by Stephen Cole
Merry Christmas. What a joke.
He wished more and more each day that he’d taken the cure when Jicaque had offered it to him. The old guru said you had to really want the cure to make it work, and Tom had been more concerned about the long-term view. He knew that he and Kate would only be safe if Takapa and Marcie Folan – Kate’s murderous mother – were stopped for good.
A month ago, flushed with the victory over them in New York, Tom had felt that might just be possible. But now, after so many weeks cold and hungry, struggling to contain his ’wolf side when the moon was full or in times of stress and anger, he felt feeble and worn down. Yeah, right, like a couple of kids were ever going to take on the whole lupine community and win. Who did he think he was kidding? If he’d taken the cure, he’d be normal and he and Kate might actually stand a chance of …
… of dying, he realised, torn apart by teeth and claws, helpless and screaming. There was nowhere to hide, as Blood had discovered. There were too many ’wolves, too widespread. Tom knew they had to fight back – even if they died trying.
Tom suddenly saw they’d arrived. Kate had directed Blood to where their apartment squatted above a boarded-up deli, its two dark, square windows staring out blankly over the rest of the run-down block.
‘Delightful,’ Blood observed as he pulled up outside.
‘It’s somewhere to crash,’ Tom said.
Blood gestured to the cracks and chasms in the brickwork. ‘Looks like a juggernaut beat you to it.’
Kate opened the street-level door – Tom had agreed she would always carry the keys and what little money they had, in case he turned ’wolf and lost everything. He and Blood followed her up the damp wooden stairs to the first floor.
They reached the apartment’s peeling door on the tatty communal landing. From the look on Blood’s face Tom guessed he’d rather be standing barefoot in a nest of vipers.
‘How do landlords get away with offloading slum rooms like this?’ Blood demanded.
‘By not asking awkward questions or for any references,’ Kate replied simply, as she worked the key into the lock.
‘Is that a fact?’ Blood cast a dubious eye over the door of the neighbouring apartment, which was in equal disrepair. ‘How saintly of him.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Tom said. In truth, their landlord was a fat pig who owned a string of dingy diners. He had used them as slave labour, insisting they work long shifts washing dishes in lieu of rent. After that, going out ’wolf-hunting had been almost a pleasure.
Kate pushed open the squeaky door and led the way inside. ‘Excuse the mess. We don’t have many guests.’
‘Good gods,’ muttered Blood as he stepped into the room. He shook his head in horror. ‘I don’t blame you.’
Tom looked around the room and realised he’d grown used to the squalor. One big musty room served as bedroom, kitchen and living room. Kate’s bed was a grubby mattress on the floor in one corner, while Tom made do with the sagging, moth-eaten couch. Thrift-store clothes were strewn over the threadbare grey carpet. Net curtains turned beige with age stuck to the condensation on the windows. A plywood screen hid the poky bathroom from view, but did little to keep out the gurgles of rusting waste-pipes and the stench of blocked drains.
‘Pack your bags and let’s get you out of this dump and into a hot bath,’ said Blood grimly. ‘Now!’
Kate grinned at him. ‘Can I marry you?’
‘Get in line, Trolly,’ Blood replied. ‘And Tom … just get dressed.’ Then he gestured to the home-made paper chains hanging from the stained, sagging ceiling. ‘Nice touch, by the way. They really transform the place.’
‘I want to be an interior designer when I grow up,’ Kate said, equally deadpan. She had torn up an edition of the Chicago Reader to make the paper chains one night, in an attempt to cheer Tom up.
Tom hadn’t had the heart to tell Kate how miserable the decorations made him feel. They reminded him of all the family Christmases he’d spent as a kid, warm and snug, stuffed full of food without a care in the world. His parents and Joe, his brother … what kind of Christmas would they be spending this year? First they’d thought Tom was dead – and now, that he was a murderer …
The thought of Mom spraying their old fake Christmas tree with pine air freshener like she always did when it came out of the attic, of Joe helping Dad roast the chestnuts and burning them black as usual … all that soppy, sentimental crap that they did each Christmas, it made him want to cry and curse all at once.
