Location, Location, Damnation

by Nick Moseley

  'Cheers.' Trev slumped in his seat. 'Go on then, tell me more.'

  'There's little to tell,' shrugged the Colonel. 'They're werewolves, which means they have something of a dislike for vampires. If you give them the impression you're going to give Corbyn a bit of a hiding, they'll fall over themselves to help you find him. They have keen noses, werewolves. They'll sniff him out for you. I suggest you start your search in the riverside area.'

  'Yeah, I bet it'll be that easy,' muttered Trev.

  There was a knock at the door. 'Come in,' called the Colonel. Graeme entered, looking flushed and sweaty. 'Ah, you're back. Do fill us in, old chap.'

  'I took those three nutters for a little drive and left them to sleep it off in a bus shelter,' said Graeme. 'The guards are regrouping, but it looks like we've lost six of them. Five are definitely dead and one other is unconscious, though the medic doesn't think he'll wake up. They've all got head wounds, got walloped from behind. They're proper pissed off about it, like.'

  'I'm sure they are,' said the Colonel, arching an eyebrow. 'I'll go and speak to them in due course. Firstly, though, I need you to take Mr. Irwin to see the charming Miss Pine and her group.'

  'You're jok-' began Graeme, before catching himself. 'Ahem. Yes, sir,' he finished.

  'You know where they'll be?' asked Trev.

  'Of course, m'boy,' said the Colonel cheerfully. 'I make a point of knowing the movements and routines of all the people in this town I think might turn against me.' He winked. 'Now don't stay up too late playing with the werewolves, you're back at SmoothMove in the morning.'

  Trev opened his mouth to reply, but Graeme had already ushered him out of the door.

  Thirty-Three

  Trev pulled his phone out of his pocket as he followed Graeme back down the hallway to the house's front doors. He dialled Granddad's number. The old man answered after a single ring.

  'Trevor! Are you all ri-'

  'I'm fine, Granddad,' Trev cut in. 'Blimey. I haven't dropped dead or anything just because I've been out of your company for a few minutes.'

  'No need to take that tone,' said Granddad reproachfully.

  'Sorry,' said Trev with a sigh. 'I'm just feeling a bit put-upon this evening. What's going on with Kolley?'

  'We're outside the KolleyCo offices now,' said Granddad. 'Alastair's still here, working late. I rang his office number to check. There's no sign of any threat. I've got Agatha and Oscar outside having a look around, but neither of them has sensed anything untoward as yet.'

  'Maybe our three visitors were supposed to take me out first, then go after Kolley afterwards,' suggested Trev. 'I'm finished here, but I've got someone else to go and see now. Is that all right, or do you want me to come and meet up with you at KolleyCo?'

  'Who have you got to go and see?' asked Granddad. 'Is it Corbyn? I really don't think you should go after him on your own.'

  'No,' replied Trev, stopping at the top of the front steps. Down on the driveway Graeme was standing next to the Range Rover and looking at his watch. Trev held up an apologetic hand. 'The Colonel wouldn't tell me where Corbyn was as such, but after a bit of haggling he told me to go and see someone called Miss Pine and her gang of werewolves. They'll be able to sniff him out, apparently.'

  'What do you mean, "haggling"?' asked Granddad. He sounded worried.

  'He gave me the information in exchange for me promising him a day's work.'

  There was a stifled gasp on the other end. 'What?'

  'It's all right, he said it wouldn't be anything illegal.'

  'What did I tell you before you went in there?' said Granddad, his voice was strained. 'I told you not to trust him.'

  'He swore a blood oath,' replied Trev.

  Granddad paused. 'He touched both lips with his own blood before making the promise?'

  'Yeah. It was pretty minging to watch.'

  'Things aren't as bad as they could be, then,' said Granddad, with some relief. 'He won't break a blood oath. Still, there are a lot of nasty things he could make you do that aren't illegal.'

  'Or he might just get me to wash his car and mow the lawn. Whatever. He wasn't going to tell me anything otherwise.' Trev rubbed at his eyes. 'Look, I've got transport waiting and the driver's getting pissed off. Do you want me to come and meet up with you, or do you think I should go and see the werewolves?'

