t had anyone move in.”
“Right. Thanks, Crack.” About to head straight off, Tiff paused. “How did you get this list, anyway?”
“One of the girls I’m sharing the house with is going out with an estate agent. Don’t spread it around, though. I mean, his place doesn’t handle any of these properties, but it’s still a bit iffy.” Crack gave her a sidelong look, as if wishing he hadn’t said so much.
Tiff managed not to tsk under her breath. Like she’d be going around spreading gossip at a time like this. “Thanks,” she said again and strode off toward Dr. Sewell’s rooms. She was annoyed to find Crack tagging along beside her.
“So, is it true, then?” he asked before she could think of a way to tell him to piss off without sounding ungrateful.
“Is what true?” she asked impatiently.
“Julian and Dr. Sewell. That they’re shagging.”
Tiff gave a little huff of irritation. “Well, not right now, they’re not.”
Crack nodded. “So, what about you and him? Julian, I mean. Weren’t you supposed to be going out with him?” He nudged her with one bony elbow. “Or is it some kind of kinky threesome?”
They’d reached the bottom of the staircase. Dr. Sewell’s sign said he was out, but it probably said that permanently these days. If Tiff had been him, she’d have wanted to avoid people as much as possible, at any rate.
“That was just a joke, me and Jools,” she said, jogging up the stairs in the hope Crack would lose interest if he had to make any actual effort to keep up with her. Annoyingly, his long legs matched her pace without effort.
“Yeah? A joke on who?”
“Nosy, aren’t you?” Tiff muttered, and knocked on Dr. Sewell’s door.
He didn’t answer. She tried again, banging a bit harder this time.
After the third time, when she’d actually shouted through the door and still got no response, Tiff swore under her breath. Where the bloody hell was Nick Sewell? Just when she had something for him, he had to disappear off the face of the earth.
Just like Julian, she thought with a sudden chill.
No, that was stupid. Boris had Julian; why would he leave him to come after Dr. Sewell? Most likely Dr. Sewell was just out somewhere, hunting Julian. She hoped.
“Tiffany?”
“What?”
“I said why don’t we ask at the Plodge? They might know where Dr. Sewell is.”
Tiff stared at him, her tangled thoughts taking a moment to unjumble themselves. “Yes, all right. That’s a good idea.” She jogged down the stairs, annoyed that Crack’s long legs were again keeping up with her without the slightest sign of haste. “And call me Tiff, okay? I hate that name.”
Tiff was surprised to find Crack hanging back as they reached the Porter’s Lodge. “You’d better go and ask on your own,” he muttered. “The porters don’t like me much.”
“Oh? I wonder why?” Tiff rolled her eyes and went inside, taking a deep breath. The head porter, Mr. Sands, was on duty. In his bowler hat and formal clothes, he looked a lot like she imagined Jeeves’s dad would have looked. Implacable, inscrutable, terrifyingly respectable. And probably lots of other words ending in –able. “Mr. Sands?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“Um. I was wondering if you might know where I could find Dr. Sewell? He’s not in his rooms and I really need to speak to him.”
The craggy lines of the porter’s face didn’t alter. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until he’s back in college.” He turned to some papers on the desk in front of him.
“Please!” Tiff blurted out. “Look, I really need to see him, and it can’t wait.” Tiff found her voice shaking a bit and was horrified to feel a tear pricking at her eyelids. “It’s about J-Julian,” she continued. “It’s really important.”
Sands pressed his lips together and fixed her with a look that was suddenly a great deal more sympathetic. “If you think you know where he might be, it might be better to talk to the police,” he began. Then he broke off and nodded to himself. “But I’m sure Dr. Sewell will inform them if he thinks it necessary. I’ll give him a call on his mobile.”
Tiff waited anxiously as he dialed and then stood there listening for a few moments. “Dr. Sewell? It’s Sands from the Porter’s Lodge. I’d be grateful if you’d give me a ring when you get this message.” Tiff almost groaned out loud as she realized Dr. Sewell must have his bloody phone switched off. Didn’t it even occur to him that people might want to get in touch?
“Could you try Dr. Pawlaczek?” she asked as he put the phone down. “They’re friends, aren’t they? So she might have an idea how to get in touch with him.”
Sands gave her a long-suffering look, but picked up the phone again. This time he didn’t speak at all before putting it down. “Went straight to answerphone. I’m afraid she does tend to do that in the evenings.” He seemed to be considering something for a moment. “I really shouldn’t do this, but….” He sighed. “Dr. Pawlaczek’s address is thirty-three Pennington Way. It’s not far.”
Tiff could have kissed him. “Thank you. Really—thank you.” She ran out of the Plodge the way she’d come in, remembering in time that it’d probably be polite to tell Crack what was going on. If he was still there.
A long, thin shape detached itself from the shadows where it had been leaning against the wall like a discarded umbrella. “Where to now?” Crack asked.
“Dr. Pawlaczek’s. I’ve got her address. We’ll need bikes.” She was about to tell him he didn’t need to come, but then she remembered the feeling of dread as she’d been stalked by the wolf in the bike sheds. It was a million to one it’d be there tonight, but still…. “You coming?”
Crack’s teeth gleamed whitely in the light of the college lampposts as he grinned and nodded.
The streets were quiet at this time of the evening. Most people were either still eating or getting a bit of study in before venturing out for the night. She’d thought Crack would look weird on a bike, all knees and elbows, but in fact he had an oddly streamlined silhouette.
“You’re asking for trouble, riding without lights,” she muttered as they locked their bikes together up against Dr. Pawlaczek’s garden wall.
“Yeah, well, that’s m
e. Live dangerously.” He laughed suddenly. “Nah, I left them on my bike one night and some bastard nicked them.”
Tiff rang the doorbell and did that awkward shuffling thing you did while you waited for the answer. Crack just leaned against the wall in what she’d come to recognize as his nonchalant pose. Pose being the operative word.
Tiff frowned. “Your eyeliner’s gone splodgy. Here.” She licked a finger and reached up to wipe away the smudge. Crack looked a bit startled, but Tiff had no time to worry about that, as just then the door was opened by a mad old woman with wild-looking gray hair. There was a bloody enormous scarf wrapped round her neck, which Tiff realized was still attached to a pair of knitting needles.
“Oh, hello, dears. Are you looking for Nadia?” she asked brightly.
“Er, Dr. Pawlaczek? Yes,” Tiff told her, trying not to stare.
“Come in, come in.” Exchanging looks, Tiff and Crack followed her fuzzy slippers down the hall. “This way.” She opened a door and waved them into a cozy little sitting room. Dr. Pawlaczek was sitting on a squashy-looking sofa wearing an identical pair of fuzzy slippers and a worried look. The rest of the sofa was taken up by several furry cushions. Wondering if she should sit down, Tiff jumped as one of the cushions stretched and yawned, revealing itself as a long-haired cat. She decided to stay standing.
A cough drew her attention to the other side of the room. Standing by the fireplace, with dark circles etched deep under his eyes and something scarily disheveled about his hair and clothes, was Dr. Sewell.
“Oh, thank God! Dr. Sewell, I need to talk to you.”
NICK FROWNED at Tiffany’s companion. Since when had the girl acquired a Goth shadow? And why the hell did anyone else have to be privy to discussions about his private life?
Nadia, bless her, came to the rescue. “Marje, dearie, why don’t we take this young man into the kitchen and see if we can’t feed him up a bit? He’s looking rather peaky in my view.”
There was something about Crack’s horrified expression as the ladies dragged him into the kitchen that Nick vaguely registered might have been amusing in other circumstances.