He missed them so bad it hurt.
And the thought of them carrying on without him, however hard they might find it, left him feeling sick and hollow inside. It was like they were learning to forget him, to shut him out.
He hated the goddamned paper chains.
‘Now then,’ said Blood, his voice bulldozing through Tom’s dark thoughts. ‘While you two are clearing out of this hovel, I’ll tell you what my contacts have told me about this pureblood gathering that’s got the lupine world all whipped up.’
Tom turned his back to pull on a pair of boxers and some jeans beneath Blood’s coat. ‘We’re listening.’
‘First of all, Takapa, our favourite homicidal albino, is leasing a couple of properties here in Chicago – including an industrial building on the West Side. He’s been taking delivery there of some pretty high-tech laboratory equipment.’
Tom shrugged off the coat and searched self-consciously for a stick of deodorant. ‘Sounds like he’s up to his old tricks, messing with ’wolf genetics.’
‘So what’s new?’ Kate said, shoving a bundle of underwear into a plastic bag while Tom conspicuously pretended not to notice.
‘What’s new is something very old,’ replied Blood, producing a gilt-edged square of card from the pocket of his suit jacket with a flourish. ‘I managed to procure this from a rather specialist burglar of my acquaintance. He finds a ’wolf address, waits until full moon, to be sure they’re out on the hunt, then burgles the place in peace.’
‘Nice trick. It’s got to beat washing dishes, anyway.’ Kate plucked the card from Blood’s outstretched fingers and began to read aloud. ‘“The Bane Gallery cordially invites you to a Private View of König Man, to be held on December 25th, 00:00 hrs”.’
‘Christmas Day?’ Tom said in surprise.
‘Lupines aren’t real big on human holidays,’ Kate replied. She read on. ‘“Having lain preserved for centuries in a peat bog outside of Gottenheim, Germany, König Man was recently discovered …” blah, blah, blah …’ Kate arched her eyebrows. ‘Sounds real fun.’
Tom pulled on a pale blue T-shirt and a grey hoodie. ‘Why would the purebloods be so interested in some ancient stiff pulled from a swamp?’
‘My guess is it’s a coded summons of some kind,’ said Blood. ‘Might be nothing to do with a man or a bog whatsoever.’
‘The invitation says that accommodation will be provided – at someplace called Brook Mansion,’ Kate said.
‘That’s the other property Takapa is leasing,’ Blood informed them. ‘My realtor contact here tells me it’s a very nice place. It seems Takapa is determined to impress. Brook Mansion was set up as a luxury hotel, but the owners went bankrupt. Takapa started leasing it three months ago. As far as my contact knows it’s standing empty.’ He nodded at the invitation. ‘In anticipation of this gathering, I imagine.’
‘At least we have some proper leads now,’ Tom said.
‘What about the mysterious Sunday – the local who’s been posting in the chat room?’ asked Blood, taking back the card.
Kate screwed up her nose. ‘Don’t talk to us about Sunday.’
Tom nodded bitterly. ‘We’ve arranged to meet up with him four times this month, and he’s blown us out every time. He’s got to be a phoney.’ Tom paraphrased one of the posts in a high-pitched whiny voice. ‘“My dad’s been abducted by ’wolves – they’re forcing him to do weird experiments, and now Takapa wants to kill me. Please, will somebody help …”’
&n
bsp; Kate nodded, stuffed the plastic bag in her rucksack and flung some more clothes in after it. ‘I reckon it’s a ’wolf feeding a line to the likes of us and seeing who bites – so they can bite back.’
‘Well, I’m not so sure,’ said Blood. ‘I had altogether too much time on my hands hiding out in the Hamptons, so when I read Sunday’s postings I did a trawl through Chicago missing persons reports.’
Tom nodded. ‘And?’
‘Well, all your usual reports of punk kids and street trash gone astray, of course, but …’ Blood paused impressively. ‘Also missing are three quite eminent scientists. All in the last six months, and one just before Sunday started posting – a guy called John Walker.’
As he spoke, a screech of brakes sounded in the quiet street outside.