  'I don't think anything's going to happen here now,' said Granddad. 'It looks like the demon's window of opportunity has passed. But having said that I don't want to leave yet either, just in case. It depends whether you're happy to go and see the werewolves on your own.'

  'Well… are they dangerous?'

  'Only when provoked,' said Granddad. 'Miss Pine – Louise – is a very reasonable woman if you're civil to her. Just don't let them see you getting out of the Colonel's car.'

  'Do they really hate him that much, then? I thought you said earlier that some of the werewolves liked him.'

  'No, I said that some of the werewolves respected him,' Granddad corrected. 'Not the same thing at all, Trevor. And anyway, Miss Pine's group don't fall into that category, they're near the bottom of the lycanthrope hierarchy.'

  'The Colonel said they'd trip over themselves to help me if they thought I was going to give Corbyn a kicking.'

  'That might well be true, but be careful what you tell them, Trevor. You've made enough silly promises for one evening.'

  'Yeah, yeah.' Trev shrugged. 'Anything else you can tell me?'

  'Try not to use the word "dog",' said Granddad. 'That's the derogatory nickname the vampires use for them, "dogs". They really don't like it.'

  Trev snorted. 'I get called worse than that on a daily basis.'

  'I can't imagine why,' said Granddad wearily. 'Just try to watch what you say. Werewolves aren't usually as Machiavellian as vampires, but they can be unpredictable.'

  'Machiavellian, eh? Good word,' said Trev. 'That reminds me, the Colonel told me all about the Custodians' rather vicious past. You were keeping that quiet, weren't you?'

  Granddad did his best, but couldn't quite keep the annoyance out of his voice. 'Trevor, what did I just say about vampires?'

  'So it's not true, then? You're saying that the Custodians weren't just a bunch of thugs and psychos up until World War One?'

  'We can discuss this later,' said Granddad. He sighed. 'If you're in this sort of mood, perhaps it's best if you stay away from the werewolves. I'll speak to them.'

  'I can cope,' said Trev. 'I can turn on the charm when I need to, don't worry. Plus I'll stop off and get some doggy biscuits on the way. I'll have them eating out of my hand. Literally.'

  'Trevor…'

  'Joking,' said Trev. 'I'll give you a ring later.'

  'Be careful,' said Granddad.

  'No probs,' said Trev, and hung up.

  He hurried down the steps and climbed into the Range Rover, observing that a walnut tree and at least two cows had given their lives for the vehicle's interior.

  'The last time I saw this much wood and leather I was at an S&M carpenters' festival,' he said to Graeme, who was sitting in the driver's seat, still looking impatient.

  'Go to many of those, do you?' he replied, starting the engine.

  'A man's got to have hobbies.'

  Graeme grunted. 'So they tell me. You sure you want to go and see the doggies?'

  Trev shrugged. 'More or less. I hear they don't like your employer much.'

  'Nah. The whole vampires versus werewolves thing runs pretty deep, like.' Graeme pressed a button on the dashboard and the big gates glided open as they approached. They passed through and turned onto the main road. 'It's not as if the Colonel's ever done anything in particular to piss Pine's little gang off, it's just that he's a rich, powerful vampire. The vamps have always been the haves, and the werewolves the have-nots. They have to hate him on principle, know what I mean?'

  'Like Liverpool fans have to hate Man United fans on principle?'

  'Nah, we hate Man United fans because they
're all wankers,' Graeme grinned.

  Trev laughed. 'Thought you might say that. What's the Colonel like to work for?'

  'I've worked for worse,' Graeme replied. 'The money's good, I suppose, but he's got that thing about my accent, you know, and of course there's the blood and stuff.'

  Trev flinched. 'He takes blood from you?'

  Graeme shrugged. 'He's a vampire, isn't he? All of the staff have to give some, it's part of our contracts. It's not that often though, and we get a bonus and a couple of days off each time. You get hypnotised beforehand, so it's not like you have bad memories or nightmares or anything.'

  'Even so, rather you than me,' said Trev. He shook his head. 'It's tricky to get a handle on all this crap,' he said. 'He doesn't really look like a vampire, does he?'

  'Not much,' agreed Graeme. 'Someone says "vampire" and you kind of picture a bloke with fangs, wearing a black cloak and saying "I vant to zuck your blahd", like. The Colonel looks pretty ordinary, but that's the point, isn't it?'

