A Web of Lies

by Bella Forrest

  She led us into the back room with her, in the corner of which was a narrow staircase leading upward. We climbed the stairs and arrived outside a green door.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Emily said, before returning downstairs.

  I wet my lower lip before raising a fist and knocking gently. Footsteps shuffled, keys clinked and then the door handle turned and clicked open. The door swung open slowly to reveal an elderly man who I guessed was in his seventies. What was left of his hair was white, and he wore a tweed waistcoat the color of mud and black corduroy pants. His back was hunched slightly as he gazed from me to Arwen.

  “What can we help you young ladies with?” he asked kindly, if not a little loudly.

  “You are Mr. Spencer Hulse?” I clarified.

  He squinted and said, “Can you speak a tad louder?” He chuckled dryly. “Hard of hearing, you see.”

  I hadn’t exactly been whispering but I asked again, louder this time, at a similar volume to his speech. “You are Mr. Spencer Hulse, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Who is it, Spence?” the frail voice of a woman called from behind him.

  “Well, that’s what I’m trying to decipher here,” he called back, looking amused.

  “I’m a friend of your grandson, Lawrence Conway,” I said quickly.

  At this, his jaw dropped. “Lawrence? Really?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh my, my, my. Come in. Come in!” He pushed open the door wider, allowing Arwen and me to step inside.

  “Any friend of our Lawrence is welcome in our humble abode,” he said as he led us into a dimly lit corridor lined with seaside oil paintings.

  We followed him into a small sitting room where a fireplace crackled in its center. A floral-patterned sofa stretched the length of one of the wallpapered walls, with two rocking chairs on either side—one of the chairs was occupied by an old woman I could only presume to be Mrs. Hulse.

  Her wrinkled face lit up in a smile as she took in the two of us. “Did I hear you say Lawrence?”

  When she made no attempt to stand up, but rather reached out a hand for us, I took it that she was probably unable to stand, or at least did so with difficulty. I moved to her and took her hand, shaking it and curtsying a little.

  “Would you like some tea and biscuits?” Mr. Hulse offered.

  “Ah, no, thank you,” I said. “We really don’t want to take up much of your time.”

  “Then take a seat.” He gestured to the sofa, which we sank into, while he seated himself in the second rocking chair opposite his wife.

  “This may seem like a strange question,” I began, “but… when was the last time you saw your grandson?”

  The old couple’s eyes immediately filled with melancholy.

  “Not since our daughter Georgina’s funeral,” Mr. Hulse said. “Thirteen years ago.”

  “Why is that?”

  Mrs. Hulse sighed. “Well, it all stems from the life Georgina chose to lead,” she replied heavily.

  “And what kind of life was that?” I asked, leaning forward so much my butt almost slipped off the edge of the sofa.

  “She joined the International Bureau for Supernatural Investigation when she was just a girl,” Mr. Hulse replied.

  “Only eighteen,” Mrs. Hulse interjected.

  “She moved up to Scotland,” Mr. Hulse went on, “and was sworn to secrecy, as is the case for many of their recruits.”

  “By secrecy, you mean what exactly?” I asked.

  “They’re not allowed to tell anybody anything, not even their closest relatives,” Mr. Hulse replied.

  “Not even about their personal lives,” Mrs. Hulse added. “Since the two are very much intertwined in the life of an IBSI employee. At least, that’s what Georgina always told us.” She sighed again wearily. “We didn’t even know she had a boyfriend until she called us up one day and invited us to a small, private wedding ceremony. And then, soon after Lawrence was born, she and Atticus—”

  “Our son-in-law,” Mr. Hulse clarified.

  “—moved to America,” Mrs. Hulse finished. “We never got much of a chance to know or see Lawrence. We got to speak to him over the phone every other week. But he too has been following in his mother’s footsteps and interning with the organization. He’s also not allowed to talk much about anything really.”

  “So when was the last time you talked to Lawrence?” I asked.