Tom cast a nervous glance at Blood and Kate and crossed to the window. He twitched the nicotine-stained nets a fraction to peep through.
At first the street seemed still, with nothing to see through the flurry of flakes but the snow-drifted roofs of the endless low-rises stretching away into the night. Then he saw something; a big, red car parked across the street, the only one aside from Blood’s that wasn’t sporting a glittering white carpet of snow on its roof. Three or four guys were huddled inside.
‘Shit,’ he breathed, as Kate came to join him. ‘I think we’ve been followed here.’
‘Not hard to spot a Merc in this neighbourhood, I suppose,’ said Blood, rubbing his hands together briskly. ‘OK – you’ve officially finished packing. Let’s get out of here.’
‘Too late,’ Tom murmured, feeling the all-too familiar nag of fear in the pit of his stomach. The driver’s door had swung open and a tall Asian guy dressed in black leather emerged. Three other men – one black, two white – gathered behind him. Their silver wolf’s head badges glinted brightly in the moonlight.
The Asian guy looked straight up at the window, scowling like he could see Tom and Kate through the filthy curtains. For a moment, a lupine glint of yellow showed in his dark eyes. The other men followed him, dark and silent as shadows, over to the street-level door that led up to the apartment.
‘They’re coming,’ Kate said, her voice hollow, stalking over to the mattress to gather her things. ‘And they’re ’wolf.’
Blood looked at Tom expectantly. ‘So you’ve got an escape route worked out, right? In case any howling heavies come to call?’
‘Bathroom window,’ Tom said. He swung his rucksack on to his back and slung open the bathroom’s flimsy plywood door. ‘It’ll be a tight fit but …’
He stuck his head through the small window – and saw a dark shape shift in the shadows below. ‘No go,’ he reported grimly. ‘They’ve got it covered.’
A banging noise started up downstairs.
Kate ran a hand distractedly through her dark hennaed hair. ‘That door wouldn’t keep out a determined hamster.’
‘Time for Plan B, then,’ ventured Blood.
He led the way out on to the landing. Tom and Kate followed. The hammering from outside echoed frighteningly up the stairs.
Blood pulled a face. ‘Bollocks. No place to hide. Looks like we’re shafted, kids.’
Kate frowned. ‘That’s Plan B?’
‘Screw that,’ Tom muttered. He crossed the landing to the neighbouring apartment and took a savage kick at the door – then swore loudly. It felt like he’d broken every bone in his foot, and the door remained shut.
Kate gave a high, almost hysterical laugh. ‘Last action hero.’ She kicked the door herself but with no more success.
‘Allow me,’ said Blood, and shoulder-charged the door. With a terrific, splintering crash it burst open.
‘Just so you know,’ gasped Blood, clutching his arm. ‘That noise wasn’t the door, it was my sodding shoulder.’
Tom shoved Kate ahead of him into the dark room. They’d never heard a sound from their neighbours in all the weeks they’d been here, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Tom realised why. The place seemed entirely empty save for dust and must.
With a still louder smash of wood and glass, the door downstairs finally gave way.
‘You realise we could be thrown out of the local Neighbourhood Watch scheme for this?’ muttered Blood as he tried to swing the splintered door back shut. But the latch was smashed and the door would not stay closed.
‘We need something to push up against this door!’ Tom hissed desperately, as heavy footsteps started crashing up the stairs. ‘Or they’ll just breeze in here and grab us!’
g
g
CHAPTER THREE
For a sick moment, as their pursuers thundered up the stairs, Tom thought they were dead meat. But then a banging started up at the door to their abandoned apartment. The men thought they were still inside.
‘We’re losing patience with you two!’ snarled one of them. ‘No one runs from us. Open up!’
Tom gave him the finger through the wall. ‘Bite me,’ he mouthed.
‘You really think he needs an invitation?’ enquired Blood acidly.
Kate stole across to the window, which overlooked the next street. ‘We can reach the fire escape from the balcony,’ she said.
Leaving the intruders banging loudly on the wrong door, Blood led the way out through the window. The rotting balcony, slippery with a thin dusting of snow, groaned under his weight as he clambered across it to the rusting rungs and railings of the fire escape that zigzagged down into the darkness.