  'Yeah, that's what he said,' nodded Trev. 'I've got to give him credit, he's very good at playing the posh old duffer.'

  'Ought to be, he's had enough practice,' grunted Graeme. 'He can change his appearance, you know - make himself appear older or younger if he wants to.'

  'Why would he do that?'

  'Well you can't stay looking sixty-five for fifty years and not have anyone get suspicious, can you?' explained Graeme. 'Every once in a while he pretends he's died, has a big funeral and comes back as his own son, like.'

  'Clever,' said Trev. He looked out through the windscreen at the road ahead. Graeme hadn't driven them back into the centre of Brackenford; instead he'd stayed on the road that skirted the town, passing through a lightly-wooded area. 'So where do these werewolves hang out?'

  'They'll be at St. Stephen's church hall tonight,' replied Graeme.

  'What?' said Trev, puzzled. 'A church hall? That's a bit public, isn't it?'

  Graeme shrugged. 'Hiding in plain sight, like the Colonel,' he said. 'They just book the church hall for their meetings like any other community group. As long as they pay up on time and don't wreck the place, nobody gives a toss what they're actually doing there.'

  'Well, what are they doing there?'

  'Buggered if I know. Never sat in on one of their meetings. I'm not a werewolf, like.'

  'Right.' Trev rolled his eyes and went back to staring out of the window. He started to wonder if he'd been a bit over-zealous in telling Granddad he'd go and see the werewolves on his own. If he was being honest with himself, he knew he'd really only done it because he was pissed off with the old man and his habit of drip-feeding information instead of keeping Trev properly informed. The Colonel had told Trev more about the Custodians in a few minutes than Granddad had in several days. It seemed obvious that Agatha and Oscar had been told to keep quiet on the subject as well. Maybe they were all hoping that if they let sleeping dogs lie, Trev would never need to know.

  He frowned. Let sleeping dogs lie? Not a good phrase to be thinking when he was going to meet a group who hated the word "dog". He resolved to clear his mind of every dog-related cliché and idiom he knew.

  After all, he'd be as sick as a dog if he got off on the wrong foot with the werewolves. He didn't want them barking up the wrong tree about him.

  'Shit,' he said, his brain suddenly full of phrases that were likely to make him extremely unpopular.

  'What?' said Graeme, looking askance at his passenger.

  'Nothing, just thinking.'

  'You're sitting there thinking about shit? I know you said a man needed hobbies, but you're scraping the barrel with that one, like.'

  'Yeah, very funny mate.' Trev adopted a sulky, hangdog expression.

  …Sulky. Just sulky.

  'I know, but that's all the comedy you're getting tonight,' replied Graeme, pulling the Range Rover to the side of the road. 'Don't think the werewolves'll like it if they see you getting out of this particular car, so I'll let you walk the rest of the way.'

  Trev peered out of the window. He could see the spire of St. Stephen's church standing above the trees, lit by a single floodlight that was aimed upward from somewhere on the building's roof.

  'OK, well thanks for the lift, if not the comedy,' he said, opening the door and stepping down.

  'Just remember not to call them "dogs", eh?' said Graeme with a wink. He drove off.

  'Arsehole,' muttered Trev. He trudged along the narrow pavement and entered the churchyard through the lychgate. St. Stephen's was a small church and an old one, although it was noticeably younger than St. Margaret's. Trev crunched along a gravel path between the gravestones, trying not to let his less-than-cheerful surroundings affect him.

  The church hall was a utilitarian, single-storey structure with a metal door and frosted-glass windows which were protected by wire grilles. There were lights on inside the building and three nondescript cars parked in a narrow paved area outside.

  Trev stepped up to the door, hesitated, then knocked twice. There was no response for a few seconds, then a female voice said 'Yes?' from within.

  'Evening,' said Trev, leaning in so that his mouth was near the door. 'My name's Trev Irwin.' He nearly followed up with "I'm from SmoothMove estate agents" out of habit, but caught himself and said 'I'm here to speak to Miss Pine, if possible,' instead.

  There was another pause, then the door began to open inward. The person doing the opening was standing behind it, so he couldn't see them. He stepped forward to enter the building, and someone barged into him from behind, sending him flying.