  “He stopped calling so regularly once he became a teenager,” Mr. Hulse said. “Last time we spoke I think was…” He paused, scratching his head. “Maybe four months ago?”

  I drew in a breath. Another lie from Atticus. Lawrence had been involved with the hunters all along, and it sounded like Atticus had been too… “Was Atticus also a hunter?”

  “A hunter?” Mr. Hulse frowned.

  “Oh, I mean an IBSI member,” I said quickly. We in The Shade were so used to calling them hunters that I forgot that wasn’t the term the rest of the world used for them.

  “As far as we are aware, yes,” Mr. Hulse replied. “Georgina did tell us that much. Though, as odd as it sounds, that is pretty much all we know about our son-in-law. Their visits as a family were always… superficial.”

  “Why did Georgina join the IBSI?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  Pride shone in the couple’s eyes.

  “Our girl was always a fighter,” Mrs. Hulse replied. “Always filled with courage and the burning desire to contribute to society. She wasn’t satisfied with just any old profession. She wanted to be of service to humanity. Of course, the logical career was with the IBSI.”

  Of course. I smiled bitterly to myself. To the outside world, that was exactly how the IBSI made themselves out to be—fighters for good, protectors of the world—and that was how they attracted so many young people. They genuinely believed that the IBSI was a force for good, and the highest form of service was to join their ranks.

  Mr. Hulse stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece. He took down a small framed photograph and handed it to me. “That’s her,” he said, pointing to a pretty, smiling blonde young woman in the picture. She had rosy cheeks and brown eyes, the same shade as Lawrence’s. And in her arms she cradled a sleeping baby. Baby Lawrence.

  “So now are you going to tell us how you know our Lawrence?” Mrs. Hulse asked.

  Replacing the photograph on the mantelpiece, I moved back to the sofa before starting from the beginning. Although the couple appeared anxious and taken aback by the end of it, I had expected them to react more strongly. I had been expecting their jaws to be hanging open in utter shock. I’d just told them that Lawrence had been used as a test experiment and had been on the verge of losing his life. After my story had sunk in, Mrs. Hulse simply said, “Well, I’m sure that Lawrence had his reasons for volunteering. And I’m sure that whatever experiment they had been in the process of was important, otherwise he never would’ve done it.”

  I stared at them, taken aback. I was tempted to tell them what I really thought—that there was no glory whatsoever in serving the IBSI—but I bit my tongue. It wouldn’t be sensitive, given that it was a cause their deceased daughter had given her life to. They seemed to worship the ground IBSI walked on. Brainwashed.

  I paused, swallowing my words. Then I asked, “So, um, your daughter… she came to stay with you, just before the accident, right?”

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Hulse replied. “She had been visiting their old home in Scotland with Lawrence, but then she came alone to visit us. She said that she wanted a break to get some headspace and some work done. She had left Lawrence with his nanny. She wasn’t able to spend much time with us at all, which was disappointing. She locked herself up in her old room here, glued to her laptop the whole time—very busy with work. Though we were used to that.”

  “So you didn’t detect anything odd or out of the ordinary with her?” I asked.

  They shook their heads. “Nope. She just seemed preoccupied, but that was nothing
unusual. She lived a demanding life, had a demanding job,” Mr. Hulse replied. Then in a more somber tone she said, “We did consider the idea that she might have committed suicide. But neither of us could bring ourselves to believe that she would. She was far too full of enthusiasm and appreciation for life. Besides, all signs pointed to it being an accident.”

  Hm.

  “Her room,” I dared venture after a beat, “have you changed it?”

  Mr. Hulse shook his head. “We’ve left it exactly the way it was when she left…even the possessions she left are in the same place. We move them only for cleaning.”

  Hoping that I wasn’t about to cross a boundary, I hesitated again before asking, “Would you mind showing it to me?”

  The old couple looked to one another. Mrs. Hulse appeared a tad reluctant, but Mr. Hulse shrugged.