Kate went next. ‘Let’s hope they don’t have someone waiting on this side of the building as well,’ she breathed, as she gripped hold of the icy cold railings and started to climb down.
There was a muffled thud and smash from their apartment, and then a bellow of anger.
‘Move!’ Tom hissed, swinging his leg over the side of the balcony. The rotten wood split and gave way beneath him.
With a shout he fell forwards, reached out blindly for the fire escape, and caught hold of a slippery, rusty railing. He hung there, too shocked even to feel afraid as he dangled over the blackness beneath him.
‘They must be in here!’ came an angry shout from the landing, and this time it sounded like the door to the empty apartment had been knocked clear off its hinges.
‘Drop down, Tom!’ hissed Blood from somewhere beneath him. ‘There’s a bush, it’ll break your fall!’
A second later Tom was crashing through sharp, wet foliage. His skin stung with scratches as he tumbled and fell, finally landing heavily on his back – or rather, on his well-stuffed rucksack. It had probably saved him from splitting his skull open on the frozen ground.
He lay stunned for a few moments. Then Kate and Blood appeared beside him and dragged him to his feet.
‘Are you all right?’ Kate asked, breathless from the descent.
‘Think so,’ Tom replied, feeling the scratches on his face.
‘Had to sodding show off, didn’t you,’ said Blood. ‘Come on, round to the front. We need to get to the car!’
Tom set off unsteadily after them, then heard an angry shout.
‘Hey, wolf boy!’
He turned to see the Asian guy staring down from the window above, flanked by two of his buddies.
‘We know what you are,’ the guy shouted. ‘You can’t run from us, man.’
‘Watch me, asshole!’ Tom yelled back.
‘Mess with the Dark Chapter and you’re meat, kid. We make the rules here.’
A shadowy figure loomed out from nowhere. Tom guessed it must be the guy who’d been watching the bathroom window. Tom tried to run but skidded on the icy ground, his momentum carrying him crashing into the guy, who was knocked flying.
Scrambling back up, Tom made it out into the street. With a squeal of tyres, Blood’s Merc was suddenly reversing towards him.
‘Get in!’ Kate shouted as the rear door swung open.
Tom dived in beside her, Blood crunched the gearshift into first and the car tore away again. As they swerved past the apart
ment Tom saw more dark figures emerging from the crumbling building. He felt Kate’s icy hand wriggle into his own.
Sirens were starting to sound in the distance. ‘So, net-heads,’ Tom panted, dabbing at his bloody face with numb fingers. ‘In your dark and spooky chat rooms, have you ever heard of a group called the Dark Chapter?’
‘Don’t think so,’ Kate said.
‘Who the hell are they?’ asked Blood.
Tom sank back into the rear seat and closed his eyes. ‘I think we’re going to find out.’
g
It was crazy, but Kate found her bed at the Drake Hotel almost too comfortable after what she’d been used to this last month. Though she was totally exhausted, sleep refused to come, no matter how much she tossed and turned.
She pushed back the covers and lay curled up on her side in her underwear and cotton T-shirt, listening to Tom’s soft, rhythmic breathing in the bed across the room.
OK, so they’d cheated death one more time. But how much longer could their luck last?
What if Tom wound up dead before she could tell him how she felt about him?
‘Jeez, I’m a complete soap opera,’ she sighed to herself.
‘Kate?’
Tom’s voice made her jump although he’d spoken softly. ‘Yeah?’ she responded. She started to turn, then froze as she heard him getting out of his bed and padding across the room towards her. ‘Tom?’
‘Quiet,’ he whispered.
A wave of heat crashed through her whole body as she realised he was getting into her bed. ‘Tom, what are you—?’ Her voice cracked as one of Tom’s arms snaked under her neck, while the other curled around her waist, pulling her close to him. She shivered as he pressed his lips against her throat. They both knew damn well what he was doing.
‘We shouldn’t …’ she whispered. But it was futile. Her arms were already slipping around his smooth bare back, her fingernails grazing softly against his warm skin. She heard his breathing grow huskier. ‘We can’t …’