  Trev hit the grey vinyl flooring face-down and skidded a few feet. He had been caught completely off guard, but recovered quickly enough to roll over to face his attacker. He had a brief glimpse of several orange plastic chairs, most of which were occupied by startled-looking people, and then someone landed on top of him, pinning his wrists with their hands.

  He stared up into a heavily-bearded face surrounded by a mane of long, greasy grey hair. Through his fear Trev felt a spark of recognition. The other man obviously shared it, because his eyes widened and he snarled 'You!'

  Trev's memory went ka-ching and he gulped. It was the homeless man he'd charitably told to "get a job" a few days previously. He winced. It seemed that even karma was out to get him now.

  'Get off me,' Trev wheezed, his voice panicky. He struggled, but his attacker was too heavy to shift. 'I'm just here to talk!'

  'Bollocks,' snarled the bearded man, giving Trev a particularly unpleasant spit-bath. His eyes blazed with a manic species of anger. 'I saw you getting out of that bastard Colonel's car, and you're carrying weapons. You're here to spy on us, or kill us. Well you're shit out of luck, because I'll kill you first!'

  'Jack!' said a firm female voice. 'Jack, that'll do!'

  'Shut up,' snapped Jack, not taking his eyes off his captive.

  Trev heard the sound of chairs being scraped back. It was possible the other people were getting up to help him, though the way his luck was running so far, they were probably just moving back so they wouldn't get any blood splattered on them.

  Jack began to growl. It wasn't a human growl. It was the kind of growl a large dog makes, seconds before it sinks its teeth into a soft, vulnerable part of someone's anatomy. The man's eyes narrowed, the growl becoming louder and deeper.

  'Jack!' said the woman's voice again, more urgently. This time Jack simply ignored her.

  Trev gaped up at his assailant. There was something very strange happening to Jack's face.

  Very strange, and very disturbing.

  The man's face was shifting, drooping as if the bone of his skull had suddenly become soft. His eyes narrowed further, and a pained note had found its way into the growl. Whatever was happening to him, it appeared to be as uncomfortable as it looked.

  Saliva drooled from Jack's sagging jaw, dripping onto Trev's neck. There was a horrible grinding, cracking sound and Jack's face began to change shape, the top of his head flatt
ening, his cheeks narrowing and his nose and mouth elongating, stretching outward. Fresh hair sprouted from the few remaining smooth areas, growing like grass in one of those time-lapse nature documentaries.

  The pitch of the growl had increased to the point where it was more of an anguished whine. Trev cringed, closing his eyes as the cracking and popping sounds continued. He could feel the man's hands changing, the fingers shortening and becoming claws. He heard cloth tearing as the man's clothes failed to withstand the pressure caused by his shifting physique.

  Unable to reach his weapons, Trev instead began gathering power into his hands in the hope that it would disconcert or even hurt his attacker. It didn't seem to have any effect. From the sound of it Jack was in so much pain already that a little more was neither here nor there.

  Abruptly the hideous noises ceased and the creature's whining tailed away. Fearfully Trev opened his eyes again. The thing staring down at him was neither wolf nor man, but something horribly in between.

  Large, grey eyes glowered out from a narrow, thickly-furred head, atop which a pair of tufted ears twitched. A wet pink nose flared its nostrils at Trev, while below it a pair of black lips drew back to reveal a mouthful of mismatched, though still very sharp-looking, teeth.

  The sight of the thing triggered a wave of absolute terror in Trev, of the type that humankind hasn't routinely experienced since the days when people would huddle together around a fire every night and hope that the things moving in the darkness outside would decide to eat somebody from the next cave along, instead.

  The creature opened its mouth and snarled.

  Then it lunged for Trev's throat.

  Thirty-Four

  Trev screwed up his eyes and screamed.

  Well, he'd exhausted his short list of alternative options, so it seemed like the right thing to do.

  There was anger in the scream, and frustration that he hadn't been able to make Jack or any of his group understand that he was there simply to talk to them, but for the most part it was pure fear. Trev had been frightened in Murkhome, and even more so in Dark Limbo, but on both those occasions he'd been able to do something about it; he'd been able to defend himself. Now he was on his back in a run-down church hall, he was about to die gruesomely, and there was nothing whatsoever he could do about it. With that in mind, he really let rip with the scream.