  “All right,” Mr. Hulse said, frowning. He led us out of the living room and up a wooden staircase. We reemerged on the top floor. He took us past a blue tiled bathroom to a tiny room with a bed, a wooden chair and desk, and a bedside table. Amidst the furniture, there was hardly any room to walk around. Floral cotton curtains lined the window, similar to the fabric of the sofa in the living room, and through the glass was a view of the shop-lined street.

  Mr. Hulse cleared his throat, planting his hands on either side of the back of the chair, from which hung a cream cardigan. He watched Arwen and me as we looked around the room.

  I felt the urge to spend more time in here… just to think. Live for a few moments in the same space Georgina had before she died. But I couldn’t think of how to explain to Mr. Hulse my desire to remain in the room. Besides, it was rude to intrude for much longer. The elderly man continued to watch us, making me feel awkward. I needed to return to this room with Arwen, when we could be alone.

  “Okay,” I said to Mr. Hulse. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” he said, still looking at us curiously.

  We returned downstairs, thanked the couple and said goodbye. But as they were on the verge of closing the door, I said, “Oh, one more thing, if you don’t mind. You didn’t comment at all regarding Atticus lying to us about Georgina’s death… I can’t help but wonder why he did that.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Hulse shrugged. “Well,” Mr. Hulse replied, scratching his head, “of course, he was probably desperate to get Lawrence back from you. Perhaps he thought that story would tug on your heartstrings and you’d be more likely to hand our grandson over.”

  Hm. That had been a speculation that I had come up with on my own already. Since neither of them offered any more information than that, I was forced to accept it and say, “Okay. Thanks again.”

  We headed down to the pub and then back outside onto the damp street.

  “Now what?” Arwen asked, raising a brow.

  “Make us invisible, and vanish us back to Georgina’s room.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Hulse were downstairs— I could hear them muttering to each other, comments about our visit. Mostly complimentary things about us, though they were confused about our random visit.

  Inside Georgina’s old room, Arwen closed the door noiselessly. I sat down on the edge of the bed, letting out a shallow breath as my eyes wandered once again around the room. It was odd to think that this bedroom would have been the last place Georgina had slept before she died.

  I couldn’t help but wonder why, in truth, she’d come here—all the way from the United States—just to lock herself up in a room and work on her laptop. If she’d wanted to get some headspace and time alone, why not just check into a hotel somewhere? Why travel halfway across the globe to come to England?

  Maybe that was just something she did. Her parents didn’t seem to think there was anything strange about it. I stood up and ran my hands along the cashmere cardigan that hung from the back of the wooden chair. Pulling the chair outward, I sat on it, planting my palms on the desk’s surface.

  “What are you thinking?” Arwen whispered.

  I was thinking a lot of things right now, but mostly I was still trying to figure out why Atticus had lied. I had told Mr. and Mrs. Hulse about the lie during my recounting of Lawrence’s story. But they had barely batted an eyelid. Neither of them found it strange enough to comment on it at all.

  “What is it?” Arwen pressed, reminding me that I hadn’t answered her question yet.

  I shrugged. “Just a lot of things. The whole thing. The way Georgina practically cut herself off from her parents, them barely ever seeing their grandson… It’s just a bit weird.” I wondered if all hunters were forced to maintain such strict privacy as to not discuss even their personal lives with anyone. Perhaps it depended on how high up in rank one was.

  I stood and opened up the cupboard doors, peering inside. It was empty except for some clothes hangers. At the bottom was a small blue notebook and a silver pendant. I scooped both of them up and planted them on the desk, where the light was better.

  I opened the notebook and flipped through it. About one quarter of its front pages had been used and torn out, and the rest were blank. Arwen took the pendant from me.

  “Interesting,” she breathed. The necklace was certainly striking, with an unusual rectangular shape and a shiny, transparent gem in the center of it. I took the necklace back from her, but before I got a chance to examine it for myself, Mr. Hulse’s voice suddenly sounded loud on the staircase: “Yes, dear. I’ll open the window in her room to air it.”

  Crap.

  This room was tiny. Even though we were invisible, there was no way we could dodge Mr. Hulse on his way to the window without him noticing. Arwen, in her panic, grabbed my arm and vanished us before I even had a chance to replace the necklace. We’d have to make another trip back here, later, to return it.

  Victoria

  Finally, Bastien agreed to take me to The Woodlands. He thought long and hard about it— he ended up wanting longer than just a few hours. He kept reminding me of the dangers that the land of werewolves held, even with the absence of the hunters and Brucella. But he seemed to come around to believe that as long as I stayed by him, and we remained within his territory, we would be all right. Besides, I might only stay for a few days. He admitted that even he might only stay for a few days, if his tribe preferred to choose someone else for their leader—somebody older and perhaps more experienced than him, he’d suggested.

  He was surprisingly detached about the possibility. I’d expected that, being the son of a chieftain, the inclination to rule would be in his blood. But his primary concern did not seem to be who took over as leader per se, but rather that it would be somebody who was competent, trustworthy, and above all, someone whom his parents would approve of. He was more than willing to offer the position to somebody else if he deemed them more qualified.

  Of course, the fact that it would be easier for us to stay together if he was not bound to The Woodlands was likely playing at the back of his mind. But I sensed his motives ran much deeper and purer than that. He genuinely cared about the well-being of his pack, and finding a leader who could maintain them—be it himself or someone else.

  Observing this caused me to gain a deeper respect for Bastien. I couldn’t help but contrast his attitude with that of other leaders I had been exposed to—most notably, the hunters. I was sure the well-being of their people came at the very bottom of their list of priorities. It was all a game of power to them.

  Once he had agreed to take me with him, we had to figure out exactly how we were going to get there. Apparently, the gates leading directly to The Woodlands from the human realm—at least, all the gates we knew about—had been closed off. That meant that we would have to travel to The Woodlands in a roundabout way, I guessed the same way that the League had traveled there—via the ogres’ beach.

  We would need either a witch or a jinni to escort us. I wasn’t sure how many of them had gone on the latest excursion with the League and who had stayed behind. I figured that a trip back to Meadow Hospital would be the fastest way to find someone
who was willing to accompany us. Witches or jinn were almost always found in the hospital, either in the apothecary or in the recovery rooms.

  First, however, Bastien suggested that we return to my penthouse and pack up some things. He told me that I should bring clothes for at least a week, to ensure I didn’t run out, and any other items that might make my stay more comfortable. I guessed that he would be keenly aware of the differences between the amenities in his home and mine when we returned.

  Once I had filled up a small suitcase, I stopped by the kitchen to leave a note for my parents on the counter, in case they returned before I did.

  Then we had to go look for our escort. We descended in the elevator to the forest ground. I climbed onto Bastien’s back and, seeing that I had a suitcase this time, he did not leap up into the trees to travel again. He ran along the forest path instead to speed up our journey. Our first stop was Meadow Hospital, but all the witches and jinn we found here were too busy to take off with us for an unspecified number of days. They had duties to fulfill either in the hospital, or involving the security of The Shade while the League was gone.

  So it seemed like I would have to let go of the idea that a jinni or witch would come with us. The next logical option was a dragon. Again, many dragons had traveled with the League on their mission—more than were actual members—but I was sure that there would be some left behind. I directed Bastien toward the Black Heights.

  As fate would have it, the first dragon I came across was a half-breed—half dragon, half human. She was Regan, the dragon Azaiah’s daughter. She was about a year younger than me and one of the dragon hybrids on the island who was able to shift into a beastly form, in spite of her mixed blood.

  “Hey, Regan!” I called to the brunette.

  Carrying a bundle of logs under one arm, she appeared to be heading home. She whirled around at my call.

  “Oh, hello Victoria,” she called. Her lilac eyes widened curiously as she laid them on Bastien. “Who is this?”